I'm just picturing dragon!NHS in Gusu excited to be outside the Unclean Realm for the first time and curious about everything! And wondering how others react to meeting this extremely un-Nie-like Nie who is spoiled rotten by his family apparently but has never been allowed to go out before?

1

“How did you even manage to fail a class like that?” Nie Mingjue asked, honestly bemused. “You listen, you nod, you smile, you parrot back whatever you’re told – it’s practically your best skillset.”

Nie Huaisang giggled behind his fan. “Well, there were pop quizzes. You know how I get when there’s pressure, da-ge; my brain goes totally blank.”

“Your brain,” Nie Mingjue said, aiming for severe, “has never once gone so blank that you lose your ability to scam people.”

“Da-ge! I don’t scam people. I help them realize that our interests are more aligned than they previously suspected, that’s all.”

“We can fertilize three fields with the amount of bullshit that just came out of your mouth,” Nie Mingjue said. “Do I want to know?”

“Teacher Lan said that he’s extended invitations to all the other sect heirs for next year! I want to go again!”

“You could have just asked,” Nie Mingjue groaned “You didn’t have to deliberately fail!”

2

It took Nie Huaisang nearly a week to notice, and even then it was only because Wei Wuxian said it casually, as if it was nothing, his arm looped over Nie Huaisang’s shoulders.

“Why’d you stop moving?” he asked, blinking at him.

“You just said we’re friends,” Nie Huaisang said.

“…are we not?”

“No, no, I’m definitely friends with you, Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said hastily. “But I wasn’t aware that you were friends with me. This is awesome.”

“We spend all our free time with you, whenever Wei Wuxian isn’t stuck copying lines in the Library Pavilion,” Jiang Cheng said with a huff, though his face was a little pink in what was probably second-hand embarrassment for Nie Huaisang. “What do you think we are if not friends?”

Nie Huaisang might not have the best grasp of social niceties, but he was still pretty sure that I thought you were just humoring me was definitely the wrong answer here.

“Moreover, as friends, there are certain things expected of you,” Wei Wuxian announced, breezing by the awkwardness in a way Nie Huaisang appreciated. “Sharing, for one. Tonight, my place – I bring the wine, Jiang Cheng brings the snacks, and you, Nie-xiong, bring the porn.”

“I can definitely do that!”

3

“I think that’s all the business we have today, Sect Leader,” Nie Mingjue’s uncle, and head of his advisory council, said. “Unless there’s something else you want to mention that we haven’t covered?”

“Nothing on your part,” Nie Mingjue said. “I did get a letter from Gusu regarding Huaisang.”

He pretended to ignore the way that some of the people on the council tensed.

“He appears to have gotten into a little bit of trouble,” he continued. “Apparently, one of his new friends shoved him into a river –”

Visions of an awkward adolescent dragon, still a touch rotund with baby fat, dripping both water and tears all over the place were very clearly dancing in everyone’s head.

“– and afterwards they all got drunk on wine that had been smuggled in from the outside.”

Judging by their expressions, the visions had shifted over into what a drunk dragon might be like.

“Teacher Lan has informed me that he has imposed the appropriate punishment –”

Full-on expressions of horror.

“– but also reports that Nie Huaisang accepted it without argument, so the matter is considered as entirely resolved.”

“You,” his uncle said pointedly, “are doing this on purpose.”

Nie Mingjue smirked.

4

“So let me make sure I understand this right,” Nie Mingjue said. His lips were pressed tightly together, an expression he was aware made him look as if he were fuming – but then, most of his expression resembled anger in some way, shape, or form. “You’re concerned that Huaisang is being bullied?”

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian both nodded.

“You believe this to be happening based on certain interactions that you believe you have observed since coming to visit my sect.”

Another nod.

“And instead of bringing this up to me, his older brother, guardian, and sect leader, you decided to take matters into your own hands.”

There were birds that did nothing but nod their heads, and Nie Mingjue was definitely seeing a distinct resemblance here.

“I see.”

“We’re just saying, it was a fully justified fight!” Wei Wuxian finally burst out, even though Jiang Cheng was still stepping on his foot, and he shook off the elbow that Jiang Cheng drove into his side, too. “They always had these looks on their faces, like they disapproved of us running around or wrestling or rough-housing, doing anything, and it’s not fair, you know, just because he likes books and painting and stuff doesn’t mean he’s any less worthy of your sect –”

“They like his painting,” Nie Mingjue interjected.

Wei Wuxian, who had been building up a full head of hot air, abruptly deflated. “What?”

“Everyone likes his paintings,” Nie Mingjue said. “There’s a sect party every quarter in which one of the main attractions is a riveting debate as to which ones are the best, and who was lucky enough to win them off of him. Most of his pocket money comes from the fans he sells –”

“Really? Not the – uh, never mind.”

“Nie Huaisang is still paying back the initial loans on his erotic art business, so no.” It was doing pretty decent things for the sect’s budget, though. “The expression I believe you’re detecting is surprise.”

“…surprise?”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but Huaisang isn’t much given to things like running around, wrestling, or rough-housing,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “Thus the surprise.”

Well, there was also a side order of ‘I can’t believe they’re doing that with a dragon’ involved, but that wasn’t their business.

“I appreciate your concern,” he added. “And your friendship with Huaisang. But next time, please just challenge them to a fight on the training floor instead of starting something in the hallway. It’ll avoid people tripping over you.”

Now they were both staring at him.

He raised his eyebrows at them in return.

“Your only complaint is that we were fighting in the wrong place?” Jiang Cheng squawked.

“Was there something else I should be complaining about?”

“Nope!” Wei Wuxian said, grabbing Jiang Cheng by the arm. “Thank you, sect leader! Bye, sect leader!”

5

“So there was a Xuanwu,” Nie Huaisang said. “A corrupted one.”

“I heard,” Nie Mingjue said. “I also heard that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji killed it.”

“Oh? Is that what you heard? I’m glad. Wouldn’t want those Wens getting all the credit, you know!”

“Mm.” Nie Mingjue waited until Nie Huaisang was breathing a sigh of relief to add, “I don’t believe it.”

Nie Huaisang wilted.

“I assume both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have now been read in on your portion of the sect’s secrets?”

Nie Huaisang nodded miserably. “I couldn’t help it. They were going with the Chord Assassination, but it wasn’t working – its skin was really thick – they might’ve gotten hurt, and you know Wei-xiong is one of my only friends –”

“Huaisang. It’s fine. We’ll deal with it, and anyway Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are both capable of being discreet when they need to be. I’m more curious as to what exactly did you do?”

“…ate it.”

“Huaisang! How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t keep putting dirty things in your mouth!”

Hogwarts: New Girl AU

A/N: Warning, some canonical changes were made for plot reasons, the biggest being: Harry and Ginny never dated; Harry, Neville, and Draco are all professors; George has a new WWW store in Hogsmeade. Also, she starts off living with the four guys whereas in New Girl she only lived with all four for about a season. I just thought it would be fun!! Also, when I wrote this it felt a lot longer than it ended up being—so let me know if this is too long or too short or just right!! P.S.: I do NOT condone transphobia (I’m LGBT and will defend trans people until the day I die) and obviously I feel JKR is a shitty person, I write because I like writing and we’ll all agree that 5 year old Daniel Radcliffe wrote the HP series :)

Chapter 1: Who’s That Girl?

Pairing: George x Female Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Words: 3k

Series Masterlist

-

“So, you know in horror movies when the girls are like "Oh my god, there's something in the basement. Let me just run down there in my underwear and see what's going on in the dark", and you're like "What is your problem? Call the aurors!", and she's like "Okay" but it's too late because she's already getting avada kedavra’d. Well, my story's kind of like that.” y/n said, remembering the borderline traumatic moment that happened two weeks ago.

-

Y/N sat in the back of a muggle taxi, on her way to her shared apartment with her boyfriend Cormac McLaggen. Only, incredibly uncomfortably, she was completely naked under a trench coat.

“It’s a surprise for Cormac. I’m just gonna walk in and drop my coat, like BAM. There it all is. He said he has this fantasy that I’m a veela with a heart of gold.” Y/N attempted to whisper into the phone speaker.

“You added the ‘heart of gold’ thing, didn’t you?” Ginny asked, chuckling and knowing full well that McLaggen wasn’t exactly a thoughtful person, and wouldn’t have included that in a sexual fantasy.

“Yeah. I wanted to really get into the character, you know?” Y/N tried to get into the fantasy more, hoping it would make her less uncomfortable.

“Oh really? What’s your veela name?”

“Uh...Fleur?”

“That ones taken, Y/N.”

“Whatever, I don’t need a veela name.”

“Either way, I’m so proud of you for getting out of your comfort zone! Good luck babe.” Ginny encouraged.

As Y/N walked into the apartment, she was trying to position herself sexily in the living room. She laid on her side on the couch. Too cliché. She propped herself on the back of the couch. Too masculine. Eventually Cormac entered the living room from the bedroom wearing only his boxers, making Y/N panic about the fantasy.

“Y/N! You’re back early! I wasn’t expecting you—“

Y/N dropped the trench coat. Immediately after a girl, Pansy Parkinson she recognized, followed McLaggen out of the bedroom. Their bedroom. And she was only wearing her underwear.

“Oh.”

-

“So that’s what happened and why I really need a new place to live. Anyway...what was the question?” Y/N smiled at the four men in front of her. They all looked traumatized by her story.

“Um, do you have any pets?” George asked.

“Oh, no I don’t. Sorry,” She chuckled awkwardly.

“You know what’s funny? When I saw your ad on DumbledoresList I thought you were women.” Y/N laughed. “Crazy, right?”

“Hold up, why would you think that?” Draco spoke before the other two could.

“Just some of the vocabulary used. Like sun-soaked and exposed brick daydream.”

“Draco you wrote exposed brick daydream? Oh my god,” George was nearly in tears with laughter, Harry and Neville following quickly. “Jar, right now, dude.”

“Yeah, jar, seriously. Five galleons.” Harry agreed, pointing to a jar on the mantle of he fireplace with a neon green post-it note labeled “Prick Jar.”

Draco rolled his eyes, getting up and putting the galleons in the jar.

Y/N coughed, trying to refocus the attention. “Look, I really like this apartment. I also really don’t want to live with my friend anymore. She’s a quidditch player...all her friends and roommates are quidditch players. They get into some real weird shit.” Y/N felt like she was pleading with them. Just let me stay here!

“Look I still don’t feel like we know enough—” George was interrupted by Draco.

“Oh, quidditch players? When can you move in?” Y/N grinned, hoping the promise of these three men meeting hot quidditch players would help.

“No, no, loft meeting. Bathroom.” Harry ordered, leading the way down the long hall to the bathroom at the end. When Y/N heard the door shut she quickly and silently followed, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Come ON guys, she’s friends with quidditch players. Next to veela’s and the girls at Beauxbaton, that’s like the hottest girls in existence.” Draco begged the other two.

“The fact that you’re a professor now and you said that is like...incredibly disturbing.” Harry glared at Draco, George and Neville shaking their heads.

“Yeah, and my sister is a quidditch player so I don’t know about that.” George shuddered.

“I’m not going to lie to you guys, I don’t want a girl living here. Sometimes, I get home from a long day of teaching and I just want to strip and lay on the couch. Let the boys chill.” Harry casually shared. Y/N gagged at the thought, but the other three men in the bathroom made noises of agreement, or at least understandment of his statement.

“I am...actually neutral on this one.” Neville shrugged, causing Draco to scoff.

“You would be neutral on this.” Draco rolled his eyes, but directed his attention toward their fourth roommate. “Alright George, tie-breaker. It’s up to you. Is she in or out?”

“You guys know I don’t do well under pressure like this. Just give me a minute let me think.”

Both Harry and Draco started arguing with each other, putting George under more pressure to make a decision. He slowly backed himself into the stall in the bathroom and locked it. Neville watched everything play out, arms crossed with a smile on his face.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done!” Draco said, gesturing to the hiding George.

“What I’ve done! You started it—” Harry replied.

“Whatever, executive decision—she’s in.” Draco announced.

“YAY! I’m in!” Y/N exclaimed, not able to contain her excitement on the other side of the bathroom door. Draco opened the bathroom door.

“Nobody decided putting a silencing charm on the door would be a good idea?” Harry asked the boys in the bathroom.

“Oh you guys have a stall and urinals? Like a public bathroom? Okay, yeah I guess I can get used to that.” Y/N said, looking around the bathroom that reminded her a little too much of the bathrooms at Hogwarts.

“What do you do for a living anyway? Why do you want to live out here in Hogsmeade?” Draco asked as the group of five made their way back to the living room.

“I just became a professor at Hogwarts! I spent a really long time in both the muggle world and the magical world studying creatures. So, I’m taking over for Hagrid.” Y/N smiled, very excited to be doing her two favorite things in the world: working with animals, and teaching bright young minds.

“Oh, Harry, Neville and I are professors at Hogwarts too. I teach potions, Neville teaches herbology, and Harry teaches...Harry what fucking subject do you teach?” Draco crooked an eyebrow at Harry, purposely acting like he didn’t know what Harry taught.

“Defense against the dark arts.” Harry glared at Draco. “And George here just opened a new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes shop in Hogsmeade.” Harry said, clapping George’s back. George sheepishly smiled at Y/N.

“Oh that’s awesome! I loved pranks at Ilvermorny. Cormac hated pranks.” Y/N started to tear up, staring off into space.

“George gets it, he was dumped, too.” Draco took his turn to clap his hand on George’s back this time.

“Yeah. Dumped,” George scoffed.

-

“George I just can’t do this anymore!” Angelina pleaded with George as he covered his ears, despite only the one really working.

“LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU! WE CAN’T BREAK UP IF I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” George yelled.

-

“Yeah, I was dumped.” George shrugged. “What about it? It was like eight months ago Draco! Move past it. Pfft, dumped.” George got very heated over...seemingly very little, Y/N noticed.

“Ignore him, he’s still fragile. Which, you aren’t too fragile, right?” Draco asked.

“Pfft. I’m so tough. Don’t even worry about it.”

-

“We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night. … And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of.” Y/N was screaming the words of the monologue from Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca at the television, the four men staring at her from the kitchen.

“Feel like we’ve made a mistake yet?” Harry asked Draco, who rolled his eyes and approached Y/N.

“Y/N, stop.” Draco turned the television off. “C’mon, you can’t be like this! You’re a strong woman! Strong women don’t cry over men who clearly didn’t deserve them in the first place! Strong women go out and hook up with strangers in the bar in Hogsmeade to get over their ain’t-shit exes.” Draco pulled Y/N up from off the couch. “Go take a shower. We’re going to the Three Broomsticks tonight and you’re hooking up with someone.” Draco pushed her in the direction of the bathroom.

“And that gentleman is how you take care of a crying woman. Not that any of you know how to handle women at all.” Draco snipped at the three men, who—to be fair—did not know how to deal with women at all.

-

At the Three Broomsticks, the four men watched Y/N absolutely fail at flirting with any even remotely viable man in the bar. Eventually Draco called her back over to the booth where the four men drank and talked about their days.

“Honey, you’ve got to stop doing whatever it is you were doing out there. In fact, you’re going to stop doing anything. You are going to go sit at the bar and look pretty until a man approaches you, and then you are going to smile and nod and agree to go out with him.” Draco nagged. The three other men were chuckling quietly as Y/N trudged to the bar, hoping for men to approach her.

“Anyway, what is this shit we’re chaperoning on Friday night?” Draco turned to Neville and Harry, hoping one of the two would know.

“I think it’s a school dance but like...not fun for the kids at all. Like I don’t think there’s actually any dancing at all.” Harry summed, confused as well. None of them had ever been to muggle high school, and did not understand what a “homecoming” dance was. The Muggle Studies professor suggested it might be fun for the first Friday back to school, and McGonagall agreed as long as the kids didn’t have too much contact on the dance floor. The Muggle Studies teacher explained to the three men that it was “middle school rules, no touching below the shoulders, room for Merlin in the middle.” if dancing were to be allowed. Neville, Harry, and Draco were clueless as to what that meant.

“Glad I won’t be in on that shit show.” George laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

“We actually signed you up.” Draco said nonchalantly, drinking his beer. George spat his beer out violently.

“Excuse me? I have to spend my Friday night watching a bunch of kids...do what? Drink butterbeer and sit on opposite ends of a room?!” George was clearly pissed off, wanting to have done literally anything else with his Friday night.

“I mean, you’ll see your brother.” Harry offered, which actually eased George’s tensions a bit. He smiled, missing his family.

“Oh, alright. Harry, you charmer, you always know how to get me.” George winked at Harry who waved him off.

“How are things going with you and uh...Loony?” Draco asked Neville. The three other men rolled their eyes, annoyed at how Draco still seemed to live in his own little world.

“Luna. And things are going...they’re going.” Neville shrugged, clueless to his own love life.

“Just as expected, he doesn’t know anything.” Draco shook his head at George and Harry, as if Neville’s cluelessness was their fault.

“Are you blaming—” Before Harry could finish accusing Draco of exactly what Draco was doing, Y/N came back from the bar, squealing about getting a date.

“What did you do?” Draco asked, smirking, just knowing he was right.

“I did what you said! I just smiled and nodded and said I wanted to hookup and he gave me his number and now we’re going out Friday night!” Y/N jumped up and down in tiny jumps, starting to fist-pump.

“This American is so weird sometimes.” Harry whispered.

“It’s endearing, I think.” Neville commented.

“Naive, maybe.” George rolled his eyes, the only one who seemed to notice that she blatantly told the man she would have sex with him.

-

When the night of her date rolled around, the four men found themselves with an unexpected floo guest.

“Ginny, what are you doing—” George stood.

“Who told her it was a good idea to get back out there again? That’s not your job, that’s my job. I’m her best friend, you guys are just some weird adult men living together. No offense brother, dear.” Ginny was in the living room, pointing an accusing finger at the men sat on the couch while Y/N was in her bedroom getting ready. Ginny was clearly ready to go out clubbing for the night, and was dressed in a short dress and very tall heels.

“None taken.” George rolled his eyes, plopping himself back on the couch.

“Now I’m going to go handle the mess you all created, thank you very much.” Ginny glared, walking over to Y/N’s room and walking in.

Y/N laid on the ground surrounded by clothes. Her hair and makeup was clearly done, but she seemed stumped on what to wear. She was currently wearing a witch hat, a crop top, sweatpants, and cowgirl boots.

“Y/N,” Ginny sighed. “What were you going for with this?” Ginny gestured up and down Y/N’s body.

“Witchy space cowgirl.” Y/N shrugged. “It seems like something you’d find in a porn anyway—”

“Here, let’s find you clothes that will actually get you laid.”

After about half an hour, Ginny emerged from Y/N’s room first, dressed in a crop top and sweatpants.

“Now presenting, the new but not improved, still absolutely perfect Y/N.” Ginny gestured towards Y/N’s bedroom, where Y/N emerged. She was wearing the short black sleeveless dress and tall heels Ginny had been wearing when she emerged from the floo. Draco let out a whistle, Harry and Neville started clapping, and George was sat, stunned. Well, until Y/N started fist pumping again, then they all started booing her.

“Don’t let me keep you guys, I know you have plans with a bunch of 11 to 17 year olds tonight.” Y/N giggled, watching as the men stood up at the reminder.

“Don’t worry, we’d rather be anywhere else. Even here watching your weird dancing.” Draco puffed, the other men agreeing.

-

“So yeah, that’s how we got a new roommate.” George explained to Fred, who’s hazy, ghostly form nodded.

“Believe it or not, I actually know her. I was her first friend here.” Fred grinned, pointing to himself. George wasn’t surprised. Ever since Fred died and became a ghost, Fred frequently felt lonely, and George knew that. Besides Peeves, he really didn’t have many friends. He couldn’t interrupt teachers while they were teaching, but since Care for Magical Creatures was not a required class, Y/N had a lot of free time. They bonded over pranks, baked goods, and George. “She’s so cute! You totally would’ve dated her a decade ago.” Fred teased his younger twin.

“Yeah, well, things change I guess.” George felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and looked at the caller ID to find it as Madam Puddifoot’s store number. “One second.” He told his brother. “Madam Puddifoot?” George asked.

“George dearie, your friend Y/N here was stood up by her date. I figured someone should know, she’s in my shop crying and I have to close in,” she paused, clearly checking the time. “In a half hour. Do you think you could help?” George stood, already walking towards the school’s exit.

-

“Oh hello there.” Y/N sniffled, eyes red and puffy as she looked up to see George taking a seat in front of her. “Don’t you have a school dance you’re supposed to be chaperoning.” She furrowed her eyebrows, pointing a finger at him. She meant for it to be accusatory, but with red puffy eyes, George mostly found it (as Neville said) endearing.

“Some things are more important than watching boys and girls stand on opposite ends of a room.” He shrugged, reaching across the table and grabbing his friends hand. “Listen, real men don’t treat women the way you’ve been treated the past few weeks. I’m sorry you’re going through this. If it makes you feel better, sometimes I still call my ex and leave voicemails in a country accent.” George offered, making Y/N giggled, wiping lone tears.

“Well, you can always call me and talk to me in a country accent instead.” She shrugged, in an attempt to help him the way he’s come to help her. “Do you want to go home and watch—”

“Literally anything other than Casablanca, okay? I will watch whatever sad chick flick you want, but you have watched Casablanca like twenty times this week.” George puffed, standing up and reaching his hand out for Y/N. “Let’s go home and get drunk and cry.” He smiled. Y/N grinned, grabbing his hand and letting him walk her out of the shop. She was still embarrassed, but her heart felt a lot better knowing someone came to help her out of this feeling. She’d never admit it to George, but it was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.

-

When Draco, Neville, and Harry returned home, their suit jackets thrown over their shoulders and looking rather tired from dealing with teenagers all night, they found quite the sight for their sore eyes. George and Y/N were stood in front of the TV, clearly drunk, singing along to Heath Ledger’s character serenading Julia Stiles character in 10 Things I Hate About You. Draco, Neville, and Harry all looked at each other, shrugging. They dropped their suit coats and joined in, feeding the fire that was drunken George and Y/N.

And that was the end to Y/N’s first week in the loft above the Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes store in Hogsmeade.

Taglist: @yllwtaxi @ememseay

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If you were to sort the Infinity Train cast(s) into the Major Arcana a la the Persona games, which Arcana would you give everyone?

anon I had SOOOOO much fun thinking about this, thank you so much for sending me this. I sorted all the major characters, plus a few other entries, based on a mix of Arcana symbolism, Persona series character archetypes, and general vibes. I came up with answers I feel pretty good about for all but four of the Arcana. (Was really tempted to say Strength is every human character who doesn't board the train because they can handle their problems on their own lol.) This is going to be a long-winded post, so I thought I’d post just the list as an image (which hopefully won’t be too blurry!) rather than wrestle with Tumblr formatting trying to make a short list, and put a big text wall under the readmore talking more about my picks.

If this list does end up illegible, the same info is under the readmore as text! Plus some characters for Magician, Strength, Justice, and Death that I didn’t want to add to the “official” list because they’re more based on headcanon. (Although my reasoning for some of the “official” picks is pretty weak lol.)

One-One as 0. The Fool

Oh my gosh, what am I?

IT is great at fleshing out character backstories and families, so One-One at the beginning of S1 is one of the few characters who really feels like a blank slate. He's got a lot of his baggage back by the end of the season, and I think One and One-One are more similar than they seem at first glance, but S1 does seem to have been very formative for One-One and how he thinks about what he's supposed to be doing and how he relates to other people. So it does kind of feel like his fool's journey.

Alrick Timmens as I. The Magician

The magician begins the journey... by beefing it on a dirt bike, dying, and sending his wife flying off the deep end. Rip.

Alrick was an engineer like Amelia, so I could see him suiting some of the themes of the Magician, like conscious thought and manifesting ideas. His apparent playfulness and insecurity are similar to the Magician characters in Persona.

Kez as II. The High Priestess

“We can’t make this decision for you, Kez.” “You know what to do.”

I thought really hard about making Kez the Magician because just like every Magician since Persona 3, she's dumb, horny, and insecure dlkjasfdkl

(and also her showing up at the start of the story arc and being helpful but also super needy is very Magician)

But the idea of "intuition" really does suit Kez. Sometimes her intuition is as bad as her conscious reasoning, but I think that's a lot because she's so confused about what happened with Jeremy, and Morgan making Kez feel like she did a bad thing by helping him.

Tuba as III. The Empress

She made me feel like I was warm all the time.

Tuba's a mom. Sorry, this one's not that deep, haha.

Simon Laurent as IV. The Emperor

Highest number! I'm the leader now.

Simon has a lot of issues, but the one that felt the most prominent to me was his unhealthy relationship with power, authority, dominance, and rules. Another quote I considered using here was what he said in Grace's memory of meeting Amelia: "I never thought I'd get to see the Conductor with my own eyes. He's perfect! Everything finally makes sense again." In his emotional crisis, he thought everything could be fixed just by the existence of a huge, scary, powerful, male authority figure, even if they weren't doing anything helpful or informative.

Atticus as V. The Hierophant

I like to think that our stones are sturdy and handsome, like the Corgis that crafted them.

Atticus is a figure of traditional authority who deeply loves the history, society, and culture of his people. He often provides spiritual wisdom and encourages Tulip to get out of her own head and engage with the world around her. Also in Persona, Hiero is the Dad Arcana so it's very funny to me (a) to make the little dog be Hiero and (b) that the little dog really does have the strongest Wholesome Dad Energy of the whole cast.

Jesse Cosay as VI. The Lovers

Don't tell me what to do. I'm not going to be a part of anything like this, on or off the train.

This was my first and easiest pick lol, Jesse is sooooo Lovers. Like, the focus on choice and personal values and relationships? Yep, that's Jesse. It works on an "actual meaning of the Arcana" level and a "vibes with the Persona characters" level lol... popular, upbeat, and having such an identity crisis.

Lake as VII. The Chariot

I'm my own person, who is getting off this train!

I don't know if Chariot captures all the ways Lake grew over the course of S2, but I feel like they had the most externally focused conflict of all the IT characters, which suits Chariot. They've been fighting to stake out their personhood from start to finish, and they took action and used their willpower to achieve that goal. Also they have at least a little jock energy which is a prereq for Chariot tbh.

Frank as VIII. Strength

I dunno, I kinda imagine him as a simple man and easily underestimated, but with a lot of heart. The Cat may say they're keeping things casual but I don't think she'd take him with her on her private vacation unless he had some kind of inner toughness that would let him stand toe-to-toe with her.

Morgan as IX. The Hermit

I need to be alone right now. Kez... maybe... we can talk later.

I like that Morgan embodies toxic self-isolation and stonewalling and rejection, but that she seems to be moving towards the positive aspects of Hermit and taking some time to calm down and process and think. I like it when characters can embody the best and worst of their Arcana.

Tulip Olsen as X. The Wheel of Fortune

We have to adapt to the changes in our lives. It's the only way things can get better.

Tulip has a lot of themes and conflicts, but this one is a clear standout as the most important. I also like it for Tulip because, while she has to handle a lot of difficult and even traumatic situations, some of the change that challenges her isn't as unambiguously bad as e.g. the death of a loved one. It really is just change itself she's struggling with, and that's Fortune babey. Also, from the perspective of the train itself and lots of other characters, by reversing Amelia and One-One's positions again and changing how One-One administrates the train, Tulip is the one giving the wheel a spin. That's fun.

Lucy as XI. Justice

One of my friends once described the Justice characters in Persona as "the ones the player character is ultimately accountable towards", and I like to think of Lucy as kind of being that for Grace (...since Hazel has excused herself). Lucy is the Apex kid we see Grace interact with the most, the first Apex kid Grace admitted to herself that she had harmed (see Grace very briefly showing distress and then regret when Jesse points the harpoons at his face and she stops him), and the first person to confront Grace when she came home in The New Apex.

Min-Gi Park as XII. The Hanged Man

I don't know if we'll sell a single album, but we'll figure that out as we go.

Min-Gi sacrifices his "realistic", "sensible" goals for a more personally (spiritually, even?) enriching life that's beyond his control and outside of the expected norm. Like the Hanged Man, who dangles foolishly upside-down, but as a deliberate choice and in a state of serenity and enlightenment. I also think this arcana suits a reading of Min-Gi's character development as starting off going slower as a way to stall and live in denial, but then going slower with deliberation. Compare his arrogant insistence on refusing to act in The Astro Queue Car to his patience and care in The Castle Car and The Train to Nowhere.

Jeremy as XIII. Death

This isn't about the death of his family - I'm thinking of his reluctance to admit his number was going down. He cared about Morgan and Kez, and it's possible both that he may have really wanted to stay with them despite his exit and that that might even have been a healthy choice - they're real ass people with feelings and everything, not holodeck characters. But I also think Jeremy was using his life with them to avoid moving on out of that fog (because it was hard and it hurt and he didn't want to think about what that would mean for him and Morgan) and Morgan was enabling him.

Ryan Akagi as XIV. Temperance

Maybe the experience is the point. I wasn't just rushing you. I was rushing myself.

I think this one speaks for itself. Also, the other quote I considered putting here, from The Art Gallery Car: "You told me I can't appreciate the song without taking in the rest of the album. I need the whole package."

The Cat as XV. The Devil

I always do the right thing.

Honestly, this is one I really wasn't sure about. The Cat isn't a great pick for a lot of the meanings of Devil. She is definitely consumed by material comforts, and the short-term rewards of ignoring her issues at a long-term cost, though. This is more of a "vibes with Persona characters with this arcana" pick... Devil characters tend to start off being somewhat exploitative or even antagonistic towards the player character, and gradually showing a more conflicted and genuine side.

Amelia Hughes as XVI. The Tower

There's a hole in the universe where Alrick used to be.

Amelia's life is defined by catastrophe and upheaval - both those she's suffered and those she's inflicted on others.

Hazel as XVII. The Star

I'm going to keep loving you like you're still here.

When I think of "The Star" as a small but inextinguishable light in the darkness, Hazel seems like the obvious choice. Although we left her deeply wounded, I think she still has a flicker of her hope, faith, and purpose.

Grace Monroe as XVIII. The Moon

But it's unfair for me to tell you how to understand yourself. I mean, I don't even fully understand me.

Grace is probably the most complex and dynamic character on the show and hence one of the most difficult to place. I considered Empress, Strength, Devil, and Judgement for her... I think ultimately, lies and illusions are the most unifying theme of her character arc. Also, from a Persona angle, her pursuit of status out of a lack of true self-worth reminds me of Ai and Mishima.

Alan Dracula as XIX. The Sun

Brought together by the majesty of a superpowered deer!

I'm sorry dkjasfklads this is largely because I thought it was funny to have this completely inexpressive dead-eyed deer as Sun akfk but also... like... it kind of works okay!!! Think about the genuine joy and comfort and positivity he brings to Lake and Jesse (and me)!

The New Apex as XX. Judgement

"Then what are we gonna be?" "Guess we'll have to figure it out?"

This is kind of a Persona mythology gag again because of Judgement being a group social link near the end of the narratives of P3 and P4, when the protagonists have pierced through the lies and actually figured out who the villain of their game is and are ready to really start making progress.

0 as XI. The World

Ah, train does it again!

It's an ending and the completion of a journey, but also the beginning of a new one. And the world is literally what the passengers receive at the end of their train journey. Welcome home.

danger | ksj x reader chapter one: good girl

summary: kim seokjin is a rich asshole. you are an ambitious attorney. smut ensues when he just won’t leave you alone.

pairing: seokjin/reader word count: 8.6K (Part 1 of 2)

rating: 18+

genre: smut | pwp | okay fine, porn with a thin plot | but it’s really thin

warnings:  hate sex, language, terrible ethical decisions, blatant misuse of office furniture

Chapter 01 | 02

**************************

Are you fucking kidding me? What am I to you? Am I easy to you? Are you playing with me? You are in danger now Why are you testing me? Why are you testing me? Don’t get me twisted

-- BTS, "Danger"

******************************

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You look up from your phone to the bartender who’s just walked up to you. He’s holding a bottle of champagne. 

“Yes?”

“The gentleman sitting just over there sent this for you.”

Your gaze follows the direction of his nod and immediately your blood warms to a boil.

The man who’s just finished wiping the floor with your ass in court has just sent you a bottle of champagne. Champagne is for celebrating, not for self-medicating after a brutal trial with a shitty outcome. But of course, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? 

You’d spotted the hint of a smile on Kim Seokjin’s lips in the quick moment you’d looked his way.  He was seated at a table -- surrounded by his adoring lackeys -- who were no doubt high-fiving themselves into a frenzy after this afternoon’s verdict. You’d been so busy drowning your sorrows in wine and furiously texting with Nari that you hadn’t even noticed his entire group’s arrival.

The absolute nerve of this man.

“I don’t want it,” you say. “Please send it back.”

The bartender looks flustered for a moment, glancing at Seokjin and then back to you.

“But Miss, this is a very expensive bottle of champagne,” he protests kindly.

“I know that,” you reply quickly, which is bullshit because you don’t know anything about champagne but you’ll be damned if you let this server or Kim Seokjin know that. 

“I still don’t want it.”

“Alright then, I’ll take it back,” he says nervously, clearing his throat. No doubt he’s not looking forward to telling the pompous prick you’ve turned away his selfless gift. “If you’re sure, that is.”

You make certain to give the bartender your warmest smile because you know he is looking. 

“Oh, I’m sure.”

************************************

Kim Seokjin has never had to think about concepts like student loans and overdue rent. He’s never had to lie awake at night praying for an opportunity to get ahead.

Status and success are his birthright.  

If you had to guess, you’d say those broad shoulders come from weekends spent lugging a bag of golf clubs across manicured greens. Those muscular legs are probably the result of hours of vigorous tennis at his family’s estate.  And the face? Word on the street is that his mother was a beauty queen which fits quite nicely into his rich boy trifecta.  

Truly, you can’t stand the sight of him.

But if you’re being honest with yourself, the worst thing about Kim Seokjin -- the thing that really sets your teeth on edge --  is that he’s a damned good attorney. 

Maybe daddy’s money got him into the best schools, but he clearly paid attention. So instead of spending his days playing polo or drinking manhattans or doing whatever it is obscenely rich people do all day, he spends his days in court litigating circles around some unfortunate opponent.

Just your luck that his last two opponents happen to be you. 

Kim Seokjin has single-handedly put an end to your personal hot streak. You should be celebrating a big win right now but instead you’ve run straight into a brick wall. 

A tall, broad, well-dressed brick wall.

***********************

“Do you think he’s gay?”

“What?”

“Kim Seokjin, dammit. Are you paying attention to me at all?”

You pull a face when Nari mentions he-who-should-not-be-named. 

“Gay? How the hell should I know?” you grumble, stabbing a fork full of salad with more force than is necessary. 

“I’m just saying. Everyone knows everything about everyone at the courthouse, right? But you never hear about Kim Seokjin hooking up with anyone. Anyone. And I mean, he’s -- you know, gorgeous.”

“I guess,” you say flatly. 

Nari tuts at your unenthusiastic response. Gossip is her specialty and you’re usually game to hear what she’s been able to dig up but just the mention of this man’s name is enough to put you in a mood.  

“Listen, I’d be salty too if I’d lost that case, but that doesn’t change the fact that the man is a four-alarm fire.”

“Two cases,” you correct. “And he’s two-alarm. At best.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Nari laughs.  “Anyway, I picked up something super slinky for Judge Park’s party tomorrow so by then I’ll know one way or another which way he’s batting.”

You roll your eyes. 

“Hope that works out for you. Either way, I really don’t want to talk about Kim Seokjin’s sex life.”

“Okay, fine,” she concedes.  “But what about his professional life? Cause word on the street is that his firm is probably going to make him a partner. Like very soon.”

You chew on that for a moment. 

