talicskalajos

[starscreamingg]

Honestly transformers one deserves a medal for being the first transformers. Thing. In like five years to make me actually like and want to see bumblebee

[spencers-renaissance]

This Gravitational Pull

Summary: Penelope Garcia sets her two best friends Derek & Spencer up on a blind first date. Even with the best intentions and highest expectations, no-one could've predicted it would go quite this well.

Tags: fluff, first date, au: diff first meeting, shy spencer, insecurity, anxiety, flirting, cuddling, protective derek, silly amounts of affection

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

I started writing this and then realised that I'd set their date in a pub's beer garden? I googled it and apparently they are a thing in America so I kept it in. I don't know how common they are, but I hope it's all good and you can picture the setting just fine.

Spencer really wishes he hadn’t agreed to this blind date.

Not because he doesn’t trust Penelope — he does, he trusts her implicitly and entirely — but because it's a blisteringly hot day in late July and the heat compounded by his shaking nerves is making for a rather unpleasant sweating situation.

A bumblebee buzzes quietly around the table he’s sat at, briefly interested in the iced coffee he’s got his hands wrapped around, and Spencer watches it with a gentle sort of intrigue, able to briefly take his mind off the impending date. He knows that Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan is physically attractive, Penelope had made that more than clear with both her copious photos of him and the way she’s sung his praises since she started working at the FBI, but if anything, that just makes him more nervous. If Derek wasn’t his type, then he wouldn’t have as much to lose.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair as he heaves a small sigh. Worst case scenario, he can run home to his apartment, order Indian food, bury himself in the early edition of War and Peace he just won in an auction and forget that this date ever happened.

“Spencer? Spencer Reid?”

A surprisingly deep and sexy voice has him looking up from the watch face he’s been staring at perhaps a little too intensely, and he’s instantly taken aback by the Greek God standing in front of him. He’d known Derek was attractive, he'd seen pictures of him, but no camera could ever hope to do someone so beautiful any semblance of justice.

“Uh, y-yes, um, yeah. That’s me.” He shakes his head to try and recover his awkward word stumbling before discreetly wiping his sweaty palm on his trousers and standing up to shake Derek’s hand. “You’re Derek?”

“The one and only,” Derek says cheekily, shooting Spencer a grin that already has his stomach churning with a mix of excitement and crippling nerves. “Penelope told me you were gorgeous, but let me tell you, she really undersold it, pretty boy.”

His cheeks instantly flush red as he fights to maintain eye contact, blinking owlishly at the other man. Did he really just say that?

“I was going to say the same thing.”

Derek’s grin only widens. “Well, it looks like Penelope matched us well, then.”

This time Spencer allows himself to briefly duck his head as a baffling mix of pleasure and mortification swim around his chest. He puts it down to inexperience. Any other explanation will only compound his embarrassment.

“She did,” he agrees, smiling over at Derek and hoping desperately that he’s managing to stay cooler on the outside than he is on the inside. “Do you want something to drink?”

Derek nods. “I’ll go and order a beer at the bar. Do you want anything or are you okay with that coffee?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you,” Spencer says, and mentally he praises himself for finally getting out a coherent sentence that doesn’t sound hopelessly mangled and flustered.

He watches Derek as he strides into the pub, looking as cool and confident as his looks and personality allow, and he realises that he really does just have a way about him. The bar is relatively crowded due to the blinding heat on a Saturday afternoon, but the bartender serves him instantly, all the girls eyeing him interestedly and the guys knocking his shoulder and joking about with him as though they’re all easy, long-time friends.

It’s nice, Spencer thinks, to be the focus of someone like that’s attention. Derek could have his pick of most people drinking here, but he only has eyes for Spencer as he comes back out, holding a tall pint and wearing a happy, focused expression as he sits back down.

“Do you not drink?” Derek asks curiously and without judgement, gesturing to his coffee.

“I go out with my friends sometimes,” Spencer says, blushing again, “but I’m a bit of a lightweight, and that’s not the best state of mind to be in on any first date, let alone a blind one.”

Derek chuckles warmly at that, and the sound is a pleasant rumble reminiscent of a distant thunderstorm. Spencer wants to melt into it.

“I think I’d like to see you all messy on a night out, pretty boy,” Derek says wryly, still grinning shamelessly, and Spencer gets the distinct impression that this ‘pretty boy’ business is going to be a Thing between them.

Spencer cocks his head and takes a sip of his coffee through the long metal straw. “Maybe you’ll have to join us some time.”

“Does that mean we’re going on another date?” Derek asks, but before Spencer can panic that he’s said the wrong thing, he’s smoothly continuing. “Because I’m more than down for that.”

“You are?”

“Pretty boy, you ever looked in the mirror?” Derek demands playfully. “Add that to this cute little nerdy bashful doctor thing you got going on and you’re the whole package. Of course I want another date with you, and we’ve barely even started this one.”

Spencer flushes bright pink at that, and decides to move the conversation on before he melts into a literal puddle in the middle of this beer garden. “So you know Penelope through work?”

Derek gets the hint. “I was part of the group that arrested her, actually,” he chuckles, “and I thought she was gonna be a nightmare to work with when we gave her the option of working for the FBI instead of going to prison. But then she showed up on her first day decked out from head to toe in pink and yellow, her hair dyed back to her natural blonde, and the way she smiled when I called her baby girl… well, it was smooth sailing from then on. Did you know her back in her Black Queen days?”

“I was her one phone call,” Spencer answers, his face splitting into an easy grin as they discuss his favourite person on planet earth. “I was terrified she was going to jail and I’d lose her forever, so I was over the moon when you guys offered her that deal. We went to get our hair done together the very next day.”

“Oh yeah? And what did Pretty Boy have done to his hair, hm?”

Spencer blushes. “Let’s just say she wasn’t the only one who had a rebellious phase?”

“Now that I have got to know more about.”

“Save it for date number two, SSA Morgan,” Spencer shoots back, relaxing into the easy banter between them.

“Alright, alright, baby, I can do that,” he says, winking again. Thankfully, Spencer manages not to do an embarrassing impression of a traffic light this time. “How did you and Penelope meet?”

“Back in college actually,” Spencer nods. “She was sort of going off the rails after her parents’ death, but I think finding a scared 12 year old in her Geography elective helped her rein it in a bit. We’ve been glued at the hip pretty much since we met. Even when I went to MIT for a bit to complete my Engineering PhD, she came with me. Since her job back then was mostly hacking and some supplemental side jobs, it didn’t really matter where she was based, she was just hellbent on protecting me like she has ever since that first Geography class.”

“Wow,” Derek says, looking genuinely shocked as he leans back a little bit, eyeing Spencer with curious eyes. “You went to college when you were twelve? I’m glad you had Penelope because that could’ve been a disaster.”

“It kind of was,” Spencer nods, laughing a little. “But it meant that I had five degrees including three doctorates by the time I was twenty-one so I wasn’t too mad about it.”

Derek stares at him consideringly, the soft smile on his face making Spencer’s stomach fill with butterflies. “You’re quite the genius aren’t you?”

“Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

Derek just stares at him.

“So, yeah, I guess I’m a genius?” he says bashfully.

Derek laughs, shaking his head. “Definitely a genius. I mean, Penelope told me you were clever, but this is like… insane. Are you sure you’re okay to go out with a mere mortal like me or should I see myself out?”

“Yeah actually, Derek, sorry, it’s not going to work out,” Spencer says, feigning seriousness. “I can’t be with anybody who’s not within twenty IQ points of me or doesn’t have at least two PhDs.”

“A good actor, too? What don’t you have going for you, pretty boy?” He laughs in that wild and free kind of way Spencer always wishes he could, and he wonders whether Derek could teach him how.

Derek watches him like there’s something special about Spencer as the sound of their laughter mingles, looks at him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be but right here, right now, and the warm intensity of it has a buzz going in Spencer’s chest, a pleasant feeling he can’t imagine anything dousing, and he never wants Derek to take his eyes off him again. Not if this is how it’s always going to make him feel.

The hours of the afternoon fly by and all of a sudden the sun is setting and they’re feeling distinctly hungry.

“How do you feel about getting some street food and taking a wander down to the beach?” Derek suggests hopefully, and Spencer can’t help the wide grin that splits his cheeks at the idea.

“Let’s do it.”

The beach is slightly cooler than the garden now the sun is setting and a soft, salty breeze is floating in from the ocean, so they sit close together in the sand, sharing their servings of nachos and fries between them.

“What’s your family like?” Spencer asks, a little daringly after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence.

Derek smiles. “They’re amazing. It’s been just me, my mom, and my two sisters since I was ten years old, but I think losing my dad only brought us closer together, y’know? We had to learn from a young age how to rely on each other, and we were also taught the very valuable lesson of just how important family is and how nothing in life is guaranteed, so we’ve made every effort to be as close to one another as possible.”

Spencer watches with quiet admiration as Derek gushes about his family, and takes another bite of their nachos. “Do they live locally?”

“No, they’re all still back in Chicago,” Derek says. “It’s sad sometimes, being so far away from them, but they would have killed me if I’d stuck around back home just for them and hadn’t chased my dream of climbing the ladder of the FBI.”

Spencer nods, chuckling along with Derek as they stare out at the quiet, tumbling waves of the ocean.

“What about you?” Derek asks. “Are you close with your family?”

Shit. He hadn’t exactly considered that asking Derek about his family would lead to reverse questioning about his own. I mean, call him a genius all you want, but social interaction is not his area of expertise.

“Uh, it’s just me and my mom. She lives back in Vegas,” he explains, clearing his throat awkwardly as he hopes that’s enough to appease his date.

Truthfully, it probably would have been, but Derek doesn’t say anything immediately, and the silence feels like it’s choking him into admitting the truth, however much it makes his chest tighten and his stomach flip with anxiety. What if this is it? What if Derek doesn’t want to start something with someone who has a family history as fucked up as his? What if he reads between the lines and sees that Spencer could be just like his mom in the future, and thinks that starting a relationship is just too risky?

“She has paranoid schizophrenia,” he blurts out, the words rolling off his tongue without his express permission, and instead of shutting up, they just keep coming. “When my dad left when I was ten, I had to be her sole carer until I left for college at twelve, but even then she refused professional help and medication, so I was taking the train from Pasadena to Las Vegas every weekend to try and help her out, and it got messy a lot of the time. It was only when I turned eighteen that things got a little bit easier, and that was only because I betrayed her trust and had her sectioned into a Sanitorium.

“They’re amazing, they take really good care of her and I did my research obviously, but I think a part of her still resents me for doing that.”

He stares out at the ocean for a couple of seconds before he suddenly realises where he is and what he’s just done.

“Oh my god,” he says as horror and dread fill him from the bottom up, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have just dumped all that on you, I’m sorry, just—”

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says gently, placing a reassuring hand on his back to get his attention. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m just happy you felt comfortable enough to tell me all of that, and besides, I asked the question, and I meant it. I wanted to know the answer.”

Spencer feels some of the panic recede a little, and he looks up at Derek to try and gauge whether he’s telling the truth. “Really?”

Derek’s expression only softens further. “Really.”

He relaxes a little further and leans into Derek’s side, smiling to himself when Derek wraps his arm fully around his waist, resting his head on top of Spencer’s.

“I feel like I’ve known you way longer than just four hours and fifty six minutes,” Spencer says eventually.

Derek chuckles, and this time Spencer can feel the low rumble against his cheek as well as hear it. “It might be the biggest cliche in the book, but I feel exactly the same, baby.”

“I think sharing street food on the beach while staring out at a sunset as romantic and beautiful as that one has cemented the cliches in this date enough already,” Spencer points out, laughing a little.

“That is very true,” Derek agrees, squeezing his hand against Spencer’s waist. “We could round all the cliches off with a kiss, if you’d like.”

Spencer sits upright, blushing again as he eyes Derek’s flirtatious but serious expression. “I’d like that a lot.”

Derek wastes no time in taking Spencer’s jaw in his hand and leaning in slowly to place a long, sensuous kiss to his lips. Spencer kisses back with as much control as is possible when your experience is next to none and you have one of the most beautiful men in the world turning your stomach inside out with his attention, but it seems to be enough for Derek because as soon as they pull away, he’s grinning widely.

“You’re quite the kisser, pretty boy.”

Spencer fights the blush but it comes anyway. “I like that.”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The kiss?”

“No, the pet names.”

Derek’s expression smooths out and he smiles again, a little more tenderly than his usual cheeky grin. “Well, that’s good, because I have plenty more up my sleeve, sweetheart.”

Spencer flushes with pleasure this time and settles back against Derek’s side, observing the blue sea as they settle into silence once more.

“I’m not very used to all of this, by the way,” he says after a while, the sky slowly darkening.

“Used to what?”

“This. Kissing. Dating. Pet names.”

Derek looks down at Spencer to try and get a better look at his face. “Really? You could’ve fooled me.”

“I’ve only ever had one boyfriend before, and this is only the second date I’ve ever been on.”

“Any girlfriends?”

“Not really my area.”

“And this other date, was that with boyfriend number one?”

Spencer shakes his head against Derek’s shoulder. “No, I never went on a date with him. I met him in college and we were friends first, so we never really dated, just fell into a relationship.”

“Ah.” A brief silence settles over them again, but Derek doesn’t let it hang long. “You know I’m not bothered by any of that, right? You could have never dated anyone ever before or have screwed your way round half of California and DC and it wouldn’t matter a single bit. Not if you were here with me, right now.”

He laughs softly as Derek lightens the mood, and something in Spencer’s chest feels like it falls into place at that, like his last anxious reservation has been washed away and he can really move forward, forge onward with this scarily exciting endeavour.

“You’re a good man, Derek Morgan. You know that, right?”

Derek kisses the top of his head. “I do,” he says, “but I’m not sure it’s ever sounded quite as special falling from anyone else’s lips as it does falling from yours.”

Further down the beach, another wave crashes against the shore, and the colours of the sunset fade away slowly. People pack up their picnic baskets and head home, and seagulls attack their leftovers, but none of that matters, because right now, Spencer’s world is Derek Morgan.

Penelope Garcia deserves a medal.

(Yes, I've used that "yeah I guess I'm a genius" sequence in way too many fics, leave me ALONE. )

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @hotchscotchh (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[indianamoonshine]

Strawberry | Chapter 12 | Flames

Summary: Will joins the family dinner. The night can hide many things.

Rating: (+18) for…situations.

A/N: I'm SO SORRY for the long hiatus. Please accept this peace offering (jealous!Din) as a token of my gratitude.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople

The symposium of a midwestern dinner sounds a lot like Bach's work.

Difficult notes with high to reach places and then very low caverns just a moment later. The cicadas in the background are a nice touch; it's something Tchaikovsky might have wished he could capture. Silverware - old enough to be considered vintage now - clank against the porcelain dinner plates. Charlotte lets out her fae-like laughter and Rhea listens intently, eyes gazing dreamily upon Tommy as he carries on conversation. The house is full tonight.

You suppose it was out of the kindness of your father's heart to invite Will to this dinner. Everyone within a two mile radius usually came to these spur-of-the-moment things. Will was an old family friend and his father supplied yours with fresh goat's milk and chicken eggs, so it wasn't all that strange he came along. Still, it made the meal a bit more difficult to swallow. Quite literally.

Din is sitting directly across from you. You think it might have been intentional because Will chose to plop his happy ass right beside you, grinning that lopsided smile and charming his way out of the discomfort with a joke. You play the part by laughing when he tries to outwit everyone in the room or by asking him how the farm manages these days. Will isn't a cocky person by nature, but something about the rigidness of his composure when Din asks for the green beans makes you all too suspicious.

It doesn't make any sense. Will broke things off with you. If he were to be jealous, it wouldn't be for anything but pride and show. A year ago it would've bothered you that Will was cajoling the room for the sake of his vanity, but now it was just embarrassing for everyone involved.

"Din, do you remember the summer of '90?" your father asks across the table, clearly involved in another conversation that pertains to this anecdote.

The man across you hums and shakes his head with a reluctant grin. "I try not to," he fibs, cutting at his steak.

Your father chuckles. "I was nineteen and Din was..." he pauses. "Jeez, Din. How old were ya?"

"Seventeen."

"Ah, right! Rhea hadn't been born yet but Scarlett was pregnant with her by the end of the summer. That was our last free year, wasn't it? Well, mine anyway." You dad points his fork in Rhea's direction, a bit of steak dangling from its end. "And then you came along."

Rhea scoffs. "Well, geez. My bad for existing."

There's no darkness in either of their words so the exchange makes everyone at the table chuckle in good humor. Your father and Din go back and forth about the irresponsible and, well, illegal things that had been done that summer. Underage drinking. Trespassing. And somehow Din always got away with it.

"He never got us caught. Ever. I still don't know how you did it." Your father says to his friend, eyes wrinkling with a genuine smile. "Damn good thing too considering how much pot we smoked. It's a good thing my girls didn't get that rebellious streak."

A witty response is formed upon your lips but only until Will cuts you off.

"I don't know about that," he pipes in.

You're taken aback, quite literally tossing your head to gauge his interjection. "What?"

An indifferent silence hushes the dinner party. Your sisters chew their food carefully, eyes glued upon the scene before them like it was one of their soap operas. Your father awaits an explanation with a rather scandalized look upon his face, but Will's father - Clarence - doesn't seem at all fazed by any probability of illegal activity.

Will rolls his chin to serve you an exasperated look. "Oh, come on. We're adults now; we can come clean." He drenches his steak in more A1 sauce before revealing: "Your daughter was the one to egg the sheriff's house."

The entire room initially goes as silent as a graveyard before everyone chokes on a snort and begins to roar with laughter. Clarence slaps your father on the back as the two of them snicker like a pair of hyenas.

"Will!" you growl. "You said you'd take that to your deathbed!"

The pain in the ass beside you howls with laughter, holding his stomach, and having to pause from drinking his beer. "Daffi, it's fine. They can't do anything about it now."

"That's not the point!" you scowl.

Din is grinning from ear to ear, obviously amused by your humiliation. It was a childish thing to do but the sheriff was a dick in the worst way and you wanted him to know it. That was a hot summer - record breaking, actually - and by the time he'd woken, the egg had dried upon his lawn and across the face of his home. Ole' Sheriff Winslow scoured the town for weeks before finally abandoning his quest altogether.

"You got something to say, Mister Djarin?" you inquire playfully, scolding him with a fire in your eyes.

Din clears his throat and furrows his brows. "No, no. I wouldn't dare."

The two of you exchange a glance that was far too intimate for this dining room. His eyes softened upon meeting yours and his smirk was silly, drunk on something other than the beer in his hand. If it weren't for dear Will's additional reminiscence, you might've fallen under the spell lingering in the space between you.

"Yeah, that was a great summer. We had our first kiss that year, remember?"

You blink, all thoughts of Din's mouth upon yours fizzling away like steam. Instead, it is replaced with the frayed-edged memory of Will's rusted pick-up parked in the darkest corner of the local McDonalds. It was hardly a first kiss worth mentioning if it hadn't been for how good he was at it and how bad you were. Still: what the fuck?

You wanted to say just that but refrained from doing so. Instead you say, "Lots of awkward fumbling if I recall." It comes out sharp - petty. If he wanted to behave like a child, you could do it too.

Din's trying so desperately hard not to glare at Will. You can see it in the deliberate chug of his beer.

-

“What. The. Hell.”

“I know.”

“Wait,” Charlotte holds up a hand, expression dumbstruck. “I’m not done.”

You roll your eyes and scrub at a particularly stubborn dish, waiting for her dramatics to be over.

“…was that?” she finishes.

Rather anti-climactic.

“It’s Will,” you tell her, voice bored but teetering on the edge of fury. “It’s fucking Will. What do you expect?”

Charlotte shakes her head, eyes bulging with disbelief as she blinks over and over again as though trying to compute. She takes a dish from you, sopping wet, and begins to dry it with a rag. You know Charlotte is eager to gossip because she never - never - offers to help clean after supper.

Everyone else is carrying on from the awkward conversation by sitting at the bonfire and making pudgy-pies. It’s the kind of snack one eats when they need to forget about anything other than the impending weight gain. You watch from the window as Rhea slathers Nutella upon a piece of white bread and then some cut strawberries. Honestly, you could really go for one, but the idea of being anywhere near Will makes your skin crawl.

“Did he say anything to you? Before dinner? Or after? Like…why would he say something like that?” Charlotte carefully stacks the delicate plates atop each other. They clank against one another noisily.

Like cymbals within the symphony.

“Nope,” you tell her. “Not a word. I have no idea what’s gotten into him.”

Charlotte goes silent, rubbing at the plates until they’re dry as a bone, and then whispers, “He obviously knows.”

You square your jaw, glancing around to make sure no one is in the vicinity, and then let out a great sigh. “Yeah, I’m sure he does. I was all over Din at the bar.”

Your dear sister brightens at the mention of the night prior. She stops her drying and places her hands upon your shoulders so that you may look her in the eyes. You see mahogany. Deep. Rich. Full of life and excitement. In her eyes, it is proof that she’s a good spirit and in good health. (And…well, maybe a little tipsy, but that’s besides the point.)

“I like him. For you.” Is what she confesses. She places her hands upon your cheeks and squishes them together. You protest, taking her wrists and wrestling her, but giggling all the while. “I mean it. I think he adores you. And so do I.”

You nod in her grasp. “Okay, okay! I know, yes. I know!” you chuckle, breathless from the lack of air supply. She still has you in a chokehold. “Can you please let me go now?!”

Charlotte releases you from her trap and you gasp a throat-full of air, belly aching from laughter. The two of you embrace one another in a hug, attempting to lift the other, and then falling upon the linoleum - sore with serenity.

-

There is something stirring in Din.

It is a fire that has just been fanned from embers he sought to snuff out. But they hadn’t perished, despite how hard he had tried. The coals burned. He burned.

For you.

At the bar, Din ignored Will to the best of his ability; sort of like how one ignores an irritating bumblebee. Leave him be, Din had chanted. He’s harmless. After all, Din had years stacked against Will. How was it possible to be so insecure by this kid?

Because that’s essentially what he is, right? He’s so goddamned young; he looks as though he’s never taken a hit in his life. He’s too pretty, too put together. He’s firm skin and tight abs. And Din, well…

Din was not.

Din was old. He was well past forty years of age now, playing house with a woman over twenty years his senior. No matter how well he managed to keep the façade so believable, it would one day end in disaster - embarrassment. Heartache. And defeat. He can’t bear the thought.

It wasn’t like him. He’s never given a shit about anyone’s perception of him before, nevertheless mulled over the ex of a romantic interest. Not to say that Din’s ever felt the way he did with you; no one has even come close. Xian was his longest “situationship” and when it inevitably burst into flames, he didn’t bat an eye. (He wonders if that makes him a terrible person.) If his toxicity with Xian was worth anything, it was just a testament of his endurance.

But you. The world fucking blurs when you’re near.

So when Will - cocky as Din once was - utters unsolicited bullshit, it takes every ounce of dignity he has left to remain silent.

We had our first kiss that year, remember?

There is a primal urge to reach across the table and wring the smug expression from Will’s face, to grab you with an unfamiliar hunger, carry you across the acre, and toss you onto his bed and just…

No. That was brutish. He wasn’t like that. He couldn’t allow himself to feel possessive over you because you couldn’t be owned. He knew that. But that fire licked at his inner conscious until he had to excuse himself from dinner altogether.

The darkest parts of him pace during the bonfire, though he manages to sit still and interpret Will’s behavior. His youth glows betwixt the crazed flames, an ombré of red and orange dancing across everyone’s skin. Din watches, he listens, he notes every little thing like hunters do. Because for some reason - some ungodly, twisted reason - Din felt as though Will were a bounty now. It’s the only way he could feel superior.

“Daffodil!” Will calls out suddenly. “Get over here!”

The hinges in Din’s jaw pop as he clenches his teeth, grinding them so forcefully he thinks Rhea - who sits beside him - might hear. When you arrive from the house (he guessed you were cleaning up, just as you always do), he notes the skimpy length of your cotton shorts and…

Wait. Is that his shirt?

It is. It’s the very same shirt Din offered you after the rain debacle after the bar. It was one of his favorites despite how plain it was; just a grey t-shirt that fit snugly on him but dwarfed you entirely. It skimmed the top of your knees and pressed against the swell of your chest. That something within him growled once more.

“Come sit,” Will instructs, patting at his lap.

You hesitate. “I…”

Will chuckles, urging you with waggling fingers. “We’ve been like this since we were kids, Daffi. Come on.”

There’s a pathetic attempt to steady himself as Din watches you perch upon Will’s lap.

You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his shirt…

The group chats a while longer, exchanging stories Din’s never heard, but none of it matters. You’re on another man’s lap. And despite Mark’s very obvious presence, he wants so badly to grip your wrist and run.

“I’ve seen you before,” Will says suddenly. He points a finger in Din’s direction, eyes a little hooded from drink. “Weren’t you at the bar a couple of nights ago?”

Those who partook in the rendezvous go silent. Rhea freezes and Charlotte blanches, looking towards their dear sister who’s pale in the face now. Mark, in his sheer oblivion, raises a brow. Din’s been in every intense situation imaginable, but something about now makes his gut churn.

He could loose you. Right now.

He’s about to lie, to make up some bullshit excuse about having ‘one of those faces’, but Rhea pipes in.

Her voice is strong and firm when she says, “What the hell are you talking about? He wasn’t there.”

Effortless. Shoulders sag, the tension subsiding thanks to Rhea’s impeccable skill.

“Strange. Swore I saw you with…” he shakes his head and shrugs. “Never mind.”

An artificial laugh - so sickly sweet that it’s almost impossible to digest - escapes your lips. “You must’ve drank too much. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

-

His kiss takes you by surprise.

You’re walking back to the house after the men have soiled the fire and everyone’s said their good nights when he just does it.

It’s covertly enough, but it’s shocking. A massive hand encircles your wrist and pulls you behind the shed out back, pressing you against the mossy wood and stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s the biggest risk the two of you have taken. For God’s sake, your father is just now walking inside the main house and Din’s mouth is attached to the hollow of your neck.

You’re dizzy, gripping his shoulders so tightly that the fabric of his shirt warps beneath your fingers. “Din,” you breathe out. He kisses you speechless again and you break for air. “Din, what’s the matter?”

He curses under his breath. It’s sharp. Fuck. It’s not angry, per say, but it is damaged. You weave your fingers through his hair as he settles his breathing, concentrating on the strings of your shorts that he fiddles with.

“I…” He sighs, pressing his nose against your cheek. His breath is warm and you shiver. “He touched you.”

He sounds ashamed. Embarrassed. You can’t imagine how difficult it must be to vocalize your self-doubt as someone who relishes in secrecy. He had a wall built around him and it was made of iron.

“Not like you,” you whisper shyly.

You had some walls of your own. He was tearing them down like that of Jericho.

There’s softness in the air. The two of you are silent, eyes closed, and mouths inches apart. Exchanging of breath. It’s an ancient form of intimacy.

You trust him. You trust him with your life.

His hand feels natural in your own as you lift it to your breast. The trembling of his fingers is almost endearing; the man was far older than you and he still shook at the mere touch of a woman.

“No one can touch me like you.” Your hands glide south, pressing underneath the fabric covering the raw parts of you, until you stop at the band of your panties. “No one can.”

It’s all he needs to hear.

Soon after, he kisses you fiercely, but not without nodding in agreement. And that very hand, which grazes so deliciously at your belly, finally dips.

Sparks.

[suite43]

"Are you just going to stand there all night?" Starscream muttered, glaring from where he was laying in bed, wings tucked to one side.

"Where else am I supposed to go?" Bumblebee asked. He wasn't looking at Starscream, just standing on the other side of the room, staring out one of the absurdly massive windows at the city below.

Bumblebee sighed. It was late. Really late. Slug was probably getting dragged out of Maccadam's right about now, probably by a cranky Ironhide and the other dinobots. Wheeljack would still be up, somewhere, if not at the bar then tucked away in a workshop or other. Blurr was probably still working. Bee absently wondered what time it was on Earth, and if Optimus was okay, and tried to guess where the Lost Light might be right now.

He missed them.

