#I was caring it wasn’t evidence to hold up in court simply notes on understanding

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

Love is communication and love is a language and love is understanding so of course it freaking stings when someone misunderstands you even lightly because it’s like oh just… a little bit less of being known because if you knew you would understand what I’m saying to you but this is also complicated because sometimes it’s not a lack of love it’s a lack of resources to communicate or comprehend healthily and it’s tricky because when is it either how do you identify it and how can you tell when you should keep talking your language and they’ll work on their skills at understanding or when they don’t want to understand and how much is there an overlap between the two

Something something…. Why are people always misunderstanding/misreading my language and when I try to break it down for them or translate it and try to learn theirs it’s like I stop speaking my mother tongue it’s like it’s lost and alien and why can’t… anyone read it and listen to it and listen to me for once?

Love is putting effort into finding the translation but what happens when only one is translated and the other is lost?

[aquilamage]

also for funsies have a look at the first section of the fic that was supposed to be my entry for today but then spiraled out of control (aka nearly 7k words and I’ve still got multiple little scenes left). very beginning aftermath of a canon divergence au I like to call reminisn’t. content warning for hospital setting and a general discussion of injury/medical stuff.

He woke to a dull ache in his chest. Around him, he registered various beeps of electronics and softly, voices, but as he tried to listen, to think about them, it was like moving through syrup. Frustrating as it was, he forced himself to pull his mind back, to let the sensations simply wash over him for now.

He didn’t know how long it was, and he may have drifted off again, but eventually he was able to open his eyes. At first there wasn’t much to see, just a plain wall in cool gray.

Then, a woman in scrubs leaned into his field of vision. “Mr. Faraday?”

All he managed was an almost “yeah?” that sounded like mush.

It was comprehensible enough, though, it seemed, because she nodded. “You’re in the hospital.” A slight pause. “You were under anesthesia while your injuries were being treated, so it’s likely you’ll be disoriented for a while.”

Injury? Well, that made sense. Although he couldn’t remember the how or why of something like that happening. ...What was the last thing he could remember?

“Can you tell me what day it is?” When Byrne stared at her, she added, slowly, “I’m just trying to tell how coherent you are.”

“Monday?” He’d had court, or was going to, since they’d recently finished another heist. “...the tenth?” No. He’d already had, and it had gone very wrong.

She nodded, and moved to do something with the medical equipment by his side. (There were a couple things stuck in his arm – his right, he noted with surprised delight). “Now, can you-”

He remembered. Calisto, studying the key, hand wrapped in an evidence bag. Then, a flash of her signature grin as she did something to it, and then… “Yew!” The heaviness in his limbs vanished in the face of his desperation, and he tried to sit up. “She’s not- She tried-” Faintly he was aware of the nurse saying something, but he was too busy fighting his lack of coordination to move, to get out the right words to explain she’d stabbed him, they needed to find her, to figure out what had gone wrong.

Something took ahold of his arm, at the same time pressing against his collarbone just enough to hold him down. “Faraday.”

At the voice, he stopped struggling and actually looked.

Tyrell was leaning over his other side, steady gaze biting back worry. The pressure lightened, but he didn’t move either hand off. “We know. We’re working on it.”

He relaxed back down, and was hit with lightheadedness and more pain in his chest. For a minute he just laid there as his body stabilized the stress.

“...Are you done trying to injure yourself more?”

When he opened his eyes, Badd was watching him with a frown. He was tempted to make a tease with his response, but he didn’t have the energy. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Byrne hadn’t noticed how cold he was until he’d been seeping up Badd’s warmth for a bit, and he had to stifle a protest as he let go of his arm and lifted the other hand off of him.

The nurse said something, hopefully to Badd, since he was quickly drifting off.

When he woke up again, he felt more coherent than the last time, and the pain had faded back down.

The nurse was still there. “It’s understandable for you to be upset, but you also have to be careful. The weapon missed hitting anything major and the stitches are in place, but it’s still possible to pull them.” Her tone was gentle, but with just enough of a highness to it that she had to be hiding exasperation. Not that he could blame her.

“No more freaking out, I promise.”

“Good.” She glanced at her clipboard. “Everything is stable, and at normal levels for now.” Looking to the side at Badd, she added, “If he needs anything, you know how to call me,” and headed out.

When the door shut, they were quiet for a moment. Then, Badd moved closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

He thought about it. “I’ve been better.” Now that he was actually looking at Badd, he noted that he was missing his jacket, and there were bandages on his arm. “What happened to you?”

“She took a shot at me.”

His heart sunk – a little of the usual worry any time Badd got injured, but mostly as he started to process what she had done. Forcing a smile, he sighed. “You couldn’t just let me be the one in the hospital for once, huh?”

Byrne had expected a sigh, or a glare, and he did get the latter, but not before a look of pain flashed through his eyes. “It’s not funny, Faraday.”

“I’m sorry.” Right, Badd had to be giving himself hell and then again for all this happening. Even without any details, Byrne knew it was far more than he could possibly deserve. “Sit down, Tyrell.”

“What?”

He glanced around – it was a hospital room, they always had at least one chair of widely varying quality – and waved at the chair when he found it. “Sit.” Considering how far away it still was, he had to wonder if Badd had been standing the whole time he’d been in here. He certainly hadn’t slept in the last- He couldn’t easily see a clock, but the fact that it was pitch dark out the window meant it was certainly a long time. Seeing Badd’s hesitance, he cut him off before he could protest. “It’s weird talking to you from these angles.”

The look on his face said he knew it was an excuse, but he still dragged the chair over to the bedside and sat in it. “Anything else you want to bother me about?” he said, adjusting the bed so Byrne was propped up a bit.

“Hm. Not as long as you’ve eaten recently, I suppose.” He desperately wanted to shove his way into a conversation about Badd’s mental state, but that would take forever, and he wasn’t sure it would even do any good right now.

“I had dinner with Kay.”

He’d been moving towards the subject, but at the mention of his daughter he jumped right to it. “How is she?”

“Worried.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Still haven’t gotten her to sleep, especially since she knew you’d be awake soon.”

“She’s here?” He was torn between “can I see her?” and “what, couldn’t you get someone to watch her at home?” The latter won out as first to be said, though.

Another heavy sigh. “I could; Goodman came to deliver a report so he’s sitting with her now. But she’s been clinging to me pretty hard.”

She did tend to do the same any time Badd had gotten injured, and this had to be so much worse for her. “You could have taken her home for a while, then.”

Badd stood up, abruptly. Wordlessly, he moved to face out the window.

Byrne waited for him to move again, to say something. A few minutes passed with nothing. Under normal circumstances he would have gone over and put a hand on his shoulder, made Tyrell look at him to break him out of whatever was going on in his mind. He didn’t have that luxury right now. “Badd?”

It took a second, more insistent call to get him to turn around. Hands clenched into fists, he stared at the floor. “Not guarding you myself was what let this happen in the first place,” he said, voice quiet but raw.

At first he was stunned wordless, even more cursing his inability to just reach out to him. Then when he opened his mouth to respond, the door opened.

It was the same nurse. “Any changes?” When he shook his head, she moved to the equipment. “I’m going to swap out your IV, and then you need to rest again.”

“...can I bargain for another five minutes?”

“Faraday, listen to medical direction.”

Oh, he certainly wanted to continue their thread of conversation, but that wasn’t his goal at the moment. “You said Kay was here. I want to see her.”

The nurse frowned, but turned to Badd. “Go get her.” To Byrne, “Five minutes.”

Wherever Kay had been, it didn’t take long for Badd to be back with her. She hesitated in the door for a moment, but when he smiled and waved weakly, she ran to him, flinging her arms around him. When he winced (she’d gone high up enough not to directly collide with his injury, but there’d still been plenty of force behind her movements), she made to pull back.

So of course he immediately hugged her back to keep her there. “It’s alright kiddo. I’m fine.”

With a sniffle, she buried her face in his shoulder. “Daddy…”

He rubbed circles in her back, murmuring reassurances as she cried. Everything that had happened started to catch up with him, pain in his chest beyond physical.

Something of it must have shown on his face, because Badd came over, pulling the chair the last couple inches to the bed and sitting. Carefully, he placed a hand on top of Kay’s head.

She made a little noise, squirming around just enough to free an arm, which she stuck out in his direction. When he took it, she drew it back to where it had been, sandwiching Badd’s arm between the two of them.

Badd huffed, but he was smiling, and made no move to extricate himself. Even when he caught the half-teasing grin Byrne was giving him, he only shook his head.

A little while later, the nurse stuck her head in the door. She stopped when she noticed the tangled sort of pile they’d made.

Byrne did his best to shrug without moving Kay.

She held up three fingers and closed the door again.

That time, the noise was just enough to get Kay to lift her head, although she could barely keep her eyes open. “Mm?”

With a little effort, he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I’m supposed to rest some more, so you’re going to have to get up.”

“No, I can stay,” she murmured, snuggling back against him. “I’ll be quiet.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you will,” (knowing her, it was maybe two minutes out from her falling asleep entirely, and she was as heavy a sleeper as he wasn’t) “but you still can’t sleep on me, kiddo.”

“...Fine.” Sitting up, she turned and fell into Badd’s lap.

That was a clever enough workaround that he couldn’t bring himself to argue with her. Especially when Badd simply leaned the chair back and adjusted her more comfortably; it would be two against one. So instead, he laid down. “Good night, Kay.”

“Night, Daddy.”

---

A few minutes later, he fumbled to sit upright, biting off a curse just in time to turn it into a hiss. It turned out not to have been necessary, since Kay was already asleep, but it was the principle of the thing.

Badd, however, was not, and watched him carefully through the darkness. “What?”

“I have to call Kay’s school about her not going in tomorrow,” he mumbled, hazily trying to determine if it would be better to do now and leave a message or attempt to wake up at the right time in the morning.

“Already done.”

“...Oh.”

He shook his head. “Go to sleep, Faraday.”

[wiypt-writes]

Riding High

Ch8: Adler vs Adler

Chapter Summary: The gloves are off in court as Frank faces off against his mother.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. Talk of suicide.

Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: Contains SPOILERS for the film!!!!! If you haven’t seen it please be aware of that before you read on. Also, those of you who do know this film well will see that I’ve changed the dates referenced in the court case, that’s because I brought the timeline of Gifted forward from 2015 (when it was filmed) to 2017 (when it was released). This was mainly to suit Fliss’ backstory of the Olympics. 2015 is too close to 2012 for me to make it work. Also Frank’s middle name is an absolute H/C too as I couldn’t find it anywhere so, sorry if this annoys any of you but, to quote @icanfeelastormbrewing- “my coffee, my fic, my rules…”

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 7

“And love, if your wings are broken, borrow mine so yours can open too…’cause I’m gonna stand by you”

 The first bit of evidence the next morning was the findings of the Welfare Department’s investigation. It had thrown nothing out of the ordinary up. The house was clean enough, Mary was fed, but they did point out that their current living arrangements wouldn’t be suitable for much longer as Mary would need her own room as she grew older, something which Frank’s attorney accepted on behalf of Frank, stating to the court that Frank had already considered this. Which in fairness he had. The Welfare Department continued then, stating that Mary’s interview the previous day hadn’t thrown up anything of concern, even if there were some questionable TV viewing habits, namely Ultimate Fighting on a Saturday night, but they were satisfied that overall Mary was suffering no ill effects, mentally or physically from being with Frank.

This took them just under an hour, as they were factual reports. Both Attorney’s requested clarification on certain points but there were no questions or cross examinations to be done. As such they had concluded just after eleven am and there was then a small ten minute break to allow a quick consultation between clients and attorney’s before Evelyn was to take to the stand. As people moved around, passing papers and files to one another, Frank turned in his seat and just as he glanced round, someone left the courtroom and through the open door Fliss walked in, dressed in a smart pair of black jeans and a light blue strappy top. He flashed her a smile and she gave a small wave, settling onto a seat next to Roberta who gave her a hug. She’d missed the early session due to having to sort the horses out but she’d cleared her diary and brought in cover for the rest of the day so she could be there to lend him support.

And even though the morning had, all in all, been favourable to him, Frank felt his spirits raise even more at the sight of her there in his corner so to speak. Tearing his eyes away from her, Frankturned back to Greg who was watching him, eyebrow raised.

“Well that’s a mighty big smile Frank.”

“I just spotted some additional back up, that’s all.” Greg turned to see the woman who was now talking to Roberta and he grinned, spinning back to Frank “Let me guess, Fliss?”

Frank nodded “Yeah, I’ll introduce you later.”

Greg raised his eyebrow, smiling a little. “I look forward to it. Anyway, back to business. That opening report from the Welfare Department was good, well as good as it’s gonna get. But dude, Ultimate Fighting? Really?”

“It’s harmless fun.” Frank shrugged

Greg shook his head “Whatever. This next bit ain’t gonna be as easy.” “No shit.” Frank mumbled, looking at his mother as she said something to Highsmith, her attorney. “She’s going to rip me to pieces, and no doubt enjoy doing it too.” “Yep.” Greg nodded “But just keep doing what you’re doing. No outbursts, stay quiet, focussed and listen. If she says something that isn’t accurate, or you think of anything we can use, note it down and I’ll use it in my cross examination, okay?” Frank nodded as Judge Nicholls banged his gavel down and issued instructions for everyone to reconvene. He called Evelyn to the stand where she was sworn in and Highsmith stood up and began firing questions at her, a well-practiced dance, Frank could tell.

From the gallery Fliss watched intently. She’d been missed the first session but Roberta had hastily filled her in, telling her it had gone well. She shot Frank another encouraging smile, just as the judge called them back to order, and couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in his suit. A far cry from his dirty jeans and ratty work t-shirts. Which, if she was honest, she preferred…

Evelyn took to the stand and Fliss felt herself bristling as she proceeded to utterly character assassinate Frank, depicting him as nothing more than an irresponsible bum, floating around with no purpose to life, a man who didn’t care about Mary’s welfare, preferring to simply fly by the seat of his pants instead of giving her any decent roots or thoughts to her needs. At one point, they started to question his motivations towards taking Mary being more about punishing Evelyn that actually caring about the girl. To this Frank’s attorney objected and as the two lawyers began to argue, Fliss found her nails cutting into her palms as she clenched her fists. Roberta gently reached out and squeezed her arm and she turned to the woman next to her and gave her a tight smile.

“Frank’s attorney, Greg Cullen, he’s good…” Roberta whispered, “He’ll go at her when he gets his chance, you’ll see.”

The objection was overruled, the judge telling Cullen he would get his chance to challenge that statement in his cross examination, and Cullen sat down, leaning over to whisper something to Frank who nodded, his eyes not once leaving his mother. Cullen jotted something down as Evelyn continued.

By the time she finished it was almost one pm so they broke for lunch, Judge Nicholls instructing everyone to be back in an hour. Fliss and Roberta headed outside to wait for Frank who met them shortly after.

“Hey.” Fliss gave him a gentle hug. “How you holding up?”

“About as well as I can for someone whose own mother just tore them to shreds under oath.” Fliss’ eyes narrowed “I hope your guy is gonna give her as much of a shredding as she gave you.” “I’ll do my best.” A voice spoke from behind them. Fliss spun round to be greeted by Frank’s attorney.

“Fliss, this is Greg Cullen, Greg, Fliss Gallagher.” Frank introduced them to one another. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Greg smiled at her, shaking her hand. Fliss looked up at Frank and was surprised to find a faint flush of red on his cheeks.

“All good I hope?” she grimaced and Cullen nodded.

“Oh, very good indeed. I’ve been dying to meet the woman who’s made such an impression on him.” “Greg, piss off.” Frank groaned in a tired voice before he nodded over the road to the café “Shall we grab some lunch?”

They ate together, making small talk, before Greg requested Frank join him alone for fifteen minutes to go over their plan for the rest of the afternoon. Frank stood, and without even thinking about it gave Fliss a quick peck on the cheek. He winced as soon as he had, noticing that Cullen and Roberta were watching him and, knowing Fliss was going to get an absolute drilling from Roberta, he shot her an apologetic look as he walked away. She simply smiled through her blush and shook her head, turning to Roberta who nudged her arm.

“Okay, what was that?” Greg asked as they walked back over the road. “Are you two erm…”

“It’s complicated.” Frank shrugged after a little pause. “We both, well we both like each other but with everything that’s going on we’re just kind of waiting, I suppose. I’m focussing on getting through whatever it is that happens with Mary and then hopefully...what?” he trailed off as Greg was smirking at him.

“Frank Adler. Finally found a girl he likes that much he ain’t simply trying to get her into bed. Wait till I tell the guys.”

Frank rolled his eyes and pointed to the courtroom “How about you concentrate on what’s gonna go on in there instead of what is or isn’t going on in my bedroom?”

Greg gave out a chuckle and patted his friend on the shoulder as they made their way in and headed into the side room they had reserved.

****

“Mrs. Adler, in your earlier testimony here today, you painted a pretty dim picture of your own son don't you think?” Cullen asked, tapping his pen on his note pad. Frank remained stony faced, watching his mother.

“I'm under oath, I take no pleasure in it.” She said with a glance at Frank before she looked down, almost convincingly.

Frank just about managed to refrain from rolling his eyes.

“So, your son is a failure in life, your daughter took her life, you know, you're oh for two.”

Fliss winced and glanced at Roberta as Highsmith said “Objection” in an almost bored voice

“Withdrawn.” Cullen’s voice took on an amused edge but as Fliss watched as Evelyn simply eyed him, completely un-phased.

“If I go one for three, I'm in the Hall of Fame.” she shot back.

“You know baseball.” Cullen pushed his chair back. “Fenway Park.”

At that something flickered in Evelyn’s eye as she glanced at Frank. Fliss followed her gaze and watched, just able to see the side of Frank’s face. His eyes were locked onto her, his expression never faltering.

“You know, I'd like to go there sometime.” Cullen stood up, pushing his glasses up onto his head as Evelyn turned back to him “How often in a year did you take Diane to the baseball game?”

“Diane wasn't interested in sports.” Evelyn replied

“She never wanted to go to a game? Ever?”

“I don't recall her ever asking.”

Cullen moved forwards a step and Fliss saw Frank’s eyes flick to him as he continued to question his mother.

“Just out of curiosity, Fenway, that's a tough ticket. Where do you get yours?”

“My husband has season tickets.”

“And how long has he had them?” Cullen enquired

“Thirty years. But I've only been married to him for twenty.” Evelyn informed him.

“And Diane never went to one game?”

Evelyn didn’t reply, simply raised her eyebrows slightly as if she was failing to see the point. Fliss’ eyes once again flicked to Frank who still hadn’t moved an inch.

“What colour was the dress Diane wore to prom?” Cullen changed his line of questions.

“Diane didn't attend the prom, because she didn't attend the high school.” Evelyn replied calmly

“No prom.” Cullen mused before he asked suddenly.“What sports did she play?”

“As I told you earlier, she wasn't interested in sports.”

“She’s calm.” Roberta whispered to Fliss as Cullen continued to question Evelyn about Diane’s lack of interaction with other children her age.

“Too calm.” Fliss nodded. “But I can see what he’s doing, trying to paint a picture of how she isolated Diane to imply that she’d do the same to Mary. You’re right, he’s good.”

As they tuned back into the examination again, Cullen took a deep breath and glanced to his left

“Mrs. Adler,” he looked back at her, “who's Paul Riva?”

At that Evelyn glanced at Frank, her calm mask slipping ever so slightly but still Frank didn’t move. Fliss could see his expression now carried a faint, and every so sad, smile.

Evelyn gave a silent huff before she looked back at Cullen “He was a boy from the neighbourhood.”

Her tone was clipped and Fliss noticed the judge sit forward slightly at her shift in attitude, narrowing his eyes a little as he watched her curiously.

“Oh, come on. He was much more than just a boy from the neighbourhood.  Paul was Diane's first love. Wasn't he?” Cullen asked.

Fliss and Roberta exchanged a glance.

“I wouldn't characterize it that way, no.” Evelyn shook her head.

“And how would Diane characterize it?”

“Diane was seventeen years old at the time. She didn't know anything about love.”

At that Fliss caught the first movement Frank had made since his mother had started talking. He took a deep breath and looked to his left before turning back, his shoulders moving slightly in frustration as he shook his head slightly, his eyes locking back onto his mother who was carefully avoiding his gaze.

“Mrs. Adler, in January 2000 didn't Diane and young Mr. Riva run away together?” Cullen looked at her.

“He coerced her.” Evelyn corrected with the air of someone picking her words carefully.

“And where did they go?”

“Vermont.”

“And you called the police, didn't you?” Cullen stated rather than asked.

“Yes.”

“Because he kidnapped her?”

“Yes”

“And where did the police find young Mr. Riva and Diane?” Cullen looked at Evelyn

“I told you, Vermont.” Evelyn looked at Cullen, her voice suddenly taking on an icy edge which made Fliss lean forward slightly.

“Stowe, Vermont. Wasn't it? A resort town.” Cullen looked round the court room as Evelyn shifted uncomfortably. “Stowe Mountain. He took her skiing. You see, kidnappers don't usually take their victims skiing.” Cullen paused from his explanation. When he spoke again his voice was calm, and slow, stressing the point perfectly “But this is what Paul did because he and Diane were in love.”

“No.” Evelyn refuted firmly

“And when they returned, you pressed kidnapping charges.” Cullen’s voice rose in volume and speed as he spoke. “You filed a lawsuit against his parents, until Paul stopped calling Diane. Didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“And Diane never heard of or saw Paul Riva again. Did she?” Cullen’s tone was harsh, accusatory as he stared at Evelyn.

“Poor girl.” Roberta mumbled besides her and Fliss shook her head, in utter shock at how a mother could be so damned cruel and out of touch with her own daughter. It made her feel a pang of sympathy for Mary’s mother despite never having known her. Fliss couldn’t imagine what she would do without either of her parents being as supportive as they were.

Evelyn must have answered as by the time Fliss turned her attention fully to what she was saying, as Cullen had asked another question.

“And how did she take it?”

“She was upset for a while. She lost focus.”

“She lost focus.” Cullen turned back to the desk and picked up a small file. “Mrs. Adler,” he turned back, file in hand, “in March of 2001 didn't Diane Adler attempt to take her own life?”

“This episode was minor. It was nothing.” Evelyn replied, her tone harsh.

“Nothing?” Fliss drew in a breath, shaking her head. For a moment she almost lost herself in another memory, of one rainy afternoon in Boston in October 2015, but she took a deep breath and focussed on where she was, as Cullen flashed the file at Evelyn.

“I have the hospital report in my hand.” he informed her

“It was nothing.” Evelyn said again, and now Fliss could see she was rattled. “Diane was not like regular people. She was extraordinary. And extraordinary people come with singular issues and needs.”

Fliss watched as Evelyn leant forward, her face creased in anger as she hissed “You have no idea of the capability she possessed. One in a billion. And you would say fine, let's throw that away, so the boy who cuts our yard can make a sexual conquest? Well maybe before you make that decision, you stand in my shoes. I had responsibilities, which went beyond the mother-daughter relationship.”

She took a deep breath and spoke again, her voice louder this time “The greatest discoveries, which have proved life on this planet have come from minds rarer than radium. Without them, we'd still be crawling in mud. And for your information, counsellor, a year after this incident with this boy Diane thanked me for my intervention. She realized she'd made a mistake and she thanked me. You see, Diane understood. She was accountable for the gift she'd been given. And she didn't shy from it.”

Every inch of Evelyn’s face was contorted with a mixture of pain and anger, and she radiated absolute fury across the courtroom as her rant built to its climax

“And I think, if she were here today, Mr. Attorney, she would refute your baseless insinuations, that she would give up her brilliant future and take her own life just because mummy didn't get her a little red wagon

There was a pause as she took a breath and sat back.

“No more questions.” Cullen said simply, turning back to his seat.

Fliss watched Frank who shifted, rubbing his chin with his left hand, his fingers curling round his jaw in an L shape as he stared at this mother, his face completely unreadable to anyone who didn’t know him, but to her she could see the pain in his eyes.

