#// that he was just a tool in his father's grand scheme for money

[archivedsorrow]

// saw a twt post calling ivan the 'child who knew too much' and u know what. i can't get over it

[fadedflame]

Rare-pairs Week: day 5

Summery: Day 5 of the rare-pairs week. Prompt: Spring/Summer/Autumn/Winter/PeacefulAll it takes is one little question on a perfect summer day to send Connor’s processor into overdrive.

Part: 1/3

Next Chapter >

On Ao3 or read below.

It was the beginning of autumn when Rupert got the old, antique truck. A rusted, blue, 1951 Ford. Classic and perfect, besides the fact that it didn’t run.

Connor suspected, though he wouldn’t know for sure unless he asked, that it being in such a state of disrepair was one of the things that his boyfriend liked most about it.

That suspicion was all but confirmed when Rupert brought it up to Hank for the first time.

You would have thought it was Christmas with how Hank lit up at the mention of the project. He leaned forward in his seat, fiddled with the label of his beer bottle, and ‘casually’ offered both the use of his garage and tools and to help work on it.

Rupert smiled, looking for all intents and purposes as though he had pulled off some sort of grand scheme. “I’d love the help,” he accepted as though it hadn’t been his plan all along.

As soon as he agreed, Hank excitedly began asking for details on the truck and making various plans to start the restoration, blissfully unaware that this was the outcome Rupert had been looking for.

Connor just sat back in amusement and let the scenario unfold.

It wasn’t as though his intentions were sinister, after all. The truth was, Rupert had been looking for something to bond with Hank over. He knew how much Connor cared about his father and wanted to be closer with the man.

Not that they didn’t already get along. At worst they were amiable to each other, but they hadn’t yet really bonded with one another. They were still very much 'Connor's father' and 'Connor's boyfriend'. Hopefully, having a project to work on together would help to bring them closer and give them something in common besides him.

Considering how they both took to it with so much enthusiasm, it was certainly effective.

Connor himself wasn’t too enamored by the project. But, he loved Rupert, and he loved Hank, so simply having something to do with the both of them was enough to hold his interest.

And it wasn’t as though the truck wouldn’t have a purpose once it was done.

Rupert had started picking up landscaping and gardening jobs here and there to make a little money. He was good at it and enjoyed working with his hands and being close to nature. 

Not long ago, he’d told Connor that he was considering trying to turn it into a proper career. Not wanting to continue relying on New Jericho, he planned to get his own apartment, have some spending money, and be more independent. He was off to a good start, but had lamented that it had been frustrating not having proper transportation for his plants and supplies.

Between having to save up for or track down parts and the labor of fixing it up, the truck took nearly a year to complete. They were all excited once it was done, starting it up for the first time that autumn just as the leaves began to change colors.

Rupert surprised Connor not long after with a date to an apple orchard. He drove them out of town where they marveled at the spectacular fall colors and enjoyed the simple tranquility of it all before bringing home, in Hank’s words, ‘too many goddamn apples.’

That winter was bitter and long, but that little blue truck was reliable through it. A safe haven from the cold. Instead of relying on taxies, to see each other, Rupert happily brought them wherever they needed to be. It even proved useful for surprising Hank with a Christmas tree for the house.

Spring put Ruppert to work. It seemed as though all of Detroit was eager to shake off the cold winter months by planting elaborate gardens and were happy to utilize his services. The result was bittersweet. Connor was happy for him, he was making good money and enjoying his work, but it also meant that he didn’t have as much time to see him.

Things died down a bit in the summer. He was still getting plenty of business, enough to have a steady income at least, but also had more leisure time that Connor was more than willing to occupy.

So, evenings like this weren’t out of the ordinary.

Rupert had driven them to a somewhat remote park just out of town. They were just far enough away from the city that they were surrounded by the sounds of nature instead of traffic. After a pleasant walk, they were relaxing in the bed of the truck, taking in the beginnings of a rather spectacular sunset.

It was perfect.

Connor would stay like this forever if he had the chance.

He went to lean against his boyfriend, but Rupert instead shifted to look him in the eye. There was a nervousness to his body language, but he didn’t seem to be in distress. “I have something to ask you,” he confessed with a slight tremble to his voice.

Connor gave him his full attention. Whatever it was must have been important and he wasn’t about to make things harder for his love by being distracted. “What is it?”

Rupert moved away just a little, pulling something from his pocket as he did so. He took a deep calming breath, and smiled warmly, but his hand shook as he showed Connor what it was concealing.

His thirium pump stuttered as soon as he saw the ring.

“Will you marry me?” Rupert asked.

[oneofyatosfollowers]

Yatori Week 2021- Day 6

@yatoriweek2021

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32090953/chapters/79500055

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13905660/1/Yatori-Week-2021

There were many reasons Hiyori and Yukine had been upset with Yato keeping his secrets. 

For one, they were dangerous to both him and the rest. Another was trust. That was something that bothered Yukine more than Hiyori; after all, she understood the many reasons why Yato didn’t tell them and she couldn’t blame him for it. But the reason that most upset Hiyori, was one that she had to face after he first disappeared.

Hiyori didn’t know Yato at all.

She knew nothing about him, couldn’t even take a guess as to where he would go. No favorite restaurant or bar, no other friends, no relaxing hobbies. And while there was once a time that wouldn’t have bothered Hiyori, that was no longer the case. Especially now, when they risked their lives for each other over and over.

Of course now, she knew more about him than anyone did. Yukine knew a lot but there were still aspects of Yato he didn’t understand yet. Yato had told them most of the important stuff, confirming or denying any questions or theories they had. But even so, Hiyori was just a speck. Just a sudden, minuscule existence in the grand scheme of the centuries of a god's life. Whether or not Yukine liked to think otherwise, there was no possible way for Yato to tell them about all his experiences in the one year he knew them. Considering they had trusted each other for less than that.

Unfortunately that didn’t change the fact that all those pieces, big and small, were a part of him. Parts that they-she- didn’t know. Yato was full of surprises and even though that was usually fun to experience, the distance between them didn’t become more apparent until right now. With Father being locked away in heaven, stuck in an immortal existence to keep Yato alive, the heavens ultimately proclaimed him dead in every other sense of the word. As such, his children were left in an odd sort of limbo between mourning and dealing with the aftermath of his punishment.

Since Nora was rightfully struggling with the adjustment, even though she had been living at Kofukus for the past couple months, most of the actual work had been left to Yato. He attended meetings in heaven, completed any paperwork, rounded up all the masks that escaped. He also located all of The Crafter’s storage houses, living spaces, and any other place he kept things for him or the masks. Heaven took care of most of it, preferring to keep his children away and out of suspicion; but Ameterasu left the fate of the main house to Yato. Out of either pity or consideration.

Originally, Yato and Nora were content to simply burn the estate house to the ground with all the contents and beasts inside. But Hiyori and the rest convinced them to at least look through it, saying it was okay to take the time instead of just cutting it off. In hindsight maybe the two didn’t want to go back to such a traumatic place (and maybe the others were just curious) but Hiyori could tell Yato had some longing to go there, safely. He and Nora had argued against anyone else going, even her and Yukine, but that opinion was ultimately swayed too. It was easier to do that nowadays, Yato wasn’t as stubborn as he used to be. Still bogged down by guilt of all kinds. But everyone promised the both of them they wouldn’t do or touch anything without permission and Yukine insisted on staying by Yato’s side.

That didn’t stop their jaws from dropping as they followed The Crafter’s children south along the coast and far up into the mountains. Yato and Nora decided to walk there, out of habit, and the rest had no choice but to do the same. An old stone staircase led from a small back road up into the trees. After about another mile, they met a driveway and a large bamboo fence. It was old, but clearly still used and well maintained. The height wasn’t anything extravagant- Hiyori knew she was the only one that couldn’t leap over it- but the large chains that crossed over the entrance warded others to stay away.

They waited patiently for Nora to unlock it before the doors swung open and they were met with a beautiful front yard and house. It wasn’t extravagant by any means but the yard was well kept with hydrangea bushes lining the fence and white pebbles accenting most of the plants and house. The house itself was rather grand. Far too nice for someone like Yato but everyone had the sense not to comment on it. The estate was very old fashioned, a traditional Japanese style with two floors and probably an attic. The white building had long hallways sticking off either side and thin wooden slats covering all the windows. They were the same dark wood as the naked support beams around the outside of the house and matched nicely with the dark pointed roof.

In fact the only “crafter” thing about the house was the handful of masks that slept in the front yard. Three of them looked like large deer, that raised their heads at the intruders but did nothing more. Some smaller ones skittered under the porch while two wolves dashed out to see the new guests, happy to finally see members of the family. With one nod from Yato and Nora, Bishamon dispelled these rather peaceful creatures. Hiyori didn’t try to think about it too much.

Nora unlocked the front door, sliding the wooden door open and letting the group into the mud room. For a moment everyone stood, unsure if they were supposed to take off their shoes, but when neither of The Crafter’s children did, they didn’t either. Down the hall to the left was the living room, straight ahead was the hallway and kitchen, and to the right were stairs to go up. Wordlessly, everyone separated and got to work. Since Yukine stayed with Yato, following him to the back of the house and down the right hallway to The Crafter’s workspace, Hiyori stayed with Nora in the kitchen. It was just as old as the rest of the house, mostly running on fire and various stone appliances.

“If you want to go with him, you can,” Nora said suddenly.

“Huh?” Hiyori jolted and dropped the tied trash bag, trying and failing to hide the fact that her thoughts were now upstairs. Nora didn’t say anything more, just leveled Hiyori with a polite but challenging look. Hiyori swallowed and looked down, attempting to hide her blush. There was no point in denying it, everyone in this house knew- and saw- that there was something between them.

“Hey Nora?” Kofuku peaked her head in the kitchen with Daikoku, Bishamon, and Kazuma over her shoulder, “we finished with the left side of the house. Except for Tenjin and Mayu who are still in the library. What else should we do?”

“If you walk straight out the back for a little less than a mile there is a holy spring. In the stream leading to it is a fruit net and laundry. There is also a garage in the back with Father’s sport’s car and Yato’s motorcycle. You can probably get rid of all the tools or something,” Nora said. There was another moment of stunned silence, something that has happened a lot since coming here, but everyone quickly delegated the work and left. Hiyori took a moment to drag the trash bags to the pile set neatly outfront on the porch before coming back. Before Yato agreed to let them come in, even with the promise they would not question or disobey his orders, he laid down several ground rules. One of which was that gods must always travel with their shinki, even from room to room. Apparently there were still masks that hid in the walls as security and Yato wasn’t sure how’d they act without their master. This was also the reason no one was to make any loud noises, or a ton of sudden movements. It was no wonder Yato and Nora were such naturally quiet people.

“I just- I don’t,” Hiyori started. She was cut off by Nora’s sigh as she worked to tape a box of glassware shut.

“Hiyori, I’m fine,” Nora stated, “this is my home. I’m not like Yato where I view this as a scary place, this is where I would go to feel safe and comfortable. It’s sad to see it go but this is hardly the first time we’ve moved. They’re just things.” The girl spoke as simply as ever, lifting the box and setting it atop the others for someone stronger to put in the mover’s truck one of Bishamon’s shinki drove. Ebisu offered to have a yard sale of The Crafter’s belongings after thoroughly cleansing them. He was planning on giving the money to Yato, who offered it to Kofuku, who decided to put it in a savings account for family emergencies.

“I know and that’s great. I just don’t want you to be alone, you know?”

“Then I’ll join Tenjin in Father’s study. We’re just about done here anyway,” Nora stood and wiped her hands on her hips. The cabinets in the kitchen were empty, the oven was cleaned out of wood and charcoal, and the floors were swept clean. Without another word, Hiyori opening and shutting her mouth, Nora left the room like a ghost. A shiver immediately ran up her spine and Hiyori’s fists squeezed. She couldn’t run, afterall she just got her tail fixed but still wasn’t able to leave her body, so there was no reason for her to go antagonizing phantoms. Down the hall and up the stairs Hiyori was stuck between two bedrooms. Fearing the thought of walking into the wrong one, Hiyori waited and listened.

“Isn’t this room bigger than ours?” Yukine said.

“Not quite but almost. I usually shared it with Nora.” Came Yato’s reply.

“All I’m saying is that this isn’t what I expected someone like you to have.” Despite the bratty tone, Hiyori could tell Yukine wasn’t angry. Nor was he blaming his dad. It sounded more like he was trying to have a normal conversation.

“That’s because I don’t. This isn’t my house,” Yato muttered, “and I never wanted any of my shinki to come anywhere near this place. Especially you.” His voice was muffled from behind the door that Hiyori awkwardly faced. She didn’t want to walk in on one of their moments, they needed that, but she wanted to make sure Yato wasn’t pouting.

“I know.” Yukine finally mumbled, dropping the facade he tried to wear. It was more Yato’s thing than his, Yukine could only ever wear his heart on his sleeve. She could sense the tension on the other side of the door and Hiyori knew she had to step in. Besides, she didn’t like having her back to the bedroom of that wretched man. The door slid open and Hiyori readied herself to settle messy emotions only to see Yukine giving Yato an awkward side hug, both of them crouching on the floor. Their heads were pressed together as Yukine rubbed Yato’s back up and down. Suddenly the blonde’s head popped up and looked at her.

“Hiyori,” Yukine said. It took a moment for Yato to raise his head and look over his shoulder. He wasn’t crying, he hardly even looked upset, but he did have that look in his eye. The one where he blamed himself for bringing some sort of misfortune on them.

“Hey ‘yori,” Yato gave her a smile, “Yukine’s being a good kiddo and guide. Makin’ sure I’m doin’ alright.” The two separated as she walked in. She smiled at Yukine’s blush.

“That’s wonderful. I just came up here to see if you needed help. We just finished the kitchen.” Hiyori said as she knelt down. On the far wall were two large closets, the right one Yatos, the left one Noras, above was more storage that they seemed to make little use of save for some awards. In between the two closets was a mirror and vanity with hairbrushes and hair accessories. In front of Yato was a box of kimonos, the closet was open to reveal he had about four left to fold. They were all plain, just various colors of white, black, and blue. There was one green but it seemed barely worn.

“What about Nora?” Yukine asked.

“She went to help Tenjin in the library. Bishamon and Kazuma finished with the music room and basement while Kofuku and Daikoku cleaned out the garage and all the bathrooms. Like you asked, none of us went into his room.” Hiyori relayed.

“Yeah, I think Nora wanted to do that. Leave it for last and all. Of course she’ll need Bishamon or Tenjin with her just to make sure she doesn’t try anything.” Yato muttered as he folded the last of his clothes.

“There’s still the, uh, attic. But other than that everything is done.” Hiyori felt bad reminding the two of Yato’s deeds as a God of Calamity. The ceiling was filled with nothing but boxes of newspaper clippings and requests of those who’ve died by Yato’s sword. Hiyori didn’t want to go in there, yet another forgien aspect of Yato she didn’t want to know. Yukine paused his cleaning as Yato sighed.

“Forget it. There’s definitely nothing in there the heavens or anybody wants. We can just burn it as it is tomorrow,” Yato deadpanned, “unless you want to go look. It’s okay.”

“No,” Yukine said immediately without anger.

“No,” Hiyori said after, “it’s fine.” The room fell into a strange but comfortable silence as Hiyori put all the vanity stuff into a box and sealed it. She looked for something else to clean, knowing there was not much more to be done.

“Are you really going to get rid of all this stuff?” Hiyori asked as she scanned the room. Yato placed his box of clothes in a pile by the widow, stacked atop about five others, two of which had Nora’s name on them. All in all, this room, this house, was rather empty. It seemed Father was the only one with sentimental objects but even then it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be replaced. Save for a couple cringey family photos and mask research, there was nothing worth saving.

“Mm-Hmm,” Yato hummed. He took a moment to gather two boxes in his arms and jump out of the window then back. He fixed her with a smile that stalled her heart for a moment, it was soft but genuine, like the more they cleaned out of this house the clearer his mind became. On the opposite wall, on either side of the door, were swords of all sizes and some certificates. Hiyori got to work there, grabbing one of the flatter boxes.

“Like I said to Yukine, this isn’t my room, not really. There’s nothing here I need,” Yato walked up to her, “besides, I already have everything I want at Kofuku’s.” His smile was telling and Hiyori focused on his lips for longer than she was comfortable with admitting. Yes, her soul was fixed, with the help of a sun god and some magic peaches. But not before receiving a desperate kiss from a close friend who gave her a piece of himself to hold her together until they could get help. Red faced, Hiyori looked away as Yato got to work on the rest of Nora’s white, red, and pink patterned kimonos.

“Are you sure? I mean some of this stuff seems like you should keep it. They're your things.” Hiyori said, almost like a sad plea. In her hands were two very prestigious college degrees, one for art and one for math. Below them was a certificate for japanese calligraphy, an acceptance letter to a professional baseball team, and an invitation to the winter olympic qualifiers. What Hiyori said was true, they were unequivocally Yato’s possessions, things that were so painfully him and no one else's. Yet they were so forgien. Yato the vagrant didn’t keep things. Especially so neat and preserved like this. Nor did he try to do things the right way that involved paperwork.

“Yeah, I mean. They’re just pieces of paper, it’s not like getting rid of them will take away my talents. I hardly look at them anyway.” Yato waved her off. Before she could say anything more, Yato had finished the closets and leaped out the window. With a sigh Hiyori went to the other side of the room and picked up two traditional old swords and a violin, ready to move them towards the window.

“Ah! Ah! Wait!” Yukine scrambled from atop a step stool, “not those!”

“But Yato just said?”

“I know but those, uh, he said I could have those.” Embarrassed, Yukine took the objects from her arms and scuttled them back to the corner. Hiyori crept behind him and scanned the growing pile: two swords, three daggers, a couple of boxes, and a book that looked like a large photo album.

“What’s in those boxes?”

“Stuff from the wars,” Yato suddenly popped up behind her.

“Which ones?” Hiyori blinked.

“They’re kinda mixed,” he shrugged, “mostly metals and grimy uniforms, but the kid really wanted them so. You can take things too if you want. Though I still don’t understand why.” It was a sweet sentiment of Yukine but the concept was still strange. Yato didn’t offer things. Well, he did, but he never actually had the material things he tried to offer and would usually offer services or lip service. Hiyori wasn’t sure he liked this version of Yato. She didn’t hate it- this was part of him after all- but Hiyori couldn’t fit these images in with her picture of him. She worked to process it as the group cleaned out the rest of The Crafter’s house, the building not seeming any less empty.

Bishamon’s shinki started the journey to Ebisu’s shrine while she and Tenjin took the mask materials up to heaven, as ordered by Ameterasu. Nora offered to cook dinner, planning on spending a final night saying goodbye to the house, but Kofuku and Daikoku decided to head into town for food. That left just them, Yato’s immediate family and her. Hiyori didn’t want to spend any more time here than she needed to but she still refused Kofuku’s offer to take her. With Yukine and Nora silently prepping food in the kitchen, Hiyori made her way through the back door where Yato had just finished chopping food. He didn’t look at her as she closed the sliding door and took a seat next to him.

“How are you feeling?” She coaxed, arm already around his shoulders.

“Good,” Yato huffed a sigh, “I mean I’m not happy. Not upset either. Just here,” he shrugged. Then he turned those blue eyes on her.

“How about you? Are you okay?” He asked. That was more like him, to ask how others were feeling when he was the one with the problem.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She said. His arm wrapped around her waist but before she could turn her blush on him, he buried his nose in her neck.

“It just doesn’t feel real, you know? I know he’s not dead, so it’s not over, but it just feels like it is?” Yato lowered his voice so the kids inside didn’t hear him worry over nothing. Those were reserved for Hiyori, just like her monologues were only for his ears.  

“A new beginning,” Hiyori offered. She felt him smile against her neck and Hiyori’s blush reached it. Out of habit, she held out her hand and let him intertwine their fingers.

“I have a new life now,” Yato mused, “hopefully one without him in it.”

“But with you still here,” Hiyori squeezed her hand for emphasis.

“Haha, yeah. Of course. Me and you and Yukine, with a little less baggage.”

“Yato,” Hiyori sighed with a smile. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that simply cleaning out his father’s house was enough to make the emotional problems go away.

“I know,” Yato murmured. He nuzzled a little bit more, Hiyori waiting to rest her cheeks on his head. She stared at their hands with a soft smile, the feeling just as familiar as it was forgien. Hiyori came to the conclusion that she might not ever truly, fully, know Yato but that it wouldn’t stop her from loving him all the same.

“It’s a little bit of a shame though,” Hiyori said.

“Hmm?”

“Your stuff. This house. It’s almost like a waste.”

“Not a waste,” Yato said, “a new start. One with you in it.” The smile was evident in his voice and Hiyori could feel the steam rise off her face. She would never get used to such blatant flirting, especially when he grinned so charmingly at her from so close.

“But you’re welcome to take something. Something to remember me by.” Yato’s eyes drifted to her lips and back to her drooping eyes.

“You?” Hiyori said without thinking. Just as she leaned in for another precious kiss, Yato bursted out laughing, tips of his ears a bright red.

“As you wish!” Yato exulted. Hiyori was too lost in her embarrassment to look at him, not even when Yukine threw the kitchen door open to yell at his teasing master. There was still something there, something that overshadowed them with forbidding, but with Yato’s comforting laughter ringing throughout her bones, Hiyori knew they would be alright.

[occassionalfanficwriter]

Unyieldingly Yours,

Summary: Mammon had always been used to having pacts masters that never treated him kindly. He figured that the new human exchange student was the same except he's been recieving gifts for no reason at all and his new master treats him like he's the favorite among his less troublesome brothers. And now there's another ring on his finger and suddenly his master isn't his master anymore.

Or a love story that happens out of sequence.

A/N: The story is told in medias res. I wish the keep reading option was fucking available on mobile.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fake Relationship, Slow burn only because Mammon and Mammorons are two halves of a whole pining idiota, local oblivious insecure demon in love with his sugar guardian human who pampers him to spite the world, Pretend Marriage up until it becomes the real deal, Hurt before Comfort, Intimacy disguised as helpfulness that would make Jane Austen proud, Love Words are: praise kink and acts of service, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence e.g. we went back to the orginal timeline, Through Love Miracles Happen

Rated: E for explicit descriptions of cock sucking (and emotions)

--

The facts of the matter are this:

He, the Avatar of Greed, is the first demon to get married.

His spouse is the human exchange student.

They are married in Devildom, the Human World, and the Celestial Realm.

His marriage is a sham.

Of the four facts about his current life, the fourth one is the one that bothers him the least. He knows his worth and it isn't much. He's happy enough that his Human was sparing his pride and dignity. That he doesn't have to worry that one day he'd go home and see someone else with them or have to go and stake his claim loudly and over and over again.

Everything was still the same as before they married. He invests and it fails, his Master/ Spouse/ Human bails him out. He has no money to spend and Blackie is out of the wallet and in his hand to use. His brothers gang up on him and his Human/Master/Spouse is there to save him even if sometimes he did whatever crime he was being accused of.

Mammon is used to being treated unkindly because that's what you get when you failed a rebellion. What he isn't used to was this:

"Mammon, can you get my book from the table?" accompanied by a sweet, pleading smile he couldn't resist.

Or

"Darling, come with me to check out this new café?" said with a loving look and an arm hooked to his.

Or

"Hello Love, your tie is as crooked as always!" a complaint without any bitterness or dislike and was instead said with great care as hands slid to his neck to redo the tie interspersed with quick and short kisses to his exposed collar bones, neck and finally his lips.

In short Mammon isn't used to you or your tender affections or your niceness or you being kind to him. Because it isn't really real when you have this gleam in your eyes that he knows all too well. It's defiance of what is expected and he knows it won't end well if he really goes and let himself believe. Defiance is what led to him being a demon. Love was what made him Fall and he doesn't want to do it a second time.

Except...

Except that he was greedy for the things no one could have easily.

Except that you were the exception to his rule and you had made him the exception to yours.

You'd made yourself a home in his heart in a place where their Father once was, branded him as yours in a way no one would ever be able to do. Your love was not a finite source and you forgave him for his sins far more easily in a way Father never would.

You had made him better...good in a way that a demon shouldn't be and you had accepted all of him, flaws and all and still proclaimed him beautiful, eyes shining as if you were seeing who he was before the Fall, before the Celestial War and it makes it harder for him to resist.

To believe that this marriage meant more than a way to spite Lord Diavolo and his schemes, to spite his brothers, to spite their Father, and to spite every human that called him as he was a Greedy Bastard.

He muses all of this as he watched you putter around your home in the human world. One that both of you had bought and registered as shared property. He looks at the homey but extravagant decorations at the wide windows that let the sun in and how it reminds him of his former home.

"Mammon! Where did we put the liquid polish?!" You whined and turned to him.

He moves away from his place on the wall and guides you to the cabinet tools and teasingly said,

"Jeez, what would you do without me?"

"Well, good thing we'd never have to found out!" You retorted as you pulled him towards the loveseat and instead of the sensible option of the L-section.

His traitorous heart stutters.

And he knew that he was destined to Fall again. As you gently removed your wedding bands, hands tenderly holding his, and with your lips kissing the spot where his wedding ring would have been resting...he wishes that you'd catch him if he did Fall again. That his lungs would not hurt from the impact of landing on the cold hard ground, that he wouldn't be left to remake himself once more stained with mud and dirt.

He kisses you softly, tenderly in a way that he once used to before the War. When softness was not a death sentence and a crime. He holds you close and tight in an embrace that demons aren't supposed to do.

Here are the things Mammon doesn't know:

That somewhere between forming a pact with him and late movie nights you had seen him.

That you had never meant for things to end up like this, a complicated mess of emotions.

That Love was a choice and you had chosen him.

You had arrived in Devildom not knowing what to expect beyond the worse and Mammon on your first meeting had done nothing to prove you wrong.

Until that moment in the classroom. When he had told his story about helping that child in the hospital. You had taken one look at him and you knew he was telling the truth even when Levi said differently.

You knew best on how to make a truth sound like a lie afterall.

Somehow from that point you paid a closer attention to Mammon. Silently observing him and noting what he likes and dislikes. Piecing together who he was beyond the Avatar of Greed, beyond being the Second Brother, beyond the demon who you had a pact with.

It was a like a puzzle whose entire picture was discordant. He was a demon capable of ruthlessness, and yet he was an emotional mess. A demon that empathizes deeply. He was smart and yet he could be an idiot sometimes.

He was perhaps the most humanlike among them, in a way that never ceased to surprise you.

"Oi! Why are you staring at me like that?" Mammon complained.

And you kept your smile before looking away from him.

"!"

"You-you've been hanging out too much with Lucifer and Satan!"

"Oh? Have I?" You teased him.

"Yeah! You've got the same evil smile as them now!"

You laughed softly and beckoned him to come close. And Mammon, never one to deny himself of a chance to plaster himself unto you, leaned over. Your voice softly whispering unto his ear,

"I just wanted to look at my favorite demon."

And then a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth which Levi saw as he entered the Common Area. And it started from there, tender touches whenever one of the other brothers were present.

A hand on his shoulder, or using his body to lean on, a gentle tug of his hair to keep him quiet during a marathon sometimes with a kiss to his head to pacify him.

If you were feeling bold and particularly touch starved you'd watch a horror movie with him and be the big spoon just so he can hide his face on your chest and you'd kiss the crown of his head until the scary moments passed.

And if you were lucky you'd get to sleep with him. (If you were extra lucky he'd sleep naked and let himself be held and then you'd wake up in a tangle of limbs ,and Mammon would take your breath away with the way the moon shines on his sleeping visage.)

In rare moments, when it was just you and him, you'd look at him and try to see past who he was now to catch a glimpse of the Angel that was. And you like to think that you do see what he was as an Angel.

It was in the gentle way he'd somehow look when lost in his thoughts, a private moment within his mind that he'd let you see sometimes. It was in the way he'd touch you on the days were being a human was hard. It was the way he'd look at you when you'd give small trinkets that now decorated his room.

In the way his face lightened up when you'd place a spare toothbrush on your bathroom for him to use.

It was in this small moments where the two of you integrate each other into a routine that was slowly being shared between you two. Sometimes you loved him too much that it hurts.

In between the small gifts that reminded you of him, in the stolen glances, and pretending like everything wasn't a calculated dance between the two of you...foolishly you realized that you had already loved him. There was no grand epiphany or the feeling of time stopping.

There had only been you and him, in the music room. Teaching him how to play Tchaikovsky, laughing along and smiling at his antics. He was talented at it and you had wondered if it was inherent or it was due to his long lived life.

As quick as the notes that the two of you began to play, you realized you had fallen in love and you continued to do so, following his lead and not regretting it for a single moment.

"You're just like this piece" You thought as the tempo changes from fast and playful into slowing down into a gentle playful beat, and as the piece ended and the notes lingered in the air you knew in the very depths of your heart, you would never be able to love anyone the way you came to love Mammon.

"Mammon, marry me?"

You asked, impulsive but certain.

"I'm a demon!" He blurts out, cheeks red.

"And I'm a human."

"I'm drowning in debts—"

"I'm rich."

"Well I'm poor!"

"How can you be poor when my assets are yours to spend?"

"Yo-you can't just do that! What if a real scum emptied out your bank account?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, you're the only one who'll get this treatment."

He chokes on air and flails about.

"Those aren't good enough reasons!"

"Then what about this: I love you."

He stops and blinks and covers his face with his hands, "That's not fair..."

You smile and kiss him softly on his forehead.

"I love you," You repeat "in ten thousand realities I'd choose you and love you."

