#Keep in mind: these notes were made 6 months ago in the aftermath of the comic

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The aftermath of Merlin snapping, and yelling at Arthur in the middle of the forest;

Arthur pushes for change, the gang takes bets on when Merthur will happen, and someone, somewhere, is grumpy.

Part 2 of Merlin’s Angry Outburst. 

Part 1   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

Once Arthur has a first draft of the repeal, the first people he brings in on it (with Merlin’s approval, of course) are the 5 knights, Gwen, Gaius, and Morgana.

(Morgana, who later that evening comes back to Arthur's chamber in tears (Merlin is also there) to reveal her magic, and thank him for not being Uther.) 

All of them enthusiastically agree, after only a little conversation.

Elyan and Leon are the most... dubious, but only because of the practical factor, they don't disagree with the actual repeal.

After months of the gang working in secret, they reveal their best draft to the council. At least half the council are new members that Arthur appointed, the rest are left over from Uther’s time.

They argue back and forth for a while, half vs half. A few of the older members, who were around before the purge, slowly start changing their minds.

In the end, it takes them maybe a month to get a majority, and Arthur overrules the remaining opposition. He is King after all, technically, he doesn’t even have to have a council.

Days after the agreement is reached, Arthur goes out personally to collect a few specific Druids, who had been waiting just outside the border for the go ahead.

It takes maybe another month to go through all the laws thoroughly, changing and editing and altering what needs to be altered. With the help of Arthur's close advisors on the political aspects, and the help of the Druids, Merlin, and Gaius, on the magical aspects (what should be allowed freely, what should be monitored, and what should remain fully banned).

The city celebrates when the announcement is made, they all loved the new King anyway, and had been overjoyed with the drop in executions, and deliberate ignoring of small instances of magic.

After a feast to celebrate the new found freedom among the people, the gang gathers once more, in private, and Merlin tells a shortened version of the story he'd told Arthur all those months ago.

None of them are that surprised (Gaius, Morgana, and Lancelot already knew, of course).

If they hadn't suspected Merlin of being a sorcerer before this whole thing started (Leon, Gwaine, and Gwen definitely suspected) , then they had certainly begun to in the last few months. They cheer when Merlin finishes telling them "just how often I've saved your oblivious arses" .

They cheer even louder when Arthur announces that he would be made court sorcerer, and it would be made official in a ceremony before the week ended.

There are no cheers when Morgana stands.

Curious eyes land on her, probably due to how terrified she looks, but the small encouraging nods and little smiles she gets from her brother (her Brother), Merlin, and Gwen, give her the strength she needs to tell everyone of her magic as well.

They see she is frightened, they imagine how difficult it must have been, being at first Uther’s ward, and then his daughter. They smile gently, and she receives hugs a plenty. Once all the congratulations are out of the way, she sits back down next to Gwen, still shaky and full of adrenaline, but happy.

She spends the remainder of the group’s quiet celebrations with her hand gripped in Gwen's under the table.

(Read this how you want, I personally envision it as the start of something)

So the days draw on, Merlin is announced Court Sorcerer, Arthur hires another manservant and gives Merlin a large set of chambers in the same hallways as Arthur's, complete with all the books on magic Arthur can find, and several of the magical artefacts that had previously been kept locked away (Merlin and Arthur are the only ones who are able to gain access to the room, something magicky I guess).

(No one mentions that that corridor is supposed to be for royalty only. Leon figures they're bound to realise that they're in love with each other any day now, and then Merlin will practically be royalty anyway so... might as well cut out the middle bit of having to shuffle chambers again later on).

The kingdom is prospering, and for months after the initial announcement, and implementations of the new laws, sorcerers and nobles from all over Albion, visit Camelot, to give congratulations to the King.

They give gifts and provide knowledge.

The Druids, however, are a slightly different story.

The ones who had been helping with the paperwork, had been... odd(?) around Merlin. But they respected his wish to keep all of that under wraps, or at least until it was announced publicly.

Arthur and Gaius know the whole Emrys story. Lancelot and Morgana know bits of it... but other than that... as far as anyone is concerned, the newly promoted Court Sorcerer is just another wizard.

The new Druids entering the kingdom are paying brief respects to the Forever King (I mean... at this point, he's still only King of Camelot... which is what he was before the magic ban repeal), before staring in reverence at the Court Sorcerer stood by his side.

They respect his wishes to keep the worshipping and gift giving to a minimum, though they still come to him for requests of miracles and ask him to perform druid ceremonies (blessings and name-givings and weddings and funerals (though they prefer to call them celebrations of life, rather than commiserations of death) and such).

Merlin can only brush off so many displays of such awe before the rest of The Gang demands to know what’s up, at which point he has to come clean about the whole... “Most Powerful Warlock To Ever Walk The Earth” thing.

Much to Merlin’s chagrin (and everyone else's amusement) the Druids still insist on calling him Emrys. The stubborn ones sometimes even go for "My Lord Emrys", which gets them a scowl from Merlin (and barely concealed laughter from everyone else).

Maybe... later on... when Morgana is more comfortable with her magic, after a few months practicing with Merlin (with a supportive Gwen Always at her side) , she is announced as the Court Seer.

Merlin had never had much luck with prophetic visions, but once Morgana’s fear died down, once she learned to let it flow, and breathe through it, the visions come easier, and kinder.

She stops seeing only visions of doom, and worst case scenarios, instead she has dreams of the many paths the future may take.

She does not panic when a path seems grim and dark, for she has a King and a Warlock and Gwen, by her side. Always. And they work through the future together.

So the ban has been repealed officially for around 6 months.

Arthur is a couple months away from completing his second year as King. And he and Merlin are still beating around the bush.

The betting pool for when they’ll finally get together has been growing bigger and bigger. Practically the whole castle is in on it now, with Gwen and Morgana as the ring leaders. Whoever wins... will be very lucky.

(It's Leon in the end, he pays attention, and he know what his boys are like. But he's a noble and has no need for the money, he pays for a few rounds of drinks and donates the rest to one of children's homes in the lower town).

But the war comes first.

~

Camelot has been prospering, and has many supporters throughout Albion, but one of the kingdoms, it doesn't matter which, you decide, does NOT like this.

Scouts and small patrols have been needling Camelot’s borders for months now, and Arthur and his Council (and Inner Council) have been making quiet preparations. They know that some sort of... something, is coming soon.

Especially when Morgana begins to dream of battles and blood and lightening.

They prepare for, and expect, a full scale war, but they hope for some negotiations and a peace treaty with the opposition.

Their hopes are dashed, when a messenger is escorted into the throne room, wearing The Opposition’s colours, with a letter.

Said letter is an angry rebuttal of everything Camelot stands for, full of accusations of abandoning tradition, and spitting in the face of great leaders, of which this soft boy-king should NOT be counted as. 

At the end, there was an official declaration of war.

The messenger boy was obviously scared to death, and once Arthur read the P.S, which invited Arthur to torture and/or execute him to the whatever extent he wants, he understood why. Without any hesitation, he offers the boy a job in the stables, a new wardrobe of clothes, and a servant’s bed in the castle.

After the official council meeting on the matter, setting up war committees, laying out contingency plans, organising the distribution of emergency evacuation plans, and discussing potential aid that could be requested from allies, Arthur pulls the gang together, for their own meeting.

“We knew this was coming, and there is no need to panic yet. Our outer borders are well patrolled, and we’re still getting up to date reports. The city walls hold strong, but I want to send out patrols to warn the villages of what’s coming. Start closer to the border, and work our way in. Leon?”

“My Lord, I have teams prepared for exactly that already, I just need to give the word and they’ll go.”

“Good. Morgana, I need you to try and keep focusing your visions, if we have even a small idea of how they might try to initiate the first battle, it’ll be a huge advantage.”

“Me and Merlin have been practising some new techniques to control where and when I can see, we’ll write everything down, and ask the Druids if they’ve seen anything as well.”

Arthur holds in a smile at the confidence in her voice. He is unendingly proud of how far his sister had come, and made a mental note to tell her that when all this was over.

“Brilliant, keep me in the loop. Gwen, when we’re done here, go and let the forgery know, the Royal Household will pay them extra to push out as much long range ammunition as they can. Arrows and crossbow bolts, we need as many as they can produce.” Gwen nods, and Arthur finally looks towards Merlin:

“And Merlin, I need you to be ready. Don’t wear yourself out too much in the next few weeks, I need you in good condition, if we’re to win this with minimal casualties-”

He glances over at Morgana before he continues:

“If the two of you could also ask the Druids if they have any volunteer healers. Make sure they know they aren’t obligated to come, but any help in the infirmaries would be greatly appreciated.” Morgana nods once more, as does Merlin, before he speaks:

“There’s a camp a couple hours ride outside the city at the moment, we’ll head out at first light-” He pauses and closes his eyes for a second, tilting his head, before looking to Morgana:

“They’re expecting us.”

Arthur addresses the room again:

“Right. I think that’s all for now, anyone have anything to add?”

Gaius responds after a moment:

“My Lord, if I could make a request for a few servants to help me set up supplies for the infirmary? Extensive preparations will need to be made to ensure that I have all I’ll need. Preferably people with rough herbal knowledge, if at all possible.”

Arthur nods straight away, responding:

“Yes, of course, I’ll ask the Housekeeper and the Steward who they can spare this evening, and they’ll be ready for you in the morning. Anything else?” At the silence in the room, Arthur tells everyone to get to work.

Leon marches straight down to the training grounds (Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan following him) to ring the summoning bell and inform the knights of the developments, and their tasks.

Gwen heads straight to the forgery (her and Elyan still oversee work there, but they have employees (and a few trainees) to run it) to give the Kings order.

Gaius shuffles out, and makes his way back to his quarters, already making mental lists of ingredients needed, and work to be done.

Arthur, Morgana, and Merlin are left, the royal siblings thinking to themselves, and Merlin thinking to someone else. Arthur contemplates that the whole mental link thing he had going on with the Druids was extremely useful.

Both his and Morgana’s thoughts were interrupted by Merlin huffing, and clenching his fists as he opens his eyes, obviously unhappy with whatever was said:

“Merlin?” From Morgana has the Court Sorcerer looking up from scowling at the table. He replies after wiping the frown off his face:

“Oh, it’s fine. They just made a... stupid suggestion is all. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stupid? Doesn’t sound like the Druids. What was it?”

Merlin looks mildly uncomfortable at that, and replies slowly:

“It... doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you another time. It’s late, you should practice some meditation and head to sleep, no potions tonight. And remember to keep some parchment and a quill by your bed, so you can scribble down anything you see-”

Merlin stands abruptly and heads towards the door:

“-I’m going to check the wards on the outer wall, and push a little more energy into the wells. I’ll see you both bright an early.” With that, Merlin heads out the room swiftly.

Arthur looks to his sister questioningly, but she shrugs as she responds:

“Who knows. “I’ll tell you later” means he doesn’t want you to know, OR he’s hoping I’ll forget because he doesn’t want either of us to know. He’s right though, I should meditate for a while-”

Morgana stands at this:

“- hopefully I’ll see you before we head off, if not, I suppose it’ll be dinner in the evening. Good night, brother.” Morgana leaves the room gracefully, heading in the direction of her chambers.

Arthur thinks for only a moment, before rushing off, catching up with Merlin as he readied his horse, preparing for the journey to the outer walls:

“I’ll come with you. I find I quite enjoy watching you do magic, and to be perfectly honest, I could do with some fresh air to help me think.”

Arthur pretends to ignore the slight blush that dusts Merlin’s cheeks, and readies his own horse. The two of them ride out of the stables and make the journey down the cobbled roads in comfortable silence, side by side.

They take their time on the journey, and the 15 minutes of companionable silence is finally broken by Arthur, who looks at Merlin curiously, as he says:

“So what did they suggest?”

Merlin looks up sharply at that, broken from his deep train of thought as he dumbly replies “What?”

“The Druids. What was the stupid suggestion?” Merlin’s eyes widen at that, and he blushes once more as he looks determinedly forward:

“Oh. That. I told you, it doesn’t-”

“Merlin...”

“Oh fine! They suggested that I... that I forge a mental link with you. Like the one I have with them.” The sorcerer purses his lips at that, and continues to avoid Arthur’s gaze:

“You can do that? Well... would it be such a bad idea? I mean we aren’t going to be able to meet and discuss things as often as I’d like through this whole ordeal. AND you’re basically the Kingdom’s powerhouse, I’m sort of relying on your magical know-how here. Surely it wouldn’t be a bad thing? For us to be able to converse across the battle fields?” 

Arthur, in an effort to not be hurt, reminds himself that he doesn’t know all that much about magic, and it very well could be a stupid suggestion, instead of one that Merlin is just personally opposed to.

Merlin, in response, looks to Arthur in great shock, before sighing and looking down to his horses mane:

“It.... is possible. And fairly easy, technically. But it would be painful, AND permanent. I wouldn’t be able to undo it after we won. And a temporary connection takes far too much energy to maintain, even for a short time. I just figured you wouldn’t want me in your head for the rest of our lives.” He tries to inject a little humour into his words, but it falls flat, and he just seems sad.

Arthur pretends he doesn’t notice however, and responds quickly:

“How painful are we talking? I mean I’ve been hurt pretty badly before. And... how exactly does it work? Would we be able to read each other’s mind constantly, without the other knowing? Or what?”

Merlin raises his eyebrows in shock at that, and his answer comes out slowly as he looks at Arthur:

“Like... a really bad headache? Imagine the hardest you’ve ever been hit, without passing out. It would last for a few minutes after the connection is initially forged, but would fade slowly over the next day or so. And no. Once the connection is established we wouldn’t be in each other’s head all the time, we would just be able to sort of... project our voices to one another. Other thoughts would be safe, even if you were thinking about me, I wouldn’t hear it unless you were thinking to me... if that makes sense.” 

By the end of his explanation, he’s looking nervously at the King, who is deep in thought:

“Hmm. Ok. I... only if you agree but... it might not be a bad idea. Even after the war is over. There have definitely been times where I’ve needed your opinion on something but you’ve been elsewhere, or we’ve been in the presence of someone else. Of course we’ve been fine so far, if you don’t want to, but-”

Merlin interrupts him, speaking quickly:

“I’m fine with it. I agree, it would be useful. So... I can bring what we need back from the camp tomorrow?”

Arthur nods firmly:

“Yes. The sooner the better, we can do it tomorrow evening, if that’s enough time for you?” Merlin once again looks shocked at this, as Arthur stares at him:

“Oh! Yeah, Yes. That’s fine. Like I said, it’s not particularly difficult, and I can ask Gaius to prepare us something for the pain during the day. Are you... are you sure? It is Permanent.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and huffs:

“Yes, you said that already Merlin. Are you sure?”

Merlin nodded his head decidedly, and spoke confidently:

“Yes. You’re right, it’s not a bad idea. Come on, if we hurry, we’ll make it to the walls, and then to the main well, and then back to the castle, before dark.”

The pair of them hurry their horses, and after another 10 minutes of comfortable silence, they finally reach the City Gates.

The guards give a quick bow, and The King and The Court Sorcerer jump off their horses before handing the reigns to one of the Gate stablehands.

Arthur (and the guards) watch in barely concealed wonder as Merlin presses his hands against the rock of the wall, and closes his eyes.

The golden glow can still be seen from below his eyelids, and he hums slightly as he frowns in concentration, seeming to push into the wall.

Arthur sees a short of... sheen, ripple across the rock, and extend into the sky. Merlin steps back and nods, admiring his handy work:

“They’re holding strong, I’ve extended the height as well. Kilgharrah and Aithusa should be the only ones able to get over it without alerting me now, from the air at least-”

Merlin heads to retake his horse, Arthur following him, before he continues:

“Though I still want to check the tunnels again at some point in the next few days.”

“Of course. Relax Merlin, it’s barely begun, and the borders still hold strong. We’ve plenty of time before things kick off in any way.” He makes sure to speak quietly. A public announcement hasn’t been made yet, and it would be bad if rumours started spreading before The King had time to put together a proper disclosure.

Merlin nods distractedly, and urges his horse to go faster as he heads towards the main well, in the town square. It’s late, not long until sunset, so there shouldn’t be many, if any, people there. Arthur speaks again:

“Why are we visiting the well? I wasn’t aware of any problems?”

“There aren’t any, but once the announcement is made, and once the outer villages are told what’s happening, we’ll have hundreds, probably thousands, of people flock to the city for safety. I just want to make sure we’re prepared for such an influx, and boost our water levels a little.”

Arthur nods at his response, but doesn’t say anything. He chooses instead to admire the man Merlin had become. He held himself differently, more strong, confident in who he was. Just like he had back when he was still a manservant, he served Arthur, and his people, above and beyond his job description. Merlin took upon himself, not only the politics he was supposed to oversee, but the personal safety of both the King, and every Camelot citizen, and he did it all with an alarming amount of grace.

Arthur sometimes catches himself thinking that it was almost as if Merlin was built to be a king. He may not like the spotlight, but he was a protector, and leader, unlike anything Arthur had ever seen before.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you, Merlin. It feels like years ago now, that you yelled at me in a forest.” He says it with a grin, but Merlin flinches. He continues before The Sorcerer interrupts him though:

“Really Merlin. Thank you. You were right, I would’ve got there in the end, but it wasn’t fair for people to suffer in the mean time, and you took the fall in their place. You’re a hero to your people... and to me. You should be proud of your accomplishments, I know I am.” 

Arthur resists the urge to duck his head as Merlin looks at him in bewilderment, a definite flush on his cheeks as he replies:

“I... thank you, Arthur. I always had faith in you-” Merlin begins to grin before he continues:

“-and besides, someone had to knock you down a peg. Perhaps you should hire someone to take you into the forest and yell at you every once in a while.”

Arthur laughs at that, and Merlin tries to push down the blush as Arthur responds:

“Now Merlin, why on earth would I hire someone for such a job, when I already have you?”

Merlin chuckles as he answers:

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it, My Lord. Hold the horses, I’ll just be a minute.” With that, Arthur realises they’ve made it to the well, and dismounts as Merlin has, holding both of the horses reigns as he watches Merlin approach the well.

The Sorcerer crouches down, and once again closes his eyes in concentration as he presses his hands into the stone of the well. The glow is a little less bright this time, but Arthur admires it nonetheless.

Merlin finishes quickly, and gathers his horse from Arthur once more, nodding towards the castle.

Arthur follows as Merlin hurries towards the looming building. He wasn’t sure why he was in such a rush, but he only begins questions it when Merlin hurriedly hands the horses of to a stablehand, and continues to run up the castle steps.

Arthur can only just keep up with Merlin, not having the breath to ask him what’s wrong, before Merlin suddenly comes to a stop, catching his breath for a moment to go through a door leading to the highest balcony on the West of the castle:

“Merlin... what.... what are you-”

Merlin wordlessly interrupts The King as he points to the skyline, the sun only a few minutes away from touching the horizon.

There’s not a cloud in sight, and the sky is painted in oranges and pinks in front of them, bleeding into deep purples and blues behind the castle.

Merlin finally mutters, not looking away from the sunset:

“Call me a girl all you want Arthur, but nothing compares to this. It’s beautiful, I come to watch it whenever I’ve got the time.”

Arthur had only glanced briefly at the sunset before looking back at Merlin in wonder, a fond smile on his face (not that Merlin would notice).

He stares at the side of Merlin’s face, the orange sky making the gold in his eyes look even brighter, and the glare of the fading sun making his hair shine. A gentle breeze has Merlin shiver slightly, and Arthur’s smile widens as he responds, so quietly he’s not even sure if Merlin hears him:

“Hmm. Beautiful.” He doesn’t look away.

~

THIS IS COMPLETED! All 5 parts have been posted:)

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific let me know✌️

[internalsealpanic]

Better Die Than Doubt

Summary:  You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure.

A/n: To no one’s shock, this entire fic was unplanned. I was possessed by the urge to make it (translation: I got the urge to write this and one of my enablers said do it).  This story should be treated more or less as a horror story. Nothing is being glorified here except how dorky Jason is. That being said,  PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS. This fic contains quite a few triggering things and I really don’t want you to be blindsided.  Also thanks to @knightfall05x for helping me write this whole thing. Thanks to @batarella (HOE) for action writing tips.

Warnings: graphic violence, stalking, emotional manipulation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, drugging, nongraphic description of rape, and rape aftermath 

masterlist

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes. You could practically feel the oncoming headache the way you could sense someone coming down the hall. This is what happens when you’re running on just 5 hours of restless sleep for the last few days. This headache was also not helped by the fact that this was your fifth coffee in the past 30 minutes. You probably should not be drinking this much caffeine this late but intelligent decisions weren’t exactly your strong suit this week. You rub the sides of your forehead feeling another wave of nausea. 

 You check the time again and groan.  It’s been one-and-a-half hours since your agreed upon time had lapsed and yet one Jason Peter Todd was nowhere to be seen. You curse, nerves edging, and mind fraying.  To be perfectly fair to him, he is a busy guy, vigilante, and all. You understood that fairly well- and this was sudden to say the least. You can’t really fault him for being a bit late but the long wait was ratcheting up your anxiety. Again, the coffee didn’t help but considering it was the only thing you could keep down since last night, you didn’t have much choice. 

 Last night. 

 Your stomach tumbled. You cup your hand over your mouth feeling your coffee traveling back up your esophagus. You let out a long exasperated breath, letting yourself sink into the booth. You look out the window, eyes flickering wildly searching for Jason. Your hands tighten around your mug. The feeling of being watched made you bristle. 

 Jason, well, Jason wasn’t hard to spot. The man was 6 feet 4 inches of pure muscle and leather. Having a handsome face and a ‘fuck you’ look in his eyes also helped.  In short, the man was hard to ignore. You wave weakly to him as he dismounts his bike, a gesture far too small for your usual bombastic self. Jason’s smarmy smile greets you as he returns the gesture with his gloved hand. The motion is slow and cautious, rickety in a way. You wince knowing he’s already noticed. You feel the tiniest bit more at ease as he approaches your booth but it didn’t stop your eyes from flickering and searching for something off in the environment. The creeping sense of being watched trails up your spine. You’re sure. 

 “Jesus, y/n, you look like Timbo” Jason chuckles sliding into the booth his green eyes shining with scrutiny. You look at him flatly not having enough energy to properly respond to his jab. He winces seeing your lack of reaction. “Rough night, huh?” He asks flagging down a waitress, who looked quite pleased to get away from her previous table.  

 You nod weakly, slowly as if the fact that it had been a rough couple of days had just sunk in. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice small and a little threadbare. You drum your fingers against your increasingly cold mug. The waitress sets a couple of warm mugs in front of you. Her soft smile makes you uneasy. You and Jason mutter a thanks as she tells you to wave her over if you need anything else. Her warm brown eyes boring into the stark purple bruise on your face. You shrink and smile sheepishly at her.

 “I’m fi-”

 “I am going to throw these sugar packets at you if you say you’re fine.”

 “Damn, ok, Mr.Kettle,” You laugh. His concern startles a genuine laugh out of you. You’re sincerely surprised how lively the sound that comes out of you is. “You know if you keep sounding like that, Jay, you’re gonna wreck the whole stone-cold badass thing you got going,”

 “Y/n..”

 You huff running your hand through your disheveled hair, trying in vain, to soothe your mind. What was the best way to put it? You swallowed, gathering your lapsing thoughts. “Sooo uh-” The collar of your shirt suddenly felt tight around your neck. “-I-” You breathe. “-I found around 4 or 5 of Blackmask’s boys and Deathstroke-No, I’m not shitting you- in my- my apartment for- well- the third time in the last two months, can I crash at your place? Just ‘til I find a new place. Oh and also how do I get rid of them?”

  He blinks as his brain takes its sweet fucking time digesting what you had just said.  He leans back groaning and running his hands over his face. He looks like he’d like to deck you if he wasn’t too busy being concerned for your welfare. You shrink again, feeling bad for springing it on him. The decision to leave out the gory details of your hectic week suddenly felt like the wisest choice but you had no doubt he’ll get it out of you at some point. 

 “I’ll skip the obvious ‘why did you wait three times before moving’ question because I feel like I’m probably going to get an aneurysm from your answer,”  Your reasoning wasn’t quite that stupid. You were mucking about Sionis’s operation. The fucker decided to branch out his little enterprise into your city and like hell, you were gonna leave well enough alone. After you had set fire to one of his warehouses, you thought that would explain the False Facers. But Deathstroke? Deathstroke was a mystery. You’ve also been mucking about his business but you two have always been civil if not friendly. Frenemies of sorts, you guessed. You’ve been encountering him a lot in the last few days. You had figured that Blackmask had hired him but considering he threw two men out of your apartment window last night, you’re not entirely sure.  You make an affronted noise that Jason elects to ignore. 

 “What did they do?”

 “Aside from necessitating a visit to IKEA?  Nothing.”

 “Did they take anything? Leave a message?”

 “Nope, nothing-” You furrow your brow trying to recall. You shake your head. “-They just made sure I knew they broke in.” You add, shrugging your shoulder. You wince at the movement. Your shoulder still aches from being hit with a bat. Jason’s shoulders shift, moving as if to reach out to you but stops himself. Instead, he continues with his line of questioning. “Sweetheart, there’s gotta be something missing.” 

 You frown, biting your cheek. Jason rests his chin on his hand, green eyes watching you and urging you to think back. It was either the weight of his gaze or the lack of sleep that was making it hard to recall. You close your eyes and catalog your belongings, analyzing the mental picture you have like a crime scene like how he taught you months ago, breaking it down into the smallest pieces of information and bringing it back into a bigger picture.  Still, nothing. Nothing of note was missing. You shake your head and shrug your uninjured shoulder. Jason glares at the immobile one. You shake your head silently telling him it wasn’t from last night which just made him clench his jaw. 

 “Evidence?”

 You shake your head.  He frowns baffled. 

 “Tech?”

 You shake your head again. 

 “Anything personal?” He asks jokingly. 

 “I-” A cold horror washes over you trailed by embarrassment. Your vibrator had been missing and so were a couple of your lingerie sets. You feel your stomach drop to the floor. “Oh god, Jay- I- Please, let me stay with you.” 

 “And have them steal my stuff?” He chuckles. 

 “Please, Jay, like you have anything worth stealing.” Jason frowns at you scrutinizing your face. You level him a glare but it was more in an effort to fight down a blush than anything venomous. Jason’s jaw unclenches and his face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “What color was it?”

 “Wha-”

 “Bzzzzzzzt ” 

 If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. Heat climbs up your spine. Your mouth felt dry. 

 “Well, what color was it, sweetheart?” Jason drawls, his voice dropping an octave. You shiver but bristle just as quickly. You bite your cheek and glare at him. “HA. HA. HA. Funny, Todd.”

 “Was it Red Hood Red?” Jason teases, winking and raising his cup of coffee to his lips. 

 “Nightwing blue” You deadpan. Jason coughed into his drink.  You preen with satisfaction. 

 “Does it make stupid puns while you go at it? ”

 “Yup,” You say, the ‘p’ popping. “That’s part of the appeal.” You joke smiling into your mug.  Jason snorts. “How is that supposed to be sexy?”

 You shrug, a sharper less tired smile cutting across your features. “Dunno man. Nightwing is pretty sexy if you ask me.” You wink.  

 Jason makes a fake gagging noise. Well, it seems fake with how theatrical the gesture is but with bats? You never could tell. You roll your eyes and giggle.  Jason’s shoulders loosen at your bubble of laughter, his face slipping into one of his sheepish smiles. “In all seriousness, y/n, you can stay at my place.”

 You smile at him, your usual fluorescent smile. 

Click

 Click

 Click

 A man from across the street watches you intently through the lens of a camera. 

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

 Slade throws the photos across Roman’s desk, each glossy piece of paper containing a candid photo of you looking increasingly frayed and anxious.  

 Roman marvels at how your usually larger than life figure shrank into your puffy coat, how small and malleable and inexperienced you looked. He notes the panicked look in your eyes in every one of the photos and savors it. He couldn't wait to see it for himself. 

 In one photo, you're looking over your shoulder as you enter your office building. 

 In one, you’re tracing circles on a child’s hand with your thumb,  beaming brightly as you told some wild tale to distract the child. 

 In another, you're slumped in your desk chair as you think over a case looking absolutely exasperated but determined. 

 In yet another one, you're locking lips with a man, his hand trailing up your shirt. Roman made sure to give the man some swimming lessons a few weeks prior.  

 In the photo in Roman’s hand, you're at the emergency room looking like you haven't slept in 2 days. Your face was bruised and your clothes were torn in several places where Slade had managed to land a blow. Your delicate skin marred with cuts and trickling blood. Absolutely gorgeous.   

 He examines it closely. The photo was taken just a few hours ago. You look like you're going to cry but your shoulders and jaw are squared more frustrated than scared. There's a fire in your eyes that threatens to level the city. A thrill rides up his spine at the prospect of extinguishing it. 

 “This is why you wanted to throw my men out the window?”

 Slade hums. He shrugs and the edge of his lips curl into a smile. “It was the only way to convince the kid that we’re both after her-” His eye drifts to your face. Appraising but impassive. “The kid’s scared out of her mind and exhausted at this point.”

 Slade had a point. Roman had to give him that. It wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer but it would be plain as day to anyone like Roman who had been studying you for a while. You weren’t quite as meticulous with your appearance as Roman thought you should be (He would work on that later) but the dishevelment in your appearance was obvious. The slight dip in your shoulders in place of the prim posture that you usually employed was a blatant indication of your weariness. And the falter in your smile, the flickering in your eyes, and the number of times you let yourself bite your cheek showed the cracks in your fearless image. 

 Who knew weeks upon weeks of chaos could weather Minos City’s own budding hero? 

 In the photo next to Roman’s hand, your laughing face is stark and lively against the drab atmosphere of the diner, bubbling laughter carving life into your exhausted features making you look more like the shining paragon your city has come to rely on. The man sitting in front of you is laughing too. The sharp edges of his grin softened by the fondness in his eyes. It was hard not to recognize him even with such a foreign expression plastered onto his face.  Roman crushes the photo in his hand. 

 “BUT NOW SHE’S WITH THAT SCUMBAG RED HOOD”

 “And she’s now with the Red Hood. In his secluded safe house. Weakened and far from help. Most likely thinking that she’s safe under his protection and blissfully unaware of the tracker I put in her arm.”

 “I see… It seems like you are worth the pay.”

 Slade made no effort in hiding his smug grin.  

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

 “Jay, I really am sorry about this.” You mumble for what seemed like the fifth time in the past half hour. 

 “I sincerely hope you’re apologizing for the fact that you neglected to tell me you had bruised ribs before getting on my bike and not the fact that you’re staying with me because two crazy assholes decided your place needed remodeling.” Jason exasperates, pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel kind of annoyed by the gesture but he did have a point especially with your city’s less than smooth roads. You were also pretty banged up. As it turns out, facing off against a bunch of goons plus a master assassin is not good for your health. You swore viciously under your breath. Now, you weren’t expecting Deathstroke to go easy on you despite your rapport but the guy really didn’t have to throw you around like a rag doll. Even with your power to adjust the odds, it was a miracle that you escaped intact. 

 “Well, Mr.Pot, you ride your bike all the time even with broken ribs.” You bite back. Jason rolls his eyes unaffected by the distilled venom in your voice.

  “Well, one of us is a stone-cold badass- ”

 “And the other is a sasquatch with a stick up his ass.” You sneer snatching the beer bottle from Jason. Your tone was far too fond and playful to have any actual bite. Jason chuckles at you and ruffles your hair before snatching it back and handing you a bottle of water.

 You huff taking the bottle from him and following him to the couch. He sits down on the couch patting the seat beside him. You plopped on to the couch, placing your sock feet on his lap. He grabs your ankles and throws your feet back at you. You just as quickly throw them back on and this time you do it with an absolutely delighted smirk on your face. “Rude,” He mumbles but doesn’t attempt to extricate you again. 

 “So Deathstroke, huh?” Jason starts, side-eyeing you over his beer. You adjust yourself to sit up a little straighter.

 “You mean the asshat who broke my favorite lamp last night?”

 “Who the hell has a favorite lamp?”

 “Me! And get to your point.”

 “Have you two- yanno?” Jason jokes, his eyebrows wiggling and hands gesturing vaguely. Your eyes grow wide and heat creeps up your neck and face. You scowl at Jason throwing a pillow at his face for good measure. He catches it with ease much to your frustration giving you his trademark triumphant grin. You kick at him with no real force. 

 “NO! What kind of soap opera shit is that?” You giggle into your drink. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before. The guy was skilled and pretty witty.  You also had eyes and the man was handsome but something always felt strange about taking it further. You were civil but you kept your distance. 

 You pout at Jason again causing him to chuckle. “What? I’m just saying it’ll air out some tension~” He suggests winking. 

 “Oh my actual god, I hate you. I sincerely, truly hate you.” You laugh, kicking at his thigh. Jason makes an obviously fake hurt noise which draws out even more giggles out of you. Some tension in Jason’s shoulders releasing upon hearing the bubbly sounds. 

 “You speaking from experience, Jay?”

 Jason shakes his head and coughs. “Catwoman-” Cough. “Talia Al Ghul-” Cough. “Sorry, sweetheart, seems like I have a really bad cough this week.”  

 And that is how you spend the rest of the night questioning Bruce’s love life. 

“Food is in the fridge,” Jason says pointing to the said fridge which was sorely lacking magnets, sounding like a somewhat tired single parent. 

 “Do I look like I can keep anything down?”

 Jason snatches the water bottle you had abandoned on the side table next to the recliner. “With that big mouth of yours? Sure.” Jason teases lightly booping you on the nose with your water bottle. “Get some rest.”

 “Yes, mother” You sighed, burying yourself into the thick comforter he’d given you, crumpled water bottle in hand. He ruffles your hair. 

 “You know you’re safe here, right? ” The question startles you. You shift uncomfortably, pulling the comforter tightly around your shoulders. You shrug at him, not entirely certain how to answer. You know Jason’s safe house is, well, safe but you also thought your apartment was too. Your stomach twisted. 

 Jason squeezed your shoulder probably sensing the spiral of your thoughts. He smiles down at you, probably. It was hard to tell with the helmet.  