Recently he'd taken to spending his nights wandering around the massive Iacon tower where Starscream lived. It was always mostly empty in the late hours. He'd mentally mapped almost all of it. Down to the basement to watch whatever the hell Starscream had his mnemosurgeon up to, thinking up ways to chastise him for it in the morning. Around the public spaces, tracing the patterns of the incredible stained glass windows and the tiling of the floors. Up and down dozens of flights of winding stairs that probably would've killed him had he still had a physical body. He still felt an ache in his bad knee, some nights. Through the offices of the delegates, often catching miss Windblade working late, muttering to herself, or occasionally talking to Chromia.

But he knew the tower too well. It was beginning to just remind him of how fucking alone he was. He'd long since overcome any nerves or feelings of impoliteness about eavesdropping, but it was still painful to walk in and out of rooms without so much of an acknowledgement that he'd been there at all. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes in the late late nights in big empty towers where he could scream and yell and stomp as much as he wanted and nobody would so much as blink, a part of Bumblebee began to think that maybe Starscream is right.

Does it even matter? The more sleepless nights spent wandering empty buildings as a pathetic excuse for a poltergeist made Bee start to think that if everyone else was convinced he was a hallucination, maybe he was.

"Where else am I supposed to go?"

Starscream didn't respond at first, leaving Bee to his thoughts. Or maybe he was having thoughts of his own. Equally broody ones, probably. Bumblebee wanted to not care what Starscream was thinking. But he cared.

"You could at least sit down."

///

Days bled into weeks into months, and their interactions became more comfortable, despite everything. There was less denial on Starscream's part, that certainly helped. Being told you're not real twenty-seven times a day by the only person who can see you isn't exactly good for ones mental state, and Bee was greatful for the change.

The nights were still hard.

As far as Bee could tell, he didn't need to sleep. But, even when the stubborn bastard said otherwise, Starscream did. Which meant there were usually at least a few hours Bee had to pass alone.

Most nights does not mean every night, though. Starscream was still an insomniac.

And at some point, Bee had moved from sitting by the window and brooding to dragging the chair closer to Star's bed, encouraged by one too many passionate late-night conversations about some plan or other that they'd gotten way too into.

Being closer to Starscream meant more noticing the tossing and turning, the restless flicker of optics and quiet uncomfortable muttering that filled his nights before Starscream would eventually give up on the whole "sleep" thing, shoving his face into a pillow and letting out a string of swears.

"Are you okay?" Bee asked, one such night.

"What do you care?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Tch. Hardly."

"If you're worried about keeping a secret, remember I physically can't talk to anyone else. If you're worried about embarrasing yourself, remember I'm literally dead. No matter what you are actively doing better than I am in terms of survival."

"And yet, that doesn't stop you from being one judgy son of a bitch."

"Eh, it's an autobot thing. Judgy is what we do, isn't it?"

"Agreed," Starscream smirked, despite how exhausted he seemed, and something in Bee's chest gave a slight lurch at the sight.

"Seriously, whats bothering you?"

///

There came a point where "comfortable" became "casual", which became borderline intimate at times, which was astounding. Despite being stubborn and cagey and completely avoidant about 90% of his real issues, Starscream had managed to be genuine for long enough to manage good conversations.

Bee felt much more certain with that. Starscream was connecting with him, in his way. Which meant that Bee couldn't be that fake, or that annoying. He was probably real. Which was confidence-boosting. He didn't dread alone time nearly as much, knowing that he was making an impact on at least one person during the day made the nights a bit easier. Still, Starscream didn't sleep much.

"I don't get it..." He was drunk, and muttering, more talking at Bumblebee than to him, tired and barely coherent and definetly obsessing. Starscream could barely keep his eyes open. He was laying in his bed, which was pressed into a corner of the room, facing the nearby wall.

The nearby wall, which happened to have a Bee blocking the view. He had sat himself in Starscream's bed, in one corner, leaning up against the walls, cane laying next to him, repeating bits of information back to Star and correcting him on this or that detail, rebuttling his more outrageous claims with bored No, you won't's and Really, Starscream?'s.

"You're driving headfirst into a cliffside and then wondering why you aren't getting anywhere," Bee said, interrupting Starscream's latest rambling.

"Well, if you're so smart, what would you suggest I do?"

"Go to bed, tackle it again in the morning when you have the common sense to climb." Bee smiled a little. He sounded almost like Prime. Or maybe more like Wheeljack? Didn't matter. It was solid advice.

"Or fly. I'm a jet."

"Sure, or fly, whatever. Go the fuck to sleep. You need it."

"I don't need you."

"Didn't say you did." Bee rolled his eyes.

"I don't need you to tell me what to do."

"Somebody has to at least try to make sure Cybertron's great and powerful leader isn't falling asleep at his desk tommorow."

"I've earned the right to nap wherever I damn well please."

"Not during a trial. Or a council meeting. Or-"

"We have a council meeting tommorow?"

"Yeah, you do, it's in your schedule. It's early."

"Fuck," he rubbed at his eyes. "I should've thought about that before I went and drank half a bottle of high-grade."

"I tried to warn you." Bee didn't see the point in mentioning that it was considerably more than half a bottle. He'd figure it out in the morning.

"...Thanks." It was quiet, and a little ashamed, and shockingly sincire.

"Um. You're welcome? I do my best."

Starscream stared at him for a moment, expression focused but unreadable. Then he rolled over, shifting his wings, snuggling in to make himself more comfortable, still muttering to himself even as he drifted off.

Bee sighed, letting himself slide down until he was laying on the bed. He could feel it under him, sort of. It was firm, but not much else. He didn't feel the smoothness of the silky fabric he knew Starscream spent way too much money on, nor the warmth that should be eminating from the sleeping seekers frame. He did, however, feel the steady thrum of Starscream's spark. It reverberated in the hollow of Bee's own chest, where his own sparkbeat was barely a faint flicker.

He wondered if Starscream felt that in the same way. A small, persistent tug at the edge of his spark, even when they weren't near each other. If he did, he'd probably call it guilt.

Bee sighed and closed his eyes, just focusing on the spark's pulse, the soft push and pull. He might not be able to actually sleep, but he could at least pretend for a bit.

///

Bee groaned and pulled himself out of bed, finally giving up as he left his apartment and marched down the night streets, following the tugging weight at the edge of his spark until he was face to face with a door into a familiar apartment in a familiar building and he was suddenly hit with a wave of what the fuck am I doing?

He spent a minute arguing with himself over whether or not he ought to actually knock on the door, but it turned out to be useless, because it slid open without him doing much of anything at all. In the doorway stood a weary Starscream looking surprised, but also not, to see the yellow minibot in front of him.

"Bee?"

"Uh, hi."

"What are you doing here?"

"Uh, well," Bee suddenly felt very foolish. "I, uh, can't sleep."

"And... you came here?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Starscream just stared at him for a minute before turning away with a huff, retreating into the apartment, the door left open behind him. It seemed as good an invitation as he was going to get, so Bee followed him in.

He wandered through the apartment, following Starscream back to the bedroom, already feeling some of his nerves beginning to settle just by being here. It wasn't the same apartment Starscream had had when he was ruling the planet, but it was similar enough. Same decor, same layout. A bit smaller, but still, the whole place was overwhelmingly Starscream. He spilled out of the furniture, painted the walls and filled every nook and cranny with himself. His presence was, as always, undeniable and overwhelming. To Bumblebee, it just felt safe.

Neither of them really talked, and in fact barely even spared a glance towards the other as they climbed into bed, both for embarrasment's sake and a lingering fear that adressing what was happening would break it.

They continued not acknowledging it until Starscream, muttering something about his wings, rolled over to face Bee's back. Bee could feel Starscream's sparkbeat flittering anxiously, and was having to make a concious effort to keep his own close to steady as he moved backwards to press right against Starscream's chest.

There was a moment where Starscream froze, unsure of exactly what to do, but eventually he decided on tenatively wrapping an arm around Bumblebee's waist, growing more confident when Bee melted into it, relishing the simple touch.

Bumblebee slept better that night, pulled against Starscream's chest, knowing he was held and safe and real, then he had in weeks.

///

Bumblebee woke up first the next morning, Starscream's face nuzzled into the space between his shoulders, the jets breathing even and warm against Bee's plating.

He didn't make any move to get up, or even so much as twitch. He wanted to squeeze every second he could out of it, before Starscream woke up and shoved him away again and whatever this was inevitably ended.

But that didn't happen. Eventually, Starscream stirred, coming online with a jolt, like the act of waking had snuck up and startled him. He pulled away from Bee, looking around the room, letting his processor catch up with who and where he was. After a moment he soothed, letting out a shaky breath and pressing his face against Bee's cheek, wrapping his arms back around the minibot's waist.

"You're still here?" Star muttered, voice still thick with sleep.

"Where else would I go?" Bumblebee said. He didn't say it outright, but he used every fiber of his being to push I just want to be wherever you are out at Starscream and hope he got the message, because Bee didn't think he could say it out loud.

Apparently it was good enough, because Starscream's arms around him squeezed him tighter and he gently, so softly that it nearly seemed as if he was scared, pressed a kiss to Bee's neck.

"Thanks," he said. A part of Bee wanted to say for what? and another wanted to say you don't have to thank me and another wanted to say i love you, but he didn't say any of those things. Instead, he turned himself over, trying not to pull away from Starscream any more than he absolutely had to, and he kissed him properly. It was soft, and inexperienced, and lazy, and it was so good that Bee felt like sobbing.

He blinked away tears and let his head fall to lean against Starscream's chest, hands tracing their way up and down the plating of Starscream's arms softly. He kissed the golden glass of Star's chest, listening to the thrum of the spark behind it, the way it pulsed in time with his own, the tugging feeling sated for now but the presence of Star's spark alongisde his own as strong as ever.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Loid opened the door.

“You’re married!?” A female voice screeched.

Loid closed the door. Holding it closed as the person on the other side banged against it frantically.

“Loid?” Yor’s voice was high and concerned. Butter knife clenched in her hand. “Who’s that?”

Anya’s eyes went wide. Loid pressed his forehead against the door as it pounded.

“That.” He lamented. “Is my sister.”

“Stop yelling. The neighbors are staring.” He scolded when he finally opened the door.

She shoved past him. Taking in the apartment. Surveying their domain before her eyes settled on them.

She was all blue eyes and wild blond curls.

His sister.

Yor’s hand stayed tight around the butter knife. Half afraid she attack.

The hand not holding the knife was firmly clasped between both of Loid’s sister’s. Blue eyes drilling into her as she opened her mouth – undoubtedly to comment on how quick it must have been or how she wasn’t good enough or how she didn’t approve- and said,

“You deserve better.”

The door clicked closed behind Loid as he sighed. “Olivia –don’t.” He plead.

“No you seriously do. I once listened to him wax poetic about bumblebees for eight hours straight and I once watched him dive into an empty swimming pool and-“

“Yor, Anya, meet Olivia Stahl. She’s been working abroad the last few years. She was an intern I helped train during residency.”

“You helped train me?” She turned on him. “I’m sorry which one of us drank that spiked cocktail just to prove a point about how strong his liver was? Because I specifically remember telling you not to drink it and then you downing it in one go because-”

He did not make eye contact with her. Eyes train well above her head as he continued on ignoring her. “I didn’t realize she’d come home. Lovely to see you again Olivia but I only made enough for three so you’ll have to be going now-“

“Auntie!” Anya jumped out of her chair and hugged her leg. Halting his shoving her back out the door. “I missed you!”

There existed gratitude and irritation in equal measure in his heart. Gratitude that Anya had decided to play along with the situation. Irritation that her ploy would slow his removal of Olivia.

Olivia smacked his stomach with the back of her hand. “Well your daughter has decided I’m staying so I’m staying! It’s fine I’ll just eat your portion.” She settled herself down in his seat with a smirk. Anya stared up at her expectantly. Olivia smacked her forehead and dug around her bag pulling out a small figurine. “Sorry I didn’t bring your official present Anya. I heard he’d tricked some poor woman into marrying him and I forgot your gift at home.”

She’ll just pick something up later and pretend she got it abroad.

“But maybe you can keep an eye on this little fellow for your Dad until then?”

It was a small figurine of a bumblebee. Incredibly lifelike. Its eyes tiny ordered hexagons. She frowned and shook her head.

He plucked it from her palm and set it on the counter. “A Bombus Fernaldae. Will you drop this joke? It was one time.”

“It was not just one time! And the fact you could identify what kind of bee it is says plenty about how much you secretly like it.” She turned her focus to Yor. Ignoring Loid’s put upon sigh. “So tell me how he managed to trick you into marrying him.”

“I- well I actually asked him?”

Her lips curled with revulsion as she stretched the word “Why?” into an eight syllable groan.

Loid sat down with a new plate serving himself a new meal while Olivia ate the remains of his old one. “Eden requires children who apply to have two married parents. She was helping us out.”

You’re telling her that? I thought we were keeping it quiet.

“Oh I gathered what you got out of it but I was asking what she got out of it.”

“She doesn’t owe you an explanation Olivia.” He scowled. Olivia yipped in pain drawing her legs up onto the chair.

“Don’t kick me!”

“Don’t interrogate my wife.”

“Is it blackmail? If you need me to get rid of him for you I can-“

“I’m not blackmailing her!”

The conversation rapidly dissolved into bickering. Full of stories and inside jokes that were thrown and discarded far too quickly to unravel.

Loid ran his hand through his hair for the fifth time in as many minutes. The floof levels rising higher and higher. His locks growing more and more bedraggled as they continued.

Anya’s wide eyes snapped between the two of them like a riveting tennis match.

“Actually,” She started, interrupting the flow of their verbal sparring. Loid froze mid stab of the steak on Olivia’s plate. Suddenly remembering they weren’t alone. “Loid helped me out. Being single at my age can attract the wrong kind of attention.” Screams of the people the secret police dragged away filled the space between words. “And my brother was worried. I was very lucky to meet Loid when I did.”

Olivia side eyed Loid. “Lucky. Right.” She smiled brightly at Yor. “You have a brother?”

Loid settled back into his chair, the impish grin falling away as the conversation drifted to calmer waters.

“Walk me out?” She requested after the last of the dishes were put away.

He nodded. Anya’s eyes followed them out the door.

“Anya you have to finish this if you don’t want to miss spy wars.”

Her focus turned back to the homework with a groan.

She offered a cigarettes to him.

“I quit.”

“For your fake family up there?”

He shrugged. “We’ve both read the studies. Seemed as good a reason as any.”

She blew out a smoke cloud. “Sure but it’s not like cancer’s going to get a chance to kill us.”

“Was there a point or did you just want to make my laundry more difficult?”

She hummed. “Can’t it be both?” Elbowed him.

He settled against the brick wall with a sigh. “What’s the job?”

“Get a solid night’s sleep? How’s that for a mission.”

His head tapped against the wall. Eyes closed and face turned upward to the hazy sky. It did nothing to hide the lines of deep seated exhaustion.  “They send you to do a psych eval?”

“Should I?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine like I’m just overworked but am actually fine or fine like you’d get your makeup perfect before going in for an eval?”

“My makeup is always perfect. Yours however-“ He tilted his head to peer down at her. Tossing a cheeky grin her way.

“Is impeccable.”

“Just like I taught you.”

“You did not!” Shoving him. He bobbed to the side dramatically before returning to his position. “They seem nice.”

“They are.” His eyes found the carton in her hand longingly. He tore his eyes away. “Bombus Fernaldae huh.”

“Going to pull a cuckcoo bee on them when the mission is over?”

“The mission comes first.”

“Not going to turn you in for wanting more asshole.”

His eyes dragged up to their window as she took a drag of the cigarette.

“We can’t be more than we are.”

“Did you just make a bee pun? Cause I will tell the entire department. I’ll report you for that. Assault on a coworker.”

“I rented a castle and they barely batted an eye. No one will believe you Nite Lite.”

“I have an actual title these days you know.”

“And I promise I will never use it.” He assured like that was the problem. Which it wasn’t. He pat her head. She considered biting it off. “Just overworked. This has been. Good for me I think.”

“Aside from the potential cleanup?”

“I try not to think about that.”

She snorted. “She deserves better.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t agree with me. It doesn’t make you less of an asshole.”

“She knows it’s fake. It’s not like I’m lying to her about that.”

“Oh so she knows that. Great and I’m sure your brat totally got the memo about how-“

“Stop.” His voice heavy and dark. “I didn’t design the mission.”

The smoke curled in the air. “Yeah I know.”

Cold threaded its ways slowly into their jackets.

“Did she actually propose?”

“She did. I was so shocked I fell flat on my face.”

“Ugh! Don’t tell me shit like that! Literally no one ever believes me when I tell them what a mess you are! It’s Agony! Agony you hear me?”

“So sorry my lying is more effective than your honesty.” He leaned over her. “It’s this handsome face of mine. People instinctively think I’m put together.”

She gripped his smug face. Shoving it away as he pushed against her. “I will break your handsome face and then we’ll see if anyone can put you back together!”

He laughed as she shoved him away. She stopped.

It sounded genuine.

It had been so long since she’d heard him laugh like that. Not since his last partner had been –

Twilight cocked his head at her questioningly.

“She still deserves better than you and your knockoff curries.” She told him one last time. Stamping out the cigarette butt with her shoe.

But it seems like she might be good for you.

[tea-mew96]

Analysis: TFP Optimus Prime and a Discussion on Revenge

Disclaimer:  This post is going to be a long vent about my frustrations with TFP Optimus Prime, specifically with the advice he gives to Arcee and the audience in regards to revenge. So if you’re someone who does likes him or hold similar views to him, you are probably not going to like or agree with what I’ll say in this post and that’s completely ok. The whole point of this post is to provide another perspective and open discussion with me and anyone else about this (But do so respectfully, please).

Also, there are going to be spoilers for Transformers Prime in this, so skip this post for now if you don’t want the show to be spoiled for you.

So without further ado, let me explain why TFP Optimus Prime’s stance on revenge is wrong.

For those who aren’t familiar with Transformers Prime or don’t remember everything, one of the biggest subplots of the show was Arcee and the loss of her partners, Cliffjumper and Tailgate. Throughout most of Season 1 and Season 2, Arcee is on the hunt to find out who killed Cliffjumper and to get revenge for Tailgate by going after Arachnid. 

Everything with this arc was going ok...until Season 1 Episode 20, Partners.

During this episode, Arcee ends up following Arachnid, much to Optimus’ distaste. After Optimus saves Arcee from Arachnid, he tells her that seeking revenge for Tailgate is a bad idea. Later on in the episode, Starscream lets slip that he was the one who killed Cliffjumper, and Arcee reacts accordingly by attacking him. She almost kills him, but is stopped when she realizes Bumblebee is watching them and she lets Starscream go. The episode ends with Arcee saying that she thought settling scores would allow her to move on but that her actions instead lead to the Autobots losing an ally. Optimus comments that wisdom is gained, not automatically earned. This arc continues in Season 2 Episode Episode 10 Armada, where Arcee ends up trapping Arachnid in a stasis pod, ultimately ending their rivalry. The pod is taken back to base, where Ratchet says Arachnid “deserves worse”. Arcee responds that she “intended worse, more times than you know” and Optimus responds that Arcee is “stronger” for her choice.

These series of events are what ruined both Optimus as a character and Arcee’s arc for me.

Optimus tells Arcee that seeking revenge is bad and that she’s a “stronger person” for giving Arachnid a fairly merciful fate of being put in stasis. There’s one problem, though: he’s wrong. And apparently no one on the writing team knew that.

What Optimus ends up implying is that Arcee’s anger at both Arachnid and Starscream is not justified, that being mad at them for hurting her makes her a “bad person” and wanting them to suffer consequences for it is not the right path to take. Except none of that is true.

I think it’s fair to say that Arcee is victim of murder, and has a lot of trauma and emotional damage because of it. She has lost two partners that she clearly cared for and were close to, with one of them (Tailgate) dying right in front of her optics. She displays signs of depression throughout the series, and if the flashbacks in Season 1 Episode 12 Predatory are any indication, Arcee probably has a good case of PTSD too. 

The thing about people who have been severely hurt and traumatized by others like this is that they need closure, and there are many ways that this can be accomplished. Forgiveness is only one way. Sometimes closure comes in the form of having the aggressors be given jail time or the death penalty. Sometimes with bullying, a victim will find peace by seeing the bully getting in trouble with the teacher and being suspended. Some find peace through therapy. Sometimes, people can only find peace by taking matters into their own hands and punishing the aggressors themselves (victims fighting back against their bullies and the story of Gary Plauche are good examples of this one). The point is that victims and their friends/family members affected by murder, rape, bullying, or any other hurtful acts is that they don’t have to forgive the ones who committed the crime, nor are they required to. In fact, many people don’t.

This is something that Optimus Prime simply doesn’t understand, and many adults don’t either.

I want you to take a quick read at these statements that people often give as solutions to bullying:

“Don’t react, just ignore them. They’ll go away.” “Don’t fight back, that’s stooping to their level” “Tell them to stop saying/doing those things, they’ll listen”

On the surface, all of these statements sound correct because these are all very tame, non-violent solutions. They’re all moral high ground statements. But almost any victim of bullying can tell you that none of this advice ever actually helped, and if you ever told a teacher someone was bullying you, you at best got ineffective solutions/similar advice to the above and at worst did nothing about it.

Optimus Prime’s statements about not seeking revenge come from the exact place that the above quotes come from: a place of wanting to appear moral and above-it-all but having none of the experience or knowledge to actually back it up. 

Optimus wasn’t as close to Cliffjumper as Arcee was. Optimus didn’t see Tailgate’s gruesome death first-hand. He may be older, but being old doesn’t automatically make you right. And I find it ironic how Optimus states that wisdom is earned at a cost yet he’s the one who is clearly is struggling with that concept when it comes to Arcee.

It upsets me to no end how Optimus is contantly tellling Arcee that she’s the one who has to be the more moral, bigger, stronger person. But Starscream and Arachnid? You know, the ones who caused all of Arcee’s anguish to begin with? Naw. Arachnid can continue to tease Arcee by asking if she’s lost any more partners and Starscream can pretend to feel bad about killing Cliffjumper and then immediately brag about it the next day. Yeah, those two don’t need to change. ARCEE DOES. CUZ REVENGE BAD. 

Remember how Arcee said she intended a worse fate for Arachnid and Optimus praises her for it? While the show treats that as “closure” and the end to that rivalry, I’m not convinced. For the longest time, Arcee wanted Arachnid dead. So for her to all of a sudden switch to being merciful to Arachnid seems off to me. And thus I began to wonder: Did Arcee decide to not kill Arachnid because she had a genuine change in morals, or did she do it in order to make Optimus Prime happy? Or in other words, is this a genuine change of character or this just the writers’ last-ditch attempt at pushing the “no revenge” narrative into the audience’s face? I don’t know for sure (although I’m pushing for latter in both questions) and the show doesn’t address this. And this is bad because depending on this answer, this could mean that this arc was never truly finished. If Arcee still didn’t believe or feel that having Arachnid in stasis was good enough closure, than the story isn’t fucking over. But no one of the writing team thought this far. No one was willing to put this kind of depth into the show.

Furthermore, I’d argue that this constant talk about Arcee being a “better person” is causing her to be critical of herself over things that aren’t really her fault or that she wouldn’t be able to predict the outcome of.

One is Arcee blaming herself for Smokescreen’s “death” in Season 2 Episode 21 Alpha/Omega. The other is Arcee regretting her attack on Starscream and losing a potential ally. But the reality is that Starscream is extremely fickle and having him join the Autobots wasn’t guaranteed to end in success to begin with. Even if Starscream did join the Autobots, there’s no promise that he would side with them forever. Almost all of his decisions are based off his own goals, and many times that can go against the ideas/goals of the group he’s in. Actually, Starscream does end up betraying the Autobot’s trust anyway in Season 2 Episode 23 Inside Job where Starscream uses the Autobots’ (ok, most Optimus Prime’s) trust to steal the Omega Keys and use them in order to gain Megatron’s favor again. Unsurprisingly, trauma victims in the real world also blame themselves for what happened to them too.

There’s many things about TFP Optimus Prime I can forgive. Boring characterization? Fine. An intriguing characterstic (lack of outward emotion) that has potential to be interesting but the writers never decided to explore it? Whatever. But I draw the line at shitty advice presented as a good lesson, especially when your audience is young kids who don’t know better and may need desperate help.

Kids get bullied and abused. Kids need to be told that fighting back against bullies and abusers who have hurt them doesn’t make them a bad person because the “lessons” and “solutions” that many schools and adults teach or tell rarely work. And telling them otherwise because it sounds right isn’t going to help. If anything, it’s only going to hurt those kids in the long run.

TL;DR Arcee is a good girl who deserves hugs and therapy, and Optimus Prime is a self-righteous moron who deserves to be thrown into a smelting pit.

[iveryafterdark]

Day 128

Part 11, Nameless werewolves. [semi-Long]

Last Part. Next Part.

Ever since the little hunting disaster with Relis and Vaitelin, Time had been doing his best to avoid being recruited to go on another hunt... not that it was difficult. The second they stepped back into camp Relis made sure everyone knew about his broken ribs, so no one had been expecting much of him of late. It had only been about a week, though, so, eventually, that would change.

"I don't think you should be going around patrolling yet, you still have a broken rib." Bear cautioned, though he was starting to sound more like whining with the amount of times he had said something similar. While the dark-toned man wasn't wrong about the rib situation that didn't mean that he wasn't capable of keeping their borders safe. Even with a broken rib, he was still more powerful than any mortal was.

"You worry too much, stop being such a mother-hen." he responded dismissively to the guard, who frowned deeply in response... or Time assumed he did. He wasn't really bothering with throwing the shadow-man a look to check. It had been a little under a week, and for the most part his lungs felt fine again. Gods heal faster than mortals, another week and it would be like it never happened.

"Last time I was careless you got hurt." Bear responded, voice low but pointed. Time pretended he didn't hear him, it was a reasonable thing to do with how quiet he was now speaking, as much as he liked Bear he might have to do something about his penchant for seeing him as needing protection. Despite the, occasional, complaint from the brown-haired man the walk existed mostly in silence. It Seemed Bear wasn't so eager to talk anymore... maybe thinking too much. Time would leave him to it, which meant less of Bear worrying a hole through his ears.

The young-god's attention only snapped back to reality when the werewolf stepped in front of him, arm out to stop him, growling at.. someone. Time rolled his eyes at the bristling guard, clearing his throat and pushing Bear to the side as gently, but firmly, as he could manage. Another stranger stood several yards away, hands raised to show innocence, dark brown eyes watching Bear warily.

"You! Finally worked up the courage to show your face, little stalker?" Bear spat, crossly, Time couldn't help but think that he was just taking his frustration out on the guy. This 'stalker' dipped his head deeply, eyes lowered to the ground, posture poor as if to make himself look smaller. If he stood up straight he would probably be about Time's height... which, yeah, he supposed that would make him 'little' to Bear but he had been named that for a reason.

"Lashing out needlessly, Bear? Let's, at least, see what he wants before you verbally abuse the man." he chided with a light tone, he had been disapproving of the guard enough today no need to put him in a further bad mood. The lack of response told him that he was willing enough to allow the man to speak. This 'stalker' was a fair-tanned man with hair almost as dark as Bear's in brown, short and messy. The most interesting thing about him, however, was the excessive amount of body-paint he was using. White-ash mask over the majority of his face, as well as his hands, wrists, throat, and chest, bright yellow and black stripes cutting around the back of his hair, and arms, that reminded Time a bit of a Bumblebee. This guy didn't look very threatening to him.

"What can I do for you, little bee?" he asked in an amused tone, ignoring the disgusted snort from Bear behind him, the stranger's dark brown eyes went wide at this and he dipped his head further down. As if to apologize for the momentary eye contact.

"Your defender is right to look down on me, to call me such things, I have been following you for some time now." his voice sounded uncertain, but Time didn't focus as much on that as he did the words themselves.

"You've been following me?" his voice harder now, a slight threat.

"Yes." another dip of his head like a duck bobbing in a lake.

"For how long?"

".... Since you first stepped foot into the meadows.. when you met the Robin." Time's blood went cold in his veins at that, the almost constant sensation of being watched that he had attributed to the new territory? It had been this guy following him around like a ghost. How had he went this entire time and not noticed that he was being followed? The young-god turned his gaze to Bear for an explanation.

"I noticed a few nights ago, he's really very good at being a rat."

"Why didn't you let me know we were being tailed when you found out?"

