#already turned off my tv because i REFUSE to watch that podium. i just refuse

[singsweetmelodies]

2023 truly is the year of ugly people

[nicromancytarot]

REINCARNATION AND TRAUMA

Found this in my drafts from months ago lmao, so here you go!

Hello! I am here to chat more shit because I’m bored and wish to entertain the few who care (I’m also procrastinating making dinner which is a delicious chicken roast which shall take me around two hours to make and it’s already half 8 at night #rip)

MY OPINION ON REINCARNATION

This time last year I told myself that I would never reincarnate again if I had the opportunity to do so, perhaps it appears selfish, and now looking back on it, I think based on what I know now, me refusing to reincarnate is selfish, but only for me. I don’t think choosing not to reincarnate would be selfish as a whole, but knowing what I know now, I would say that me deciding not to reincarnate is somewhat selfish.

The start of this year and the end of last I did a past life meditation, I already knew about two of my past lives, one where I was just heavily oppressed and died, another where I was a religious leader who got condemned for breaking my vow of abstinence, and my most impactful one for this life which I will get into.

I did a past life meditation at the end of last year, my intention was just to find the past life that affects this one the most, and now I feel very much healed from past trauma which is crazy.

DISCLAIMER: Only do a past life meditation if you can actually handle it mentally. I discovered the meditations in 2020, was not ready until late 2023, so take that as you will.

When doing the meditation I saw myself, I was a man, not too sure how old or at what time I was living, but it felt to be maybe the 80’s-90’s, it felt surprisingly recent. I went into the kitchen, and there stood my three children. The oldest boy I called by the name of “Sonny” or “Sunny”, but I don’t know if that was his name, may have rather been a nickname.

Going a tad back in time, I was trying to figure out the name of someone of importance to me back in November last year, and that’s when my guide proceeded to spell out the name “Anna Ray”, I don’t know anyone called Anna Ray, or even anyone called Anna, so I was confused and let it be.

Now back to current time, so I’m in the kitchen and standing by my three children when a woman, beautiful with pale skin, wearing an off the shoulder, long classy, black dress, a shawl hanging over her arms and her hair was a mousy brown. She never said her name, but when she turned around to look at me, I didn’t recognise her, but my soul absolutely did. In my head in that moment, in my manly voice I heard “Anna” and I was like “OHHHHH” it all adds up!

So that’s why I don’t know if my kids name was Sonny, or Sunny, because it could’ve been a play on words Sunny Ray, like sun-ray.

Anywho, so we left the house and then the meditation skipped some time since the meditation person told me to stand and let time go past me, which it did, the living room moved around a few times, things got added, things were taken away.

And then time stopped, I saw myself in third person sat down on the couch in front of the TV, I don’t even know if I was watching it, but then third person another time, I saw a shadow of a woman fall to ground.

Consciously I was so confused about what just happened, I didn’t understand what that was supposed to be showing me, but my heart began to race, my breathing picked up and I was lowkey freaking out. And I had no idea why.

Then it cut again, now I’m at a funeral, standing on the podium and talking. I still looked quite youthful, but my hair was turning grey from what I assume to be stress. Then it was like a download of information and I realised that my wife, Anna was murdered.

The funeral was not very long for what I saw, the two boys, I’m assuming ages 17-18 and 15-16 were sat on one side, meanwhile the young girl around age 9-10 was sat on my side. To me this symbolised the disconnect from me and my two son’s versus the closeness of me and my daughter. I also now looking back on it think it may have meant that the boys were on Anna’s families side, while my daughter was on mine, since there was an older woman who I assume to be my mother sat next to her.

My daughter gave me an encouraging smile as I spoke, I have no recollection of what I said, but she seemed proud of me. The boys however did not, they struggle to face me.

The last part of the meditation ended by me sat on the couch, slowly watching time pass me by, more and more alcohol bottles scattered the room as I just lay there. I became an alcoholic father, and it drove me to my death.

I got to see my wife for one last time as everything went white and my existence was no more. She stood in front of me, in that off the shoulder dress, her hair up in a pretty hairstyle. She had a mole on the back of her right shoulder and I placed a kiss to it, then I had to go.

I woke up and sobbed dude, four hours of consistent crying. And then I also realised that I have a mole on the back of my right shoulder lmao.

The reason I bring up this story is because I grew up with an alcoholic parent in this life, and there was a lot of trauma from that which I couldn’t quite begin to understand or rationalise.

This experience helped me heal from that, I learnt that I subjected my kids to watching their father deteriorate from the alcohol that he consumed. And now in this life I experienced what I did to them.

Now listen, I have 8th house Uranus in Pisces 💀, I’ve been through a bunch of stuff that I struggle to even think about at times, however now that I know about that life, and how it links to what I experienced in my early ears of this lifetime, I can say that I don’t question “why me” anymore, I don’t ask why it had to happen, because I now know that my soul needed to throw us deep into a karmic lesson. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, I’m not saying don’t allow yourself to feel something over situations that happen to you, however what I am saying is that we cannot control what others do to us, and we cannot go back to change what they did, so what can we learn from that unfortunate situation?