 “If you want, I can-”

 “No, Jay, I’ll be fine here. You can go on patrol. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

 The thing with Jason was that even when he was so big and bulky and hella intimidating, his empathy towards others had a bad habit of always shining through despite the layers of armor and sarcasm. You squeeze his hand, pressing little circles into his palm, and smile up at him. It was forced but it was the best you could do. Jason ruffles your hair again before letting go and making his way to the window. 

 “Get some sleep.”

 “Aye aye cap’n” You yawn settling into a slump on the couch. Jason can’t help but smile fondly at you.  You wave him a sleepy goodby before he sets off. 

You passed out on the couch, an old habit you never grew out of. You always slept on the couch when you felt uneasy. It may have been some sort of way to separate stress from your bedroom. It sure as shit wasn’t for safety reasons. Your equipment was dispersed throughout your apartment but your weapons were usually stowed away in your room. 

 You feel a hand running gently through your hair, smoothing away all your apprehension. 

 “Jay” You grouse, your hand halfheartedly swatting at the hand stroking your hair. You bury yourself further into the warmth of the comforter feeling the need to shrink away from the touch. You feel a soft prick on your neck.  

 Your eyes fly open.  

 Shit.

 The hand tangles in your hair. It throws you to the wall. The air is knocked out of your lungs. Your ribs scream. You scrabble to your feet. Your limbs fail you. They flail uselessly. Your breaths pick up. Your chest feels like it's caving. 

 "JAY" You shriek. “HELP.” A large hand grasps your throat. A rush of adrenaline kicks in. You thrash. You kick. Your hit lands. Another grasps your ankles. You scream. You swear viciously. Another grabs at your wrists. Something rough winds around your wrists and ankles. 

 The world tilts into an odd angle. Your head feels heavy so do your arms and your legs and everything. 

 "Jaaay" You slur, the air in your lungs becoming sluggish like everything else. "Jay" you sob again, knowing he wouldn't come. Not when he was so far away. 

 "Shut up you …..  bitch" You feel a swift kick to your stomach. It barely registers above the haze. 

 "Hey man-"

 "What? The …. man said we …… rough her up."

 "We can?"

 "Yeah, ……, said so"

 Your eyes blink, stupid, and uncomprehending.  Distantly, you hear yourself grunting and whimpering. You can feel their blows but your body is too far away, too inaccessible. It was strange to physically feel yourself drift away. 

.

.

.

 Roman traces the sun shaped scar radiating on your shoulder with a leather-clad hand. The one shot he’d managed to land on you the first time you’d stormed one of his warehouses. You were all cocksure and quick wit and boisterous laughter. You really had the devil’s own luck but it seems to have run out. Not that Roman’s got any complaints. Not when he’s got you laying at his feet,  tied up and vulnerable. 

 He crouches down, hand on his chin.  His eyes roam appreciatively over your sleeping form, appraising you like a premium cut of meat. You look pretty against the black silk sheets he’d chosen.  He sighs content with his prize. He traces the tip of his knife over your cheek, a dark purple bruise maring your features stark against the stainless surface of the blade. Slade really was quite careless when handling you. Not that Roman has any plans on being any gentler.  

 He lets his blade drift down, trailing down your neck down to the flimsy protection of your oversized shirt.  Your steady breaths falter. You keep your eyes shut trying to gather more information but it’s hard not to focus off the tip of the blade cold against your warm skin even as the blade cuts through the thin fabric of your shirt. A large hand grasps your face roughly. 

 “I know you're awake, baby-” You blanch still not opening your eyes. The grip on your jaw tightens. You grin like a madman. “It's rude to keep daddy waiting.” 

 “Sorry, Sionis, I was really hoping not to have to wake up  you’re ugly mug.” You sneer, voice thick and raspy with sleep but still full with your trademark confidence. Roman looks more amused than irritated.  Your body and mind are still at the cusp of sleep. You wriggle and almost cry out with joy when you feel them move. You mind the hand on your jaw and its tight grip. 

 “Baby, I won’t tell you a-” You spit in his face, cracking an eye open to see his reaction. A bloody grin spreads across your face like wildfire when you see the annoyance on his face. 

 “You’re going to regret that” He growls, wiping his face with a torn piece of your shirt. 

 “Oh please-” Something cracks across your jaw. 

 “The next time it’ll be the other end,” It takes a moment for your mind to catch on. You stare at the hilt of the blade for a moment before letting loose another smarmy grin. His violent reaction spurs you on. Yeah, you can definitely see why Jason thinks you’re going to age him twenty years. “Oh please, You like my face too much for that.”

 “You really wanna test that?”

 “Nope,” You say, spitting into his eye and landing a punch square in his face. You cackle like a madwoman when he goes down. You don’t bother hiding the delighted chirps that escape your chest. 

 Being petty, you give him a swift kick to the face before dashing towards the door.  You launch yourself, feeling like you can fly. The copper taste in your tongue almost feels sweet. 

 Your hand grasps the door when a hand tangles itself in your hair. 

 Roman throws you back onto the mattress, the springs digging into your back. You scratch and claw and thrash against the large hand wrapped around your throat. You snarl as Roman leans closer, his body pinning yours against the mattress, his weight immobilizing your fatigued limbs. A sweet-smelling cloth covers your mouth and nose, you gasp in surprise, inhaling the scent. Your mind is already sluggish by the time it catches on. 

 Your vision dims. 

 You feel hollowed out. 

 Your limbs fall away, arms drooping and pliant against the silk-covered mattress. The cloth feels too much against your skin. Vaguely, you feel horror prickling up your spine or maybe it was just the springs again. 

 Roman pulls away. You think you breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of him lifted. He straddles your body, grinning down at you. Your mouth falls open to say something. You want to say that you curse him out or that you threaten him. The sound you make is small. Your tongue feels too heavy.  No, something is pressing it down, you think. 

 Above you, Roman is a towering colossus. You’re vaguely aware of the shifting of his hips. He removes his gloved hand from your mouth and caresses the side of your face with mock gentleness. His movements are sluggish and syrupy.  You make another noise when you realize to some degree of horror that isn’t. Your mind felt heavy and useless. 

 He snaps his fingers. The sound is dull like it's contending with water. A muffled set of steps approaches you. A man, you realize. You don't think you’ve noticed him before. His dark shape is messy and incomprehensible. A red dot flashes stark against his form. The mechanical sounds of a shutter drift in and out of your mind. You turn your head back to Roman at the sound of shifting fabric.

 Above you, Roman, already without his suit jacket, loosens his tie, eyes staring hungrily at you. The pit of your stomach feels painfully cold. You blink at him stupidly. He chuckles, grasping your chin to make sure you’re looking at him. You protest against his touch.

 “Don’t worry, baby, you’ll be the star of our little show like the filthy attention whore you really are. ” He laughs. It rumbles like thunder in your ears. 

 The world falls away. 

Click

Click

Click

.

.

.

.

.

One 

 Two

 .

.

.

.

One

 You feel a prick on your neck. 

 Hot breaths fan against your face. 

 Your body is too warm. 

 You don’t want to know why. 

 Twenty-five, you continue counting. 

 You feel fabric shift against you. 

 Something sharp digs itself into your flesh.  

 One 

 Two

 Three

 .

.

.

 Three?

 Something’s crushing your windpipe.

 Your body is aching. You’re not entirely sure whether it’s from use or disuse and by who. 

 “Good girl”

 Thirty

 .

.

.

 Twelve

 There’s something scraping against your flesh. 

 Is it a knife?

 Hot pants fan against your skin. 

 Teeth 

 Four

.

.

.

.

Fifty-six

 “Boss, I-.... going a …. bit too far?”

 Smack!

 “Do …. You…. to think?” 

 Two sixty-eight

 A hand strikes you. You think your jaw is broken. It hurts but then again everything hurts. All you can do is take it and whimper. 

 Tears sting against your face.  

  “That’s right. Just like that. Like that, you little whore.” 

 Your body is warm again. 

 You still don’t want to know. 

.

.

.

.

Two

 Two

 Two?

 You’ve counted two before. 

 You blink. 

 The haze of your mind lifts. 

 The coldness of the room seeps in your bones. You’re bare. You take stock of yourself, running your hands over your skin. Everything is still there. 

 Everything and a few other things. You let disgust and shame roll over you. A sob tears its way out of your chest. Your breath picks up. You feel your mind slipping. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, calling your mind back and steadying yourself. 

 You take stock again. This time moving your limbs and jangling your joints.  They were weak but workable. You’re surprised to find yourself unbound aside from the collar around your neck. You suppose Roman’s confident in his drugs. How long have you been here? You press lightly against your neck, feeling the higher than normal pulsing of your artery. You shift yourself waking your legs up. 

 You stiffen, gooseflesh spreading over your skin as light filters into the room through the door. Your eyes snap shut, stinging from the sudden intrusion of light. The pulse beneath your fingers jackrabbits. You think you’ll keel over. 

 “Shhhhhh”

 All the strength in your veins floods out, leaving a feeling of cold horror in its place. You scream or you try.  Your body feels impossibly rigid. Roman stalks towards you, his footfalls slow and deliberate and too loud. Your heart jumps up to your throat with each step. You inch yourself away from him, drawing yourself up to make yourself feel bigger. He coos at how adorable you are, trying to look defiant. The mattress dips under his weight. Your mind begins to slip away from you again. The world falls away from you. You anchor it, digging your nails into your palms. He cups your face, thumb caressing your bottom lip. You glower at him and bite out something witty. He laughs amusement lighting up his features, the sound grates against your ears. 

 “Not gonna fight back?” He taunts, pressing his thumb down on your bottom lip. Your body recoils but then goes slack as he runs his hand up and down your side. Shame blankets you but the fear etched into you keeps you still. 

 Roman loosens his tie. 

 Your mind falls out of your reach. 

 “Such a good little slut.” He murmurs against your lips.

 NO

 You wanted to say. 

 Instead, your mind starts counting again even as you hear the rustle of fabric. 

 .

.

.

. 

 BANG

 A gunshot rings through the thick atmosphere of the room. 

 Roman curses. 

 His men stampede. 

 Another round of shots fire. 

 Something- No, no.  Someone tears Roman off of you. 

 “Deathstroke?” You croak, your voice sounding foreign and absurdly brittle. 

 “Do you know anyone else walking around looking like this, kid?”

 “Ravager” You snark, lips twitching into a smile. He rolls his eyes underneath his mask. The familiarity of the exchange breathes life into your body. Roman’s hand grips your wrist with bruising intensity. Your breath catches. 

 No. No. No.

 The word loops in your head like a constant rat-tat. 

 Slade’s foot makes contact with Roman’s head, the force of it unnecessary but satisfactory. The sounds of bone-cracking fill the air. The man falls uselessly to the grimey floor. He shoots him with a couple of rounds for good measure, each shot instilling a pang of finality in the back of your mind. 

 You scrabble towards Slade, wide-eyed and shallow breathed.  You cling to Slade as he bundles your body in silken sheets.  He hoists you easily into his arms. You bury your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder, closing your eyes, the image of Roman’s bloody body on the floor pressed into your mind. You sob in relief. Your hands clasping onto Slade, white-knuckled and shaking.

  "I've got you, sweetheart," He rumbles, running his hand through your hair soothingly. The tight knots in your body, loosen. You whimper a quiet thank you. “I’ve got you.”

 You lift your head only to see Roman twitch. 

 Your breathing falters. 

 Fear pricks your spine. 

 Your mind falls away from you again. 

 Distantly, you feel Slade’s grip on you tightens. 

 Distantly, you hear him murmur something. 

 Everything is too far away. 

 Your eyes blink sluggishly. The world becomes dimmer with each blink. 

 .

.

.

.

 A warm spray of water drizzles down over your aching skin. Your open wounds sting but the warm water pooling around you soothes the aches of your bruised flesh. Your eyes focus on the soft off-white of the tile on the wall opposite you. You don’t let yourself about the thin, rusty red film swirling in the water. The air in the room is thick with steam and the scent of lavender. 

 The absence of grime on your skin makes you feel lighter and gauzy and immaterial. You felt naked and obscene like you had been taken apart and now someone was examining pieces of you. You almost miss it. 

 “Lean back” Slade grumbles as he lathers your hair with some lavender concoction the hotel provided. Your body follows automatically, eagerly, obediently. You tell yourself you’re just tired. You tell yourself nothing’s wrong with your response. You tell yourself you’re ok. You wince. The warm water around you shifts. You hear it splash against the tile. You flinch at how loud it sounds. You take a deep breath and lean into his touch. He’s handling you delicately as though you would fall apart any second. You might. 

 Blinking away tears, you watch his face, aware that by leaning back, you’d be giving him a good view of the hickies, bite marks, and knife wounds Roman ‘gifted’ you. There’s a slight twitch in the corners of his lips. He must be disgusted with you too. You want to sink into the hot water and let it burn you anew, but you don’t trust yourself not to drown.   

 You close your eyes as another spray of warm water pours over you. You melt into it hoping it’s enough to wash the last few days- weeks?- away. 

.

.

. 

 Your hands grasp his face, pulling him towards you. His hands brace against the tub, keeping him from falling in with you. Your arms loop around his neck, your hot breath fanning against his lips. You press your lips against him, searching and wanting. For what exactly? Comfort? Safety? Stimulation? His lips press lightly against yours, not quite a kiss. Slade actually looks taken aback. 

 The rest of the world floods back in. You peel away, your eyes wide with terror. “Shit- I’m- Fuck! Fuck! Shit, Slade, I- I’m sorry. I- Shit! I didn’t-” Your breathing ratchets up, becoming shallower as the pulsating in your ears grow louder. There’s a tightness growing in your chest that makes you think your ribcage is about to implode. You cover your face with your hands not caring how it didn’t help your shallowing breaths. You can’t look at him. You just can’t. You know you’re disgusting. 

 Your body wants to come apart, dissolve, and if it can, evaporate. You can’t breathe. You curl into yourself, into the water. A hand grabs at your wrist. You flinch. The hand carefully pries your hand away, forcing you to uncurl. Slade’s other hand cups your face gently, guiding you to look him in the eye. The lack of disgust in his face rattles you.

 His thumb brushes against your lips making your stomach twist and your spine curl. He dips his head closer to yours. You kiss him eagerly. He lets out a pleased hum and smiles against your lips. Something cold licks at the bottom of your stomach but it’s overtaken by the need for connection, to fill in what had been hollowed out.   

You press closer to him than strictly necessary as you watch the news, chewing on your cheek.  He pulls you close, shifting you on to his lap. You don’t protest, eyes glued to the TV. 

 “Businessman, Roman Sionis, was found with several gunshot wounds to the stomach in one of his warehouses here in Minos City. He is now in stable condition. Authorities say...”

 Your jaw falls slack in mute horror. Your stomach tumbles to the floor.  You’re hyperventilating. Your teeth are digging into your cheek, you taste copper. Your mind spirals back into the room, back to the dirty mattress, back to Roman. 

 Strong arms wrap around you, stilling your trembling body against a broad chest. Your body relaxes a fraction. You curl into him, the buzz of nervous energy settling into a quieter panic. 

 “You’re safe with me, you know that don’t you, sweetheart?” Slade says tracing circles into your palm. You lean your head into his shoulder. You nod easing against him. “I’ll never let that monster anywhere near you.” He promises, pressing a kiss into your hair. A little sob wrenches free of your imploding chest. 

 Slade keeps his face buried in your hair even as you fall into a lull. It was the only way to hide the triumphant grin spreading across his face. 

 “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you.”

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

A/n: Thanks for reading. There’s a follow up to this because I can’t cope with bad endings. I had to promise myself a good second part to make the ending horrifying. 

The writing process for this fic was basically:

Me: I have this horrifying idea!

My brain: Yes but what if we put a little dork Jason in it. 

Me: I guess that wouldn’t hurt. 

Me: Ok I have written nearly 2k of dorky Jason where’s the other parts?

Brain: Uh what other parts?

Me: *sighs and spends the next few days spamming @knightfall05x*

taglist: 

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell

[flightsoffandom]

Co-Conspirators Part 4

Pairs: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Words: 7558

Summary: Strauss forces you and Hotch to talk to an UnSub that you would be much happier to forget existed. Even with Hotch’s protests Strauss orders you both to go. Once there things don't go exactly how either of you expected.

Warnings: Canon Criminal Minds level violence, Stalker-ish and creepy UnSub, vague mention of non-depression related self harm, and cussing.

Notes: Left completely gender-neutral. Was a good chunk of this chapter inspired by Season 3 Episode 14, ‘Damaged’, the scene where Hotch is ready to fist fight an UnSub to protect himself and Reid? Yes, yes it was. Took me a minute to write this because I wanted to do certain feelings in this chapter justice, hopefully it all came through and makes sense. Feel free to tell me if it didn't turn out as good as I intended it to be.

Continuation of Co-Conspirators – Part 1–Part 2–Part 3–Part 4*–Part 5–Part 6

After Aaron and Jack spent the night, your relationship progressed further. Not much changed, considering how busy you both were. But any extra time you both had was spent with each other. You knew that your feelings for him had grown, approaching the realm of love. You weren’t going to express those emotions, though. At least not first since you weren’t sure exactly what Aaron’s feelings were. While you knew Aaron was serious about this relationship, you wanted to wait for him to take the emotional confession lead. After all he had been through Aaron deserved to take things at whatever pace he needed too.  It was a good thing you and Aaron had going. Even with having to keep the relationship a secret, it just worked between you two. You started staying at Aaron’s apartment more and more. Jack really seemed to enjoy having you around more often. You relished spending more time with Jack as well. Seeing him and Aaron interacting together and being able to spend time with them both was enough to make you forget about whatever horrible thing you had seen while on a case. Between hotel stays, while traveling for work and staying with Aaron, you barely made it back to your apartment anymore. You didn’t find yourself missing your place all that much. You did manage to get Aaron and Jack to stay the night at your place again once or twice, but it felt more like a vacation home of sorts than your own. Staying at Aaron's had become your happy little normal over a handful of months that helped relieve the burdens of work.

You were currently sitting in Hotch’s office with the door closed. Usually, this could have a chance at being a fun time, but considering Strauss was closed in here with the both of you. It was far from a good time. Hotch was irritated and couldn't completely hide it from his voice, “We won't be going.” You bounced your leg nervously, just listening instead of interrupting the conversation. Both Strauss and Hotch were staring each other down as he continued speaking, “The team has another case. We are needed there.” Strauss still hasn't sat down yet, a power move on her part, “You both have been specifically requested. He refuses to talk to anyone else.” Hotch tenses up and is about to argue. Strauss cuts him off. She starts walking out, “That’s an order.” Strauss opens the door and stops, looking back at both of you, “For BOTH of you.” The door slams closed behind her, leaving both you and Hotch sitting together in silence. Your leg had not stopped bouncing even after Strauss left. Which Hotch easily noticed even as he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Hotch sighs, “You don't have to-” You stop him, “Yes, I do. WE both do.” You weren't happy about this. You were extremely anxious. With anger right behind it, trying to fight to be your dominant emotion. Hotch looks up at you. His face had softened since Strauss left. However, his brow was still furrowed, and he looked beyond annoyed. Hotch watched you, “We don't have to give him the satisfaction…” You stand up, “I don't plan on letting him scare me into not being able to do my job. Let’s go pay Ben Monte a visit and see what the asshole has to tell us.”

Ben Monte. Ben was a particular sore spot with you. He was an unsub from a year or so ago. Ben had killed eighteen people before the BAU got called in. He was tricky because he didn’t care about race, age, or sex. Ben enjoyed cutting people up while they were still alive and toying with their organs while they could feel it. He chose victims seemingly at random. Only later to find out that Ben liked taking people with strong and stubborn personalities. Unfortunately, that means Ben set his sights on you after you and Hotch pulled him in for an interrogation but didn't have any evidence to hold him on. Luckily for you, though, by the time Ben tried to make his move to get you, the team was ready to arrest him. You willingly agreed to go as bait to lure Ben out, and he fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker. But Ben Monte shot you moments before the team could grab him. Ben had never used a gun before, so you hadn’t been wearing a vest. You spent a few days in the hospital but were able to recover without too many issues. There were some nightmares, but you had put the whole thing behind you. That was until Ben Monte claimed he had other unfound victims and refused to speak to anyone but the team who originally interrogated him. Meaning you and Hotch. You weren't thrilled about it, but if Ben was telling the truth and you could get the information out of him. Then you would suck it up and talk to the monster again.

After the first in-prison interview of sorts, that's when you learned just how much Ben Monte ‘liked’ you. Ben was disgustingly infatuated with you. Since he had only gotten a chance to shoot you and watch you bleed, Ben clung to a fantasy of making you suffer more like he did with all his other victims. Which Ben loved describing in vivid detail to you in between answering the questions you asked him. Ben was so descriptive at times that you could picture the plans he had for you, and it made your stomach churn. You had enough self-control to keep yourself composed during that horrible conversation, but it took a toll afterward. Those scenarios Ben described to you had burrowed their way into your head. Hotch had witnessed you live through this before. Hotch had even seen the aftermath of that interview when you became so tired from the nightmares stopping you from sleeping. Seen the agitation that followed that had caused you to start more than a few fights when anyone questioned you. It took some mandatory therapy to get through it. So you could understand why he was so upset for you. While you appreciate him being so protective of you, you weren't going to let something like this stop you from bringing closure to the families of the victims.

Hotch went to tell the team where you both were going. You went right down to the van, getting into the passenger seat. Normally you wouldn't mind driving, but you didn't think it was a good idea at the moment. Trying not to think about it too much, you try forcing yourself to think about anything else. Aaron gets into the car, takes one look at you, and decides not to start the vehicle. He looks at you, “Do you want to talk about it?” You make a curious humming noise, trying to feign ignorance, “Talk about what?” Aaron scowls at you, “The reason you're holding your side and who we are about to go talk to?” You look down, and indeed your hand had gravitated to your side. You were pressing right on the scar Ben gave you. Consciously realizing what you were doing makes the dull pain in your side come to the front of your senses. You let out a long sigh, “I don't want to talk about it right now…” You frown and look out the window as you finish speaking, “After this little… interview… I’ll probably still not want to talk about it, but I will need to.” You feel Aaron’s hand wrap around the one covering your long healed wound. Your breath catches in your throat, and you tighten your hand around his. Your emotional composure wavered a bit. You knew you couldn't bury your feelings inside forever. You wanted to make it through this accursed trip. Knowing it will at least turn into temporary anger, which would work to your benefit while talking to Ben Monte.

Aaron left his hand in yours even as he started driving. It was silent for a while. Since it was going to be kind of a long drive, you didn't want it to stay quiet. That would give you too much of a chance of getting lost in your thoughts. So you turned back to Hotch, “Let’s talk about something.” Aaron quickly glances at you with an eyebrow raised, “What’s strategy should we go in with?” You laughed when Aaron went right into talking about work, “Nope, we aren't going to talk about work. Not right now.” Aaron flatly states, “We are on the clock.” You roll your eyes, “We've never needed a strategy while interrogating together before.” You lean your head back, “Plus, what kind of work are we supposed to do in a car for like three hours?” Hotch glares over at you. You respond with a whine, “Please just indulge me… the person you happen to be dating by the way…” Aaron’s face softens even as he rolls his eyes, “Resorting to emotional blackmail?” You nod and give him a smug smile, “Anything to get my way.”

Aaron chuckles, shaking his head, “What would you like to talk about then?” You let out a pleased hum, “We should go see a movie soon, take Jack with us and completely turn our phones off. Maybe even leave them at home or in the car, so we don't get called in…” You let yourself trail off. Aaron’s hand tightens around yours, showing some concern. You look out the window, watching the scenery as you add, “Maybe we could take a vacation… somewhere fun…” You can feel his eyes watching you, so you turn to look at him, “What?” Aaron tries to study your face while still driving safely. After a moment, he finally speaks up, “Coming from the person who was so intent on going back to work after being shot that the hospital practically begged me to get you out of there? I think you can understand my cause for concern.” You sigh and nod, “Well, I’m a work-a-holic…” You smile, “But… Since being in a relationship with you, I find it a lot easier to push work aside so I can be with you and Jack.” A smile spreads across Aaron’s face. You playfully roll your eyes, “Don’t let it go to your head. I still enjoy catching bad guys, and I don’t see that drastically changing anytime soon.” Aaron brings your hand up to his face to place a kiss on the back of your hand, “I wouldn't have it any other way.” You smile as you and Aaron start talking about mundane potential plans.

Whatever pleasant conversion you were having with Hotch abruptly stopped when you saw the sign on the side of the road, stating that the prison was only a few miles away. Even if you wanted to continue talking, you couldn't have. Considering your mind went completely blank about what you had just been discussing. Your whole body tenses up, feeling the meeting looming over your head. Your leg starts to bounce. Letting your anxiety out now so you can focus when you get inside the prison. When Hotch parks, your hand separates from his. You practically leap out of the car. Taking a deep breath of fresh air in order to calm yourself. Hotch walks over and waits, letting you take your time. You close your eyes. Pushing all your emotions down and bringing your professional demeanor to the surface. Once you feel as prepared as you’ll ever be, you head up to the prison's main door. You can't help but comment, “I don't understand Ben Monte’s obsession with us.” Hotch follows behind and scoffs, “Unfortunately, he just has an obsession with you. He tolerates me because he knows I won't let you talk to him alone.” You sigh, knowing Hotch was right. Once through the door, you are the one who takes the lead on the introductions, “SSA’s [Y/L/N] and Hotchner.” The guards look over the sheet checking for your names. You start pulling the gun off your belt before they even ask, knowing the drill. Hotch does the same, even taking his second gun out and handing it over.

You felt a bit exposed and vulnerable, but you didn't let yourself dwell on it. Hotch already looked more tense than usual, which was saying something. The guards guided you through the signals to get in and out of the room you would be interviewing Ben Monte in. Once that was understood, both you and Hotch were led into the room. As soon as you saw Ben’s face, you internally started panicking, but you knew how to control every expression and your demeanor. So you kept yourself in check. The door closed behind you both, locking the three of you into a room together.

Instantly Ben Monte lurched towards you, his chains getting caught on the table, “My, My. Look at you. My favorite little canvas.” You stare Ben down, showing only indifference at his statement. You pull the chair at the table out and sit down, “I’m not here to play games… You said you had information for us. If you're wasting my time, then I will leave.” Hotch was standing behind you, glaring down at Ben. Ben looked from Hotch to you, “Ohh… I have so much information for you, but I’ve missed you so much. I’ve only had crime articles you were featured in to sustain me. They don’t take enough pictures of you. I’ve only been able to collect maybe a handful. I like to keep you close to me.” Ben reaches towards you, trying to touch you. You firmly respond, “No.” Ben freezes before pulling back, “You’re such a tease. Only showing me a little blood and then throwing me in here.” You continue your blank stare, “Information or I walk.” Ben grumbles, shifting about in his chair, “You are no fun.” When Ben starts giving you usable information, Hotch sits next to you and takes notes.

Ben stays mostly on topic until he starts talking about what he did to the victim. Ben looks you dead in the eyes, “With that little work of art, I worked too fast. Wasn't as fun.” Ben grins at you, showing all his teeth menacingly, “I learned after that. Taking my time. Like I am with you.” Every part of you wants to tense up and hit Ben in the face, but you control yourself. Ben keeps talking, “I have so many plans for you. Peeling your skin away nice and slow. Maybe even giving it time to grow back. Scars can be exciting things…” Ben lets himself trail off, staring right where he shot you. Hotch tenses up, staring daggers at the serial killer in front of you. You sigh, “This is tedious Ben, if you really called us out here to just play with us, then I will make sure you aren't allowed visitors for the rest of your life.” Ben glares at you this time, “I like the mouth on you, but it only goes so far. Do you think you could still bitch this much if I cut your tongue out?” Hotch speaks up for the first time during the interview, “You will watch how you speak to my agent. We are here as a courtesy to the families of your victims. Not to be part of whatever sick fantasies you have.” Hotch’s voice was loud and stern, intimidating enough to get Ben to comply again. Ben begrudgingly gives you more details about a few other murders he committed.

After giving you some more useful information, Ben slowly gets off topic again, “I've never been one for guns. You're the only work of art I’ve ever shot.” You glare at Ben, “I’m not a work of art, and neither were your victims. You don't own or control anyone.” Ben starts laughing, “Are you sure about that? Maybe I don't own my other playthings… but you… I think me and you share a special connection.” You scoff, rolling your eyes, “We don’t have a connection. You're not the first person who has shot me, and I am sure you won't be the last.” Ben laughs louder, utterly pleased with himself, “I am sure that's true, but me and you share a mark.” Ben doesn’t elaborate further but instead goes into talking about other things, “After you locked me into this place, I’ve had loads of time to think about what I would do to you when I get out of here.” This actually pulls a laugh out of you, “You’re not getting out of here… ever.” You cross your arms, smirking, “I made sure the court gave you life without parole.” Ben doesn’t look overly pleased about your attitude, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I was thinking about cutting you open and poking around inside you.” You show no expression, trying not to think about what Ben says, “Are you done telling me about your other victims then?” Ben doesn't answer. He just continues his psychopathic rambling, “Think you would feel it if I pulled some of your insides to the outside?” Ben went into further detail, being graphically descriptive as he kept going. You felt your stomach churn even as you stared Ben down like you weren’t affected.

Hotch, however, was finished with the games, “That's enough. We are done here.” Hotch stands up quickly, pushing himself away from the table and going to the door. You make no additional acknowledgment to Ben. You just casually raise from your seat and walk to the door. Hotch presses the button to get out. The tone plays, and you wait. Nothing happens. Ben starts laughing again, clapping as he does, “It’s lunchtime. The guard who is supposed to be out there has a real problem of being a chatty Cathy after he gets his food. So you're both stuck with me a while longer.” Hotch tenses up again but turns around ever so slowly, “Is that supposed to scare us? We have dealt with much worse than you.” Ben shrugs, “It should at least unnerve you both. Since I get to keep talking about what I want to do with our favorite little agent.” You turn around, ready to speak up, but then you notice Hotch’s behavior. Hotch went from tense to calm, which wasn't a great sign.

Hotch confidently takes his suit jacket off, before pulling off his necktie in one solid motion. He stands on the outskirts of the room, watching protectively. Hotch stares down Ben the whole time. You couldn't lie to yourself, Hotch’s overly aggressive behavior did make you feel better. Aaron would have never let anything happen to you before when you were just co-workers and friends, but now that you were more than that, there was no way in hell Aaron was going to sit by and watch someone treat you like this. Ben was still smirking and didn't even bother looking at Hotch. Ben just kept looking right at you, “Do you remember when I shot you?” You look at Ben and shrug at him, “It wasn't really that memorable. I’ve been shot before, so you shooting me isn't anything special.” Ben menacingly chuckles, “I remember every second of it. You bleed so well.” Hotch steps closer to him, ready to restrain Ben if need be. He tilts his head, gazing right through your shirt to the spot of the scar he gave you, “I only wish I could have watched for longer…” Ben looks back up at you, “It was hard to manage in prison, but I was able to give myself a little souvenir…” Ben stands up. Hotch, in one quick motion, pins Ben to the wall. Hotch had Ben held to the wall with his forearm on Ben’s throat. Hotch practically growls as he speaks, “I’ve had enough of you threatening my agent.” Ben seemed to enjoy Hotch’s reaction causing him to laugh.

Ben’s laugh was a spine chilling sound. It didn't help that it echoed in the concrete interrogation room. Hotch kept Ben in place, but that didn't stop Ben’s hands from moving. You quickly stood up, ready to help restrain the monster if he tried anything. Ben, however, had another plan in mind. A huge toothy grin spreads over Ben’s face as he lifts the fabric for his prisoner uniform shirt. Revealing practically a mirror image of your own scar on Ben’s body. Your blood turned to ice, and you couldn’t control the fact that your eyes widened. Ben reminisced and traced his fingers over his scar, “It took a lot of effort to get a gun from one of the guards and shoot myself. It was worth it, though…” Ben looks up with his eyes meeting yours, “Now we are connected…” Your so far maintained composure started to shatter. Hotch pushed his arm harder against Ben’s throat. You dug your fingernails into the palms of your hand, hoping it will help keep you grounded as you spoke, “We are not connected. Clearly, you put a lot of thought into wasting your time.”

The best you could do was temporarily dissociate with what was happening, so you didn't give Ben the satisfaction of your emotional response. You stare blankly at the prisoner pinned to the wall, “Prison hasn't been good for your memory… That’s not even where you shot me.” It was a bold-faced lie, but it had the desired effect. Ben’s grin falls off his face, and he glares at you, “Prove it.” You stick your hands into your pockets, scoffing, “I don’t have to prove anything to the likes of you… I already proved you were guilty in a court of law. That's good enough for me.” You are able to force a smile onto your face. This causes Ben to get belligerent, starting to fight against Hotch’s hold. Hotch doesn't flinch and keeps Ben in place. Ben keeps struggling, “Show me then! Prove it!” You didn't know how much longer you could keep the act up, so you decided to give the exit door another shot. You press the buzzer and hear the sound, waiting a moment.

By some miracle, the guard had come back. The guard looked more than confused, “What the hell happened?” You moved out the door without saying another word. You hear Hotch drop Ben to the ground. Immediately Ben starts screaming, and the guard has to restrain Ben. Hearing Ben’s chains yank against the table, “SHOW ME! PROVE IT!” Ben Monte kept repeating this. Even after the room door closed, you could still hear his voice through the walls. Hotch stays behind for a moment, and you overhear him yelling at someone, “Get your damn employees in line. When two agents… fuck when anyone is in a room with a prisoner, you NEVER leave that room unsupervised!” You stopped at a gated checkpoint to wait for Hotch while listening to what was going on. There was a short pause which could only be for the person making an excuse. Because Hotch went right back to yelling, “Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” There was another pause before Hotch spat out, “Good.” Then you heard him walking down the hall. While you were waiting, that’s when you first noticed it, the dull pain in your side. You press the heel of your hand into your scar in hopes of stopping the pain somehow. You look back when you hear Hotch walking up to you. Hotch still looked stiff, with his suit jacket and tie thrown over one of his arms. The crumpling pad of paper in his hand showed that Hotch was beyond pissed, but when he saw you were looking at him, he automatically softened up.