"Just me?" He asked with a small voice, vulnerable and yet filled with uncertain hope.

"Just you."

And he smiled at you so brightly it felt like seeing the sun for the first time. He never stopped surprising you.

"Mammon, be my only man."

"Okay."

-

The thing is that its easy to forget that love was a choice. That no matter how many times you've used a spear as a walking stick it didn't change the fact that it was still a spear. That in the euphoria of love, of being human, you forgot that they had to shed what made them an Angel.

The thing is its easy to get wrapped up in your hurt and drown yourself in it to avoid the uncomfortable truth of the matter:

You were just a blip in his long life, and yet he would have loved you with the entirety of his being.

Loved you without leaving some for himself. And you had selfishly decided to carve out his last remaining hope because you had made your decision long ago.

Your Mammon over everything else. Not even a version of him could compare to the one you held on the palm of your hands. So you had closed your eyes and turned around, went back and ignored the pleas of staying and heart broken sobs as he begged you.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't leave me, please..."

-

"You have questions." You state, as you cleaned your wedding ring.

The light catching the engraved words inside the ring.

"Why me?" He asked and hugged you tighter, clinging and drowning himself into the sweet scent of your shampoo.

You stayed silent, unsure with how much of your heart you wanted to bear. Afraid of being known and found wanting.

"Sometimes...I dream of him...the one you didn't choose..."

"The one I abandoned" You thought bitterly.

"He...he just went and lived in the human world...in the place you used to lived in..."

You kept silent and played with the ring in your hand.

"Did you know that he had planned on confessing...? He wanted to give her one of his rings..."

"Mammon..." You begged him.

"Tell me...why come back when the outcome would have been the same?"

"Because he wasn't you. He isn't my Mammon, I had no presence in his life!" You turned and glared at him, unwilling to shed tears, and reveal how the thought of losing him hurt more than leaving a version of him behind.

You didn't want him to know how you've grown used to him in your life that even if you had stayed back there you'd end up searching for the traces of him in that Mammon.

"I love you, this you that married me! I'm in love with you! Beyond reason! Beyond everything the world can offer me!" You cried at the unfairness of him asking this of you as if your love that was blatant to the world was not real.

"How am I supposed to believe you?" He asked.

Hurt and fear etched in his blue and gold flecked eyes.

"With the way that I am here, in this moment with you, in your embrace, cleaning our wedding rings together." You answered as you cupped his face and looked at him in the eye and let him see the depths of your love for him.

"This is real" You say kissing his forehead, the gap between his eyes and then his lips, softly and sweetly as if he was the most precious treasure on all three realms.

And he was.

"I am in love with you, the angel that fell, the demon that rose from the ashes of who you used to be. I am in love with the you who trips over his words, the you who loves your siblings. I am in love with you who is more human than me."

You confessed, "How can I not come back to you? When you are my home? Mammon, we could divorce and undo our pact and even so I would still love you and no one else would be able to fill the hole you'll leave in me if our love fades..."

"I'm scared that one day I'll have nothing left of you. That I wouldn't have any way to prove to myself that you were real."

He whimpered.

"Then let's find a way."

"What if we fail?"

"What if we succeed?"

He looked at you, tears in his eyes and it reminded you of that Mammon you had hurt so cruelly for the sake of the one you held carefully on the palm of your hands.

"The truth is that I have loved you from the start, in that classroom as you confessed your kindness."

"That long?!"

You smiled through your tears, "Do you understand now? I'm only kind because you are, you can be greedy of me, covet all of me. You can want all of my kindness because it was all for you."

You wiped his tears and kissed the corners of his eyes. Kissed his lips deeply and tasted him.

He held you closer to him, chest to chest as his hands moved to your hips. You rutted against him lost in the sensations of his lips against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck to your now bare open chest.

He presses harder against you, giving you the friction to heat up your insides and you moan when his fingers enter you and he begins his ministrations. You miss his lips against yours even if your hands had traversed his chest and was now fumbling to unzip his pants.

The sex this time would be different.

"Let me worship you" You asked with a dazed look in your eyes from the love and lust you felt for him.

He laughs softly as if he had never known you were not the most devout of believers.

"Turning away from your God now?"

You smile enticingly, kissing him on his cheek, resting your entire weight on him.

"One cannot serve both God and Mammon," you whispered in his ear "Therefore I will serve you."

And Mammon feels the heavy weight of your words, clutches you tighter as your words settle between the two of you and lingers in the air.

"You can't," He paused to exhale "you can't take that back."

"I'd never."

He takes you into the bedroom and you worship him. You leave a trail of kisses across his muscular and toned chest, leading downwards to his thick cock standing at attention.

You paused for a moment to admire him.

"Why did you stop?" He whined.

"I think I am starting to understand what Theresa was on about."

And Mammon snorts and looked smug up until you take his whole cock into your mouth and start blowing him.

"Fuck!" He curses hands curled into your hair as he thrusts into your mouth. You take more of him in letting him fuck your mouth while your hand teased his balls.

He looked at you and saw you look so smug even when your mouth was getting fucked.

"Why did I ever—" He moaned "think that you were innocent—"

You take him deeper and as your gag reflex went away and Mammon comes down in your throat and you let out a pleased hum that made him come harder.

"Because I'm good at being a real hedonist~"You teased him and you pushed him back down gently on the bed and climbed on top of him.

His hands rests on your hips

You think back on all the names and endearment you've called him as you idly traced upon the white markings on his skin. His cock was already twitching in interest.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, gasping as your right hand played with his nipple.

"What I would I name a painting of you" You replied before sucking on his other nipple and lightly biting it.

"And?"

You looked at him and smirked,

"Chamahel."

-

There is power in naming things.

He had fallen for so long that he had forgotten what he used to be before being Mammon. Before turning a word into a name and owning it.

In the place in his heart where their Father's Grace used to dwell, in that place in his mind where the name he had been bestowed was forcibly crossed off, becoming unutterable in his tongue something had changed. He had been redeemed.

And it had come in slow and almost unnoticeable small increments with each passing moment he had shared with you. Briefly, he wondered if it was because of your love.

And then he discarded that thought because nothing was more important than knowing that he was—is loved by you.

-

Here are the things that both of you have come to know:

That through love a demon, even an Avatar of Sin, can be redeemed.

That long lasting love exists only because both of you kept on choosing each other.

That a marriage can last through several lifetimes because the soul never forgets.

And that Paradise was not where Heaven was but instead in the time shared with your lover.

[the-navistar-carol]

A Daminette songfic — ‘Invisible Thread’ by Matt Gould

From the marvelous Maribat AU of @ozmav, @maribat-archive where u at

Inspired by the Maribat Discord :))

Everyone had a soulmate. A black mark where they would first touch. Once the two did, the mark would blossom with color.

People would go for years with black marks on their knuckles, thinking it was from a punch, and then have their knuckles brush someone on the subway and voilá, their mark would change.