"I... didn't want you to worry about something like that right now?" A question, that same almost guilty look he had worn when Time first met him. The implication in Bear's words were, also, not lost on him. He didn't say anything because of his broken ribs... they'd discuss that later, right now they had a mouse to deal with. Time turned his sharp, orange, eyes back to the strange man. As soon as the attention was back on him he seemed to scramble to say something before Time could.

"I meant no harm, I merely followed you because being near your group makes it safer for me to travel."

"If you wanted safety you should have returned home." his harsh tone caused the striped man to wince. "Why reveal yourself now? You've been in hiding for several months, why change something that's been working for you?"

"Because..." the stalker glanced between him and Bear, before carefully approaching only to stop in his tracks a few feet away when Bear began growling defensively. The man kneeled on the ground, not unlike Robin would when she prayed, and raised both of his hands up to Time like one would in offering. It was a strange thing, he could feel the power connection with even just this gesture, something he had seen but had never been involved.

"Because I am a man with no name, no family to speak of, but I have worth." ah, one of the unfortunate, untrustworthy, people forced to walk the world alone due to the nature of their existence. Not a single soul to vouch for them. Often treated as criminals and chased from cities both human and otherwise... and it was strictly forbidden to give one's self a name. A hangable offense.

"I am an honest man, I am loyal, I will give you everything I have to offer. I just need a chance." His plea was soft, heartfelt, full of pain, and loneliness, and desperation.

"You say this but by the very nature of your existence there is no way to prove any of your claims. You could be a criminal, a madman-" Bear responded, distrust on his voice, Time held out a hand to quiet him. The striped man's eyes seemed only honest, a small amount of hope in them at the gesture.

"You ask for a chance, the opportunity to prove yourself?"

"Please-" he sounded on the verge of tears. "-that is all I ask. Just one." a long moment of silence followed, Time sizing the nameless man up, before nodding shortly. He had never seen such a look of pure gratitude and relief before than the one that followed.

"You already know the way back to camp, but you should walk with us this time." the striped man rubbed his hands across his face, looking at Time like he was as important as the sun, before getting to his uneven feet. Hm, the white marks on his hands and face hadn't budged despite that, maybe they were actually tattoos and not body-paint. The yellow stripes that went through the back of his hair was definitely painted, though.

"What are we going to tell them when everyone expects him to be introduced? He has no name, and I'm sure some of the others won't be like being around an unclaimed." Bear, again, voice unusually hard.

"Leave that for me to worry about, Bear." the man opened his mouth, but at the warning look he was thrown just sighed.

-

While there had been some raised eyebrows when Time offered no introduction for the new member no one made a particular fuss about it, going about things as usual as the sky began to darken into night. The bee-colored man was following him closely, like a lost pup, seeming to be afraid of being left alone with the rest of the group. Understandable, considering the past experiences that he had probably had with other large groups of people. Due to the constant following, and looks of sheer gratitude he was getting from him, Time noticed rather quickly when the nameless man went missing while the rest of the group was sitting around the fire to eat before bed.

Like usual, Astaria, Felis, and Surie were sitting in a half-circle talking, telling bad stories, worse jokes, and laughing loudly together. The three were nearly inseparable at this point. Near them was Vaitelin, who would briefly exchange insults with Astaria throughout the night. A weird relationship those two had, Time wasn't going to even try to parse out if they loved or hated each other. Sitting close to himself was Robin; who was acting stranger and stranger as more time passed, Relis; who was sitting on the ground instead of on the log like everyone else, and Bear. In the beginning, the nameless man had been sitting next to him as well but, at some point, he had dipped out. A sense of doubt stabbed through his rib, had it been a mistake to trust him? A man with no one willing to claim him or vouch for his goodwill? Was he really dangerous like Bear had believed?

Bear seemed to sense the thought process going on in Time's mind and gave him a knowing look, at least he had the decency to not look smug about it.

"Think I made a mistake on that one?" he was expecting a quip, or a snappy response, or an incredulous look, but instead Bear just looked conflicted and shrugged.

"He... seemed genuine to me." uncertainty, a complete reversal of the confident distrust he had shown earlier.

Time decided to wait beside the fire for the rest of the night, the rest of the group retiring to bed one-by-one until it was just him and Bear waiting.

"You should really get some rest-" the yawn was loud enough to cause him to wince and shuffle a bit further away from the werewolf. "-you aren't gonna heal any better sleep-deprived." it was probably more along the lines that Bear was exhausted and didn't want to stay out any later.

"You can lay down whenever you want, Bear. I'm not forcing you to stay up." the guard just blinked at him in an unamused manner, before rubbing his eyes and stretching. Seems he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He was starting to think he should just lay down to allow the poor man some rest when a rustle caught his attention.

Turning towards the sound was a figure, with dully-glowing brown eyes. The oddness of the silhouette caused him to bristle, Bear growling beside him, but the familiar gesture of the being just... kneeling with hands out caused him to pause.

"Do not be alarmed." it sure was the same nameless man from earlier, voice soft.

"What happened to you?" Time narrowed his eyes at the shadow, trying to better decipher what he was seeing.

"I was... hunting?"

"Was that a question?" Bear growled shortly beside him, he didn't seem tired anymore.

"I... took down the buck that tried to attack you." the nameless man added, shifting. Ah, the oddness of the silhouette was him hauling a... full-grown deer on his shoulders. Surprising, for a man that height.... even if he was, obviously, a werewolf.

"You.... managed that all by yourself?" a short nod, in response. Time eyed the unclaimed werewolf warily before gesturing for him to come closer. In the fire's light it became more obvious the situation, by the looks of it the man had field-dressed the buck and skinned it, the cloak draped around his shoulders. Once the striped man stood only, about, a leg-length away from the young-god he kneeled once more and presented a thick bear-leather bag that he had been holding at his side before removing the deer cloak and placing it on top as well. The nameless man closed his eyes, muttered something Time couldn't hear, before pushing the hunt to Time and bowing deeply to the ground. An offering, the first he had ever received personally, the gesture made Time felt like he was breathing ice-cold water in the best way. Like he was drowning in ether. He sat stunned for many seconds, staring blankly at the offering and the nameless man, before blinking the tears out of his eyes.

"I underestimated you." Time said, even his voice felt different. Smoother. It must sound different too because Bear was giving him a look. The striped man sat up, though he was still kneeling, cautiously looking at Time with the reverence that Time had only seen directed at his own father before.

"You've proven yourself in my eyes, I see no reason for you to walk the world nameless and shunned. I will claim you, vouch for you when needed." his brown eyes were shining. "I think the name... Hercules suits you just fine, don't you agree Bear?" the dark man blinked, like he didn't understand what was happening, before nodding.

"Welcome to the pack, Hercules." the guard agreed, dipping his head in greeting. Hercules, as he was now dubbed, looked like he was in sheer disbelief. Like the world had suddenly stopped making sense.

"Unless, you would prefer something different, of course?"

"No!" the reaction was so quick it made Time raise an eyebrow. "No, Hercules is... perfect. Thank you, I will not disappoint you." he was grinning, the first time Time had seen him do so, sheer joy on his face.

"Now, everyone else is asleep so I think you should join them, you'll be no use to us dead on your feet." a deep nod, but Time doubted someone who looked so excited would be falling asleep anytime soon.

[hrina]

Primi Passi (Il Ritorno Extra)

PAIRING: Alex/Y/N RATING: R WORD COUNT: 7.1k REQUESTED: nope

hi all :-) it’s been ages but i figured it was about time i start delivering on the promise i made regarding il ritorno extras. i really hope you enjoy this

il ritorno (part 1) / l’amato (part 2) / il devoto (part 3)

[masterlist] [come yell at me]

~*~

Alex doesn’t know at what point the anxiety had set in. He’d rolled out of bed this morning, and he’d been fine. He’d stepped out of his apartment, turning the key and hearing the lock click into place, and he hadn’t felt a thing. Even as he’d cruised down the road in his new (used) car, his heartbeat had been steady and consistent.

But now…

Walking into the waiting room has his palms clammy with sweat and his attention divided. He’s uncomfortably aware of the dryness of his mouth, his tongue dipping out to moisten his lips. The action soon unfurls into him gnawing nervously on the inside of his cheek and scratching the skin beneath his eyebrow with uneasy fingers. Small perturbing voices in the corner of his mind irk him relentlessly.

He shouldn’t be here.

He should go home.

There’s a soft squeeze of his hand, and he looks down to find you smiling up at him reassuringly. Your eyes are bright, and your expression is nothing but genuine. You’ve pinned your hair back with a simple black clip, and you’ve actually opted to wear a pair of trousers today. Alex’s gaze flits down to where you’ve pleated your yellow blouse into the waistband of the bottoms; he calms slightly when he remembers how he’d tucked you under his arm this morning, pressing a kiss to the side of your head and murmuring something about you being his little bumblebee.

“Your hand is sweaty,” you whisper. The smile that you previously bore has fallen from your face, and you peer up at Alex with inquisitive eyes. “Nervous?”

“Yeah.” He can’t lie to you.

“That’s okay,” you say, shrugging. “It’s completely normal. But I’m here, aren’t I? Right here, right next to you.”

“And I love you for it,” he replies, almost immediately. The quiet declaration shocks you slightly; you’ve both admitted your feelings for each other but hearing him remind you of it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. It feels good; it feels real.

“Let’s go sign you in,” you offer, tilting your head toward the front of the room. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Alex nods, swallowing heavily.

The lobby is…odd. Alex doesn’t quite know what he had expected. The walls are white and barren, and the chairs lined up for waiting patients don’t look to be too comfortable. There’s a table in the middle of the room with several daily newspapers strewn about on the surface and a small vase of flowers standing amongst the chaos of tabloids. The yellow daffodils in the jug are wilting slightly; it must be time for a new bouquet.

You gently lead Alex to the desk across the room. A secretary with glasses and greying hair sits behind it; from what he can see, Alex guesses that she’s perched on one of those same painful-looking chairs. She’s hunched over, licking her thumb as she rifles through papers in a drawer.

“Hi,” you say softly. You lean forward slightly, never releasing Alex’s hand. He’s grateful.

The secretary is a little stoic, but she returns your greeting nonetheless as she sits up from her search. You do the majority of the talking; Alex chimes in only when he needs to give her pertinent information regarding his name, his address, and any previous sought-out medical care. As the woman (he learns that her name is Amélie) jots down each detail, he feels a weight slipping off his shoulders like water from a raincoat. The process is gradual, but after a few minutes, Amélie tells him that he’s all set, and he doesn’t feel as terrified as before.

“You can have a seat. Dr. Lawrence will be with you soon.”

Those two sentences shatter the illusion, and suddenly, Alex is right back where he started.

His chest is tight with fear as you lead him over to the waiting area. You both sit down (he was right—the chairs are extremely incommodious) and his leg immediately starts bouncing up and down. You notice, shooting him a confused look.

“What happened?” you ask quietly, placing your hand on his knee to quell the jittery movement. “You were doing so good.”

“I know,” he grits out, his head falling shamefully. “’M sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You shake your head. “It’s not something you need to be—just talk to me, yeah? Take some deep breaths.”

You put your palm on the nape of his neck and idly play with the curls growing there. Alex tries his best to follow your advice; his lips twitch when he spots your chest rising and falling as well, trying to keep time with his.

“What?” you ask wryly, tucking your free hand beneath your thighs. He just shakes his head, reaching behind him so that he can grab firmly onto your fingers. He gives a light tug, angling his head somewhat so that he can press his lips to your knuckles.

“Nothing,” he replies, his mouth moving against your skin when he mumbles, “Y’just—you’re taking deep breaths, too.”

“’Course I am,” you say; a hint of playfulness laces your words. “How else do you expect me to stay alive?”

“Shut it,” Alex says, chuckling softly. He covers your hand with both of his; the difference in size is almost comical. His palms are still slightly sticky, but his heart is beating normally again, and he doesn’t feel quite as distressed as before; he’ll attribute it to your silly joke and your presence overall.

“Ah, there’s a smile.” You smirk at him, leaning over so that you can nudge your shoulder against his bicep. “Makes you look good, you know. So very handsome.”

“’M I not handsome when I frown? Thought girls liked that—a rugged, no-nonsense man.”

“No-nonsense Alex is lovely,” you say. “But happy, smiley Alex…he owns my heart.”

Alex is about to reply, but then the door of the front entrance swings open. You turn once you hear the sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor. The pair of you watch as a woman struts across the room and over to where Amélie has resumed her hunt for a specific file. She has long black hair that cascades down her back, and she’s wearing a pretty blue dress with a puffy skirt. When she glances over her shoulder to idly scan the room, Alex notices that her eyes are a stark shade of grey.

“You alright?” You bump him gently with your elbow. He snaps out of his stupor and turns his attention back to you, nodding once.

“Yeah,” he says, licking his lips. “Yeah, it’s just…”

How can he possibly explain the impact that this woman has made on him? How can he even begin to describe how she’s made him feel? All she’s done is make her way across the lobby.

“Do you know her?” Your eyes momentarily flit to where the stranger is still standing at Amélie’s desk, now absorbed in a quiet conversation with the secretary.

“No.” Alex shakes his head. “I don’t. But she just seems so…”

So relaxed.

So natural.

So normal.

And it makes him think that maybe he can come out of this feeling normal again, too.

~*~

An hour and a half later, you’re still sat in the waiting room, but now you’re alone. The woman with the dark hair and grey eyes had been called into an office shortly after Alex, leaving you to study the plain walls of the waiting room and lazily scan the headlines of the newspapers on the coffee table. Your left leg bounces anxiously against the floor, and you absentmindedly drum your fingers against your thigh.

Amélie is still sat behind her desk; you can hear the wayward scribbles of her pen. Suddenly, she stands and stretches, peering at you over the rim of her spectacles. “Can I fetch you a cup of tea?” she asks. “Seems you could use it.”

“Oh,” you say, slightly taken aback. “Er…that’d be lovely, thank you.”

She nods; you think you see her lips twitch upward in the smallest of smiles. You watch as she steps out from behind the desk and disappears around the corner of the room, the same way Alex had when he’d been invited into Dr. Lawrence’s office.

About five minutes later, she’s back, carrying a plain ivory mug. The steam floating from the surface of your tea drifts upward and fogs up her glasses.  

“Here you go, amour,” she says, handing the cup over to you. You wrap your hand around the handle, careful not to burn yourself. You feel her eyes on you as you lift the drink to your lips, but before you can take a sip, she asks, “Did he fight?”

“Sorry?” you sputter, caught by surprise at the bluntness of her inquiry.

“Did he fight?” she repeats, her gaze never straying from your face. You quickly realize the context of the question, tucking your lips into a fine line and breathing out a solemn affirmation. Amélie sighs quietly.

“My boy did, too,” she tells you. “He died in Sedan.”

You swallow heavily, your throat suddenly extremely dry. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she replies; she waves away your condolences, but her eyes are slightly shiny. “But thank you.”

You nod.

Just then, you hear voices murmuring quietly, followed by the closing of a door and footsteps drawing near. Subconsciously, you straighten up. A moment later (though it feels like an eternity, if you’re being honest), Alex is rounding the corner with an older gentleman by his side.

You don’t know what you had been expecting. Would he have been even more slouched and jittery than when he’d first walked in? Would he have played mindlessly with his fingers and refused to meet your eyes? Would he have stared at the road the entire ride back to his apartment and given you little to no detail about the session? You’d considered each of these possibilities, and you’d been prepared to deal with them if they became realities.

It seems as though your worries had been misplaced, though.

Alex is actually smiling. The man next to him has an arm thrown over his shoulder, and Alex is trying to stifle his grin as he scratches at his nose with two knuckles. They look like a pair who have been friends for a long time, despite the obvious difference in age. They come to a halt in front of you, and it’s only then when Alex seems to notice that you’re staring at him with bewildered eyes.

“And this must be your lovely wife,” the man says, gesturing to you. You set your mug down and stand abruptly when he holds out his palm to shake your hand. “Wonderful to meet you, my dear. I’m Dr. Lawrence.”

“Hi,” you say, quickly offering up your name in return. You try to ignore the slight fluttering in your stomach when you register that he’d referred to you as Alex’s wife. “It’s nice to meet you, too. How did everything go?”

Your question is directed at Dr. Lawrence, but your eyes subconsciously drift over to the man you love. Alex has his hands clasped behind his back, now; you wait with a bated breath as he slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours. His eyes shimmer with something good, and the tension melts from your shoulders when his pink lips quirk up at the corners ever so slightly. Everything about his expression is alleviating, and it makes you want to cry with relief.

Dr. Lawrence fills you in on as much as he can without jeopardizing any ethical regulations. You beam when he tells you that he’s glad that Alex reached out, and that he seems like “a fine fellow”. Sometime during your short conversation, Alex has migrated to your side, and you reflexively slip your hand into the loop of his arm, giving his elbow an affectionate squeeze. He seems a bit more confident, standing up straight with relaxed shoulders and his head held high. You’re not sure if you’re simply watching him through rose-coloured glasses, or if a single therapy session has already had that much of an impact on him, but there’s an obvious difference in the way he’s carrying himself.

Alex shakes the therapist’s—his therapist’s—hand and thanks him sincerely.

“Next week, then? Same time?” Dr. Lawrence inquires.

Alex nods. “Yes, please.”

“Perfect. I’ll let Amélie know so she can remind me a day or two in advance. Take care, you lot.”

You and Alex manage to successfully exit the lobby and turn the corner before you’re squealing and pawing at his arm excitedly.

“Okay, so it actually went well?” You grin. “Tell me everything! Well, alright, not everything, yeah? Some things can obviously remain private, I promise I won’t be offended if you want to keep them to yourself! I’m just really happy that you—”

“Christ, love!” Alex laughs, covering your fidgety hands with his. You clamp your mouth shut, tucking your lips against each other to contain your enthusiasm. He tangles your fingers together, lifting them up so that he can press a kiss to your knuckles. You abandon your attempt to fight against a smile and openly beam at him.

“Let’s go home, first, alright?” Alex suggests. “Come back to my place and—and we can talk it all out. I just wanna discuss it somewhere a little more private, ‘f that’s fine.”

“That’s more than fine.” You nod earnestly. Alex leans down, tucking his fingers beneath your chin so that he can guide you up for a gentle kiss. Your eyes flutter shut when his soft lips mould against yours. The action lasts a bit too long (considering the fact that you’re both in public and anyone walking down the hallway could pass by) but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care.

Alex tries to deepen the kiss, his palm nestling itself firmly against your cheek and his fingers splitting apart around the shell of your ear. His skin is warm; a small part of you wants to lean into his touch, but you force yourself to draw the line. Your lips detach with a soft smacking sound, and it’s extremely difficult to look away from the deeper shade of pink that’s swelled across Alex’s mouth.

“Not here,” you murmur, though you wish—more than anything—that you could continue. “Home. Let’s go home.”

~*~

“Shall I put the kettle on?”

The question falls from Alex’s lips in a soft exhale. You peer up at him from where you’re removing your flats and shake your head, but there’s a gentle smile stretching your lips.

“No, thank you,” you say. “Amélie gave me a cup of tea while you were gone.”

“So that’s what the mug was for.” He smirks slightly. “Wasn’t sure if it was Earl Grey or Old Crow…”

You laugh. “Whiskey? Who do you take me for?”

Alex snickers in response and places a large hand on your waist, leaning in and stealing a chaste kiss before you can even blink. When he pulls back, there’s a befuddled expression on your face, and it makes him smile. His hand slips down your body and he pats your bum playfully.

“Go have a seat on my bed, yeah? And don’t be afraid to get comfortable,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of his room. Your eyes flicker over to where the door stands slightly ajar before zeroing back in on his handsome face.

“Anything else, my lord?” The corners of your mouth quirk up.

Alex cocks an eyebrow. “If you wanna take a couple layers off…,” he starts, clearly trying to mask a smirk. “I s’pose that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, either.”

“I hate you,” you deadpan, whipping around and quickly making your way down the hall. You shake your head when you hear him laughing behind you, refusing to look back and reveal just how flustered he’s made you.  

“No, you don’t!” he calls out. “Love me, don’t you?”

You don’t reply.

About ten minutes later, you hear the shrill whistling of the kettle. A few long moments after that, Alex appears in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning against the threshold with a dark mug in his large hands and a delicate smile playing on his lips.

“Certainly made yourself comfortable, I see,” he muses.

“I was just doing as you said.” You look up at him from where you’re splayed out on his bed, your arms and legs tickling the edges of the mattress. You giggle childishly and sit up, patting the spot to your right as an invitation for him to join you. He grins, making his way over.

“That so?” Alex grunts as climbs onto the futon, taking extra care so as to not spill his tea. He cups the drink with both of his hands, inching his way backward so that he’s propped up comfortably against the headboard. You copy him, sighing softly and subconsciously gripping his duvet in your fists.

“Why didn’t you get a bit more naked for me, then?” Alex asks; his words ooze with mischief. “Told you to do that too, didn’t I?”

“Stop it!” you squeak, swatting half-heartedly at his shoulder.

“Hey!” he protests, but laughter flanks the word. His torso twists as he curls into himself, protecting the hot beverage in his hands. “Woman! I almost spilled my Earl Grey!”

“You’re not posh enough for Earl Grey,” you snort, shaking your head. “I’ll bet that’s chamomile.” You nudge him. “And you deserve to spill it! You’re entirely too bold, considering the fact that the sun hasn’t even set yet.”

“Love,” Alex starts, fighting the glee threatening to make itself known on his features. “People do have sex during the day, y’know. It’s not an activity reserved exclusively for the nighttime.”

“They do?”

“Yes! Christ, you’re actually being serious right now?”

“Of course not, you dimwit! I’m not a child, I know how it all works.”

“Thanks to me.” Alex smiles smugly. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“Thanks to myself,” you clarify. “And you know that. Nearly had you on your knees that first time in the shower, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Alex growls faintly at the memory, and your stomach flips in the most delicious of ways. “How could I possibly forget?” he asks. “Still think about it to this very day; every night, when I’ve got m’hand wrapped around my—”

“Right!” you cut him off, your voice rising a few octaves. A nervous laugh tumbles from your mouth. “That’s enough of that, I’d say. Why don’t you tell me about how your session went, yeah?”

The playful atmosphere in the air slowly dwindles, replaced by earnestness and sincerity. You reach out, placing your hand on the back of Alex’s neck and toying with the curls that have sprouted. He’s in dire need of a trim, but you have to admit that the shaggier length makes him look just as good as the close-cropped style he’d donned when you’d first met.

Alex smiles softly. All traces of the impish, cheeky boy from a few seconds ago have disappeared. Standing—or rather, sitting—in his place is a calm, thoughtful man, a person having just undergone a very sobering experience. You weren’t able to accompany him during the appointment, but you can be there for him afterward.

“It was good.” Alex’s voice is gentle, as is his subtle nod. “I think he could tell I was nervous—guess you two have that in common.”

You smile.

Alex continues, sparing no detail of the session. He tells you about how he must’ve wiped his clammy palms against his trousers at least fifty times inside Dr. Lawrence’s office. He tells you about how the therapist hadn’t forced him to disclose anything he didn’t want to discuss. He tells you about the kindness that he’d felt radiating off of Dr. Lawrence, and the reassurance and support exuded by his responses. He tells you that you were right, and he thanks you for pushing him to set up the appointment.

The two of you sit there for the better part of the hour. By the time Alex reaches the part of the story where he’d come out to meet you in the lobby, you’ve got your cheek on his shoulder and your fingers are intertwined.

You lift your head, gazing up at him affectionately. Alex is still talking, but when he catches a glimpse of your doting expression out of the corner of his eye, he pauses. He nudges you softly, his lips spreading into a fond smile. “What?”

“Nothing.” You shrug; your eyes are sparkling. “I just love you.”

“Really?” Alex lifts a brow, raising his nearly-empty mug so that he can finish off what’s left of his tea. “Thought you hated me, hmm?”

Your face twists in mock-offense, and you push away from him, burrowing into the pillows that had previously been supporting your lower-back. “Never mind,” you say, your voice muffled. “You’re right; I do.”

“Hey, y’can’t take it back now!” Alex squawks. There’s a low clink! when he sets his cup down onto his bedside table; seconds later, he’s pressing his front against your back and smacking dramatic kisses against the side of your head. You try to roll away, but he throws a muscular leg over your thighs, effectively trapping you in his embrace.

“You love me,” he mumbles, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You shake your head vigorously, refusing to answer him with words.

“Say it,” Alex whines, snaking his arms around you. He tries to wrestle your hands out from where you’ve tucked them against your chest, but you don’t budge. “Say you love me, darling.”

“In your dreams.” Your reply is stifled by the cotton of the pillowcase.

“Sounds likely,” Alex says. He abandons his current strategy, opting instead to straddle your waist. You shriek when his knee pushes against your hip; he uses the leverage to turn you over so that your back falls against the bed. You reach out in an attempt to push him off of you, but he captures your wrists easily and pins them down so that they flank your head. Your fingers flex, but the both of you know that he’s too strong; you’ve got no chance of winning this fight.

“Sounds likely,” Alex repeats, shooting you a wry grin. “Because you’re always in my dreams, pet.”

“I think I just gagged.” Your laugh is infectious, and he can’t help but to join in. He giggles, leaning down and burying his face into the crook of your neck. His grip on your wrists loosens with each shake of his shoulders, but you don’t bother with taking advantage of the opportunity. You’re enjoying having him on top of you like this (a bit too much, if you’re being honest with yourself.)

“My wife is so mean to me,” you hear Alex say. His words fan out against your skin and the warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You scoff, but it’s impossible to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. “It was an honest mistake,” you tell him, though you find yourself chuckling soon after. “But yeah—I wasn’t even wearing a ring!”

“That should change, no?” Alex asks, pulling his face away from your throat so that he can get a proper look at you. He shrugs, but you can tell that he’s serious. Your muscles tense up when you register the sincerity in his eyes.

“Could get you a nice, big diamond,” he continues; he’s trying to act nonchalant, but the way he swallows forcefully is extremely telling of his true emotions. “The country club a few blocks away is looking for a new landscaper; I applied.”

You cock your head to the side. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I just went in yesterday.” Alex’s lips twitch. “The pay’s quite decent, too.”

“Oh.”

The two of you bathe in the silence for a few long moments. Alex clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on top of you. You fear that he’s making a move to roll off of you; your hands shoot up to grip his biceps, anchoring him firmly in place.

“Hey,” you say confidently. “I love you.”

He smiles.

“And,” you begin, “I’m not saying no. Maybe, just—”

“Later?”

You nod gratefully, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Later.”

“’M fine with that,” Alex murmurs. He lowers himself down, smearing his lips against yours. “Completely fine with that. Love you.”

You take it upon yourself to deepen the kiss; it catches Alex by surprise, you can tell. You don’t hear him complaining when you wind your arms around his neck, though, so you take it as sign to continue. You sigh blissfully when he cups your jaw and spread your legs reflexively at the sensation of his hips slanting down to press against yours.

“Scandalous, love,” Alex berates, mockery evident in his tone. “The sun’s not even set yet.”

“Do you want to or not?” you ask, breathless. He laughs boyishly and nods, his fingers already beginning to fiddle with the buttons of your blouse. You arch your back and push your chest out in encouragement.

Within seconds, he has your shirt open, and you giggle as you struggle to pull it from your shoulders. Alex gets to work on your nipples through the thin material of your bra, cupping one breast in his large hand and thumbing over where the small bud is straining against the fabric. His free hand slides down to grip your waist, keeping you still as he latches onto the other breast and litters kisses along the exposed skin of your cleavage. A low sigh tumbles from your mouth.

“What d’you want?” Alex’s inquiry is a bit difficult to hear, mostly due to the fact that he’s speaking against your collarbone. You peer down at him when he lifts his head slightly, and your gazes lock. His eyes are dark, large pupils circled by only a thin ring of green. Even as you take a moment to mull his question over in your head, he continues to sponge his lips against your heaving chest—he has to be touching you at all times, it seems.

“All of it.” The words are certain, floating from your lips and dissipating into the air. You shift beneath him, reaching for the hem of his shirt and tugging him even closer to you.

Alex smirks.

“Let’s get these off,” he mutters, directing his attention to your trousers. He shifts down your body so that his chest is level with the apex of your thighs. Your stomach begins to rise and fall a bit more rapidly when he flicks open the button of your pants and unzips them carefully.