[ellanainthetardis]

And on and on we go! Only 5 chapters left!

[ff] or [ao3]

75. 22 Months & 10 Months (4)

Haymitch heard the distinctive footsteps of his wife coming toward the living-room with something akin to relief. He usually liked Lyssandra and Leo well enough but having to be in the same room as Lyssa while she got over-excited about the ball at the Presidential Mansion was a little too much even for him. And that was without taking into consideration the fact that they had both poured themselves a drink of Tadius’ best liquor.

And had offered him one.

Which he had obviously declined.

“Oh, Effie, do hurry!” Lyssa squealed, barely glancing away from the huge TV. “Here they come!”

Effie walked into the room with less flair than usual. She had changed out of the green dress and into something a little more casual – well, if silk red pants and a white sweater with a sweetheart neckline could be considered casual, but then again her sister was wearing an evening cocktail dress for what they had agreed would be a quick dinner so… Effie was exhausted, it was written all over her face, and he simply opened his arm when she sank on the couch next to him, not surprised when she immediately leaned against his side, company be damned.

Her blue eyes darted to the various bottles of alcohol on the coffee table and she pursed her lips. He rubbed her shoulder with his thumb, letting her know he was fine. Well… Fine might be a big word for it but he was doing alright with the temptation.

“They’re sleeping?” he asked quietly while Lyssa exclaimed at the cars stopping next to the red carpet on TV.

He had offered to put the kids to bed but she had insisted on doing it herself, probably needing some family time after that dreadful day. The speech that morning had left her tired and it hadn’t gotten better in the afternoon. Her parents’ house had literally been besieged by the press. They had had an agreement with Plutarch about that but, to be fair, after what had happened and what Effie had revealed, none of them expected the former Gamemaker to keep his word. Haymitch had braved through the crowd at some point after noon, because Snowball needed a walk and because they would never let go until someone had made some sort of official comment on their behalf.

It had been empty words, of course, because Effie had always been better at handling that sort of circus but it had given the press something to chew on for now. It didn’t mean they weren’t still camping in the street outside. It was the whole reason the curtains were drawn and the kids had had so much trouble falling asleep.

“I don’t think they will stay asleep all night.” she sighed in answer, placing the baby monitor on his lap.

“I cannot believe you chose to stay here instead of going.” Lyssa commented. And, right on cue, Tadius and Elindra stepped out of the car that had been sent for them, Haymitch’s invitation in hand.

The  next car would be the kids’, and the one after that Jo’s and Annie’s.

They couldn’t all miss the ball without it being turned into a political message regarding Hummingbird Operation and Paylor’s involvement but they had decided that Effie’s absence could be put on the day’s conference and that Haymitch would simply stay behind with his wife as a good husband ought to do. That was their official stance on it.

The truth was Effie had begged out and Haymitch hadn’t wanted to go without her so they had offered their spot to her parents – if only to watch Elindra get flustered at the thought of going to a ball at the Presidential Mansion.

“I had enough excitement for the day.” Effie replied casually, smiling when Katniss and Peeta exited their own car. “Don’t they look dashing?”

They did.

Katniss was wearing an orange-red dress that vaguely reminded him of fire – the whole point, he figured – and her dark hair was up. Her burn scars were exposed but she didn’t seem to care. She never did. She looked radiant and the boy looked really good in his dark suit. They waved at the crowd, forced smiles…

Everything they didn’t have to do anymore.

The picture of two perfect victors.

“We shouldn’t have come back.” Haymitch said in a low voice.

Lyssa was too engrossed in the live feed to hear but Leo shot him an understanding look.

Effie simply leaned harder against him. An agreement, he knew.

A visit to her parents would have been fine. He truly thought they could have handled that but being in the spotlight again, playing roles they had all long shed…

“Are you still going to do the campaigning work for Paylor?” Leo asked.

Haymitch rubbed his face with his free hand. Nobody had been in touch about that. He had been happy to schedule a couple of interviews in support of Paylor because he truly believed she was the best candidate but now he wasn’t sure they wanted him anywhere near a camera in case he decided to follow Effie’s example and leak more state secrets.

“If they still want me too, I guess, yeah.” he shrugged.

“This is all my fault.” Effie shook her head. “I do not know what came over me. I am so…”

“Do not dare say you are sorry.” Lyssa huffed. “They have been lying to us for years. We have a right to the truth. I am proud of you for what you did.”

Effie stared at her sister for a few seconds and then swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“If you want my opinion, you did Paylor a favor.” Leo observed. “Her transparency policy gave her a boost in the polls.”

“Smoke and screens.” Haymitch grumbled. “Always fucking smoke and screens.”

“Politics.” Leo remarked in a fatalistic tone.