He’ll probably be the youngest partner in his firm’s history or in any firm’s history, for that matter. It would be the only logical next step in the progression of this man’s obnoxiously charmed life. 

“Good for him,” you grind out, silently willing Nari to drop the subject of the infuriating man entirely. 

She smiles with satisfaction at having dropped a very juicy piece of information, but all you can do is frown into your salad.

****************************

You’ve been staring at this piece of art for a solid five minutes and at this point you are questioning Judge Park’s sanity. It’s objectively hideous. 

“So you do drink champagne.”

The fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end at the sound of the deep voice that comes from behind. You’ve just lifted a flute of the aforementioned drink to your lips when he sidles up to you. 

“When I’m in the mood,” you say tightly.

The low chuckle you get in response is very, very annoying. 

You catch a glance of Kim Seokjin out of the corner of your eye because you refuse to acknowledge him with your full attention. As expected, he looks perfectly groomed, impeccably dressed, and irritatingly confident.

“So this is...interesting,” Seokjin says, gesturing at the art piece. 

“Interesting,” you repeat. “Yes, well -- it’s definitely that.”

You know you’re sending him every signal that you’d rather be anywhere but here talking to him but he ignores the hostility pouring off of you in waves.

“I’ve been meaning to catch you,” he says, pausing to take a drink from an ornate highball glass. “I think it’s a shame we haven’t had the chance to speak one-on-one yet.”

Oh, please.

“Yes, what a shame,” you reply sweetly. “So glad you’re finally getting the opportunity to take your victory lap in person.”

“Ouch,” he laughs, tone light despite your obvious irritation. “I came in peace. I’ve had the pleasure of facing you in court but not the pleasure of a formal introduction. So I thought I’d make a point to get acquainted with the woman who’s had me up against the ropes in my last two cases.”

You lift an eyebrow at the thin compliment.  

“I have to say,” he smiles, “I’m impressed.”

A flare of indignation ignites inside you at his casual condescension. As if you give a single solitary shit what Kim Seokjin thinks of your litigation skills. 

“Well now that I know I have your stamp of approval,” you say, body rigid, “I can truly go on.”

You hear his faint huff of laughter as he takes another drink.  A few uncomfortable moments pass before he seems to accept your silence as a sign that this conversation is over.  

“Well it was nice to meet you anyway,” he says, and you hate that you can hear a smile in his voice. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

He leaves you fuming in front of that monstrosity on the wall.

************************

“He’s an asshole,” you say when Nari drops a to-go box at your desk.  “I mean, I always knew he would be, but now I know firsthand.  A self-important, super-inflated asshole.”

Nari laughs. “Kim Seokjin, huh? I saw you two talking at the party and wondered what that was all about.”

She drops into the chair on the other side of your desk with her own to-go box.

“For the record, I can’t get a read off of him. And believe me, I tried,” she sighs.  “So what did he say to you?”

“He was so damned patronizing. He told me I ‘had him up against the ropes’ in his last case,” you hiss. “That I’m talented.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Nari says, and you don’t miss her thick sarcasm. “Acknowledging your skill and whatnot. You’re right -- total jerk.”

You are immediately impatient with her lack of sympathy.

“You weren’t there, Nari.  He wasn’t passing along some heartfelt praise, he was saying ‘close but no cigar.’”

“He’s professionally competitive, girl.  A shark. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Manners, maybe?”

“Ugh, you’re such a baby,” she teases. “I think your sudden success has gone to your head. He’s not about to bend the knee just because you’ve got a great record.”

You narrow your eyes at her.  “No one’s asking him to bend the knee, Nari.”

She smiles.

“Okay, princess, I’m gonna let you believe that. But I will admit that you might be right about the goading thing,” she says. “Last night, Sang Yejun told me Seokjin took over that last case from a junior attorney. Stepped in and snatched it right up and no one thought it was even on his radar.”

Well that catches your attention. 

You’d wondered yourself why the great Kim Seokjin had stooped to take such a minor case. 

“See what I’m saying, Nari? It’s like he’s purposely trying to get under my skin.”

She snorts. 

“Girl you know I love you, but you really need to get a grip. Not everything is about you.”

*************************

Nari was dead wrong. Apparently everything is about you.

Three days after your cringeworthy exchange at Judge Park’s party, you have the displeasure of seeing Kim Seokjin again. This time, he walks right into one of your open hearings and helps himself to a seat.

Your entire body goes rigid when you spot him. He has nothing to do with this case, his firm isn’t involved in any way and yet here he is, taking time out of his precious day to sit in your hearing. You silently simmer over his unwelcome presence and the anxiety that comes with it.

Just what is he playing at?

Your second chair elbows you.

“You ready?” he asks and you nod.  

You take one last look at your notes and will yourself to focus.  The last thing you want to do is screw up this line of questioning and you certainly don’t want to screw it up in front of him.

*************************

You assume the coast is clear when court adjourns and everyone scatters. You look around for any sign of Seokjin while packing up your files and come up empty. You hate to acknowledge the tiny feeling of relief that blossoms inside at that observation.

That feeling of relief doesn’t last long. 

As soon as you round the corner into the hallway you spot him leaned up against the wall, scrolling through his phone as you walk past. You stride quickly, praying he won’t look up in time to see you but no such luck.

“Hey,” he calls after you.  You grit your teeth.  

There’s certainly no way to avoid speaking to him, not without causing a scene.  The hallway is packed with attorneys and paralegals from firms all over the city. You’d hate to give any of them the impression that this man has rattled you.

You stop and round on him.

“How can I help you today, Mr. Kim?”  

He smiles, refusing to be intimidated by your acid tone.

“I got a chance to sit in on your hearing,” he says, as though you didn’t already know that.  ”Not bad.”

You are in uncharted waters right now. If Kim Seokjin was just another asshole in a bar, you’d throw your drink in his face and leave him sputtering.  But he’s a respected colleague and you can’t make a scene -- not here. You’re still trying to figure out how to respond to that gem when he makes another observation. 

“You did miss an opportunity to pin your witness on that last question, though.”

You catch your jaw before it has a chance to drop.

“I thought you were going to go for the jugular for a minute there,” he says, lips pursing to suppress a smile. “But then you backed off.  It surprised me.”

He’s baiting you. And you know he’s baiting you. And you still can’t stop yourself from reacting.

“So are you billing me for these hours or do I get to enjoy all this unsolicited legal advice for free?”

“For you?” He shrugs casually. “Totally free.”

He slips his hands into his pockets and turns to walk away, but you are the one to stop him this time.

“Why?” you call after him.  

He turns back to face you. 

“Why do you care? Why are you here grading me like this is some kind of performance review?” you ask, unable to keep the astonishment out of your voice.

The slow smile that spreads across his face is downright smackable. 

“It’s my job to keep an eye on talent.  Even if the talent is overly confident, bad at taking direction, and just a little…” he stops for a moment to appreciate the look of absolute outrage on your face, “...bratty.”

“Bratty,” you repeat numbly. 

“Bratty,” he confirms. 

He shoots you a wide smile before sauntering away.

***************************

“He said you were…” Nari pauses for effect. “Bratty.”

“Yes.”

You wait through a full thirty seconds of Nari’s laughter before you interrupt.

“You --” you say, pointing an accusing finger at her, “are supposed to be my friend.”

“Oh, I am your friend, sweetheart,” she says, chuckling between words. “And as your friend I have to tell you that’s the most accurate take a man has had on you in a minute.”

You ball up a piece of paper on your desk and throw it at her.

“Seriously,” she says, breathless from laughter. “That is the funniest shit I’ve heard in a while.”

“Glad you think so,” you mutter.

Nari finally manages to collect herself after a moment.

“Okay, so Kim Seokjin thinks you’re bratty. And he’s definitely toying with you. And it’s working. So what are you gonna do about it?” she asks.

You say nothing for a moment. This is the internal debate you’ve been having since your embarrassing little encounter the other day.

“I’m gonna tell him to go fuck himself,” you say, finally.  “Whatever little game he’s playing — I’m done.”

Nari’s sly smile around a fork full of noodles indicates she can’t wait for the gossip that will no doubt come out of this showdown.

*******************************

You have to wait for the right opportunity to confront Kim Seokjin.

You’ve crossed paths with one another a few times in the courthouse in the past few days, but the last thing you want to do is have this conversation in front of the prying eyes and sharp ears that always mill about the halls.

So you stew in your anger and wait for the perfect moment to strike.

The moment comes when you spot a box of files in the lobby of your office, with a large note right on top.

ATTN: Kim Seokjin

Lee & Kang Law Firm

“What is this?” you ask the receptionist, pointing at the box.

“That’s a load of files that has to go over to Lee and Kang.  I’m having them delivered,” she replies.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly.  You check your watch.  It’s end of business already, but you’re certain he’s still at his office.  He’s far too ambitious to be the type to pack it in early.

You pull out your phone and shoot a quick text to Nari. Her response is immediate.

you: going to give seokjin a piece of my mind tonight [ 5:49 PM ]

nari: i expect nothing less than a detailed play-by-play [ 5:50 PM ]

The receptionist quirks an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to get off your phone.

“You don’t want me to call for delivery, then?”

“No,” you smile. “I’ll be happy to hand-deliver them myself.”

She shrugs.  “Suit yourself.”

******************************

The offices of Lee and Kang are opulent. 

Marble and glass and shining fixtures all paid for by hours of top-dollar billing.  It’s one of the best firms in town and they clearly spared no expense in decorating the massive space.

When you walk through the heavy glass doors in the lobby there is no receptionist on duty. The main lights are down, leaving only accent lights and the glow coming from a few open offices. 

You spot one lone woman still working at her desk in the common area. 

“Kim Seokjin?” you ask, as you carry the box past her desk.

For a moment, it looks like she is going to ask you who you are -- because clearly you’re not a deliveryman -- but she sees the note taped to your box and points you in the right direction.

A corner office.  

Of course the pampered asshole would already have a corner office. 

You take a deep breath before knocking and immediately you hear Seokjin’s deep voice responding to invite you in.

The first thing that strikes you when you open his office door is that he does not seem surprised to see you. 

At all.

The man’s beautiful, infuriating face stays entirely neutral as he looks up from the papers on his desk. His total lack of a reaction is unnerving.

The second thing you spot are the massive windows. Seokjin certainly gets to enjoy the perks of his high-status, high-rise office because the backdrop to his workspace is stunning.  The sun has already set and the city is lit up behind him, a stark contrast to the night sky.

The last thing that you notice is that his office is a mess. You’d expect someone as anal-retentive as Kim Seokjin to be a neat freak, but there are boxes and papers all over the floors and even his pictures and degrees are leaning against the walls instead of hanging on them.

“Doing some redecorating?” you ask finally, when he does absolutely nothing to end the awkward silence.

“Something like that,” he answers smoothly.  

“We owe you these documents,” you say, motioning to the box.  You drop it unceremoniously on the floor in front of his desk.

He stares at it for a moment before finally deciding to speak.  

“You --” he starts, “ -- hand-delivered a box of documents to my office? Can your firm not afford couriers anymore? You guys going out of business?”

“That’s a lot of questions at once, Mr. Kim,” you fire back. “Have I walked into a deposition? Am I being videotaped?” 

“Would you like to be videotaped?” he counters evenly.

You search his face for any hint of humor -- any indication of teasing --  and come up empty. The look on his face suggests he’s just asked a serious question that deserves a serious answer.

Alarm bells begin to sound in your head.  

“You seem to be at a loss for words tonight,” he says, finally. “Which from what I gather is a bit unlike you.  So I’ll ask you again, what is a gifted attorney doing playing errand girl with a box of files?”

You stand silent, irritated at your sudden inability to string a simple sentence together.  Moments ago you’d walked in here ready for a confrontation, ready to read this man the riot act.  In a matter of seconds your momentum has died. You can almost feel the power shift in the air. 

“I -- “ you start and falter.  

Seokjin raises one perfect eyebrow.

“I am not bratty,” you say finally, lamely, and it’s laughable because it sounds exactly like something a brat would say.

“Not bratty,“ Seokjin repeats dryly. “Noted. Anything else?”

“Don’t do that,” you hiss. “That dismissive thing you’re doing right now.  I don’t know who you think you think you are, or who you think I am -- but you are all wrong about me.”

He stands up from behind his desk, long fingers moving to loosen the tie around his neck and somehow the simple act comes across as painfully intimate.  You very nearly look away.

“All wrong.”

“Yes,” you repeat firmly.

“Oh, I somehow doubt that,” he demurs, moving slowly around his desk to step closer.  Not once does he take his eyes off of you. 

A flutter of panic spreads across your chest.

“Just...leave me out of whatever game you are playing, Mr. Kim,” you say, the words spilling out in one nervous breath as you turn to make for the entrance of his office. You register the sound of his footsteps but don’t realize he’s made up the distance between you until it’s too late.  He reaches past you to push the door closed.

It slams shut with a heavy thud and for a second all you can do is stare at it.

Slowly you turn to face him.  

“What do you want from me?” you say after a moment, breathing a bit harder than you’d like. Your tongue slips out to wet your lips, a nervous gesture that his eyes follow with keen interest.

“You,” he begins slowly, “are in my office. You came to me.”

He’s crowding you with his body, guiding you both so incrementally you barely register movement until the door is nearly flush against your back. 

“So why don’t you tell me what you want?” 

You stare back at him dumbly.

What you want at this moment is to find the choice words that will take him down a peg. You’d love nothing more than to deliver some scathing, elegant takedown but you fail to find the words. You fail to find any words, in fact.

“You are obstinate,” he whispers, so dangerously close you can smell his aftershave. “Haughty. Smug.”

Your mouth falls open in silent protest.

“And clearly in need of a firm hand.”

Heat floods your cheeks. 

It’s embarrassing, being spoken to like this. It’s humiliating to have Kim Seokjin of all people dress you down in this way . But the most mortifying thing about this bizarre exchange is the way your body warms immediately, blood humming in response to his words. 

“Fuck you, Seokjin,” you whisper back, but the words come out thin and weak.

He leans forward, bracing his palms on either side of the door -- on either side of you, dipping his head low to bring his gaze level with yours. 

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” 

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. 

“Ask me for it. Better yet --” he leans close to whisper in your ear, “Beg me for it.”

He hasn’t touched you but that doesn’t stop the pang of arousal set off by his words from hitting you like a slap. The sensation that starts at the apex of your thighs spreads into your legs and across your arms, into your fingers like a current. 

Seokjin continues speaking in that same even, unsettling tone.

“Go ahead.  I’ll wait.”

He is too close, too warm, too aggravating, too tempting.  You have to shut your eyes for a moment to block him out and give your brain a moment to catch up. No one has ever spoken to you this way, and this -- your body’s immediate, damning reaction to it -- is something new.  

Something scary.

You’re certain he can see it all over you, the beads of sweat at your temples, the high color in your cheeks. Nari was right — Seokjin is a shark — and he’s looking at you right now like he smells blood in the water. 

You stare back at him, conflicted and incensed and aroused beyond belief. 

“I’m leaving,” you say finally, voice brittle.

He gives you one long look before reaching behind you for the handle to the door.  He pulls it open and waits for you to walk through, but you just stand there for a moment, dazed.

“Get home safe,” he murmurs.

You nearly scream.  He’s maddening like this, in complete control while you feel ready to fall apart at the slightest provocation.  You look from him to the door and back to him.  

You know you have to make a decision. You can walk out that door on trembling legs with your entire body on fire or you can swallow your pride and submit to the most infuriating man you have ever met.  

He quirks that eyebrow again.

“Wait,” you say after a long, tense moment.

“For what?”

“Do it,” you whisper, barely meeting his gaze.

“Do what?”

You want to slap him for feigning ignorance but instead take a deep breath in and out before speaking again.

“Fuck me,” you say quietly into the narrow space between your bodies.

For the first time tonight you see a tell --  a tiny giveaway that Seokjin is as affected as you are by this charged encounter. The look of heat that flickers in his eyes is hypnotic. He shuts the door again and rubs his fingers across his lips before speaking.

“Fuck me, what?” 

You grit your teeth -- irritated with him, irritated with yourself for being in this position.  For not telling him off and leaving with your head held high. Your feet feel rooted to the floor.

“You are an asshole,” you whisper tersely.

“I am,” he admits in that infuriating placid tone.  “And I’m still waiting to hear you say it.”

You take a deep breath, then swallow the taste of humiliation that makes your tongue feel heavy and thick.

“Fuck me, please.”

It’s damned near painful to choke out those words and the second they escape you expect him to gloat. You expect him to dangle your submission over your head, to weaponize it and use it against you.  What you do not expect is the eerie calm when he reaches behind you again to cut the lights to his office.  

His voice is low when he leans close to your ear.

“Good girl.”

***********************

Strangers

Part 1 - Losers (S1E1)

Nathan Young x Reader  Words: 4.4k Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, drugs  Songs:  Strangers - The Kinks  Bad Reputation - Joan Jett 

“So you've been where I've just come From the land that brings losers on”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Ao3

--

    As bad days go, you’re having a pretty horrible one when you arrive at the Wertham Community Center. It’s the first of many to come, part of the court-mandated service that goes along with your ASBO. Your dad keeps telling you that you’re lucky the judge had been so lenient and should be grateful that he’s allowing you to stay with him and your stepmum again– even though you have no one to stay with and nowhere else to go. And he’s your dad. “In the future,” you tell him while getting out of the car, “I think I’ll walk.” 

     Striding through the frosted glass of the front doors, you continue on to the locker rooms to change into the orange jumpsuits you find waiting for you. You choose a locker on the far wall and dump your stuff there. You decide to leave your t-shirt on underneath, zipping the suit up most, but not all, of the way. Finished, you lean back to take a look at your designated companions for the 200 hours to be dispersed across the next few months. One girl has chosen her locker to be in front of the mirror. Her hair is short, curly, and pinned back on the side to form some cute bangs-like fringe. You notice an ankle monitor adorning her lower leg as she strips down to a pink lace pushup bra and panties and steps into her jumpsuit, rolling up the sleeves and bottom cuffs and adding a gold belt around her waist to complete the ensemble. The color of her earrings and bangle bracelets– both large, round, pink, and plastic– match her underwear. She steps back to take a look at herself and smiles. Another girl brushes her hair back into a high and tight ponytail. She looks curvier than the first girl, but just as confident, pairing smoky black eye makeup with shiny, pale pink lip gloss and gold hoop earrings. The guy who’d taken a locker near yours fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and sticks it between his lips. He looks equal parts cute and odd, tall and lanky with a mop unruly, curly hair framing his face. He wears a red and black checkered shirt and an air of swaggering cockiness radiates from him with a pungency usually reserved for uncommonly offensive odors. He smirks at you slyly. The guy with the locker across from the two girls looks vaguely familiar to you. He has two gold chains, one with a cross, and a grey tank top. His jumpsuit is only zipped up halfway, with the arms tied around his waist. He looks remarkably fit, and, not having much of an affinity for sports, you wonder where you recognize him from. The last person you see in the locker room is shadowy and reserved. His hair is short and neatly combed and his jumpsuit is buttoned up all the way to the very last button. He holds a small, black camera phone in his hand and shifts his gaze between people nervously. As you start to file out, one last person stomps in front of you, looking you up and down as he nearly bowls you over. You grimace as he winks. The first thing you notice about him is the immaculate green flat-brimmed baseball cap. You suspect that this hat and others like it are a large part of his personality. Once you’re all together, a man introducing himself as your probation worker, Tony, leads you outside and has you line up against some railing as he gives what you believe is supposed to be a rousing speech. From left to right is Curtis, Gary, Nathan, you, Kelly, Alisha, and Simon. You would learn their names later, but for the purposes of clarity, we’ll start using them now. Tony paces before you, attempting to assume the macho, fear-inducing demeanor of a boot camp officer. “This is it,” he barks. “This is your chance to do something positive. Give something back. You can help people, you can really make a difference to people’s lives. That’s what community service is all about. There are people out there who think you’re scum. You have an opportunity to show them they’re wrong.” He has the tone of someone who has given this speech before and is just barely holding onto their faith in its underlying message. The girl to your left, Kelly, looks mildly offended at the word “scum,” as if Tony had been speaking directly to her. “Yeah, but what if they’re right?” Nathan interrupts on your right. He looks around at the rest of you, “No offense, but I’m thinking some people are just born criminals.” You smile to yourself and try to hold back a chuckle as a look of anger flashes over suspected-douchebag-Gary’s eyes and he bursts out with “Are you looking to get stabbed?” “You see my point there?” Nathan asks, turning back to Tony. A phone rings and Alisha answers with a casual “Hey,” while twirling a curl between her manicured fingers. Tony tries to continue, but he’s becoming increasingly exasperated. “Doesn’t matter what you’ve done in the past-” “Doin’ my community service,” Alisha speaks to her phone. “Hey!” He tries and fails to catch her attention. “Boring as fuck,” she continues. It was getting harder not to laugh and you glance at Nathan out of the corner of your eye, amused at the part he had to play in the deterioration of Tony’s speech. “Excuse me!” He tries again. “Hello, I’m still talking here.” “What, I thought you’d finished?” She didn’t care, evidently. “You see my lips still moving, that means I’m still talking.” He tries to assert something akin to authority but clearly doesn’t realize how poorly that approach tends to work on rag-tag groups of rebellious young offenders. “Yeah, but you could have been yawning, or chewing,” Nathan points out facetiously in a drawling tone. Tony ignores him, but you are full-on laughing at this point. “End the call! Hang up!” He shouts at Alisha to no avail. “My probation worker,” she explains to the person on the other line. “You all right there, weird kid?” Nathan leans past you to point at Simon, who stood alone at the far end of your lineup. Tony fumed. “Don’t be disgusting. I’ll call you later.” She finally hangs up, looking over at Nathan, who was approaching Gary and making kissing noises at him. “I’ll rip out your throat and shit down your neck,” Gary snaps back. He looks amusingly short in comparison, you now realize. Curtis grimaces and leans away from the touchy ball of anger standing next to him. “I shouldn’t be here, man.” Kelly gapes at his arrogance as Gary starts to scuffle with Nathan, grabbing at his jumpsuit. “We need to work as a team here. Hey, that’s enough!” Tony takes a few steps forward. “Can I move to a different group? This isn’t going to work for me,” Curtis continues, even though Tony is clearly otherwise engaged. You lean back, nearly bumping into Kelly as she steps to Cutis’ indirect insults. “Um… What makes you think that you’re better than us?” “What is that accent?” Nathan comments, drawn out of his conflict by the way her “us” sounded a lot more like “oss” “Is that for real?” Curtis scoffs, rolling his eyes. “What, are you tryna’ say something or yeah?” She speaks, the latter half her sentence mostly lost due to her lack of enunciation. “Its- you- that’s just a noise! Are we supposed to be able to understand her?” Nathan exclaims. You shake your head and raise your eyebrows at their audacity and Kelly’s incoherence. She sticks her hand out and flips him off, “Do you understand that?” Things escalate again when Nathan puts an arm around a violently unwilling Gary who responds by grabbing him and preparing to punch. “Hey, pack it in!” Tony lunges forward to separate them “It’s love, man!” Nathan yells. You double over, stepping back to get out of the way. Kelly meets your gaze and smirks at the growing scene before you. Alisha laughs, a high-pitched giggle. Tony stood between them now, pulling Gary further and further away from Nathan, who assumed a boxer’s stance and put up his fists comically. “Do it man! Do it! You’re a prick, man, look at you!” Gary calls, trying to push past Tony. “What the fuck are they doin’?” You say to everyone behind you as Kelly looks between you and Alisha. Simon looks like he’d rather be elsewhere, as does Curtis, but for different reasons. Nathan had taken to punch the air, which only served to further aggravate Gary. “You’re a fuckin’ pussy, bruv! He’s takin’ the piss, come here!” Cue the intro music. --     Tony eventually diffuses the conflict between Nathan and Gary and finally leads everyone to some benches by the lake, which you are told to paint white. Paint drips everywhere, from your shoes to the concrete sidewalk, but you hardly care. How different is this from the reason you were here in the first place? You were reprimanded for painting on someone else’s property and were told to instead paint on someone else’s property to pay for it, how is that supposed to work? The only difference is that the first time had been art, and this was largely pointless. They wanted to cover up the graffiti on these benches, but the new paint job would only make future acts of vandalism easier to see. You did it anyway, though, happy to peel off with Nathan and Kelly as Curtis and Alisha and Simon and Gary pair off to the benches on either side of you. You watch as Gary leans down to pick up more paint on his brush, his hat brushing dangerously close to the fresh paint before it finally touches, leaving a stark white smear on the brim. You poke Nathan’s shoulder and point as Gary notices, ripping off his hat in horror and stomping off in a huff, kicking a bucket of paint into the lake and leaving behind a violent burst of white. “Oh, man! There’s paint on my cap, this is bullshit!” “Ooh!” Alisha whistles as he walks past. Everyone turns and stares as he struggles with a shopping cart that’s in his way, kicking it at first before trying and failing to shove it into the lake as well when it simply falls in front of him, still blocking the path. “I know you,” you hear Alisha say to Curtis, perking up due to your own curiosity. “No, you don’t,” he brushes her off. “Yes, I do,” She continues, unphased. “You’re that runner guy. You screwed up big time.” That’s it. You’d seen him years ago at your secondary school’s track meets and races, and later in the news for his accomplishments and subsequent arrest. “You noticed, yeah? Thanks for reminding me.” He grew increasingly annoyed, and it was abundantly clear. Overhearing, Nathan glances up at Kelly and tries to strike up a conversation, “So I’m guessing shoplifting?” She ignores him. “No?” He was about to speak again when she cuts him off, “Don’t act like you know me, ‘cuz you don’t.” “I’m just makin’ conversation!” He motions to you and Kelly, “This is a chance to network with other young offenders. We should be swapping tips. Brainstorming!” He looks at you to continue, but you stay silent, also curious about Kelly’s infraction. You shrug and he looks back at her. “Come on, what did you do?” “This girl called me a slag so I just got into a fight,” she admits, slapping her paintbrush to the bench in annoyance. “Was this on the Jeremy Kyle show?” He jokes. “No, it was at Argos.” “Argos?” you ask, finding the store an odd place to get into fights. “You know what you should’ve done? You should have got one of them little pens and jabbed it in her eye.” He was referring to the pens for filling out the catalog cards at Argos and you smirk at the image, but Kelly just stares at him incredulously. It’s an odd thing to say to someone you barely knew. He turns to look at you, “And you? I need to know what we’re workin’ with here.” “Ah…” You glance between Nathan and Kelly before continuing, “Graffiti, mostly, and throwing a party that bugged my neighbors, breaking the peace.” You had broken the law, technically, but it was nothing compared to punching someone and getting into a fight in the middle of Argos. He raises his eyebrows curiously, “Is there a story behind it or was it just mindless vandalism?” “It was on the wall of my apartment, my landlord saw it when he went to break up a party that my friends were throwing and he said he’d report me.” “Oh, what a wanker!” Nathan exclaims. “The worst part is I lost the apartment and now I’ve gotta live with my dad and stepmum again and it’s a living nightmare.” You don’t want to exaggerate or sound like too much of a cliche, but your stepmother is one of the meanest people you have ever encountered. You could understand it to some extent, as she has two young children and you aren’t the greatest of influences. You call these siblings stepfuck and stepcunt respectively, case in point. “Well, I can sympathize with that. But at least yours is a stepmum, they’re, like, inherently kinda hot, amirite?” You glare at him and begin to understand some of Kelly’s annoyance. He redirects, turning his attention to Simon, who is now painting his bench all alone after Gary’s outburst. “What about you, weird kid? Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you look like a panty-sniffer.” He holds his hands up beside his face, mocking a disgusting sniff of some invisible panties. “I’m not a panty-sniffer,” he responds. “I’m not a pervert.” He tries to return to painting the bench, but Nathan begins walking towards him, pretending to jack off with his paintbrush still in his hand, grunting disgustingly. You sigh and roll your eyes, glancing at Kelly. He could be funny, sure, but you were quickly learning about his tendency to take things too far. Kelly shrugs at you. “I tried to burn someone’s house down,” Simon blurts out to get Nathan to stop. Everyone who’d heard snapped to attention, as arson seems considerably more serious than vandalism or a few punches. “Fire?” Nathan laughs and walks back. Kelly looks up at him, “What did you do?” You were still curious about the fire and arson, but you let the conversation move on regardless. “Me? I was done for eatin’ some pick ‘n’ mix.” “Yeah, right,” you scoff. “Bollocks,” Kelly agrees. “What is goin’ on with this weather,” Nathan muses, distracted, as thunder rolls down from overhead and you quickly noticed the growing dark storm clouds in the sky just across the lake. Huh, odd. That hadn’t been there just a few minutes ago. “How did that happen?” you hear behind you, looking around to see Tony returning, an angry look instantly plastered to his face. He points to the overturned paint can, part of Gary’s carnage, and holds his arms up in exasperation. “I mean, you’ve been here five minutes. It’s painting benches. How’d you screw that up? You tell me, because I’ve got no idea.” From out of nowhere, a giant white ball of something smashes down on the car behind Tony, completely caving in the roof and sending the car alarm blaring. Shocked, you jump back and duck amid the various screams and cries of “What the hell was that?” and “Oh, Jesus!” Nathan’s smug grin immediately falls and transforms into fear and wonderment. Alisha shrieks, crying out in a warbling tone, “What’s goin’ on?” Tony turns around slowly in disbelief and gasps, “That’s my car!” “Oh, fuck,” you mutter under your breath. But Nathan isn’t taking it as seriously. “Classic,” he chuckles, thinking it to be some sort of prank. But then another thing falls from the sky into the lake behind you, whizzing past your heads and spraying you, Nathan, and Kelly in an onslaught of lake-water. “Okay, so I’m a little bit freaked out!” he admits. “No fucking shit!” you agree. “What is that?” Alisha asks, turning your attention to the storm Nathan had pointed out just moments ago. It had grown, somehow, turning dark and dangerous as it travels at an unnervingly fast pace towards your group. Simon holds his phone up to film the storm and its effects just as another ball crashes into the dumpster beside him, knocking over the heavy, metal container and spewing ice at him as he ducks and runs from it. More and more ice falls from the sky, huge blocks larger than your head, and you don’t want to think of what could happen if one of them hit you. “Right, let’s get everyone inside,” Tony instructs as more and more of them fall all around you. “Move! Move! Run!” You sprint back to the community center at top speed, holding your head as ice shards rain down on you, pelting and stinging your face and arms. Your heart practically beats out of your chest. One ball of ice pummels into the sidewalk in front of you, breaking a concrete tile. Another falls into a phonebooth, and the glass shatters to the ground around your feet. The storm seems to get thicker as you near the center, and your hair is plastered to your face from the mixture of sweat and water that you were drenched in. You could barely hear Tony yell “Keep going!” over the crashes and booms that fill your ears as you run for your life. Curtis reaches the door first, pulling on the handles and banging on the glass before stepping back and yelling over the din to Tony, “It’s locked! Open it!” Tony groans, “Come on…” and fumbles with the keys. You throw yourself against the wall, as far away as possible from the mega hail storm, and scream, “Just fuckin’ unlock it!” “What is happening?” Kelly shrieks as another massive ball of ice falls onto the pavement beside her. “Open the door, come on!” Nathan yells as Tony grows increasingly frustrated. “I’m finding the right key!” he bellows back “Open the door!” Curtis yells again, and Alisha agreed. “Open the fucking door!” Tony whips around in a burst of anger, “Don’t speak to me like that!” You were about to berate him for his poor priorities when a bright white burst of cold lightning cracks in front of you and sends you flying backward in a chorus of screams. Time slows as you fly through the air and the electricity transforms from a chilling shock to a burning flare, searing and snaking through you as you soar and tumble backward onto the hard pavement. You hit the ground with a sickening thud, from which groans and cries of pain follow. A few remaining snowballs hit the ground around you, but the storm appears to have passed. “I feel really weird,” you hear Kelly say. Your vision is still black, which has you worried until you realize it’s only because your eyes are still closed. You open them and sit up, rubbing the back of your head, which is still screaming in pain. “That’ll be the lightning,” Curtis says to try and explain what just happened. “We should be dead,” Simon points out. “Well, that’s comforting,” you snap back. “A little reassurance might be nice, you know,” Nathan agrees, instead directing his comment to Tony, who is sprawled before the door of the center and has just started to sit up. “‘You’re fine!’ ‘Looking good!’” he elaborates. “Wanker…” Tony groans, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Did he just call me a wanker?” Nathan asks, indignantly glancing at you and everyone else. He snaps his fingers at Tony, “Hey? Hello?” You see a quick look of anger flash across Tony’s face before he grumbles, “Is everyone alright?” “We could have died, you dick,” Alisha adds. “Are you alright?” Kelly asks tentatively as Tony shakes his head and coughs out a growl. “You’re actin’ like a freak.” He ignores her, “Maybe we should call it a day.” --     Tony finally manages to unlock the door, and you return to the locker rooms to gather your things. You feel like you should be annoyed, leaving early only means you’ll have to spend another day here, but you are too exhausted to feel anything. That was probably the closest you’d ever been to death. You can still feel your heart beating, a deep, steady drumbeat, and your lungs ache from the running and adrenaline. Beside you, Nathan closes his locker and leans against it before turning to you, “Do you think we’ll stick together now, bonded by our shared experiences?” “Dunno. I’d rather spend as little time here as possible,” you explain, closing your locker and stepping away to put on your hoodie. “Oh, you’re one of those types, are you?” Nathan smiles. “What type?” You glare at him. “The I’m-too-cool-for-this type.” “No, that’s Curtis,” you quip, knowing that he’d already left the room. “I just happen to not like community service.” Or any of these morons, all the other girls are total slags. “Hey!” Kelly snaps, swinging around to glare at you suddenly. “Oookay?” You turn away awkwardly and leave, you can’t imagine anything you’d said having offended her. Maybe she just really loves community service or something, but that is decidedly not the impression you’ve gotten from her so far. You walk out to the waiting area by the vending machines, where you find Curtis and Simon standing around in heavy silence. Nathan follows after you moments later. “Do we just go, then?” Curtis asks, clearly annoyed. “Where’s the probation worker?” “I think there’s something wrong with him,” Simon speaks up. “It’s like he was having a spasm.” “He was probably just faking it, trying to get some compensation. Cheap bastard,” Nathan scoffs. “I don’t think he was faking it,” Simon insists, looking back down at his phone. “And you know all about being… mental.” Nathan takes a few steps forward as he talks, leering at Simon and lowering his voice. Then he pretends to convulse and yells “Wanker!” You punch him in the shoulder. “Ow, what the hell was that for?” He sticks his head out at you almost comically. You stick your head out back at him. “Stop being such a prick, he might have a point.” Alisha walks in, already looking bored. “Are we waiting for something?” “Probation worker,” Curtis explains. She scrunches up her face in disgust. “I’m not hanging around for that dickhead.” She turns on her heel and leaves, which everyone else seems to take as their cue to leave as well. You can’t be bothered to be the only one waiting around, so you follow suit. Once outside, everyone pretty much goes their separate ways. Nathan, however, trots after you. “What’re you doin’?” You ask. “Thought you looked a little lonely, and, well, I’d like to recommend my own company as recompense.” He motions to himself like he’s all that, which honestly has you snorting to hold back your laughter. “You can’t be serious.” You raise your eyebrows. “Fine, I happen to live along this way, alright? I’m Nathan, by the way.” “Y/n.” You smile at him. “And I’ll have you know that to date, I haven’t had a single complaint.” He says it like you should be impressed or something. “Can’t have complaints if you haven’t been with anybody,” you joke, smirking. His jaw drops in mock surprise, “Oy! I have, too!” He keeps trying to impress upon you the depth of his sexual prowess, offering many stories as proof, all of which have you in stitches. He peels off when you were about halfway home. You say your goodbyes and wave as he walks away, grateful for the company. A few houses down from your own, though, you stop walking, contemplating what to do next. Home doesn’t seem like a particularly fun place to be right now, but it’s not like you have anywhere else to go. It’s still the early afternoon, so it would probably be only your stepmum at home, with your dad at work and your step siblings at school. It’s practically a worst-case scenario, as you doubt she would believe that they let you go early. You wish this day had gone differently. As you’re musing and trying to work up the courage to walk the thirty or so meters left to your front door, the skies begin to darken. You look up to see if a cloud had rolled in overhead, not exactly trusting the weather as of late, but as soon as you do so, it disappears and the sky goes back to normal. You think nothing of it, which is probably a poor choice on your part, but you are too burned out to care. You finally reach the front door, closing it gingerly behind you, but to no avail. “Y/n? Is that you?” You hear from the other room. “Yup.” You stand in the doorway to the kitchen, knowing you need to address this, but desperately wanting to leave. “They let us go early today.” She eyes you quizzically, “Really?” Now here’s the thing, the truth isn’t even remotely believable– There was a freak hail storm and everyone in our group got hit by lightning or something but now we’re all okay and our probation officer did too, he let us go early and then disappeared– so you have to lie. “Yeah, ‘cuz it’s the first day. They mostly showed us the ropes, got us started on something, and then let us go.” You wait, holding your breath. “Oh.” She looks disappointed. “I thought you’d be out today.” “Yeah, well I did, too,” you mumble as you walk away, not really caring whether or not she heard. “What’d you say?!” she calls after you. “Nothing!” you yell back as you walk as quickly as possible to your room. Once inside, you sigh and collapse onto your bed. You feel like a teenager again and it’s horrible, being forced to be somewhere where you’re treated like immature crap every day, living at home again, constantly having a row with your stepmum. You hope, but doubt, that the next day will be better.