“My little bumblebee,” Alex murmurs, landing a quick kiss to your hip. Despite your nerves (you’re still trying to get used to the fact that he enjoys seeing you naked), you exhale softly and bury your fingers in his hair. He hums happily, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as your nails scratch lightly against his scalp. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, and he nods, the ghost of a smile on his lips. You lift your hips when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your bottoms, making it easier for him to slide the material down your legs.

“Lemme—,” Alex swallows heavily when his eyes land on the simple cotton panties decorating your hips. You spread your legs shyly as he burrows himself between your thighs. His hands are warm when he places them beneath your knees and encourages you to bend them, littering a few haphazard kisses along your calves. “Lemme make you feel good, love.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your heart pounds erratically beneath your ribs when Alex presses his nose to your clit over your underwear. Something in the pit of your stomach lurches hotly when he breathes a deep inhale and groans at your scent.

Alex begins to mouth at you over the damp material of your panties; the heat of his tongue makes you gasp. Your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Let’s get these off, now,” he says, and you nod. With a dramatic flourish, he removes your underwear, and you reach behind your back to thumb open the clasp of your bra. When Alex turns back to you, he’s met with the full display of your naked chest, and he nearly whimpers at the sight.

“You’re killin’ me,” he groans, shaking his head before covering your body with his and taking one of your nipples into his mouth with no preamble.

“Oh,” you breathe, your back curving in delight. “Don’t stop.”

Alex hums in response. You can vaguely make out his quiet promise, hearing him murmur, “I won’t.”

As he laves his tongue over the tight bud, he brings his fingers to where you’re throbbing for him. You jump when his thumb presses firmly against your clit, but the small circles that he proceeds to rub against you has your body relaxing in seconds.

“That’s good,” you tell him through a sigh, tilting your head back. Your eyes drift shut as you try to process the wet sensation of his mouth on your chest and the confident, determined movements of his fingers between your legs.

“Look at me,” Alex mumbles, the words gentle. You force yourself to meet his gaze, chewing on your bottom lip when you find him swirling his tongue around your nipple. At that exact moment, he chooses to slip a finger into your heat, probing around for a second before locating that one spot inside of you that you’ve never properly been able to reach by yourself.

“There!” you say breathlessly, your toes curling into the duvet.

“Found it, didn’t I?” Alex’s tone is dripping with self-satisfaction, and his fingertips speed up against your clit. “Is it good for you?”

“So good,” you assure him, nodding quickly. You know that your eyes are blown out with lust when they land on him; he hides his smile in the valley of your cleavage.

He pulls an orgasm from you a few minutes later—the combination of the frantic rubbing against your clit and his finger inside of you has your eyelids screwing shut and your hips bucking up from the mattress. The force of your climax knocks the breath from your lungs, but you can’t even feel embarrassed about your helplessness. Alex stares at you intensely, his gaze burning holes through you.

“How do you feel?” he asks, studying your parted lips and your clammy neck.

“Great,” you reply. A breathless laugh slips from your lips. “Really great.”

“Brilliant.” Alex beams. You tilt your head down to look at him, and your hand snakes down his neck so that you can toy with the collar of his shirt.

“Take this off,” you urge, pinching the fabric gently. “Fuck me.”

“Christ.” There’s a pained expression on his face. You know that it’s because of your sudden boldness, and you like that you have that effect on him.

“You want that?” He asks darkly, sitting back on his knees and beginning to unbutton his shirt. You push yourself up onto your elbows, your cheeks growing warm when you realize that you’re completely naked and he’s yet to even remove his socks. As though guided by an invisible string, your legs fall open, and Alex’s eyes bulge when he becomes privy to the mess between your thighs.

“I want it,” you confirm in a shy squeak.

He smirks, standing up from the bed and shedding the rest of his clothes. You gulp when his cock bobs up against his stomach, the tip flushed a light pink. He wraps a calloused fist around his shaft, giving himself a few steady pumps before reaching blindly into the first drawer of his bedside table.

“Condom,” you both say at the same time, and you laugh loudly. Alex smiles at you sheepishly, eventually pulling out a small paper square clutched between his fingertips. You catch a glimpse of the label, the words Lucky Silk standing out in bold red lettering.

“Aren’t they an Italian brand?” you ask innocently, staring up at Alex with inquisitive eyes as he carefully rips open the wrapper. “What are they doing there, in your nightstand?”

“The little shop round the corner has them imported.” He grunts as he climbs back onto the bed. The edges of your mouth curl upward when he fixes you with a teasing smile. “How d’you know so much about condom brands, anyway?”

“I like to read.” You shrug.

“What in God’s name are you reading?”

“Quiet!” You laugh. Alex snickers as he rolls the condom over his length. You pout up at him, pretending to be annoyed. “Are we going to do this, or not?”

“Do what, hmm?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

You scoff at his silliness. “You know what.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, and then his eyes are growing dark again. “But maybe I just want to hear you say it, yeah? What are we gonna do, darling?”

With each syllable that leaves his mouth, he leans in closer to you. By the end of his last question, he’s got his jaw nestled against your neck as he nips playfully at your earlobe. Despite your exasperated sigh, your fingers slip into his hair, and you let your eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck,” you breathe, the word barely audible. “We’re gonna fuck.”

“’S right.” Alex shifts above you, placing his palms on the bed next to your torso. “C’mon, then. Put me in, love.”

You guide his cock toward your cunt, and your mouth drops open slightly when you feel the tip nudge past your entrance. He tilts his hips forward and you reflexively wrap your legs around his waist, your ankles locking together right above his bum. You welcome the stretch that accompanies the next few inches of his length, even going as far as arching your back to pull him further in.

“God…fuck.” Alex purses his lips and blows out a heavy sigh through his nose. His arms are already trembling above you.

“Alright?” you whisper to him, cupping his face in your hands. He nods quickly but doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Sorry,” he groans. “You just…feel so good. Dunno if I’m gonna last.”

He chuckles awkwardly at the confession, but you can tell that he’s truly worried about the prospect of a failed performance. Something warm unfurls in your chest when the realization dawns on you: he doesn’t want it to be sloppy.

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. A thought pops into your head, seemingly out of the blue, and before you can weigh it properly, you’re pushing back on Alex’s chest and murmuring, “Here, let’s—let me try something.”

His brows knit together in confusion, but he only nods again before lifting himself off of you. You have to hold in the whimper that threatens to escape when his cock slides from your heat; after having become accustomed to his size, the sudden withdrawal leaves you feeling devastatingly empty. It lights a fire in the pit of your stomach, kicks your neediness into a frenzy, and makes you nudge Alex down onto the bed so that his back is flat against the mattress.

“What’re you—? Oh.” His eyes grow ridiculously wide when you throw one leg over his waist. You would normally laugh at his expression, but you’re too preoccupied with wanting to feel him inside of you again.

You shift down his body until your groin is level with his. Alex hisses when you angle yourself lower, unknowingly dragging your wetness along the shaft of his dick. Looking down at him, you see his head tilted toward the ceiling and his eyes squeezed shut. You roll your hips experimentally, causing his cock to slide between your folds, and the two of you moan in unison.

“Can I?” you whimper, unable to keep your desperation at bay. “Is this okay?”

“Fuck.” Alex’s head bobs frantically. His hands land on your thighs, fingertips digging into the plush skin. “Sit on me, love, please.”

You lift his cock with shaky fingers—Alex groans loudly—and spend a few torturous seconds lining him up with your entrance. Your jaw drops when you slowly sink down his length, the muscles in your abdomen tensing at the incursion; he feels so much bigger like this. You can feel him so much deeper like this.

“Is it—are you—?” Alex can’t seem to form a proper sentence, but you somehow know exactly what he’s trying to ask.

“I’m good,” you breathe, looking at him through your eyelashes. “You?”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” he wheezes, a hoarse laugh tumbling from his mouth. “You feel incredible.”

“So do you,” you reply. Your hips move in a tentative rotation, and Alex throws his head back at the sensation. A low growl tears itself from his throat, and his thighs stiffen beneath your bum. You repeat the movement, watching in awe as he reacts with his entire body. His chest is flushed a light shade of red, and his torso ripples with contractions. The strong jut of his jawline jolts while beads of perspiration begin to gather on his forehead.

“That’s it, love,” Alex mumbles, though his voice sounds far away. “Ride me.”

It takes a minute for you to find your rhythm, too caught up in all of the new sensations brought on by this position. Despite having slept together on several further occasions since your first time, you’ve never been on top before. You’re finding that you like it, though. Alex is spread out below you, a thin sheen of sweat gleaming on his skin, his biceps flexing as he holds onto you with strong, unrelenting fingers.

“How do you feel?” you ask shakily.

“So good,” Alex tells you; his voice seems to grate against his throat, and the guttural tone makes you pulse around him. He releases a high-pitched moan when your walls clamp down on him, his hands flying to your hips to steady you.

“How’s it for you?” he pants. “Doin’ alright?”

You nod, and to prove your point, you lift yourself up and begin bouncing on him steadily. His eyes slam shut, and he exhales through his nose, his nostrils flaring hotly. There’s a muscle twitching in his jaw; you impulsively lean down to smear your lips against it.

“Love you so much,” Alex mutters. One of his hands reaches up to palm at your breasts, while the other cups the side of your neck to guide you in for a kiss. You sigh against his mouth, your tongues dancing together messily. Your hair sticks to your shoulders and your hips falter, straying from the pace that you’d established.

“I’m almost there,” you whisper. Alex nods fiercely, pinching one of your nipples.

“Cum,” he tells you, his forehead wrinkling. “Cum for me.”

As though to punctuate his order, the hand on your chest slides down your body. You feel his fingertips on your stomach, then your hips, and then his thumb is landing squarely on your clit. He gives you a few firm rubs, and the burning knot in your pelvis explodes, sending tremors throughout your body. You shake on top of him, burying your face into his neck as you grab fistfuls of the pillow beneath his head. Alex wraps his arms around you, his hands stroking up and down your back. It’s only when his palms still, and when he releases a series of throaty groans, that you know he’s joined you in ecstasy.

“God,” he gasps, inhaling deeply. Your responding giggle is winded, breathless. You steady yourself onto your forearms, refusing to pull your face from where it’s nestled against the column of his throat. A long beat of silence ensues.

“You alright?” he finally whispers.

You nod. “My thighs are burning, but…I’ll live.”

Alex chuckles incredulously. “Good. We—,” he swallows heavily, “—we need to do it like that more often.”

“Get some food in me, and then we’ll see,” you say.

He cocks his head to the side, curious. “What time do you need to be back home?”

“Tomorrow.” You snicker cheerfully. “Told my mum I was spending the night at Tracy’s.”

“Menace,” Alex says; you giggle in response. He squeezes your hips adoringly, nuzzling his cheek into your hair.

“Love me?” he asks.

You kiss his collarbone. “So much.”

The two of you spend a few more minutes cuddled up like that before your stomach growls loudly. You laugh when Alex jumps at the noise. He insists on feeding you something homemade, and you roll off of him, agreeing to help with the preparations. You bite your bottom lip when he stands and locates his boxers on the floor before sliding the material up over his legs. He turns to you, then, and finds you shrugging on his button-up. You fasten the first few clasps and gather your hair to one side before shooting him a soft smile.

“No knickers?” Alex questions as you step toward his bedroom door.

You glance at him over your shoulder coyly. Your bum peeks out from below his shirt, and his mouth goes dry. 

You shrug. “I was going to go pee. Do you want me to put them on?”

Alex pads over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He reaches for one of your hands, lifting it up to his mouth and pressing a solid kiss to your knuckles. “Not at all.”

You grin. “Good.”

“Brilliant,” he replies.

“Fantastic.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Alex shakes his head. “Not possible. Gonna love you until the day I die, darling.”

“That may be sooner than you think,” you joke. “We’re making food, aren’t we? I’m not really the most capable when it comes to the culinary arts.”

“No? That’s alright—I’ll teach you a thing or two.” He smirks. “Won’t be marrying you for your talents in the kitchen, then, now will I?”

And though you’d both agreed to bury the gravity of the subject for now, your heart still somersaults giddily in your chest when you process his words. You stare up at him, and you can’t even be embarrassed about the affectionate twinkle that must be painfully apparent in your eyes.

Won’t be marrying you for your talents in the kitchen, then, now will I?

You smile shyly and give Alex a small shake of your head.

“No,” you say softly, “I guess not. Not for that.”

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 30 | Morgan Rielly

A/N: We are officially in the thirties in terms of chapters...CAN YOU BELIEVE?!  I can’t.  Let me know what you think of the chapter!

Bee looked at herself in the mirror, smoothing out her spaghetti strap dress striped with pink and green and navy.  She’d curled her hair slightly and wore some bright coloured lipstick to reflect the great weather and the happy event: Aryne’s baby shower.  She was having it at McLean House within the Estates of Sunnybrook, and Bee couldn’t be more excited.  Ashley had just had her own baby shower last weekend, so for a solid week, Bee was occupied with all things baby.  She stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom and took a picture of her complete outfit, sending it to Ashley to make sure it was okay (who replied with emphatic and all-caps “HAWT” and “WERK IT” texts) before texting it to Morgan.  

Before she was even able to grab her Chanel bag and make sure everything she needed was in there, her phone began to ring and Morgan’s name flashed across the screen.

“You look beautiful,” he said, not bothering with saying hello after she did.  “You have Aryne’s baby shower today, right?”

“Yeah.  And thank you.  The dress looks good?”

“The dress looks amazing,” he stressed.  “You know I think you look beautiful in everything.”

Bee couldn’t help but blush.  “What are you up to today?  How was Andy’s birthday yesterday?”

“It was fun!  We played a round of golf in Whistler in the morning and then went to Blue Water Café in Yaletown to have dinner.  He got a little drunk off the wine,” Morgan laughed slightly.  “Haven’t seen him drunk in years.”

“Did he like my gift?” Bee asked hesitantly, referring to the coffee mug and tie she bought for him.  Morgan had taken it to Vancouver with him already wrapped when he left.  

“He loved it.  They missed you last night.”

“They know I’ll be there at the end of July, right?” she asked, referring to the two week trip to Vancouver she and Morgan had planned for her two weeks vacation.  They had decided on it before he left and had booked the tickets already.  Bee was excited to go back.

“I’m keeping it a surprise from them,” he said.  “He’s coming back from the washroom right now.  I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Okay.  Tell him I say hi,” she said.  “I love you.  And I miss you.”

“I love you and miss you too, Bumblebee.  Have fun today.  You look beautiful.”

Almost immediately after hanging up, her phone buzzed for a text from Ashley saying she was waiting out front.  Bee rushed in packing some last minute things into her purse before strapping on her heels, grabbing her present, and meeting Ashley outside.  She slid into the passenger’s seat and kissed her across the console.  In the backseat, she saw Sydney Esiason quickly typing away on her phone before setting it down on her lap to smile at her.  

“You look adorable!” Ashley exclaimed as she drove away, taking another look at Bee in her dress.  “Sydney, you remember Bee McTavish?”

“Of course!  The one who works!” Sydney smiled from the backseat.  “It’s…TD Bank?”

“Scotiabank,” Bee corrected her politely.  “It’s nice to see you again Sydney.  How’s the wedding planning going?”

“All done!  Just a few weeks to go,” she smiled.  “It’s too bad this one can’t fly to the Hamptons to be there,” Sydney nodded her head towards Ashley in the front seat.  “Everyone else is going to be there.”  Morgan never received a wedding invitation, even though other members of the team had.  Bee figured it was because he and Matt never became close during Matt’s time on the Leafs.  Not that Bee cared – she had no idea who these people were besides her brief encounter with Sydney months ago during lunch with Aryne.  

“I can’t fly!” Ashley defended herself.  “My doctor said it’s way too risky.”

“I know, I know,” Sydney rolled her eyes playfully.  “How have you been, Bee?  How’s work?”

Bee couldn’t help but notice the way Sydney kept saying the word ‘work’, but she tried not to think much of it.  Bee wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.  “Work is great, actually,” Bee said.  “It keeps me busy, that’s for sure.  But I love the team I work with, so it’s all good.”

“I bet you wished you could have quit for the playoffs,” Sydney commented.  “How hard was it to travel to Boston with your work schedule?”

Bee tried not to make a face or furrow her brows. “I didn’t go to Boston.”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Sydney asked.  She seemed genuinely shocked that Bee couldn’t travel, that she couldn’t follow Morgan regardless of how important the game way.  “Hey Ash, where are we picking up Alannah?”

“Just at her hair salon on King.  We’ll be there in like two minutes.”

Bee began to feel self-conscious.  Morgan had never expressed that any WAGs would ever travel with the team during the playoffs.  She assumed that the boys needed to stay focused, without distraction, and that significant others weren’t allowed to travel with them.  Why did Sydney make it seem like it was so out of the ordinary that Bee didn’t go?  Even if she could go, even if the significant others were allowed to travel with the team…she had work.  She had a job.  Responsibilities.  She couldn’t just follow Morgan wherever he went because of hockey.  She had a life too, and a career she was building – one as important as his – and she didn’t take that lightly.

When Alannah got in the car, the girls settled into a comfortable conversation – Ashley, Alannah, and Sydney more so, with Bee contributing every now and then – as Ashley made her way towards the Don Valley Parkway, the highway she’d need to take to get to the northern part of the city.  As she turned on to Queen Street, driving through Moss Park on the east side of Toronto, Bee felt a sense of familiarity.  Despite her circumstances now, she would never forget where she came from.  These were the streets she grew up with – the streets that raised her, to an extent.  The schools she attended.  The apartment buildings she lived in.  The parks she wandered through when –

“I don’t think I remember driving through this part of town!  Ghettoooo!” Sydney giggled jovially from the backseat.  “We heard so much about it when Matt wanted to go to that trendy restaurant but we never ended up coming ‘cause I convinced him not to.”

A shiver ran up Bee’s spine at Sydney’s comment.  Yeah, it was the ghetto.  It was one of the most depraved areas of Toronto.  Public housing buildings dominated the neighbourhood.  May families were low-income or relied on public assistance – like Bee and her mother had been.  There were a lot of homeless shelters – many that Bee stayed in at some point in her young life.  Bee was torn up at how out of touch Sydney made herself seem with that comment, so completely unaware of the area despite living in Toronto for two years…Bee didn’t know if it was a shock to her, or if she expected it.  

And the fact that she had called it the ghetto with the tone of voice that she did.  Like it was a joke.  

Bee was quiet as they pulled up to a light.  She looked towards Ashley in the driver’s seat before pointing to a building across from them that very much looked like public housing.  “You see that building over there?” she asked.  Ashley nodded her head, and Bee looked in the rear-view mirror to see Sydney and Alannah from the backseat looking as well.  “I used to live there.”

Bee could see Sydney’s body stiffed in the backseat.  “Ohmygod, you used to live here?”

“Yeah,” Bee nodded her head, trying to handle this with as much grace and maturity as she could even though Sydney had said what she said.  “I grew up around here.  I’ve lived in a couple of the buildings.”

“Well thank God you got out, huh?”

Bee bit her tongue so she wasn’t snippy.  “Yeah.  Thank God.”

***

“Oh my God Bee, your dress is sooooo cute!” Aryne exclaimed as she waddled over excitedly towards Bee with her arms stretched out, giving her a giant hug as she always did.  “And your lipstick!  That colour!  I feel like Nigel from the Devil Wears Prada – my job here is done.”

Bee couldn’t help but giggle as she hugged Aryne back.  “You’ll always be my fairy godmother, Aryne.”

“Good.  Come on.  Let me introduce you to my mom and some of my cousins.”

After a flurry of introductions, polite handshakes, small-talk, fruity drinks and some canapés, Bee let Aryne greet the next batch of guests who arrived as she re-joined Ashley, Alannah, and Sydney.  Monique and Christina had joined, and Bee made sure to greet them.  “That dress looks so cute on you, Bee!” Christina smiled as she went in for the hug.  

“Thank you!  God, I think I should wear it more often!  I’ve been getting so many compliments,” she giggled.  “I fell in love with the colours of the stripes.”

“It does look great,” Sydney agreed.  “It's good you chose vertical stripes. They're slimming which is why it looks so great on you. Horizontal stripes are a big no no."

Bee’s breath hitched in her throat.  Monique said something immediately after that made them switch subjects, but Bee was still stuck on the comment.  She wished she wasn’t.  She wished she could let it go and not care about it, but she couldn’t.  It was like her Instagram DMs had taken a human form and she couldn’t get away.  In front of her was a walking, talking embodiment of everything those girls wanted her to be, everything they thought Bee should be, and everything that she so clearly wasn’t.  Sydney didn’t need to wear anything that was slimming because she was already slim.  She didn’t need to think about what would look good and what clothes would flatter her body because everything would look good – with her blonde hair, perfectly plumped lips, cheekbones to die for, skin as clear as the sky, she looked like a fucking model.

Bee tried not to let it get the best of her as the baby shower went on.  Everybody sat at their designated seats and munched on Caesar salad, a choice of either salmon filet or mushroom ravioli, and a peach and blueberry crumble.  They played games, guessed the gender, and opened presents to much oohing and awing over how tiny everything was.  Aryne seemed to appreciate Bee’s gift of a plush elephant and small collection of books to add to the baby’s library.  

As the ladies ate their dessert, from beside Bee, Alannah nudged her gently.  “Lucy texted me, told me you got a good deal on yoga pants.  Lululemon?” she asked, forking some crumble into her mouth.

“Old Navy, actu--”

“Are you looking for a studio?” Sydney imposed on the conversation.  Bee looked at her across the table.  “I used to go to Moksha Yoga on King for hot yoga.  And Jessica recommended this amazing personal trainer who works out of a gym on Adelaide.  If you tell them my name, they’ll definitely help you with everything you need done.”

“Sydney,” Alannah stressed.  So it wasn’t just Bee who was picking up on these things.  Alannah had been listening for a long time too and, well, hell – Alannah was a lawyer.  Reading between the lines on every single little thing said was practically her job.  “I’m just asking about a deal on yoga pants.”

‘Do I look like I need to be helped?  Do I look like I need everything done?’ Bee wanted to desperately to ask, but decided to hold her tongue.  

“Listen, we can all tone up a bit,” Sydney shrugged her shoulders.  “Like, I’m taking a boxing class right now to tone up before the wedding.  We’ve had to take in the dress a bit more and my seamstress sort of hates me for it, but…it’s my wedding!  I need to look my best, right?  You understand, Alannah,” she tried to play it off, smiling and giggled and making it into a joke.  “We all want to look good on our wedding day!  Those are photos we’re going to have forever.”

“I get what you’re saying, Syd.  I just wouldn’t advertise gyms or personal trainers to people unless they explicitly ask for it,” Alannah said.  

“I don’t think Bee is offended, Alannah,” Sydney said as if it was the most ridiculous notion in the world.  Bee was highly offended.  “She knows how long and stressful the wedding planning has been.”

“She does?” Alannah asked.

“I do?” Bee asked, speaking for the first time in the entire conversation.

“Of course you do!  Remember when we first met at lunch?  I mentioned the second dress and the flower wall and the veil,” she said.  Bee looked at her wide-eyed, shocked that Sydney would assume Bee would remember any detail about her wedding when she, nor her boyfriend, were even invited in the first place.  “It was like, after the All-Star Break.  When I was in town for my dress fitting on Valentine’s Day,” Sydney said.  “I know you and Morgan were in Vancouver around that time, but you must remember.”

The fact that Sydney remembered, or even knew, that Morgan and Bee were in Vancouver during the All-Star Break was one thing – she must have seen the stolen pictures reposted on NHL WAG Instagram accounts.  But at the mention of said All-Star Break, Alannah got physically uncomfortable.  “Syd--”

“I’m sorry, I just remember that we met.  I don’t remember the details.  I must have forgotten about it,” Bee shrugged her shoulders, trying to drop it.

“How could you forget?” Sydney pressured.  

“Sydney --”

“Because my mother died during the All-Star Break in January,” Bee revealed as calmly as she could, biting her tongue and looking Sydney dead in the eye, watching her squirm in her seat, the discomfort and the realization finally dawning on her.  “Now can we drop it?”

A loud clink of a glass.  Everybody settling down and silencing themselves.  Aryne standing up from her spot at the head of the table, a giant smile on her face as she started her speech thanking everyone for coming and for all their gifts.  Polite rounds of applause as she thanked her mom and her mother-in-law for hosting.  Another polite round of applause when she finished her speech.  A strained smile on Sydney’s face as she listened and clapped along.  Side-eyes from Alannah, watching the space between Bee and Sydney, before focusing back on Aryne.  

“I’ll be right back,” Bee said to Alannah as she stood up from her seat, making her way towards the bathrooms.  Noticing that it was empty when she entered, Bee took a few seconds to look at herself in the mirror.  The dress did look nice, and it did look cute on her, but because there were spaghetti straps, there was some underarm flab that the other girls didn’t have.  If she was strategic, her hair could conceal it.  Bee wondered if that’s what set Sydney off.  

Bee was only human.  There was only so much negativity she could take until she began to wonder if the words that constantly followed her around were true.  She knew she wasn’t perfect – far from it – but she didn’t need her imperfections and insecurities pointed out to her at literally every given moment of the day.  The Instagram DMs were a part of her life at this point – she’d never be able to get rid of them, and she made her peace with that long ago.  They didn’t affect her as much, mostly because these girls didn’t know her, or Morgan, or anything to do with her life.  But to hear similar comments coming from the mouth of someone in a similar situation, someone who knows this world and who has been in it for a while…it was different.  Bee was taking her comments to heart, even though she knew she shouldn’t be.  It was a rare moment of weakness for her – a moment of weakness she tried to desperately to overcome when it was anonymous random messages.  

But in that moment of weakness, her thoughts and impulses got the best of her.  She could only be so strong.  She was only normal.  She remembered what those girls said to her in the bathrooms at Scotiabank Arena and opened a new tab on her phone.  ‘tumblr puckbunny Sydney esiason cassie’ she typed the random array of words quickly into the search bar, the first link giving her exactly what she wanted.  An anonymous ask sending in screenshots of a Valentine’s Day post on someone’s profile and a comment thread below.  The original comment on Instagram read ‘Fangirls in Toronto didn’t like Syd bc she called them out on their bullshit.  The amount of girls trying to hook up with players there is ridiculous.  They have no shame.  So many succeed bc the guys are young and dumb.  They’re all work as waitresses or bottle girls at clubs.’  

Innocent enough, Bee thought.  She was intrigued to know that Sydney had apparently called girls out.  When the whole mess happened with Morgan, Bee distinctly remembered Steve Keogh telling her not to engage.  She wouldn’t have put it past Sydney to not listen to him.

But then, Sydney’s response to the comment:  ‘Girls in Toronto love to pretend to work only to quit when the playoffs come around’

Bee locked her phone as an automatic reaction because she couldn’t believe the words she’d just read.  She unlocked her phone again.  She read over the comments and noticed the answer written by the owner of the blog.  ‘That’s definitely about Cassie, anon.  Don’t know where u get off thinking it’s about Mo’s girl just bc that other anon sent in proof Bee got a job at Scotiabank.  Everybody knows Cassie is a wannabe model and only got hired by that modelling agency bc her dad is friends with the owner.  Cassie doesn’t work and comes from money but wants to be a ‘model’ and ‘influencer’ bc she’s barely literate.’

Bee felt like flushing her phone down the toilet.  She felt like burying it in one of the flowerbeds outside so she could never see it again.  She felt like taking the streetcar all the way down to Lake Ontario, attaching concrete blocks to her phone, and tossing it into the lake.  ‘Girls in Toronto love to pretend to work’ repeated over and over in her head.  

She couldn’t do this.  She didn’t want to engage.  Not today, at Aryne’s baby shower.  Not ever.  

She exited the stall, flattening out her dress and putting her phone back into her Chanel bag before the door opened again out of the corner of her eye.  “Hey,” Sydney’s voice shocked her momentarily.  Bee watched as she entered the washroom clutching her bag, letting the door close behind her.  “Are you alright?”

Bee had held her tongue for most of the afternoon.  She had tried to remain calm and quiet, stoic, and unbothered.  But she couldn’t anymore.  Not after Alannah heard it too.  And now, with the two of them alone in a bathroom, she was finally going to use her voice.  “Is there…I mean, is there a reason why you hate me so much?”

“What?” Sydney asked.