While waiting for the guard on the other side of the gate to let you through, Aaron looked down at you, “Are you okay?” You stared at him for a moment, “I don’t know how to answer that right now.” It came out in a much flatter and distant tone then you had planned. You felt a bit numb like you hadn’t fully processed what you just experienced. So you didn’t know how you felt. The only thing you knew for sure was that no matter how much pressure you put on your scar, the pain was getting worse. Aaron further furrowed his brows, and he tried to gauge your overall well being. The automatic door swung open and you walked through it before Aaron had too much of a chance to study you.

The rest of the walkout was silent until you reached the last checkpoint where you could collect your guns before leaving. While the guard was giving you back your items, Aaron stopped before collecting his, “I need to go talk to the warden.” Even feeling as weird as you did, you knew Aaron shouldn’t need to talk to the warden. It didn’t take long for you to figure out Aaron was trying to protect you from further dealings with Ben Monte. Aaron was about to order the warden to ignore any future requests from Ben Monte to speak with you. So you look over and question him, “Why?” Instead of answering, Aaron tries to hand you the car keys. You don’t take them. You narrow your eyes at Aaron, but he doesn’t say anything. So you begrudgingly take the keys. When Aaron walks down the hallway, you wait for a minute before following him. You stay outside the warden’s office door. It could be considered eavesdropping, but it pertains to you and your job, so you didn’t see it as a bad thing.

You could hear the conversation through the walls. Hotch spoke first, “Starting today, you will be restricting Ben Monte’s media access. No more crime articles. Certainly, no information about the BAU. He said he has pictures of Agent [Y/L/N]. Find them. Make sure he is never able to get ahold of anything like that ever again.” You were glad about that part. Knowing Ben had pictures of you made your skin crawl. The warden responds, taken aback, “I… I’ll get that taken care of right away. Were you able to get any useful information out of him?” The pain in your side ramps up, causing you to wince. Hotch responds, “Maybe. We will have to look into it.” There is a short pause, “I will no longer let the BAU answer any requests to speak with Ben Monte. His obsession with my agent has been out of hand for long enough. Ben sees it as a reward of some kind. Strauss will be informed of the situation. Don’t even think about trying to go over my head again.” The warden stumbles over an apology of some kind before they can say anything else Hotch leaves. Hotch sees you and sighs, “You were supposed to go to the car.” You scoff and roll your eyes, “It involved my career, so I was going to listen in. Also, you know I’m a stubborn ass and have issues doing what I’m told.” This was able to pull the slightest smile out of Aaron. It doesn’t last long as he quickly spotted both your hand holding your side and the slight wince still on your face. The worried look falls back onto Aarons’s face.

Despite your surroundings, Aaron gently grabs the back of your neck. He leans down and pulls you closer to him, planting a kiss on your forehead. Surprisingly he holds you there for a second. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax a little bit. Some of the previous emotional numbness starts to leave you. Your body lets you become more emotionally vulnerable since you felt safe with Aaron. Feeling yourself go into the early stages of crying, you gently pull away. Aaron lets you go. Blinking rapidly, you were able to stop yourself from crying for the moment. The grimace that covered Aaron’s face was a giveaway that he saw the emotions on your face, not that you were doing particularly well at hiding them. Aaron gives you a gentle nudge so you can both finally leave this horrible place. You head out to the car while Aaron gets his firearms back from the guards.

Your subconscious mind seemed to know that prisons were a work area, so you had to control your emotions, but outside was a whole other story. As soon as you step outside the threshold, a new wave of emotions hit you. Your subconscious completely shuts down the emotional barrier that was letting you stay professional. The first feeling that hit you was nausea. You quickly get away from the prison before moving around the corner of a building so you could have a sliver of privacy. You were able to keep the nausea at bay. That was until you remembered the fact that you now had a brand linking you to Ben Monte. That’s when you lost it. You could handle a lot of the job. You had handled so much, but this made you feel violated. You got sick right then, bracing yourself on the wall. It took a few minutes for your body to stop. When your body ceases shaking, you stand there for a moment to regain your baring and catch your breath. Looking yourself over, you were lucky enough not to have gotten anything on you. You spit a few times to try to get the taste out of your mouth. You wanted out of here. You wanted to shower for more reasons than one. You turned the corner and saw Aaron automatically watching you as he stood by the car. You were catching the tail end of a conversation Aaron was having on the phone.

Aaron’s eyes followed you, “It was worse than I anticipated.” There was a pause, and you walked around to one of the car's back doors, opening it. Crossing your fingers that you had your go-bag in the vehicle. Aaron let out a sigh, “If you guys have the case handled, I don’t think I’ll be bringing them into work today. They need some time off.” You peaked up and glared at Aaron. He was still monitoring you through the car windows. You roll your eyes and finally find your bag, pulling it to you to dig through it. Aaron gives a slight nod as he responds, “Of course, I’ll stay with them to make sure they are alright.” You find what you were searching for, your bag of toiletries. You pull out your travel toothbrush and toothpaste and start brushing the awful acidy taste out of your mouth. Aaron keeps talking on the phone for a moment. You finish up by using your travel-sized bottle of mouthwash to rinse out your mouth. Spitting it out when you’re finished. You get into the passenger seat. Aaron was still on the phone and kept watching you. You glared at him as he did, but Aaron was utterly unfazed by it. When he finished talking, he got right into the car.

You immediately argued with him, “Aaron, I am not going to sit at my house while you and the team go and do work.” You sigh, “I will go stir crazy.” Aaron looked very unamused, “You need to take some time off. At least a day. I would prefer you to take more off.” You glare at him, “I am fine to go back to work. It wasn’t that bad. I don’t need any time off.” You were already more agitated than usual, and you knew it. But sitting at home by yourself with only your thoughts sounded like pure torture. Aaron stares you down, the stern face he normally wears at work showing, “You are taking today off.” You grumble, “Is that an order?” Hotch nods, “Yes.” He answers in a very stern tone, not leaving a whole lot of room for argument. You knew you were being entirely unreasonable, but that didn’t stop you, “As my boss or as my boyfriend?” Hotch closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Both.” Aaron sighs before looking at you with soft eyes, “Please.” You had more fight in you, but seeing Aaron’s face made you readily concede. You nod and huff, “Fine.” Moving in your seat and looking out the window. Silence filled the air as Aaron turned on the car and started driving.

Aaron didn’t let it stay silent for too long. Knowing you well enough that you would retreat into your head if it was quiet for too long. So Aaron was the first to speak up, “You know, I never said I was taking you to your place.” You had zoned out. His voice had pulled you back into reality. Not catching his whole sentence, you look over at Aaron and ask, “What?” Aaron looks at you, the ghost of a smile on his face, “I didn’t plan on taking you back at your apartment.” You make a confused face, which turns to annoyance. You immediately get belligerent again, “Ohh, yes, because sitting alone at your apartment would be so much better than sitting alone at my apartment.” Aaron glared at you, his annoyance starting to show again. You wish you could have said this was the first time you two talked to each other like this. It was admittedly one of the reasons you both got along so well. A pair of hard-headed assholes who could yell at each other without too many hard feelings. You glared right back at Aaron, “I appreciate the thought, I suppose, but I might as well just be at my place if I’m going to be all alone anyway.” Aaron’s glare intensifies, “Like I would leave you to your own devices even if I wanted to right now.” You narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out what he means, “Isn't that what you were just saying?” Aaron’s voice became more stern, even raising his voice, “Would you just listen to me?” You let out a defiant huff but stay quiet. Aaron keeps the stern tone but lowers the volume, “You will be coming to stay at my apartment, AND I’ll be there with you.” Now you were a bit surprised, “You would ditch work just to babysit me?” Aaron’s face softens, “I wouldn’t call it babysitting. Offering emotional support, maybe?” You frown, “You’re not worried about someone on the team connecting the dots?” Aaron shrugs, “Actually Rossi brought up the idea first when I told him about the situation.” You whine and sigh, “How much did you tell Rossi?” Aaron glances over at you, “Enough.” You let out another whine and sink into your seat. Aaron watches you for a moment, “The team is worried about you. They care about you.” Being immature became one of your defaults when you were emotionally drained. So you made a fake disgusted noise, “Gross, feelings.” Aaron lets out a slight chuckle, “I care about you too.” You let a small smile slide onto your face, “That’s less gross.” Aaron adjusts his hands so he can drive with one hand on the steering wheel while his other hand reached over to you.

You took Aaron’s hand in yours. He gave it a comforting squeeze before getting serious again, “I’m going to have to write a report about what happened.” You groan, “Break the rules just this once? Pretend it never happened?” You knew Aaron would never, but you wanted to playfully give it a shot at least. Aaron shakes his head, “Unfortunately not. Especially since I am going to have to convince Strauss never to send us to see Ben Monte again.” At the mention of his name, you tense up. It wasn’t hard for Aaron to notice, your hand had tightened around his. Aaron gives you a worried look, “We should talk about what happened.” You groan, not wanting to but also knowing you need to. You give in, wanting to get this over with, “Will I be telling this to my boyfriend or my boss?” Aaron looks down at you for a moment, “Your boyfriend.” Aaron gives your hand another squeeze, “I’ll keep anything you tell me out of the report.” Aaron lets out a sigh before adding, “Unless it's something that could compromise your safety or others while you’re on the job.” You nod. Understanding that Aaron couldn’t bend the rules that much just for you and you were completely fine with that. You look out the window, “I know I shouldn’t be this affected by him, he only shot me. I feel like I have dealt with a lot worse. I feel stupid for letting him affect me this much.” Aaron starts running his thumb over the back of your hand, “You’re not stupid. He is overly obsessed with you. That can be very alarming.” Aaron lets out a long sigh, causing you to look over at him. Aaron had a sad look on his face, “Even before Foyet broke into my apartment and…” Aaron let it trail off, letting out another sigh. He skipped over whatever he was about to say to continue with the rest of it, “I was anticipating him making a move at any time. Knowing that someone like that is so fixated on you is not easy to handle mentally.” Aaron glances down at you, your eyes meeting for a moment, “I didn’t admit it to anyone even myself at the time, but it sure as hell affected me. I was only able to keep so much of it under control.” This time you give Aaron’s hand a squeeze returning the gesture he gave you earlier. Emotions were neither you nor Aaron’s strong suits, but you did find it much easier to be open around him. You’d like to think he felt the same way about talking to you as well.

Talking about Ben Monte made your old wound hurt. You just brushed it off as a subconscious correlation. Aaron seemed more worried about it, “You should get it checked out by a doctor.” You make a face, “It’s fine. I know it's just a mental reaction.” Aaron shook his head, “I think it's much more than a subconscious reaction, it had been hurting you since before we got to the prison.” You wave your hand at Aaron, ignoring him. You change the subject, “What I need is a shower and a change of clothes.” Aaron lets out a slightly annoyed sigh but lets you avoid the matter, “We will be home shortly.” You give Aarons hand another squeeze, “Good.” You let it stay quiet for a minute, “When you pick Jack up from school, let's do something fun.” Aaron glances over at you, “What are you thinking?” You shrug, “Anything to forget about today…” You think for a minute, “What about dessert for dinner and a lazy movie night?” Aaron narrows his eyes at you, “Dessert as the main meal?” You could tell he was going to shoot it down, so you decided to take the low road. You pout, “Please? It's been a really tough day. And imagine how cute Jack’s face will be when we tell him.” Aaron glares at you, “Really?” You stick your bottom lip out to pout more. Aaron shakes his head, a smirk on his face, “Fine. But…” You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. Aaron adds, “Only if make an appointment with your doctor.” You grumble but accept it, “That seems about fair.” You smile at Aaron before falling into ideal chit-chat for the rest of the drive.

The car had to be dropped back off at the Bureau, but Aaron was kind enough to drop you off at his apartment first so you could shower. The time you spent alone was only twenty minutes, but it was enough time for the dark thoughts you had been suppressing to come back to the surface. It didn’t help that your scar practically taunted you the whole time you were showering. The healed skin was a mirror of what Ben had done to himself, creating a twisted connection with you. Sure, you had lied to Ben and taken away his satisfaction of being connected to you, but you knew the truth. You took a long shower, trying to wash away the sickening feeling that lingered over you. It only helped a little but not enough to lift the weight you felt in your chest. You got out of the shower and lazily dried off. You were more than ready to get dressed. Then you caught a glimpse of your scar in the mirror. It completely stopped you. You got stuck staring at your old injury, running your fingers over it as you tried to figure out what to do. You didn’t want it to look the same. You wanted to change it.

You got more absorbed into that train of thought then you would care to admit because you didn’t hear Aaron get back home or even hear him open the bathroom door. Aaron’s voice pulled you out of your own head, “Please don’t.” You startle for a moment before glaring over at him, “Don’t what?” You wrap your towel around yourself again and push past him. Aaron gives you a bit of space even as he keeps an eye on you, “I know what you’re thinking.” You were still on edge, so you just scoffed and started getting dressed. Aaron continues, “I can’t stop you. At least don’t do it yourself.” You huff and tug on your pajama pants, “Don’t do what myself? I wasn’t thinking about anything.” Aaron sighs and crosses his arms, “You were thinking about ‘correcting’ the look of the scar yourself.” He was dead on which shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still stopped you for a second. You shook your head before starting to pull your shirt over your head. In an attempt to ignore the fact he was right, you stayed quiet and turned away. It doesn’t take long for Aaron to walk up behind you and wrap his arms around you. He pulls you into him, “I don’t want you to cause any more damage to yourself.” You sigh and lean back into him. Closing your eyes tight to hold in your emotions as you nod. Aaron kisses the top of your head, “Let’s go relax and forget about this for the moment.” You offer another nod. Aaron gently lets go of you, and you wipe away wherever tears were forming in your eyes. Aaron starts changing, and you take this opportunity to pour both of you a drink. By the time you got back out to the living room, Aaron was already sitting on the couch, watching something on tv. You set his drink down for him. Then you proceed to drape yourself over him pathetically. Straddling his lap as you sat down, leaning into his chest. Aaron just wrapped his arms around you and let you stay there as you lazily sipped at your drink. You stayed like that for a few hours until it was time for Jack to get off school. You kissed him before peeling yourself off of Aaron. Flopping back onto the couch so Aaron could grab his son. You lazily watched tv finally feeling more relaxed after spending some time with Aaron. When you heard the front door unlocking, you immediately perked up.

As soon as Jack ran into the house and saw you, all the events of the day seemed like a distant memory. Jack tackled you with a hug, excited that you were here. You found yourself smiling again as you and Aaron talked with the little boy about how his day was and what he learned. You broke the surprise to Jack about dessert for dinner. Jack was practically bouncing with excitement at the news. After dishing out healthy bowls of ice cream for all three of you, it was time to sit on the couch. It was such a lovely time as the three of you enjoyed each other’s company. Typically Jack always curled up with his father when he got tired, but as the night wound down this time, Jack came over to you. Jack climbed onto you and cuddled up with you. You looked down at him and held him close, rubbing his back as he started to drift off. For the first time today, you felt yourself getting emotional for a good reason. You slowly moved, so you were resting against Aaron. Aaron wrapped an arm protectively over the two of you, and you felt an overwhelming feeling of comfort and safety. The three of you sat like this for a few more hours until it was officially late enough to go to bed. You gently woke up Jack and helped him get ready for bed. Once Aaron had tucked Jack into bed, both you and Aaron went to lay down yourselves. You laid down, and Aaron wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close to him again. Feeling safe and secure, you were able to fall asleep with much more ease then you thought.

Continuation of Co-Conspirators – Part 1–Part 2–Part 3–Part 4*–Part 5–Part 6

@dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @winterparkers

@thosesteelblueeyesaremysafeplace

[shikai-the-storyteller]

It’s like half a year late but I just realized I saved this post as a draft and never actually posted it sO 

LOST LIGHT 25 READ

*Breaks down sobbing* L-LOST LIGHT 25 READ….THE LAST LIGHT…. 

My hands are shaking as I open up the file. How am I supposed to say goodbye and mean it. This comic’s changed my life, who am I going to be without it

I could spend the rest of my life looking at that cover :’) Rewind and Chromedome…Tailgate and CycLONUS….WITH WINGMAN WHIRL….SWERVE HOLDING RUNG’S GLASSES…DRIFT AND RATCHET (and ratchet holding the sparkflowers which represent everyone who died on the mission #called it), ANODE AND LUG….BRAINSTORM AND NAUTICA (probably watching some goofy video on Brainstorm’s cellphone??), MINIMUS AND RODIMUS…..SOBS….I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH…..

“The story so far: You’re joking, right?” LMAO

I saw the one page preview earlier this week and for the life of me I expected it to be Megatron. I expected them to be planning a fake funeral for Megatron buT THEN PROWL WAS THERE AND THAT THREW ME OFF.

I know Rewind doesn’t have to be glued to Chromedome’s side at all times but THE FACT THAT THEY”RE AT A FUNERAL AND HE”S NOT NEXT TO CHROMEDOME IS DRIVING MY ANXIETY UP THE WALL

WAIT WHAT

WHAT

WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!

RATCHET!??!?!? NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CONJUX ENDURA???? JRO HOW DARE YOU GIVE ME THIS BLESSING THEN IMMEDIATELY GO “lol Ratchet’s dead” WTF MAN

IS THIS THE FUTURE???

JRO GIVETH AND JRO TAKETH AWAY

wait REWIND IS OLDER THAN RATCHET WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

JAMES ROBERTS IF YOU KILL REWIND (again) I MIGHT LITERALLY ACTUALLY DIE ON THE SPOT *PLEASE* DON”T DO THAT

A bunch of supersparks because of Rung’s message :’(((

OH MAN, THAT IS OUR PROWL, NOT SOME FUNCTIONALIST PROWL????

Prowl pls, I understand your point of view completely but…THE SPARKS…be cool dude

MEGATRON…OH BOY OF COURSE PROWL’S THERE FOR HIM

BUT HOW LONG IN THE FUTURE *ARE* WE?? WHY DIDNT PROWL COME SOONER?

I guess this is post-all the Unicron business??? Where’s Optimus, why isn’t he at his best friend’s funeral. (Though, even as I say that I am Very Much Aware that he probably died in the other comics, true to his style)

Prowl puts his finger on Rodimus’ mouth to shush him and I have mixed feelings about that because A) rude but B) it indicates a level of familiarity I’m surprised Prowl would do, even if it is just for the sake of shushing Rodimus

“No to everything you’ve said and everything you will say. And while I’m at it, no to anything you’ve said or will ever say ever” “Rodimus”

Awh Rodimus puts himself betwEEN MEGATRON AND PROWL….WHEEZES

Prowl’s got his hands on his hips and his door wing things hiked up oh my goshhh I HATE THAT I THOUGHT “You are Precious” THIS IS HOW FAR IVE FALLEN HUH

GuhhhhhhhhHHHH the sad look Megatron and Rodimus give each other…. :’((( There’s no way this trial will end with them letting him off, the fans would riot.

AW THE LOST LIGHT OR THE SPARKS HECKKKKK I KNEW THEYD HAVE TO GIVE UP THE SHIP

GOSH….RODIMUS…IM SO SAD TOO BUDDY

CRUSADERCONS SOBS!!!!!!

“It’s a joke” “I suppose you had to be there" SOBS EVEN HARDER

MEGATRON PLEASE, I JUST SNORTED SO FRICKIN HARD AT THAT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MEGATRON YOU BIG DORK

"Do you trust me, Prowl?” Aw oh Roddy…WHAT DO YOU MEAN LAP OF HONOR are you going to race Prowl, Rodimus buddy pls

WHIRL *IS* IN HANDCUFFS WHAT’S UP WITH THAT DID HE TURN HIMSELF IN FOR SOMETHING??? Is he in jail because of the scraplets???

“I’m conscious we haven’t seen each other in years” AW MAN SO THEY REALLY DID ALL SPLIT UP :’(((( I mean I guess that’s expected but hrGHH….HECK THAT MEANS RATCHET PROBABLY REALLY IS GONE OH NO…SALING IM SO SORRY

SWERVE HAD 113 BARS JRO PLEASE “I guess I’m not ready to be reminded of the good times” SWERVE I WILL CRY RIGHT NOW

Dratchet confirmed but AT WHAT COST

And it sounds like Nautica (maybe none of them) revealed that Rung was Primus???? Oh man

Also I’m 99% sure Optimus must be dead because there’s no reason why he wouldn’t be at his best friend’s funeral (unless he pops up later on in this comic)

I took all these notes earlier when looking at the preview and now that I’m here, with the full comic, about to read it, I can’t even get past the cover. I’m looking at all their smiling faces and I’m just realizing how much I’m going to miss them

NO

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO NO NO!

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NO DANGIT JRO

THIS IS LITERALLY ALL I ASKED OF YOU, HOW COULD YOU DO THAT AFTER ALL HE SUFFERED? AFTER ALL THEY SUFFERED???

I just pounded my fist on my desk so hard and shouted “NO” over and over again.

So he’s not dead? But is he suffering? Is he ok???

“He just asks Chromedome about something called Rung” WHAT

Is Brainstorm’s case a teleportation device now???

I’m so confused and sad and angry but I’m going to hold off judgement til I get to the end

I took a break to go give my Tio and Tia’s giant German Sheppard a rubdown but MAN I still feel horrible…I really hope there’s going to be more of a happy ending for Rewind and Chromedome than that, that feels so horrible…and they forgot Rung??

WAIT WHAT RATCHET’S BACK??? WHAT”S GOING ON

“There’ll always be an ending– and if you’re lucky, you get to see it coming.” :(

REWIND??? IS REWIND OK??? HE”S HERE??? IS HE SAFE???

I SWEAR TO EVERY DEITY JRO, PLEASE DON”T HURT HIM MY HEART CAN”T TAKE THIS KIND OF BACK AND FORTH THING

OH NO, DID THEY FORGET RUNG???

WHIRL’S WEARING AN “ASK ME ABOUT MY FEMINIST AGENDA” SHIRT

REWIND AND RATCHET ARE STILL HERE AND OK BUT THEY”VE FORGOTTEN RUNG??? WHAT”S GOING ON

Aw Cyclonus is singing for Tailgate and they have all of Ten’s toys next to the Lost Light toy replica….

I CAN”T REALLY GET INTO THIS IM TOO AFRAID OF REWIND NOT ACTUALLY BEING OK AND RUNG BEING FORGOTTEN

“And this is my wife, Anode” MY HEART JUST GREW THREE SIZES

FRICKIN, THEY"RE GONNA RAISE SOME KIDS, THE LESBIAN AGENDA!!!! I LOVE IT

IS ROLLER FLIRTING WITH NICKLE OH MY GOSH

“I forgot I tried to kill you” “Sorry I tried to kill you” Ah, good ‘ol post-war Cybertronians

“Making me look good. Highest calling” RODIMUS PLEASE

“I was wondering if I was remembering things before they happened” OH NO

Ok but WHY is Whirl in his holoform

AW THE SWEET TENDER MOMENT BETWEEN DRIFT AND RATCHET…KILL ME.

“Treat him well, doc. He’s a keeper” awh….what a good bro

The tender Ratchet expressions are so sweet but AT THE SAME TIME IM LIKE….IS RATCHET DEAD OR IS HE OK, AND MORE IMPORTANTLY: IS REWIND OK??????????

WHY CAN”T ANYONE REMEMBER RUNG, THIS IS REALLY REALLY SAD

LMAO Are these all scenarios that JRO wanted to write???? I can’t believe the Lost Light got impounded

“We should measure our lives in moments and the rush of joy, of grace, that exists within them. You flare, you flicker, you fade. And in the end, all your tomorrows become yesterdays. Afterlight.” This entire exchange has me on the floor weeping. Of COURSE Magnus has his poetry memorized

OH SHOOT MAGNUS DIDN”T KNOW

NOOO THE DOUBLE SAD MAGNUS AND MEGATRON FACE, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO RECOVER FROM THAT

"I never thought I’d say this, but…it’s been fun” *STARTLED EXAGGERATED GASP*

Magnus thinks that wanting some professional relationships makes him sound like a hopeless romantic, oh my GOSH (same tho Magnus)

ME TOO SWERVE

WTF

I THOUGHT THEY WERE IN SPACE WHAT’S HAPPENING

Oh my gosh, the Deceptidorks run off in their own little cruiser with Grimlock, that’s so them

OH NO SWERVE DIDN”T GET MISFIRE’S NUMBER

OH MY–

WELL

I DIDN”T EXPECT THAT AT ALL

CYCLONUS OH MY GOSH, THAT MADE ME PUT A HAND OVER MY MOUTH AND TURN AWAY, HECK

THAT"S SO SWEET….coming from Cyclonus that’s such a huge thing, he’s so grateful that Rodimus gave him the chance, gave him the opportunity to go on this mission :’)

Of course Rodimus looks a little shocked when Cyclonus grabbed his face like that I"D BE A LITTLE BIT LIKE “UHHH” TOO

GOSH that’s so cute I can’t get over that

WAAAAAIT A MINUTE. WAIT I JUST REALIZED THIS IS ALL IN THE PAST. SO REWIND AND RATCHET REALLY ARE…

WELL. THERE”S STILL A FEW MORE PAGES FOR JRO TO NOT BREAK MY HEART AND RESOLVE THAT….I STILL HAVE A BIT OF FAITH….

AW Cyclonus picks up Tailgate and flies off with him THAT"S SO CUTE

Oh my gosh, that graffiti in the background that says “Megatron will save us” :“’(

NO….RODIMUS IS ALL ALONE OH NO……..THIS IS THE NIGHTMARE SCENARIO NO!!!!!!!

"But sometimes you hardly know they’re here” OH MAN DID THEY TAKE AFTER RUNG

OH MY GOSH

IS THAT???? IS THAT!!!! IS DRIFT GIVING WHIRL RATCHET’S HANDS!??????

“RATTY”

BRAINSTORM’S REALLY GOT ANOTHER FRICKIN SPARK IN HIS BRIEFCASE IM LOSING MY MIND. Ohhhh Whirl helped make that for him! SO WAIT BRAINSTORM IS TECHNICALLY ALMOST DEAD TOO, JRO WTF COME ON

“Hearing that Megatron was able to open it when you couldn’t” WAIT WHAT, THAT”S NOT HOW ANY OF THAT WENT, WHAT UNIVERSE EXISTS WHERE RODDY COULDN”T OPEN IT!! THAT”S SO WRONG

THIS REALLY IS THE NIGHTMARE UNIVERSE, EVERYTHING BAD IS HAPPENING WHAT THE HELL

(Post-reading, I discussed with Saling and YEAH RODIMUS PROBABLY LIED TO HELP MEGATRON’S CASE)

WAILS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AFTER ALL THIS TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RODIMUS LOOKS SO SURPRISED AND DELIGHTED…….

“Rodimus. Whatever happens next, whatever my fate, I deserve worse.” :(((((((

HECK THAT MAGNUS / MEGATRON INTERACTION…..MAGNUS LOOKS LIKE A KICKED PUPPY THIS IS MAKING ME SO SAD

What’s wrong with Rodimus’ aura????

WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN WHAT”S GOING ON

IM TOO FREAKED OUT ABOUT REWIND TO PROPERLY THINK / PREDICT LIKE I ALWAYS DO

AWH!!!!!!!!! IM GONNA FRICKIN CRY!!!!!!!!! THAT HUG!!! FINALLY A SWEET CYCLONUS AND WHIRL HUG WHERE CYCLONUS ISN"T THREATENING TO KILL HIM

EXCELLENT FRICKIN BROTP CONTENT RIGHT THERE

IM STILL WORRIED ABOUT REWIND AND RUNG (AND RATCHET) THOUGH, JIMMOTHY ROBERTS DONT YOU DARE END THIS WITHOUT RESOLVING THAT

LIKE SERIOUSLY THOUGH!!! I LOVE YOU JRO BUT THAT”D BE SUCH A HORRIBLE WAY TO END REWIND’S LIFE (even if he’s not technically dead)

What did Rodimus promise Ratchet he’d look after, I wonder….

RUNG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I KNEW IT!!!! I KNEW SOME VERSION OF HIM WOULD COME BACK!!!!

I KNEW IT!!!!!!!!

“Give that back to Drift and say Thank you. Say it’s a lovely gesture, but I’m not broken, and I don’t need fixing” :’)

I love Whirl so much

DON"T KNOW IF WHAT WORKED

Did they…did they force themselves to forget about Rung??? About the fact that he was Primus???

ALL THE LUNARIANS LOOK LIKE RUNG, SOBS!!!!!!!!!!

Rodimus looks so much older, this is making me so sad THIS WASN”T SUPPOSED TO BE A DEPRESSING ENDING

WHAT CAPTAIN THUNDERCLASH

OH MY GOSH RODIMUS

“Without Love There Is No Meaning” aaHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

THE RODIMUS STAR…THAT WAS MEGATRON’S RODIMUS STAR….DID THEY FORCE THEMSELVES TO FORGET ABOUT MEGATRON??? WHAT HAPPENED

WOW THEY REALLY MADE ANOTHER QUANTUM DUPLICATE HUH

But that means they doom at least one version of themselves to a sad ending…

SIMPATICO

PERCY YOU FRICKIN GEEK you and Brainstorm deserve each other

I’M…..SO TORN…….

THEY REALLY DID GET AN ENDING WHERE THEY’RE HAPPY AND CONTINUE ON FOREVER, BUT ON THE OTHER HAND THEY GOT THE WORST UNIVERSE

I DON”T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS ENDING………

Oh my gosh WAIT….the bad timeline doesn’t know anything about Rung because Rung is with the good Lost Light…which means that the “canon” timeline IS the good Lost Light….WELL….I GUESS THAT MAKES THINGS A LITTLE BETTER (MAYBE??? IN RETROSPECT I ACTUALLY THINK BOTH VERSIONS FORGOT RUNG...HECK...)

I guess even in the “bad” ending we got some good stuff (like the Whirl & Tailgate / Cyclonus thing) but oof….Rewind’s the only one who remembers Rung…that really hurts…I am glad he and Chromedome are both somewhat ok though :(

“Over To You”

The comic ending with a preview of the first MTMTE issue feels so poetic

I FEEL LIKE. I”M STILL PROCESSING EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED. This comic’s been such a huge part of my life, I don’t know how to properly react

I guess the biggest thing I can say is “I can’t believe it’s over”

Post reading note: I had mixed feelings about the ending, but JRO shared this article “How To Say Goodbye and Mean It: The Last Message of IDW's Lost Light” by Cenate Pruitt and it helped settle some stuff for me. I think it’s definitely worth a read once you’re done with LL25. 

[starrynite7114]

snapshots: assumptions

A/N: I cannot believe I have been regularly updating, but the muse has been so strong. I would like to thank @iambabyharry​ for listening to my crazy vents about this story. 

I would just like to apologize now, there is some angst in this chapter. 

If you would like to be added to the taglist for snapshots, please let me know!

Hope you all like the update!

Taglist: @iambabyharry​; @thegirlwhowritesfics​

Masterlist

“You can’t do this,” Rafael frowned as you packed your things. Ares was lying beside Rafael, watching you as well as you placed clothes in a box. 

“Rafa, I just,” you sighed, holding the edges of the box that had your clothing. “He’s having a baby with Adelita, I don’t want to be here for that. I can’t take that.”

“You don’t even know that! It’s all assumptions at this point!” Rafael was frustrated to say the least. Your spontaneous actions were definitely causing his blood pressure to rise since he knew he would have to deal with the aftermath. Angel was going to come knocking on his door, demanding to know where you were. “You always do this, you need to communicate with him.”

“There’s no point, he would want me to stay and I can’t do that. I know it sounds selfish, but this is just like my father.” You purse your lips, taking the box down.

“Angel is madly in love with you, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m due to be in Arizona next week, there’s no changing my mind now.”

Rafael groaned. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“I don’t expect you to agree with my decision, but as my best friend, can’t you just show me some support here, Angel has been cheating on me.”

You always knew it was too good to be true. That the ship had sailed for Angel when it came to Adelita. She most likely rejected him and he ran to you. That thought was always at the back of your mind and you could usually keep it at bay but after everything that has occurred the last month and a half, your decision had been made.

It wasn’t a spontaneous decision. At first, you could live with the recent revelations you found out. There were other options after all if you could not have kids. But finding out still broke your heart.

======================

You sat down, awaiting for the nurse to call you. After having your yearly check-up with the doctor, you decided to schedule an appointment with an OBGYN since you were much more sexually active than you have been before. No birth control as Angel specifically asked that you stopped. At first you were opposed to it, but at this point, you were ready to have children, you’ve been ready. You had your initial exam with the OBGYN 2 weeks ago and now, you were following up.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” you heard the nurse call out. 

You stood up, giving her a smile as you walked past her. She led you to one of the examination rooms, sitting on the bed. You waited for the OBGYN to come, anxiously waiting for her to come. Coming here was a bit premature, but you just wanted to make sure everything was in order. You and Angel were ready to have kids. It was a big step, considering everything that you both had going on, but there was never really a good time to have kids. 

What mattered was that you were both financially stable, to some extent, and you would be able to provide for your children. 

It frightened you, but it felt right at the same time. You couldn’t explain it, but you were ready, especially since Angel was so eager to have a child. He was going to be a great father, you just knew it. He doted over your niece whenever she was in town and you couldn’t want to see Angel with a daughter of his own.

Your OBGYN, Dr. Preci walked in, giving you a warm smile as she always did when you’ve seen her before. 

“How are you?” She greeted as she sat in front of you.

“Good, kind of eager, how are you doing?”

“I’m well, busy day as always,” she opened your folder and a quick grimace graced her face before it went back to a smile, except it looked tighter than before. 

That made your stomach churn.

“When you have sexual intercourse with your partner, do you use protection?” 

You shook your head. “No, I guess in some ways we’ve been trying to have a child.”

Dr. Preci nodded her head. “I see,” she wrote some notes down. “We checked all your lab works, which showed abnormal hormone levels, which we can easily prescribe medication for. However, your ultrasound was a bit concerning.”

“How so?”

“Well, uterine fibroids were noted in your ultrasound and with your history of irregular periods and uterine fibroids, we would like to do further testing to assure that everything is well in order.”

“Further testing?” You were frightened, did you have cancer? Your irregular periods never bothered you since it was nice to not feel pain for a long period of time. Your periods were always so painful. Whenever you did have your time of the month, you were always incapacitated due to the pain. For some reason, you always thought that this was how it was normally for everyone and Midol did help every once in a while.