Breakfast

Ch. 4, Mi Cielo

18+, violence, smoking, canon timeline, 2.2k words

*****I GOT IMPATIENT AND DECIDED TO PUBLISH THIS CHAPTER. A GLINT OF BESKAR WILL BE UP TONIGHT*****

The neighborhood is quiet when you arrive and Carillo sends two of his guys ahead in order to clear out any guards. You follow behind him and Javi covers your six. A short one steps out from the alcove, immediately holding his hands up and dropping to his knees for one of the officers while the other moves forward, stabbing the other guard in the chest before surging up the stairs. Carillo motions for the two of you to follow, all three guns constantly sweeping your surroundings. A blue light glows from the store sign across the street, lighting the first floor up with the bizarrely bright hue. The three of you keep moving towards the sound of chatter upstairs, Carillo’s hand on his officer’s shoulder and Javi’s hand on yours. The shooting starts quicker than you expected as a guy lifts his rifle on the stairs, Carillo taking him down in one shot. The officer kicks open the door on the landing and all hell breaks loose.

They take down two guys each and you drop to your knee, aiming around Carillo to take down two more as Javi shoots a guy in the head. Once all of them are down, you glance over to see him tucking his gun into his pants and stripping his vest off. You didn’t even notice the woman lying in the corner on a dingy mattress. He kicks the bastard away from her before covering her up and whispering something to her as Carillo gives you a hand to your feet, nodding to you. The officer does a final sweep of the apartment before heading back downstairs.

“Javi is she alive?”

He nods towards you as he cups her face, “Helena… te voy a sacar de aqui, ¿si? Te lo prometo.” She cries as he picks her up, holding her to his chest. You move out of the way for him before following them down the steps. Behind you, you hear Carillo yell down to the street, warning that she’s coming outside. A gunshot echoes a second later.

-------------------------

When Steve arrives at la tienda, he’s pissed and honestly he has the right to be. You and Carillo look at him and then each other between sips of beer while he beelines towards Javi, “How is she?”

Javi sighs, “Sedated.”

“She going to be okay?”

Javi takes a drag and you answer for him in a hushed voice, “Physically she’ll be fine.

Mentally… fuck man.”

“I haven’t got a fucking clue, Murphy.” Steve watches Javi before blowing smoke out his nose.

“You fucking left me behind on purpose didn’t you? Both of you,” he glares at you and you stare back at him, unflinching. Javi starts to protest but he cuts him off. “If we’re gonna be partners, I don’t get left behind. I didn’t come all the way down here Peña to sit on the fucking sidelines. Fuck, Lucio just got here too and she’s already being shown an ounce of respect.” They stare at each other in some sort of silent pissing match before Steve turns back to you and Carillo, who’s sipping that damn beer. In any other situation, his silence would be comical. “Whatever’s going on here... I’m all in. Is that understood?”

Javi blows smoke in his face, about to give a retort but you stop him. “Si, gringo. But you’ve really got to work on your fucking Spanish okay?” He glares down at you but Carillo chuckles next to you which makes you smirk. Javi just broods some more.

Finally he hands him a beer, sighing, “I hope you know what that means Steve.” You down the rest of your beer as Javi comes to stand next to you, letting his hand rest on your shoulder lightly. Carillo notices the movement but doesn’t say anything. Even though the guy is rough around the edges, he’s growing on you by the minute. The flashing lights of the ambulance streak away finally, and the store owner brings out another round of beers for the four of you. No one says anything after that, and Steve finally steps away to call Connie to let her know he’s fine and would see her tomorrow. Glancing down at your watch, you realize how late, or early, it actually is and you feel the tiredness take over your body.

Excusing yourself, you go over to the jeep and climb in the back seat, letting your head fall back. You vaguely hear someone join you and feel the jeep rock when he climbs in. “¿Qué quieres?”

“Are you okay?” Javi’s voice is gravelly, which is a weird sound when you’re used to it being so rich and smooth. You turn your head, blinking at him in the low light.

“You’re asking me if I’m okay? I’m fine. Are you?” You turn so your back is leaning against the door and you’re angled towards him. You can see Steve through the driver’s side window, still leaning against the pay phone box.

“I don’t know,” he swipes his hand over his face in his signature motion.

“Was she just an informant?” In the back of your mind, you hate yourself for even asking but you can’t help it.

“Si, hermosa. But she didn’t deserve that, no one deserves that.” He sighs heavily, his shoulders dropping under the weight of the past few hours.

“I know Javier,” you lightly grasp his hand that's on the back of the seat, squeezing it as Carillo gets in the front, quickly followed by Steve. As the engine starts up, you close your eyes against the small vibration running through the frame. If everyday was going to be like this, you were in for a hell of a ride.

-------------------------

“Lucio, wake your ass up,” Steve isn’t as nice as Javi when it comes to waking you up between transportation modes, but you blink your eyes open to the early daylight, groaning at the brightness. The heat is already stifling and your shirt clings to your back with sweat.

“Headquarters?” Hanging the headset up, you hop out of the chopper and jog across to Javi’s jeep. He’s already inside and smoking.

“No, we’re going to the apartments first. Get cleaned up and then we’ll go in,” you nod at him as you climb in the back, throwing your jacket in before you. Steve clambers into the front, all limbs and no coordination.

“How the hell did you ever become an agent when you walk around like a baby giraffe?”

“Would you shut the fuck up, it’s seven in the morning.”

“Would both of you shut the fuck up until I have at least one cup of coffee?” Javi smiles at you through the mirror and you laugh. At least he seemed to be in better spirits now that it was daylight.

As soon as you parked in front of the apartments, Steve was bolting up the steps and calling back to you that he’d see you at the office. Something about him beating you both there and putting up a board. You ignore him and the dark haired one beside you as you pad towards your door and unlock it.

“I’ll make some coffee and breakfast… if you want,” Javi pauses at his door, his keys dangling in his hand. You smile at him, suddenly aware of the shyness he still possesses around you after all those years.

“Let me shower and then I’ll come over, huh?” He nods and fumbles with his keys as you enter your apartment and shut the door. The blackout curtains do a hell of a job at keeping the light out, and you make a mental note to enjoy that on your next day off. Digging through your bag, and then a box in your bedroom, you finally find some semblance of a casual but professional outfit. Kicking off your boots, you hurry towards the shower, ready to get the grime off of you and wash your hair. You hum some random song you heard on the radio, and by the time you get out and get dressed, your wet hair leaving little tiger stripes on your shirt, you can smell the bacon from down the hall. Tucking your button up shirt into your jeans, you apply mascara and brush your teeth, followed by your hair. You don’t bother with perfume, but you haphazardly throw your deodorant into your purse before pulling your boots back on. You give your hair one last squeeze with the towel before locking up and heading back down the hall. Knocking, you push the door open and find a sight you thought you may never see again: Javier Peña standing over a stove, shirtless and in jeans, with wet hair and a hand towel draped over his shoulder while he cooks. You whistle slowly, letting him know you’ve intruded, “Smells wonderful.”

He smiles at you and pushes a cup of black coffee towards you, “Drink up.” You take it before exploring his apartment. It’s a little bit bigger than yours, and there’s art on the walls. Looking around, you spot his bookcase and curiously thumb over the titles, mumbling to yourself. Eventually, you feel his eyes on you and you turn to catch him leaning against the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, “Thank you.”

“Why?” Pushing past him into his kitchen, you grab at the bacon. It’s soft and flimsy in your fingers, just like you like it. Half of the pieces are crunchy, since he likes his crispy as hell.

In regular Javi fashion, he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. His shoulders are tense and the muscles strain with every movement, you can’t help but stare. “Helping find Helena.”

“I didn’t do anything, Javier,” you set your coffee down and dish up the food he’s made onto the plates you find in a cabinet. Sliding one onto the bar, you motion for him to sit while you search for the forks. He watches you, but obeys and waits patiently, knowing it’ll annoy you more if he helps. Finally, you hand him a fork and hop up on the kitchen counter on the other side of the bar, between the sink and entrance way wall. You lean up against it so that you can face him and cross a leg under you before starting in on the eggs.

“You helped, and you didn’t question me or get angry at me,” he says softly. His brown eyes search yours before looking away.

“Why would I have gotten angry at you?” It’s a genuine question and you’re confused to say the least. When he doesn’t answer right away, it dawns on you, quietly you ask, “She’s the girl, huh? She’s always been an informant?”

“I wanted to tell you, but I knew it wasn’t going to make a difference then. We were already fighting constantly, I’d already fucked up by moving here. Hell, I’d fucked up back in Texas too.” He bites his lip and rests his forehead against his fist, his other hand grasping his mug.

“Javier, eat,” you point towards his food and he sighs, picking up the fork and shoving eggs into his mouth. “No, no habría. It needed to happen.” You sip your coffee, a weight slowly lifting off your chest at admitting that.

“You wanted it to happen?” His brow furrows as he looks across at you, the hurt in his eyes making them almost black. You sniff, suddenly aware that what you said wasn’t how you meant to say it. Sliding your almost empty plate away, you hop off the counter and walk around to him, making him turn the barstool to face you. You can see the anger crossing his face, but he’s trying to stop it.

“Oh, Javi, no. That’s not what I meant. It needed to happen for us to figure some shit out. We weren’t good for eachother. We both acted so stupid on that last case, we let our fights come between us and it almost got people killed. That can’t happen here, it won’t.” He nods as you cup his face, pleading with him to look at you, “Javier, this is a fucking warzone but we have another chance to fix whatever the fuck this.”

The anger immediately disappears from his face, his lips parting as he sharply breathes in. He grasps your hips and pulls you between his legs before kissing your forehead, “Hermosa, it’s fucked up down here. I wish I could make you go back, you stubborn woman.”

You pull away to look at his face, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone, “Javi, I accepted this job because I’m here to take down a monster. Whatever else comes out of it is a bonus. This is our last chance, because this is truly life or death. If we fuck up, we fuck up everything. You have to know that before you agree to whatever… whatever it is we agree to, I guess.”

“Y/n, us. I agree to us. Stop calling it whatever. It’s us.” He pauses and glances at your lips before closing the distance, your lips parting for him as your tongues dance against each other. In that single collision, it simultaneously feels as if nothing and everything all at once has changed.

Breaking through it pt 1

(this is a kiribaku Martial arts AU with trans kirishima. I do not own any canon bnha characters or the show)

Kirishima was excited yet nervous at the same time, he was finally getting back into martial arts again. Kirishima or Ijima was his first name, Kirishima hated his first name. Being transgender, his mother did not accept this at all and practically ignored, and forced her own ideas and visions of Ijima onto him. The only compromise was Kirishima didn't have to be called by his first name by other people. 

Riding in the back seat sitting next to Mina who was happy for him. "So Kiri you excited to continue MA again hun?" Asked Mrs Ashido who was in the driver's seat, Kirishima nods with a wide smile. "I really am, thank you so much Mrs Ashido." "You're welcome honey" Mrs Ashido worked near by the martial arts place, at a coffee shop a few steps away.

Mrs Kirishima Ito, huffed and fussed, crossing her arms and legs. Making Mina and Kirishima roll their eyes before the woman started up again. "Are you sure you want to do this Ij? Why can't you just go back to the other place?" "Because I'm not wasting my time to be harassed by women who I don't trust, hurt me on purpose, and are just toxic in general." He stated firmly not wanting to add detail since he knew that he didn't want to continue the conversation. "Well you are a young women, they're the same age as you and they were just messing with you." When they arrived Mrs Ashido heads to her own work while Mina, Ito and Kirishima head into the martial arts studio. Kirishima had a bag that held his brown belt, water bottle, phone, and anything else he'd need. Walking inside all Ito sees are boys on the mat, wrestling around, doing forms, punching and kicking and just doing their work they were obviously younger while the older boys were on the side stretching. "Ij I don't like this" Kirishima ignored her and looked around curiously until a tall blond with a black gi and a black belt was in view. "Ah she must be a teacher" Ito smiles while approaching the person, tapping them from behind. "excuse me ma'am-" She froze when they turned around, seeing the small mustache they had on. "Ah hello Ma'am" "o-oh s-sorry sir, are you the teacher?" Obviously embarrassed of herself for mis-gendering the person who could potentially be her daughter's teacher. "Well I am one of them yes, also don't worry I've been called ma'am before. I do not care what pronouns my students or parents use." Confused Ito blinked but just spoke again.

 "Well my daughter is new here, I don't know who I spoke to over the phone but I'm Mrs Kirishima." "Ah I believe we spoke on the phone, yes I'm Hizashi Yamada."  They shook hands with sweet smiles, then Ito looks to Ijima and gestures him to come over. Ijima quickly comes over "Hello" "Hi-" "this is my daughter Ijima Kirishima, but. she likes to be called her last name for some reason?" Hizashi got a strange vibe from the woman but pushed it aside to remain professional. 

"Ah alright, so you've done martial arts before?" "y-yes sir" Nods Kirishima who tells Hizashi that he has his belt and what he'd previously trained on. Hizashi's sixth sense was turning on as he noticed how Kirishima acted around Ito so he wanted to try something. "Mrs Kirishima, I would like to talk to your child so I can know what skills they'd need to be caught up on, and what they're comfortable with as a martial artist so i know how we can merge them into the class. I also need to get them a uniform." Ito was about to protest but Mina took her away to the lobby area. Leaving Ijima and Hizashi alone to talk. With a huff Hizashi looks down at a timid Ijima "Kiddo, would you like to explain why you switched studios?" Kirishima bites his lip and softly spoke up. "i-I w-went to an all girl's martial arts place and I didn't connect with them very well. The girls bullied me and were just toxic and I couldn't do it..I didn't feel like I could be myself there at all." Nodding Hizashi puts a hand on his shoulder "I know how you feel bud." With a raised brow Hizashi only chuckled at the younger's expression. "I'm genderfluid I'm also pansexual, and I was never comfortable with myself and those who I was forced to interact with because I couldn't be myself...Now that I'm here I don't have to worry about it as much. I go as Mic Sensei since its a genderfluid nickname I'd come up with...now what are your preferred pronouns?"

Kirishima was honestly surprised to meet a teacher who was like him in a way. He hesitantly answered in case his mother could hear. "H-he/him, but can go by they/them as well. I haven't really given myself a name I want so i just go by my last name." "ah alright, well-" Hizashi smiles as he hears the door open and a small yawn. "Good he's here, just in time." Hizashi mutters, Ijima looked perplexed then turning to see a tall male. With ash blonde hair that resembled a Pomeranian's hair style, he had ruby red eyes that matched Kirishima's, he had nonchalant look on his face while he sipped on his coffee. "Oi Katsuki!" Called out Mic Sensei, looking over, the ash blonde raised a brow setting down his coffee. Mic Sensei gestured for him to over which he did, arms folded and bag slung over his shoulder. "Yes sensei?" "Katsuki this is Kirishima, they're a new student who transferred from a different studio. Kirishima this is Bakugou Katsuki. I figured that since i knew you'd come and you seem like a good guy, that you'd be able to mentor Kirishima." Katsuki peered down at Kirishima who was being a bit shy, Katsuki did has casual. "Tch, sure thing Sensei, want me to get him a uniform?" "Great and yes, also show Kirishima to the changing room after he finds a cubby to put his shoes and bag in." With this, Katsuki turns to go towards the cubbies which allows Kirishima to follow.

Taking out his brown belt and slipping off his shoes and socks, Ito comes over before they can go. "Ij who is this?" Kirishima jumped a little and stuttered "m-my mentor" Ito just had a look of worry "why is your mentor a boy?" Katsuki sneered and grumbled "why does is matter? Martial arts is a mix gendered sport, don't get any ideas." He says while grabbing Kirishima by the wrist and then taking him away from Ito and to a cabinet to get a uniform. Taking him to the changing area after finding a black gi with red sleeve and black pants. Ijima take the uniform and goes into the changing room. Taking off his shorts and leaving on his top, that was just a tank top that hid his bust held by a sports bra, and his hips that were covered by bandage like ribbons. Ijima was self-conscious about his body and his dysphoria was awful at times so he used doubling up on sports bras and tying up his curves to make himself feel better. So when he put the gi on, it felt just right. It was big enough to hide his chest making it flat, and the belt made it even better as did the pants. Coming out while tying some of his hair up so it was out of the way. Bakugou looks to Kirishima while leaning against the wall, he stood up all and motioned him over. "Come on lets go, our class is next." Bowing onto the mat the just as other students came on. 

They were soon called to gather up at the front, line up by belt rank and stand at attention. Kirishima rushed to his spot in line and followed suit, then the main teacher Shota Aizawa came onto the mat with his partner Hizashi not far behind. Mr Aizawa took front and center; "Good morning students, now lets bow in and we'll get this going...Attention. bow. face the flags..meditation." the students followed his commands quietly, kirishima did his best to copy. It was ten seconds before they were permitted to leave their meditation stance. "Alright, I've been told that we have a new student." Kirishima shyly raised his hand, he was then beckoned forwards by Mic Sensei saying "step forwards lil listener" he was then given permission to introduce himself. "I-I'm Ijima Kirishima but would prefer to be called Kirishima instead of Ijima." "I see you already have your brown belt Kirishima, so you have experience prior to coming here I take it?" "y-yes sir, I went to a different place but because I didn't enjoy it I took a break and decided to come here." "Well then Kirishima welcome to UA black belt academy or some just say UA academy.. Now that we've got introductions out of the way, five laps behind Tenya please." The group chants "yes sir" before taking off while Hizashi and Shota talk about their plans to teach class. When their laps were finished the students were asked to stretch out together while Hizashi walked around. The duo came up with the conclusion to ask the students what they'd like to work on see what they could work into class for them. Right now Bakugou was stretching with Kirishima who was practically in the splits. "jeez Kirishima you're really flexible" Complimented Midoriya "Thank you, I've been working on my upper body while my lower seemed more natural." Kirishima moved over and does a press hand stand into a scorpion like position which had the class staring. "Dang Kirishima I thought we were stretching?" Chuckled Kaminari, Kirishima blushed "This stretches my back out for me." Bakugou couldn't help but stare either even as the other came down and stretched out some more till. Mic Sensei came over with a wide smile "so lil listeners what do you think we should do today?" Quickly Denki blurts out "Mits Mits!" "oh alright you guys haven't done that in a while. Anything else?" Uraraka raised her hand "yes?" "conditioning?" "ooh that'd be great would you also like to do grappling and sparring?" The group nods at the suggestion of their assistant teacher, Kirishima seemed curious at to what the plans were. "Alright I will tell Mr Aizawa, why don't you kiddos get your gloves on." Standing up they respond with a 'yes sensei' and scurry off. Kirishima goes over to his bag after bowing off his mom comes over while he's looking for his gloves. "Ij what are you guys doing?" "uh I believe something like boxing I guess, uh I don't know what conditioning is, but we're sparring and grappling?" "w-wait what's grappling?" "Its like sparring but a little more close and in your face and on the ground." 

Kirishima couldn't find them, and just frowned. "Oi" Kirishima looked up to see Bakugou holding out a pair or orange and black MMA mits. "here you can barrow my spares" blushing Kirishima gratefully took them with a stupid smile on his face. "thank you B-Bakugou" "yeah whatever, come on I'll help you out when we line up." Before Ito can question anything, Bakugou takes Ijima to the group that was split into two groups. Sensei mic had Izuku, Ochako, and Denki while Mr Aizawa had Tenya, Hitoshi, Tsu, Shoto, and Hanta. 

"Katsuki and Kirishima you two will be in my line." Informed the long haired blond who had on big black and white mits that looked like Panda paws. Hurrying over to Hizashi's line, Bakugou was in front of Kirishima. Watching from where he stood, Kirishima looked amazed at how fast and how hard they were hitting the thick mits the teachers wear. When it was Bakugou's turn Hizashi tells Bakugou to slow down so Kirishima can see it better. "This is the back fist pattern watch carefully bud." Earning a nod in acknowledgement Bakugou started the pattern. After Bakugou finished it was kirishima's turn, he got in his fighting stance and tried the pattern with the help of Bakugou. "Back fist, punch, parry.."Kirishima did as the mentor said and waited for the next set of instructions. "Back fist, check-" "wait sorry what's a check?" Kirishima was a bit happy that his instructor and mentor was patient but was nervous that he'd just asked a stupid question. "A check is basically a block to protect your head, your temple." Sensei Mic explained showing Kirishima what it looks like, which the red haired one copied. Which led to Mic sending a decent  haymaker which was blocked by the check move Kirishima was doing. "Good, we'll add more later, head to the back for me." Kirishima moves out of the way so Izuku can go next. Kirishima was proud of himself for getting his first pattern down, he also like that Sensei mice wasn't hitting so soft. After the mits Mr Aizawa told the kids to get a drink and prepare to do some grappling. Kirishima was about to return the mits to Bakugou until Bakugou tells him "you'll need them the rest of the day trust me" "Ah okay thank you Bakugou" Kirishima went over to drink from his water bottle. "How ya liking it Kiri?" Asked mina "I love it, they seem pretty nice. I've done grappling before at the other place but, I wouldn't call it grappling." Kirishima's eyes sparkled with joy as he looked down at the gloves he wore. It made his hand feel bigger even though they were smaller, he had longer fingers than Bakugou. Coming back onto the mat the teachers started pairing them up.

"Ochako and Asui, Izuku and Shoto, and Iida and Hitoshi. You will be out first rounds while the others can stretch, you will be shuffled around so don't get comfortable with your partners. If you aren't grappling or sparring for the time being you will be doing conditioning or extra stretching with your partner. So that leaves Kirishima, Katsuki, Hanta, and Denki." So the groups did what they were instructed, Bakugou looked to Kirishima. "Do you know what 'conditioning' is?" Kirishima shook his head so Bakugou went on to explain. "Conditioning is basically teaching you to take a hit, and not be a darn drama queen about." "ah that sounds cool" "So lets get started then, stand in your fighting stance but put your hands over your head and stand tall." Kirishima does as told not exactly knowing that he was in a good view for his mother to see. Bakugou delivered a good round house to his stomach, it wasn't meant to cause any really devastating pain only to toughen him up. It did make Kirishima grunt and grimace and had Ito yelling across the mat. "What the heck are you doing why are you kicking my daughter!?!!" Kirishima was blushing furiously while his mother went off on Bakugou. "Mom I'm fine-" "Boys should not be hitting girls what the heck is wrong with you!?!!" This was more directed to the now irritated blond who just furrowed his brows and folded his arms over his chest. The yelling attracted lots of attention, so Mr Aizawa came over to settle the frantic mother who was trying to tug Kirishima away from Bakugou. 

"Ma'am is there a problem?" Started Shota, yanking Ijima into her arms Ito nods "Yes there is, why is my daughter's mentor a boy and why is he hitting her?" Aizawa huffed and explained it to her "Martial arts is a mix gendered sport, Katsuki over here is experienced and has good control when it comes to his technique. The fact that he's a male doesn't deter anything. Although martial arts is a mix gendered sports it is male dominated but we do have other girls and women here. I take it that Sensei Mic knew Katsuki's skills would be good for your child to learn from. The two are doing a thing called condition which will give Kirishima experience in how to react when being hit. It teaches them how to react and to toughen up a little. I believe that Katsuki knows his limits and would never purposely hurt Kirishima." "I..I just don't feel comfortable with this, why can't any of the other girls train with her?" Her voice was almost like a whining child, it annoyed the raven haired male but he didn't express that. "Because they are not the same rank, Kirishima will be able to train with them of course this is only temporary. I understand your concern on boys hitting girls but, boys hit girls outside in the real world. Girls hit boys in the real world. We are here to teach the students how to protect themselves and others, how to react to such scenarios, and how to pass on from them. We are teaching them real life skills and what real life will be like. Real life is not girls getting special treatment just because they are girls that is not how its going to work here." Kirishima manages to slip from his mother's grip and quietly, Bakugou asked 

"you okay?" "Yes just wasn't used to being hit like that, sorry." Mr Aizawa and Mina were able to calm Ito down, she just pouted and marched back to her seat. Folding her arms over her chest and then she went on her phone. So with that both Kirishima and Bakugou went back to conditioning and were soon sparring. Which was something Kirishima seemed to be pretty good at. He had a great amount of flexibility which allowed him to easily place high kicks, though since he was shorter than Bakugou it was a little hard to get close. When they were given a small break, Mr Aizawa gave the students pointers. "If you are shorter than your opponent, get in close. You want to try and cut them off. If the taller one is cut off you have the advantage to do as you please with in the sport's legality. Remember stay light on your feet and do not stay in one place that makes you an easy target no matter your size. Also never drop your hands that's just letting your opponent win. Got it, any questions?" The students were quiet and only shook their heads no, Mr Aizawa then went over the positives. "You all have good forms and great technique which I'm proud of, you're all taking your hits well too. Keep it up and try out the critiques." After speaking those words, Hizashi smiles to his partner patting him on the shoulder as a way of quiet encouragement. Finally practice was coming to an end, after grappling the teachers gave their students another stretch break to allow their bodies a cool down. Which certainly did help and felt really good for Kirishima, today was rough but honestly he liked it apart from his mother's input. Bowing out, Kirishima came over to a certain red eyed blonde who was packing his bag. Tapping his shoulder he bowed, holding out the gloves Bakugou had let him barrow. "Thank you for your help Bakugou, also thank you for the gloves." Bakugou couldn't help but blush and said in a low tone "you don't have to bow to me dude." This had both of them blushing but more so Kirishima who now felt embarrassed "S-sorry force of habit I guess" Bakugou took his gloves with a "you're welcome, also what days will you be coming in?" "Uh I honestly don't know, I'll pick up a schedule and see." Bakugou then got out his phone "well let me have your number" this with out much context only made them both flustered, Bakugou realized his mistake when he noticed the confusion on Ijima's face.

"S-so I can know whether we're in the same class or whatever" He finished while awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, Kirishima nods and goes to grab his phone from his bag. The two soon trade numbers and now Ijima is off to thank his instructors. Approaching the long haired couple who were cleaning up he bowed. "thank you both so much, I enjoyed class so much" Both smile to the student; "You're quite welcome Kirishima, we're glad you liked your first day here." started Sensei Mic, while Aizawa's stern face softened to his new student. "We hope you're able to continue to train here." With that, Kirishima went over to put on his shoes and grab his bag, he looks to Mina and Ito. "I'm ready to go" Mina smiles looking up at him Ito sighed "alright then lets go"

Success is the Best Kind of Revenge: Ch 2

The whole classroom is sitting there in shock as Marinette, Chloe, Alix, and Juleka leave the room. Juleka’s mom follows them out, giving a smile to the Superintendent.  

Alya was still pale after being told she was now the Class Representative. She’d seen the piles of paperwork Marinette had to complete. None of it was quick or easy.  

The silence in the rooms holds until the door shuts behind them and then the yelling starts.  

“How could she have lied so well!” Rose is crying once more, thick tear trails soaking the tissue Marinette had given her earlier. Rose’s mother pulls her in for a small hug.  

“We collected money for her!” Myléne’s eyes are wide. “We collected money for her charities!”  

Kim raises an eyebrow. “How’s that a bad thing?”  

“Because it’s charity fraud.” Ivan’s voice is heard throughout the room, despite the fact that he wasn’t yelling. “We collected money for a charity that doesn’t exist. It’s illegal.”  

“We,” Myléne cuts off with a sniff. “We could have gone to jail. We almost went to jail over break.”  

Kim looks away with a grimace. “I went through something similar. Lila gave me this stuff, she said it would help with my swimming. She told me her olympic friend recommended it. You know, like organic stuff. Turns out it was steroids. They found out at my last surprise drug test before winter break. All my Universities pulled out and I got kicked off the swim team this morning.”  

Kim’s Mom blinks and then she lets her face fall into her hands. “You took pills from a classmate, without asking what was in them!”  

His father groans. “Well, this explains how you got those pills. Why didn’t you just tell us this?”  

Kim flushes. “I thought Lila was lied to, you know. I didn’t think she’d do this on purpose.”  

His mother lets out a sob. “All your scholarships! All your Universities!”   

On the opposite side of the room a different argument was taking place. Nino’s mother is glaring down at him, disappointment in her eyes. “When you said you weren’t talking to Marinette as much, I assumed it was because you grew apart. I did not think it was because you ignored all common sense to trust an exchange student over someone you’ve known since école maternelle.”  

Nino’s face is red. “I-I just her stories were so great and our class has done some amazing things. I didn’t think it was so far-fetched.”  

His mother purses her lips. “You didn’t think it was so far-fetched that Marinette was a bully. Marinette, who brought in cookies and cupcakes for every birthday. Marinette, who made you a custom jacket when you lost your favorite one on a vacation. Marinette, who brought you soup and get-well gifts every time you stayed home sick. This is who you thought was a bully.”  

Nino opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally closing it and looking down at the table. His mother throws her arms up in the air. “You stood there and watched, or even recorded, as your classmates physically assaulted Marinette. You are lucky, so very lucky, that she didn’t press charges. You were 18 for some of the worst offenses.”  

“I lost all of my University acceptances, Mom.” Nino hesitantly looks up at her.   

Mrs. Lahiffe whips her head down. “Nino! You could have lost a few years of your life, thousands of euros, and the ability to go to college. You have no criminal record, but you could have started one with the stunts you have pulled. You are lucky the police were willing to just give you service hours. This won’t even appear in your permanent record.” Nino nods mutely.  

Nathaniel is having a similar, but less heated argument with his parents, too. “My comics! They’re all missing online and the company that I signed a contract with has pulled the contact. There’s a pending copyright suit!”  

“Nathaniel!” His father sighs and places a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve talked to the people issuing the suits and explained the situation. They agreed to not press charges if you were dropped from the company and all of the art work is pulled off the internet.”  

Nathaniel stares at his father. “What! They can’t do that!”  

“Yes, Nathaniel, they can.” His mother is on the other side of him. “You copied someone else's work and didn’t credit them. You tried to sell that work and make money. That’s illegal. ”  

“Lila said she helped! That I could do this and it was ok.”  

Nathaniel’s father sighs. “Even if Lila had been involved, you still should have credited the other person. It still would have been illegal”

Nathaniel’s head drops onto the desk. “My life is ruined.”  

His mother places her hand on his shoulder. “A year off to...reimagine your art will do you some good.” Nathaniel only moans.  

Across from Nathaniel is Rose and her father. There was no lecture or comments from her father as Rose was too busy sobbing into his shirt. Prince Ali’s abrupt and simple ending of their relationship made more sense now, as did the comments by the music schools. Rose had changed so much of herself to help Lila or because Lila gave her some advice. Rose honestly didn’t know what to do now that it was all a lie.  

Sabrina, up in the front row, was hunched over herself. Her father had given her a none stop lecture about responsibility, trust, and legality that she hadn’t said a word. “You’re grounded for the next year!” Officer Raincomprix is red in the face. “We’ll talk about University after the next New Years, but for the next year you will be staying with me.” Sabrina nods.  

Her father deflates slightly. “Sabrina, you have no idea how lucky you are. 100 hours of community service will feel like nothing in the long run.” Sabrina just nods, curling in on herself.  

Back up by Max it was quieter. Max’s Mother was mumbling into her hand, asking how her brilliant son could be so stupid. Max’s was looking at his hands sheepishly. He’d attempted to disprove all of stuff about Lila by finally looking her up only to find nothing good. The Ladyblog came up first, filled with all of Lila’s lies. There were several news articles and twitter posts after that from Celebrities calling her out for lying or casually asking who this Italian Rossi girl was when it was brought up in interviews.  

Max then looked to Markov to ask why he said that Lila wasn’t lying only to find out that his robot marked most of Lila’s stores as inconclusive. It was all very vague and “he said, she said” situations. He couldn’t form a true conclusion without the other people in the stories being asked. This screwed the results in Lila’s favor. Max hadn’t looked up since Markov made that announcement to the class.  

However, the loudest and biggest argument was happening between Alya and her Mother, who were practically in a screaming match. “Alya! Stop blaming everyone else for your mistakes!” Marlena Césaire's coat was askew and her face red with narrowing eyes.  

“But Lila lied! I didn’t do anything! Why am I being rejected from my Universities? Why do I have to get rid of the Ladyblog!”  

“You attacked Marinette! You physically harmed her on the word of another student. Instead of getting a teacher or the police, or talking to us, you attacked her. Marinette got a concussion and stitches after the last assault when you pushed her down the stairs. As for the Ladyblog, you posted so many lies. It’s practically a shrine to that girl Alya.”  

“But Lila told us Marinette pushed her!” Alya’s phone is in her hand, clenched in a tight hand. “And, Lila told me all those stories!”  

“And yet, Lila had no injuries. And yet, Lila didn’t go to the proper authorities. Instead, you suggested getting even with Marinette. You started this!”  

“But Lila lied!” Alya sounded like a broken record, always repeating the same things. “Lila’s a psychopath or something!”  

“And you're the sheep who followed that psychopath Alya. You didn't look into any of this. You took her words as facts. You lectured Marinette about facts and yet you looked for nothing! Even now, you seem to think about no one but yourself. You’re screaming about how Lila lied and how that’s affected you. Have you once thought about what this must have been like for Marinette? You reject her for a new, shiny thing. You bully, verbally insulted, physically harmed, and stole from that girl. If it had been me, I’d have used the full force of the law against you. You’d have gotten more than a cease and desist order, a restraining order, and order from the blog’s removal.”  

“But Mom!”  

“Alya!” Otis Césaire stands from up. “You made mistakes, now you have to pay the consequences. You’ve been telling us for years that you’re an adult. Now act like it!”  

Mrs. Vaux chooses this point in time to clear her throat. “Mr. Agreste?” Adrien looks up from his seat. He’d been silent and pale as everyone took in the truth about Lila. “Your Aunt is here for you.” Amelie Graham de Vanily was standing in the doorway, a severe look on her face.  

Nino looks up at him. “Dude, what about your Dad?”  

Adrien gulps and looks down. “My Dad was hawkmoth. Ladybug caught him over the weekend.”  

The whole class, and their parent’s, take in a deep breath. Alya turns her eyes over to him. “You worked with Hawkmoth!”  