After a short debate between the two sisters, they agreed to have dinner in the living-room instead of moving to the big dining-room. Haymitch couldn’t help but smirk, watching them giggle to themselves because apparently having a relaxed dinner on the couch in front of the TV was a big no-no in that house and Elindra would have had a fit if she had known. It was good to see Effie relax and have some fun.

He had honestly thought that press conference would go worse than it had. He had been fully prepared for her to have a panic attack up there on the podium. Talking about what had happened to her, about the torture… It wasn’t easy when it was the only two of them so in a room full of people… All in all, she had handled it well. Blurting out state secrets wasn’t the worst that could have happened and he did see her point. They advocated truth but kept the secrets they wanted to keep.

Truth be told, he was glad the truth was out.

Not only because there was some justice in that but because now people might stop calling Katniss insane for having murdered a war hero. Coin was no hero. Thirteen’s candidate could deny all he wanted, call out Effie’s credibility into question and accuse Paylor of lying… It didn’t change the fact people had already decided what to believe.

And when all the former victors stood on one side of the equation…

Effie barely touched her plate and she ignored all his pointed looks about it. He kept his peace because she did finish her chocolate mousse and as long as she was eating chocolate, she couldn’t be feeling that bad.

They all grew a little quiet after dessert. They watched the live feed from the ball, trying to glimpse the kids and the Trinkets… Haymitch wasn’t really interested but Lyssa’s running commentary got a few snorts out of him. Effie was starting to doze off, he could feel her sliding a little down the couch, her head falling on his shoulder only to pop back up…

He was about to suggest they called it a night when he noticed Leo’s staring.

He liked Lyssandra’s fiancé but he didn’t like men staring at his wife with that sort of thoughtful look.

“What?” he challenged.

His tone was a little aggressive and the women both startled and looked at them both in turn, puzzled. Leo blinked as if he had been distracted and then shook his head.

“My apologies. I was simply thinking…” The Capitol winced. “I am sorry if it is a sensitive subject but… It is common knowledge your bank accounts were frozen and seized during the Purge…”

“It wasn’t exactly during the Purge.” Effie corrected. “It was well after Katniss’ trial. Well after Haymitch was gone. Peeta had already gone back to Twelve too.”

“So, after you were officially pardoned?” Leo insisted.

Effie glanced at Haymitch who shrugged.

“Yeah.” he confirmed. “I got her pardon secured weeks before Snow’s execution. I bargained it against…” He hesitated. It wasn’t a time he liked to revisit. In the end he rolled his eyes. It was all done. In the past. “Coin was holding Effie over my head. She wanted her to be tried but it was just a way to control Katniss through me. I threatened her to tell everyone about Hummingbird Operation if she didn’t pardon Effie. She refused to cave but… It ain’t like she had a choice. Plutarch did the rest.”  

“I see…” Leo frowned. “And… Pardon me for asking but how much would you say your fortune amounted to, Effie?”

“Well…” She let her voice trail off and bit down on her bottom lip, probably trying to make calculations. “It wasn’t just my bank accounts. They took my apartment and everything that was in it. It had been ransacked so there wasn’t much left of value inside. My jewels were gone but there were still some haute couture pieces and… All in all… I would say…” The amount she announced was such that Haymitch regretted taking a sip of water at that precise moment. He almost choked on it and coughed hard until she patted his back with a worried expression. “Are you alright, darling?”

“You never said it was that much.” he croaked.

“It did not seem to matter. Suddenly I had debts everywhere.” she said defensively. “Bills that were scheduled to be paid, purchases, groceries…” She closed her eyes and waved a hand. “You remember how it was.”

He remembered because he had paid out almost all of it.

But at no point had he thought she had owned that much money. He had known she had been wealthy. Of course, she had been wealthy. Escorts were rarely poor. But…

“Didn’t know you were that loaded.” he admitted. Mostly because she was the spending kind.

“Life was expensive and I was not particularly careful.” she confessed. “But between my escort salary, the modeling jobs and the money I got for featuring in various magazines or TV shows… Besides, people often sent me free stuff in hope I would use it and do free advertisement for them. Dresses, shoes, furs, jewelry…”

“It adds to the estate.” Leo nodded. “And you did not try to protest when…”

“I was not given a choice to protest.” she cut him off, wrapping her arms around herself. “They showed up at my apartment at dawn, handed me a piece of paper with the government’s seal and they kicked me out with one suitcase full of clothes they declared unsuitable for auctioning.” She licked her lips. “I tried to book into a hotel but my credit cards were blocked. I had some cash in my wallet they hadn’t thought to check… I tried to find a job but nobody in the Capitol would… I managed for a few weeks and then I had too many debts to deal with, I was so tired, I… I tried to come here and… Well, Mother said I wasn’t welcomed. At that point, I just… I just couldn’t do it anymore.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I left for Twelve.”

Haymitch covered her hand with his, brushing his thumb over her new ring. She flashed him a poor excuse of a smile.

“Oh, Effie…” Lyssa whispered, sounding genuinely hurt for her sister. Or maybe guilt because it was her fault her parents had kicked her out the door.  

