it's kind of a fun move to make my very very personal blog also the one I post my drawings on

ive purposefully done it to not create that kind of environment where it's just an account posting art, a one-dimensional abstract thing that's so detached that if I were to post something like 'teehee I tried to off myself so I'm opening comms to pay the bills' it'd be met with utmost surprise bc it'd break the illusion yknow?

but sometimes I do want some drawings to not have context. to be as impersonal as a vintage figure whose sculptor has never been fully known or a golden locket with the picture of someone who you don't know anything about

I want both, to be honest. it's always been a struggle of the need of external validation but also to not want to taint everything with myself

I want to draw a pet portrait for someone and not have it be judged with all the ramblings and half-jokes about how everything sucks every now and then.

I want to draw a guy being mechanically separated for no reason and not have it show up besides someone's pet portrait and having to explain to the average person I don't even know why I like gore so much besides rendering it is fun

it's all like a cycle of making it clear who is behind the art for context but also sometimes wanting everything to speak for itself and wanting a sort of pure reaction to it

and it culminates into that overly familiar feeling.. of wanting to be consistent. to have a feel, a look that you can maybe hope someone will identify as yours.. and the question is always the same - for what? why? why does it matter?

if anything the first thing I'd ever say to someone who remotely showed interest in art and wanted to know my side of it is that nothing matters and everything is subjective and that there will always be people who see too much meaning where there isn't and people who miss the point entirely. and that diversity is just as good as quality and not a binary switch that you have to pick for the rest of your life. and that often by trying to achieve perfection you just end up dumping what gave your art a personal touch because it wasn't absolutely on par with the version of you that you so desperately want people to identify you with or the vibe you want to give off or whatever else

it's kind of a problem that also has different connotations depending on the way wherever you post works, too

on devart and I think insta too favorites and likes are the easiest way to show a kind of support that happens to streamline everything into images on a page instead of actually taking in most detail, the title or description or lack thereof, maybe even a message or line or music lyric intended to aid in the perception.. that ends up getting completely ignored because it takes extra effort to do. and it gets exponentially worse the more people you follow

then, well.. tumblr. because of the way the posts are organized and at least show captions it has a bit of a leg up, but then the sideblog stuff comes up. posts 95% of the time only give traction to the account that posted it, so a sideblog where you reblog your art is pretty much just a gallery for the convenience of whoever follows them. if you post on that sideblog however, then that facilitates no one visiting your main and just looking at the drawings, leading to the art-artist detachment as it is also plenty of extra steps and effort

then, independently, the path you choose is hard to undo. choose to be unknown and be bound to the façade you have to keep and not break your persona, or put all bits of yourself out to the public and there will forever be an image/ background version of you that will contextualize everything you do

try to turn around and choose to hide and it will put people off and affect how some will look at your new stuff now that you're less of a social butterfly because of the instinct of curiosity and wanting to know what happened , choose to show yourself and now you're too real and people don't want to associate with you because of the things you express or how it hits different knowing x and y or just not caring about you enough to be bothered to keep up with your life with sporadic drawings inbetween

it's all ironically about your own self-image and knowing others who know you

oh and it just hit me the financial side of things too. but that's too much for me rn and it's sort of a bonus to my point anyways

idk man. I feel like I'm having a stroke while an influencer tries to explain branding to me

omg hiii, may i have azriel from acotar with #3 and #10??? ❤️❤️

A/N - I love this for Azriel, our strong batboy! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Wall

Summary - Even the strongest warrior wants his walls to come down.

Warnings - Mostly angst

Opening the door into your room at the House of Wind, the room was already set to bring a calmness to the already tense mood as Azriel followed right behind you, not saying a word and looking almost lost in his own mind.  He closed the door, the door locking instantly and a fire already starting in the fireplace.  You too were feeling the fatigue from that day, a long day of fighting soldiers from King Hybern, blood that dried along your skin and leathers, bruises that were starting to bloom and be exposed in your skin.  Everything was hurting, everything was crying out and screaming from the pain and agony that you saw on that field. 

But that was nothing to how your mate was feeling, and you felt it in the bond.

Being the Spymaster came at a price at times, you knew that when you two met and the bond snapped in place.  Azriel’s rank was rather high, flying out to other courts as spy, training new soldiers at their camp, and even risking his neck and life for the more dire situations that arose in Night Court.  But he was also a devoted mate to you, retrying home everything and making sure you never worried, was open to anything that plagued his mind, and placed you first in his life.  Your love for one another held no bounds and had no weak spots.

Even in this heated battle to save your Court and beyond, you two were a unit.

You took in a long breath and were about to shrug off the leathers that felt a pinch too tight on you when you felt a pair of hands stop you on your shoulders, making you freeze for a moment as his fingers were unbuckling your jacket it for you from behind.  You would let him since this was ritual you two would do, caring for one another by removing your training leathers.  It was an intimate and secure act you two always did together, in the seclusion of your own room and hidden away from the world.  Azriel was a person of physical touch, wishing to make you feel calm and relaxed as your jacket and boots were taken off by his own hands.  Sometimes it would lead to heated kisses and devoted acts of intimacy, but other times it was a simple gesture that left you two hugging in relief.

This though, this felt different.  

Once the leather was off and it fell to the floor, you heard Azriel take in a sharp breath.  It made you turn around and see his eyes trained on you.  Just drinking in the sight of your mate, blood splattered on his body and clothes, dark bags under his eyes, being stiff in his stance as if a single breeze could blow at him to make him fall over.  He almost looked like a shell of himself, only a hallowed shell which made you nervous as he was still silent. Not amount of rage on his face or in his eyes, no sigh of relief on his lips.  

Something was wrong, very wrong.

“Azriel..” You sighed his name, not in mourning but in a calming state.  Azriel’s eyes flickered to yours, and that’s when you saw the hurt in his hazel orbs.  The colors of his eyes which always reminded you of home, of safety, and of happiness now seemed to be representing something else.  Pain….pain and remorse.

Before you could say anything else, Azriel finally opened his mouth and uttered four simple words, and punched you hard in the gut.

“Please just hold me,”

You engulfed him in your arms immediately, feeling him mold into your embrace and nestling himself against your body, almost as if he was trying to blend his body into your own.  Azriel always had a wall up in whatever he was hiding from others, including you.  As open as Azriel was, he could never be an open book, not with his job and how his life was always on the line.  His secrets and moments of pain were his, and as good as he was to hide them from those who knew him the best, you felt it in his hold that he had enough.  Enough of being the strong Spymaster, enough of being the Illryian figure that was deadly and mysterious to those around him, enough of being stoic.

He wanted to be vulnerable.

“Come on, baby,” You hummed against his head as you steered him over to the bathroom, his face still hiding in your neck as you were guiding him.  The bathtub started to fill with hot water, making you inwardly thankful for the House to know precisely what you two needed.  In fact, another pop was heard, and you saw two glasses appear on a tray to the left of the tub, one glass of wine and another of whiskey.  You grinned, peppering Azriel with kisses and rubbing his arms with your fingers to release some of that inward pain that he was still holding in.

“Let’s get in the tub, okay?” You whispered to him, feeling him nod against your head as you were stripping his leathers now.  It was your turn to take your time with him, watching him unwind and almost sigh in massive relief while his jacket fell to the ground, then his boots and pants.  His own body was just as bad as yours, bruises and scratches itched into his tan skin.  Maybe a few gashes along his shoulder blades and a mark near his eyebrow.  

You’ve seen him look worse coming home from a spy mission or a quarrel, but he was more scared emotionally. 

Once you two were finally bare, the bathtub was done filling to the brim and you grabbed some bath salts to dump in the water.  Finally, you both were getting into the tub together.  Letting the hot water touch your sensitive skin, seeing some of the crimson blood swirls into the bubbles, and Azriel keeping you close in his arms as he leaned back against the wall of the tub.  You both sat there in silence for a few long moments, the calmness of the bathroom was what you two needed.  Compared to the battlefield and the screams of those who were dying and gagging on their own blood, a simple moment shared in the bathtub was a relief, to say the least. 

Hours before, on top of the hill overlooking the soon-to-be massive war that was mere minutes away from erupting, you and Azriel told side by side.  Clad in your battle leathers, Azriel with his Truth Teller, and you with your own sword that was a gift by your mate, both yourself and Azriel were ready for what was going to happen.  

He tried to talk you out of it, to hide out in Velaris and to be as far away as possible.  You knew he meant well and he wanted his mate safe, but you are one of the better fighters and it was well known every soldier was needed.  Even your own mate knew you were a fierce fighter, also stubborn in your ways to which you wouldn’t back down from a fight if it was present.

So Azriel looked over at you, seeing your hair in its braids and a determination in your eyes as he squeezed your hands between the pair of you.

“Don’t worry.  I’ll protect you,” he vowed as you smiled at him.  Even in a tense moment, you had to smile at his protectiveness shining through the darkness you were feeling.

“You stole my line,” you teased back, a smirk on his lips as he leaned over to kiss you.  The kiss was bold, a hint of passion, but mostly filled with devotion.   In the end, maybe you two thought this would be the last kiss you two would ever share.

Thank the Cauldron that was far from the truth.

You moved in the tub, resting your head on his chest as your arms were around his waist and his hands were along your arms.  Once again, there was silence between the pair of you, but it was a good thing.  Hearing the soft slosh of the water, your breathing, and even some of the wind licking up outside the room from the mountaintop, it still was taking a moment or two to realize that you two made it out alive.  Tomorrow would be a nice day, dealing with a new treaty with the humans, rebuilding Velaris, and starting a new leaf of your life together.

But for now, you two had each other and nothing else mattered.  

The End.

Hurt and Comfort Prompt Session

I’m bored so here’s my take on what I think the different kingdom’s fashion might be

When it comes to fashion I can definitely see Akedian having a more simple and comfortable fashion sense. I can see their dresses having a bit of a more stretchy fabric that they can just kind of slide into. When it comes to corsets they do whatever is most comfortable, nothing too loose or too tight. Their colors of fabric are very easy on the eyes. Fancy dresses are also a bit more simplistic but still very elegant

Invidia’s style I can see be simple but also very floral as well. I can see semi-bright colors and very warm tone colors. Lots of pinks, oranges, yellows, etc. Their fancier dresses are also comfortable but Akedia’s are more so. Like imagine seeing a dress from a fairytale but it’s Invidia

Voleri’s clothes are even more simplistic then the first two. I can see a lot of sleeveless or short sleeve clothes being common there and thin fabrics to keep the heat at bay. I can also see it being common for people to wear leather, either as a vest, belt, or have it be in the form of a bracelet. With their ballgown I can see a lot of earthy colors but of course there’s other colors as well. Breathable fabric is used for those dresses and they’re overall easy to do things in.

Luxure definitely has very revealing clothing there but still with some modesty. Clothes similar to Violet and Fenn pretty much. I can see the clothes showing a lot of chest and leg and not leaving much to the imagination. Clothes are either showing the outline of someone’s body or loose and comfortable but still very elegant. I can see it being normal to see people somewhat dressing up just to go outside for a walk or to go to shops and people dressing up even nicer when going on dates lol. Their fancy clothes are godly though. Like imagine those fantasy manhwas and everyone’s pretty dresses and find the prettiest one, that’s Luxure. All of them are very unique and you can definitely see personality in them.

Ok so with Ira it depends on where you are. If you’re a commoner your clothes are uncomfortable and itchy. If you have money however, you’re clothes are a lot nicer. I don’t see people here wearing a lot of patterns, their clothes are very simple. There’s definitely hidden pockets in some peoples clothes that can hide things like weapons and whatever. If you can afford their party gowns however, you’re in for a treat. Very elegant looking and MADE to stand out. Since they can’t stand out in terms of resources, they can stand out in outfits when it comes to nobility.

Qeslum definitely has a more put together look. The clothes are made to fit the wearer perfectly, there’s no fold or crease out of place. They also definitely go overboard when it comes to the corsets in terms of tightness. They’re very smart enough and make their corsets tighten in only specific places, though that doesn’t mean it’s any better. Their clothes are made so you don’t stand out too much and so you blend in with everyone else. Everyone is put together as well, no hair or step out of place, so their clothes need to represent that. Their ball gowns are made specifically so you can’t outshine royalty or the people who can afford nicer looking dresses. Everyone’s dresses show their rank in society. If anything is out of place, both the wearer and the maker of the dress is scrutinized.

Avari’a dresses show their strength and resilience. Like Qeslum, Avari also has a problem with women trying to make their waists look as small as they can. Their clothes are bold enough to say “I’m better and more wealthy then you” but not enough to be overwhelming. The same goes for the ballgowns. Their ballgowns put all the attention on them unless there’s someone with a nicer dress on.

Last but not least, Colde. Colde has a mixture of fashion here, so there’s not just one type. A lot of people who actually live there other then students are commoners as far as I’m aware so they’ll likely just wear whatever the hell they want that they can afford. With students, they’ll wear whatever is in fashion at Colde at the moment and what’s in fashion with their own kingdoms.

Two hours earlier...

Mac drops a few more do-dads onto the cleared-off cement paver and kneels down, swiftly sorting his finds into piles. “How many spare earpieces do you have, Riles?”

“Uh, there should be four,” she says, digging them out. The in-ear short-range comms they use for missions like this one are tiny, but also somewhat fragile, so she always carries a few extras in the pocket of her laptop case. “Seven if you’re counting the ones we’re using.”

Mac considers it, then shakes his head. “Four is plenty. Thanks.”

Jack’s already sitting on another cleared-off paver, one arm resting casually on his knee while he watches Mac disassemble a solar path light and pry out a cone-shaped light reflector. “So what’re we making?”

“Since getting into the building to place bugs is too risky, we’re going to use the glass dome as our ears,” Mac says.

Riley exchanges a look with Jack, who shrugs and takes the bait. “You want to explain that more or are we supposed to guess?”

Mac holds up a partly-constructed-looking-thing that involves one of the in-ear comms pieces, some wires, and the cone-shaped light reflector. “When sound waves hit the glass, they cause small vibrations. The vibrations travel through the glass. The conical shape of these reflectors will amplify the sounds to a single point, making them loud enough for pick-up by our comms pieces from the other side of the glass—like if you’re eavesdropping by pressing a cup against a door. With a few tweaks to the audio processing, we ought to be able to make out most of what’s said inside without needing to ever be there ourselves.”

Riley’s mind immediately goes to the code she’ll need to alter in the software that connects their comms. She’ll need to split the seven devices into two channels, add some extra processing to the four that Mac’s turning into bugs, then feed the reprocessed pick-ups back into their channel so they can hear what’s going on inside the building.

It’s a solid plan. It won’t take her long to do her part, and then they’ll be able to listen in on a planning meeting between representatives of four different terrorist organizations from afar.

The intel is going to be amazing.

“So we have to put those where?” Jack asks, while Riley logs in to her laptop and starts to work. “The ceiling?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mac confirms. “The glass dome is perfect for collecting sounds from a distance. We’ll place four of these equally spaced near the center of the dome. It’s octagonal, so they should look like part of the pattern and blend in.”

“I think I’ve got the code you need.” Riley turns the screen of her laptop to face Mac while she gives him a run-down. By the time they’re in agreement about the code, he’s finished all four eavesdropping devices.

“We ready?” Jack gets to his feet, stretching his arms and rolling his neck. None of them are wearing vests because they’re not expecting trouble, but he’s got his favorite gun stuffed in a thigh holster. She’s carrying, too, but in a nice little holster on her belt that’s hidden by her jacket. “We’ve got about an hour, maybe two if we’re lucky.”

“We’re ready,” Mac confirms.

Jack eyeballs the glass dome on the building they’re trying to infiltrate. “I don’t want to be a party pooper, but that dome’s like a hundred feet tall and made of nothing but old glass, so what’s your brilliant plan for getting your gizmos placed without falling off of it?”

Mac’s had his back to the dome this whole time and he doesn’t look at it before he answers. “I'm going to climb it and stick them on. There should be hooks up at the top for a safety line, even though it’s an older building.”

“And you’re just going to… not look down at all while you get those things stuck on the glass below you?” Jack shakes his head. “So I guess I’m going up, then.”

Mac shakes his head in return. “No, like you said, the glass is old, and you outweigh me by what, forty pounds? I need you to help haul me up.”

Riley leans down and picks up all four of Mac’s devices. “How about you both help haul me up? I’m the lightest one of us, and I’m not scared of heights.”

Mac frowns. “You’re going to need to test the network from the ground.”

Riley stuffs the roll of duct tape over her wrist like a bracelet and holds her laptop out to Mac. “As long as you can establish the connection with each comm after it’s placed, I can make any other adjustments we need when I’m done.”

“That’s my girl,” Jack says, giving her a solid pat on the shoulder and a smile that makes her feel like he’s one step away from slapping a My Daughter is an Honor Student bumper sticker on the GTO. “Let’s get moving.”

(More on AO3)

tiberias (cal) calore vii: illicit affairs

i’m only on the 3rd book so a) pls don’t spoil you’ll break my heart and b) my perception of the characters has only been developed to this point so if you come for me do it with the correct context lmao!!!

you knew what it was.

leaning your forehead against the cool metal post of your bed frame, a shaky exhale escaped from your lips. you wished just like that lost breath, you too could leave behind your body and with it, mind. a few minutes was all you needed, really; some semblance of relief.

even with your door shut tight with a deadbolt, the danger contaminating the palace lingered outside of it. you were not foolish enough to deny the cracks it could slip through. you would give any adversary a worthy fight, though. you could not afford not to, especially now.

for the first time in your life, you had truly encountered a problem that you could not use your abilities to maneuver out of. as much as your lungs screamed and your legs ached to run, you could not. being a swift, your first instinct was always to run. your speed always gave you the advantage in pursuit.

a familiar knock at the door broke you from your trance of pity. you stood up, sniffling as you ran the back of your hand across your nose and mouth. the action of clearing your throat sounded more like a whimper, but you managed as you gathered your skirts and headed for the door. you pushed down the nausea and wrung your hands to settle yourself.

your fingers shook on the deadlock before you pried the door open. the amount of weight on the wood, the length of the echo, and the momentary pause before the second, lighter knock gave away the identity of the person on the other side. you were in his arms before you could take another breath.

despite offering you the comfort you had craved all morning, his touch triggered the sobs caged in your chest. perhaps, it was because your heart was only safe in his hands. but, without the key to let them out, they messily tore through and paved their own path.

a year ago, your greatest worry would be the shame brought to your family on account of conceiving a child out of wedlock, let alone to the crowned prince. now, it seemed the impending war took precedence. you could have laughed; a red threatened your livelihood. a girl, really.

you were always careful, and it did not even happen very often. both you and the prince were very busy people, after all. send offs and reunions.