Marlena Césaire grabs her daughter and drags her down onto the bench. “Alya!”  

One of the police officers clears his throat. “We have questioned Mr. Agreste and found him innocent. Ladybug spoke on his behalf after Hawkmoth’s identity was revealed.”  

Adrien shrugs. “I’m moving in with my Aunt and cousin in London. I’ll be finishing Lycée online. I just… need to get away.”  

Nino gives Adrien a small smile. “Keep in touch.”  

Adrien returns it nervously as he packs up his stuff. As he walks up to his aunt he turns to give the class an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, about Lila. I didn’t think she’d taken things this far.”  

Nino blinks slowly as the rest of the class starts to process those words. “Wait? Dude, did you know that Lila was lying?”  

Adrien nods. “I thought she just wanted friends at first and didn’t know how to make real ones. Marinette called her out and she got akumatized. I didn’t want that to happen again!”  

“So, you let her lie to us?” Nino leans back on the bench, putting a few more inches between the two of them.  

“I thought she was like a tabloid. You have to ignore the lies for them to go away.”  

Alya lets out a blood thirsty scream. “This is all your fault! If you had just told us-”  

“Alya Césaire!” Her mother grabs her once again and pulls her down.   

Most of the class is staring at Adrien in horror. Rose was just sobbing even harder. The parents had more of a pitying look as they gazed at the son of Hawkmoth. Being the child of a magical terrorist who doubled as an abusive father probably didn’t help a child learn right from wrong.  

Adrien looks down. “I’m sorry.” His aunt places a hand and guides her nephew out the door, giving the police and the superintendent each a nod.  

The door closes in the silent room before chatting starts up again. The students are all trying to talk to each other and their parents at once. No one was quite sure of what they were supposed to do with that information. Hawkmoth had been found, they’d gathered that from the police saying that Hawkmoth named Lila as an accomplice. However, Hawkmoth being Adrien’s Dad was another matter entirely. Then there was the whole fact that Adrien knew about Lila. He had stood there, for years, letting them be used. Their overly kind classmates had done nothing to stop Lila as she twisted all of them like puppets.  

Mrs. Vaux clears her throat again. “You all have the rest of the day off. It was mentioned to me that this must be stressful to you all and I agree. You won’t learn anything else today. Besides,” she turns around to glare at Miss. Bustier and Principle Damocles. “We have some staffing issues to handle.” Both of them shrink down at the gaze.   

Mrs. Vaux looks back at the kids. “You all have mandatory school therapy twice a week for the rest of the school year. With everything that has happened, I think it will be healthy for all of you. Miss. Lucilia,” one of the women behind her steps forward. “Will be your teacher for the rest of the year. Ms. Birch,” the second woman steps forward. “Will be the acting principal for the rest of the school year.” She gives the class more onceover. The students all looked overly confused and their parent’s looked exhausted. “You are all excused.”

Ch. 1 ~~~~~ Ch. 3

Yo, anon from before. How about instead of the two fics, then maybe a short oneshot where Sokka and Zuko take a night walk and confess their feelings. If you don't want to do that then that's okay. Also, the art is really cool!

Hey so I took this and ran with it and ended up with over 2k words so! Enjoy your oneshot!

Zuko rubbed the sleep out of his eye, refocusing on the rolled parchment before him. He still couldn't tell if the character he was looking at had a stroke missing, or if it was simply a word he actually didn't know.

"Or," Sokka's voice drifted over his shoulder, startling him into dropping the scroll, "You're too tired to read. Come on, let's do something fun." 

Zuko yawned, retrieving the scroll and rolling it up properly. "You're not going to try to make me go to bed?" 

"Nope. Never works, anyway, you just end up staring at the ceiling and thinking about how much work you could be getting done, which kind of defeats the purpose."

Zuko couldn't help but huff out a short laugh. Sokka cracked that crooked grin he always got. "You know me so well. Well, what are we doing, then?"

Sokka presented him with a papier-mâché mask, pulling his own down over his face. The mask he wore was red and twisted, the mask of an evil spirit. He'd handed Zuko a blue one, reminiscent of his old Blue Spirit mask, but slightly different in its design. He imagined it was modeled for the same character. 

"There's a festival going on in town. It's winding down by now, but we should still make it in time for the fireworks." 

Zuko smiled, slipping the mask on and pulling a relatively casual robe from his armoire to pull on. 

"Ooh, fancy. Getting dressed up for me?" Sokka teased. He was dressed down in Water Tribe blues, the soft cotton out of place compared with Zuko's silks. 

"It's all I have." Zuko admitted, embarrassed. 

Sokka shrugged. "It'll do. Just try not to get mugged." 

"I'm more worried about getting caught by the guards. We're going to look like suspicious characters, sneaking out of the palace at night in masks." 

"Then we have to be extra careful not to get caught, don't we?" 

Zuko couldn't see his face, but he was perfectly familiar with the mischievous grin Sokka was undoubtedly wearing beneath the grimacing mask. Zuko's lips tugged into an answering conspiratorial smile. 

"Lead the way."

Sokka obeyed, tugging the Fire Lord through the servant's corridors and to a suspiciously uneven spot in the wall. He slid a brick out of place, revealing a mechanism beneath, and directed Zuko to send a pulse of fire into it, revealing one of the palace's many secret passageways. 

"How did you know this was here?" Zuko probed, padding quickly behind his guide. 

"Oh, Ty Lee showed Suki, and Suki showed me. Pretty nifty, right?" 

Of course, Ty Lee was perfectly familiar with the ins and outs of the palace. Azula never could sit still for long, not when there was trouble to get into, and never did so without someone to take the potential fall for her. 

"Useful, yeah." Zuko agreed. 

The air before them became suddenly cool, a breeze flowing in from the loose-fitting bricks in the flat wall. Sokka bent down, sliding his fingers between two of the bricks, and tugged on a hidden mechanism, sliding the other end of the passage open. 

The wall opened up onto a rooftop in the upper part of the city, affording them a view of the streets below. Citizens in their finest clothes, donning masks of all colors and designs, bustled about the busy paths. Booths lined both sides of the main thoroughfare, merchants hawking their wares, gamesmasters recruiting players, the scent of foods wafting out from here and there. 

Zuko had never attended a festival like this, personally. It would seem too common, and awfully unrefined, for a prince to be prancing about. They watched on from afar, once or twice, putting in official appearances, but even then… 

Zuko couldn't remember festivals in the capital city having ever been so exuberant.  People seemed joyous, unburdened, laughing openly and easily with one another, bumping into strangers without sparing a thought. 

It was odd, yes, but also comforting, in a way the Fire Lord couldn't quite articulate. 

"Come on! They're doing the fireworks by the harbor, we want to get a good view!" Sokka cut through his thoughts, as he was so talented at doing, and tugged him forward. 

They hopped between rooftops for a bit, avoiding the bustling crowds, until they came to an alleyway with boxes stacked high, an easy way to descend. Zuko hopped down in two long jumps, easily reaching the street level before his companion, who was delicately sliding down each box. 

"No fair! I have to be nice to my leg still!" Sokka whined. Zuko smirked back at him, hidden behind the blue mask. 

"I'll keep that in mind. I forget how delicate you are, Princess." 

"Hey!" Sokka punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You can't make that joke! You're an actual Prince!"

"I don't know if you've heard, but I've been promoted. I have a new title now." 

"Yeah, yeah, get a big head about it." Sokka grumbled in mock aggravation.

"Don't worry, I could never get a bigger head than yours." Zuko held a hand to his face to cover his smile at Sokka's dramatically offended reaction, forgetting it was already hidden by the mask. 

"Fine! I won't let you share my fire flakes, then!" Sokka stomped off, huffing. 

"Oh, don't worry. I can afford my own." Zuko responded loftily. 

"I changed my mind, actually! You're buying the snacks!" 

Zuko stifled his laughter, following Sokka's lead as the other boy led the way between stalls, picking up various spicy snacks and a couple of drinks Zuko wasn't sure he trusted him with. 

"Do you know how strong those are?" He interrogated. Sokka shrugged. 

"We'll find out, won't we? Come on, let's go get a good seat. They're starting soon." 

Sokka led the way through several alleys, away from the busy main street, until the crowd thinned. 

The building he climbed up was in minor need of repair, and the windows were darkened, leaving them reasonably certain it was empty. Zuko gave him a leg up, minding the mostly-healed injury, and passed the snacks up after. He ignored the hand Sokka dangled down to assist him, smoothly vaulting up the wall onto the roof next to him. 

"Show off." Sokka lifted his mask to rest on top of his head, revealing the dramatic roll of his eyes. Zuko followed suit, sliding his mask to the side, letting Sokka see his smirk. "Ugh, sit down already. And pass me the fire flakes." 

Zuko complied, resting next to the other close enough for their knees to brush as they dangled their legs over the side of the roof. Sokka munched the spicy snack, using his drink to cool his mouth down. Again, Zuko worried about its strength, sipping at his own. It didn't taste very alcoholic, but it was also deliciously tangy, which could be pretty deceptive. 

The whistle of the first firework pulled him from his musing.

The blast shot high in the sky, a sparkling array of colors scattering and shimmering against the dark sky beyond. The next blasts came in clusters, the explosions lighting up the sky in carefully coordinated patterns. Below, several master firebenders synchronised a dance with the fireworks, bending dragons of flame to follow the blasts. 

"Wow…" Sokka breathed next to him. 

Zuko understood the wonder. He'd seen fireworks before, sure, but they were never focussed near the palace. The noise alone was reason enough, and the soot left behind to clean up after solidified their location as far away from the nobility as possible. 

"You know…" Sokka murmured, leaning into Zuko, their shoulders bumping together. "I always thought of firebending as a scary thing."

Zuko hummed. "It can be. You had good reason."

"Yeah, but…" Sokka huffed, choosing his words. "When we first went to a festival like this, we saw the fire dancers performing just like that, fire dragon and all. I'd never even considered that bending could be used for something like that. Something beautiful." 

Sokka's eyes were trained on the display in front of them. Zuko searched them, looking for the further meaning in his words. 

"All bending is like that, I think." Zuko finally said. Sokka tore his eyes away from the fireworks to catch his gaze. The colors reflected so clearly in his icy blue eyes. "Both beauty and danger. I mean, just look at what your sister can do with hers."

Sokka winced for a moment, leaning away. He forced a laugh. "Yeah, she's pretty scary. Everyone thinks of waterbending as soft and healing but, hoo boy, can she do some damage."

Zuko felt like he'd missed something, ruined a moment he hadn't even known was happening. He simply nodded. "Exactly." 

They went back to sharing their snacks and watching the performance, a strange silence settling between them. 

Zuko cleared his throat, desperate to destroy the awkwardness he'd unwittingly dropped on them. "So… what's the festival for? Do you know?"

Sokka laughed, genuinely this time. "Shouldn't you know? You're the Fire Lord, right?" 

Zuko shrugged. Sokka smiled, looking out over the crowd a few streets away. "They're celebrating just to celebrate. Because they can."

"Oh."

Sokka nudged him, bumping their shoulders again. "We did this, you know. Even here, the people were scared. The war wasn't good for anyone. We made this possible."

Zuko shrunk into himself, familiar guilt settling into his stomach. Sokka set down the cup, nearly empty, and turned to face him fully, folding his legs under him. 

"You made this possible." He emphasized. "This is why you've been working so hard. Your people can celebrate like this, have fun openly in the streets, watch some fireworks! Did you see how many people from other nations were there, too?" Sokka reached out, tilting Zuko's chin to force him to look back at him. Zuko swallowed, overwhelmed by the emotion in Sokka's crystal blue eyes. "We fought so hard for this, and it's finally possible. This is… well, this is what I wanted to show you." He dropped his hand, looking away, embarrassed. Zuko felt his lips part in surprise, eyes wide. He looked out over the crowd, that strangely comforting feeling from before returning, and then looked back at Sokka. 

Compelled by an urge he'd felt many times before but never acted on, he leaned forward, reaching for Sokka's face. Cradling his cheeks in both hands, he drew him in, their lips finally meeting. Sokka's lips twitched into a smile against his, tilting his head properly and meeting the kiss firmly. Zuko felt like his brain had melted, unable to process the thought that Sokka was kissing him back, had so long ago convinced himself it was hopeless. Tentatively, he darted his tongue out, licking at Sokka's lower lip in a question. Again, Sokka responded positively, allowing him to deepen the kiss. 

Zuko leaned forward further, bending Sokka back towards the tiles of the roof, crowding over him possessively. Sokka laughed against him, winding his arms around Zuko's neck. 

"A little pushy, are we?" He smirked. 

Zuko swallowed, pulling back as far as Sokka's arms would allow. "I, uh… I think, maybe, those drinks were, um, stronger than we thought?" He rambled defensively. 

"Oh, no. You don't get to blame this on the alcohol." Sokka tugged him down, drawing him into another kiss. "Besides, I got virgin drinks anyway. Completely alcohol-free. Like a good boy."

Zuko stared in shock, agape. "You didn't!" 

"I did!"

"You let me believe they were alcoholic!" 

Sokka shrugged. "You decided that, yourself. I just didn't contradict you." 

Zuko groaned, burying his face in Sokka's collarbone. "Ugh, it's the same thing!" He felt Sokka's laugh, shoulders moving against him. "I hate you."

"Well, I love you." Sokka grinned, nudging Zuko's temple with his nose, urging the other to meet his gaze again. "Hey. I mean it. I really do." 

Zuko swore his heart stopped. The air disappeared from his lungs. The churning of the chi in his gut stilled. He stared.

"I love you." Sokka repeated. 

Zuko swallowed. He buried his face in Sokka's shoulder again, rubbing his forehead against his collarbone. He couldn't meet his eyes when he said it. "I love you. Also." 

A hearty laugh bumped him off of Sokka's shoulder, and the tribesman held his face in both hands. "Get back to kissing me, you big dork." He ordered. 

Zuko had never been so glad to follow an order in his life.

Busy weekend so I saw the ep late! Still gonna do a write up.

Episode 14 was a blast. Literally and figuratively xD

This is more or less what I expected from team Taichi/Koushirou/Mimi! It was amusing and cool at the same time. So that was good to see after such little focus on the children themselves in episode 12!

Although it was a Koushirou ep... I sure capped a lot of Togemon moments.

Bahahaha.

More under the cut!

It's another sandwich episode, with the meat of the story coming between slices of silliness thanks to Yamato and Jou. I am in STITCHES. Garrulous Jou getting on Yamato's last nerve is exactly the way I want them to be characterized xD It brings back fond memories of that one Digimon restaurant ep in 99 Adventure.

Gabumon: You’re being rude.

Yamato: Do you want to talk to him?

Gabumon: ... No...

Jou talks to Yamato. Yamato ignores. Jou continues talking to Yamato. Yamato realizes... he doesn’t need to answer... he just needs to exist. Jou’s the type who will happily have a conversation with a brick wall, it’s his stress relief

Jou compares his partner to a hammock.

Ikkakumon responds with sick burn.

Like seriously, both portions of this group were about the others managing Jou. Or, most of the others managing Jou, while Yamato ignores him completely bahahahahahahaha

Meanwhile, on the other route, Koushirou’s tablet is on the fritz again. Very inconvenient, but fortunately they’ve got the ever practical Taichi around.

Taichi casually flips his digivice in one hand while recommending that they be careful to stay together in case the interference prevents them from communicating electronically. He’s smart. He’s chill. Koushirou is SO UNCOMFORTABLE

They find some crystals that are like fun house mirrors and then they’re attacked by Unknown Digimon. Koushirou becomes Even More Uncomfortable when he can’t analyze them. At which point...

... Tentomon swoops in “THAT’S KUWAGAMON!!!” He seems really happy to get to serve his old role of Guy Who Knows Shit. I would love a rivalry between Tentomon and Koushirou’s computer, trying to see who can come up with information faster :P A rivalry Koushirou won’t even notice for a while

Tentomon: Hello, I’m right here, your partner, a wealth of knowledge of the world that I you know LIVE IN...

Kabuterimon sounds like your yakuza grandpa more than ever this ep. Sakurai Takahiro is having the time of his life I swear.

For that matter... so is Yamada Kinoko x’D I’ve never seen this attack from Togemon before

The Kuwagamon have a leader... Ohkuwamon, who is just Kuwagamon but larger and in grayscale.

Taichi comes up with a brilliant plan of action.

Aaaand Mimi reinterprets it for the laypeople bahahahaha

Strategist Taichi is my favorite Taichi, but Mimi Having None Of It and keeping him in line is fantastic. Mimi has a bunch of great moments this ep too

Predictably, they get blown up and separated in the process of running away...

Communication’s pretty much out too. Koushirou becomes more and more agitated and feels useless without being able to use his computer to think of a plan.

MY HEART

Taichi and Mimi reunite pretty fast, and Mimi can’t help voicing her loathing for Kuwagamon. Which alerts the bugs to their location. Taichi is annoyed. Mimi is sorry but not really

ugh I love these two

Like I said, Kabuterimon is the MVP this ep... never tiring, always encouraging, and hilarious. I’d like to shake Sakurai’s hand for this episode alone

Since his tablet’s useless, Koushirou decides to use it as a shield. X’D He’s one step away from Sailor Mercury here...

Koushirou: My computer is my god and I’ve been forsaken!!!!

Kabuterimon can’t take any more of his partner undervaluing his worth. “You do have something invaluable...”

“... oh, and your knowledge! I mean, your whole self! Because a person’s worth does not come from how useful they are to others of course!”

For all that self-doubt, Koushirou sure does snap out of it quick once Kabuterimon points out that he’s not a mindless zombie without his computer. Digimon are personal therapists, this is not news

I think I capped this because it just amuses me how different this pair are from each other and how it totally works anyway. If Kabuterimon were transformed into a human, he’d be an old, sinewy, kung fu master type, probably covered in scars, and always found slurping ramen and cracking terrible jokes at random school kids. He has the ability to instill Koushirou with confidence. I mean, if that sort of guy showed up telling YOU you’re super smart and awesome, you’d feel pretty good about yourself too am I right???

Shocker of shockers, Koushirou using his head results in AtlurKabuterimon, who is very shiny. Even shinier than WereGarurumon

Togemon just zips by

I find it amusing that Koushirou’s big play is pretty much the same as his plan in Digimon Tri: Soushitsu. A little different but same basic concept. I’m also disappointed in myself for not anticipating it when these mirror things showed up at the start of the ep.

I heart Mimi

Togemon: GRRHRHRHRHRHRHRHGGGG

What even is Yamada Kinoko... she’s having way too much fun... I might become a Koumi fan simply to have Tentomon and Palmon be hilarious together all the time

Koushirou: LIGHT ME UP BABY I AM ON FIRE

AtlurKabuterimon’s super attack is definitely compensating for something >_>

He finally takes out Ohkuwamon and the day is saved. Koushirou and Tentomon give each other a high five and it is adorabibble.

The producers of this show are totally aware that we fans are keeping track of how many times Taichi says this about Koushirou. They are so doing it on purpose.

back in the other group...

Jou didn’t shut up till he fell asleep.

I have no doubts in my mind that Yamato spent the whole time facing this way, away from the group, and never so much as said “hmm” in response to anything Jou said. Holy crap.

THEN YAMATO FINALLY GETS ON IKKAKUMON I”M FGHJHRUGJKFGFC;FDF”DFG

ugh this is my new favorite episode bahahahaha

Next week we get Zudomon and it looks like the team continues to be split in two a little bit longer. Psyched for Jou ep! I need soooo much more Yamato barely tolerating Jou... omg. I didn’t even know I was starving for this but I am

Then we get a new ending and it’s fabulous! I love the lyrics and the music and the art. But most of all...

... we gets a Takeru!! This is a sign I swear. We’ll be seeing Takeru very soon. My theory is that they’re going to find Patamon locked up at the site of the Holy Digimon because Devimon knows he’ll be instrumental in his defeat. Ahh I can’t wait to see how this plays out.

I give this ep 8/10!!

Instinctual - The Instincts of the Airwalkers- pt 1

Zuko wasn't sure what to think about the tales of modern day figures living and flying in the Northen Air Temple. His people are... thorough. He doesn't want to let Aang down, but he finds it hard to believe that anyone not stuck in an iceberg had escaped the eradication.

When he got to the temple, he hated being proven right. What's more, he hated seeing Earth Kingdom strangers destroying what little of Aang's heritage survived the attack of his people. But the day that the Fire Nation launches a second attack on this once idyllic temple, Zuko hates the most that he has to finally make a clear choice.

He'd thought he'd made this choice already, thought he'd made it several times over, but the question remains when he'd least like it to: Is he willing to fight against his Nation?

Read on Ao3

Read from Beginning

Azula had never been shy about calling him insulting names. In fact, he was almost certain that casual insults had been more common than ‘Zuzu’, and she certainly never deigned to call him Zuko. She’d had a lot of fodder to create the names, centering on how he clung to Mother, his inability to please the tutors, his abysmal fire bending progress, the innate weakness that she and Father saw and he’d never been able to identify to change. Most of them bothered him, and he wasn’t good at hiding it, which only encouraged her to keep using them.

The only one that hadn’t bothered him was when she called him a Theatre Nerd. Ursa had been an actress, bringing life to even their bedtime stories before Azule got ‘too old’ for them. Zuko hadn’t felt too old, but he was older than Azula, and so he’d been too embarrassed to request that they continue. Regardless, he’d loved trips with his mother to see the theatre, and even Azula had enjoyed when they went to the Ember Island Players together, if only because Ursa eviscerated the poor quality shows with a viciousness that the prodigy could appreciate.  

After Mother disappeared they never went to another play, but Azula would use the insult every time she caught Zuko cramming a theatre scroll in his homework pile or humming the notes to the overture in ‘Love Amongst the Dragons’. Zuko hadn’t minded. If anything, it had made him feel closer to his mother, as if this was a part of her that remained even though she was gone. Additionally, he didn’t really think there was anything wrong with enjoying good storytelling.

This was not good storytelling.

The man at the fire had told a story that was winding, without a clear plot or purpose. Even his terminology was off, he called airbendenders ‘airwalkers’, and acted as though it was reasonable for the main character to think it was a human-sized parrot. He only really got artistic with it at the end, and by then Zuko was as bored as Aang was enthralled. The Fire Nation teen was mentally going through the Airbender-featuring plays he’d read to give Aang a proper story when the man stopped talking.

(Technically, scrolls with non-Fire-Nation main characters were illegal unless the foreigners were the villains, but Ursa had a cache of scrolls that even Ozai had never known existed.)

(They’d disappeared the night she did; all but one. Zuko’s favorite, a biography of Avatar Kyoshi, had appeared under the turtleduck tree. Mom used to joke that she regretted letting Zuko read that one because he’d learned to be stubborn from a woman renown for her will even among a nation who took pride in their tenacity.)

“Aren’t airbender stories the best?” Aang asked happily, and Zuko felt some of his annoyance at the subpar story ease. This was important for Aang, it was good that he got the reminder that his people were not forgotten.

“Was it realistic?” Katara asked. “Is that how it was back then?”

“I laugh at gravity all the time!” Aang said immediately, referencing the man’s ending line.

Zuko snorted. “You laugh at everything all the time, Aang.”

“Well, so did the other airbenders. There used to be a running tab to see how many times you could get a pie to land on someone’s head! But it only worked if they actually got pied, if they spotted it and deflected, you didn’t get the points. Monk Gyastso won every week.”

That… hadn’t been in any of the plays Zuko was thinking of. Except… maybe that one scene in ‘As the Wind Follows’… that had been a pudding, but maybe it had been inspired by the pie thing.  Zuko was just about to ask when the man showed up with his hat, obnoxiously shaking it in front of a half-dozing Sokka. The teen scrambled in his pockets, but all of them knew exactly what he would find. Or wouldn’t find. They’d spent the last of their money at the Fire Nation Festival, and had been too busy running from Zhao since to try and pick up odd jobs.

Anything but fishing.

The man walked away with a disgusted grumble and Zuko couldn’t help but a feel a pang of guilt. Mom had campaigned for funding to be channeled to the dramatic arts back home, knowing first hand how hard it was to make a living. Here, they didn’t even charge tickets, relying wholly on the tips of their listeners. Zuko wished he could give something, but he owned almost nothing, and could not spare anything he did.

Aang jumped up and followed the man, thanking him for the story. Zuko watched as Katara and Sokka bickered about their nonexistent funds. It should be fine, they should be able to survive off of what they had until they reached the Northern Water Tribe, and hopefully they would be generous to their tribesmen and the Avatar… and Zuko would get stuff by association.

Suddenly Aang was there, moving so quickly that Zuko hadn’t seen him shift, eyes wide and smile so huge that it seemed to split his face like a alli-pelican. “Guys, they say the airbenders last week. They must have- some of my people survived! I’m not the last airbender after all! WOO HOO!”

In his excitement, the boy created a tornado under him and shot into the sky, cheering all the while.

One of the other story patrons gasped. “A giant parrot!”

______________________

“We’re almost to the Northern Air Temple!” Aang said as Appa floated past yet another identical mountaintop. Excitement threaded every syllable the boy spoke, and he was practically vibrating in his seat. “This is where they had the championships!”

Zuko squinted, though he was always squinting now. Aang had never pushed Appa to go this fast before, and as they got closer the air bison seemed to just keep going faster, the wind on their ride was much more intense than the risers were prepared for after weeks or months of fairly sedate flying with occasional bursts of speed. “The… pie throwing championships?”

“No!” Aang laughed. “For sky bison polo.” The boy launched into a well-detailed explanation that was ignored by all of his passengers.

“Do you think we’ll really find airbenders?” Katara asked Sokka, but her face was filled with hope rather than the concern and dread filling Zuko’s stomach.

“You want me to be like you, or totally honest?” Sokka asked.

“Are you saying I’m a liar?” Katara asked, affronted.

“I’m saying you’re an optimist. Same thing basically.”

She huffed and turned to the boy who had said hardly a word since Aang had made his announcement. “What do you think Zuko?” She asked, as though expecting him to be on her side.

He wished he could be. “My people are very… thorough, Katara. If Fire Lord Sozin saw them as a threat… well, neither he nor any Firelord after him were known for doing things part way.” Nor for showing mercy.

The girl cast an anxious look at Aang, pain creasing her face. In attempt to just, get rid of that look, Zuko allowed. “Although… they were nomads. How can I say that they didn’t miss a couple who were off… doing couple things. In a hundred years you could have as many as four or five generations easily. There uh, there’s a chance.”

Sokka sent him a look while Katara’s smile returned. Zuko scowled in response and looked down. Nothing that he’d said was false. It was just that… well his people were very thorough. They’d killed the last of the dragons, spiritual creatures blessed to be the first Fire Benders. If they’d managed to hunt down each and every one of them, Zuko feared that the Air Nomads hadn’t been much trouble. He shouldn’t have said anything. He’d spent too long with dwindling-nonexistent hope, he’d forgotten how much it hurt to be disappointed.

Except, maybe they wouldn’t be disappointed.

“Hey guys, look!” Aang shouted, and gleefully pointed at an impossibility.

They could see the air temple in the distance, and it was absolutely surrounded by flying figures, figures larger than any giant parrot. People. Airbenders.

His people had failed.

If Zuko hadn’t become so much a traitor, that thought wouldn’t be bringing him so much job, but looking at Aang’s face he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything else.

Katara gasped in wonder. “They really are airbenders!”

“No they’re not.” Aang argued, his excitement having drained with starling speed. The boy crossed his arms and settled petulantly against the Bison’s head.

“What do you mean?” Sokka demanded. “Those guys are flying!”

“Gliding maybe.” Aang said angrily. “But not flying. You can tell by the way they move.”

Zuko squinted at the figures and could kind of see what Aang was talking about. “They’re all going the same paths.” He realized suddenly.  “They’re riding air currents.”

“Riding them, not creating them.” Aang agreed. “They’re not airbending. Those people have no spirit.”

Zuko caught movement out of the corner of his eye and hit the deck, grabbing a protesting Sokka and dragging his with him, though Katara was too far away at the front of the saddle. The pair had barely hit the ground when suddenly  cart glided inches from where there heads had been, a boy in green laughing merrily as he flew past. Zuko popped up with a scowl, punching out a firebending move that should have served as a warning shot just as close as the strangers dive had been. It would have, at least, if he could produce anything more than a weak-looking puff of smoke.

Sokka pat Zuko on the back awkwardly as Katara turned back to the Avatar. “I don’t know, Aang. That kid seems pretty spirited to me.”

The kid swung back up by Appa’s head, sending Aang a look, and suddenly Aang’s face morphed into a competitive smirk the likes of which Zuko had never seen on the boy’s face, and he immediately jumped off the bison, his staff growing it’s sails as he chased after the glider.

“Great. Yeah, just, go after the stranger, Aang. Great idea.” Zuko grumbled, and Sokka laughed at him.

“You’re just grumpy cause the guy didn’t notice your fire-poof.”

“It’s a good thing he didn’t notice my bending. He’s Earth Kingdom, it would have been bad for us. I shouldn’t have even tried.” Zuko grumbled, and looked away so that he didn’t have to acknowledge that it wasn’t the bending that had upset him. It’s was Aang’s face just before he jumped into the sky. It was an expression that Zuko had never seen before, but one that fit the child so well. How many times had he made it in the past? Flown circles around the other child-monks in the temples, played games with people who could actually keep up.

How much had his people actually taken from him.

Luckily, the teen was momentarily broken from his thoughts when two close-flying gliders got too close to Appa’s nose and the bison jerked back, jolting the trio in the saddle.

"We need to get to some land before it get’s to us first." Sokka said once they’d settled, and Zuko happily jumped to steer the bison to the temple, anything to keep his mind focused on anything else. Anything beyond how good it looked to see Aang racing the glider.

It wasn’t much of a race. Aang had a freedom of movement that the glider simply couldn’t accomplish, running along walls and using is air sphere where the earth kingdom boy was much more restricted. Though, using smoke to create a caricature of Aang was a decent comeback. Still, when Aang landed beside Katara and Sokka there was something impossible to decipher in his expression.

The earth kingdom teen landed shortly after, skidding halfway across the platform before stopping, and immediately other children came forward to remove the wings and tops of the cart, though it became clear that the boy wouldn’t be getting out of the cart itself as he expertly wheeled himself over to the trio.

What followed was a lot of geeking out. The kid, Teo apparently, geeked out about the airbending and Avatar-ness, Sokka geeked out about the gliding chair. Zuko geeked out about nothing and tried very hard not to see ghosts in every corner. Teo led them through the temple, and Zuko had to fight to keep his face from screwing up. It wasn’t bad, per say, but with the plays and Uncle’s teachings, he’d pictured the nomad’s temples as things of beauty, clean and simple. This was… not that. There were pipes filling so much space that the lines were hard to follow with his eyes, and the walls had become an odd off-grey color. Some of the pipes even bisected reliefs and carvings and sculptures, creating ugly holes and cracks in the likely once-beautiful designs.

It was… sad.

Probably a lot sadder for Aang. Zuko realized when the boy flatly refused to share in Teo' pride and Sokka’s wonder. Zuko followed when Aang walked away, placing a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. Aang cast him a weak attempt at a smile as he walked him over to a large mural that had probably been stunning before it was stained with soot and marred by piping. Katara came on the boy’s other side and offered her silent support as well. “This is supposed to be the history of my people.” Aang said mournfully, gesturing at the images on monks and bison still faintly visible. One figure had even been decapitated by an extremely disrespectful pipe placement.

He wandered over to a stylized statue of a bison, the fountain now filled with disgusting polluted refuse. A plume of dark, sick looking smog burst from the statues mouth, making Aang jump back in disgust.

Zuko twitched awkwardly. “Do you want me to yell at someone? I’m really really good at it.” He offered.

Aang’s answering smile was a little less weak this time. “No, it… you don’t have to do that.”

“If that changes, let me know.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Katara, still on this bizzarely-nice kick, sent Zuko a wide smile before turning back to Aang. “I’m sure some parts of the temple are still the same.”

“Maybe. Hey, Teo! Are there any parts of the temple that haven’t been… changed like this?”

The boy, who had been deeply entrenched with Sokka about… something, scrunched his face in thought  before brightening. “Yeah! There are some platforms in the east side of the temple that are kinda tricky to get to so we haven’t done much with them! I can show you the way if you want.”

Zuko sneered, anger and guilt melting in his stomach uncomfortably. That mural was just as stained with smoke dust and ash as it was ruined by pipes. His people had brought this pain to Aang just as much as these squatters did. He’d already realized that this war was wrong, that they shouldn’t be fighting, be decimating like they were. Was it so much of a leap to think that it had never been right? It was hard to think anything else at the moment. He was furious that Aang had lost so much, and felt horrendous guilt knowing that his people had a part to play. But Sozin wasn’t here. This kid, this trespasser was. “I’m sure Aang knows this place far better than you. We don’t need a guide.”

Sokka cast him a surprised, reproachful look as Teo flinched back physically from the vitriol in Zuko’s voice, the venom in his words. The look Aang sent was understanding, almost grateful, but he shook his head. “It’s okay, Zuko. I’m- I’m upset but this isn’t Teo’s fault.” No, it was the Fire Nations’. His peoples’. His. “We would be honored if you could show us the way.”

Teo sent a hesitant smile at the boy, but still watched Zuko carefully until Katara cut in. “Sorry about Zuko. He’s just really protective of Aang.”

“I am not!” Zuko protested hotly.

“No, of course not.” Sokka mocked, having gotten over his shock. “You just singlehandedly snuck into a Fire Nation stronghold for him.”

“I mean, that-“

“And risked getting arrested by the Fire Nation to get him a teacher.”

“I just wanted Fire Flakes.”

“And you-“

“Enough! I get it.” He grumbled, and Teo laughed.

“It’s okay.” The boy said with a easy casualness. “I can understand being protective of someone. It isn’t a big deal, I forgive you. I don’t like to be mad at people anyway.”

Zuko squinted at him. “Are you sure you’re not an airbender?”

Aang laughed. “Maybe some of our philosophies have rubbed off on you just by living here.”

Teo grinned back. "Well, I wouldn’t mind that. The airbenders seemed awesome. How about this, you can tell me all about them on our way to the eastern platforms.”

“Only if you tell me how you guys ended up here in the first place.”

____________

Zuko trailed slightly behind the group and tried very hard to look as not-Fire-Nation as possible as Teo led them through the winding corridors. They were refugees, of course they were refugees. Every time you see Earth Kingdom people in weird places, it was because they were refugees fleeing the war. Which meant that his people were not only the whole reason this place got abandoned, it was also the reason why it had gotten reinhabited, why even this last spot of the Air Nomads was being changed and destroyed.

“It’s nice to see at least one part of the temple that isn’t ruined." Aang said happily as they made their way into a courtyard.

There were wooden doors surrounding the area, likely dorms, and a few noble and peaceful statues acting as guardians. Aang stared at one of the statues with the first hint of peace that had crossed his face since they’d landed. Zuko was about to ask Aang about the figure’s history when suddenly a loud voice yelled lookout, and the statue was destroyed right in front of Aang’s eyes.

Out of the dust stepped a man with the worst haircut Zuko had ever seen (and he’d tried to do a bald phoenix plume after his injury). “What the doodle?” The man asked, and Zuko was even more certain that he did not like him. “Don’t you know better than to be in an active construction zone? We have to make room for the bathhouse.”

“Do you know what you just did?” Aang asked, voice filled with a passionate fury that sent shivers down Zuko’s spine. “You just destroyed something sacred. For a stupid bathhouse!” He cried, anger so intense that his voice broke.

The man seemed entirely oblivious, “Well, people around here are starting to stink.” As though that was the important point.

“This whole place stinks!” Aang shrieked, sending a gust of wind to push the destruction machine off the mountain face. “This is a sacred temple. You can’t treat it this way. I know what it’s supposed to be like.”