“All you’ve done today is insult me in every way possible.”

“Well I didn’t mean to.”

“But you kept doing it!” Bee stressed.  “Every conversation we’ve had today, I felt like you were trying to undermine me somehow or make me feel like complete shit.  And like…listen,” Bee took a deep breath.  “I don’t need you to like me.  Quite frankly, I don’t care if you do.  You don’t mean anything to me and I don’t know you.  But you need to at least respect me.  And you weren’t even doing that.”

“I was trying to help you--”

“How?  By insinuating I was fat and needed to lose weight?” Bee demanded.  “By making me feel bad for having a career away from hockey?”

“Listen, I think you misunderstood--”

“Don’t take me for a fucking idiot, Sydney,” Bee spat, not even bothering to hold back the venom in her voice, looking her dead in the eye.  It shut Sydney up really quick.  “I’m sure you already know what comments I get regularly from girls in Toronto.  It’s white noise at this point for how many I get.  Every.  Single.  Day.  You’ve been in this world for much longer than I have and you should know better.  I really don’t need those types of comments from you too.”

There was a moment of silence between the two women as Sydney lowered her eyes and looked at the floor.  Bee couldn’t help but cross her arms over her chest, waiting for a reply.  “Listen…” Sydney began finally.  “I’m sorry if you were offended--”

“I am offended.”

“Well I’m sorry,” she stressed, her voice more firm this time.  “It’s just a really stressful time right now and I guess I said some things that were misconstrued.  You don’t understand because you aren’t getting married or planning a wedding.”

Bee couldn’t help but roll her eyes.  If a half-assed apology and some lame excuse were all she was going to get from her, then so be it.  She would have to accept it.  She wanted to end the conversation right there because she didn’t want to hear Sydney blame it on anything besides her sour attitude.  “I’m sure you’re going to have a beautiful wedding and you’re going to look absolutely stunning, because you are.  You just don’t need to insult other people, whether consciously or unconsciously, in order to do that.”

Bee made her way past Sydney, opening the door to the washroom and re-joining the baby shower.  By this point, the wait staff was clearing the dessert dishes from the table.  She settled into her seat, eating the last of her crumble.  Alannah looked at her wide-eyed.  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Just don’t say anything to Aryne,” Bee implored, and Alannah nodded her head.  

***

“LET’S GO RAPTORS!” Bee shouted along with the rest of the fans, clapping and smiling as she looked between the jumbotron and the action on the court to see what was going on.  Basketball was easier to understand than hockey for most things (although fouls still confused her – they could be called for the slightest of things, whereas in hockey it often seemed you needed to guillotine a guy to get a penalty called), so she was able to pick it up quicker.  The energy inside of Scotiabank Arena was different than a Leaf game, that was for sure.  The buzz that the Raptors could bring a championship to Toronto fed that feeling.  

Bee sat with Morgan, munching on the last of their popcorn.  So many of the boys – Naz, Patrick, Travis, Zach, Mitch, Connor, and Trevor – and their significant others were there cheering on the Raptors from an executive suite and the accompanying seats.  Morgan had the free t-shirt they were given wrapped around his neck, and Bee had hers around her neck as well, not wanting to cover the brand new Raptors jersey Morgan bought for her when they got to the arena.  

“Are you liking it so far, Bee?” Naz asked her as Morgan escaped to the washroom in between plays.  

“I’m loving it,” she smiled.  “No offence but it’s so much easier to understand than hockey.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Naz smiled.  “I think it helps that they might fucking do this tonight.  The city is going to go apeshit.”

“If they do, we have to be out there with them,” she said.  “I think the last time people partied in the streets for a championship was when Team Canada won the gold medal in Vancouver, right?” she mused.  “But I was only fifteen then.  Couldn’t exactly party.”

“Even then.  It was Team Canada, but it wasn’t a Toronto team,” he said.  “It’s gonna be nuts.  And if we win it at home it makes it that much sweeter.”

As the play resumed, Morgan still hadn’t made it back to his seat.  Bee and Naz watched intently as the Raptors began a play that ended up in a pretty awesome shot by Kyle Lowry.  Though Bee was focused on watching, she noticed Naz look behind him out of the corner of her eye and yell ‘Hurry up bro!’.  After a few more back and forths, Kawhi Leonard shot an incredible three-pointer, giving the Raptors the lead.  Everybody went crazy – Bee and Naz stood up from their seats, throwing their hands up in the air.  Bee looked to her right to see Morgan doing the same, an excited smile on his face before he went in to give Naz a giant hug.  They began jumping together with excitement and Bee couldn’t help but laugh – they looked like little boys, especially Morgan with his backwards cap on.  He managed to shuffle past Naz and hug her too, squeezing her tightly and lifting her up off the ground.  After he set her down, he kept his arms around her as he kissed her.  

“They’re gonna do it!  They’re really gonna do it!” he screamed.

But they didn’t.  After a last minute surge, the final score was 106-105 for the Golden State Warriors.  Another heartbreak.  The series was 3-2, and the Raptors would be heading back to California.  Despite the loss, everybody seemed in generally good spirits, given the score.  Considering it was so close, and considering the Raptors were still up a game, there was a major hunch that the Raptors would end the series next game, in Golden State’s arena.  

“So what did you think?” Morgan asked as they got into his car in the Scotiabank Arena parking lot.  “Your first basketball game.  Sorry they lost.”

Bee snorted.  There was no reason for him to apologize.  He wasn’t even on the team.  “It was a blast, Morgan.  I’m going to have to write a thank you note to Kyle and Masai for the tickets.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said absent-mindedly.

“Of course I do.  It’s polite,” she countered.  “Tickets for this game were going for thousands of dollars.  And we were in a private box with catering.  It would be impolite not to.”

“Okay, okay,” he smiled, grabbing her hand across the console as they drove out of the parking garage.  “You look cute in that jersey.”

She smirked as she gave him some side-eye.  “Oh yeah?  How so?”

Morgan shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t know.  You just do.”

“Do you prefer a Raptors jersey on me or a Leafs jersey?” she asked.

Morgan gave her a look, causing her to giggle.  “I think you know the answer to that question,” he said, his voice low.  “Never saw the number 44 look so good, that’s for sure.”

“You’re lucky blue goes with my eyes better than red does,” she said, giving him a wink.  “I think blue is my colour.”

“Oh, blue is definitely your colour.”

***

“Come up baby.  Come up,” Bee cooed as she patted on the couch.  Bruce looked up at her, meowing as he finally jumped up.  “Hi baby!  Hi Brucey,” she scratched underneath his chin.  “You wanna come cuddle with us?”

Instead of cuddling into Bee like he usually did, Bruce began to climb on top of Morgan, exploring and even falling off of him before jumping back on.  Morgan watched with an amused look on his face despite being focused on the hockey analysts on TV just moments ago.  He had decided he wanted to watch the Stanley Cup Final game – Boston versus St. Louis – if only because his old friend and teammate Tyler Bozak was playing on St. Louis now and Morgan wanted him – and only him – to win.  He made that abundantly clear.  He only wanted “Bozie” to win.

Bee knew there were going to be a lot of emotions that night.  She knew they would be thinking that it could have been Morgan and the Leafs in this position, so she made sure to prepare accordingly – extra buttery popcorn, chocolate chip cookies, and Sweet Chili Heat Doritos were already in bowls in front of them on their coffee table, just in case.  And because she knew he would need it, she designated herself to be the big spoon.  As they cuddled on the couch, Morgan laid his head on her chest instead of the other way around, like it usually was.  She was already running her fingers through his hair gently as he had watched the pre-show.

“He’s definitely his mother’s son,” he commented as Bruce meowed, participating in a delicate balancing act of walking along Morgan’s legs.  

Bee gave him a playful side-eye.  “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” she asked.

“You decide,” he winked.  Bruce meowed again.  “He definitely has Springsteen’s voice, that’s for sure,” Morgan giggled.

“He wants the world to know he has something to say,” Bee said.  “Don’t you, Brucey?”  Another meow as he walked back up Morgan’s legs, causing them both to laugh.  “Come cuddle, Brucey.  Give us a concert another time,” she patted the spot on the couch in front of her again.

“Maybe he’s trying to say he wants St. Louis to win,” Morgan mused.

“Maybe he’s telling Nick Kypreos to shut up,” Bee mused as well, garnering a snort from Morgan.  “Then he’d really be his mother’s son.”

“You’re something else, Briony McTavish,” he said, leaning his head up to kiss her before snuggling it into her chest again.  He let out a content sigh as he continued to watch the analysts speak.  “I love this,” he said quietly, almost a whisper.

“You love what?”

“This.  Us being like this.  Me, you, Bruce,” Morgan said as he scratched Bruce’s ears.

Bee couldn’t help but smile.  “Me too.”

The game was decent.  Boston lost, which Bee was happy about, and Tyler Bozak won the Stanley Cup, which Morgan was happy about.  Bee got to watch Brad Marchand cry – a true highlight – and Morgan texted Tyler’s wife Molly a congratulations message, though he was sure she wouldn’t be checking her phone for hours.  As they watched the presentation of the Conn Smythe Trophy to Ryan O’Reilly and the official presentation of the Stanley Cup to the St. Louis Blues, Morgan didn’t take his eyes off the screen.  Bee made sure she kept running her fingers through his hair.  She made sure that her body was as close to his as possible, that his hand keeping warm between her thighs was held on to.  

As they watched each of the players scream in pure elation as they hoisted the Stanley Cup, Bee placed a gentle kiss on Morgan’s forehead.  “That’ll be you and the boys one day,” she whispered against his skin.

“I know,” he said softly, not taking his eyes off the screen.  “One day.  And you’ll be out on the ice with me.”

[bumblebyisendgame]

Street Racing AU snippet

While Volume 7 is actually motivating me, here’s some food from my next AU

Blake’s always thought life isn’t worth living unless it’s spent pushed against something; a limit, a wall, a red line. She chose the latter. The straight-six growls, catches a breath as she changes gears, lowers to a snarl in the hairpin then kicks up again. Their eyes meet on the next straight, gauging confidence, and Yang tosses a wink at her before pulling away.

“Bitch,” she exhales, pushing to 80 and coasting through the next smooth bend.

Later, she’ll admit that keeping up with the blonde was one of the hardest things she’s ever done. For now? They reach the finishing point, a set of traffic lights on red, and run them. She grins and reaches for the aftermarket stereo, skips through to her favourite song and turns the volume up to drown out the engine, pretend nothing exists apart from herself, the cadence, and the yellow Camaro she’s following. Even as it turns off the main road, Blake chases; for once she feels like she’s actually running towards danger, alarm bells a siren song, irresistible and untamed. Yang sits on her tongue with those words as though they were written about her. Just like she’s sitting on her car bonnet, hair wild and loose past her shoulders, visible now she’s shrugged off the oversized shirt. Blake makes no attempt to hide her staring, cataloguing every inch of exposed skin and defined muscle as they flex in the Skyline’s headlights, Yang’s head angling towards her when the door closes and doing much the same.

“Hey,” she says, and there’s something so… dark about the way she says it. Dark like the corners of clubs, of alleyways, of bedrooms, when looking at her properly would be too much. “Nice view, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Blake answers, still staring. She isn’t sure if Yang’s aware just how fucking hot she is, or if she meant the question genuinely.

“I always find things look better without any guys around.” Oh, it’s definitely the former. “Bumblebee is the exception,” Yang pats the Camaro’s side panel, “she looks good all the time.”

So do you, Blake almost adds, opts for biting her lower lip instead. “I’ve noticed.”

[littlemisssquiggles]

So...just finished wrapping up the season finale of Young Justice Outsiders

With Young Justice Outsiders being officially done now, I’m going to give my honest opinion of the entire series and I’m going to be blunt here folks:

Outsiders was pretty great. I enjoyed it a lot. However, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I enjoyed Invasion and the original first season. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to say the season itself was underwhelming---I’m just saying that there were certain things that the other first seasons did better than Outsiders for me.

One of my biggest beef with this season is how it didn’t do a good job at letting us get to know the new characters like Tracie 13, for example. If it wasn’t for the fact that I knew about Tracie through my love for Blue Beetle, I would have absolutely zero idea who she is. And what sucks is that Outsiders didn’t do a good job at introducing her to me as part of the audience. 

Even after one whole season, I don’t know anything about Tracie beyond the bare minimum that she’s canonically the girlfriend of Blue Beetle and has powers. 

For people like me who aren’t familiar with her character, I wish the series could’ve done a better job at setting her up---allowing me to get to know her first. This is how I was able to fall for Blue Beetle. In Invasion, we were introduced to newbies like Blue and Bumblebee. Same for Impulse and Invasion did a good job at setting these guys up and developing them. 

Blue of course got it better since he was a focal character of S2. Sadly Tracie 13 isn’t the only character who suffered from this. There were Whisper and Oprhan too.  Unless you’re a Batman fan, you might not know these characters at all. Even now, after this whole season, I’m like WHO ARE YOU guys? Who are you supposed to be? 

I guess I can look into them now but you get what I’m saying right? Maybe next season we can get a chance to know more and see more from these new characters. Speaking of next season:

Young Justice S4...when?

With the way how things ended off, I’m hoping S4 is a sure thing. I sincerely hope it’s in the cards. Now before I close things off with this post, I’m just going to unapologetically screech things that went through my mind while watching the final few episodes of Outsiders. Apologies for the ALL CAPS:

BRION! GODDAMMIT MAN! 26 EPISODES! 26 GODDAMN EPISODES OF PLOT AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT ALL GONE TO SHIT! DUDE! WHAT THE F*** WITH THAT ENDING! WHYYY? WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THE WHOLE TWO EPISODES BEFORE WHERE HE WAS TALKING ABOUT PATIENCE AND SHIT! YES I KNOW HE WAS BEING MANIPULATED BUT SERIOUSLY MAN! DAMMIT BRION I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!

WALLY! FREAKING WALLY WEST. THANK GOODNESS THEY CONFIRMED THAT YOU’RE TECHICALLY STILL NOT OFFICIALLY DEAD! THAT LEAVES ROOM FOR YOU TO RETURN IN THE SPEED FORCE LIKE MANY OF US HAVE BEEN SPECULATING SINCE INVASION FOR YEARS.

AND SINCE WE’RE ON THE TALK OF WALLY, ARTEMIS AND ROY---I MEAN WILLIAM. THANK GOODNESS YOU TWO DIDN’T HOOK UP. THAT SHIP WAS CRINGE. I’M SORRY. I MEAN I GET WHERE THEY WERE GOING AND I ACTUALLY ENJOYED HOW THE SHOW HANDLED THESE TWO. FELT VERY GENUINE AND REAL. BUT AT THE SAME TIME, GLAD IT DIDN’T PULL THROUGH CAUSE IT WOULD’VE BEEN WEIRD AND I’M HAPPY THE SHOW ACKNOWLEDGED IT. ARTEMIS IS STILL IN LOVE WITH WALLY BUT SHE’S ACCEPTED THAT HE MIGHT NOT BE COMING BACK. THAT’S ALRIGHT, WE ALL KNOW HE’S GONNA COME BACK IN S4. YOU’RE GONNA GET YOUR HAPPY EVER AFTER WITH WALLY ARTEMIS. JUST YOU WAIT.

 SPEAKING OF SHIPS, FREAKING BRION AGAIN AND HALO. YOU SUNK MY SHIP AGAIN! JUST AFTER IT GOT BACK TOGETHER AFTER THAT ODD SUBPLOT WITH THE TRAITOR DOCTOR! DOES… THIS MEAN THAT HALO IS GONNA HOOK UP WITH CYBORG NOW? CAN I SHAMELESSLY SHIP THESE TWO NOW AS MY REBOUND SHIP TO COMBAT MY FEELINGS OF ANGER OVER HOW THEY SCREWED BRION’S CHARACTER IN THE END AND RUINED WHAT HE AND VIOLET HAD? SERIOUSLY I’M GONNA BE SALTY ABOUT THAT FOR A WHILE. F***ING BRION!

 OKAY,WHAT ELSE, WHAT ELSE? OH! FOREGGER IS BABY. FRED BUGG WITH TWO G’S IS STILL BABYEVEN AT THE END. CAN WE ALL SIMULTANEOUSLY AGREE WITH  THAT NOW? FOREGGER IS BABY. MY PRECIOUS BUG SON WHO I ADORE SO MUCH. I SHALL ADD HIM TO MY GROWING COLLECTION OF BUG SONS RIGHT NEXT TO BLUE BEETLE. MY TWO BEAUTIFUL BUG BOYS.

 OUTSIDERS MADE ME REALIZE HOW MUCH I MISS BLUE BEING A RELEVANT CHARACTER. I KNOW HE HAD HIS STORY IN INVASION AND IT WAS FREAKING AWESOME. BUT I FEEL LIKE INVASION SPOILED ME. THEY GAVE ME SO MUCH GREAT BLUE BEETLE CONTENT THAT I WAS STARVING IN OUTSIDERS. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I MISSED MY PRECIOUS BUG SON THE FIRST DURING THAT TRYING HIATUS, OKAY.

 SPEAKING OF SONS, EDUARDO DORADO JR…YOU WERE SURPRISINGLY GREAT THIS SEASON. WAS NOT EXPECTING EL DORADO TO BE SUCH A POIGNANT CHARACTER BUT HE WAS. LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING HIM THRIVE MORE IN S4.

 AND SPEAKING OF ED…HMMM…I DUNNO. AS MUCH AS I LOVED THE FINAL MOMENT WHERE WENDY TOOK OFF HER INHIBITOR COLLAR AND SHE AND ED SHARED A NICE BIG OLE SMILE THAT WAS SOO ADORABLE….I DUNNO.

I TOTALLY SHIP ED AND WENDY BUT…I’M ALSO STARTING TO LIKE THE IDEA OF BARTUARDO TO MAKE UP FOR BLUEPULSE BEING DEAD NOW. SO…I’M CONFLICTED. MAYBE ED CAN BE REVEALED AS BI. IT COULD HAPPEN NOW. YOUNG JUSTICE IS WOKE ENOUGH FOR THAT NOW, RIGHT?

DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON HOW WOKE THIS SHOW GOT THIS SEASON. NOT GONNA TOUCH IT. JUST GONNA MENTION IT AND SAY THAT IT WAS THERE---IT WASN’T AS OBNOXIOUS AS MOST WOKENESS IN MEDIA TODAY. BUT IT WAS THERE. I SAW IT.

 ANYWAYS NEXT---STATIC SHOCK; OH MY WORD, STATIC WAS…SURPRISINGLY UNDERUSED THIS SEASON. NOT GONNA LIE. HE HAD SOME GOOD MOMENTS BUT…I DUNNO, I FELT LIKE THEY DIDN’T DO MUCH WITH STATIC THIS SEASON AT ALL. NOT AS MUCH AS WHAT THEY DID WITH ED.

I MEAN I LIKED THAT THEY CHOSE TO PUSH ED OVER STATIC SINCE HE’S A CHARACTER FOLKS BARELY KNOW ABOUT WHICH…MAKES THE SCENARIO WITH HIM GETTING MORE SCREEN TIME TO SHINE THAN STATIC MORE IRONIC. BEFORE YJ, STATIC HAD HIS OWN SERIES AND WAS MORE KNOWN THAN EL DORADO. IN YJ, ED IS GIVEN MORE MOMENTS TO SHINE. I’M HOPING THAT S4 GIVES ME THAT SUPERPOWERED RUNAWAYS REUNION I’M CRAVING NOW.

LET ED, VIRGIL, JAIME AND BART GO ON A SOLO MISSION AND BRING BACK TEAM HEADBANDS TO JOIN THEM. BRING BACK ASAMI AND TYE. MAYBE ARSENAL TOO. I NEED THIS EPISODE.

 And on a final note…WHAT WAS THAT REFERENCE AT THE END? THEY TEASED SOMETHING BEFORE THE CREDITS BUT BECAUSE I’M NOT FAMILIAR WITH THIS CHARACTER OR SYMBOL, I WAS LEFT CONFUSED BUT…EXCITED?

 And that’s all I gotta say. Overall, I liked Outsiders. Invasion is still my favourite season of YJ though. If I had to rank the seasons from personal favourite to least favourite, it would be--- Invasion, Original First Season and Outsiders would be last.

Again, not saying Outsiders wasn’t good. As a matter of fact, it was great and proves that Netflix and DC can provide a great continuation to this franchise. I just hope that the traffic for Outsiders was good enough to warrant it being in for a S4. I really hope so. I hope fans don’t have to wait another several years for YJ again.

 Fingers crossed. But yeah, those are my thoughts on Outsiders.

 ~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)  

[shikai-the-storyteller]

*HEAVY BREATHING* CYBERVERSE S2 EPISODE 11  AND 12  WATCH

I GOT SPOILED BY THE THUMBNAIL, I THINK MY BOY SKYFIRE IS FINALLY GOING TO SHOW UP!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“This Seeker Seeker” Wheeljack you DORK

Teletron X: We are under attack! :D

IM LOSING IT, OPTIMUS SAID “STARSCREAM” IN THE SAME ANNOYED / HARASSED TONE THAT MEGATRON ALWAYS USES WHEN HE SAYS “STARSCREAM”, THAT”S KILLING ME

LMAO MEGATRON LITERALLY YELLS “STARSCREAM” IN THE NEXT SCENE, MAN I LOVE THIS SHOW

JETFIRE!!!!!!

HES FRICKIN BRITISH

I MEAN HE’S NOT BRITISH-BRITISH, BUT HE”S LIKE A KNIGHT DORK

THE JETFIRE AND SIRFETCH’D REVEAL HAPPENED IN THE SAME WEEK...AND THEY’RE BOTH DORKY KNIGHTS... *illuminati symbols while X-files theme plays*

 SKYBITE?!?

IM GLAD THE INTRO IS PLAYING RN SO I HAVE A MINUTE TO COMPOSE MYSELF

DORKY KNIGHT JETFIRE...I DONT KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THIS

WHAT HAPPENED TO MY SWEET NERDY SCIENTIST BOY

Hot Rod: Oh no, not him! I thought he died in that supernova! I love how casually Hot Rod says “aw man, not this dude, he’s so annoying :( I really thought he was dead :((((” lmao

OH OK SKYBITE IS A FRICKIN SHARKTICON, THAT’S WHY I KNEW HIS NAME

Gosh I really hope Starscream and Jetfire were old friends in the Cyberverse universe now because I want to know how the hell Starscream put up with him Talking Like That

lmao I love Grimlock’s commentary 

Jetfire: Who landed this thing? Hot Rod? Me: *nearly squirts water out of my nose because that unexpectedly made me laugh* ALSO HEARING OPTIMUS LAUGH AT THAT WAS SWEET....I DON’T THINK I’VE HEARD HIM LAUGH BEFORE....:’)

lmao I love that Jetfire reuniting with the Autobots was so casual meanwhile Skybite frickin plowed into Megatron and Megatron’s just like “YO Skybite!!!”

IT’S SO CUTE HEARING MEGATRON LAUGH NON-MALICIOUSLY TOO, THANK YOU CYBERVERSE

SWEET GENTLE-LOOKING BOY......

I love how when I first saw an image of Jetfire I was like “SWEET BOY??? SWEET BOY??? NICE KIND BOY???” but the second he opened his mouth I was like “NO”

Not that I’m saying I don’t like Jetfire, it’s just that I got frickin whiplash from the expectation vs. reality thing, lmao. He’s still a dork, just not the kind of dork I was expecting. Not really my thing, but I’m interested in seeing how they take his character regardless. Who knows! I’ll keep an open mind, even if this character trope isn’t one I’m typically interested in.

OH SHOOT HE JUST BIT JETFIRE’S WING, BRO U GOOD?????

THUNDERCRACKER!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Jetfire, my old friend” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I KNOW THERE’S ABSOLUTELY NO WAY THIS WILL GO HOW I EXPECT IT TO GO BUT THAT STILL GOT ME FEELIN SO TENDER

Jetfire: Our friendship ended long ago, Starscream Starscream, slowly retracting his hand and turning his back: No matter Me, bawling my eyes out: HE WENT DOWN ON ONE KNEE AND OFFERED YOU HIS HAND JETFIRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE HE’D DO THAT FOR!!!!!!!!!

JETFIRE YOU’RE SUCH A MORON

Starscream: My old friend! Jetfire: I don’t want to play with you! Starscream: No wait look, I’ve got a cool toy that’ll help you beat up your new boyfri---I mean, enemy Jetfire: OH????

Starscream what are you playing at. I mean obviously it’s nothing good but

OH SHOOT THEY TOOK OUT EACH OTHER’S TEAM LEADERS

Megatron goes from surprised to concerned in .2 seconds and BOY DOES THAT SURE KILL ME

AND THE WAY HE SAYS “OPTIMUS”, WAILS!!!!!!

Also I can’t believe they can casually call each other up like this, like it’s no big deal. Idiot ex boyfriends who never got around to deleting each other’s numbers, smh

OH MY GOSH IS THAT THE ARENA!!!!!!!!!!!! OK I KNOW THAT’S NOT KAON’S ARENA BUT AHHHHHH

Man the Allspark upgrade is a great narrative way for Cyberverse to get around Hasbro’s “Hey we need a new dorky armor design for this character so we can make new toys of them” requests

OH NO MEGATRON AND OPTIMUS

oh pfft they’re fine, it’s Jetfire and Skybite who fell

OH NO JETFIRE

lmao get rekt Skybite

OPTIMUS NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Man for half a second I seriously thought Megatron was going to reach out and grab him, that would’ve been awesome

LMAO JETFIRE DOESN’T EVEN TURN AROUND TO CHECK TO SEE IF OPTIMUS IS OK, THANKS A LOT JETFIRE

JETFIRE GO HELP OPTIMUS YOU BIG LOSER

OK THANK GOODNESS JEEZ, IT’S ABOUT TIME SOMEONE HELPS THIS OLD MAN UP

ok but for real Starscream, did you power these two dudes up just so they’d kill each other or did you have some other motivation

OH SHOOT EPISODE 12 IS UP TOO??? ALRIGHT HERE WE GO: EPISODE 12

Starscream’s up to no good, as usual

Starscream: *obviously doing something shady, up to no good, grinning that grin of his* Me, fondly: That’s my boy

I love that Acid Storm is the tech person of the group, that’s so fun

also this episode title ‘’I Am The Allspark’’ has me so worried

OHHHH STARSCREAM BUDDY THAT DOESN’T SEEM SMART but dang if that doesn’t look cool

Starscream: Now I have the power to return everyone to the Allspark! Beginning with YOU! Seekers: *act genuinely surprised as though Starscream hasn’t been talking about killing everyone since day one* LIKE, DO YOU GUYS ACTUALLY ONLY SHARE ONE BRAINCELL, HOW COULD THIS POSSIBLY BE A SURPRISE TO YOU

I’m still betting on Slipstream popping up and screwing up his plan since she’s part of the Allspark now too

Aw Jetfire’s part of the team now

BUT WHERE IS ARCEE

MEGATRON!!!!!!!!

“Optimus Prime...always one step ahead. Makes it easier to shoot you in the back!” Gosh I love Megatron, what a dork

YEAH GUYS YOU SERIOUSLY HAVE BIGGER PROBLEMS, PLEASE FOCUS

THAT’S SUCH A GOOD LOOK!!!!!

*goes absolutely nuts every time Megatron and Optimus work together / do anything in synch*

KICK HIS BUTT WINDBLADE oh shoot JETFIRE WENT UP THERE TOO LMAO

I’d love to see Jetfire and Windblade become friends just so they can complain about Starscream together

Case in point

Oh shoot this ain’t looking good gang

 AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS THE MEGATRON AND STARSCREAM INTERACTION I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR ALL SEADSON

That legitimately scared me for half a second HE ZOOMED UP IN HIS FACE SO FAST, I LOVE IT

GOSH I love the expressions in Cyberverse, Starscream went from “blind fury” to “oh you poor pathetic mortal” in 2 seconds and it’s delicious.

“You’re welcome” OH SNAP

I LEGITIMATELY KEEP HAVING TO PAUSE AND REMIND MYSELF TO BREATHE, AHHHHHHHHHHHH THEY’RE BOTH SO AWFUL, THIS IS SUCH GREAT DIALOGUE

“Why should I? You’re Starscream. You always have failed, and you always will” HOLY HECK THAT’S BELOW THE BELT MEGATRON!!!!!!!!!!!