“we can fix this,” cal murmured into your hair.

“no, you don’t get it,” you broke out with a defiant shake of your head, “there’s nothing to fix.”

he pulled back, stroking your hair and pushing it behind your ears. your golden strategist was at a loss. your heart fell further into the pit of your stomach. you chewed on the inside of your lip, desperate to look anywhere but his eyes. yet, in the space of the same moment, you never wanted your gaze to leave his.

“i won’t leave you,” his warm hands ran up your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, “and i won’t let my father have a say in any of it.”

“it’s not the king i am frightened of,” you admitted with a sour taste in your mouth.

cal nodded with a grimace, “then i’ll be sure she is controlled until the end of the month.”

but who could control the queen who could twist minds? you chewed on the thought to avoid choking on it, forcing it down in distaste. both cal and yourself needed time neither of you had the privilege to claim.

cal communicated the importance of waiting until the traditional queenstrial to propose publicly. while the larger part of you agreed with this position, a small piece of your heart reserved for crippling doubt and senseless paranoia wondered if he was stalling for a different reason. if you could at any time expect desertion, it would be now but true to his word, cal had done no such thing—a loyal soldier until the end.

“and if they don’t chose me?” the secret fear you had harbored far before you had even become aware of your current condition felt a traitor to expose to the boy who had given you everything, kept every promise he could.

he studied your face carefully to ensure he held your full attention (though he was foolish to ever think otherwise), “make them, my dear.”

despite the event’s purpose of selecting a bride for the princes themselves, all of the noble houses knew the eldest had little choice in the matter. while your relationship with cal was not overt due to the inherently illicit nature of the affair, servants were known to talk. even in your deepest frustrations, you could not necessarily blame them.

his confidence in you was endearing but what other choice did you truly have?

you pulled away from his arms and lingering stare, wrapping your arms around your middle. pacing the length of the room, you suppressed a bitter laugh, “and then what? when a baby is born after less than eight months? and that’s to say we can persuade your father to rush a royal marriage.”

“let them talk,” his fingers twitched at his sides and you caught the scent of smoke, “nobody will be able to do anything.”

he thought he could protect from anything. sure, there would be little opportunity for any political action after a marriage was solidified but rumors would swirl. born into the pressures of eyes always watching you, they did not cut deep, but a queen needed a reputation demanding of respect. you did not want to be cruel but you decided that if need be, you could.

you wanted so terribly not to cry but willing it away only drew your focus to it more. you did not think the act made you weak but you would rather avoid the complete exhaustion it often caused. you were already so tired. but, some things were inevitable.

cal caught on before you did, “baby,” his voice was croaky, maybe laced his emotion of his own, “please don’t cry.”

you giggled at the irony. it was watery and your voice was nearly gone but it was there. confusion spread across cal’s features. you studied his face as he began to understand. a slow, crooked smile spread across his freckles and indicated the transition.

“suppose i could have chosen better words.”

“mhm.”

you had not noticed he was slowly rocking you in his arms. calm rushed into your senses. cal radiated your favorite kind of warmth. he monitored his body temperature around you, never too hot but always comfortable. it reminded you of home. he was your home. he smelled of pine and dying embers.

now nearing nineteen, you met the prince at fourteen. your elder sister married sooner than your parents expected, hastening your introduction into political meetings as a representative of the swift house of nornus.

who could blame a young and inexperienced teenage girl for falling in with a powerful, older boy who dared throw her an extra glance. what began as a benefit to palace life at fifteen soon turned into a vice. it was easy to tell yourself that you could stop any time you desired but you were addicted to the way he touched you, the way he tasted, the way he spoke your name.

for a while, you were foolish enough to believe he maybe even loved you. when you turned sixteen, you understood you were a pastime for the prince. so when at seventeen he told you he loved you, you did not believe him. he was gone for service quite a bit and your training schedule stole away any time for secret meetings when he was home. you began to purposefully avoid him but the withdrawal from the high that was cal left you dizzy.

when he did not make a move to find you, you tried even harder to move on. you had both made a mess of your hearts, left bleeding and shattered on the floors of the palace. you watched him escape the palace more often, always finding another place to be. one night, however, you followed him. you told yourself it was curiosity that caused you to slip out of your covers and into a warm coat, a coat you would not have needed if you left with him.

you caught up easily with your inhuman perception and speed and yet, he still saw you coming. he always did. that night, you wandered through a village and blended in. that night, you could be normal. he helped you clean up the mess between the two of you and things were different but the same again. they were better. you still took the long way to his room and pulled him into hidden corridors but the longing stares across meetings reignited.

you cleared your throat, “when you returned from delphie.” you tone held the pace of a simple comment, not the answer to the unspoken question pressing down on both of your minds.

cal turned his lips into his mouth and nodded, taking a deep breath, “i remember.”

it was a good memory, a good time. slow and gentle and loving. rane had worn you ragged sparring evangeline from sun up to sun down. you enjoyed the younger classes attending for the exposition but your muscles felt like weights lodged into your body and your breath had not yet fully returned after running circles around evangeline.

usually when one of you returned from an excursion outside of the palace, you wasted little time in attaching to every piece of each other. but, you were both exhausted—exhausted but greedy for the attention of the other. it had been a month ago, nearly to the day.

you and cal never discussed the prospect of children. even if one of you did not favor the idea, there was no choice in the matter. cal, as a future king, needed heirs, and if you wanted to be queen, you would have to bear them. but, you did want them and secretly, you knew cal did, too. it was more than a superficial requirement.

cal always looked at you, found you in a crowd, so it was hard to study him in secret. when he was with children, however, all attention transferred to those at his feet. it was then you saw him fully relax, the weight of his crown falling off his back. he loved them. you loved him more for it.

“and i don’t regret it,” he continued, dipping his head to place it gently on your shoulder. he kissed you neck once, twice, and then dropped his head back down.

My Thoughts on the New MHA Opening and Ending

I have thoughts, and I will share them because oh boy if I don’t get this out I’m gonna explode

Vague Spoilers for the manga (up to chapter 258 and vigilantes) because I discuss the upcoming arcs, but I don’t discuss any major plot points in detail. Still, proceed with caution if you’re anime only

Keep in mind, this OP and ED will cover the Endeavour Agency Arc and the MVA Arc, so I will be judging them accordingly.

First, the OP

This is a good OP... in theory (that’s going to become my catchphrase for this post). It’s nice to look at and flows pretty well, but my biggest problem is that it doesn’t do it’s job. An OP is supposed to be a sort of... summary (?) of the Cour it plays for. That means any cool plot points, emotional beats, and important characters should be featured in some way, shape, or form. We’ll talk about that more later, but first let’s discuss the music.

The song is really good. I have a feeling it will continue to grow on me as I listen to it more often, but yeah my first impression is that the song sounds great. My only complaint about the music itself is that it ends kind of abruptly (I noticed this is the JT opening too). The previous openings used to have a bit of instrumental to “play us out” and lead us to the end card, but this one feels like it ends very suddenly and unnaturally.

As for the visuals...

Yeah alright I’ll admit, the visuals are stunning... in theory. I appreciate the variety in backgrounds and colours, it makes the OP really interesting to look at. This was actually one of my biggest problems with the JT Opening, it all took place on the training grounds, so there was no variety (everything was metal tubes with a blue sky, with only 3 shots set somewhere different). I appreciate the style of this OP.

But like I said, that’s only in theory, as in, through screenshots these are all pleasing to look at. The pacing of this OP is wild, and I truly don’t know who to blame for this.

That sunset shot above? It lasts approximately 12 seconds, zooming in every few to make it seem like something is happening (when in reality it’s still the same poses, angles, etc). While there’s nothing wrong with a nice, drawn out shot, it becomes irritating when compared to the pacing of the rest of this op.

At the 41 second mark, we are given the shot above. It has flowed directly from the previous sunset scene. We still have not moved away from the image of the trio (aside from the opening shot and the title card) yet we’re approaching the halfway mark of the OP.

The next shot is the MLA, which lasts about 5 seconds. Ok, perfect. Not too long, but also not short enough to be confusing. It cuts away a little fast once the dude on the far left appears, but does anyone actually know who that is? No, seriously, I’m asking. I don’t remember his name and he’s not on the wiki, so I can only assume he’s not important. Therefore, it’s not all that bad if the shot cuts away shortly after he comes into frame. The audience is able to take in the scene without having to pause...

... And then the problems start

While this shot is fine in theory, it pans up fast and  cuts away quickly. You know how hard it was for me to get this screenshot? Really hard. You want to know why I struggled so much? Because, due to the timing of the cut and the way it pans upwards, it’s almost impossible to pause on Dabi’s face. I literally had to go frame by frame to get it, because he’s in shot for so little time that naturally pausing is guaranteed to miss him.

When watching this in real time (without pausing) the cut away makes you feel as if you missed something because “something was there, I just couldn’t register what because now it’s gone”. Unlike Compress, who wears a very colourful coat you can recognize the entire time, Dabi’s pants are more blended into the background.

It also doesn’t help that this shot is literally composed to draw your attention away from Dabi until the last possible second. Due to framing, your eye is naturally drawn to the brightly coloured Toga in the foreground, making it super easy to miss Dabi in the back (until, of course, his bright face appears and contrasts against the background, drawing your eye just in time for the scene to change, leaving you to wonder who or what you missed).

I know this sounds like nitpicking, but this shot is the only group shot we get of the League, and is also the start of a seriously weird trend for the villains in this OP getting the short end of the stick.

Anyways, then we get what I’ll call “The Carousel Shot” in which every Class 1A kid shows up and poses dramatically, as if they were on a carousel. It’s a lovely sequence and I really enjoy watching it but... why is it in this OP?

Seriously, this is a genuine question. Class 1A barely shows up in the Endeavour Agency Arc, and NONE of the students are in MVA. This sequence (not counting the three boys at the end) lasts 8 seconds. Why is this much time dedicated to characters who are barely in the arc? (Unless Studio Bones extends their work studies into fuller plot lines which oh my gosh please don’t do that, or if they do, do it quick).

We then get what I call the “Oh God I Blinked And Missed Everything” sequence, which lasts 3 seconds (not including the longer, moving shot of Shigaraki at the end) and features NINE INDIVIDUAL IMAGES, none of which are related to each other. Not only is this 3 images per second, but the fact that they are all unrelated means you can’t even use previous information to fill in the blanks.

What do I mean by that? Well, imagine if I show you 9 images of various pro heroes posing. If I play that in 3 seconds you’ll absolutely miss some of them, but as long as you catch some you’ll still get an idea of what I’m trying to show to you. Your brain is able to fill in the gaps that “I recognized 4 pro heroes, therefore the rest must have also been pros” even if you didn’t register every single frame.

That doesn’t work if every frame features a completely different subject. The shots in this sequence vary so widely that it’s impossible to find a through line. Some feature multiple characters, some feature one, some are closeups, some are super far away, some are character’s we know, others are characters we don’t. It’s impossible to get a solid read on what you’re being shown.

Now, again, there’s nothing wrong with these super quick shots... in theory. The problem comes from the fact that these shots are the only indicators for some of the major themes that will be explored during this Cour (like Twice’s growth and young Shigaraki).

That being said, let’s move away from criticism and talk about speculation, because hidden amongst this sequence are two... interesting images.

This All Might one is very reminiscent of the shot in Chapter 257, where Aizawa and All Might have a conversation while staring up at the stars. However, this is technically the start of the “War Arc” (or the “prologue”, if that’s what you want to call it), so this might indicate that we’re going to get farther into the series than a lot of us guessed.

(Many people suspected we’d get to that cliffhanger at the start of the season (if you read the manga you know the one), but after seeing the pacing for JT a lot of us assumed we’d be lucky to even finish Endeavour Agency. It seems we’re back to the cliffhanger now though lol). 

This is another really interesting shot because it’s indicative of Shirakumo, meaning we might get to see Aizawa and Mic confront him some time this Cour (this also makes sense, since this confrontation technically happens before that All Might scene I mentioned in the previous paragraph).

But the cat specifically is a really strange addition. That cat is named Sushi and, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think Sushi is ever mentioned in the main series. I think he’s only in Vigilantes.

This might just be a little Easter Egg for Vigilante readers, but I’m personally hoping that they’ll add at least a few Vigilante shots in there to really tug at the heart strings. I’d say I want a whole Vigilante episode but I don’t think they have the time (unless they really cram MVA, which I do NOT want).

I don’t have much to say about the last bit of the OP. The action shot between the 3 boys was nice, and it follows the sort of narrative through line they established from the early shot of them sitting at the sunset. I also like the shot of Endeavour fading in to replace All Might, even if it’s very simple.

But I want to talk about an overarching problem I touched upon earlier in that villain shot: the way the villains are handled in this OP.

This is a good OP... in theory. The problem is, it doesn’t represent half the arcs in the cour! Every shot of the League is so rushed that you can barely register that they were on screen before they’re gone.

I have no idea how many Episodes Endeavour Agency will take, but I’d assume 3 (4 if you count the Christmas episode). 12 episodes for this Cour minus 3 for Endeavour Agency = 9 episodes left. If we truly do get the prologue for the War Arc (and if we assume it’s only 1 episode) that leaves us with 8 villains episodes.

8/12 episodes (aka two thirds of the Cour) will likely be about the villains. And yet they’re pushed to the background so hard in this OP.

I want to dream, and I want to believe that this OP is going to magically change when MVA starts. The song fits super well, and I can imagine like an inversion of the OP but from the Villain side! Wouldn’t that be neat? Imagine right after the “it’s alright” part Shigaraki just freaking decays the title card... oh man that would be so cool. But, alas, I highly doubt they’d do that.

Side rant, but you know what was so fun about MVA in the manga? It’s that, for 21 chapters, we leave the kids behind and the villains become our protagonists. Suddenly Shigaraki is the one we’re rooting for, suddenly we’re learning backstories for everyone, and suddenly we find ourselves just as attached to the villains as we are to the kids. It’s an inversion that’s SO RARE to find, and I think many people (myself included) were hoping it would be reflected in the OP.

A big part of being the protagonist means featuring heavily in the OP, and a lot of us just wanted the villains to get that honour, even if only once. As is, the OP still treats them as the antagonists when... really they aren’t. Not right now, at least.

So yeah, final thoughts on the OP are that it’s good, it’s just not very representative of the arcs it’s supposed to cover. If this was just for Endeavour Agency, I’d say it’s actually really cool, but if we assume that this is what will play for the Villain Arc, then it simply doesn’t do it’s job. And it makes me sad to say that because, again, this OP is really well done.

If I had to rate it? Hmmm

If Studio Bones actually grants my wish and creates a different visual for the Villain Arc (while using the same song) and then this version only plays for the Endeavour Agency Arc and the War Prologue? I’d give it an 8/10. It’s really good, but it could use a few more elements that are clearly derived from the Agency Arc (ahem, Todoroki siblings).

But if this is the OP that will play for the entire Cour? a 6.5/10. It’s nice, but it’s not representative of one of the arcs it’s going to cover. And, unlike other arcs like Pro Hero or Summer Exams, the villain Arc is so important and takes up so much time that it honestly feels like a bit of a disservice.

Now for the Ending

I want to say that I appreciate how soft this ending starts. This cour will likely feature a lot of episodes that end on... heavier themes, and I think the sight of peaceful, falling raindrops is the perfect way to let the audience process their emotions before starting the ending in earnest.

The song itself is very nice, and I like that it’s a bit slower than the more recent endings.

(Side note, but the FUNNIEST moment in the entire series is when Sir Nighteye dies because it’s so emotional and everyone is standing around his bed in his heartwrentching silence, only for the ending to come BLARING IN out of no where. If you forgot how jarringly hilarious it was, go listen to the Eri ending and tell me that’s not the funniest thing this series ever did. Anyways yeah I’m glad that’s not gonna happen this Cour).

This ending is a bit all over the place in terms of it’s visuals, but honestly I think it works. Most endings usually have a theme tying them together (all the Class 1A girls, a fantasy AU, old photographs, planning a party, etc) but this ending’s theme is a bit harder to identify.

That being said, I think it’s just supposed to show everyone going about their day. It’s calm, it’s peaceful, and it’s just very sweet to think about

I like this shot. Actually, scratch that, I like this whole sequence. I enjoy anything that allows Class 1A to chill and have fun.

Hawks is featured quite heavily in this ending which, fair. He’s pretty important in this arc.

I really love the shot where Endeavour immediately switches to Hawks, I thought that was a lot of fun, and very good symbolism on how Hawks wants to be like Endeavour. I also love all the shots of Baby Hawks, because it’s adorable.

Something about this shot is just so cute. It’s the little domestic things like waiting for a bus that make this ending feel... idk the word, real? It shows a side of the characters that we’ll never see in the episodes, but we know have to exist.

Like yes, of course the kids have to wait for the bus. We never see it, but of course there are those moments of quiet. Agh, I love it.

The villains also make an appearance and I’m very happy about that (I’d love to see more of the villains just chilling around, I think they deserve it). I kind of wish they weren’t sitting in a dark room for the sake of being edgy, since I think it would be nice to see the villains just... sort of existing, but honestly it’s still a nice shot. I also like how this shot sort of mirrors the first one with Class 1A (someone coming in while everyone else is sitting and waiting for them).

That being said, as much as I love looking at Dabi and his stupid face (affectionate)... why is Dabi the one getting the closeup?

Mind you, endings don’t need to be connected to their Cours (they can be, like the Eri one, but they don’t have to be). But this ending does seem to be connected to the arcs it intends to cover, given all the Hawks appearances, the boys wearing their work study scarves, etc.