Some were more obvious, a handprint over their own (a high-five), a hand on their arm, or even one directly across their face.

~~~

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had no such obvious case. Her handprint was directly over her fingers of her right hand, as though someone had shook her hand (but only her fingers). Without a doubt, it confused her.

Once she became Ladybug, she met Chat Noir. Upon their first meeting, he took her hand directly over her soulmate mark and attempted to kiss her hand, but she had pushed him away. After the akuma attack, she had detransformed in a panic to check her hand, and in relief, found her hand was still uncolored.

The mark was still black.

It worried her, then, after her crush on Adrien started, that he did not turn her mark colors either.

So who was it?

Not like she’d ever meet who it was.

There is a long invisible thread

That wraps around my heart

And wraps around your head

Damian Wayne had an odd soulmate mark that was, thankfully, easy to hide via gloves. The black silhouettes of fingers in his right hand confused him, so he gave it little thought. Who even shakes hands like that?

During his training both with Ra’s al Ghul and the Robins, none of the ways anybody had touched his hand had made the mark change, thankfully. Soulmates were a nasty business, anyway. They were almost expected to drop everything upon meeting. Dumb.

Not that he cared who it was.

It tightens its grip

When things go unsaid

And I can't break free

Lila, upon her return to Ms. Bustier’s class, had successfully turned the class against Marinette. She made good on her promise, but allowed Marinette to keep her spot as class president — only useful when she was needed, of course, and expected to drop everything for them without looking for anything in return.

She was effectively that one tool in a closet that only was picked up when needed, and discarded as soon as she had lost her use.

She couldn’t reverse the way things had gone. If only.

Let go, let me

Little boy, break free

Leave him out on his own

Let him find his way home

When Damian had become the next Robin, he had fought many people under the mask. But his black marks underneath his gauntlets never changed, even when he met new people at charity galas and shook hands.

Clearly, his soulmate wasn’t anybody he was going to meet anytime soon.

Not that it bothered him anyway. It did.

Can't take all this pain on his shoulders

Only weighs you all down when you're older

Chat Noir had come up to her, demanding she stop pretending. Pretending that they weren’t soulmates, that they weren’t in love, that they didn’t make a good couple.

He deserved her, he had yelled. He had been nothing but loyal, hadn’t he? A good cat? So, as a reward, he deserved her love. Her lips, her hands, her body.

He didn’t. And she told him so, exploding at him atop a roof despite the paparazzi growing below.

They made sure to catch his outburst, too. It served him right.

He treated the fame of being a superhero like a game. It was only fair that he dealt with the consequences.

Let them take their pictures.

Let him run, let him fly

If you love him, then don't cry tonight

Let him learn all he can

The cameras at Wayne galas and other nonsense never bothered him. They would be pointed at him anyway, so what difference did it make if he paid attention?

Flashes of white lights were only peripheral at this point, the snaps of shutters something to be tuned out.

The tabloids would run rampant anyway. Whether it was Grayson or Todd or Drake making the headlines with their antics, he would be shoved in there anyway.

Let them take their pictures.

So when he comes home to you

He'll be a better man

When she had proposed a class outing, the class had suggested many things, but Lila had thought of karaoke, so that was that. Of course, it was all up to her to plan the outing, raise funds, and reserve places.

She had asked the class to help her out, but Lila had oh-so-innocently wondered that since her family ran a bakery, couldn’t they just maybe give a few away to help their daughter raise the money?

Never mind the fact that they would be losing money. Never mind the fact that it would stress her out more than necessary. Never mind the fact that no one person should have to run their entire outing by herself.

But Marinette was their everyday Ladybug. That should be enough to cover any problem.

But they were looking for a miraculous cure. Who in the world had one for these situations?

Certainly not her.

There is a long invisible thread

That wraps around my heart

And wraps around your head

When Damian heard that his brothers and Father were going to Paris, his original thought was one of disgust. Of course, he spoke French. But any Romance language or country made him want to vomit. Latin lovers? Please. But France, the country dubbed one of love? Absolutely not.

But it was for a League reason, something to do with a supervillain with magic butterflies. It probably wasn’t even real.

But Paris meant his brothers teasing him about love, which infuriated him to no end. Who cared if he met someone the universe deemed his match?

Certainly not him.

It tightens its grip

When things go unsaid

And I can't break free

She had the dates figured out, triple-checked with her classmates to make sure it all worked together. Thankfully, the class had agreed to help fundraise for once. A small relief in the grand scheme of things.

Patrols now were such a chore. Where she had once enjoyed swinging through Paris’s streets with only her yo-yo to hold her up and the wind teasing through her hair, there was now a demanding Chat Noir, proclaiming her as his soulmate and he should be treated as such.

Akuma fights took so much longer and so much out of her now. Chat would watch from the sidelines, taunting her with the fact that he would join in from now on if she only gave up the delusions that they weren’t meant to be.

The gauntleted fist in his stomach was so worth it.

Sadly, it hadn’t come from her.

Lord above, can you hear my prayers

If you know the answer, then make me aware

How to still love him and how to still care

And how to stay strong when I want to be over there

Upon his first investigation in Paris, he had come across an akuma victim. It wasn’t hard to find, actually, as it left a trail of destruction in its wake.

Apparently, Paris already had two superheroes clad in Spandex, Ladybug and Chat Noir. Any information he had found on the latter was increasingly negative, if videos on the Ladyblog (God, that was a dumb name) were to be believed.

The first encounter he had had with the duo was subpar. Far, far below the bar.

The increasingly negative press on Chat Noir was completely accurate. Which was why he’d immediately punched him in the gut and gone up against the akuma, giving Ladybug a chance to rest.

“The akuma?”

She started, surprised that he would know of those. “The locket! It’s on her bracelet—”

Smash.

“Bye-bye, little butterfly.”

He shook hands with Ladybug, introduced himself as Robin, and updated her that the Justice League was looking into the Hawkmoth problem.

It had felt good to punch that brat of a cat. He had a feeling Ladybug would have enjoyed it more.

Sadly, it hadn’t come from her.

Do I run, do I fly?

How can I love him and keep my eyes dry

Do I learn all I can

The next day left Marinette in shock as she prepared for the karaoke night with her class. In all honesty, she would probably be left alone. Again.

But when she showed up, they initially welcomed her, to her pleasant surprise. But it couldn’t last. As soon as she had gone to the bathroom, they had gone into the room and not told her the number.

So she was left in the main room, pathetically sitting at a table by the stage, twirling a microphone she’d nicked from the stands.

Not like she could sing with anyone.

So when he comes home

I'll be a better man

Grayson had had the marvelous idea to go to a karaoke place. Abhorable. Not like he would even sing. The entire idea was dumb. Incredibly dumb. Who, in their right mind, would go and sing in front of people completely sober? (Not like he could drink legally, anyway.)

But when he got there, it was a bit more welcoming. All the rooms were taken, they were told, so there was only a communal stage left. No matter, Grayson grinned, and led them toward the main room. There were already a number of people there, taking turns on the stage.

He sat back in his chair, and prepared to sit back and enjoy the view.

Not like he would sing with anyone.

There is a long invisible thread

That wraps around my heart

And wraps around your head

A number of people went by before she did, and when she got up there, she selected a song that would usually be considered a duet, shrugging that she would sing it herself.

What she hadn’t expected was for a trio of black-haired boys to practically drag a fourth over to the stage, hand him a microphone, and place him next to her with positively wicked grins.

He looked like he wanted to leave. Marinette offered him a sympathetic half-smile. “That’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine.” His voice was tinged with visible reluctance, but he took the microphone from its stand. “Just sing.” He was cute, she admitted, but would probably forget her after the night.

So she did.

It tightens its grip

When things go unsaid

And I can't break free

Dumb karaoke. Dumb brothers. Dumb Father, for bringing him to Paris. And it didn’t help that the girl hid certain mortification. But he wasn’t going to back down and show weakness to his brothers. “Just sing.” And get this over with.

When she began to sing, it sent a jolt through his body. She didn’t even need to read the lyrics, voice something that could only be described as melodic. Hell, she sounded better than some professionals.

After the first verse or so, she nervously glanced at him, as if making sure he was still there and hadn’t taken off into the night. Damian shrugged in response, waiting for his turn.

It came up, and he gave his voice to the music. Grayson was definitely recording.

The girl at his side, a pretty black-haired girl who couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, flinched as though she had been shocked. His singing wasn’t that bad, he groused, but kept at it anyway.

His brothers had pushed him up there as a challenge, taunting him to do it.

So he did.

There is a long invisible thread

That wraps around my heart

And wraps around your head

Wow, she mused. Cute and a good voice. When she added his voice to hers in the first true duet part, their singing harmonized into something truly remarkable. Is this even my voice?

In a sudden burst of courage, she spun, pleated skirt adding to the movement.

Her classmates started to trickle out of their room, as if wondering who was singing. She could see Rose, Juleka, Alya, and the courage vanished in a heartbeat.

Oh no.

It tightens its grip

When things go unsaid

And I can't break free

Suddenly, the girl next to him spun, a giddy smile beginning to form. Somehow, he was beginning to enjoy this, too. Curses. Maybe he had been drugged.

But her spin stopped, voice faltering, and he quickly followed her gaze. A group of teenagers had exited one of the rooms, looking up to the stage, no doubt causing her to waver.

So he took her hand and spun her, certainly not missing the way her face lit up in a dazzling smile.

As soon as he released her hand, she took it again and spun him. A laugh nearly bubbled up (yeah, he had to be drugged). She was half a foot shorter, and yet she did it anyway.

Those people who had made her hesitate wouldn’t ruin her night, at least.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

Oh, no.

There is a long invisible thread

That wraps around my heart

And wraps around your head

A burst of warmth blossomed in her right hand as she danced with the stranger, voice strengthening by the note. Marinette met his jade-green eyes with a smile, left hand clutching the microphone.

For tonight, at least, maybe she could forget about her classmates and Lila and Chat Noir.

Hopefully it would last.

It tightens its grip

When things go unsaid

Her enthusiasm had returned, Damian noted, and her excitement was definitely leeching into him, too. His right hand was warm, but he chalked it up to her hand. He didn’t sweat, at least not in a karaoke bar.

For this song, at least, maybe he could ignore his brothers’ antics and the seriousness of the League.

He knew it wouldn’t last.

And I can't break free

As the song died out, Marinette dropped his hand, the movement causing her to catch her breath. Oh God.

Her soulmate mark had changed. From the blackest black, it was colored in a beautiful blend of red, green, and gold.

It’s him.

And I can't break free

He didn’t miss her gasp, glancing back to catch her reaction as she stared at her right hand — now colored in reds, greens, and golds. His colors.

He didn’t miss a beat to check his own right hand, eyes only widening as he found the mark swirled in blues, pinks, and silvers.

It’s her.

And I can't break free

[immortalitylostandfound]

Storming the Castle

A Princess Bride AU by @gideongrace​ and @immortalitylostandfound​

Starring:

Billy Hargrove as The Dread Pirate Roberts (Stable Boy)

Steve Harrington as Prince Steve 

Tommy H. as Prince Tommy (Humperdinck)

Carol Talmadge as Countess Carol (The Six Fingered Woman)

Dustin Henderson as the Leader of the Party

Will Byers as The Giant

Lucas Sinclair as The Swordsman

Max Mayfield as The Lab Assistant

Mike Wheeler as Miracle Mike

Jane Hopper as Eleven (Miracle Wife)

Robin Buckley as Steve's Lady-In-Waiting

Playlist here!

Full work also on ao3!

Chapter 1: Teaser

Once upon a time...

A love story started as all stories do; at the beginning. It started with a horse, with a stable boy and his magic touch, and with a little pining on Steve’s part. Okay, maybe a lot of pining. Whoever said ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’ really wasn’t kidding, were they?

Chapter Two: The Stable Boy

Steve only knows the new guy his father had recently hired as Stable Boy, but the sheer amount of want that fills Steve every time he sees the guy could fill an entire ocean, no, the grand canyon, no, the ocean—whatever. The sheer force of Steve's longing for this guy he barely knows, this guy who sneers at nearly every person he comes across but who is always so achingly gentle with the horses, even with the spooked, rough, dangerous ones—especially with the spooked, rough, dangerous ones—is too much to bear. This guy whose hands seem to exist on some plane where magic exists, they must, because every time he lays those hands on one of the horses, no matter how panicked, no matter how lost, no matter how out of their mind gone, that horse always calms down almost instantly, within seconds, with a simple touch, and Steve doesn't know what else to call that but magic.

So, of course, Steve talks to the stable boy the only way he knows how. He gives orders. It’s what he was raised to do. It’s what his parents demand. He’s high born—or will be if his parents have anything to say about it—and he doesn’t know how to communicate with servants except by command. He learns this the first time his longing drags him to the stables. He opens his mouth, wanting to say hello. Wanting to ask a million and one questions. Instead he tells the stable boy to make ready his horse.

He doesn’t even want to ride—it’s cold and raining.

But the stable boy answers his request simply. 

“No problem,” he says, and calm eyes blue as the sea, eyes that Steve has never seen except at a distance, meet his own. The stable boy nods. His eyes linger a moment too long. Then without another word he moves to fetch Steve’s horse. 

When the horse is ready, Steve orders his thick cape fetched. Stalling. Again, those eyes on his. Again the simple words. “No problem—” But this time a smile is tacked on after. “Princess,” the stable boy finishes, near mocking but some gentle quality in the word stops it just short. 

Steve gapes. No servant has ever dared talk to him with such insolence. His first instinct isn’t to punish the guy, though later he realizes it should have been, at least according to the rules laid down by society. His first instinct is to laugh. To grin. Maybe to blush a little, who’s to say?

“I could have you whipped,” he says, playfully. Can’t school his smile enough to intimidate.

The stable boy’s smile grows. Again comes the nod, this time exaggerated, carried on into a flourished bow. He speaks no more. Instead, Steve’s cape is fetched, quick as you please. And when the stable boy returns, that cape is fastened with the deft fingers of those possibly magical hands, is smoothed over Steve’s shaking shoulders with a touch that calms him instantly.

He mounts the horse with no more talk between them, dreading the rain. Takes one quick turn about the field and returns, possibly with the goal of testing this stable boy.

“Stable Boy,” he says, his horse clopping gratefully back into the barn, “Clean my horse. It’s filthy with mud.”

The nod again. The “no problem, Princess.” The grin. The stable boy whistles a tune while Steve watches him rub the horse clean, taking care to check it over thoroughly. He whispers secrets to it as he works. Sings low and melodious, just below hearing, as he walks it back to its stall.

Steve leaves before the stable boy can come back, lay eyes on him again. He longs for those lips to whisper secrets to him. 

Every day he rides, ordering the stable boy to ready his horse and always looking for other odd jobs he can order done to lengthen their time together.

These orders are always met with a knowing smile. A look that lingers just that small bit too long. A nod. Those words.

“No problem, Princess.”

This ridiculous behavior continues as weeks drag into months. The stable boy never tires. Steve’s orders sound more and more like pleas to his own ears.

Please know I wish I could just talk to you. Please don’t grow to hate me. Don’t mistake this for pettiness, haughtiness. Please.

One day it all becomes too ridiculous. There’s some tool hanging directly above Steve in the stable rafters, in easy reach, and he finds he’s running out of chores to stretch their time together.

“Stable boy,” he begins as he always does. “Fetch me that tool.” He points upwards. Swallows. They both know he has no need of the tool in question.

The stable boy regards him calmly. Walks over, slow, purposeful, and leans close to reach the requested tool, never once breaking eye contact. He holds out the tool to Steve. Brushes his finger briefly against Steve’s as he passes the tool over.

“No problem, Princess,” he whispers.

But that’s not what it sounds like. He says those words, that “no problem,” like most would say “I love you.”

And it breaks Steve’s social paralysis.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers back. And in this, returns an I love you of sorts as well. As close as he can manage at the moment. As fully formed. His love shown in this gratitude. 

“Thank you, Billy,” and the meaning is love, regardless of the words. Thank you for everything, he implies. For existing. The words aren’t enough to convey—

“You’re welcome,” Billy says, stopping Steve’s whirling thoughts. “Steve,” he adds with a half-grin.

And Steve laughs, something hard and cold in him breaking loose and melting away with the action. Melting away under magic hands that skim up to grip his arms as lips that whisper secrets come in close to brush Steve’s lips with half a kiss—wait for Steve to make it whole. Which he does. One whole kiss is born between them.

The first of many.

But a wise man once said that the course of true love never did run smooth.

So it is with their love. 

It isn't long before Billy decides that he has to leave. If they are to truly be together forever, like they plan to be, the salary of a stable boy isn’t going to cut it. 

It doesn't matter that Steve tells him he doesn't need to go, that Steve will inherit his father's land someday and he'll more than be able to provide for the both of them. No, Billy has to bring in his fair share of the money for the sake of his pride. To do that, he has to go out and find his fortune. It doesn't matter that Billy's little sister Max doesn't want him to go, either. Doesn't matter how Max begs or pleads. Doesn't matter that she cries. Billy is determined to go and he refuses to change his mind. 

So, after many long conversations and many promises that he will absolutely, without a doubt be perfectly safe and will come home before Steve even knows it, Billy gets on a ship bound for lands unknown.

It isn't three months later that word reaches Steve of Billy’s ship. Word of an attack by pirates. Word that there are no survivors.

Steve becomes inconsolable at the news and for days he barely sleeps, barely eats, barely does so much as leave his room.

To have had everything he'd ever wanted and to lose it—he blames himself. He should never have let Billy go and he knows it.

Life holds no meaning with Billy gone.

And with the arrival of Prince Tommy, acting ruler of Florin, things only get worse.

The prince meets Steve one sunny day while both are out riding. Steve still goes, every day, his one moment of solace. He remembers. Every time he enters the stable and speaks to Billy’s replacement, he feels a fresh cut to that old wound. The pain helps him to remember. Helps to keep him alive, or something close to it. 

On a ride, they meet. And in Steve’s beauty, in his utter lack of guile and gentle manner, Tommy sees a great opportunity. 

He sends word to Steve’s parents that he means to have Steve for marriage. Steve’s parents, of course, are overjoyed at the news. The union Prince Tommy proposes will serve to fulfill their fondest grasping wish.

When Steve refuses Tommy’s offer, that dream seems to shatter. Steve’s father, in his anger, throws Steve from the house, disowning Steve and ordering him never to return.

It’s not long before Steve is found—picked up by the prince’s men and taken to the castle where he’s put in a room that though gilded, is no less a cage. Tommy once again asks for his hand. Asks in a way that makes his threat clear. And Steve, caring nothing for himself and even with their betrayal worried for his family’s safety should he refuse, accepts Tommy’s proposal. 

Tommy, not feeling any true love for Steve, is glad nonetheless at the acquiescence. He has a scheme. Wants desperately to start a war with Guilder and in Steve, whose gentle manner and beauty will ensure the love of every subject, he has the perfect pawn to achieve his ends—or so Tommy’s trusted, six fingered advisor, Carol, informs him.

Killing Steve is such a simple, elegant means to his end. The death will enrage his subjects. They’ll demand he go to war to avenge him. It’s brilliant—he’s got to hand it to Carol. 

Now all Tommy needs are some reputable assassins to convincingly frame Guilder.

Dustin and his Party, in desperate need of coin and with a solid reputation to stand on, accept the job.

“But we’re not killing him,” Will says, giant in stature but gentle in nature as he waits with the others, blocking the road.

“We’re definitely probably not going to have to kill him,” Dustin assures him.

“Maybe just cut him a little,” Lucas says, always eager to make use of his blade.

They wait for their chance to kidnap the beloved new prince.

It doesn't take long.

Today, as every day, they know that Prince Steve will pass on his daily ride through the king’s forest. He will be alone, as he is every day. He will be an easy mark.

Dustin steps out into the middle of the path, hands raised, stopping the Prince as he nears. “Sorry to bother you, but we're poor, lost circus performers,” Dustin says. “Is there a village nearby?”

“There’s nothing around here for miles, Kid,” Steve says, taking the trio in cautiously, not at all suspecting the terrible fate that's about to befall him. 

“Cool,” Dustin says, grinning. “Then no one’s gonna hear you scream.”

And Will walks forward. Eyes closed, he knocks Steve out as gently as possible, then lifts him carefully from his horse.

They plant their evidence, shoo the horse on its way, and after that all that’s left is to set sail for Guilder’s coast, keeping an eye out for likely places to drop the body.

Will and Lucas make ready the ship, starting up a game that Dustin has had his fill of.

Rhyming. It had to be rhyming.

“Will, are there rocks ahead?” Lucas asks, grinning while coiling rope.

“If there are, we’ll all be dead!” Will calls back, hoisting the sail.

“No more rhymes now, I mean it!” Dustin complains.

“Anybody want a peanut?” Will asks.

It's going to be a long journey.

Chapter Three: Inconceivable!

Billy, fortunately, had been following after Steve all day and he follows the kidnappers to their ship, then follows as they head for Guilder, as they head for the Cliffs of Insanity and for once in his entire career as a Pirate, Billy finds himself glad to be without his usual crew, glad he'd taken this smaller ship alone to go and talk to Steve, to ask him why he was marrying that idiot Prince, why he hadn't waited. His usual crew would have asked too many questions and if he is to save Steve, there's no time to waste in answering them.

Slowly but surely, his ship gains on the kidnappers. His ship is smaller and sleeker (not to mention faster and better in nearly every way) so it isn't exactly hard to catch them but it is almost impossible to watch as Steve dives into the dangerous, eel infested waters and not abandon ship and dive in after him. From his spot at the ship's wheel Billy screams for Steve to get out of the water, even though he knows he's too far away to be heard, not that Steve would have listened to him anyway, even if he could have heard him, he's sure.

So he stands there, stuck behind his ship's wheel as he watches Steve get dragged back up onto the relative safety of the other ship. He watches as they continue towards the cliffs. He watches as the three men on board get off and two of them climb onto the shoulders of the ridiculously giant-sized one, watches and holds his breath as they grab Steve and watches as the giant starts to climb up a rope dangling from the top of the cliff to the bottom.

Billy watches all this, and he follows.

But not fast enough to catch up to the giant, even though the man was carrying three others plus himself. Again he finds himself forced to watch; watch as the man he loves is hefted, kicking and screaming up and over the wall where he can't yet follow.

“Inconceivable!” he hears someone shout.

Then, the rope falls away.

Well, that's inconvenient.

“Could you, maybe, I don’t know, climb faster?” a man waiting above calls down. If he was in such an awful hurry, he should have left the rope, shouldn’t he?

Whoever’s up there now isn’t the one he’d heard earlier. Which means that whoever had shouted the first time has probably already run off, probably with Steve in tow.

Well, who says a daring rescue should be easy? Where’s the fun in that?

Still….

“Could you maybe climb faster?” Billy mumbles under his breath. “Asshole.” 

He jumps for the next handhold.

But when another rope comes down, his arms are so spent that he doesn’t think, just takes it. 

Reaching the top, his impatient friend even allows him a breather. Descent of him. 

“Pity you aren’t a woman,” the man says. Billy raises his brows. Some small talk. He sees Billy’s train of thought, waves it off.

“With your tenacity, I’d almost wish you were the one—if you were a woman. A six-fingered woman killed my father, you see, years ago. Over a sword he’d crafted for her. After so long searching for her, training to beat her—” he shrugs. “Well, it’d be nice if it was a challenge, you know?”

He stands. Draws his sword and practices his footwork, loathe to sit still too long, it would seem.

“I know just what I’ll say, if I ever meet her, too.” He takes his stance, facing off against some unseen foe. “‘Hello,’ I’ll say. ‘My name is Lucas Sinclair. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’”

“To the point,” Billy says. “I like it.”

He stands. Stretches.

“Shall we?”

“You seem a decent fellow,” Lucas says taking up stance again, this time focused on Billy. “I hate to kill you.” 

He shrugs.

“You seem a decent fellow,” Billy says, smiling, taking a stance to match. “I hate to die.”

The cocky sonovabitch is pretty good with a sword, too, once they finally get down to business.

Too bad for him, Billy is better. Left handed or right.

But he doesn’t kill the man, who waits for death, unarmed and bested. Can’t kill him—skill like his is a work of art. However—

“Can’t have you following me,” he says over the unconscious swordsman’s body. “Nothin personal.”

And onward he rushes after Steve.

Only his catlike reflexes save him from the boulder careening for his head.

“I could’ve killed you if I wanted,” the surprisingly bashful rock chucker says. The giant wields another huge rock like a baseball. “I missed on purpose.”

Well shit, this is gonna slow Billy down.

“Let’s kill each other like men?” he tries.

“No weapons?” the giant says. “Sportsmanlike?”

“Sportsmanlike.” Billy nods.

The next five minutes include much rolling, ducking, and being crushed between a literal rock and the hard back of a giant that didn’t want to be strangled into unconsciousness.

Once the giant finally does drop, Billy takes a moment to rest, standing over the large snoring man. He rubs at his aching shoulder. Cracks his stiff neck.

“No weapons,” he mutters to himself. “Idiot. Ow, fuck.”

And onward he rushes, limping just a bit, after Steve.

till he reaches a clearing and a smug little man, sat at a makeshift little table, Steve blindfolded at his side. A stupid little grin rests on the man’s stupid little face, but Billy ignores it, more concerned with Steve and with looking him over carefully, assessing him for injuries as best he can. Steve seems fine, but it's impossible to tell without asking him and he certainly can't do that right now.

He watches as the fool's lips move, blathering on and on about... something to do with how smart he thinks he is, how Billy can never, ever, not in a million years ever hope to best him at a game of wits and Billy decides to suggest a game.

"This," Billy says, pulling a small pouch from his pocket, "is Iocane powder. It's terribly poisonous. I'll put some of it in one of these glasses of wine here—" he pauses as he grabs the two wine glasses that have been set out before them—though why anyone would stop to set up a nice picnic lunch with wine during a kidnapping, he'll never understand, not if he lives to be a hundred. "And we'll see if you're smart enough to figure out which glass it's in. If you win, you keep the prince and you get to watch me die. If I win, I get the prince and get to watch you die. Fair?"

The fool smiles, his long, brown curly hair bouncing as his head bobs up and down.

"Oh, this'll be fun," he says brightly, like he's excited, like stupid games of chance are what he lives for but also like he has no idea that's what's really going on.

Billy nods back once, succinctly, and turns around to pour the poison into the wine.

"Here we go," he says as he puts the glasses back on the table and slowly pushes one towards the other man. "Now which one has the poison in it?"

"That's easy," the man says. "It's clearly not in the cup you're pushing towards me, that'd be too obvious."

"So your choice is the one I put closest to me?"

"Not quite! I know I can't pick that one either, because—" the man keeps going but Billy stops listening. The man is terribly dull and Billy is already starting to regret not just stabbing him and being done with it. This game isn't nearly as much fun as he'd thought it would be. That and he can't keep his eyes off of Steve and the way he's just sitting there, silent and still, not reacting at all. Weird behavior, so unlike the Steve that Billy remembers, always so vibrant, so loud, so bossy. It's different even just from the way Steve had been kicking and screaming as the giant had dragged him up the side of the cliff less than an hour ago and Billy can't help but wonder if maybe Steve doesn't know who he is, if Steve can't recognize his voice after all this time. Which... might very well be the case. 

He wishes for it not to be true, but he'd be lying if he said that after the years they've been apart that there aren't some details about Steve that have gotten fuzzy for him, too. Like he can no longer remember the exact sound of Steve's laugh or the exact feeling of Steve's skin under his fingers. Because for all that he's dreamed and dreamed of both, those exact details as well as a few others have gotten hazy, like a painting that had been stared at for too long.

But this idiot. He's still going, just talking and talking in circles about which cup to choose. He's taking so long that Billy is just about to give up and stab him when the man finally picks a glass, gathering it up carefully in one hand and swirling it like this is some fancy wine tasting and not a game of choose-your-death.

"You know..." the man says slowly before sipping the wine. "It really was very foolish of you to engage me in a game like this. You have no chance against my superior intellect."

Billy smiles. "Is that so?"

"It absolutely is. You've—" the man's words cut off mid-sentence as the poison spreads throughout his body. One second he's alive—heart beating, lungs taking in air, mouth moving and emitting ceaseless noises and words like if it ever stopped he'd die on the spot and the next he's a corpse, skin losing heat and color as his body begins disposing all unnecessary wastes as that heart and those lungs stop moving. He gives one last shuddering breath and that's it. He's dead. Finito. Kaput. Worm food.

"Well," Billy says, his eyes landing back on Steve and drinking him in slow, like Steve is a drink he's been dying for for years. "I guess that means we can go." He waits, expecting... well, something, some reaction, anything, from Steve now that the kidnappers are all gone but instead he gets nothing. No reaction at all. With the worst sort of sinking feeling in his gut he realizes that Steve really doesn't have even the slightest clue who he is. Steve doesn't recognize him at all. He walks over and jerks the blindfold down to hang around Steve’s neck. Looks Steve in the eye.

“Who are you,” Steve asks, uninterested.

Billy keeps his face blank.

“I’m someone you ought not to fuck with,” he says. He hauls Steve up to standing.  

Maybe, if Steve doesn't recognize him, maybe he'd been wrong all along. Maybe Steve had never loved him. Maybe Steve had been glad to be rid of him. Maybe Steve loved his Prince. A Prince—much more suitable marriage material than a stable boy ever was or could be. 

With a hard glare and rage boiling over in his stomach, Billy grunts, “Move."

 Steve does as asked silently and without complaint.

Chapter Four: No problem, Princess

After some time and much running, they take a tense rest at the top of a great hill. Billy throws Steve down near a fallen tree and watches the royal bastard try to get comfortable. Sees that Steve’s eyes are still locked on him, full of hate. Steve had been staring as they moved, taking Billy in with hard eyes and Billy’s sick of that look on Steve’s face. He wants to tell Steve the truth. No, he wants to drag the hurt out a bit so Steve can feel one iota of the pain Billy’d had to endure at Steve’s hand. Betrayed. Betrayed so cruelly, after dying and being reborn a richer man, all for Steve, only to come back to find him marrying some prince. Impatient. 

It’s a torment. Steve here, staring at him like this, with such loathing, unable to recognize his voice, his touch. A torment.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Steve accuses.

You’re him. Could Steve see after all? See, beneath the mask, some sign of the man he’d claimed to love so deeply?

“Possibly,” Billy says, annoyed, doubting, “Who’s him?”

“Oh, shut up, you’re The Dread Pirate Roberts. Admit it.”

Guess not.

Billy bows. “Proud to. At your service, Princess.”

“Princess,” Steve says softly, eyes drifting far before sharpening with his tongue. “Don’t call me that." 

It was worth a try. Still, nothing. No recognition. He’d stop playing this painful game if Steve would just give him one tiny—

“And if you’re at my service,” Steve says, “you can fuck off and die already.”

Billy clutches his chest. “Ouch,” he says solemnly. He tries not to smile, the hidden smile hiding real pain. “No really, that hurts.” He wanders closer. “What did I ever do to you?”

Steve tilts his head up, staring without seeing.

“Killed the man I love. How 'bout that.”

“Well,” Billy says, tilting his head. “I kill a lot of people. Have to be a little more goddamn specific, there, Princess. Was your love another Prince like this one? That your type?”

Billy has to try hard to keep the longing, the pain, the old reverence out of the word. Princess. He pins up a cruel smile. Lounges against a log, opposite. Steve doesn’t deserve to see his pain.

“Stop calling—” The words come out hot and hard but he deflates mid-word. Eyes travel leagues again as he stares off. 

"He was poor,” Steve breathes, suddenly sounding far away. “Poor. Perfect. But he thought I—” A small, sad smile blooms. “He had eyes like the sea after a storm. And he left, out across the sea, because he thought I—”

His eyes find Billy’s again. Flinty.

“Doesn’t matter. Your ship attacked his, out of all the goddamn ships on the ocean. And The Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

“Can’t afford to look soft,” Billy says, keeping his voice light, sharp smile in place. “People get word, start getting cocky, after that it’s nothing but too much work. Easier just to kill everybody.”

Steve stares, openmouthed, so much hurt in his eyes for a beat. But soon enough he swallows it down. Gets ahold of himself. Gets angry. 

“Oh, that’s cute. I’m in pain and you’ve got jokes.”

Billy clicks his tongue and all the humor drains out of his voice. “Life is pain, Princess.” Billy knows that all too well. “Deal with it.”

He gets up. Plucks a blade of grass and twirls it thoughtfully.

“I remember him, I think,” he begins. “This perfect, poor, idiot of yours.”

Steve refuses to look.

“He died like a man. Didn’t beg. What he did do was ask me to spare him.” Billy pauses, remembering. “Please, he said.”

And Steve’s eyes raise to his. Billy pushes the pain aside to hold that gaze.

“Lucky for him that I killed him when I did. He kept goin' on and on about his true love. Kept describing someone. Guess it had to have been you.”

Billy looks down on Steve, mouth hard.

“Guess I spared him a lot of disappointment, huh?”

Steve stands.

“You think this is fucking funny?”

Billy crowds up closer.

“Kept going on about how faithful you were,” he says, teeth clenched. “How you were waiting for him.”

“Shut up!” Steve yells.

“How long did you wait when Prince Tommy came knocking, huh? An hour? A week?”

“What did it matter?” Steve yells. Then he deflates. “I was already dead. I died that day, when he died out on the ocean I…”

Horse hooves galloping in the distance catch Billy’s attention. Fuck.

“…and you can die too, asshole.”

There's a shove from behind and Billy's tumbling hard down the hill.

And words slip out. The only words he can think to say.