And from the look Evelyn gave him, it was obvious she’d seen it too.

***** When Mary returned home on the school bus that afternoon, Frank did his best to remain positive and keep his broodings to himself, and was thankful when Fliss suggested they head out for dinner with Roberta. The four of them went to the same restaurant he had met his mother at not long before where he ate, not really tasting his food, or listening as Fliss and Roberta chatted away. Instead his attention was completely on Mary who was stood with one of the waitresses at another table, pouring sand out of one of the bottles that was used to keep the tablecloths from blowing away. The thought that she could be without such simple pleasure of looking through sand for shells, and lost to a world of pressure and solitude like Diane had been, was breaking his heart.

He felt someone squeeze his hand at the same time Mary held up a shell and showed it to him. He took a deep breath and tried to rearrange his face into a smile as he turned to face Fliss.

“It’s going to be okay, Frank.” She looked at him and he swallowed, unable to form his words. Instead his fingers tightened around hers and she simply held his hand whilst they finished up their drinks.

Later that evening, once Mary was asleep inside the apartment, Frank and Fliss sat outside the kitchen door, shoulder to shoulder along the top step.

“You know, until I met you I thought sitting on a porch drinking beer was something only red necked hillbillies did.” Fliss teased him.

“Well, according to my mother that’s what I am.” he scoffed.

“And according to me your mother is a callous, cold hearted bitch.” Fliss spat, with such venom it made Frank look at her, his eyebrow raising a little. She took a deep breath, her voice softening “How can anyone dismiss a suicide attempt as nothing.”

Frank looked away, taking a pull from his beer. They sat in silence for a moment before Fliss broke it.

“You know back in 2015, about five months after I’d gotten married, I almost did it you know? Killed myself.”

Frank’s head turned to face her. She wasn’t looking at him, instead she remained focussed on a spot in the distance as she stared straight ahead. “My life was out of my control, and it was the only way I could think of getting some of that control back. So I took a shit load of buproprion and washed it down with half a litre of vodka.”

“Shit, Lissy I’m sorry, I had-” She waved his sympathy off and continued “After that I was offered all this help and support and-” she snorted bitterly, “I still went back to him. He convinced everyone, including me that the issue was the fact that I was still brooding over my career being cut so short, and then told me that having a kid would fix the issue. In reality there was no issue to fix. I wasn’t depressed as such, I was abused. And that was simply another way of him taking control.”

After a moment she turned to look at him, “I’m not saying your mother abused Diane, not as such but she isolated her for her own, selfish reasons, no matter how she tries to dress them up or convince herself that it was for Diane’s own good. That first suicide attempt your sister would have made a normal, loving parent sit up and pay attention to what was going on. I know it did mine, as Bill never trusted John’s explanation, not one word.” “I should have done more too.” Frank’s voice was choked as he looked down at his feet. “But I was so busy, wrapped up in my finals and…”

“Frank, Diane wasn’t your responsibility, you’re not her parent.”

“No but when Dad died, I promised I’d take care of her, always be there for her. I should have done more, and I should have known, when she turned up that day at mine with Mary…”

“Frankie.” Fliss cut him off, her hand taking his. “Take it from me, my mum and dad and brother went through all of this in their head. Did Diane give you any warnings at all because I know I didn’t?  Look at the lies and the world of fantasy I let John build up round me and detract from what was going on. I told nobody I was gonna do it Frank. And I told no body why I did it either.”

Frank sniffed and wiped at his nose slightly with his free hand.

“So you can either carry on beating yourself up over something that isn’t your fault or you can concentrate on getting the best outcome here for Mary.”

He reached for his beer which was on the step below him between his legs and nodded. She was right, he knew she was, but there would always be that part of him that wondered if he could have done more, it he should have done more.

“Are you planning on coming tomorrow?” he asked, looking at Fliss.

“Yeah, Joanne is covering again.”

“I don’t want to put you out.” he said gently, but she shook her head.

“It’s sorted.” Fliss smiled. “She wants the week of Thanksgiving off so she’s racking up the favours.”

“Well, from a purely selfish standpoint I’m glad.” He flexed his fingers against hers, looking down at where they were entwined.

“I’m not missing your testimony, if only for the sole reason of discovering what your full name is.” she teased as he looked at her. Frank gave a huff of a laugh “Francis Preston Adler, nice to meet you.” He tipped his bottle in her direction. “Preston?” She snorted “Get out of town! There’s a place in England called Preston, it’s like thirty miles away from my home!”

Frank smiled, before he sighed.

“Last day tomorrow isn’t it?” Fliss looked at him as he stared straight ahead.

He let out a breath “Yeah, well last day of evidence. Then we have to wait for however long it takes the judge to read all the reports and make a ruling.”

“Well then, I suggest you get some sleep, or as much as you can.” Fliss kissed his cheek, and with that she released his hand and stood up. Frank followed her lead, rising to her feet. “Oh, and FYI I got an absolute interrogation off Roberta before when you did that to me. Felt like it was me in the dock, not Evelyn.” For the first time all evening Frank laughed.

******

The gloomy, rainy morning matched Frank’s mood perfectly.

He sat in the dock dressed in his suit, feeling as out of place as anyone could. Greg went through the questions he had coached Frank on, questions designed not to paint him as a saint but to simply be real and portray him as a normal person, doing the best he could for his niece in line with his sister’s wishes. Frank answered them honestly. Was he perfect? No. Had he done things correctly? No. Did he wish he had spotted Diane was struggling? Yes. Did he love Mary and want the best for her? With every breath he had.

The questions continued along those lines until they broke for lunch. And then came the cross examination, and Frank knew he was in for a beating.

“Mr. Adler where are you currently employed?” Highsmith asked sitting on the desk to the left of Evelyn.

“I repair boats.” Frank answered clearly

“Oh, really? At which marina?”

“I don't work at a marina. I freelance.”

“So, safe to say, no health insurance.”

“No.” Frank shook his head

“About a week before your sister took her life what were you doing for a living then?”

“I was a teacher.” Frank replied.

“You're being modest, aren't you?” Highsmith said, standing up and walking towards the dock “You were a professor at Boston University Isn't that right?

“Yes, well, assistant professor.”

“And what'd you teach?”

“Philosophy.”

“Truth and logic. That sort of thing.” Highsmith gestured with his hands and Frank simply smiled as the man continued. “Your attorney said that the primary reason that you took Mary is because it was what your sister would've wanted you to do. Is that a truth?”

“Yes.” Frank implored

“So Diane had visited Pinellas County before?”

“No.” Frank said with almost an air of amusement on his face as he looked at his mother for a second before he glanced down and joined his hands in front of him in his lap.

“She indicated she wanted her daughter uprooted and moved here?”

Frank shook his head, closing his eyes. “No”

“No.” Highsmith repeated “So you decided to bring Mary here, didn't you?”

Frank licked his lips and drew in a deep breath as he simply stared as his mother. He was pleased so see her shift in her seat

“Did Diane had a problem with your health plan at Boston University?” Highsmith pressed.

Frank wanted to laugh. The guy was doing exactly what Greg had warned him he would do, attack his lack of healthcare, insinuate he wasn’t able or fit to provide for Mary. When he spoke his voice was calm, and he fought to keep his face as amicable as possible.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Do you think she would want her daughter to have access to healthcare?”

Dumbass question

“Of course.” Frank nodded.

“So what do you do, when little Mary gets sick? You repair a doctor's boat?”

Frank scoffed a laugh as Cullen objected.

“Sustained.” Judge Nicholls shot Highsmith a look and Frank stole a glance at Fliss. If the situation wasn’t so serious he would have laughed at the identical look she wore to Roberta, both glaring at Highsmith like they were plotting his very painful death.

The rain outside continued to drive down as did Highsmith’s questions, the air punctuated every so often by a low rumble of thunder from the outside storm echoing what Frank was feeling inside.

“Prior to Mrs. Adler giving her one. Did Mary have a computer?”

“She used mine.”

“Mr. Adler, does Diane's daughter have her own bedroom?”

“No.”

“Does she sleep in a bed that you bought in a second hand shop?”

“Yes.” Frank looked ahead, focussing on keeping calm as Highsmith walked towards the dock, gesturing now with his hands, his tone winding up

“So, the truth is, Mr. Adler, that you didn't come down here because your sister wanted it to and you certainly didn't come here because it was good for Mary.”

Frank swallowed slightly and shifted a little, avoiding looking at the man as he tapped his hand on the side of the dock.

“No, it was personal. Diane was a star. You weren't. Diane got the attention. You didn't.”

Frank scoffed silently, oh please, and turned to look in the opposite direction.

“..and over the years You got angry. And here comes Mary. What a great way to get even.”

At that he audibly sighed. He had known this was coming, that his mother’s attorney would try and paint him as petty and vindictive but it still hurt to hear it. Hurt that his own mother would have someone attack him in such a way. He’d defend Mary to the hilt if someone was doing this to her…

“You've uprooted that little girl and brought her here for one reason only. To do harm to your mother. You blamed her for your sister.”

“No, I don't.” Frank broke his silence.

“And Mary to you is just a pawn in all this.”

And that did it, Mary wasn’t a pawn. She was a little girl, a little girl who he was doing is best by.

“Diane wanted Mary, to be a kid” Frank’s voice betrayed his desperation and emotion, and he knew that, but now he was past caring, this was the truth, it was how he felt, and he was nothing if not honest. He locked eyes with his mother as he spoke, driving his words home “.She wanted her to have a life. She wanted her to have friends and to play…”

At that his mother looked away, her eyes glistening but Frank kept his on hers as she turned back to him, his final words were almost whispered

“…and to be happy.”

“You realize the consequences of boredom for a gifted child, Mr. Adler? They become resentful and sullen.”

“Mary's not an angry kid.” Frank’s voice was calm once more.

“Really? Did she not attack a child on the school bus?”

Shit.

“A twelve year old tripped a seven year old and she came to his defense.” Frank shrugged slightly

“Did she break the boy's nose?”

“Yes.”

“On October 16th last year, were you arrested for assault?”

“Oh, my God.” Frank groaned, and he looked down before he glanced back up, momentarily locking eyes with Fliss who he noticed had taken a deep breath. He looked back down, shaking his head

“You have to answer the question Mr. Adler.” Judge Nicholls reminded him

Frank swallowed and focussed on a spot on the varnished surface of the wood in front of him, just by the microphone. “A drunk idiot attacked me and I defended myself. What does that have to do…”

“Did you spend the night in jail?” Highsmith cut him off.

“Yeah.” Frank nodded.

“You are in way over your head here. You're depriving that girl…”

Frank stayed still, shaking his head and glaring at his mother, all the while Highsmith continued ranting on at him

“…you're gambling with her future and now you’re being presented with an opportunity to do right by her.”

“Does council have a question for my client?” Cullen asked loudly

“Take the high road, Mr. Adler before she's rapidly damaged.”

“Does council have a question for my client or not?” Cullen repeated, this time standing up.

“Yes, sir. I do have a question.” Highsmith said. “Tell us. Is your continued guardianship really in the best interest of this little girl?”

“You do your best, Frank. And that’s all any of us can do…” Fliss’s voice rattled in his head, and he took a deep breath. No he wasn’t perfect. Yes, Evelyn could provide for her better than he could but could she love Mary like he did. No, no she couldn’t

He stared at his mother, as he lifted his chin and spoke loudly and clearly.

“Yes.Yes, it is.”

“I have no further questions.” Highsmith spoke.

Frank scratched at his head and left the dock.

***** Following the summing up, they were all dismissed. Frank shook Greg’s hand who told him he would be in touch and Frank left the courtroom with Roberta, Fliss nowhere to be seen. He took a deep breath, realising she was probably going to run a mile after hearing about the assault. That wasn’t how he wanted her to find out. However, to his amazement and joy she was waiting for him by his truck. Roberta nodded to him and made an excuse to nip over the road to the store for a water leaving them to talk alone.

“Thought you’d gone?” he said gently.

“No, I had to take a call from Joanne about a lesson. Why would I leave without saying goodbye?” she frowned

“The assault”

Fliss sighed “Okay, I admit it was a shock to hear but…”

“At least let me explain.”

“There’s really no need. You said you were defending yourself and I believe you.”

“He was a drunk idiot.” Frank continued anyway. “I was actually out with a friend, Jacob and his fiancée, Lisa. Jake had gone to the bathroom and this guy bumped into us and sent Lisa flying into the table, knocking a load of glasses over. When I told him to be careful he took a swing at me only he missed and, well I didn’t.”

“You’re a regular knight in shining armour, Sailor.” Fliss smiled before she looked at him softly. “I know that was hard today. I was so angry and the things he was saying to you but it’s done now. Try not to think on it because you can’t change the outcome. Whatever it is, you did your best.”

“You know I remembered you saying that to me.” he smiled, “Right as he was telling me what a lousy life I give Mary.” “It’s not lousy.”  Fliss shook her head. “She’s loved Frank. And she’s happy.”

He smiled again as she took a deep breath.

“Look, I have to go, I have a lesson in an hour now this rain has let up, but what are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Working.” he said, chuckling as she raised her eyebrow. “Yeah I know, second Friday night in a row but, well I’m behind thanks to this case and whilst Roberta has Mary I can get a good few hours in during the night and then get my head down for a few hours before she comes back.”

“How about I keep you company?” Fliss offered. “Only if that’s ok?”

Frank smiled “As long as you don’t distract me too much.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**** The next evening, Frank and Fliss were in the workshop at the Marina, Frank explaining to Fliss the different components of the oil filter he was stripping down. She gave a loud, exaggerated yawn and he nudged her playfully. She grinned at him, and he didn’t miss the flash in her eyes as she looked him quickly up and down, taking in his dirty jeans, hands covered in oil and his long sleeved thin blue sweater which he knew fit him pretty well. Part of the reason he had worn it.

“Hey.” a familiar voice said, and they both looked up to see Cullen as he stood in the entrance.

“Hey.” Frank frowned “What’s…” “I got some news, and I wanted to give it to you in person.”

“I’ll er, give you a moment.” Fliss offered, and she went to leave but Frank caught her elbow gently.

“No, stay, please.”

She looked at him for a second and nodded as Frank turned his attention to Cullen.

“What is it Greg.”

“Highsmith called. They want to cut a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

Cullen took a breath. “A foster family.”

“No way.” Frank dismissed the notion straight up and Greg continued to try and win him round, informing him that they could cherry pick and that it would be mutually approved and he’d already found a family in Tampa, which was what he had been working on all day.

“She’ll attend the Oaks, you and Evelyn will get visitation right, and then, when she’s twelve, you can go back into court and Mary can decide where, and with who, she wants to live.”

“You’re supposed to be on my team.” Frank cut his friend off, glaring at him “Why are you bringing me this deal?

“Other than I'm required to by law?” Greg looked back at him, and then suddenly Frank understood.

“You like this deal.” he stated and Greg nodded.

“I love this deal.”

“They think they're gonna lose.” Frank leaned on the work-desk in front of him, looking at Cullen.

“Yeah. They do.”

“You think we're gonna lose.”

“Yes.” Greg replied honestly. “I do, Frank.”

Frank looked down, swallowing before he turned to his friend who sighed.

“I gotta go put my kids to bed. I'll do whatever you want me to do. But, if we leave this up to the judge, Nicholls, he's old school, Frank. Does he like your mother? No. Does he like her income? Does he like her health plan? Does he like her home? You better believe it.”

Frank looked down again, shaking his head, unable to do anything else.

“I've been in his courtroom. A hundred times. And if it's a coin toss...Look at me.”

Frank turned to Greg, his arms still leaning on the top, muscles straining as he grasped at a wrench in front of him in frustration.

“If it's a coin toss, that old boy is going to side with the money.” Greg said gently “So, do me a favour, Frank. Just meet the family. See how it feels. It's all I ask.” With that he took a deep breath. “I gotta go, I’ll see you later. Goodnight Fliss.”

“Night.” she replied, watching him leave.

There was a pause before Frank picked up the wrench in his hand and threw it hard against the wall at the opposite side of the garage, before he stood up tall and turned to Fliss who was watching him, her face contorted in sympathy and sadness.

“I don’t know what to do.” He looked at her, and every single emotion he had been holding back cascaded over him in a wave as he felt utterly and hopelessly overwhelmed. He couldn’t stop the tears brimming in his eyes and he bowed his head, once more leaning on the desk. He felt a warm pair of hands gently on his arm, nudging him to turn slightly and he did so to look at Fliss as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. He pressed his face into the crook of her shoulder, his tears falling onto her soft skin as she smoothed a hand through his hair, gently soothing him.

“Sorry.” he mumbled after a moment pulling back.

She placed her hands on his face, wiping his tears with her thumbs, her own filling her eyes. “Don’t ever apologise to me for being upset, Frankie.”

He let out a soft, watery laugh as he dropped his forehead to hers, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath, composing himself.

“You now no one’s called me Frankie since I was a little kid” he smiled.

“Well it suits you.” she pulled away slightly. “You good?” He nodded, moving back out of her arms. “Do you think I should go?” he asked “Meet this family?”

“Frank, I can’t answer that.” “What would you do?”

“I honestly don’t know.” she shook her head. “I suppose there’s no harm in meeting them. But you have to be sure this is what is right for Mary. I do know one thing though, whatever you decide to do, I’ll be there all the way. I told you, I was here for the road trip, no matter how bumpy it gets.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. He gently took her hand and raised it to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “Thankyou.”

**** Chapter 9

[subarublue]

Where’s a Stud When You Need One?

One Shot

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Timeline: Not specified

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Dante x Reader (Reader’s gender not mentioned)

Word Count: 2255

Read on Ao3

Summary: “Babe, what’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to find a stud so I can hang this stupid thing up!”

“Well, there’s a stud right here that can hang it for ya!”

Notes: My attempt at humor. Hopefully, it’s at least somewhat funny. This was inspired in part by a discussion I saw on Reddit. I hope that’s okay. I’m still new to this whole writing bit and didn’t know if I needed to ask permission to use it as inspiration or not? Not sure who I would even ask anyway, lol. Oh well. I’ve given credit here so hopefully that’s enough. Not sure if all of it is true or not, but we’ll just pretend for the sake of this story, mkay?

You glared at the little device in your hand. It had been working properly the last time you used it, so why wasn’t it working now? Granted the last time you had used it was quite a while ago. In fact, it was probably about...okay, so you couldn’t exactly remember the last time you’d used it, but that couldn’t be the reason. No, of course not.

You placed the stud finder against the wall again, sliding it from left to right more slowly this time, waiting for that telltale “beep” that indicated the presence of a stud. You passed over the short length of the wall you were working with again for what felt like the one hundredth time. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. You let out a frustrated groan.

Your frustration finally caught the attention of the other person in the room. Dante looked up from the magazine he’d been reading at his desk. His feet were propped up on the wooden surface, which made it a bit awkward for him to turn around and look at you, but he managed.

“Babe, what’re you doing?” You could hear the confusion in his voice when he spoke. You glanced back over your shoulder at him to see his brows furrowed in a look of concern for you.

“I’m trying to find a stud so I can hang this stupid thing up!” You growled, gesturing at the large, heavy, framed mirror leaning against the couch. You turned back to the wall, staring it down as if you could see the studs inside it yourself with your nonexistent x-ray vision.

You heard the plop of the magazine landing on the desk and then your boyfriend’s boots hit the floor, followed by the screech of his chair sliding over wood as he stood.

Dante came up to stand next to you, first looking at the wall, then to the mirror, then at you. As soon as you saw the grin on his face, you knew something stupid was about to come out of his mouth. He gestured to himself, jabbing both his thumbs to his chest. “Well, there’s a stud right here that can hang it for ya!” he punctuated his statement with a wink.

“Not what I meant, Dante and you know it,” you practically growled at him. Normally, you would’ve laughed at your boyfriend’s cheesy one-liners, but you were just irritated enough that you didn’t find it funny this time and you simply glared at him. You really weren’t in the mood for this. Suddenly though, an idea on how to get back at him for his joke came to mind. A stud, huh? We’ll see about that.

Dante was unperturbed by your glaring expression, still smirking at you. That only made you more determined to poke a little fun at him. You still held the stud finder in your hand and you brought it up, holding it next to your face so it was now in his field of view.

Your glare morphed into a mischievous grin and he blinked in surprise at your sudden shift in mood. “So, think you’re a stud, do you? Why don’t we test that out?” You winked back at him.

To his credit, Dante didn’t budge when you suddenly shoved the seemingly defective device into his chest. Unfortunately, you didn’t even get a single moment of victory as the little device immediately let out that telltale “beep” you’d been trying to get for the past half hour on the wall. All you could do was gawk at the little gadget still held flush to his chest. The beeping continued as if it was mocking you; now you wanted to throw the stupid thing across the room.

“Soooo,” Dante drawled and you glanced up to look at him. You immediately regretted that when you saw the roguish grin now plastered on his handsome face and mentally prepared yourself for the teasing that was about to ensue. He paused for a moment, and wiggling his eyebrows at you, spoke over the incessant beeping of the little device, “Looks like it’s working, babe.”

You groaned again as you let your hand drop from his chest which cut short the stuff finder’s beep. There’ll be no living with him after this, you thought over-dramatically. You were back to glaring at him now. “No it’s definitely broken. Or maybe I just bought a moron finder on accident, instead.” You tried to get the ball back in your court for this, but the look on Dante’s face told you he wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s working perfectly.” He crossed his arms over his chest, still smirking, “And I can prove it to you.”

You scoffed at that, your tone haughty as you goaded him, “Oh, yeah? How?” You weren’t sure it was a good idea to take up his challenge, but you weren’t backing down either, so you were left with little choice.

Dante uncrossed his arms and held out a hand, silently asking you to hand over the device. You were almost reluctant, but you knew refusing would result in an automatic forfeit so you roughly plopped the little machine into his waiting palm. You weren’t sure how it was possible, but his grin got wider and it did nothing to quell the feeling of dread in your gut. “I’ll show you,” he said confidently.

He turned then and walked over to another section of wall nearby, stopping in front of it, then turned back to look at you. Smirk still in place, he held your gaze, eyes never leaving yours as he lifted the stud finder to the wall. He hadn’t moved it but an inch across the wall before the traitorous little thing started going off and your mouth fell open in surprise. “What the hell?!” Dante broke eye contact with you as he shook with laughter.

“Shit sweetheart, you should see your face right now!” He grinned triumphantly as his laughter settled down. “Guess you just don’t know a stud when you see one.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you again.

To say you were embarrassed was a bit of an understatement. You were pretty sure you were as red as his trademark jacket and you brought your hands up to hide your face from him in hopes of not giving him any more fodder for his teasing.

You heard the beeping of the stud finder come to a stop and then his footfalls as he strode back over to you. He set the device down somewhere (where, you didn’t know or really care at the moment), then felt his hands on yours, gently pulling them away from your red face.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you.” He was winking at you again. “I’ll just have to show you what a real stud is.” The wiggling eyebrows made a reappearance. You couldn’t help but laugh at it now, as ridiculous and cheesy as it was, realizing belatedly, that this was the end result he’d been going for the whole time. You’d been getting frustrated and he’d come over and put a smile back on your face, just like he always did.

As your laughter tapered off, you raised up on the tips of your toes to give him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for that,” you said gently. His teasing grin softened into a warm smile at your gratitude. In the end, it seemed you were both winners.

You looked down and picked up the stud finder from where he’d laid it on the coffee table and stared at it with a resigned sigh, turning it over in your hand as you observed it. “I just don’t understand why it wasn’t working for me...” you were talking mostly to yourself, but that didn’t stop Dante from responding.

“Well, you see...” he trailed off, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his head with a sheepish look on his face, “You’re probably gonna have to find somewhere else to hang that if you need a stud.”

“Why?” You gave him a confused look.

He gestured to the area of wall you’d been working with as he spoke, “There’s not a stud in there.”

“WHAT?” He winced a bit as you raised your voice.

“Not sure why. Probably construction just cutting corners when they built the place and didn’t put any in. Or...well, it’s a pretty small section of wall so, maybe it didn’t matter?” he shrugged as he said this, like it was no big deal.