“We cannot guarantee till we get further testing, but I’m afraid that you will not be able to conceive a child.”

======================

You remember the day so well and after further testing, you found out 2 weeks ago that you couldn’t have children. You felt as if you were stabbed in the heart, over and over again as the words repeated in your head. Ares was your companion for 2 days, refusing to talk to Angel as you knew it would greatly disappointment him. When you finally had the courage to speak to him, your world shattered all over again.

======================

Taking a deep breath, you exited your car that you parked outside of the scrapyard. You could do this. You and Angel could adopt or even discuss other options with Dr. Preci. Waving a quick hello to Chucky, you walked quickly towards the clubhouse. But you halt your steps when you see Adelita, a very pregnant Adelita with Angel. You felt your heart clench as your eyes landed on Angel, with a look of such admiration and happiness, caressing her abdomen. 

Adelita cupped his face, softly caressing it and you couldn’t breathe. Quickly, you turned around and made your way back to your car. You faintly heard Chucky call out to you, but you were in your car, already thinking of a way to leave. You were finally able to live with the fact that you couldn’t give Angel a child. But you never even thought that he could have another baby with another woman. You wouldn’t be able to stay by his side as selfish as that sounded because you wouldn’t fully have Angel.

With Adelita pregnant, that meant he must have cheated on you. She didn’t look more than 6 months and you’ve been together for close to 9 months. You felt sick to your stomach as the picture replayed in your mind.

You weren’t going to be the other woman, this just reminded you of the situation of your father and how he left you all for another woman since your mother could not conceive another child. It hit far too close to home. 

You made the decision then and there that you were leaving. You were going to break up with Angel and that unborn child could have a complete family with Angel and Adelita. 

======================

That was 3 weeks ago and you’ve been playing your part with Angel since then. 

You played like nothing was wrong, but you knew Angel could tell you were pulling away. You weren’t actively avoiding him, but club business has kept him away. The movers were going to be here in an hour to bring your stuff to the moving truck and drive it to Arizona for you. Rafael was going with you to drop you off and he was gonna fly back to San Diego.

This was the cowards way out and you knew that, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t pack up your whole apartment, just most of your clothing was going with you. The company you worked for provided your housing that was furnished. The only thing you truly needed was your own personal items.

“I am your best friend, which is why I’m trying to prevent you from making a big mistake.” Rafael helplessly watched as you went back in your closet to get another box of clothing done. 

“So you’re saying I should just suck it up and watch Angel have a baby with another woman?”

“Ugh, you’re being so difficult! Of course not, I just want you to get all your facts checked before moving to another fucking state.” Rafael has had this argument with you numerous times, but once your mind was made up, it was hard to change.

“For what?! The facts are there! How do I actually know he’s doing club business? They’re working with Adelita now.” you felt the tears well up and fall from your eyes. You never went into depth with Rafael on what the club did, it was for his own safety after all.

“Babe, I get it, but you’re overreacting without even talking to him.”  Rafael felt it was a moot point to try and sway you, but he had to try. He thought you and Angel were perfect together. If you only saw what he saw every time you were with Angel. And for a person who once threatened Angel’s position in your life, Rafael experienced first hand just how much Angel cherished you .

“You don’t get it, it never made sense. Angel’s gonna be just like my dad who left my mom cause she couldn’t conceive any longer. I’m just beating him to the punch.”

“This is actually insulting towards Angel, you think Angel is going to be just like your father? How could you even think that? Angel is nothing like your father.” 

Your father left your mother when you were younger. You never truly understood till your mother explained what happened. She didn’t try to make your father look like an awful man, he made his choice since he wanted more children. Though, your father has tried to reach out to you and your sister, he was happy with his new family and quite frankly, you didn’t want him anywhere near you. 

“I didn’t think my father was an asshole too till he never came back.”

“This is misplaced anger, I think you need to talk to Angel and straighten this out.”

“There’s no point, besides he’ll just lie to me.” Your anxiety has been at an all time high as of late. You hated how the insecurities that you’ve tried to bury for years have been plaguing your mind, no matter how hard you tried to push them away. Rafael made complete sense, you should talk to Angel, but you had nothing to offer him. Adelita was someone Angel was in love with, he told you so and now, she’s pregnant with his child, something you could never give him. Maybe you could stay by his side, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do so. Knowing Angel has possibly cheated on you and conceived a child, that was too much for you to bear. You should have known this was something that was coming, everything was too fucking good between you two. 

“Your anxiety is really doing a number on you, I know it’s not something you can control, but he’s your best friend, you know him better than anyone.”

“I know him better than anyone, that’s why I know what he’s going to do. Angel Reyes is a charming man who knows how to get himself out of trouble,” you slightly chuckle at your own description of Angel. “I love him so much that I’m willing to let him go.”

“You’re making a big mistake babe,”

“I’ll live with the consequences.”

======================

Angel quickly made his way up the stairs of your apartment, not even waiting for the elevator. He had to see you. He hasn’t seen you in a few days and all he wanted to do was hold you. It was a tough few days with the altercation with EZ then the information Happy had given them. All he wanted to do was tell you all about it as he held you. If anything, he wanted to hear all about what he missed out with you. He hadn’t spoken to you for a day since he wanted to just travel home and talk to you then. 

Opening your apartment, he was surprised that Ares didn’t greet him by the door. Even though Ares was still loyal to you, he warmed up to Angel to some extent.

“Baby!” He called out to you. 

Closing the door behind him, he removed his boots and kutte. His eyebrow raised noticing that your apartment seemed so much more bare. He knew you liked to clean every other weekend since Ares’ fur got all over your things. Usually you were at Angel’s on the weekends, but since he wanted to surprise you, he didn’t let you know he was coming back.

“Baby girl!” He figured you walked Ares or something, the dog did have far too much energy for his own good at times. 

Angel walked further inside your apartment and became nervous. Ares’ bowls were not in your kitchen. Ares had his own bowls at his house, so there was no reason for his bowls to not be there. 

“What the fuck,” he murmured as he noticed that your Keurig was no longer in the kitchen.

He was confused to say the least. He ran over to your room and there were less pillows on your bed. Your charger was not by your bedside drawer. Your computer was missing from your desk. He walked over to your closet and it was almost bare. Angel’s heart dropped. There was no way you moved. He must be in another fucking apartment. Maybe you went on a vacation or something. He couldn’t wrap his mind around you leaving without so much of a word.

“No, this is not fucking happening.” Angel wasn’t even sure what to think, all he knew was that this was a fucking nightmare and anxiety was slowly taking over his body. 

Walking out of your room, he noticed an envelope on your kitchen counter. He quickly grabbed it, ripping it open, a set of keys dropping on the counter. It was the keys to his apartment.

Opening the letter, he sank to the floor as he read it.

Angel,

I’m sorry you had to find out in this way, but I moved. Please don’t come look for me. I grabbed my stuff from your apartment, if I left anything, please just throw it away or sell it, whichever you want. Please leave my keys in the mailbox so my landlord can come collect it.

Just remember, all I want is for you to be happy and I’m glad you’ll have that with your family. I always thought that we were a fluke and you deciding to give us a chance because you didn’t want to lose our friendship, I’m grateful for that. I understand if you mistook your love for me as your friend for something more, no hard feelings. 

I will always love you, but it would be best for us to just admire one another from afar. 

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. This isn’t on you, this is on me. I don’t deserve you and you should pursue the person you truly want to be with.

Love always, Y/N

Angel reread the letter numerous times, trying to decipher the message. Was this a cruel joke? He wasn’t fucking laughing. He crumpled the paper, refusing to believe this letter. You would talk to him, this fucking letter made no sense.

What family?

What person?

You were the only person he wanted to be with. This just made no sense to him. Who the fuck were you talking about? He’s made it clear time and time again that it was you and him from here on out. 

Did someone kidnap you? There was no fucking way, he would know. If someone kidnapped you, they would have made some noise by now. 

He took out his cellphone, dialing your number. It rang and rang, but no answer. He called you 10 times and every time, there was no answer. 

Then the thought crossed his mind, what if you left him for Gabriel?

He shook his head, that wasn’t possible. You didn’t even speak to Gabriel, there was no way you left him for another man. But the idea screamed at him at the back of his mind. 

What did your letter even mean?

Mistaking this relationship as a scheme to keep you by his side? The more he thought of the words you put in that letter, the angrier he became. He knew he did a number on you by promising to marry you when you two were older, but he always thought it was for your own good. He was going to be your last choice because you were able to experience other people and at the end you two were meant to be together. He didn’t know it would backfire so hard that you would be insecure about his feelings for you.

This was ridiculous. You weren’t going to leave him, there was no fucking way. This had to be a cruel prank. 

He fucking prayed it was a cruel prank. 

Angel got to his feet, rummaging through your apartment. He noticed that there were less things around, things you used day to day were no longer scattered around your apartment. Before Angel could even register, he left your apartment, getting on his bike and rushed to his apartment. 

Once he arrived at his apartment, he looked through his closet and drawers. As you had stated, your stuff was gone.

Angel didn’t even notice EZ was in his living room, calling out to him. EZ went inside Angel’s room and found his brother with his head in his hands, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

“Angel, you okay?”

Looking up at his younger brother, EZ saw the tears in his brother’s eyes. “She left me.” His voice cracked as he told his brother.

“What?” EZ wasn’t certain he heard correctly. 

“She fucking left me Ezekiel!” Angel shouted. “Y/N left me man,” he whispered, “she fucking left me.”

EZ watched as his brother fell apart in front of him, not believing his words. You would never leave him. You and Angel have been attached to the hip ever since you two were teenagers. With everything you’ve been through, EZ never thought you would leave him.

“There’s no way, she wouldn’t leave you.” 

Angel took out his phone again, calling you. Your voicemail was what he got once again. 

“Baby, this isn’t fucking funny. Pick up your phone, please, let’s talk. What’s going on? We can talk about this.” He pleaded before hanging up and calling you once again. Again, no answer. “Call her.” 

EZ took out his phone, calling you and much like for Angel, you didn’t answer. “Hey, you okay? Can you call me back? You have us worried here. Whatever is going on, let us help you.” He hung up, looking at Angel who was holding a letter in his hands. “She left you a letter, what did she say?”

“That we’re done.”

Angel couldn’t wrap his mind around this whole thing. What happened? He didn’t talk to you for one day and you were gone? He didn’t do anything. He knew he didn’t. You weren’t petulant enough to not speak to him just cause you two did not speak for a day.

“It makes no sense,” EZ took the letter from Angel’s hand, skimming through it. “What person? What family?” 

“I DONT FUCKING KNOW!” Angel yelled out, the situation was so fucking frustrating. “How can she fucking do this?” 

“Don’t jump to conclusions, she’ll come back. She can’t stay away from you.”

Angel nodded his head. He shouldn’t. This was going to pass, it will. He was going to call you till you got fucking tired of hearing your phone ring. Once he does, you’ll straighten it out and you’ll be back in his arms again. He didn’t even give a fuck what your reason was, he just wanted you to come back.

But you weren’t. 

You weren’t coming back.

Not this time. 

[utterlyinevitable]

Do We Have A Future?: January

Part 1 | Part 2: November

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 1.9k Warning: Adult themes, mental health triggers, themes of depression, pregnancy complications and termination Summary: Rebecca told Ethan and now they have to live with the aftermath of their decision.

Author’s Note: Sensitive subject matter means I really suggest only reading if you are 18+ years old.

Taglist: @ohchoices​ @dulceghernandez​ @aylamwrites​​ @binny1985​ @ramseysno1rookie​

________________________________________

Becca stood alone in the middle of Ethan’s dimly lit bedroom one morning after a scalding hot shower while flecks of snow flurried outside. She stood in front of the double wide full length mirror taking in her full form - the unchanged curvature of her hips and abdomen. 

“I’d be in my second trimester…” she whispered to herself as she ran a hand delicately from her breast and lingering down to the blank space of skin below her navel. 

It would have been born in June. 

It was 6:30 in the morning and they needed to be at work in thirty minutes. When Ethan didn’t hear the familiar scuttering of his girlfriend hastily getting ready after choosing another twenty minutes of sleep he grew worried that something may have happened. 

He gingerly opened the door to see his love transfixed in front of the mirror. He crossed the distance quietly in four long strides. Snaking his arms around her he whispered into her ear, “Are you okay?”

There Ethan stood in his standard work attire holding Becca’s cold naked body close to him, his left hand securely wrapped around her midsection and his right hand placed on top of hers at her stomach. His clean shaven chin rested on her shoulder and his bright blue eyes searched her features for the explanation he knew was never coming. 

“Yeah,” she breathed as she snapped back into reality. Ethan could feel the goosebumps beginning to prick her skin and eyes started to glaze over as she pulled away from him. “Give me a minute. I’ll be ready in five.” 

Becca still cried at the thought of what's been lost. She still couldn’t walk past the neonatal wing of the hospital, or any babies for that matter. Even infants on social media or television bring tears to her eyes. Some days the extreme emptiness hits harder than others. 

Ethan still refused to talk about it. He wanted nothing more than to know how exactly he could help her without having to guess each and every day. But that would be breaking their solemn vow. He couldn’t break his promise after she explicitly asked him not to all those weeks ago at her appointment. Ethan couldn’t let her down; not now, not ever again. 

Unbeknownst to him, Rebecca wanted nothing more than to confront the fact head on, she’s done her self deprecating wallowing and was ready to divulge. She wanted to know what’s going on inside his head. But after the last time she tried to bring it up she feared that if she continued it would be to the detriment of their relationship. 

They were sitting on Ethan’s couch watching a Blue Planet documentary. Ethan comfortably laid back with his feet perched on an ottoman and Becca’s legs draped over his lap. She had the purple fleece blanket she brought from her apartment snuggled around her torso. Neither were too intrigued by this segment on flying fish, so Becca picked at the chipping paint on her fingernails and Ethan closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of how this woman beside him could make him feel so at home.  

Out of nowhere the demons eating at Becca’s core shakily asked, “What would we have done if we kept it?” 

Truth be told Becca had been thinking this since the moment she swallowed the first pill. What would their life be like here and now? 

“Stop, Rookie,” he sternly admonished. Ethan knew she was treading down a slippery slope. She had finally started going through a routine like normal and he believed entertaining this notion would have her regress back into the shell of the woman he once knew. “No point in dwelling on the past.”    

Becca pursed her lips and gave him an unsatisfied nod. She could push the subject but she wasn’t strong enough for that. She used every little bit of courage she had to let the thoughts slip off her tongue without the twin tears rolling down her cheeks. The topic seemed like taboo. 

Why can’t we talk about this? she thought.

***

Becca had been back at Edenbrook for six weeks. She enthusiastically threw herself into her work hoping it would help fill the void and bring her joy. However it did nothing to soothe her like the way it once had. Rebecca was barren; the things she loved didn’t carry enough weight anymore. Her moods had also frequently gone on a roller-coaster ride, more times than she or Ethan would care to admit. She lived in the realm of fury, rage, disinterest and disdain. But at least she was talking and willing to leave the apartment. 

Thankfully, Ethan thinks to himself every day she gets up and goes through the motions of her past self. 

She still didn’t spend much time at her place. The awkwardness and permanent ball lodged in her throat at keeping this secret from her dearest friends had put distance between them. Becca didn’t actively want to put a strain on her friendships; she just couldn’t bear the thought of them pitying her. It was easier for them to think she’d let her new job title and relationship become her most sacred of priorities. 

When Ethan noticed her dejected and hopeless look day after day he thought now was a better time than any to help move her mind on to something else.

“I was thinking…” he trailed off as they sat at his kitchen island having her favorite spaghetti bolognese dish he ordered for them from Don Luigi’s. Looking down and twirling the noodles around his fork he said softly, “Maybe you’d like to move in?”  

“What?” Becca’s eyes went wide as she nearly choked on the two bits of pasta in her mouth.   

“You’re here all the time anyway,” he rationalized with a shrug of his shoulders. Ethan dropped the fork and swiftly swung around on his stool to face her. There was a gleam in his eyes that involuntarily made the corners of Becca’s mouth twitch. He reached out for her hands, cradling them between his own. 

“How about we make it official?” Their eyes met and Becca took a bated breath. The corners of Ethan’s lips pulled into the biggest grin - a smile Becca knew was just for her. It had been months since she’d last seen him glow like that, all the wrinkles and cracks in his features coming to light just for her. “Make me the happiest man alive and turn this place into a home, Rookie.” 

Looking at the man before her she thought maybe, just maybe everything will be okay.

“Okay,” she nodded with a small smile, trying her best to give him the genuine declaration of adoration that a moment like this deserved. 

*** 

The move didn’t help. If anything it made her mental state worse. Rebecca was completely dissociated from her current life and there were two versions wandering around in her place. 

The first version; the doctor and third year resident who focused solely on her patients needs, continuously going above and beyond for them. No matter the turmoil raging inside of her. For the first time in a while she was back at the top of her game, she didn’t need Ethan to shadow her or reassign any of her potentially-emotionally damaging cases. In the halls of Edenbrook all that mattered to Becca were the lives of her patients and helping as many helpless individuals as she possibly could. 

Ethan knew she was deflecting but as her boss he was overly impressed with her performance as she tirelessly solved case after case in no time at all. He came to accept that the concern he had for her well-being was better felt behind closed doors, whether it be at home or with his father figure. Ethan did consistently speak about her with Naveen for both of their sakes. The two men discussed and debated on how they can support her without her knowing, while the older doctor simultaneously consoled and navigated his mentee’s guarded emotions whether Ethan liked it or not. 

The second version of Rebecca was simply Becca. A girl who’s new coping mechanism was throwing herself into packing up her life and slowly turning Ethan’s luxury and sterile bachelor pad into a home. As she packed alone in her room she let her mind project a new, better reality. One where she was still carrying. She’d pass the time singing and speaking to her flat belly of the great life awaiting the three of them. The undeniable love still coursing through her veins. 

‘What are we doing today?’ she said softly with a smile as she taped together a cardboard box on her bed. ‘We’re packing up my apartment and we’re moving into daddy’s place!’ Saying those words made her heart swell, feel fuller than it’s ever been. 

Rebecca wasn’t alone. Although science and any rationale would say otherwise, she still felt that the baby, her baby was still with them. 

Moving about her room she categorized the objects of her life out on the floor into piles of winter clothes, summer clothes, general clothes, books, household objects, and miscellaneous. As each pile started to grow and moving around became difficult she exclaimed, 

‘I have so much stuff! Where are we gonna put it all?’ She chuckled to herself as she haphazardly threw one of the piles of clothes into an empty suitcase.  

Patting her abdomen she happily added, ‘Dad’s gonna have a fit; we’re gonna take over the whole place.’ 

This quite well may be the only time she’d get to say those words out loud with Ethan. This could have possibly been the only time she’d be pregnant. Ethan was being more than careful now that she was not on any form of contraception. Her doctor noted that the typical thing to do after a termination would have been to start on the pill but Becca refused, wanting time for her body to readjust before adding more hormones in the mix. Not like we’re gonna be intimate any time soon... she thought bitterly in her OB/GYNs office back then. 

In her mind Becca was now moving and creating a nest egg at Ethan’s for their little miracle. She allowed herself to indulge in this fantasy keeping her together - keeping her happy. She had made the mistake of getting attached in those first and last two weeks of knowing and now couldn’t shake the thought. As much as she’d wanted it gone, she grew fond of the little ball of cells and all the possibilities it held. Now she felt unfulfilled; something was missing from her life, from her body and she couldn’t understand why. Why something she didn’t want and didn’t have could hurt so much. 

As a woman of medicine, Rebecca is a woman of proven science. She never did believe in a higher power. 

But there’s so much unknown in this world. Maybe, just maybe... 

If there was even the slightest chance the soul - her baby’s soul was wandering aimlessly around in the unknown, she needed to do something about it. After much internal deliberation and listening to her heart she decided it was a girl and gave her a name, Avaline Dolores Ramsey. She thought of her dark brown hair on the top of her tiny head, Ethan’s eyes shining bright with possibility, their skin colors mixed together to give an olive complexion. 

A little bundle of joy staring back at her in her mind's eye every second of every day.

__________

A/N: writing this is the most cathartic thing ever. thank you for reading. we’ve got 2 more parts to go!

[fictionaffliction]

Better Forgotten

Chapter Two

Pairings: Loki/OC

Summary: Dr. Ingrid Hansen is a respected psychologist struggling with the aftermath of the Snap as well as her own trauma from an accident she endured many years ago. Her world is thrown into utter chaos when she meets a dangerous man posing as a client. Dr. Strange is reluctantly tasked with protecting her, but in order to do so, he must first help her recover who she truly is. While she is grateful for his help, she has to wonder, are some things better forgotten?

Rated M

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, memory loss, chronic pain

June 6, 2024

The clock seemed too loud in Dr. Hansen’s office as the afternoon sun filtered through the unshaded windows. She glanced up at it, annoyed.

2:30 . Her clients were due half an hour ago. She swallowed her frustration and massaged her brow as she picked up the phone and called her receptionist, Lauren, whose desk was down the hall.

“Yes, Dr. Hansen?” Her voice was chipper, likely because of how much coffee she drank.

“It looks like the Coopers are a no-show. Can you please phone them and see if you can get them to reschedule?” Ingrid said, looking over their file. It was disappointing to see them skip an appointment. They had made good progress over the last two months.

“Sure thing. Would you like me to send in your next client?”

“He’s here already?”

“Yep.”

Ingrid was used to people being right on time or five minutes late. To be half an hour early was nearly unheard of in her practice.

“Sure, send him in,” Ingrid.

“You got it!” Lauren said and hung up the phone. Ingrid found herself smiling at her young employee’s enthusiasm. Sometimes she wished she could bottle some of that energy for herself. She took a moment to refresh her lipstick in the mirror she kept in her desk drawer and smooth the stray hairs that had escaped her barrette.

There was a hesitant knock on her office door and she put the mirror away. She stood and straightened her skirt, crossed the plush carpeted floor, and opened the door.

The man at the threshold was tall and slim, wearing a dark suit and deep green tie, which only served to emphasize his pale complexion. His coal-black hair was combed neatly back, which almost hid how long it was. She smiled up at him pleasantly, not allowing herself to linger on the strangeness of his presentation. He stared back at her with striking green eyes. Something about him seemed slightly familiar, but she couldn’t place it. For just a moment, he looked ever so slightly unnerved, but she blinked and his expression was once again composed.

“Mr. Lawson?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Yes,” he said in a voice just slightly deeper than she had expected. He took her hand gently. “Dr. Hansen?”

She nodded and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

He stepped into the room and looked around. The office was decorated in Ingrid’s favored modern style, with tones of soft grey and blue being the dominant color scheme. She found the colors to be calming.

“You have a lovely office,” he commented, searching for something to say. She kept her face in its practiced neutral expression as she made note of his body language. He held his hands clasped in front of him. His posture was excellent but rigid, with his chin held a little higher than what she would consider to be normal.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “I like to keep the space organized. I find that it invites a clear mind.” She gestured to the soft blue couch with an open hand in invitation. “Have a seat,” she said as she settled into the short-backed chair on the other side of the coffee table, crossing her ankles gracefully. He sat, but only after she was sitting.

“Would you like anything before we begin?” Ingrid asked.

“No, thank you,” he said, settling in his seat. She flipped open a legal pad in a handsome leather portfolio.

“Your first name is Walter, yes?” she asked. He nodded. “Well, Walter, what do you do for a living?”

“Advertising,” he answered in an almost practiced way. She scratched a note on her pad.

“Ah, psychology’s evil twin,” she quipped. He smirked.

“I suppose so.”

“And what brings you in today?” This was the first hurdle. Sometimes a client wouldn’t be fully transparent and Ingrid would have to coax it out of them. Walter shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“I’m...I’m looking to reconnect with my wife,” he answered, his voice tense. She nodded in acknowledgment, taking another note. “I was told that you were the person to come to for this sort of thing.”

She smiled. “Well, marriage and family counseling is my specialty.” She pointed her pen at her degree on the wall. He remained stiff. Best to stay on topic, she decided. “Are you and your wife separated?” He nodded, thin lips pursed as though he was deciding what he would and wouldn’t tell her. “Divorced?”

“No.” His tone was final. She watched him closely, eyes betraying nothing but patience. He seemed to realize how rude he had sounded. “We never discussed it,” he amended. Her eyes darted to his ring finger, still adorned with a gold band carved with designs she couldn’t quite make out. He followed her gaze. “I never had the heart to take it off.”

“You sound a little embarrassed about that,” Ingrid observed. His knuckles turned white as he briefly clenched his fist.

“I’m not known for being particularly sentimental.”

Ingrid looked up from her notes and smiled softly. “Then you have made a very brave choice in coming here. It can be difficult to allow yourself to be vulnerable.” He chuckled and shook his head as though trying to shrug off the idea.

Ingrid let him linger a moment in the silence that followed before calling him back to the present. “How long have you been separated?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “About thirteen years.”

She raised her eyebrows and leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. “That’s a long time.” He nodded. “Were either of you victims of the Decimation?”

Walter nodded again slowly, keeping eye contact with her as though trying to make her understand his reasons without speaking them aloud. She would get to the bottom of it eventually, but if he did not wish to discuss it now, she certainly would not push it. The elimination of half the population had caused a significant amount of trauma for most people. The sudden loss of so many loved ones left many feeling alone and instilled a sense of fear and uncertainty that left them feeling hopeless. Some feared that a second Decimation would happen, and the lives that they had managed to piece together would be shattered once more.

It was a topic for another session.

“Have you spoken to her since then?”

“No,” he said, his voice quiet. “No, I haven’t.”

“I see.” She sat back again and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, the Decimation certainly has affected relationships, whether it’s torn them apart or prompted couples to get back together. That being said, thirteen years of separation changes the dynamic of a relationship. It may be...difficult for your marriage to recover.”

He frowned. “Are you saying you can’t help me?” There was an icy edge to his voice that unnerved her. Something had peeked through his carefully crafted fa ç ade. Rage, loss, desperation? It seemed to be all of those things at once and then none of them at all.

“Not at all,” she said after a pause that was longer than she meant it to be. “I only want you to be prepared if your wife does not wish to pursue reconciliation.”

He ran his fingers over his ring, staring out the window again. “Don’t say that, Doctor. I need her back.”

“I will do everything I can,” she assured him.

“Thank you,” he said, refocusing his eyes on her. She nodded.

“The Decimation was only six years ago,” Ingrid continued. “What happened to prompt such a lengthy separation before that?”

Walter considered her carefully before replying, watching her as keenly as she watched him. “There was a...family disagreement regarding an inheritance.”

“And this was enough for you to separate?” she asked curiously.

His jaw clenched and relaxed again as he shifted in his seat. “Yes,” he answered after a pause that was a mere moment too long. She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

Perhaps she could prompt him in the right direction. “Tell me about your family,” she said gently.

“I don’t see what they have to do with anything,” he hissed, a small snarl revealing itself under his sharp nose.

Though the severity of his reaction was slightly unusual, the sentiment was not. The connection between one’s upbringing and how they handled their personal relationships were inextricably linked, whether it was because the person wanted to be just like their parents, or the opposite of them, or simply because they mimicked what they observed and knew to be normal. More often than not, they were entirely unaware of the connection.

“Think of your psyche as a house.” Ingrid began. “If your childhood is your foundation, then everything built upon it is dependent on it. If the foundation is flawed, then the frame of your house might tilt. You might not even notice it at first, but sooner or later you’ll want to hang a picture and that picture will never quite hang straight.” He tilted his head and raised a brow in what appeared to be amusement. “We need to examine your foundation to see why your pictures aren’t hanging straight.”

He allowed himself a chuckle. “I don’t know if there are enough hours in a day to recount all of my family’s failings. Besides, I don’t think you’ve ever heard a story quite like mine.”

She sat forward. “Try me.”

He took in a deep breath and let it hiss loudly out between his lips. “It’s complicated.” She squinted quizzically at him. He huffed. “Why does this have to be so difficult?”

Ingrid closed her notebook and set it down. “The first session is always the hardest,” she said reassuringly. “Why don’t we take a break? I could personally use a cup of tea.” He sighed and nodded. She got up and went to the electric kettle she kept on the side table by the door and flicked the switch.

“I’ll take a black coffee,” Walter said from the couch. She set a bag of pomegranate tea in her mug to steep and poured him a cup of coffee. She held his drink out to him as she came back around to face him.

Walter’s hand reached out to take it from her. As he took the clean white ceramic mug, his fingers brushed against her skin. Surely an accident, but Ingrid found herself holding his gaze. Something familiar scratched at the back of her mind. Not quite déjà vu, but more like the hazy memory of a long-forgotten dream. But the harder she tried to dredge it to the surface, the further down it sank. A pain bloomed behind her eyes. She looked away and massaged her temple with her free hand.

She hoped it wouldn’t turn into an episode. The idea of getting a migraine during an appointment was mortifying.

“Is something the matter?” Walter inquired.

Ingrid shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of a headache. I’m sure some tea will clear it right up,” she assured him with a smile as she resumed her seat.

Walter sipped his coffee thoughtfully. His gaze did not leave her as he brought the mug to his lips. She found it slightly unnerving. The spot behind her eyes throbbed again. She set her mug down with a wince as she pressed her hand to her forehead firmly.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Walter asked, a slight tone of worry coloring his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted as the pain subsided again. “Sorry, that was so strange. Let’s continue, shall we? Tell me about your wife.”

He rubbed his thumb along the handle of the mug and sighed. “Gentle, kind most of the time, and beautiful of course.”

“Of course,” Ingrid agreed with a smile, though she wondered if perhaps he was seeing through lenses tinted with pretty memories. “What’s her name?”

Walter’s hands stilled. He set his cup down and steepled his fingers in consideration as he examined Ingrid from across the room. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

“Sigyn.” The name fell from his mouth with reverence, the syllables passing over his lips like an incantation. Longing draped itself over the word and Ingrid felt a pang of sympathy. His wife’s name was sacred to him even after so long being apart from her.

“Like the myth,” she remarked, pretending not to notice Walter’s initial hesitation. He sighed heavily, his eyes sliding away from her. “Have I upset you?” she asked with a practiced but sincere tone. Walter frowned but remained silent, running his fingers over his bottom lip in thought. “Walter?”

He glanced up at her again before getting to his feet and crossing the room to the window. Ingrid stood and followed him as he clasped his hands behind his back, reminding her of a ship’s captain surveying the deck below. She wasn’t alarmed by the behavior, having dealt with many couples trying to hash out issues and finding themselves pacing in an attempt to work off the nervous energy.

“Myths,” he muttered, studying the New York skyline. “That’s what we were reduced to.”

Her brow furrowed. We?

“Only they weren’t myths, were they? Thor is real. He’s out there making a spectacle of himself every chance he gets,” he said, spite cutting into his voice.

“Well, yes. I suppose that’s true,” she admitted. “A lot of things we thought were impossible have been proven possible over the past few years.”

He turned abruptly to look at her again, green eyes piercing her own in a way that made her suddenly feel like she was under a microscope. “More than possible, Doctor. Factual.”

She opened her mouth to agree but found herself mute at the sight of a golden shimmer passing over Walter’s body. She gasped and stumbled backward into her desk, knocking over a stack of paperwork. He stepped toward her as his suit was replaced by a black breastplate with gold inlay catching the light of the afternoon sun. A long green cape flared out behind him as he continued forward with a wicked smirk.

In his full regalia, the image of him finally placed itself in Ingrid’s memory.

“You-” she said breathlessly. “You’re Loki. You’re the one who attacked New York!” she exclaimed shakily, pressing herself farther against her desk.

His smile faded, replaced by a bewildered expression. “What?”

Panic ripped itself through her veins and she did the only thing she could think of. Ingrid opened her mouth to scream for help, but her cry was quickly muffled by Loki’s hand.

“Don’t,” he said in a low voice, keeping his hand clamped over her mouth.

She fumbled for something to defend herself with and blindly snatched a copy of the DSM-V, hitting him over the head with the heavy book, knocking his hand away. He grunted at the force of the strike but hardly seemed slowed by it. If anything, he looked annoyed. She made to punch him before he caught her hand, arresting her blow just as she was about to connect with his face. She tried again, only for him to repeat his defense and catch her other hand.

“Stop it!” he demanded, scowling down at her.

She stilled, trying to remember any negotiating tactics she could think of. Did the same rules apply to alien supervillains? “What do you want from me?” she asked, trying to match his scowl.

His grip slackened just a little. “I’m not--”

At that precise moment, the door came flying open and Lauren burst into the room. Ingrid wanted to shout to her to run, but then she saw the pistol trained on Loki’s chest.

“Why do you have a gun?!” was the only thing Ingrid could manage.

“Get down!” Lauren shouted back at her.

Ingrid felt herself being pushed away as Loki lept away and the first shot rang out. Ingrid screamed and took cover behind her desk, covering her ears in an attempt to block out the deafening noise of gunfire. She heard glass shatter and in a strange moment of confusion wondered how much replacing the windows was going to cost her. The gunfire stopped and Lauren swore.

Ingrid peeked out from behind her desk to see that the middle window was shattered. Her ears were ringing and her hip ached from where she had hit the floor, but she seemed to be otherwise unscathed. Loki was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes finally landed on Lauren, who was reloading her magazine.

“Lauren, what the hell-?” Ingrid said breathlessly, unable to articulate further.

“Dr. Hansen, are you hurt?” Lauren asked, her voice lower than Ingrid was used to hearing.

"No, I don't think so," she replied quickly.

"Good. I need you to come with me," Lauren said, barely letting Ingrid finish her sentence.

“But-”

“Now.” She grabbed Ingrid’s arm and pulled her out into the hallway and to the stairwell. Ingrid immediately regretted wearing heels that day and quickly pulled her shoes off, opting to carry them instead. Lauren urged her to hurry as she led a now barefoot Ingrid down the four flights of stairs to the ground floor parking garage.

“Where are we going?” Ingrid asked desperately.

“Getting you out of here,” she replied.

“But why? He’s not even here anymore,” the bewildered psychologist pointed out as Lauren pulled her to a shiny black sedan and ushered her into the passenger seat. “Hey!” Ingrid protested as the door slammed without a response from her receptionist.