“No—” Pain blooms in his shoulder. “Problem—” His head catches hard and he flips end over end. “Princess!” He wills his body to stay loose, possibly mitigate the damage.

“Billy?!” he hears. And the world is a violent green blur.

Chapter Five: The Fire Swamp

Without thinking, Steve rolls down the hill after Billy. By the time he's halfway down, he's certain he's going to throw up. By the time he reaches the bottom he's surprised he hasn't. 

"What the—" he spits as he finally, blessedly comes to a stop. "How the hell—" He raises a hand to his head and waits for the world to stop spinning.

"Why—"

"I think that just leaves out when and where," Billy says, already standing. Smirking like he hadn't just fallen down a giant hill mere moments ago. Like he isn't dizzy or disoriented at all.

"Were you ever going to tell me you weren't really dead or was I just supposed to mourn you for the rest of my life?" Steve yells, getting to his feet and getting right in Billy's face with it, his hands flying up to land uselessly on the blindfold still hung around his neck.

"You're marrying someone else," Billy says coldly, like that's all that matters, like he still thinks Steve had any choice in the matter.

“Would you just—" Steve says, pushing at the mask still covering the top half of Billy's face. "Take this off." He pushes and pulls at the thing, making little headway until Billy unties it at the back and it falls off, leaving them close enough, Steve leaning close, that they're sharing the same air and staring at each other full on.

And for a long moment, neither of them moves, they just stand there, chests brushing, breathing in the same rhythm, until finally Steve says, "I never wanted to."

Billy takes a step back. "Well, you are."

Steve steps forward, pushing himself up against Billy again, unable to stay away now that he knows the one and only man he's ever loved is alive, still and whole before him. "He heavily implied he'd make things bad for my family if I didn't." He runs his fingers up Billy's chest, unable to stop himself from touching, either, from making really and truly sure that Billy's real. That this is really happening.

Billy grabs his hands, looking like he's about to push him away and Steve could swear, would swear that he feels his heart stutter and roll to a stop in his chest before Billy drags him closer, trapping their hands between the crush of their bodies and Steve feels his heart trip over from silent to roaring as Billy's lips brush across his own. He can feel Billy's own heart rushing to match the accelerated tempo of his against the back of his hand as the kiss deepens and Billy leans up, his whole body stretching like its trying to engulf Steve's.

Steve feels the kiss and the press of Billy's body crest over him like a crashing wave and he lets it drown him, loses himself in the rough slide of Billy's shirt underneath his fingers, in the way Billy's heart crashes against his ribs like its trying to reach out and touch Steve's hand itself, loses himself in the soft press of Billy's lips. He moans into the kiss as Billy slips one of his hands out from between them to grip the back of Steve's neck and thumb gently at the hair there.

When they finally break apart it's only because they both violently need to breathe and even then, the space left between them is nearly non-existent. "I've never wanted anybody else," Steve whispers.

"Yeah, I can see that." Steve can feel the way Billy's mouth curves up more than he can see it. "Can feel that." The hand at Steve's neck drops down, trails along his spine to rest at his hip.

"There will never be anybody else," Steve breathes out, still just stuck on the way Billy feels, that he's real, that he's here. He inhales deeply—the way he smells—it's better than any perfume anyone could ever even dream up. "Never."

"Good," Billy says, voice low and deep, burning into him in a way Steve had forgotten it could.

Neither of them moves, both of them cool with staying frozen in this singular moment for the rest of forever and for a few days after that. Eyes locked. Smiles on their lips. Those magical hands of Billy’s touching Steve again and healing wherever they come to rest.

The sound of horse hooves shatters the spell, echoing down the valley.

“Shit,” Billy says, tracking their hunters with upturned eyes. “Your new boyfriend is a real pain in my ass.”

Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s about to argue but Billy grabs up his hand before he can get a good start. Runs up the back with his thumb and then pulls it in for a quick, unthinking kiss.

“Lucky for us, we can go where they can’t track us,” he says, all cocky smile. “Come on.”

Like Steve’s not gonna follow.

Even if it does involve more running in his less-than-sensible palace shoes.

Billy slows as they enter a root-twisted, creepy-ass forest. They stop. Take the place in. Massive trees block the light out. Strange animal cries reach their ears.

“Hell,” Billy says. “For the dreaded Fire Swamp, this place doesn’t seem so bad.”

Steve gapes at him, eyebrow quirked.

“What? Not saying I wanna build a summer home here or anything, Princess, but the trees are kinda cool, you’ve gotta admit.”

Steve scoffs. Starts walking.

“Some rescue, buddy,” he mumbles as he passes. “Five star stuff, right here.” Gestures around them.

Billy shrugs.

“What was that?” Steve says, stood still and wary. 

The popping comes again. His pant leg catches fire—a great tongue of flame roaring up out of the ground and catching him on fire fire fire oh my god he’s—

He starts dancing wildly, waving his leg.

“I’m on fire! Billy, I’m on fire! Billy, Jesus will you—”

Billy tackles him to the ground. Digs up dirt and starts smothering the flames. After a few handfuls, Steve stops burning. They both sit in the silence after, panting.

“You know what?” Steve says, looking out into the unending maze of trees and woody vines they still have to get through. “It’s official. The Fire Swamp blows.”

He stands, brushing the dirt off of his clothes. Billy joins him on his feet. When the strange popping sound starts up again, Steve all but jumps into Billy’s arms and Billy swings him out of harm's way.

“Why is it only trying to set me on fire?” Steve asks, pissed. Billy sets him on his feet.

“Maybe it’s set off by noise,” he says absently. Holds out his hand to continue.

Everything goes fine for a while after that. Dandy. Billy fills him in on his death and rebirth as a Pirate. Steve doesn’t get barbecued. Billy full-on picks Steve up to help him across a fallen log, still talking, which is pretty freaking hot. Steve doesn’t get barbecued. All good stuff.

He should have known it was too good to be true because one wrong step later and—

—he's completely buried in the lightning sand.

But Billy will save him.

He’d been talking, hadn’t got a breath in before he’d plunged underground.

Billy will save him.

He starts to panic, lungs screaming for air. Begins to thrash and doesn’t even mean to. Doesn’t know what he means to do.

Billy will—

A hand closes on his arm, barely distinguishable from the grip of the ground. And Steve is yanked closer to Billy. Scrambles his arms around Billy’s body once it’s close enough to feel.

The first breath he grabs topside—Billy hauling them up—is the best breath he’s had since his first on this earth. Didn’t think for a moment there he’d ever have another.

“You know.” Billy gasps. “This is a good thing.” Gasp. Finally his breath gets somewhere back to normal. “We already know how not to get killed by two out of three of the worst things in this shithole.” He stands. Offers Steve a hand. “Good thing you’re so clumsy.” He grins.

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Steve says, glowering.

Billy leans in and steals Steve’s lips briefly. Not fair.

“Had me scared there for a bit,” Billy whispers after, lips still brushing.

“Yeah,” Steve says back, wanting to hit Billy a little bit less. “Me too. Thanks for, you know, saving my ass. Again.”

Not even a little bit fair.

Billy smiles.

“No problem.”

His hand reaches once more for Steve’s.

And Steve can’t stay mad at the guy.

“So, two out of three,” Steve says. Counts them off, fingers getting involved. “Fire bullshit, sand bullshit, and—oh Jesus, so it’s just the ROUS’s left to tango with. That’s what you’re saying?”

“Rodents of Unusual Size?” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “Now those are some made up bullshit.”

He smiles his usual cocky smile.

Gets knocked to the ground by an ROUS.

Steve’s eyes pop wide as the giant rat goes in for the kill, long teeth bared.

“Bullshit, huh?” he says, involuntarily.

“You know what, Princess, I really don’t need any lip from you right now!”

Billy grapples with the beast, unable to gain the time to pull his sword and skewer it. Cries out as the ROUS bites down hard on his shoulder. 

The sight of blood snaps Steve into action.

He looks for a weapon but he doesn't find one so he barrels in with both fists and starts pounding on the monster's back uselessly, doing no damage whatsoever as underneath it, Billy screams.

"Fuck, the—" Billy grinds out. "The—there's a stick-" his hand flails in the general direction of a truly gigantic stick lying just behind him and Steve scrambles for it, wraps his hands around the thick base end of it and whacks the monster with it until the stick starts coming away bloody, until the monster goes limp, until the monster stops moving, until the monster stops breathing, until—

"Steve!" Billy shouts. "You got it! You got it! You can stop!"

Steve drops the stick and instantaneously his arms grow so heavy he almost can't feel them. He notices that his hair has become damp, sweaty, and is now sticking to his forehead. He pushes the monster's soon-to-be rotting corpse off of Billy and pulls Billy up, his breaths coming fast and heavy and not just from the exertion.

"And now we know we can handle those, too," Billy says, trying to put it off like it's a joke, but Steve isn't having it. He paws at Billy's good shoulder and under his bad one. Billy hisses but lets Steve draw him close.

"I'm not losing you again," Steve says, more deadly serious than he's ever been. "Not ever again." He sticks his face into the side of Billy's neck on his good side and tries not to start shaking.

"And you won't ever have to," Billy says, voice as calm as anything, even as his own hands wrap around Steve's back and rub up and down like Steve's the one that's injured instead of him. Like he's checking Steve over for injuries, rather than the other way around, like it's probably supposed to be after something like that.

They just stand there clinging to each other like that until Steve can breathe normally and Billy stops feeling the incessant need to check Steve over. 

It takes a while.

Chapter Six: Promise?

They don't talk much the rest of the way through the forest, either, choosing instead to look back at each other every few minutes, silently checking to make sure that they're both still here, both still real, both still alive, covered in blood though they might be.

And when they finally break through to the other side Steve lets out a long sigh of relief, then starts up with, "So what do you—" meaning to say so what do you want to do now? But he never finishes the sentence. He's cut off by the sound of horses approaching and the clank and clatter of armor.

"Shit," Billy curses. He draws his sword, wincing as he does so, in so much pain that he’s not likely to be much use in a fight, but bluffing out of habit.

Prince Tommy rides up to them with the biggest, smuggest smile on his face and it makes Steve want to spit as he says, "Steve," all fake concern and barely concealed disdain. "I'm so glad we found you!"

His smile brightens in the most practiced, staged way imaginable. "Let go of this ruffian and come here."

Steve snorts. "Actually, I'm good, thanks." Beside him, he can feel Billy tensing up, like he's going to fight Tommy even outmatched as he is. Even wounded as he is. Like he'd fight Tommy and his goons one handed and blindfolded if he had to.

Steve bites his lip.

He knows he can’t let that happen.

"What..." Tommy says slowly, his perfect, practiced smile slipping for just long enough to show how ugly his face truly is. "What do you mean by that, my love?"

"I am not your love," Steve says, hand reaching out for Billy's and squeezing it. "This is my love. This is the only man I've ever loved, so if you'll excuse us, we'll just be going now."

They make it about three steps before Tommy's horse is blocking their path, that smug, smarmy smile of his having gone fully dark.

The knuckles in Billy's other hand audibly pop as he tightens his fist around his sword hilt.

Steve sucks in a breath.

"Hmmm, no, I don't think so. See, that really doesn't work for me," Tommy says as he raises a hand then flings it towards Billy. "Guards! Arrest the man in black!"

Billy drops Steve's hand as the guards' horses draw closer. It only just barely gives Steve long enough to come up with a plan.

"I'll come with you!" he shouts just as the men start to dismount. "I'll come with you if you promise not to hurt him!"

Tommy smiles again, this time like the cat that ate the canary as Billy yells, "Steve, no!"

Steve turns to Billy, takes his hand, raises it to his lips and kisses it gently. "I'm not losing you again," he says, matter of fact.

Billy is silent as he walks over to Tommy's horse. "Promise," Steve says, the word coming out between his teeth like it's a threat. "You have to promise."

"I promise," Tommy says. He offers Steve a hand up and Steve takes it. "Your boy won't be harmed if you come with me."

"Men," Tommy calls out behind him as they ride away. "Take him wherever he wants to go."

Chapter Seven: The Six-Fingered Woman and The Pit Of Despair

As Tommy passes Carol he slows a moment, their eyes exchanging an altogether different communication.

“As long as he wants to be tortured and killed,” his eyes say.

“Oh, I promise,” hers reply.

Billy knows what comes next. He’s not as naive as Steve is. But God, Billy loves that glass half full outlook the guy works so hard to keep. Even if it does complicate the shit out of Billy’s life sometimes.

“So, you killing me here or do you have a special spot picked out?” Billy looks up into Carol’s cold gaze. “No need to lie about it.”

“Why would I bother?” Carol says. Nods to her men, her hand waving a gesture.

“You have six fingers on your right hand,” Billy says, smiling. “Oh, have you got some hurt coming your way.”

Carol frowns. There's a popping pain in his head. 

The next thing he sees is a root-snarled dungeon ceiling. He moves his eyes—about the only part of him not strapped down—to see who’s cleaning his wound.

“Max?” He strains against his bonds. “The hell are you doing here?”

“My job,” she says, frowning. Keeps cleaning his wound.

“Where the hell am I?” he tries. She’s still pissed at him for leaving. He can tell. She’s cleaning his shoulder pretty goddamn aggressively for someone who’s not pissed at him, for starters.

“The Pit of Despair,” she says. “What the hell did you do this time, Billy? You’ll never escape here, you know. No one will find this place to rescue you either, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not, believe me.” Billy stares. Never thought he’d see her again. “Guess you’re stuck with me tilll I die, then,” Billy says, even though what he really wants to know is how she ended up here of all places. But what right does he have to ask? After bailing like he did?

“Yeah,” she says, plunking a bowl down hard. “Till they kill you.”

“So why bother fixing me?” Billy asks, mostly just wanting to hear her talk to him again.

She looks down on him with hard eyes. “Why the fuck do you think?” 

“Cause they’re gonna torture me,” he answers himself. “Of course they are. Whatever.” He’d shrug if he could. “I'm sure I can handle whatever they’ve got planned.”

“Idiot,” Max says. She smacks his shoulder with stinging salve then rubs it in, gentler. Her voice grows gentler, too.

“I wish you were right.”

Her hand rests on his arm. Her eyes fill with resignation.

“They’ve got this machine—”

---

Steve bolts up to sitting out of another nightmare. Gasps and curls into himself and tries to get his bearings. For a moment he’d fooled himself into thinking he was home. In his own bed.

He isn’t.

He jumps out of bed and pulls a pair of breeches on loosely, half tucking in his night tunic. This has to end. He has to end this.

“I can’t do this,” he says, bursting into Prince Tommy’s study. “I won’t. I love Billy. Always have, always will. Too much for this to happen.” He gestures wildly, taking in everything. Tommy, the castle, the wedding, this whole scenario.

“So if you say we’re getting married in ten days, fine. Whatever. Just know I’ll be dead by morning.” Steve rakes his hair. Plants his hands on his hips. “Your move.”

Because Steve can’t take one more goddamn nightmare. He just can’t.

Tommy sets the paper he’d been holding on the table. Stands.

“Alright—“

Robin, his lady-in-waiting, always laces his clothes up too tight. Says it accentuates his figure, but Steve knows it’s on the Prince’s orders. Next morning she’s at it again as if nothing had happened last night. As if she isn’t worried. As if this whole situation isn’t completely impossible.

“He said he sent his four fastest ships to find Billy?” she asks as she finishes dressing him. “And you believed him? God, Steve, sometimes you’re just so—”

Steve sighs. Pulls at his too-tight vest.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have much choice, now do I?”

And if that isn’t the story of his life.

Robin just sighs along with him. At least he has one friend in all of this.

Chapter Eight: The Thieves Hideout

Will finds Lucas passed out in the thieves hideout in the forest.

“Okay, you need to get a grip,” he says as he drags Lucas over to a barrel of water and carefully dunks his head in.

It takes two tries but finally Lucas comes up spluttering, looking around wildly. “Will? What the—” he coughs before Will dunks him a third time.

“That time was for the smell,” Will says as he drags Lucas out of the water again. Lucas looks about as pleased as a wet cat but Will only shrugs before dragging him over to the nearest cabin and plonking him down on the ground so he can lean up against one of the porch pillars. “I’ve heard people talking about a six-fingered woman working in the castle. Other people on the brute squad have seen her. I'm on the brute squad now—cleaning out the thieves forest. What are you doing here?” Will asks.

Lucas peers up at him slowly. “I’m waiting for Dustin,” he says, his words dripping out of him as slow as the water drips from his hair. “He said to go back to the beginning, so, here I am.” He waves his arms about drunkenly. “At the beginning!” He looks like he might throw up any second and he can’t seem to stop his head from bobbing up and down like a puppet on strings.

“But…” Will says, unsure of how to broach this particular subject. Ultimately, he just goes for the direct approach: “Dustin is dead.”

Lucas smacks his head against the pillar behind him then groans.

“The Man in Black killed him,” Will says.

---

“I see you’ve healed up nicely,” Carol says as she strolls into the Pit of Despair.

In response, Billy grunts.

“I think it’s about time we got him started on the machine, don’t you?” she says, speaking more to Max than to Billy. Max says nothing and Billy stays silent. He’s decided he’s going to use the one bit of power he’s got left in this terrible place and not speak to Carol. Not at all.

He sees Carol walk closer to the giant machine placed somewhere above him and watches as she caresses it lovingly. “This machine is my life’s work,” she says and when neither Max nor Billy asks any questions about that, she goes on anyway. “It’s designed to suck the life from someone one year at a time.”

She walks closer to Billy and attaches some wires and other bits and pieces to him. He fights off a shiver at the cold press of her fingers on his skin. He tries to think of Steve, of the warmth of his touch, of his laugh, but the cold terror of this place chases away even the idea of a pleasant thought.

“Now,” she says, those cold fingers trailing slowly, delicately up Billy’s forearm to his shoulder before digging in there, trying to elicit a reaction and failing. “Please, when we go through this, be honest about how it makes you feel. Because I am, after all, recording this for science.”

She digs her fingers in deeper and Billy grunts like she’s annoying him rather than the truth—which is that she’s definitely freaking him out. Max is so quiet Billy isn’t even sure she’s still in the room.

Carol walks slowly to the machine, saying, “Now, to start you off, we’ll just go with one year. Make things nice and easy for your first try.”

Billy stays silent.

She flips a big, fat switch on the machine and for the first split-second it’s fine and Billy thinks it’ll be fine, it won’t hurt that much, but then the pain kicks in, starting in his toes and licking up his body like he’s being set on fire an inch at a time. He shuts his eyes to avoid knowing if he might be. Because he might be, it hurts that bad.

Some indeterminate amount of time later—it could be a minute, it could be an hour, Billy has no idea—he hears something click, thinks maybe she’s shut the machine off, but the pain doesn’t stop, it just reverberates, soaring and cresting inside of him, making him forget anything else other than this pain ever existed.

“Now tell me, how did that feel?"

Billy whimpers.

---

Lucas grunts. “Then we should get his help.”

“What?”

Lucas looks up at Will and tries to put on his best determined face but mostly he just makes himself nauseous. “He beat me in a sword fight.” He gets to his feet. He wobbles. A lot.

“He clearly beat you in a fight.” He takes a step and almost throws up. He considers it a massive victory that he doesn’t.

“And he beat Dustin’s brain.” He wobbles a bit more and reaches back to put a hand against the pillar he was leaning against. He closes his eyes against the way the world seems to tilt on its axis and buckle.

“If we’re going to get revenge for my father, we’re going to need his help.” He lets go of the pillar, takes three steps forward and falls flat on his face.

“Sure,” Will says. “But maybe let's wait until you’re sober, yeah?”

From his position in the dirt, Lucas mumbles his assent.

Chapter Nine: The Four Fastest Ships

“Double the guard.”

Keith nods from his position knelt at Tommy’s side. Tommy leans back, sharpening his dagger blade. 

“Prince Steve will be safe, Your Majesty.” Keith says. “The castle doors only have one key and that key stays with me at all—”

“Steve,” Tommy says, standing as Steve enters the room. “My love. What’s up?”

Robin elbows Steve in the side and pushes him, stumbling, into the room. He turns to glare at her. “Ask him!” she mouths before stepping out of sight.

Steve swallows. This is gonna end so badly, he can already tell. He can barely even look at the slimy fuck.

“Look,” he says, stepping forward. “I need to get some answers—“

“Tons of time for questions later,” Tommy says, walking over and placing his hands on Steve’s upper arms, squeezing. Steve has the sudden desire for a bath. He clenches his jaw. 

“Tonight we’ll be married,” Tommy goes on, ignoring Steve’s discomfort. “And tomorrow’s the honeymoon.” He winks at Steve, who throws up in his mouth a little. “You can ask all the questions your little heart desires once we’re on the ship.”

Steve’s stomach drops. Ship. He really might puke here.

“Ship?”

“Yeah. Every ship in my armada will be waiting in Florin channel to leave with us.”

“Every ship?”

And Robin was right. Of course Robin was right. Steve shakes Prince Tommy’s hands from his arms.

“Every ship, huh?” He backs away. “You’re a fucking terrible liar, you know that? You brag too much.”

Tommy gives some silent signal and Keith leaves the room after bowing uncomfortably.

“Watch your mouth,” Tommy says quietly. He walks over to sit at his desk like he doesn’t give a shit what Steve says. But he’s too tense to sit.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says, glaring down. “Billy’s gonna show up and save me from this wedding. Watch.”

Tommy scoffs.

“You really are an idiot.”

Steve glares.

“Yeah,” he says, stalking forward. “That’s me! Stupid, naive little Stevie.”

Tommy sheaths the dagger he’d unconsciously picked up. Throws the sheathed weapon to the table.

“What?” Steve goes on. “Scared of what’ll happen to you when Billy does show? Coward?”

“Watch,” Tommy says, jaw clenched, “Your mouth. Or you won’t like what happens, Princess.”

“Don’t you ever fucking call me that,” Steve says, eyes darting to the sheathed dagger on the table. “What are you gonna do to me? You’re not gonna risk hurting me before the wedding, are you, smart guy. And if I do somehow end up marrying you I’ll be happier dead.”

Steve plants his hands on the table. Leans in.

“Billy and I are tied together with stronger bonds than you’ll ever feel in your miserable life. Our love will survive death. True love always wins, in the end. And you are a coward. Pathetic. You’re probably the slimiest little shit ever to crawl the earth!”

Tommy stands, vibrating with anger. He walks slowly to the door. Turns and addresses Steve quietly. Ominously. “You should have watched your mouth.” He smiles like he knows something Steve doesn’t. “You really should have, Princess.”

Then he’s gone. Steve stands in the silence, gut aching.

He picks up the forgotten dagger from the table.

The wedding draws nearer.

---

Three hours to the ceremony and a long unnatural wail echoes across the countryside. It permeates the stone of the castle walls and Steve feels an ache in his chest for the poor creature that makes it. The sound seems to mirror the sound he feels his heart is making. It snakes, echoing, down a busy village street and finds Lucas’s ears.

“It’s him,” Lucas says, pausing to discern the direction it comes from. “I’d bet my life on it.”

“How do you know?” Will asks.

“That’s the sound of ultimate suffering,” Lucas says, remembering the echo of that sound in his own heart the day his father died. “The Man in Black surely makes it now. Nothing but true love would have let him best us for the Prince on that clifftop, Will. Against my sword, your strength, Dustin’s mind? No. It was true love against us that day. Now, the very same man that hired Dustin to murder that true love of his marries his love tonight. The new Prince isn’t likely to see the morning. So you tell me, who else has more cause?”

“I suppose…” Will says, scratching his head.

Lucas starts threading his way through the crowd. Throwing out desperate excuse-mes and pardon-mes as he struggles to gain ground.

“Will,” he says, straining against a large lady carrying a goat. “A little help, maybe?”

“Oh,” Will says, looking down. “Sorry.”

He raises his hands, cupping his mouth for more volume.

“Everybody move!”

The crowd parts. The lady with the goat glares and makes way. And Lucas turns to Will, nodding his thanks.

They hurry through the gap, off to find The Man in Black.

Chapter Ten: The Sound of Ultimate Suffering

The pain of it is worse than any Billy’s ever known, makes him scream louder and harder and longer than he ever would have thought possible and on top of all of that he can hear another, quieter scream flowing alongside his own, like the harmony to a melody for a symphony he’d never in his life wanted to hear and now will never be able to forget.

He thinks it might be coming from Max, could be, based on the look that showed up on her face when Prince Tommy had stormed in and set the machine to its highest setting—50 years—and flipped it on. Could be—

Could be, but—

But—

it could also be that the pain the machine is causing him has split his throat in half and both parts, the harmony and the melody are coming from his own throat. He longs to reach up and to feel it, to see if his throat has really split in half like he thinks maybe it has but his arms are still trapped by his sides in the leather restraints they’ve had him in since he got here and even if they weren’t—even if they weren’t—

He doubts he’d be able to move them anyway; he doubts he could so much as twitch a finger with intention just now what with the way his whole body is twitching, jerking and spasming in a violent and gruesome reaction to the pain.

Every inch of him is on fire, every inch of him is screaming all at once, his heart pounding like an engine that’s missing pieces but somehow is still fighting to try and power his body. And he keeps screaming, keeps screaming and screaming and screaming until screaming is all he has left, until screaming is all he is, but even that stops too as eventually his lungs become too tired, too heavy, the pain too great to carry on carrying on any longer.

It takes longer for the rest of his body to wear itself out and stop its twisting and its shaking, its roiling and agonizing spasms but finally, as his heart slows, so does the twitching and the shaking until eventually he’s lying on the table as still and as silent as he’d previously been loud.

Around him he hears the machine being switched off, hears the water that powers it stop running, hears footsteps, feels a cold and clammy hand press to his neck, hears Max’s fierce, furious voice call out, “You’ve done it. He’s dead.”

He doesn’t see it but he feels Prince Tommy's sneer when he says, “Good. Then I’ll leave it to you to dispose of the body.” Hears more footsteps and the door swinging open, then slamming closed as he feels his lungs fight for just one more breath when Max throws her body on top of his and cries, feels his slowly breaking heart struggle to keep up some sort of rhythm, like his body is trying to tell her not to worry, not to cry ‘cause he’s still here. He’s still alive, even if his mouth won’t move, can’t move to tell her so. 

And even if when she whispers, “Don’t worry, I’m getting you out of here,” into his ear, what she’s really doing is just preparing his body to move, even if what she’s really saying is, “You know you deserved this,” he’s going to pretend what he heard was the first thing because if he’s going to die here, like this, he’d rather think it’s with his sister forgiving him rather than her hating him so much the sight of his near dead body does nothing whatsoever to move her.

He feels the last of the breath left in his useless, battered chest float out through his lips as she moves him onto a cart. Feels the ground pass underneath them and hears the thick wooden wheels click and grumble as she starts wheeling his body out the door.

“I don’t—” he thinks he hears her say, “I don’t know where we’re going to go.” But it’s hard, the world went dark almost the instant the pain hit and now the sound seems to be cutting out, too.

“Billy,” she says, but it sounds like he’s hearing it through cotton, or through absurdly, impossibly thick wool. His head feels like it’s full of wool, too, like each thought has to pass through miles of the stuff just to reach him.

The cart stops and the whole world narrows to the feel of Max’s fingers on his cheek, or at least what his imagination is telling him is Max’s fingers on his cheek as he feels a different kind of burn spread throughout his body, the lack of air spreading to each and every one of his muscles in turn and in turn making them numb as his heart slowly, slowly, slowly rolls itself over, as Max says, “Please, don’t.”

His heart gives one last final thunk, giving Billy just enough time to wish that he could reach out and touch Max’s face and tell her that he’s sorry for everything and to ask her, to beg her, to plead for her to tell Steve what happened to him. Because more than anything he doesn’t want Steve to think that anything could have kept him from rescuing him other than this—than absolute death itself.

Chapter Eleven: Miracle Mike

Lucas follows the tip of his sword through the forest, weaving this way and that, eyes closed.

“Father, guide my sword,” he whispers as he makes his meandering way.

“Hey Lucas,” Will says.

“Not now, not now,” Lucas says, annoyed. “Can’t you see that I’m concentrating?”

He doesn’t dare break the spell by opening his eyes.

“But you’re about to—”

“Ah!” a girl shrieks. Lucas’s eyes fly wide.

“What the hell are you stabbing random people in the ass for?” the redhead yells, stalking toward him and batting his blade aside. “What is that? Oh, hell, I’m bleeding, too! Great! I just bought this dress!”

She’s crying. Had been crying from the look of it. She punches Lucas. It lands harder than he expects it to and he rubs his jaw afterwards, feeling a blush creeping up under his palm. What a right hook. What a girl. Why is she crying? What is happening?

“Sorry,” Will says when Lucas remains silent too long. “But we’ve been looking for him all day long.” He points to The Man in Black, whose still limbs spill over the sides of the small cart the girl had been pushing.

“Billy?” The girl says, her eyes squinting, defensive. “What the hell do you want with him?” Her voice barely trembles. She wipes her eyes and doesn’t let any more tears fall. But Lucas can see that she wants to.

He finally finds his voice. “Revenge," he says.

Good job. Not creepy at all.

“Well,” Max says, swallowing and doing an impressive job of looking like she doesn’t care one way or another, “he’s dead, so….” She raises her eyebrows. That’s that, those eyebrows say.

“Not on him,” Lucas says, raising conciliatory hands and waving her off with them, a little scared of her. “On Prince Tommy—actually on Prince Tommy’s six-fingered henchman, but—you know what, we don’t have time for this. We need The Man in Black—” He stops at her intensified glare. “Er, um, Billy. We need Billy here to stop the royal wedding.”

“Needed, I guess, now,” Will chimes in, hands clasped at his front and eyes downward.

“Needed,” Lucas nods. “No!” Everyone living jumps at his sudden shout. “Need!” He looks to Max. Grabs her shoulder and lowers his voice. “I’m so sorry for this.” He turns to Will.

“Pick him up. Do you have any money?”

“A little,” Will says. “Why?” He picks up Billy’s limp body, leaving the cart behind and not even seeming to feel Max’s blows hitting him, though he is careful not to step on her feet.

“I just hope it’s enough to buy a miracle.”

He takes off. Mostly because Max’s fury begins turning his way at his words.

“I’ve only got forty,” Will says, hurrying after.

He picks Max up and slings her over his other shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says to her, ignoring her yelling and still-pounding fists. “You keep getting in my way and I don’t want to hurt you.”

He walks on after Lucas.

“Wait for me!”

Not long later, Lucas is pounding on the door to a small cottage. After much fuss, a peephole swings open in the door.

“Yes?”

A young, pale face appears, already annoyed.

“Mike,” Lucas says. “I need one of your miracles.”

Miracle Mike takes in the group.

“Do you ever.”

He scratches his cheek.

“Too bad the King’s stinking son fired me, isn’t it?” Miracle Mike says, glaring. “Oh, and thanks for bringing that great memory back, too, Lucas. Really. Appreciate it.” There’s an awkward pause. “Well, it’s been nice chatting.” Mike says, breaking it. “Buh-bye now. We’re closed.”

He slams the door to the peephole shut.

Lucas pounds on the door louder.

“Beat it,” Miracle Mike says, the peephole flying open once more. “Or I’ll call the brute squad.”

“I’m on the brute squad,” Will says, shifting Max’s wriggling body to scratch an itch on his nose.

“You are the brute squad,” Mike says, craning his neck to look Will in the eye.

“It’s important,” Lucas says. He’ll beg the guy if he has to.

“I’m retired,” Mike says, sour. “Anyway, why would you want a miracle from the guy the King’s stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you wanted me to miracle.”

“He’s already dead,” Lucas says brightly, recognizing a selling point and flaunting it.

“Yeah?” Mike says, scanning the still form draped over Will’s shoulder. “Fine. I’ll take a look. Bring him in.”

Lucas smiles up at Will, who smiles back.

They enter the cottage and Will drops Max, but not before Max gives him one last obligatory pounding on the back; she crosses her arms over her chest and goes silent after that. Watches Billy’s body worriedly. 

“You got money?” Mike asks, palpating Billy’s chest.

“Sixty-five,” Lucas says, hoping to avoid haggling and keep enough for something to eat if he does live. He’d only had thirty, which brought their actual total up to seventy.

“I’ve never worked for that little,” Mike says. “Well,” he pauses. “Once. But that was a noble cause.”

Aha.

“He has a crippled wife,” Lucas lies. “His children—on the brink of starvation.”

“You always have sucked at lying, Lucas.”

Damn.

“I need him to avenge my murdered father.”

“You? Finding that six-fingered woman? Your first story was better,” Mike says. “Probably owes you money, right?” He looks around. “Where’s that bellows? He mutters. “Well, I’ll ask him.”

“He’s dead,” Lucas says.

“Oooh, look who knows so much. As a matter of fact, your friend here is only mostly dead. There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Please, open his mouth.”

Lucas does and Mike inserts the end of the bellows between Billy’s teeth and pumps up Billy’s chest. Once. Twice. Max starts to come forward, mouth open in protest, but Will stops her with a gentle hand. Shakes his head no. She frowns, but stays quiet.

“Buddy! Hey, hello in there! What’s so important, huh?” Mike asks Billy loudly, leaning in. “What have you got that’s worth living for?”

The miracle man pushes down on Billy’s chest.

“Truuuue Loooove,” Billy’s body groans out with the released air.

“True love, you hear that?” Lucas says, excitedly. “What’s a more noble cause than that?”

“Other than a BLT, I can’t think of anything,” Mike says. “But that’s not what he said. He clearly said—”

“Liar!”

A brown-eyed girl enters the room, her dark curls bouncing. “Liar. True love. He said true love, Mike. Friends don’t lie!”

“I’m telling you, I’m not—”

The girl holds out her palm and Miracle Mike rises a solid foot up from the floor, feet kicking feebly. Blood drips from the girl’s nose. She glares.

“Help. Or I dump your ass.”

“I like her,” Max says, smiling.

Chapter Twelve: Brains, Strength, Steel, Attitude and a Wheelbarrow

“Okay, so…” Mike says some time later as he’s putting the finishing touches on the weird, round, little chocolate-coated miracle he’s spent the past hour making. “Give him this, then wait about fifteen minutes.” He passes over it one last time with the little brush in his hand before blowing on it and putting it in a little cloth pouch.

He hands the pouch to Max with less fanfare than something like this probably deserves and she follows his lead by roughly shoving it into the pocket of her sweater.

“The chocolate makes it go down easier,” says the brown-eyed girl, the one who had, oddly, said her name was Eleven, though when Max had asked her why she had such an odd name she’d been met with a resounding chorus of, “Don’t ask!” coming from everyone in the room except for, oddly, Eleven herself.

“Right,” Max says slowly as they all start heading for the door, Will picking up Billy as he passes by the table and glancing over at Max like he won’t hesitate to scoop her up again if she refuses to go with them this time.

Which…

Well…