Meanwhile Shadow Striker’s in the background like “BRO STFU, YOU’RE DUMB MOUTH IS GOING TO GET US ALL KILLED”

COME ON CHEETOR, KEEP IT TOGETHER

Man Starscream’s got such a massive inferiority complex (courtesy of Megatron, among other things) that he had to literally merge with the Allspark to try and feel like he was worth something, o o f....

Bruh we really need Rung in this series, this boy needs therapy

COME ON OPTIMUS DO SOMETHING

NOICE

WAY TO CUT IT CLOSE OPTIMUS

OH NO IS HE OK

CYBERVERSE PLEASE DON’T KILL OPTIMUS AGAIN

Megatron: Who could ask for anything more? Except for your spark Optimus, weakly: Are you proposing?  Bumblebee: THIS REALLY ISN’T THE TIME TO BE FLIRTING

This is such a good screencap but IM HURTIN SO BAD

LMAO THE SCRAPLETS ARE GOING WILD

DO IT WINDBLADE, GET THE ALLSPARK, REVIVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!

Shockwave: I now have 50 more children Grimlock: NO FAIR

SHADOW STRIKER PLS (but boy if I don’t love seeing the gals going at it)

BEE PLS PROTECT OPTIMUS

Wow they really aren’t holding back showing the Scraplet deaths

HECK YEAH, WINDBLADE GOT TO SAY THE THING!!! SHE SAID AUTOBOT ROLL OUT

CHEETOR PLEASE BE CAREFUL LITTLE KITTY CAT

MEGATRON COME ON

OH NO WHERE IS BEE

OH SNAP HE GOT STARSCREAM!?!? lmao and he’s dragging him by the foot, thanks Bee

WAIT THAT’S IT!? NO, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WAIT FOR THE NEXT EPISODE, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I LOVE CYBERVERSE SO MUCH!!! PLS DONT KILL MY BOY OPTIMUS

[keeroo92]

Crimson Tide Ch9

Chapter Nine - Answers

---Trish---

She felt it the moment she crossed; the pull.

It niggled at her, an itch she refused to scratch no matter how insistent it became. To do so would mean her death, and there was still so much she had to do. She would not surrender, not now and not ever. If Mundus couldn’t kill her, neither would this. It was an annoyance, not worth thinking about.

At least, that’s what Trish told herself.

Only you and V seemed to notice anything was off, but even that much irritated her. She didn’t like others seeing her weakness. It made her blood boil to imagine anyone pitying her. She was strong, capable and completely fine on her own. She didn’t need anybody and never would.

Even so, her heart sank to find no recent traces of Dante and Nero.

She hadn’t expected the mission to be easy, but it would’ve been a nice change.

She sighed and tilted her hips, taking a closer look at the bloodstain marring the colorful ground. Demonic, thankfully. A few months old if she had to guess. Same as the other stains she’d found so far.

She huffed and turned back to you. “Nothing new here, demon blood from about two months ago.”

You grimaced. Trish wished she had better news. The team had been here for three days now, based on the clock in Nico’s van. After the initial arrival, they headed down to the remains of the Qlipoth to begin the search. It didn’t look like much, just a massive stretch of colorless rubble. Hidden between two chunks, Lady found boot prints. Dante’s, judging by the size. Lady was ecstatic, grinning more than she had in weeks back home.

I wonder if she’s admitted to herself she loves him yet?

Unlikely. Lady was a master at self-deception. Ironic, considering her ability to sniff out secrets in others, or to discover plots meant to kill them all.

They set out in the same direction, following the trail until it vanished in a sea of purple grass. The pull strengthened with every step but she shoved it aside, focusing all her energy on tracking. Not her strong suit. They circled the area for hours, frustration mounting by the minute as time dragged on. She was about to suggest simply continuing in the same direction a bit longer when Nico spotted the familiar pattern in the dust.

That was when she noticed the tense silence between you and V. The normal banter and affectionate touches were gone, replaced with scowls and crossed arms. It was ridiculous, hardly the time for a lovers’ spat. Hopefully you’d talk to Kyrie or Nico about it and everything would return to normal. A tiff was the least of the troubles plaguing the group and she despised the fact that it was drawing your focus.

We can’t afford to get distracted.

When you pulled her aside a few hours later to chat, she almost choked. It didn’t even cross her mind that you might approach her. She covered her surprise with a cough and followed you away from the group, mentally cursing her luck. Why would you come to her, of all people? She’d never even been in love! Literally any other person here had more direct experience with whatever was going on between you and the thrice damned poet.

What a waste of time.

She glanced at you with a neutral expression. You were fidgeting, worry written across your face as you followed her through a field of florescent flowers. It was tempting to shout at you, but she bit her tongue and waited instead.

“So, uh, V and I had a fight,” you began. She almost laughed.

“I gathered.”

You leaned down to pick a flower, holding it out to Trish for assessment. An orange blossom with red spots. She recognized it instantly as a fire pansy and nodded. Safe to consume. You popped it in your mouth as the two of you trod on.

“He wanted me to stay behind,” you said after a pause.

Ah. So that’s what happened. Trish took a moment to process, working through her own thoughts on the matter. She’d spent hours training you every day for months, honing your skills until you could beat her if she was having an off day. It made sense that he wanted to keep you safe at home, keep you out of danger, but you weren’t helpless. She honestly found it slightly insulting, taking it as a slight against her mentorship.

She took a deep breath and wrangled her irritation. Indulging that line of thought would do her no favors.

“Idiot. You might be more useful in a fight than he is now, if he didn’t use Nightmare.”

You grinned and sucked on the petals.

“Well, I think he was more worried about the noises I kept hearing and the pain in my head,” you replied thoughtfully.

The blonde furrowed her brow. She’d seen you collapse and rub at your temples, and you definitely seemed out of it on the ride over. It was unlikely you had the gift, but if the shoe fit…

“Yeah, V mentioned something about that on the way. What’s the sound like?”

“A hum, like a bumblebee. It gets worse every time I hear it.”

She hid her shock behind a mask of understanding, taking another few steps before asking her next question. “Did it coincide with the portals opening?”

You froze, wide eyed. “How did you know that?”

Trish almost groaned. This could be bad, really bad. But she needed to be sure. “Have you had any visions? Any flashes of things you that weren’t really there?”

You stared at her, gaping like a fish. She resisted the urge to stick a finger in your mouth and waited.

“Yeah, a burst of light and color on the way to the portal. It was too fast to see anything, though.”

Trish reeled back as if you slapped her.

Fuck, how in the Hell?!

It made no sense; you didn’t have a drop of demon blood in you. She’d know if you did. How the Hell did you have demon powers?

“What is it, what’s wrong with me?”

You sounded terrified and Trish couldn’t help but cringe at the alarm in your eyes. This was insane, it didn’t make any sense. There was no logical reason for you to have the gift, none whatsoever. She sent a pulse of demonic energy at you, just to be sure, but there was nothing. Not a drop.

So how did this happen? Could it be something else?

Don’t jump to conclusions. Think it through.

She had to be wrong. The gift manifested at birth, why would it only start happening now? Even before the Qlipoth, portals popped up on a regular basis. You would’ve felt it years ago as a child. So, either it was something else, or something had changed.

It had to be something else. There had never been a human with the gift, only demons. If you had it, it flew against everything she knew was true. She couldn’t accept it, not without solid proof. Too much was at stake to make unverified claims.

She swallowed her turmoil and licked her lips. “I’m not sure. Tell me if it happens again, I want all the details.”

You deflated, disappointed at her lack of a clear answer. She wished she could offer some reassurance, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Okay,” you agreed softly. “What about V?”

Trish sighed. His concerns made more sense with the new information, but even so.

“He meant well, but I agree with you. It isn’t a choice he gets to make for you. It’s probably a good sign that he told you about it, though.”

You spat out the spent petals and grimaced at the aftertaste. “It’s not even about that. I get where he’s coming from, but the way he told me was just… ugh!”

You threw your hands up in frustration, failing to find the words. This was exactly why Trish avoided interpersonal relationships. Eventually, somebody got hurt and regardless of the outcome, it was a distraction. Sex, she understood. Love? Not so much.

“Why come to me about this? Wouldn’t Kyrie be a better help?”

You flopped onto the ground, reaching for another flower to suck. The blonde joined you, crossing her long legs beneath her and waiting for an answer.

“You have a point, but everyone else seems so… stressed out? You’re the only one of us who has their shit together. Plus, you might just be the Queen of objectivity.”

Trish sighed and leaned back. The pull tugged at her mind, insisting on her surrender. If only you knew just how screwed up her shit was…

---V---

The poet watched you walk away with Trish and sighed. He could imagine what you were discussing. Truly, he couldn’t have handled it much worse, but he’d run out of time. It irked him, knowing that he upset you and hurt your feelings. It seemed like such an obvious conclusion at the time. You saved his life by forcing him to let you handle the problem; he simply wanted to do the same.

Yeah, you fucked that up Shakespeare.

As always, thank you for the input. How do I fix it?

How am I supposed to know? I’m a damn demon.

He rolled his eyes. Griffon had a point. So, who could he ask?

You were already talking to Trish. Lady didn’t trust him; she was out of the question. Nico would tease him, though she may have valuable insight afterwards. The mechanic often spotted things others missed.

What about Kyrie?

Come to think of it, she may be the best option. Her warm heart and caring nature made her an easy person to talk to and though he didn’t know her well, he found her easy to like. Considering all she’d been through with Nero and what she was doing now to save him, she’d probably understand his position better than anyone else.

Perfect.

Since you were off with Trish, the group was taking a break to rest and eat. The perfect opportunity. He stood and headed for the van.

Kyrie was inside stirring a skillet. It smelled incredible and reminded him of all the times he’d found you in the same position during the Qlipoth crisis. You didn’t cook as much lately and he missed it, missed sneaking up behind you and stealing a hug or making you laugh and swat at him with whatever kitchen implement you had on hand.

“Hi, V. Are you hungry?” Kyrie asked with a slight smile.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I was wondering if I could get your advice?”

She gave him a genuine smile and turned down the heat, setting aside her spoon to face him directly. Her hand waved at the table in a gesture of invitation.

“Step into my office. It’s about Y/N, right?”

He glanced at her through his hair, a sheepish look on his face as he sat down and nodded.

“I noticed you two seemed off. What happened?”

“I… may have asked her to stay behind,” he confessed, fingers twitching in his lap. Griffon’s chortle of amusement did nothing to ease his nerves, nor Shadow’s roar. Nightmare, at least, had the grace to remain silent. Or the lack of interest.

Regardless.

“Oh… that explains a lot. Do you have any particular reasoning?”

“She’s ill, and we don’t know why or how bad it is.”

Kyrie nodded knowingly, picking up her spoon and stirring once more. “I can understand that. I felt the same thing when Nero lost his arm. And then he vanished from the hospital! I about had a heart attack.”

V cringed, remembering his visit to the man in question to recruit him to battle Urizen. He was the reason the young warrior left the hospital.

“Sorry about that…” he said.

She scoffed. “Water under the bridge.”

The poet grimaced. Would she still feel that way if they couldn’t bring Nero home? Even for such a gentle soul, forgiveness of that magnitude wouldn’t be easy.

“What’s going on with her? How bad is it?”

He leaned forward, bowing his head and hiding behind a curtain of black. “She’s been hearing things. Some kind of hum, and it causes her pain. It’s growing worse.”

Kyrie hummed and set down her spoon, turning to face him and peeking through his hair to meet his worried eyes. Her own were swimming with sympathy and understanding.

“That does sound bad. I won’t patronize you with empty reassurance, I know from experience how useless that is. I will, however, remind you of everything she’s already endured to get here. She’s stronger than you think, especially after training with Trish.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean the illness won’t overpower her, leave her exposed when it matters the most,” he replied. Images too terrible to ignore filled his mind of you falling to some nameless enemy. His heart twisted as he pictured your face, still in death.

“It might. Just as Nero could’ve died facing Urizen so soon after losing his arm. The stitches hadn’t even closed properly yet. But he went anyway, because that’s who he is.” Kyrie paused and stirred the skillet again, sending a fresh wave of the mouth-watering aroma swirling through the van. She turned back to him with a soft smile.

“It’s part of why I love him; he can’t stand idle when others are in trouble, especially those he cares about. She’s the same way. She wouldn’t be the woman you fell in love with otherwise, and no matter how much it hurts you can’t take that away from her. All you can do is be there when she needs you and hope for the best.”

“How can the bird that was born for joy sit in a cage and sing?” he recited, exhaling deeply and setting his hair aflutter.

“Exactly. And, just so you know, it always helps to be open. Loving someone isn’t always enough; you have to be a team, too.”

The poet lifted his head and met Kyrie’s eyes with a conflicted smile. He knew she was right; he wasn’t an imbecile. But it was difficult to accept outright. The urge to hide you away until no danger lurked tugged at him, warring with his respect and growing understanding.

And you still need to apologize.

He sighed. Where to even begin?

A resounding crash spoiled his thoughts. The van lurched from a sudden impact, throwing him from his seat and Kyrie to the floor with a yelp of surprise, the skillet thankfully spilling only on the stove top. Through the window he saw the horizon tilt as the vehicle lifted just long enough to send his prone body sliding across the floor before the weight settled back onto four tires.

We’re under attack!

“Kyrie, stay inside!” he cried, jumping to his feet and grasping his cane as adrenaline flooded his system. She nodded from her crouched pose and he ran, tattoos already swirling as he threw the door open.

Outside, Lady and Nico faced a trio of Antenora. They were fifty feet away and closing fast, mindlessly slashing toward the two women. The corpse of a Hell Bat lied beneath the window and he could only assume that was what hit the vehicle. The fresh dent in the faded yellow paint confirmed it and he brushed it aside to focus on the remaining threats.

The mechanic hurled a small object at the foes as Lady sprayed them with bullets, her face twisted in rage. V sent a pulse of energy through the bond and ebony shards lifted from his flesh in a storm, racing ahead of his sprinting feet to form Griffon and Shadow. He reached Nico just as her grenade detonated in a flash.

A cloud of silver fluid spewed from the tiny object to coat the three demons. Nico cheered as Shadow vaulted at the Antenora’s and shifted into a spiked wall, ripping at all three demons. Griffon flapped forward and a sphere of purple lightning crackled from his body.

“What a shock to see you ugly bastards here!” the bird cackled.

Nico lobbed another grenade into the fray. V’s eyes widened as it hovered a few feet over the demons and flashed a searing shade of jade. With its light, all three demons lifted for the briefest of moments, then slammed back into the ground as if a giant had crushed them underfoot. Lady grinned and discharged another burst from her minigun.

He sensed the demons fading and bolted forward as Shadow landed a series of sharp blows on the nearest beast. He used her back as a springboard and sank his cane deep into its skull on his descent. It collapsed to the ground and he set his sights on the next just as it turned to face him.

“For King Vassago!” it howled, swinging its cleavers at his face, but Shadow dissolved and carried him out of reach easily.

A streak of platinum light blasted into its chest, leaving a massive cavity behind as it turned on a dime to hit the last foe. It took a step back as if trying to flee, but the bolt ripped through it anyway. V turned to spot you and Trish sprinting back to the van at top speed, more crackling golden light granting you extra speed.

He scanned the area for any further threats and relaxed. Only three Antenora’s and a Hell Bat? How stupid were demons, to attack them with such a poor force?

And who the Hell is King Vassago?

---Reader---

You reached the group faster than you thought possible, thanks to Trish’s lightning. It felt like flying; wind rushed by and your hair blew out behind you, but you barely had time to enjoy it before it dissipated. Your feet tingled as you slowed to a stop near Nico.

You scanned her and Lady for wounds, heart pounding in fear that barely retreated at the lack of blood. V seemed fine, too, but where was Kyrie? Most likely in the van, but you had to know for sure. Judging by the size of the fresh dent, the van probably shifted. She might have fallen or hit her head. You bit your lip and headed over to check.

“Sweet! Those worked even better than I thought!” Nico crowed. From the way her eyes sparkled as she stood, it was obvious she had a fresh batch of ideas to test.

A flash of auburn hair with a smile in the window eased the worry in your heart; Kyrie was fine. No one was hurt. You could relax.

The tension in your shoulders faded and you sighed. Separating from the group might not be wise, going forward. What if a more powerful demon had attacked? Even with Trish’s speed boost, you doubted you could’ve made it in time to stop any serious carnage. Someone could’ve died or been seriously injured.

Not an option.

You glared at V. If he’d only kept his mouth shut, you never would’ve stepped away. It was sheer luck that nothing catastrophic happened. Next time you might not be so lucky, and even to think it made you boil in rage. A muscle in your cheek twitched and you clenched your jaw, imagining all the ways this dumb fight could end up getting someone killed.

Trish cleared her throat beside you and gave you a meaningful glance, but there was no stopping your fury. Lady kept her eyes locked on her weapons, studiously staying out of it. You wished Trish would back off, too, but after what just happened you refused to steal a moment alone with the poet to deal with it privately.

You scowled and stomped over to him.

His stupid protective streak needed to be addressed; now.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as you neared him, recognizing the wrath in your expression. You got within three feet and crossed your arms to keep from throwing a punch, lips parting to launch into a tirade.

Then you heard it. The hum. But it was different, clearer and more direct, and…

Why doesn’t it hurt?

Your rage vanished. V was staring at you, his concern growing with every second you remained silent. You barely noticed, too focused on the stream of visions racing through your mind. White plains speckled with patches of iridescent fluid. Heat. The taste of gasoline in the air. Bizarre shapes looming in the distance. It was all so clear.

“Little fox, what’s wrong? Are you all right?” V asked, reaching out to grasp your shoulder.

“The hum is back, but there’s no pain.”

Trish’s eyes widened and she came to join you and the poet. “Do you see anything?”

You closed your eyes, focusing on the imagery. Dusty stones. The sound of wind. A pale sky with two suns glowing overhead. You licked your lips and relayed every detail. The blonde gasped as you spoke, and you paused. Did she know what was wrong with you now? Did she have the answers you so desperately needed?

She only spoke two words. “Which way?”

Your eyes shot open to stare at her, blinking in bewilderment. “What?”

She grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the van, V and Lady following a beat later. “I’ll explain on the way, just tell Nico which direction to drive!”

What the fuck is going on? I don’t know which way to go!

Trish rolled her eyes at your lack of a response and forced you to turn a small circle. You closed your eyes, trusting her knowledge to guide you to whatever answer she was looking for. The hum rose and fell until you gasped at a sudden burst of insistent resonance. You froze. That was it, right there!

“There!”

The blonde hummed and in less than a minute, Nico was barreling toward the horizon at full speed. Pots and pans clanged and machine parts shrieked at every bump but Trish insisted she floor it, no matter what. The blonde stood beside the driver’s seat and stared out the windshield, scanning the landscape for something with total focus. You couldn’t take it.

“Trish, what the fuck?! What’s going on?”

She glanced at you as if she’d forgotten you were there, but her eyes shot back to the view almost instantly.

“I don’t understand how or why, but I think you have the gift.”

You wanted to strangle her. What did you have to do to get some damn answers? “What gift?”

“It shouldn’t be possible, only demons can do it.”

V growled from behind you, equally irritated at her half-answers. “Care to elaborate?”

She sighed, still focused on the cacophony of color speeding by. “Basically, you’re a compass. The hum is a portal opening and the visions are a peek at what’s on the other side. I just don’t understand why!”

Wait, what? I don’t have weird powers, no way!

Nico hit a bump and you staggered. You barely noticed.

None of it made sense. You weren’t special, not like that at least! Demons and the Underworld, monsters and magic… all of it was still so new to you. For over twenty years, you lived your life like anyone else. No mystical powers, no dark forces or climactic battles. You were just a nurse.

Who wields a sword and is in love with a guy who shares his body with three demons.

You started trembling and took a seat on the couch. After all you’d seen, all you’d experienced, was it really so hard to believe? So much had changed; if someone told you a year ago this was where your life was heading, you would’ve laughed in their face.

But here you were.

In the Underworld.

Searching for a pair of demon hunters.

You leaned back and rested your head on the cushion. The hum was getting louder, but it didn’t hurt. Silver linings. It did seem connected to the portals; you said as much to V at your mother’s. Maybe Trish was right.

“I see it, I see it! A portal!” Nico shouted. Lady and Kyrie cheered from their seats at the small table and Trish smiled. Straight ahead, an amber gateway stood tall amongst a grove of purple and gold trees. The hum pulsated in recognition as you stared at it and you knew the truth.

There was no denying it now. All that was left was a single question.

Why me?

[iloveshippingkitty]

Russian Roulette - A WKM Missing Scene Fanfic

Summary: The Colonel and the Detective aren’t the only ones who play Russian Roulette when the drinks start flowing. And someone’s calling it a double or nothing. So what are the stakes?

(as implied by the game it is a heavy fic - warnings in the read more for those who require and I can assure you it’s not like warning - immediate subject underneath - partially cos that’s shoddy tension building and/or world building - - The fic starts at the ‘-’)

Warnings: Death, Violent Death, Blood, Guns, Possession - Murder or Suicide? Or Both?, Russian Roulette, Acting against will?

Do Not Read If You Are Easily Disturbed or Triggered by Any Of These. I wouldn’t blame you so from here on out proceed at own caution.

-

The Colonel looked about the room. It was wonderful, just as it had always been. God, did he need a drink. The waiter – the nervous bumblebee that he was – rushed straight up to offer him a drink. He was very thankful and mumbled his thanks as he grabbed two glasses and drank one immediately and set it back down on the silver plate. He really wasn’t sure why he had come, it wasn’t like everything could be fixed with Markiplier. While the Colonel used his alias to be closer, Markiplier did it to distance, although after everything that had happened maybe the Colonel didn’t blame him for that at least. His eyes caught Damien and he remembered exactly why he had come.

Damien had so been looking forward to it. He had begged the Colonel to accept the invite as soon as Celine had let slip that he had received one. It had completely isolated Damien to be without his two truest friends and had come to a truce regarding him a while before. For who was he to step in the way of the wants of his sister. So both agreed to treat Damien the same but avoid the subject of each other. It had done greatness for Damien and he had become The Mayor. While The Colonel and Markiplier fought the one thing that they agreed upon was that was a role he was designed for. He was a peacekeeper – a kind, honest, respected and respectable man. Many towns wouldn’t have needed that, this town however needed nothing more.

The Mayor shot him a smile. How he liked calling him that. His brother-in-law, The Mayor.

He watched Markiplier give the speech and downed his drink during the end. He didn’t really want to listen to Mark’s inane ramblings when he looked and sounded so ‘la-di-dah’. Fame had got to Mark and it was what had drove Celine from him – if he could only see it. He sneaked around to the kitchen and quickly lifted a bottle of bubbly from there. The chef was quick to notice it but had let it slip for ‘Old Times Sake’. He took sips straight from the bottle. Ah, that was a lot better. Mark encouraged them to get wasted.

At one point the attorney looked at Mark’s drink and back at Mark as the Colonel noted.

“I’ve had more than a few myself, young friend. Dutch courage don’t you know. I will be drinking much more presently once you have all caught up.” He replied with an elegance he always put on at parties. The Colonel rolled his eyes and took a large swig from the bottle in his hand. Mark in response only smiled and raised his glass before grabbing an hors d'oeuvre and eating it. The district attorney gave a smile that seemed genuine and for once The Colonel remembered he was here for amends by himself and for whatever reason Mark had invited him. Tonight was an outreaching hand and The Colonel was determined to grab it. He had been in the army long enough to know a foolish decision and ignoring the man he had grown up on an important night of his life was one such foolish decision. Instead with a genuine half smile and nodded at the attorney and Mark both. Both seem pleased by this.

The room seemed to spin and time seemed to zoom past as he got more drunk and in the blink of an eye they were in a betting room with a poker table. They had been keen players all 3 of them in their youth and was the only practice they had brought with them through time, although they all played separately now. Some things just hadn’t been the same without the trio. He drank away the pain that ebbed into that thought and picked up his cards and prepared for everyone to take their turn.

With almost a full bottle down – when did that happen? He swore he had half… With almost a full bottle down he realised it had been a while he drank at this pace, the house was the weird thing it always was and this detective was exceedingly good at cards. Which was ironic because he didn’t consider him an exceedingly good detective. One more thing, that the district attorney definitely did not have as high a tolerance as them. It seemed sober they may be good at cards but still feeling awkward about the whole situation he had resolved to leave with the dawn and head back to his beautiful wife and throw himself at her mercy for being away for so long. She’d probably laugh, he hoped so, he loved that laugh. He had been distracted so had been surprised when Mark went all in. He held in the urge to give him a stern talking to and resolved to fold and go to the toilets. He didn’t remember going or in fact coming back but knew he had been inside the toilets as he got back. In his short change the district attorney, with help from the butler was currently winning. They looked like they were enjoying themselves and he liked that but the smug look made him want to wipe the floor with them. He would do just that.

Between endless drinks and merging games he had begun to win, lose and was nearly on equal turf again. Such began the keg stand, the beer pong, the drunk card games and importantly Russian Roulette. His favourite game. For a long time after the war he would play with anyone that came along. The detective downed his shot and insisted, the room blurred and for once everything made sense whether he questioned it or not which meant he really must be incredibly drunk. Off it span and a shot fired, blank. He knew it was blank before the trigger came fully back, he just knew. Then he aimed at himself and did the same, it was very quick and he practically giggled as he heard the trigger. Damien threw a card at him and pointedly rolled his eyes, “Oi, you. Take it outside if we’re playing extreme sports.”

Time passed on like a spinning roulette wheel and sometime around 1 am the DA had a shot and hit the floor like a tonne of bricks. Though barely standing himself Damien insisted on helping them to bed then joining one more game and heading to his own room, almost tripping down the hall. The chef took his leave at night to go have drinks with old George and bring him his dinner and the butler took the time while their attention was elsewhere to head off himself to bed before they harassed him more. After almost half an hour the detective insisted on going to find the butler but both Markiplier and The Colonel found him asleep on the stairs on the second floor barely 10 steps away from his own designated room. They both grabbed him and - like they did when they were kids with whoever out the trio fell asleep first – flung him onto the bed. It wasn’t until now that The Colonel noted that for the last while he had actually been getting on with Markiplier. It was almost like old times. However, with how absolutely plastered he was he barely took notice. Markiplier however was as well-bred sophisticated as he was earlier in the night. The Colonel almost mentioned it but if he was going to be honest with himself he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“What now, Markiplier?” He slurred.

“I have some brandy old George used to have. The one we used to try and nick as kids. Want some, Colonel?”

“That’s what my friends call me. It’s Mr Barnhum to anyone else.” He mumbled but nodded all the same.

They headed downstairs and Mark had a hold of his elbow as The Colonel swayed. He replied, “This night is to even the score, the playing field if you will. We’re about to crack open the one thing we never got away with as kids, I hope you’ll find it in you to let the bridge begin to build with being called Colonel.”

“Fine, Markiplier.” He chuckled dryly, “Markiplier and Colonel now.. How we’ve grown.”

Markiplier’s laugh seemed genuine but something had been off about him for a while now. He’d been too stubborn at first and now he barely had the sobriety to stand solitary. The house blurred around them and he saw the stone wall of the stairs to the cellar as he got down. It had a funny habit of happening that, The Colonel chuckled at it and Markiplier gave him a questioning look to which The Colonel only laughed harder. They sat on the table and began sipping the strong brandy.

After half an hour or half a day, The Colonel wasn’t sure or didn’t care Mark suggested a game. The bottle was surprisingly full for 2 people drinking it but The Colonel didn’t notice and didn’t question.

“What?””

“A game to put all this behind us. It’d be so cool, come on, Colonel. Go on.”

“Fine, you’re playing to my humour, old boy, so I’ll humour you. What game?”

“Russain Roulette. Just like you and the detective played.” Markiplier seemed positively giddy, not taking the bottle this time.

In response, The Colonel laughed. A great hearty laugh then sipped another bit of brandy, “No. Dear boy, no.”

“Why?”

“For one, how are we to trust that the game isn’t rigged?”

“Rigged?”

“Yeah, Markiplier. How are you to trust me and how am I to trust you, not to make sure that the bullets going straight for that barrel?” He laughed again.

“Get this. For mine, you spin, then I spin. So then the person whose turn it is, can be sure they haven’t been cheated and they can be watched by the other player to assure they aren’t cheating… Foolproof.” He smiled, victoriously.