“We don’t know that,” Lauren said as she hurriedly got into the driver’s seat and turned the key, peeling out of the parking garage as quickly as she could. She directed her phone assistant to call someone named Maria Hill. The robotic voice confirmed the call and the phone was answered before the first ring was finished.

“This is Hill,” said the steady, feminine voice on the other end of the line.

“Hill, this is Soren. We’ve had an incident,” Lauren said. Ingrid made a face.

“Soren?” she asked. Lauren just shook her head as a signal for her to be quiet.

“Who is that?” Hill asked, concern coloring her tone.

“One half of the incident,” was Lauren’s reply. “I have Dr. Hansen with me. She was confronted by Loki.”

There was a brief silence before a stern reply. “Get her here, now.”

“Already on it. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Good.”

The call ended and Ingrid looked at Lauren questioningly. “Am I being kidnapped?” Ingrid asked. Lauren smirked.

“No Dr. Hansen, you’re not being kidnapped,” she said in a flat tone that only vaguely revealed her amusement.

“Then do you want to explain just what the hell is going on?” Ingrid said, anxiety now dissolving into irritation as she slipped her shoes back on her feet. “Starting with your real name.”

“I can explain everything once we reach our rendezvous point, but I can tell you that my name is Soren and I am not a secretary.”

“Oh, well that explains everything,” Ingrid said sarcastically. “I want to know what’s going on, now, before I go anywhere with you.”

Soren stopped the car at a stoplight abruptly and Ingrid’s seatbelt constricted painfully across her chest. The younger woman turned to look at her with a face devoid of any amusement, her brown eyes narrowed. “Look Doctor, I know you’re scared and confused, but I have been ordered to keep you safe. We aren’t sure what Loki wants or why, but we’re going to figure it out. Right now, you just have to trust me, okay?” Ingrid swallowed and nodded. “Good.”

Soren hit the gas as the light turned green.

“Can I at least ask where we’re going?”

“Greenwich Village.”

The hour and a half it took to get to the grey nondescript building would have been a mere forty-five minutes if not for the New York traffic. Ingrid thought mundanely about how traffic in large cities was awful no matter where you went. They pulled into a parking structure that appeared to be largely abandoned.

“I know, it’s pretty austere looking,” Soren said. “We just want to make sure we aren’t somewhere where he might hear us.” Ingrid couldn’t stop the anxiety from creeping into her chest as they parked next to a black SUV. Soren got out and looked around before gesturing for Ingrid to follow. She obeyed and they climbed into the backseat of the second vehicle.

“Glad you made it,” a woman in the driver’s seat said to Soren as the two of them slid into their seats. The interior of the car was neat, with all the bells and whistles and then some. It smelled like new leather, though it must have seen frequent use given how much it must have cost.

“Me too,” said Soren. “Dr. Hansen, this is Maria Hill.”

Maria turned to look at her and offered her hand. Ingrid shook it.

“Don’t worry, Doctor. We’ll take care of you,” she said with a reassuring smile. Ingrid tried to smile back, but only managed a grimace.

“I appreciate it.”

A tall man with cool brown skin and a patch over his left eye turned to greet them from the passenger seat. Ingrid watched all three of them closely, her apprehension only growing as more people were introduced into the equation.

“Am I under arrest?” she finally asked.

“No, you’re not,” the man said, turning to look at her with his single eye. “Dr. Hansen, my name is Nicholas Fury,” he said, shaking her hand. “Just call me Fury. I heard you’ve had quite the afternoon.”

“You could say that,” she replied. He smiled, though she sensed he was only trying to put her at ease. She set her jaw. “Are you with the FBI or something?” she asked.

“They wish,” Soren said.

“We represent an extra-governmental intelligence agency that’s been keeping tabs on persons of interest,” Fury explained. The vagueness of his explanation did nothing to calm Ingrid’s nerves.

“And I’m a person of interest?” she asked. Fury nodded. “Why? I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know,” Fury assured her. “It isn’t that you’ve done anything wrong, Dr. Hansen. We’ve seen your records. Graduated NYU after coming here from England after a boating accident killed your parents and nearly killed you too.”

Ingrid’s eyes went wide and she pressed herself into her seat, watching him carefully. “H-how did you-?”

“Like I said, intelligence agency.” His voice was smooth and calm, though she could not help but detect the barest hint of a warning through his words. Her mouth felt dry. She tried not to show her alarm, but she was certain they could all feel it pulsing through the air between them.

“But why me?” Ingrid pressed.

Fury and Hill exchanged a look, communicating all they needed to without a word. They must have worked together for a long time.

“Your accident corresponded with an unusual atmospheric event,” Fury began as he turned back to face her. “We wanted to make sure it was a coincidence.”

“That was thirteen years ago,” Ingrid reminded him. “You’ve watched me for that long?”

“Yes, and it turns out it was a damn good thing we did,” Fury replied with an edge of irritation. “I know this is difficult for you to understand, but after the events of the past several years, we couldn’t take any chances. The fact of the matter is that in our line of work, there are no coincidences. We don’t know what Loki wants, but we know that he came to you for a reason. It’s our job to figure out why.”

An overwhelming sense of dread filled her gut. Ingrid looked down at her lap, nervously wringing her hands together. “How can I help?” she asked quietly, looking back up at them.

“Why don’t you explain what happened today?” Fury said as he adjusted his posture to get comfortable.

Ingrid took a deep breath and told them how she had had an appointment with a man named Walter Lawson, everything he had told her, and how he was acting somewhat strangely, but nothing terribly unusual until he revealed himself to be Loki.

“He didn't hurt me, but I don't know if that means he wouldn't have,” she said. “And then Lauren...I mean, Soren, burst into the room.”

Fury squinted at Soren with his one eye. “The alias you picked was Lauren?” he asked skeptically.

Soren shrugged. “Rhymes are easy to remember.”

Fury shook his head and returned his gaze to Ingrid. “Is that all that happened? Seems strange that he would come looking for therapy, as much as I'm sure he could use it.”

“I’m sure it was a ruse,” Soren offered.

Ingrid frowned in thought. “But, he seemed sincere.”

“He’s the god of lies, a master manipulator. He knows just what to say and how to say it to get his way,” Hill reminded her.

“Yes, well I’m a doctor of psychology,” Ingrid said stubbornly. “I know what manipulation looks like.”

The three of them exchanged a look. “This isn’t a judgment of your abilities, Doc,” Fury said. “Loki could sell you oceanfront property in the Sahara desert and you’d thank him for it. He’s been at this a long time. Longer than any of us have been alive or even hope to live. I very much doubt he was telling you the truth.” He raised his brows expectantly as Ingrid considered this. Her pride deflated slightly. He had a point.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said.

All three breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” Fury said. “You’re sure nothing else happened during your appointment?”

“Yes,” Ingrid said. “I did get a headache in the middle of the appointment, but that isn’t out of the ordinary.”

“Do you get headaches often?” Fury asked.

She nodded. “I’ve gotten migraines a couple of times a month at least since my accident,” Soren and Hill exchanged a look at the mention of the accident.

“My mother got migraines,” he said. “I don’t envy you.”

“I’ve got some memory loss too,” she added.

“Sounds like something you should have checked out,” Hill suggested.

“I have,” Ingrid said. “CAT scans couldn’t find anything wrong. I guess it’s just one of those things.”

Hill, Fury, and Soren exchanged a quick look. “Must be,” the man said, looking back at Ingrid. “Dr. Hansen, I know you’ve had a harrowing day, but I’m afraid it’s not quite over yet.” She felt her stomach tighten. What more did they want from her? She was exhausted and her headache had continued to persist since the confrontation, and she had the distinct feeling of grime on her skin from running through a parking garage barefoot. “We’re going to have to insist that you stay in protective custody until you’re in the clear.”

“What?!” she exclaimed indignantly. She felt like he had just told her she was grounded. “But what about my patients?” she asked in desperation. “I can’t just leave them without explanation.”

“We’ll get it sorted out with you. Soren has told us that your practice is your pride and joy,” Hill said.

“Where am I supposed to stay?” The logistics were sending her reeling. She wasn’t prepared to drop a small fortune on a hotel room.

“We’ll take care of it,” Fury assured her. “The most important thing is that you’re safe.”

“I appreciate everything you’re all doing for me, but I’ll be fine if I go home,” Ingrid insisted. All three sets of eyes looked at her incredulously.

“With all due respect, Dr. Hansen, I don’t think you understand what this man is capable of,” Hill said, watching her closely. “We’ve arranged for a place for you to say where I’m sure you’ll be safe.”

“And where on earth is that?” she asked, her irritation growing more apparent.

Fury smirked. “We’re going to visit another contact of ours.”

[ohemgeeitscoley]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (2/6)

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo (Reylo)

Note: Chapter count went up! As always, giant thank you to @andyouweremine​ @notababoonbrandishingastick​ and @storiesofimagination​ for all of the reading and cheerleading and handholding.

Read below or on AO3

Creepy Threepio agrees and Ben sends Rey a message to coordinate with her on getting Amilyn and Snoke in the elevator at the same time and when to meet Ben in the maintenance room in the basement of the building.

Everything goes completely and horribly wrong. Which really doesn’t surprise Ben, he knew that the plan was a long shot. But it does surprise him at just how wrong everything does go.

Rey is standing next to him, her jaw hanging open as she watches the disaster that is happening on the screen. Creepy Threepio looks overly thrilled by the scene in the elevator. Which with everything Ben has heard about him through the building grapevine, it also doesn’t surprise him.

To Rey’s credit, they did get Amilyn and Snoke in the same elevator. Everything went well for about ten seconds. Ben would give them that. For ten seconds their plan went absolutely wonderfully.

Then there was a flower delivery man that stepped into the elevator. Then Threepio stopped the elevator. Then Amilyn and Snoke fought and fought about what to do, cancelling and recalling the emergency button, arguing about who had cell service and just calling the fire department. 

All of which was, quite frankly, bad enough.

And that was before the delivery guy really started to panic about being stuck in an elevator and took his clothes off and stood naked in front of Amilyn and Snoke.

Obviously, the situation took many turns for the worse.

But then he started urinating. 

That’s what they are watching now. The aftermath of this man urinating in a small enclosed space with their bosses. Snoke is losing his shit, and if it wasn’t going to become Ben’s problem when those doors opened, he would find it a bit amusing to see him so out of sorts.

Amilyn handles it better than Snoke. She’s trying to comfort the man while shooting daggers at Snoke as she rambles on about stress incontinence and how it’s a perfectly normal thing.

“Open the doors, Threepio,” Rey orders, her face paling as she keeps looking at the monitor. “Open the fucking doors. We have to get them out of there.”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Ben says, holding his hands up when she looks over to him and glares. “I’m just saying.”

Rey doesn’t say anything else, just keeps her eyes on the screen, unable to tear her attention away from the trainwreck that is still occurring as Threepio takes his time to get the elevator up and running and the doors open.

Finally, the doors open and Ben watches as Amilyn and Snoke fight each other to get out of the elevator first, screaming at each other about their behavior.

“Yeah,” Ben sighs, watching as both Amilyn and Snoke walk off the screen. “Real good first meeting. I definitely think this is the meet up story they are going to tell at their wedding.”

Rey bites her bottom lip, one hand gripping the edge of the desk in front of her. “We’ll do better next time.”

“Next time?” Ben rolls his eyes. “Rey, there is not going to be a next time. Did you not just see what a fucking disaster that was? Someone peed in front of them.”

“Yes,” Rey answers, with a small nod. “That is what just happened. So, we can’t really do worse next time. We’ve got nowhere to go but up from here.”

Ben stares at Rey, trying to figure out how exactly she is taking what just occurred to be anything but a certifiable loss. “There is no way. I’m not doing this again.”

Rey turns her attention to Threepio, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for your help.”

“Thank you,” Threepio exclaims, a wide grin spread over his face. His eyes are crinkled at the corners. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever done.”

Rey gives a nervous chuckle before pointing down at the small plant she had brought for him. “Don’t forget to water this guy at least once a day. Okay?”

Ben follows Rey out of the room. They both look at the elevator for a second, before heading toward the doors for the staircase. 

“I’ll come up with another plan tonight,” Rey says as they start the walk up to their floors. “This was a rash plan. We need to pay more attention to the details and the variables.”

“Rey, I really don’t know.” Ben pulls his phone out of his pocket as it starts beeping. He holds his phone up for Rey to see. “Snoke is losing his mind. Today is going to be awful and we probably deserve that for trying to mess with our bosses’ love lives.”

“Don’t,” Rey started, before grimacing as her own phone started going off. “Don’t back out on this yet. One more shot. Just one more.”

Ben pauses at the landing between the floors, starting to read through the onslaught of messages from Snoke. One of them even suggests that he needs to find and fire the delivery guy. As if that is something in Ben’s power.

He isn’t sure what makes him agree. He isn’t planning on it. He is planning on telling her no. That this was fun, or, well, fun wasn’t really the right word for it. But it was something. A nice break to his usual days.

Her eyes are hopeful though as she whispers please and holds his gaze.

He’s going to tell her no. Absolutely no way in hell is he doing this again.

And yet, he says, “Okay. Fine. Just one more.”

***

“Ben,” Leia’s voice is demanding and clearly irritated over the phone. “You were supposed to be at the restaurant 45 minutes ago.”

“I know, Mom.” Ben sighs, spreading his legs out wider to stop anyone from trying to sit in the two seats next to him. “Snoke is running late. As soon as he gets here, I should have about two hours and I’ll head straight to the restaurant.”

“This is ridiculous.” Leia mutters. Ben can hear ice clink against her glass in the background. “I don’t know why you won’t just let me or Luke make a few calls so you can quit.”

“I don’t want to get into this again.” Ben runs his hand over his chin. “I want to get my jobs on my own. It’s important to me.”

“You’ve been saying that since you graduated,” Leia points out and Ben hates how he knows that she has a point. “How long are you going to put yourself through this? You're currently holding seats for someone that can’t even be bothered to be at his kid’s show on time. You work an impossible number of hours every week. Your pay is a joke. You haven’t made it home for dinner in months. There’s only about a ten percent chance I’m actually going to see you today, Ben. We both know it.”

Ben tilts his head back, briefly closing his eyes as Leia brings up with the same arguments she uses every time they have this conversation. Not that they aren’t good arguments. Everything she is saying is true. It just doesn’t change anything.

“You’re wasting your potential, Ben,” Leia adds at the end. Which is new. She hasn’t pulled that card before. “You could be doing so much more and you are just wasting it waiting for Snoke to open up doors for you that you don’t need him to open.”

Ben’s just about to respond when he hears Snoke’s voice in the auditorium. Ben sits up straight, turning his head to see him practically pushing people out of his way to make it to the front where Ben is waiting. 

“I’ve got to go, Mom,” Ben says, holding his free hand up for Snoke to see. “I love you.”

“Ben—”

Ben hangs up the phone.

***

Rey’s spread out across her bed. She has her cell phone upside down and left on the shelf by her door. It’s 2 am and she is decidedly not going to look at her phone again until at least 6 am when she is getting ready for work.

She pops another piece of popcorn in her mouth as she watches another video of a sports event. This time it’s a basketball game and she’s zoning out as she can hear the music change to some cheesy song about kisses and the video focuses on people sitting next to each other for the kiss cam.

Kiss cam.

It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. It’s so much better than the trapped in the elevator idea they had gone with the first time. 

Rey gets out of bed and grabs her phone. She’s about to text Ben her great idea when she hears Kaydel come in the front door. 

Rey sets her phone back down and looks over at the “Will you be my maid of honor?” sign that Rey had found on her bed this morning. She picks it up off her dresser and walks out to tell Kaydel yes.

She’s going to be the best maid of honor for her. She just needs this plan with Ben to work out to have the time for that to happen.

***

“Okay, we didn’t do so great last time,” Rey says, tapping her fingers against Ben’s desk as she talks. “But our luck is going to change. This plan is going to blow your mind.”

Ben smiles despite his best efforts not to. Her excitement is contagious. It’s quickly becoming one of Ben’s favorite things about Rey. The positive spin and twists she can put on most situations is so different from how Ben sees things. It’s nice to have around.

“We’ll see,” Ben teases.  “Are you going to tell me this great plan?”

“When I feel like I have your full attention.” Rey leans forward over his desk, to look at the list he is writing. “Lemons? Wire? Still working on this?”

Ben drops his pen on top of the list before rubbing his hand at the back of his neck. “Snoke’s kid needs the best science project for the science fair. Obviously.”

“Ah,” Rey says with understanding. “And you are doing… lemons to electricity? Very fancy. Definitely the best.”

“I hate my job.” Ben groans, shaking his head. “I’m twenty-eight, and I’m still an assistant. This is… not where I thought I’d be in life by now. Googling how to do a stupid middle school science fair project.”

“So, let’s make our jobs a little bit better by getting at least a slight increase in personal time added to our days.” Rey beams at him, pulling two tickets out of her jacket. “These are ours. I’m assuming you can get Snoke a seat at the next Yankees game?”

“Yeah.” Ben shoots her a curious look. “I can do that. What’s your plan exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

***

Ben’s been standing at the front of the Yankee Stadium for almost thirty minutes waiting for Rey to show up. The game is going to start soon and he hasn’t heard from her since she sent him a location pin of where to meet her before the game.

He’s just about to call her when he sees her running across the street toward him. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in her appearance. She is dressed in Yankee’s gear from head to toe. She looks absolutely ridiculous… and a little bit adorable.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” She asks, slowly moving her eyes up and down his body. 

Ben glances down at the suit he had on. He doesn’t see anything wrong with what he is wearing.

“A suit?” He responds, lifting one of his shoulders up in a small shrug. “I came straight from the office.”

“No one wears a suit to a Yankees game, Ben.” Rey rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling and shaking her head just enough that a piece of her hair falls into her face. 

Ben doesn’t think and lifts his hand up to brush the hair back and tuck it behind her ear.

“Thanks,” Rey blushes as Ben pulls his hand back from her face. She glances down away from Ben for a moment, but Ben is almost sure he sees her lips twitch up in a smile.

“You’re late,” Ben points out, trying to distract himself from the way his heart is beating faster when she looks back up at him and her cheeks are still slightly pink. They start walking toward the line to go through security. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Forever?” Rey scoffs. “You’re such a drama queen. I had to get supplies.” She waves the foam finger in her hand as an example. “I over dicked around.”

“You what?” Ben laughs.

“You know. I over dicked around.” Rey says the phrase again as if it is a common expression. “I got down here early to get everything set up with the kiss cam. And then I saw this cute shirt,” she points at the button up jersey shirt she is wearing. “Then I figured you’d need a foam finger to show your team spirit, which clearly I was right about, Mr. I-wear-a-suit-to-a-baseball-game.”

She pauses as they get closer to the front of the line, pulling the tickets out of her bag. 

“I lost track of time.” She continues, giving him an apologetic look. “I still can’t believe you are wearing a suit.”

“I didn’t realize there was a dress code for a baseball game.”

“Comfort,” Rey teases as she hands her tickets, before grabbing on to Ben’s hand and pulling him through the crowd. “You should be comfortable at a baseball game.”

“Maybe I find suits to be comfortable.”

“You’re so weird.” Rey says, letting go of his hand as the crowd around them thins. Without much thought, Ben reaches forward to grab onto her hand again. He pauses just before his fingers would brush against hers, remembering that he has no reason to hold Rey's hand. He just wants to. His hand falls back to his side as he follows Rey as she starts heading up the stairs to their seats. 

***

“You got everything set up?” Ben asks, tilting the popcorn bag that he had grabbed during the third inning toward Rey. 

Rey assumed when he left he needed a little bit of a break from the group of teenagers that had bombarded him with questions when they sat down. Rey introduced each of the kids to him, and she introduced Yoda, the sweet old man who ran the group home that the kids were placed in. 

“Yep,” Rey answers, throwing a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she smiles at Ben. “I think I can sort of see them?” She adds, squinting her eyes down toward where Snoke and Amilyn are sitting next to each other.

Ben had taken off his suit jacket and his tie after one of the teenage girls sitting next to them had joined Rey in making fun of him for looking so formal. He had also rolled his sleeves up to just below his elbow. Between that particular look and the way his hair softly moved with the gentle breeze, Rey is fairly distracted by how attractive she finds him.

“Me too,” Ben says. “They don’t look like they are yelling at each other.”

“Very promising.”

“It’s definitely a step up from the elevator incident,” Ben teases, bumping his shoulder against Rey’s. “I’ll give you that.”

“I told you we could do better,” Rey reminds him. “I have a good feeling about this.”

Rey watches the game, groaning when the umpire makes a bad call with the rest of the crowd. The atmosphere and sense of belonging in a crowd that came along with being at a live sporting event has always been one of Rey’s favorite feelings. She fell in love with it during her first minor league hockey game that she went to when she was 10. She loves watching the kids next to her fall in love with the same feeling.

“They aren’t even watching the game,” Rey complains, glancing over at Ben who seems into the game at least. “I know we set them up to come to the game, but with seats like that, I would be falling over myself.”

Ben looks off to the side for a few seconds before he responds. "I’ve had seats like that before," he says and he sounds almost ashamed to admit it to Rey. "I didn't appreciate them then."

"That's okay." Rey shoves her shoulder up against his, softly laughing. "I bet you will next time."

Ben looks like he is about to respond when Kiss Me starts to play over the speakers. Rey claps her hands excitedly before hitting one of her hands on Ben's knee.

"It's time!" Rey exclaims, her eyes glued on the jumbo screen, watching as the first couple gets picked out.

The first couple laughs before leaning across their seats for a brief kiss. The next pair does the same thing.

Rey loves watching the people blush, the quick glance to the other person making sure that this is okay, the shy smiles on their faces as they lean in for the kiss.

Her heart plummets to her stomach when she sees her face on the screen. 

This was not supposed to happen. She's going to kill Artoo. Rey clearly and explicitly explained to him that she needed the camera on Amilyn. She gave him the exact seat. 

Ben brushes his finger over her elbow. "Rey?" He asks.

Rey squints her eyes at Amilyn and Snoke's seats. They both seem entranced by their phones still. But Rey can't guarantee that they will remain focused on their phones and not on the giant screen with her and Ben's face.

They could get caught, Rey realizes, if the focus stays on them and Amilyn or Snoke look up from their phone.

They can't get caught.

So Rey turns her head, leaning closer toward Ben and kisses him.

He's surprised at first. At least Rey hopes the way Ben freezes against her at first is from surprise, but then he seems to melt into her, responding with passion she isn't expecting, one hand tilting her head to angle her better against his lips while the other brushes against the hair at the nape of her neck.

Objectively it's a good kiss. Ben's lips are soft and move against hers with ease. Rey's stomach swoops as Ben's mouth opens slightly. It would be easy to get lost in the way Ben kisses her.

There's wolf whistling and hollering coming from the kids around them when they pull away.

Rey stares at Ben for a moment after they separate. Her eyes are wide and there's a blush creeping up his neck and Rey hopes that her face isn't too red, but she can feel the heat on her cheeks.

She looks away, straightens her shoulders and sees the camera focus on Amilyn and Snoke. 

They are still lost in their phones and Rey lets out a sigh of relief because they missed the kiss. She's certain that they didn't see her and Ben. Their plan can still work. 

Rey focuses her attention on joining the crowd in cheering, trying to capture the attention of Amilyn and Snoke. It's a good distraction from the way her lips are still tingling from the kiss. From the way her thoughts want to drift away to imagine kissing Ben again.

Their bosses finally, finally, look up when the man behind them taps them on the shoulder. 

Amilyn looks up at the screen and then over at Snoke. She laughs before shaking her head and looking back at her phone.

Snoke doesn't seem to understand what is going on.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Rey joins the crowd in chanting, smiling as Ben joins in as well.

They don’t.

Rey joins the crowd in booing when the camera moves away from Snoke and Amilyn and onto another pair of people. 

“Fuck,” Rey mutters under her breath. She scrunches her nose up and turns her head to look at Ben. “Well, that’s two of my ideas that have completely failed. My bad luck at romance appears to be contagious.”

“We’ll come up with something,” Ben says, giving Rey a small smile. “Maybe I’ll come up with the next idea.”

“I don’t know Ben.” Rey shakes her head.  “Maybe you were right to begin with. This is crazy. I’ll just have to find a way to tell Kaydel that there’s no way I can guarantee being able to do all of the things she is going to want me to do as her maid of honor. Or tell Amilyn that I’m going to be slightly less available to her for the next few months. Neither of which are conversations I actually want to have, but I’m an adult and I can--”

“Rey,” Ben interrupts her, placing one of his hands on her knee. He points at the screen with his other hand. “They went back to Amilyn and Snoke.”

“What?” Rey asks, turning her attention to the screen. Sure enough, Amilyn and Snoke are the focus on the screen, a glittery pink heart framing their faces. 

The crowd is even louder this time chanting for them to kiss. The music changes to Kiss the Girl. It’s easy to get lost in the atmosphere.

Amilyn is blushing and Snoke still seems unsure of what to do as he keeps his eyes off the screen. Rey notices when he looks over at Amilyn though, as if he’s considering just going for it. 

Ben is chanting loudly next to her, clapping his hands together to accentuate the words. Rey giggles as she starts clapping in time with him. 

Amilyn bites her lip and leans over the armrest separating her seat from Snoke’s. Rey grabs onto Ben’s hand, shaking it in excitement as she watches Amilyn closes the distance between her and Snoke and…

And kisses him on the cheek.

Rey groans, letting go of Ben’s hand. “So close,” she says, tilting her head back. “So close.”

The crowd seems to be just as outraged as Rey feels, judging by the sounds that are echoing in the stadium.

“It’s progress?” Ben offers. “This is still going better than the elevator.”

Rey snorts. It’s strange to hear Ben being the positive one. She appreciates him trying, but she recognizes that he is only saying these things to try to make her feel better. Not because he actually believes that this plan is going to go anywhere. 

Rey’s not sure if her disappointment is just because this means she’s going to have to let her best friend down or risk her job… or if she’s going to miss having a reason to talk to Ben.

Rey sits up, watching as another couple kisses on the screen. 

“It’s basically the law that you kiss when the kiss cam is on you.” Rey complains, tossing her hands up in front of her face. “I’ve been to so many games Ben, so many, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone not kiss. This should have worked.”

“One last time, folks,” the announcer’s voice rings out across the stadium as the camera once again focuses on Amilyn and Snoke. “Why don’t you just kiss the girl?”

Amilyn rolls her eyes, but Rey catches the way her chest shakes slightly from laughing, the way her eyes crinkle at the sides in humor. 

The crowd is far too invested in this kiss happening, Rey decides, as she and Ben stand up and continue chanting for the kiss to happen.

And it does.

Finally, Snoke places his hand on the side of Amilyn’s face and they kiss.

Rey cheers, throwing her arms up in the air in victory. Ben grabs onto her waist and pulls her into his side. 

“We did it!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up from the ground.

Rey squeals, burying her head into the crook of his neck. She pulls back when he puts her back down, smiling widely up at him. “I told you I had a good feeling about this.”

Ben matches her grin, shaking his head. “Right,” he teases, the word almost inaudible as he laughs. “You had zero doubts this entire time.”

“Not a single one.” Rey drops her gaze to Ben’s lips, and she wants to kiss him again. To stand on her tiptoes and press her lips against his. She looks away, feeling the way her neck is heating up. Scratching at her neck, Rey sits back down and gives Ben one last, small smile. 

“Now what?” Ben asks, sitting down.

Rey keeps her eyes forward on the game that is just starting to resume. 

“Now… now we enjoy this small win,” Rey says after a few minutes, turning her head to look at Ben. He looks more relaxed in that moment than he has all day. “Then you get to come up with some ideas for phase two.”

***

The Yankees win. Amilyn and Snoke kissed. 

Rey kissed him.

For a plan Ben had been so hesitant to agree to, it has so far been working in his favor.

Rey tugs on his hand as they head out of the stadium. He likes the way Rey keeps grabbing his hand, holding it when they walk. He likes the way her hand fits in his. 

He’s starting to think that he might just like her. 

Rey is practically beaming with glee between the win and her plan working. She’s chattering at about a million miles a minute about the game and stats that he finds oddly impressive that she has memorized. He doesn’t know enough about baseball or the Yankees really to follow half of what she says, but her joy is contagious. 

Ben can’t remember the last time he smiled this much. 

Rey’s phone beeps and she drops his hand to reach for it. Ben’s phone goes off a few seconds later.

“Oh my god,” Rey whispers, stopping completely once they are just outside of the stadium. “It worked. Ben, it actually worked.”

Ben nods, rereading the message on his phone. “Snoke isn’t coming back into the office for the rest of the day.”

“Neither is Amilyn,” Rey grabs onto his hand again, slightly swinging their arms together. “I don’t have to go back into the office.”

“Neither do I.”

Ben is a bit amazed that this actually worked. That somehow Amilyn and Snoke were off together and because of it he and Rey both are now free for the rest of the day.

“So what are you going to do with all of this free time?” Ben asks as they make their way toward the subway.

“I was thinking…” Rey’s sentence trails off and she bites at her bottom lip. She looks nervous. “I was thinking maybe we could go get drinks? Or dinner? You know, to celebrate the win?”

“Yeah,” Ben quickly responds before Rey is fully finished talking. “I would love to do that. Maybe I could even convince you to help me come up with some ideas for phase two?”

“Absolutely not,” Rey shakes her head. “But you can try.”

***

“Do you think we’ll even need a phase two?” Ben asks, taking a drink from the beer bottle in his hand. “I mean, maybe we should just let nature take over from her?”

“Nature?” Rey sputters, staring at Ben as if he’s grown two heads. “Ben, we need this relationship to work out for at least the next 3 months. It took two well thought out plans to get them to this point, and you think nature can just take over from here?”

“Well thought out plans?” Ben mocks. “That is one way of describing your plans I’m sure.”

“Hey,” Rey swats at his hand, laughing as he pulls it away from her. “My plans ended up working so no complaining about them. Besides, we’ve been here for,” Rey glances down at her phone, “almost two hours, and you have provided zero plans for phase two.”

“That’s because I’m still not convinced that we need a phase two.”

“We need a phase two,” Rey states as if her opinion is fact. Because it absolutely is what they need and Ben just needs to get on the same page. “So you better start thinking of one.”

Rey finishes her drink, running a finger across the rim of the glass. “I told Kaydel I’d meet her soon.”

Ben nods, finishing his beer. “This was nice.”

Nice might be an understatement.  Even if they still don’t have a plan for what they are going to do about Snoke and Amilyn next… just talking with Ben had been great.

She knows more about him now, about his past, and his family. The reasons why he won’t let his family help him out. It’s hard for Rey to imagine having a family that wants to help and turning them away. But she can sort of see where he is coming from, it’s an almost foreign concept to her.

Getting to know Ben is nice. Talking to Ben is nice. Hearing him laugh and smile and watching the way his eyes lit up when he gets excited is more than nice. It’s doing nothing to stop her growing desire to kiss him again.

She probably needs to figure out what she is going to do about that problem later.

“It was,” Rey agrees, watching as Ben smiles. She wonders if he has any idea just how gorgeous he looks when he smiles. She wishes she was just a little more brave, or a little more drunk, to tell him. “Even if you have presented no plans. Or apparently even thought about a plan more than coming up with a bad argument about how we don’t need a plan.”

“I’ll come up with a plan,” Ben laughs when Rey narrows her eyes in disbelief. “Have some faith in me.”

“Okay,” Rey concedes, grabbing her phone from the table before standing up. “But just some.”

“Have fun with Kaydel,” Ben says, standing as well. “Enjoy your time with her.”

“I will.” Rey pausing, glancing away from Ben for a moment, debating her next move. Ben’s arms are around her before she has much time to consider anything, pulling her into a hug.

Rey grins as she wraps her arms around him. She lingers when he pulls away, stretching up to press her lips against his cheek. 

“Good night, Ben.” Her voice is light and soft as she takes a step back. “I expect at least three options tomorrow morning.”

Rey can still hear him laughing when she exits the bar.

***

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kaydel starts, waving her hands around. Rey grabs onto Kaydel’s arm, pulling her away from a larger crack in the sidewalk. “You and the guy who you said was a—and I am quoting—‘giant fucking asshole’ kissed today?”

Rey rolls her eyes. That would be the part of the story Kaydel would focus on. “We were on the kiss cam.” Rey says as if it’s a complete and full explanation. “And Ben isn’t an asshole. I mean, okay, he can be an asshole. But he isn’t always an asshole. He can actually be kind of… sweet sometimes?”

“Oh my god,” Kaydel grins, clapping her hands together excitedly. Kaydel always talks with her entire body, but it’s more pronounced and with larger movements when she has been drinking. “You like him.”

Rey sighs, pressing the button for the crosswalk. “That’s rather irrelevant,” Rey says as they start crossing the street. “I don’t even know if it’s true. Can’t we just focus on the fact that I got off work at a reasonable time today and that I came up with this evil genius plan to make sure I have time to perform my maid of honor duties?”

“Absolutely not.” Kaydel rolls her eyes. “We are one hundred precent focusing on the fact that you kissed a hot guy and that you can’t stop blushing every time you mention him.”

“I’ve been, I’ve been drinking,” Rey tries to come up for another explanation for her blushing. Because she is blushing. She knows that she can’t stop blushing whenever she thinks about Ben and it’s a little ridiculous. She feels like a schoolgirl with her first crush. “My face always gets a little bit red when I’ve been drinking.”

Kaydel stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Rey almost runs into her at the same time that Kaydel turns around. Kaydel’s eyes are narrow and pointed, but there’s no heat in the glare that she is giving Rey. Kaydel places her hands on Rey’s shoulders and stares at Rey for a few moments before she finally says, “You’re an absolute idiot.”

“Real nice, Kay,” Rey complains. “I’m really feeling bathed in your love right now.”

“You should always feel bathed in love when you are around me.” Kaydel sways slightly, increasing the weight pressing down on Rey’s shoulders. “But that doesn’t make you any less of an idiot.”

Rey huffs, blowing a stray piece of her hair out of her eyes. “Why don’t we just go home? You can tell me more about what an idiot I am while we drink some water.”