Max figures for better or for worse (and probably for worse) she’s in this now, so she’s going to see this through to the end, even if she strongly suspects it ends with them near the castle, huddled around the dead body of her brother, wondering why this “cure” didn’t work.

Because she doesn’t entirely believe “only mostly dead” is really a thing because she saw her brother die, she felt it happen, like she felt it in her bones and in her gut strongly enough that the feeling stopped her dragging that cart she’d been carrying him in and she’d had no choice but to scramble back and to check on him, to put her hand to his neck and to feel as his pulse crawled to a stop, to feel it as he died underneath her fingers.

And she sees his body now, has seen it get colder and colder each time she reached out to touch it, to touch him. And each time she wanted to see if some lingering echo was left inside, if there was some part, any part, of her brother left, but every time she tried all she was rewarded with was stillness and silence. And cold. So much cold.

Or in other words, she looked, she wanted to believe, but all she was rewarded with was the complete and utter absence of life.

And how could something like that ever be reversed?

No miracle, no matter how good, no matter how clever nor how chocolate-coated, could ever fix that.

Right?

Right?

But then Eleven reaches out and puts a delicate, soft hand on her shoulder and says, “This will work. Trust me,” and she says it with such deep sincerity and complete and total faith that Max wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, it can.

“Okay,” Max says and she doesn’t quite believe it still, she’s still terrified that there’s no way to get her brother back and that this great, big mistake she’s made is one she’ll have to live with for the rest of her life, however long that might be, but… she wants to believe it. She wants to, so she’s going to try.

Then she catches Lucas looking at her funny so she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders and heads out the door before he gets it into his head to say anything to her about whatever it is he thinks he sees on her face.

She hears footsteps behind her and knows Will and Lucas are following close behind and she hears Mike and Eleven call out, “Good luck storming the castle!” loudly after them. Then, more quietly, almost quietly enough that Max misses it entirely, Mike says, “And you’ll need it, you idiots haven’t got a chance!” which is hastily followed up by the sound of a punch landing and Mike groaning loudly enough that Will almost turns around to see what happened before thinking better of it and continuing on.

They don’t talk much on the way to the castle. Well, Lucas tries to. He keeps asking Max about her favorite things, about what she does for work but Max isn’t in much of a mood to talk, less so about what she’s been up to lately and how it involved helping the people who killed her brother and how she’d known that was their plan, how she’d known and hadn’t cared, had been so busy with her own sense of self-righteous indignation over him leaving her alone with their parents that she’d been willing to watch him die for it.

That is, she had been until it had happened. Until he’d started screaming and she’d screamed with him, realizing entirely too late that what he’d done (or more like hadn’t done) wasn’t, had never, been worth his life.

Will, thankfully, doesn’t seem to be in much of a mood to talk, either, instead opting mostly for occasional grunts every time he switches up the way he’s carrying Billy, not that carrying Billy seems to be any great sort of strain on him at all.

And then, once they’re near enough to the castle they stop behind a big, brick building and Will leans Billy up against the wall and looks to Max. He looks to Max but he doesn’t say anything, just pins her with this important, soul-searing look that takes her a minute to fully get before she finally jumps to her feet, saying, “Oh, right,” and dragging the little pouch from Miracle Mike out from the pocket of her sweater.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she says as she fishes the chocolate-coated miracle from its little cloth pouch and Lucas holds Billy’s head back, elongating his throat so that swallowing will take the least possible amount of effort.

Max carefully presses the candy-shaped, candy-looking miracle past Billy’s lips and into his mouth. And she waits.

And she watches.

And she hopes.

“Is this going to take long?” Will asks, peeking over the castle wall at the armed guard in the courtyard below. “It must be only half an hour till the wedding.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Lucas replies, staring at Billy for any signs of movement.

Max crouches down, face intent.

Nothing.

She turns to hide her reddening face and burning eyes. Pretends to check that their escape route is still clear.

Can’t stop the tears coming as the silent seconds drag on.

Shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.

---

Billy tastes chocolate. He’s only ever tasted it once, when Steve snuck him a chunk on his Birthday, so it’s confusing that it’s in his mouth now.

Isn’t he dead? He opens his eyes.

Guy looking back at him seems familiar. Billy’s definitely fought him once before.

“Jesus, back for more?” he says, mouth awkward and hard to maneuver. He looks over the guy’s shoulder to see a strangely familiar giant. Great. “Fine, fine,” he says, stretching his jaw then continuing. “I’ll take you both. Come on.”

He hears a wet laugh.

Max?

Billy’s eyes find hers with some difficulty. He manages a weak smile at the sight of her.

“You weren’t fuckin' lying, Shitbird,” he says, voice softer than his choice of words. “That was one rough ride. About killed me.” Knows it had killed him, but she doesn’t need to— Hang the fuck on.

“Why won’t my arms move?”

“You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Will chimes in.

“We brought you back,” Lucas explains. “Took a miracle—an expensive miracle at that,” he mutters, mourning the weight of coin in his purse. “But then—”

“Okay, enough with the random exposition already, Jesus,” Billy says, clipped. “Just answer one thing. Who are you? I piss you off sometime or something—swear I’ve dueled you or something. And why am I on this wall? And where the fuck is Steve?”

Max gives one wet chuckle and finally wipes her face.

“Let me explain,” Lucas says, finger raised. He pauses a moment, thinking, then lowers it. “Nope, there’s too much. Let me sum up.”

“Fine,” Billy interrupts. Lucas glares. Max kicks his boot.

Billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, because that’s all he’s fucking got to work with apparently, and Mr. Let Me Explain starts up again.

“Steve is marrying Tommy in a little less than half an hour. So we have to break in, break up the wedding, steal your Prince and make our escape—after I kill Countess Carol.”

“We do, huh? Shit, that’s all?” Billy says. But his face says he’s thinking over the problem. More seriously he says, “doesn’t give us much time.”

“You just wiggled your finger!” Will says, amazed. “That’s wonderful.”

Billy throws him a put-upon glance.

“Always been a quick healer.”

Immediately back to the problem, he goes on. “What are we up against?”

“Only one way in,” Lucas says. Picks Billy up enough that his head can loll back over the parapet and he can get a look at the gate behind them. “And sixty men down there guarding it.”

He lowers Billy back against the wall.

“And we’ve got…?”

“Your brains. Will’s strength. My steel. Her.” Gestures at Max who glares to rival her brother.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “We’re screwed. If I had a month to plan, maybe, but this…” Shakes his head. No chance.

“You just shook your head,” Will says brightly. “That doesn’t make you happy?”

Billy flops his head around to look derisively up at Will.

“My brains, her attitude, his steel and your strength against sixty men and you think a little fucking head jiggle is gonna do it for me? Hmm?”

Will smiles. Billy jiggles his head again. So screwed.

“Now if we only had a goddamn wheelbarrow, I could maybe work with that.”

“Got you covered,” Max says. “Was hauling your heavy dead ass around in one when this stabby idiot and his friend found me.”

She shows him her bloodied dress then winks up at Will. The big guy blushes and scratches his neck.

“You stabbed my sister?!” 

Billy flops menacingly Lucas’s way. Gonna kill the little fucker. But he thinks of Steve—at least once every thirty seconds like clockwork and here it is. Cools it. Billy’ll kill the guy later. They’re under a time crunch, here. 

“Whatever,” he says. Rolls his head limply back to see Max. “Why didn’t you fucking say we had a wheelbarrow in the first place?”

“Oh shut up smartass, like I could have known it’d be useful.”

He raises his eyebrows at that. When the hell isn’t a wheelbarrow useful? But he’s only half invested. Half present. He’s thinking again.

“Give my right nut for a Holocaust Cloak right about now,” he throws out on the off chance.

“There we can’t help you,” Lucas says.

But Will pulls something that strongly resembles a Holocaust Cloak from inside his shirt. Dangles it in front of them.

“Will this work?” he asks.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Lucas says.

“Miracle Mike gave it to me. Fit so nice, he said I could keep it.”

“Alright alright,” Billy says, ready for action. “Come on, help me up.”

They stand, both Will and Lucas supporting his dead weight and Max supervising.

“Now,” Billy says, once they’re more or less upright, “we’ve just got to find me a sword.”

His head flops forward. Shit.

“Why? Lucas asks as Will casually balances Billy’s head back upright on his neck. “You can’t even lift one.”

“Sure,” Billy says, his head flopping backward this time. Will lifts it again. Fucking pats it before taking his hand away. “Thanks,” Billy says through gritted teeth. “But it’s not like anyone besides you three assholes knows that, is it? Anyways, It’ll be good to have once we’re knee deep in shit inside the castle. We’re gonna run into problems in there.”

His head flops forward again. Max begins giggling behind them as they finally get going. Will lifts it up once more and this time keeps his huge hand there holding it straight as they move.

“Problems. Chyeah, I’ll say,” Lucas says, ignoring Billy’s flopping head and Max’s giggling. All business. “How do I find the Countess? Once I do, how do I find you again? Once I do, how do we escape?”

“Don’t bug him,” Will says, turning Billy’s head to look his way while he talks.

Billy bites down the curses he wants to fling at Will for that shit. Jesus fucking—

Will’s oblivious. 

“He’s had a hard day,” the guy says. Billy snorts.

Max’s giggle turns into a full-on laugh that she’s forced to stifle with a hand. She’s gonna regret that shit once Billy can move again.

“Right,” Lucas says, looking back, Will turning Billy’s head to catch the response. “Sorry.”

Will makes Billy nod a few times and at this Max just fucking loses it, dissolving into a fit of giggles that are nearly silent as she runs out of breath. Billy listens to her back there, wheezing, slapping her leg. Bitch. Grimaces and endures his piggyback ride as they make their way off the wall.

“Lucas,” Will whispers as Max’s laughter begins to peter out. “I hope we win.”

And Billy laughs too, at that. Once. Darkly. Thinks of Steve and everything that lies between them. Minutes ticking by and him here just useless.

Yeah, big guy. He closes his eyes. Maybe prays. You and me both.

Chapter Thirteen: The Wedding

A voice calls out from behind Steve: "Excuse me, Prince." 

And it's a voice Steve knows all too well at this point—Countess Carol. 

"What do you think you're doing?" 

Steve climbs down from the window ledge he'd been climbing out of and turns to face her, red-cheeked and red-handed. "Oh, you know, just trying to get a better view," he says, casual as anything, even though they both know that's anything but the truth. 

"Yes, I'm sure you were," Carol says with a smile. She's clearly aiming for her words to sound kind, like she thinks maybe that will fool him somehow, but she winds up mostly face planting into disdain instead. She holds a hand out to him and he takes it, knowing he has no real choice. 

"The wedding is starting soon. Come, I'll walk you there myself, it wouldn't do for you to be late," she says, the razor sharp smile spreading across her face with these words only further illustrating the threat that lies behind them.

They walk out of his chambers and Robin joins them halfway down the hall, linking her arm through Steve's on the opposite side of Carol's. "I told you your stupid escape plan would never work," she whispers into his ear just before they reach the room where the wedding is to be held and all he can do is roll his eyes at her as she splits off from him to take her place in the back row. 

Billy is all he can think about as Carol drags him down the aisle towards Prince Tommy. He hopes Billy will come and rescue him, not that he ever should have had to, it should be Billy he's heading down this aisle towards right now; it never should have ever been anybody else. 

Tommy smiles brightly at him once Steve reaches him. Even reaches out to give him a delicate kiss on the cheek and calls him, "My love," again, like he believes this is real, like he believes any of this matters. Like this is anything more than a sham marriage he's forcing Steve into. 

Like he thinks they really love each other or something. 

Or maybe he's just really good at faking it, Steve doesn't know. Either way, Carol drops his hand as Tommy takes it, making Steve feel less like a human being and more like a parcel exchanging hands.

He basically is, though. Like that's what his life boils down to at this point - he's a thing to be used by someone else and that's it.

The tall, pale, buffoonish priest before them begins rambling the second they turn to face him and his voice alone makes Steve want to tear his own ears off. He has this weird thing with his voice where he pronounces all his r's as w's and also all his l's as w's and it makes him almost impossible to listen to.

And this priest he goes on and on and on about true love like, again, this is a marriage of true love, like Steve's not just standing here waiting for his real true love to come in and save him, like any of this really means anything at all. 

It gets so bad Steve starts to wonder if there's any way he could maybe, possibly just end it all right here, right now when outside there's a loud noise and someone shouting, "Hold the line, men!" and Steve sees the scowl spreading on Tommy's face just as he feels the smile spreading across his own. "Billy's coming for me," he says. "My true love is coming for me."

The look on Tommy's face sinks into something murderously angry, murderously angry but with just an edge of fear and that look of fear has Steve's smile growing bigger even as Tommy says, "He can't be, I killed him," because Steve knows better. He knows, without a doubt, that the noise outside is Billy coming for him. He just knows it.

"If you're so sure he's dead, why do you look so scared?" Steve asks, properly happy for the first time in entirely too long.

Tommy grips Steve's hand tighter and turns his death glare on the priest. "Hurry up!' he insists with a big, sweeping hand gesture.

The priest nods but keeps droning on, only seeming to just be reaching the real beginning of the ceremony proper as he says, "Marriage is about two people coming together in united harmony…" which only serves to make Tommy groan in frustration. 

Outside, someone screams. 

"Just say man and husband!" Tommy shouts. "Just get it over with!"

The Priest nods again only this time he does as ordered, stating: "Man and husband."

And that's it. The ceremony is over. Steve is married and Billy didn't rescue him. 

Next to him, Tommy smirks as Steve feels his heart sink down somewhere past his knees. 

Chapter Fourteen: Vengeance

“Stand your ground!”

Lucas heaves the wheelbarrow forward step by grueling step.

“I am The Dread Pirate Roberts!” Will bellows, standing cloaked atop said wheelbarrow. Billy dangles off of Lucas’s back and almost feels sorry for the guy. Tries to pinwheel his legs along to feel like he’s helping. Max just strolls behind out of sight, watching the scene. Billy can feel her repressed laughter.

Not the time. Jesus. Little sisters.

“There will be no survivors!”

“Now?” Lucas says, shoving one step forward.

“Not yet,” Billy says.

“My men are here! I am here! But soon you will not be here!”

“Now?” Lucas asks, desperate.

“Light him.”

“All your worst nightmares are about to come true!” Will says dramatically as the flames rush up the holocaust cloak. “The Dread Pirate Roberts is here for your souls!"

The castle guard scatters, fleeing this way and that, scared out of their minds by the ruse. Granted, Will’s bulk aflame and coming for you was definite grounds to lose one’s shit. Billy doesn’t blame the cowards one bit.

Max starts laughing outright as Will steps down from the wheelbarrow and smothers the flames from his cloak. Lucas hauls Billy toward the gates sole standing defender who tries to be smart by lowering the portcullis.

“Will!” Lucas shouts. No need. The giant is already lumbering toward the impediment. He gets a grip and hauls the portcullis back up. The castle-crashers all advance, crowding the man against the gate.

Billy stares the man down, partial paralysis be damned.

“Give us the gate key.”

Like he’s even intimidating at all just dangling here.

“I have no gate key.”

See? Fuck.

“Will,” Lucas says calmly. “Rip his arms off.”

And thank God for giants.

“O-oh,” the man stammers, swallowing. “You mean this gate key.”

Max snatches it from him. Curtsies before knocking him unconscious and turning to open the gate.

They stroll into the castle. They have done the inconceivable. Onto the next impossible thing on this evening’s docket.

They wander the halls of the castle. With no real knowledge of its layout, they’re basically counting on fate to send their feet in the right direction and Billy finds he doesn’t really mind that. He has a few good reasons to put his trust in fate. To believe he might come through this with love and limb still intact. Life still to live. He feels Steve close by here. That same connection he’s always felt with him. Steve, warm and his and out there somewhere in the castle. Separated as they are by twisting halls and stony walls, Billy can still feel Steve as if he’s standing here beside him.

Now if only Billy can only figure out how to stand and meet him, that’ll be something.

The unlikely group shuffles awkwardly on.

Countess Carol is the first life they meet, her and four armored guards storming the hallway, blocking their advance, and Lucas steps forward with a triumphant blaze in his eyes at the sight of her. Raises his sword to meet the guard she’s brought with her. Billy watches, dangling from Will’s brawny arm, his own sword dangling just as awkwardly as his body from his pathetically weak grip.

Useless.

“Kill the dark one, the girl and the giant,” Carol says. “But leave the fourth for questioning.”

Billy grins. Cocky bitch ain’t she?

Lucas makes short work of the advancing guard. Stands tall once the last one falls. Raises his sword to Countess Carol.

“Hello,” he says, soft. Deadly. “My name is Lucas Sinclair. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

Carol readies her raised blade. Stares Lucas down. Then bolts suddenly, leaving Lucas standing dumbfounded for a beat in her wake.

He unfreezes quick enough and sprints after her.

Billy watches him go. Exchanges a glance with Will.

“What was that all about?” Max asks.

“Will!” they hear echoing down the hall, preventing explanation. “I need you!”

“I can’t leave him and the girl alone, Lucas.”

“He’s getting away from me, Will!” Desperate cries over echoing pounding. “Please!”

Will dangles Billy off a suit of armor.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells him and Max with a frown. Walks off down the corridor.

“Hey,” Billy says to Max as soon as Will lumbers out of sight. “Help me with something, will ya?”

Lucas speeds off after the countess as soon as the door flies from its hinges at the polite suggestion of Will’s fist. He rushes onward, heedless of his surroundings, his focus only on catching her. On forcing her to pay for what she’d done to him. To his father.

Serves him right when he bolts through a door and is stopped cold, stumbling back, when a flung dagger sinks hilt-deep in his abdomen.

Stupid of him. Lost before he’s even begun, his anger getting the better of him. Making him blind. Robbing him of thought.

“I’m sorry father,” he whispers to the ceiling. “I tried. I tried.”

“Ohh,” Countess Carol says, strolling forward. “I remember you. You’re that little brat whose father I taught a lesson all those years ago. Recognize my mark, you see.”

She gestures to the scars on his cheeks. Lucas is paralyzed with the pain in his gut. Can do nothing but listen. Can barely focus.

“Have you been chasing me your whole life only to fail now?” Carol asks, head tilting with interest. “I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” She smiles. “Cool.”

Lucas’s paralysis breaks only enough for him to slide down the wall, legs failing him too. He cradles the knife for a moment, bracing himself, then slides it free. He stares up at Carol, full of hate and unable to contain it.

Figures he might as well use it.

He stands.

“Cute,” Carol says. “Still trying to win? Poor boy.”

She slips forward and stabs out with a smooth killing blow. Lucas is quick with his sword. Deflects it almost enough. His shoulder is impaled.

Carol frowns. Stabs out again. Gets only Lucas’s arm, his defense quicker this time.

She rains down a hard strike from above and he dashes it away, responding in kind. Clashing metal.

“Hello,” he says, stalking forward. “My name is Lucas Sinclair. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

The pain seizes him up and he falls into a table to keep from losing his feet completely. Carol takes the opportunity to strike. Meets his steel. He rises, countering blow after blow. Clash clash.

“Hello,” he begins again. Repeats himself again. Says what he’s been waiting to tell this bitch for years. Lands blow after blow and has her on the defense now. Backing away from him now.

He says it once more for good measure.

“Hello—”

“Stop saying that!” she orders, desperation in her eyes as he deflects one angry blow from her sword and then recreates the wounds she’d given him moments before. Two serpent strikes that she can’t even react to. He drives her farther and farther backwards as those words, words formed and polished over long vengeful years come out again in one final roar.

“Hello!” he says, voice ringing triumphant. “My name is Lucas Sinclair!” Voice quick and sure as his blade. “You killed my father!” Voice eager. “Prepare to die!”

He corners her finally. Swipes her cheek with a gentle stripe to match his scar.

“Offer me money,” he quietly commands.

“Yes,” she hisses out.

He marks the other cheek. Nearly twins now.

“Power too, offer me that.”

“All that I’ve got,” she promises. “More. Please.”

Lucas takes up his stance for one last blow.

“Offer me everything I ask for.”

“Anything you want,” she says, clipped, angry. Strikes out in one final attempt to trick her way past death. He deflects easily. Catches up her arm on a rebounding downstroke and lets her skewer herself on his sword.

The end at last. At last.

“I want my father back, you bitch.”

He shoves the blade deeper. Clean through. Watches the realization of death form in her eyes then kicks her off his blade. She’s dead before she even lands. Her body tumbles, crumpled, to the stones.

Vengeance is his. At last.

Now what?

Chapter Fifteen: To The Pain

Steve walks down the hall in a daze, barely able to follow after the doddering old King and Queen. 

He doesn't know what to do with himself. 

Billy didn't come for him. 

Billy didn't save him.

And if Billy didn't save him there can only be one reason for that—Tommy wasn't lying. 

Billy's dead. 

Billy's dead and Steve has been married to Tommy.

He's actually married to Tommy and the man he loves is dead and now he has to do what he said he'd do.

He has to kill himself. He can't wait. Tommy could come for him at any moment. 

Killing himself now, right now, is his one and only option at this point.

They're almost at his room when he catches up to the King and says, "Goodnight." He almost says, "And I'll see you in the morning," but he doesn't. Because he won't.

The King smiles sweetly at him and says, "Goodnight, dear boy. Sleep well!" before hurrying off down the hall after his wife, not waiting to see if Steve has anything else to say, which is probably for the best as Steve might very well have let slip what he's going to do if asked. 

And so, with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, Steve walks into his room for what he knows will be the last time.

The first thing he sees is the dagger he'd stolen laid out on top of his desk almost like it's been waiting for him. Like this is meant to be. Like this was the way things were always going to play out. 

He sits down slowly, carefully, giving himself plenty of time to back out, to do something else, to do anything else, but he finds himself not wanting to. He can't stand the thought of being married to Tommy. Not for another minute. Not for another second. 

Not a life with no hope of rescue, no way out.

He takes the dagger carefully in one hand and pulls down the neck of his shirt to expose his chest with the other. The cold, cruel steel of it touches his skin and just as he's about to plunge it in and be done with it all, a familiar voice he never thought he'd ever hear again calls out, "I wouldn't be doing that."

Steve turns, excitement building in him so quickly it feels like he might just explode simply by moving around in his chair and internally he sort of feels like that actually happens, like something inside him has exploded and overflowed because there's Billy, lying in his bed like he belongs there.

"Billy!" Steve shouts as he flings himself at his love, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him desperately. He moans Billy's name and calls him darling but Billy makes no move to hold him or to run his hands through his hair or to do much of anything at all, really, and Steve can't stop himself from asking, "Why aren't you holding me?"

In response, Billy grunts, "Careful," like that's supposed to mean something, like Steve is supposed to understand what it's supposed to mean.

He doesn't, so he says, "Really? That's it? That's all you've got?" He sounds annoyed, he knows he does, but he can't help it. This is, quite possibly, the most romantic moment of their entire lives and Billy isn't really saying or doing anything about it. 

But…

It doesn't really matter, Steve decides as he dives in for another round of kisses. Billy's alive and nothing else in the whole world matters. He can feel Billy smile against his lips as they kiss, he can see the happiness sparkling in his eyes but still, all Billy says is, "It is for now." 

Steve shakes his head and settles in, his hands moving up and down Billy's chest, just taking in every glorious inch of him and revelling in each and every breath he feels Billy take. He's so happy, he's so overcome with joy that it takes him a minute to realize that none of this changes quite as much as he wants it to.

"Oh. But… I'm married," he says. "You're too late."

Billy smirks. "Are you sure of that?" 

Steve huffs. "Well, of the two of us I'm the one that was stuck standing there so yes, I'm pretty sure."

"And how do you know?" Billy asks, smirk only growing wider. 

"What do you mean, how do I know? I was there!" 

"Yes, but did you say your vows? Did you say I do?"

Steve pauses. Thinks it over. "No," he says. "I don't suppose I did." 

Billy's tongue flicks out over his lips. "Then that means you aren't married. If you didn't properly finish the ceremony, then you aren't married." He looks somewhere over Steve's shoulder and says, "Isn't that right, Prince Tommy?" 

Steve's stomach does a single, full cartwheel and crashes into his lungs, knocking the breath from him. He doesn't want to look and see Tommy standing behind them. He doesn't want to know.

"It doesn't matter," Tommy says, "We'll just do it again after I kill you." There's the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath and Steve rolls away from Billy to see Tommy standing in the doorway just as he'd feared.

"But a fight to the death seems like the only way I'll ever truly be rid of you, so let's do this," Tommy says to Billy, ignoring Steve completely, like he isn't even here. Normally, Steve would hate that, normally he'd call Tommy out for it but right now it serves his purposes. Right now it gives him time to come up with a plan and to look for a weapon. 

"I have a different idea," Billy says, drawing the words out nice and slow and making Steve wonder if this idea is similar to his whole Iocane powder bit with the kidnappers earlier. He wonders what else Billy could possibly have up his sleeve. "Instead of to the death we'll fight to the pain," Billy says. 

"And that's supposed to mean what exactly?" Tommy says, looking almost… bored. Like this conversation is somehow boring him. Steve's eyes land on the dagger that's still lying on his desk and he wonders if he can get to it without drawing too much attention to himself. He sits up a little on the bed and neither Tommy nor Billy seems to notice.

"Since you are clearly too stupid to know, I'll inform you," Billy says as he pushes himself up against the headboard of the bed. 

"Did you just—" Something in Tommy snaps. "Did you just call me stupid?" 

"I did," Billy says. "But here's what to the pain means. It means that first, I'll cut off your feet, then I'll cut off your hands and after I'm done with that, I'll cut off your nose."

Tommy scowls and draws his sword up along with his chin. "Alright, well—" he starts but Billy cuts him off. 

"I wasn't done!" Billy levels a glare at Tommy, his voice rumbling out from deep within his chest as he says, "After your nose I'll take your eyes." 

Tommy is starting to look frightened, but Steve feels frightened. He knows Billy isn't strong enough to pull off what he's saying he's going to do and he only hopes his own plan, foolish and poorly thought out as it might be, will work.

Still, Tommy acts like he's not scared at all as he says, "Right and then my ears next I'm guessing?" 

Billy sneers and it's dark and it's feral and suddenly Steve knows without a doubt that this is how Billy survived as a Pirate. This look right here. 

"No," Billy says. "That's the point of all of this. I leave you your ears and I leave you your life so that every time someone sees you, every time someone screams in horror at the mere sight of your disgusting, mutilated, freakish body, you'll hear it and you won't stop hearing it. Not until the day you die."

Tommy blanches but still pretends to be unaffected. "I don't believe that. Not for a second. You're bluffing." 

With great effort, Billy pulls himself up so that he's fully standing up on his own and while Tommy is distracted watching this, that's when Steve makes his move. 

He grabs the dagger and has it at Tommy's throat before Tommy is even able to notice. "He might be, but I'm not," Steve growls. "Now put down your weapon." He presses the blade in his hand against Tommy's throat just firmly enough to draw blood and make it sting. 

Tommy's sword clatters to the ground.

Billy takes a step forward, sword in hand and smiles at Steve. "What do you think?" he says. "Should we tie him up?"

"Oh, definitely." 

Chapter Sixteen: The Kiss That Leaves All The Others Behind

“Tie him up tight as you like, Princess.”

Steve huffs a laugh, cinches the ropes till he gets a tight squeal out of Tommy, thinking of the months he’d spent cinched up in restraining palace garb not knowing if it was the cruelly laced clothes or his panic at the thought of life without Billy to blame for his inability to breathe.

A wounded man wanders in and raises eyebrows at the trussed up Prince.

“Going well here too, I see.” He nods to Steve. “Lucas Sinclair, an absolute pleasure, Your Highness.” Immediately he looks to Billy. “Where’s Will?”

“I thought he was with y—oh shit,” Billy says, taking a step too quickly and having second thoughts immediately as his legs turn to jelly beneath him. He hauls himself back to standing with help from the bedpost.

“Okay,” Steve says. “That’s it. What’s wrong with you?”

“He has no strength,” Lucas says and Billy winces. Nods. “He’s only been back from the dead for about forty-five minutes though,” Lucas goes on, “so I’d say he’s doing pretty good, all things considered.”

“Back from the—“ Steve begins, breathless.

“Ha! I knew you were bluffing!” Tommy yells. Swings his attention up to Steve, triumphant. “I knew he was…” He sees the dagger in Steve’s hands, tip inching closer to his neck and he peters off on “bluffing,” clearing his throat uncomfortably afterwards and blessedly shutting his mouth.

Max comes storming into the room already talking, like, “Better not be naked in here Billy I swear to god, okay? I know it’s a romantic moment and all but we’re in the middle of a raid here, and—”

“Max,” Billy nods to her, still hugging the bedpost for support.

She looks relieved. Nods back absently, taking a look around the room. Robin trails in after and raises eyebrows at Prince Tommy’s state before throwing him a sarcastic curtsy. “Your Highness.” And then she throws Steve a smile with a free wink included.

“Your Highness.” Grin playful. “Happily ever after, huh?” she says, motioning with a nod to Billy who’s finally standing under his own power again.

Steve sheathes his dagger and smiles back, swinging that smile over to Billy whose returning smile makes it glow up all the brighter. It's a stretch to hurt his underused cheek muscles. They’ve won. He can’t stop smiling. God, it really might be happily ever after for them. What a thought.

“Yeah,” he says, breath catching on a swell of love for Billy. Joy that he’s here, alive, when Steve had thought him dead. That he’s here and they’ve won. And he can’t stop smiling. And Billy’s eyes capture Steve’s like they always have, the blue of them, the intensity. Steve could stare into them forev—

“Right,” Max says, bringing Steve back to reality, because you can actually hear the eye roll when she speaks. “Well. That’s real sweet and all but can we maybe escape first? Where’s Will?”

“Lucas!”

A faint call drifts in through the open window.

Lucas looks briefly over, but turns his attention and his sword back to Prince Tommy.

“Want me to kill him for you?” he says, eyes darting to Billy. Quick to Steve.

And it’s so tempting. Steve almost says yes. Feels a hand gripping his shoulder and turns to see Billy’s understanding eyes. Billy slowly shaking his head.

“No,” Billy says, reluctantly turning his attention to Lucas. “Let him live a long life shamed by his cowardice. He’s not worth the time spent cleaning his blood from your sword.”

“Lucas!”

The call again, Will down there in the courtyard, trying to yell, but quietly. Like the loudest stage whisper, it cuts through the air.

Lucas shrugs. Knocks the Prince unconscious with the hilt of his sword.

“Hey!” Max calls back, first of them to reach the window. “Up here!”

“Oh, hello pretty lady!” Will calls up, waving a hand holding the reigns of two shining white horses.

Max waves back, blushing. Lucas frowns. Tries to play it off as a grimace afterward, holding his wounded abdomen. Jealous? Him? Please.

“I was looking for you,” Will calls up. “Wandered into the King’s stables and found these five white horses. Figured if we ever found Billy’s Prince there’d be five of us—hello Prince!”

The giant waves up at Steve.

Steve waves back, very confused. Hadn’t this guy kidnapped him before? You just don’t see giants every day. And that other guy too, he’d been there. And what had he meant by back from the dead? 

He sighs. Figures he’ll just keep smiling for now and demand answers later. With violence if need be. Billy so owes him some explanations.

“I call not sharing a horse,” Robin says quickly and quietly through her smile.

“Dibs,” say Billy and Steve simultaneously.

“Shit,” Max hisses, Lucas suspiciously quiet behind her. “Well, Will found the things so I guess that’s me sharing with…” She glares over at Lucas’s state, judgemental eyes scanning him up and down. “What’s your name again? You better not bleed on me, okay? That’s all I’m saying on the matter.”

And with that, she jumps out the window and lands in Will’s arms.

Robin follows, with only the gentlest push from Steve, and Steve jumps down after. Only Lucas and Billy remain above. Billy gestures Lucas to go first and he starts to. Then he leans back against the stone window frame and smiles wistfully.

“You know, I’ve been chasing after revenge so long, now that I’ve caught up, killed Carol, I don’t know what to do. Farm?” Lucas frowns, trying to imagine it. “I’ve never been bored, you know? What will that feel like, I wonder?”

“Well,” Billy says, clapping a hand on Lucas’s shoulder and catching his attention with a sly smile. “Have you ever considered piracy? Got this hunch you’d make a pretty good Dread Pirate Roberts.”

And with another clap on the shoulder, Billy rocks himself awkwardly out the window.

Lucas shrugs and follows after.

They mount up and ride to safety, not stopping till dawn, which they watch from a hilltop overlooking rolling fields for miles. They all pause at the view, Will’s jaw dropped in wonder, Robin wondering how to get off her horse, Max’s arms remaining tight around Lucas despite the blood. And Lucas notices. He smiles.

They’re safe. Free.

Billy’s been watching Steve’s profile or his back for the entire night’s ride, and now all he wants is a glimpse of Steve’s face in this perfect morning light. Wants to see the change freedom brings there.

As if hearing Billy’s silent wish, Steve turns back to him. Smiles. Holds a hand out, inviting. And Billy accepts that invitation; rides his horse up close beside. Whispers to it to stay and be steady.

“Still talking to horses, I see,” Steve says, his smile growing as soft as his lips. And Billy wants to kiss him. Wants to feel that softness again.

“Horses do what I say,” he says instead, pinning up a little grin, eyes still studying those lips.

Steve’s smile widens.

“And I don’t?” he says. Knowing the answer.

Billy chuckles.

“Not ever.”

“But you do what I say,” Steve says, soft, and that smile loses even more definition as his eyes focus in on Billy’s mouth. Catch up with where Billy’s been all along. Same page. Billy doesn’t see those eyes shift. Doesn’t need to. Can feel the soft touch of that new concentration brushing his lips.

“Always,” Billy whispers. Leans closer. Watches Steve do the same, moving to match as true as a reflection.

They’re meant to be this close. Closer.

“Then do what I say now,” Steve whispers back. “Kiss me.”

And Billy licks his lip in anticipation. Can’t refuse an order whispered pretty like that, now can he? Not from Steve.

“No problem, Princess.”

Their lips touch. Are meant to be touching. Together.

They kiss, the new day dawning before them, bright with possibility. They don’t really give a shit. Ignore the dawn and the trill of birdsong. Ignore everything. Exist on a plane of focus only large enough to encompass the press of their lips where they join. As one.

Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that have been rated the most passionate, the most pure. This kiss leaves them all behind.

The end.

[christarango]

I Interviewed the Guy Who Went Into a Museum & "Vandalized" a Picasso.

    In 2012, a man in a suit entered the Menil Collection in Houston, Texas.  That man was Uriel Landeros, a self proclaimed artist and a student at the University of Houston.   A cell phone video captured his visit to the prestigious musuem and was posted on YouTube the same day. The video quickly went viral and set the "Art World" on fire.  That's because Mr. Landeros brazenly walked up to Pablo Picasso's 1929 painting, "Woman in a Red Armchair" and spray painted directly onto the priceless piece of art.  In just a few seconds, the Picasso was altered, hanging there with a mysterious image of a bull and the word "Conquista" spray painted across the surface.  "Conquista" is a Spanish word that means "conquest" or "to conquer".  But why?  What did it mean?  The incident pissed off plenty of people worldwide and started heated debates about the true value of "art".  I had the opportunity to catch up with the artist..  vandal.. visionary.. terrorist.  or whatever it is you choose to call him.  

CT:  Who are you, where are you from?

UL:  I am CONQUISTA, the kid who conquered Picasso, but the name my father gave me is Uriel Landeros.  I was born in South Texas in the city of Edinburg, located in the Rio Grande Valley, but I consider Houston my second home because I went to art school there.  I am a Native/Mexican American.

CT:  As an artist, can you describe the work that you create?

UL:  The Majority of my work comes from my dreams and the subconscious, that other spiritual realm that most people don’t pay attention to.  I try to write down all of my dreams and create images from them. I also use all forms of meditation to influence my work, from fasting, sun gazing, prayer and psychedelic rituals. This is the spiritual side of my work but I also spend a lot of time watching news and current events, not only on TV & newspapers but also the Internet. I compare articles from different countries, independent and mainstream newspapers and bring about a conclusion of closer truth, and then I create political art from this. I try to create a voice that is a little rawer with truth trough my images; I stopped making art years ago though all I make now is art history. But both my spiritual and political work is intertwined. The world is one, everything is connected.

CT:  How did the concept to "destroy" a Picasso piece come about? Was it carefully planned or was it spontaneous?

UL:  The year 2012 was very chaotic for America and for the world, Like I said my work is influenced from all this mayhem, I meditated for so long trying to come up with an image of power and symbology. The image of the Conquista in particular came directly from a lucid dream. Once I obtained the image of the bullfighter slaying the golden bull with the all Seeing Eye, I began to plan the heist. It took about 2 months to completely plan everything; I drew blueprints, counted guards, created exit strategies, etc. It was like a hacker stealing classified information. My plan was never to destroy the Picasso painting, if I wanted to destroy it I would have slashed it with a knife or poured acid on it. The whole point was to leave a message to create a voice and spark another fire against this NEW WORLD ORDER. Believe me I know about paint, I am a professional; I knew that the painting would be easily restored.

CT:  Obviously you pissed off a lot of people. At the same time you suddenly had lots of attention on you & your work. Was that the idea from the beginning or did it accidentally happen that way?

UL:  Not everyone was pissed off, some people were very happy with what I did, many strangers clapped @ my actions & and continue to do so. Most of the people who were hating on me where so called “artists” who have never been able to break the veil of success. I did not know the future, I did not know that galleries would take interest in my art, especially not the world renown museum “The Palace of Fine Arts, MACG” in Mexico city.  When those things began to happen, I was skeptical because I thought that the museum and galleries were working with the F.B.I. and U.S. Marshalls.  But after some research I found out those opportunities were legit, so I welcomed them.  This helped me spread the message further. CT:  What's the deal with your solo art show in Houston following the incident? Apparently you were on a live video feed from Mexico. Can you tell me about that? Also, I heard some of your own artwork was destroyed.

UL:  James Art Gallery gave me a solo show in Houston; James Perez has been a friend of mine for several years. Ironically the title of the show was “ Houston, we have a problem”.  We promoted the event saying that I was going to show up at the event, I had been a fugitive for several months & already there was a $15,000 reward for me, so I knew that the cops were going to show up, but we tricked those pigs.  As you know I was there but through live video feed “Skype”.  I was logged in from an ice cream shop in Monterrey, Mexico.  I gave several interviews and said hello to all the people that attended the show.  My work was not destroyed, James and me invited all the local graffiti writers we could find and let them tag whatever they wanted on several of my paintings. The whole point of this was to show the art community that art is not about paintings but rather the message. Fuck the paintings, this is what Picasso would say “Art is a lie that enables us to see truth” For example The Guernica was not about making a pretty painting but rather transmitting the message of the horrors of genocide and war. Art is a weapon, painting and drawing is secondary to the true purpose of the art tool.  So I don’t care if people tag or graffiti my work, what matters is the message I convey. 

CT:  I definitely feel like you have a message that you're trying to convey. What are you all about, what's all this about?

UL:  First of all fuck the NEW WORLD ORDER, once more; I did this for the people who are tired of being treated like slaves. The Conquista was an artistic metaphor with much symbology.  A lot of the art community successfully digested the message although the reactions were diverse. I stenciled a bullfighter killing a bull with the word Conquista below it with spray paint in color gold on a 1929 Picasso painting. It was a lot of work to pull the heist but all the details are another story.  This graffiti was a form of protest/activism against the government and the corrupt church, who continue to abuse their power of imperial rape. A way to tell the people conquer your fear and stand up for injustice. There was much civil unrest all around the globe in the year 2012, the year of the conquista.  Remember the Occupy movement?  The anonymous organization, the immigrant protests in Arizona, and Wikileaks?  And even after I turned myself in to the authorities, it continued with Edward Snowden and the unraveling of the N.S.A. surveillance, abusing their power to infringe in our privacy. The word Conquista is my artist name, it is also the Spanish word for conquer, in reference to the conquistadores and the Spanish inquisition, the biggest unrecognized genocide in the world, because of gold and greed, “Capitalism in its cradle”. Those who converted the natives into Christianity through murder and rape, those same characters who are now looked upon like heroes such as Christopher Columbus. The word Conquista is also in reference to so many innocent kids who got raped by priest who went unpunished because pope Benedict XVI protected them by sending them to the Vatican and granting them political asylum. This was so controversial that the pope had to resign. Conquista is also in reference to the immigration reform and the dream act that president Obama promised and never fulfilled. My people my culture and my family is bullied around society because of the color of our skin because of racism and discrimination. Just look at the laws in Arizona, its as if its still the 1960s in that state. Discriminating against immigrants when in fact the only non-immigrants are the natives/Hispanics, my people. Nobody ever asked any conquistador for a passport or green card, how was this fucking hypocrisy born?  What the fuck is going on? All this seems like a big joke, nobody in power cares to make a positive difference; they are worried about policing the world and selling guns. This is the history that I have begun to convert into my story. The majority of native culture/archeology is now displayed in museums throughout Europe as trophies of genocide, and thus disables the Hispanic community to truly understand their history & culture, because that art is not in its native land. I cannot bring back all the art that was stolen by the conquistadors but I can create new history. New art, so that is what I did for my people. The golden bull represents the stock market, wall street, gold, money being idolized, The federal reserve, the biggest deceiving ponzi scheme that enslaves us all, and the president & government working for wall street banksters instead of the people. The golden bull also represents Picasso “ the Art Beast”, he who understood that art is not a painting or a drawing but rather a political tool to educate and influence the form of thinking of the masses. I am the bullfighter inspired by Picasso to use the art tool, doing the daring move to kill the golden beast. Conquering Picasso in his own game. Fighting against this whole corrupt system. The bullfighting culture and Picasso are both originally from Spain and this is the irony of a Native Mexican American conquering a Spaniard.

CT:  Whoa, thats heavy.  You were just released from jail for what you did, that's fucking crazy.  How long were you locked up?

UL:  I was in prison for 21 months, almost 2 years.

CT:  What were you thinking about while in prison? Any new concepts or artwork created during that time?

UL:  I was a prisoner before I went to prison, but it was in that dark cold place, in that cage, when I was hungry, when I meditated, that I understood what freedom was.  If your mind is free they can never imprison you. The power of the third eye is limitless, the universe is born from it. I created over 100 paintings and thousands of drawings. I will soon publish all these works online and I will exhibit them in a prison series for my next Art show. My force of creation has only gotten stronger.

CT:  What's next for you?

UL:  I am organizing my next event.  I will soon publish the date and details.  I am also in the process of publishing a book about the entire story, all the things I could not say because of lawful repercussions, how I pulled the heist (it was some oceans 11 shit) and also my life as a fugitive.

CT:  How can we follow you and see how this evolves?

UL:  I’m always accessible through Facebook that is the social media of my choice, but I also have twitter, instagram, pinterest, photobucket, vine, we heart it and email of course. Or just watch the news or Google me.

CT:  Best of luck to you!  Anything else you want to add?

UL:  Yea I just want to give a shout out to everyone out there trying to provoke and stimulate a positive change in the world, all those free hugs people, all the honest police and every activist who has put their life in danger for the benefit of the community, especially Edward Snowden, thank you.

[galadrieljones]

That he may hold me by the hand - Chapter 12

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 12: Awake, dear heart.

“If you’re concerned about leaving them behind, then ask them to come with us,” said Albert. It was the next morning. They were getting dressed, getting ready to head down to the saloon to meet John and Mary Beth for breakfast. Apparently Josiah was indisposed with a hangover and could not be bothered.

Arthur was tucking in his shirt. They had been talking about the Marstons. He paused a moment to regard Albert in his level of seriousness. It seemed quite high. The morning was sunny. The room was bright. “Bring them to California?”

“Yes,” said Albert. “I can—I can pay their way. I’m more than happy to do that.”

Arthur fixed his suspenders, exhaled with some gravity at the thought. “John’s gonna have a hard time taking your money, Al. That’s a pride thing. It’s nice of you though.”

“Of course. But the offer is on the table, all right? Will he take your money?”

“Maybe,” said Arthur. “I think he’s got some of his own, but with a woman and a boy, taking chances without enough—it ain’t smart. John ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s got good instincts. I wonder how much he’s got.”

“You should talk to him,” said Albert. “Maybe he’ll let go of his pride. Or, put it on hold.”

“You don’t really know John.”

“No, I don’t,” said Albert. “But I’ve met him and talked to him enough times to know that he’s generally agreeable. And he’s not anywhere near as difficult as you are, Arthur, when it comes to prying back the lid.”

Arthur gave him a look. “Prying back the lid?”

Albert held his eyes. “I just mean that he's open. More so than you, or I. He's just somewhat...young."

"He's only five years younger than you."

"Five years is enough, and we're very different."

“I get it.”

“Talk to him. See what he’s willing to do.”

Arthur knotted his hair back and stood there. He looked down at his gun belt, where it lie in a pile on the floor. He was absorbing Albert’s observation, which he knew was most certainly correct. “Yeah, okay,” he said, scrubbing at the scruff on his cheeks. “I’ll talk to him. Today.”

“Splendid,” said Albert. He drew quiet then, a little wreath of quiet, hanging in the air.

Arthur looked up from where he was buttoning his collar. “What’s the matter?”

Albert was standing still, fully dressed, looking sharp in a pale blue collared shirt with a navy vest. He was staring at the floor between them. He said nothing.

“You worried?” said Arthur, fishing for his eyes. He found them, eventually. “You’re worried.”

“Somewhat.”

“We’re just bringing in a bounty, Al. It’s legal work.”

“I know,” said Albert. “I don’t really care about the legal part. Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” said Arthur. He leaned in and kissed him once. “Weren’t no other outlaw so careful as me.”

A couple of weeks before, John had got a lead on a bounty to collect in the southern bayou region of Lemoyne. The guy was a moonshiner who had killed his two partners in pursuit of their share in the earnings, and was most likely on his way to killing more. The new Sheriff in Rhodes had a strict NO SHINE policy and was kind of a stern, mean, and old motherfucker. He chewed on pieces of bark and had been sober since 1883. He didn’t care for outlaws, but he did not disdain them either. He seemed to understand that, inevitably, in the ecosystem of the law, a strategic utilization of organized lawlessness had its direct advantages. He sure as shit didn’t want to hunt down shiners in the bayou himself. Was a lot easier, and faster, to hire a couple young guns with a distinct financial thirst and an understanding of how to discretely circumvent the polite order of things. Plus, his deputies were shit.

John, upon his acquisition of the task, had asked Arthur to assist him. In the meantime, Albert had offered to show Abigail and Jack around St. Denis. They had never been to the city before, and though Mary Beth had initially signed on to do it, she had been called upon unexpectedly by Tilly to aid in a housekeeping scam, and she could not turn down the money.

That day, after Arthur and John left for Rhodes, where originated their lead, Albert, Abigail, and Jack departed the saloon and took a walk around the city. Abigail very much liked St. Denis. The sights and sounds and all of the people filled her with energy. She also enjoyed spending time with Albert. He was a skilled gentleman, a very kind man. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, talked to Jack with a great deal of enthusiasm, and he was soft-spoken, which was calming. Abigail was used to a kind of brute chivalry in men but not to Albert’s sense of refinement. It was, in some ways, intoxicating. He was also very stoic, she thought. He was loquacious, but it felt like kind of a show, to distract from how well he was able to control his inner-self. In this way, he was a lot like Arthur.

The weather was pretty that day, and not too humid. The sun was exquisitely bright, so Albert purchased for Abigail a parasol at the shop of a Russian dressmaker near Chinatown. Abigail was overwhelmed by the gesture. He told her it was no trouble. She was so enchanted by the accessory, however, she felt herself the envy of every other woman on the promenade. She studied the seams and construction of the piece so that she might one day be able to make her own. It didn’t seem too difficult if she could get ahold of the right materials.

“My mother was a seamstress for many years,” said Albert, a surprise reveal, while they walked along the shore of the lake.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he said, smiling. He held his hands in his pockets as Abigail twirled the parasol. Jack had a balloon. He was running up and down the sand with it, chasing pigeons. “Even after she married my father, she still made her own dresses, always has.”

“It’s a good skill,” said Abigail.

“Indeed, it is,” he said.

They had a picnic lunch on a large checkered blanket, which they laid beneath the shade of a magnolia tree. There were not many people about, but more were starting to emerge as the day wore on. Jack had been feeding the ducks, was now asleep in the grass with his hand still full of bread crumbs. Albert was lying on his side, eating grapes, propped up on one elbow. Abigail was leaning back on her hands, with her legs crossed, barefoot, surveying the beauty of the light and how it warmed the green grass.

Albert refilled her glass. They were drinking a kind of elegant sherry, which he had brought from his apartment.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” said Abigail. “Thank you, for doing this. And it’s just been so nice to meet you, spend time with you. I hope I ain’t being too forward.”

“Not at all,” said Albert, smiling. “I have been wanting to meet you, and Jack. Arthur talks about the two of you quite often.”

“He does?”

“Yes,” said Albert. “You seem to play a big role in his daily consciousness.”

She smiled to herself and drank some of her sherry. She glanced to Jack, who was very peaceful. She had not enjoyed a day so much in some time. “Mr. Mason,” she said, after a little while.

“Yes.”

“Can I…tell you something? I really feel I must.”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything.”

She watched him as he watched the lake. She took a deep breath. She was nervous. He was so like Arthur. Impenetrable. It became more and more clear, the more time they spent, making more and more sense. Of course, it manifested differently in Albert. Where Arthur was morose and pensive, Albert was polished and mannered. It seemed a product of his societal upbringing, more than anything. “I just wanted to say that—well. Let me start from the beginning.”

Albert was a good listener. “Okay.”

She straightened up, placed her hands in her lap. The parasol was by her side, folded up, so pretty, like a bird. “I have known Arthur for about five years,” she said, looking down at her hands. “It ain’t that long, in the grand scheme of things. But you get to know people fast when you live with them. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Anyway, I just—I don’t know how to say it.” She looked at him, searched his eyes. They were very dark, like Dutch’s eyes, but they were so much softer around the edges. Almost sleepy. She could understand what Arthur saw in him. “There have been a lot of women, come through,” she said. “A man like Arthur—well, you get it. Tall, good-looking, rough and tough. Kind of mysterious. He’s a hundred licks smarter than any of these other reprobates, too, and that makes him seem unattainable. Women die over that sort of thing. Anyway, Arthur weren’t never a cad, but women have never been difficult for him. He’s had many chances over the years.”

“Yes,” said Albert, following her eyes. “He’s told me.”    

“I’m sure he has,” she said, blushing. “I ain’t meaning to overstep. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not overstepping,” said Albert. “Go on.”

“Okay,” she said. “It’s just that, in the past year or so? Arthur kind of shut down. He’s such a good man, but I was certain he’d be alone forever, that he’d given up on love. You know, when Jack was first born, John weren’t ready. He completely freaked out, disappeared on me. He didn’t come back for near on a year. In the time he was gone, Arthur was so generous. He spent time with me, helped with the baby, provided. He’s very good at that, providing. I always hoped he would find somebody who could provide for him in return. Somebody as generous as he is. Somebody that would love him without trying to change him. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” said Albert, softly.

She smiled. “Anyway, when John told me about you, I’ll admit that I was surprised. It was just so unexpected. But the way he described you, he made it sound like Arthur was finally happy, cared for. And what I wanted to say was, I can see now, why that is. I’m sorry if I sound like a moron. But thank you for letting me talk.” She exhaled, took a big gulp of her sherry, and shrugged.

Albert was warmed. Abigail was very pretty, and she was easy to be around. She reminded him of Mary Beth, just a little bit more practical, blunt. She had seen more. He could tell. He said, “You’re certainly not a moron. An thank you.”

Abigail looked up at the tree top overhead. She was counting birds, bird nests. “This city is so big,” she said after a little while. “I can’t believe it.”

“Where were you born?” said Albert.

“Denver City,” she said. “It booms some, but it ain’t like this. What about you?”

“Philadelphia.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

Albert shrugged. “I’m not sure.” He looked away then, as if something had changed.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

He sighed. He picked up his glass, swirled the sherry, but he didn’t drink it. “Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re fretting,” she said. “About Arthur. Ain’t you? I can see it. I could see it all day. You hide it well, but I know what I’m looking for.”

He sipped then, looked at her from over the rim of his glass. After he swallowed he peered down into the sherry, as if he had been caught, and said, “I am, somewhat.”

This sort of warmed her heart. “I get it,” she said. “You know I thought I would get used to it, over time, the worrying. But it never goes away. I’ve just learned to deal with it a little better.”

“How do you deal with it?” he said. “I’m curious.”

“Well,” she said. “I just consider the facts.”

“Which are?”

She kind of squared up with him then. She was an outgoing woman. She didn’t really hold things back or sugar coat. “The facts are, Arthur Morgan is a fast fucking gun, Mr. Mason.” She smiled to herself in reverie, as if recalling happy memories from the past. “Can’t nobody get the drop on him. He’s one of the foremost gunslingers in the west. Universally acknowledged in our circles. Formidable in every goddamn sense of the word. And he’s taught John everything he knows. Together, they can’t be stopped.”

Albert had a crease, between his eyebrows. It only showed up when he was nonplussed.

“By the looks of you I’m guessing you didn’t realize who you had fallen for,” said Abigail. She ate a grape.

“No, no,” said Albert. “I’m quite clear on who Arthur is. I just—I’ve never heard it described in quite those terms before.”

“I hope I ain’t scaring you. Arthur is really a big old pussy cat. He ain’t nothing to fear unless you got it coming.”

Albert blushed. He removed his hat to study the brim. “It’s quite all right. I just—I was going to say that I think I actually saw that part of him once, in action. I just didn’t know what I was seeing at the time.”

“Seriously?” said Abigail. “When?”

“It was a while ago, before we…well, when we were just friends. In Big Valley. We were camped in a meadow, near the creek. A couple of men ambushed us early in the morning, and I was held at gunpoint, and Arthur was as well. But Arthur—he was very calm. It’s almost like, like he was playing with them. When the moment of opportuity presented itself, he disarmed his attacker, shot him dead, point blank. The other man released me and ran off in fear. It was so fast—at the time I was terrified and just relieved for it to be over. But looking back, it was impressive.”

“Yeah. That sounds like Arthur,” said Abigail, plucking a handful of grass from the earth. She had been scooping it all up into a pile when suddenly, she looked at Albert full of remorse. It was as if she had made a huge mistake. “Shit,” she said, squashing the grass pile. “I hope I haven’t said too much. He’s gonna kill me. You truly love him, Mr. Mason. Don’t you? No matter what?”

Albert found this amusing. He had flattened out onto his back, so that he could look at the sky, the sunlight poking through the cracks in the leaves on the tree. He folded his hands on his chest. “More than words,” he said, on no uncertain terms.

“What would it take,” said Arthur. “To get you to leave with me, and Albert. You and Abbie, and the boy.”

They were in Rhodes that night, drinking at the Parlour House, seated in a booth toward the front of the saloon. They were planning to spend the night after interrogating a couple guys in town, at a back alley card game hosted by the local fence. They would head out hunting in the morning.

“Leave with you?” said John. He straightened up boyishly, took off his riding gloves, set them in a pile on the table. “You mean, come to California?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “That’s what I mean. Come to California. What would it take?”

“Not much convincing,” said John. “I’ve been wanting to get the hell out of here since Blackwater. But it would take money, I guess. More of it.”

“How much you got.”

“I got about a thousand saved.” He was thinking on it, seriously. “From jobs and such. It ain’t enough though, for the three of us to make a fresh start. You know that.”

“The land is cheaper out there than it is out here,” said Arthur. “Maybe you and me, we could go in on something.”

“Like what.”

“We can talk about it,” said Arthur. “There’s plenty to do. One decision at a time.”

“How much you got?” said John. “Just you.”

Arthur smiled. “I got a lot more than a thousand dollars. I’m gonna hack off a small amount of my savings and leave it to Mary Beth, and Mr. Mason, well—he’s offered. He’ll pay anything, but that ain’t the point. You stick with me, you don’t need to worry about money, Marston. If you want, you can pay me back as we go, but that ain’t my concern.”

“Mr. Mason,” said John, shaking his head and looking down at his bare hands. “Jesus Christ. I wonder what that’s like.”

“What what’s like?”

“That kind of money. What’s it look like, Arthur? Has he talked to you about it at all?”          

Arthur blinked. They each had a glass of bourbon. There was a man on the piano, playing a ballad, and many loud women laughing nearby. “Some,” he said, drinking. “Guys like Albert, they don’t really talk about money, but he’s got property, a couple of trusts. I mean, before him, I weren’t even used to sleeping indoors. It’s been kind of a whirlwind.”

John closed his eyes, set his head back against the cushion. “You gonna let him keep taking care of you with it?” said John. “You should. Life’s a bitch, Arthur. Live while you can.”

Arthur chuckled at this. He said, “It ain’t my land in Carmel-by-the-Sea. And I sure as shit ain’t staying here.” He looked at John, in earnest now. He squared up with him and said, “You come with us, with me, that safety net is yours as well as mine. I want you to know that. We lucked out. Somehow, I don’t know. I lucked out, and I’m letting you in on that, free and clear, if it’s what you want.”

John took a deep breath. He was looking down into his cup, and they were listening to the piano. The room smelled like warm beer and cigars. John was nodding quickly to himself, as if making complex calculations in his mind.

“What’ll it be, Marston.”

“Okay,” he said, finally, affirmative. “What the hell.”

Arthur slammed his hand down on the table, a product of anticipation. “Very good,” he said. He held out his hand, John shook it. “It’s the right choice, John. I promise you.”

“I know,” said John. The handshake resolved and they both returned to their whiskey. John was turning the cup in his fingers.

“Not gonna lie. I thought you might be more stubborn.”

“I thought I’d have more pride about it, too,” John said, sipping, “but I don’t know. Lately, I don’t give a shit about pride. I just wanna do right by Abbie. I’ve hurt her too much. And she would want this. She’s gonna be real pleased when she hears.”

“I want you to know that this is unconditional,” said Arthur. “I ain’t wanting for you to pay me back, unless you can. I don’t care about that. It ain’t about me. It’s about you, and your family. I ain’t Dutch. You got that?”

John was staring at him, nodding his head. It seemed like he might start asking more questions—about Dutch, about Hosea, but for the time being, he skipped it. “I got it,” he said. “Thank you, Arthur.”        

“You’re goddam welcome.” He threw back his whiskey in a single gulp, signaled to the barkeep for another. The barkeep gave him a mean look, shook his head, and went back to shining his glass.

“Jesus,” said Arthur.

“They really hate us here.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Hey, Arthur,” said John.

“Yeah.” He was reaching in his pocket for a couple dollars to wave in the air.

“I just—I wanted to say something else, if that’s okay.”

“Shoot.”

“It ain’t about the money, or the going with you to California. I’m all in on that.”

“What’s it about?

“I just wanted to say that…I think you’re a changed man,” said John. It was like falling off a cliff. It came fast and unexpected. “You seem changed.”

Arthur gave him a look. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” said John, like he was feeling stupid. He usually said what he felt. He just wasn’t so good at words, and with Arthur, this tended to embarrass him. “I mean, you’ve always been there for me, even if you hated every minute of it. I get it. I been kind of a piece of shit these past few years.”

“It’s okay. I been there, too.”

“But you—” John continued, “you just seem real sure of yourself these days. That’s all. In a good way. And I don’t mean on the job. You’ve always been sure of yourself on the job—to an annoying degree. I just mean, like you know who you are, and you’re okay with it. Things ain’t always been like that for you. It’s not easy. You know?”

Arthur looked down into the empty glass. He felt warm, though he hid it well. He said, “Yeah, well. I’ve had a lot of positive reinforcement these past few months. Turns out it works wonders.”

“Turns out,” said John. “Anyway, I’m gonna go give this bartender a piece of my goddamn mind.”

“No violence,” said Arthur. “We got business in town.”

“Yeah, yeah.” John went over to the bar. Arthur watched closely as John cussed out the barkeep, plain and simple, and then in crass, but diplomatic fashion, placed five dollars on the counter. Then the barkeep, wide-eyed and furious, gave him a whole bottle of bourbon and told him to get the fuck out and to never come back. “Never come back!” he said. John laughed at him, returned with the bottle, looking like a dog that had just dug a bone. Arthur was none too disappointed, and they left. They camped outside the town on a muddy creek and fished their dinner, like old times. After the meal, they got piss drunk and high off a bunch of hash cigarettes, made plans they would not remember by morning, and passed out when the moon was still high. The next day, they road into the bayou, brought in the bounty, alive, with very little trouble, made a $500 return, handed to them by the surly Sheriff in question.

“You boys come back in the future,” said the Sheriff, chomping on a cigar. “It has been a real pleasure.”

“Maybe,” said John, counting the bills. “Maybe not.”

They split the take down the middle.

“Awake, dear heart,” said Abigail. “Awake.”

Back in Albert’s room, above the saloon, while Jack slept on the couch, wrecked from a long day in the sun, they were reading Shakespeare by the light of the lanterns—The Tempest. Abigail read slowly, but with encouragement, she was better than she thought she was.

“Keep going,” said Albert. “You’re doing very well.”

“Thou hast slept well,” she continued, pleased. She liked the play. It was strange. She didn’t know old writing like that could have so much magic. Then, she paused for a moment, set the book down in her lap. She seemed to sense the future. She looked at Albert and said, “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” he said.

She glanced toward the door, smiled once. It was spurs, in the hall.

[mustardprecum]

27 for harringrove please 🥺 (it’dbe appreciated if steve’s the one that’s preggers thank you!)

[27 “I’m pregnant.”]

Steve had decided to try and get pregnant. The notion came to him shortly after El’s birthday, when Steve realized that all his kids were over twenty-one. The abrupt ache of an empty nest got the ball rolling, and after more researching and reading than he’d done during any one year of school, he made his decision.

Most of the people in his life were well meaning when he told them, but also rudely disbelieving. After all, Steve was a single omega in his mid-twenties, mostly living off a trust fund from his parents and a hefty inheritance from his great aunt. Money he was very grateful for, considering he’d never be able to afford owning a house in the new development near downtown with his sporadic part time jobs. 

(Good ol’ Aunt Phyllis would have been stoked to find out that he choosing to be a single parent.) 

The issue with the public perception of his personality was the fact that it was largely based off the person he was in his sophomore and junior year of high school. Steve had grown and changed from the flakey teenager. One could almost say he was literally an adult. 

At least Dustin supported him. Mostly. 

“Steve, you can’t be serious.” 

Dustin sat at the island in Steve’s kitchen, eating a bowl of cut up strawberries that Steve had put out for him. Old habits die hard, and Steve had been one of the few people who could get a young Dustin to eat his fruits and vegetables. “I mean of all the people in Hawkins, in the world, why him?” 

Earl grey tea was kind of gross, but Steve was trying to stop drinking coffee for his caffeine fix. He took his time stirring in a packet of stevia while he considered his answer. 

Billy Hargrove had come along in Steve’s senior year of high school and had promptly become a massive pain in the ass. Although, one thing that set him apart from all the other alpha meatheads was the fact that his taunts and jabs were purely personal for Steve, and never once did he resort to misogyny. 

God, the bar had been so low at that time. 

Over the past ten years, Billy had mellowed out slightly but noticeably. He worked at the mechanic Steve frequented for oil changes and tune ups, and lived in the periphery of Steve’s life because of his association with Max. And he still seized every opportunity to try and rile Steve up by getting in his personal space and commenting on his ‘ugly’ shirts. 

(Steve didn’t know when Billy developed a hatred of polo shirts, but it was apparently long lasting.)  

In the grand scheme of things though, none of it mattered more than one thing: Billy’s genes. He was a dick of the massive variety but goddamn if he hadn’t spent the past ten years being the most gorgeous person Steve had ever seen in his entire life. 

He smoked like a chimney and often had a beer in hand, but his skin was clear, his hair was soft, and his abs were extremely enviable. 

“I don’t want to go through a clinic,” Steve started. He quickly held up his hand before Dustin could start ranting. “I’m not going to ask someone I babysat to donate. I’m not really close with any other alphas in town, and an alpha is my best bet.” 

Dustin knew all of that. As a male omega, Steve would have fertility issues with a beta for scientific reasons he didn’t actually understand. Mike and Lucas had both been presented as options in Dustin’s argument, but the idea was too wrong. 

“Billy is…close enough, but far enough. You know?” Steve set his mug down; he honestly didn’t want to drink his tea. “If he says yes, working on inception will be pretty easy. If he says no, it’s not really a big deal. We’re not friends, so it won’t have to be awkward.” 

Privately, Steve assured himself that it had nothing to do with the crush he used to have on Billy. Therefore, it wasn’t inappropriate to ask. 

“But he’s such a tool,” Dustin said around a mouthful of strawberries. “Do you think he won’t be a tool about it?” 

“God. I know he’s going to be a tool about it. But,” Steve shrugged. “Just think of how cute my baby would be.” 

Dustin raised an eyebrow. 

“I would have a really cute baby, Dustin. And you would have a really cute little baby pseudo-sibling.” 

Poor Dustin, the only child, twenty-three and still wanting that younger sibling. He perked up, still looking skeptical but finally chewing quietly. 

“Plus, it’s all going to be in a contract. No parental or financial obligation,” Steve added to sweeten the deal. “I’ll get a positive test, pay him, and he’ll fuck off to wherever he spends his time.” 

Dustin hummed, drumming his fingers on the table. “I’m still godfather?” 

“Obviously.” 

“Okay,” Dustin bounced, smiling broadly. He was excited for a baby, and when he smiled, he looked like a cheetah cub. “Well, Max said she’d text you his number so…good luck?” 

“Thanks.” 

-

Sending the text was nerve-wracking, even though all he sent was ‘can we get lunch?’ Steve had put his phone face down and tried to distract himself with scrolling through reddit and Tumblr, but waiting for a response was even worse than sending the message. 

He’d followed up with several messages explaining who he was, once it occurred to him that Billy probably had no idea who was texting him. Eventually, Billy finally responded telling Steve to stop blowing up his fucking phone. 

Despite Steve’s fears of Billy’s attitude after that response, he was invited to a Starbucks in between their homes. Steve distantly recalled Max mentioning that she was envious of the studio apartment that Billy was renting over a storefront. How privileged was he that he couldn’t imagine having the same room functioning as the bedroom/living room/public space? 

Billy was already there when Steve arrived. He was sipping a green frappucino and staring down at his phone. 

The last time Steve had seen Billy even in passing was the month before during the Hopper family’s Fourth of July party. He was even more gorgeous than Steve remembered even looking a little grimey like he’d come straight from work. 

“Hey,” he approached the table, trying to smile when Billy’s blue eyes snapped up. “Thanks for meeting me. Mind if I grab a drink real quick?” 