“When was that?” Leo asked.

“A year after I came back with Katniss.” Haymitch answered. “I remember ‘cause I thought it was almost to the day. What’s with all the questions?”

“I’m sorry, professional quirk.” the Capitol apologized. “I was just wondering because… Based on what you said today at that conference and what you just told me… I do not see what legal grounds they had to seize your assets.”

“They called it compensation for my war crimes.” Effie said.

“You were pardoned for your war crimes.” Leo argued. “So unless it was made part of the agreement when they officially pardoned you…”

“No.” Haymitch shook his head. And then he frowned. “You’re saying…”

“I am saying that a few months after the war, Panem’s finances were at an all-time low and that they were desperate to get money anywhere they could find it.” Leo confirmed “They tried to do that to a few Capitol companies but we are talking about empires here. They fought back. Some lost, of course, once their association with Snow was proven. That’s how I met Lyssa, actually. When the government turned on Tadius’ company. But in Effie’s case… It looks very straightforward to me. Didn’t you have a lawyer?”

“He died in the war.” Effie whispered. “Half my friends were dead and the other half wouldn’t associate with me. Father… Mother made it clear Father would not associate with me either so…”

Lyssa was upset, that was plain to see. Leo reached out to pat her leg but his attention was fully on Effie.

“You have a lawyer now.” the Capitol declared. “And I truly believe if you take them to court, you can get your money back. Perhaps not the entire amount, understand. It might be difficult to prove you owned anything you do not have legal paperwork for but… What was on your back accounts and the value of your apartment… Those should be easy enough to trace back.”

“Take them to court?” she repeated, a little faint.

Haymitch made a face. “After this morning…”

“Precisely because of this morning.” Leo insisted. “They had no legal grounds and now that the opinion is favorable to Capitols… It would be the right time.”

“Hummingbird Operation was top secret.” he retorted. “If she takes them to court and they decide to retaliate…”

“They can’t legally retaliate about Effie disclosing that without painting themselves as hypocrites.” the lawyer declared. “Paylor stepped on that stage right after her and swore Effie had done it because she had given it her blessing in the spirit of transparency.”

“You think I can get my money back?” Effie cut in and she sounded… odd. A little distant.

Haymitch studied her, wary of a possible flashback or…

“Let me dig around.” Leo requested. “As your lawyer, I will demand to see the case they made. But honestly… Yes, I think we can get a good portion of it back.”

“It would be public though, wouldn’t it?” she insisted. “A trial?”

“If they want to go all the way there, yes. I believe it would be a big trial.” the Capitol man conceded. “If they based themselves on your alleged war crimes…”

“There was nothing alleged to them.” Haymitch said quietly, not to be mean but because he had never lied to her on that front. “She was an escort. She reaped the kids. She willingly participated in the Games. She made money out of that.”

Effie’s jaw clenched but she didn’t protest.

“Yes.” Leo granted. “But she was pardoned.”

“Look, sweetheart…” he winced, squeezing Effie’s hand. “It’s your money so it’s your call but… You want my opinion, it’s not worth reopening that can of worms. They’re gonna play dirty and…”

“I agree.” Effie cut him off. “I do not want a public trial. I do not want…” She closed her eyes. “I am tired of my life being exposed like this. I just… I want to go home with my children.”

“I understand.” Leo offered. “Still… Given the current climate, even the threat of a possible case against the government… Look, let me poke around. Would that be alright? If I am right and they had no legal grounds… We might not even need to go to court, they might agree to settling this with an arrangement.”

“I don’t know…” Haymitch insisted. “I feel like we’re poking the bear and the bear’s a good friend.”

“A good friend who stole your wife’s money and would have made her live in the streets.” Lyssa objected.

“Yeah, well the bear wasn’t the only one responsible for that, was he?” he snapped.

She had the good grace of lowering her gaze in shame.

“Please, don’t fight.” Effie begged, rubbing her forehead.

“It isn’t right.” Leo insisted. “They had no rights to…”

“But Haymitch is correct. I am guilty.” Effie insisted. “Perhaps they had no legal rights but they did have the moral ones.” She shook her head and stood up. “My apologies but I am awfully tired. Good night.”

“Think about it, at least.” Leo urged her.  

“I’m gonna head to bed too.” Haymitch declared. “Night.”

He followed Effie in silence, not commenting when she stopped in the nursery to check on the children. They were both sleeping. April was on her stomach, her blond hair wild around her head, and he adjusted the blankets so she wouldn’t be cold. Aidan was on his side, clutching his stuffed giraffe to his chest. And Snowball was sprawled on the rug at equal distance of the two beds and barely lifted his head when Haymitch scratched his belly.

He had a feeling Effie would have stayed there to watch them far much longer if he hadn’t placed a hand at the small of her back. She didn’t look at him when she left the room and headed straight to their bedroom. She didn’t look at him either when she sat heavily at the foot of the bed and took her head in her hands.

He sighed and dropped next to her.