“Bully! The downside there is I won’t do it.” The Colonel rolled his eyes and took a sip again.

“Come on, we used to be brothers in arms Colonel. We grew together, we owe each other something but there’s a lot of anger. This way we get it out.”

He made a point… maybe. Maybe he had drunk too much…

“What are the rules then? How is this to make amends? What are the playing stakes?”

“Rules are spin each and immediate shot. One each and never again. This is the only of George’s brandy I ever bought so it should be fair the game is played only once too. Consider the odds as double or nothing. Double means one of us will be dead and the other a killer and must make amends with the family for everything they couldn’t for each other. Nothing means that everything, I mean everything, must be forgiven. Everything from our past must be erased if the shot is empty.”

There had been a lot behind them. Both sounded like intense things and truth be told The Colonel often felt guilty for falling for his foster-sibling’s spouse and the other things he had done so while he had his own anger from their years just after they had been brothers-in-arms he didn’t have to feel so crap about himself. This was an escape though. In one shot either him and Markiplier would be on level ground again or it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. Markiplier would do the same and the trio could be together. He didn’t think about Markiplier’s shot. Anyone with a higher understanding of the mansion would have known that he didn’t think of it because the house didn’t want him to think of that. After a few more sips each he agreed. The deep, intense want to be forgiven by the boy he grew up with and to find the will to do the same on the flip of a game was too hard to pass up.

Colonel put down his gun on the table and they sat at either end, in their seats, finally.

The gun and the brandy sat in the middle of the table and Markiplier added a penny to the middle line.

��Flip?”

It was Colonel first. He took a good swig as he watched Markiplier place it in and spin it in and locked it in. They swapped the gun and the brandy and Colonel span it and locked it in and placed it straight to his head. Forgiveness or not his problem anymore his mind repeated any more. For once he couldn’t figure it out. He always had a feeling before he shot but now, gun to his temple… he couldn’t be sure. He clicked the safety off his revolver.

If it was the only barrel with a shot in he wouldn’t have a chance to say it later, “Mark.”

He gave a curt nod and pretended not to notice the importance addressing Mark by his name implied as his finger pressed on the trigger. A quiet click responded. Empty. Nothing. Mark however had the reaction he did when The Colonel first played it; ready for a heart attack. He took the barrel out and gave it a spin once again, locked it in and handed it to Mark who kept the bottle one last time to give a long gulp and a sigh before handing it over. Maybe had the Colonel been sober or Damien been there, maybe someone would have realised that that had been the first real drink, real swallow of liquid that night. Then again maybe not. He brought out the barrel and gave it a look a spin and as The Colonel drank, stopped it and locked it in. The Colonel put the drink down as Mark brought the gun up.

For the first time since suggesting it or in the whole night or even in fact… for the first time in a long time – Mark looked hesitant. He took the safety off.

“William.”

His word was barely a breath and there was something there that showed the Mark he was before. The one they were actually friends with, the one Celine had fallen for. Something had been wrong and different with Mark for longer than anyone had noticed. His voice for the first time that night, was his own.

William knew it as he looked at him and his eyes for a moment coloured red and blue. Just a moment but he saw it.  He was sure. As sure as he was that the moment the eyes coloured the old Mark was gone again and as sure as he was that that round was loaded. The new Mark smirked.

It was effectively sobering.

Many things happened in the 2 seconds that lasted an eternity. A voice in William’s brain shouted that Mark was too far gone, whatever had changed him forever now. At the same time he stood and clambered over the table to push the gun out the way. The bottle broke. The colour of red and blue took over Mark momentarily. William pushed the gun… just not far enough. The shot rang in his ears. The smirk plastered permanently on Mark’s face. Blood was everywhere. The body slumped and William tried to scream. It must have been the shock because the scream stuck in his throat as if to strangle him. He hadn’t done this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. It was either him or reconciliation. Why hadn’t he thought of Mark? Now he had lost his brother-in-arms and the game. One was dead, one a killer. That’s what was said. His hand had been on Mark’s, from the handle to the trigger as he had pushed it back. He killed Mark. What was there to do now?

It felt like a nightmare and The Colonel wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t. What to do now was to clean the body and the gun, put him to bed and hope it was the nightmare it seemed.

As he finished cleaning he heard a voice in his head like Mark’s. Like new Mark’s.

“You nearly made me miss, nitwit.”

The laughter that ruptured from The Colonel was unstable and he turned back to pick him up and take him to bed. He’d barely took a few steps in the dark before he was at Mark’s bed. He placed him down and stood over him a moment before walking. Walking was good. He needed a walk. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not for a long, long time. William wondered as he walked if you could go an eternity without sleep and just what it would do to you.

[paragonrobits]

Can you write a drabble of Star Butterfly meeting Optimus Prime?

Sure thing!

I read more’d it because it wound up longer than the four or five paragraphs i intended to do~

Star walked in an easy way, humming gently in a sing-song tunethat was almost catchy but just far enough on the side of 'what theheck is that' to put the tone of discordance into her music, justenough for other things that might have been listening to be put off.It was a free kind of sound, an echo of the wildness in her heart,and a few birds flew by, lured by her presence. They probably shouldhave taken note of the grass growing around her into bizarre colorsthat the human eye wasn't capable of perceiving, or of statues shemoved past blinking and getting off their pedestals to lodgecomplaints with the city over their poor upkeep.

Magic was a little bit alive; a little bit feral. Itpiled up and leaked out and flooded into everything, finding a homein any kind of shaped form or concept expressed on this materialplane, and Star exuded it like a thundercloud raining down on a dryplain. Apart from the noise and general chaos in her wake, sheresembled a storm cloud in several other respects.

Normally she might at least acknowledgethe weirdness springing up in her wake – if only to encourage it,since she took the view that Earth was a pretty boring place most ofthe time and good use some enthusiasm – but her attention wasfocused on a large truck idling against the street, slowly rollingafter her with the grace of a king.

No, she supposed, glancing back at itwas an awkward shyness that might have surprised her closer friends.Not like a king. She knew kings; her dad, for one, the innumerablemonarchs of the magical realms, a few Earthly monarchs she'd hoppedinto the lands of the dead to bother when no one else was around toplay with. She tended to find a lot of them to not exactly beterribly pleasant folks.

Whereas the semi truck, amonstrously big vehicle all painted in vibrant reds and blues andexuding so much majesty that it was pretty much what you'd get if youharnessed the power of a gorilla into a vehicle, had a quiet dignityand solemn air to it that reminded her of, of prophets. Youcould definitely see this truck wheeling up a mountain, listening toWhoever spoke up there, and coming back down to tell the people whatit had seen.

This was a truck that spoke with thelaws of the heavens. Star had seen it years ago, back when she'dfirst come to Earth; just a brief passing glance during a short tripto Nevada to see what the fuss was about with the mountains there.There had been other vehicles there too; a pair of motorcycles –one blue and ready to tear up the road, the other a serious policemotorbike – a dour ambulance that just looked plain grumpy, abattered DeLorean with a few parts missing or blown off, a big pinksemi truck just as big as the red one, and skulking in the shadowshad been an RV as big and brooding as a tyrannosaurus, and they allhad one thing in common.

All things were a little bitalive, as she understood it. Magic made things alive sometimes but itdidn't have to. The more complex thingswere, the more alive they became. Life was a funny thing; it poppedup everywhere. And in this universe, the one Marco and his planetexisted in, it liked to take shape in metal and plastic, steel andtin. Machines could live, every bit as flesh and energy did. Andthose vehicles, seemingly ordinary and old and battered by too muchharshness, they shone like lightning bolts to her senses.

She remembered the truck lookingright at her – and she didn't know how it could do that withnothing to actually see with but it did that anyway - and sheremembered stories that had been old when her kingdom was barely new;tales of this universe, of ancient heroes and wars for the right tobe what you wanted to be; of prophets that battled tyrants, andcalled monsters their brother. And she had seen the symbol upon thattruck's grill – on all the vehicles there, in fact – and it was asymbol she had seen in old books; a sign of divinity,freedom and the right to choosewho and what you were.

And it had taken her years towork up the courage to come back here, leaving behind little magicalsigns she was sure the truck would follow up on, and here it, here hewas, and now she had no ideawhat she was gonna do.

'Honestly, I didn't think I'd get this far,' sheconsidered, and came to a stop as they found a relatively quietlocation. The truck stopped as well, turning the corner and its hugewheels slowly grinding to a stop. She could nearly hear gearsshifting laboriously. Age wafted from it, him, like cold steam office. There were mountains thatseemed younger than this entity, and that was a big deal forsomething that was genuinely alive.

“I think it's okay for you to, uh,show yourself?” She rocked back and forth, humming again out of avague desire to hear more noise.

The truck beeped, almost honkingbut gently so. It was barely a noise, almost a modulated whistle fromthe horn. A voice issued from it, deep and soft, withan accent she couldn't quite place but figured was probably somethinglike Space Texas. “I am myself,little one,” he said gravely. “In this shape, or any other.”

She tilted her head. “Huh?”

Various sections of the truck shifted,very gently. It reminded her of someone getting up and stretching abit. “This shape is me. Where I to stand up, it would be just asmuch me as I am now.” A slight pause. “With greater chance ofattracting attention. You wouldn't want the people here to have theirday disrupted, would you?”

Star considered this weightily. Shehadn't thought about it much. In her opinion anyone's day could use agood dose of disruption; a bit of chaos was good for the thinkingbrain-meats! She found the idea of protracted calm to be vaguelyoffensive, but it was very difficult to argue with that voice. Subtleharmonics had a teacher quality to it; there was no disapproval in itbut there was, so to speak, a hint that disapproval could be adefinite option if you didn't watch it, Young Lady.

Normally paternal orauthoritative disapproval had about as much the same effect on her asa chocolate hammer trying to smack a furnace, but the idea of OptimusPrime being disappointed at hersuddenly made her brain sink right out of her head, down into herstomach and marinated in guilt juices before zipped right back andinsisting that she watch herself, you FOOL.

(None of that, incidentally, was reallya metaphor. Being a quasi-dimensional being has its odder traits whenit comes to consistent anatomical details, and its a lot weirderstill when you were as soaked full of raw magical potential as Starwas.)

She saluted. “Yes sir! Optimus! Sir!”

“Please don't,” he asked gently.“You're not one of my Autobots; you have no obligation to addressme as a superior.” A brief pause, and he added, “Your highness.”

If Star had more than a cursoryinterest in etiquette and the very subtle ways that inflections alonecould be used more efficiently than a sword, she might have realizedthat he'd turned the tables on her, one upping her in the game ofcomplicated titles. She missed it, but that wasn't too surprising.She just giggled, bouncing down on her feet. “Come onnnn~” shesaid, sing-song again and her mood rebounding to a different planeagain. “I wanna see your cool robot form, sir! Pleeeeeease?”

The truck exuded polite obstinance.Eons ago, ancient senators and Functionalist ministers had despairedat convincing little Orion Pax to transform out of his block-shapedalt mode to deliver a report. Millions of eons of eternal warfare hadeven put a bit of an edge to his stubbornness.

“...I know you fight weirdsupervillians and evil space monsters in this city all the time!”Star said, trying another tack, with just the right amount ofwheedling in her voice. “And Detroit, too? You transform all thetime to fight then! I wanna seeeee~!”

“Yes, I do transform frequentlyduring a need to do so in public,” Optimus mused. One of his wheelsrevved slowly, in a manner identical to someone putting clasped handstogether. “To fight monsters. And do you see any right now?”

“...I could make some?” Star saidhopefully.

“I would rather you not, yourhighness. My point being, the people of this city are use to seeingme active only during times of great peril.” A slight pause, tomake his point. “They would likely assume this is such a time, andreact accordingly.”

“Ooh! That sounds fun!”

“I fear I am not getting theright impression across.” Optimus had to acknowledge that Starrather reminded him of some young, feisty and particularly stubbornSparklings he'd known; Rodimus, his and Elita-1's firstborn, had beenlike that until... wait, no, he was still like that, Optimus notedwith amusement. Bumblebee was a more accommodating child, but hadfancied himself a schemer, somethingthat never failed to fill parents with both pride and frustrateddread. And of course, when he himself had been younger... well.

The humans had a term; 'hell raiser'.It hadn't been even half of what Orion Pax had gotten up to. Becominga revolutionary and toppling the Functionalist system had been alogical progression.

A thought occurred to him; he'd rarelymet beings from actually outside his universe – and he wasn'tentirely sure if the divine presence of Primus counted, and it wasn'tsomething he care to speculate on – and he'd certainly nevertraveled beyond it. This seemed to him to be a rare and fascinatingopportunity for some... what did the humans call it? A culturalexchange?

“I suggest a proposal,” he saidsolemnly. “You can travel to other realms than this. Correct?”

“Yeah-huh!”

“If you agree to allow me to visitthem alongside you, I shall do so in my bipedal form!”

“EEEEEEE!” She bounced up and down,clapping and turning several trees into very confused whales made ofwood with tiny little bug legs. They walked off, and their destiniesled them to become lawyers, but that is not our tale today. Variousother magical weirdness happened around her as she tried to think ofa place that would appeal to Optimus. “Um... um... let me think?”

“Take all the time you require, youngone.”

“Okay.” she paced aroundthoughtfully. “Uh... how about the Autochthonian Realm of Brass andShadows? The realm that comprises the body of the Machine-Titan,Autochthon the Great Maker? It's all full of robots and people makingposes, you'd like it!”

“Your information may be rather outof date. The titan Autochthon reformatted himself into Primus eonsago. The Realm of Brass and Shadows is my homeworld, Cybertron, now.”

“Dang it! Hmm. Sigil, the City ofDoors? It's very easy to get into, there's all kinds of need thingsthere? Like, uh... libraries and-”

“LIBRARIES, YOU SAY.” Optimus' tonehad a sudden raise of excitement.

“Ooh, yes!” She thought thatsounded kind of boring but it was nice to see him hyped up.

“Ah, yes- wait. I forgot, we mustn't.I and my Autobots have been banned from there for sixteen more humanlifetimes.”

“For what?” Star asked, put out butcurious.

“...It is not for me to say,”Optimus said after a moment, with just an edge of awkwardness to it.“There was a trailer full of rubber chickens, sixteen pots ofgrease, an authentic copy of the Necrotelecomnicon, the multiverse'sthird largest ball of yarn, and... ah yes. Exactly onecomically oversized noveltymonocle.”

“I don't get it!”

“I didn't either but I stillallowed the Dinobots and Aerialbots to put on that street improvperformance. And for their sins, we are barred from the City ofDoors.” He sighed longingly, for the libraries. “And I never evengot to see what they were going to use the ball of yarn for.”

Star immediately vowed to exploit timetravel just to go back in time and see what happened there. (And thenrecord the whole thing. And put up the videos on the Multiverseinternet, if it looked funny.) “Okay, so Sigil is no good...”

She brought up a dozen otherpossibilities, which received varying degrees of enthusiasm fromOptimus Prime. She was determined to find one that suited hisinterests; she would see her hero's most famous form, or she wouldengage in shenanigans trying!

In between her proposal to visit theElemental Realm of Ranch Dressing (a pretty niche realm, and notlikely one that would be healthy for his mechanisms or tires) andpaying a brief stop to the depths of the mind-realms to bop from onedream bubble – self contained realities made from memories,feelings and time lines that could have been, which made them handyfor exploring what ifs – that she remembered something.

For it has been asked, what doesa hero like Optimus Prime actually do forfun? What does a prophet of Primus, the champion of Cybertron, andthe living face of everything the Autobots stand for do when nothingis terribly pressing on him? Most people assume something along thelines of ceremonial dueling, or perhaps combat races. But they wouldbe wrong; he had quite enough fighting in his day to day, he didn'twant it in his recreation.

What Optimus Prime reallyliked to do, Star would learn,was... well. He liked to read. And throw basketballs at unsuspectinghumans, or drive around mountains while blasting 80s rock ballads forno apparent reason, but mostly reading.

“Hold a moment,” he said. “IF youwould... what did you say before?”

“What? About the Realm of EternalItchiness? It's really kinda overrated.”

“No, no. Before that.”

She thought about it. “The AkashicLibraries?”

“Please elaborate.”

“It's, um...” as she explained itto him, the Akashic Libraries, or the ones she knew of, could bedescribed as the sum total of all human knowledge, all possiblestepping stones to enlightenment that had ever been discerned or feltor written down in all creation across the multiverse. This was a bitof a misnomer, of course.

It wasn't just humanknowledge in there. Humans wereyoung, yet to reach their full stride as a civilization in terms ofnavel contemplating questions. Every species that had ever thought,their memories and words where in those libraries. Every book thoughtburned, it was there. Every scroll smashed to hide its contents, acopy of it was in those libraries. Every data track, every binaryengram, every single conceivable method of storing thoughts andleaving them for others to read and learn from them, was in thoselibraries.

Cybertron was long gone. It'sknowledge, lost but for the few relics and archives the Autobotswhere able to hide away with them before the Decepticons laid theirown world to ruin. So much had been lost, never to be regained, but,in the Akashic Libraries... they were there. They were waiting to beremembered.

Optimus' engine revved up at thethought of that, of all the civilization's memories dwelling withinthere, countless alien societies and their thoughts waiting to belearned, their languages understood and their texts comprehended-

“I believe,” he said, trying veryhard to contain his excitement. “I would like to visit there.”

“Neat!” Star said, summoning up aportal. “Fair warning, we'll probably get lost and have a wholebunch of weird and silly diversions before we actually get there.Rule one of traveling the multiverse.”

Optimus said, “I believe Rule One is'do not be incautious with small, wrinkly, smiling old bald men'.”

“I think that's just for in general!Not for traveling the multiverse, specifically.”

“Hrm. A good point.” There was abrief pause as he receive a notification. “Pardon me. One of mysub-commanders wishes to have a word.”

“Okay!” She turned away and hummedhappily to herself.

Optimus spoke in Cybertronianpulse-speech, incomprehensible to most organics, and thus entirelyprivate. “Optimus here.”

The growling, bassy voice of Grimlock –a rare beastformer who had chosen to reformat himself so that hisprimary form was a beast mode rather than a bipedal humanoid frame,and his alt mode was whatever vehicle he'd scanned lately –responded. His normal difficulties with language were considerablyreduced in this particularly intimate form of speech. “Prime. Did Ijust hear you plannin' on going on some cosmic hunt with a weirdmagic kid-thing?”

“...Perhaps...”

“Are there gonna be shenanigans!?”Grimlock demanded.

“Almost certainly.”

“And you're going withoutus to have fun adventures!? Waitfor some of us before I drag you home and make you sing atSwoop's music night!”

Optimus shuddered, but held firm. “I'mso sorry but I do believe you're breaking up-”

“Am not! You know the rules; no funadventures on your own, we gotta come with! It's no fun leavingeveryone else off.”

“Yes but- wait. How did you knowabout my conversation with the cosmic magic princess?”

“Oh, I know all kinds of things aboutyou. I spy on you all the time! I have achieved supreme consciousnessand exist in all points simultaneously, and I gaze into your mind andknow it at all times.”

“...I doubt that.”

“Yeah,” Grimlock admitted. “Imade that up. I actually have Swoop flying a couple thousand feetabove you with a really goodcamera. Say hi, Swoop.”

“TOP OF THE WORLD, MA!”Swoop screamed cheerfully. Swoop had decided to only speak in popularmovie quotes this month, and they were just going to have to put upwith that for a while.

“I shall take this underadvisement.” Optimus spoke next to Star again. “Your highness, Ihave been informed that at least one of my Autobots wants toaccompany us.”

Star bounced up and down happily again.“Ooh! Which ones?”

“I'm not sure.” Optimus rang upGrimlock once more. “Who wishes to come along?”

Grimlock counted them off. “Uh, let'ssee. Elita-1 says she's sick of you having sweet adventures while shehad to be all responsible and scrap, so she wants to come with. Igotta go, no question. Dad Wheeljack is probably gonna show up so, beready for that. And the kids want to come, too!”

“Ah, the Technobots. Which ones?”

“All of them. They're combined intoComputron and refuse to split up so... yeah. Be prepared for that.”

“Understood.” Optimus returned hisattention to Star. “I have excellent news, and some veryunfortunate news.”

“Gimme the good stuff first!”

“Firstly,” said Optimus. “We havea set group and they will likely ensure your safety. My fellowcommander and wife, Elita-1, shall be coming. One of mysub-commanders, Grimlock, will also be attending.”

“Which one is he?”

“...He is the RV that transforms intoa robot tyrannosaurus.”

Star made an excited noise that couldnot possibly be translated into human terms without the use of acouple foghorns, a very startled cat, and a full orchestra.

“As well as one of his fathers,”Optimus continued. “And his children. Who are presently fused intoa super-giant robot and unlikely to defuse any time soon.”

“OH MY GAWD THAT'S EVENBETTER!” Star got so excited she fell over, flopping in place andvibrating with joy, what a wonderful day this had become.

[cakeandpi]

Reverse (part 3) (part 1; part 2) Words: ~7.5k Warnings: Angst

"So, I have a question. You going to go by Tigress for this or ...?" Wally's quiet murmur trails off as the elevator doors close.

"Um. Probably not." She shrugs into her jacket, adjusting it so it better hides her gear. Carrying Wally and her shopping bag down the street was one thing; a bow is another. "Think I'll just be Artemis."

He grins at her, all warm and fond. "I like that better anyway. Less of a history of dropping me on my ass. Physically, at least." 

"Don't think that means I won't." She snorts and elbows him. Her face heats when her eyes catch his, and she clears her throat and turns away, settling back against the elevator wall. She really shouldn't be doing this, evil mind-controlled League or no.

Her bow is a familiar weight, almost comforting. It's been with her a long time, the first bow she bought for herself, instead of being one her dad had handed her with minimal ceremony. It's been awhile since she used it, as crossbows tended to serve Tigress better. But back when she had bought this one, she had still thought she could prove herself to be more than a shadow. (And then had promptly wound up fighting Batman with it less than twelve hours after she had bought it, but that was besides the point.) It was only fitting that she bring this bow with her tonight.

The main difficulty lay in that she doesn't have any trick arrows, only regular arrows with sharp, barbed tips. She's going to have to be very careful with her shots. Especially if she wants to stay out of jail, let alone see Wally smile at her again in the future.

The sky is clouded over when they get back down to street level. The streets are less crowded than before, but it almost seems busier as people rush to get their business done before it finally rains. Artemis spares an exasperated glance for the cloudy sky - would it hurt Gotham to have nice weather for just one day? But the weather means that if Hawkwoman's still in the area, it'll be harder for her to get around. Small favors, Artemis supposes. Still, if it actually wound up raining then visibility would be poor if it came to a fight in Gotham. But worrying about that wouldn't help anything.

"Hey, what radio frequency are you on?" She taps her ear, in case he didn't understand she means his earpiece. "If we're going to coordinate at all, I'll need to be able to talk with you and your friends."

"Um." Wally hurriedly chews and swallows - he's been stuffing his face with the food her mom left him. He's already managed to eat over half of it. "We don't exactly use comms that much. One sec, this might take a moment." He holds up on finger as he cocks his head to one side, frowning slightly in concentration. A long, silent moment later he nods. "Okay, they agreed to let you in."

"Let me in what?" Her eyes widen and she clutches her forehead as a sharp wave of pain blooms, unfolds, and then fades inside her skull. She realizes she's grinding her teeth and makes herself relax her jaw when she hears Wally's voice.

<- a friend of mine. Everyone, this is Artemis. Superb archer and ass-kicker extraordinaire. Kind of like Red, only better.>

She whirls to Wally, who's mouth is full of food once more. There's no way he could have spoken that clearly. He winks at her. <We call it a mind-link. It lets us talk mind to mind. No chance of being overheard this way, unlike with comms. Pretty neat, huh?>

"Yeah." That explained how his friends always seemed to coordinate so well with so little words. She frowns and concentrates. <Yeah.> She repeats. From the way Wally's face lights up, she succeeded in sending that across this mind-link thing. <One of your powers?> She doubts it, but it never hurt to check.

<Miss Martian's, actually.>

A cold chill runs down her spine. Miss Martian? In her head? How long would her secrets stay secret? Some of her worry must have shown on her face because Wally's hand grabs hers and squeezes briefly before letting go. "Don't worry. Miss Martian doesn't pry. And only the thoughts you mean to send over the link will go through."

"You're sure?" Artemis tries to calm herself, remind herself that Wally's known her identity for months now and could have told his team anytime. Could have already told his team for that matter, except that's nothing like him.

<Yeah. Otherwise everyone would know it was really me that used up the last of the hot water last mission ... oh. Um. Ignore that one guys!>

<That was you? You let everyone blame me!> Artemis resists the urge to recoil as a new voice suddenly booms over the mind-link.

<Uh, sorry, Superboy.>

More people chime in to give Wally grief. Some it even makes her smile despite herself. She's about add to it herself when she realizes Wally's fallen behind, somehow. <Hey, let's keep moving.> She smirks when he looks up to find she's half a block away from him. <Hurry up, slowpoke.>

<Like you know where we're going.>

<Like you even know Gotham.>

<Well...> He catches up to her before she finishes exhaling. <Even if I didn't, I figure that with my speed, it'd only take, oh, three minutes to find the place.>

Artemis frowns at him. Wally couldn't know Gotham that well. She would have noticed ... wouldn't she? But he's a half-step ahead of her, and doesn't hesitate with the turns or with street crossings. He doesn't seem like he's lost, though he could be faking it. Maybe.

She's so caught up in figuring out if he is or isn't actually lost that she almost runs into him when he stops at a decrepit telephone booth. "Here we are."

"You're joking."

"Nope!" He shakes his head as he pats the rusted metal affectionately. "Genuine Justice League teleportation, Gotham style. Not that I, an up and coming future League member, let you, an oh so sinister card-carrying Shadow, ever know about this." His tone is light and playful, one finger twirling an imaginary mustache like an old black-and-white movie villain.

Artemis could argue. Or she could let the joke play out. Or maybe he wasn't joking and Batman really did travel to League headquarters through a telephone booth so old it was a wonder it wasn't in a museum.

Stranger things have happened.

"Okay. So what's the plan, then?"

<Hey Nightwing, we're here, you ready to give us all a rundown of what you've got yet?>

<KF has a point. If we're going to do this we gotta do it soon, whether or not everyone's in position.> A voice she vaguely recognizes as Rocket's chimes in.

<It won't do any good if we can't counteract whatever's been done to the Leaguers.> She doesn't know this voice, though she's pretty sure she's heard it somewhere before. She mouths 'who?' at Wally and he whispers 'Batgirl' back. Then amends with 'Oracle'. Artemis revises her hastily-made plan to strangle him into being more specific. There's no current Batgirl, just as there's no current Robin; they've all moved on to new titles and new stomping grounds. <But Zatanna and I think we've come up with something. It's dirty, and it might not work perfectly, but it'll have to do.>

<And I've got a plan to go with it, so pay attention. Here's what we're going to do.>

The plan takes all of ten seconds to explain through the mindlink. It's a disorienting whirlwind of images and words, and it takes her a few breaths after Nightwing's done 'talking' to sort it all out.

<Dude, slow it down next time.>

<Wait. Did anyone else catch that? Or did I just hallucinate our resident speedster asking to slow down? Cause I need to make note of the month, day, day of the week, hour, minute, and second. And possibly the weather.>

Wally groans aloud and Artemis grins. <Not all of us think as fast as you, Bat-boy.> A fresh voice pipes up, and Wally shrugs eloquently when she looks at him for a name. "Bumblebee, I think?"

<But we've all caught up? Anyone have any questions?>

<No, just a heightened sense of my own mortality. Is this really the best you could come up with, 'Wing?>

<Wonder Girl, until and unless we can take back the Watchtower, that's the best I got. And Rocket's right, we can't wait much longer. We'll start in five minutes, in position or not. Oracle's getting Zeta access online for us, but there's no telling how long the Zeta tubes will stay open once we have them. And, everyone? Good luck. Try not to die.>

Wally's already fiddling with something inside the phone booth before Nightwing finishes. "Surprised he didn't work in aster into that."

"Aster?"

"Ah, usually Nightwing likes to mess with words. Opposite of disaster is 'aster'. People can get overwhelmed and underwhelmed, so in between is 'whelmed'. Stuff like that. Guess this is too serious for wordplay or something."