“The monks?” The man asked. “But, you’re twelve.”

“Dad, he’s the Avatar.” Teo responded. “He used to be here a hundred years ago.”

“What are you doing? Who said you could do this?” Aang asked, his fury not abated in the least. “Just because you’re refugees, doesn’t mean you can destroy something sacred. Destroy history.”

The man wove a tale that would have been heart rendering, had he not said it in such a ridiculous way, and had he not been completely oblivious to the anger that was only building in Aang as he spoke of ‘improvement’ and ‘progress’. The distracted man soon had his attention pulled away as he realized the time, dismissing his conversation with Aang as though that would clear him of the repercussions.

Zuko attempted to smile at Aang. “Looks like I’m not the only one whose good at yelling.”

The boy grimaced. “Yeah, I kind of lost my temper.”

“That isn’t always a bad thing, Aang. Maybe he’ll be more careful with this place now that he knows how important it is.”

The airbender perked. “Yeah, maybe!”

Teo rolled up to them. “Hey, Aang, I want to show you something.”

The boy looked hesitant, but nodded. Zuko looked up, but Sokka had already wandered off with weird dude so he shrugged. Might as well stick with the airbender. Aang needed all of the help that he could get.  

Climb - Part 1

Remember that angsty Feysand fic I mentioned? Well, I finally got around to editing some of it. This piece is long and not like anything I’ve done before. Sp please be kind. Because it is so long, I’m not making any promises about the next update but I do already have a chunk written. PS you can thank @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty and @bookofmirth for this. They convinced me to do it. PPS Timeline wise it’s like post ACOTAR into ACOMAF but modern AU.

*WARNING* This does include depictions of domestic violence.

Things hadn’t been right between Feyre and Tamlin for a while now. They were barely speaking and when they did they either fought or just progressed into a sullen silence because neither could get what they wanted from the other. Tamlin blamed it on work, he had too much to do and he was stressed. Feyre said he’d changed changed since the accident. Whatever the reason, those walls had steadily been built. 

At least that’s what Tamlin called it. An Accident.  Feyre knew the car crash hadn’t been an accident. Amarantha, Tamlin’s ex, had hit them on purpose. Sent her and Tamlin off the bridge in their car and into the river below. Feyre still had nightmares about what happened that night. She woke up drenched in sweat and shaking after dreaming about being trapped in that car in the icy waters, sinking lower and lower, her lungs getting tighter and tighter. Almost as harrowing as the actual events. Since that night Tamlin’s impulses to protect her had gone into overdrive. Feyre went almost nowhere unaccompanied, either Tamlin or his friend and employee Lucien went with her. Of late it had been Lucien more than it had been Tamlin. Work was taking up more time of his, so they had been seeing less of each other, which was only adding to the strain on their relationship. Tamlin’s solution was that Feyre work less and he had talked her into taking less shifts at the small boutique she worked at. Then to add to this she hadn’t seen her sisters in months. Feyre did all this for all the reasons Tamlin insisted on. “You’re still recovering, you should work less.” “Seeing your sisters is too stressful for you.” “That doesn’t fit with my plans, we’ll arrange it for another time.” “I work to support us, you don’t even need to have a job.” “My work is too important. I can’t change it just for you.” Feyre had felt herself switching off from the world, almost entirely. She went through the motions but she had lost that joy, that spark, the urge to do something more. Why bother? Tamlin was right in many ways. He made more than enough to support them, surely this controlling phase was only a temporary thing, Tamlin was everything she wanted and needed. Feyre often reminded herself that he was still healing too, he had experienced the same trauma. This was his way of dealing with it. But that stubborn, defiant part of Feyre still held onto her job. Mainly because it allowed her to see her best friend who owned it. Morrigan was a bit of brightness in her life she wasn’t ready to let go of. They had met at art school where Feyre was studying fine arts and Mor was studying fashion design. The had met in a sketching class Mor was taking to improve her fashion sketching skills. That very first day Mor had forgotten her pencils and had very kindly begged Feyre for one. It was that introduction that led to coffee dates, lunch dates, studying at Mor’s apartment and the best friendship Feyre had had in her life. When Mor had opened her boutique Feyre was the first person she asked to work with her. Feyre insisted she was entirely wrong for the job as she definitely was not a people person. But Mor insisted, saying that there was no one else she would rather work with. 