Kaydel shrugs, turning around and looping her arm through Rey’s as she starts walking again. “I’ve got nothing else besides you’re an idiot. But maybe you can tell me more about this plan and more about Ben. I think I’ll like him.”

***

“Princess?” Han yells from the front door. He is leaning against the open door and the smug smile on his face is maddening. It only grows the longer Ben just stares at him. “Our son is here.”

“What?” Ben can hear Leia ask from in the house. He can practically see her shocked face with the surprise he can hear in her voice. He hates that showing up unannounced is such a rare thing that he deserves this kind of reaction from his parents.

“Are you busy?” Ben asks, stepping forward to go into the house. Han moves just enough for Ben to squeeze by him. “I can always leave if you guys had plans.”

Leia walks toward him and slightly smacks his arm before wrapping her arms around him.

“I was just about to kick your dad’s ass at cards,” Leia says, pulling back. “You can help.”

Han pats Ben on the back as he walks toward the family room.

“Do you need money?” Leia questions, her eyes narrowing as they all sat down. “Are you finally going to let us help you?”

“No, Mom.” Ben tries to keep the irritation out of his voice, but he knows he isn’t very successful with the look Leia is giving him. “I don’t need money. I’m doing just fine. And my job is getting better. As I assumed you could tell, since I’m here visiting you.”

Leia purses her lips giving an almost imperceptible shake to her head. “One day of getting off at a reasonable time does not make the situation any better Ben. Especially when it’s a situation that you don’t even have to be in.”

“How’d you end up getting off so early anyway?” Han asks, giving Leia a look that Ben knows is him telling her to stop pushing. He shuffles the cards in his lap. “I don’t think that in the entire time you’ve been there you’ve gotten off before 10 without a lot of prearrangement.”

“I got off at 6.” Ben is a little too proud in the way he says it, as if getting off at a reasonable time is some kind of accomplishment Leia is going to want to hang on the wall. “So I’d say things are going much better.”

“Off at 6?” Han starts dealing out the cards. “And what did you do for the first few hours of your freedom?”

“I, uh, I went out for drinks with a…” Ben pauses, pretends that he is looking at his cards and contemplating his move. Maybe he should have just gone home and hung out with Poe. Poe was less likely than his parents to ask questions. Most of the time. “A friend. I went out for drinks with a friend.”

“A friend?” Leia repeats, her tone far too knowing. “Does this friend have a name? Do we know him?”

“Her,” Ben corrects, rolling his eyes at Leia’s inability to be subtle. “And her name is Rey. You don’t know her.”

“How did you two meet?” Leia places two cards face down in front of her without appearing to glance at them as she keeps her eyes on Ben.

Ben keeps his eyes on his cards, debating the best way to phrase the way he and Rey had met. He doesn’t quite think his mom will be too thrilled with the truth. That he had pretty much stolen Rey’s food delivery and then asked for her to pay him back with interest the next day.

Even he was aware that he was kind of an asshole in that story.

Somehow explaining that she’s an assistant in the same building as him who came up with an idea to set their bosses up so that they can have more free time doesn’t seem much better.

He decides on somewhere in the middle.

“She’s an assistant who works in the same building. We met when we both were trying to get dinner for our bosses late one night.” 

“Uh huh,” Leia hums and Ben hates that Leia just knows that there is more to the story than he is telling. It’s always frustrated him the way Leia can pinpoint every time he tries holding something back from her. “And you two are bonding over work?”

Ben glances at Han, trying to signal for him to jump in and change the subject. Han just smirks and shakes his head. 

Not that Ben can blame him.

“Poe is really excited about your birthday party,” Ben says instead of answering the question, trying to change the subject on his own. “Thanks for sending him an invite directly. Instead of just having him tag along with me.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure that he knew he was welcome whether or not you could make it,” Leia tilts her head to the side. “With your schedule it’s not that it’s a guarantee that you’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there,” Ben sighs. “I promise I will be there.”

“Good,” Leia grins. “And you should bring Rey. If you’d like. We always love meeting your friends.”

“Always,” Han adds, tossing a card onto the table. “I’m sure it would make your mom’s birthday to meet your new friend.”

“You both know that I’m 28 years old right?” Ben asks, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “And that there is no way I’m going to bring Rey, who I’ve known for less than two weeks, to Mom’s birthday lunch. I would consider telling Poe he isn’t allowed to come, but I’m pretty sure you’ve both run through all of my embarrassing stories with him already.”

“I’m sure I could come up with a few more,” Leia teases. ‘And this is exactly why I sent Poe his own invite.”

Ben runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just play cards? Go back to you giving me shit about my job?”

“Sure kid,” Han agrees. “But we really are looking forward to hearing more about Rey.”

***

 “Okay, what about this spot?” Rey asks, turning her phone toward Kaydel so she can see the picture she has pulled up. It’s a gorgeous winery just outside of the city. The pictures show the grassy hills, with the perfectly planted flowers, and there is a little stage that could be used for a DJ or a band. 

Kaydel crinkles her nose and shakes her head. “It’s too far away. I don’t want to have to leave the city for my engagement party.”

Rey nods, pulling her phone back and resumes scrolling through the different results of different venue ideas. “Well, what have you found over there?”

“This place looks nice,” Kaydel hands her phone over. “The rooftop is definitely a good size, and it has a bar already set up. I think this might be the place. And they have availability on most of the nights Rose isn’t scheduled to be on call at the hospital.”

Rey looks through the pictures. It’s perfect. 

“I say book it then.” Rey gives the phone back to Kaydel. “And let me know what night you guys end up picking so I can make sure I can coordinate to have it off.”

“Maybe you’ll bring Ben,” Kaydel teases, rolling over onto her side on the couch. “I think I’d like to meet him.”

“Maybe I’ll bring one of the guys from that new dating app you signed me up for.” Rey shakes her phone in the air. 

“Sure, you could do that.” Kaydel’s face is inquisitive as she continues. “Have you had any good matches?”

“No.” Rey sighs, tossing her phone onto her lap. “I have had zero good matches. I’m starting to think there’s no hope for me. I’ve looked through hundreds of matches, and just, nothing?”

Rey decidedly does not mention that part of the problem is that she has been comparing every match to Ben. It’s not a fair comparison. Not everyone can be tall and handsome and have annoyingly nice hair. 

And it’s hard to get an idea if someone is insufferable in an endearing way in the few sentences that are posted in the bios she reads. 

The truth is that it’s hard to get any sense of who a person is on a dating profile and it’s one of the main reasons Rey is pretty sure she is never going to have luck finding a date on one.

“So ask Ben,” Kaydel says as if it’s the most logical decision. “I’d like to meet the guy that’s helping make sure my best friend gets to attend all of the important things for my wedding. And he makes you smile, Rey. You should invite him.”

“Maybe,” Rey concedes, biting down on her bottom lip as she stands. “I’ll think about it. But it’s late and I’m going to bed. I love you, good night.”

Rey tries not to think too much about how Kaydel might have a point as she gets into bed. Ben does make her smile. A lot. He also makes her laugh. And, yeah, he can be a little infuriating sometimes, but if she’s being honest, she kind of likes that about him. There was also the kiss at the game. 

It was a good kiss. 

One Rey doesn’t mind thinking about while she falls asleep.

[the-canary]

Return to Sender - B.B (8/10)

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes loves Dolores Lewis. At least, that’s how history makes it out to be. (1940′s!Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 

A/N: -laughs in pain-

Please enjoy and feedback is always welcomed.

New York City -- 2016

Samantha never once lets go of her little side project in life -- not once she gets married, not once she had her little boy. However, it’s hard work and as more of the lifelines that are connected to her grandmother pass away, she finds it more difficult to find anything related to the woman. The letters that she had gathered end up sitting in the back of her little brownstone, as they gather dust once more. She knows a name and a last name to the woman that her own mother had tried to forget, but that name -- the name Angie found all those years ago still haunts her -- like a person that half existed but wasn’t meant for the world -- not for as long as her grandmother had been.

Samantha is about to give up and let this mystery rest when she gets a letter from a distant cousin that they didn’t talk about for the preservation of another marriage, one she had never heard of before but it all seems to check out once she asks Angie. There is a crumpled and yellowing piece of paper hidden within it, along with a simple post-it note.

I think this is the thing you might be looking for. Good luck, cousin. -- Catherine Howard.

Sammy tries her hardest not to cry at the revelation, tries even harder not to cry in the aftermath of reading the letter. Later on, when she and her little family see the Avengers tearing each other apart in the footage over the Accords and things she will probably never understand, Sam gets up and does even more research than ever before. She looks up anything related to the two names engraved in her mind now, she makes calls and tries to get details of records and people that have been lost to time.

She tries her hardest for her grandmother, a name long forgotten, and the name --who had probably known more suffering than she has ever experienced-- written with love within the letter.

You deserve the world and the stars, James. I hope you always remember that.

Samantha can’t help but think so as well.

 Tuberculosis.

That is the diagnosis that they give you, a death sentence pretty much from the start that you can’t help but laugh a little because it’s all your fears come to fruition. Candice can’t stop crying, even more so when the doctors tell her that they could send you away for some low cost treatment in a facility called Stony Wold --  for the first time since you can remember, Candice isn’t going to be by your side. It scares you and it crushes her even more. However, you don’t have much of a say in the process that follows. At this point, you’re a simple infection that needs to be handled and gotten rid of.

Candice doesn’t stop crying, as you hand all the letters that she hadn’t noticed you had written for a certain someone, but never sent. You make her promise that she’ll never send them either.

Fate is cruel, and you are now certain that Bucky Barnes will never need you in this life again.

But, you keep writing -- to Candice, to Henry, sometimes even to Bucky. Sometimes, you think that the pen and paper in your grasp are the only things keeping you alive.

“How are you doing today, my dear?” you turn up to look from your letter writing to see the owner of the hospital --Mrs. Newcomb-- giving you a soft smile, as she wraps her hand around yours. In the short time, you had been here you found yourself becoming some sort of friends with the elderly woman, as you talked about anything that came to your mind when she was around -- you told her about Candy, Henry, and even Bucky.

And to be truthful, her own recovery from the disease made you a bit hopeful that you could recover in some way as well.

“Good,” is all you manage to say for today, as she gives you a hearty smile. It’s then you seen the strange man standing at the entrance of the room you share with 10 other women. The man is tall with blond hair with glasses while dressed in a three-piece blue suit, which you wonder how he can afford it in this climate. It sets a deep worry within you, as Mrs. Newcomb sees who you are starting at.

“Aw, you already saw Dr. Trudeau,” the elderly woman smiles, as she motions for the man to come in. He has a serious look on his face, as she begins to explain,”We actually wanted to talk to you about being part of a group experiment for a new cure -- the thing that cured me actually.”

You perk up at sound of that, as you look at both of these two people that are supposed to be looking after your health, but at that single declaration you are ready to do anything to get better -- and maybe, Mrs. Newcomb knew that. You don’t really think about it when you agree to the whole deal -- if only you had know better.

It’s needles and prodding until you are too weak to move, until all you are doing is sleeping the day away. However, you notice it -- people that have been here both longer and shorter time than you pass away without a word being said. Yet, you’re still alive -- if you could really call it that. Dr. Trudeau is so proud of himself, though you don’t see Mrs. Newcomb anymore after that first initial talk. You’re sick and alone -- just like you always thought you would be in the end. Anything that comes after that you don’t really care anymore.

You don’t know how many days or months (in actuality it's been years) have passed to the point that you are too weak to send Candice anymore letters, but you keep writing and writing --  

The good doctor tells you the time has arrived, but you don’t understand and even then you are too weak at this point to fight back.

It’s 1944, when it finally happens.

The needle is inserted into your arm, as your breathing starts picking up only to slow down as your heart starts to rush at the medicine entering your body. Your vision starts to get hazy, as the sounds of the screaming nurse becomes static to your ears, though for a moment you swear you see Dr. Trudeau smiling -- as if joyful over something, but there is nothing you can say as that cotton ball feeling starts to fill up your throat.

The next evening, Candice gets the news -- her best friend had died in her sleep the morning before. She had taken a quick nap and never woke up -- dreaming about a soldier she never got to see again.

Candice lives with a broken heart for the rest of her life.

 James Buchanan Barnes tries one last time, one last time to see the gal of his dreams after Steve pushes him to take that final step because the younger man knows from personal experience what happens to those with a certain disease -- know that if it’s her, James will never see her again.

Thus, Bucky Barnes takes the subway into Manhattan dressed in his military uniform, nervous and sweating about the thought of seeing her again. However, instead of seeing the bustling boarding house that she used to describe, he is meet with complete emptiness as everything is boarded up with a large sign reading: CLOSED .   

Nobody is there to welcome him, as he takes off his military cap and runs a hand through his hair in frustration -- to keep the tears and emotions at bay before heading back to Brooklyn.

Steve never hears the end result of Bucky’s trip to Manhattan, but he knows deep down what it was -- how this was going to end in the long run, but neither of them bring it up again as Bucky gets ready to leave.  

The rest is left to history, as Bucky Barnes enters the war effort only to be lost and found by his dear friend, Steve Rogers. The man keeps pushing forward until his own demise in early 1945 -- a name better left forgotten than forever mourning the loss of what never happened, it was easier for Bucky that way. Letters were burned and lost on both sides with what little was left being saved by a friend who couldn’t bare either of these precious people --especially her own best friend-- being lost to the rest of the world.

Until a letter was found by chance, everything was just a matter of time and patience.

Because fate is cruel that way, especially when it comes to love, but sometimes it’s just a wait -- a very long wait.

As neither you nor James Buchanan Barnes make it out of the 1940′s alive.

Part 9 

[riku-azhurlar]

the true depth of stagnation and taking what you can get

So, first and foremost why I’m posting this here i don’t know. maybe its due too the fact no one except a few people know i have this. but maybe it'll help someone else before they end up like i was not to long ago. forewarning it will be a loooooong read so be prepared.

context

so before my realization of all this imagine me, 20, almost 21 finally get a girlfriend. never had one, girlfriend had some serious health problems and allergies. i at the time took it because i couldn't seem to get a girl otherwise and either it worked out or it didn’t and i got some dating skills for the next girl and we were friends since my junior year of HS. so i thought it waould be fine. so through the time i spent with her i grew to love her and it was the greatest time of my life! I at some point disclosed my mental problems to her because all of them are "silent" ones where if the person didn’t tell you you’d probably never notice. i started changing my habits and diet to better support her allergies. things were great!

when it all fell through...

so fast-forward a while we are engaged by this point and were talking wedding stuff with her mother. now as a quick side note no one in her house apposes anything her mother says, no one has a spine to do so. but then her mother made the mistake of insulting mine. i snapped at her. she got pissy holding my fiance and the insane amount of money she was putting into the wedding hostage for me to apologize to her. even though she was in the wrong! so i sucked up my pride for the girl i loved and who i thought loved me and apologized to her mother with a part saying very nicely and i quote "i would kindly appreciate it if you don't insult my mother again. you have no idea what she goes through on a daily basis" she agreed and that was that.

a few days later me and her had a D&D session with my room mates and somethings felt off. a few days later i was getting off work and saw i had a voice mail from her. i tried listening to it and it just sounded like her crying and then hanging up. i thought her mother did something. made sense. so i tried texting her because it was late and i didn't want to wake up my roommates. no response. tried texting her again the next day because i knew she was at her student teaching so she couldn't answer a phone call. i went into work worried sick for her. fast forward a few hours and I'm on my lunch break watching something on my phone, only had about 10 mins left, and i get a call from her i was so happy to finally hear from her so i quickly accept the call "Hey fiances name! i don't have much time left before i have to head back to work. whats up?"

the second she began to speak i knew i was in for something but i never expected it. through her obviously crying voice "my name i want to call off the engagement." my heart shattered. i asked her why and begged for her not too, begged for answers. what she gave me? "because of your mental problems its shown through recently you cant be supportive of me and i need a partner who can support me" i had a feeling her mother had a play in it so i asked if she did, she claimed she didn't but either way at that point i didn't know what else to say so i said "I'm sorry for being such a bother to you" and hung up. i stormed into the office trying to hold in my tears. what hurt even more is she didn't even let me tell my own mother! i immediately called my mother and she answered immediately with a "what the hell happened?!" in a good way. "i just got a text from ex-fiances name saying the engagements canceled" after explaining everything to the manager on duty she let me go early and i went home and cried. later that night i went to a close friend to help get my mind off of it.

The aftermath

so during the next week i had a lot of time to think. i gave up so much to support her and yet she couldn't be the support for me. first thing i wish i noticed sooner. and she had always said that i needed to find a better job. i worked retail at a Walgreen’s and loved it, but I’m like nah its fine it pays bills and i love going into work every day so whats the big deal? but i had realized i was just to content with my current state and wasn’t moving forward.

using the feeling and realization of this i applied and I got a better job somewhere else. moving forward with my life. whether it be just to help get my mind off of it, a subliminal goal to see what she left behind. but at around this time i remembered when we started dating my mindset then. i sent one last text to her "I didn't want to do this but i cant talk to you after everything, the person i thought finally got me and didn't judge me based on my mental issues but you obviously did just like everyone else. so after i send this text I’m blacklisting you and your mothers numbers and unfriending you both on fb maybe in 6 months a year maybe never who knows we can go back to being friends but if you ever think its that time im not blocking you on Facebook so you can message me there if you ever want to try to establish contact, if im ready for it I’ll respond. this is good bye."

what I’ve learned

If the mom is crazy controlling avoid her.

anyone can show a side of them that you’d never expect at any moment

don't stay stagnant always try and better yourself. small steps, be person that will make them regret their decision to leave you.

don use this method to get them back. if they do it once they will do it again.

use the pain as a catalyst

make sure if you're like me and have some mental problems taht are more "high functioning" you are 200% sure that they will not judge you based off of it if you tell them. let them get to know you without them before you let them know you with it

don't let the pain of the past hold you from the future you pursue. in time the pain will die off.

don't pretend the scars are not there because ignoring your past is the worst thing you can do. accept it and it will work a lot better

if people don’t accept you for the wonderful human being you are the do not deserve to be in your life

even the darkest hour can bring forth a brighter day just keep pushing foreword towards it.

[prorevenge]

Don't f*ck with IT, we run the world.

long story. tl:dr at the end.

All names and locations changed. About 10 years ago, on Neptune, I was working in my first software development job out of university. We made websites, promotional material, and supplied equipment for conferences and trade shows. So if a company wanted a booth at some event, we would produce everything and support them for the duration of the event. This is where I came across Maleficent. She was in charge of the marketing department of a company on nearby Pluto, and they hired us for a convention they were attending. I produced the website for them, which consisted of some pictures/videos of their latest product with a few paragraphs of text. Also some links to their social media, a sign up form etc., pretty basic stuff. It's important to note here that I never met Maleficent in person during this time, just talked to her once on the phone, the rest via email. She mainly dealt with our project manager, a lovely woman called Credenza, who made sure all the different parts worked together.

Part 1: The f*ck up.

Everything was going fine, I'd produced their website and was just waiting for Maleficent to send some images and videos of their product to replace the placeholders I had been using in the meantime. This was a Tuesday, the event was the following Monday. I emailed Maleficent asking when I could expect the files and got no reply. Still no reply Wednesday, so Thursday I asked Credenza to chase it up. She stopped by my desk a short after, a bit flustered. She'd just spoken to Maleficent, who had angrily claimed that she had sent them the previous week and had emailed me - she blamed Credenza and me for being incompetent. I could find it nowhere in my inbox/junk folder, so as far as I was concerned she was lying or had sent it to the wrong email. Credenza contacted her again, confirmed my email address, and asked her to send them again. She shouted at Credenza some more but eventually sent the files, but not until the last moment on Friday afternoon as I was getting ready to leave for the weekend. B*tch. I had to run that evening, but I promised Credenza I would log on Saturday morning and copy the files to the website and everything would be ready for Monday. Saturday morning and the video files didn't work. I don't remember the details exactly, but the files were made using some kind of proprietary codec that I just couldn't convert to something usable on their website. Long story, marginally less long, I spent Saturday praying to gods I didn't believe in for a miracle that wouldn't happen while trying to get in contact with Maleficent. Eventually on Sunday she replied back and I slowly walked her through the process of using another video format - she was using some crappy pirated software I'd never heard of to produce the videos. When she finally sent it, it still was wrong, but at least it was in a format I could read and convert myself. It all worked out in the end, the website was ready by Sunday evening and the convention went well.

Part 2: Trying to get me fired.

Following the convention, Maleficent was furious. She again accused us of incompetence and me personally for f*cking up her weekend (what about my weekend?!). I fired back at what a pain in the ass Maleficent had been (the guys who met her at the event said she was no easier in person) and how I'd done everything I could, but Maleficent denied everything and questioned how I was still in a job. This made Credenza look bad and her and her bosses (none of them tech savvy) didn't understand what I was talking about with 'wrong codecs' and file formats - it probably sounded like I was just trying to cover my ass after the fact. Plus, when it comes to money, the customer is always right. So it ended up becoming a sort of "let's just agree that we all made mistakes" thing, but it was clear that all fingers were pointing at me. Consequently I didn't get a pay rise I had been in line to get (meaning I couldn't move out from my parents’ house, which was killing me) and was put on probation for 6 months, though I left for another job on Vulcan after 2.

Part 3: Revenge is dish best served with béarnaise sauce and Sauvignon blanc.

About 6 Earth years later, I joined a company that sold women’s boots, all shapes, colours (that's how we spell it on Vulcan) and sizes. They had their own IT department that produced their websites and other internal systems. Little did I know that Maleficent had also moved to this company at some point, again in the marketing department, which was downstairs from me. There was a promotional event soon where our company was giving away goody bags with some freebies to anyone who signed up. The bags themselves were some high quality laminated things that were being specially printed up with our company's branding, plus a QR code. The QR code would take you to a special page on our website with discounts. I met with Maleficent (who clearly didn't remember me from before) and talked about the special page I was to produce for the website. She was a pain in the ass again. She was never available (she would take an hour and half lunch every day, and reclaim it on expenses) and when I did meet with her, she changed the requirements constantly, "Can you just change that bit? Never mind, put it back. Oh, actually could you put this shitty animation at the top of the page, no that's a terrible idea, why would you suggest that?" etc. Also, sitting with her, I witnessed how belittling she was to everyone in her team and would gossip about anybody if they weren't there at that moment. Obviously all the while remembering our previous encounter where she had all but got me fired. I thought about calling her out on this, but it would have achieved nothing and I had only just started working at this company a few weeks ago, I didn't want to make waves. So, I persevered and eventually my web page was done and I gave her the URL to send to the bag makers for printing the QR code. But she screwed up. I was copied into an email chain with her sending off the URL to the bag makers and she had done it wrong. The URL was something like "http://www.ourwebsite/offer" but she had sent "htttp://" instead. I double checked what I had sent her and mine was correct, she had obviously typed it out rather than using copy/paste. We were ordering 1000 of these bags from the printers and they were £1.15 each (I mean, 1.15 space credits). Then I noticed way down in the email chain, she had copied her password for the bag website: it was "password" - yes, these oxygen thieves exist by the millions. I logged in with her details (from outside work, with a proxy, just in case) and could see she had indeed ordered 1000 of the bags with the wrong URL for the QR code. I quickly added an extra zero to the quantity and also pushed the requested delivery date back to a day before they were needed. I wanted to change the URL to some porn website, but that wouldn’t match what she had sent in the email, and I wanted her to be unable to escape blame.

Part 4: The aftermath.

Honestly, I thought nothing would actually happen. I assumed the bag company would spot the URL mistake and just fix it. I assumed someone would notice the tenfold quantity increase and delivery date change. But as they say, when you make an assumption you make ass out of you and umption, because none of these things happened. The bags arrived at the last minute and the URL didn't work. Maleficent stormed upstairs and asked why our team had f*cked up and demanding we put it right. I acted innocent, did some trouble shooting, and explained to her the URL had an extra 'T' in it. "Fine, change the URL on our website" - nope, the "http" bit is out of our control I'm afraid, it must be the bag company's fault. But wait, what's this? Your email to them with the wrong URL? This doesn't look good for you. Meanwhile someone comes up stairs and asks "Weren't we only getting 1000 bags? There seems to be a lot more..." Maleficent rushed downstairs to sort out this fresh hell that was rising around her as a warm glow welled up from inside me. I actually never saw her again, I had to travel to one of our other offices that afternoon, but a friend filled me in later. With not enough time to sort things out with the bag company, Malificent had to rush around town to find a stationary store that could print 10000 QR codes on sticky labels to stick over the wrong one on each bag. Apparently she was there most of the night attaching them all, which was doubly funny as I'm told we didn't quite manage to give away the original 1000 bags at the event the following day anyway, let alone the other 9000. She was put on 'gardening leave' and fired for gross incompetence and costing the company all the extra money - now the marketing department is run by a guy called Theodopolopodous - he's much nicer.

tl;dr Evil marketing queen doesn't keep track of who she f*cks over, got her fired several years later when we ended up at the same company.

(source) (story by ImperiousChipmunk)

[aswithasunbeam]

Finding Forgiveness, Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Eliza Hamilton can't keep punishing her husband forever. If she didn't intend to leave him, she would need to find a way to forgive him. But how? The Reynolds Pamphlet aftermath

Eliza and Hamilton finally have that big fight they’ve been avoiding...

June 1798

“Honey?” Eliza tapped on the office door lightly and peered through the open sliver into the room. Hamilton appeared to be absent, so she pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside. She needed more paper to finish her correspondence on behalf of the Widow’s society, and he always kept some in his desk drawer.

The worn drawer slid open with a familiar squeak as she pulled out a small stack of blank sheets. She shook her head as she looked at her husband’s messy desk, littered with papers, old quills and an empty ink pot. One letter buried in the mayhem looked like it had been folded and addressed, so she reached out to pluck it from the stack, intending to give it to the maid for the post. She didn’t dare touch the other papers, but she did place the worn quills into their holder and made a mental note to have water sent in so Hamilton could mix more ink.

The topmost letter on his desk caught her eye just as she was turning to leave, the word ‘Military,’ capitalized in the first sentence of the second paragraph, arresting her attention. She scanned the letter, eyes dropping to an italicized portion further down, dread growing in her stomach. “You intimate a desire to be informed what would be my part in such an event as to entering into military service. I have no scruple about opening myself to you on this point. If I am invited to a station in which the service I may render may be proportioned to the sacrifice I am to make—I shall be willing to go into the army.”1

She felt ill as the realization came over her: he’d lied to her. Again. Those pretty words he’d said in the foyer barely a month ago about how important she and the children were to him had meant nothing. He was going back to public service.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.” She jumped at the sound of her husband’s voice, looking over at him with wide, startled eyes. He laughed gently. “I’m sorry, did I startle you?”

She nodded, heart racing and mind churning.

He leaned easily against the doorjamb. “I know you need to help look after your father, but it’s going to be hard with you gone. Alex and Jamie were just about to reenact the tragedy of Cain and Abel over a dish of strawberries. Where ever did they get such a sweet tooth?” He asked the question with a knowing smirk.

The comment was an open invitation to tease him about his own sweet tooth. Not five minutes ago, she would have done so in good humor; now she can barely look at him. He seemed to sense the change.

“Betsey? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she nodded vaguely. She couldn’t confront him right now. Her throat felt tight and her eyes were watering. If she tried to speak, she’d burst into tears.

“You’re sure?” Hamilton looked unconvinced, and not a little concerned.

She hesitated, cleared her throat to avoid any quavering, and amended, “Actually, I’m suddenly feeling a little under the weather. Perhaps I’ll go lie down a bit before the party.”

His expression softened with sympathy. “Of course, sweetheart. Go take a rest.”

She nodded again, pushing by him to get out of the room. Mounting the stairs with haste, she shut herself into her bedroom and leaned back against the door. Perhaps she was overreacting, she considered. He had told her that he would reconsider his position on public office if war between France and America should come. Wasn’t that all the letter had said?

The sting of betrayal remained deep in her breast. He hadn’t talked to her about joining the army again. He hadn’t even mentioned he was considering it. His actions felt deceitful and underhanded.

The peace she had found over the past weeks, ever since he’d spoken those blessed words about choosing their family over his public life, washed away under a new wave of hurt and pain. It was silly, perhaps, to place so much meaning on that one conversation, but she had. For the first time in so many months, she’d felt as if she recognized her husband again.

She placed her blank pages on her dressing table and sighed. Rooting around in one of the drawers for a quill and some ink, she decided to continue her correspondence. Those poor women and their babe’s shouldn’t suffer because of her emotional turmoil, she told herself firmly. She found the items shoved towards the back; she needed them in here only on the rare occasion she wanted to jot down a list before bed.

Writing calmed her.

She was glad she hadn’t tried to bring up the letter downstairs; she needed time gather her thoughts and place them in perspective. They would need to talk, calmly and rationally, about what a return to public life would mean for them. Tonight, after the party, she would sit him down and they would discuss it.

~*~

Eliza laughed politely as Nicholas Fish, one her husband’s oldest and dearest friends, regaled her with an amusing tale. In the interest of fostering conversation, she’d been seat across and several seats down from her husband. She took a bite of the chicken from her plate and glanced down the table at Hamilton.

His shoulders looked tense and his eyes seemed deliberately trained on his meal. She didn’t recognize the man seated beside him. The man, whoever he was, gestured wildly as he spoke, his fork swirling through the air, dangerously close to the people seated on either side of him. His dazed expression and slightly manic smile signaled to Eliza that he’d partaken of too much drink.

John Church was seated on the other side of her husband, and he caught her eye as she was taking in the situation. He, too, looked tense and uncomfortable. She gave him a quizzical look. He darted his eye towards the unknown man and shook his head once.

“Poor Ham looks like he’s having a tough time of it,” Fish noted beside her.

“Who is that man sitting next to him?” she asked.

Fish frowned. “I’m not sure. Some distant relation of Jay’s, I believe, though I’ve never met him before. He certainly doesn’t seem to be making much of an impression.”

The man beside her husband raised his voice suddenly, his words noticeably slurred. “The bastards! We ought to take ‘em all out one by one!”

Hamilton replied softly, so she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“I don’t care who hears me,” the man shouted back at him. “Why? You one of ‘em?”

The person seated on the other side of the man said something else to him. His eyes widened and his volume lowered once more. Her husband’s face was flushed as he renewed his study of his dinner plate.

The meal past without further incident, and the party retired to the front room for music and dancing. Eliza paced over to the open window for a breath of air in the already warm room. The violins tuned up in the corner as couples took their places.

“Well, that was interesting.”

She looked around at Hamilton, who was now standing behind her. “What happened?”

“The only thing worse than having a political discussion over a meal is having a political discussion with someone who has clearly had more than their fair share of wine.”

She gave him a half smile.

“Would you like to dance?”

“Perhaps later, to a slower song,” she declined, hardly in the mood for the spritly dance that was to open the night.

“Are you still feeling unwell?” His brow wrinkled in concern and he reached a hand towards her cheek.

She leaned back away from him. “I’m fine.”

“My dear brother,” Angelica called, approaching with Church fast on her heels. “Will you dance with me? My husband refuses to indulge me.”

Hamilton smiled as he turned to face her sister. His eyes lingered for a moment on Angelica’s fashionable, low-cut dress. “With pleasure, my dear sister.”

A flash of unreasonable jealousy shot through her as she glanced down at the navy blue dress he’d so complimented when she’d worn it to the theater back in March. Hamilton and Angelica had similarly gregarious and flirtatious personalities. They’d been playful with each other ever since they first met, and it had never once bothered her. She trusted them both too much to be concerned. But watching her husband escort her sister to the dance floor, his hand at her waist, she felt a poisonous worm of jealousy wriggling in the back of her mind.

She smiled tightly at Church, still standing silently beside her. Turning her face back to the window, she opened her fan and waved at her face perfunctorily. She’d never much cared for these bright, loud parties.

“Would you care to dance, Mrs. Hamilton?” Nicholas Fish asked several minutes later before the next song began. He held out a hand to her hopefully. She glanced out at the dance floor, where her husband was still speaking quietly to Angelica, smiling widely at whatever clever retort her sister had made.

“You wouldn’t prefer an eligible young woman, Mr. Fish?” Still a bachelor at forty, she wondered if the sweet man would ever settle down. There was little hope of it if he kept dancing with married women at parties.

“I’d be quite content to dance with the loveliest lady in the room, ma’am,” he replied.

“If you’re going to flatter me, sir, at least make it believable,” she scolded, though she softened the comment with a smile.

“Hardly mere flattery, I assure you. Your kind heart and generous spirit radiate from you like a beacon. I’m quite sure your husband would agree.” The last sentence was spoken with a kind of finality, as if her husband’s agreement were all the proof any assertion required to make it true. Knowing Fish, he probably believed that.

She shook her head at the overt attempt to charm her, but she took his hand. When she took her place in line, Hamilton met her eye and smiled, his whole face lighting up at the sight of her. She smiled back at him, some of her bitterness towards him easing at his expression of pure delight. She turned her attention to Fish as the music began.

She found herself enjoying the evening after that. She danced merrily with Fish, then once with Church, and finally once with her husband. Hamilton twirled her around too many times at a key moment in the dance, throwing off the steps, and when she’d bumped into him as a result he had pressed a playful kiss to her nose before twirling her back to the proper place. She swatted at him even as she grinned adoringly.

“You did that on purpose,” she charged.

He grinned. “Of course I did. I can’t resist you, especially not in that dress.”

Everything was going wonderfully, until the end of the night.

The unknown relation of Jay’s lurched drunkenly towards their group when they’d sat to rest and have a companionable drink. The companion who’d sat beside him at dinner was tugging at his sleeve and whispering quietly, but the man shrugged him off. “We’ve got to actually do something,” he stated, apropos of nothing, as he came to a stop in front of her husband.

“Sir, I think it’s time you retired,” Hamilton replied calmly.

“No, no, we’ve got to do something. Those tri-colored bastards just…just get away with everything! Robbery, murder. Look at…look at poor Jemmy Jones!”

Fish looked incredibly uncomfortable at the reference. James Jones had been insulted by Brockholst Livingston in the republican Argus along with Fish, but where Fish had chosen to pointedly ignore the insult, Jones had flown into a passion, attacked Livingston with a cane, tweaked his nose, and ended up dying in a duel as a result.2 The duel had been a mere two weeks previous, making the reference in even poorer taste.