“You mean you knew that all along and you didn’t say anything!?” Your voice was still raised, though not as much as before. He had a bit of a guilty look on his face since, yes, he’d known from the start why your stud finder ‘wasn’t working properly.’

“Hey! You didn’t exactly tell me what you were doing.” He held his hands up in defense for a moment before continuing, “And, well, I think it’s kinda cute when you’re focused and working on a project like that,” he said as if it was a good excuse for not informing you of the problem sooner, “especially when you bend over.” He was back to grinning now and you rolled your eyes at that, annoyed. It didn’t deter him though, “Look at the bright side, babe...at least you know it’s not broken.” He cocked his head to the side with a smile and you found just couldn’t stay mad at him. He had cheered you up after all (even though he could have prevented your frustration in the first place).

“Gotta say though, I didn’t know those things could work on people.” he said curiously as he looked at the device in your hand.

“Well, it’s an electric one, not magnetic, so it makes sense that it would work on a person.” you said as you held it up.

When Dante didn’t respond at first, you looked from the stud finder to him, noting the confusion on his face. “What difference does that make?” The confusion was evident in his voice now too.

You dug into your mind to reach that well of useless knowledge lying around in there somewhere for a (hopefully) Dante-friendly explanation. “Electronic stud finders detect changes in the dielectric constant of the wall. It’s different when it’s over a stud rather than empty wall space.” At your statement, he only had a blank look on his face and you realized your explanation wasn’t as Dante-friendly as you’d hoped.

“So...does it measure the density of the wall, or something like that?” That was a fair assumption on his part, but not quite right.

“Not exactly. It measures how well an object allows an electric field to pass through itself.” You tried to explain it in the simplest way you could think of. There was a long moment of silence as you watched his face. He was no longer looking at you, staring at the floor instead, obviously trying to process that in his head.

Realization finally seemed to dawn on his face after a few moments, but whether it was from understanding or realizing he wasn’t going to understand, you weren’t sure yet. He finally looked up at you again. “Okay, I think I get what you’re saying, so yeah, makes sense why it would work on me. I am a big stud after all.” Dante just couldn’t stay serious for long, and you were fairly certain now that he didn’t get it all, but he had you laughing again, regardless.

“You’re such a dork! Of course it would work on you. Stud or not,” -he gave you mock hurt look at that- “you’re healthy so there’s no reason it wouldn’t.” Well, as healthy as a half-devil who ate almost nothing but pizza and strawberry sundaes could be. You were certain if he were completely human that his horrible diet would have killed him a long time ago.

“What does being healthy have to do with it?” His head was cocked to the side again with that same curious look on his face that you were coming to love more and more.

“Supposedly, if it doesn’t beep when you try it on someone, they could have a bone disorder.” You weren’t sure of the validity of that, but you’d heard it somewhere and it had stuck it your head like all the other tidbits of useless knowledge you had.

“Wait, really?” He looked surprised for a moment before his face slowly melted back into that roguish grin of his. “You mean like an erection lasting more than four hours?”

You groaned at him, “Not that kind of bone disorder!”

“What? I’m sure it’s a valid problem for a lot of guys out there.” He started to gesture to the stairs. “We could always go find out if it’s a problem for me.” He was winking at you again.

You gave him a deadpan look as he started backing away from you towards the stairs. He was throwing you what you assumed he thought was a sexy smirk. You couldn’t deny that it was working though, as you started following him, current project forgotten and out of mind. “Yeah, yeah, like I’d raise awareness for that disorder.” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Dante remained unfazed, scooping you up bridal style and making his way up the stairs, not even missing a beat in his reply, “You’ll raise something, babe.”

[peaceoutofthepieces]

you were my crown

I managed to actually do that little scene for the royalty au :) I don’t know anything about how any of this stuff works so I literally just made everything up please don’t think I in any way tried to be accurate I’m talking out of my ass here.

I don’t know if anything will ever actually come of this, but this is an idea of what it would look like :)

~^~

Jens hates sitting in for Court. It’s less about the ‘criminals’ and more about the royals, the endless lines of knights and Lords and servants, eager to witness another fool. Jens doesn’t care much for fools, but he cares even less to laugh at them. He cares least for his formal attire, the sharp slacks and too-tight tunic, laced up by maids unable to even look him in the eye. They don’t even seem necessary. He’s overheating in his jacket, delicately buttoned up to the throat, the collar digging into his skin. He’d tried leaving the top hanging open, and it had hardly taken a second for his mother to give him a sharp glance, nodding to a maid that had hastily run to button it back up. Now he sits and suffocates and waits for whatever poor soul is being charged to make their way to the throne.

Jens straightens subtly in his chair, placed to the right side of his mother’s throne, and meets the boy’s eyes for half a second. Until his mother opens her mouth and orders a sharp, “Kneel.”

Before the boy can comply, one of the guards that had escorted him sets a heavy hand on his shoulder and forces him down, falling onto the stone floor in a manner that leaves Jens’s own knees aching in sympathy. The boy simply catches his breath and holds his chin high, looking straight at them and through, his jaw clenched. Jens drums his fingers on his knee in interest.

The same guard gives his head a forceful shove. “Speak your name to the Court.”

The boy takes a breath as some of his masqueraded confidence seems to slip. “Lucas. Lucas Van der Heijden.”

Jens licks his lips, cataloguing the sound of his voice, the way his mouth parts for an instant before the actual sound escapes. The name rumbles deeply around the room and seeps into the walls, encased in the brick in case it’s soon to be lost. Jens’s job is to watch, to note, and to only give judgement if asked. It often doesn’t take him long to form conclusions.

His conclusion of Lucas Van der Heijden is that he seems, at once, nothing and everything like a criminal.

He’s young, and clean cut, though his clothes are a tad too tight and an inch too short on his ankles, fraying at the hems. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, a familiar sandy mixture that Jens has seen on all hostages of the castle cells. There’s an innocence to his youth and a diligence to his posture. His eyes hold a pleading light and a resolute film. Whatever his crime in regards to the Crown, he holds a loyalty to someone.

“State his crimes,” the Queen requests.

The opposite guard stares straight ahead as he speaks up. “Thievery and dishonor to the Court, Your Majesty.”

Jens can barely hold back a snort. He relaxes slightly. There’s rarely a severe punishment for a loaf of bread. The scene before him suddenly makes more sense.

His mother’s tone, however, is unusually steely. “Thievery of what?”

“Sir Viktor’s sword, Your Majesty.”

Jens blinks. A rumble of interest spreads through the Court. Lucas’s jaw tightens and he gives a minuscule shake of his head, so much so that Jens is sure he’s the only one who notices.

The Queen seems equally intrigued. “And what, boy, do you want with a sword?”

“I didn’t steal it.” Lucas speaks through gritted teeth, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “I’ve never even seen the sword before.”

“It was found under his bed, Your Majesty, free of its sheath. Sir Viktor had been missing it for a full day before organising a search.”

Jens barely resists rolling his eyes. If Viktor had been missing it that long, he’s almost in need of a punishment himself. He’s known Viktor for only over a year, becoming acquainted with him long after he’d already met his brother, Senne. Senne’s loyalty and honour, that Jens has become easily familiar with during the man’s service in his personal guard, did not seem to emanate as clearly from his brother. Jens has had few pleasures of his presence, and pinned his discomfort down to this unfamiliarity. As he sees Lucas’s expression tighten further, however, there’s something that doesn’t sit quite right with him.

The feeling only strengthens as the Queen raises her head and stares Lucas down. “You’d do best to not add dishonesty to your list, Mr Van der Heijden. The proof sits against you. If you claim not to have stolen it, how do you suppose it ended up with you?”

Lucas swallows. For a tiny second, his gaze flits over to the crowd on his left. Jens follows his gaze and sees nothing that stands out. “I didn’t steal anything,” he repeats. “I’m an artist. I have no reason for a sword.”

“And yet,” the Queen says lightly, “there was one so close to you. Are you able to explain that?”

Jens comes to the realisation too late, after noticing the hard lines of his mother’s frown and the steel underlining the easiness of her voice. This isn’t a trial—this is merely the sentencing.

“Someone else must have placed it there,” Lucas says, just as light, with just as much steel underneath.

“I’m sorry, Mr Van der Heijden, truly, but the evidence against you is not something I can simply dismiss as a wrong guess. Do you have proof, of anyone else who may have had access to your quarters? Even so much as a theory.”

“It’s not hard,” Lucas laughs slightly, “to access my quarters. From the way your guards stormed my home yesterday without so much as a knock as a notice, that seems fairly clear.”

Jens raises his brows as the Queen lowers hers. “You’d do well not to speak out of turn, boy. Evidently, my guards had every right to rip your home to shreds if they so pleased.”

Jens looks at her in surprise. He knows his mother holds a firm and stern rule, but she has never shown herself to be cruel. Jens would never have expected her to so openly disregard the rights and welfare of her people. He supposes Lucas is good at pushing buttons, and he’s somehow managed to hit a number of her’s through their short interaction. Jens glances over Lucas again, his curls scattered and shoulders straight, and feels a stab of worry in his stomach.

Help yourself, Jens silently urges. Try to win her over. Don’t make it worse.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Lucas seems to force the words out, dragging them from himself as if he was being made to pull his own teeth. “My mother—I take care of her. I worried that she would have been harmed in the fray.”

Jens watches his own mother soften slightly before regaining her resolve. “While that’s admirable of you, it doesn’t truly explain your resistance. Your lies, Mr Van der Heijden, may only lead to further searches of your home in an attempt to confirm either your guilt or your innocence. Would you not, in that case, rather save your mother the trouble?”

Jens swivels his gaze back to Lucas, watching the low blow hit, cataloguing the way the boy’s own resolve crumbles.

Then he straightens, undeterred by the hand still tightly clasped on his shoulder. “My mother has no involvement, because neither do I. I’m not lying. I stole nothing.”

The Queen regards him for another long moment, as does Jens. Then she releases a heavy sigh. “I was hoping that your cooperation would provide an option for leniency. A true explanation may have lightened your sentence, but the proof against you is overwhelming. I cannot believe that you are free of intent to threaten the Crown, due to the unusual action of your crime. I fear I have no choice.” She stands from her throne and steps down from the dais, looming over Lucas in her heavy red robes and shimmering crown. “Lucas Van der Heijden, for the charges of thievery and dishonor to the throne, I find you guilty and sentence you to death.”

The murmur this time is of a much more extensive volume, but it isn’t quite enough to drown out Jens’s incredulous burst of laughter.

All eyes turn to him, and he feels his shoulders stiffen. Lucas’s gaze is most prominent, evidently confused, with eyes wide and disbelieving. His mother’s are equally surprised, though underlaid with anger. Jens does his best to ignore his discomfort under the attention and keep a princely smile on his face. “Since when do we sentence death without proof? For a kidnapping of a sword that wasn’t put to use, no less.”

The murmur that he’d silenced picks up again, and his mother raises an unimpressed brow at him. “The proof has been presented to you as it has been presented to me. Are you aware of evidence we are not?”

“I’m aware that there is a possibility, however slim, that he is telling the truth. Even if he had stolen it and intended to put it to use, the sword has been retrieved. He presents no real immediate threat. If anything, I believe he would have committed the crime as a scared boy with family he wishes to protect. Surely that is something any of us can understand. He may be deserving of punishment, yes, but death?”

The room has fallen into utter silence. Jens doesn’t dare look at any of the Court members, but he chances a glance at Lucas. The other boy is staring back at him, with all surprise now wiped from his face. He wears a carefully constructed blank expression, that doesn’t break as Jens looks back at him.

Jens doesn’t know why he feels such a strong urge to save him. But now that he’s started, he can’t bring his own argument to an end.

“So what else do you suggest?” His mother asks this at length, unwillingly. He shouldn’t have spoken out. It wasn’t his place. It isn’t good for her, he knows, to have her rule questioned in public by her own son. But he’d argued without thinking, looking at Lucas and feeling an inexplicable need to stand up for him.

To protect.

“It’s his loyalty in question, is it not?” Jens raises a brow and waits for her nod. “So let him prove it. I’m sure someone youthful and strong could have a place serving the Court.”

The murmur picks up again. Jens resists the urge to roll his eyes.

His mother stares at him. “Your suggestion is to allow him a position in the castle?”

“He couldn’t be placed under more watch,” Jens says simply. “I would rather taste someone’s loyalty and perhaps gain a better bond than let a life go to waste.”

This murmur sounds somewhat agreeable, though it is silenced the second the Queen raises her hand. “There are no positions in the Court up for offer, and I cannot possibly gift a thief the sword he’d stolen.”

Jens doesn’t even think before he says it. “I don’t have a personal servant.”

There is, surprisingly, no murmur. The room is eerily quiet as Jens and his mother stare each other down and Lucas flits his gaze between them. It’s not a lie, and is perhaps even the reason he’s doing this. He’s tired of fussy maids lacing his shirts and buttoning his coats and buckling his cuffs. His sisters both have maid-servants, while Jens is left with an array of strangers carrying out various duties, never even able to become familiar with faces as they avoid contact and conversation at all costs. He does his best to be amicable with the castle staff, to form relationships, to form bonds. But aside from the few close friends he sees only on occasion (sons of various Lords in various agreements with his mother), and a few chosen guards, Jens spends most of his time alone.

He wouldn’t mind someone like Lucas by his side. Someone his age, who isn’t afraid to look him in the eye.

“You wish to risk letting a criminal become your personal servant? You would trust him to be so close to you?”

Jens lets his mother stare disapprovingly at him before shifting his gaze to Lucas. They consider each other, concrete met with intrigue, before Jens gives a simple shrug. “I would. It’s my risk to take, and I believe there isn’t much risk to it. If I am wrong, then I should get what’s coming to me.”

A few of the guards give a quiet titter in acceptance, and he watches as his mother looks at a spot in the crowd, before nodding her acceptance. She looks down upon Lucas. “Very well. You will have a guard assigned to you that will accompany you on any outings, alone or with the Prince. While you are in his service, there will, as always, be guards stationed at his door and extra security provided throughout the castle. It is only as a sign of trust towards my son that you are being given leniency. You should be grateful to him that you are leaving here with your life.” She looks to the guard on his left, the one that had spoken calmly to them without laying a finger on Lucas. “Assign him a room in the Prince’s quarters. Remain with him until the new measures are fully put in place. You are dismissed,” she tells the room at large.

Lucas listens to her silently, and remains wordless as the guard at his right yanks him to his feet. Jens watches on until his mother speaks up again.

“Jens, you are to accompany him now. If he is not to be trusted from the beginning then he is not to be trusted. You are also dismissed,” she says. “Though you will be meeting me again later to discuss this decision further.”

Jens bites back a sigh and rises to his feet. The intrigue spiraling up in him is quickly turning to elation. He feels that he had been entirely right to speak up and to continue to stand as his ground.

As he makes his way down the dais and is met with Lucas’s stony gaze, however, he considers that this may not be as simple as he thought.

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 20

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Angst, Swearing

Words: 2,616

A/N: Special thanks to @ithinkimawriter​ for beta-ing this chapter! She’s awesome and you should check out her blog if you haven’t already!

The doctor at the hospital met with them in his office. Penny had had an ischemic stroke, which weren't uncommon in women of advanced age, especially if they had a history of smoking. It was unknown if the lobotomy had increased the risk. The left side of her body was experiencing severe paralysis, and she could barely stand. She was also having trouble speaking and understanding speech. But she did appear to know she was in the hospital.

Y/N observed Arthur's face as the doctor rattled through the information. The expression he wore was neutral enough, but she saw his neck tighten on and off, and his eyes remained downcast. He was also chain smoking more than she'd ever seen. When the doctor would pause for a reaction or ask a question, Arthur's responses were curt.

"There isn't a need to keep her here much longer," the doctor intoned. "Her life isn't at risk. She should be discharged by the end of the week."

At that, Arthur closed his eyes. Y/N could guess what he was thinking: that he'd be stuck with Penny, again, except now he'd have to do more for her. That assumption must have hit harder than usual, given what he'd learned three days ago. His posture became rigid the longer they sat there. After he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the doctor's wide desk, the doctor stood and told them to take their time, giving Y/N a soft look as he left. As soon as the door shut, she put her arm around Arthur.

He started laughing humorlessly and rubbed the back of his neck. "It'd be easier if she'd died."

"You don't mean that," she said.

"Yes, I do."

She pressed her lips together. "It's normal to have mixed feelings."

“I don’t have mixed feelings,” he replied.

Kneading his shoulder, she chose her next sentences carefully, not wanting to unduly influence him. But she hoped could lift some of the weight he carried. "There are options for her care."

Lighting up again, he furrowed his brow and stuck his pack of cigarettes back in his pocket. "I don't have any money, Y/N," he said tersely.

"There are programs you can apply for."

He scoffed and looked at her skeptically. "They cut all those."

"Federal programs, not Gotham services. They won't be cut because the Waynes or whoever else in this city doesn't want to pay taxes." That made him smile crookedly. "We should be able to get the paperwork from the hospital social worker - they deal with this all the time. We'll fill it out and you can decide whether to submit it or not." At his nearly imperceptible nod, she leaned into him. "You've taken care of her twenty years, Arthur. You've given her enough."

After speaking with the social worker and completing the applications, they walked by Penny's room. He stopped outside, his grip on Y/N's hand tightening. She watched his narrowed eyes, the way he worried his lip. "Do you want to go in?" she asked gently.

Anger flashed across his face, his nostril twitching. But after a few minutes, he released a long breath and shook his head. "No," he rasped. "I don't need to."

~~~~~

After leaving the hospital, Y/N had gone back to her apartment to get her notes and presentation. A lick of excitement went through her as she walked into Matt’s office. What she was about to go over was the culmination of hours and hours of off-the-books work, and she was relieved she'd no longer have to keep the information secret. With all the evidence she'd collected and put together, she thought there’d be a good chance she'd be heard.

She sat on the other side of Matt's desk, wearing her best skirt suit and modestly ruffled blouse, and explained everything she'd found so far: the properties' lack of disrepair; the corresponding dates of the Wayne Foundation's motions and Renew Corp.'s letters; the matches of employees listed on the foundation's tax returns and registered agents of the corporation; and the ridiculous conversation she'd had with one Anthony Mancuso at the gala.

It took awhile. When Y/N was done, she leaned back against the chair she was perched on, unbuttoning her top collar. "So," she said when Matt didn't answer. "Are you going to stop this shit?" She ducked her head slightly to study his expression. He was squinting. And she thought he looked a little glum.

He continued to peruse his copy of her notes, tapping his pen on each line as though it meant something. "Your work is very impressive, Y/N. You put a lot of effort into this."

She smiled widely and let out a long breath. "Thank you."

"But I already explained that we can't simply drop this case."

The initial resistance didn't come as a surprise, but frustrated her nonetheless. "I'm not a lawyer," she said. "I don't have any duty to these people or their organization or foundation or whatever."

His gaze was weary when their eyes met. "They have us on retainer-"

She leaned forward. "Do you really want the Waynes to be able to own more of this city?” As her indignation grew, she stood and stepped behind her seat. "I've looked it up, Matt. Both directly and indirectly, they're the largest landowners here."

"What do you know about the Waynes?" Matt countered. It was one of the few times he had ever sounded annoyed at her. "You're a transplant. Gotham owes them a lot."

Rapidly, she was losing any hope that reasoning with him would affect anything. But she continued to try. Maybe changing her tack would help. "Let's say it wasn't the Waynes," she started, putting her elbows on the high-back. "It's some other temporarily benevolent billionaire. If we win this case, it's going to set a precedent for property to be seized and shoved into private hands. It'll be easier for anyone to do this in the future, again-"

"Y/N, stop."

"-and again." Y/N huffed, gesturing towards him with an upturned palm. "I've always thought you were a good person, Matt. I can't believe you approve of this!"

"It's not that simple. You're experienced enough to know that," he said, raising his voice slightly. "The Wayne Foundation is our largest client. Without their money, we wouldn't exist.” Counting on each finger, he continued. “They're buying your groceries, keeping you in your apartment, allowing you to dress as nicely as you do."

Y/N felt the hair on her neck stand up at the idea she would be "allowed" to do anything. "You're scared of them."

"No,” he breathed. “I'm being pragmatic."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well, your pragmatism is going to hurt a lot of people."

Matt stood and leaned forward onto his desk with his hands. It wasn't a threatening posture, but a tired one. "This was the first Wayne case you were entrusted with. You were so damn happy about it." Shaking his head, he sighed. "The other lawyers here didn't think you were ready, but I knew you were. Turns out you were too ready." He chucked sadly. "I'm sorry."

Y/N stilled, her mouth opened slightly. "Are you... Are you firing me?" As she waited for his answer, she mentally went over her financial situation. A couple months of pay were in her savings account, her checking had about a thousand dollars in it. She thought she'd be able to get unemployment, but there was a waiting period, and-

"No. The work you do on the family cases is excellent. I like you. And Patricia would never forgive me." He gestured towards her with his pen. "But other people in this firm would let you go. If you breathe a word of this to anyone else, you will wind up losing your job. Do you understand me?"

Gulping, she looked down at the floor and nodded. "Thank you," she said meekly. A sense of defeat, mixed with relief at still having work, settled in her stomach. It caused her to feel like the smallest person on Earth.

She exited the office before he dismissed her and sat at her desk. She still had her copy of her notes at home. But she didn't know what do to with them. Trying to distract herself, she dug out the list of upcoming family court dates and corresponding files, sinking into the routine of them until her mind went numb.

~~~~

It had been close to seven when she'd gotten to Arthur's, later than she'd told him. She hadn't wanted him to see her upset, thinking he had enough to worry about. He'd kissed her at the door and frowned when she hadn't responded enthusiastically. After a quick sorry, she'd kicked off her shoes and said, "I had a really shitty day and need some time." Then she went straight to the bedroom and lay down. She'd left the door open, though, not wanting to shut him out.

She hadn't been laying long, maybe fifteen minutes, when she heard him approach. Wondering what he would do, she pretended not to notice he was standing behind her, next to the bed. It only took a couple minutes for him to climb in next to her. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Amish."

God, she could tell this was going to be terrible. She rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips turning up. "Amish who?"

"Amished you."

Unable to help herself, she chuckled. When he nuzzled at her face, she twisted her torso to look at up him and drew him down to her mouth. One of his arms went around her head as she kissed him deeply, his other hand holding himself up. "Thank you. I needed that," she said. "Was that an old joke?"

"No, it just came to me. It happens sometimes." He stood, then. "Spaghetti's on the stove."

Stretching, she sat up and followed him to the kitchen. He already had a plate out for her, so she served herself, listening as he continued to talk. "I mailed the forms we filled out."

She scooped sauce out of a second pot. "If you change your mind, you can reject the funding."

"I won't," he scoffed as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Turning around, she looked to see if he had dried parmesan somewhere on the counter. She didn't find any, but what she did see stopped her. There, in his pile of mail on the breakfast bar, was an unopened red letter. That same terrible feeling of disappointment that Arthur had helped her through returned.

She reached out for the envelope, biting her lip. There was no return address, but she recognized the font Penny's name was printed in. It was definitely from Renew Corp. She wasn't ready to talk with him about this, to admit she'd failed everyone, failed him.

But, she supposed, she was being pushed into doing the right thing. She had a seat at the breakfast bar and patted the stool next to her. He followed eagerly, a puzzled expression on his face. She went over a simplified version of the same explanation she'd given Matt. It came easier this time, having had that earlier practice. Mid-way through, Arthur lit a cigarette and rested his forehead on the side of his hand, elbow on the counter. He seemed to understand well enough, but became quieter and quieter as she went on, staring at the letter threatening to kick him out in ninety days.

"You're going to keep getting these letters. They're trying to bully you." She felt her patience with the situation slip away the more she spoke. "But what they're saying isn't true. It'll take a long time before they can do anything. It has to go through the cour-"

"Is this why you're seeing me?" he interrupted.