That’s where she was on her way to now, being driven once again by Lucien. Feyre would have driven herself except for the fact that she didn’t have her licence. That was another thing Tamlin didn’t see the point in her having. Why did she need a licence when Lucien could just drive her anywhere she wanted? Lucien pulled over in front of the boutique. “Thanks,” Feyre said grabbing her purse from the back seat. “You’re welcome,” Lucien replied. “I’ll pick you up at 5:30?” Feyre just nodded and got out of the car and headed for the door. As she reached it she took a deep breath just to ready herself a little more. “Good morning!” Mor sung from the register, a bright happy smile on her face. Which fell when Feyre’s came into view. “Sweetie, you look terrible.” “Thanks,” Feyre said, but it had no bite. “No, but really. Are you okay?” Mor followed Feyre into the back where she dropped her bag on the counter of their kitchenette area. “Yeah, me and Tam had a fight this morning.” It wasn’t the first time Feyre had used that excuse, and she sure it was not the last. Mor’s lips pursed like she was trying real hard not to say something. Feyre wasn’t in the mood to hear what it was so she deflected away from the subject. “Did that new stock come in? Want me to set it up?” Feyre asked. Mor, it seemed, was not giving up and she asked quietly, “Feyre, has he hurt you?” Feyre blanched. Tamlin hadn’t been violent… well not to her. He’d thrown things, usually things that smashed, and punched a wall a few times, but never had he touched her. “No he hasn’t,” Feyre said but Mor didn’t look convinced. “Truly, Mor. He’s not like that.” “Okay, I believe you. But if he was you can tell me. Please tell me.” Mor pulled Feyre into a quick hug. “I’ll go start unpacking the new stock,” Feyre said as she disentangled herself and set off to work. ~ It was 5:35 when Rhysand wandered up to his cousin’s boutique store. He spotted Lucien in his usual spot out the front and Rhys gave him a two finger salute, which Lucien pointedly ignored. Rhys just laughed and kept walking. Just as he was about to open the door it swung out and almost hit him in the face. “Sorry,” Feyre said, hurriedly apologising. But her face fell a bit once she realised who she’d almost hit with the door. “Oh, hi Rhys.” “Hello Feyre, darling,” Rhys said cheerily watching as the scowl spread across Feyre’s face, the on that appeared whenever Rhys used his pet name for her. “Goodbye, Rhysand,” was her reply and she was off into the awaiting car before Rhys could say anything more. But he waited and waved Feyre off as she drove away, she didn’t return it. When she was out of sight Rhys went inside. “I’m waiting for the day she knees you in the balls. I really hope I’m there to see it,” Mor said as Rhys came in. “Lock the door?” Rhys did as she asked. “Why would you wish such a thing on me?” “Because it would be funny,” Mor said simply, not taking her eyes off the computer screen at the register. Rhys came up to where Mor worked away and lent his elbows on the counter. “She looks terrible. I think she’s lost even more weight since the last time I saw her. Is she alright?” “I ask her and she says yes,” Mor said while she clicked. “Tamlin isn’t good for her. And I can’t believe Lucien just goes along with it.” “Lucien is probably just as trapped as she is,” Rhys mused. Mor shut down the computer, her face no longer illuminated but the screen. “Feyre asked me to cut her shifts down again.” Rhys let out a low curse. “I managed to cut it down to just a half day. The more she’s out of that house, the better,” Mor said. “Come on, where are you taking me for dinner?” ~ “Did you talk to your boss about cutting down your hours?” Tamlin asked as casually as he could but Feyre could hear the tenseness in his voice. “Mor, my friend, was very accommodating,” Feyre said letting the bite come through in her voice. She saw Tamlin visibly bristle. “So just two days a week?” He said just before he took a bite. “Two and a half,” Feyre replied, shifting the food around her plate. “I thought we’d agreed on two.” Feyre put down her fork. “You decided on two. Mor and I compromised on two and a half because she needs my help, and I’m her employee and friend.” “I need Lucien free another full day. Not half a day.” Tamlin snapped back. “Well Mor needs me. I certainly don’t need Lucien to chauffeur me around,” Feyre snapped right back at him. “You don’t need that job,” anger laced each one of Tamlin’s words. Feyre knew that the rein on his temper was slackening. “But I want it,” Feyre said, her voice raising a little in response to his. “This isn’t about what you want Feyre!” Tamlin yelled, and slammed his fists on the table making a Feyre jump. “This is about what I need. I need Lucien back at work, preferably full time. But because you have this stupid fixation on this job you don’t need I’m down one man half the week. I support us, I give you everything you could ever want and you can’t give up this one thing for me?” “You can’t have everything your way all the time. I’ve had enough of this,” Feyre said as she stood the leave the table. But Tamlin grabbed her forearm before she could even make it more than half a step “This discussion isn’t over,” Tamlin hissed back fiercely. “Lucien doesn’t…” Feyre started, her temper rising, but Tamlin slammed his free hand down on the table cutting of what she was about to say. Feyre jumped but didn’t go far as Tamlin still held her arm in a vice like grip. It was tight enough that it hurt which made Feyre look at it. Her arm was so small compared to his hand, like Tamlin could easily snap it like a brittle stick. That fire in Feyre guttered out and she said quietly, “Tam, you’re hurting me.” He immediately let go and sat back down in his chair, Feyre did likewise. There was a look of guilt on Tamlin’s face, his remorse evident. “I won’t,” Tamlin yelled but then he dropped his voice, “I won’t leave you unprotected. She… she could still have people out there who want to hurt you. Hurt us.” Feyre leaned her head back. It was the same argument they’d had a thousand times. This was always the point where they came to a stand still. Where Tamlin made it about his love for her, his need to make sure she was safe overrode everything. How was Feyre supposed to question that? He reached out his hand palm up, the same hand that he had slammed on the table, “Can you please ask Mor again about cutting your hours back. Please.” Feyre looked at his hand, then to Tamlin’s face. He was pleading with his eyes like a lost puppy in need of a home. Feyre was his home, and he was hers. She put her hand in his. “I’ll try.” ~ She was trapped the icy water rising higher and higher. Tamlin was there, his head bleeding from the impact. The water was up to her chin now, seconds before it would be to her mouth and she’d be under. She tried to fight it, she thrashed but it only made her sink faster. She tasted the water, she screamed… Feyre woke with a jolt, her body both hot and cold at the same time, making her feel sick. So sick she almost didn’t make it to the toilet before she vomited. When she’d finished Feyre just lay down on the bathroom floor, savouring the coolness of the tiles on her skin. It grounded her, linked her to something in the real world. Tamlin didn’t come in, he never did. He never even woke up the times she managed to stay in bed. Looking up at the small window Feyre saw that the sun was already up. Deciding that she would just get up instead of going back to bed she headed for shower. Today was her first half day for Mor and she still felt a little bad about it so she wanted to get to work a little early. On shaky legs she stood and turned the shower on. It was while she was reaching for the tap that she saw her arm. Where Tamlin had gripped her was turning purple, undeniably finger imprints. So far just a very light discolouring but Feyre knew a developing bruise when she saw one. She tried to ignore it as she showered, but her eyes kept wandering to the marks. Every time she did her gut clenched and she felt sick all over again, or maybe it was because the shower was too hot, or maybe lingering nausea from the nightmare. Whatever the reason, once Feyre was out of the shower she was vomiting again, sweating and shaking in the aftermath. She rinsed her mouth out at the sink and brushed her teeth to get rid of the acidic taste. When Feyre looked up into the steam edged mirror she barely recognised herself. Beneath her eyes was purple and she had lost much the fullness she once had in her face. Her eyes were dull and lifeless as she stared at herself. Who was this shell of a person she had become? ~ “Feyre, is… are things okay? I mean, do you feel okay?” Lucien’s clumsy question had Feyre subconsciously pulling down the sleeve of her sweater. “Everything is grand,” was her monotoned reply. Lucien glanced over from the drivers seat, not believing a word she’d said. She hadn’t expected him to. If anyone, it was Lucien who had the best understanding of what her life was like. “I told Tamlin that I didn’t mind driving you, and that I didn’t mind taking the few days off.” Hid voice was sympathetic. “What did he say?” Feyre asked. Lucien shook his head, “Just told me he needed me back at work and…” Lucien clamped his mouth shut. “And?” Feyre pushed. “Just tell me. I’ve probably heard it before.” Lucien let out a heavy sigh, “And that you didn’t need the job anyway, so what did it matter.” “Yep, heard that one before,” Feyre said as she looked out the window. “I think this job is a good thing. Being locked up in that house won’t do you any good.” Lucien’s voice was gentle, sincere. Which was enough to give Feyre the confidence to ask, “Why is he like this?” Lucien sighed. “He’s had… issues since what happened to his family. Then the accident, it made things so much worse for him and brought a lot of things back to the surface. He feels like he failed his family. He was too young to really have done anything to help them but he can’t get over that. Tamlin couldn’t protect his family but he can protect you. He loves you.” Sympathy roiled in her in Feyre’s gut, along with shame and anger. The only time she had seen Tamlin cry was when he’d told her about the fire that had killed everyone in his family, except for him. He’d been 17, his mother had asked him to grab some batteries for the smoke alarms on his way back from school as ones in the house needed replacing. He’d kissed her on the cheek and promised he would. But instead he had gone to a party. The fire department couldn’t determine if the alarms had gone off or not as the damage was too extensive, but because no one had managed to make it out in time they assumed the worse. Tamlin had blamed himself for the last ten years. His guilt and anger simmering inside him. Of course he’d want to protect Feyre as much as could, of course the accident would make him sensitive, how could Feyre fault him? But she was angry. Angry and how his actions had led to her being so lonely, isolated and unhappy. He’d closed her off from everyone except Mor, and even then he was trying his hardest to cut that final tie. Lucien pulled over outside the boutique. “Give him time, Feyre,” Lucien said as he stared at nothing in particular. “Give him time and he’ll be himself again.” Feyre didn’t say anything. Didn’t even nod. She just got out of the car and went inside the store. Feyre went to call a greeting to Mor but she stopped dead when saw who was casually leaning on the counter. “Good morning, Feyre,” there was a pause and Feyre rolled her eyes as she went to drop her bag in the back. Then she heard, “darling.” Feyre just walked back out and folded her arms across her chest. “Where’s Mor?” “The polite response is ‘good morning Rhys, you’re looking very handsome this morning’,” he said with a smirk. Feyre gave him a long look. Rhys pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and twirled them around his finger once, “Mor had bad cramps this morning so she asked me to open up. She said she’d be in before your shift ends though.” Feyre’s stomached dropped, as the implications of what Rhysand had said hit her. She didn’t even notice when he came to stand in front of her, dangling the keys in front of her face. He said something but she didn’t hear it. Rhys touched her arm that had fallen by her side and Feyre flinched. “What’s wrong?” There was concern on Rhys’ face as Feyre put a step of distance in between them. Feyre shook her head trying to shake away the thoughts in her head, “Sorry. What did you say?” “I asked you what’s wrong,” Rhys’ brows were furrowed now. “No before that,” Feyre said with an awkward wave of her hand. “Mor said I should give you the keys and leave the store in your very capable hands,” Rhys explained, again. Rhys offered Feyre the keys again and she took them, “Thanks.” Then she went to the register to boot up the systems but she saw Rhys already had. When she looked up Rhys was on the other side of the counter. “What?” Feyre snapped. “I know I’m not your favourite person Feyre, but regardless I still care for you…” Feyre didn’t want to hear another word out of Rhys’ mouth, she knew what the next question would be. “I. Am. Fine. Why does everyone keep asking if I’m alright?” Just for something to do fiddled with the few bits of stationary on the counter that were fine where they were. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?” There was an edge in Rhys’ voice Feyre had never heard before. “Excuse me?” Feyre knew exactly what he was talking about, but still his words hurt. “I think I’ve got it from here. You can go.” Rhys looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut and shook his head. Feyre turned to the computer screen, doing nothing, just pretending to be busy. “I gotta get to work. Have a good day Feyre.” Feyre didn’t watch Rhys go but she heard him leave, the bell jingling as he closed the door behind him. It was only then that Feyre sat down on the stool behind her, taking in deep breaths. Mor wasn’t in because she was at home with period cramps. Feyre knew that if Mor didn’t get onto the painkillers early enough her cramps would be bad. Mor was usually super prepared because Feyre always, always, got her period first. Mor called Feyre her dooms day clock. When Feyre’s period came Mor would joke about prepping for her own upcoming doom. But Feyre hadn’t got her period. Her being late could mean absolutely nothing. She’d been late before, multiple times. It could be anything from her bad diet, to her lack of sleep, or her undeniable weight loss. It still didn’t stop her from asking Lucien to stop by the chemist on the way home. Mor arrived, as promised, 15 minutes before Feyre’s half day shift was supposed to end. Mor blustered in like a whirlwind, complaining about being a woman and what not. When she noticed how quiet Feyre was she stopped and enquired if Feyre was feeling okay. Feyre insisted she was but asked if she could leave a little early. Mor agreed, of course, told Feyre to call her later and kissed her cheek. Feyre nodded and left and jumped in the car. “Can we go by the chemist?” Feyre asked and she clicked in her seatbelt. Lucien checked his watch, “Does it have to be now? I’ve got to get to work as soon as I can.” “Yes,” Feyre said. “What do you need. Alis is coming tomorrow morning. Maybe she can pick it up for you.” Feyre leaned her head against the back of seat. Of course thus wasn’t going to be easy. “It’s for lady’s things, Lucien. And I need them now.” “Oh,” Lucien said with no hint of embarrassment, more like understanding. “Sure thing. I dint even want to go into work today anyway. The less time I spend there the better.” Lucien parked behind the chemist and waited in the car while Feyre went inside, asking her to grab him a chocolate bar or something. Feyre nodded and went inside. Now she was standing in the feminine products isle staring at all the boxes. Feyre had no idea what she was looking for. There were the classic sticks, but then there were strips and digital tests. Feyre rubbed at her face. She could feel herself chickening out and she was about to bolt when a voice behind her. “Can I help?” It was a kindly looking middle aged woman with a basket of stock she must be putting away. Feyre felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Um, I want to buy a test,” Feyre said as she indicated weakly at the shelves. “Ah,” the woman said as she shifted the basket to sit on her hip. “Is it for you?” “No. For a friend.” Feyre didn’t know why she said that. She wiped her palm on her thigh as she felt the sweat start to build. “Ok, well,” the woman browsed the shelves for a moment, fingers wiggling, “this one is probably the best.” Feyre took the box from the woman with a quick Thanks. She looked down at the box, a big bubble read ‘early detection with weeks indicator’ and turned out it was a digital one too. Not risking the chance of chickening out once she actually had what she needed Feyre grabbed some pads and tampons and headed to the checkout. She blindly grabbed whatever chocolate bar was closest. “Can you put the test in the bottom of the bag?” Feyre asked. The person at the checkout nodded and Feyre pulled out her wallet from her hand bag. Feyre sighed in relief when she saw she had enough cash to pay for her things, she’d rather not have Tamlin ask questions about her purchase. If he looked at her accounts, which wouldn’t be the first time, she didn’t want him asking questions. Feyre got her change and made her way back to the car, pulling out the chocolate bar as she went. Lucien was on his phone when Feyre slipped back into the car, her heart skipped a beat. “Did you tell Tamlin where we’d stopped?” Lucien gave her a quizzical look, “No. I was just checking my expanse of social media. Should I not?” “If you could not tell him, I’d really appreciate it. Please.” “Okay… I guessed I just stopped for petrol then.” “Thanks.” Feyre ignored Lucien trying to catch her eye, trying to ask more questions. But Feyre ignored him, ignored him until he drove through the gates of Tamlin’s house, ignored him until got out of the car and walked into the quiet and still house. ~ Feyre sat on the edge of the bath just watching as the timer on her phone counted down. This test only took three minutes. The timer said 1 minute 30 seconds. She was half way. Feyre just focused on her breathing. Each breath passing another second. The alarm blared and Feyre jumped, almost falling backwards into the tub. She picked up the stick off the sink, hand shaking. Pregnant 2-3 weeks The test clattered as it hit the floor. Feyre just stared at it, the result conveniently facing up at her. She, apparently, was pregnant. 2-3 weeks. It made sense, sex was the only thing in their relationship that her and Tamlin excelled at. Their various other forms of communication had completely disintegrated, but their love making it was soothed both of them and connected them in more than just a physical sense. That was until the euphoria wore off and they were back exactly where they had been. Feyre grabbed the test from the floor and put it back in the box, and then back in the bag from the chemist. Then she dropped it all on the floor and kicked it under the bed before she climbed into it. She didn’t move and just waited for the darkness and oblivion to take her.

~~~~~

Notes: Like I said in my little opening blurb this angst kind of fic is not my usual thing. I grew up in a very conservative household, so unfortunately a lot of my creative flair was restricted for appearances sake. I very clearly remember being told “If you write something like that what will people think of you?” So I always shied away from anything that wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine. Even all these years later all you can find on my page is an abundance of fluff and not much else. Definitely not looking for a pity card here, just spreading my wings finally. I wanted to extend myself even though it makes me hella nervous. So PLEASE be kind. 

Tags: @fucking-winchester-trash @literary-licorice @galyxsy @tangledraysofsunshine @highqueenofelfhame @maastrash

So I never saw the Timeless movie but enjoyed your feedback on the show while it was in progress and agreed with you much of the time-- is the movie worth watching ? I'm scared it's going to be rushed, sloppy, and ly@tt garbage

First of all, thank you for valuing my opinion enough to ask. I haven’t rambled about Timeless in awhile, but I’m flattered you enjoyed and remembered my feedback when I did. ♥

Sadly, I have to report that Timeless finale is a movie disliked by Garcy fans, Riya fans, and gen fans alike. Pretty much the only way to like it is if you’re the target audience: Lucy/Wyatt shippers. Or maybe if you’re a very, very casual fan.

Full disclosure: I have not actually watched the Timeless movie. Like you, I feared it would abandon everything Timeless stood for, everything we loved, to waste its last moments on Lucy/Wyatt fan service. Aaaaaand I was right. Good call me on not watching it live. It might have broken my heart. I got the information later through friends and research. And tbh, hearing everything second-hand was actually hilarious. Yes, it was upsetting, but the writing is SO BAD, I actually laughed. Out loud. I may have cried laughing. It’s just… so bad. XD

I spent months dreading a worst case scenario for the movie, and when the time came, it was every bit that. (And then some? Somehow?) But when it got here, all of my fears turned to hilarity. I was RELIEVED. After months of being afraid, I finally felt free. I thought “This is what I was afraid of?” Because toxic shippers in the fandom got everything they wanted, just the way they wanted, but it is HORRIBLE! Because what they wanted was BAD. It watches just like the badly written fanfiction they demanded. Which is ALL this movie is: badly written fanfiction.

To quote Claudia Doumit when she read the script: “It feels like a fan wrote the movie.” Perhaps she means that in a positive way, but if a professional is writing “like a fan,” spoiler alert, it’s never a positive thing. It’s a “basic” thing.

Timeless movie is SO BAD that it is the least rewatched episode of all Timeless. Delayed returns on it are borderline embarrassing. Few people except Lucy/Wyatt shippers wanted to subject themselves to it a second time. Not to mention that support for Timeless and a third renewal fell into steep decline after the premiere. It seems not many people want more if this is the “more” we might have to look forward to.

imo, Future television writers should study this movie for direct examples of what NOT to do. It’s every worst case scenario, presented to you at breakneck speed. You barely have time to get over one absurdity before the next one hits. Not gonna lie. I’ll give kudos where due. I am legitimately IMPRESSED that writing managed to get every single thing wrong. Do you know how statistically impossible that is?!?!

Timeless movie really sort of took all the negatives, low points, disproportionate focus on romance, and bad writing of S2 and ran with them. That’s what it is. Concentrated S2, minus any good parts.

Basically, if you are a fan of Flynn, Lucy, Rufus, Jiya, Jessica, Emma, Connor, Denise, good writing, feminism, no plotholes, Riya, Garcy, or TIMELESS, please do not watch the Timeless movie. Save yourself. If your first (only?) priority is Wyatt and Lucy/Wyatt, go right ahead. It was made just (only?) for you.

Though obviously, I can’t/won’t stop you from watching. You may still want to form your own opinion, and if so, you have my full support. I hope that you find something appealing to make it worth your time. I especially hope that if you don’t, it doesn’t ruin Timeless for you, as it has other people. I still may watch it myself one day. I may. But not for entertainment purposes. Really just to mock it from a more informed standpoint. I’ve considered live-blogging the event. lol.

As is though, I basically know the entire movie through aforementioned friends and research. And I will summarize below the cut on the ways this movie failed Timeless and its fans. (PS: This is by no means everything. There’s just SO MUCH and I got tiiiired thinking about this monstrosity! Anyone is free to add on whatever I didn’t cover.)

[Spoilers]

Future Lucy gives the journal to Wyatt, the writer’s attempt to take something that has always been Flynn/Lucy’s thing and make it a L/W thing. (Somehow, we’re supposed to ignore that this Lucy already would have given her journal to Flynn in 2014. Conveniently, illogically, she has it again. So she can give it to Wyatt.)

Future Wyatt announces that Jessica was lying about being pregnant. Right out the gate. Great. Now, they get to kill her. Don’t worry, writing will strip away her entire character first so we don’t feel guilty when an “evil Rittenhouse agent” dies. It’s fine to kill a woman who was brainwashed from childhood, but let’s not kill a baby. We’ll just erase it instead. That’s different because reasons.

Writing introduces a new stipulation that people can coexist with time travel, but staying too long will kill them. This will come in handy later.

Also the new, updated Lifeboat will conveniently be able to do whatever the plot needs. Coexist? Sure. Autopilot? Suuuuure. Able to jump multiple times on one charge as if it had a nuclear core like the Mothership? Why not?!

If you thought Rittenhouse wasn’t scary anymore in S2, well hold onto this writer’s beer. Gone is any intimidation or purpose they once stood for. Now that Emma is running things, all that matters is stealing art and money from the past. Caution: Never go full two-dimensional evil.

Wyatt decides Jessica has to die and he’s the one who has to do it. But after half an argument from the team, he gives in and agrees not to. FLYNN will clean up Wyatt’s mess instead! Because suddenly, all that matters is he loves Lucy. Not his family. Not stopping Rittenhouse. No, he has to do this so that Lucy can be with Wyatt and Rufus can be alive.

Flynn tells Lucy that the journal can be unreliable. Despite this, he goes to 2012 and dooms himself because he believes, without a doubt, that Lucy’s heart will always belong to Wyatt, something he, ya know, got from the journal. And that neeeeeever changes. I mean, some guy said it was unreliable, but his name escapes me right now.

When 1x06 first aired and we heard the story of how Jessica died and how it was very much Wyatt’s fault, painting him in a negative light, I thought to myself (almost three years ago), “Wow. If we ever get a flashback of that night, writing is going to retcon all of that so hard so that it doesn’t look like Wyatt’s fault.” And lo! It’s Jessica’s fault now. She made Wyatt get jealous on purpose. She made him drink too much. She MADE HIM let her out of the car, per text orders of Rittenhouse agent. Poor Wyatt, what a victim. (Periodic reminder that Timeless hates women.)

Writing in the scene with Jessica’s death is so bad that we’re actually left with no alternative BUT to believe Wyatt was the original killer that night. Rittenhouse agent tells Jessica to get out of the car. This saves her life. No other person is seen on this road (save Flynn later) that could be the killer. And what’s the other course (the original timeline)? Without instruction, Jessica would have stayed in the car. And died. Wow, I can’t believe Wyatt killed Jessica in a drunken, jealous rage, but also I can. Also also writing just told us he did. If Rittenhouse wanted to make sure she was okay, they would tell her to stay in the car with her soldier husband, no matter what. That would save her. But what do they do instead? Hmmmm…….

Flynn kills Jessica and hurries to the Lifeboat, feeling the effects of coexistence taking affect. Set course for any time but this one, am I right? Wrong. Nah, better just die. Flynn sends the Lifeboat back to 1848 for the team and stays in 2012 so he can see his family one last time and then die. Because true character development is letting your five-year-old die violently two weeks before Christmas when you still have the life and power to prevent it.

Why does all of our correspondence end the same? Reply, reply, and then *crickets* Notice me, senpai. TToTT

For some reason (I mean, I know the reason. It’s bad writing by an idiot), dead Flynn’s fingerprints do not pull up when police find a John Doe on the beach. Despite the fact that he worked with the NSA and his prints would be on file.

I can’t with this woman:

Anywaaaaaaay, Rufus returns in a way that breaks all time travel rules thus far established in the show. Even though the team was traveling in 1848 with Flynn, suddenly it’s reset so that Rufus was there the entire time. Which, even if writing wants to claim that’s SOMEHOW possible, is still illogical because to overwrite that timeline, the characters’ memories would have also been overwritten. However, they remain perfectly intact with everyone remembering Rufus died. (Except Rufus, of course.)

Flynn dies because he stayed in the past too long. The writer would then go on twitter and pretend the matter was out of her hands, even though she’s the one who set the condition. She WROTE the rule that killed him, SO she could kill him. (This was previously not going to be a condition on coexisting time travel. Source: Interviews in which it was suggested that had Timeless been renewed for S3, Future Lucy and Wyatt may have stuck around for a few episodes.)

Arika would also say on twitter that, in her opinion, Flynn didn’t deserve a happy ending, to the uproar of many.

Writing tries to claim that Flynn was always the person who killed Jessica in 2012. Deer lord at the plotholes.

And the holes keep comin and they don’t stop comin. ♫

It’s Christmas now. For some reason. When the team returns to the bunker, there are Christmas decorations everywhere and we’re told that it’s Christmas in present day. Even though it was May yesterday.

There are more than a dozen ways to save Flynn at this point, but Arika doesn’t like him and just wants Lucy/Wyatt to bang. So you can bet none of them will be used. Also because she’s an idiot, the woman claimed on twitter that Flynn can’t possibly be brought back because he died while time traveling. Uh-huh. First off, what? He absolutely can be saved. Secondly, tell me how Rufus died again?

The characters acknowledge Flynn for a minute (in a toast give by WYATT, of all people) before promptly forgetting he ever existed until the end of the movie. When they need him again.

When Rufus wants to get intimate, Jiya tells him that she suffered some form of abuse while stranded in the past. That’s it. We will never talk about this again. Forget it ever happened. They brought it up just to scar Jiya even further and then ignore it. Anyone who tells you Timeless loves women is lying. Timeless wants to torture and torment women. FOR NO REASON!

Emma is the only person who cares Jessica is now dead. Because it sure as shirt wasn’t going to be her husband who like two days ago was desperately trying to get her to come home to her “family.” (Remember kids, women are just baby makers. If there’s not a baby in there, she’s garbage, and a minute spent mourning is a minute you’re not banging the next lady.) Emma plots revenge on the team, and honestly, by this point, I say let her do it. They’re horrible people.

Lucy boldly says she won’t be Wyatt’s second choice. So she can forget she said it in 10 minutes, when she’s suddenly fine with it.

Rufus is alive again, but all of his memories after 2x03 are conveniently erased. In his timeline, Lucy/Wyatt have been together this whole time, and he’s their biggest fan. He actually, canonically, verbally says that he’s “Team L/yatt.” That’s great because otherwise we’re left with a Rufus whose last words on the subject are:

“You are so worried about your stupid Lucy-Jessica soap opera that you forgot that there are other people here. Who matter to each other. Who love each other. If anything happens to her, Wyatt… I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

Yeah, we can’t use that in the Lucy/Wyatt movie. Better erase the black man’s memory since he’s no longer serving his purpose: head cheerleader of the white couple!

Because Rufus’s memories are gone, all S2 development in the Riya relationship is gone with it. Damaging them even more after Jiya spent 3 years in the past (becoming hardened and almost a different person) and then watched him die. Don’t worry, writing will address none of this.

Rufus compares Lucy/Wyatt to Aragorn/Arwen. As a Tolkien nerd, I’ll throw down over this alone. IN WHAT WAY?!

There’s a pregnant woman in labor because leave no cliche unturned. Wyatt delivers the baby because what did I just say about cliches.

Lucy’s hormones go all a-twitter when she sees Wyatt holding said baby. Outside? In weather they admitted earlier is deathly freezing? (I mean, the mother might want to hold her own baby, but no. She has to get in line. Lucy absolutely HAS to have an epiphany that she needs Wyatt’s babies.)

Lucy decides that since Wyatt’s mistreatment of her was technically from another timeline, she can let go off all self-respect and tell herself he didn’t mean it. Also almost everyone else is dead or has their memories erased, so only they will know. Now Lucy can be with Wyatt and no one will judge her? Yay?

Despite Emma’s big speech in 2x10 about abandoning the pillars of “old Rittenhouse” and striking out on her own, she still backs down immediately when Denise makes Benjamin Cahill tell her to knock it off and surrender.

Emma dies at the hands of some deus ex machina random sniper. Letting us know the writer could no longer pretend she cared about any of this and just wanted to make Lucy/Wyatt bang. Are they banging yet? Bang now! Will this convenient and corny mistletoe move things along? Are they banging yet?

So Denise saves the day. In the most anti-climatic way. Meaning Rufus was never actually necessary and could have stayed dead. Actually, none of the team was necessary. Nothing in these episodes was necessary. All it took to end Rittenhouse was Denise and Ben. Roll credits.

Lucy decides NOT to save her sister Amy. Even though it’s what she has been fighting for since episode 2. Her reasoning? She says that trying to save the people they love has negative effects. (Let’s get one last jab at dead Flynn by saying, “Look at all the awful things that Flynn did in the name of saving his family.”) This is said in spite of the fact that Amy is SUPPOSED to be alive, and leaving her erased IS an alternate timeline, carrying the potential of being more catastrophic than SAVING HER and setting the events right.

PS: While in the past, Lucy JUST SAID, “What’s the point of saving history if we don’t save the people in it?” And then saved a stranger that was supposed to die. Writing for this movie does not care about consistency, only what’s relevant in the moment. And clearly the writer wanted Amy to stay dead.

Leaving Amy dead creates this lovely paradox:

Writer is too ignorant in time travel to understand that current timeline is erased, Lucy is now with Noah, and that is our endgame. Movie proceeds with Lucy/Wyatt ending.

The Mothership is dismantled for no reason. So now the team is stuck with ONE time machine for any future situations. Remind me again. Remind me. Why… did we have the Lifeboat in the first place? Oh yeah, Connor kept it in case the crew of the Mothership was ever stranded. And it came in handy after the Mothership was stolen. Right, who needs two time machines? Scrap her, boys!

In a flashforward to 2023, we see that Lucy is teaching at Stanford again. And she just got tenure! Which is a throwback to the Pilot, but completely ignores that it is not what Lucy wanted for herself, only what Carol influenced her into doing. Lucy’s dream job was to teach at a small college in Ohio. (Source: 1x14 conversation with Lindbergh.) But who CARES WHAT LUCY WANTS?! Certainly not a writer who barely knows the show upon which she is the showrunner.

Lucy is a thoroughly horrible fake feminist now. At her job, she teaches a general history class, but only talks about women in history. When a male student brings this up, Lucy says, “I meant to get to the men, but we just didn’t have time.Maybe in the spring, okay?” So he gets to sound sexist for valuing his education. Oh, wow, thanks. Feminism isn’t about ignoring men and acting like they’re not important. It’s about EQUALITY! Label your class as “Women’s History” if that’s all you’re going to teach. Also what if they don’t HAVE YOU next semester, Lucy?! They’re going on to their next classes completely unprepared. Remind me again how this woman got tenure? Because she didn’t get it in the Pilot due to her unconventional teaching methods. Somehow not adhering to your own course description is the secret to success?

Lucy and Wyatt have two twin girls named Flynn and Amy. There are so many bad fanfiction cliches I want to cry. TToTT Why are you making me cry? Never. name. the. second. generation. after. characters. that. died. It’s. THE. corniest. thing. Petition. to. stop!

Jiya and Rufus started “Riya Industries.” That’s right! They squeezed not one, BUT TWO fandom ship names into this nightmare. If you needed further proof no one was taking this movie seriously, here ya go.

2023 Lucy does take the journal to 2014 Flynn in the bar in Sao Paulo, but everything about it is wrong. Not only do Rufus and Wyatt accompany her, but the conversation leads to Lucy telling a man who just lost his family that he can change the past but will never save his family. Also he’ll die. And he should just accept all of that but still do what she says and sacrifice himself to save a world that hates him. And the entire conversation takes place in about a minute. I mean, people had a hard time believing Flynn would buy into Lucy’s story and do what she said after 2x08 premiered. Now? NO EFFING WAY!

A clip (deleted scene from Pilot) of 2016 Flynn at the end shows him about to raid Mason Industries and start us over again. In other words, he is stuck in Hell loop for eternity. His family will die in 2014, he will do horrible things he hates to save them and the world from Rittenhouse, and he will die unnecessarily to save the world. Then Lucy will go back in time, give him the journal, and start him on this quest all over again, knowing full well that he is a good man and this will destroy his soul. But she doesn’t care (actually smiles as she approaches him) because he “did bad things” and the writer thinks he deserves this. Even though Lucy is the one who set him on this path and one can EASILY argue it is all her doing and Flynn was nothing but her tool. Don’t worry, she gets her happy ending.

The movie closes on a young girl designing specs for her own time machine. Motives unknown, other than general interest, same as Connor in the beginning. The writer thinks this is an AMAZING open ending, leaving plenty of groundwork for more Timeless when fans get it renewed for a third time. (It is not. No one cares. You killed Timeless and flew all its plots into the ground.)

In conclusion, yes, worst case scenario on every single plot point. Timeless does nothing to prove or even suggest it deserves a third chance. I personally am left wishing it had never been renewed after the initial cancellation following S1. Let it stay dead now. Forever. It has done nothing to deserve yet another chance.

RIP Timemess.

Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya Chapter 5: The Masks We Wear

“You are, without a doubt, the most arrogant asshole I’ve ever met!” Nami screamed, her voice echoing down the steel hallway. Most of the crew had taken cover in any room they could find—things had been tense ever since the sunburn incident over a week ago, everyone walking on eggshells waiting for Law’s inevitable revenge. They all knew it wouldn’t be right away; the man liked to take his time, meticulously planning while his victim was lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he had forgiven and forgotten. There was already a large betting pool on what would happen and when, with theories ranging from her waking up to a room full of organs to being forced to wear a skimpy nurse uniform.

Most were silently praying for the latter.

Across from her, Law glared, arms crossed and knuckles white as a small vein popped in his neck out of frustration. They’d been arguing for nearly ten minutes, and for a man who was used to having his orders followed immediately and enthusiastically, it was quickly growing wearisome. “And you’re the most infuriating little witch I’ve ever encountered. I’m not even asking much; it’s completely within your skillset.”

“Like hell it is! You’d have more luck convincing me to wear your crew’s stupid jumpsuits!”

“And deprive my men of seeing you prance around in practically nothing? Morale would tank.”

She crossed her arms, scowling. “Then we agree; I’m not doing it.”

“Our agreement was that you work for me; that means you listen to my orders and carry them out, no arguments.”

“I absolutely never agreed to the ‘no arguments’ part.”

“All I’m asking is for you to pull your weight by using your skills as the Cat Thief to assist me in a little infiltration job. Or do you not know how to act like a lady?” he taunted.

She bristled at the insult but refused to take the bait. “I already pull my weight; I help Bepo with his maps, guide you through storms, and do my share of chores.”

“I’ll concede to the first two, but I know you’ve been conning the men into doing your cleaning.”

She didn’t even try to stop the pleased smirk from curving her lips. “I can’t help it if they feel like being gentlemen by taking on some extra mopping so I can dedicate my time to more important matters.”

“And you thank them by stealing their wallets.”

“It’s no secret I’m a thief; they should know better than to let their guards down around me. Consider it training; you said I shouldn’t let my skills degrade, and a pretty face like mine could be their downfall if they don’t smarten up.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t removed your hands for it, Nami-ya,” Law replied sourly. “That being said, I’m ordering you to stop stealing from them. It’s not nice to take advantage of your crew.”

Infuriated, she jabbed him in the chest. “They’re not my crew! We’re in a temporary alliance, and I’m fine working with them, but I’m a Straw Hat! Get that through your pigheaded-skull!”

A hand shot forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close to Law’s tall, imposing form. “For all intents and purposes, until the year is up, you’re a Heart Pirate. I said when you first arrived, I intend on making the most of having you on my crew, and I meant it.” Arguing was getting him nowhere, so he quickly changed tactics. A shiver ran up Nami’s spine as he leaned close, hot breath ghosting over her sensitive ear and neck. “You’re stealthy, clever, beautiful, and one of the best burglars on the Grand Line. I can’t imagine a better partner. With our combined skillsets, a job like this should be both easy and extremely profitable. I just need your help searching the place for some classified documents once the party’s in full swing.”

A hint of pink dusted her cheeks at his flattery. “Documents?”

“Inside the main study is a safe full of Marine codes, reports on the various atrocities they’ve caused in the name of ‘justice,’ names of soldiers infiltrating pirate crews—all things that go for millions of belli on the black market. Besides that, our target is known for having expensive tastes. Bejeweled trinkets, high-end art, gold statuettes; the man’s loaded.”

Nami couldn’t help it; belli signs flashed in her eyes at the thought of getting her hands on that treasure. Law’d said he had a big job planned, and clearly, he wasn’t kidding.

It was clear that he had her attention, so the Dark Doctor pressed on, voice dropping an octave to seductively murmur, “And that’s just the study. Imagine all the rich pockets you could pick at the party. Far more profitable than my crew, and anything you manage to steal on your own is completely yours; I won’t even demand a cut.” Brushing his free hand across the sleeve of her borrowed shirt, he added, “I was even generous enough to buy you a new dress for the occasion, since you’ll need to look the part of a rich doctor’s lover.”

As much as she hated it, she was wavering. When he’d first proposed—or more specifically, ordered—she escort him to a party as his date, she’d refused on principle. But damn, after only a month, he was starting to figure out her weaknesses, and right now, money was a big one. She had very little to her name on the ship; most of her clothes were borrowed from Ikkaku, and while they’ve made port a couple times, she hadn’t been able to get much beyond the essentials. So the idea of having fresh, wealthy victims and an outfit of her own that she didn’t even have to pay for was tempting indeed.

Too bad she knew pirates like him didn’t do anything for free.

Ignoring the overwhelming heat of his proximity and her natural greed, hazelnut eyes met his hooded gaze suspiciously. “What’s your real game here, Law?”

To his credit, his lazy grin didn’t falter. “Maybe I just think it’ll be amusing to watch you force yourself to shower me with love and adoration all night.”

Nami didn’t buy it for a second. Beneath the sharp scent of soap and antiseptic, she could smell a con. “And who, exactly, owns the house we’ll be infiltrating?”

The confident expression finally slid off his face. “Baron Harpin Gerald, former Head of Intelligence for the Navy.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“He’s over 70 years old—far past his prime.”

“Whitebeard was 72 and still considered the Strongest Man in the World! Garp’s even older and he can throw cannonballs like baseballs! And do you really think a couple of pirates won’t be recognized at a former Marine bigwig’s gala? Especially one of the fucking Supernova?!” she shouted, trying to pull away for the certified madman who’d managed to rope her into service.

Not budging or releasing his hold on the slippery thief, he stated, “Lucky that it’s a masquerade ball, then. A good mask, some temporary hair dye, and no one will suspect a thing. Besides, no pirate would be brazen enough to walk right into the lion’s den.”

“You mean stupid enough.”

“And here I thought you’d enjoy making a little extra cash.”

“I like staying out of jail more. Besides, I’ve seen what your powers can do; you don’t even need to attend the party!”

Gold eyes narrowed in annoyance, though she got the sense it wasn’t fully at her. “On that scale, everyone with eyes will notice a mysterious blue bubble springing up out of nowhere, and someone is sure to raise the alarm,” he countered. “The other problem is that the safe is made out of Seastone—that means my powers are useless, and even touching the damn thing weakens me. So, I need a more traditional thief by my side as back-up.”

Realization hit her like Luffy’s Gum-Gum Bazooka. “You’ve tried to rob him before, haven’t you?”

“Once, about six months ago. Far from a success, though at least the injuries were minimal and he never found out who got past his defenses.”

She frowned. Now it definitely made sense why he wanted to infiltrate the masquerade, but she was still skeptical. “How do you even plan to get us in? If this party’s as fancy as you say, there’ll be a guest list, invitations, at the very list some kind of ID check at the entrance to keep the riffraff out.”

Law reached into his jean pocket, drawing out a shiny, embossed invitation. “Then it’s a good thing Dr. Goodheart Adrian M.D. and his plus-one have already RSVP’d.”

“You really think they’ll fall for a fake invitation?”

“I sent Uni ahead to switch out the guest list with an updated version. Bribed a servant to let him take his place. He sent me a message this morning that he was successful, so we’re in.”

“Like anyone would believe you’re a real doctor.”

“I am a real doctor—I wouldn’t have been able to save Mugiwara’s life if I weren’t,” he said pointedly.

Nami winced. There was that painful reminder of exactly how much she owed this man and that, whether she liked it or not, she was obligated to follow his orders for the sake of their deal. The whole plan sounded absolutely insane, but it was still a plan—far more than she was used to on her own crew.

And she really needed the money. Not just for shopping; being so poor again brought back too many painful memories of her childhood, of being poor and watching Bellemere eat nothing but mikans so her kids would have enough to eat. Of putting aside the majority of her haul after every job, counting down the days until she’d have enough to buy back her village. Of watching those shady Marines destroy the mikan grove, hauling away her stash so Arlong could keep her forever. Treasure was more than just shiny coins and cute outfits to her—it was a safety net, something she clung to as tightly as a child might a security blanket.

Money could keep monsters at bay, and now that she was stuck on a ship with the Surgeon of Death, that fact was more prominent than ever.

So as much as she wanted to refuse and wipe that smug glint from his eye, she knew he had her backed into a corner, where the most she could do was give in gracefully.

At long last, she sighed, “My dress better have pockets.”

XXX

Though she generally preferred casual clothes, Nami appreciated expensive things, and the gown Law had gotten her definitely screamed “money.” The gold satin overdress, embossed with darker gold leopard spots, draped over her curves magnificently, cinching tightly at the waist with a black and gold belt; the bottom had an under layer of stiff interfacing, allowing it to flare out like a ballgown without the need for tulle or petticoats while concealing a daring slit where she could slip her ill-gotten goods into the many hidden interior pockets or expose the pale flesh of her leg as a distraction. The plunging neckline was nearly to her sternum, and the long, billowing sleeves hid her signature tattoo. It was more like an extremely fancy robe in its design, and underneath was a skintight, black, spaghetti-strap bodysuit much better for sneaking around in, her Clima-Tact strapped to her thigh. A string of pearls and matching earrings completed the look—it wasn’t quite as fancy as what she was sure other women would be wearing, but it was what she had, and it was less conspicuous than going unadorned. If she were lucky, maybe she’d have the opportunity to swipe something better off a drunk heiress.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” the Cat Thief grumbled as she carefully applied eyeliner. A long, dark purple wig covered her orange hair, the loose, elegant curls pinned away from her face with a few barrettes inlaid with pearls, letting the rest cascade down her back like a midnight waterfall. Ikkaku had given her permission to use as much of her makeup as needed, and with a bit of contouring and highlighter, Nami could hardly recognize herself.

“I can,” the engineer chimed from her bed where she’d been studying the mansion’s blueprints. She and the rest of the crew were tasked with causing a number of diversions throughout the island that would draw away the guards and authorities, giving the pair inside the perfect opportunity to sneak away to the study. “He made you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Honestly, I’m kind of jealous.”

“What, you want to be Law’s girlfriend for the night? Because I’m willing to trade.”

“Hell no—last time we tried that cover, I couldn’t keep a straight face. Nearly tanked the whole plan. But it’s cute how far he’s willing to go to get you on his side. It’s even funnier that you pretend you don’t like it.”

Nami snorted, brushing on some mascara, pleased with how sultry the fanned-out lashes made her almond eyes. “I don’t like it. He’s a creep, and Luffy’s rival, and I’m still waiting for the day I wake up on his operating table, heart and liver and kidneys on display and ready for sale. Or for him to sell me wholesale to the highest bidder.”

Shaking her head, Ikkaku replied matter-of-factly, “He wouldn’t do that to you unless you really tried to fuck us over. Like, there was one guy who joined up not long after me who tried to sell Bepo to some slavers—Minks go for a lot at auctions. Captain’s not usually one for cold-blooded torture, but he made that bastard suffer. Last we saw him, the guy was in pieces being shipped off to separate corners of the four Blues.”

She shuddered at the image, though she couldn’t bring herself to fault his reaction. The more she got to know Bepo, the more she wanted to protect him, too, and from what she’d gathered, the bear was one of Law’s oldest and closest friends. “Now that I believe, but are you seriously not afraid of him? You’ve seen what he can do, and while he’s not as bad as I thought, you can’t tell me all of his reputation’s government propaganda.”

“Why would I be? Even if he was as ruthless as the papers say, Captain Law takes care of his crew. Plus, I’m indispensable around here, and I grew up with four older brothers, so I know a thing or two about how many buttons I can push before I’m in any real trouble.” She smirked, as if she’d just discovered a big secret. “You’re not scared because you think he’ll actually slice you up—otherwise, you wouldn’t backtalk him so much. What you’re really afraid of is the fact that you’re not at the top of the food chain anymore.”

It gutted her that her friend wasn’t wrong. Though Luffy was captain, from the get-go Nami had basically been the one who ran the ship, bending the others to her will with either her feminine wiles or her fists. And while she certainly had most of the Heart Pirates wrapped around her finger, she didn’t like that Law had real power and authority over her while her usual threats and tactics had minimal effect on the cool captain. “It’s far from the only reason, but yeah, it doesn’t help. Don’t get me wrong—you’ve all been super nice and accommodating—but I’m not exactly a trusting person. And Law’s way more…I guess intimidating is the best word to use, than Luffy ever was. So I’m not going to be joining the guy’s fan club anytime soon.”

“Fair, but just give Captain a chance, yeah? He might surprise you.”

Before she could argue that she wanted absolutely no surprises from the Surgeon of Death, there was a knock at the door, the raps against the metal quick and precise.

“Seems someone’s here to pick you up for your date,” Ikkaku sing-songed.

Hazel eyes glared at her bunkmate as she got up to answer the door. “It’s not a date, and if you call it that again, you’re gonna find out why exactly why I’m Head Bitch in Charge on the Sunny.”

Steeling herself, Nami smoothed down the stiff fabric of her gown, determined to treat this night with the same level of professionalism Law used in the infirmary. A few hours of acting, looking pretty, and sneaking around, and then she could plan her next shopping spree. And despite his arrogance and innuendos, she was sure Law would take this just as seriously—after all, it was his plan, and the payout affected the whole crew. He knew what he was doing, and with the amount of thought and care he put into crafting this elaborate scheme, there was no way he’d risk it by pushing her buttons. Perhaps the night wouldn’t be a total disaster.

Those reassuring thoughts flew out the window into the ocean depths to probably be eaten by a sea king the moment she opened the door.

“Please tell me that’s not your disguise.”

Looking down at himself, the Dark Doctor’s brow furrowed. “I see nothing wrong with it.” Admittedly, he looked good; midnight blue hair, including his goatee and sideburns, was dyed black, and he’d put in grey contacts to cover the distinctive gold. His suit was sleek black satin, the knee-length, high-collared coat cutting a rather dashing figure. The vest was black and gold brocade, shiny gold buttons and matching watch chain adding a little extra flare. In his hand was a polished mahogany cane with a silver handle shaped like a bird’s skull, and Nami wondered if it was secretly a sword like Brook’s.

Yes, she could admit Law looked very handsome, but it was a shit disguise. For god’s sake, he was still wearing his hat!

“You think some colored contacts and dying your hair is enough to fool people?” she said, exasperated. “You’re a Supernova; your wanted poster’s one of the most recognizable this side of the Grand Line. You didn’t even bother to cover up your tattoos!” she shrieked, pointing at his hands.

He seemed genuinely surprised at her criticism. “You think I should wear gloves, then?”

Nami could have screamed. She’d expect that kind of answer from Zoro or Luffy, not a man who prided himself on his intelligence. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him into the room, pushing him down into the chair by the mirror and snatching off his hat, tossing it onto her pillow. His lanky figure looked almost comical in the too-small seat, long legs sticking out awkwardly. “Stay there. You’re going to wear gloves, but if you need to take them off for some reason, we want those things covered.” Squeezing out some foundation into her palm, she mixed it with some bronzer until the shade matched his skin tone. “Hold out your hands.”

“I don’t care for being ordered around, Nami-ya,” he growled in warning. “Keep it up, and you’ll regret it.”

“Well, I don’t like the idea of getting caught and thrown in jail because you didn’t think the Marines would be suspicious of a guy with DEATH tattooed on his fingers.”

Though he didn’t look happy, he conceded her point, hands steady and still as she applied the makeshift concealer. Definitely the hands of a surgeon, she thought, admiring his natural control. It was comparable to her own when she picked a lock or drew a map; not so much as a tremor, even when under intense scrutiny. Pleased that the black ink was sufficiently covered, she quickly spritzed on some setting spray and finishing powder, hoping the foundation wouldn’t rub off inside the gloves.

Inspecting his face, she then tilted the captain’s chin up, dabbing some concealer under his eyes.

“The fuck are you doing, woman?” he snapped, jerking his head back as if she’d slapped him.

“Covering up those massive bags under your eyes.”

“The hands were one thing, but I’m not letting you put makeup on my face. Besides, I like the world knowing that I’m tired of its shit and ready to kill at any moment.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s totally the mindset of a respectable, non-pirate doctor,” she sassed, jutting out her hip in annoyance. “It’s not like I’m turning you into a drag queen; just covering up some of your more recognizable flaws.”

His brow twitched at the insult. “I’ll be wearing a mask, so why does it matter?”

“You can still see under your eyes, and they might make you take off the mask at check-in. Are you really willing to risk your ‘perfect’ plan because your fragile male ego can’t handle a little cover-up?”

“Oh, just listen to her, Captain,” Ikkaku chimed from her bunk, the Cheshire cat grin on her face declaring to them both that she was mostly getting involved for her own amusement. “Nami’s the infiltration expert here, and you’re the one who insisted she come with you. Just suck it up.”

“You’re fired,” he snapped, pointing at her sternly as he once more dodged Nami’s attempt to dab him with the sponge.

“You’ve fired me six times since I joined, and I’ll tell you the same thing I always do—get rid of me, and Shachi’s the most qualified person to touch up your tattoos. You want that?”

Law shuddered. “Fine, you’re not fired, but you’re on kitchen duty for a month.”

“Eh, fair enough. Now be a good boy and let Nami tart you up.”

His glare could have melted steel, but he stopped resisting as the navigator carefully covered up the proof of his insomnia. Nami had to admit, she was impressed; Ikkaku hadn’t been kidding when she said she had no fear of the Surgeon of Death. It was also nice to see someone else backtalk him, as most of the time the Heart Pirates seemed to worship the very ground he walked on. It made her feel less like the enemy.

As the dark circles disappeared, she had to admit, she kind of missed them. Even though they could make her tired just by looking at them, they were distinctive and a major part of his normal appearance, and he just looked so different without them. Younger, maybe, and less mysterious.

Normal. Boring. Just…not Law.

Sensing her scrutiny, he raised a dark eyebrow. “Something on my face, Nami-ya? I mean, besides the makeup.”

Suppressing a blush at having been caught, she replied, “Just trying to figure out if you need any highlighter or lipstick. I’ve got a lovely flamingo pink—”

“Try it and Mugiwara-ya will have to find a new navigator,” he snarled, the hard look in his eye and the openness of the threat sending a shiver down the spines of both women.

Not willing to risk her life just to embarrass a man, Nami backed away, hands raised in surrender. Relieved that he wouldn’t be subjected to any more of her powders or creams, Law inspected himself in the mirror, lips twisted in a grimace as he studied the difference it made to his face. Nami couldn’t tell if he was more annoyed at the indignity of it all or the fact that she’d clearly been right, but grey eyes flicked to his messy black hair.

“I guess the hat did clash with my outfit, huh?”

“To say the least.”

Without a word, he grabbed her hairbrush and began combing it back into something a bit neater and more respectable, even as Nami groused, “Don’t use my things without asking.”

“Fine. May I use your brush?” he asked, not even glancing at her as he kept brushing.

“No, you may not,” she snapped petulantly.

“Oh, dear. Whatever shall I do, then?” he chuckled, tossing it back on the vanity, smirking at her grinding teeth. His mood was infinitely improved now that he was back in control, and while Nami appreciated not having to worry about being dismembered, a minute part of her wished he’d go back to sulking. “Best get that anger out now, Nami-ya. Once we’re on the island, it’s all smiles.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Getting out of the chair, he smirked down at her, pleased to once more have the height advantage so he could both figuratively and literally look down on the Straw Hat thief. “No, I’m enjoying this. What I’ll love is watching you try to keep that cute little temper of yours in check while we’re in public.”

“Asshole.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

A small vein throbbed on her temple. “Call me sweetheart again and there won’t be enough makeup on the Grand Line to cover up the bruises I’ll give you.”

“What an abusive girlfriend I have. I hope you at least kiss them better.”

“You wish. And if you’re going to be this much of an absolute prick all night, I’m charging you ten million belli per hour.”

“You want me to pay you to be my date? I wasn’t aware prostitution was part of your repertoire.”

“Congratulations; it’s now fifteen million.”

Ikkaku eagerly watched their back-and-forth like a particularly intense tennis match, grinning the whole time.

She didn’t feel particularly sorry for her captain or her roommate; both knew what they were getting into, provoking the other like that. No, she pitied the poor party guests, who had no idea what kind of unholy terror they were about to face.

Ah, to be a fly on the wall.

XXX

Tokken Island was one of the lushest and most beautiful little islands on the Grand Line, but the majority of the land was owned by Baron Harpin, forcing the port town to desperately cling to a jagged shard of the coastline while his enormous mansion and manicured grounds dominated the rest. Luckily, there were plenty of rocky outcrops and sea caves ideal for hiding the Polar Tang, and after teleporting his crew into position, the well-dressed pair made their way through the town.

“And why couldn’t you have Shambled us there or whatever it is?” Nami groused as she nearly stumbled for the third time. She was an expert at maneuvering in high heels, but that didn’t mean she was immune to the inherent dangers of cobblestone streets, especially ones so torn up.

Law chuckled as she finally accepted his proffered arm for support. The stubborn woman had refused to endure and physical contact with him until absolutely necessary, but it seemed the threat of a broken ankle before they could even get to the mansion had finally won her over. “My abilities take a lot of energy, and I’d rather save it in case we need to make a quick escape. Besides, I don’t want people getting suspicious if we pop up out of nowhere.”

She grumbled under her breath that he was probably doing it just to annoy her, even if, logically, he had a point. Wrapping her arm around his bicep for balance, she was finally able to turn her attention from the uneven road to the state of the town itself. Only about half the lanterns were lit, and what illumination they did give didn’t paint a very pretty picture.

The houses were run-down, roofs thatched haphazardly and some windowpanes packed with paper or rags instead of glass. The shops weren’t much better off, the display windows showing off rough-looking fishing supplies, underripe fruit, and cheap clothing. Only a few people were out, most looking worn-out or underfed, and those that didn’t stare at the pair of well-dressed pirates with envy watched them with hunger.

“If the Baron’s so wealthy, why’s the town in such a sorry state?” she wondered aloud. “I mean, just setting up this gala should have brought plenty of business to the port. Docking fees, restocking supplies, even sailors picking up cheap souvenirs—”

“There’s a private dock on the mansions’ grounds that he uses for deliveries and the like,” Law answered, barely sparing a glance at a skinny woman hoarsely calling out to passersbys, a basket of small trinkets thrust out towards them. “None of his business comes to the town—plus, he owns most of the farmland, so any crops are considered his property. All that’s really left is fishing, and the guy’s notorious for hating seafood, meaning these folks are shit out of luck.”

Biting her lip, Nami looked towards the woman again, freezing as a small child, yellow hair tied in twin pigtails down her shoulders, poked her head out from behind her frayed skirts. The little girl looked marginally less skinny than her mother, and without even thinking, the thief broke away from Law to inspect the woman’s wares. It appeared to be mostly jewelry—nothing particularly fancy but in the warm light of a nearby streetlamp she could tell it had been carefully made with decent materials.

“What are you doing?” Law hissed, looking around to make sure they weren’t drawing too much attention—most of the Baron’s guests wouldn’t lower themselves to pass through the slums like this, but he’d didn’t want to take any chances. That, and he wasn’t entirely sure there weren’t villagers desperate enough to try and mug them. He’d rather avoid a fight this early in the evening, and he didn’t want to get his nice, new suit dirty.

Ignoring him, she picked up a simple gold chain with a pendant made of four gemstones. They were beautifully polished, the marquise-cut purple tourmaline the color of the sky at sunrise. Their arrangement was reminiscent of Polaris, or perhaps the compass on her maps. “This is lovely,” she commented. “Is it locally made, or imported?”

The woman hastily explained, “My husband was once the Baron’s personal jeweler. He made beautiful pieces, but they were too simple for the Baron’s tastes. He wanted to impress lady callers, and demanded gaudier jewelry without providing the proper materials,” she said sourly. “My husband got sacked, and I’ve been trying to sell these off for a while. The necklace is 6000 belli on its own, or you can make me an offer for the set?” she said hopefully, indicating the matching ring and earrings in the worn basket, their delicate star designs winking in the dim light.

Immediately Nami could tell this woman hadn’t had any luck for a long time. The quality of the gems alone showed she was drastically underpricing the pieces. It was doubtful anyone in town could afford luxuries like jewelry, and if the Baron monopolized all the outside business at his own port, she probably never even saw other potential clientele. She was probably only even trying her luck now out of desperation. After all, you can’t eat gold, and with a small child to care for, any amount of belli would do.

“It would look really pretty on you,” the little girl murmured politely, large, purple eyes watching her in wonderment. Nami was certain she was the closest thing to a princess the child had ever seen, dressed in finery and on her way to an exclusive party at the glorious mansion on the hill. A real-life Cinderella, something out of a fairy tale she’d use to comfort herself on cold, hungry nights.

Nami had certainly been in those shoes, long ago, and she’d never been able to turn her back on a child in need. Her eyes were even the same color as the tourmaline in the basket.

Well, damn, she thought with a rueful smile. Poor kid could use a fairy godmother. Or at least a Cat Thief.

Pulling a black leather wallet out of her cleavage, she said, “I’ll take the set. How does 30,000 belli sound?”

Law’s jaw dropped as his eyes widened in recognition, immediately patting his pockets to confirm his suspicions. Coming up empty, he glared bitterly when the saleswoman replied, “Tha-that’d be perfectly fine!”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Law grumbled as Nami pulled out some bills, handing them over with all the care of a woman who was fine spending money that wasn’t hers.

The thief matched his glare, tossing him the wallet. “What kind of boyfriend wouldn’t lavish his lover with jewelry?” she huffed, giving the child staring at her with blatant adoration a conspiratorial wink.

“What kind of girlfriend pickpockets her lover’s wallet?” he countered, checking the contents to make sure he was only out 30,000 belli. Satisfied that the rest of his cash was safely in place, he glanced at the little girl, his scowl faltering as his eyes fell on the awestruck face of the little girl. Quickly, his gaze darted back up to the woman who wronged him, glaring like a basilisk.

Fluttering her eyelashes, Nami replied, “The kind who knows just how generous her lover is,” she quipped before turning back to the jewelry seller to collect her purchase. For a moment, a pair of gold barrettes inlaid with clear stones—possibly diamonds, again in the marquise cut—caught her eye, but she knew better than to swipe Law’s wallet twice in one night. So, reluctantly, she only took her purchase, patting the little girl on the head in farewell. When the kid bobbed a curtsy in response, Nami couldn’t hold back her giggle, returning the gesture.

That kid’s going to have one hell of a story to tell her friends tomorrow, she thought cheerfully, jogging slightly to catch up with Law, who’d been less than the image of a handsome prince by storming off up the road without her.

Joining her date, she rolled her eyes in exasperation at the dark scowl on his face. Even without his hat, his black bangs cast ominous shadows over his eyes. He was walking even faster now, and she had to work to keep up with his long strides. It was petty, petulant revenge against the woman who had dared to get the better of him. “Are you mad that I took your wallet, or that you didn’t even notice?” she taunted lightly.

Even from the corner of his eye, his hawk-like glare made goosebumps rise across her shoulders. “I’m mad because you wasted our time and my money,” he snapped. “I already bought you your dress, mask, and wig. My ‘generosity,’ as you put it, has its limits.”

“I’ll pay you back,” she ground out, refusing to feel guilty for her actions. That little girl’s smile had been well worth the price of Law’s irritation, but she also knew she had to appease his anger if they were going to pull off their grand scheme. When he scoffed, she added reluctantly, “With interest.”

“Why’d you even bother?” he asked, indicating the jewels in her hand.

Pulling him to a stop under one of the streetlights, Nami switched her original earrings out for the bejeweled ones. “It’s for the cover. I’m supposed to be a rich doctor’s arm-candy, and my boring pearls would have looked way too simple, especially with this dress. With these, I’ll blend in better.”

“You could have just stolen them.”

She frowned at him, genuinely offended. “I steal from pirates and rich idiots who can afford it. Did you see that woman? I’d bet all the treasure on the Sunny that any money she got went to feeding her kid. I’m not going to even haggle with someone in that kind of situation.” A soft, sad smile graced her lips. “My mother did that. Claimed she was on a diet when she really couldn’t afford to feed all three of us.”

There was a moment of silence as she turned away from him, hoping to collect herself before she started bawling at the memory of Bellemere’s sacrifices. Silently, she thanked her adopted mother, willing back the stinging sensation of tears forming behind her eyes. Ruining her makeup before they even arrived at the gala would do them no good. Besides, Law would probably have some kind of smart-ass comment about it.

The refusal to let her temporary captain see her so weak, she brushed away her sadness to focus on her new jewelry. Slipping on the ring, she admired how it gleamed under the warm lamplight. It was a tad too big, fitting most comfortably on her middle finger, but she found the style suited her. She might even wear the set on a night out sometime; maybe to celebrate tonight’s success. Assuming the plan didn’t go to shit, that is.