“Sir,” Hamilton tried to interrupt once more. His jaw muscle was bunched in a way that told her he was trying to reign in his temper. The man refused to be silenced.

“We can’t just let them get away with it! And you,” he pointed at Hamilton, “You should be leading us! If I were you, I’d be at the capital. Not off…off philandering about with pretty whores—”

“That’s quite enough,” Church roared, jumping from his seat and taking the man by the arm. Hamilton was on his feet as well.

Humiliation burned through her; she pressed a hand to her forehead as if to cover her face. Fear mixed in strongly as well. Was Hamilton about to get into a duel? Would he, too, be a victim of the dangerous political polarization gripping the nation?

Angelica wrapped an arm around her as the men stalked off. “My poor, dear love,” her sister whispered. “It’ll be all right.”

She half wanted to snap at her sister to take her hand off her shoulders. A deeper, younger part of her wanted to crawl into her big sister’s arms and weep. Drawing in a steadying breath, she looked over at Angelica and announced, “I’m leaving.”

“I’ll get Hamilton,” Angelica offered, already moving to stand.

“No,” she stopped her. “No. I’m leaving.”

She stood, walked purposefully towards the door, and ordered their coach be brought around. When it arrived, she told the driver to take her home, and curled up in the corner as the carriage clattered away on the rough road. Let him play politics to his heart’s content, she thought darkly, to his death if that’s what he wished.

She didn’t need him.

~*~

The front door of their townhouse slammed shut nearly an hour later. Eliza started in her seat, looking away from the dying fire to the doorway where her husband now stood, face red and livid with anger. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so furious, at least not with her.  

“What were you thinking?” he demanded, voice icy. “You just left me there. And you took the carriage. I had to ask Church to bring me home. Do you know how embarrassing that was?”

A slightly hysterical laugh burst out of her. She turned her gaze back to the fire.

He took a step into the room. “Why are you laughing?”

She ignored him.

His fist pounded into the wall and she jumped again. “For God’s sake, Eliza, we’re going in circles! We can’t keep doing this!” She could count on one hand the number of times he’d raised his voice at her like that. Watching him warily, she saw him rest his head on his fist, leaning heavily against the wall and breathing hard. He added, in almost a whisper, “I can’t keep doing this.”

“You’re joining the army.” She stated the fact flatly. To anyone else, it would have seemed a non-sequitur, but she knew he understood by how fast his head whipped around to face her again.

“You read my letter.”

“You said you weren’t going back.”

“I said wasn’t going back as long as it could be avoided. This is bad, Eliza. People are dying. I can’t avoid it any longer. After everything I’ve sacrificed—”

“You’ve sacrificed?” she repeated with disbelief. “You?”

“Yes,” he snapped.

A red haze seemed to descend over her vision.

“You’ve ruined my life!” she shouted at him. “You took everything I’ve ever known to be true, set it aflame, and published the ashes for the world to see.”

He stared at her, nonplussed by the outburst.

“And now you want to start all over again! Saddle yourself with overwhelming responsibility until you crawl back into the first open pair of arms you come across.”

“That’s not true. That’s not going to happen!”

“How do I know that? How will I know if it does? Would you have ever told me about the first girl if your public reputation weren’t on the line?”

“Would you have wanted me to?”

She ground her teeth together so hard she feared they would break. “I hate that you slept with her. The very thought of it makes me crazy. But the worst part was the deceit. You lied to me. You lied to me for years. And now you’ve lied to me again.”

“I didn’t lie to you about this,” he insisted. “And that’s not going to happen again. That wasn’t me, Eliza.”

“You keep saying that. Of course it was you! Stop lying!”

And they were off.

The fight that followed was unlike anything Eliza had ever experienced. She hardly remembered all the horrible things they started screaming. Pent up resentment, anger, humiliation, and confusion was suddenly spewing forth from both of them, raging through parlor like a great storm, destroying everything in its path. No one knew them better than the other; no one knew how to hurt them more. They tore into each other like wounded animals, shouting over each other, the vitriol worsening with every word. Every soft spot was prodded, every insecurity laid bare.

They lost the thread of the argument at some point, striking out with anything that could wound. She remembered echoing some the attacks she’d read in the press about his political corruption. Somehow, she linked that with an accusation that he was lusting after Angelica.

“I’m not sleeping with your sister,” he nearly spat back. “Though it is nice on occasion to speak to a woman who actually understands something of my work.”

It ought not to have hurt so much: she’d never claimed any sort of interest in politics, and she’d met several well-educated, even brilliant, men who’d found themselves awed by her husband’s genius. That she didn’t grasp every nuance of his work was hardly a reflection of her intelligence. Still, the thrust sank deep, feeding a deep insecurity that she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t smart enough, to be married to a man like him. The pain must have shown on her face, because the anger in his expression rapidly transformed into regret.

That was when she struck the killing blow, treading onto forbidden ground. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you were unfaithful, given who raised you.”

The color drained from his face. “Don’t.”

“Like mother, like son.”

He crumpled in on himself, turning away from her.

It was a hollow victory.

She fled from the room, up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door. It was then she suddenly remembered the house full of children she could only pray had slept through the horrifying display. Her dress tore at the back as she ripped it off, desperate to change out of the formal gown. She didn’t care; she couldn’t imagine she’d ever wear it again when it was linked indelibly in her mind to such a nightmarish evening. Tugging a nightgown on, she crawled into bed and curled up, sobs wracking her chest. She pressed her face into her pillow, trying to quiet them.

Some time passed, her sobs fading to hitching breaths and damp eyes, when she heard a soft tap at the door. She froze in place, waiting. Another soft tap followed. “Eliza?”

She stayed quiet.

“Eliza, please answer me.”

Tears started leaking from her eyes again at the pain in his voice.

“Those can’t be the last things we say to each other before you leave. Please,” he begged.

When heavy silence met him again, she heard a soft thud, as if he’d knocked his head against the door, and a light scratching, as though he had dragged his fingers down along the wood. At last, she heard footsteps retreating down the stairs. She heaved out a long breath.

The imagined image haunted her: his head resting on the door, his fingers splayed across the wood as he begged to be let in. Then the image of him hours earlier popped into her mind: smiling with delight as he spun her on the dance floor, pressing little kisses to her nose. It would be so much easier to hate him if she didn’t love him so much.

Eventually, perhaps hours later, the heartache and guilt overwhelmed the anger and pain, and she pulled herself from the bed. She went to the dressing room, where she collected a nightshirt and the spare quilt. Then she padded downstairs with the items, looking into the empty parlor first and then approaching the office. The door was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open gently.

Hamilton was asleep in his armchair, fully clothed, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet propped up on the foot rest. She knelt beside him. “Alexander?”

He snuffled lightly, his head rolling toward her, but he didn’t wake.

Sighing, she spread the blanket out over him and left the nightshirt by his side, in case he woke in the night and wished to change. The door closed behind her with a gentle tap.

~*~

She blinked slowly in the bright sunlight filtering through the curtains of her bedroom. The normal Sunday bustle sounded outside the door: the children readying for church, the maids hard at their chores. One of the servants had checked on her earlier, and she’d feigned sleep. She’d been alone and undisturbed ever since.

Some of the activity finally quieted outside. She’d nearly drifted off when her door opened once more. She kept her eyes closed, even as she felt a familiar weight settle onto the bed beside her.

“Eliza?” Hamilton asked.

Slowly, she opened her eyes to look up at him. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, and he looked tired, almost achingly soul weary. She wondered if the same sight would greet her in the mirror.

“Angelica took the boys with her to church,” he informed her. He reached out slowly, wary, but she stayed still until he finally placed the back of his hand against her forehead. “Are you ill? Should I send for the doctor?”

“No,” she said simply.

“Can I bring you anything?”

She rolled over to face away from him. “Just leave me alone.”

He complied, rising from the bed and closing the door behind him.

She did eventually get up. She finished packing and made sure Angelica and William both had everything they would need for their trip to Albany. William was still a bit too small to be away from her, and Angelica…well, the girl had nearly begged her to come along. She wondered how much of that was a desire to be with her mother and see her grandparents, or simply a desire not to be left alone with her father, with whom she was barely speaking.

Hamilton rode out with them to the sloop that afternoon. He gave their giggling baby a series of wet, sloppy kisses all over his face. Angelica surprisingly agreed to hug him goodbye, accepting a kiss to the crown of her head as she squeezed her father around the waist. “I love you, sweetheart. I’ll miss you,” he whispered to their little girl.

“I’ll miss you, too, Papa,” Angelica replied. It was, perhaps, the most words she’d strung together in a sentence directed towards him in months. He’d smiled slightly in response.

Finally, he looked at her. Their eyes met for a long, pregnant moment. He didn’t try to speak to her, or kiss her goodbye. She made no movement towards him, either. His shoulders fell, a deep despair plain on his face, as he walked back towards the coach alone.

~*~

A week later, she settled into a seat outside her parents’ estate, looking out at the water as she slowly sipped at her tea. Angelica had taken little William down to the riverbank, and she could see her daughter playfully splashing in the water, flicking little drops at the baby as he laughed gleefully. She smiled at the simple scene.

Her father seemed to be doing much better, but she didn’t regret her trip. She needed time away: time to think without her husband’s sad eyes to make her feel guilty. Not that she had escaped him entirely. When she’d arrived in Albany, she had two letters from her husband and one from her sister waiting for her. One of Hamilton’s letters and Angelica’s had both been sent on the day she’d left New York.

“I have been extremely uneasy, My beloved Eliza, at the state of health and state of mind in which you left me. I earnestly hope there has been a change of both for the better,”3 Hamilton had written. She’d nearly laughed. Did he really think a few days on a boat were going to do anything to improve the mess their lives had become?

He’d continued, “I always feel how necessary you are to me. But when you are absent I become still more sensible of it, and look around in vain for that satisfaction which you alone can bestow.”4 The longing in those sentences had made her ache a little. Did he mean that? If he did, if she alone could bring him satisfaction, why did he insist on going back to the army?

Angelica’s letter had helpfully informed her that Hamilton had gone to her house for dinner and that he was “very much out of spirits” over the course of the evening. She’d added that the unpleasant man from dinner the night before, or the “dirty fellow,” in her words, had been “effectually silenced.”5 She wondered queasily if he had been silenced in the same manner as James Jones.

“You look deep in thought, my dear heart.”

Eliza turned in her seat to see her mother carefully making her way to the table to join her. “Hello, Mama,” she greeted, conjuring a warm smile. “How was Papa this morning?”

“He’s getting a little stronger every day,” Kitty Schuyler replied. She lowered herself into a chair with a great sigh, and Eliza quickly set about preparing her a cup of tea. “What had you looking so serious on a such a lovely morning?”

She shook her head, trying to shrug off her troubles and concerns.

“Is it that husband of yours?” Kitty pressed. Eliza’s face must have given it away, because Kitty nodded to herself. “I thought something was wrong, when three letters preceded your arrival. What happened?”

Eliza swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. “We had a fight,” she managed. “We had a…a terrible fight. We said such horrible things to each other. And then I left.”

Kitty laid one of her wrinkled hands atop hers, inviting her to continue, to unload the great weight she’d been carrying inside her for so long.

And so she did. She told her mother about her grief, her anger, her deep and abiding love, and how it all seemed to whirl within her in such a confusing and overwhelming way. “I’m trying so hard. I want to forgive him. Things between us used to be so wonderful, so easy. Now half the time he feels like a stranger. I just don’t know how to make things like they were before. How can I go back?”

“You can’t,” her mother said simply.

Her eyes widened, devastation surging through her. Her mother patted her hand affectionately. “It’s not so bad as all that, dearest. You know, your Papa and I have been married for a very long time now. I’ve learned over the years that sometimes things happen that change your relationship forever: sometimes good things, sometimes bad things. In either case, you can never go back to the marriage you had before. You can only walk forward.”

Eliza nodded, mulling the thought over in her mind.

“You know, many marriages, most I would venture to say, are little more than convenient economic arrangements between men and women. They live in separate spheres, perhaps exchanging polite words over dinner. Even if they don’t start out that way, they usually end up as such.”

She frowned at her mother. Was she saying she should accept the painful distance that had grown up between them? Give up on her loving relationship and accept a life of smiling politely at her husband over shared meals?

“But you and Hamilton, you’ve always shared an uncommon intimacy. You love each other so deeply and passionately. You’re friends, lovers, partners. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, like you’re his only light in a dark world. And he isn’t a stranger; you know him better now than you ever have before. Things between you are going to change, to transform. You’ll continue to love each other, of that I have no doubt. But you need to stop trying to go back to a golden past, sweetheart. You’ll never be able to, and trying will only drive you both mad.”

“How do I move on?” she asked, voice quiet. “How do I get past this?”

“Speak with him,” Kitty answered. “Truly speak with him. Try to understand how this happened, and how to stop it from happening again, so you can begin to rebuild trust. You can’t just hold this inside you and hope if you bury it deep enough, you’ll forget about it.”6

That was exactly the trap she had fallen into, she realized. Burying the hurt, pretending to be fine, and then retreating from him when it reared its ugly head once more.

Her mother leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Whatever happens, you’re going to be just fine, my sweet girl,” she added, taking another sip of her tea.

Eliza stared at her mother for a long moment, wondering how she’d become so wise. A thought occurred to her, a terrible thought: had her father…? Her world seemed to tilt on its axis for a moment as she considered the possibility that her heroic, loving father could ever do such a thing to her mother. Of course, such things happened with a disheartening frequency. The only difference in her case was her husband’s spectacular failure of discretion.

Her heart hurt even more for her daughter: if the idea bothered her this much at forty, what must it be doing to her impressionable thirteen year old?

She didn’t ask her mother, didn’t press her suspicion; she simply sat back and looked out over the water. She tried to soak in the advice. They had spoken very briefly about what had led to the affair: how the stress of his job as Treasury Secretary and his feelings of inadequacy in sufficiently providing for his family had driven him to indulge in a destructive kind of fantasy world. It was part of the reason she felt so worried about him returning to a public position. They’d both attempted to talk further after that conversation, several times, in fact. Hadn’t she been considering such a conversation the very same day they’d had their explosive argument? But now, with clearer expectations, she felt like she might finally be ready.

Her old marriage was gone: mortally wounded by her husband’s betrayal and finally killed by their last fight. But together they could forge a new marriage, a more honest love.

She’d write to him today, when she went inside, she decided.

She gazed out a the tranquil river, feeling lighter and more hopeful that she had in a very long time.

1. Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, 2 June 1798

2. See Affairs of Honor, by Joanne Freeman, p. 172 and A History of the People of the United States: From the Revolution to the Civil War, by John Bach McMaster, p. 381.

3, 4. Hamilton to Eliza, 3 June 1798

5. Angelica Church to Elizabeth Hamilton, undated. All credit to runawayforthesummer and theelizapapers for making a remarkably convincing argument that the “Icarus” letter was not, in fact, written in the summer of 1797, but rather in 1798. Read the post here. Both Hamilton and Angelica mention Hamilton coming by for dinner after Eliza left that night. Also, Hamilton’s letter to Eliza on the day she left for Albany was written on June 3rd, which was a Sunday, and in Angelica’s letter where she talks about Eliza leaving on the sloop, she mentions taking the boy’s with her to church that morning, which also likely places her letter on a Sunday. Everything about it just matches up perfectly. That also means that the “dirty fellow” Angelica mentions wasn’t necessarily James Callender (although it could have been, as circumstances were heating up for him around this time, with the Alien and Sedition Acts coming out soon after). The drunk man (I didn’t want to saddle him with a real identity) at the party was all just my imagination trying to create a circumstance where Hamilton and Eliza would really fight it out.

6. Kitty Schuyler’s advice is sort of an amalgamation of a whole bunch of articles and advice columns I’ve been reading lately. One of the most interesting and insightful source I found was the Dear Sugar podcast four part series on Infidelity, which featured Ester Perel in one episode (another huge thanks to Iris970 for suggesting I seek her work out). Perel also just published an article in the Atlantic (Oct. 2017 Issue) entitled “Why Happy People Cheat: A Good Marriage Is No Guarantee Against Infidelity,” which was also very influential and helpful for this chapter.

[shadowsong26fic]

Coming Attractions!

First Monday of the month! So, if that’s my new date, I’m actually on time for once hurray!

Fanfic:

Precipice:

::singsong:: This is the arc that will not end… (j/k, I’m having fun. It is taking longer to get through everything than I thought it would, though.)

We are in good shape, ish. I did miss one week this month, and I was late a couple times due to IRL stuff [a thrilling saga involving two car insurance companies, the registrar’s office of the university where I got my BA four years ago, HR and IT at my current job…]

Anyway. I’ve got about 2-3 more chapters to go, I think? Need to check in w/Coruscant again of course, and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are definitely gonna yell at Anakin after the Poor Life Choice he made in last week’s update. We’ll also hear from Leia and Beru, so that should be fun.

Then we’ll finally start Arc Five,is tentatively titled Lessons and will probably focus mostly on the kids—the twins, of course; Lavinia; probably Winter; possibly Biggs and Leia’s other friends… It’ll be a quieter arc, probably; more along the lines of Homecoming, where we’re getting people situated/positioned for future plotty shenanigans. Although we will most likely spend some time with Darth Infernalis, too.

Also, the next chapter will probably put me over 100k (omg). I feel like I should do Something Special/a bonus to mark the milestone. Any suggestions/requests?

Distaff:

The next chapter is coming, no really. Like I mentioned earlier, this month was A Mess, IRL-wise, so, in dealing with all that, I didn’t get as much writing done as I wanted to on anything, including/especially Distaff. This coming month, though, I swear.

Auxiliaries:

I got the entry bit up this month! Or, well, the first of three parts of it, anyway. Part 2 of said opening might take a while, because it involves people shooting at the boys and I need to iron out who is shooting and why. I actually have most of Part 3 written, but Part 2 obviously needs to go up first.

So I might do that Part 2 later this month, if I get it finished, or I might post Ahsoka’s entrance, since I have that mostly finished and I’m very fond of it. We shall see!

AU Outline:

This month was Ventress accidentally adopting tiny time-travelling Luke Skywalker! She was so annoyed, I love it. As always, all five of these can be found in the #au outlines for the win tag.

Next month will probably be the Mask of Zorro/California Gold Rush AU Fusion No One Asked For, but that I may change my mind.

Masks:

…sigh. See aforementioned “RL was a disaster” comments. I’m almost tempted to just finish this one out as an outline and jump to Machinations at this point, but IDK.

For those of you who don’t know (because I’m not sure I’ve summarized it properly on this blog yet), Masks is the first installment of Masks!verse (ha, I’m creative), which is basically what I call an In Spite of a Nail AU, where Lavinia from Precipice exists in a canon-adjacent timeline. I say ‘canon-adjacent’ because it’s sort of a…weird hybrid of Official Disney Canon and Old EU/Legends Canon? It picks up in the immediate aftermath of Yavin and is a true In Spite of a Nail AU for the OT timeframe (i.e., the story focuses on locations/people that the movies don’t, and, while she does some specific things that change some details, no major plot points during these four years are changed). However, I tend to stick closer to Legends for post-Endor developments (for several reasons, mostly relating to I like the way things played out with the remnants of the Empire and the New Republic in Legends, politically/government-building wise; better than the parts I’ve read in the tie-in canon novels on the same subjects. Which is probably a large part of why I haven’t read all that much of the new tie-in novels; also Mara Jade, also Pellaeon, neither of whom has been recanonized yet sooooo yeah).

Anyway, some of the content from post-ROTJ novels is therefore excluded (as is Rebels, still, for unrelated reasons). But Masks!verse does eventually link up w/TFA (the third part, Martyrs, picks up shortly after the end of said movie). Canon may be locked at that point; it all depends on how much TLJ throws what I have planned already, and how much I decide to care.

Original:

As with everything, did not get as much done as I would’ve liked this month. Did not work on The Caladrius or any other crossover piece, but I got a few short bits out, for all three worlds I post to RF. Sadly did not work on anything potentially publishable/unrelated this month.

Other:

So, I’ve been thinking about doing an open question night once a month. I mean, I’ll of course answer asks/whatever that come to me outside of an event like that, but I’d be online/available for active interaction if I did this, if that makes sense? Considering holding these on the fifteenth if I do this. Or maybe the third Monday of the month, to alternate with the Coming Attractions posts? Something to think about.

I’ll also take prompts (for short/under-5k stories), which I’ll plan to fill by the next Open Question Night, barring RL shenanigans or something.

Thoughts?

ETA: On a semi-related note, I do have a meme open; feel free to send me one of the things!

Monthly Goals:

July Recap:

1. Keep up with Precipice updates.--well, like I mentioned above, I missed one, so...not really.

2. Get the friggin Opera House done and posted already.--...oops.

3. Debut Auxliiaries.--Yay! An accomplishment!

4. At least write some Masks. In order. Bits from Machinations or the timeskip between them don’t count. Even if it’s not a full postable chapter.--Yeah, not so much.

5. Do another crack outline :D--I did it!

6. At least 1k on Phoenix!verse.--Again, not so much.

7. Work on another origfic crossover.--Nope.

9. Seriously, Shadowsong. The archives.--Nope.

10. At least 10k on any/all projects.--uh....::quick tally:: Looks like I did actually make it! Huh, I didn’t think I had... But this was also a long month, so to speak, and a couple of my Precipice chapters were on the long end, so.

August Goals:

1. Keep up with Precipice updates.

2. Opera House.

3. Another Auxiliaries snippet

4. Work on Masks.

5. Another crack outline

6. At least 1k on Phoenix!verse

7. Work on another origfic crossover

8. The archives are sad and lonely and three years out of date. I should fix that.

9. At least 5k on projects that are not Precipice.

10. At least 15k total on any/all projects. [considering that even this month I met my goal, I figured I should up it and see what happens.]

[auskultu]

Politics: The Temper of the Times

uncredited writer, Time, 7 April 1967

"It's at least six months ahead of what I've been accustomed to," says former Republican National Chairman Len Hall, who now heads Michigan Governor George Romney's Washington head quarters. Predicts F. Clifton White, who organized Barry Goldwater's first-ballot victory at the 1964 convention: "Nobody's going to get a hammerlock on this thing at an early date. It'll be a fight to the finish."

In other words, the 1968 presidential campaign is early, wide open and worth fighting. Thanks to last November's comeback, the G.O.P. controls half of the nation's statehouses, representing 293 out of the 535 electoral votes and 57.5% of the population. Recent Re publican gains in Florida's legislature and the narrow loss of a Rhode Island congressional seat that had been Democratic for 33 of the past 35 years point to continuing strength. "The momentum," says House Minority Leader Jerry Ford, "is still running our way."

On the Democratic side, Lyndon Johnson's candidacy for a second full term is a foregone conclusion—though Vice President Humphrey and Bobby Kennedy plan to be around in case the President is not. As for the G.O.P., Dick Nixon said in Tokyo last week: "We will have candidates running out of our ears." Everybody seemed to be running.

Early Exposure. As Hubert Humphrey ended a two-week visit to Europe last week, Nixon, continuing his world tour, began a month-long swing through Asia. Romney—at last—discussed Viet Nam in Connecticut, and Illinois' Republican Senator Charles H. Percy addressed party workers in New Hampshire. California's Republican Governor Ronald Reagan, in office just 100 days as of this week, has already paid three visits to Washington. President Johnson, only recently back from Guam, heads off this week to the Uruguayan resort of Punta del Este for a meeting with Latin American heads of state. Of all the potential candidates, only New York's Republican Governor Nelson Rockefeller stayed put—waiting to see how the others run.

Two of the aspirants—Nixon and Romney—are openly seeking the nomination, despite the fact that they still emit "Who, me?" disclaimers for public consumption. Both are concerned at having launched their campaigns so early in the game, since relentless exposure over a long period can be deadly. But circumstances forced their hands. In Romney's case, it was a tide of favorable publicity and felicitous polls in the aftermath of his 570,000-vote third-term victory last November. Nixon was prematurely jolted into action by Reagan's sudden rise as a potential challenger for the conservative support that the former Vice President badly needs.

Reagan denies interest in the job. So does Percy. So does Rockefeller, who last year renounced presidential ambitions "forever." But as one G.O.P. leader observed recently, "Nobody ever made a Sherman-like statement except Sherman," and all three men would almost certainly accept the nomination. As Washington newsmen put it during last month's Gridiron Club dinner, in a song that was written with Rocky in mind but applies to all the naysayers:

He keeps on dreaming, and scheming, He still wants that prize. His lips tell you no! no! But there's yes! yes! in his eyes.

The Bacon Fryin'. What puts the "yes! yes!" in so many Republicans' eyes is the belief that their revitalized party can capture the White House in '68. "Our people smell the bacon fryin'," drawls South Carolina's Republican chairman, Harry Dent. "We know our chances are good. The main thing is to put together a winning combination."

Whether they succeed depends largely on the effectiveness of the moderates, who have considerably more muscle than usual. They command such key states as New York, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Oregon and Washington. Though the polls and the primaries will figure to a larger extent than in the past in determining the nominee, the moderates nonetheless have an opportunity to exercise pivotal influence in that choice by uniting behind the best possible candidate.

After that, the Republicans will need more than a little luck to unseat L.B.J.

Even so, they are convinced that a number of durable shibboleths about presidential politics will not necessarily be working against them in 1968. Among them:

THE INVINCIBILITY OF AN INCUMBENT. Johnson will enjoy an immense publicity edge simply by occupying the White House. But during this century alone, two incumbents have been badly trounced (William Howard Taft in 1912 and Herbert Hoover in 1932) and a third (Harry Truman in 1948) barely escaped defeat.

THE POWER OF PROSPERITY. Boom times do not necessarily ensure that the "in" party will stay in. The Democrats were drubbed in 1952 in the midst of an economic upsurge, and again in 1966 when times were good.

DEMOCRATIC UNITY. Politicians love to note that the Democrats fight ferociously among themselves all the way to the polls, then patch things up and vote as one. That point would no doubt be disputed by Truman, who in 1948 had Henry Wallace's Democrats-turned-Progressives sniping at him from the left and Strom Thurmond's Democrats-turned-Dixiecrats from the right. Lyndon Johnson may face comparable defections next year, with the hot-eyed radicals of the New Left on one side and segregationists behind former Alabama Governor George Wallace on the other.

REPUBLICAN DISUNITY. The fissures were all too evident in 1964, when Goldwater told G.O.P. moderates that they were welcome only on his terms—and Romney, Rockefeller and others "took a powder," as Barry put it. But in earlier campaigns, the party united behind Wendell Willkie, Tom Dewey and Dwight Eisenhower, even though members of the conservative wing were deeply disappointed that their favorites were not nominated.

Republicans are heartened by the fact that the Democratic National Committee has atrophied, and party organizations in such pivotal states as New York, California, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Minnesota, Illinois, Ohio—and even Texas—have fallen apart. So far the only real sign of life is in its minorities and nationalities division, where Deputy National Chairman Louis Martin, a Negro, is working to boost Negro registration from 6,163,000 to 8,000,-000 by next year.

Once the Negroes are registered, however, there is some doubt how they will vote: a striking fact about U.S. politics in the past third of the century is that there is no longer any such thing as a deliverable vote. Particularly worrisome to Democratic chieftains is the increasing independence of the labor vote, a cornerstone of the urban coalition that Franklin D. Roosevelt structured a generation back. There were significant blue-collar defections last year in such Democratic strongholds as Denver, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Detroit, Cincinnati, Louisville and Memphis. Often, rank-and-file resistance to Negro demands is responsible. In the Chicago suburb of Cicero, Democratic Senator Paul Douglas' 1960 vote of 19,678 was cut to 7,823 last year after a series of racial clashes. In a labor area in California's Alameda County, a 59% Democratic majority in 1962 shifted to a 65% G.O.P. margin after Stokely Carmichael staged a black-power rally there.

Please Shut Up. Perhaps the most significant fact for Republicans looking toward 1968, however, is that Lyndon Johnson, who three years ago won one of the most sweeping electoral and popular victories in U.S. history, today appears increasingly vulnerable.

In the past year, approval of his performance has slid in the polls from 56% to 45%. F.D.R. said in 1936: "There's one issue in this campaign. It's myself." In 1968, of course, there will be other issues, but a crucial one will nonetheless be Lyndon Johnson himself. Washington wags emphasize that point with a line they attribute to concerned Democratic officials: "Will the real Lyndon Johnson please shut up?" The real Lyndon Johnson is the one who was molded during 26 years on Capitol Hill; unlike most Presidents, he has shown few signs of personal or intellectual change in the White House. He is still the arm-squeezing, wheedling, wheeling-dealing Majority Leader, slinking into the wings when defeat looms and hogging stage center in victory. Stories of his vindictiveness, his pettiness, his tantrums when the press questions his decisions, have done little to improve that image.

Death & Burial. Around the U.S., there exists what California Pollster Mervin Field describes as "a general uneasiness"—over Viet Nam, high prices, an ever-rising crime rate, the seeming ineradicability of poverty, the restlessness of the younger generation, the increasing use of a whole pharmacopoeia of drugs, from pot to peyote. A Gallup sampling showed that 58% of Americans consider income taxes too high—and the figure will surely swell if Johnson decides to slap a 6% surcharge on income tax rates. If he does not, the Administration may well end the current fiscal year with a deficit of $13 billion, breaking Ike's peacetime record of $12.4 billion in 1959. And some Republicans claim that it could go as high as $25 billion, fueling a serious burst of inflation.

Viet Nam remains at once the biggest, least predictable issue. Should the war last five to ten years, Harvard Economist John Kenneth Galbraith, newly elected chairman of the Americans for Democratic Action, warned last week, "this disaster could, indeed, mean the death and burial of the Democratic Party." Few other Democrats share that gloomy view, but the war could cost a covey of doves their Senate seats in 1968. With 23 Democratic seats at stake v. only eleven for the G.O.P., the Democrats' 64-36 Senate majority could be drastically trimmed.

Republicans are uneasy as well. When it comes to taking a stand on Viet Nam in 1968, avers Minnesota's G.O.P. chairman, George Thiss, "about the best we may be able to do with it is what we did last year—weave and dodge and duck and pray."

Unthinkable. Actually, no would-be candidate can avoid taking a stand—and with 67% of the public on record in favor of continued bombing of North Viet Nam, a soft stance may amount to a political death wish. Oregon's Republican Senator Mark Hatfield, who is articulate, attractive and only 44, has virtually ruled himself out of presidential consideration—at least for 1968—with his dove-like stance. Bobby Kennedy, who led Lyndon Johnson in popularity polls last October, has fallen behind in the latest samplings, partly because of his criticism of the war.

Similarly, George Romney's five months of ambiguity on Viet Nam cost him considerable support. When he finally stated his position last week, at a dinner celebrating the 150th anniversary of the Hartford Times, it was hard to distinguish from the middle-of-the-road course that Johnson has followed—and the President promptly thanked him for his "strong endorsement."

Romney argued that it was a mistake for the U.S. to become involved in the first place, and maintained that Congress should have been asked to declare war once the involvement in Viet Nam grew as deep as it did. Nonetheless, said Romney, "it is unthinkable that the U.S. withdraw" at this point. "Our military effort must succeed." Defending the need to bomb the North, he added: "We must use military force as necessary to reduce or cut off the flow of men and supplies from North Viet Nam, to knock out enemy main force units, and to provide a military shield for the South."

Among other potential Republican candidates, Nixon strikes a tougher stance, calling for a blockade of Haiphong harbor and intensified bombing of the North. Reagan says that "a cause worth fighting is a cause worth winning." Rockefeller stands with the President, declaring that Johnson "must back the American commitment to freedom—and we must back him in this commitment." Percy, the least bellicose of the lot, is somewhat ambivalent: he proposes neither an unconditional bombing halt nor an outright pull-out but emphasizes the need to "accelerate the pursuit of peace."

Balance of Power. Domestically, the Great Society is certain to figure as a major issue, and it is by no means certain to win votes for Lyndon Johnson. "There is not such massive impact in the programs—at least not that much redounding to the benefit of the Democrats," says former Census Bureau Director Richard Scammon, an astute political observer. "If there were, the Democrats would have won in 1966 without losing a seat."

Underlying the disquiet over the Great Society's goals and achievements is concern that Washington is leaving too little responsibility to the states. Actually, Johnson has been attempting to disperse responsibility by fostering new partnerships involving federal, state and local governments as well as private enterprise. But he has discovered that responsibility is not always welcomed—a point that Chief Justice Earl Warren made last week when he addressed the opening session of New York State's constitutional convention. "One major factor in the concentration of power in the Federal Government," said Warren, "has been the absence of the exercise of power by the states."

The convention that Warren was ad dressing represented an attempt by one state to bring its administrative machinery up to date. Michigan revised its constitution back in 1963, Connecticut in 1965; 17 other states are now either revising antiquated charters or considering plans to do so in the near future.

Don't Poison the Well. In fighting the '68 campaign on such slippery issues as war, bureaucracy and personality, Johnson will almost certainly have Hubert Humphrey as his running mate. The President has been leaning on Hubert more and more in recent months. Since Jan. 1, Humphrey has logged 19,700 miles within the U.S., and he has minced no words with party functionaries. To those who complain about Johnson, he says: "Don't poison the well you're going to be drinking from next year." To liberals who have parted ways with the President over Viet Nam, he snaps: "You go off in a corner and scream, and then you complain that only the hawks, the wild men, have the President's ear. What kind of stupidity is that?" Once anathema in the South, Humphrey has lately found himself welcome in such places as North Carolina, where the Governor two years ago was roundly criticized for permitting him to sleep in the executive mansion, and Louisiana, where Governor John McKeithen nurses hopes of becoming No. 2 man on a future Humphrey ticket.

Last week the Vice President was on the last lap of his most delicate journey yet—a two-week tour of major European capitals to reassure continental statesmen that, despite its preoccupation with Viet Nam, the U.S. has not forgotten its transatlantic allies. The allies had a number of thorny issues to discuss—from Washington's proposed nuclear non-proliferation treaty with

Moscow, which they fear will reduce them to second-class status, to their misgivings over Viet Nam. But the Vice President acquitted himself with wit, charm and persuasiveness.