So, I ask again, why Dabi? Out of the six League members, we learn the backstory for four of them in this arc (Shigaraki, Toga, Twice, and we very briefly learn about Spinner). The only two left out are Dabi and Compress.

I can only assume they chose Dabi because he’s constantly in contact with Hawks, and therefore that makes him important? If the OP told us anything, it’s that Bones values the Endeavour Agency Arc over the Villain Arc lol...

... Oh my gosh please tell me that’s not actually the reason Dabi is focused on here BONES WAI-

Anyways, the ending comes to a close with Hawks watching over the kids and Endeavour. The relaxing time is done, it’s time for work studies.

Overall impression? It’s great. It’s hard to screw up an ending, so as long as you have something pretty on screen, it’s wonderful.

I’ll give this a 9/10

Where Three Stars Meet

Sope x Reader ; PolyBTS

“We’re meant to be it’s written in the stars...”

Rating: M

Word Count: 6,046

Release Date: July 22nd, 2020 @ 9 p.m. (GMT-4)

Warning: The following contains material not suitable for all audiences. Includes murder, recreational drug use, homophobic slurs, smut, and toxic relationships.  This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

           YN awoke to the sight of Min Yoongi staring down at her sleeping figure, that in itself would’ve been concerning if it weren’t for the fact that Yoongi’s clothes were covered in blood. “What happened?” YN threw the covers off her body and rushed to Yoongi, who simply stared at her with dead eyes before shrugging. “Shush, calm down.” The smile he gave her barely graced his cheeks. “Some homophobic pigs tried to attack Hobi and me. We defended ourselves, but things got kind of messy.” Even in the dark of night, YN could see there was far too much blood on Yoongi for it to have been from a normal fight. Perhaps Yoongi could see the furrow between her brows and the doubt that hung heavy on her tongue. For the second she parted her lips, he interrupted.

“I’m tired, YN. I just want to rest.” With no further warning, he began to strip off his soiled clothing. Letting it drop to the floor.

YN immediately jumps out of bed, gathering the clothing into her arms and heading into her bathroom. Thankfully her mother ran a late shift tonight, for the sound of the washing machine starting up would have roused her from sleep. Though YN’s mother was more understanding than most - even she wouldn’t tolerate a man in her daughter’s bed this late at night. In the silence surrounding her, YN wonders why Yoongi came to her of all people. Sure, they were friends but things had been different lately. There were plenty of other people who could provide better comfort to Yoongi in a time of need. He has Hoseok after all.

Warm strong arms wrapped around YN’s torso causing her to let out a shriek. A large palm covered her mouth muffling her screams. “It’s just me.” Hoseok’s dulcet voice whispered into her ear. YN huffed, as if that makes things any better, then pushed against the arms encaging her. Though the space in her bathroom was limited, YN sought to put as much room between her and the dark figure. Once her eyes adjusted to him, YN saw that Hoseok’s clothes were in a much worse state.

“What happened?” She rushed forward, hands gripping the bloody material of the shirt and jacket. YN couldn’t see any wounds on Hoseok’s body given the low lighting but considering he wasn’t flinching she took that as a positive sign. “Calm down, star.” YN glared at his use of the nickname. “We got jumped ‘took care of it.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. As if the amount of blood on their clothes didn’t lean more towards a massacre than a petty fight. YN sighs, frustrated by the lack of answers she was receiving. “What are you even doing out so late?”

“It’s two am, YN. It’s not that late.” YN tugs at the end of Hoseok’s shirt and he proceeds to strip, handing everything to her. Just from holding it, she could tell the blood had dried. Great. That meant the stains were going to be harder to take off. YN reached into her bathroom cabinet and took out some peroxide spraying it messily on the clothes before dumping them into the washer too. Now that YN was facing away from the man, she asked what was really on her mind.

“Are you hurt?”

The only response she received was scoff and the small 'click' of the door closing behind him.

Hoseok and Yoongi had never been in YN's room before this moment, but they had already made themselves comfortable in her bed. The two of them snuggled up in their boxers while YN realized that though she might have been comfortable sleeping in a shirt and underwear with her best friend before - things had changed. "What are you doing?" Yoongi asks, right when she was about to turn the door handle to go downstairs. Surely it was obvious enough. "I'm going to crash downstairs." YN shrugged, though she felt uncomfortable with the stare both of them were giving her. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Yoongi looked almost upset that YN had tried to leave.

“Come here.” He held his hand out, inviting her to join them. When YN hesitated for a second the glare directed her way, had her practically running to the bed. Hoseok adjusted the sheets so that she could crawl in while Yoongi, always the tiny spoon, decided to switch roles today. Forcing YN to be sandwiched between him and Hoseok. Yoongi’s hand rested on YN’s hip bone while he finally made himself comfortable. YN could feel the softness of his skin brushing against hers. Not to mention the body heat that radiated off of Hoseok. Speaking of the man, when YN’s eyes finally met his dark ones, he winked. Suddenly leaning over her to peck Yoongi on the lips. Not wanting to see the smug look on his face, YN closed her eyes once more.

She was going to have to skip work, it was inevitable. YN couldn’t function without a full night’s sleep and here she was being awakened again. Hoseok and Yoongi stood at the foot of her bed now dressed in their clean clothes. It made YN wonder just how much time had passed, it couldn’t possibly be more than an hour. Maybe two? Hoseok looked at his leather watch before muttering a “We have to go” to Yoongi under his breath. The latter of which seemed to finally notice YN had woken up. “Come with us.” Though that suggestion was more of an order, considering Yoongi was pulling on her arm and dragging her out of bed. Figuring there was no way out of it, YN looked for a pair of jeans.

“Pack a bag,” Hoseok mutters without sparing a glance her way. YN wasn’t wearing a bra and wasn’t going to bother changing into one. Already aware of the eyes on her as she bent over to pull up her pants. Quickly she shoves her uniform shirt, toothbrush, clean underwear, and a phone charger in an old messenger bag. Yoongi thankfully offered to carry it and the three of them headed out.

The cruiser wasn’t as fast as Hoseok’s gsxr750, but it had the space needed to carry three people. Though it caught eyes, it wasn’t so flashy that law enforcement would notice it, something Hoseok thought of when purchasing it. The light blue c90t had been hidden on the side of YN’s garage where it blended into the bushes. YN remained quiet while the two of them fastened their helmets and silently prayed to not die as she settled between the two of them. The ride wasn’t a long one, though Hoseok lived on the other side of town, they were blessed with many green lights.

With the exception of the one positioned right in front of Chang’s Choppers. It was right in the center of downtown and it was a bit odd that it be so vacant. The lack of sunlight or anything similar supported YN’s theory that it was still fairly early in the morning. Chan’s regulars didn’t leave until the sun forced them too unless they were willing to face a walk of shame. Or be busted by the cops. They usually waited out by the alleyway, the one right next door which was a dead-end because of the ten-foot-tall locked gate installed in the back. YN stared at this alleyway while waiting for the light to turn, noticing a figure lying on the ground. Unmoving. YN assumed it was likely some drunkard, but the longer she stared at it the more unnerved she became. When her vision was starting to become adjusted, noticing details in the man’s clothing, the bike sped away.

“Are you guys hungry?” Hoseok asks, voice devoid of any emotion. YN shrugs not particularly caring, while Yoongi speaks up. “I could go for some.”

Nearing a twenty-four hours convenience store, YN expects Hoseok to pull up to the front of the store but doesn’t say anything when he pulls up to the side instead. Yoongi doesn’t comment on it either and YN notices that some feet away by the side door a tall man smoking a cigarette is watching them. Hoseok takes off his helmet, turning around and placing it on YN’s head without saying a word. Then he marches up to the strange man and begins to chat. Far too casual for it to be serious.

“Hey look at me.” Yoongi’s fingers slightly turn YN towards him. A signature gummy smile adorning his features which makes all of YN’s worries melt away. His sudden embrace catches her off guard as Min Yoongi is not one for public displays of affection. Then again he has been acting out of sorts recently. “I’ve missed you.” Yoongi tightened his hold on her. YN was so close that she could smell his and Hoseok’s cologne on his skin. “Why have you been ignoring me?” She could hear the pout in his voice and though she wanted so badly to be honest with Yoongi, the lie rolled off her tongue before she could even think about it.

“I haven’t been ignoring you, Yoongi.”

Of course, she had, it was the only option she saw. Yoongi had embarrassed her in front of everyone and damaged her pride. Though it was likely nothing more than a sick joke to the men, they couldn't be that ignorant of her feelings. Even YN's mother was aware of them and she could barely remember her own daughter's birthday. Looking into the man's sharp cat eyes YN could see the emotion hiding behind them and decided that no: Yoongi knew. He wouldn't be here if he didn't.

“You know why, Yoons.” Instead of giving her the response she so desperately wanted Yoongi only chuckled in response. By then Hoseok had come back, hands stuffed into his pocket. YN cleared her throat trying to push down the emotion threatening to spill. “Where’s the food?” Hoseok looked at her humorously, as if there were some kind of inside joke she missed. “At home. Where else?”

The building the pair called home was your standard apartment complex, the only difference was the side of town it resided on and the hidden fourth floor that Yoongi and Hoseok called home. It wasn't explicitly hidden, but the structure would make anyone believe it was merely a maintenance floor on the roof. It housed fewer units and currently, only two of them were occupied. One by an elderly woman in the corner and Hoseok's right in the middle. When YN had first visited, when Yoongi had moved in, she found it a bit eerie that he'd chosen one right in between two abandoned ones, but later found out the choice had been purposeful.

The apartment wasn't that nice, a standard studio, that Yoongi helped maintain clean. There were a couple of things here and there, but nothing that displayed exuberant wealth. Not the kind that YN knew Hoseok possessed. The second the door opened YN headed for the couch, limbs weary and mentally exhausted. Only to be stopped by Yoongi once more. "Relax YN." His fingers interlaced with hers as he dragged her over to the large king bed in the corner of the room. "You're far too tense." YN sighed, something had triggered Yoongi's neediness and unfortunately it was centered on her tonight.

Hoseok remained silent rummaging through the cabinets trying to find food. YN wondered what he thought of his boyfriend’s sudden change in attitude. Does it have something to do with the fight? Yoongi wasn't one to be scared by a little blood - or a lot in this case - YN had been around long enough to know that though Yoongi never instigated the conflict, he didn't flee from it either. "Finally." Hoseok pulled out snacks, drinks, and a bong. Should’ve known. That was likely what he had purchased from the sketchy guy. Hoseok stripped down to his boxers, throwing the clothes into the dirty clothes bin, and pulling out a pair of sweats laying on a chair.

“Do you smoke YN?” They know she doesn’t. The three of them have been together at enough parties to know that though she doesn’t mind being around people when they do it. YN would never actively participate. Yoongi takes off his shirt too, likely not wanting the smell to get on it, proceeds to lay on the bed. His long nimble fingers played with hers, toying them to a specific rhythm resembling a piano. When was the last time he played?

"C'mon Star, you're safe with us. Just try it once." How could YN say that she doesn't feel safe? That ever since the two of them showed up in her bedroom, bloody, and evading her questions at every turn, she had felt everything but safe. Yoongi and Hoseok were always strange, but today felt off. Still, whenever Yoongi's lips turned into an adorable pout and Hoseok's charcoal eyes darkened some more she was putty in their hands.

YN had already become accustomed to the smell - years of exposure does that to you. Plus Hoseok and Yoongi seemed to be in their little world, the latter laying across Hoseok drawing little stars into his abs. If Yoongi was lean then Hoseok was fit, but not in a way that made his body too hard. YN had never really seen him work out but knew he often did with Namjoon. Imagining Hoseok joining Namjoon in a pilates class caused her to crack a smile. Hoseok caught onto her and smiled back as if he knew what she was thinking.

"Here," he said, holding out the pipe for her to grab. YN takes a deep breath and takes a hit, barely managing to take it all in - at least she doesn't cough. Though YN was sure she didn't even get a proper hit, it seemed enough for the men who observed her with smiles on their faces. YN passes back the bong, thinking she's in the clear. She is until Hoseok takes a hit and blows all the smoke into YN's face. YN coughs, waving the cloud away, while Yoongi is rolling on the ground in laughter.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” YN stands up waiting until she’s turned around to roll her eyes.  Before she can even take two steps, Hoseok’s hand latches onto her wrist. “Don’t take too long.” YN nods and heads for the bathroom, not hesitating to lock the door once inside.

“What the fuck was that YN?!” Wendy whisper-yelled, YN could barely pick it up over the blaring loud music outside the bathroom door. Unconsciously YN shrugged, her mind still reeling as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Yoongi kissed me. “Holy shit.” YN gasped, her hands gripping the countertop so tightly the tips of her fingers were turning white. While she was on the brink of going into shock Wendy was at the complete opposite of the spectrum: she was raging.

“All those bangtan boys are assholes!” YN couldn’t help but agree with her on that. “I mean why would he kiss you in front of his boyfriend?! Not to mention your date.”

YN froze, her head slowly lifting to look at herself in the mirror, her cheeks were red and eyes wide. If she focused hard enough she could feel the racing of her heartbeat in her ears. “What?” She turned to look at Wendy. Her friend seemed to have misunderstood exactly what YN was questioning. “Youngjae was right there watching the whole thing. He followed you after Yoongi dragged you to the smoke room.” Truthfully YN couldn’t give a damn about a Youngjae. How could she have forgotten that Hoseok was right there? In front of them!

“Oh my god,” YN moaned, her hands running through her hair. This night had been the worst and now YN would have to deal with the fallout that was sure to come from the kiss.

“They always do this YN. Every time you get a date or a new friend the two of them pull some stunt. It isn’t healthy!”

YN turned towards Wendy who in her right arm held both their bags. Thank god. "Look, Wendy, I'm far too drunk for this conversation. I think I'll just head home." Wendy looked like she was about to say something, but was interrupted by the banging on the door.

YN opens the door to Hoseok leaning on the banister. "Everything alright?" YN nods, thankful that the red from her cheeks has finally gone down. "Good because I have to pee." Hoseok shoves her away and begins to pull down his pants, causing YN to bolt out the door. Back in the main room, Yoongi is scrolling through his phone, "Change into that." He states without even looking at her. The shirt is rather large on her frame: the entirety of her neck and some areas of her shoulder being exposed. It does reach mid-thigh though which is preferable to what she's wearing now. Quickly she changes into the shirt and out of her jeans, by the time she's done Hoseok is out of the bathroom.

"Get in." He motions toward the bed, knowing there's no point in arguing YN does so. This time facing Yoongi and cradling into his chest. Hoseok gets in soon after turning off the lights, his hand comes to rest right above YN's thigh. She looks up at Yoongi, but the man has already closed his eyes and she opts to do the same. Hoping to rest this time.

"My head is killing me. Shit." YN had to smile awkwardly at a couple of customers who turned to look at them in indignation. "Sooyoung, quiet please." The brunette turned to YN and sent her a reproachful look. YN ignored it knowing it didn't mean anything. Sooyoung leaned against the counter, her upper half resting over the register.

“I’m going to quit.”

YN chuckles, “Don’t you always say that.”

“I know,” Sooyoung huffs glancing around the store seemingly bored by her surroundings. It isn’t until she glances outside that a question pops into her head. “Doesn’t your mom usually drop you off?”

“So?”

“I didn’t know your mom had a bike.” The look Sooyoung sent her could best be described as mischievous. YN ignored her in favor of switching the topic. She glanced around and saw someone that went to her college, raking over the vintage magazine so violently he was sure to break them. “Have you heard from Wendy?” Sooyoung groaned, the two of them weren’t exactly on the best terms. “Last I saw from her was at yesterday’s party. Clinging onto your scraps.” That caught YN’s attention, “What do you mean?” Wendy had been ignoring her, but that wasn’t exactly out of character for her.

“She was all over Youngjae like a bitch in heat. It was uber pathetic especially when everyone knew she was doing it to piss you off.” Sooyoung laughed, “Should’ve seen the look on her face when you didn’t show up.”

YN frowned, Yoongi's distrust of Wendy popping into her head. "I didn't even know there was a party." Still, she found it weird that Sooyoung, Wendy, and Youngjae would be at a party without YN knowing about it. Unless… “Were Yoongi and Hoseok there?"  The look Sooyoung sent her was enough of an answer, "Duh. Do they ever miss a party? Especially not when Seokjin throws it." Of course, they would purposefully exclude her. Whenever something occurred between them and YN, she would be treated as an outcast. A sick punishment they had devised as if her social anxiety wasn’t shit already.

Sooyoung glanced up towards the clock, "Oh your shift it up." YN raised her eyebrow, "I thought I had a six-hour shift today." Sooyoung nods, "You did, but I needed the hours so I told Park I'd cover for you." YN shook her head disapprovingly. "Oh come on, it isn't like you need it. Please, I'm behind on rent." YN relents and heads towards the office to clock out. At least this means I get to go home and sleep. Though there was that to look forward to, YN didn't enjoy the thirty-minute walk home she would have to endure. She waved goodbye to Sooyoung and hoisted her bag around her body, thanking god for the clear weather.

The walk home gave YN the much-needed solace she needed, time to dwell on everything that had happened. Something had shifted in her relationship with the men. Though their relationship was never conventional it wasn't anything that could justify what had happened last night. Though YN had a crush on Yoongi since she had met him freshman year, and though he had always been a bit possessive of her, it wasn't until he began dating Hoseok that things took a turn. Hoseok had always been a part of the group, but he never really made an effort to get to know her like the rest of them had. When the two of them began dating it was like Hoseok skipped all the steps and getting to know each other and went right into calling YN a friend - though he'd never say it out loud.

The three of them were always together and she was smart enough to know what most people in town thought about their strange relationship. YN knew what she thought about it. Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok’s insight, though, was something she severely lacked. It's all because of that stupid kiss. YN adjusted her ponytail behind her, pulling at it to tighten the band.

As she was nearing home, the loud siren and flashing lights drew her attention. The patrol car dashed through the street and kept going straight, presumably headed downtown. Most of the trouble that occurred came from that area of town, which YN found ironic considering Kim Seokjin lived nowhere near.