She jumped when he finally responded, “I hate to say it, but that does look good on you.” When she turned her head, she couldn’t fight the sudden blush that spread across her cheeks. Worryingly, she couldn’t tell if it was due to his sudden, intimate proximity or the small, appreciative smile lifting his lips. Such an expression seemed too gentle for the famed Supernova, and yet she found she rather liked the way it softened and relaxed his features. “You’re surprisingly soft-hearted for a pirate, though.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, struggling to maneuver the tiny clasp through her thick wig. Suddenly having so much hair was a real pain, and she wondered how she’d ever manage if she grew her own hair out. Short was more practical, after all, and looked cute on her to boot.

“Here, let me help,” his smooth voice whispered in her ear, and she felt her curls carefully gathered to rest over her shoulder. Nimbly, he took the necklace and fastened it securely around her neck. Tingles ran down her spine as the smooth leather of his black gloves brushed her bare skin, and the whole thing felt strangely intimate. Turning her around, Law studied his date. The pendant rested just above the dip of her bountiful cleavage, sparkling invitingly. “I’m pretty sure it’s still too simple for this crowd, but it works better than the pearls.”

Her reply was cut off by the curls she’d pinned up tumbling into her face, only to be swept back into place, secured by his deft fingers. He cupped her chin, appraising his work before nodding. Suspicious, because Trafalgar Law’s approval was never a good thing in her mind, she reached up to touch her hair, russet eyes widening when she felt gemstones instead of pearls. Head snapping back to look at the mother and daughter, her jaw dropped when she saw the little girl holding a wad of bills, beaming even more brilliantly than before while the saleswoman looked close to tears.

Turning to her partner in crime for the night, Law responded with a nonchalant shrug, though she could see his grey eyes soften as they lingered on the child excitedly waving back at them. “The pearl clips didn’t match the rest, and if we’re going to pull this off, we’d best go all-out. Plus, that cash’ll ensure their silence should they be questioned by the authorities later. I’d rather your kindness not get us identified.”

It was all very logical and well-thought-out and total bullshit. Nami had to smile as she once again took his arm, matching his easy gait as they made their way up towards the mansion. “Right. Because I’m the soft-hearted one.”

“You’re paying me back for those, too, by the way,” he quipped, smirking at her annoyed growl.

Before she could argue, he halted; the brilliant lights of the mansion were in sight, and small groups of well-dressed guests were gathering at the ornate front gate. It was time to stop being Cat Thief Nami and the Surgeon of Death Trafalgar Law, bickering pirates, and become a loving couple. Gently as a forest stream, Nami adjusted her body language, leaning comfortably against her partner, hand clutching his bicep possessively, face switching from a seething scowl to the deliriously happy grin of a woman pathetically enamored with her companion.

For his part, Law seemed to morph into his role just as fluidly, posture straightening into something more refined, his smile relaxed and charming; perfectly playing the part of a man who knew he was smart, good-looking, successful, and could easily use all that to get a woman as beautiful as the one on his arm.

Inside, Nami groused that he had the way easier acting job.

As they made their way up the mansion’s long, winding front path, crushing artfully sprinkled rose petals beneath their feet, Law slipped on a raven mask, the sharp beak curving over his nose and the shiny black feathers fanning out like little spikes over his cheeks and forehead. Nami was grateful she’d covered up his dark circles—the eye holes were definitely wide enough where they would have been distinctly visible.

In contrast, her mask was modeled after a cat, the color and leopard spots mimicking her gown perfectly. It flawlessly concealed the upper half of her face, while the large eyeholes showed off her beautiful eyes and wouldn’t block her sightline too badly.

Approaching the doorman, Law handed over their invitation, smirking when the servant checked it against the guest list before nodding, ushering them both inside. Another servant led them down an extravagantly decorated front hallway. The doctor hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the Baron was an art collector with expensive tastes; masterpieces in gold frames hung along the walls, marble statues and painted porcelain vases were displayed on opulent pedestals, and even the crimson rug beneath their feet was luxuriously soft.

Nami had to briefly bury her head against Law’s shoulder to hide the belli signs that sparkled in her eyes.

Eventually, they reached the ballroom, and as they waited to be announced, Law affectionately brushed his lips across her hair. “Ready for some fun?” he murmured, his tone affectionate but the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips screamed of devilish intentions.

She mirrored his smile and tone, eager to line her pockets and relish in luxury for a while before the real job began. “Absolutely.”

As the ballroom doors opened, the servant next to them announced them to their fellow guests.

“Presenting Dr. Goodheart Adrian and his escort, Ms. Chaton Bellemere!”

Rebellion, Shall We?

     When students get fed up...

    We were all sitting in class. Stone walls let in the early autumn drafts, so all of us were wearing the thin sweaters and barely-there jackets provided to us. All of the girls were trying to keep from shivering. Wooden floorboards lead to a wooden platform at the front of class. Ms. Rochester was droning on and on about the topic of the week, rows of glazed over eyes were gazing vaguely in her direction. Out of the exactly twenty people in the room, only three people were really paying attention. The three pre-chosen girls who were taking notes. Even though everyone’s eyes were on the teacher, their minds were on the vents. And when the time would come. 

     I was sitting in the first row nearest to the door, three seats down. Though I couldn’t see everyone in the room, only the teacher could do that, I was monitoring everything. From the scratches of the three pencils on the paper, to the mummers that were rising up from the back of the classroom. Turning around in my wooden desk, I silenced the mutterings with a look. It may have seemed like I did it on a whim, but I made sure that the teacher wasn’t looking. And I had to make certain not to jingle the chain that bound me to the desk. They were there so that no one could leave unless the teacher unlocked you. On a regular day when nothing was scheduled to happen I bet three people would have been either thrown out of the room, hit with the steel meter stick, or both even though we were only half an hour into class. But this was not a normal class, not in the slightest. None of us could afford to get in trouble, at least not until….

     One of the notetakers dropped their pencil, it was almost time.

     “Ten, nine, eight, seven,” I looked down at my antique watch, watching the second-hand tic down, “Six, five, four,”

     Two of the girls slipped on masks, with the teacher none the wiser. Ms. Rochester had always had trouble looking up from her lecture book.

     “Three, two, one.” I finished my count and held my breath. And it seemed like nothing happened.

     I thought I smelled something, but those wearing masks felt it first. They fidgeted but didn’t cough, and I clenched my fist as I saw eyes begin to water. We couldn’t have done all of that for nothing, no it couldn’t be. When the teacher seemed unaffected, I had to blink back the water in my own eyes.

     “Damn it, don’t tell me this was all for nothing,” I thought to myself, but just as I was giving into despair the teacher started coughing.

     “And if you...and if you....just,” the teacher couldn’t even continue the lesson, she was coughing so much.

     Ms. Rochester started doubling over, but still tried to continue the needless lecture. For a second I thought she had more endurance than I thought. That she was going to power through while having the reaction. I was wrestling with the fact that my initial impression of her was wrong when Ms. Rochester excused herself to the infirmary. Just as the mask-wearing girls were just reaching their breaking point. We received the vague instruction to copy from our textbooks and for a few minutes we were all quiet and compliant. But once the footsteps disappeared sighs were let out all throughout the room. Slipping the key from my pocket I unlocked my chains in a practiced motion. With an excited chill, I calmly walked to the front of the classroom, and stepped up to the teaching platform.

     “Thank you, everyone, for being such model, model students today,” I started, almost laughing at how well my plan had worked out, “We could not have done this without Ms. Rochester not suspecting a thing. And the quiet environment you all created was perfect. All of you head down to the cafeteria, GiGi will have secured the cookies by now, free of charge ~of course~. Gwen, Vivian go to the Cedar Dorm, room 341. I’ll exhort you two there. And let me commend you two even though we got your EpiPens in the raid last week it’s still very brave of you two to come to class today. You guys get something very special later, trust me. And I want to emphasize to all of you, even though I’m being maddeningly vague about why we did all this, relax, everything I do, everything I ask you all, to do has a purpose.”

     Once my speech was completed I went around unlocking everyone from the desks. Everyone started to head out of the classroom once they rubbed their ankles a bit. Normally I would have went on. As a sort of prelude to my speech later that night. Some verbal baiting about what I would announce that night, I needed to foster some curiosity after all. But I had more important things to deal with than my speech. With haste, I gathered up my backpack and started to escort Vivian and Gwen out the door. Though it was only when the door to the class opened and people started wandering out, did I remember I had something else to say.

     “Oh right!” I said, slipping on my projecting leader voice once again, “We’ll be switching note-takers tonight, so Cecile, Sera, Phoebe, you guys are off duty.”

     There was a large murmur of discontent at that announcement, but I smiled when I heard three sighs of relief throughout my fellow students. 

     “No matter how big of a victory we just earned,” I thought to myself,” They’ll always find something to complain about.”

     True to my word I walked the two coughing students out of the building and to the aforementioned dorm. The corridors of the buildings were identical, the walls were identical, and after a few turns, even the art of the walls looked the same. It was only when I got outside of the building did I breathe easy, but even that had a dark side. As I walked on the historical cobblestone paths I saw the grass, grass the painstakingly maintained by students in detention under threat of violence if even one blade was out of place. Trees blanketing the mountains in the distance were landmarks I could never get to. Through the brittle ivy, I saw the walls, walls that both blocked me in and kept me sane. I didn’t know how I would manage outside of the walls, and just that thought made me squirm.

     Cedar Dorm wasn’t too far away, but by the time we were climbing the stairs, I was half carrying Gwen. Without knocking I kicked my way into room 341, ignoring the two half-dressed girls tangled around each other on one of the single beds. Placing Gwen on the bed and making sure Vivian was comfortable on the floor, I started digging through the boxes that were piled in the corner of the already cramped dorm room. 

     G. Harris

     V. Derintime

     I found them both in the first box and for a brief second, I thought about reconsidering my views on God. Luckily the moment passed. In quick succession I stabbed the corresponding EpiPens in the corresponding girls, and after a few minutes their couching began to subside. Thanks to the masks the reactions weren’t severe, so they wouldn’t need actual medical attention. Still I needed to make sure they were both okay, and by that, I mean someone else would have to make sure they were okay. And she should already be helping. When I turned back to the room I saw that the two girls had extricated themselves from each other, and were looking concerned at the two girls who had been stabbed, finally, they were doing their jobs. The washed-out plaid sheets on one of the beds were tangled, while the other identical bed was still occupied by Gwen. 

     “So the peanut dust worked?” Rebecca who had been on the bed asked, clearly trying to cut the supposed tension in the room.

     I internally snickered. Whatever people choose to do in their free time was none of my business, but I could never understand why so many of my fellow students choose to spend so much time in bed together. That and why they had been so focused on jamming their tongues down the other’s throats to get the EpiPens ready in advance. But I supposed that everyone had to have their escapes. 

     “Like a charm, Ms. Rochester will be in the infirmary for a while,” I told her, selectively leaving out the heart aching few moments when Ms. Rochester did react to the allergens we deliberately pumped into the vents.

     “And one of our biggest competitors, out of the way,” Rebecca nodded. 

     Bee who had been in the bed with Rebecca glared at us. She had been tending to the girls who had peanut allergies, taking their temperatures, that kind of thing. Covering them with blankets and administering more remedies, “How can you categorize this as a success? Gwen and Vivian almost didn’t make it here.”

     “Perhaps if the EpiPens had been ready ahead of time, or if you two met us in the hallway they would be in better shape, “ I told her in a casual tone. I had struck below the belt. I knew that, but I didn’t like how she had said that. Sure I had taken some risks, but they would all payout in the long run. They just had to have patience, they would see that they would have to.

     Bee shut up after that, and I felt a bit bad. But not bad enough to apologize. Instead I watched her as she tended to the girls. “Wounded in an attack.” That’s what I would tell everyone when I gave them their special reward that night. “Brave.” That’s the word that I would use. Even before they recovered fully I was composing my speech. 

     “Bravely they walked into the scene of one of our surprise attacks. Knowing that even though their allergies may be severe, the cause was more important. That we would take care of them. And that is my promise to you, to all of you. I will take care of you! It may take some sacrifice, it may take some work, but all of you, all of us will be okay!”

     I sighed, it wasn’t quite right. “Okay” was a bit of a passive word, but I knew that I would figure it out by the night. In the meantime I sat down on the floor and started on my homework for the day. In the past, I would have gone to my own dorm, but…. Ever since I had started all of my little uprisings people would walk in and out of my room without warning. It hadn’t really mattered that my roommate didn’t know the meaning of locks before, but now it was a real pain in the neck. Like I would be just sitting on my bed reading and someone would walk in, demanding that I get them the letter their boyfriend from back home had sent. And of course, I would try to placate them, telling them the date of the next mailroom raid. But of course, they would argue, and eventually, they would take my advice and wait for the next raid, but only if I gave them some black market chocolate. It would take like half an hour and after only three minutes of homework or reading or whatever I was doing someone else would pop in. And the cycle would start again.

     That’s why I had started hanging out in other people’s dorms to do everything, even sleep. I kept a spare uniform in my backpack so I didn’t even have to go to my dorm to change clothes every day. Now that I thought about it I hadn’t been to my dorm all that week, my clothes supply was almost through. And of course, there was another reason I hung out in other people’s dorms. I thought about that as I watched Bee and Rebecca C. try not to kiss each other as they hung around. Bee was the closest thing we had to a nurse aside from the school nurses, and they would never join our side. But Rebecca, Rebecca was someone I hadn’t thought would shack up with Bee. She was one of the first leads I had ever trusted enough to organize a raid, one of the last raids of the black market to be exact, but we hadn’t talked one on one in a while.  It was fun to sort of spy on my close associates and friends, at least for an afternoon. Because what were they going to do, tell me to leave? 

     The afternoon passed quickly, with homework and studying. School was never a high priority for me, but my role made it important that I never let my grades drop again. A grade drop would mean a referral to the councilors, and I couldn’t afford any unwanted attention to myself. 5:00, I knew that the “study groups” were meeting. The designated note-takers from every class were sharing the notes, everyone copying them in their style just in case of any surprise note checks. 6:00, the “study groups” were dispersing and people were starting their nightlife routines. Blackmarket stores were opening up in dorms across campus, selling and bartering off everything from chocolate to stamps. Of course with my representatives watching their every move for overcharging or faulty products. I shuttered and my pencil shook when I thought of monthly tax collecting coming up, but steeled myself with the fact that we would have scored our big victory by then.

     “Right everything will be better by Monday night, or we’ll all be in the principal's office,” I told myself, as an ultimatum of sorts.

     7:00 Vivian and Gwen were well enough to leave. Still, it had been a traumatic experience so I gave them a couple of signed sick notes. It was enough to get them out of a day or two of classes. The notes were a prize in their own right, I could see the admiration in the eyes as I casually pulled the notes out of my backpack, but they weren’t their ultimate prize. 7:30 I was done with my homework and felt fully prepared for any pop quizzes. Rebecca and Bee were fingering each other under a blanket, and I figured it was high time for me to go.

     “The meeting’s at 9:30,” I reminded them, though I'm not sure that they were listening, “I need both of you there.”

     I could have stopped by my dorm and gotten some rest, but the meeting that night was way too important. So I walked to the art building. And even though curfew was officially at 9:00 I was getting some weird looks from every passing teacher. If the rest of the campus was drab, then the art building that drab with a layer of yellow. For flavor. Identical, by the book, 100% on the report card art pieces were hanging, decorating, and generally brightening up the space. Of course, the halls were dark and empty. Officially all campus buildings closed at 6:00. But if you were “checking on your art piece” no one would bother you. And finally I was there, the Gallery.

     It was as big as a small auditorium and absolutely chocked full of art. Craft class tapestries up on the walls and paper lanterns glittering from the ceilings made this room everyone's favorite hang out in the school. When they could get in, technically it was only open during parent visitation week and board meetings, but stealing a key was child’s play. Feature dividers were up all around the room for the sole purpose of hanging up paintings the school found acceptable. Quietly just as I practiced and had done over and over again I pushed the feature walls out of the way so that when all of the girls were gathered there would be standing room. I even used all of the muscles that I had gotten from swimming to push all the sculptures into a corner as well. But not before I committed the layout to memory. When the art teacher went into the Gallery the next board meeting, nothing could be out of place. At the same time, I knew that across campus Emma D. was preparing the space for the meeting after the big meeting. A gathering that some of my more funny friends called the “After Party”. Once I was done clearing the room I sat on the stage that was intended to hold statues, waiting for people to file in. 

     The first was the cafeteria/kitchen team. Ladened with folding tables and “Midnight snack” they started setting up the spread for that night. Nothing too fancy just grapes, cheese, a bit of cured meat, but they were still better than what we got on a regular basis. I talked them up as they were working, just polite chatter, nothing serious. But I made sure that the girls’ lead GiGi would be at the After Party that night. Girls seemed to be drawn to the snacks by smell and soon the room was full. Normally with so many girls in such a space would have been deafening, but all of them knew the importance of silence. 

     “Thank you all for coming tonight,” I said when I finally stood up on the stage, “As always we will start with the most mundane topics.”

     I started with the freshman. Group A, then Group B, then Group C, then Group D. Picking note takers for all of them. It was by random draw so I had no say in the choices yet people still thought that I was picking favorites. It was even worse when I got to the sophomores. For yet another week I wasn’t chosen as a notetaker and I honestly thought that some girls would start knocking down tables. Bee calmed them down just in time though. The juniors and the seniors went much easier and pretty soon we were done, with the issue of note takers at least. 

     The complaint period was also a bit testy. 

     “My teacher is being so mean, poison her too!”

     I told her that the poisoning was a one-time thing. The purpose of which would be revealed later in the meeting.

     “I had to give Elly K. $5 and a kiss for a bag of skittles!”

     Once I made sure that she wasn’t talking about the chocolate kiss I told her that I would look into it. Or more accurately I would have someone else look into it for her. Conveniently for her, Elly K. wasn’t at the meeting that night, I would make her face justice though. I promised the girl that.

     “I have detention and three papers to write this week!”

     Once I had thoroughly berated her for procrastinating so much, and not actually working in her study group I gave her a solution. No handouts from the cafeteria for a week and I would have someone write her essays. And I felt the future headache I would have when thinking of something to give the essay writers.

     I announced for more comments or concerns, seeing as there were none I moved onto my main point.

     “I’m sure that by now you have heard of our operation in Ms. Rochester's classroom” I started hearing the whispers blossom as I mentioned what was already on everyone’s mind, “To quell any rumors I will tell you what happened. Our brave field operatives Fiana and Emma B. released peanut dust into the vents that led to her classroom. As any sophomore in group C would know Ms. Rochester is very allergic to peanuts. The operation was a success, Ms. Rochester ran out of the class and Laurel K. the infirmary helper told us that she is stable.”

     Cheers erupted when they learned of the operation and I paused to let them continue. Sophomores especially knew of the shame when Ms. Rochester forced them to put their own food in the trash and watched as she spit in it. When she tightened the desk bindings in response to a single sound. But getting back at a mean teacher wasn’t the reason for the operation. I thought about the look on her face as she raced out of the room. At least that wasn’t the only reason.  

     I put on my commanding leader voice once again, “But the real stars of the operation were the ones who really risked it all. Vivian D. and Gwen V. were in the classroom. And for those who know them, you know that these brave girls are allergic to peanuts. I gave them the option to cut class, I would have taken care of everything. But Gwen and Vivian are brave, they knew that only a totally normal class could get Ms. Rochester to let her guard down. They elected to stay in class and expose themselves to the peanut dust. Bee had their EpiPens but still, it was a risk. A risk that they have not been rewarded for yet. So Gwen, Vivian come up here, it’s time to get your just deserts.”

     More cheers for Gwen and Vivian and I could feel the two girls’ popularity soaring. They pushed their way to the front, and I invited them to step up on the podium for me. Gwen’s black curls bounced as she climbed up and Vivian had to stifle a gasp. That was what I was aiming for, to seem larger than life. Once they were up beside me and staring out at the crowd, I started talking again.

     “This operation highlights the one thing I have said to you time and time again as this year has gone one,” I told them, making sure to put emphasis on every word, “That we will dominate with school. It may take risks, it may take years, and it will take sacrifice, but we can do it together. And believe me, what I give to these brave girls is only a taste of what you will all receive in the near future.”

     And with that, I pulled the ultimate reward out of my pocket. Two cell phones, one in a marble case and one in a flower case. And I handed them to their respective owners. The room was silent as Gwen turned on her phone, and I saw tears in people’s eyes as the start-up tone rang out throughout the room. Vivian actually did start crying when she looked at her lock screen. When the awe in the room hit its peak I spoke again.

     “This weekend we will get all of the technology that this school has taken from us back,” I promised everyone, conviction filling every inch of my voice, “Ms. Rochester was only a test, this will be the true exam of all of us and all of the progress we have made. We will break into the Principal's storage room, take every piece of technology from the latest iPhone to the smallest Fitbit, and return them to their owners. Expect your phones by Monday or me to be in detention, that is my promise to you all this night!”

     I stepped down from the podium and the room lit up with the closest thing to a roar they could manage an hour past curfew. Vivian and Gwen followed behind me and I whispered something urgent to them before the crowd swept me away.

     “Tell me right away if someone takes your phones,” I told them quickly. And seeing the confused look on their faces I explained further, “Some people won’t be able to wait until Monday for contact with the outside world. Don’t let your phone’s out of your sight until Monday, tell me if you can’t find them.”

     They nodded and I tried to dash out of the room. But still, I was accosted by people all the way to the door. Naturally, even though the meeting was over people were still milling around the room. We always staggered our exit time so there weren't hundreds of girls going back to their dorms in the middle of the night. I mean the shadows would be full of girls hiding in them. As always I was in the first group but even though the meeting ended at 10:00 I left the Gallery at 11. 

     I used the walk to the After Party to compose myself, think back about what I had said.

     “Maybe I laid it on a little too thick with the brave stuff,” I said to myself, staring up at the moon.

     Since I had announced the plan publicly there would be way more opposition. Even though the team leads and student government had known about it for weeks, I could tell that it would be a rough After Party. Still I walked all the way to Cypress Dorm, knowing that there would be hell to pay in the morning if I wasn’t there.

     The Cypress Dorm was exactly like all of the other dorms scattered around campus. Three stores of red brick and small windows. With only the occasional dying planter box to break up the monotony. I climbed the stairs two at a time to the third floor, where I stopped at room 372. Redundantly knocking as well.

     Hearing nothing inside the room I knocked again and hearing nothing I knocked a third time. An exasperated “come in'' echoed from inside the room. Stifling my smirk I walked inside and found the usual cluster of people in the usual configuration. Room 372 was used for storage so old furniture was stacked haphazardly across the space with only the cobweb scaffolding to keep them upright. Making it seem cramped and dim, even though the lights were on. In a rough cluster of chairs near the door were most of the people I could count on. Team leads and special representatives chatting while desecretelty sipping on the best champagne we could find in school. They quieted down a bit when I entered the room, but didn’t stop their chatter entirely. I couldn’t tell if it was because they weren’t surprised that I was here, or if they were just tipsy.

     But the main group near the door weren’t the only people at the After Party. The regulars, the student council, and ones who always gave me trouble were standing a bit farther away. There were other chairs of course. In fact they were standing around some of the best chairs in the room. Real antiques, plush and velvety, but they were just standing around. Instantly silent upon my entrance I could feel that it would be a rough meeting. Breaking the tension early I gravitated toward the person who I knew would have the most to say.

    “Harris!” I greeted our student body president with a small hug acting like we were friends, even though everyone knew that we weren’t, “I heard about you getting Mrs. Gogomine to let off on the group punishments, good work you really are made for diplomacy, huh?”

     Elenore Harris had been student body president since I was a freshman. Always trying to make reforms on her own. Slightly longer lunch breaks as rewards, and landscaping for only the worst offenders. Everyone had seen her as a radical reformer who would change the school for the better. At least that was until I came along. Now she had been relegated to the wayside a bit, and her only job seemed to be raining me in. Or at least try to anyway.

     Harris pushed me off of her, “Don’t play with me Valencia! You're about to step on the hornet's nest and you’re still trying to play games!”

     I smiled grimly when she used my first name. As student body president it was only natural that everyone treated her with respect. And even though we didn’t have the best relationship I still called her by her last name and usually, she did the same to me. But when we were really going at it, when she was really mad at me, she would switch to my first name. The subtext heavy in her tone. You’re not a leader, I am. You weren’t elected, I was. You can’t accomplish anything, I can. She was so infuriating sometimes.

   “It’s high time we stepped on the hornet's nest,” I said, not exactly raising my voice but adjusting the gravitas to make sure that everyone in the room knew that this was addressed to them too, “They’ve been stinging us for years. And you just want to leave them be? Looks like you may be more of a hornet than I thought.”

     It was an old jest, but something that she needed to be reminded of. The reason that I didn’t run for student government when I first got into the school was because I didn’t want to be part of the establishment. When I first started raiding the kitchen and petitioning students to help me that was the answer that I got. 

     “Just run for an office,” they said, “Make changes when you get elected.”

     It always infuriated me when I heard that. I was young and I was even more angry than I was when I was talking to Harris at the After Party. The student government was just a place for us to pretend like we were making a difference. A little play place in the real world where we could make believe that they cared about our opinions. I don’t think that I could ever be part of something like that. And then more than ever that sentiment was growing. Everyone was looking at Harris like she was a tool of the establishment, and I could tell that it was starting to grate on her.

    “Hornet's nest or not,” Harris said, I could tell she was regretting using that metaphor, “Doing what you're doing, taking back everyone’s technology, that will ruin this entire….”

    Harris paused for a moment while gesturing around the room at the team leads and important people in the rebellion, “What do you call this a rebellion? When we get caught red-handed in the principal's storage room this little rebellion is over. And all of us are getting in-school suspension plus yard work for the rest of our time here!”

     I sighed and backed up. Taking a seat on a bursting apart couch near the entrance where everyone in the room could see and hear me with perfect clarity. A cracked flute of champagne was already sitting on the end table, waiting to be drunk. Lifting it to my lips I took a sweet sip, not breaking eye contact with Harris along the way. With a sigh, I placed my arm around the girl next to me and smiled, smiled as if the entire room was mine.

     “If you bothered to read any of the memos and plans I sent to your room you would already know that there is no chance of us getting caught. But I suppose you’re too busy upholding the status quo to care about any of my changes.” 

     What I really wanted to say was “get out if you don’t like what I was doing”, but couldn’t. As inept at politics as I was, I knew that Harris’s support was a thing that I needed. Even if she gave it reluctantly. And besides, even if she was just a mouthpiece of the principle half the people at the After Party still looked up to her. I needed all the help I could get if the techno-raid was to go off without a hitch.

     Harris sighed as though I was a screaming toddler in the aisle at Walmart, “You know that I want change but this isn’t the way to get it. It’s too much of a risk.”

     She had softened her tone and as much as I wanted to bring her in and tell her what I really felt. That I didn’t really want to do this, but that the students needed change. That if I didn’t do something soon everything that I had worked for would crumple. But I knew, I knew, that whatever she was saying was just a ploy to get me to admit that I was wrong. Instead I took another sip of champagne and didn’t relent.

     “Please Harris,” I told her using a tone that said I thought that she was as stupid as she thought I was, “Read the plan and then make comments. You sound a bit ignorant otherwise.”

     Plays on her intelligence normally worked and before I knew it Harris was sitting down on the one the chairs she had abandoned and reading the plans that I had meticulously typed up on my stolen typewriter. The thing was pretty dense so I knew that it would take her some time to even skim it over. With Harris busy I turned my attention back to the team leads. 

     “So GiGi, how goes the kitchen?” I asked her, even though I knew full well how it was going. It was going great. The previous girl I had entrusted the kitchen team to was too cautious. We barely had enough snacks for even the meeting every week, let alone for cookies between classes. But GiGi was clever and brave, she knew the kitchen inside and out, and she had been getting the job done swimmingly. Even though I didn’t need her to tell me, I had gotten her official report just the previous day, it's good to start with positive news.

     GiGi knew this too because she smirked at me, “Valencia, darling, it’s amazing. Come next week and we’ll be able to cook our own food when the chef ladies aren’t there.”

     That statement earned her fistpumps from everyone around her. Not having to eat cafeteria food would be amazing, even though it wasn’t that bad it was soulless. Making our food would be a big morale boost as well. Having heard everything from GiGi I turned my eyes toward the person who I had draped my arm around when I first sat down. I knew her name was Rosane, but other than that nothing. In fact I didn’t even know why she was even at the After Party, or how she knew about it. As far as I knew she wasn’t even a team lead.

    I offered my other hand for her to shake and looked down at her from my position on the couch, “I’m Valencia Ruiz I don’t think we’ve met.”

     Ignoring the absolute absurdity that I would have my arm around her we have never officially met and that fact that she most definitely already knew my name Rosane shook my hand and introduced herself.

   “Rosane Bearson, I’m a freshman in group C,” she said which raised a few eyebrows from me. Being a freshman she was likely the youngest person in the room. I wondered who trusted her enough with a team that she would need to attend the After Party.

     “Oh I’m not an actual team lead,” she told me, quick to figure out what I had been thinking, “But since Ana B. is sick she said I need to lead the classroom team until she gets better.”

     I nodded as the situation became clear to me. When she first got sick I hadn’t sent Ana B. a get well soon card, I sent her a congratulations card. It wasn’t everyday someone got strep throat and the flu at the same time after all. 

     “Ana must trust you a lot if she wanted you to lead her team,” I told her, masking the fact that I was a little pissed that Ana hadn’t told me that she had assigned a random freshman girl to lead one of the most important teams in the rebellion, “You must be a very capable girl.”

   She looked down and blushed and it was only then that I realized how flirty I must sound. Still, I hid any discomfort by asking her my standard question.

     “And how are the classrooms, Rosane?” I asked her.

     She switched over to a more business-like tone as well. Which only made me giggle internally, “Well everything seems to be going well for now. Distribution of sick passes is down by about 20% but we’ve only been distributing them for a few months now so I think the hype has gone down and we’re reaching a baseline.”

     Her report pleasantly surprised me. Even though she was only a freshman Rosane seemed fairly competent. I took a mental note to add her to a leadership position when one opened up. She would be an asset if I kept her around. Unfortunately I didn’t get to tell her how smart she seemed because Harris finally finished reading the action plan. 

     Harris sighed in a way and got up. Every eye seemed to be on her when she approached my little corner of the room. Sensing her intentions Rosane got up from the coach and a few seconds later Harris replaced her. A pang of sadness went through my chest as she walked away, but I knew that it was for the best. The time to sip champagne and pat ourselves on the back was over. The time to plan our next move and debate was best had begun in earnest.

     I took a sip of champagne as Harris began to speak, “I’ll have to admit Valencia this plan could go off without a hitch.”

     Though I knew that that was hardly the end to her statement I smiled nonetheless. If the plan warranted a complement from even Harris then I knew it was as close to flawless as I could muster. 

     “But the steps to make this happen are unreasonable,” and leave it to Harris to find a flaw anyway, “Poisoning an entire school is not how we should operate.”

     She said “we” as if she had contributed anything except complaints and legitimacy for the rebellion.

     “We’re not actually poisoning anyone,” I told her for what I assume wouldn’t be the last time, “Just making it look like we are.”

     “But what you’re going to do to the student council room….”

     We went on and on like this for the better part of half an hour. And I seriously started to wonder why she had even the whole thing if she was going to ask me to basically repeat every paragraph. She wanted to be assured that there wasn’t going to be too much damage, all of the fires would be in controlled areas and we would monitor them for the entire day. That we wouldn’t actually hurt everyone, terrible smells alone couldn’t harm anyone and those who experience phantom symptoms would go to the infirmary and be treated. That they wouldn’t notice all the electronics were gone, they would be replaced with fakes as soon as we left. Since I had been expecting this I had answers for everything. Eventually even Harris had nothing more to question.

     “Alright let’s put this to one late vote,” Harris said and I couldn’t tell if it was a last ditch effort to stop the techno-raid or if she was just that invested in democracy.

     Fifteen hand up, a total landslide. Harris reluctantly raised her hand, and it was unanimous. The After Party started to clear out after that but quite a few people stayed behind to finish the rest of the champagne. No one ever came into the storage room except other students so it would be fine. I was one of the first to leave. Saturday would come sooner than I would have liked so I needed to get my sleep in while I could. And besides, I was already a little tipsy from my flute of champagne. 

     I walked out of the storage room and then out of the building altogether. Taking the back paths I made my way towards nowhere in particular. As I walked under the moonlight I saw Rosane walking in the bushes, practically invisible from the windows. A great idea came to me when I saw her but I was really curious about something else. Everyone knew the importance of sleath while wandering after curfew but walked in the bushes alongside little-used paths, that seemed like overkill.

     “Is there a particular reason you're communing with nature at this hour, Rosane?” I asked her hoping that my tone underscored curiosity and not accusations.

     Rosane seemed surprised when she realized that I was behind her but she answered right away, “The principal's own apartment is above my dorm building so I always have to be really careful when sneaking back in.”

     I nodded, “Speaking of dorms, can I sleep at yours tonight?”

    This time Rosane didn’t just seem surprised she genuinely jumped when I asked. 

     “Oh, I’m not... I mean not that you’re... “ she stuttered out and I immediately realized my mistake. The alcohol must have been messing with me because I usually didn’t ask like that. Still I tried to play it cool. 

    “I mean I need a place to crash for the night,” I laughed, “My place is always too crowded in the morning. Nothing more nothing less than a place on your floor until 5:00 tomorrow.”

     Rosane realized her mistake though I couldn’t blame her for making it. In the dark I saw her shrug, “Sure I don’t mind. And my roommate always goes to the Gallery meetings so I don’t think she will either.”

     No matter how much alcohol I had drunk I always needed to make sure that I had consent and not just begrudging acceptance, “Are you really alright with this? I know it’s a lot to ask. Believe me, I won’t be mad at you if you say no.”

     “Yeah it’s fine but follow me and be as quiet as possible.” she said disappearing even farther into the foliage.

     I followed her through dirt paths that I didn’t even know existed and through grass that wasn’t even stomped down in the slightest. And after ten minutes I was sitting on the floor in a dark room, the noises of Rosane changing in her pajamas echoing through the darkness. Even though the lights were off I imagined that it was a typical freshman dorm. Sparsely decorated and family photos on the nightstand. As if seeing icons of their parents every day would make them come back. Come back with tears in the eyes regretting the day they ever banished their daughter to a prep school in the middle of new england nowhere. Come back, back with the proclamation that they finally loved their daughter. But by the time they turned into sophomore the family pictures were gone and the room had a bit more personality. Everyone always started decorating once they realized that their parents weren’t coming back for them.

     Once I heard the telltale sounds of Rosane finally falling asleep I started to undress. Since she was already sleeping I didn’t want to risk changing noisily, but I still tried to make myself comfortable. I took off the school uniform maroon pants along with the matching jacket. The stupid asoct that they made us where I used to wrap up my pants and jacket into an impromptu pillow. And the last thing I took off, much to my relief, was my bra. And with that, I finally laid down on the carpeted floor curled up under the blanket that Rosane had given me. Sleep came easy for me, I knew that I would need the rest to do everything again the next day.

     Saturday came earlier than I had expected. By the time dawn broke, I was standing in my room trying to come up with an outfit that would be both good for getting around fast and look impressive. After a bit of deliberation, I decided on an oversized polo completely unbuttoned, revealing a bit of collar bone that would definitely get me dress coded. My usual skinny jeans would suffice, but I couldn’t go anywhere without my slightly heeled suede boots. Because after all what was more important stealth or clicking around in my boots? The answer was obvious to me as I tiptoed out of my apartment, grabbing my backpack along the way, careful not to wake my roommate. I didn’t know what she would do if I woke her up early again. 

     Dew and grass stuck to my boots as I cut through the lawn to get to the path. A teacher that I didn’t know walked past me and gave me the hairy eyeball but I kept my gaze facing forward. No class didn’t mean no punishments, so I tried to act innocent. Which was the truth, technically I hadn’t done anything wrong yet. But still, you never knew who would stop you just to send you back to your dorm to change. I made it to the Hemlock Dorm without encountering any more teachers. That was the benefit of traveling at the crack of dawn I guess. Room 003 was in the basement, one of the least desirable rooms out there, and only used as a punishment for the most outspoken “troublemakers”. The dorms weren’t cleaned, they were barely heated, and they had no windows. Terrible for living in, but perfect hiding places.

     Click, click, knock-knock, click-click, slam. The “secret” knock for the mobile kitchen was quite elaborate and a bit redundant but so was the girl who lived in it. Throwing the door open like a treasure chest Citrine laughed when she saw me and I couldn’t help but laugh back. With temporary tattoos covering every visible inch of her dark skin and a shock of pastel green hair Citrine was one of the only people at school that I really called a friend. She pulled me inside and shut the door, dramatically engaging the four locks that she had on the door before pushing me to the floor and shoving a bowl of oatmeal into my hands.

     “Dude!” Citrine said with her usual brand of excitement for everything while flopping down at the floor next to me, “I can’t wait to get my phone back! Half the time Mrs. Grimes isn’t even in ISS . I'll be able to use my phone to kill time. I have so many otome games downloaded on that thing.”

     While she was talking I took a bite of my oatmeal, brown sugar-cinnamon, my favorite kind. I was always grateful when she made a bowl for me when I visited. 

    “You won’t be able to use your phone in class,” I pointed out to her with my sticky spoon, “It’s almost guaranteed that you’ll get caught that way.”

     Citrine rolled on the floor dramatically and I laughed a bit, “Of course I know that Valenc. But can’t a girl dream of bigger things than this...”

     Getting up from the floor Citrine struck a longing pose, “Bigger than being relegated to guard a fridge day and night. Bigger than living in a basement with no contact with the outside world. Dream that one day, ONE DAY, I will be free! Free to not waste away my youth with books in dim light. But waste away my youth in front of a screen as nature intended!”

     Once her monologue was over I clapped lightly. Too bad the school was so straight-laced and didn’t allow clubs, Citrine was a born theater kid. By fridge, she meant the industrial refrigerator I kept in her dorm. The school had been throwing it away but deception and proper planning had put it into our hands. Some of the mechanics class girls had fixed it up and affectionately named their neon painted beauty the Midnight Snacker. But speaking of refrigerators...

     “Anyway how are the eggs,” I asked her, finishing up my last bite of oatmeal.

     Citrine adopted a grin that told me that she was either about to stab me or jump out a window. Luckily she did neither and instead opened up the refrigerator. Almost instantly I coughed, the smell was overwhelming. In between coughs I asked...

     “I thought you kept them in a bag?”

     Citrine brought out a black shopping bag tied with the best knot that we could muster, “I did, but the smell is escaping. No matter how much we try to hide it, nothing will keep these eggs from contaminating everything they are around them, it is their destiny!”

     I rolled my eyes, “Just give me the eggs, Citrine.”

    She did give me the eggs. She threw them at me and after a fumble they were safe. And up close they were even more eye-watering and nausea inducing. Dry heaving I suddenly regretted eating that oatmeal. I had come prepared for this from my backpack I pulled out a trash bag and wrapped the eggs in that. Then I pulled out an even smaller backpack and put the entire black mass in that. Citrine and I talked a bit. About school and homework. About if or when we get to go home. About everything we could think of. But the moments of peace ended and I had to leave.

     Back outside I took a few deep breaths of cool air to rid my system of the eggs and the basement’s musty funk. Everything would officially start around noon but I still needed to prepare the headquarters of the day. And I couldn’t wait to get the backpack with the eggs off of my chest. On the walk to the other side of campus, there were considerably more people out. Early birds and overachievers mostly heading to the library. I pushed past the small stream of people, ignoring the looks at my two backpacks. 

     For the techno-raid that day our base of operations would be in the Gonner Building. Brick, four stories, the usual but what was most important was that it would empty all weekend. I went around the back and knocked sharply on a side door. Then realizing my mistake I just walked in. It was easy to forget that most people didn’t wake up at 5:00am like I did. I walked down the hallway until I got to the first classroom. Once inside I started to prepare the room. By the time Bee walked into the room I had pushed the desks to the side of the room and written our plan of action on the whiteboard.

     Bee walked in pushing a shopping cart with Rebecca C. inside. Fire-resistant blankets were also in the cart and a box of supplies, but we would use those later. Instead of the cart and its contents I focused on the people so brazenly walking into the room. As if they hadn’t skipped the oh so important After Party.

     “Nice of you to come,” I said once Rebecca had jumped out of the cart, “I thought you two would be too busy to help out today.”

     Bee didn’t bat an eyelash, simply heading over to the whiteboard to look at what she would have to do. She and I both knew that it wasn’t really her that I was mad at. From her, that sort of thing was expected. Instead, I turned my gaze to Rebecca, the girl that was supposed to be my second in command. Rebecca smoothed out her tucked in t-shirt as I looked at her. I didn’t want to look too mad though, instead, I smiled at her. Rebecca seemed to know what my smile meant though because she looked a bit scared.

     “Listen Valencia,” she said, clearly attempting to cover her ass, “I was really busy with homework on Thursday so I couldn’t go to any of the events.”

     If I was less of a shady bitch I would have accepted her apology and let her go. If the situation was less important I would have told her off and let her go. Unfortunately for Rebecca, this was the most serious thing our uprising had ever tackled, and she hadn’t spoken to me in two days.

     “Even if you were busy on Thursday,” I said, my tone saying that I knew that she was busy, but not with homework, “There was always Friday.”

     She tried to stutter someone out but I cut her off, “I counted on you and I told you to be there and you weren’t! This is not acceptable Rebecca.”

     With a sigh I announced what I had made reality the day before, “You’re not going to be leading the Fire Team today. Instead, you’re going to be in here managing supplies.”

     Rebecca seemed genuinely shocked. She never thought I would go that far, and I hadn’t either. This was for the best, but Rebecca couldn’t see that. 

     “What!” she was so loud I think that she had forgotten that we were there in secret, “Bee didn’t go either and she’s still on the FireTeam! What justice is that?”

    “Bee wasn’t supposed to be leading the most important team in this entire operation,” I told her simply.

     I could tell that she was hurt, but I couldn’t take back my words even if I wanted to. With a look of pure betrayal, Rebecca stormed out of the room. Bee looked mildly concerned but I couldn’t care less. The job I switched her to was just a filler role, and I didn’t think that Rebecca would stoop so low as to give us up. For the time being, I didn’t care about what she did.

     More people started streaming into the room around 10:30 just as I told them to. Roughly dividing themselves into their three teams for the operation. The Fire Team, the Gas Team, and finally my team, the Retrieval Team. Everyone on the Fire Team seemed a bit confused that Rebecca wasn’t there, but the new lead Courtney D. explained everything to them. Once I was sure that everyone was there, twenty-one people in total and the supplies had been counted and divided up I stood in front of the blackboard. One final review of the plan and then it would be time to go. Since we didn’t have a way to communicate with each other over distances, the plan and the competence of the people implementing it were only preparation we could do. But seeing over at the faces looking at me with such beautiful determination I had no doubts that we would succeed. 

     “We have worked hard for every opportunity afforded to us,” I told them, feeling as if it was high time for a speech, “Every day we struggle for purchase on the mountain that is this school, just trying to make it to a place where we can rest. For a place where we can just be ourselves. Unfortunately, true freedom is a long ways away, and there are many, many more obstacles in our path.”

     I had brought the mood down, then I tried to bring it up, “But this raid will bring us closer than anything we have done before. Finally we will be able to contact the world beyond these walls other than the mail they swear they deliver. Every student in this school will have back what was stolen from them!”

   “Most of you were there at the Gallery last Thursday,” I looked pointently at Bee, “And you heard my promise, my vow. That by the time this weekend is up they will be holding their phones in their hands. I have no doubt that I spoke the truth in the Gallery, that you and I will shape the truth in our hands. What I promised to the students is not a lie, and I know all you will make sure of that!”

     A single cheer erupted from the room and I smiled. Once I was done with my speech the Gas Team left the room to go out and start the plan. We would have no assurance that they would succeed, but I knew they would anyway. They would have to. 

     “Alright guys I know I don’t need to say this but dictation really does help me visual things,” I told my team, we were waiting to leave, “When we get to the storage room I’ll pick the lock, I know how to do it without making it too obvious. We get in, grab all of the boxes labeled ‘student tech’, and get out. The principle keeps everything very orderly so it won’t be that hard to find them. Ten minutes inside of the room, no more no less. On the way out cover everything with the blankets and put them in the cart. If we get stopped, let me do the talking.”

     Some of the team nodded but most of them just acknowledged me blankly. I knew that I was rambling, that I was talking just to talk, but I couldn’t resist talking more. Telling them more things that they already knew just to fill the tense time between when the Gas Team left and when the Fire Team was supposed to go out. Instead of giving in to the urge and making even more of a fool of myself I started pacing around the room. It was always like this when I led a raid. Even though I hadn’t done it in a while it was still the tensest thing in the world. Millions of possibilities rushed through my head, all the ways it could go sideways. No matter what I had said to reassure Harris the plan I put forth was risky, risky enough to fail. 

     Before long the Fire Team went out. This was the part that I had paid the most attention to. Their job was to go out and set four very strategic fires away from the sight of our retrieval. The student council room, one of the basement rooms, the board meeting room, and a kitchen. Arson was a crime, and a major one at that, so there was no way they could be caught. Spreading the smell of rotten eggs in the vents had already made everyone think there was a gas leak. Students placed in every major gathering site on campus would fake the symptoms of gas poisoning, and judging by the pounding of footsteps to the infirmary the nocebo effect was taking hold. Even with Rebecca off the mission there was high chance everything would go as planned. It was what happened if things didn’t go according to the plan that I was worried about. 

     I watched the time on my watch carefully. A minute passed, then two, then three. Not wanting to sit around more than was necessary I started heaping the fire-resistant blankets into the cart. By the time ten minutes rolled around things were much more chaotic outside the classroom and we were all ready to go. The route to the principal's storage room took us directly away from one of the fires. Smoke was pouring out the window of the student council room, but I could see no flames. That was the plan, all of the sites of the fires were easily controllable; it would have been dangerous otherwise.

     Quickly and taking as many disused paths as possible we made it to the storage room. Just as I had said picking the lock was a difficult but hasty process and before long we were in. The information I had gathered had told me that the electronics that were taken from students upon enrollment were stored in the room, but it hadn’t told me what else was stored there. “Confiscated goods” didn’t cover the scope of what we saw there. Gifts from back home taken away for bad behavior, sculptures that hadn’t been up to code, even jewelry that had been forcibly taken. All of the things my fellow students treasured sat in the room, discarded like the trash the administration thought we were. Heirloom necklaces and broken glasses alike crunched beneath our shoes as we walked to the back. It was all I could do to not pack everything in the cart and then come back for more. But there was only one thing we were there for.

     Neatly stacked boxes labeled by grade level stood against the far wall. The principal knew that there would be hell to pay if a student’s parent asked for their daughter’s phone and didn’t get an answer, not that any parent of these students would care enough. We didn’t turn on any lights as we stacked the boxes under the blankets in the cart and replacing them with our decoy boxes. Thinking that I wouldn’t see them in the dim several of my team members tried to open a box, looking for their own phones and tech, but I gave them a firm look every time I heard cardboard rubbing together. They must have thought that I had a will of steel, not opening any of the boxes before we left the storage room. But the truth was much sadder, it was easier to resist opening one of the sophomore boxes when I knew that there was nothing in there for me. Having given me what they thought was a proper education my “parents” had never bothered to give me anything else. Not even a flip phone to call them with, actually they probably hoped that I wouldn’t contact them at all.

     Daylight flooded into our dark adjusted eyes when we left the storage room. The afternoon sun was high in the sky, and light breezes were blowing through. Every fire seemed almost under control and we were well underway to having a normal Saturday again. They were dealing with the distractions faster than I had thought so we walked quickly with the cart. Eyes forward, trying to seem as innocent as possible. In any other situation, our act would have worked, but the distractions had been a double-edged sword. Teachers were too preoccupied to be present on the paths as usual, but any we did encounter were on edge and cautious.

     “Why are you girls not in your designated emergency situation spots?” Ms. Troy asked us, just as we were out of sight of the now re-locked storage room. 

     All eyes darted to me when she asked that, and I was glad that I had practiced my plausible excuses the night before but still…

     “Ms. Harison told us to take these to the library just in case anything has sparked up,” I told her, my tone even and believable. 

     Ms. Harison was an unofficial librarian. Technically she was an English teacher, but all of her classes were spent in the library. She shelved books, she arranged library events, in all but name she was a librarian. Making her the perfect person to have told us to take fire resistant blankets to the library. Ms. Troy let us go after that, her critical gaze turned upon other students who were actually wandering around innocently. We were stopped twice more before we got to the back door, each time I gave a different excuse. 

     Once we got into the back door our pace increased exponentially. The door was locked behind us and blankets fell off the cart in our dash to the classroom. When we got there suddenly everyone who had been lounging around stood for attention. Perfume hung heavily in the air, no doubt to mask the stench of the eggs. A pile of sooty clothes blocked the cart’s path but by that point, we didn’t need it. Everyone and anyone available in the room jumped up to help us. Bee was busy spreading aloe vera gel on the small burns that had been received, but even she stared at the treasure we had reclaimed. Blankets forgot the boxes were piled on desks in a more organized way than I thought them capable of. Seniors, juniors, sophomores, and freshmen all grouped together. And when all of the boxes had been unloaded everyone stood with their respective grade levels. 

     Tears in her eyes one junior girl, I knew her name was Hollie, took a box cutter from her pocket. All eyes were on her, happy sobs escaping from her mouth. It broke my heart to do what I had to do, but it was for the best.

     Crossing the room from the sophomore section in an instant I grabbed her wrist and twisted a bit, causing her to drop the box cutter, “You’ll get your stuff by Monday.”

     Shocked gasps escaped from everyone around the room. I shouldn’t have gotten their hopes up, after the Peanut Test I gave two of the girls their phones for risking agitating their allergies . Clearly, everyone who had helped out in the Techno-Raid thought they would get the same treatment. 

     “What!” Hollie screamed at me, cognisant of the fact that we had to be quiet but communicating all of her outrage in one word, “This is our raid, this is our reward! I thought you were going to give out the tech?”

     Kindness was in my eyes as I listened to her yelling at me. Still, my tone was firm with no room for persuasion, almost teacher-esque in an ironic way, “You’ll get your stuff on Monday just like everyone else.”

     Roars of dissent blossomed from around the room. I wanted to glance over at Bee for support, but I didn’t want anyone to turn their rage on her. Instead, I listened to the complaints for anything I could say to placate them. 

     “We worked so hard for this!” that was a no go, I couldn’t deny that they had all prepared and executed everything perfectly.

     “You owe it to us!” technically I could argue that I didn’t owe them anything that they did what they did of their own free will, but they were more likely to tear me to shreds than calm down if I said that.

     “There's no harm in giving them to us early!” now this, I could work with.

     “I checked on Gwen and Vivian yesterday,” I told them, lowering my voice so they couldn’t hear me unless they calmed down, “In the one day that they had their phones there had been four attempts to steal them. The second they pulled their phones out at the lunch table they were excluded from conversation. You say there’s no harm, but there is. Two people with early tech access aren’t too much but, almost two dozen? You’ll be torn to shreds. Even if it’s only for a day I assure you your dorms will be broken into, and I guarantee that half of your devices will be broken.”

     Everyone seemed to realize what they had been demanding, but I wasn’t done, “I didn’t just steal back these devices to give them away. I stole them so that we can feel like we matter again. That we aren’t just rats trapped in the cage that is this school. We’re people, and people deserve freedom. And given that a school prison break is impossible I thought phones were the next best thing. If I let you loose from here with your devices, chaos will ensue. And before I know it the students I try so hard for will become phone hunger animals, degrading themselves for just a taste of the true freedom that they deserve. I wish I could reward you all in the way that you’ve more than earned, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until Monday.”

     I had ended the way I had begun, but this time everyone seemed to get the message. Hollie picked up her box cutter and started cleaning up with everyone else. Some of the more comedic among us began to sing the Clean Up Song, and before long we were full fledged chorus and the room was back to the way it was. Baring the twelve boxes still elevated on desks. Once we were done I handed out their advanced reward. Gift baskets full of contraband. Sick notes, pocky, candles, and anything else I could find to give them. Everyone accepted their baskets with grace, but I knew what they really wanted. Having given out the baskets I adjusted my backpack on my shoulders and tapped Bee on the shoulder.

     “This classroom, 9:15 Sunday night, bring Rebecca,” I whispered, making sure that only she could hear me. 

     With that, I left the classroom and then the building. Heading to whoever’s dorm was closest. After a day like that, I could sleep for days. And I almost did. Sunday passed in a blur of naps and essays and before long I was walking back to the classroom. As always I was there early, not just because I loved punctuality, but also because I didn’t want anyone in the room without me. And besides I was the only one who had the key. In the time it took everyone to get there I made sure all of the boxes were undisturbed. Besides a little nick in one of the junior boxes from where Hollie tried to open it, everything was Gucci. 

     When I heard steps coming from the hallway I realized how I must look. Wide-eyed and smiling like an idiot in the products of my own handiwork, not like someone in control at all. In a scramble, but trying to be quiet so they didn’t hear my scrambling I hopped up on the teacher’s platform. The steps were becoming even more prominent, so instead of coming up with any natural looking power pose I hopped up on the desk. Sitting down, legs spread, hoping that I looked large and in charge. 

     GiGi was the first to arrive, looking as amazed as I felt upon entry. 

     “Amazing isn’t it?” I said to her, getting only a noise of excitement in response. Immediately she raced toward the senior boxes and I had only a second to stop her, “Not so fast, wait until everyone’s here.”

     She didn’t look as disappointed as Hollie had, probably because she knew it wouldn’t be long until the boxes finally got opened up. Luckily we didn’t have to wait for long. Ana B. had recovered from her flu in time to sort and return all of the electronics. Which was a relief for me. Even though they were all handpicked by me, I didn’t know if I could trust most of the other team leads for a task as momentous as the one we were doing. Tall, and with a grown out afro by some lists Ana was considered one of the most gorgeous girls in school or sometimes even the most. But I didn’t see her that way. On a mission she was firm and careful, doing rounds she was kind and patient, and during After Parties everything she said was well thought out and careful. In short there was no one I trusted more, besides Rebecca and Citrine of course. Rebecca, I didn’t know about anymore though.

     Completely coincidentally, Rebecca was also the last person to show up. Citrine had already sauntered in when Bee walked in yawning. I had expected them to come together, given the thing they were together, but she was nowhere to be found.  9:30 rolled around, she still wasn’t there. Thinking that she was ghosting me for kicking her off of the Fire Team I started without her. Instead of stooping down to the level of everyone else, I climbed onto the desk to be even higher. Apparently, my heeled boots weren’t enough height for me. Succinctly as I could I started to explain how things would work. Pick out each phone and look in the copy of the student directory, write the information down on a sticky note and organize everything by dorm. Once things were sorted we head out and deliver the goods, packed neatly into individually labeled paper bags. 

     By the time I was done speaking Rebecca was sulking around near the sophomore boxes. Uncharastically I didn’t remark on her late entry, and instead trusted that she had picked up everything she needed to know. With a sad sigh, I hopped down from the desk, landing on the solid floor and not the platform. Not wobbling a bit in my heels. 

     I took some inspiration from Hollie and wretched open the boxes one by one with a box cutter. A pile of black screens and pastel cases, it was beautiful to us. We could have started for hours, just bathing in the glory of what had been so deprived of ourselves for our lives as students. But we had a job to do and only one night to do it. Everyone was responsible for two boxes. 

     Grab a bundle of tech, look in the directory, write the information down on a sticky note, stick the note on the bundle, and put it in the bundle in the dorm’s appropriate pile. Six of us working in tandem, it didn’t take that long. We started around 9:35 and everything was in its proper place around 10:30. After that it was wrapping. I wanted everyone to be anonymous, to have no one know who had delivered their cell phone. But the wrapping portion of it all but signed our names on the cell phones. Citrine wrapped everything in a bright yellow bow, and a lipstick kiss. While GiGi stuck scratch and sniff stickers everywhere. I swear if you didn’t know the importance of what we were doing, you would have thought we were doing an arts and crafts project. 

     Once names were written on all of our bundles we headed out. Under cover of darkness we set out to deliver our packages. Three dorms to each of us, scatter after we finished what we needed to do. I was on my own for the rest of the night, and I breathed a bit easier because of it. With the night breezes pushing my loose coat around me, I hoped that it looked like a cape. After all, I had never felt more like a superhero then in those moments. 

     Starting from the top and working my way down to the basements it took me half an hour to deliver to the dorm. On the way dodging any midnight snackers or people who simply couldn’t sleep. By the time I was done with all of the dorms it was after midnight and I was already hearing excited noises rising up in the night. Thinking that everyone would be too busy to bother me I decided to sleep in my own bed that night. My roommate was already asleep in her bed next to the door, while my bed under the window had collected dust. For the first time all month, I slid into my pajamas. Content in the knowledge that even though what I had done was risky, my students, my people, my friends were happier for it. 

     If you all loved Valencia as much as I did leave a comment. and if you didn’t have a stunning day! 

something wrong in the village

Chapter 5/5: deuteronomy Beta: @candanandphilnot Rating: T Warnings: Read on ao3

Summary: Fiona Lester has a secret. Dan Howell thinks they hate each other. Dan meets an online friend and comes to realize something important about himself while juggling a changing relationship with his parents, friends, and Fiona.