Portrait by Romney. Dining at 10 Downing Street, he delightedly pointed out to Prime Minister Harold Wilson that a painting of William Pitt the Younger bore the signature of George Romney, the 18th century English portraitist. In a private session with 200 British peers and Members of Parliament, left-wing Laborites did their best to bait him, but Humphrey fielded their barbed questions with aplomb, won a standing ovation at the end. "That was a magnificent performance," said Conservative Party Leader Ted Heath. In Bonn, his talks with West Germany's Chancellor Kurt Georg Kiesinger went off smoothly, even though they took place immediately after the news had leaked out that the U.S. is planning a 12,000-man reduction in its Seventh Army. Humphrey heard no complaints about it. During a two-hour luncheon chat with Charles de Gaulle in Paris, the Minnesotan brought France's phlegmatic President to the edge of tears with an ad-libbed toast lauding his place in history.

Having virtually certified Humphrey as his 1968 running mate, Johnson has also opened the way for Hubert's own shot at the presidency in 1972. On the other hand, should Johnson die or become incapacitated before the 1968 convention, Bobby Kennedy might be tempted to challenge Humphrey for the nomination. However, Harry Truman's popularity rating soared to an unbeatable 87% after the presidency was thrust on him, and Humphrey would probably fall heir to a similar fund of sympathy. In any case, according to Kennedy sources, Bobby has no intention of accepting second spot on either a Johnson or a Humphrey ticket.

Kennedy says he will loyally campaign for the ticket in 1968, and has promised to submit sworn affidavits, if need be, to keep his name off primary ballots in such states as New Hampshire, Nebraska and Oregon. His avid supporters may mount write-in campaigns for him anyway—although they have found little backing thus far in the ranks of regular Democrats. One outfit, the Citizens for Kennedy-Ful-bright, wrote 5,000 former delegates and alternates to Democratic conventions requesting support, got only 28 positive replies. Said an Oregonian: "The only time I would favor Senator Fulbright for any office would be in the event his opponent was Wayne Morse, in which case I would probably vote for Cassius Clay."

Long-Hair Appeal. Bobby, of necessity, is thus looking toward 1972—though he runs the risk of becoming passe by then. As Psephologist Scammon notes: "The life span of the presidential butterfly is not great." Meanwhile the New York Senator is aiming his appeal at a special constituency. Within five years, 26 million new voters will have come of age, and Kennedy is fond of quoting Goethe's dictum: "The destiny of any nation, at any given time, depends on the opinions of its young men under 25."

In pitching his appeal to the longhaired set, Bobby has moved markedly to the left of Johnson, and despite his pledge of support, he is bound to collide with him on occasion. Already his differences on Viet Nam have exacerbated their relations.

Composite Candidate. Though the Democrats can be expected to brawl right up to election eve 1968, they at least have settled the most bitterly divisive issue of all—who their candidates will be. The Republicans are just getting started, and some rough mileage stretches ahead. The ideal candidate would have to be a G.O.P.-style L.B.J., only with the charisma and the capacity to unify all factions and win an election. He would have to be something like the composite superfigure in the 100 Pipers Scotch ads—one with the party loyalty of a Taft, the looks of a Teddy Roosevelt, the tongue of a Lincoln, the humanitarianism of a Hoover, and the probity of an Eisenhower.

Richard Milhous Nixon, 54, hardly fits that description, but he is the man who is best equipped to unite the party. He already has a strong hold on the South—and thanks to a bonus rule adopted at the 1964 G.O.P. Convention, giving extra delegates to states that went for Goldwater or elected a Republican Governor or Senator, the South will have more votes than any other section at the convention (356 v. 355 for the East, 352 for the Midwest, 262 for the West, eight for Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands). Nixon could well enter the convention with 450 of the 667 votes needed for nomination. In addition, he has scores of lOUs from the 1966 campaign, when he traveled 30,000 miles (more than when he ran for President) in 35 states, often shaving three times a day to erase that famous five-o'clock shadow.

But—and there is always a but when Nixon's name is mentioned—he has not won an election on his own since 1950. Though he is the favorite of party regulars, they want a winner, and they wonder whether he is the man. "What's Nixon done that makes him any more electable than he was four years ago?" asks a party professional. "We've got to stop handing out medals for duty performed in campaigns."

Likability Gap. To prove that he can win, Nixon must thus enter every primary in sight. His aides are planning an all-out effort in his behalf in New Hampshire's March 12 first-in-the-nation primary, and are looking into the Wisconsin, Nebraska and Oregon contests. They acknowledge that Nixon suffers from a "likability gap," and that might prove his greatest drawback. Nixon, who has yet to live down the 1960 campaign slur "Would you buy a used car from this man?" may be the Republican least capable of exploiting Johnson's personality gap. He is probably the longest of all G.O.P. long shots. As one Republican leader puts it: "The only way Nixon could win the nomination would be if it were clear that any Republican could win—or that no Republican could win."

Cut, Squeeze, Trim. Should Nixon stumble, the ideal fallback candidate, to conservatives, would be Reagan, 56. William Buckley's National Review calls him "as strong a candidate as the Republican Party can field."

Reagan, of course, denies any such aspirations. "Look," he says with a winning smile and a nervous tug at his right ear, "I am not a candidate for President. I have a pretty big job right here." He does indeed. Elected by nearly 1,000,000 votes on a promise to "cut, squeeze and trim" spending, he has submitted the largest state budget in U.S. history—$5.06 billion. Having promised to keep taxes down, he has proposed the biggest one-shot tax increase ever —$946 million.

His efforts at economizing—by proposing cuts in spending for higher education and mental health—have caused well-publicized uproars, but 67.8% of Californians say that they approve of his plans. The rest of the nation, while withholding judgment, is certainly intrigued with him. Where former Governor Pat Brown used to attract a dozen reporters and two or three TV cameras to press conferences, Reagan draws 50 reporters and a dozen big cameras.

Despite his disclaimers, many Republicans are convinced that Reagan has caught the presidential bug. He will head California's big delegation at the convention as a favorite son. He probably will make several forays into neighboring Oregon before next May's primary, may also be on the ballot in Nebraska and Wisconsin. To withdraw, says his press secretary, "would call to mind a picture of the citizens of the country knocking on the door and telling you they want you to be President, and you slam the door in their face."

Many moderate Republicans are hoping that somebody will slam the door on Reagan. In an envenomed editorial on "Creeping Reaganism" in its monthly newsletter, the liberal Ripon Society said that his candidacy would turn 1968 into a year of "disaster and disunity" rivaling 1964. "It is a misreading of the '64 election," it said, "to think that a better-manicured man, lacking Goldwater's crusty honesty, can turn the same programs into victory for the Republican Party."

Tax-Guzzling Dinosaur. Since November, the man with the best chance of winning has seemed to be George Wilcken Romney, 59. Exploiting that considerable appeal, he has adopted as the motto for a newsletter published by his supporters: "Winning is the name of the game."

But can he win? He still outruns Johnson and Kennedy in preference polls, though his margin has been decreasing. He has the squarejawed, silver-fringed good looks for the job, an unbroken string of victories and an unblemished personal life. He can enrapture a sympathetic audience, as he did in the conservative mountain states recently, by charging that "the Great Society has grown into a tax-guzzling dinosaur"—an echo from the days when he and American Motors' little Rambler were doing battle with Detroit's "gas-guzzling dinosaurs." Despite the Mormon Church's relegation of Negroes to second-class status, Romney, a faithful churchgoer who tithes his salary and abstains from liquor, caffeine and cigarettes, has a spotless civil rights record.

Nonetheless, Romney's moderate supporters are growing skeptical of his ability to cope with the pressures of a national campaign. Before his Hartford speech, he announced that he would not answer newsmen's questions afterward "because I don't intend to let reporters divert attention from what I'm trying to say." It was a damaging admission of his reluctance to expose himself to the kind of grilling that a presidential candidate must endure daily—even hourly. He is also in trouble at home, where the state senate has rejected his proposals to levy personal and corporate income taxes in order to avoid a $147 million deficit.

Increasingly, Romney has become the butt of the kind of jokes that can kill a candidate. One, referring to his sometimes sanctimonious air, goes "It's all right for George to want to be President, but I object to his using the White House as a steppingstone." Another: "Deep down, he's shallow." When his supporters opened a special research office in Lansing, wags dubbed it "George Romney's Office of Presidential Exploration—GROPE."

Tweedledum & Tweedledee. Given Romney's drawbacks, some moderates are shifting uneasily in their seats and looking elsewhere. Many an eye has fallen on Charles Harting Percy, 47, the junior Senator from Illinois. Percy is not trying to build a shadow opposition. He clearly aspires to higher office, but he would rather run in 1972, when he just might wind up in a Tweedledum-Tweedledee confrontation with Bobby Kennedy, who resembles him in many ways.

Nevertheless, Percy has run ahead of his personal timetable in the past—most notably when he became president of Bell & Howell at 29, ten years before he expected to. In speeches from New England to the West Coast, he has impressed audiences with his articulateness and quickness of mind. He has a reservoir of sympathy as a result of the still-unsolved murder of his daughter Valerie last September. In the Senate, Percy got off to a whirlwind start, persuading 27 colleagues to co-sponsor a bill calling for a Government-supported private corporation to help slum residents buy their own dwellings.

Though a liberal, Percy has kept his channels to the conservatives unclogged. could expect some support should the front-running candidates stumble. "I like Chuck," says Barry Goldwater, whom Percy supported in 1964. "I've worked for him, he's worked for me. I'd support him." But Percy's chief problem is inexperience, which is only accentuated by his boyish looks.

"Not Me." That leaves among the Republican potentials the uncle of Percy's son-in-law—Nelson Aldrich Rockefeller, whose nephew John D. Rockefeller IV two weeks ago married Percy's daughter, Sharon, the twin sister of Valerie. At 58, Rocky seems more at ease, more confident and more attractive than ever. When the presidential campaign is mentioned, he murmurs, "No, no. Not me." He says he will have his name withdrawn from any primary in which it is entered. He has made no move to round up delegates.

Like Romney and Reagan, he has had his problems with a balky legislature, but he has written a record that may be hard to match. His masterpiece is a $2.5 billion transportation bond issue that commits New York State to spend more on modernizing its subway, surface and air lines than Lyndon Johnson is spending on transportation across the entire U.S.

As a potential presidential nominee, he has grave drawbacks. Four years and two babies after his celebrated di vorce and remarriage, his name still evokes indignant sniffs from many women—particularly matrons in their 40s. His refusal to support Goldwater made him a villain to the Republican right. But if the conservatives want a winner, it is conceivable that they might help him toward the nomination. In any case, it will probably take considerable public arm-twisting by G.O.P. powers to coax the reluctant Rocky into the arena. It might well prove worth the effort. He is a proved campaigner, effective in the big cities and clearly a match for L.B.J., in both ex perience and expertise. On foreign policy, Rocky, a former Assistant Secretary of State for American Republic Affairs, can claim a background in practical policymaking unequaled by the other G.O.P. aspirants.

One top-ranking Republican estimates that 22 of the 25 G.O.P. Gov ernors think he would make the best candidate the party could put up. Jack Kennedy admitted after his eyelash victory over Nixon in 1960 that Rocky might have beaten him. With Lyndon Johnson in low esteem among many Democrats and among the independents, who now comprise 27% of U.S. voters (v. 46% for the Democrats, 27% Republicans), Rockefeller could probably collect more of their votes than any other Republican.

Other names will doubtless crop up as the field begins forming: Ohio's Governor James Rhodes, who won a second term by a landslide 700,000 votes in November, though some of his colleagues consider him a lightweight; General William Westmoreland, though he would have to come home with a clear-cut victory in Viet Nam and that is at best a remote possibility. As for potential Vice Presidents, the country is crawling with them. There are Washington's Governor Daniel Evans, Rhode Island's Governor John Chafee, Massachusetts' Senator Edward Brooke and New York's Senator Jacob Javits, the only one who has publicly been courting the post. If he continues to perform as effectively as he has to date in the near-impossible job of running New York City, Mayor John V. Lindsay, 45, will surely rate consideration for a vice-presidential nomination—and eventually, perhaps, even for the top spot on the G.O.P. ticket.

Out of the Doorway. Clouding the whole presidential picture is Alabama's Wallace, a magnum of mischief in a half-pint package. If Wallace does in deed run as a third-party candidate, warns Goldwater, "he'll take votes away from Republicans," probably in the very Southern states that Barry carried in 1964: Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi and South Carolina.

Wallace has already opened campaign headquarters in Montgomery's Ten-High Building. "If these two national parties continue on their present trend of liberalism and me-tooism, we'll be a candidate," he promises. "There is more grass-roots support for us than you can imagine. You just talk to the workingman—to steelworkers, taxi drivers, barbers and people who really run this country."

Capitalizing on the low-income white voter's alarm at Negro unrest, Wallace won 30% of the vote in the 1964 Indiana presidential primary, 34% in Wisconsin, an amazing 43% in Maryland. Given a few major ghetto riots this summer, some rabble-rousing black-power speeches by Stokely Carmichael and a few more statements from Martin Luther King comparing the U.S. role in Viet Nam to Hitler's in Europe, Wallace might even improve on that performance. But he has failed to win the expected backing of Georgia's Governor Lester Maddox. Moreover, Wallace's favorite pitches—for states' rights and against integration—may lose some of their punch when voters begin to realize that Alabama gets 75% of its welfare budget from the evil Government in Washington, that 300 Negroes are attending the University of Alabama now that George is no longer standing in the doorway, and that even his old high school in Clio has ten Negro students.

Understandably, Las Vegas bookmakers offer no odds—even unofficial odds—on the 1968 presidential contest. They figure that the betting on this race should be left to amateurs and madmen.

It is not even safe to say, for example, that Johnson would be a shoo-in if he ended the Viet Nam war. Ironical ly, the G.O.P. could benefit, since there would then be no hesitation about "changing horses in midstream," and the key issues would become the President's personality and his management of the Great Society.

The Big Difference. One safe assumption is that the G.O.P. Convention will not be "deadlocked"; the day is long past when it can take 103 ballots to nominate a candidate, as it did at the 1924 Democratic Convention. Nor, since roughly a dozen Republicans plan to enter the convention as favorite sons and thus will not begin transferring their delegates to the leading candidates until after one or two votes have been taken, will it by any means be a preset minuet. But the nominee should emerge fairly quickly—and without the bruising ideological schism that marred the 1964 convention.

The big difference in 1968 will be that the moderates should be in a sufficiently strong position to prevent such a battle and to select a candidate-whoever he may be—with a realistic chance of winning the election. Thus the most reassuring outlook for '68 is that whichever party and candidate may capture the presidency, the global and domestic commitments of the American people will be little changed.

[raven-clawing]

What Have I Done, Part II

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Word Count: 2,120

Summary: (Y/N) finally made a life for herself in New York, months after her separation from Newt. Unfortunately, she seems that no matter what she does she always find her life connected to the magizoologist. (I really am terrible at these summaries.)

Warning: angst? brief mentioning of alcohol 

Note: I genuinely intended this to be a two-part story after publishing the first, but seems I got ahead of myself. I’m not entirely happy with it, but I need to finish it because I am stubborn lol hope it’s enjoyable anyway! xx

Part One: X    Part III: X

“No, Tina. He hasn’t been cleared of the charges. President Picquery said to handle this case with care. He’s a very important wizard and I-“ 

“This isn’t about you, (Y/N). I know what I seen him do, and he needs to be convicted. He’s been using his magic to violate and steal from No-majs. He needs to be held accountable.” Her voice was stern and her tone unwavering.

You sighed and looked up at the brunette, her hands set firmly in front of her on your desk. If you didn’t consider her one of your closest friends, you might’ve found her intimidating. “You know I won’t let him get anything less than what he deserves. Now, just let me do my job and make sure we have all the credible evidence to lock him up, alright?”

Tina let out a sigh and gave you an apologetic smile, she knew that you were more than capable of handling your job and that you wouldn’t rest until a proper punishment or clearing of criminal charges had been made. She was just passionate about her job and wanted to see it through to the very end. 

You shot her a smile, and closed the file in front of you. “I’ll let you know if I get any good leads, alright?”

She stood and tucked her hands on her hips, a goofy smile on her face, “Right. See you at dinner.” She patted your desk before walking out of your office.

“Ask Queenie to make a strudel!” You called after her, you could hear her laugh as your office door shut. 

Obviously nothing extraordinary had occurred in your life once you walked stormed out of Newt’s life. After a few weeks of moping and wondering if he would burst through the door of your flat and sweep you off your feet, you decided that you wasn’t the kind of girl to wait to be saved. If Newt had truly wanted you, he would’ve been there. He wouldn’t have let you walk out that door. You were merely an assistant and you were easily replaceable. No matter how much that thought tore at your heart.

So, you spoke with the Ministry about getting your job back with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and they obliged much to your surprise. Sure, it was merely a desk job that involved gathering information on convicted wizards and witches to ensure they were given a fair and just trial with proper jail sentences.

Unfortunately, the job didn’t quite grab your attention and you were often begging for lunch to roll around quickly so you could get a breath of fresh air. You weren’t used to being in confined spaces with a set routine, you were used to adventure and spontaneity. Sure, there had been routine with the feeding and maintenance of the beasts but that definitely didn’t come with the description of a desk job. So naturally when the Ministry inquired you about transferring to MACUSA to do a similar job, you immediately said yes. You sold your flat and all of the furniture, determined to start a new life in the United States.

Newt and you had never traveled to the U.S. before, this would be an adventure that you made on your own. You needed new memories that didn’t involve him and you had convinced yourself that you need to slowly wipe him from your thoughts. However, once the newness of your job and New York had worn off, you found yourself back in a routine. Clock in, create files, call a few people, ask a few question, turn in file and repeat until lunch time or 6 P.M. rolled around. And once again, the magizoologist came waltzing back into your train of thought.

You had heard of the conundrum that he had caused New York several months ago, seemingly around the same time that you had parted way. Having both read it in the Daily Prophet and your coworkers (who were undoubtedly excited they could tell their story to someone new and who hadn’t experienced it). Evidently Newt had charmed nearly all of MACUSA, which made you only a little bit bitter. Only a little. So once again, Newt was somehow inadvertently part of your life. You couldn’t escape him, and you nearly lost it when you discovered that Tina and Queenie had actually befriended him during his time here. It wasn’t out of jealousy but pure shock that the two people you would befriend yourself, out of the entirety of New York City, would have relations with him.

Of course you didn’t tell them that you had once been his assistant, that you had helped him rescue the Thunderbird he had released during the aftermath. That the Niffler would actually come running back to you when you gave it firm voice. That the Demiguise leaped at every opportunity to walk around the case with you holding its hand. That you knew exactly how the Nundu liked its mid-afternoon snack. They didn’t know any of this, and while it was hard keeping it from Queenie, you wanted some part, no matter how tiny, to be about you; not Newt and you.

Queenie had thought she had seen Newt in your thoughts on several different occasions, and you realized this because she would question you once again about your time at “Hogwash” and your friends you had made. She would also ask about your past job experience, and one time, much to the dismay of your easily flushable cheeks, who your past lovers had been. Following up the interrogation, her eyes never leaving you, she would mention Newt and ask Tina if she had heard from him. Somehow you had always managed to keep your cool, your thoughts shifting to internal questions about this “Newt fella” to get her off your tracks. Even though you knew all of the answers, and probably knew him better then the Goldstein sisters did. But Queenie knew something was up though, she just didn’t want to confront you or make you comfortable. You were just about her sister’s only friend inside and outside of work.

Letting out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, you dotted your last ‘i’ and shut the file. Finally, the weekend was here and you were to head to the Goldstein’s for your Friday night dinner tradition.

It didn’t take you long for you to get out of the building and onto the bustling street of New York. And, once finding an appropriate corner, you apparated about a block from the sister’s apartment.

+ + + + + +

Dinner went as usual, Queenie had cooked an amazing meal and the time was spent chatting about work and the happenings since the last dinner. 

“So,” you swallowed your last bit of strudel, “so there I was standing in the middle of a street fighting with a Niffler for my necklace, when I realized that everyone had stopped to watch and of course I was surrounded by muggles,” you giggled, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Not to mention, clad in my pajamas.”

“With all those no-majs how did you not get in trouble?” Tina laughed along, finishing off her own piece of dessert. 

“I just started petting him, and saying things like ‘good fluffy, that’s a good fluffy’ and ran off.” All three of you died laughing, “I swear the little bugger played along with it too by purring!”

Queenie nearly snorted, “You would’ve loved to meet our friend Newt. You two would’ve gotten along spectacularly!” She waved her hands dramatically and you gave her a sheepish smile. Switching your inner thoughts to what you needed to do when you arrived back to your apartment, rather than inquiring more about the ’Newt’ person. Queenie gave you a puzzled look but began clearing the plates nonetheless.

“Here let me help you!” You jumped up, gathering your own plates when there was a soft knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Tina beamed, her drink getting the best of her and uplifting her mood. These silly nights with your best friends made your stay in New York all the better.

You passed the plates to Queenie and gathered the now empty cups. Queenie chatted idly with you about her latest dress she was hemming when she stopped mid sentence and started smiling with a hand her hip, “Well, guess we talked you up, huh Sweetie? Sugar, meet our friend Newt!”

You froze. Your blood went cold and your lungs stopped functioning. An image of Newt appeared in your brain and Queenie faltered, how did you know what he looked like? You hadn’t turned around yet. Then memories started flooding your mind like a broken dam that you couldn’t stop. Queenie gently fell into the seat behind her, eyes never leaving you as tears started to gather in your eyes. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. An unsettling silence fell around the room, and Tina, a bit inebriated busted it with a loud: “What’s the matter?”

A soft voice followed the brief silence, “(Y/N)?” It had meant to be a question, but was said as a statement. Newt knew you stood before him, just as well as he knew himself.

“Wait, you know each other?” Tina barked, causing you to flinch. Your back still turned away from them and your mouth dry. “But you- We always mentioned him… You said- I think I need to sit down.” she finally murmured, the event before sobering her. She quickly sat down in her normal seat leaving Newt standing there, looking at you intensely.

You finally looked at Queenie, her face held an unreadable expression and her eyes darted around your face as she read all the thoughts and memories that unconsciously filtered through your mind. Even the ending to your dinner story, the part you had edited out with Newt running into the street with you in his pajamas as well. Imaginings of your inevitable run in with him shuffled through as well.

In the middle of the Goldstein’s apartment after Friday night dinner wasn’t one of them, that’s for sure.

You finally decided that you needed to turn around and face him. Closing your eyes and nervously turning on your heels to face him. Once you slowly opened your eyes, you couldn’t help the loud intake of breath. Over the time spent apart, it had seemed that he had changed dramatically but not at all. His face appeared more defined, and while he still held his towering height he seemed to fill out his brilliant teal jacket more. His hair was still in it’s charming mussed curls. His eyes, the brilliant mixture of blue and green that you could get lost in, without a care in the world. The freckles that you had wondered about counting seemed to have multiplied only slightly. Much to your chagrin, he was still (if not more) utterly and breath taking handsome.

Queen gasped as this thought crossed your mind and you flinched again. You really felt bad for her. All the pent up feelings, memories, and thoughts you had kept from her were flowing and overwhelming her completely. You felt guilty for lying to them, you really did. Newt stood there, staring at you and you could practically see all the emotions running through him as his facial expression changed. Finally, after witnessing shock, curiousness, concern, and something you wasn’t sure you wanted to put a label to, he settled on anger. And like months ago, this expression was still new to you and your body went stiff once again. Your leaving him flashed through your mind and upon hearing Queenie’s gasp again you realized that you need to get out of there. You were causing her so much trouble and what were you going to say to him?

“I think it’s best if I go-” But before you could walk past him, Newt shot out his arm, bracing it gently but firm around your waist.

“Don’t.” he said in deep, warning tone. He still faced away from you, “Don’t you dare walk out on me again.” His voice wavering at the end and you could practically feel the once mended cracks in your heart re-breaking.

You didn’t look at him either, just kept your eyes on your coat by the door. “Newt. I-“

“Would you like some tea, Newt?” Queenie finally spoke, standing quickly causing her chair to screech across the floor. “I’m sure you’ve traveled for a long time, here come sit.”

Newt dropped his arm, and stiffly walked towards the dinning table. You had barely moved your foot towards the door when Tina’s sharp tone sliced through the air, “(Y/N), sit.”

Feedback is great! I like being critiqued on my writings lol 

[krarchives]

logs from 9/26/2016 and 2/2/2017 (EDIT: new! 4/6/17)

09/26/2016

w/izard-merlin Busy with things?

w/izard-merlin I'd rather be told if you're not going to be able to do this or don't want to 09/26/2016

w/izard-merlin Now I'm certain either two things are happening. Your "perfect and splendid" boyfriend who can do no wrong is forcing you into not doing this, and making sure you don't talk to me, or you've simply forgotten. That or you're ignoring me of your own accord So, what is it? Peer pressured by someone who can make others suicidal? I'd believe that, really I would Or is it something else?

w/izard-merlin Don't even bother mentioning that you're "sorry" to me whatever the case is, just tell me the truth. It was stupid of me to believe that you and that asshole you so desperately love were ever sorry to me, all of it was twisted lies, trying to manipulate me and push me away from you two

w/izard-merlin Just an article of amusement, wasn't I?

w/izard-merlin I'd hope to get a response to this 09/26/2016

[redacted] Nothing is wrong, Merlin. I have just been busy. I spent all of last night working on papers.

[redacted] I also find that your line "Peer pressured by someone who can make others suicidal?" feels like peer pressure in itself. You're not an article of amusement. I have just had a lot to do.

w/izard-merlin I'll take your word on that, then

w/izard-merlin I WAS an article of amusement, is what I'm saying

w/izard-merlin Would you not agree?

w/izard-merlin I'm right, aren't I? You two hated me from the very beginning

[redacted] Merlin, stop it. I'm tired of you trying to manipulate me like this. Look at what you're saying. It's not even concealed.

w/izard-merlin Well that's damn ironic

w/izard-merlin I'm perfectly aware of what I'm saying, that's why I'm making no attempt to conceal it I've just had this creeping suspicion for a while And I'm certain it was true You're the one who not only manipulated me into thinking you cared about me, but my best friend and exploited them while they were in an emotionally vulnerable state To push me out of the way, to make room for you, so that you two could be together And it worked So I congratulate you for that Well done, you played me

[redacted] I'm not going to say sorry any more.

[redacted] The extent that you've played this out is absolutely unbelievable.

w/izard-merlin Oh, is it?

[redacted] Look at your words, Merlin. You describe him as a slimebag and then go on to say best friend.

w/izard-merlin WAS, my best friend Until some certain circumstances occurred in order to alter their opinion on me I cared about them immensely, but you exploited the situation to benefit yourself I can't believe it's taken me so long to realise this

[redacted] I can't believe it took me this long to realize how long you've been doing your best to milk this situation dry

w/izard-merlin Well, you have a bias, do you not?

w/izard-merlin You're the one who stole my best friend from me and turned them against me, after all

[redacted] There you go Exploiting the fact that I heavily found myself responsible even though I know that it was everyone's fault Implying that I was the only one that caused that to happen You contributed to that mess too, you know.

w/izard-merlin I'm well aware of that But you lied to me, and kept secrets behind my back, further strengthening the theory that you were just waiting for such an event to occur The perfect scenario for you to step in instead of me While what I did was wrong, and I fully accept that what I did was totally awful. What you did, using it to your benefit sickens me I won't be shocked if I receive messages from a particularly angry boyfriend who's so "concerned" for you

w/izard-merlin It's incredible what you've done, it truly is Turning someone who was my best friend against me But of course, that doesn't matter to you, does it? Yes, or no?

[redacted] I'm tired of being exploited, Merlin. I'm not going to back down.

w/izard-merlin Is that a no, then?

[redacted] I think it would just be best if we split our separate paths now.

w/izard-merlin This is a very clever way you've got of avoiding questions and conflict

[redacted] That's great, Merlin

[redacted] I explained what I could many weeks ago

w/izard-merlin But was it the truth? Suppose I've got no way of knowing if it is, but let's hear what you have to say

[redacted] I told you that long ago And I'm done now I'm tired of this being dragged on and on

w/izard-merlin You're the one who's caused this grief

[redacted] I'm tired for constantly having to apologize for something that happened in the past that I thoroughly explained

w/izard-merlin You're the one who lied to me so you could get away with something that if I would've known, would've been bad for you You're trying to apologise for a lie, then

w/izard-merlin I'm sure you'll come clean about this eventually It's obvious that it as an elaborate ploy

[redacted] If you wish to believe that, Merlin To be stuck in that line of thought

w/izard-merlin I was a fool to ever think you cared about me Spoon fed lies since we even became friends

[redacted] You're ignoring so much that actually happened But if you wish to continue to keep yourself in that mindset

w/izard-merlin I'm sorry for not paying attention to the destruction of my relationship with my best friend at the hands of someone I considered to be a close one as well And I'm almost certain that you give nary a care about me, if you were willing to do what you dis

[redacted] Your hands were tainted as well

w/izard-merlin *did They were, I will admit that I did wrong, that is undeniable But so did you, and you refuse to admit that

[redacted] Were you not there for that entire aftermath? How long I sat there and apologized over and over?

w/izard-merlin It's easy to put on a front You'd got what you wanted, and the last piece of the puzzle was to be "apologetic" To make me believe that you'd truly made a mistake

w/izard-merlin And sure, I bought that For a while, at least

[redacted] You want me to lead in and apologize again, saying how much I did care and how it wasn't a front at all And it wasn't a front But I'm tired of dragging this out I'm tired of letting you milk this for my pity

w/izard-merlin You think that's what I'm doing? I don't want your pity, at all And if you believe that's what I want? You're solely mistaken

[redacted] I'm done with continuing this, Merlin

w/izard-merlin I don't appreciate you trying to make a cop out for this Once more, I'm going to ask you to reiterate the whole truth

[redacted] I'm done, Merlin I did this many weeks ago

w/izard-merlin Humour me, tell me your thought processes over again so that I can truly believe that this wasn't an elaborate ploy against me

[redacted] Merlin This situation has long been done I'm tired of having this dragged on, and on I'm done

w/izard-merlin You don't care about the amount of hell this has been for me, do you?

w/izard-merlin Not at all bothered for what my life is now like Just happy to forget about me Well it's a shame you couldn't keep to what you said about leaving me in the dust And if you cared as much as I did about this, you'd be concerned that things can never be fixed again  But that doesn't matter now, does it? You're "done". Done with me, happy that you achieved your goal of giving me nothing but unhappiness And while some of it is my fault, you are to blame for the reason hat I will NEVER talk to the person I used to call my best friend ever again

w/izard-merlin I hope you NEVER have to deal with the emotional car crash that I'm dealing with, because I'm fairly certain that you couldn't handle it

w/izard-merlin Keep toiling over that, then

11/05/2016

Merlin reestablished contact with me on 11/05/2016 after a longstanding silence between us with the following apology message. It is very sincere and shows understanding of how the situation affected me. 

w/izard-merlin Well... Suppose this has been something that's been overdue for a while, and that's my apology towards you for the absolutely disgusting way I was carrying on, what was it? A month or so? I... Can't really say I'm proud of losing track of when, or making such bold claims when I did... Those stick in the mind, so ultimately, I'd like to apologise to you for this all, I'm not looking for you to forgive me, but to understand that I am DEEPLY sorry for all of this  I would... Hope you have received this, and if there is anything else I can do, please let me know, okay? 

I began to contact him more after this message, and we eventually all became friends again.

2/02/2017

The following was presented after I unfriended him on Steam after an argument. Because the messages are on steam, it is (to my knowledge) impossible to retrieve them. However, Merlin was becoming increasingly upset over the approaching holiday, Valentine’s Day, and the fact that my boyfriend and I were still together. Although I do not have a direct log for this, it should be noted that he stated that he wished for my boyfriend and I to argue and split up so that I could understand how he felt. Other statements that made it seem that Merlin believed that my boyfriend was the only person he could ever love. While I held understanding, at first, towards the feeling of being single for Valentine’s and the emotions regarding that (it fucking sucks), things began to slip out of hand.

w/izard-merlin If you're that eager to get rid of me, then I have one more request of you As you don't want to talk to me, do me a favour Delete everything associated with me you have on your computer Block me here

[redacted] You told me no build up. I'm not blocking you here. I don't block anyone.

w/izard-merlin Make an exception for me then, if you desperately want me gone

[redacted] Quit doing this, Joseph. It's over for now, okay? Get the time you need away from me.

w/izard-merlin Honestly, I'm just in shock you're so willing to turn your back on me

[redacted] This is exactly what you did in August. [Personal note: Whoops! Got the date wrong by a whole month.]

w/izard-merlin And if you're going to

w/izard-merlin Close the book forever Please make it impossible for me to ever talk to you again

[redacted] That's your choice, Joseph. You need to choose your actions and do what you need to do.

w/izard-merlin Grant me a favour then, please

[redacted] I don't decide how your life goes.

w/izard-merlin So all I've done for you, for what? For you to just... Turn your back on me? Yes, I will admit

[redacted] You're repeating everything you said in August, Joseph. [Personal note: Got the date wrong by a whole month x2. Oops!]

w/izard-merlin I'm upset This is ever so slightly different, [redacted] I spent money on you, spent time on producing music I didn't even have to, for you, just I'm upset you're choosing to do this Its like you WANT bad things to happen to me Or at least, thats how it feels

[redacted] Joseph. It's over. It's evident that you seriously need time away from me for a bit.

w/izard-merlin Just answer me this, then Were you using me? As some sort of revenge?

[redacted] No, I wasn't. That's all the explanation you need. I'm not letting this go in circles again. You should take some time away from me.

 04/06/2017 

Merlin attempted to reestablish contact again in early April after around two months of (once again) silence. Because he was blocked on my main account, he had to resort to contacting a side account. The three lines of text he sent are curious because of the condescending tone utilized.

Merlin has also been sending near-daily friend requests on steam since this time. They have all been declined.

Interestingly enough, the “best friend” in the first log has not received any friend requests from him.

w/izard-merlin:  You know I'm sorta upset with you that you'd block me when I obviously had something going on  But you will be pleased to know, I've been doing much better  I trust you've been doing well?