“What the fuck did I think I was doing today, Haymitch?” she whispered.

His lips twitched. “Language, sweetheart.”

She shot him a glare but it was tired and weak. With a sigh of her own, she started unpinning her hair from the weird braided hairdo Katniss had done it in.

“It could have gone very badly.” she insisted, her voice rising in anger. “I was stupid. What if… People could have rioted. Isn’t that why it was kept secret in the first place? It was pure dumb luck it went as well as it did. It was… I could have started another war today and then where would we be? We have peace and Panem is flourishing and here I go and almost wreck it all and just because…” She shook her head. “I could have wrecked it all and our children would have been in danger and…”

“Effie.” he said firmly, grabbing her shoulders.

She shrugged him off and stood up, pacing the length of the room back and forth again and again. Her hair wild and crumpled from having been pinned up all day.

“I am stupid. This city makes me stupid.” she ranted. “Plutarch was right. This was reckless and…”

“It was brave.” Haymitch argued, because he believed it.

Yes, it could have ended worse than it had but… Really, right then, the chance of another rebellion happening were slim. Snow’s loyalists had been eradicated. The only potential danger came from Thirteen and, after that little revelation, he supposed it was now safe to think this threat was gone as well.

“No, it was not!” she shouted. “I was supposed to tell them about me, about… I wanted to be able to tell them. I wanted to be strong enough to…” She shook her head. “This was easier, do you understand? I made it all about dead children because it was easier. I used dead children again. It was not brave, it was the utter form of cowardice and I…”

The sob shook her whole frame and Haymitch bolted from the bed in a flash. He hugged her tight, not leaving her a choice to keep her pacing, coiling a hand around her nape.

“You did tell them about you, sweetheart.” he reminded her.

“No.” she denied. “I…”

“Effie, you did.” he interrupted, drawing back to look at her. “You don’t remember?”

She stared back and, after a few seconds, she shook her head no. “I… I lost time. Everything is blurry in my mind. I…”

“You told them, sweetheart.” he promised, planting a kiss on her forehead. “And I’m fucking proud of you, alright? Yeah, talking about Hummingbird was reckless and, yeah, it could have ended badly but… I’m fucking proud, alright? I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”

She still looked a little uncertain but she allowed herself to relax. The tension slowly left her shoulders and she brushed a hesitant kiss against his lips. He answered to it eagerly, using the hand that was still around her nape to deepen it.

Her fingers were quick when it came to undoing the buttons of his shirt so he lost no time in slipping that sweater over her head. The kiss turned violent, her hands demanding, and the frenzy of the embrace got to his head.

He wasn’t really sure how they went from there to him pinning her against the wall but by the time he had her naked and her left leg wrapped around his waist, he had scratches all over his back from her nails. He bit down on her shoulder in retaliation and she hissed, coiling her fingers hard around him in warning. He groaned his defeat, licking the abused patch of skin in apology. It didn’t stop her from pumping him at a punishing rate, leaving him to knead her breasts and stroke her between the legs with jerky angry moves because this wasn’t what he wanted.

He wanted her.

He wanted to be inside.

He wanted…

“Fuck me.”

The order whispered in his ear was all the permission he needed.

He batted her hand away and propped her leg higher, slipping into her in one powerful thrust that made her jerk her head back. It hit the wall with a thud. The angle wasn’t awesome but he didn’t want to try and lift her up completely. He was pretty sure his right knee would buckle. After a few thrusts he grew frustrated because she wasn’t getting off on it as much as he wanted her too and so he slipped out and turned her around without leaving her much of a choice. She braced herself against the wall and bent a little, offering herself up in an invitation he had never been able to resist.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulled a little so her back would arch and then he let himself grew wild, only spurred on by her whimpers and mewls of pleasure.

It had been a very long time since sex had been so… rough.

She cried out and, after a few more thrusts, he came too, resulting in the two of them collapsing on the floor, out of breath.

Haymitch felt… weird. He glanced at her, not really surprised to find her staring at the ceiling.

“You’re okay?” he asked when he saw her rub the shoulder that had been hurt during the war. It always hurt her if she strained it too much. She couldn’t play her violin too long, she never complained but he knew that carrying the kids around did a number to it, and the cold was by far the worst.

“Yes.” she answered, a second too late. She turned her head to look at him, a frown on her face. “This was…”

She let her sentence trail off.  

“So not us anymore…” he finished.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed it but he had always been careful with her since her rescue. It wasn’t that they were all vanilla and strictly missionary either now but they were never… It was never about power plays anymore, it was never about pinning the other to a wall or fucking each other brainless…

It was always more…

Loving.

“Yes.” she whispered, closing her eyes. She didn’t voice what she was really thinking but he heard it anyway. That had been the mentor and the escort. That had been who they used to be. That had been… “Today was awful.”

“Oh, yeah.” he agreed. “Though your mother had her moments.”

“You are a mama boy.” she accused him with a snort, hauling herself up and outstretching a hand to help him to his feet. “Although I do admit it was a little fun to watch her chew Plutarch’s head off.”