~~~ previous chapter ~~~ first chapter ~~~

The next morning was a blur of drawing half-heartedly instead of paying attention, the mind-numbing droning of teachers, and a sidestepping game of avoidance with anyone who wanted to talk to Dan. He kept his head buried in his phone, which wasn’t hard since he and Phil were texting almost nonstop. He heard the whispers drifting around the entire school on the subject of the newly-decorated bathroom, but he didn’t go inside. He just waited.

He didn’t have to wait too long.

“Daniel Howell,” said a pleasant, yet stern, voice from the other side of Dan’s locker. The bustle of students moving to their next class was an indistinguishable racket around them.

Dan finished typing his message and sent it before slowly closing the door to his locker. It did not slam. “Yes?” he asked back, just as pleasant, but the principal did not look amused.

A finger quirked at him. “Come with me,” Dr Pentland said. She turned without waiting for a reply. He followed, slipping his phone into his pocket.

A minute later found him sitting slack-limbed in Dr Pentland’s office a few hallways away from his locker. He watched with disinterest as she settled into her cushioned chair. The one beneath him was hard, cold wood, no doubt intended to make the person sitting on it as uncomfortable as possible.

“Now,” said Dr Pentland, folding her hands in front of her on her desk and fixing Dan with a cool stare, “I’ve talked to a few people already about the vandalism that occurred in one of the restrooms on the far side of the school. I’m sure you’ve already heard about it.”

Dan blinked slowly at her and did not answer, but she was nonplussed. “I know that you’re...quite the artist, so even if you’re not the vandal, I’m sure you might know someone who was interested in this particular section of creative arts. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble for something that another person committed, of course, and I know you wouldn’t want another mark on your record.”

“So you want me to tell you who spray-painted a full wall of colours that happen to resemble a trans flag?” asked Dan.

Her gaze was clear. “I’d like for you to tell me who caused the markings that the trans flag was painted over. I’m only one person, you see, and as much as I love going into rank teenager bathrooms, I don’t have the time. Therefore, I don’t see the chaos until something big brings enough attention to it. I might not have known what was there now, but I’ve heard enough from other students that I’ve been talking to this morning.”

Dan considered this for a long moment, but he finally shrugged. “I don’t know. Looks cool now, though,” as if he had not been more than a casual observer, “is it going to be taken down?” He tucked his fingers, stained with pink, blue, and white paint, beneath his legs. They felt heavy with the weight of the memory of working for over two hours on the wall art while the school settled quiet around him.

Dr Pentland finally smiled, the small expression breaking the stern set of her stare. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we have the funds for a bucket of paint to cover that up. We’ll have to leave it up for now, but I’ll certainly get right on that.”

Although Dan refused to like her, he could feel respect stirring somewhere deep in his chest. He couldn’t show it, though, so he just shrugged and picked at a loose thread on the side of his jeans. “Cool. Is that all?”

She regarded him for another long moment, cool blue gaze searching him, before she finally nodded, apparently satisfied with what she found. “We’re done,” she confirmed, but then she pointed a long, manicured nail at him, eyes narrowed. “Now listen, if I have to call you in here one more time this semester, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble. Not suspension trouble. Worse than that, understand?”

For the first time in a while, Dan met her gaze without looking away. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it.

~~~

Dan met Fiona’s level stare in the hall with an unblinking one of his own and then he continued on, heading out of school and toward home. He didn’t look back, but something had sunk its fierce claws into his mind and it wouldn’t let go. Fiona’s sharp cheekbones, casual tilt of the head, wispy hair against a pale neck, wouldn’t escape him.

~~~

hey phil i told you about this person at school who i pissed off right? and then came out to my dad kind of i think and all that other shit that happened and then i graffiti-ed all over the wall of the school bathroom?

Graffiti-ed sounds gross. but yeah.

i think i need to apologize to the person i upset. even if i didn’t do it on purpose

Dan…

i’ll let you know how it goes. wish me luck lol

I don’t think you’ll need it.

~~~

The next day, a headache had settled deep into Dan’s mind, twining around his thoughts like a virus and pulsing in time with his heartbeat as he got dressed for school. He could only offer his mum a half-hearted wave as he left.

The first part of the morning was a headache-induced blur, but Dan stole by the nurse’s office to get pain medicine, so by the time he made it to his second class of the day, he felt a little more alert, albeit tired for no reason that he could garner. He was already slumped in his seat, pulling a sketchbook from his backpack, before he remembered that he was in English class.

He jumped, almost involuntarily, as he craned to glance over his shoulder, but no Fiona was present. The seat behind him was conspicuously empty. His chest bubbled, impatient to apologize in hopes to calm his nerves, but class wasn’t the right time to do it, anyway.

Dan closed his eyes and pulled in a slow breath. It didn’t really help. Other students bustled around him, finding their seats and chattering with classmates. Their teacher wasn’t there yet, so Dan opened his sketchbook and the sharpest of his various dull pencils and began sketching. His hands trembled minutely, either from the dull thud of the headache behind his eyes or from the nerves twisting his stomach, but he forced himself to tightly grip the pencil and drag it in quick flicks over the paper. The lazy form of a figure sprawled across a car hood formed over the rough sheet. There was nothing in it, the outline emotionless and flat, but it was something that Dan could focus on to help pass the time.

The eyes of this figure looked tired, though, and Dan could empathize with that. He filled them in, the grey of the pencil graphite etching a weary stare, and scribbled lazy eyelashes. The students around him quieted as everyone settled into their seats, but there was still a hum of chatter. Dan was curling his fingers over the slope of the figure’s neck when the door to the classroom thudded, and despite his effort to maintain his concentration, he looked up.

Their English instructor came inside, head tilted jauntily as she headed toward the front of the room. That wasn’t unusual of itself, but Dan’s gaze caught on the tall figure just behind her, head ducked and hands clasped behind a slumped back. Fiona.

“Good morning,” announced the teacher once she reached her desk, and as usual, her eyes narrowed at Dan. He defiantly dropped his pencil and ignored its skittering across his sketchbook. No one said “good morning” back, but their instructor was used to it. She did something different this morning, though. Dan watched as she stood wide-stanced in front of her desk, instead of behind it, and propped her hands on her hips. She surveyed the room with a quirked eyebrow and an unamused slant to her lips.

“Listen up,” she barked, and the room fell abruptly silent, the gaze of over two dozen teenagers affixed to her. She harrumphed. “Lester here has something to say to the class,” and yes, Fiona was stepping up next to their teacher, still staring down at the floor like the unending gaze could burn through it. “We’ve talked to the principal and a few other teachers this morning, so you might hear the same thing if you have another class with Lester. But if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it. This isn’t about you.”

Dan’s hand moved quietly to scoop up his pencil and he curled his fingers around it, letting the smooth edges dig into his palm. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the front of the room, and neither could any other students, apparently.

Fiona heaved in a slow, shuddering breath, finally looking up to survey the room beneath pale eyelashes, and Dan could see it from where he was near the back. He could feel the air in his own lungs catching in sympathy. The past few days of seeing Fiona in the halls, the confidence in every one of Fiona’s movements, crept in on him and he could only taste anxiety, the same nerves bubbling in his stomach making its way outwards. He wasn’t the one up there, but it felt like he was. The cold, metal edge of the pencil eraser bit into his fingertip.

Fiona took another breath. One more. Shoulders squared and jaw clenched. A warm blue gaze travelled the room. “Hi,” Fiona said. Lips quirked in a little smile. “I’m sure most of you know me, even if you haven’t talked to me, but I haven’t been completely honest with anyone here at school. So let me reintroduce myself.”

Dan’s breath slipped from his lips at the same moment the last words left Fiona’s. 

“I wasn’t born male, but I am. I go by ‘he/him’ pronouns. My name is Phil Lester.”

For the second time in the years that they had known each other, Dan saw a genuine smile break loose on his self-proclaimed mortal enemy’s face. It flashed clear white teeth, etched wrinkles around bright eyes, and forced Dan to blink rapidly to keep it from blinding him. He couldn’t look away.

“Alright,” said their teacher, standing and clapping her hands as it was evident that nothing else was going to be said. “Thank you, Phil.”

Someone clapped for a moment in the corner before quieting abruptly, but the tension was broken. A few people began talking to each other under their breath, the usual in this class, but Dan’s lips were sealed as he watched Phil stuff his hands into his pockets and head toward the back of the room, offering a loose smile to everyone he passed. Only a few looked away from him, and Dan could overhear one girl whisper something to him, apparently an encouragement, as Phil’s lips stretched wider. He nodded at her and continued on, passing Dan and sliding into his seat with a flourish.

Dan slumped over his desk a little more, rolling his pencil between his fingers in a facsimile of interest for the lazy sketch before him, but his attention strained to the seat behind him, where Phil was loudly rearranging something. He could feel the back of his neck burning from their mutual proximity and only hoped that it wasn’t obvious. The nerves churning his stomach had settled for half a moment when Phil had swept past him, but now they were alive in earnest, battling against his ribs with a ferocity that had him pressing a hand to his chest.

And then Dan’s desk jolted. He heard a chuckle behind him and another, more careful kick, thumped against the leg of his chair. The vibrations burned into his thighs and back, somehow fighting back against the anxiety in his chest. The warmth in his neck travelled to his cheeks and he knew his face was burning as he ducked his head.

He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his lips, though.

Dan chewed on autopilot, but he didn’t taste the food he was eating. It was something tasteless and grey, shovelled thoughtlessly into his mouth and half-heartedly chewed. His gaze was fixed to the double doors on the far side of the cafeteria. The controlled chaos of a hundred students consuming lunch was a babbling stream in the background of his thoughts. Dan had left English class just as it ended, but he’d been to slow to catch Phil on the way to his next class, so he’d had to head to lunch. He’d caught one last glimpse of dark, quiffed hair and a laughing grin as Phil had vanished around the corner of the hallway while talking to someone else from their class.

“Hey, Danny boy!” A tray clattered to the table beside Dan, and he almost jumped, yanked heartily from his thoughts. He settled for frowning at the invader. It was Sam.

The other boy clapped him on the back and began digging into his meal with gusto. He talked around the bites he crammed into his mouth. “How’s it going? Didn’t see you much yesterday. Did you see that shit in the bathroom?”

Dan shuffled a few feet further from Sam down the bench. Any distance was better than nothing with him. He rolled his shoulders, trying and failing to discard the crawling feeling that came with the slap on his back. He didn’t reply, instead scooping up a limp vegetable and biting into it.

Sam wasn’t deterred. “...and then Johnathan said he’d ask around and help figure out who did it. It’s weird, y’know?”

“Sure,” said Dan absently. He was watching the open doors again. He didn’t know why he was - Phil wouldn’t be out of class for another ten minutes, at least - but every time someone dark-haired or tall or in any way resembling Phil walked through the door, his attention was yanked toward them without any conscious decision of his own.

“Oi lads!” another familiar voice interrupted Sam’s chatter. Two boys dropped onto the bench across from Dan and another slid in beside him. They dropped their trays to the table and dug in, beginning a conversation with Sam like they had been here this entire time. Dan sighed and sank over his meal, which was suddenly even less appetizing than it had been earlier. He kept a distracted eye on the doors while he pondered the fastest way to exit this trap.

He was given an opportunity only a second later, but he almost regretted wishing for it. One of the guys was in his English class too, usually tucked in the corner and obnoxiously ignoring their teacher with a bobbing head to the earphones he constantly had tucked in his ears. Dan knew his name with the vague knowledge of an acquaintance, but it wasn’t something he could bring to the forefront of his memory at this exact moment. When he started talking, though, Dan’s attention was snagged.

“Nah, Johnathan’ll be here later. But hey, did you guys hear about what happened in English class earlier? And another class, apparently.” He laughed uproariously, gesturing with his fork. A few mashed bits of carrot flew across the table and Dan watched them land on the top of Sam’s head as he bent to take another bite of his food. “Phil, eh?”

Dan’s hand tightened so suddenly around his plastic spoon that it creaked ominously in his hand. His mind reeled between both his classmate and the phone in his pocket, and he realized that he hadn’t talked to his Phil since early that morning before his first class.

One of the other guys snorted, taking a bite out of his sandwich and talking around it. “Yeah, I think we found the person who did the shit in the bathroom? Fiona thinks she’s so cool, eh?”

More laughs of agreement. More loud chewing.

Dan’s stomach roiled and he pressed a hand against it, glaring down at his tray of bland cafeteria food with a look that he wished he could dare to lift and direct at the thoughtless group of chattering boys around him. He wondered if he would be doing the same thing if he hadn’t gone through what he had the past few weeks. Maybe if he hadn’t known Phil for years, or hadn’t met Phil’s older brother Martyn, or had never signed up for a stupid location-based friend website. He was different than he had been a month ago though, and Dan hadn’t felt it happening, but a feeling clawing its way out of his chest told him that he couldn’t just listen to what was happening and do nothing about it. There wasn’t much that he could do, but there was something. That feeling scrabbled its way to his heart and clamped warm hands around the beating pulse of his life. The nerves settled abruptly in his stomach and his head felt clearer than it had in a very long time, the headache from that morning dissipated.

“He,” said Dan, too quiet to be heard over the chatter around him, and he heaved a breath and tried again. “He,” he said, louder, and all four boys at the table looked at him. A piece of lettuce hung unattractively between Sam’s lips.

“What?” said one of them after a moment.

Dan set his spoon on top of the half-eaten food. “His name is Phil,” he said, and despite his sudden rush of courage, he felt his hands shaking. He folded his fingers around the sides of the tray to hide the trembling. “And you might not get that, but it’s not that hard. He’s a fucking guy and you need to respect that.”

They gaped at him, every one stunned into silence. Dan climbed out of his seat, picking up his tray and clutching it to his chest.

“Also,” he added, something like glee bubbling inside him, “I was the one who painted the flag in the bathroom.” He waited a moment longer, absorbing their dumbfounded expressions, and then he laughed quietly to himself and left the lunch room.

~~~

It only took him a few minutes to make his way to the bathroom that he had illegally decorated. The bell rung as he headed out of the lunch room, so the halls were crowded and he had to manoeuvre his way around the rush. He didn’t think he would ever again talk to those guys that he had once called friends. They didn’t do anything for him, and he clearly had done nothing for them.

He texted as he walked, pulling out his phone and texting the person he had messaged more than anyone else in his life over the past month. He didn’t get any immediate replies, but he didn’t expect anything right away, in any case.

you’re not going to believe what happened so that person i fucked up with came out in class today and he has the same name as you what are the odds lol

He almost ran over a girl leaving the bathroom, but she just raised an unimpressed eyebrow and held the door open for him to slip past.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing back at her, and that’s right when he ran over someone else.

Well, he ran into someone else. He hit them solidly and bounced back, arms flailing for balance. Something in his backpack crunched ominously when he landed against the wall only a foot behind him.

The door shut beside him, the girl who’d held it open vanishing into the crowd outside the bathroom. Dan winced and straightened up, rubbing the elbow he’d banged against the wall alongside his backpack. “Sorry - ” he started, but then he saw who he’d run into.

It was Phil, formerly Fiona, formerly Dan’s self-declared enemy. He stood with an amused tilt to his lips, watching Dan with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Everything that Dan had ever known about him was the same, but it was somehow so different. That posture Dan had noticed before was just a new confidence that Phil hadn’t owned before.

Light from the small window in the corner fell across the back of Phil’s head, his shoulders, and illuminated a wide square of the wall behind him. It reflected the tall blue, pink, and white colours from the wall to cast Phil in a halo of bright colours. A perfect rectangle of the three colours was splashed across his cheek.

Dan couldn’t look away from the reflected light, or maybe it was the arch of Phil’s cheekbone that held him captive. “Hi,” he finally said dumbly.

Phil hadn’t moved this entire time. He cocked his head, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Hey,” he said.

“I’m.” Dan took a shuddering breath, and he remembered the past few days, and the phone in his back pocket, and the way his dad had talked to him. He opened his mouth, but nothing escaped for a moment, but when Phil’s open expression began to slide away, he forced himself to speak. 

“I wanted to - I want to,” he corrected himself hastily, “apologize to you.”

Phil’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “For what?”

“For, uh,” said Dan, but all of the words he had tried to memorize, the half-planned speech he had arranged, flew away in the presence of the one person who Dan still wasn’t sure how to feel about. He scrounged for something to say, but had to take a deep breath, shake away the cobwebs threading his thoughts, and start again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “about being a prat the past four years. I know it was both of us, but I had a part in it, and it never should have gone on as long as it did. I’m sorry for punching you in class. Sorry for, uh...throwing eggs at you that one time.”

Phil snorted a little laugh them, and although he wasn’t smiling, Dan took that as an encouragement to continue.

“I’m sorry I got you into trouble as much as I did. I was young and stupid when it started, and I’m probably still young and stupid, but I don’t want you to think I hate you or anything. I...don’t think I actually ever did.” Dan heaved a deep breath and finally let his gaze fall to the floor, free from Phil’s unending stare. The linoleum was scratted and pitted with scars, stained suspiciously every few feet. By some miracle, the bathroom was empty but for the two of them, but Dan had no doubt that someone else would be ducking inside the bathroom any moment now.

“Is that all?” Phil finally said, and Dan’s head snapped back up.

“I - ”

Phil laughed, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I just...I should apologize too. It wasn’t just you. We were both involved and you didn’t force me to fight back.”

Dan couldn’t tear his gaze from the jut of Phil’s collarbone peering over the edge of his shirt. “Oh,” slipped out, but he pulled in a quick breath and added, “It...that wasn’t only because you just came out, though. I was already planning it before you said that.”

Smile wrinkles etched their way around Phil’s eyes, almost familiar with how often Dan was seeing them now. “Yeah,” Phil said. “I know.”

Dan just blinked at him.

“I should...probably apologize for something, too,” Phil added. “I mean, I didn’t know for sure until yesterday, when this was revealed.” He gestured over his shoulder, at the colours and pride sprawled across the wall for all to see.

“Oh,” said Dan, but he still had no idea what Phil meant, and it was clearly evident because Phil laughed quietly.

“I’ll show you,” he said, and reached for his pocket. Long fingers reemerged with a slender phone, which Phil unlocked swiftly and tapped at for a few moments, and then stopped and looked back up at Dan.

An instant later, Dan’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He didn’t move right away, but at a tilt of Phil’s head, he reached back to pull it out. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he swiped at it and revealed a new message from his contact “phil the fellow nerd.”

Dan Howell, you’re kind of an idiot.

Their gazes met, understanding sparking in one and warmth in the other. It all made sense now. It couldn’t feel more right.

“Oh,” said Dan, and he felt a smile breaking across his face. It almost hurt, the sheer surprise and joy making itself known in his expression, but it was matched by Phil’s answering grin.

“So,” said Phil. He moved for the first time since Dan had almost run him over, taking a few steps to stand just in front of him. Dan could feel the warmth of his body crawling across the distance between them.

“Friends?”

~~~ previous chapter ~~~ first chapter ~~~