Holding the fork just under her mouth, she stared at him. "No. Of course not," she said as she took her last bite of dinner. "That doesn't make sense. This is a legal issue." It was a logical answer, but apparently not the one he wanted. When she reached to touch his bicep, he pulled away from her, taking her plate and going to the kitchen. "Arthur, I found out your building was involved last week."

He started rinsing her dish. "Before or after we-"

"After." Y/N stood but didn't follow, remaining on the far side of the counter.

He wasn't looking at her when he turned around and took a drag off his cigarette. "You should have told me."

She leaned onto the bar with her forearms. "And give you more shit to deal with? Are you kidding?"

"I've dealt with worse," he bit out, flicking ash into the sink.

Her tone was snappier than she meant it to be. "I’ve been working on it for weeks. It's not like I’ve been doing nothing." She shook her head, knowing she wasn't only upset at his stubbornness and refusal to see she’d been trying to shield him. But also at all the time and energy she had put into caring about this case. She was irritated at her powerlessness. And heartbroken at the whole damn thing. Dropping her head to look at the counter-top, she sighed. "Dammit, Arthur. Why can't our first argument be about what restaurant to go to, or what movie to see, or whose apartment we're spending the night at?"

There was no answer to her attempt at cutting the tension between them. He simply stood, unmoving except for the twitch of his fingers as he fiddled with his cigarette. His voice was low when he finally said the wrong thing. "Penny lied to me all my life. I never thought you would."

The cut of those words went deep. Heat went up her neck and face, and she knew she was turning red. "If I had shown up at your apartment, soaking and in the state you were in, telling you to get rid of a razor, would you have told me?"

He flinched at that, but she continued anyway. "No, you wouldn't have." Stepping to the entrance of the kitchen, she threw up her hand. "And don't act as if you've been completely honest. You must have done more than drop off a letter for Thomas Wayne to tell you about Penny's file."

Arthur nodded stiffly, then narrowed his eyes as he smoked. "I need you to leave," he said. "I have to practice."

She folded her arms over her chest. "You're doing this again?" At his lack of response, she slipped on her shoes and started putting on her coat. "Fine. Be angry at me for trying to protect you." Even as the words left her, she knew she didn't mean them. But his obstinacy pissed her off. When she picked up her canvas bag, he went to her and opened the front door.

As she stepped out she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This entire argument was stupid. They were both wrong and right, in their own ways. And they'd hurt each other. She’d been waiting to see him all day and was loathe to end the evening on a sour note. She turned around to face him. "Hey," she said, consciously softening her voice. His eyes bore into hers as he set his jaw. “Arthur, we’re being idiots.” Then she set her bag down and tried to put her arms around his neck. “Let’s not be angry. At least, not at each other.”

He caught her, gently but firmly, mid-embrace and pulled her arms away from him. "Just go," he said, then turned around and closed the door.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss​

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

2020 SU Fic Sampler - WIP Showcase

So in my continued attempts at distraction, I trawled through my SU fanfic folders, looked at the ol’ endless WIP pile. Figured I’d do a little roundup of some that are in something resembling a decent state. Maybe even see where interest lies and all that, get some attention and validation, you know, all that good stuff one craves. Of course, there’s loads more than this, and I might one day post some things I wrote but never quite managed to finish up, or that got super jossed in ways I couldn’t get myself to work around.

Now, in no particular order, here’s 8 draft snippets totaling almost 6000 words - not very polished, obviously, some quite rough around the edges, some long, some short, some that work better without context than others. But here they are anyway, with an utterly predictable array of focal characters. Any missing segments or my asides/notes in the text are [written like this], because I usually write very non-linearly. Hope you all like mood whiplash! 

P.S. I live for comments.

Like Talking To A Wall, aka Bismuth making friends with the wall, statue, and floor Gems. Early precursors to radicalisation and “I would have liberated everyone”, perhaps. Started as one of my first reactions to the Diamond Days episodes.

“Hey, thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. You’re lucky I’m so supportive,” Mica piped up from up on her arch.

Bismuth laughed. Bittersweet. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Then, with a surprisingly gentle hand pressed to the carvings she’d been so careful about, she added a soft: “I’ll miss you.”

“Chin up! It’s gonna be a lovely off-planet adventure for you,” Granite rumbled from just above her head. “A brand new colony! Think of the sights!”

“You can tell us all about it when we see you again.”

Bismuth leaned back, pressing her whole back against the wall, reluctant to leave, even if a snooty shift supervisor was bound to come around and chase her off soon. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that.”

They all knew very well that, as always, when the building was done, it was goodbye. The chances of there being a need for repairs or remodelling - and the exact same bismuths being brought in to do them - were incredibly slim.

But pretending was nice, sometimes.

-

Hey, Steven, think I could get a moment before we leave? I won’t be long.

-

They were right where she’d left them, and the years had done very little to change them. A bit of a patina there, some dust, the tiniest bit of wear on sharper corners.

“Bismuth?” Several familiar voices cried out to her in shocked recognition.

She knew she must look a sight - battle-ready and battle-worn, but armour still gleaming, and with a bearing of one who had been through much and was always ready for more. She felt her back had never been so proud and straight, her shoulders so resolutely set.

“I think,” Bismuth grinned, “you’re gonna start seeing changes around these parts.”

---

One for that favourite Pearletariat/Pearl Solidarity fic sub-genre of mine: Clever Pearls Cleverly Getting Around Badly Worded Orders. A bit of an origin for an as-of-yet unnamed pearl OC, because I sure don’t have enough of those!

In the untold thousands of years of Homeworld and Gemkind, and the hundreds of thousands of commands given to hundreds of thousands of pearls, nobody ever thought to Order a pearl not to think. That would imply a they mattered at all, and who would ever put stock in a pearl’s thoughts? Most Gems weren’t sure pearls could think, anyway. I mean, if they could, all that standing around would be intolerable, wouldn’t it? And imagine not being able to say no to anything, even crushing your own gem - shards, at least I’m not a pearl!

They were, occasionally, when dealing with an owner’s important, private, confidential business, Ordered to forget, or, a bit less esoterically, Ordered never to tell.

And [OWNER] has always been all too eager with the Orders. As if she went to bizarre lengths in her thinking that pearl couldn’t - or wouldn’t? - do anything upon merely being told, let alone by herself. Every little thing, from sweeping up the shards of a broken decorative plate to taking down the minutes of an important meeting [OWNER] was presiding over - (im)pressed upon pearl with the crushing weight of an Order.

But she could still think.

Even when Ordered to wait by the door, freezing her limbs and anchoring her legs to the ground with all the force of a starship mooring mechanism. Even when Ordered into silence for days and planetary rotations on end because [OWNER] had wanted to read an important document without being disturbed and it simply didn’t occur to her to lift it when she was done.

In the wake of the Rebellion and the Renegade Pearl, it only gets worse, and soon enough pearl can barely remember the last time a single movement she made was voluntary.

---

SU Future-era Bismuth and Steven convo I scribbled down in between some of these recent eps - after Growing Pains in particular I think - because Bismuth is the absolute pep talk queen.

“You already said you were sorry for trying to kill me in the Forge, and really, it’s okay, it was all a misunderstanding. Besides, it’s more than a lot of people have done!”

Bismuth blinked at the pinkish sheen around Steven’s cheeks, around the downturned brows - strange trick of the light, that. “Steven, come on. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“Okay,” Steven sighed, and leaned against the railing Bismuth had fixed just that morning.

“Point is, for me, the war had never ended. It wasn’t only yesterday, it was today. It was over for everyone, it seemed, except for me. And getting over that, getting used to that, really seeing that as the truth, not living every day buzzed up with that anticipation of the next battle, just waiting for Homeworld to come down hard on us with whatever new horror they’d come up with… that took a while. And it took help.”

[sudden apparent non-sequitur but It’s An Allegory, Steven.]

“When you make a sword, you can’t make it rigid and unyielding. You can’t just temper it into toughness and hardness and make it unbreakable. It needs to have some give in order to be durable, it needs to be able to bend so as not to shatter on impact. And sure, maybe the first parry or strike wouldn’t be the one to do it, but the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth? Any time you might just find yourself holding on to a hilt with the jagged remnants of everything, and shards scattered on the ground. And if you’re very lucky, that’ll happen during friendly sparring, not in the heat of battle.”

Steven shrugged without response, and seemed to be shrugging off all the words as well. Back to the direct approach it was, then.

“Now you, Steven,” that at least got a bit more attention, “Sure, you can brawl with the best of ‘em, and you put that gem to damn good use. You’ve got great technique drilled in, too - I’d expect nothing less from one of Pearl’s students. But that’s not how you won, in the end, is it? You never won because you were tough, or strong. You have a diamond in you but you’re not hard at all. Well, except on yourself.”

“In the end all of this was possible because you were soft. Just malleable and pliable enough when it was needed. And that takes guts.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Bismuth put a hand on his shoulder, and even with all the very human growing he’d done, he still seemed to almost disappear in it. “You put yourself out there for others… maybe it’s about time you let them help you.”

---

The next chapter of the His Dark Materials/Daemons AU which I am sooooo painfully late with it’s not even funny anymore. Already posted some excerpts [here] and [here].

“She’s been... away on business, but we’ve sent a zeppelin for her and she’s well on her way back. Hopefully.”

“You have a zeppelin?” Rose was rapidly failing in all her efforts to keep her voice down. 

“Of a sort. We, er, we... stole it.”

“Stole-!”

“Yes, well, stole might be a strong word,” Pearl tapped a finger against her chin. “You see, there was a small decommissioned postal craft left below the southern mail station aërodock that nobody would ever miss, all I had to do was fix it up a bit and-”

Rose blinked. “You fixed a decommissioned zeppelin.”

Pearl waved a hand almost casually. “I had some help, but yes. Svalbard, understandably, is hard to reach with other means of transport, and Bismuth needed to be able to go back and forth.”

“You,” Rose began, awed, “are utterly wasted on bringing me my slippers, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well then, maybe,” Pearl blushed, but there was nothing hesitant about her smirk and the strikingly proud tilt of her head, “maybe you could take them off with a bit more care than kicking them halfway across the room and sending them off under the cabinets and- and then I wouldn’t need to do that at all. And I could fix all the zeppelins in the world.”

-

[more from the super secret backroom rebellion meeting]

“They’re with the Consistorial Court of Discipline, no doubt. Always on the lookout for,” Bismuth grimaced, “heretics. A lot falls under that. A lot of good excuses to snatch someone off the street and do who knows what to them. And they’ve been funneling people there, people vanished by the CCD. Not lacking in test subjects lately.”

“How did you get this? Where?” It was Sapphire, this time. Ruby seemed overwhelmed, and sat clutching her hand desperately as the tiny frog and hare both whispered something to her.

“We traced the funding for all this. It was difficult and deliberately obfuscated, but we managed. A facility like this, an entire operation, cost a pretty amount, you’d assume - and you’d be right. It had to come from somewhere. And whoever was paying for it was likely to want to know what was being done with their investment.”

“So we followed the trail. And it turned out I was… ideally positioned to… to, erm, procure what evidence there was to be found. Because, well...” Pearl trailed off, and lifted one of the stolen report sheets for all to see.

It was as clear as day, the family crest right above the astronomical amount being granted. Four diamonds, neatly arranged.

Neshu’s ears were flat against his mane, and Rose found herself wishing the ground would simply open up and swallow both her and him and the chair that she sat on and he’d tried to duck under.

Bismuth spoke up, grim, every drop of earlier exuberance gone from her. “When the Diamonds look out from the windows of their mansion, they don’t see people. They see tools, toys, and weapons. Nothing else.” She sounded more tired than angry. “It’s just what they’ve always been doing, but writ large.”

---

And then, of course, the Longass PearlRose Fixit because I hate the gag order but at the same time want it gone… slowly and organically. Alternating Rose and Pearl POVs spanning throughout the rebellion era, all sorts of flashbacks and Imagining Things included. At one point they end up attempting to essentially jailbreak Pearl, because Pearl is, as we all know, absolutely the most hardcore. Also thank you SU Movie for confirming all the awful Alexa-flavour fanon/headcanons and giving me an excuse to dive into a bunch of Gems-as-AI tropey stuff, on top of everything. [another previously posted fragment here]

“I don’t want to. I never want to do that to you again.” She stops, takes a breath, reconsiders. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, the trust I just… trampled over. So I want to make sure that it’s not just that, you trusting me not to make the same mistake again, with no reassurance anywhere. I—I want to not be able to. Nobody should be able to do that to you.”

“Nobody should be able to do that to anyone,” Pearl corrects readily.

“You’re right,” Rose smiles, only a bit wry, “as always. My brilliant, brilliant Pearl. What would I do without you?”

“Never get back to the point you were trying to make, I imagine,” Pearl quips with something resembling sauciness, and Rose feels at least some of the weight starting to lift off her.

“Right,” Rose agrees, chastised, and tries to focus. “I just… I’m not sure how, or what I need to do at all. It’s not like there’s much precedent – ownerless pearls are unheard of. Even when their owners get shattered, it’s only ever temporary, and, with such high demand, very brief.”

Pearl nods in agreement, and hums. “Luckily, we’ve seen plenty of unheard of and unspeakable things here.”

[echoes of Scabbard convo]

“I want to know, I want to be certain, that you’re here because you want to be.” 

“So do I.” Pearl responds quietly, letting their fingers entwine.

  [Giving an order not to follow orders doesn’t work, failsafes exist. Then they try a sort of ownership transfer thing, and try to make the new owner Pearl. It doesn’t register, “invalid transfer target”, even when Pearl tries to hack it - some odd gem tool that scans and pokes at her gem - she gets all bummed out because she can’t even reprogram a very basic and modifiable handheld tool/device to recognise a pearl as an actual gem and person. What chance does she have against hearts and minds and an entire ingrained culture of an entire sprawling empire?

“You changed my mind,” says Rose all softly and earnestly.

Have I really? Pearl asks herself but doesn’t let it escape out loud. Still. Step by small step, she admits to herself. Incremental, slow, but persistent work. She can do that. Even as down on herself as she is, she can do that.]

“The… the override.” Pearl breathes out suddenly.

“What?”

“The administrative override - you, or, well... Pink Diamond should be able to trigger it, even without a Rejuvenator. We shouldn’t…” Pearl looks strangely scared now, swallowing small gulps before pushing onwards, hands trembling and fingers knotting together, “w-we shouldn’t need a full reset, really, but. But we can try modifying the owner identification...”

Having to… turn into Pink again (turn back into yourself, you mean, a small voice whispers, who are you trying to fool) doesn’t sit well with her, of course, but. Get a hold of yourself, Pearl certainly has it so much worse in this scenario.

[more here about how they both need to kind of “revert” a bit to try this and it sucks, because no! unpleasant poking of holes in the elaborate fantasy! For the greater good, but still.]

And oh, Pearl looks just about ready to either cry with some strange terror Rose has never seen her display, or dissipate her form on the spot - the small dam of coldly throwing around terms like administrative override activation and owner identification variable providing just enough distance for her to carry on.

“It shouldn’t be too risky if we’re… if you’re careful.”

[Pearl trusts her with everything, her literal entire self - with this thing that is such a blatant violation of her being and her person, that she now wants to turn against itself, using one of the most humiliatingly clearly objectifying aspects of her status as an instrument of her liberation. It is all A Lot.]

Rose remembers, also, with a sting, the way she grumbled and sulked over the gaping pit of guilt in her stomach and refused to even look at the glowing, floating shell Blue was so insistently pushing her towards. She wanted her Pearl back, not whatever White and the others had decided to foist upon her now. Not a pale replacement, nothing they deemed suitable.

-

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

“Come on, Pink,” Blue urges, softly but mercilessly as ever, large hands enveloping Pink almost whole from where they’re planted on her shoulders, “White had her specially made, just for you! And we helped as well - only the best for our Pink. Now it’s up to you to put your finishing touches, as is proper-”

“What for? You’ll just take her away when you feel like it anyway,” she grumbles into her arms, curling up on the floor and resolutely refusing to look even as the glow spreads from the corner of her eye, insistent.

Just as insistent as the awfully familiar little voice. “Please state preferred customisation options.”

“I. Don’t. Care!” But now with a newly noticeable, if strained restraint - not, like her usual, punctuated with a slam of her fist on the floor tiles, perfectly shiny and pink. No, she couldn’t- do something like that again-

“Default setting selected. Please stand by.”

Yellow scoffs and moves to leave. “Come on, Blue. No point to us wasting our time being here if she’s just going to throw one of her tantrums.”

But Blue refuses to leave it at that, and makes sure to cut with parting words, before slinking through the large pink doorway. “I am very disappointed in you, Pink. To act like that, and with White personally making sure you got such a lovely gift even after everything...”

“Waste of good nacre, if you ask me,” Yellow muses from somewhere up above. “At least try not to break this one.” 

The glow intensifies with a hum, and Pink screws her eyes shut and pretends not to see or hear anything. 

By the time she opens them again, the others are gone.

But then there is another presence at her side, hovering just behind, as is proper court protocol. The shuffling of tiny, soft slippers on the polished stone - weren’t pearls supposed to be endlessly, effortlessly quiet?

“Leave me alone,” she preempts quietly. The shuffling moves away.

-

“Please identify yourself.”

Calmly, now, calmly but firmly, just like we planned it. Don’t mess this up now. She’s counting on you. She trusts you. “Pearl.”

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

They’ve discussed this too, of course - extensive (over)preparation and planning down to minutiae is Pearl’s go-to at the best of times, and something she clutches at for comfort at the worst of times. And she’s always, to a sometimes comical extent, despised that ridiculous dress. To a wonderful extent, too, all things considered.

“Revert to last implemented appearance.”

“Settings selected. Please stand by.”

[Of course this doesn’t work because all it does is change the $username$ variable, not the actual identity of the person imprinted: it’s still Rose/Pink, she’s just nicknamed “Pearl” now, but she can still give orders and everything.]

[evolves into Pearl literally hacking herself… the most hardcore of modders]

---

Pearl Playing the Field aka “why not hyper-analyze that one brief shot of the notes and phone numbers in Pearl’s gem and write 9 meet-cutes”. Pearl goes out to “find herself”. Whatever that is supposed to mean. Supposed to be set pre-ASPR, but also extends past it. Ended up with some Bispearl in it too because I am predictable and can absolutely not help myself.

“Your hair is wonderful!” She feels like she almost has to shout to be heard over the din of the bar’s ill-chosen soundtrack, and she doesn’t appreciate it. Definitely not one of her favourite places she’s decided to visit recently. And the ventilation is atrocious.

But still, she’s come all this way, so she may as well make the best of it. And while the preoccupation with hairstyles during first meetings seems like a bit of an odd running theme (can it really be termed a running theme, though, if it’s happened all of two times?), it’s certainly worked in the past (recent, very recent, and hardly bursting with relevant instances, Pearl!). Oh, and this particular one is just too fascinating. Approaching a work of art, Pearl would dare say. Especially, well. Especially when paired with the lovely eyes and striking jawline and strong neck it seems to deliberately be drawing attention to.

Pearl leans on the bar, in the bit of space the woman happily makes for her, and tries to look confident and well-informed, but not smug, no, never smug. “I know... about the, uh, goop, of course. I know how one accomplishes this.”

The woman gives a bemused smile. “Thanks! Not too shabby yourself.” She leans in closer. “I'm actually in school for it.”

“School?” Pearl casts desperately back to what she's heard from Steven and Greg's often hasty instruction. That was for educating human children, wasn't it? She'd put one together for Steven that one time, with desks and a blackboard… and Connie attended one regularly...

“Yeah, kind of a late game career change.” Pearl nods along as she realises - or, rather, remembers - she is absolutely terrible at gauging human ages. “But I thought... after almost 30 years in accounting and not going anywhere I wanted to be going... it’s not like we have all the time in the world, right? So I figured, why not? Go for something I'm actually invested in and that I've always wanted to do, y'know?”

“Oh. Oh yes, yes I do.” And for once, she really does. Well, not the time-related bit, perhaps, but the very particular delight of getting to pursue one’s genuine interests after a long while of being denied? Absolutely. “I’ve done something of the sort myself, actually. Go for it! As they, uh, say.”

The dramatic gesture of almost punching the air with a closed triumphant/defiant fist might have been a tad over the top, but it wins her a smile that doesn’t seem unkind. The woman winks and tips her glass at Pearl, then finishes her drink - something sweet-smelling and almost as colourful as her hair.

“I had a classmate do this one for me, and I did hers after.” Pearl is nodding along again, leaning in to hear better as the woman’s voice dips lower. “I kind of like to experiment, push the limits, go wild with it. Hey. You interested? Promise I won’t go too wild on you.”

Pearl's mind goes blank there for a moment. The woman is… very close, and there are unignorable implications unrelated to hair styling so obvious here even she is picking up on them without issue, and the music hasn’t gotten any quieter. Interested in what, exactly, she wants to ask, but she came here for wild new experiences and exciting novelty, didn’t she, so instead comes out with a rather strangled-sounding: “Eughhhhh...uhhh.... Ye...s?”

The woman’s expression goes serious. “Hey, come on, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

---

Forge Showdown AU - aka in a twist of fate Bismuth poofs Rose during their confrontation and revelations happen that change the course of… well, pretty much everything - one of a bunch of AUs where the PD reveal happens earlier and under different circumstances (I had an idea of doing a 5+1 of those at one point).

The glow of the lava coloured the quickly dissipating smoke more orange-red than pale pink, and Bismuth stared numbly at where their revered leader, Rose Quartz herself, had been standing mere moments ago. She’d lashed out, true, but she hadn’t really been expecting the clumsy blow - more of a warning, or underlining a point in their continued argument-turned-fight - to land. In all their many sparring sessions, Rose had never succumbed to something like that, would have never so much as let it brush against her. But she’d been- frozen, distracted… by what? 

There, scraping softly against the ground as it rolled with leftover momentum...

That was not a rose quartz gem.

Bismuth raked her mind feverishly, thought back through the last few, oddly blurred seconds.

“We’re not using this, Bismuth! It’d make us just as bad as them!”

“No! You’re the one who’s as bad as them- look at you, lording over all of us, thinking it’s your right to command me, order me around, like you’re, what, my diamond?”

It… it had to be some kind of imposter, or spy. Right? Some kind of… awful Homeworld plan, trying to tear the Rebellion apart from the inside. Where was Rose, then? The real one? Captured? Being interrogated somewhere, her whereabouts kept strictly secret to minimise the chance of rescue? Shattered? Impossible, they’d never hear the end of the victorious crowing.

When could it have happened? The last few battles and meetings had been nothing out of the ordinary, and Bismuth couldn’t think of anything odd or off about Rose recently at all. Not a single hint or sign that anything was amiss. Not a single misstep. Homeworld would have trained and conditioned its agents well, but Rose- Rose was singular, and utterly one-of-a-kind, and how could they possibly capture all of it so perfectly-

Bismuth startled out of her thoughts as the beginnings of light seemed to gather in the core of the gem, and all but threw herself onto it, encasing it in a bubble.

Rose was rather special, wasn’t she? And not just in what she said or what she did or how she behaved or what she led and encouraged them to do, but… 

Her endless array of wondrous powers. Her sheer strength, overpowering ruby fusions and quartz battalions alike almost single-handedly. The healing which Bismuth herself had been on the receiving, lifesaving end of countless times. The way she called upon the organic creatures of the planet to fight for her, fighting in their name. And then, her regular absences. The way she seemed to know exactly what the Homeworld troops were up to - that wasn’t just some kind of tactical brilliance.

She dared to look at the gem again. Its hue was changed some by the bubble, but that was still in no way a rose quartz gem. No, it was an altogether different shape, but a terrifyingly familiar one.

But it made no sense!

Bismuth ran a slightly trembling hand down her face.

Pearl. Of course, Pearl would have to know, if anyone. About… whatever this was.

But if this, if she was… her, then Pearl-

Bismuth’s insides twisted in horrible ways as the implications began to flitter through her mind, each one worse than the one before it. There was the old call-and-response ringing in her ears, making her feel disoriented and sick with what had to be the beginnings of anger, could grow into a great fury, leaving her unnecessary breaths ragged: Who do you belong to? Nobody!