The house was yet again empty and YN knew her mom had yet to arrive from her shift. Poor woman. The least YN could do was cook her a meal. She set her dirty clothes in the bin and headed straight for the kitchen, making the rice and seasoning the beef so that all her mother would have to do is fry it. She had been alone, all of thirty minutes when the banging on the door commenced. It was so loud it made YN jump in surprise. Quickly she walked over to the window trying to see who was at her front door, only to see an angry Hoseok and Yoongi. A sigh she didn't even know she was holding in left her as she braced herself.

“Didn’t you say your shift ended at six?”

Well hello to you to Hoseok. “It did, but they changed it without telling me.” She held the door open so the men could walk in. It felt strange having them back in her home - not drenched in blood that is.

Yoongi was quiet, but from how the veins bulged in his arms she could see how tense he was. She tentatively touched his arm and felt the muscles relax beneath the skin. “I booked a room for the weekend, Star. You should join us.” YN turned to face Hoseok, the expression on his face was unreadable. Even though this was her home YN felt the men wielded all the power. “When was the last time it was just us?” Yoongi’s arms wrapped around her torso embracing her from behind. His chin resting on her shoulder. “I’m not sure.”

"Do you have anything better to do?" Yoongi asked as if the only thing that would possibly make her hesitate was a previous engagement.

“No.”

"Then that settles it," Hoseok states walking further into the house and sitting on the couch, making himself comfortable.

YN turns her head slightly to look at Yoongi, her voice was hushed. "When are we leaving."

When Yoongi turns to look at her they are mere millimeters away. "Right now," YN asks for at least an hour to get ready which Hoseok grants as she races to finish the food and get prepared. In forty-five minutes YN showers, shaves, and packs her clothes. She decides to bring along a bikini since the weather has been warm as of late. When she exits her bedroom Hoseok is standing there with her phone in hand. "It kept ringing. Think it was an alarm." She grabs her phone but finds it weird that there are no notifications or missed calls. Not dwelling on it for too long she shoots her mom a text:

'Staying with a friend for the weekend. Left the food in the microwave and there's lasagna for tomorrow. Love ya'

The beach house belonged to Seokjin, as did most things the group utilized, but the area the three of them were staying in was a closed-off room. More like efficiency than an actual studio. Which meant YN was likely to be sharing a bed with the men again. Now far away from everything YN was able to think some things through. Particularly her relationship with Yoongi and Hoseok. She never enjoyed confrontation but figured this was one sleeping dog that could be awakened.

The sun had yet to set when they arrived, so while they couldn't use the beach, the pool was free-range. "I fucking hate the water." Yoongi groans, clinging onto the pool's wall like his life depended on it. YN giggled, which caused the pout on Yoongi's lips to grow exponentially. "Don't you know how to swim?" He looked offended by the question. "Of course, I fucking do. Doesn't mean I like to." YN playfully rolled her eyes. The complete opposite of Yoongi, Hoseok was currently swimming laps around the pool. "He's a fucking dog," muttered Yoongi. A strange thought popped into YN's head that had her going underwater just so Yoongi wouldn't see her embarrassment.

She almost swallowed water when Hoseok pulled her even lower, putting a finger to his lips while going behind Yoongi. YN went up for air, gasping slightly which caused Yoongi to frown. "You okay?" YN nodded, "Perfectly fine." If Yoongi didn't believe her, he didn't have a chance to voice his doubts as Hoseok pulled him underwater. YN couldn't contain her laughter as she saw Yoongi fight against his boyfriend like an angry feline. "What the fuck Hoseok!" Yoongi screamed once the two of them finally emerged. Hoseok only smiled teasingly, sending a flying kiss to his angry lover.

YN only laughed more, the bell-like sound drawing the attention of the men. Twilight surrounded them all around, the purple sky reflecting off the clear water doing a nice contrast with the hue of the skins. "What is it?" YN asked, once her laughter died down. Not understanding why the two of them gaped at her like that. All YN did was blink and suddenly Yoongi's lips were on hers. Pressing urgently, passionately, as if she contained the oxygen he needed to breathe. YN stood frozen eyes wide open until she made eye contact with Hoseok who didn't look the least bit upset. Instead, he gazed at them with fascination, then he nodded. The action so curt YN would've missed it if she wasn't paying attention.

YN closed her eyes, giving in to her desires. Yoongi's lips were much harsher than she remembered, but they were sweet. Intoxicatingly so. YN wondered if this was all a dream. If she'd hit her head or perhaps swallowed too much pool water. Her previous idea had proved to be right, Yoongi was robbing her of her breath. But despite the numbness, YN was beginning to feel the two of them continued the kiss until they were forced apart by their need for air.

"I think it's getting late. We should head in," stated Hoseok, looking in between the two of them before heading towards the stairs. Yoongi followed after him and YN remained alone for just a couple of seconds. What just happened? It wasn’t until Yoongi climbed out of the pool that YN began to swim, unsure of what this meant for the night. Hoseok had allowed for the kiss to happen. So does that mean that the previous kiss - "Hurry up, star? You'll freeze to death." Hoseok stood near the edge of the pool holding a towel open. YN attempted to grab it once she had gotten out, but the man didn't let go. Wrapping her in it instead while Yoongi walked toward their room.

“We should shower to get the bleach out of our hair.”

“Wouldn’t have to do that if you didn’t pull me under Seok.”

“You loved it, babe.”

YN trailed behind them silently observing the night sky and noticing how Orion’s belt loomed over them.

"The boys are coming over later," Yoongi said, as you gathered some of your clothes in your hands ready to hit the showers. "Don't worry though they won't be staying the night." YN's thankful for that. She enjoyed the guy's company, but she wasn't necessarily in the right state of mind. YN opened the bathroom door to see Hoseok in there peeling of his trunks. "Sorry, my bad." He chuckled, "Hey Yoongi, why don't we save water?" All the blood in YN's body rushed towards her ears at what she had just heard. A silent 'what' left her lips which caused Hoseok to smirk as he pulled her in.

"You don't mind, do you Star? Didn't you and Yoongi use to take baths when you were kids? So did we." The context was incredibly different from back then, but YN was smart enough to read between the lines. In a bold move, she said, "As long as you keep your hands to yourself." Hoseok laughed, leaning in. "Where's the fun in that?" His eyes trailed slowly all across her body before he turned around and dropped his trunks.

Yoongi came in just then, "Hoseok has a bit of an exhibitionist streak in him." He too then began to take off his shirt and fiddle with the strings holding up his trunks. They were eyeing her - waiting for an acceptance or a rejection. Good thing YN had decided to be valiant this weekend. She reached behind her back and undid the laces, sliding the top off before walking towards the shower. Despite the size of the room the bathroom was fairly large with the shower fitting the three of them comfortably, of course, that didn't mean she wasn't sandwiched between them. It seems they were keeping their word, mainly focusing on rinsing themselves off and using the soap on themselves. Then came YN's turn.

"Can I?" Yoongi asked as he held the lavender-scented soap bar in his hands. His hands were just a hair away right near her navel if YN breathed too deeply their skins were sure to touch. "Yes." Yoongi placed soap on her skin and proceeded to lather it in, moving all across her torso. It was only ever the sides of his palm, his fingertips, his knuckles that brushed against her skin but it left goosebumps in its wake. Hoseok was too busy ringing the soap off his body, but eventually, he did turn around. The other soap in hand, "Can I help?" YN could swear he even batted his eyelashes though that might've been the water getting into his eyes.

Hoseok dropped to his knees with little hesitation using the same technique as Yoongi to cleanse her legs and thighs. He always avoided touching her pelvis directly by millimeters, YN thanked hindsight for keeping her bottoms on. Though that might've been so the men couldn't see the absolute state of arousal she was in. Eventually, Yoongi reached her breasts, lathering up his hands before gently massaging them. YN gasped as a soft mewl escaped her, she leaned back against Yoongi's chest. He didn't comment simply continuing the motions despite YN feeling the effect she was having on him on her backside.

"Take them off," Hoseok spoke as he rose to his full height, soap still in hand. YN hooked her fingers at the side and dragged them down slowly, allowing them to slide down her soap-ridden legs before kicking them to the side. Hoseok kissed her cheek as a reward. Then he cleaned the areas he hadn't been able to before, being extra careful with the inside of her thighs and hips while entirely avoiding her core. The water was beginning to get too hot, the fog filling up the bathroom warming YN.

“Guys.” Hoseok’s hands reached towards her back gripping her ass tightly, before beginning to massage it as well. It's too much. Far too much, but she couldn't get them to stop. Didn't want to. The heat was making YN disoriented and she blinked several times to clear her vision. Finally, she felt it: the pressure and then the release. Her body slackened slightly and Hoseok and Yoongi held her up. Before the former unclipped the showerhead from the wall and rinsed YN off. They helped her get dressed, YN assumed her sudden exhaustion must have been from the long day.

Thankfully she was able to walk to bed all on her own. Laying under the sheets, while the two of them finished getting dressed. "We're going to get food. We'll be right back." Hoseok stated, before leaning over and planting a peck on her lips. That would've been enough to wake her up, was she not already half-asleep.

“You’re the brightest thing in this town YN. You shine like a star and deserve so much more.”

Loud blaring had YN jumping out the bed as she looked around the room for the source of the noise. She saw her phone vibrating violently against the countertop and ran to get it, worried it might be her mother calling. Instead, it was an unfamiliar number. Hesitantly she picked up and put it against her ear.

“Hello?”

“YN!” Wendy’s loud voice caused her to wince. “Why...you….calls-”

"Hold on Wendy," YN checked her signal and sure enough only she only saw one little bar. "Let me go outside because you're cutting off." She walked towards the door unlocking it but leaving it propped open. Outside the summer air was cool - a strong distinction from this afternoon. "What's going on?"

“Why have you been dodging my calls? I’ve been trying to get into contact with you since this morning.”

“I swear this is the first time I’ve gotten a call all day.” YN paused to look at the number, “Why aren’t you calling me from yours?”

“Cause the calls aren’t going through. Are you mad at me? Did you block me?”

YN shook her head, “What? Of course not Wendy!”

“Well whatever,” Wendy sounded anxious. Though she was typically loud, YN had never heard her like this. Scared. “Youngjae is dead.”

She felt her phone slipping her hand and tightened her grip. “What?” Instead of Youngjae’s face popping into her head, an image of bloody Hoseok and Yoongi did.

“They found his body this morning beside Chan’s place. All cut up and disfigured like in the movies.”

YN was finding it difficult to breathe. T-the body in the alleyway. It wasn’t a drunkard sleeping. It was Youngjae. YN had seen his body in the alleyway and -

“...he left the party last night pretty early after the fight. I don’t even know why he would be near Chan’s since he lives nowhere near.”

That piqued her interest, “Fight? What fight?”

Now it was Wendy’s turn to be silent. “YN…”

"Goddammit, Wendy just tell me." She didn't want it to be true. It couldn't be true. They wouldn’t. Would they?

“When you left the party the other day Youngjae got upset that Yoongi kissed you and called Hoseok and him freaks and fags. They ignored him but yesterday at the party…”

YN recalled Yoongi’s words: “Some homophobic pigs tried to attack Hobi and me.”

“YN. Hoseok and Yoongi are the prime suspects.”

YN could hear the motor of the bike being turned off and the steps climbing up the stairs. “Star?”

Folded messages

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 4900 words

Warnings: TUA season 1 and 2 spoilers, swearing.

Requested by: Anon

Hello!! I just recently read you 11 Five fic and I have to say it was incredible. I have no words to describe it, your writing is so good💖💖 with that, I was wondering if you did fics based on songs, if you do, would you mind doing a 5xreader based on “sway with me” by Micheal Buble? Idk what the plot could be, maybe they are in a mission from commission and have to go to a fancy ballroom. Maybe they are enemies. Maybe reader pulls him to dance around S2. The choices are endless, go crazy :”)

A/N: Finally I found time to write! I've had insomnia for too long because I couldn't write! Damn day job! 

On a better note, I really hope you guys like this little piece of fluff 💜 I swear, this started as a small idea and then it just got bigger and bigger. Sorry not sorry!

Was it even possible? The prospect of falling in love for someone of his nature was almost as high as his targets' survival rate. He wasn't an emotional man, his feelings were deeply buried in the depth of his heavily guarded heart, locked away in a three inches thick chest that was itself hidden in an impossible maze where traumas and demons were furiously protecting the paths. 

Add this to the fact that he never saw her, not even once, the only proof of her existence being the small animals made of colorful folded paper that appears in his jacket pockets whenever he crossed her path, the possibilities of developing such feelings were in no way probable. The origami aside, the woman seemingly took pleasure in throwing wrenches into his work. He was asked to assassinate a brilliant inventor who was getting too close to discovering the secrets of time-traveling? It would have been an easy job if it wasn’t that every single bullet he had in his possession suddenly disappeared, forcing him to finish the job with his knife. 

There was another time, he was tasked with the termination of a group of people meeting in the back of a bar, his guns were loaded, his knives were sharpened, he was full of juice, there was no way that this job would take more than one minute and forty-three seconds. He made his way to the door leading to the room hosting his targets when he noticed a small dark purple llama on the door handle. He pocketed the folded piece of paper for later and tried the handle to find out that it wouldn't even turn on itself. The assassin rolled his eyes at the futile attempt to keep him from completing his mission, he closed his hands into fists but his ability decided to fail at this right moment.

The door behind him closed on a loud banging noise, a delicate click following closely behind, indicating that the door was locked from the other side. Five remembers it clear as day, the moment he knew he had found his equal. He heard you giggling lightly on the other side of the door and his heart started speeding up. Not in anger, not in annoyance nor in embarrassment. He couldn't say what it was, but he knew for sure that he wanted more of it. 

It happened four times, you making his job more challenging and him receiving a small gift before Five decided to do some research. In a box carefully concealed under the double bottom of his drawer were stored every paper animal he found during his missions along with books about origami and colors. 

An olive green and lavender cat, a dark blue dragon, an orange fish and a dark purple llama were now aligned on his desk in order of acquisition. The different books were opened on different pages and then Five started his information gathering. He scribbled in his notebook the different significance associated to each color and animal and an hour and a half later, he was contemplating his findings. 

The cat was a symbol of independence and mystery among other things. Its olive-green body with the patches of lavender told him that the first gift was, in fact, a peace offering from a feminine person. Her very own olive branch that he took long enough to decipher. 

Then there was the dragon, symbol of power, wisdom, mastery and success. The dark shade of blue told him that the dragon was full of knowledge, power and seriousness. He frowned, thinking and slightly hoping that maybe this was how she saw him. 

He didn't know what to think of the orange fish. Happiness, freedom and energy. He couldn't relate to this one, having not been free for many years now as stipulated by his contract with the Commission. He was a slave, used for his ability and his will to do everything to survive one more day and save his family from their imminent doom. 

Maybe the fish was a reference to yourself. This was the only explanation he could find. You were a young adult from what he deduced of your giggles and were pretty happy and free if the folded paper was anything to go by. 

The last gift proved that Five's theory stipulating that every origami was a metaphor about yourself and himself was correct. 

A dark purple llama. An animal representing hard work, endurance under difficult situations and responsibility. His heart accelerated at the possibility that you knew that he was trying to buy some time and betray his employer sooner than later. Would you rat him out? He really hoped that the olive cat meant that you were on his side and not against him, he would really hate to put an end to the warm feeling dancing in his chest whenever he realized that you were around and ready to play a trick on him. 

Now if he followed your logic, the next one he will receive will say more about yourself and he couldn't wait to be assigned to another mission so that he had a chance to learn more about you or even possibly see you. You, his little time traveler. Five had thought about this for the longest of time and he came to the conclusion that you were indeed a time traveler. The Commission kept very close control over their briefcase so there was no way that you had one in your possession, he would know, after all, he checked the lost briefcases records and they were all reported destroyed. 

To his dismay, his next mission was uneventful. He got in and got out. No hiccup, no paper animal. Nothing. It went like this for his next six missions and with every passing success, Five found himself getting irritated. Every night he found himself chasing your shadow in his dreams and every time you managed to evade his attempts at catching you. One morning when even his first coffee of the day wasn't enough to ease his frustration, he thought of a plan that would allow him to finally see you. 

To avoid making his kills personal, Five always prioritized a long-range way to kill, meaning with guns. Guns had a way to remove all responsibilities off his shoulder and lighten his soul at the end of the day. He had enough demons consuming more and more of his conscience on a daily basis, he definitely could do without this kind of remorse. Sure, he was the one who pulled the trigger, but ultimately, it was the bullet that killed the target, not his hands. 

But tonight, Five decided that he would complete his mission with the idea that you were around. If you were, then he would finally meet you. If not, he would need something strong to accompany his coffee. Whiskey maybe. 

He abandoned his prized sniper in the deserted building next to the one his target was currently dancing in and made his way to a back door. There he space-jumped inside the building and quickly blended himself with the crowd. He found himself straightening his suit in the case you were around and made his way to the bar. 

A glass of whiskey in hand, Five turned his back to the counter and analyzed the crowd in search of his wealthy bastard who was enjoying his very last evening on this Earth. There he was, dancing around, totally unconcerned of the people around him. 

Unconsciously, Five reached into his pockets where the gifts usually appeared out of thin air, his fingers searching around as they did a hundred times before but ultimately finding nothing. With a frustrated groan, Five grabbed his glass, emptied its content in one gulp, smashed the glass back on the counter and pushed his way to his target. Another night without your little schemes meaning another night chasing your shadow in his sleep. If this was how the night would unfold, then he wanted to finish this quickly. 

Five's hand reached for his target, grabbed a hold of his upper arm and pulled him in a nearby hallway before jumping the both of them in the nearby abandoned building where his weapons were patiently waiting for him. 

Five turned around to face his target, knife in hand and ready to strike when his breath caught in his throat and every muscle in his body contracted, stopping every movement. Where his prey stood mere milliseconds ago was now an elegant woman in a beautiful gown, all smile and giggling at his reaction. He knew it was you the second he heard your giggles, causing his heart to skip a beat and his fingers to let go of the sharp weapon. 