Artemis snorts and continues working on warming up her bow. It's calming, a little; something to focus on besides the upcoming battle and near-certain injuries. She doesn't realize how focused she got on it until she feels something touch her head. Yelping, she tries to knock it away and encounters Wally's arm. "Um, sorry? You kind of just grunted at me and I thought that was a yes?"

"What're you doing?"

"Letting you use my goggles?"

"Why?" Her heart thuds heavily in her chest at his closeness. He's less than foot away, well within her personal space - how did she not notice him get this close to her? It's unsettling to think that she feels that comfortable around him, that she could forget his presence until he touched her. She thought Kaldur and her mother were the only two she could manage to relax like that around, and even then that was when things were calm.

"You don't have a mask, at least, I don't see one. I'd offer mine but it's kinda attached to rest of my suit, so I thought maybe goggles as I'd rather not make my name literal. And I did ask."

She doesn't quite snatch the offered goggles, muttering a thanks as she fits them over her head. Tightening the strap, she raises her eyebrows at him. "Okay? We ready now?"

"Yeah. I've got the portal set up so it'll let you through too - once Oracle's got it open, that is. In about a minute."

She nods. "Sorry for jumping."

"No worries." He shrugs it off with a smile.

"So if it weren't for the goggles, you'd be going as Kid Streak tonight, huh?"

It turns out he really can blush the exact same shade of red as his suit. "I do have on underthings."

"Underthings."

He covers his face with both hands, groaning into them. "I'm just going to stop talking, I'm making it worse."

She snickers. "We'll see how long that lasts."

---

There's no time to process what the Watchtower looks like. There's no time to process that she - Artemis Crock, Tigress, known Shadow and villain and general all-around not hero material - is in the Watchtower. The second she reforms into existence, she hears Wally shouting and feels something tackle her to the ground. A green light blasts through where she'd been seconds before, and that leaves her inclined to forgive him. Eventually. For now, though, she's too busy taking aim and firing from the floor to bother. It's awkward and tight and she can't get proper form and she hisses as the bowstring bites her arm through the cloth of her jacket, but it does the job. The next blast of green light isn't to maim or kill her and Wally, it's to block the arrow.

"Shit, that was close." His breath puffs warm against her cheek, and then he's gone, a red-gold blur buzzing around and distracting the Green Lantern that just tried to kill her. (Unfortunate, that; she would have liked having a moment to appreciate Wally on all fours above her, breathless and okay Artemis get it together there's a battle to fight.)

Artemis rolls to her feet and pulls her arm back and her fist connects solidly with the Lantern's face between blurs of red. Wally comes to a sudden stop beside her, eyes round in awe as the Lantern falls, out cold.

"Huh." Artemis can't decide if she's proud of herself or disappointed in the Lantern. This wasn't the one that had been so keen on catching her years ago; this guy's white, for one. For another, the Lantern she had had the dubious pleasure of 'meeting' so many years ago had actually been a challenge - he'd taken several blows before even faltering, never mind getting knocked around enough for her and Kaldur'ahm to make their escape.

That had at least had the decency of being a challenge, albeit one she never wants to repeat. Unlike whatever this disappointment qualified as. But Wally's looking at her with something like awed pride and okay. Okay. She can take that as a consolation prize and be more than happy.

They leave the Lantern near the Zeta-tube, unbound, because they don't have any rope. Wally confiscates his ring, tucking it into one of his suit compartments on his wrist, giving the energy bars stored there company. "Okay, so, pretty much like that until those anti-mind control bug things get here."

Artemis doesn't remember much about the Watchtower battle itself after that. It's mostly just punching and dodging and firing arrows and hoping she doesn't hit an artery, and Wally running them from one fight to another.

Except that Wally gets called away, his superspeed needed to deliver the neutralizer Oracle's cooked up to as many of the brainwashed Leaguers as possible. It says something about his trust in her, or about him in general, that he leaves her on her own, unsupervised, in the middle of the Watchtower. Artemis highly doubts even the most easy-going Leaguers would approve. Or even Wally's own team, so she doesn't mention it over the mind-link, though she's getting hopelessly lost.

There's too many twists and turns of hallways. No way to get a real sense of how big the place is beyond big. At one point she sees trees - trees! - at the end of one hallway, and almost goes to investigate them but then two figures pass by, one a shadow within shadows, the other red-blue, and she immediately backtracks and takes a different path. She does not want to tangle with either Superman or Batman, let alone both, if she can help it, mind control or no.

There's still the mind-link, and the echoing chatter going on within it, but it's a distraction, almost more confusing than the twisting corridors, so she ignores it. She probably shouldn't have.

Because she rounds a corner and ends up face to face with Aquaman. From the look on his face, he hasn't been neutralized, which in the normal course of things wouldn't make much difference for her, but she's out of arrows and he's spotted her and she doesn't know if she can run fast enough. <Might need some help here?> She sends through the mind-link. It bites at her pride, but there's being proud and there's ending up in the emergency room or dead.

There's no answer, and she swears as she turns to run. And again as her escape is blocked by a solid, unmoving body, one that catches her as she reels from the impact and -

"Kaldur?"

There's no time to gawk, though; a blond man dressed in greens moves behind Kaldur and there's barely a need to exchange a glance with him to agree on a plan. Half a breath later, they're back to back, facing down the two Leaguers. "Maneuver seven? It has been far too long."

"Fuck seven, space's too tight. Use five. And yeah, it has, you have some explaining to do."

"Agreed on both counts."

And with that, Artemis dodges one way, Kaldur another, and they both whirl to focus on Green Arrow. Kaldur swiftly knocks the man onto his back, and Artemis confiscates a few of his arrows. Hastily notching one, she spins around and fires it at Aquaman. It connects directly with his chest, foam expanding out and instantly hardening around the hero.

She readies another arrow and points it at Green Arrow, who Kaldur is swiftly binding with strips of the man's own costume. She makes herself breath slowly, trying to control her own hammering heart.

Wally hadn't been lying.

Kaldur glances up at her with the faintest hint of a frown on his face. "You all right?"

"Yeah, just processing that my best friend is actually alive." It comes out harsher, angrier than she meant, and she grimaces.

"Did you not get my message?"

"Yes." Artemis relaxes her bow and kneels down to take Green Arrow's entire quiver. He won't be in need of it for the rest of tonight, and there's no telling how long tonight's going to last. "But - Cheshire?"

"Cheshire suggested herself, actually."

"You didn't -"

"No, I would never be so cavalier with your identity." He sighs and stands, Green Arrow firmly bound. "It will take some time to explain right."

"There you are!"

Artemis whirls at the new voices and aims and it's only Kaldur's swift "No!" that keeps her from firing on automatic. "No," He repeats. "Garth and Tula are friends."

"Kal, that's Tempest and Aqualass." Artemis hisses. And then mentally kicks herself - no one here except Kaldur and Wally knows who she actually is. Which means that the two Atlantean heroes before her are not here to fight her. Probably.

Tempest waves hesitantly. "Are you the Artemis that Kid Flash mentioned?"

"... Yes." She glances at Kal, who's hand is pressing down on her shoulder. She rolls it to shake him off of her and lowers her bow. "Surprised me, that's all."

Aqualass brushes her red hair back and grins. "That was really something, you know? The three of us were chasing down Aquaman and got separated. And you two took him and Green Arrow out by yourselves."

Artemis shrugs the praise aside. It's small against her dad's would-be criticisms if he'd seen her performance - sloppy, poorly-timed, getting cocky there baby girl. Anyone could have done what she did.

<Kid Flash, Aquaman and Green Arrow, sparring room C.> Tempest says over the mind-link. And then, out loud: "They should make the last of the Leaguers in this section. Want to do a perimeter check?"

Kaldur nods. "I will see you back in Atlantis, then?" The pair nod in return and take one hallway.

"Atlantis?" Artemis hisses as she and Kaldur go down a different hallway. Green Arrow's quiver bounces against her back; the strap is made for a broader and taller body, and she adjusts it impatiently. "You - okay, wait. Back up. You're in the mind-link? Just when were you thinking of announcing yourself so that I wouldn't have a heart attack?"

Tempest might think these corridors clear but she also has no idea where she's going, so she keeps her voice low. She also doesn't trust that the mind-link conversations are really and truly private, whatever Wally might believe.

"Miss Martian's abilities do have limits." Kaldur murmurs back. "Atlantis is rather far from the Watchtower, and there were complications with the Zeta-portal connection. We only arrived a few moments ago."

"So we've got, what? However long this lasts until they force you back there?" Artemis's fingers clench tight on the strap of her stolen quiver. "Should make a break for it now, while -"

"No."

"No?! Did you hit your head?"

Kaldur lets loose one of those long-suffering sighs of his, the kind that says she's being intentionally difficult. Which is ridiculous, because she is not, it's Kaldur that's not making any sense. "I am not imprisoned. I am ... it is complicated."

Artemis pinches her nose. "Complicated," she repeats. That's a good word for tonight, though it doesn't begin to cover it. Too much is strange tonight, with her being able to play hero and Kaldur back, that she feels almost like she fell down a rabbit hole into Wonderland when she wasn't looking.

"Yes. This probably isn't the best place to explain."

"And when and where exactly do you think you're going to get a chance?"

"Wherever you like, once we are finished here?" Kaldur shrugs in response when she stares at him in confusion. "I do not need to return to Atlantis immediately. As I said, my situation is complicated."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it is."

And that's all they have time for, because around the corner they encounter more mind-controlled Leaguers, and the other heros - actual heros, not ones that got to pretend otherwise for a while like herself - fighting them, and it is no longer safe to be so candid.

And then Wally's back, a rushing blur that tags every Leaguer nearby, and it feels so damn natural to fight like that, with Wally at one side and Kaldur at the other.

It almost hurts, how good it feels.

And somehow, in between firing her stolen arrows and dodging and trading snarky quips, it's over and she's not ready for it to be over. She's sweating and tired and bruised, and she badly wants to lie down and sleep for forever, but once she leaves she won't have this sense of belonging to something grand, of being good enough to stand alongside Wally and not opposite.

Kaldur murmurs something about waiting for her in Gotham, and she watches him leave using the Zeta-portal. She's about to leave too, because she can not stay, not with the emergency over. This is dangerous enough, being here with Leaguers slowly waking up from mind-control as if they have hangovers. She doesn't need to be here when they're fully recovered.

But there's Wally right beside her, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His mask is barely still covering his face, almost but not quite ripped to shreds from some encounter, hanging on by a few tenacious threads. "So, uh. Sorry about all of this kind of taking over your New Years? I know you probably had plans."

She shrugs and his goggles slip down her nose again. She still can't get them to quite fit right over her head.

"It's not quite midnight yet though. I know it's not the same as being there for the entire night, but just tell me where you want go and I'll get you there, quick as a flash."

Artemis rolls her eyes at the weak grin Wally gives her. "Baywatch -"

"I'm serious. I'll be your taxi for as long as you want tonight, as thanks and a 'sorry for taking up your entirenight'andIwantto -"

His voice gets faster and the words start to blend together like so much nonsense. She tries to get a word in edgewise but it's like trying to slow down a speeding freight train with a stick. He's not going to shut up, not without help. And it's New Years - she's never going to have a better excuse or a better time.

She knows she's going to wind up regretting tonight - there's no way the universe will let her get away with this without punishing her for it somehow - but she can, at least, have one good thing to remember.

She shoves Green Arrow's quiver into his arms so his hands will stay occupied, and then grabs his face and pulls him close.

His lips are softer than she expects.

There's blessed silence after.

"Um."

Okay, well, the silence lasted for two seconds. She can live with that.

"Happy New Years." She whispers into his ear, which is already reddening. Cute.

"Huh."

His blush spreads to all of his face, and if this were a cartoon she thinks there might even be steam rising from his head. He's warm too, his suit keeping none of his body heat in. She steps back, smirking, regaining enough distance that she can't feel his body heat anymore. That she can't pick out the different greens in his eyes, see his eyelashes flutter.

His hand catches her wrist when she steps back even further, slides down and fingers tangle with hers.

"Don't leave." He whispers. "Stay. Please."

Her heart thumps, hard, and she swallows against a sudden lump in her throat. There it was, the reason that she shouldn't have done that, the reason why she should have just gone ahead and left already.

"You know why I can't. Don't make this harder for me, Wally."

"Artemis -"

"I'll see you at school, okay?" She pulls her hand out from his and steps into the teleporter.

She doesn't think she can get used to this teleportation technology the League has. It's disorienting, to have her surroundings change so abruptly.  To know she just traveled such a huge distance in that tiny second between heart beats. It definitely explains how the League gets around so quickly though.

The decrepit telephone booth is much the same as before, except for the figure waiting outside of it. "Kaldur." She steps forward, arms outstretched, and she's not disappointed when he pulls her into a crushing hug. "Don't you ever do that to me again."

"I am sorry."

"As you should be." She growls without any heat. She leans against him, letting him take her body weight, relaxing for the first time in what feels like forever.

"Are these not Kid Flash's?" She feels a hand gingerly poke at the goggles still on her head. "Did something develop there, Artemis?"

She feels her cheeks begin to warm and clears her throat. "Not really." She pulls back and tugs them off. "It was just a quick disguise so no one could get too good a look at my face." She takes a long look at them before reluctantly leaving them in the telephone booth. Doubtless there's some tracker planted in them; she's already taken too many risks tonight with her identity, she doesn't need to lead the League straight to her mom's doorstep too.

She tucks her arm into Kaldur's elbow and leads him away from the alleyway they're in. There's a hint of a fine mist in the air but aside from growling thunder, that's it. At least until they reach her mom's apartment building, and then the sky finally releases its downpour. "Not freezing to death this time," Artemis mutters to the weather as she ducks inside, to Kaldur'ahm's amusement.

For the second time that night, she takes the elevator upward. "Okay, so, I want to hear just why it's complicated. And why you had to use Jade to send a 'hi Artemis, congratulations, you didn't actually kill me' card."

"May I remind you that shooting me was part of the plan?"

"And can I remind you that I wasn't sure it would even work?"

"But it did. You should have more confidence in your abilities."

"I wasn't uncertain of my marksmanship skills, Kal, it was that we couldn't do any test runs. If I messed up, if I hadn't stepped down the power on my crossbow enough..." She sighs. Arguing had been the last thing on her mind, and yet here they were. "You're like family to me, you know that, right? I can't lose you. Not like that."

Kaldur's hand rests gently on her shoulder for a moment, squeezing. "The same goes for you."

Artemis smiles up at him and ushers him into her mom's apartment. "Artemis?" Her mom's voice floats in from the living room. Artemis goes to her immediately, bending down for a hug.

"I'm all right. Just bruised and tired." She murmurs, trying to soothe any worries. "Do you remember Kaldur?"

He's standing in the doorway of the living room, a hint of unease about him, as if he's not sure he should be here. Her mother nods and gestures for Kaldur to come join them. "How could I forget?" Artemis shakes her head at the look her mom gives her, silently asking about Wally. "You're always welcome here, Kaldur'ahm. Sorry for not being more prepared, I wasn't expecting anyone back home tonight."

Artemis hears what goes unsaid - I was not sure if anyone would even come back - and squeezes her mom's hands lightly. "The League's back on its feet. Or thereabouts, anyway."

"Ah?" Her mom looks at her sharply. "You will have to tell me about it."

Artemis lets Kaldur tell it - he's much better at telling stories, and she would just focus far too much on Wally. And that kiss, and his holding her hand, and how he'd looked at her and - and she should get some drinks or something for the three of them.

She doesn't remember nodding off, but she must have, because she's briefly aware of Kaldur half-carrying her to her bed. And then a blissful warm nothing.

It doesn't stay nothing, though, and she wakes with a jolt to a bright light. She rolls out of bed, heart racing with panic, and races for the door. It opens onto a brightly lit hallway, and she sprints down it. She needs to get out, out, out, and her shoes squeak on the tile. She's almost there, almost through those double doors with their promise of safety and freedom, when a green blast knocks her flat on her back. A shout - "Go! You have to go!" - and sounds of a struggle reach her as she regains her feet. Looking for the source, she finds Kaldur tangled in light from a Green Lantern. Trap. Her mind whispers to her as the Lantern straightens and strides confidently to her. It was a trap.

She backs up, frantically grasping for a weapon, anything. Her fingers find her bow; her quiver. She aims and fires and the explosion knocks her backward.

She wakes with a jolt, to darkness and still, heavy air. Sweat drenches her clothes, and her body is stiff and slow to respond as she thumps out of bed and changes into fresh clothes. Slowly, she makes her way out the living room and slides into a tailor's seat at the edge of the couch. "Couldn't sleep?" Kaldur's voice is soft in the air.

"No." It's a little cooler out here, for whatever reason. Always is, winter or summer. "Dreamed about that time we tried to rescue my dad. Only you got caught instead."

In reality, she had been the one caught in the trap. She hadn't been thinking, only focused on getting her dad out of the hospital. She hadn't thought about how the hallways had been oddly empty, or that the clues to where he was supposedly being held in the hospital were glaringly obvious. Hadn’t thought to check if he was actually in that civilian hospital (he hadn’t been) instead of being taken straight to Belle Rev. No, she'd rushed in and gotten caught and it had only been because Kaldur had insisted on backing her up that she had been able to escape.

That had been that Lantern's one mistake, that and not having backup for himself. If she ever has to face him again - and she hopes she doesn't, not without having time to prepare, at least - he won't be making those mistakes again.

She can hear Kaldur shift to sit up on the couch. "You okay?" She reaches, and his hand catches hers and squeezes.

"Mm." She is and she's not and she doesn't really want to talk about that. "You never explained, why it was complicated?"

She waits while Kaldur arranges his thoughts. "After we faked my death, the heroes present at that battle took me into custody. I spent a few days at the Watchtower being interrogated by various Leaguers. I suppose one of them must have believed me, because Aquaman came to talk to me as well."

"And?" Artemis prompts.

"And. He asked if I would be willing to go to Atlantis."

"So he could pick your brain."

"So he could pick my brain, yes." He's quiet for a few long minutes. "He told me, that unless I chose to tell someone, no one would know about me or my history. I would simply be the child of an Atlantean that had moved to the surface and never told me about my heritage til now."

Artemis snorts, and Kaldur's hand squeezes hers lightly. "I thought it was a joke too. Or a way to test if I was that gullible."

"Maybe when you were, like, five." That gets a chuckle.

"I was introduced to Garth and Tula - that is, Tempest and Aqualass. For a long time, I believed them assigned to secretly guard me. That they were a way to watch me for any signs of a double-cross. And yet, when I finally dared mention missing the surface, about missing friends there... they helped me travel from Atlantis. Let me go into the city, alone, to find Roy and try to convince him to send you a message. Which is how Cheshire volunteered herself."

"Why would your Roy know my sister?"

"He has a child. With Chesire."

"That's not funny." Artemis responds automatically, though she knows Kaldur doesn't joke like that. "For real?"

"Yes. Apparently they ... swap being caregivers?"

"Shared custody?"

"I do not know your terms for it. But she said she'd deliver the message herself. I assume she recognized your alias as Tigress."

"Huh." Artemis tries to fit in the idea of being an aunt into her life. She cannot see her sister putting her work as a Shadow on hold to have a child, let alone raise one. And yet, apparently she had. And has yet to make any mention of it. "You okay with that?"

"It is not something I can change?" She can't see Kaldur raise his eyebrows, but she knows he is from the tone of his voice.

"No, I mean, you still have feelings for Roy, right? But if he's still seeing Cheshire, that makes things... more complicated?"

Kaldur is quiet for a long moment. "I... I do not know. At least, it has not changed any of my feelings for him? But I don't know how Roy feels. He did say he's not involved with Cheshire, at least, not beyond making sure Lian gets time with her mom."

"But not with her aunt." The words are more sour than Artemis meant for them to be.

Kaldur snorts. "I don't believe he knows Cheshire has a sister. And I didn't think it my place to tell him. Was I wrong?" Artemis shakes her head.

"No, no. Just, it doesn't feel quite real, you know? So - Cheshire volunteered herself, and then what? You went back? Obviously you weren't running around on the surface cause otherwise I'm going to be super mad you didn't come say 'hello' in person."

"I went back to Atlantis, yes. My father had yet to make his move, and I wanted to help stop it. I would not have been able to do that on the surface. After his attack - it was stopped, completely, and he was imprisoned. After that. Tula and Garth continued to treat me as if they believed my false history. So I told them, about Black Manta and how I was raised. They were... genuinely surprised. And -"

He pauses, and Artemis nudges him when the silence grows too long. "And?"

"They took me to meet my mother."

"I - pardon?"

She twists to look at Kaldur, who's staring at the floor, arms tightly crossed over his chest. "My father lied." The air conditioning kicks on, humming to life as Kaldur inhales shakily. "She's been in Atlantis all these years. Father knew. And he would have -" His voice cracks and he turns his head away from her, as if to hide. Artemis understands that. She doesn't like people seeing her emotional and vulnerable either.

"Hey." Artemis clambers up onto the couch, sitting beside him and pulling him into her arms. He's shaking, and after a second's hesitation curls up against her, burying his head against her shoulder. "Hey," she repeats, rubbing his back slowly. It's several minutes before he calms enough to pull away and just lean against her.

"That's why I'm going back." He says after a moment. "I'll try to be better about staying in touch. I don't know how often that will be, though."

Artemis hums and tucks her legs up under her, yawning. She's comfortably warm rather than sweating, and her family (minus Jade, and her niece, gods above) is here and she's safe. Somehow she dozes off again.

In the morning, Kal leaves, and Artemis makes herself not follow him like some overprotective hen. Now that she's seen him in person and knows he's not captured or dead, she can relax. At least until she returns to Stanford and has to deal with the consequences of New Years.

And okay, if she's being honest, she's a little nervous at the prospect of seeing Wally again. But, well. There's the question of if she wants to.

She's known him long enough to know that he hasn't done ... this. Wally's not the sort to think like this - as smart as he is, he's also very direct about everything. Deceit and sneaking about and spying, those are far more likely to come from far less 'flashy'. Like a Bat.

They did a good job of hiding the bugs. She wouldn't have caught the first one if not for the chance of light hitting it just right, and her being a suspicious, distrusting, paranoid sort of person that couldn't wave off the dark blip as a bit of dust.

Someone's watching her, watching Artemis, when they hadn't before.

It'd scare her, maybe, if not for having accepted this as a possible outcome the second she decided to go with Wally to the Watchtower. But that she's only being bugged is odd - if the League knew for sure she was Tigress, they ought to have knocked down her apartment door and dragged her to Belle Rev by now.

Or maybe they know and they're just waiting for her to damn herself irrevocably.

---

It's two months before she encounters Wally, and even then that's completely by chance. Between classes and homework and studying, as well as actually TA'ing this semester, she's barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone actually seek him out.

But he's there, with his usual mess of red hair, about to eat lunch at one of the outside food courts, and she has time for fucking once. So before he can sit, she grabs his wrist and drags him off to talk in private. He yelps when she first grabs him, but then he recognizes her and it's not so much dragging him as leading him away.

"Artemis, hey! That was kind of my lunch back there can at least I go back and grab -"

"I need to talk to you." She stops them in a tight cramped walkway between two buildings that people don't use often because it doesn't go anywhere. Turning to glare at their shadow, she adds, "Privately."

"Outside isn't really all that private?" The young man - Dick, if she remembers rightly - folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at her. "And maybe I'm not exactly whelmed about you just dragging my best friend away like that."

Wally rubs the back of his neck. "Listen, Dick, if Artemis says it's private, then maybe you should, I don't know, go and guard our food?"

She can see Dick about to argue. Rolling her eyes, she lets her backpack fall off her shoulder and opens the top flap. She pulls off a button - the one that someone replaced when she wasn't looking - and thrusts it into Wally's hand, closing his fingers around it.

"Um?" Wally looks at his hand, at her, and back at his hand.

"I'm being bugged." She mutters. Dick's right, outside isn't private, but it's not like she's had opportunities to talk to Wally before now. This might the only chance she gets for a long while. "You should check your shit too, just in case."

She walks off then, leaving them there, deliberately not reacting to how Dick had tensed considerably though he'd hidden it well. Dick was in on it, she was certain of that now. Could he be the one who had put the bugs in place? Certainly, if he chose to, he would have no trouble charming his way into places he shouldn't be, not with his looks. And that was without considering the money he doubtlessly had.

She doesn't remember anything from the rest of her classes that day, she's too caught up on if Dick is or isn't one of the Bats. (She thinks so, but she can’t place exactly why.) Enough so that Wally actually manages to startle her by waiting for her in plain sight by her apartment door.

"Hey." He's worrying something in his hand - ah, the bug she handed him earlier. "I got in touch with Nightwing. Asked him about this."

"That was quick."

"Well, it's important, right?" He glances at her, then back down. "Anyway, Nightwing's going to look into it. It's not him, if that helps any."

She snorts. "Let me guess - Nightwing told you that."

"I believe him."

"Baywatch -"

"I know, I know, but - you weren't there, for the shitfit - excuse me, lecture - Batman threw, after that whole mind control thing." Artemis blinks at how tired Wally looks for a second. "I mean, we obviously had a mole or someone who infiltrated the League, and here I was bringing in an unknown civilian - well. He and some of the Leaguers were more than a bit put out over that. I thought I had convinced him, with Nightwing's help, that you had nothing to do with that, but I guess he decided to just let us think we had changed his mind. Sorry."

"Oh." Her frustration with him oozes out of her, and then the implications of what he said sinks in. "Wait, you argued with Batman? For me? Wally, no, you can't do that."

"I'm pretty sure I already did."

"That's not - You want to be a League member, right? How are you going to do that by pissing off Batman?"

"Dunno." Wally's eyes meet hers. "But you're worth the risk." Artemis swallows, feeling her face heat as he doesn't look away. "Sorry about missing Valentine's Day, by the way. Had every test in the universe that week. And, uh, wasn't sure if I was assuming more than you meant?"

Artemis bites her lip. "I ... don't know, Baywatch." Because as much as she wants him, wants to not have to hide how much she likes him, she's still a Shadow and when all's said and done she highly doubts there's any way he's not going to end up with the League, arguing with Batman or no.

"Okay. That's fair enough." He exhales heavily. "Not like grad school leaves much time for that sort of stuff."

It's an out, and she should take it. Should take it and run and forget how his lips felt against hers. Forget him, and his freckles, and the way he laughs at her jokes, and how he pays attention to her, and how he argued with Batman for her and -

His mouth is as soft as before. After a few endless seconds, his hands gently wrap around her elbows. His eyes are closed when she eventually pulls away, as if he's busy memorizing every detail of that kiss. As if by not looking, the world will stop and they could stay like that.

"Wally." His eyes flutter open and she could lose herself in how green they are. "I don't know if this - us - is going to work. If it can work."

"I want to try." He's blushing, not as deep a red as she knows he's capable of, but it's there in his ears and his cheeks. "Can't we try?"

"I'm a Shadow." She whispers, as if he's somehow forgotten.

His fingers tighten on her arms and then relax. "You said you wanted to make some changes, right? If - if that's so big that we can't work, why can't that change too?"

"It's not that simple." How to make him understand? (Once, she wouldn't have tried to explain. Once, she would've thought changing sides as simple a thing as he obviously does.) "It's not like changing shoes, Wally. It's like. Shit, I don't know. It's blood and it's people and I've tried before, Wally, I did and it didn't change one damn thing and you -" She's going to cry if she keeps on. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she takes a steadying breath. "You make me want things I know I can't have."

"Artemis -"

"I'm trying, okay? But it's not like that's going to change my past. That should be evidence enough." She points at the bug that he's dropped at their feet. "You really want to argue with your allies over things like that every other week? Because it's not like your opinion mattered to them this time - you're the emotionally compromised one."

"Artemis, liking you is not a conflict! Or a weakness!" He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. "I just don't see why they get to decide for you. Should be just up to you."

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" She smiles lopsidedly. That he genuinely believes things like that is sweet of him. "You should go." She slips into her apartment and shuts the door behind her before he can argue. Leaning against the door, she waits until she can hear the sound of his footsteps as he leaves. Only then does she let herself slide down to the floor and wrap her arms around her knees.

"I don't see why they get to decide for me either." She whispers to herself. "But that's just how the world works. I don't see why you can't see that."