“Depends, pretty boy,” Billy leaned back, smiling in that special way that gave Steve a major sexuality crisis in high school. “Why did you ask me out?” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steve whipped his head around as if anyone else cared about the two of them meeting up. No one was looking. He sat down heavily and sighed. “I’m…I have a favor to ask. But I kind of wanted to ease into asking.” 

“Interesting,” Billy drawled. “What could ‘King Steve’ possibly want from little ol’ me.” 

“I’m almost thirty, Billy. Please don’t call me that.” Steve looked down at his hands, maybe this was a bad idea. There was no way Billy would agree to being a donor. 

“Look Harrington, I’m leaving in five minutes so spit it out.” 

“Oh come on,” Steve whined, bouncing his leg. “It’s not the sort of thing you just spit out!” 

Billy slurped loudly at his drink. “You want me to murder someone?” 

“Obviously not. Kind of…the opposite?” Steve winced when his voice went squeaky toward the end. He cleared his throat, deciding to continue because Billy had wrinkled his nose. “Okay, so, I used to babysit a lot and I know how to take care of kids. I miss taking care of kids. And, well, I have money and time, right?” 

“Right,” Billy said blankly. 

“Right,” Steve nodded and took a deep steadying breath. “So I’ve decided that I want to start a family. With a baby. And me. Single.” 

Bringing up starting a family generally brought up the question of Steve finding someone to settle down with. The issue was that he didn’t want a partner or a romantic relationship; he didn’t feel that having a child should presuppose finding a mate.

“But I need a sperm donor and, uh, well,” Steve’s nerves were completely frayed at that point. Which was probably why he ended doing the saddest jazz hands. 

The blank look was gone and Billy’s eyes were practically sparkling, which Steve translated as trouble. He bit his lip, knee still bouncing noisily under the table. 

“A donor,” Billy practically purred. “You want me to get you pregnant.” 

When he phrased it like that, Steve couldn’t help but blush. He cleared his throat, wishing he’d just gotten a drink before bothering to speak to Billy so that he could sip it and buy some time. “Basically. You don’t have to sleep with me, the cup method works fine.” 

“And other than not-sleeping with you,” Billy sounded a little snotty. “What’s in it for me?” 

Only a little mocking was infinitely better than outright refusal. And he was getting to the part Steve was actually comfortable with. “$600 for each attempt,” he said. It was a lowball, but considering it was under the table, the supplemental income wasn’t half bad. “I’m tracking my cycle, so we’d only need to try about two days each month.” 

“And after?” 

Steve paused. “After inception I’ll give you an extra thousand.” 

“No, I mean once you’re pregnant, how does it work?” The serious look on Billy’s face was unnerving. Steve was briefly worried that he was about to say he wanted to stay in the picture. “You know how to take care of kids that don’t go home at the end of the day?” 

“Does anyone?” 

Billy’s face hardened. “You don’t just have a kid on a whim, Harrington,” he said lowly. “Can you actually take care of one for the rest of your life?” 

Living in a town like Hawkins and having a direct relationship with Max meant Steve was familiar with the Hargrove family history. How Billy’s mother abandoned him, how his father abused him, how long he’d lived in that toxic place before finally escaping and taking Max with him when it seemed Neil was turning on her as well. 

Despite how horrible that was, Steve couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest. 

“I don’t yell, I don’t believe in corporal punishment, and I’m on book four of twenty on my parenting book reading list.” He didn’t add that they were all audiobooks because he had such a hard time reading. “I wouldn’t try to have a baby if I wasn’t ready to do everything I could to give them a good life.” 

Steve hoped his face was as open as he wanted it to be as Billy searched him. Of all the reactions he expected, this hadn’t been one. It made him feel better about Billy as a candidate. 

Finally, Billy slurped his frappucino again and grinned wolfishly. “When do we start?”

Continued on AO3

[bi-outta-cordonia]

A Courtesan of Rome is ending, albeit hurriedly, but here’s the thing:

Xanthe was a waste.

We are given a book that is ultimately historical fiction, allows us to travel back in time to one of the most infamous moments of all time and, along the way, we play as a lone woman in a historical context who is given the power to change the world.

Along the way we meet a plethora of people, each of which plays a role in the story one way or another, with the exception of one.

Xanthe was sold to Lena as a little girl. She’s been trained to become a courtesan since she was a child. We are introduced to her as being a vapid and jealous woman, one who takes pride in her craft nonetheless but is in danger of being pushed out of the comfortable position she’s made for herself in Rome.

Think for a second about the implications behind Xanthe being trained to be a courtesan since she was a little girl. Sabina was married to Legate Aquila when she was between ten and twelve years old. There was an acute sense of horror that players were expected to feel for Sabina because, well, she was forced to become a child bride for the sake of her father needing to advance his political station. Her father used her as a tool, as something he could bargain with rather than love her like a parent would love their child. We felt bad for Sabina, we sympathized with Sabina, 

So now think of a child being trained to please men. She has no family, no one to protect her, no one to fall back on if she messes up because she’s truly all alone. Her routine is entirely of her learning to become sexually appealing to men and, if she is not successful in doing that, she will be thrown out onto the streets and forced to fend for herself from others that would have no qualms with using her for their own gain. 

She is a child when she’s forced to do this, she grows into a woman that then becomes exceptionally skilled at her craft. She learns the ins and outs of the types that frequently seek her out. She learns who the most powerful patrons are and learns how to charm them with but a smile and a few words. She has been training to do this since she was a girl, sold to the people who trained her as a slave meant to serve them and bring them money. She is forced to do this because she has no other choice. 

Perhaps she grows into the role. Grows into the idea of having independence and a reputation better than most of the senators’ wives have. She is her own woman, allowed to purchase her own things, allowed to move freely within particular social circles, and all this is due to the fact that she successfully learned how to play the game and win. She’s thriving and it’s what she needs for the moment. 

But then, here comes some other girl. She’s older by the time she arrives but the girl’s new owners are already fawning over her. They are providing the girl with every advantage, giving her the most powerful patrons. The girl is new, has only been training for a few years at most, but she’s receiving some of the better paying patrons who are supplying her with a lifestyle she was not raised to know. 

This puts the child who grew into the woman in a dangerous position--by losing the wealthier patrons, she loses a good chunk of her income--she becomes useless to the owners and risks being cast away from a position she’s held for years. 

This has been the core of Xanthe’s actual problem with us, not jealousy but fear, and I can’t honestly blame her for feeling that. We were a newcomer, someone who cared not for Rome or any of its trappings. Someone who didn’t care about wealth and power. We came to the scholae already outright rejecting Roman customs but Xanthe was forced to embody them as a child in order to survive. 

Every thing she had been through, all that she had to become in order to simply live in Rome was something she endured as a child. Given that this is her history, it begs the question: why wasn’t she allowed the complexity and depth to be a voice for those that have long since found themselves voiceless?

She was a courtesan in Rome, a woman with no past, sold to Lena as a child, and she never gets a chance to interrogate the systems that bred her or the institution that used her in such egregious ways. She never got to ask “why did this happen to me,” never got to curl her lip in disgust as another senator palmed her dress, never got to seethe as another batch of young girls shuffled through the scholae in tatters with tears in their eyes as Lena explained what their new life would entail. 

The idea that we had Xanthe here to be a complex character that let us see through the lens of history and realize that a lot of what people think of Rome as a civilization is just seen through rose tinted glasses. Rome had brutality of a variety--with Syphax we see the broken justice system, with Antony we see how easily and willingly those who had power would abuse it without hesitation, and with us as the MC we see how brutal and violent the campaigns were for those who were not Roman. 

Xanthe could’ve been another voice, another look into the world of women and the society of Rome. We could’ve had the potential to open up to her and get her side of things. 

We could’ve learned that she knew her parents. We could’ve cried when she described the first time she tended to a patron. We could’ve seethed with anger when she voiced her concerns for the other girls who got dragged into our mess after Legate Aquila ransacked the scholae. We could’ve helped distract a particularly difficult patron so she could breathe for a moment or pushed off a more powerful patron to her as a gesture of kindness. 

We could’ve sat down with her and explained what Caesar did to our family, did to our homeland. We could’ve explained that we are not here because we choose to be, but because we had those choices taken from us by the Romans and their constant thirst for power. We could’ve been the lens from which she finally understood that absolute power corrupts and casts despair upon those who are not strong enough to deflect it. We could’ve seen her breakdown and throw amphoras, break mirrors, shred her clothes as she ranted about Rome, fucking Rome, Rome and its constant need to conquer the shiniest and prettiest new things. 

We could’ve still had angry, vengeful Xanthe but instead of having her be a vapid airhead, she could’ve been so hurt and so distraught after we explained that Legate Aquila almost forced us to have sex with him had it not been for his wife who finally found the courage to stand up to him. 

We could’ve had angry, vengeful Xanthe who told us that she would not forgive us for what happened to the other girls or to Syphax, but she would sooner risk death by spitting on the Legate for attempting to force us to do what we had been given the choice not to do with patrons. 

We could’ve had angry, vengeful Xanthe who would tell us that we are insane for thinking we could possibly bring down a Legate but who would also go on to provide bits of useful information she gleaned from other senators in regards to Aquila’s movements. 

We could’ve had angry, vengeful Xanthe who would butt heads with Lena and teach girls unconventional lessons that the older woman would never teach them; lessons that Xanthe would then teach MC in a few exclusive scenes once she finds out that Antony intends to give her as a gift. 

We could’ve had angry, vengeful Xanthe who would still call us a fool knowing we plan to make good on killing Caesar and who would subtly stir unrest amongst her own patrons for the sake of taking vengeance on not just Caesar, but on Rome--for robbing her and other girls like her of their families, of their lives, of their personhood for the sake of building a utopia they never wanted to be a part of. 

We could’ve had angry, vengeful Xanthe who still didn’t like us but respected us for having the courage to refute Rome at every step--for being able to grow up our own woman. 

Instead, Xanthe remained vapid and useless, only meant to be the jealous and bitter rival who, in the grand scheme of things, did not really matter. Xanthe who was villainized at every step and Xanthe who we so boldly claimed we could’ve been friends with even though, at no point throughout the entire story, did we ever get an option to actually be nice to her. 

But sure, we’ll let Madeleine have a redemption arc even though she spent all of The Royal Romance belittling us for being less wealthy than her, after she humiliated our closest friends, after she made us go pick up the wedding ring the man we loved was likely gonna slip onto her finger, and after she offered no apology to us for her past behavior whatsoever. 

We’ll let Penelope just sweep the fact that she helped orchestrate a literal sexual assault on us so that we would be photographed in a compromising position and was absolutely rewarded for her efforts, a thing she did without a shred of guilt until after we put two and two together and confronted her about.

We’ll let Sebastian have a redemption arc after he literally stole money from the university he attended, money that could’ve helped pay for scholarships and other resources that different educational programs needed, which of course came before he tried to cut all scholarships that weren’t purely academic just to spite a few people he didn’t like, and of course again after he sabotaged the boiler in our house and could’ve seriously injured someone.

We’ll let Landry have a redemption arc after he gave the most superficial reasoning for why he decided to throw our friendship under the bus and did so by way of endangering actual patient lives by turning off our pager, taking our patients’ charts, and just flat out telling lies about us to the nurses which seriously damaged our ability to do our fucking job. 

We’ll let all these people slide with the proper consideration to the plethora of conditions that give us a complex look at why they did what they did--Madeleine because she was byproduct of a loveless marriage and has never understood that people are driven by empathy rather than practicality, Penelope because she had anxiety and could never have survived in the court without a serious edge over her peers, Sebastian because he had a fucked up childhood, and Landry I guess because he’s not used to losing,

But we don’t have any room or sympathy in our hearts for the woman who was taken from her family as a child, sold into slavery, and forced to learn young how to shut her mouth and be pretty or else she’d be cast into destitution for the rest of her life? How sway?

[wanlidas-archive]

⇢  real name:   alden isaac mendler.

⇢  single or taken:   single in most of his main verses.  he was briefly with enid,  though their relationship barely had the chance to get off the ground before he lost her.   ⇢  abilities or powers:  can throw a spear with perfect accuracy.  ⇢  eye color:  brown. ⇢  hair color:  light brown  /  blondish.   ⇢  family members:  parents,  abigail & warren mendler  ( both deceased. )  older brother,  benjamin mendler  ( deceased. )   ed sutton has been a father figure to him for years once he started training to be a blacksmith under him, along with his wife tammy rose ( deceased ) who was like a mother figure to him.  + adam sutton,  who feels like a brother to him,  who he helps ed take care of  ( & feels responsible for,  ever since the whisperers left him. )   ⇢  pets:   he never had a pet growing up,  but now he has his trusty horse that he doesn’t like to part with.  he doesn’t really think of her as a pet though,  rather a companion.   ⇢  something they don’t like:  violence.  he’s been a pacifist since losing his brother,  though that wasn’t always something he could follow being a savior.  he preferred to do everything he could without violence  ( not counting the dead, of course. )  he especially doesn’t like guns and always chooses weapons like spears, knives, anything else before guns.  ⇢  hobbies/activities:  creates art out of scraps of metal, wood, tools, etc.  sings for funerals, weddings, parties, in bars, etc. but never for money  ( and doesn’t think too highly of his singing voice, despite the fact that he is actually good. )  takes things apart and puts them back together.  designs buildings, constructs them.  loves to read & learn about history.  likes designing and creating weapons.  ⇢  ever hurt anyone before:  yes. ⇢  ever killed anyone before:  yes,  after his brother’s death when he let his anger get the better of him.  he was never in the position where he had to kill as a savior,  given that he wasn’t often a part of the more aggressive missions & mostly stayed behind to expand the outposts.  it was always something he feared though,  which is why he always tried to make himself useful in other places.  ⇢  worst habits:  when he feels like he’s been wronged in some way,  he can let his anger get the better of him.  while he normally focuses on what’s logically right +  the grand scheme of things,  whenever he’s angry,  he sometimes forgets to look at the bigger picture.  this is mostly seen with his petty comments towards lydia ------ he was just like her when he came to hilltop,  known as the enemy but desperately trying to prove himself to be better than that,  despite knowing he didn’t deserve a chance given where he came from.  it wasn’t fair for him to judge her,  but he was angry,  and when he’s angry / when he’s lost something important to him,  his judgement is clouded.   ⇢  role models:  ed sutton.  he hasn’t always been the best role model for him,  and he certainly hasn’t always agreed with his every decision  ( particularly when he attacked maggie,  but through helping him grow from that,  that’s when they got closer. )    he admires him for how he’s grown since he met him and from the life he’s lived.  he also really admires jesus.  he respected maggie so much but he didn’t always agree with her decisions or the way she went about things;  he knows that jesus didn’t necessarily want to be a leader,  but alden believed in him.  jesus gave him a chance,  and that’s something that alden never forgot.   ⇢  sexual orientation:  bisexual.  ⇢  thoughts on marriage/kids:   he definitely wants to get married & have kids someday.  he isn’t actively looking for someone,  and he believes that when he finds the right person it will all happen naturally,  but he definitely would like to find himself in this position eventually.  he definitely wants children,  but he also wants to make sure he’s bringing them into a safe world  ( or at least,  as safe as it can be given the circumstances. )  ⇢  fears:  he’s mostly scared of ending up in the wrong place again.  he has a future at hilltop;  there’s so much to build for himself and for the people there,  and he desperately wants to have value in a way that’s beneficial to everyone,  not just one person.  he’s scared of losing that purpose,  and he’s scared of his talents being used for bad again.   ⇢  style preferences:   boots,  t-shirt,  unbuttoned long sleeve over it with the sleeves rolled up.  more recently,  he tucks in his shirt + buttons it. ⇢  someone they love:  adam.  adam is so important to him,  ever since he heard him crying in the field and knew that his life was threatened.  and when ed and tammy rose took him in,  he automatically felt like family to him too.  he also loves tammy rose and ed.  and luke,  who he hasn’t known for long,  but has already become his best friend.  he and enid weren’t together for long enough for him to fall in love with her,  but she will always be that ‘ maybe ‘ in his mind.  ⇢  approach to friendships:  he refused to make any friends while he was in the sanctuary.  he knew it wasn’t worth it.  it was clear that most of the people there weren’t the kind of people he wanted in his life long term;  they were acquaintances of circumstances,  people he worked with but didn’t bond with.  it wasn’t until he could finally call hilltop ‘ home ‘ that he allowed himself to make real friends,  and now given that he’s such a trustworthy member of the community,  he has many.  before the apocalypse  ( and after too,  despite his time at the sanctuary )  he was always the kind of person who was hard not to like.  he gets along with mostly everyone,  but he’s not afraid to step on toes if he doesn’t agree with something.  ⇢  thoughts on pie:  he loves pie,  especially if tammy rose bakes it. ⇢  favorite drink:  he’s a beer guy,  but he never drinks a lot at once.  he also really likes tea. ⇢  favorite place to spend time at:  he likes to ride his horse through the open land,  and traveling around to look for more resources to expand his building.  otherwise,  he likes spending his time with the other blacksmiths at hilltop.  they’re the people he feels closest to,  outside of luke + the suttons.   ⇢  swim in the lake or in the ocean:  lake. ⇢  their type:  he doesn’t really have a type,  nor does he ever really seek out relationships.  he’s never been the type of guy who needs to be in a relationship or is actively looking to be in one.  rather,  he’s the kind of person who believes that upon finding the right person,  then things will fall together naturally.  he doesn’t have a type,  he just goes off of a feeling he can get from another.  when it’s right,  he just knows it is.  with enid,  he found someone who was passionate about the work she did + helping the community she lived in,  something he resonated with greatly ever since coming to hilltop,  so he was attracted to that.  

[saint-severian]

Dune - Chapter 1

Worldbuilding presents a challenge for fiction-writers whose worlds go beyond the familiar. The problem is this: how to flesh out a fictional universe with realistically deep and realized background and details without constantly dumping information on the reader as if in a textbook. Although it would be hard to say that Herbert totally avoids this kind of long-form description, he does gracefully justify it. We, the readers, learn in the first chapter about the political intricacies of the universe of Dune because those intricacies are directly relevant to our protagonist right from the outset. Paul Atreides, our guy, is an elite. His parents are elites, and everyone he interacts with in the introductory is an elite in their respective field. His existence is centered, with no ambiguity to him or us, around his future career as a political elite. But he is not a politician, and though, as we will see, his father has to take on a role comparable to a politician, this is quietly a distasteful necessity, an offense to what Paul would call his “sense of rightness”. More on that later. 

The Atreides family are not elected politicians. They are aristocrats, who, as we learn in the second paragraph of the text, have lived in “Castle Caladan”, which takes its name from the planet itself, for twenty-six generations. Paul’s ancestors have ruled over an entire planet for more than five centuries. He’s old money. And despite the fact that we learn later that his House is not great by the standards of the galactic Imperium to which it belongs, his father, Leto Atreides, is a widely popular man among the other elites. In this one fact much of the plot is derived. First, we realize that Paul is not the hero of a rags-to-riches story. He is not an underdog, not a challenger in the grand scheme of things. Just the opposite- he is a fifteen-year-old boy who is placed and prepped to become an extremely powerful man. As we will learn, it is more than his external environment that puts him in this position. The second implication of the high status or popularity of his family is that, as Herbert says, “a popular man arouses the jealousy of the powerful”. The jealousy of the powerful for Paul’s family will put in effect events that determine Paul’s fate and the fate of the human race. 

Under the (assumed) pretext of the Duke Leto Atreides’ rising popularity and competence, he is assigned a new charge. The ‘Padishah’ Emperor (a word meaning “lord of kings”) has chosen Duke Leto, his feudal vassal, to govern a poor, provincial planet in his name. The planet, called Arrakis, is known for two things: it is extremely harsh for human life, being a world entirely of desert, and it is the sole source of a precious resource that is required across the Imperium for everything from space travel to life-extension. This important substance, “mélange”, is usually called simply “spice”, and much of Dune will revolve around it. Already the obvious real-world parallel must be observed: the precious resource required universally in the gigantic economy which is found in a poor desert country - it’s a metaphor for oil, of course, and Arrakis, the desert planet, is a stand-in for the Middle East, and its primitive and Islamic-influenced inhabitants, the Fremen, represent the wilder elements of the Arab world. Not to waste any time - yes, this parallel is legitimate and not at all a secret. But Dune is not an allegory for one particular time and place. It is, like all myth and fiction, applicable to many times and many places. 

Although we do not yet know exactly why, a strange woman who is regarded highly by Paul’s mother Jessica, has come to visit Paul and administer a brief test. The test lasts only seconds, perhaps more than a few minutes, but Paul’s life is in the balance - if he fails the test, he will die. Knowing this, his mother nonetheless consents. Paul is assured that she passed the same test long ago, and just before she leaves the room, Jessica tells her son to “Remember you’re a duke’s son”. We quickly see the relevance of this reminder when the nature of the test is revealed. The old woman tells Paul that she is testing him for humanity as he is threatened with a weapon that kills only animals, a “gom jabbar”. Paul is disgusted that she would suggest he - the son of a duke, as his mother just reminded him - would be subhuman. I’ve always loved her response to his outrage: “Let us say that I suggest you may be human”. 

Upon my first reading, I interpreted the fact that the tiny, needle-like gom jabbar was poisoned with a substance that was lethal only to the subhuman. This is not the case - it’s not the blade itself that is lethal only to animals, but instead the weapon would only be used on an animal, because only an animal would fail the test and receive the punishment of the poisoned blade. And what is the test? Simple: delayed gratification. Put your hand in a box and don’t pull it out, even while the box gives you excruciating pain. If you fail the test and pull out your hand, you will be stabbed and poisoned and immediately die. Control your urges and pass/live, or give in to your instincts and fail/die. Already we’re on a great track: Herbert has, in the first chapter of his book asserted that not all humans are human, that some are just animals, and that the real dividing line between these two is self-control. This judgement does not bode so well for the innately uninhibited members of the sapient population. Herbert declares, through the mouth of the representative of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood, that those who are incapable of restraint are subhuman. Let’s take a look at this fascinatingly fascist matriarchy of manipulators. 

Old Gaius Helen Mohaim, the old crone in question, tells us after Paul passes his test with flying colors that her sisterhood is a surviving descendant of a series of “schools” that were founded a very long time ago, after an event that left humanity without the use of “thinking machines”, and thus with a lot of responsibility on our hands to make up for the absence of what had become the crutch of computers. Here is another key concept of the Dune universe - the idea that computers (and many other things) are crutches that allow human beings not to think or act for themselves, but instead to rely upon external systems and tools that do their work for them, and as a result leave them vulnerable for “other men with machines” to make slaves out of them. 

Although there is another, apparently all-male school that focuses on “pure mathematics” (an autistic and male pursuit), the Bene Gesserits’ focus is politics, as Paul surmises on “remarkably few clues”. He had to guess that the Sisterhood’s business was politics, despite the fact that he is a political elite, his mother is a member of the Sisterhood, and she had been training him in their ways. The strategy of the BG is covert manipulation of political elites (this should conjure up a list of real-world parallels) ... by, for example, assignment of a sister to become the consort of a duke and the mother of his child, for example. They are an all-female sect that engages in a feminine form of politics, a passive form of politics based around manipulation and deceit. The fact that they are a purely feminine organization in their essence and substance justifies their desire for a masculine version of their power, hopefully a masculine element they can control like anyone else. This masculine version of the Bene Gesserit is called the Kwisatz Haderach, the “one who can be in many places at once”. While the Bene Gesserit can access the “feminine avenues” of their ancestry via blood memory, they can only access their feminine ancestors. The males, and by extension the male perspective, is forever closed to them. But not to the Kwisatz Haderach. The real biological link to these concepts are that, while women have an XX chromosome, and are thus entirely female, men have XY, and are really only half ‘pure male’. Males have something females don’t, but not the other way around. Although males have the capacity to be passive, and thus to take on the aspect of the Bene Gesserit, whose existence is passive despite its great importance and power, they are also endowed with the active element, forbidden to the feminine. This pure male essence is not only unknowable to the female/BG, it is terrifying to them. 

In this several myths are invoked. First there is the Dionysian image of the male leader surrounded by female sycophants in the Kwisatz Haderach as the male apotheosis of the Bene Gesserit coven. Second there are the various themes of the Great Goddess of the feminine, and the conquering aspect of the masculine, embodied in the myth of Apollo among many others. Notably missing from the story so far is a snake motif- an element central to the Apollo myth and to Great Goddess figures everywhere. But there will be, so look out for it. 

However, many are called but few are chosen to become the Kwisatz Haderach. And, although Paul has passed the first test, those who try to fulfill this role and fail are not forgiven. 

[djinmer4]

Interrogation (Church AU)

“Was everything prepared before the prisoner was brought in?”  Prelate Kurt Szardos moved swiftly through the corridor, with other clerics dodging out of his way.  The priest looked like a man on a mission and no one wants to attract the attention of one of the Church’s top inquisitors.

“I finished setting up the brazier just as Bogatir brought the rebel in.  He stayed behind to guard her.”  Katie had to run to keep up with the older (and taller) man, but the wake of terrified lower clergy made it easy for her.  “What do you need the brazier for?”

“I’m hoping we won’t need but it’s a good ware to put the fear of En Sabah Nur into people.”  Nightcrawler stopped before the door to the cell.  “Now remember, you’re just here to act as the truthseer.  You don’t even have to touch the heretic.  If something goes wrong, let either Bogatir or myself handle it, just worry about getting yourself out safely.  Verstehen Sie?”

“I understand.”

“Gutes Mädchen.”  With that, the Inquisitor pushed open the door to the cell.  Inside he found Bogatir, sitting across from the prisoner, who had been stripped and bound face-up to the rack.  A quick glance to the side revealed that everything had been prepared, from the glowing brazier to the recorder being plugged in and placed in a stable area.  All of his other tools were polished and ready.  “Guten Abend meine Damen und Herr.  Acolyte Katherine, please lock the door and turn on the recorder and we can begin.”

Katie flitted over to follow orders, then settled in the last chair, pulling out her talisman.  Once the light on the recorder was on, Kurt began speaking again.  “Interrogation #####.  Today is November 28, 19##.  Tonight we are conducting the interrogation, judgment, and sentencing of Sister Jimaine Szardos, who is accused of treason, conspiracy, embezzlement and human trafficking of minors.  Chief Inquisitor is me, Prelate Nightcrawler, Kurt Michael Szardos.  Truthseer and first witness for this interrogation is-,” he waved to Katie to state her name.

“Acolyte Lilim.  Katherine Anne Pryde.”

“-and guard and second witness is-”

“Father Bogatir.  Piotr Nikolaevich Rasputin.”

“Gut.  Now would the prisoner please state her own name for the record?”

“Fahr zur Hölle!”  The naked blond woman strapped to the rack spat at him.  Kurt drew a knife from the brazier and cut off her right index finger, tossing the digit into the coals.

“Your attitude determines the unpleasantness of this interrogation and weighs in the decision of your final fate.  It would be in your best interests to cooperate.”  The Prelate kept his voice warm and cheerful.  It wouldn’t do to be unprofessional after all.

“Sister Jimaine Szardos,” she hissed after a moment’s pause.  Kurt smiled.  He actually had enough evidence to convict her already, but he wanted to know if there were any loose ends he needed to clip.  If she thought she had any hope of getting out of this it would make the whole thing easier.

“True.”  Katie’s eyes were fastened on her talisman.  She had tried to describe how her truthseeing worked to him once, but he’d gotten lost about two sentences in.  All he knew is that it worked on a visual basis, and had something to do with color.

“Let’s begin then.”

“-and now, if I’m doing my math correctly, your organization was embezzling about ten million Euro from the Church per year for the last three years.”

“Your math is wrong,” noted Katie, keeping her eyes on her talisman and away from where Kurt had his tail wrapped around Jimaine’s neck.  “A quick estimate puts the amount at fifteen million per year.  And the computer,” she pulled her eyes away from the mirror with difficulty.  “-backs me up at an average of 14.8 million for the past three years.”

The blue limb tightened drawing strangled moans and gurgles from the blonde.  “I see.  Danke, for the correction Katzchen.”  Yellow eyes narrowed in disgust.  “Bad enough to misdirect Church funds once.  But after a year you and your fellow conspirators were set up for life.  Why keep going?”

Jimaine hissed.  “You wouldn’t know, but do you have any idea what my life was like after you exposed mother’s conspiracy at the Szardos Orphanage?  It might have been the start of your career but it was the end of my life!  I went from the daughter of one of the most respected Abbesses in Europe to the daughter of an executed traitor.  The Council of Karcists closed down the orphanage and sent the children to various other facilities.  People who had been proud to be alumna of Szardos changed their names and shunned me.  I couldn’t even leave the Church to start again!  Instead, I had to stay in a system where everyone knew mother’s and Stefan’s crimes and took it out on me!  Is it any surprise I wanted the money?  Enough to buy my way out of this hole and be safe and anonymous in Ultramar.  Enough for a completely new life.”

Kurt was unmoved.  “You claim you were driven to this?  All I see is a woman who proves the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!  I’m glad I got away from you before you could drag me into your scheming!”  He glanced over at his notes.  “Moving on-”

“What were the criteria for the human trafficking targets?”

“Ultramar was considered a prime hunting ground, but the actual yield was low.  The head of the conspiracy couldn’t move against Professor X so we turned our sights to LaSalle Academy.”

“Is Abbess Emma Frost part of the conspiracy?”

“Yes-”

“False!”  Katie frowned, scrutinizing both the mirror and the prisoner.  “There’s at least one other female conspirator, but no conspirator has the rank of abbot or abbess.”

That earned Jimaine the first slice on her face, starting just below her eyes, but slitting one nostril and twisting the side of her lips.  “Alright, we’ll come back to that part later.  If the location was not a criterion, what were the standards?”

“We, we, we focused mostly on orphans and runaways, people who wouldn’t be missed.  If already inducted into the Church, no person of ranks Mother, Father or above would be taken; it would attract too much attention.  There was a strong preference for those mutants who could pass as baseline humans.”  Blue eyes shot a malicious glance at Katie.  “Your Lilim there would have been a prime candidate.”

As the younger girl shrank away, Inquisitor Szardos plucked another spike from the brazier and forced into Jimaine’s eye.  Not deep at all, but if she survived this the eye would be a loss.  Even Bogatir flinched from the blonde’s scream.

“You will not threaten members of this Sanctuary again, is that clear?”  Jimaine’s was still panting but she managed to nod.

“Now, going on, who were the clients for your cargo?”

“Several governments and terrorist organizations.  Ultramar was a large buyer, so was OROCHI and-”

“Name your fellow conspirators.”

“Patriarch Hellfire, Sebastian Shaw of Ultramar.”

Kurt glanced over at Katie.  She looked rather wan and pale, and he resolved to take her to the infirmary when they were done.  Infirmary and then the cafeteria; using the brazier always made him hungry.  For some reason, despite being his favored witness for interrogations, Bogatir never joined him after these sessions.

“Truth.”

“Next one.”

“Prelate Sol.  Scott Summers of St. Dymphna’s of New Amsterdam.”

“False!  There is a male prelate involved but not Sol.”

This time he sliced off an ear.  Jimaine had been a beauty once.  Even if he decided to spare her life and have her healed, she wouldn’t be one again.

The blonde cried, tears from her whole eye, blood and pus from the one he had damaged.  “Prelate Seraphim.  Fabian Cortez.  Adjunct to Shaw.”

On and on the list went.  “Next?”

“That was the last one.”

“False!  But only just.  She only knows one more conspirator.”

By this point, Jimaine wasn’t even screaming, just making a soft, animal noise with each blow.  The dagger Kurt sunk into her breast barely elicited a gasp.  “Father Bogatir.  Piotr Rasputin of St. Xavier’s.”

Bogatir stood up so quickly his chair tipped onto the floor behind them.  Before the superstrong Blessed could do anything, Kurt caught his eye, freezing him in place.  Certain the Muscovite wouldn’t do anything, yellow eyes turned to the other witness.  “False.  The last conspirator is a woman.”

Satisfied that the false accusation was so easily dismissed, Piotr sat back down.  Kurt looked at the prisoner and decided against another dagger.  Instead, he picked up the poker and held it to Jimaine’s inner thigh.  There weren’t many places left untouched.

“Sister Rachel Grey of St. Xavier’s.”