He stopped himself from moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear, instead choosing to release his grip on your arm and take a step away. You were too beautiful, so much more beautiful than what he imagined, with your shining eyes, your soft-looking hair, your perfectly curved body, he tried to burn every detail into his memory. 

"Dance with me?" You asked, closing the distance and reaching for his hand. Your movement got him out of his thoughts and everything came back full force. The mischievous glint into your eyes caused a smirk to form on his lips.

"You just want to keep me from my job." And you were doing a magnificent job at it.

"Is it working?" You batted your eyelashes in an innocent way, making Five roll his eyes before he positioned your hands correctly and pull your body so that you were almost touching each other. 

You smiled in satisfaction, following his steps flawlessly on a tempo only he could hear. The blue-eyed man enjoyed the silent minute, savoring the feeling of your soft skin cradled into his palm and the warmth of your waist radiating through the fabric under his opposite hand. The comfortable silence was soon replaced by a soft song playing in the background, stopping Five in his tracks and almost causing you to fall if it wasn’t for his strong arms keeping you up and close. 

Five eyes finally left your face and widened at the new scenery surrounding him. The once dusty floor was now pristine and exempt of all the trash and needles that were once lingering around, the tagged walls were perfectly painted in a new shade of light grey, giving the room a nice glow under the gleam of the light strings hanging from the ceiling. 

Five didn’t know his mouth had opened in awe before you chuckled and your hand left his shoulder to caress his chin, effectively causing him to close it. 

"I take it that you like it?" Your eyes were shining under the soft lights and the pride he saw in them almost got a smile out of him.

"You made this?" He was still stunned about the complete makeover of the room. Even the lingering moldy smell disappeared, letting a pleasant smell floating around in its place. 

"You’re not the first one the Commission took a liking to, ya know. I’m kinda like an illusionist, but my stuff is the real deal. They saw my potential and offered me a job, which I refused and they’ve been on my tail ever since." You shrugged, replacing your hand at its rightful place on his shoulder. 

Five was truly amazed by the woman standing in front of him. Her ability had so many possibilities and she managed to escape the Commission for seemingly a long time. Add this to the fact that she can time-travel and play tricks on the best assassin this planet has ever seen, Five has never been so interested in someone like that before, not even Dolores who has been his everything for many years. 

"I can see why they were interested in you." He resumed his dancing, this time following the rhythm of the soft music playing around them. "Having two abilities is pretty rare."

You shook your head, before clarifying. "I only have one. I don't know where you get the second one from." You frowned in confusion, which reflected on his own face. 

"But you time-travel." He remembered finding the folded fish in the 1800s, the dragon around the 1950s and today was September 23th, 1987.

"Yeah, the same way as you. With a briefcase." You nodded toward the black briefcase neatly placed near the window. Five only got more and more confused. 

"But they were all dest-" He cut himself at your cheeky grin. "You created your very own. Impressive."

"Thank you." You were beaming at that point and Five felt proud that he was the source of your happiness. 

The slow song ended but neither of you stopped moving your feet in unison. Five was enjoying himself like never before and he wasn't in a hurry to end it. The corner of his lips quirked upward when he realized that you pressed yourself against him when the song ended, your way of saying that you didn't want this to end either. 

You silently danced the second song in its entirety, living every second like everything would disappear at any moment. Five was scared that this was a one night deal and that he would never see you again. Why did you reveal yourself tonight of any other night? 

Before he gathered the courage to ask you, the song reached its end and a completely different kind of music floated in the air. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

Five pulled away slightly, not much, only to be able to see the sheepish smile on your lips. "I love this song." Was your only answer to his frowned brows. 

Five laughed softly before stepping away and made you spin. He pulled you back to him, your melodious laugh bouncing around him like the greatest melody ever written. 

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

It was clear that neither of you knew how to dance on this song, but you didn't care. You were both moving around freely, Five making you spin from time to time. 

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have that magic technique

When we sway I go weak

Five's heart was beating quickly, not because of the physical exercise, he was trained to accomplish way more than dancing without breaking a sweat, but because the sight of your delighted face stroked something deep within himself. A primal need. The need of a life partner. Someone who he could trust blindly and love without holding back. 

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

A too-quick step made you trip on your own feet, in an attempt to keep you on your feet Five reached for your arms but it was already too late. Instead of helping, Five only unbalanced you more leading you to fall to the ground and drag the man with you. Thanks to his sharp reflexes, Five caught himself on his forearms before he crushed your small form under his larger one. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

For a moment the assassin's heart stopped in fear. He hasn't felt afraid in years and it definitely wasn't a feeling he had missed. Your laugh flicked a switch in his heart, making it beat again in an erratic rhythm that he was almost embarrassed of. He guessed that if feeling that good meant that sometimes he was going to be afraid, it wasn't a big deal. He could deal with his fears if at the end of the day you were fine and happy in his arms. 

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

"I'm so sorry Five!" You managed to say after catching your breath. Tears rolled from your eyes and into your hair, the reflection of the lights above creating stars in your eyes. 

"It's fine." Was all he could say, for his brain had stopped working when he realized that only a couple of centimeters separated the two of you. His body started heating up to his dismay, Five pushed on his arms and sit on his heels to help you sit up. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Hold me close, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

"Thanks." You muttered while passing a hand through your messy hair. 

The sound of a metallic object falling on the ground made you jump. Five frowned, confused as to why the Commission would send him another assignment right now and not wait until his return. 

"What was that?" You whispered. 

"My employer." He was beyond annoyed by the interruption. They couldn't have chosen a worse time than tonight. 

Offering you a helping hand, Five got up and helped you when your hand closed on his. He couldn't stop himself, he enlaced his fingers through yours, the tightness of your grip made him chuckle. 

"Don't worry, they are not here." He lightly hit the wall near the window with the underside of his fist, searching for a spot on the wall that wasn't hollow. When he found it, he searched for the dissimulated door and took the canister with his name written on it. 

Releasing your hand, Five opened the canister, took the folded paper and read the words. Terminate Y/N L/N. How was he supposed to terminate someone he didn't even know? This job was so frustrating! He folded back the paper, storing it in his pants pocket. This would have to wait. He turned back to you and the sight bring a genuine smile to his lips. 

You were smiling at something outside the window, the light of the moon joined to the string lights gave you an angelic glow. He would have loved to contemplate you longer, but duty called and he now had two targets instead of one. 

"I have to go." He didn't dare say it too loud, maybe time would stop and let him live this perfect night for all eternity. 

You turned around with a small smile on your lips. He could see that you were disappointed even though you nodded like it was nothing. "Well, tonight couldn't go on forever." You walked up to him, with each one of your steps Five felt himself growing weak in the knees. Oh how he didn't want to go. "It's fine. I'll find you again." At that, you tenderly reached for his cheek while your lips pressed a delicate kiss on the other one, stealing his breath. 

You giggled, surely at the blush covering his cheeks and walked away, the illusion fading along with your steps. Just as you were about to walk down the stairs, Five remembered something. 

"Wait! I didn't get your name!" He quickly space-jumped in front of you to block your path. 

"Y/N L/N." Her smile dropped when a dark expression fell on his face. Even if he tried, he couldn’t have repressed it, the surprise and the anger were too much. 

"You have to leave." He didn’t know how they found her, he always made sure he didn’t have any bug on himself before going on a mission. 

"N-not that I wasn’t doing that anyway, but w-why the long face?" His fingers twitched at the waver in your voice. It wasn’t his intention to scare you, even less to scare you off. 

"The Commission knows you’re here. I don't know how, but they know." Five was starting to get tired of them pretty quickly. Maybe one day he would get out of there with explosions resonating through the hallways. Maybe he could use grenades. Yeah, grenades were good. 

You started to walk down the stairs when you stopped and turned to him, one last time. "Be careful."

Five smirked although your concern was touching. "I should be the one telling you that." 

With one last giggle, you walked out of his sight. Five returned to his very first task of the night, took place at his spot by the window and finished the initial job. 

Back at the Commission that night, Five removed his jacket, eager to go to bed and find himself dancing in your arms again to the sound of soft slow music. A sound caught his attention when he threw his jacket on the back of his chair, the sound of crumbling paper. 

His hands searched his pocket, grabbing the grey fox that somehow found its way into his jacket without him noticing. A smile stretched his lips before he carefully slipped the fox under his pillow and went to bed. 

A whole year passed before the next animal appeared in his pocket. As frustrated as he was of being away from you for a whole year, Five knew why this was necessary. The Commission was close on your tail. Apparently, he wasn't the only agent tasked of your termination and some got lucky enough to find your location but not enough to hurt you. 

The whole year he kept tabs on the Commission's information on you and kept worrying that someday he would find a red stamp crossing out your picture.  As of today, his worst nightmare hasn't yet come true, so he pushed his worry aside and continued his job. 

He assembled his sniper, preparing himself to kill the president of the United States in 1963 when something hit him in the head. It didn't hurt or anything, it was light as a leaf. Frowning, Five pulled away from the scope of his weapon to discover a brown frog made of folded paper lying on the ground next to his feet.

Receiving one of your signature gift after all that time caused his heart to skyrocket in his chest. All those feelings he had repressed, fearing that one day you would be gone for good and that he would definitely be alone in this cruel world, came rushing back at full speed, making him drop his gun and look around for you. 

You weren't far, waving at him with a tired smile on your face, dark shadows marking the underside of your eyes. He didn't take the time to run, simply jumping to you and engulfing your body into his arms.

Many times he thought about how much he had fallen for you after only one dancing night and five tricks followed by origamis. If it were someone else, he would have told them that they were being stupidly influenced by their primal urges that forced them to find a partner and procreate, for this was the circle of life since the dawn of time. In his case, he knew it was much more than that. It was more important to him than a need to procreate. He had found his equal, someone that sparked an insatiable interest in him and showed him that there was way more in this life than what he originally knew. 

Five tensed as soon as he heard the first sobs. Immediately he started to scan your body for wounds or blood, anything to show that you were hurt. However, his analysis was cut short by both your hands cradling his cheeks. 

"I'm fine. I'm just real' tired and I'm so happy to see you." Your arms wrapped around his neck forcing Five to hug your body closer. Not that he minded. 

He whispered words of reassurance into your hair while thinking of what to do next. You couldn't keep fleeing the Commission alone, not in your state. They would catch up to you in no time and he couldn't have that. He couldn't say that he killed you to get them off your back, the higher-ups would request physical proof of your death. It only left him with his last resort. He would have liked to find the good variable, but time was against him so he would have to deal with it. 

"I have a plan, don't worry." He dried her tears with his thumb when she lifted her head to look into his eyes. "I'll get us out of here." 

You managed a smile before chuckling. "I know. Why do you think I gave you a brown frog? A frog to ensure a safe return of your journey and brown for home." 

Five shook his head, once again amazed at how perfectly you could read him despite everyone else describing him as unpredictable. 

He grabbed your hands in his, mentally reciting the equation he passed the last 45 years developing. Before the portal appeared, Five stopped everything in a hurry, scaring the shit out of you. He let go of your hands for two seconds, enough time for him to run back at his sniper, grab the brown frog and run back at you. You rolled your eyes when he secured the frog in his jacket pocket, quickly saying that it has sentimental value, before concentrating on the portal again. 

The blue vortex appeared, its power pushing them away. It took every ounce of strength into Five's body to pull you with him through the portal, your weakened state left you helpless in front of the blue resistance. 

Five did his best to catch you during the fall, your body falling directly on top of his, stealing his breath for a moment. 

You managed to roll off of him, allowing him to take a nice bowl of air to fill his lungs. He made it. You weren't 100% safe, but he could have help now. He cou-

"Five." The worry in your voice along with your hand closing tightly on his forearm pushed him to sit up quickly and find the source of the danger. He understood your reaction when his eyes fell on his siblings who looked like hell. 

"You guys didn't change one bit." He deadpanned. His usual unimpressed face was back in service at the gaping fish-like faces of his siblings. 

"We should be the one telling you that. You haven't aged at all!" Klaus yelled, his outstretched arms moving up and down in his direction. 

Confused, Five glanced at his body and realization hit him like a brick. He knew something wasn't right! 

Your repressed giggles caught his attention, he found your 13 years old body, a hand on your mouth desperately trying to keep a full-on laugh in. He couldn't help but notice how much more tired you looked in your younger self. 

"It's not funny." Was all he said before he spacial-jumped the two of you to his old bedroom. There he guided you to the bed where he helped you get under the covers and watched you get comfortable. 

"It is funny." Five scoffed and went to the door, knowing his siblings were gathered behind it and very probably listening to their conversation. He hit the door with his foot and as expected, Klaus yelled in pain, complaining about his hurting ear. 

"I'll be downstairs to talk in a few minutes so get lost." He told them through the door. He was awarded by some angry muttering and finally, fading footsteps. 

He walked back to your side when he was sure that everyone went on their merry way, sitting on the nearby chair with your hand in his. 

"You need to rest. You'll be safe here." He kissed your hand at your tired smile. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, that okay?" You nodded, already your eyelids seemed pretty heavy. 

"I missed you Five."

You were out in less than two minutes, your breathing became deeper and slower, your facial muscles relaxed and your mouth opened slightly allowing Five to hear your even respiration. 

The boy didn't notice exactly when it happened, but the demons were now silent and the traumas shrank in size, forming a clear path toward the center of the maze that was his heart. There, the three inches thick chest that was protecting his feelings was now wide open, strings were delicately wrapped around them, not too tight as to not suffocate them, but with just enough contact so that he could permanently feel her affection enveloping him.  

"I missed you too."

[A/N] This passed SO close to having an angsty ending! So close! I figured you guys had enough angst with 11 already… and the part 2 that's coming next. 

After the End Chapter 26: Reverse Crush

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@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

“Don’t leave in suspense, girl!” Alya rubbed her hands together. “Give us those juicy deets!”

“It starts with all four of us getting ready to attack the one place we know about.” Marinette looked at them meaningfully. “Suited up.”

Nino slammed his fist into his hand. “I’m down. Been a while since I’ve thrown down the Carapace hurt, but I can pull it off no prob.”

“Same here.” Alya smirked. “It’ll be nice to be Rena Rouge one more time.”

“And you know I’m more than willing to teach those guys a lesson on why you don’t kidnap super heroes.” Adrien crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Marinette smiled, an expression that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then I get the feeling that you’ll like this part of the plan the best”

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

Ladybug had her belly to the roof and a red spotted T-shirt cannon held in her hands. Her spot gave her an ideal vantage point on the building she had broken Chat Noir out of the week before. The only stronghold of the Gentlemen that they knew of, and the location of at least one of their lodestones.

Well, for now, at least. If everything goes right today, then it wouldn’t be housing much of anything anymore, let alone lodestones.

She had already renewed her transformation while she was alone, leaving her with nothing to do to pass the time. Minutes of waiting felt like hours as the tension built, her eyes locked on the door and hidden windows of the building. She nearly leapt out of her skin when her communicator vibrated, and almost forgot to count how many times it went off.

Twice. Rena Rouge was in position.

Shortly after that, there was a solitary buzz. Chat Noir had found his way to his spot - she could just barely see his outline from where she was, the black of his suit blending well into the shadowy alley. Three buzzes followed close behind, which was fitting. Carapace was close to Chat after all. He’d need to be for this to go well.

With all of them in position, she took a deep, steadying breath and sent an empty message to each of them. She imagined three devices going off, each of them activating their powers. The time crunch was on now.

Chat Noir streaked across the open road, his claws crackling with barely contained destructive power. He slammed it into the solid stone of the building.

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

“But won’t they just turn on the lodestones or whatever to stop us from doing that?”

Marinette shook her head. “That’s why we turn on our powers first. That aura doesn’t work on already active abilities.”

“Well, alright.” Alya tapped a steady rhythm against the arm of her chair. “Let’s assume that works out - I don’t see why it wouldn’t. And I can see why you’ve got Carapace on hand there, but from what you were saying, can’t they just activate the lodestone and bring it pretty close to the Shelter?”

“Yeah,” Nino chimed in, tugging at his cap. “That’ll def take even my shield down, right?”

“Yes, which is why they’ll do it.” Marinette leaned back and steepled her fingers. “And that’s exactly what we want.”

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

The illusion gripping the building guttered out just in time for the windows to be thrown open and the door to shake off its hinges as a whole mess of henchmen funneled out of it. Panic was on their faces, caused no doubt from the massive cracks in the stone of the building and from the way it was swaying unsettlingly in the winter winds.

Panic quickly turned to rage when they saw Chat Noir running backwards, toward the green glowing shield that Carapace had summoned to full size just as they began pulling out their weapons - everything ranging from clubs and medieval looking crossbows to more… modern arms.

“Out of the way, you idiots! That shield will stand up to everything you can manage!” A familiar voice cut through the rabble and pushed their way to the front.

This representative of the Gentlemen was no longer the calm and collected individual that Ladybug had sent running last week. There were dark rings around his eyes, and his hair was disheveled as if he had only been half paying attention when combing it. But the most important detail was what he was holding - a delicate piece of masonry, old and brittle, covered in new, deep etchings that no doubt compromised its integrity even more.

It was a gamble for them to bring it out, but they couldn’t go back into the building. ANd Ladybug knew that the man would at least want to claim a miraculous in exchange for its loss. After all, how much of a gamble could it be for them? He was surrounded by hired muscle and, shield or no, the superheroes lacked any super strength. Or even a catalcysm, since Chat had just ‘wasted’ it. Ladybug’s yoyo would be useless too, transforming into a normal yoyo before it could ever reach it.

What could they possibly do to thwart them?

Ladybug took careful aim with her T-shirt cannon, a grin on her face.

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

“Seems risky,” Adrien said with a frown. “Should we really leave it up to chance, using whatever the Lucky Charm gives us?”

Marinette held up one finger. “First, it hasn’t ever failed us yet.” Another finger joined the first. “Second, that’s why I’ll be the first one to summon my power, long before anyone else gets into position. If I get something that I just can’t use, then we’ll try again another time. It’ll probably be a sign from the Ladybug miraculous that then and there isn’t the best idea anyway.”

“Alright, so we destroy the lodestone thingy.” Nino tilted his hat back and scratched his head. “That still leaves us with a bunch of bad hombres and no super strength to toss ‘em around. What’s the plan to round ‘em up with just us four?”