But-

Not Pearl, then. At least, not at first. Garnet. Garnet would know, and Garnet could See. They’d get to the bottom of this.

---

A metric ton of rebellion era ficlets, vignettes from my eeeEEeeEEeeEEE Bismuth collection mostly, which I’ve been accumulating since 2016 and have only posted some - Pearl, Rose, Garnet, Bismuth centric, occasionally with my takes on namedropped characters, some of which would now need an update to match actual canon.

Snowflake was there, held in Garnet’s arms. The familiar pattern of white speckles on black skin, the tight silver coils of hair sticking out every which way.

“We got her back. She wanted to see you.”

“Me? And you just listened to her? Are you out of your mind? How can I help? Have you taken her to Rose? If her gem- if she-”

“I’m right here!” Snowflake struggled out of Garnet’s hold, and stood up - wobbly, barely upright, but determined, on those legs that ran circles around Homeworld, and ran interference and messages faster than any Wailing Stone, in a pinch. “And I’m fine!”

“You don’t look fine, Snowy- listen, please just-”

Snowflake walked up to her, not stumbling a single time, and, gritting her teeth, looked right at her. The hairline fractures in her gem were visible from here, and Bismuth couldn’t help a wince. “Snowflake, come on-”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Bismuth wanted to clutch her to her chest and scream a thousand things at her, but You don’t have to prove anything to me and I’m proud of you and I’m going to make them pay for ever laying a finger on you all waged a war in her throat.

In the end she just settled on holding her close, very gently, until Garnet left, unheard, and came back with Rose, tears already in abundance.

[Later:] “I never properly thanked you, Garnet. For bringing Snowflake back.”

Garnet shrugged. “It was a group effort.”

-

A familiar voice sounded at the entrance to the Forge. “Now come along, it’s just here. Bismuth? Do you have a moment?”

“You know I always have time for you, Pearl,” she called back, putting her current project away. “What did you nee- oh.”

Bismuth blinked.

“Uh... wow,” was the only thing she could manage as pearl after pearl filed into her Forge, soon taking up most of the space around the anvil in impressively neat rows. “New recruits? A whole bunch of you, too.”

“Yes, well,” Pearl made her way to the front of the group, carefully avoiding brushing against the others on her way. She was fidgeting again, long fingers tangling and untangling rapidly, and that was one sure sign of mounting distress. “Garnet and I had planned out an attack on one of Blue Diamond’s supply lines. There was supposed to be a shipment of weapons coming in today, but it turns out it was… pearls.” 

There was something rather off about Pearl’s tone, too. Bismuth made a note to ask later, and do her best to catch her alone.

“Well, all the better for us. Nice to have you all on board.” Her jovial tone was only slightly forced - the pearls all looked like they clearly needed something resembling friendliness, but their skittishness was palpable. She turned towards a pale green pearl right at the front of the group. “Now, what do I call you?”

There was nothing but mild confusion, vague fear, and general quiet shuffling. “No ideas yet? Don’t worry about it! There’s plenty of time to decide and find something that fits.”

[she does indeed manage to talk to Pearl alone, later]

“What’s the real problem, Pearl? You can’t fool me. I can tell something’s wrong.” 

The rather flimsy front finally crumbled at that.

“I just… we- we took out the citrines they’d sent with the shuttle, and Garnet boosted me up so I could force the hatch open and I did, but then...” Pearl let out a distressed little half-sigh half-sob, one hand gesturing weakly. “They were all looking at me so wide-eyed and...”

She took a moment to at least attempt to collect herself.

“I don’t mind having them here, it’s not that at all. It’s just that… we were standing there, with all these newly-made pearls and… obviously I couldn’t just leave them there, in the middle of nowhere! And after what we did, whoever found them, they’d just have them shattered. Because of me. They were compromised. You’ve heard what they do now, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. They’re the monsters, Pearl, and it’s not on you. It’s not you doing that to pearls, it’s them.”

“But it is on me! It quite literally is because of me, because of what I did, and continue to do. I made myself visible and played at being important and look what it got us,” Pearl was near tears, a frustrated blue colouring her face, “a handful of runaways and the rest being treated worse than ever.” 

The tears were out in full force after that, and Bismuth put an arm around Pearl’s shaking shoulders. “Hey, hey, none of that.”

“We ended up taking them with us, but it feels like… it feels like I forced them to come here. Is it really any better than what Homeworld does? All I did was say you’re going to be rebels instead of you’re going to serve and they never got a say in anything.”

“Have you asked them?”

“They don’t know what-”

“Hey. Just ask them, okay? Ask them what they want. We can help them either way. Of course I’d love them to stay. But it’s not up to me, and if they want to go to wherever it was they were supposed to go- we can do that, too.”

-

[Rose discovers her healing tears in a dramatic fashion - they come up with the idea to make the fountain - and thanks to Save the Light we have a pretty good idea of who lovingly made all those statues]

She gently wiped away some of the chiselling dust with the flat of her thumb, just like a tear. A magnificent, healing, life-giving tear.

This was familiar work. But with none of the endless chafing, none of the hated reminders of her former station - Bismuth couldn’t find anything in herself but reverence. And… inspiration. She was a Gem, stars knew she didn’t need rest, breaks, anything of the sort, but still - this pace wasn’t something she’d felt driven to in a long, long while. All day under the burning summer sun, and every night under the light of her own gem. All alone, as the sanctuary took form under her hands.

To get the curls just right, tiny detail by tiny detail, somehow communicate the softness of those cheeks in stone… it took drawing upon the very depths of her well of skill, because how else could she ever hope to capture the likeness of someone as extraordinary as Rose Quartz?

With small, careful movements, she formed the roundness of the lips that could spit fiery words of rebellion, inspire like no other, scowl fiercely in the heat of battle, smile contagiously, bellow out an outrageous fireside guffaw, murmur comforts so softly, kiss…

And then she did it again, and again, and again.

[in the end, Rose is presented with a veritable shrine to herself]

“Rose? Is something wrong? You… don’t like it?”

“No, no, Bismuth, it’s… it’s incredible.” The smile Rose turned on her was as beautiful as anything, but it wasn’t hard to notice it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

[tinydemondragon]

Beast in the Woods - 5

What’s up bitches, I’m back on my bullshit enough for an update. I honestly have no excuse for this being like... a year later other than a lack of motivation but these quarantine days have driven me to pick up all my old fandoms and shit soooo here we are! Enjoy~

Beginning ; Previous

It’s been three days and they are no closer to answering any of their questions.

According to Logan, no books mention any sort of plans for a cottage in the woods. According to Patton, no one has been out there recently, and no one had made note of it beforehand either. Darren himself had no recollection of going out there that night, saying the memory was hazy and unclear.

Roman himself has had no luck either. He has not yet entered the woods at night, but he has been attempting to make his way back to the clearing during the day time. No luck. He has yet to even find the river, though he can hear it. He has not even run into the beast yet, though that is more so on purpose than anything.

He thinks that he may find the beast and the cottage in the same area. No matter how well his previous encounter went, he is not so sure he wants to chance a third. Not until he figures out why he did not have to fight the creature.

Regardless, he is out in the woods now, searching once more. It is midday, the sun high and streaming through the leaves above. It lights the ground before his feet, highlighting the fact that there are no tracks. He knows he was in this area just the day before. More evidence that there was something wrong in these woods.

Biting his lip, Roman weighs the pros and cons of using his abilities. He had slept all day and well into the night after pushing himself the last time, which allowed him to recover. Still, a part of him was hesitating. He ran his tongue over his teeth, his canines. They were getting longer, he just knew it. Not enough to be noticed. Not long enough to draw blood yet, but it was only a matter of time.

There were lives on the line, though. Another Darren just waiting to be called into these woods. He had to stop this from happening, had to find answers already.

Mind made up, he closed his eyes. Reaching into that part of himself, to that gift, he pushed.

He heard the world light up.

Bird song flitted around him, so much more pronounced. If he concentrated he thought he could understand their voices, but he did not wish to push himself any more than necessary. The river that had been haunting his every step bubbled and created a steady thrum of noise, urging him on. Leaves from the very tops of the trees swayed in the wind.

He heard the quick thump thump thump of squirrels racing through the undergrowth, up the trees, startling other animals into movement.

He could smell the flora around him, the scent fresh and strong. He could smell the oncoming bite of fall in the air. Could taste the change on the breeze.

Opening his eyes, the world exploded into color.

He did not realize just how blind humans really are, until he ventured into the fae courts.

The world before him is alight in ways he adores, in a way that makes the pain almost worth it.

Almost.

At his feet, the grass is a shade of green so vivid it appears to glow. He can see the tiny specks of dew that cling stubbornly, despite the fact that the sun is high above his head. He can see sparks, flashes of colors he does not have the name to, fading in and out of his vision. He can see the footprints of animals long past, the miniscule marks they left in their path.

It is breathtaking.

It is overwhelming.

He stands there for a moment, simply taking it all in. He is not straining himself yet, trying to gauge how much he can push before it becomes too much to bear. But more than that, he marvels at the world around him, enjoying this moment where he can simply be. 

And then his head throbs and he remembers where he is and what he must do.

With a deep sigh, he pushes a little deeper, until the sparks at the edges of his vision solidify. They wind a golden path all around the woods, turning black around the edges and Roman frowns. That is very abnormal.

And very, very bad.

He has had a singular encounter with the arts who presented black in his vision. He also now has a large scar running from his left hip to his right shoulder. 

Shrugging the memory off, he looks around him and tries to take note of where, exactly, the path leads. It twists upon itself, winding around and around, the black melding into vibrant gold. It is hard to see where it is coming from, for it seems to be coming from everywhere.

Roman stands for a moment, tracing the path with his eyes before nodding and heading northeast, following a strand that seems more faded than the rest. Older. This must have been among the first strands of magic laid upon these woods. He cannot tell how old, exactly, it is, but he does know it is older.

He follows the strand through the woods, taking note of the fact that what seemed so winding a path before seems to straighten before his very eyes. He follows it all the way up until he reaches the center of a meadow.

Well, meadow may be too strong a word. The trees surrounding the area are small, and their branches droop. The light is practically nonexistent around them and they seem to reek of decay. The grass is far from vibrant, even with his enhanced vision, and only the occasional wilted flower sways in the breeze.

There is only one part of this meadow that is of notw. The area where one of the largest trees he has ever seen plants its roots.

There is an aura around the tree, so many bursts of light and color coming from it. It is stunning, but it also makes it sick to look at.

This tree is dying.

It has another few years in it, there is no doubt about that, but death lingers in its shadow. Even as Roman watches, one of the arcs of light flickers and fades. He is hit with such an overwhelming feeling of pain and sadness that it drops him to his knees, sword forgotten at his side. How cruel, something so beautiful being drained for something- something-

Just something. He does not know what, but he knows it is vile.

He recognizes the tree for what it is, the courts are full of them. The Fae call these trees Life-Bringers. These trees produce a magic of their own. To have one of these trees in a forest is to have that forest protect that tree, and that tree the forest. They are a wealth of power and light and protection for those who know how to speak with them.

They are protected and celebrated. Every celebration the Fae holds, from the Twilight Dance to the Blood Rain is held around these trees, to give and receive from them. To see one dying…

Roman should not actually care, and if he was completely human, then he would not think anything of it. But Roman is not human, not any longer. Not with this curse twisting in his veins, this gift making its home in his heart. His blood sings of anger, his heart of a devastation so profound he can not help but cry.

Wordlessly, he mouths a prayer, something he had heard in passing while in the Fae’s realm, one that has stuck with him.

“May the dawn light your path, and may the sun guide you to the road with which you are destined to walk, so that when the moon rises, you are ready to greet the stars.”

Once, twice, three times he mouths this. Then, he forces himself to stand, locking the part of him that wails away into the box from which it came.

The world around him darkens, loses its sound and vibrance and the very essence of the forest around him. But, in doing so he is able to concentrate. He feels weary, as he always does when he is done leashing that part of him back up. Still, he feels better for it. Clear headed in a way he was not before. Emotions are always so much more overwhelming when he is in the throes of his gift.

He walks forward to the Life-Bringer, and lays a palm on it. It gives a pulse of warmth in recognition, a hello and a goodbye. He smiles at it, before his eyes catch on the ward carved into its bark, and the anger returns, with confusion right under its surface

Whoever did this had to have known the importance of a tree such as this and yet they still chose to harm it? It makes no sense. It had to have been a Master, there is no way a fae would ever let harm befall one of the Life-Bringer’s. The repercussions are too great, it is a death sentence.

He hesitates at the base of the tree, staring at the ward his mind can not comprehend and wonders what he is to do. He keeps searching for answers but all he seems to get is more questions. He thought this job, while difficult, would be simple but it seems to be turning into a mystery far faster than he can understand.

He looks around the clearing and knows there is a good possibility he will not be able to make it back to this clearing, even with his gift. This insidious magic is advanced, and it is possible it will learn to mask itself unless he pushes his gift as far as it will go.

He does not want to push his gift as far as it will go.

Looking up at the tree, he makes a secret vow to himself. He will find a way to help this tree, bring it back from this slow, torturous death. Call him arrogant and a fool, but he can not stand by and do nothing. Not when this tree is still trying to survive in spite of its imminent death.

No, he will not let that happen, not if there is any way to avoid it.

He turns and stumbles out of the clearing, only to come face to snout with the beast.

It is just as large and imposing as it was before, and only more so in full daylight. The golden sunlight reflects on its fur, giving it an almost russet look, while also highlighting the muscle in its form. The eyes don’t glow quite as brightly in the light, and look almost natural. Brown as opposed to the violet from the night only a few days prior.

Again, fear floods Roman’s veins. This is the exact outcome he wanted to avoid, for he still wasn’t convinced the other time wasn’t a fluke. And he is caught off guard, for he didn’t even hear its approach. Was he so engrossed in the tree that he couldn’t pick up on anything else?

If that is the case, what else did he miss?

Regardless, he refuses to let that strangeness from before overtake him. He is prepared to be more cautious than he was before, despite his tendency to lean towards impulse. There are vows he must fulfil before he can be reckless, he must be smart about this. He must.

The beast in front of him tilts its head in a show of… confusion perhaps? But no, this is a beast not a person. It has killed over five dozen, many who were skilled in taking down its kind. He would not falter or sympathize with it again.

Still, he had to be smart, and so he did not draw his sword quite yet. Merely left his hand upon its pommel and started to slowly try and ease around it. After all, it would be quite stupid to provoke it into a fight if it seemed to not want one.

The creature moved and Roman flinched, but it only seemed to be sitting down. Its head was still tilted in that confused manner, and it peered into Roman’s eyes with startling clarity. He eased around it even further and it merely kept watch over him, only moving its neck as Roman inched further and further around it.

Eventually, the beast could not keep looking at him head on. It either had to only partially look at him or stand. Roman himself was careful not to turn its back to it, waiting for it to come to a decision.

As Roman was able to start backing away, it stirred again. Roman, tense as he was, went to draw his sword once more. It seemed it would be unnecessary, however, as the creature simply lay down and… fell asleep?

No, not quite. One of its eyes was still partially open and keeping watch over Roman. Still, it was far too relaxed and it only served to make Roman more tense. What was it doing. More importantly, why?

So many questions, mystery piled one right on top of the other. Still, he knew he had to get to the bottom of them, and that meant getting to his temporary home. Keeping his hand on his sword and chest to the beast, he backed away until the beast was hidden once more in the undergrowth.

Right before he was to turn around, feeling as safe as he could, Roman could have sworn he saw the beast pull its mouth up into the imitation of a toothy grin.

Next

Reviving ye old tag list let’s see how many people changed urls in the time it took me to update!  @fan-tastics-stuff, @just-emotional-trash, @musicprincess655, @dragonindigo245, @sandersandthesides, @idiot-annonymous  @rabbitsartcorner, @bihighandgivinghighfives, @thgjclw, @oddball-wqri, @madsk3tch, @007ardra

[softestvirgil]

Feelings

Authors note: This is loosely based on this post

Summary: Logan holds a court case by himself to vent, and an unexpected visitor shows up

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: PG

Pairing(s): Platonic Analogical

Word Count: 1643

Warnings: Crying, Yelling, Deceit references, Emotions, Cursing, Shoulder touching, Unresolved ending

Let me know if there’s any more I should add!

Days after Thomas’ “callback or wedding” dilemma, Logan still felt miffed that he was left out.

He knew it was Deceit's doing, but he also knew if the others could, they would probably do the same, and if he was honest with himself, that didn't feel good.

Feel.

Logan didn't “feel” anything, so why was that the only word he could come up with for what was happening? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he needed a way to let it out.

To get rid of it so he could continue to do his job.

So, he went into the mindscape and recreated the very same courtroom they had all been in days prior, and held a private case, by himself.

First, he reads the case against him, then he makes himself swear on a bible, to tell the truth, and then the case began with him acting as the prosecutor.

“The accused clearly displays symptoms of emotional activity, yet he denies it, why?” He said.

Then he switched over to the witness stand. “I don't feel anything,”

“Falsehood!” He yelled at himself, slamming his hands down for emphasis. “There is clear evidence that you were upset by being left out, there is clear evidence that you got angry at Roman a few months ago, to the point of physical violence, and there is clear evidence that you have been feeling inadequate for a long time! Admit it!”

“No!”

“Why not?!”

Then, he lost it. “Because- because I need to do my job! I need them to take me seriously! I need to see things objectively and not be blinded by foolish biases such as human emotions. If I have feelings, then what good am I? What is the point? How can I help Thomas?”

Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, fogging up his glasses. He tried wiping them away but more came in their place.

Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Ahhh!” He yelled, jumping up from his seat. He then saw the face of Virgil, staring at him in bewilderment. “How did you even get here?!”

“What… was that?” Virgil asked him, ignoring his previous question, shock evident in his gravelly tone.

Logan turned away, not letting the other side see him like this. “What was what?”

Virgil’s eyes went big, then he repeated himself. “What was that?” He gestured wildly. “And don't say nothing or he will show up,”

“How much did you see?” Logan replied, not daring to meet Virgil's gaze.

“Enough,” Virgil replied, getting closer to Logan.

Then anxious sides’ face softened ever so slightly. “Are you crying?”

Logan sighed. “I uh, I suppose I am. I won't lie to you since that seems to be off limits from now on without, unwanted company,”

“I had no idea that you… I mean I had wondered about it before but I assumed it was impossible,” Virgil admitted, thinking out loud almost whilst anxiously fidgeting with his zipper.

“Assumed what was impossible?” Logan probed, no longer crying.

“You… having feelings,” Virgil stated, meeting Logan's eyes that were rested on him.

Logan shook his head. “I shouldn't,”

“We all do, and we still manage to get our jobs done,” Virgil pointed out.

“That is correct but you do not do your jobs as efficiently as you would without feelings in the way. I, for example, am no longer serving Thomas the way he needs me to, and he has made it clear through all of you that he grows tired of my efforts to try to. I'm not the fun one. The interesting one. The cool one. I'm just the one who upon entry, ruins the enjoyment of the whole experience. That has become my role,” Logan was crying again, which went unnoticed by him but not by Virgil.

“You're uh…” Virgil started, pointing at Logan's cheeks.

“Again?!” Logan shouted, clearly not familiar with how crying works.

“Listen, buddy, Thomas does need you,” Virgil said, trying to be as warm as he could. He wasn't a very comforting presence to have around, and he was fully aware of that, but he cared about Logan.

“Oh, I am aware that he needs me,” Logan replied confidently.

Virgil put his hands through his hair. “Then, what-”

“I am simply saying, that while I have a necessary function, I am unwanted,” Logan finished bluntly, his tears had stopped, and his expression was blank.

“You- you know what? This is ridiculous,” Virgil yelled, about to sink out from frustration.

“That is exactly what I meant,” Logan commented.

“What is?” Virgil asked, sinking back up and tilting his head.

“You were just about to leave because you felt upset,” Logan stated. “Making your opinion biased by feelings,”

Virgil raised his hands up in the air. “Yes! Because- because what you said is stupid!”

Logan pursed his lips. “And why would you say that it is “stupid” as you have so eloquently phrased it?”

Virgil was growing more and more frustrated as this went on. “Because! Because I- because we...”

“Because... you?” Logan pried.

Virgil gave up. “Because we love you,”

Logan scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I cannot believe you right now. How could you think such a thing of Thomas, of me?” Virgil argued, clenching his jaw.

Logan was screaming now. “You all have left me at this conclusion, and yet you are mad at me?! Preposterous!”

Virgil sighed exasperatedly. “Yes, I am mad at you! Do you know how hard it was for me to admit that thing before? Do you know how much your presence helps me? Helps Thomas? Do you realize that you, right now, have done exactly what you tried to teach me not to do?”

“What do you mean-”

“Cognitive distortions, Logan!” Virgil said, slamming his fists onto the desk.

“Fuck,” He muttered under his breath as mild pain shot through his knuckles.

“You- you're… right,” Logan admitted. Virgil was as shocked to hear those words leave Logan's mouth as he was himself.

“I always thought of myself as removed from those issues. Thinking that I could somehow help you better if I did not experience them myself. Now I am unsure what to do. I am defective. Once Thomas finds out... what will he think of me?” Logan was shaking, hard. He was shaking so much that his legs weren't stable on the floor anymore.

“Logan, I-” Virgil began but was cut off.

“-I'm scared, Virgil,” Logan confessed. “I am so scared because I am not used to this. I am not used to not knowing what to do,”

Virgil chuckled, helping Logan back over to the chair to sit down. “Now you know how I feel,”

“I suppose I sort of do, in a way,” Logan agreed.

“Thomas may not understand you, but he does need and love you. Trust me, I know. I went through that, too, don't you forget. For the longest time, I thought I was just acting as the party pooper, coming in to destroy any fun anyone was having, and that was all my job ever could be, but now… things are different. Maybe things could be different for you too if you are open about what you are going through,” Virgil explained.

Logan shook his head again. “I cannot do that. I do not want to burden Thomas with my inconsequential emotional turmoil,”

“Man, and I thought I was stubborn. This,” Virgil gestured to, and around Logan. “Is like talking to a brick wall,”

“I apologize that you are upset,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. “You are free to go, so long as you do not repeat any of what went on here today,”

Virgil moaned. “Ugh! You know I can't do that. That would give him a reason to come back!”

“He will come back eventually,” Logan stated blankly.

“Yes, but shouldn't we do everything we can to prevent that?” Virgil asked him, looking around fearful of the snake finding a way in.

“I suppose but me telling Thomas will not do me, nor him, any good, Anxiety,” Logan explained. “I need to do my job. I need to be taken seriously. I must be listened to, or things will not get done,”

Virgil got up on the desk. “Listen, man, I just told you I loved you a few minutes ago, alright? Cut me some slack,”

“You said “we love you” not “I love you” Logan recalled. “There's a difference,”

“Fine!” Virgil yelled. “I... love you,” He said, as gently as he could manage.

Logan's features, once tense and full of contempt, had reasonably softened now.

“I believe you,” Was all Logan could say.

“That's it?” Virgil inquired.

Logan scoffed. “You are not going to make me say it back after you just spent the past 1800 seconds arguing with me, are you?”

“No, I guess not,” Virgil said, mocking hurt. He didn't actually really care if Logan said it or not but he figured it would be cool to hear it anyway.

“Alright, fine! I love you, too,” Logan said back, finally.

Virgil smirked devilishly. “I did it. I got Logan, to say he loves me. My power…”

“Quiet, you!” Logan yelled, playfully swatting Virgil on the arm.

Virgil grabbed his arm. “Ow! Hey! You said you loved me!”

Logan tried not to smile, but he was enjoying this. “I did do that, however, you were being foolish,”

“Fine. If that's how it's gonna be then…” Virgil started and transported himself into the judge's chair.

“I, Virgil, find the defendant guilty of all charges!” Virgil shouted, banging the gavel.

“Objection! That is not how sentencing works!” Logan yelled, then he snapped them both back into Thomas’ living room. No one else was there, so it was still just them.

“I am just going to say that, I refuse to lie if you having feelings ever comes up, Later...” Virgil said cheekily before sinking out, as to not let Logan argue.