“She defended you first.” he pointed out.

“I noticed.” she hummed. “Bed?”

He nodded but didn’t bother putting on pajamas before climbing between the sheets. He was only happy once he was spooning her, an arm wrapped tight around her waist.

“We don’t need the money.” he said. “Ain’t worth a public trial. They’re gonna drag you in the mud.”

She was silent for a long moment and then he heard her lick her lips. “What if Leo can get them to agree to an arrangement?”

He hesitated. He wasn’t in favor of that plan. At all. But… “Your money, your decision.”

“I could pay you back what I owe you.” she murmured.

“You don’t owe me shit.” he rebuked, irritated. “We’ve had that conversation how many times now?”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “But still… Some of that money… Some of that money I won fair and square. It’s not tied to the Games. If we could get back at least a fragment of it…”

“You could open a shop.” He figured that it was what she had in mind since it was what she had been saving her dressmaking earnings for.

“It would help.” she agreed. “But, truly, what I was thinking was… I would open saving accounts for April and Aidan.”

“You father already did that.” he reminded her.

“There is never enough money, Haymitch.” she countered. “What if they want to go to expensive schools? Or build a house when they settle down with someone? Or just… It could help them.”

“There is something like too much money.” he argued. “What if they become spoiled brats? They get to access those accounts at eighteen. I don’t know about you but I wasn’t the most responsible guy at eighteen.”

“You have always been a responsible person.” she denied. “I was not. But I was also never careless. I valued my independence.” She sighed. “I do see your point though. Then perhaps… Perhaps we keep the money on a different account until the children truly need it. We can judge if it is for a good thing or if it just youth.”

“You’ve already made the decision.” he lamented.

She didn’t answer. He didn’t really need her to though.

He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, nuzzling her hair a little, wishing they could just…

“I didn’t like where we left things with Plutarch.” Effie told him. “He has his flaws but he is right when he says he has always been a good friend and… I didn’t like how it played out.”

“Me neither.” he agreed.

“I do not like who I am in this city.” She covered the hand that was resting on her stomach, entwined their fingers.

“I don’t like who I am here either.” he snorted. “This place just makes me…”

“I know.” she hummed. “Can you believe I have been craving a cigarette ever since we landed? I swear I haven’t thought about cigarettes in months. Perhaps not even since I learned I was pregnant with April.”

“Oh, I can.” he chuckled. “If you knew just how badly I want a drink…” He shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen though.”

“No.” she promised. “It won’t.”

“No way we can just cut this trip short and go home, right?” he pleaded.

She hesitated and her voice was apologetic when she answered. “My parents see the babies so rarely… They were really looking forward to spending time with them.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t want to punish Elindra and Tadius for their own problems. “Guess we better get in touch with Plutarch. Clear the air.”

She reached behind her and awkwardly wrapped her hand around his nape, turning her head so she could draw him down for a kiss. “What we should do is get some sleep before…”

The baby monitor he had tossed on the bedside table crackled to life.

Aidan or April, it didn’t matter. Whoever it was would wake the other.

Haymitch groaned against her shoulder. “You or me?”

“Both of us.” she decided.

He didn’t dispute that. They were always stronger together anyway.

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 6 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: This one took a while to write down since I had so many different ideas for it, but I hope you like what I came up with. Again, many thanks for your guys’ support, and please enjoy :)

From Avesta’s POV

CITY HALL - THE NEXT MORNING

Patiently waiting by as civilians gathered for the emergency address, Tiffany and I stood off to the side, making sure everything was in order while the guards got into position. Men, women, and children all flooded the plaza in front of City Hall, and the entrances had been blocked by both GCPD and Agency vehicles, as well as security gates.

So far, there was no sign of Joker or any of his men, and this “Lazarus” hadn’t shown up yet either. The janitor who was attacked by him was still in shock, and I doubted he’d be returning to work anytime soon, but otherwise, no one else seemed to be hurt. At least, not physically.

The optimistic side of me hoped that today would go by peacefully, and that we would get this speech done without any problems, but deep down...I knew a storm was coming. Whenever Gotham’s criminals saw an opportunity, they always seized it -- and this address was a huge opening. I just prayed that if something did happen, the Agency and GCPD would be enough to fight off these bastards. 

Battling with trained agents and police officers was one thing, but going after innocent civilians who were powerless to defend themselves...we couldn’t allow that to happen. These people deserved peace, and we were going to give it to them.

“...Hey,” I heard Tiffany say, breaking my trance-like state. She was peering at me with concern. “Are you okay, Iman? You look a bit...down.”

Gazing at the floor, I softly cleared my throat.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good,” I lied. “I just...I just can’t help but feel sort of guilty for what happened to Bruce. Letting him die in such a horrible way.”

She raised a brow, confused. “What do you mean? Why would his death be your fault?”

My eyes travelled to my pistol, bringing me back to the day we found Bruce at Wayne Enterprises.