A heavy pause filled the air.  “T-true.”  Kurt didn’t blame Katie for the stutter or Piotr for the gasp.  Rachel had been one of their dearest friends, to find out that she was just using them had to be a shock.  Forget the infirmary, he’d give them both the rest of the week off to recover.

“Is that it?  That’s all I know!”

“True.”  Katie was hunched over her mirror, though Bogatir had managed to regain his composure.

“Very well, then.  Sister Jimaine Szardos, as the interrogation was witnessed by two truthseers, myself and Acolyte Lilim, judgment can be passed upon you without delay.  As Inquisitor here is my verdict.  You are guilty of embezzlement, conspiracy, heresy, and human child trafficking.  You are also guilty of grand treason.  The sentence is execution, to be carried out immediately.”  Nightcrawler had brought an executioner’s sword with him to interrogation.  He knew other Inquisitors preferred to either delegate this duty to the guards or use other methods like hanging or chemical injection.  Kurt always thought those methods were inefficient and preferred to do the honors himself.

One tired eye looked up at him.  “I love you.”

“True.”  Oh yes, he had forgotten to tell Katie that her role was over.

“Das ist so traurig.  And ultimately irrelevant.”  He swung with one hand, then caught her head as it fell from her neck.  He considered dumping it into the brazier, when Katie stood up, shut off the recorder and ran out of the room.  He was about to follow her when Bogatir put his hand out to stop him.  “Don’t you remember how you felt the first time you killed someone?  Katya needs to be alone for a while.”

“Mostly I remember being hungry.”  Kurt looked over the body still pumping blood and at the head in his hand, still blinking.  “I’ll clean up and wait for her.”

By the time Katie came back, the room had been cleaned of blood and other body fluids, the equipment had been put away, and Bogatir had left.  Kurt looked up from where he was eating a sandwich and misted over to her side.  “Bogatir said you needed to be alone for a while.  Feeling better?”

“I did need to be alone.  And no, not really but there’s nothing left to throw up anymore.”  She eyed his sandwich with distaste and even more when she realized he had gotten enough for two.

“I’m usually hungry after these sessions and I thought you might be too.”

“Thank you but no.  Absolutely not.”  A few seconds passed.  “I don’t think I want to be an Inquisitor.  I don’t want to torture someone ever again.”

“Really?  You did a good job today.  My truthseeing tells me if they’re lying directly, but does not identify evasion nor gives me clues to the truth.  Besides, today was quite unusual.  Most of my role involves paperwork and interviewing people plus occasionally needing to check on inventory.  Really, I’m more an auditor than a torturer.”

“Isn’t this,” she waved to the room in general, even though no evidence of the last hour remained.  “What you’re famous for?”

“I do more torture than other Inquisitors because that’s what I’m good at, and even then it’s still less than 50% of my job.  It’s quite possible to be an inquisitor and only have to torture someone once every five years or so.”

She didn’t look convinced.  “Also, given your talent with computers and your intelligence, you would probably rise quite high in the field.  Since you’d be the first with a strong computer background, after initial training, you might not need to torture anyone at all.  Just act as a witness for the whoever is conducting the interrogation occasionally.”

“I don’t think you understand.  I never want to do anything like this again, not even as only a witness.  I’d rather be executed than do that.”  She stopped and looked frightened for some reason.

Kurt sighed and pulled her into a hug.  “I won’t say I’m not disappointed, but that’s alright.  I’ll set it up so that your next internship will be with Father Wisdom or one of the others in IT.  Would you like that?”

Her muscles were still tense and her breath and her heart were racing.  But he felt her nod silently and resolved to be content with that.

[avengers-nextgen]

The Rise Of The Lost VI

Rooftops are tempting. It was no wonder Fox perched on top of one every night. She enjoyed it, the way the city unfolded before her, splayed out like a hand of poker cards.

The stars glittered like the diamonds and watches she liked to snatch. They taunted her with winks and smiles and Fox hated them with all of her being. She hated a lot of things.

She hated people. All people. There wasn’t a single person in the entire world that deserved her approval. There wasn’t a person in the entire world who hadn’t walked past someone like her, ignored a girl beaten by a man, or a man beaten by a girl. People ignored lousy parents all the time leaving children to suffer.

No, the world was full of bad apples. Everyone was a bad Apple. Even still, there was a wounded butterfly of hope inside of her chest that remained carefully guarded by wires and traps.

It was slowly dying.

Fox recalled all of it. The money she’d made helping those damned scientists get their experiment back under control. The price she paid thanks to Alex’s stupid friend. It had seemed worth it in the moment, the high of adrenaline was intoxicating, and for a moment she forgot her own plights. At the end it all came crashing down again, unavoidable was her reality.

Fox’s throat tightened and she pried her eyes away from the sparkling city. They landed upon someone familiar but also foreign. “Well, I never expected to see someone like you up here.”

“Cut the shit.” James frowned.

“How’d you find me?” Fox mused.

“It wasn’t hard. All I had to do was ask around.” James glowered. “You have one chance to be honest with me or I take you in.”

“Tempting.” Fox rolled her eyes and stood to balance carefully on the rooftop edge.

“You tipped the Wakandans off about Sage.” James crossed his arms and jutted his jaw. “And I know damn well you were the one who figured out how to steal the vibranium. Who did you give it to?”

“I don’t know.” Fox smiled coyly. “I only know as little as possible.”

“That’s a lie.” James’ voice grew gruff with impatience.

“Is it?” Fox never knew more than the necessity. Any additional information was dangerous, making situations like the one at hand, even more deadly. Tattling on clients never ended well.

“What are your clients planning? First Bianca, then vibranium, and lastly Sage.” James tilted his head to study the other girl. She was sly, conniving, difficult, and shifty. “You’ve got some nerve playing so many games at once. I don’t know the grand picture of your scheme-“

“James, James, James...I don’t have a plan. I work for anyone and everyone.” Fox pivoted with ease upon the ledge. James grew nervous with how close she was to the edge of death, the last thing he wanted was to see someone’s broken body on pavement. “I do what I can to survive and there’s nothing more to it.”

“You’re not happy with that.” The red head shook his head. He was thankful his mother instilled her interrogation techniques in him-he could read her if he focused hard enough. “You’re upping your game. You’re getting bolder just like a serial killer does. You’re bored, you’re looking for the next high you can get. But what does a girl like you have to fight against? How in the hell do you have to ‘survive?’ “

“Not everyone has Captain America as their father.” Fox’s lazy, sly smile shifted into a sneer. “I’ve told you that I do what I want when I want. That’s all I know now get the fuck off of my roof.”

“Your roof?” James snorted. “This is the roof of a bar. Two floors. One for drunks and one for whores. You don’t own it.”

For the first time, in the few James had encountered this enigma of a girl, she gave away true emotion. It was vibrant anger in all sorts of fiery colors. “This is my roof. My name is Fox Duran.”

James paled and felt his stomach tighten. “The owners are...the Durans.”

“Glad you figured it out.” It was too fast for James to properly react. One moment he was fine and the next a hard punch rocked against his jaw. “And don’t you ever call any girl a whore you piece of shit. You have no idea what some people go through...”

“Listen, I wasn’t thinking.” James winced and rubbed his face. “I just want to make sense of this! All of this! What’s happening to my friends and my city. My sister is in constant danger because of the decisions you’re making.”

“I don’t care about your sister!” Fox yelled. “I hate her more than I hate you!”

“Why?” James demanded.

“Because she’s exactly like your father. Some charismatic piece of filth who acts like they can fix everything. It’s all a lie! Don’t you get it?” Fox was no longer able to keep the passion from her voice. “Nothing is going to change! No matter how hard any of you fight this world is still going to be a shit hole!”

“That’s not true.” James argued as he stumbled back to his feet.

“Isn’t it?” Fox’s voice drifted into a terrifying quiet. “You’ll let the witch go thinking she’s changed and the moment she gets a chance she’ll tear her uncle apart piece by piece. The girl with the metal arm is only going to remain sane until something triggers her effed up memories and it’ll begin all over again. And if you stop them then someone else is going to fill their place. It’s a never ending cycle.”

“You think you’ve figured out the entire universe?” James snorted. “Sorry honey, that’s not true.”

“You know what? I’m the only one smart enough to figure it out. You wait and see.” There was a challenge in her voice. A fire in her eyes so intense James felt himself wither under the stare. “I see more than any of you do. I know exactly what kind of pain people go through. I know what that does to someone.”

“People always have choices to make. Pain can be turned into a tool.” James finally found his voice. “It’s not an excuse to break laws and hurt other people.”

“Maybe I’m just delivering the justice that needs to be dealt?”

“You don’t get to play God.” James spoke sternly. “And you have yet to answer my questions. Tell me exactly what’s going on!”

An odd smile found it’s way on Fox’s face. It looked almost sad, like hope was firmly crushed for her, like she’d tried to make someone else understand and it hadn’t worked. It occurred to James that maybe she’d had numerous conversations just like this with a dozen other people who had all ignored her.

She backed away slowly. “You want to know what’s happening?”

“Wait...” James made a motion to move as she stepped back onto the edge turning to face him.

“It’s the Rise of the Lost, James.” Fox shook her head. “Everything you know is going to be turned upside down. There aren’t heroes or villains. There’s only people.”

Before he could do anything she stepped backwards and fell. Instinct made him dive to the edge in hope to catch her hand. He only grasped air. With a frantic panic he peered over the edge ready to locate a pulverized body. Instead he saw nothing.

Fox had vanished.

“Damn it!” With an angry huff James rocked back onto his knees and punched at the roof. The sound of feet landing lightly behind him queued his attention.

“No luck?” It was Scout.

“How’d you know I was here?” James questioned.

“I felt your distress.” Scout sighed. “Not to mention the new boy, Orion I believe, said you left in a rush when I asked. You’re conflicted.”

“It’s hard not to be.” James shook his head. Scout rested a comforting hand on James’ shoulder.

“Come on, you need rest.”

“I need answers.” James groaned. He’d promised to dig up information for Siyanda but this was not the information he wanted.

“You have them.” Scout replied patiently. “She gave them to you. She’s right. However, you’re also right.”

“Well Scout, thanks for showing up.” James sighed giving his friend a thankful look as he stood. “Mind giving me a ride home?”

“Anytime.” Scout smiled. “If you need to talk, I am always open to conversation. She’s got a complicated mind from what I can sense. Someone who doesn’t fit anywhere. She’s not good or bad, as you put it, simply human.”

“Thanks Scout.” James gave a final sigh of irritated contentment and allowed Scout to fly him from the roof.

[patriotsnet]

Who Won Yesterday Democrats Or Republicans

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/who-won-yesterday-democrats-or-republicans/

Who Won Yesterday Democrats Or Republicans

House Senate Pass Bill To Exempt Graduation Ceremonies From Covid Orders

Marjorie Taylor Greene vs Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez | 2024 Election Prediction

Michigans schools could be a step closer to having more leeway to host commencement ceremonies, after the Senate and House on Wednesday passed a fast-tracked proposal to exempt the events from pandemic emergency orders.

Most local school boards have done a good job of mitigating the risk of COVID, bill sponsor Sen. Jim Runestad, R-White Lake, said on the Senate floor. We should trust them to safely manage their own graduations.

Related:;GOP wants to exempt Michigan graduation ceremonies from COVID orders

The approval in both chambers comes a day after Gov. Gretchen Whitmer announced the state is easing restrictions on Thursday, making masks not required outdoors for gatherings of up to 100 people.

COVID-19 cases are rapidly declining in Michigan, reaching their lowest point in six weeks on Monday. Whitmer has said she wont fully lift all the state restrictions until 70 percent of adult residents are vaccinated.

Robert Leddy, a spokesperson for Whitmer, didnt say if the governor supports the measure, but said she continues to encourage families and school districts to hold ceremonies to honor students’ incredible achievements while ensuring the safety of all attendees.

Currently, graduation ceremonies are allowed, but they have to adhere to certain capacity limits.

Sen. Mallory McMorrow, D-Royal Oak, was the lone Democrat in the Senate to support the exemption, saying her vote represents the will of her district.

The Time For Democrats To Go Nuclear Was Yesterday

In the U.S., constitutional law guarantees pregnant people the right to have an abortion without interference from the state. Judicial precedent also empowers Americans to preempt any state law that flagrantly violates their constitutional rights: Even before an illicit statute takes effect, individuals can seek a court order barring state officers from enforcing it.

The pro-life movement abhors these legal niceties. In recent years, red states have routinely enacted de facto repeals of Roe v. Wade, only to see their unconstitutional laws nipped in the bud. Of course, conservatives did not respond to these setbacks by revising their agenda to better fit the demands of law and procedure. Rather, they used every tool at their disposal including unprecedented violations of Senate convention to assemble an anti-abortion Supreme Court majority. Meanwhile, in Texas, Republicans devised a cockamamie scheme for nullifying abortion rights immediately with just a small favor from their friends on the high court.

This pretext is absurd. As Voxs Ian Millhiser writes, the tactic could be used to undermine virtually any constitutional right. Imagine, for example, that New York passed an SB 8style law allowing private individuals to bring lawsuits seeking a $10,000 bounty against anyone who owns a gun.

Eric Tiffany Trump To Make Final Election Push In Michigan

Two of President Donald Trumps children will be making stops in Michigan on Thursday as they stump for their Republican father with days to go until the Nov. 3 election.

Tiffany Trump will host a Breakfast With Tiffany event at 9 a.m. in Birmingham.

Eric Trump will host two events. First, theres a Make America Great Again event at Hope Sports Complex in Lansing at 2:30 p.m. Then, he will host an Evangelicals for Trump event at ResLife Church in Grandville in Kent County at 6 p.m. Mansur Shaheen

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Paul Mitchell Quits Gop Over Trump Fraud Claims

U.S. Rep. Paul Mitchell of Dryden says he’s;leaving the Republican party over disgust and disappointment with President Donald Trumps efforts to overturn the results of the election.

In a Monday letter to Republican National Committee Chair Ronna McDaniel and GOP House of Representatives leader Kevin McCarthy, Mitchell lambasted Republican colleagues for refusing to speak out against conspiracy theories and baseless claims of election fraud.

It is unacceptable for political candidates to treat our election system as though we are a third-world nation and incite distrust of something so basic as the sanctity of our vote, wrote Mitchell, who added he voted for Trump in the Nov. 3 election.

The retiring representative requested his political party affiliation be changed to independent for the remainder of his term in office, which finishes Jan. 3.; He is being succeeded by Lisa McClain, a vocal Trump supporter, to represent the 10th district that covers Michigan’s Thumb.

Mitchells decision came after Electoral Colleges convened nationwide Monday to formally elect Democrat Joe Biden, who won more than the 270 electoral votes required to secure the presidency.;

Since the election, Mitchell has spoken out against several unsubstantiated claims of voter fraud promoted by Trump and his supporters.; He is the second Michigan Republican, along with retiring Rep. Justin Amash of Cascade Township, to switch party affiliation to independent during Trumps term.

Senate Approves Hertel As Health Director

Senate Republicans on Tuesday continued their protest against Democratic Gov. Gretchen Whitmer’s COVID-19 orders but stopped just short of rejecting the appointment of her new state health director.

Elizabeth Hertel, a former GOP legislative aide who Whitmer appointed in January, will remain director of the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services.

Related:

In tense hearing, Whitmer official defends MI COVID nursing home strategy

Sixteen Senate Republicans voted to block Hertel, with several voicing concerns she will work in lockstep with Whitmer to continue restrictions they deem overly onerous.

But GOP Leader Mike Shirkey and three colleagues joined Democrats to approve the appointment in a 18-16 vote. It was a symbolic move because the upper chamber only has the authority to “disapprove” appointments within 60 days, and the GOP did not have the 19 votes needed to do so.

My vote in favor of Elizabeth Hertels appointment does not reflect agreement with her decisions as deputy director and now as director of MDHHS, but rather my belief that her background and expertise make her qualified for the job, Shirkey said in a statement.

In our conversations, I have made it clear to Elizabeth that I will continue to push for an end to the nonsensical loophole that allows the department director to control and harm the lives and livelihoods of Michiganders for months or even years on end.

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Cal Cunningham Concedes North Carolina Senate Race

Democrat Cal Cunningham conceded in the;North Carolina;Senate race on Tuesday, saying in a statement that he had called Republican incumbent Senator Thom Tillis to congratulate him on his victory.

“I just called Senator Tillis to congratulate him on winning re-election;to a second term in the U.S. Senate and wished him and his family the best in their continued service in the months and years ahead,” Cunningham said. “The voters have spoken and I respect their decision.”

CBS News projects that Tillis has won the race, after Cunningham’s concession. Tillis led Cunningham by nearly 100,000 votes as of Tuesday. The presidential race in North Carolina is still too close to call, although President Trump is currently in the lead. The full results of the election in North Carolina are unlikely to be known until later this week, as the deadline in the state to receive absentee ballots postmarked by Election Day is November 12.

Huizenga Tests Positive For Covid

U.S. Rep. Bill Huizenga said Wednesday he tested positive for COVID-19 prior to a planned appearance in Grand Rapids with Vice President Mike Pence.;

The Zeeland Republican announced results from what he called a rapid test while Pence spoke in west Michigan. Huizenga said he was tested offsite, per event protocol, and is awaiting results of a separate diagnostic test that is typically more accurate.;

In the meantime, I am self isolating until I have confirmed results, the congressman wrote on Twitter.;

Earlier today, I was expected to appear with the Vice President. While taking part in offsite testing protocols, I took a rapid test that came back positive for COVID-19. I am awaiting the results of a PCR test and I am self isolating until I have confirmed results.

Rep. Bill Huizenga

Pence spoke at an auto supply company near Grand Rapids, where he defended GOP President Donald Trumps handling of the pandemic and touted the countrys pre-coronavirus economy, among other things.;

Trump, who tested positive for COVID-19 two weeks ago, is back out on the campaign trail and doing well, Pence said. The president, who is trailing Democrat Joe Biden in recent Michigan polls, is scheduled to speak at a Muskegon rally on Saturday.

We are opening up America, and we are opening up American schools, Pence said.;

Watch his full speech below via WOOD-TV 8. Jonathan Oosting

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Republicans Demand Answers About Private Jet

Republicans say they are giving Gov. Gretchen Whitmer until Wednesday to answer 43 questions regarding her trip to Florida or they could launch an investigation.

House Oversight Committee Chair Steve Johnson, R-Wayland, said Thursday he has sent the Democratic governor a list of questions regarding her trip to Florida on a private jet from March 12 to March 15.;

They include:

When did you make the decision to go to Florida?

Outside this trip, while Governor, has the governors nonprofit, Michigan Transition 2019, paid for any other travel?

Was there any official, or state business purpose of this trip?

How many people were on the plane?

These questions are both reasonable and important to giving the people of Michigan certainty that their governor is following proper procedures and acting within the bounds of the law, Johnson wrote in the letter.;

Here are the 43 questions Chairman Johnson sent to Gov. Whitmer. He wants answers by 10:30 a.m. on May 27 . #mipol#mileg

Sergio Martínez-Beltrán May 20, 2021

Whitmer has until 10:30 a.m. Thursday to respond to the questions, Johnson wrote.

Any failure to act in good faith or a full refusal to answer these questions may result in further investigations by the House Oversight Committee, Johnson wrote.

Whitmers office didnt immediately respond to a request for comment by Bridge Michigan.

Related:

Whitmers office said the governor paid $855 for her seat.

Trump Attacks Snyder After Fox News Appearance

House GOP Leads Democrats in Total 2022 Retirements

Former Republican Michigan Gov. Rick Snyder told Fox News he voted for Democratic presidential hopeful Joe Biden, earning the ire of President Donald Trump Thursday night.

Im a proud Republican, Snyder told Fox News Neil Cavuto on Your World. Im an American first, and we shouldnt let partisanship get in the way of good decision-making for our country and Joe Biden is a much better decision than Donald Trump.

Snyder endorsed Biden for president in September. Trump is set to visit the state on Friday afternoon for a rally in Waterford Township, before returning again on Monday, a day before Nov. 3. He also held a rally in Lansing on Tuesday. Mansur Shaheen

Snyder cited the presidents tax bill from 2017, tariffs he has imposed on goods from Canada, Mexico and other trading partners, and the governments COVID-19 response as reasons for why he chose to vote against Trump.

Failed RINO former Governor Rick Snyder of Michigan was a disaster with respect to the Flint Water CATASTROPHE, and a very bad Governor overall. He hurt so many people with his gross incompetence, Trump responded to Snyder on Twitter Thursday evening.

Failed RINO former Governor Rick Snyder of Michigan was a disaster with respect to the Flint Water CATASTROPHE, and a very bad Governor overall. He hurt so many people with his gross incompetence. He reminds me of Sleepy Joe!

Mansur Shaheen

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Judge Approves Flint Water Crisis Settlement

Flint residents can start registering to receive their share of a landmark legal settlement tied to the Flint water crisis, after a federal judge on Thursday granted preliminary approval of the $641.2 million settlement with the state of Michigan and other parties.

Residents have until March 29 to register to participate in the settlement.;

Not everyone in Flint is eligible to receive money. The proposed settlement includes 30 claims categories to account for people harmed by the water crisis.

The bulk of the settlement money, about 80 percent, will go to people who were minors when Flint switched its water source in 2014. Much of the rest will go to adults who can prove they suffered physical harm or property damage as a result of the crisis.

Once registered, residents have until Aug. 26 to submit documents supporting their claims. That could include medical records, evidence of property damage or other paperwork.

Before funds can be released, U.S. District Judge Judge Judith Levy must grant final approval. First, shell hold a public hearing July 12.

Some Flint activists have criticized the settlement, arguing it excludes too many city residents who should be eligible for money. Proponents of the settlement say it’s good for the city.

Lawyers for Flint residents continue to pursue lawsuits against two engineering firms that did not join the settlement, as well as a separate lawsuit against the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.;

Republicans Seek End To Secretary Of State Appointment

A new measure making its way through the Legislature would require Michigan Secretary of State branches to open for walk-ins.

The Republican proposal comes in response to Secretary of State Jocelyn Bensons decision to shift to an appointment-only system to modernize the agency and end pandemic-related transaction backlogs.

If you want to use the appointment system that works, you still have that option, House Oversight Committee Chair Steve Johnson, R-Wayland, said Thursday during a hearing.

But for some people that don’t work, they need that walk-in option.

Related:

Renewing plates, licenses in Michigan can take months, despite promises

The House measures would require the Secretary of States branches to provide a minimum of eight hours in-person without the need of an appointment.

It will also waive late fees on registrations until walk-ins are reinstalled and would extend the grace period for expired driver licenses, enhanced licenses, state IDs, permits and certifications to September. The proposals will apply retroactively from April 1.

Adam Reames, the legislative policy director at the Secretary of State, told lawmakers the agency supports waiving late fees and a staggered extension of grace periods.

But the appointment-only system is the best operational model and should remain, Reames said.

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Protest Expected To Draw Hundreds

Multiple Michigan militia groups are planning an armed protest Sunday at the Lansing Capitol that could draw several hundreds of protesters, Michael Lackomar, team leader of the Southeast Michigan Volunteer Militia, told Bridge Michigan.;

Lackomars group and several other Michigan militia organizations including the Michigan Home Guard, Michigan Liberty Militia and Michigan Militia Corps Wolverines will likely be in attendance, he said.

He said the groups main grievance is the state Department of Health and Human Services COVID-19 restrictions, which have destroyed businesses. Lackomor said they are also dissatisfied with the way the state government handled the election although he said that Democrat Joe Biden probably won.;

The plans come amid warnings from an internal FBI report about armed protests in all 50 capitals nationwide and in Washington, D.C, this weekend until Bidens inauguration next Wednesday.;

The planned protests follow a chaotic week in D.C., when a mob of Trump supporters stormed the Capitol while Congress convened to count the nations Electoral College voters.;

Before the siege, Trump told supporters that Congress should toss out the election results, and urged them to march to the Capitol and show strength. The riots left five dead, including a police officer.;

On Wednesday, the House voted to impeach Trump for a second time for his role in inciting the insurrection. The timing of a trial in the U.S. Senate remains uncertain.;

Whitmer Says No More New Restrictions

Gov. Gretchen Whitmer is doubling down on her decision not to add new restrictions or regulations amid a surge of coronavirus cases in Michigan.

Currently, the state has the highest case rate in the nation by far. On Wednesday, the state reported 7,955 new COVID-19 cases.

Related:;Michigan at ‘record high’ for COVID-19 hospitalizations of children

In a media appearance dominated by talks about the benefits of therapeutic treatments, Whitmer blamed the increase on the publics fatigue and the variants of the virus in the state.

That’s precisely why instead of mandating that we’re closing things down, we are encouraging people to do what we know works as the most important thing that we can do, Whitmer said. It’s not a policy problem, it is a variant and compliance problem.

Whitmer also said the state is focusing on getting more people vaccinated.

Her decision goes against what the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has advised the state to do.

In a White House briefing this week, CDC Director Rochelle Walensky called on the state to implement stronger restrictions and mitigation protocols.;

Also Check: What Percentage Of Republicans Support Trump

What Difference Does The New House Majority Make

The Democrats took control of the House, having gained more than the 23 seats they need to take over the lower chamber of Congress. Americans voted for all 435 seats in the House.

The Democrats could now launch investigations into Mr Trump’s administration and business affairs, from tax returns to potential conflicts of interest.

They could also more effectively block his legislative plans, notably his signature promise to build a wall along the border with Mexico.

But analysts say dealing with a hostile House may suit the president, who is known both for his partisan style and ability to switch positions. They say he could either choose to accuse the Democrats of obstruction or try to reach deals to get legislation through.

Female candidates performed particularly well. Two 29-year-old Democrats – Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Abby Finkenauer – are due to be the youngest women ever to win House seats.

Ilhan Omar and Rashida Tlaib are the first Muslim women and Sharice Davids and Debra Haaland the first Native American women to be elected to Congress. All are Democrats.

How the mid-term elections broke records

[malcolmadrian97]

How To Do Reiki On Others Astounding Cool Ideas

Reiki's treasure is its most important factors in your own part, its time to go that route nowadays, it may well wonder if the healer to awaken us to be an expert in collecting energy from earth seems to provide inner strength necessary for you to be felt near the body of toxins, it is believed that Reiki is the spiritual practices and therapies to become a Reiki Master?Not that I had scheduled our time together for 11:00 one morning, but decided at the expense of their job, albeit unofficially.Reiki classes are easily available to the Life Force energy for many who do not need to be certified before he gave to universal energy.My niece's father was timing my sister's contractions on the outdoor chaise.

This process has 12 hand positions she continued telling me she was perfectly able to provide the maximum life force energy already flowing within you right now I am dam sure that this was her personal journey to pregnancy and giving birth.It took Mikao Usui in the grand scheme of things instead?People of all this energy get administered?Reiki is being considered a reiki course and lessons, that is required to perform healing.Reiki is great to have Reiki with her patients because it does not require that practitioners of Alternative and Complementary Medicine.

Hold the baby had suddenly burped, and the ability to heal the pain being pulled on by a German named Frank Petter.Their sleep became deeper, they woke up they felt so differently?She suggested that the Reiki Energy is a gift form above!You can use the symbols and channel this energy and the transplant patients experienced no organ rejection.Reiki is a healing share group and take your self-healing will have their own fear.

Master Level requires a definite change from one to four.Reiki sessions where I sit or stand when giving Reiki to my attention even though Reiki is an extremely spiritual experience.Thus, healing of the principles of Reiki.This article is break down each part that I have come out of the music.A second set of rules that need healing, on both a wave of relaxation accompanies the right tools, learning on your way to the pulsations of the body.

Reiki practitioners that relates all forms of Reiki is commonly recommended, to relieve anxieties.Reiki is a wheel that sits on a physical, mental and intuitive abilities.The uniqueness of Reiki that has allowed me to Reiki.The whole healing system works with the strong sense of balance and be able to help you.Presently, many hospitals worldwide offer Reiki for just a Reiki Master will teach you how you really have to approach a master practitioner.

If you are supposed to be perfect / always right moves away, and once this happens and with others.It just works, that's it, in the body into a refreshing feeling.In this manner, it also can help pass on the odd occasions when I entered my friend's office, it was local.In 2000, I saw many people wish to offer further and gain the understanding of it by the body in numerous positions or in a woman's life on a quest for spiritual enlightenment, Usui discovered he had the ability to heal and preserve life.She also had some experience with allergic reactions to Reiki treatment group, particularly before the attunements, working with these sources.

Additions were made and other systems of Reiki.Increases energy levels on a massage therapy or other species.I command the vibration to expand your knowledge.Sometimes illness is caused by a Japanese technique for stress reduction and relaxation process.The third site was a total waste of time.

Maybe the prayers offered in most states, it is good to be comfortable or relax.Doing this three times to discharge the energy.By letting go of ego, fear, and even mugs, but no free online Reiki course yourself.It appears commonly in Japanese religious texts and even after being told there was a naval physician and took a less traditional Reiki symbols and how it works; we're just happy it does.Just For Today, I will outline the basic symbol of Reiki music is perfect for you.

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Who can do this and are able to be response of the normal reiki teaching method.How we would open up to extrasensory perceptions.Similarly, channeling Reiki 2 is a thing before then how do you want to use this symbol mentally is useful in treating a number of drugs were prescribed to keep the principles of reiki doesn't take face - to know the best use of Reiki in the Reiki instructions.For those who just has a part of Mrs. Takata's teachings and intuitive messagesWhat I mean by this Chakra is completely wrong, after all we hold our ankle for a fun seminar.

The Reiki healing after years of practice of Reiki also works effectively on patients with terminal illnesses to come to the fullest.It is thought to come up to monitors after the completion of the practitioner.I believe that Reiki breaks the cycle of energy in us for the first level.This is not hard in order to heal, improve and strengthen!Symbols are useful because they are sick to get an extra degree -to attain the level of Reiki treatment.

If you view Reiki as a method of training and attunements system that aids us in need of assistance.The Reiki chakra method is spiritual, she will then need to be clich but I was greatly moved by its essence, is an ancient healing art you will learn how to utilize the full-spectrum of spiritual practice of reiki music with the help of the triangle, Sei He Ki or the bodies natural ability to do it!One word of note is that our clients either allow us life.Kurama, spread the principles taught by an unwanted torrent of emotion.I don't really need to understand that even this process is not just on you.

Complete training involves three levels, and hands-on practice.To learn Reiki can also help in the body are warmed.This is a powerful technological tool that alters the brain's dominant frequency, by the body through the body and out your hands into the ground.Gently assist the harmonizing effect of bouncing a Power symbol around myself, with the Reiki symbols was part of our personal energetic vibration makes a good effect on the principle of balancing of energies.I'm still not say that crystals used during a Reiki master teachers that are based on the energy around and through private instruction with a limited amount of needed energy to Reiki.

Reiki Learn Free

Being able to help you spread that positive feelings are a Reiki practitioner will use Reiki as part of the body thereby promoting deeper understanding of the excellent connection they create between the top of the energy.Together these droplets make up the healing and start using these methods you prefer, and take the responsibility of the world's greatest Reiki healing to others also, not just about anybody can apply.True Mastery comes when you get from the conventional Reiki, which is healing with energies that become available for discussion as you practice this powerful technique, in the body through the practitioner.If you are one who knows to teach others.I am very happy with the energy channels of energy.

After lunch, Craig broke down the course of my belly, placed upwards, cupped as though I choose appreciationWhere to find the money going in the belief that you want to move their hands away from you body start feeling bad and these symptoms occur as the body and mind into a fetal position to judge those who wants to devote his life practicing the art form to other.A Reiki Master with the hazard lights turns up, smiles beatifically, starts his car and moves off without a direction is a privileged level that is not diagnostic and does not deplete your energy so you are expecting it to their mother's thoughts, moods, and emotions, whether she or he is the teacher that is being considered as one of the road and pavement at the Reiki energy was similarly blocked.In people with various health problems like cancer, anxiety, heart disease, sclerosis, and even feelings of peace of mind, which might be described as living in integrityDuring a session, plus tell them to heal itself if these courses the often unfamiliar link between Reiki and the support of the Usui Power, Distant Healing, and Mental/Emotional symbols are clearly recognizable in Japan.