“Simple.” Marinette smirked. “We don’t.”

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

The cannon had even more power to it than she thought. The Gentleman was clutching his wrist and even from here she was pretty sure it was broken. Much like that delicate piece of stone that was shattered into hundreds of pieces on the unforgiving cobbles of the Parisian streets.

Uncertainty gripped the little mob of armed henchmen as they desperately tried to split their attention between keeping an eye on the two heroes that they knew about and scanning the skyline for their mysterious T-shirt-based sniper. Naturally, she didn’t give them a chance to spot her.

A few tentative bolts and bullets were fired into Carapace’s shield, but none of it so much shook the energy field.

Gritting his teeth, the Gentlemen said, “Well played you little bastards. But there is no escape for you now - your time is limited and there is no one coming to help you now.”

It was unfortunate timing for him then that the blaring of police sirens barrelling down this very street arrived at just that moment. Bright headlights piercing through the relative dark disoriented the unruly bunch, which Ladybug took as her moment to strike.

With the lodestone destroyed, her and her yoyo remained at full strength - a few quick swings was enough to rip the weapons from their hands and pull them away, just as the Parisian police force emerged for their mass arrest.

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

“Clever!” Alya leaned back, whistling appreciatively. “Although I’ve still got two questions.”

“Go ahead,” Marinette gestured toward her best friend, one arm hanging over the back of the chair.

“First off - what about that library of intel you guys said they had? Even famous heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t get away with just walking away with armfuls of damning evidence against a gang.” ALya raised an eyebrow. “And second, where am I in all this? Catboy and turtlelad have got their time in the spotlight, and you get your badass moment. So what about me?”

Marinette smiled. “You’ve got the answers to both of your questions right there.”

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

The three of them returned to the Agreste mansion and turned off their transformations. It wasn’t long before the window opened and closed again, seemingly by itself.

There was something like a heat wave in the air as Rena Rouge dropped her illusion of invisibility - and with it, a packed dufflebag.

Marinette unzipped it and couldn’t help but clap excitedly when she saw that it was filled to the brim with ledgers and notebooks - there was bound to be some important info in here, she was certain of it.

“How’d it go, babe?” Nino pressed a kiss to Rena Rouge’s cheek as her transformation dropped.

“They were way too busy staring daggers into you two to be looking back at their condemned building.” Alya grinned. “No one suspected a thing.”

Adrien began pulling out the papers, a strange look on his face. His eyes met Marinette’s and she could see something glimmering behind his eyes. She recognized it immediately.

Hope.

Empty Masks

The Phantom of the Opera and Social Dynamics of Exclusivity

(or: an essay I will never have an academic excuse to write, but shall anyway, because I watched The Phantom of the Opera tonight and i need to get this out of my system)

I can’t express just how desperately I want to be the Phantom. The strange, half-human ghost hidden under a mask, with a billowing cape and an opera house to hide his secrets, snow-covered stone gargoyles hiding him from the streets when he ascends to the roof and sings to the cold, bright stars. His would-be bride, the ethereal maiden entranced and led down into those secret places, where dark spires arc overhead and dark water flows away beneath the prow of the boat the Phantom, her would-be lover, steers.

But therein lies the problem: we are not meant to wish we were the Phantom.

The Phantom is meant to be a stranger. He is, after all, inhuman. It’s in his names: angel, demon, monster, ghost. He is not a man. He is more, and less. He is altogether other, and while we may sympathize, we are never meant to see ourselves in him.

And yet.

Because the thing about alterity is that there are far, far more of us than there are “meant” to be, the ones who see ourselves not in the heroes but in the villains of such tales. We, the queer viewers, the POC, disabled and disfigured and neurodivergent watchers and everyone else that lives on the margins of polite society—we do not see ourselves in the heroes. We are not only invisible in the ranks of the righteous: far, far too often, we are (implicitly or overtly) represented as the villains, the monsters, precisely because of who we are. Of what we are.

And that’s why the Shape of Water hit so hard for so many people, and why we’re seeing so many reimaginings of Lovecraftian horrors as something sympathetic, something good. Because so many of us have only ever seen ourselves in the monsters. We aren’t the people fleeing in fear and being reassured by the death of the creature; we are the creatures, watching our counterparts die again and again, in a thousand different ways, with a thousand different justifications. We are the monsters, cast out for things we can’t control.

But, of course, that is unjust. Even the heroes could see that. There must be something else, some justification, a reason we deserve to be slain. And so every dragon-slayer tells tales of the stolen princess. Every story with a monster makes sure to establish that the monster is dangerous and evil, ruined inside and out.

The Phantom is a murderer, and so he deserves to be unmasked. We are meant to understand that the two are inextricable: the face the mask hides is the murder the man commits. Even as Christine sings that it is “no longer” his face she is repulsed by, but his “soul, in which the true distortion lies,” we know that the accusation of “murderer” is always preceded by, caused by, the more heinous accusation: “monster.”

The Phantom’s wickedness is an excuse. His murderous inclinations, his possessiveness, the “evil” characteristics that are narratively traced back to his childhood and the way he was treated—they are used to justify the way he is robbed of his mask before a crowd, the way he’s ripped away from his longtime home in the secret twists and hideaways of the opera house.

I had a visceral reaction to that scene, where Christine unmasks him. It hit too close to home. To have something that was kept so carefully hidden, something that, if revealed, could be so catastrophically dangerous—to have that be revealed, against your will—and by someone so intimately close to you? Someone you trusted, body and soul?

It felt like watching someone getting outed.

And, in a way, it was. The Phantom’s face was revealed, and it was as relevant as gender or orientation to his evil acts, and yet all the narrative repercussions still tied it inexorably, inextricably, into his villainy.

“Keep your hand at the level of your eyes,” Madame Giri says, and it is because his weapon of choice was a noose; it is because his face is a curse to behold. The Phantom’s violence is caused by his face. The Phantom is evil because of his face. The Phantom is a monster because he is evil—because of his face.

And that’s the rub of the Gothic genre, of horror that makes ordinary people monsters (of societies that ostracize its members for being “monstrous”): there is no place for the people that don’t belong.

The Phantom escaped his original prison (a captivity which has its own signifiers of racism and dehumanization—making very human monsters out of another oppressed people, this time the Romani—but that’s a whole essay of its own) and donned a mask, because his face made him a monster. He put on a mask of his own accord, perhaps, but he also didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t look in the mirror without it, not after everything he’d been told. He knew what made him a monster. He couldn’t change his face, so he tried to hide it. He was made to wear a mask.

It was not enough. There does not exist a mask behind which we will not long to look.

“Masquerade” is a masterful scene that shows the different layers of social exclusivity. There is the ballroom full of upper-class mask-wearers. Everyone there is unrecognizable, hiding behind their costumes. It is perfectly choreographed. It is perfectly gilded. It is entirely, divinely, grotesquely perfect. It is false.

A few floors lower, the servants and lower-class players have their own party, carousing and laughing with unbrushed hair and wide grins. They wear no masks, and feast on sour beer and stale pastries. They wear no masks because they can’t afford them. They are not permitted to be seen, but nor are they permitted to hide behind the masks of the rich. They make do. They celebrate together, because none of them have any masks, and that makes them friends, at least for the evening. They are forbidden from having masks, and so—if they stay in their proper place—they need none.

The Phantom has not removed his mask in years.

Even then, it is not enough. The room of the rich falls deathly silent as he appears in their midst. He cannot blend in among them. He cannot dance. He has not the patience, anymore, to try. He wears his mask, and at least they cannot see his face beneath it.

They fear him, not because he’s a monster, but because he is a mask. They want to know what’s behind it. They want there to be nothing at all behind it. The Phantom is a mask, and the person behind it is a blemish. They put up with him when he is invisible except for a shadow, a flash of white plaster and black cloak in the night. They can pretend there is not a person behind the mask. It’s a ghost. They want it to be a ghost.

It isn’t a ghost.

And when the mask is ripped from his face, when the person behind it is revealed to be human, even then perhaps they could go on; but he isn’t the right kind of human. He’s physically disfigured. He isn’t human at all. He’s a monster.

They hunt him like one.

There is no room in their world for a person that looks wrong, even one that hides behind a mask.

There is no room in their world for monsters.

(The monsters listen, and hold our masks a little tighter.)

war of hearts part iv: disguises, panic, and yearning

summary: you go on an undercover mission and end up hiding in a small closet with a certain clone commander.

words: 1.5k+

beta:@ambereyesandwine​

taglist (open): @morganas-pendragons​ @deathlessdays​ @obiorbenkenobi​  @painkiller80 @abovethyfold @the-lady-of-stars @my-own-oracle​ 

masterlist 

“I don’t know about this.”

“You look fine, Pip.”

You sent a playful glare to Salem in the mirror, before tugging once again at the dress you were wearing. It was a beautiful dress. It flowed in a way that made the gold color look like it was melting. And it was backless. You had never worn anything more revealing in your life.

“They could have sent anyone else,” you huffed, nerves getting to you.

“Do you want the practical answer or the nice one?”

“Both?”

Salem smirked, coming up behind you, “The practical answer, you’re not usually in big battles so you’re less likely to be recognized. You also blend in well with civilians, making you the optimal choice for this mission.”

“And the nice one?”

“You’re smart, clever, and pretty – they couldn’t have chosen any better.”

You squint at Salem’s reflection, turning around to lightly slap him in the chest, “Flattery doesn’t work on Jedi.” Salem gave a grunt and shrugged, but the smirk stayed on his lips as he turned away. In the past few months, Salem had become your confidant. You cared for all the boys in the Juno Squadron, but Salem understood you on a level that nobody else did. You could share your fears with him and not be judged. He said it never made you less of a Commander, or less of a person. Just how you believed that him being a clone never made him less of a man.

“You have the plan?”

You nodded, thanking him as you took the golden circlet from his hands so you could place it on your head. “I’m a neutral representative from a planet in the Mid Rim looking to see what the Republic and Separatist parties have to say. Master Kenobi is here with Senator Amidala as well as other senators to represent the Republic. We have word that someone working for the Separatists will attempt to assassinate some of the other neutral planet leaders and blame it on the Republic.”

“Cody, Maverick, and Zig are here as well, but we couldn’t get them in without being suspicious as you were only allowed one bodyguard.”

You blinked in surprise, “Cody’s here?”

“At the transport, but yes.” Salem held out a black fur jacket, which you slipped into. “If anything happens, you know the signal.”

You hum your affirmation, pulling the jacket around your chest. Salem was right, everything would be fine.

-

Salem was wrong, everything was not fine.

Screams enveloped the room as a body fell to the ground, one shot through the head. You swung around, looking for anyone you recognized. The room was large, and the panicking people made it harder to see. You just needed to find Salem, Obi-Wan, anyone.

A hand clasped around your wrist, a familiar feeling washing over you. “Cody?” The man didn’t respond, instead slipping your lightsaber into your hand. You met his eyes - the rest of his face hidden by cloth – and asked, “Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“He went after the bounty hunter!”

“Senator Amidala?”

“Salem got her.” His gaze swept over your form, “You alright?”

Before you could respond, you whipped around, igniting your saber. You blocked a shot that would have hit you, recognizing a man you had mingled with earlier in the evening. “I knew there was something off – you looked too innocent in that dress. You’re pretty, for a Jedi. Pity you didn’t take me up on my offer.” Guards came up behind the Separatist as he held his pistol again to fire.

“Let’s go!” You grabbed Cody’s forearm to push him in the direction of an exit. He obeyed, the two of you running out of the main room. “Where’s Zig?”

“Back entrance of the compound,” he responded as you continued down the hall.

“Right, so just on the other end,” you sighed. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”

“With you?” Cody pulled down the cloth covering his face, “Never.”

You nudged him in the side, hand brushing against his, “Been awhile since we’ve had a mission together.” He glanced over at you, and you noticed his gaze linger for a moment. “Seems like all the guards went to the main room.”

The clobber of footsteps made Cody shoot you a look, “You just had to say something.” He grabbed your hand, tugging you down the hall and through a door. It slid shut behind you, darkness hampering your vision. You reach out to balance yourself, almost tripping over whatever was underneath you. Hands settled over your own, helping you to find your footing.

Whatever closet you were in, it was small.

“Good?” Cody asked softly.

“I’m alright.” You inhaled sharply as the footsteps rushed past you. After it sounded like they were far enough away, you huffed, “We’re going to be here for a bit, aren’t we?” Cody didn’t respond, and you squinted as you tried to make out his face. “Everything okay?”

“That man, earlier. What did he mean when he said ‘offer’?”

You frowned at the memory, “He wanted me to become one of his wives. Said he treats the others well and that I wouldn’t want for anything. He provides resources to the Separatists.”

“I didn’t like how he looked at you.”

You blinked in surprise, “Like how?”

“Like he wanted to…eat you.” The distaste was almost palpable in his tone. You could feel it coming off his body in waves.

You found his hand, squeezing it gently, “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t like it either. I knew this dress was a bad idea. I look like a child wearing her mother’s clothes.” Your eyes had adjusted, and you could make out the expression of confusion on his face.

“It’s – you’re beautiful.” Warmth flooded your cheeks at his blatant words.

It wasn’t that Cody hadn’t made similar sentiments before, but he always seemed to convey more in body language than words. You had grown used to interpreting his emotions – when they weren’t loud enough to hear – through the nuances of how he held himself. When it was just the two of you, the weight on his shoulders was lifted. His shoulders relaxed and his lips curled into small smiles easier. You maintained a friendly distance though, only getting close when there was time for a hug. You knew that the rest of the boys wouldn’t care, but Cody put up walls – ever filling the Commander role he had been given.

“But it’s not very me, is it?”

Cody exhaled a laugh, careful not to disrupt the quiet space, “No.” Your stomach flipped as his brown eyes bore into yours. You gasped softly at the strong wave of emotions that came from him, your hands sliding up to grab his forearms. “Even so,” he trailed off, but you could hear the unspoken words – still beautiful.

The space between you lessened as you took a step toward him. You wanted to bask in his warm presence, his glowing soul calling to you. The urge to carve a hole into your heart and let him curl up in it overwhelmed you. This man was one that you admired, one that you trusted.

This man was the one that you loved.

The realization made your breath catch as the plethora of feelings that had been hidden in your chest poured through the cracks. Your gaze slid adoringly over his face, memorizing everything about this moment so you could have it forever.

“It should be alright to come out now,” Cody made a movement to open the door, but you caught his hand. He uttered your name softly as you raised his hand up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm. The man froze, and you felt his surprise…and something else. His hand was now cupping your cheek, thumb brushing across your lips as he stared at you. Your chest felt like it was burning from within – the Force almost buzzing around you – like it was asking for you to quench its thirst.

Your free hand slid up his arm, over his shoulder, and to the nape of his neck. Cody’s nose brushed against yours, but he didn’t feel close enough. “Cody,” you breathed his name, a gentle plea.

“Can I –”

“Please,” you pulled him the smallest bit closer, and his lips pressed to yours.

It was like drinking sunshine. A tad clumsy – as neither of you had kissed anyone before – but the emotion from it more than made up for it. Cody had one hand on your cheek, the other gripping your waist. This is what you wanted. All the late-night walks and the gentle words lead to this. You broke away to take a breath, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, only for a finger to come and brush it away.

Brown eyes met yours and you knew that no explanation was needed. “We should get going before they come back.” It was like Cody had to force the words out of his mouth. You felt the same – yearning to just hide in this small space – but you knew that you had already taken up enough time.

You gave one last kiss to his lips, thumb brushing over the scar on his brow, “Alright.” You readied your lightsaber in your hand, nodding once. Cody hit the panel on the side and the door slid open. “Last one to the transport has to buy a round at 79’s!” And with that, you took off down the hall.

Adding onto your DiaLuci idea for your tattoo AU:

Lucifer has a gigantic scar on his back. He won’t say how he got it; the most that he’ll mention is that it’s from his father. So he always keeps his back covered up and hidden away.

He’s thought about getting a tattoo to cover it, but he hates the idea of anyone seeing it. It makes him feel vulnerable, too vulnerable. He’s never trusted anyone enough to reveal it.

That is, until he met Diavolo.

As they eventually grow closer, Lucifer finds himself trusting the man more and more. And eventually, he wants Diavolo to do it. Something about having his work on his back, the idea of Diavolo creating something new over all of those awful memories...

Lucifer eventually buckles down his pride and asks him. And Diavolo agrees right away.

Diavolo tattoos four large and beautiful wings on Lucifer’s back. To represent Lucifer’s free spirit, and to celebrate how Lucifer was able to fly away from his father and create a new and better future for himself.

~ s8ncake 💚🎂

IM SCREAMING! You get me! You understand! JUST YES!

How much trust there has to be and the intimate moment when Lucifer shows Diavolo. I imagine Lucifer asking but it takes a while to actually let Diavolo see it, “Lucifer I need to know what I am working with,” and then letting Diavolo actually tattoo him. Diavolo is so patient with Lucifer. He can’t help but let out a shaky breath when he first sees the scars, but he is so soft and gentle with Lucifer. “I am going to touch them now okay?” constantly asking if Lucifer is okay. Afterwards Lucifer probably shies away but Diavolo is patient. Diavolo doesn’t push him at all, giving him enough space to breathe but is there to remind Lucifer he is there for him.

Lucifer tells Diavolo he has free reign of what he tattoos. Nothing too vulgar is the only restriction Lucifer gives Diavolo. Diavolo lands on the idea of doing wings, Lucifer wants black/ dark grey scale tattoo to hides all the scarring. And while Diavolo understands it, he can’t help but want to add some color. I see Diavolo using black but there are also greys, dark brown, dark purple, dark blue, and finally, he added streaks of gold.  The darker colors blend in well and just add depth, while the gold stands out. Something Lucifer thought he would hate when he finally got to see the finished piece. But Lucifer is just quiet, something that worried Diavolo, but Diavolo watched as it seemed like Lucifer stood up straighter and seemed to have unshed tears in his eyes. While Lucifer might never tell Diavolo the full story, Lucifer finally feels free from the chains that came with having those visible scars.