“When we rescued Bruce from Wayne Tower a few days ago,” I told her, “he was...he was broken. He had just watched all his colleagues die, and one of his closest friends betrayed him. It certainly didn’t help matters when I informed him about his Lotus infection. All of this happening at once...it must’ve made Bruce desperate. He wanted a way out. He...” I trailed off, hesitant to continue. Tiffany put a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it in a comforting way.

“...Go on,” she urged. “It’s okay. You should talk about it now, rather than lashing out later.”

I took a deep breath, deciding not to hold back anymore.

“...He asked me to shoot him.”

Tiffany’s eyes sprung open. “What? Oh...I-I’m sorry. I assume you didn’t do it?”

“...No,” I confirmed. “I thought it was for the best. I thought that...I don’t know, I thought maybe there would be a chance we could save him. But I should’ve known better. There is no ‘rescuing’ when it comes to Lotus, is there? The virus kills its victims, no matter what. In the end, the Agency only made Bruce’s suffering worse, and he died as a lab rat. None of that would’ve happened to him if it weren’t for me. I may not be guilty for his death, but I am guilty for the fact that he lived long enough to ask for it.”

Tiffany was silent for a moment, a bit surprised at the confession.

“...You can’t blame yourself for Bruce’s suffering, Iman. You didn’t lock him in a lab and cut him up with a scalpel. The doctors did that. Whatever pain he experienced before his death is their fault. Not yours. You just did what you thought was right. No one can blame you for that. And besides, I have my own part to play in Bruce’s struggles.”

I was taken aback. “What are you talking about? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Tiffany reached into her jacket and pulled out a golden pocket-watch, gripping it tight.

“...this used to belong to Alfred,” she explained, flipping the lid open. “Before he left, he asked me to pass it onto Bruce as a goodbye gift...but I never got the chance. I tried to give it to him when he was being held in the cell, but the doctors refused to let me in. Instead, Bruce probably died believing Alfred no longer cared for him, and it’s all because of me.”

I frowned, bringing my attention back to the crowd of civilians. “I suppose everyone failed Bruce in some way, didn’t we? Otherwise, he wouldn’t be where he is now. But all we can do is atone for it. We have to keep Gotham safe from Lotus and the Joker. We can’t let Bruce die in vain.”

Tiffany nodded in agreement, slipping the watch back into her pocket. “I hear that.”

“Agent Avesta!” Waller’s voice suddenly called out from a distance, bellowing over everyone else’s like a megaphone. I turned towards the source, only to see the woman herself beckoning me.

“I also hear the Director trying to get your attention.” Tiffany added.

“Noted,” I replied. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna see what she wants.”

“That would be wise.”

Taking my leave, I casually walked over to Waller and tried my best to look professional in hopes of hiding my true feelings. I was already on thin ice with the director ever since our discussion in the morgue, and I didn’t want to anger her further.

“Ma’am,” I greeted. “Is everything all right?”

The way she glowered at me said “no.” 

Waller crossed her arms in a strict fashion and circled around me for a bit, pushing her glasses up her nose. 

“...Where’s Bruce’s body, Avesta?” She asked. It was more of a demand than a question.

I paused, thrown off-guard by the assumption. What was she talking about?

“...I’m...I’m afraid I don’t follow.” I answered.

The director was unconvinced. “Oh, please, agent. Do you seriously expect me to believe that a corpse rose from the dead, nearly killed one of our employees, and broke free without any of our people catching him? Gotham’s a bizarre place, I’ll give you that, but it ain’t that bizarre. The only logical explanation here is that someone stole Bruce’s body -- and I don’t wanna point fingers -- but you did express your disapproval about keeping him here just a few days ago, did you not?”

I put a hand over my chest, slightly offended at the accusation. “You think I took his body?”

“If not you, then who else?”

“I-I don’t know...did the janitor mention seeing anyone?”

Waller shook her head. “No. Even now, Jacob swears up and down that Bruce just crawled out of his cold chamber and attacked him, but I don’t buy a word of it. It’s far more plausible that someone would sneak in and remove Bruce’s body from the lab. For what purpose, I don’t know, but all I care about right now is finding the damn thing, and something tells me you’re a good place to start.”

I stumbled over my words, thinking of what to say. “Director, I assure you I had nothing to do with the disappearance of Bruce’s body. I know it seems unlikely, but...what if the janitor’s telling the truth? Maybe Bruce was never dead in the first place.”

“Our top doctors and scientists were working on him. They know a dead man when they see one.”

I persisted. “But what if the Lotus virus--”

“Enough,” Waller interrupted. “I don’t know what you’re hiding from me, Avesta, but I want that body back and intact. Do I make myself clear?”

Slouching my shoulders in defeat, I gave up for now, seeing as how it was obvious the director wouldn’t change her mind. I gave her a firm nod.

“...yes, ma’am.”

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Waller straightened her suit, walking off, “I have a city to address.”