“Then I suppose, I must attempt to do better at concealing them, then,” Logan whispered, with the smallest bit of a smirk on his lips.

[oh-theatre]

Objection!: Chapter 2

Chapter title: Morning Chaos

A/n: I wrote a lot more family!Patton than I expected too but I think it's fine. Also, I hope I'm doing ok, let me know! Also, I have been doing a lot of research for this fic but I might get things wrong so I apologize.

First | Previous | Next

words: 2858

summary: Patton tries his best to get his kids ready for the morning, and Virgil receives some unsettling news.

pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, platonic demus

warnings: Murder mention

Ao3 Link

“Yo Virge! Someones at your desk!” A familiar voice calls to Virgil as he steps into the precinct early morning. Virgil turns grumbling to face his partner Remy, glaring at him. Remy shrugs it off and points to their desks. Virgil's gaze follows his point and his annoyance grows seeing a figure hovering over his desk, messing with his things. “Yeah, I thought you might like that” Remy teases before dragging a very tired Virgil over to their desk. 

“Hi, hello what do you want?” Virgil wastes no time interrogating the figure. The man stands tall and faces away from the pair. Virgil sighs and pushes the man aside slightly before sitting down. He feels a weighted pressure push his chair down and a voice brought his ear.

“Is that really any way to treat a judge?” Virgil spins around pushing the man away from him frightened.

“Roman! God! What are you doing here?” Virgil takes a moment to steady his breathing glaring at the now snickering Judge and his partner doing the same. Roman notices his glare and promptly stops his giggle fest. “Look I had a rough morning, I'm really annoyed right now so just… what are you doing here?” Virgil begs it's true. His morning had been less than ideal trying to get his son Damian to the daycare was a test. He had gotten absolutely no sleep last night fretting over the murder trial and to make things worse Roman Reial was standing in the precinct laughing at him. So not ideal.

“Sorry..” Roman sputters through his returning laughs, he clears his throat “My apologies Virgil, I'm here to retrieve the final evidence files for the trial this afternoon.” Virgil nods and gestures for the judge to follow him. They walk through the dimly lit precinct in awkward silence. They make their way through the array of desks, past the break room into the evidence locker.

“Case 203” Virgil requests, the lady at the desk nods and disappears into the plethora of file cabinets behind her. Virgil feels a buzz in his pocket and reaches for his now ringing cell phone. “Detective Tormine, what can I do for you?” Virgil's hears Roman stifle a laugh, he shoots him another glare, Roman puts his hands up innocently. Virgil listens his face slowly falls and he sighs exasperated “I'll be there as soon as I can, thank you Cindy” He slams his phone shut and rubs his temples. Roman eyes him with curiosity. 

“Is everything alright detective?” The judge asks, his voice softening at the clear state of distress the man is in. Virgil shakes his head biting his lip.

“Its Damian, apparently he's not doing so well and he threw up.” Virgil scoffs “How does a father miss when their child is sick? I mean...I'm an awful parent” He curses himself. Damian had begged all morning not to go today, telling his father he felt ‘icky’, Virgil wanted to kick himself. Roman puts a reassuring hand on the smaller man's shoulder, he uses his other hand to lift Virgil's face so they stand eye to eye. 

“You are not an awful parent” Roman says firmly, his tone has shifted. Virgil recognizes the sudden change, it was Romans court voice. “You are a single dad, who work practically 24/7 in the field of law and still makes time for your kid. I can't tell you how many times Patton has felt the same, it doesn't make you awful parents. You are under an incredible amount of stress, so you missed some signs that's ok because you can go now and take care of him. He will appreciate that so much more than you being upset with yourself” Roman soothes. Virgil simply stares, Roman was right but Virgil also knew it wasn't that easy. However, Virgil needed to go so he simply nods. The lady comes back, handing Roman the case file, and remaining evidence. They thank her before making their way back to the desk. “Why don't I drive you? It's on the way to the courthouse anyway” Roman offers, Virgil knows for a fact the daycare was in the opposite direction but he doesn’t think Roman was one to take no for an answer. 

“Ooo! Roadtrip” Remy exclaims joining the conversation. Virgil rolls his eyes smiling softly at his partner's antics. “Can I come?” 

“It's not a road trip Remy” Virgil insists “I'm going to pick up my sick son” Remy backs away face apologetic, Virgil shoots him a reassuring glance before turning back to Roman. “Fine but only because I don't want to take the bus” Roman claps victorious, Remy snickers before returning to his work. 

What did I get myself into?

~~~

“What?!” Patton cries into the phone, he rubs his temples frustrated “No, no, no please Cindy-” He listens aggravated. Finally, he sighs resigned “Yes, ok fine, thank you Cindy” He hangs up the phone and buries his face into a pile of files on his desk. He groans and sits up thinking. He looks around his musty study examining the darkroom. The curtains were closed except for a tiny slit of sunlight gleaming through. The lamp on his desk flickered making a sizzling sound. Patton shut it off and stood opening the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room giving Patton a calm feeling. He turns to the bookcases that surrounded his desk staring at the empty spots. Furrowing his brows he took the books he pulled out the previous night and places them back into their rightful spots. Once the last book was home he faces the mess of files on his desk. Patton began organizing the files and his notes. He grabs his briefcase and smiles opening up the old thing. The richness that pours from it is enough to make Patton swoon. He carefully places his files, notes, laptop and anything else he might need into it. He latches it closed and heaves it out into the kitchen, shutting off the lights and door behind him. He places the briefcase onto the counter and turns to the stove. The time flashes 8:00 AM. Patton lets out a huff of relief, not late, and begins making breakfast. He uses what he can find seeing as they had just arrived home and Patton hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet. He turns on the radio and listens as he cooks up breakfast for three.

“-new case to bless the courthouse today Jolene!” A cheery reporter sounds through the radio. Patton feels his stomach collapse to the ground. He leaves the bread to toast and listens intently to the reporters. 

“You are absolutely right Adam!” Another voice joins the mix. Patton takes the now toasted bread and spreads even amounts of butter and crofters jam on to them. “It seems that the Florida police have finally found a leading suspect for the ‘Alphabet Murder’ case!” Jolene hollers at the name joined by Adam. Patton bites his bottom lip. There are families, children who suffered, He thinks, this isn't a joke. The reporters continue, discussing things Patton is already aware of. He turns the radio off and serves breakfast at the dining table. He pours two glasses of orange juice and begins brewing coffee for himself. He hums as he cleans away the small mess, twirling around slightly. 

“Papa…” A sleepy voice calls from behind him. He finishes the last dish securing it safely on the drying rack before turning to face his young daughter. She stands in the archway between the kitchen and dining room rubbing her eyes and holding her prized plushie. Patton feels himself melt at the adorable sight, he kneels in front of the young girl. 

“Good Morning angel face” Patton coos at his toddler. Valerie gives a smile before jumping into her father's arms wrapping her small arms around his neck. Patton stands hugging her back and planting small kisses all over her face. Valerie shrieks delightfully before begging to be put down. Patton obliges and sets her down softly. “There's toast at the table if you want some” Patton offers, she nods excited and runs to sit down. He watches as she munches on her food. Patton’s coffee finishes and he joins Valerie at the table. “Is your brother still asleep?” Patton asks wiping crumbs off the side of her cheek. 

“Mmhm” She chimes “But I woke him up! I said we had to go see our friends!” Valerie explains gesturing wildly. Patton feels his heart twinge. “And then he got right up!” She finishes taking the last bite of her food. “He’s so messy Papa” Valerie whispers as though spreading gossip “And icky, boys are icky” Patton laughs and ruffles her hair. He takes her empty plate and brings it over to the dishwasher. She helps him by bringing over her empty glass. They make their way back to the table sitting down. “When can we see our friends?” Valerie asks bouncing on her chair. Patton sighs disappointed.

“Not today kiddo, I’m sorry” Patton admits, Valerie sits still in her chair and pouts. “Cindy said they had an accident and had to shut down for the day” Patton explains pained by the sad eyes Valerie gives him. 

“But I wanna see my friends” Patton nods understandably. 

“I know kiddo, but hey think about this! Today you get to come to work with me and hang out with Papa!” Patton plasters on a big smile. Valerie looks up hopeful. “How's that sound?” She nods, her bubbly mood returning. “Now why don't we check on that brother of yours ok?” Patton takes her hand as they walk upstairs into the twin's room. Valerie groans at the sight of a snoring Remus sleeping in his bed. Patton chuckles making his way over to the boy. He strokes the boys head lovingly. “Remus buddy, it's time to wake up” Patton says softly “I made you some food, aren't you hungry?”

“No Dada, I don't want the mashed potatoes” Remus mumbles turning over, clutching onto his pillow. Patton suppresses a laugh before carefully lifting Remus causing him to stir awake. He opens his eyes and looks around before softly hitting Patton's chest “Put me down!” He exclaims squirming “Put me down, y-you… heathen!” Patton obliges through fear of dropping the boy from laughing. He helps Remus change while Valerie packs her things. 

“Ready to go? Both of you?” Patton pleads after finally getting everybody ready. Valerie nods, while Remus lets out a grumbling huff. “What's wrong crab cake?” Patton asks his grumpy son. 

“Nofin” He replies before climbing into the backseat of the car and letting Patton buckle him up. He places a quick kiss on the boy's forehead before getting into the driver's seat. He checks the mirror before pulling out and smiling at the excited conversation the twins are having. 

~~~

Logan yawns walking into the courthouse sipping his coffee. He’s always amazed by the beautiful architect the building held. The arches placed neatly around leading to different courtrooms. The front desk tying the room into a half-circle. The ceiling dripping with meticulous art and flattering light. The stained windows complimenting them. Everything fit perfectly, it was his favorite place. Was being the operative word. It was until he heard the unruly shriek of laughter and giggles of children. He didn't hate children, let's make that clear. In fact, there were some select children that he cared for very dearly. However, it was incredibly early, and this was a courthouse. The one place a child should not be. He didn't hate children, he turned around ready to pounce but immediately melted, Oh...he especially didn't hate these children. 

“Val! Remus! Remember what I told you about volume in the car” Patton warned. Logan watched as the very exasperated man took his children's hands and led them to the front desk. Jenny, the receptionist, helped him check in all while swooning over the twins. Patton smiled brightly at her words and Logan watched as he got visitors passes for the kids and said goodbye to Jenny. “Ok now remember, we are going to go to my office and stay there for a little bit, then Papa has to work so you guys are gonna hang out in the children's room, and then we can all eat lunch together, hows that sound?” Patton was kneeling now, why? Logan thought, he watched as the twins burst into simultaneous enthusiasm about their father's plan. Patton stood when he heard his name called, he began a conversation with another judge. Logan watched as the judge asked him about his trip, he was brought out of his thoughts when he felt a small pressure push against his legs. He looked down to see a very embarrassed Remus. 

“I'm sorry mister” The boy mumbles, too scared to look up. He rubs his head bothered and stuffs his play truck into his pocket. Logan tilts his head slightly.

“No worries Remus” He speaks calmly, his face remains “I'm sure it was an accident” Remus looks up gaining a quick smile as he recognizes the man.

“Logan!” He cries out drawing Patton's attention, as well as a few others. Patton finishes his conversation and races over to the other two, followed by Valerie. “Look Dada it's Mister. Logan!” Remus exclaims to his father, Patton chuckles lightly. 

“It's actually Mr.Tolentino, Remus” Logan corrects, gaining a disappointed glance from Patton. Remus pouts, followed by Valerie. He feels a small flutter in his stomach but ignores it.

“Your no fun” Valerie points out, Remus nods. 

“I apologize” Logan begins adjusting his glasses “But this is a workplace, I'm not here for fun” He explains. Patton looks down at his children then back at Logan. His face is riddled with a disheartened look. He kneels down once more in front of his children. He's doing it again...Logan furrowed his brows examining the man's posture.

“Logan is right kiddos” Patton speaks finally. Logan feels an unfamiliar sensation when his name flows from Patton's mouth, yet it feels uneasy. “Why don't I have Jenny take you guys to my office while I finish up some stuff, ok?” The twins nod still discouraged and are led away by Jenny who follows along with all of their antics. Patton watches them go before standing once more. 

“Why do you do that?” Logan inquires suddenly. Patton turns to him curiously. 

“Do what?” 

“Kneel, why do you kneel when you speak to them. Are you not perfectly capable of standing and looking down?” Patton bites his lip questioning whether Logan is being serious. Logan remains silent, Patton nods slowly. 

“I kneel because then I can speak to them at their level. I'm creating an equal dynamic that says ‘I am listening to you, I care about what you are saying, and you matter to me’” he pauses, Logan processes this. “If I look down on them I am silently telling them the opposite of all those things. Children who feel seen and heard not only behave better but grow up to keep those values instilled in them. They feel respected, which in turn also makes me feel respected. They are more likely to listen to what I am saying If I show them that I am willing to do the same.” Patton finishes calmly, Logan stares in wonderment. 

“That...is… incredibly smart and...amazing” Logan manages still gazing at Patton. Patton giggles lightly, only pulling Logan further into his amazement. “You are… a g-good parent” Logan curses himself. I don't stutter.

“Thanks, Lo!” Patton bounces, Logan feels a sudden relief at the return of his nickname. “I sure hope so. Whatcha up to today?” Patton inquires, releasing Logan from his thoughts

“Its ‘What are you up to today’ and as for my work-” Patton rolls his eyes at the correction, the men seemingly fall back into their familiar routine “I was placed on the ‘Alphabet Murder’ case, as they so annoyingly call it” Logan says, something changes in Patton's demeanor that he can't quite describe. Patton looks… bothered?

“Oh” Is all he replies, his cheery tone washed away by a flat voice. “So your… the prosecutor?” Logan had expected to feel pride, or amusement once Patton had noticed who he was going up against but just felt… bad. The father’s face was infested with mixed emotions. 

“Yes I will, and what will you be doing today?” Logan inquires, knowing the answer. Patton shuffles his feet and fidgeting nervously with his briefcase.

“I'm the defense actually” Patton says, he examines Logan's face “But you already knew that, didn't you?” Logan's face falls.

Damnit

“I… yes I did. Ho-”

“I told you, you have to learn how to read your client's emotions” He says. Logan expects a teasing manner but is puzzled by the still present sadness the man conveys. “I should go, I need to prepare and check on the kids. See you in court Logan” Patton dismisses himself walking away. Logan jerks at the return of his full name.  

“See you in court, Patton” He whispers to himself, feeling the adrenaline of a new case drip away.

[askdrleland]

Dr. Kirk Langstrom: Session 1

(RP session with @ask-manbat for a therapy session back when Kirk was in Arkham. This mun is sloooooow….)

Joan arrived in her office early, determined to make the room look as welcoming as she could. The higher-ups had allowed her to do this initial session with Dr. Langstrom in the low-security room, but one incident would have him sentenced to future sessions in the cold, sterile high-security room where she interviewed the Joker and other high-risk patients. Joan refused to let that happen. She wanted Dr. Langstrom to be calm and was going to do her best to have the room be inviting as possible. 

Langstrom entered the room, accompanied by a guard. He was clearly nervous, as evidenced by his tensed body language and the way his eyes darted around the room as if looking for a way to escape. As the guard leaves, he shuts the door with a little more force than necessary causing Kirk to visibly flinch. He looks to Dr. Leland, unsure of what to say to introduce himself.

 "Doctor Langstrom," Joan said, noting his borderline panic. She took a single step forward and extended her hand for him to shake. She left just enough room so he'd need to also step forward to accept the gesture, a test of his courage while also respecting his space. "My name is Doctor Joan Leland. I'm glad you've come."

Kirk eyed her for a brief moment before stepping forward to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Leland.” He says briefly before quickly stepping back. “I suppose I’m here so you can ‘fix’ me?” He says warily, preparing himself for her answer 

"No, I am not going to 'fix' you, Dr. Langstrom," Joan replied, keeping her voice soft. "I am here to listen to you and try to understand you and your problems." 

“You’ll understand why I’m hesitant to believe you, of course” he says, a slight bitterness to his voice, resisting the urge to step back to the door, instead beginning to fidget with his hands and look anywhere but at Leland

"You came in with Harvey and Harv, if I'm not mistaken. The latter does not particularly care for psychiatrists in general." Joan tucked a stray hair behind her ear and turned to sit in her armchair. "You can sit if it makes you more comfortable. I'd just like to ask you a few questions." 

Kirk takes a moment, blinking in surprise. “Yes... I did come in with them, and it’s hardly any surprise after what they’ve been through.” He hesitates, looking from the chair to Leland before sitting down stiffly. “So what have they told you to ask about me?” He sighs, preparing for the usual insults and slander 

"Depends which 'they' you mean," Joan commented lightly. "My colleagues have their individual opinions, but they don't control these sessions. The other Rogues probably want me to ask you nothing or solely standard questions. And my bosses don't care, so long as I can show them signs of improvement. Simply put, there is no 'they' that has told me to do anything; this session is entirely of my own creation and I would not have it any other way." Picking up her pen, Joan readied it over her notepad. "Do you know why you've been brought to Arkham specifically?"

Kirk takes a moment, caught off guard before sighing heavily. “Well, the commissioner said it was because I was running from the police, in company with a ‘wanted criminal’, and...” he cuts off, looking at the floor and beginning to fidget with his ring. Staring at the floor, he finished his sentence “and because of, well... Man-Bat” he finished off quietly with a small shrug, beginning to slouch in the chair almost trying to make himself smaller 

"As I understand it, you are a separate individual from Man-Bat," Joan remarked, making a note of Kirk's tone on her notepad. "Yet the legal system believes that the creation of your alter ego is evidence enough to commit you to Arkham Asylum's care. Being with Harvey and fleeing the police aren't normally enough to warrant residency here--I imagine you can fill in the blanks." She made another note and looked over the man before her, her brow furrowing ever so slightly as she saw him trying to hide. An anxious tic--one he was likely doing unconsciously. "What have you thought about your stay here so far, Dr. Langstrom?"

He stopped to consider a moment, eyeing the notepad warily. “Well, it certainly isn’t pleasant,” he begins, sounding almost bitter again. “I  have already seen a rat and cockroach in my cell, and the guards have been doing nothing but giving me dirty looks since I arrived” he sighs, giving another small shrug. “I’m not sure what sort of answer you expected, but I apologize if that wasn’t it” 

Joan frowned. Passive aggressive behavior wasn't uncommon from the guards, but it was hardly acceptable regardless. She'd have to talk to them again. "I'm sorry the conditions have been less than ideal--Arkham is a constant state of change and some things fall by the wayside when its in such flux. But you've had no trouble with the other residents? No threats or snide remarks?" 

Kirk had to stop and think for a moment before answering. “Well, I really can’t think of anything, it feels like everyone here has just been ignoring me. Which is fine by me” he quickly adds, before taking a moment to finish his sentence. “Well, nothing from anyone in Arkham, and not to my face so far” he trails off, beginning to look uncomfortable once again 

"Does Arkham itself feel threatening or stressful? A lot of patients struggle in adjusting to the strict time regiments and the high-security wing where you've been staying is very spartan." Joan set her pen down and studied Kirk again. Closed-off body language, limited responsiveness--everything about him all but screamed of stress.

He begins to speak quietly “I, I don’t know, I’m locked in a prison, surrounded by murderers, because of a stupid mistake I made that I cannot fix. So yes, I would say Arkham feels a little stressful!” He snaps, leaning forward and quickly growing more frustrated until he practically shouted the end of the sentence. As if realizing what he had done, he froze, a look of regret and fear crossing his face. He began to curl into himself again, looking down as he grabbed at his hair and began muttering apologies 

"There is no need to apologize; I know full well that the questions I ask can feel probing." Joan resisted the instinct to write down her observation of Kirk's reaction, knowing it wouldn't help. "Arkham can be a difficult place to live, but the whole goal of the Asylum is to grant you the time and resources to work through your difficulties, to move beyond past mistakes. As your assigned therapist, I am your ally. You can come to me with any concerns. 

"In fact," she added, straightening in her seat, "do you have any questions you'd like to ask me? Anything at all--no limitations, barring patient confidentiality." 

Kirk took a breath, trying his best not to give Dr. Leland anything more to write down or be ‘concerned’ about. He then sat up, though still holding onto his arms and refusing to look at Leland. He thought for a moment, then began to speak quietly again, afraid of another outburst. “Why... why did they really bring me here? To Arkham, to you, what’s their goal in any of this? They can’t get rid of Man-Bat, I have tried, and I’ve never- he’s never hurt anyone. What are they trying to do to him in all of this? To me?” He says, finally looking at her, tired, sad and desperate, almost afraid of her answer.

"There are too many individual reasons to list--each party has their own reasons. Simply put, however, the public is afraid of Man-Bat. They don't know what he's capable of and as his alter ego, they consider you equally guilty of his potential to hurt others. The police are sensitive to those sorts of opinions and some of them agree. It's an unfair, biased reasoning, but unfortunately that's what has you here." Joan brushed her hair back behind her ear, letting out a sigh. "There is no goal from the populace and the authorities and courts simply want you--as the Jekyll to Man-Bat's Hyde-- contained. An honest shame." 

“Oh” he says quietly, looking down into his lap again and swallowing. He begins to fidget with his hands again, twisting his ring around his finger and refusing to look up at Dr. Leland. He attempts to steady his breathing, trying his best to avoid revealing what he was thinking or feeling, or anything that may cause him to stay “contained” at Arkham forever. 

"However, you should know that I feel differently. Quite strongly, in fact." The doctor set aside her notepad and folded her arms. "I feel that you have been unfairly committed. As you said, Man-Bat has caused no intentional harm to Gotham and hasn't hurt anyone. The reasoning behind the order for your placement is, in my opinion, faulty; you should not have been brought here simply because your alter is unique in his presentation." Joan stood, looking down at the anxious man before her. "I want to help you get released, Dr. Langstrom," she said gently. "And perhaps help you figure out a few helpful things as I do it."

He nodded, just barely, still refusing to look at Dr. Leland. “I don’t know, I mean, what if they’re right? I don’t want to stay here, I don’t want to be here, and I want to trust that you can do something to help get me out of here, but... is there really any way to fix... this?” He finishes, gesturing to himself. 

"That all depends on you," Leland said frankly. "Do you want to prove your critics wrong? Do you want to see improvement in your life? I may be a doctor, but I cannot force you to make any changes or even listen to what I have to say. Therapy is a joint effort between doctor and patient, so I need to know if you are willing to work with me on this."

Kirk takes a moment before speaking. “I... yes. I want to get better and fix things and-“ he cuts off, looking up at Dr. Leland. “I want to leave Arkham” he states, finally sounding sure of himself, “whatever it takes, I need to get out of here. Please”

Joan nodded, smiling. "That is the perfect place to start."

[angel-wings-and-broken-things]

A rant about Vanya Hargreeves

(Note: this is decidedly anti-Vanya. If that bothers you, I suggest you click off right now, you have been warned. That said, I'm always up for some friendly debate if you see anything that I’ve said is incorrect, but please don’t respond with bullshit comments like “Luther made her” as it’s an embarrassing display of the pure immaturity that comes from Vanya stans.)

So I’ve been putting off this rant for a long time, mainly because I’ve been busy with school and other stuff. Also, I’ve been getting my kicks ranting to my sister about the pure idiocy that is Vanya Hargreeves and Vanya stans. However, my sister now says that she is done listening to my hour-long rage-fueled rants. Let me tell you that I cried, because a staple in my morning routine has become eating my toast and spilling tea with my younger sister. However, when presented with the facts, for example, that she has never watched the show and has no opinions on the character nor on the cataclysmic stupidity of the fandom for idolizing this psychopathic monster, I realized that perhaps it was the proper time for me to make this, and pray that I can move on to a life of happiness after expelling my hatred of these unintelligent people and arguments.