I am so soft right now. I’m so glad you get me. I love you so much!

From the hug prompts: a sleepy hug, for any character you choose, please :)

You inspired an entire story, thank you!! I’m excited about this. Posted on AO3 here, if you’re interested! Basically: Kirkwall's burned, and Hawke has to lead their friends through the Marches with the Chantry and Starkhaven's army on their tail. It's two long, hard weeks to get to Fenris' contacts in Wycombe, and the physical exhaustion and terror may not be the hardest challenge ahead of them. There is so much they have all hidden from each other, and it is past the time to talk it out.

The trek to Wycombe was exhausting. Isabela’s ship had been run aground and commandeered by templars associated with the Starkhaven army. They had to bundle Anders and Merrill out in coffins, conveniently left empty. Varric had thought it was hilarious. Anders was less amused. The first inn they stopped at wouldn’t take elves, either, and Hawke had to be talked out of making a scene. “Enough,” Merrill says, exhausted. “Let’s just get to the woods. We can take turns keeping watch.” Hawke eyes their friends. Fenris and Isabela are half-carrying Anders, who took a Smite and a slash from a templar’s sword. Aveline’s hair is singed from getting in the way of Bethany’s fireblast, and Varric has been muttering to himself the entire time. Out of all of them, he is the one who should have remained in Kirkwall. Aveline would follow Hawke to the ends of the earth, and has, but Varric has no skin in this game. Except these are his friends. These are their friends. “Fine,” Hawke says. “But what’ll be there? Half the mages in Kirkwall, and half the templars too. It’s not going to be an easy night.” “It’s never easy,” Fenris says. “We need to get moving. There’s a cave the Underground uses that’s too far. Hopefully it’s not too full.” Hawke is too tired to be annoyed. They stride on ahead, hands on both their daggers, while Varric covers them from the back. They should not be angry Fenris knows more about Anders and his Underground than them. They should not be angry their two best friends kept them well out of their riskiest enterprise--planning a revolution to free the slaves of Thedas. They understand they wanted to protect them, after Leandra was killed. They know that, intellectually. But they’re upset, they almost feel betrayed. They knew Anders was planning something, and they had guessed it was huge. They weren’t an idiot, they knew what sela petrae could do. But they had thought he would tell them about the Underground before Fenris. For the love of the Maker, they had a sister in the Circle! They had spent their whole life hunted, because of the Chantry’s hatred of mages. Anders could have trusted them. He should have. Aveline says, “You’re upset.” Hawke says testily, “Is it so obvious? Kirkwall’s on fire, we’re on the run, and Anders might be dying. And I don’t think a dragon lady is going to drop out of the sky and save us this time.”   Aveline touches their arm. “We made it through Lothering, Hawke. We survived the Deep Roads. The Qunari. It’s not going to end here.” She releases a shaky breath. “Maker’s breath, I won’t let it end here. Not until I can pummel Fenris for not telling me.” “Ah,” Hawke says. “I’ll join in.” “I can hear you,” Fenris drones from the background. They trip off the main road and into the woods now, and it is safer to talk about what they have just survived. “It was all need-to-know, and you didn’t need to know. Once we found out Meredith requested the Rite of Annulment, we had to act quickly.” “Yeah,” Varric says, “but you didn’t have to blow up the fucking city.” “Oh yes,” Fenris says. “I should’ve just let them kill Bethany and Anders, and continue to enslave the Tranquil.” “I’m not saying that!” Varric snaps. “Yes, you are,” Bethany mutters. “Can we not fight right now?” Isabela says. “Like, can we wait til Anders isn’t bleeding to death on me at least, before we all turn on each other?” “No one’s fighting,” Aveline says reproachfully. “Everyone is,” Bethany says darkly. “You’re not helping,” Aveline says. Hawke says, “Andraste’s ass, everyone. Chill.” This is not as bad as their mother blaming them for Carver’s death right over his body, Bethany staring wide-eyed while Aveline buries her own husband. They have been through worse. Still, it’s not a walk in the Viscount’s Garden. “Fenris, you’re the only one who knows where this cave is. I’ll take Anders. Bela, you cover him. Merrill, help me out here.”  Anders is not really conscious. Hawke hefts him onto one shoulder, and Merrill takes his other arm, and together they drag him through the undergrowth. He’s muttering to himself, and it doesn’t sound like Common. “Do you think Justice has taken over?” Hawke mutters to Merrill, hoping Varric can’t hear them. “I think he’s put himself in a healing sleep,” Merrill says. “Tricky, that. I wonder who taught him. I didn’t think Andrastians trusted the Fade enough.” A ghost of a smile crosses Hawke’s face. “You haven’t answered my question.” Merrill looks at them from the corner of her eye but keeps levering Anders forward. It’s hard work, moving him. They ought to have kept him in the coffin, easier to transport that way. Hawke laughs to themself. And if he dies, they could’ve burned and buried him right there. The grieving could come later, like it did with Carver. They reach a mossy cliff-face. Fenris is looking up, frowning. Hawke and the rest catch up. Carefully, they put Anders down. Aveline changes his bandages, glowering at the state of his wound. Clouds are gathering ahead and the night is coming dark and fast. They haven’t enough food, either. Hawke puts their head in their hands for a second, trying to calm themself down. They’ve spent their whole life being chased. This is nothing new. Merrill puts her arm around them silently, and they listen to Fenris, Bethany, and Varric quarrel. “We use these caves to smuggle escaped slaves from Tevinter,” Fenris says stiffly. “I trust this network with my life. They have saved my life.” “Yeah, well, Feynriel said that about Samson, and look where he ended up,” Varric says. “Blondie needs medical attention. He needs rest. What makes you think these people won’t just sell him out? Just because they were good to you doesn’t mean they’ll protect the rest of us, too.” “Varric,” Bethany says, “you don’t know a thing about Samson and Feynriel, so please. Please. The less you know about the mage underground, the better. It’s safer for us that way. But trust us. We’re not walking into an ambush, I promise. But we can’t tell you more than that. I’ll go first up the cliff if that makes you feel better.” “That doesn’t, Sunshine,” Varric sighs. He rubs the bridge of his nose, as if he has a headache coming. He probably does. Hawke doesn’t blame him. “Fine. But I can’t believe you kept this secret from me. Broody, I thought you hated mages.” Fenris says, “I’ve been sleeping with Anders since the riot at the docks, Varric.” Isabela calls over, “Doesn’t mean you like him!” Fenris gives Hawke such a look of exasperated despair that they laugh. They shake Merrill off and take charge, because clearly no one else is going to, and as they quibble Anders continues to bleed, and they are not sure what Justice will do next. “How do we get up there?” Hawke says. “I’m assuming it’s up the cliff. I don’t think Merrill can levitate us all up. Do we have enough rope to climb it?” It’s Isabela who scales the cliff like she’s been doing it all her life, knotting a harness up and throwing it down to carefully pull everyone up. They load Anders onto Aveline’s back and tie him to her. Varric freezes halfway up, afraid of heights, but Isabela and Fenris just yank him straight in, and he screams so loudly the birds fly from the trees. “Well,” Bethany says, “so much for being discreet.” “We carried them out in coffins, Bethany,” Hawke says. “And then Merrill jumped out and dragged Anders up, still breathing, and then pranced down the street. We are incapable of being discreet. We have never been discreet. Even in Lothering, people thought we were weird.” “I blended in, thanks very much,” Bethany bickers. “Anyway, you go up. I’ll spot you. Please.” Hawke opens their mouth to protest but Bethany glares, and they back down. “All my life, you’ve tried your best to protect me. Let me have your back this time. Please.” It is difficult to say no to her, so Hawke trusts in her magic, and climbs up. Of course Bethany has their back. They clamber up the rock, shaking with exhaustion. Varric wasn’t irrational to scream. The rope burns their hands, the moss makes their feet slip, and the stone itself is cold. They drag themself over the final foot, and Isabela helps hoist them up. “Bethany, hurry up!” they call back down. She looks small, from all the way up here, and she’s never been one for running outdoors, not like Carver was. Bethany huffs, grabs the rope, and marches herself up, less winded than Hawke themself. “Fast enough for you?” Bethany asks. Hawke just smiles back, relieved. They hug her and Bethany rests her head on their shoulder. Kirkwall was supposed to be the end of it all, but at least they have each other. Isabela gives them a moment before taking them deeper in the cave. It’s well-provisioned, and even painted, in a distinctly elvhen style. Representatives of a mad wolf flank the mouth of the cave. Hawke reaches out to touch it, but Isabela shakes her head. They head in, wondering. Some of the depictions are maps, another is of the constellations, and a few are just name: ƛήτω, Ϝα⍴ɑνɩα, and then an alphabet they didn’t recognized. Hawke points to it. “What’s that?” “Sindarin,” Merrill says shortly. “The oldest language on this land. I can’t read it, Clan Sabrae is from what you call Antiva. Fenris would know better than me.” In the back, Aveline and Fenris have taken out the blankets and constructed almost a pillowfort for Anders. Varric is rummaging through various jars, sniffing at them suspiciously. They’ve changed Anders’ bandages and are setting up for the night. Hawke is gripped by a fierce rush of love. They’ve survived worse. They’ve found shelter for the night, and food, and medicine. They will get through the night, and perhaps that means they can get through the day as well. “How many caves are there like this?” Varric says, peering into a terracotta jar painted green. “Is this all Dalish? Or do the mages use them too?” “It’s the underground,” Fenris says quietly, fingers on Ander’s neck. He is checking his pulse. Merrill witches up some fairylight, and the scene grows positively cozy. “Everyone who needs them uses them. Varric, don’t ask me anymore. You don’t want to know.” “You keep saying that,” Hawke says, “but we really want to. We’re your friends, Fenris. After everything we’ve all been through together, some transparency would be--decent.” Anders shifts suddenly. He cries out. Fenris focuses in, and Aveline turns over and shakes her head at Hawke. They let out a short, angry burst of air out of their nose, like a horse, and exchange a glance with Varric. “Let’s just get some sleep,” Aveline says. “It’s a fortnight of walking before we get to Wycombe. We need to preserve our energy.” Hawke backs down, and they set up camp. Fenris sits by Anders’ bedroll, holding his hand now. That is yet another thing the two would never talk about--Hawke knows they killed a guard and had to hide out for awhile, and it has something to do with the riot at the docks last year, but Merrill advised them not to pry. Hawke leans against the cave wall and closes their eyes. Bethany wouldn’t write about how bad things were in the Circle, Aveline wouldn’t talk about how bad things were getting in the guards, and Varric kept dodging talking about Bartrand and their parents. They’re tired of the silences. They all know each other too well, to ignore this. Varric sits down heavily next to them. His face is gray with exhaustion. Hawke, half-asleep, wraps him in a hug. Varric sighs into their embrace. Everyone is silent. Even Isabela is quiet. They drift off to sleep, holding onto their friend, and when they wake up in the pale morning, Varric is still at their side, Bethany drooling on their shoulder, and Isabela is using their legs like a pillow. They smile slightly. They have made it through the night, and now the morning seems possible.

Bart’s Tattoo

I’m still on my first rough-draft so this is still a little messy and bare bones but since I’m posting more Bart art, I thought I’d share a little excerpt from my fic where Bart tells Uri the story behind his desert rose tattoo.

Uri belongs to @iigoeyei! TW for referenced child abuse, internalized ableism, mental health issues, and alcohol consumption  

Uri knocks back the last of his beer and crushes the can in his fist before chucking it blindly into the flatbed of his truck behind them.  

“What about this one?” He asks and hooks a finger into the collar of Bart’s hoodie so that he can tug it down, exposing the soft, pink petals of the tattoo on his neck. “It looks older than your other ones.”

Bart looks down at his feet as they swing below him, restless hands fidgeting with his own beer. He’s quiet for a moment, trying to think of how he can condense the story of this tattoo in a way that won’t leave them parked in the oppressive humidity all night, but he doesn’t think Uri would mind if they did. That’s why Uri is one of Bart’s favorite people; he has an abundance of patience regardless of whether Bart is going a million miles a minute or has been paralyzed by silence.

He drops one shoulder so that he can pull his shirt down further, letting Uri have a better look. The tattoo is one of his oldest but the colors are still vibrant and the shades of blended pink and yellow stand out against his otherwise chalky complexion like a rash; a flash of something beautiful somewhere it doesn’t belong. 

“It’s a desert rose,” Bart murmurs while Uri tilts his head closer and scrutinizes the small flower. “When I was a kid, we had a neighbor who was really into nature-mysticism and shit. Lynn-Marie Porter. She used to watch me and my sister sometimes after church and she’d make us help her in the pastor’s garden, picking weeds and stuff like that. She made us memorize different types of plants and flowers and what they meant.”

“You mean like if they were poisonous?” Uri asks.

“No, like what they represented. Spiritually, or whatever.” 

“And there were desert roses in the garden, I take it?”

“No.” Bart scowls and stares at the ground. He doesn’t like telling this story, it makes him feel stupid. 

“I was always--I was a different kid,” he says, voice low enough that it can’t carry with the sound of croaking frogs or rustling catkins in the pond, content to keep this between Uri and himself. “My parents took me to all kinds of doctors but they gave up after a few years and everybody in town knew it. Most of ‘em just accepted I wasn’t right and let me be but just as many people tried to stick their noses in with ‘advice’ on how to fix me.”

Bart licks at his dry lips. “Miss Porter was one of those people. She kept telling my mom to hang a dreamcatcher above my bed or that she should put echinacea under my tongue before I went to sleep. One time, I got in trouble for yelling during Sunday service which is something dad would normally slap me around for but Miss Porter took me outside before he could. Sat me down in the garden and told me I had to start behaving properly if I wanted to stay welcome in God’s house.”

Uri’s brow wrinkles in distaste and he blows a long, exasperated sigh out of his nose. “Fuckin’ hell, church sucks,” he grumbles, reaching into the cooler for a fresh beer.

"You're named after an archangel, dude, I don't think you're allowed to say that," Bart smiles crookedly.

There was a time he enjoyed going to church, back when he still thought belief would be the refuge he needed from his own mind. Back when he was little and his ‘eccentricities’ were accepted as normal growing pains and the pastor would still reassure Bart and his parents that God’s love was eternal and unconditional; before the congregation started to view him as a troublesome distraction to be hidden in the back row where the good word barely reached his ears. 

“She told me I needed to find a desert rose and carry it with me wherever I went,” Bart continues after a long moment wherein Uri slurps loudly at his Budweiser and Bart picks the skin around his fingernails. 

“Said that a desert rose would help my brain be quiet and would help me--” he grimaces, almost a flinch. It all sounds so absurd now that he is an adult. “That it would make me understand my emotions and give me serenity.”

“So you got one tattooed?”

“Not at first,” Bart shakes his head. “I didn’t know what a desert rose looked like but I spent all summer looking for one. Got in more trouble rooting around in people’s lawns than I ever did fucking around in church.” 

Bart huffs a laugh, eyes unfocused on the horizon and setting sun. “I hunted everywhere. Broke into hardware stores, backyards… even took a bus all the way to Billings once because I heard MSU had a greenhouse but they wouldn’t let me in.” 

His hands flex around the can he holds and Bart scowls, familiar anger bubbling in his throat along with the equally intimate feelings of shame and inadequacy that are always resurrected when he thinks about his old life. 

“I thought if I could just find one, then all my problems would be solved and I’d get all my old friends back. That I would be normal for as long as I could hang onto it. I was completely obsessed.”

Uri smirks and nudges Bart’s ribs with his elbow, a good-natured jostle that pulls Bart back to the present. “Some things never change, huh?” He teases. “Did you ever manage to get your hands on one?”

“Naw,” Bart sighs. “When I was sixteen, I found a picture in a field guide and convinced my sister’s boyfriend to tattoo it for me. I figured that would be the next best thing if I couldn’t get a real one.”

Now comes the part of this story Bart hates telling and he yanks the zipper of his hoodie back up his neck despite the sweltering temperature. “I found out a few years later that she wasn’t even talking about flowers. A desert rose is a type of fuckin’ rock that hippies use to meditate with or some shit. I got a stupid flower tattoo for nothing.”

Uri leans back on his palms and considers Bart from beneath his eyelashes, brown eyes glowing amber in the dying light. His expression, so open and non-judgmental, makes Bart’s stomach churn. 

“Y’know,” Uri drawls. “I don’t know much about spirituality or however you’d define this kind of thing but I’m pretty sure it’s not the object that counts so much as your belief and conviction in what it does.” He claps a wide palm in the center of Bart’s back. “You were just a kid, misinterpreting the message is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, well.” Bart drains his lukewarm beer in a few quick gulps and throws the can as far away from himself as he can manage, watching it sail into the approaching shadow of the treeline. “Belief obviously wasn’t enough because I’m still--” he points at his own ear and mimes a spiral with his finger, the universal sign for cuckoo-crazy. 

Uri’s face falls. “Bart,” he prods gently.

Bart shakes his head and pulls his hood up over his hair, burying himself beneath his clothes again before hopping off the hood and crossing to the passenger-side door. 

“I have shit to do tonight,” he grumbles and folds his exhausted body into the cab before Uri can stop him. “Take me home.”

Quack Pack Episode 22 Review: Snow Place to Hide

So as some of you may know, I do weekly reviews of Ducktales ever since the season started. But quite obviously, that only comes once a week and on top of that we have only two weeks left of episodes before a break and given the last few episodes have stoked my wanting to watch other Disney Afternoon shows, after i’ve taken way too long to get around to watching more of them again despite having D+ for almost 6 months now, i’ve decided to branch out into other shows.  If you have an episode of a show, animated or otherwise, on D+ you want me to review, just shoot me a message and for three bucks, i’ll review it asap. Yes I snuck a promo in there but in my defense.. shut up. More babbling under the cut. 