Also, I’m extremely high on caffeine and procrastinating my essays. So please bear with me as I take you on the journey of my three AM coffee induced rants. I understand that there is a very slim chance that I will change anybody's mind about Vanya, as many people choose to be ignorant about the problematic and hypocritical behavior of their favorite character. Society is relentless in its enablement of the truly moronic behaviors, and nothing has made me lose more faith in the world than the actual arguments I have seen from the half-witted, mindless Vanya stans. I’m not saying that everyone who stans Vanya is an idiot, but if someone else were to say it I would not disagree. Unfortunately, that is simply the conclusion that all evidence leads to. This introduction has gotten away from me a bit, so without further ado, here is every single bullshit argument that I have seen Vanya stans argue debunked.

Vanya’s Childhood.                        

First of all, I would like to point out that I have the utmost sympathy for all of the Hargreeves children for having to grow up with an abusive father. At no point in this rant will I disvalue Vanya’s trauma. As much as I truly hate her character, invalidating traumatic experiences and PTSD is a fucking dick move that I will leave to other parts of the fandom (*cough* anti-Luthers *cough*).

Now that that’s out of the way, let me dig deep into her psychopathic tendencies and unflinching lack of remorse for her actions that clearly has been present since adolescence. First, let us address her powers. I see people everywhere saying that having her powers bound was abusive and horrible, that Allison could have rumored her to have control instead, that she didn’t mean to do any of the things she did, etc. However, please consider that Reginald didn’t have a choice. Or rather I should say that his choices were limited and he made the best possible one given the circumstances. I’m not condoning his actions at all, I will be the first to denounce his actions and character. However, we need to consider all of the facts; not only did she physically attack him, but she also murdered several innocent people because she didn’t like oatmeal. This was to the point that Reginald designed Grace for the sole purpose of having someone who could control Vanya. Vanya was clearly displaying apathetic tendencies towards murder at a young age and cares nothing for the people she killed as long as she got what she wanted. She murdered people over oatmeal, and people stay defending her?

I was shocked when I saw this scene and realized that people were still stanning Vanya, because do you know what this points to people? A pattern. Vanya is a power-hungry maniac. This is shown many times in the show. She knows that she’s the most powerful person in the room and she shamelessly abuses that privilege. When she is a child and she realizes that she’s more powerful then Reginald can handle, what does she do? She explodes the glasses and hurts him with her powers. When she is fed a type of food that she doesn’t like and knows she can use her powers to get whatever she wants, what does she do? She murders her nannies for the sole purpose of getting her way. When she is an adult and realizes that she doesn’t have to listen to Allison, what does she do? Slits her throat and attempts to literally murder her, then runs away. When she doesn’t want to be held captive she destroys their house. When her siblings try to stop her from hurting people she burns the world to the ground. Do you see the pattern?

Furthermore, let us discuss The Umbrella Academy. Also known as Vanya once again showing her true colors as a spoiled brat. We see in both her autobiography and in the flashback scene where she destroyed the house that she felt excluded. Listen, I am a sibling, I have felt excluded before and I’m sure that my sisters have as well. But somehow none of us have burned our house to the ground. I know, you’re probably sitting at your keyboard shaking your head in awe at out restraint. I get that people sympathize with her loneliness throughout childhood, and I can see why. But honestly, I didn’t see anything too terrible in the flashback scene. What? Diego was pissed at her for barging into his room and Allison didn’t want Vanya to see her macking on Luther? Call me crazy but that just seems like siblings being siblings (aside from the making out with your other siblings part, that’s weird). Yes, the one about her being left out from the family portrait was kind of rough, but no reason to attempt to murder your whole family, kill your mom and father figure, and destroy your house. 

She clearly has a being left out complex that began in adolescence and carried through adulthood. It’s okay when you’re a kid and you’re whining that Jimmy and Tommy won’t let you play tag with them, but it crosses a line when you act that way as a grown ass woman. Her book was also crossing a gigantic, fat red line that says in all caps YOU’RE TAKING THIS TOO FAR. What, Ben didn’t want to share his toys so in return you write a passive-aggressive novel about how much your siblings suck and left you out of their super secret club? Let’s say that Klaus also published a book talking about all of his traumatic experiences, and at the center of it was perfect Vanya who was normal and never experienced a single hardship. Different story, right? We don’t seem to talk about the fact that being in the Umbrella Academy seemed to suck. Klaus was forced into a mausoleum and made to live his worst nightmare, Ben was made to kill people using his powers, Luther was transformed into an ape-man without his consent and exiled to the moon, Five ended up stranded in the apocalypse for 45 years, and that's just when was shown on the screen. I’m positive that there were tons of other horrible things that the academy experienced, so where does Vanya get off pretending that she invented tragedy all because her precious feewings were hurt? 

Locking Vanya Up 

Listen. Listen. I said that I wasn’t going to invalidate Vanya’s trauma, and I plan to stick to that. Luther locking Vanya in that cage was fucked up. He shouldn’t have done that. However, in order to properly make my case we need to analyze everything, so allow me to play devil’s advocate for a moment. Vanya slit Allison’s throat. In what universe is that even a little bit acceptable? Not only was Allison her sister, but she was just trying to help. She says repeatedly that she loves Vanya, that she wants to help her, that she’s trying to rescue her from her abusive boyfriend, and once again we see Vanya turn to violence when she doesn’t get her way. I see tons of people saying that Allison had it coming because she rumored Vanya into thinking she was ordinary, but consider this: you’re an asshole. Allison was a child, she didn’t realize that what she was doing was wrong. She even admitted it to Vanya and said that she was confused/just remembered it. Guilty people don't admit their sins. Allison was confused and hurt, and Vanya tried to kill her. 

Additionally, let’s refer to Leonard. Vanya killed him. Now, I’m not particularly broken up over his death, the bastard sort of had it coming.  However, this is yet another example of Vanya overreacting with violence when she’s upset. Her murdering Leonard wasn’t self-defense, as he wasn’t attacking her, nor had he ever physically hurt her. While I’m aware that emotional abuse can be just as bad as physical abuse, and that Vanya was definitely in an emotionally abusive relationship with Leonard, it was still murder. There is no way that it would have held up in court, and I get that people can get trapped in abusive relationships, but if you want to leave a toxic relationship, the answer is not murder. It is never okay to kill someone unless it is in direct defense of your life. or someone else’s. Vanya killed Leonard and showed absolutely no remorse. In fact, the only time she ever showed any sort of guilt over what she did was to Allison, and she got over that in about 30 minutes.

I have gotten a bit off track, so going back to Luther locking Vanya up, he shouldn’t have done it. That much is clear, you should never subject someone to their worst fear. I could go on about Luther and his motivations, but I’ll save that for another rant. All I’m trying to say is that he had a good motive, it's still not okay but I feel that the entire fandom already holds Luther accountable for that, whereas no one holds Vanya accountable for her actions. Additionally, consider the other timeline. In the time where Five came from, Luther didn’t lock Vanya up. Why would he? We can see from Five’s flashback to finding his family dead that Allison’s throat wasn’t slit, therefore because Five was the one who pointed them in the direction of Harold Jenkins, and he wasn’t in the original timeline, there is only one conclusion to draw based on the evidence. In the original timeline, no one went after Vanya. Therefore, Leonard was able to convince her to go destroy Hargreeves mansion, and sometime in the process, Luther ripped his eye out. This is supported by Five saying that while he has assumed that the mansion fell with the apocalypse, it has actually happened before that. Vanya then, after murdering all of her siblings, went on to destroy the world, Leonard, and herself in the process. This shows that Luther was actually somewhat justified in his actions, Vanya has already proven that she is capable of killing and has no qualms about doing so. She has killed billions of people in multiple timelines, and Vanya stans still want to act like none of it was her fault? Okay.

The Guy In The Car

This is a pretty specific sub-category, but I felt like I had to bring it up because it is so fucking incredible the things that Vanya stans are willing to look past. Vanya literally murdered someone because he honked at her. Even if you can justify everything else she did, how can you justify that? Is road rage seriously worth killing over? People are so quick to say “YAS badass Vanya! A QWEEN!” but was Luther a badass when he grabbed Klaus by his fucking neck? No, so why is Vanya a badass when she nearly kills her sister and actually murders innocent people?  The fact of the matter is, Vanya shows a continuous pattern of killing without remorse. She has not only killed many nannies, Leonard, her siblings (in the alternate timeline) and the whole fucking world (twice), but she murdered the man in the car for absolutely nothing. He could have had a family, he could have had children, but did Vanya think of that? Probably not, because she’s a psychopath.

Stop and take a good long look at any of these gifs and try to tell me she wasn’t in control. Try and tell me she isn’t a murderer.

The Apocalypse

Finally. The part of this rant that I’ve been the most excited to get to. This is where I get the most idiotic comments about Vanya. I may have to write a whole other section addressing the most stupid comments I have gotten. But nonetheless, everyone seems to be unanimously in agreement that it wasn’t Vanya’s fault, and this is where I run into some issues. Vanya isn’t a child, she’s a grown ass woman. Correct me if I’m wrong, but when you’re almost 30 years old, its time to take responsibility for your actions. Some of y’all’s mamas didn’t raise you right and it shows. When I was a kid, it didn’t matter if my little sister told me to steal the candy bar, I still stole the candy bar. It was my fault, I got punished. No one held a gun to Vanya’s head and forced her to burn the world to the ground. If you rewatch the final scene, it’s pretty clear that she’s in control of her actions. The only times I saw her lose control was when she was defending Leonard from the muggers and when she was ranting about her siblings. During the apocalypse? All I saw was pure vindictive pleasure. She was pissed off, so she would have everyone die. 

I would like to point out, because I haven't seen anyone else talking about this, that Vanya was straight up ready to kill Luther, Klaus, Five, and Diego. At the end, when they all were trying to stop her (from destroying the world) she had them suspended in air and was clearly hurting them. You could see them in pain, their lives were literally draining away. It was pretty clear that they would have died if Allison hadn’t stopped her. And through it all, she didn’t care. She didn’t care that they would die, she didn’t care that the world would burn. The bottom line is that Vanya Hargreeves is a psychotic murderer, and the fandom needs to stop treating her like a goddess.

In conclusion

To summarize, Vanya displays the characteristics of a spoiled toddler. All she does is lash out when she doesn’t get her way and destroy the world and other people. She has killed countless people, and the fact that people keep saying it wasn’t her fault is such a classic example of the world’s stupidity. If you say that she wasn’t responsible, or that Luther made her do it, then congratulations, you are just as mature as Vanya is and that is not a compliment. No one can make you do anything. You always have choices, Vanya chose to destroy the world and that is something that she needs to be held accountable for. 

I can kind of understand the appeal to Vanya, I suppose. She could come across relatable because of her lonely childhood. Or maybe shes just amassed such a large following because people love Ellen Page (which I get). But the fact remains that I have heard so many idiotic Vanya supporters preaching her psycho gospel and completely ignoring every shitty thing she’s done. So next time I reply to someone’s moronic, unintelligent, not thought through comment, and they try and start beef with me, I’ll just link this rant. I’ve gotten tired of repeating myself. So hey, if you said something to me on twitter about how Vanya isn’t responsible for all the people she killed in cold blood, and I commented with this link, then congrats! You are such a moronic mouthpiece that I felt the need to spend hours writing this essay detailing every single reason as to why your opinion is invalid. Save us both some time here and just stop talking. Either that or turn on your notifications and fight me irl, I won’t hesitate to cleanse the bloodline of your stupidity. Sucks to suck man, don’t let the door hit you on the way to hell. 

If you finished this, congratulations. Grammarly tells me that this takes an average of 12 minutes to read so thank you for sticking with me throughout this 2,500-word monster of a rant. You’re a real one. And if you still stan Vanya, then no worries. Believe it or not, I’m not against stanning Vanya. The problem is that most Vanya stans love her on the grounds of believing that she’s innocent, and the fact of the matter is that she’s not. It’s okay to like whoever you want to like, but acknowledge that your fave is problematic instead of being an idiot and naively trying to convince me of her innocence. The facts are on my side here, people. You’re not going to win this argument. 

[karamorrdraws]

The Night Series Pt.48

The Song of The Stars

Pairing: Rhysand x Reader Words: 1,146

Disclaimer: This series is based on the world created by the amazing Sarah J. Maas. These characters are hers and no hate intended towards any of them. I love them all.

Author’s note: Hello everyone! Sorry for not posting as much! Work has been crazy :( But once again, thank you so much for waiting, I love you all <3 Take care :)

CATCH UP HERE! Read Part 1 here: PART ONE THE NIGHT SERIES MASTERLIST

The Song of The Stars

“(Y/N)!!!”, a male voice screamed.

I opened my eyes and realized I had been screaming. I breathed, trying to calm myself down. But I couldn’t. I could barely breathe. I was shaking. Shaking in fetal position on the floor. Hands were on me. Someone was talking to me. I couldn’t listen. It felt like I was shutting down. My vision was blurry. My cheeks were wet. I realized I was crying. Hands sat me up carefully. I looked up and saw Rhysand looking back at me. His violet eyes were worried. I couldn’t stop crying and shaking.

My dad… he had… Amarantha…

I felt Rhysand’s body pressed against mine. He was hugging me. Hugging me so tightly, it felt like he was holding me onto this world. I tried to hug him back, then realized I couldn’t move. My body was betraying me. So I just cried on his chest. One of his hands made strokes up and down my back and the other one held me.

“It's okay”, he whispered to me, “it's okay”.

But it wasn't okay. It was the opposite of okay. Rhysand didn't know what Amarantha had done to my father. What Amarantha had forced me to do to other men after that… But… Being held like this… it was comforting in ways I’d never knew.

After a while I felt my body began to relax in his grasp. My breathing calmed down and the shaking had stopped. He kept hugging me. Not caring at all that his chest was now all wet with my tears. As I started to feel again and calm down, I realized he was singing. He was singing to me.

“Every moon has a flaming star A flaming star over its shoulder And when the moon, sees its flaming star Its true life has began You must be mine My lucky star You shine on me wherever you are And I need your light To save me from the dark

Starlight, star bright, You’re the first star I see tonight You and I We are one We sing with our light We fly over the sky Looking for each other Never truly alone

Come home. Find me. Don’t ever let me be alone.”

That song. That song was an ancient song sang to kids on Hybern.

My father used to sing it to me, I remembered then.

I separated myself just a little from Rhysand in order to look at him. It wasn’t a Prythian song. How did he knew the lyrics to that song? His hand traveled to my face as he cleaned away my tears.

“My memories are starting to rush back to me now that she is dead. All she made me forget is coming back to me slowly”, I found myself saying in a barely audible sound. “Places, smells, even words, made me remember things that she kept away from me. I hate it”.

He smiled softly at me.

“I understand”, he whispered.

And he did. He truly did. What she’d made him do…

“How do you know that song?”, I asked him now, changing the subject.

He smiled.

“It came to me. A long time ago. When I needed it most”, he simply said.

I just nodded back at him. I knew he wouldn’t explain any further, and I wasn’t going to pressure him to do so. The song was, after all, a song about finding your happiness, about hope, about love… Hybern. The thought came to me like an arrow piercing skin. Hybern uses this island. Hybern disposes of criminals, prisoners of war, traitors, everyone… here. I looked at Rhysand.

“We have to hurry up. Leave. Fast”, I whispered.

He nodded and as he helped me stand up, he grabbed my hand tightly.

…

As we arrived to the entrance of the temple, I couldn’t help thinking about my father. I hadn’t remembered how he looked like until that terrible memory of him. He had kind blue eyes, black curly hair, skin pale as snow… none of the characteristics that actually described me… But… his big eyes, soft face, even his smile… I looked more like him. Which was good. Or at least I hoped it was. I didn’t remembered much about him. Only tiny pieces here and there. But I hoped he was good. I hoped he wasn’t like Amarantha. And most of all, I hoped the Cauldron spared his soul.

“We’re here”, Rhysand said as he pointed at a symbol on the entrance of the temple.

The symbol of the amulet I was wearing. I breathed deeply.

This is the last one. You can do it. Just this one more, I told myself as I took the necklace off and extended it towards Rhysand.

He never took it from me. I turned to him.

“I’m not letting you do this one”, he said looking at me.

I frowned.

“I’m getting the relic. It’s no question”, I told him as I grabbed his hand and left the amulet there. “Now open the door, please”.

He sighed.

“I can’t in good conscience let you go through another trial, (Y/N)”, Rhysand whispered. “Now that I know exactly what they entail, I can’t—”, I cut him off. “Rhysand, please. Let me finish this”, I said. “(Y/N)…” “I can’t keep the door open for you, you know that. Just let me go inside”, I pleaded softly.

He just looked at me without saying anything.

“I’m expendable. You are not. A whole Court depends on you being alive. If I were to die… well, lets just say no one would ever notice”, I said with a sad smile. “You are not expendable”, he responded. “Never say that again”. “Listen”, I started as I looked at his beautiful eyes “Every time I enter one of these quests looking for a relic I know I might not come out at all. I’ve known that the whole time. So don’t you dare do this to me now. I have to do this for me. For my mate. For Feyre Archeron”.

He clenched his jaw at the mention of Feyre.

“I’ll be okay”, I lied.

He just looked at me, knowing I didn’t knew that. Knowing that I could die. Knowing that he might never see me again. But he still nodded. He nodded and I walked towards the entrance. I saw, and also felt, Rhysand’s powers lifting the secret entrance to the temple. I stared at it. Another tunnel leading to a cavern. Great.

“Be careful”, Rhysand said with evident worry on his voice.

I turned to him and smiled.

“I’ll try”.

I stepped inside the tunnel. 20 steps. Maybe even 21. Then the floor collapsed beneath me. I fell. Just fell down to whatever was waiting beneath.

“(Y/N)!”, I heard Rhysand scream.

I remember a loud crack and then pain. Then everything went black.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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[bubble-tea-bunny]

shadow and soul

[arthur curry x reader]

author’s note: was working on some other fic, wasn’t really feeling it, so then i wrote this. i’ve been wanting to write for arthur again for aaaages and i am so happy i finally have lol

word count: 2,312

More than once he has seen you standing on the shore, gazing out at everything and nothing. It’s usually in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep. And you stay there undisturbed, toes curling in the cold sand, hair blown back by the breeze. Sometimes it’s braided and the stray strands billow gently. The braids are never done neatly, immaculately, but are, in contrast, of a lazy nature, big and loose and relaxed. He likes the way it looks on you.

He watches you from a distance, in the water, peeking his head up only enough so that he can set his eyes on you. He wonders what you think about, every night you’re out here. Maybe it’s the same thing, or maybe it’s many, and this is the only time you can put the thoughts together without feeling like your brain will melt. He understands the way it feels. He does that too, finds a quiet place to calm down and be able to hear himself think. To be a king is no small matter. Sometimes he wishes the mantle had fallen upon the shoulders of another. But it’s during the moments very much like the ones he finds you in, that he understands it is his responsibility to bear, his duty to undertake the monumental task given to him. He’s playing the cards he’s been dealt. There’s no use dwelling in the what-ifs.

The moon is full tonight, and the light bounces off the water and your face. You’re sitting on one of the large rocks. It doesn’t look all that comfortable to Arthur, for it’s jagged and sharp in some places. It would be entirely too easy to slice skin if one were to place their hands in the wrong spot. But the way you’d settled upon it shows practice. You place your hands in seemingly all the right places as you climb up, and get into a position he guesses might be more comfortable than he assumes. You certainly don’t look bothered.

Even from a distance he can tell you’re tired. More so than usual anyway. You tend to look fatigued when you’re out here to begin with, and he doesn’t blame you, considering the time. But he knows that the exhaustion in your eyes is from stress. About what, he can’t even begin to presume. There’s a plethora of reasons. He has no idea who you are and the sorts of issues you might have to deal with.

Though he hopes to know you, in some way, but he holds back anytime he considers moving closer to shore and revealing himself. Part of it is because he doesn’t want to frighten you. He has no idea how you’d react. The other part is that Atlantis remains far removed from those on land, for its safety. It’s the lost city to everyone else, and it will remain that way because should knowledge spread of its existence, there’s no question it would be invaded. Atlantis has thrived because it remains contained, and as king, it is his obligation to ensure it stays that way. Still, the more days that go by, he’s truly contemplating if letting just one person know of it would have any negative consequences. Because every time you’re out here, and he’s watching from afar, he feels like he’s growing closer to you despite not even knowing your name.

It’s more of an accident than anything, how he had come to finally approach you. He hadn’t anticipated how sharp your hearing would be, hadn’t ever considered it to be something to be wary of until one evening, he shifts around in the water just a tiny bit, and the lack of a breeze makes everything quiet, so when you hear the way the water moves to accommodate him, you know something is out there. He freezes the moment you realize this, wondering if you would let it go. But your curiosity gets the best of you, and so you speak up: Is someone there?

When the words have left your mouth, you seem to shrink a little, seemingly embarrassed. It looks as if you’ve just spoken to thin air. And he contemplates letting it be just that, letting you believe you merely imagined something. Several more seconds of silence pass, and you look like you’re about to resign to it and resume getting lost in your thoughts, but in that short window, there’s a part of Arthur that tells him to move, to go to you. Because he’d always been hoping to and it would be dumb to squander a perfectly good opportunity. He’s his own advisor this time around, and evidently, the right decision is to show himself. So he does, swimming a little closer.  

Your head perks up when you hear the water shifting again, and your eyes scan the length of it in search of the disturbance. You spot Arthur rather quickly with the help of the moonlight, and your head tilts as the two of you simply watch each other. You wonder who he is, how he’s gotten there, because you hadn’t seen anyone go into the water in the time you’ve been out here, and it’s been a while. Had he come from the sea? Slowly you uncross your legs and slide off the rock, feeling the sand slide against the soles of your feet as you walk over. You come to the edge where dry and wet sand meet, toes resting on that line.

Arthur can see it in your gaze, the invitation to approach, to come say hello. You don’t seem scared. He comes up to depths shallow enough for him to set his feet down, and he walks the rest of the way, feeling the way the water tries to fight against him as he breaks through it. It sloshes around his legs and drips from the ends of his hair in lonely drops. He comes to a stop when he’s completely out of the water. Neither of you says anything right away. He’s not even sure where to begin if he were the one to speak first. Because what he did just now, is doing, is exactly what he’s not supposed to do. But it just felt so hard to stay away forever, and even he didn’t have the willpower for that.

It’s almost otherworldly, your capacity to do such things to such people as him. From the second he’d first set his sights on you, he wanted to know you. And even if it had gone against his better judgment, deep down, he was willing to deal with any consequences that might follow. He’s not sure he’s even inclined to call it “better” judgement, because maybe coming to the shore to meet you was the better decision. Maybe it means something. Maybe it means everything. When you smile softly at him, the warmth of that curve seeming to brush up against him, like the ghost of a hug, he thinks that yes, maybe it does.

You’re the princess of the kingdom next to the ocean, and he tells himself it’s no wonder you seem so tired when you’re out here. There’s a lot on your shoulders as well, as you protect your own kingdom and prepare to one day assume the title of queen. The word feels as heavy as your chest seems to get when you think ahead to the future. He never expected for something like this to level the field between you two. He hadn’t ever speculated whether you might be nobility as well. But he tries to ease your mind as much as he can, telling you that when the time comes, you’ll be ready. What he doesn’t say is that it never gets easier. He doesn’t have to say it though. You can see it in his eyes, and you understand, and you let the subject go as you lapse into a comfortable silence.

He’s ruler of the seas but you’re parts of the water he’s never ventured to before, the depths even he has not traversed. And he slides his hands along your curves, along the soft skin, exploring, learning. His thumb runs over your bottom lip and he can feel the heat of your breath on his fingers. Some people wonder, in a fashion mostly whimsical, if perhaps those trenches too far down to explore safely should lead to some alternate universe, some other galaxy, as if the secret to propelling through light years’ worth of space wasn’t to go up but to go down, to the portals waiting for them, as they have been since the dawn of time. Arthur swears he can see the twinkling of infinite universes in your eyes, and he’s thinking those speculations just might be right.

No one knows about this, about you two. And you’d both prefer it to remain that way. You can’t tell your father, because Atlantis isn’t supposed to be real. It’s not supposed to be anything more than a city from a storybook. And Arthur can’t tell anyone in his court, even his most trusted friends, because he’s not supposed to be making contact with outsiders, especially not contact of this nature. Love made things complicated. But he continues to love you anyway, in the secret places between the shadow and the soul. You’re always there to meet him.

“Will you ever show me Atlantis?” you inquire quietly one night. The moon is nothing but a crescent hanging in the center of the sky. It reminds him of your smile.

“One day.” Arthur nods and glances down at you. “You can swim with all the fish, and you can find a home in the water.” A home in the water with me.

You grin, and there’s a faraway look in your eyes, as if you’re imagining what that would be like. You’re wondering how far in the future that might be, and wishing it were now. But patience is something you’ve been working on, a virtue emphasized by your father as you learn more and more about how to rule. So you figure you can wait a little longer.

“A little longer” passes startlingly quickly. Because there’s an evening you come to Arthur in tears, and it’s with a trembling voice that you tell him you’ve been betrothed to a prince of a nearby region. The marriage is a means to secure an alliance. Nothing more. Nobility and love don’t usually go hand-in-hand, that much is to be expected when there are political implications to be taken advantage of, and maybe at one point you wouldn’t have much cared, maybe you would’ve come to love this prince in time, in your own way, but now you know you can’t possibly do that. Not when the two of you are conversing politely in the courtyard on a sunny afternoon and your mind is already thinking of the night to come, of the one who will be waiting for you on the shore.

I want to run away. It’s a shaky whisper, and Arthur’s heart squeezes as he holds you close. He promises you will. As he comforts you, running his fingers through your hair to soothe you, he’s thinking how to bring this up the court back in Atlantis. He can’t catch them unawares, but he also knows deliberations about allowing you in would be tedious and lengthy, and that’s time he doesn’t have.

You sit up so you can look up at him when you’ve calmed down enough. There are dried tears staining your cheeks and your eyes are puffy. Your voice is quiet and strained from the crying as you begin to speak, as you admit to him that you’d dreamed of a figure in the water long before he’d approached you that very first night. You dreamed about it and wondered as you came to the beach to think if maybe it was a sign, a telling of what the future had in store for you. You drew this faceless figure in the margins of all your books. Because you were always in the margins of my mind. There’s no skirting around it—he’s the one who’d come to you in your dreams before he’d come to you on the shores of this beach on that night that seems so far in the past now.

You lean into him again and his arms wrap around you as he thinks about the things you’ve just said. You murmur that your heart hurts from how much you love him, that you’re glad it does, because it’s the surest way to get you to understand. You know nothing more confidently than what you feel for him. Everything carries me to you.

It’s those five words that compel Arthur to make his decision on the spot. He looks you in the eyes and says you won’t be stuck here; he swears that to you. You’re not meant for this place. He’ll deal with the court after you’re in Atlantis with him, and he’ll ensure your place within the state and among its people.

And so the night before the ceremony, you run away. He offers you his hand, and you take it, and he guides you into the depths from which he’d first emerged to come say hello. They’ll send ships, sure, to find you and fight for you and get you back. But they will be ships with no destination or target. After all, as far as anyone else beyond you is concerned, Atlantis is nothing but make-believe. Maybe you are too, to some extent. Maybe you’ve escaped from the pages of this tale and have been spending your whole life trying to find your way back. And Arthur is right there, guiding you, until you’re where you’ve always been meant to be.

[jincherie]

warmth | namjoon

↠ written for the KreativeWritersNet au bingo! ↞

↽pairing: Namjoon x reader ↽genre: fluff, drabble, demigod!au, demigod!Namjoon, roommate!au ↽words: 3k ↽rating: sfw ↽notes: this ended up being so much cuter than I thought wtf

Even Cupid’s son needs a break every now and then, but Namjoon’s trip to the human world brings about more realisations than he intended.

↼posted; 07.01.2018

↼Masterlist | Bingo Masterlist

Namjoon, for the most part, got along well with his father.

He was the infamous God of Love— Cupid, and maybe even Eros, as some people knew him— and he had a way of drawing people in. There weren’t many people to exist that disliked his father, although Namjoon was sure his mother had certainly come close at some point. Apparently there were many times when she was fed up with his shenanigans— she was only human after all, and understandably unaccustomed to sudden take-offs in the middle of the city for a romantic evening flying through the sky. Namjoon did admit that his father’s courting methods were perhaps a bit odd, but at the end of the day his mother still loved him, as did most other people he met. He had that air around him, that friendliness and amicability. He was likable. And Namjoon liked him.

But sometimes, he couldn’t agree with him.

The way his father worked, he acted as a catalyst. He set things in motion, prompted events and inspired action. A shot of his arrow could leave a human pining for another, could push them off the precipice and into the depths of love and admiration. He’d assured him many times that he didn’t just go shooting people willy nilly— each shot happened for a reason, each love inspired by the touch of his arrow predestined and planned before the human ever came to be by the fates— but still, something didn’t sit right with Namjoon.

The humans had free will for a reason, and he believed it was wrong to ‘make’ them love. To him, loving someone was big— it was something someone should have the right to choose for themselves. He’d argued with his father many times about it— “We shouldn’t be deciding for them who they fall in love with!”— but his father would always remain steadfast in his actions and beliefs— “We don’t choose, Joonie. Everything that happens in this world aligns with the plans the fates have for us.” – and at the end of the day, they would always reach a stalemate. Namjoon was a reasonable man, but it was wearing on him.

It was such an argument that he’d just come from, and frankly, he needed a break. It had gotten to the point that it was too vexing to train and study beneath his father when his beliefs differed so vastly. It frustrated him; he didn’t like being upset with his father but he couldn’t change how he felt. Ultimately, he’d decided he needed a break, and when he’d told his father he was leaving for the human world for a while to take some time for himself, he hadn’t stopped him.

Which led to where he now found himself, outside the door of some human, with a rumpled, creased flyer in his grasp. Roommate wanted, it read in faded ink, the number and address printed beneath in smaller font. He needed a place to stay while in the human world after all.

As he listened to the footsteps of his possible future roommate approach the door, he could only hope that he wouldn’t need to look any further for a place to stay, and that they were someone he would get along with.

x     x     x     x     x     x

His roommate was… frustrating.

When you’d opened the door a week ago and shot him the brightest smile he’d ever seen—your clear, pleasant eyes creasing happily and warmth seeping into his chest as a result— he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, this was going to be fine after all. He took the tour of the house, becoming more and more charmed every minute yet maintaining a polite emotional distance, and had signed the form agreeing to be your roommate without a second thought.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realise the mistake he’d made, however. He’d come home not even a day after moving his meagre belongings in to find you perched on the couch, popcorn in your lap, as a movie he knew all too well played across the tv screen.

“I didn’t take you for the type to enjoy Love Actually,” he remarked with raised brows, hanging his coat up and slipping his shoes off.

You turned from the film, eyes bright, and shot him a grin. “Oh, I adore it!” you gushed, slipping a piece of caramel popcorn into your mouth. Your cheeks were a peculiar shade of rose, whether from your happiness or the fluffiness of the movie you were watching, Namjoon didn’t know. “The way everything is linked together, all the love, the idea that things are meant to be…. I’m a hopeless romantic.”

You’d let out a sheepish chuckle, turning back to the movie, and Namjoon felt a peculiar sense of disappointment make itself known in him, edges tainted with frustration. He’d come to the human world to get away from the nonsense his father spouted, yet here he was… roommates with a girl who believed the very same things. He sighed, so softly you didn’t notice, enraptured in the romance before you as you were, and made his way to his room, closing the door gently behind him.

He’d already signed the form, and he didn’t intend on leaving, but he certainly wasn’t pleased with the situation he found himself in. He’d just have to bear with it, he supposed. You weren’t that bad after all, even if you were a romantic fool.

x     x     x     x     x   x     x

Bearing with it became a lot easier when Namjoon discovered your other tastes in reading and films.

It had been a cool summer evening when he’d knocked on your door. He was about to go get some groceries and felt inclined to ask if you needed anything. Even if your views didn’t exactly align with his, you were still polite to him, kind even, and he always prided himself on his manners and the way he carried himself.

“Come in,” your voice carried through the door, music reaching his ears softly but not clear enough for him to discern. He opened the door, handle cool against the heated skin of his palm— being a demigod, the offspring of an immortal and a mortal, meant his body ran hotter than most, always thrumming with the power running through his veins— and was surprised to see you reclined against the headboard with crossed legs, a very familiar book in your hands. You looked up as he entered and shot him a bright smile.

Namjoon forgot everything he’d initially come to say. “You’re reading Demian?” he queried, eyebrows raising slightly. You laughed, and his cheeks flushed as he realised how shocked he’d sounded.

“It would appear so,” your tone was teasing, eyes warm as you placed the book on the bed face down, turning your attention completely to him. He could feel his cheeks reddening further as you teased him, an heat unnatural even for him setting over his face. “You’ve read it?”

For a moment, he completely forgot why he’d even knocked on your door in the first place. He found himself leaning forward eagerly, a smile slipping onto his face.  He voiced his confirmation, a list of what piqued his favour most about the book tumbling easily from his tongue. You sat eagerly, listening and providing your own insight and analysis, and Namjoon found himself becoming more and more drawn into you with each word that passed your lips.

When he queried what other fiction had caught your eye, you referred him to the bookshelf behind him, and he was pleasantly surprised to see more titles he knew and enjoyed himself. Original intention in visiting pushed far from his mind, he lost himself in the depths of conversation with you, his mind being stimulated by conversation in a way it hadn’t ever before. You talked yourselves deep into the night, and when he finally retired to his own room, a pile of recommendations in his arms,

The longer he lived here with you, the more facets of your personality he discovered. With each day that passed he learnt a little more, and fell a little deeper into the anomaly that was you. The presence of heat over his cheekbones became a regularity, the smile that slipped on his face at the sight of you a constant. Your views no longer mattered so much to him— he was far too entangled in discovering every piece of you to be bothered by your idealistic notion of romance.

And it was this very ideal you held, your view of love that you placed on a pedestal so, that had gotten you into so many instances of hurt.

When he answered his phone that evening, he hadn’t expected it to be you, and he absolutely hadn’t expected you to invite him to the cinemas. Namjoon hadn’t met your friends, but he had a feeling that if he ever did he wouldn’t like them. It seemed like they did nothing but set you up on date after date, such a lack of thought and care present in choosing the candidates that each time you left the house prettied up and beaming as radiant as the sun for a date it was almost certain you would return heartbroken and alone. Whether they stood you up or just hadn’t clicked, in his time with you Namjoon was sure he had witnessed them all. Despite his initial resistance, the two of you had quickly but surely become friends, and Namjoon could safely say he wasn’t a fan of seeing his friends hurt by the actions of others.

So when he heard your voice over the phone, a slight waver present behind your cheery tone that hinted at much drearier emotions welling within you, he agreed without a second thought and before he knew it he was walking up to the entrance of the cinema several blocks away. He’d mulled on your situation a thousand times over, how you could still be so hopeful and optimistic, hold such faith in fate that it would bless you with love you were meant to feel some day, when all you’d been faced with was heartbreak and disappointment. He didn’t understand it; didn’t understand how you could simply let it go, shrug it off and keep on hoping. He didn’t understand how even with all of the evidence contrary to your view, nothing ever seemed to shake it.

When he found himself standing beside you, and you spun to face him with a blinding grin despite your watering eyes, he couldn’t understand how anyone could have ever stood you up. Dressed in a colour that made your eyes pop, your hair styled nicely and makeup enhancing all your best features, he was sure you were the ideal date, and although he’d never admit it the very sight of you had a peculiar warmth blooming in his chest, his heart skipping a beat. Oblivious to his inner monologue as you handed him the ticket that should have been for your date of the night, you’d looped your arm through his and grinned up at him, tugging him into the theatre. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you.

What was normally an occurrence that would result in you wallowing in your heartbreak, you’d turned into a lovely night out. Namjoon spent the night with you, happy to help lift your mood however he could, and along the way found he was enjoying himself more than he ever had with anyone before. Hushed whispers throughout the movie, soft chuckles as you made a joke that tickled his humour too much for him to stay quiet in the almost bare cinema, and greasy, indulgent dinner afterwards where you both talked to your hearts content about the things that interested you most. Namjoon didn’t think he would ever stop being fascinated by you.

He regarded you fondly, with the type of affection that snuck up on him and left him unawares until one night, as you enter the apartment after your later shift at the restaurant, his favourite dish in an airtight container under your arm, and shot him that beautiful smile he’d come to regard as a staple in his routine, it smacked him in the face. All of a sudden the thudding of his heart caught his ears, thoughts drawn to the heat in his cheeks and the sudden clammy nature of his palms, and he was drowning in the realisation that you were meaning something to him, something much more than he’d ever intended or even thought to conceive.  

He didn’t have time to ponder it— you were there, and you were serving up the meal you’d put aside just for him— because you knew, you knew it was his favourite— and you were grinning up at him with such unadulterated content and fondness for him, he couldn’t do anything but take the plate and the fork and offer you a blinding grin of his own in return. He brushed the thoughts swarming his mind aside, tried to calm his racing heart and maybe pretend that what he thought— didn’t want to think—was happening, wasn’t happening.

Because acknowledging it would throw everything he believed in to the ground.

He managed to last a month.

Each day he denied himself, denied the burning urge within him and the realisation that had prompted it, was a day that he spent growing weaker and weaker against you. Without fail, you drew him in, even when he tried his best to resist, to pull away, to pretend you hadn’t come to mean so much to him. Something about you called to him, reached deep into his soul and attached itself firmly to the centre of his being. He knew he couldn’t keep it up for much longer, knew he was playing a losing game and one day he would truly lose himself in you, but until then he did everything he could to resist.

And in the process, he didn’t notice he was drawing you in too.

The day you left for your first blind date in weeks, was the day he experienced a certain flavour of heartbreak on his own. Watching you leave through the front door, looking the very picture of perfect and eliciting such a strong yearning within him that he had to physically step back, he could hardly manage to bid you farewell. The smile you had offered him before leaving out the door had a different tone, a saddened tone, and he didn’t have time to wonder why before you were out of sight and the door closed before him, handle already growing cold in the absence of your touch.

So even the handle could miss your warmth, he pondered. He needed to face the emotions stirring within him, but to do so he needed to admit to himself what he’d realised one long month ago. And he couldn’t. He was scared.

For so long he’d felt the way he did about love, about how his father operated and the notion of fate. It was so firmly entrenched in who he was that at the prospect of acknowledging that might have been wrong and losing that part of him, he was terrified. Who would he be if he didn’t feel the way he did before? He’d changed, become a different person before he’d even had a chance to notice the transition, and he was clinging desperately to the last traces of who he used to be.

He was scared, because losing that part of him, letting it go… he’d be alone. What was he supposed to do with this new version of himself once he admitted his need, his love for you?

He didn’t get to ponder anymore, because there was a sudden noise at the door. A jingling of keys, a symphony of metal against metal so familiar to his ears, and suddenly the door was swinging open and the catalyst of his transformation stood before him once more. He opened his mouth, a query on the tip of his tongue, but you beat him to any response.

One step forward, two, three— he couldn’t take his eyes off you as you approached until you were right before him and lurching up, eyes fluttering closed at the feel of your soft petal lips against his and the passion behind them. His hands came to your waist, clutching you close, so close, and your own came to cup his face with such tenderness he felt his heart physically ache.

On the breath that filled his lungs as you parted was he intoxicating scent of you, and his eyes met yours as you pulled away, shooting him the smile that had won his heart so long ago. “Y-your date—” he managed to stutter, mind an incoherent mess but his heart thrumming and so alive within him he could hardly speak.

“I had a realisation,” you said, fingers tapping against his cheeks. “Why am I going out to find love, when I’ve already found it, and its waiting for me in my very own home?”

The smile that split his cheeks took you but surprise, but the kiss he planted upon your lips after surprised you even more so. He was warm, so, so warm, and you could feel the heat enveloping your own heart as he kissed you with all the fondness and love you’d ever yearned for.

Wrapped in the touch and feel of you, he realised that perhaps maybe it was ok to have been wrong all along. The way he was drawn to you, the way he had fallen so naturally in love with you, had happened before he’d even realised he’d slipped so far— and it couldn’t have been anything but fate.

But even so, as he entwined his fingers in yours and tugged you close, Namjoon was sure that even if fate hadn’t orchestrated your paths, he would choose to love you over, and over again.

[coloredinsanity]

Kristie please make it not trash. :V

"He's late..." Valentina noted as she glanced at the clock; it wasn't like she was mad... Jenna quietly wondered from the corner if she was capable of being mad. Agatha chimed in before anyone else as she spoke. "He's a civil lawyer; It's like... You know how on the news how they'll have breaking news every few hours? " Valentina nodded a little as she looked to Agatha who was curled up beside her husband, writing in a notebook. ��She was taking this time off work to try to catch up on some paperwork in regards to other things...  Agatha smiled a bit as she thought through how to explain things. "So imagine that everytime there's a breaking news story he's offered a job. It's sort've like that. It's not that he takes them all but he might've gotten and important call. He's never late so I'm sure it's just something like that."

Valentina nodded and smiled as she walked over to glance out the window once more before letting out a vague sigh and flopping on the other end of the couch next to Jenna who was waiting for her own date who glanced over before moving enough so Valentina could watch the you tube videos that she was watching. ----

"Sorry..." Matt quickly spoke as Valentina opened the car door but she simply smiled with not even a hint of anger in her lips as it was just the way she was, getting in and buckling up before placing her purse on her lap and looking over at him. "It's okay!" she stated with a happy chime. "I - Well I sort've understand how your job is... You're here now and that's all that matters!"  She reached over, turning up the radio a little as she began to sing along to the song on that she liked. A smile resting on Matt's lips as he watched her; Valentina was a bit odd but he never regretted dancing with her for a second. She was the kindest and most genuine person he'd met in this town.

----

The Chinese food place was a little hole in the wall but it was fantastic. Matt glanced over at the kid hanging off the arm of what he assumed was her dad for a moment before glancing back to Valentina, smiling. Valentina giggled a little bit as she rubbed her head a little. "I'm sorry, I've been talking like crazy about, nothing.  How was your day..?"

"Excellent actually... It's taken long enough but now that Quinn Hardy has broken the supernatural barrier and has people talking about they finally have the majority of people on there side against Heron; The city is doing a case against them."

Usually Valentina just listened and praised but for once she choked slightly before frowning. He could see her body visibly become uncomfortable, tense... Her fingers twisted. He'd never seen such a repulsed action from a single word or phrase...and then it passed as a false smile filled her lips and she spoke. "That's fantastic. I'm glad you're able to help people... Do you think Aggie will get in trouble?"  She asked with a solem tone.  He wanted to assume that was why she reacted so poorly but something nagged in his stomach...The fear and sadness stained in her eyes she'd masked so well was visible once again. ----

It'd been three weeks since then as he stared at his laptop screen... The two hackers hired by the city had managed to crack almost half the files but they were out of order so he was putting together the dates and people involved. He didn't really want to watch the videos but he wanted to make this case solid after he'd just simply looked at some of the before and after photos of people who'd been in Heron.  They weren't coming back, ever. He decided this.

The first few folders were already terrible; A girl's mother watching her daughter rithe in agony from injections and documenting it like she was talking about the weather; He knew that girl. Angeline, she worked as a barista... She wasn't even a non-human at least to began with but her file explained how long ago that changed.

Video of a mute girl who essentially seemed to be being tortured somehow but the cameras were stopped by a plant that grew over the lens and according to the matching audio file; plants stopped the entire procedure from occurring.  

He clicked on the next folder, VC-921.  The hackers had renamed files of people they were able to identify and as he clicked it open he saw the rest of the title and his breath caught in his throat as he reread it several times. 'Valentina Constantine.'  

He didn't want to even click the videos but after a moment he pulled them over to the video player and hit play.

The first few videos weren't to bad but it was clearly the young woman he'd been courting for the last few years although she was just a child in this video; Seven or so?   She seemed annoyed, aggravated. He didn't even know she could be aggravated as he watched her slam on the door over and over and over.

She didn't fight the first time they injected her although she cried a lot; he couldn't blame her. The needle was massive and god knows what was inside it; it was glowing.  He pulled his eyes from the video for a moment just to glance at the paperwork scans that went alongside it, finding the one that matched and reading through it but it appeared they didn't even really know what it was but they'd found that it'd bled out of one of the few things he'd been informed by the librarian that would be classified as and actual 'monster' it had no humanity, it just; killed things, that was it's purpose.  He'd have to ask her what exactly it was as the name was barely pronounceable.  

The screaming finally started soon after the injection; Valentina's eyes turning purple and the screaming abnormal as she clawed at her arms until they bled, thrashing around her bed before getting up and clawing at the door as she screamed for help that never came and as the screaming stopped she fell to her knees, objects in the room floating up and suddenly slamming into the door, the metal bed falling to pieces and assuming she was responsible for it she'd managed to hit herself several times with the few objects before finally everything including herself crumpled to the ground. It wasn't until and hour of the video passed until a medical team came in to actually check her wounds.

He felt sick; A trip to the bathroom he finally came back into the living room where he'd been working and walked over to the fridge, grabbing the case of beer Vain had brought months ago during a little get together; he didn't drink often but tonight was and exception to that rule as he sat back down... He didn't want to watch but he had to. Not just for the case...But for the woman he cared so dearly for.. He wanted to know everything about her even the worse of it as he hit play once again.

She was older; Thirteen?  He watched as the men came in as she begged and pleaded, several syringes one after the other being injected into her. Her eyes glowing and her entire body convulsing as they held her in place. The video ending quickly however as someone said "It's not working, nevermind."

Same age, new day. She looked terrible... She was underweight and looked gaunt, her eyes dull with large dark circles underneath them.   Luckily nothing else happened...

The next video sadly explained far to much to him... His face falling as he looked away from the screen. Valentina was uncomfortable whenever they got 'to close...'  And one time it sent her into and all out panic attack that Jenna even struggled to calm her down from.

The man had been in the past videos. He was one of the men who'd hold her down; and he was doing that again. Though Matt doubted this was for anything related to Heron; this was just a sick man who knew she couldn't fight back. She didn't even understand... He wiped his tears from his eyes as he swallowed a rough mouthful of beer.  He looked back if only to get a look at the man's face... He'd find a way to make sure he was locked away somewhere so far that he'd never be seen again, the sound of a metal can flattening in his fingers as he glared at the man's perverse grin.

He made his way through the rack of beer and the videos and photos...They all were essentially the same until the last one where she argued that 'You promised I could go outside!' - He didn't understand how she was able to smile the way she did. He didn't understand it at all as the tears ran down his face and he closed his laptop.  

----

He knew as a lawyer that she'd be a great witness but as her 'not-boyfriend' he didn't even want to ask her... He didn't want to make her cry like he'd watched her do the night before. His eyes lost as he stared at his coffee instead of her as they had breakfast together like usual...

As naive as she was her voice dropped it's cheery tone as she finally said something that wasn't related to the story about Jenna.  Her violet eyes dully staring at the cake she'd been given for free by Rachael's fiancee.  "You know now, don't you...?"  Her voice sounded like it could crack into tears any moment but she managed to hold herself together.

"Valentina I - I had - It was - The videos are the best evidence - " He tried to form a sentence but it all blurred into a random string of words that barely sorted it's self out towards the end.  

"It's...I knew...you might find out. I - I couldn't bring myself to tell you. I - I thought you'd think I was insane...and then I thought you'd think...that. I wasn't - "  She let out a shaky breath as she spoke again. "The last guy that I met before you... I liked him, Vain let it slip... He heard the story from someone else in town and it freaked him right out so bad he didn't want anything to do with me... He said I was damaged. He said I was a freak  - I didn't want to feel that again. I-I'm sorry, P-Please don't hate me..." Tears finally began to fall, hitting her plate as she covered her face with her baggy sleeves and began to hyperventilate.

He barely realized he was upright, Matt's arms sliding around her, carefully. He knew she panicked when people gave her tight hugs... His fingers sliding through her hair and pressing her against him. "I could never - ever, hate you."