So with Daisy a coming and me starving for Daisy Duck Content, and Disney Plus for SOME REASON STILL NOT HAVING HOUSE OF MOUSE DESPITE HAVING NO REASON NOT TO HAVE IT ON THERE AND HAVING BEEN AROUND 6 MONTHS, YOU ASSHOLES, I was left with a handful of choices to both watch casually and review. I’m not really intrested in the Disney Junior shows, though they aren’t bad, especially roadster racers, just not my speed. And while I DO fully intend to watch legend of the three cablleros, i’ve put it off too long and i’ve heard it’s excellent, it’s not a place to go for Daisy when, by all acccounts and what i’ve seen of the show, that version of her is godawful and not really approraite to celebrate the character going into her big debut.  Hence,  Quack Pack. I’d been meaning to revisit the show anyway, having seen two episodes that weren’t half bad years ago and despite it’s obvious flaws, being curious about the good in it. For the uninitated Quack Pack was disney’s second Duck show for the Disney Afternoon and followed Donald and teen versions of the boys on various misadventures. Along for the ride are Daisy, anchorwoman for globetrotting news program “what in the world?” and her coanchor and Donald’s Boss , as Donald’s the duo’s cameraman, Kent Powers, a smug egotistical human with weird hair. Yup I said human. One of Quack Pack’s more infamous traits was having humans instead of dog faces (the dog like humanoids carl barks used since he coudln’t use humans himself when he didn’t want to use a duck), which is a choice i’m just.. eh about. I don’t LIKE IT but it dosen’t ruin the show for me and the ducks blend well enough with them, I just question why disney did it when they turned down Goof Troop’s request to do the same, which again worked out for the best. As a result of this weird choice the series is less of a direct sequel to Ducktales and more of a spritual sequel:  it’s still barksian in it’s own way, just instead of focusing on scrooge, like the earlier comics in Barks catalogue it focuses on Donald, and thus bounces between slice of life shenanigans and globe trotting adventure, sort of like how the collection of barks stories I bought recently that’s donald centric starts with the all-time classic old castle’s secret about the family visting castle mcduck to find a hidden foruturne, and then segues into a comedy plot about donald trying to put the boys in chimp suits for a society party because he’s kind of an asshole in the old stories and these stories were kinda weird. I”ll probably talk about some of them at some point.  The problem though is that not only are the boys the focus instead of donald and daisy, but that the boys are insufferable here. They speak like otto rocket and act like zack morris, trying to scheme their way out of work and speaking like they just walked out of a commerical for Whale Cancer. 

F-Yeah. the point is, the three of htem just aren’t likeable or intresting, and it also hurts their paired up with Donald, who as usual is. It’s probably why I remember this ep so fondly: it’s mostly donald focused with the boys off to the side and taking slapstick vengance on a deserving target. But that’s quack pack in a nutshell: a wasted opprotunity that got overhyped as bad and whose good title got used for one of Ducktales 2016′s best episodes which classily didn’t take any real pot shots at it and even snuck kent in as one of the humans trying to murder them.  So with all of that out of the way, what’s this episode actually about? Well basically donald, after flying into a jealous rage over what he thought was her sweet talking another guy behind his back but was really just her cuddling her igauna, which sounds dirty for some reason but is entirely wholesome, is chastized by daisy for being a jealous twit. Daisy herself is jetting off for the weekend to a nearbye ski resort to get an interview with action star Jean Claude.. basically a combination of Jean CLaude Van Damme (the accent and onlyt hat) and Steven Segal (his apperance and skeeziness). Sadly the character isn’t wearing a kimiono the entire episode for accuracy, but he’s also not trying to sexually harass daisy for favors like the real steven segal would. No joke there he’s just a creep and deserves to be called out on it. Also the show missed a massive opproutnity to have him be a seagull named “Steven Seagull”. Just saying.  See Kent, being an ass, is trying to scoop daisy on it and get an interview himself, so Daisy’s trying to beat him. Donald says he trusts her but well.. then he starts hallunicnating. Everyone, i’d like you to meet the green eyed monster of jealousy. 

Why yes, that is a sizeable wolf in a green zoot suit representing Donald’s jealousy and insecurity. Why is it a wolf an not ana ctual monster? Why is donald halluicnating? Does he need thereapy.. I can only answer the last one which is yes. The rest I have nothing but I am here for it. And the wolf is one of the best parts of the episode: if this was just donald getting jealous over daisy, he’d be as much of a dick as his nephews are in this series, but the green eyed monster is a neat representation of the ugly feelings we all feel at one time or another. He sounds intellegent, clever... like he’s saying the right things... donald’s inner voice goading him on even though he knows deep down daisy wouldn’t cheat and he shoudln’t be doing what he’s doing.. which in this case is, as the wolf’s suggestion, taking the boys on a ski trip despite hating sking to find out if hsi fears are unfounded or not.  And while what donald’s doing is a MASSIVE dick move... the episode TREATS it as this,a s him being irrational and insecure.. so it’s a lot easier to deal with. Plus as is standard for comedies he keeps running into scenarios that look like Daisy’s having a good time or in romantic situations with kent by concidence, even though again he should know better. But that’s why donald is who he is: a relatable angry asshat whose just like you and me: because like us we all sometimes sink to our lower instincts despite knowing we shouldn’t. We slip and stumble. Does it make donald following her around okay? nope. But it dosen’t make him unsympahetic either, and he does learn his lesson and suffer plenty of slapstick for it. But that’s the basic setup,donald follows daisy around while his new wolfy pal eggs him on. Meanwhile the boys get cut off sking by kent, calling him “Lime Slime”, real clever guys, and only agree to help donald get kent away from daisy, in reality Daisy is merley sticking so close to keep kent from running off.. and that’s not an overreaction, kent hilarious trys to sneak off the second he’s out of her sight every time and is so inepet at his job Daisy wants to stick around to make sure he dosen’t cost them the interview, which he probably would honestly. It’s good comedic timing and that coupled with the slapstick and the wolf whose damn funny and reminds me , along with daisy in her ski outfit that yes I am bi bi bi till the day I die. It’s not bad. Wait what were we talking about? oh right the boys.. they mess with kent a bit, it’s okay, it keeps them out of the main plot.  Eventually things esclate as Daisy does find Jean Claude who unlike kent, whose unitrested in Daisy and is a sleazy dope for other reasons, very intrested in Daisy who rebuffs him.. and donald witnsess it and realizes he was a dickhead and a skunk, with helpful visual cue for the latter if sadly not the former. Donald of course ends up crashing into their table and Daisy realizes what was going on, and the boys quickly cover for him as entering the weekends ski race. Because of course there’s a race to end this this was the 90′s and goof troop had already done this so Quack Pack had to do the same.  But we get a somewhat charming moment as Daisy admits she knows donald was just covering by agreeing with the boys, and that what he did was NOT okay.. but she gets why. And to me, at least, I get it was less him not trusting her and more him .. simply thinking he’s not good neough. As seen above the wolf appears during the race to goad him again, but I think he’s less afraid of her genuinely not loving him and more afraid she’ll see he’s not good enough, he his, and leave him. But ..s he won’t. This si daisy at her best, willing to put donald in his place for being a dickhead, but still having genuine chemstiry with him and understanding the dope. It’s why I prefer this daisy to one who treats him like garbage without letting him explain (Cabs) or cheats on him constantly with Gladstone because he has money even though he’s a massive selfish dick and donald’s a decent if flawed guy. (the comics depending on the writer). Admitley Id on’t think she should be as forgiving as she is, but whatever. Donald gets injured during the race,learns his lesson.. and for real this time as the monster, himself banged up, tries to goad donald on when donald’s handsome doctor shows up but donald instead does the old bit with hospital beds where he has the thing collapse on the guy. That’s also whyi ‘m not too hard on him: again he gets punished, but in addition he LEARNS from it and realizes he was a moron and is genuinely sorry.  Overall the episode is pretty good. The bits with the boys are incidentaly and likely there only so their actresses can get a pay day, not that i’m against that, Pamela Aldon has mouths to feed and at least one of her daughters had to be born by then, but otherwise it’s an enjoyable throwback to the older shorts that showcases donald and daisy at their best and has an intresting and well designed, if werdly named, side character. While I joked about the weird choice of green eyed monster, I still loved the character as his smooth talking, flashy design, and great use of metaphor meant he was a delight and i’d love to see the design show up int he reboot for something else.  Overall not a bad time for 20 something minutes and far better than i’d of expected of quack pack in the past. Who knows maybe the rest won’t be so bad.. MAYBE. Until next time , courage. 

Family Secrets: Chapter One

Pilot

Summary: Allanah (OC) enlists an old flame, Crowley, to help her find a well hidden hunter, while you work on your first case since Rufus’ death. It’s a simple salt n’ burn, but brings on more trouble than you initially expected. 

A/N: I decided to re-write this series and improve things to help make a better ending so I wanted to just repost it :)

Warnings: none that I can think of :)

W/C: 2.1k

Masterlist/Schedule

For someone who prides himself on his ability to sneak about, Allanah is more than surprised to hear the small rocks turn under his slow and steady footsteps. At this pace, she expects to be face to face with him in an hour. 

After waiting half that time near a rancid dumpster between the thick walls of two sister buildings, she thought for a moment to meet him halfway, but that would have read - to him - as submission.

“I see you’re still one for a grand entrance.” The words that spill out of her mouth are poisonous. Unluckily for her, he is immune.

An arrogant chuckle cracks through his teeth and sits on her swollen chest, “the most bewitching of an evening is one with a crescent moon.” He averts his eyes upwards for just shy of a moment before continuing, “and a sorry sap requiring my assistance.” His grimace is barely noticeable with only a sliver of the moon and an ember of a street lamp for light.

She pushes on with an utmost of confidence, “ah, but you see.” With one hand on her hip she traces along his broad shoulders with her fingers as she sways around him. “I could be of assistance to you, as well.”

He deigns a chuckle without opening his mouth and, for the first time, removes a hand from his tailored coats’ pocket to gesture at his disbelief, “me? Need help from you?”

He bellows out a laugh and takes a few steps closer to the graffiti littered wall. With his back to her, he takes in a curt breath of the water stained air. “Oh, please do continue. I could use some entertainment after the abomination that was my day.”

“I can get you the key to Teraw.”

Swiveling around as quickly as she let the words loose, his face freezes sternly. Thick eyebrows and thin lips beseech acquaintance and he is too intrigued to care how she knows what she does. “You may question my ability now, Fergus, but hold your tongue until it’s sitting in your hands.” She straightens up her stance and presses the wrinkles out of her over worn blouse, “the key, that is.”

He wasn’t exactly pleased to be meeting with his former lover, but now she had begun stepping on his last nerve. His curiosity is replaced with annoyance. Filling the gap between them with a micro step he amplifies his height in an attempt to match hers.

“There is nobody that walks this plane, Heaven or Hell that is permitted to call me by that name, Allanah. Even if there were, you would be the exception.”

Any time Allanah could get a rise out of him is a success in her eyes. A mischievous grin grows on her face and she folds her frail arms against herself, “it’s been quite a while since we’ve been in the presence of one another. I guess it must’ve evaded my memory how much you despise your mortal name.”

“Ah, we’re not here to quarrel over history, though are we,” he irately observes with an eyebrow raised an inch higher than its twin. “And what do you request of me?” He steps forward to put forth some much needed distance, “after all, a deal is bi-fold.”

“My appeal is simple, really.” Her boots click on the piece of pavement that remains intact as she paces around him with her fingers entwined. “All you have to do is find the girl. From that point, she will lead you to it.” Her lips move slowly and stay fluent with her provocative expression and posture. It seems like she’d rehearsed this line prior to their alleyway conference.

He squints his eyes, “you mean the hunter?” She was already a point of interest for him, but to this extent he had no idea, nor did he believe it. “A mere human is going to find me the key to another dimension?” His words taste bitter and sound even worse.

Her regularly vacant eyes glimmer in the reflection of flickering lights. She takes a step that is half her length with only one foot in front of the other. “Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong, Crowley.”

“And to what benefit could you acquire from her?” His voice remains calm.

“Oh honey, my auxiliary don’t even know of my plans,” she says between heartened chuckles.

“And I take it, if you can’t locate her, she must’ve done a cloaking spell of some sorts.”

“Right,” Allanah sighs.

“I see, well, rules are rules. Shall we seal this formally?” He reluctantly inquires.

Truth be told if he had a beating heart it would belong to her. It’d been many silent years since they parted ways, though not for lack of trying. He’d made multiple attempts at reconciliation and, of course, she’d only reached back when she became desperate.

In replacement of a response, she strolls the short distance to close the space between their chests. She almost starts to feel guilty for the way things had ended before when she takes notice of the illumination in his welcoming eyes.

Taking aid from the walls she’d built around her heart, she forces the memories out of her mind and mentally counts to five before planting a reminiscent kiss on his plush, slightly parted lips.

For the sake of theatrics, she drapes her arms upon his shoulders and allows her fingers to travel through his hair. He clasps his hands around her wrists and pulls outwards simultaneous to the retrieval of his lips. The first thing he sees upon opening his eyes is a menacing grin on her generally lovely face, and it sends a twinge down his spine.

“Find the girl, Crowley,” her words slumbering as she coasts down the gravel pathway to the street. “Get the girl, and she’ll take you to the key,” she says turning back just once more to capture his awestruck expression before blending into the darkness.

----

Tossing the shovel to the side, you take in the vibrant energy of the moon from behind you. You are surrounded by trees and dirt paths that lead to their headstones. You don’t feel scared in the presence of graves as you spend a fair amount of time in places people otherwise seem to avoid.

Glancing into the hole you’d just spent hours on, you are startled by the sound of tires hitting the gravel entrance. Before you can hide you hear a disembodied voice bellow out.

“What the Hell do you think you are doing?” The voice is wrapped in a tall, plump man. His uniform is clean for the most part, yet his shoes are a little torn and scuffed up. Only a baton and flashlight sit in his charcoal belt, which means he is presumably unarmed.

It’s been years since you’d run into trouble like this, but thankfully you’re quick on your feet. “Oh no,” you let out a quick breath that masks itself in a chuckle. “I’m sorry,” you say sweetly and reach into your coat pocket with the other hand held up as a white flag. “My name is Maggie Tarnish. I’m with the FBI.”

He’s close enough now that it takes no effort to hand over your slightly used thousand dollar badge. It cost you close to nothing to make, but getting caught with a forged identity card could cost you the next five years and money you don’t have.

After taking a moment to collect your composure, you speak with as much conviction as possible,  “it was brought to my attention that there may have been evidence left behind by my old forensics team.” You let out all of your built up air and finally allow yourself to loosen up a bit, “idjits,” you say, squeaking out a comfortable one-syllable laugh. “The court ordered I exhume the body to retrieve it.”

“Alone?” His head is tilted like a dog would when they hear something unfamiliar, “and why wasn’t this brought to my attention?”

You don’t answer right away. You’ve learned that these kinds of situations are like a time bomb; one wrong move and it could blow up in an instant. You figure the nice act wouldn’t cut it any longer. You don’t have time to stand around talking, anyway!  

Taking another look at his uniform you let out a disdain tainted laugh and inhale sharply, “I’m a strong woman. I didn’t want to waste company income on any more manpower than necessary.” You dig your heels into the dirt as if to give more depth to your words and close yourself off with your arms. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you’re at the bottom of the food chain around here.”

With a fierce tone and your shoulder blades pressed as close to each other as you can force them, you sneer, “let me guess. Three, maybe four, nights a week to drive ‘round ensuring no one robs a grave right? Or to make sure teenagers aren’t vandalizing and telling the homeless they have to sleep somewhere else?”

It really isn’t his fault, your thoughts peak through. He is only trying to do the job he was given.

Fury builds behind his emerald eyes and it becomes easy for you to imagine him with red skin to match the anger. “Do you think that gives you the authority to tell me how or when to do my job? You want to know what my hours are like?” Taking a step closer to him you are seemingly getting lost in your own monologue which only increases the petulance of your tiring lifestyle.

“They are endless and ruthless, but I am protecting and saving people with the work I’m doing. Trying to do, anyway, before you so disrespectfully interrupted me.” With an eye roll your voice grows deeper but not much louder, “lives are at stake here, so please leave the grown up to do her job.” As soon as the last word comes out the graveyard falls back to silence.

“I would like to speak with your supervisor,” his bushy eyebrows raise as he demands rather than asks, “do you have a number I could call?”

Keeping up with the array of confidence, you reach into your duffel bag while attempting to hide its contents. You fumble around for a minute until you find a coffee stained business card printed to represent your falsity, and flick it at him with gall. After having been sucked into a conversation you wanted no part in, you take this moment to get reacquainted with your surroundings.

The overflowing and lustrous moon has moved quite a distance since you first arrived and is now at midpoint in the sky. Easier to see is easier to be seen, you think and have always been proven right by this. You force a quick glance at your watch, confirming both your suspicion and fear. Now, you have about sixteen minutes before this body reanimates.

His voice booms out and shocks you out of your thoughts, “is this some kind of sick joke?”

“What are you talking about?” You slit your eyes in his direction.

“The line is disconnected,” he says with disbelief and followed by a conspicuously pretentious chuckle that soon turns into an intimidating cackle. Typing a new number into his phone, he continues to gloat, “I knew it! I knew you were full of shit.”

“Who are you calling now?”

He looks at you with vaunt in his eyes, “the local authorities.”

Without thinking, you snatch his hand before he can place the phone to his ear and cancel the call. Moving around him with his arm tightened against his back, you wrap your free arm around his neck. Imagining your wrists are magnets, you connect them to apply just enough pressure to keep him alive and unconscious.

Only because you had caught him off guard were you able to subdue a man of his size so quickly, but it still made you feel accomplished. You allow his heavy body to drop just enough to make it easy to drag. Taking turns between watching behind and in front of you, you shuffles him towards the car he arrived in.

You are unable to lift him into the seat without the strength of the second person you’re supposed to have, so instead you prop him against the side of the vehicle and delete the two previously dialed numbers. You pull out a handkerchief to wipe your prints and drop the device into his lap before switching your gaze to survey the Mausoleum and surrounding area for any onlookers.

Hesitantly, you peak a glance at your watch. With only five minutes remaining you run through the terrain being careful not to disturb the other graves. You try to focus on the task at hand, but the only thing running through your mind is a question; why is his line disconnected?

He said he would always answer if you called. With lighter fluid in one hand and a match in the other, you douse the body, set it ablaze and barrel out as quickly as possible.

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