Shoving past me, Waller made her way to the podium at the front of the grand stage as the crowd settled down, adjusting the numerous microphones so that everyone could hear her properly. By now, an army of civilians, journalists, policemen, and agents had flooded the plaza, and the constant light of camera flashes reflected off of the director’s glasses. I decided to lay low for the moment and took my place in the background, waiting for the speech to begin.

I didn’t know what that whole business about Bruce’s body was, but it made me uneasy that it was actually gone. At first, I thought that maybe the attacker was just someone who looked like Bruce, and the janitor may have mistaken him for the billionaire -- but with the vanishing of the corpse and Jacob’s claims about him coming back to life...it made me wonder. Did he really return from the dead? Was he even dead to begin with? Countless questions overwhelmed my head, and I didn’t know what to make of the situation, but I pushed them aside for now. At the moment, my only job was to keep these people safe, and I intended on doing just that.

From John’s POV

“Are the bombs in place?” I asked Willy through a rainbow-decorated walkie-talkie as Harley and I waited in the car. “The speech is almost starting.”

“We’re still planting the last few,” he replied. “We just have to take out the guards around the area.”

I groaned. “Well, hurry it up! Waller ain’t waiting forever! And neither is Batman...” falling silent for a second, I quickly changed the subject. “Whatever -- just get the job done! Waller needs to die, and we need to find that serum. Fast.”

“On it, Mr. Johnny!”

Harley rolled her eyes, resting her feet on the dash. “Mr. Johnny?’ Really, Pud?”

I set the walkie-talkie down and drove us to a closer observation point, making sure to stay out of sight.

“Let the man have his fun,” I defended Willy. “Things have been dry lately anyways.”

“Eh, true enough,” Harley winked at me, hugging her sledgehammer, “but today we’ll have loads of fun. Ain’t that right, sweetie?”

I winked back, giggling sinisterly. “You can be sure of that, babe. Heads are gonna roll.”

She leaned over and pecked a kiss on my cheek. “I like the way you think.”

I deviously rubbed my hands together, turning on a small TV installed in the car. “All right, let’s see how Waller’s speech is doing. After all, every show needs a good introduction. We’ll let the civilians get niiice and comfortable before blowing anything up. Make them think they’re safe and sound when all of a sudden...BAM! Now that’s gonna be a climax!”

Pressing the power button, the devil lady herself instantly appeared on-screen, barking utter nonsense as usual while the audience keenly listened. Everything appeared to be moving smoothly thus far, and none of the security guards seemed panicked. Good, good. That meant they weren’t aware of my presence. Things were going according to plan.

“--Citizens of Gotham,” Waller began, resting her hands on the podium, “I know these past few weeks have been extremely difficult -- and our lives have been full of nothing but death, chaos, and tragedy. But I assure you, that will all soon come to an end. The Agency has been working tirelessly to find a solid cure for the Lotus virus, and we are this close to succeeding. We’ve done our research, we’ve conducted tests, and I promise you, we are making progress. But that’s not all I came here to talk about.”

Waller straightened her posture, linking her arms behind her back.

“The Joker.”

I clapped happily and pointed at the screen, laughing out of joy. “That’s me, that’s me!”

“By now, I’m sure this is a name all of you are familiar with. He has threatened our safety, killed our loved ones, and shaken the very foundation on which this city was built upon.”

I frowned. “...that’s a bit harsh.”

“However, despite all these struggles,” the director continued, “I must ask you not to panic. Not only will that give the Joker more opportunities to attack us, it will also make us stronger against him. The Joker’s been getting sloppy lately, and both the GCPD and the Agency are closing in on him -- along with any of his associates. We will do everything within our power to ensure Joker is put behind bars, and that he stays there.”

Groups of people in the crowd could be seen nodding with approval and gathering inspiration from Waller’s speech, while others didn’t look so sure about the claims. Those people were the smart ones.

“And speaking of maniacs loose on the streets,” a disgusted look plastered itself on Waller’s face, “I am well aware of these rumors that have been circling around about a certain ‘Lazarus.’ Well, I can assure you, they are just that. Rumors. Neither the Agency nor the GCPD have encountered anyone who fits such a description, and this ‘Lazarus’ is certainly not Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne has officially been declared dead, and that will forever be his status, I’m afraid.”

Out of nowhere, an unknown male voice suddenly joined the scene, followed by the clicking of a gun.

“...are you so sure about that, director?”

From Waller’s POV

Freezing mid-action, I glanced over my shoulder to see just who the hell had interrupted my speech, only to come across the most peculiar looking man...along with a gun aimed at my head.

The man was wearing a suit that actually blended in rather well with the Agents’, and there was a black bandana tied around bottom half of his face. Despite the coverage though, I could still see patches of scarred skin surrounding his right eye, and the organ itself had been mildly blinded, making it a hazy-blue color. 

Even with all the marring however, it was impossible for me to not recognize the fierce gaze that practically bore into my skull. It was the same gaze that haunted me ever since the incident at Wayne Enterprises, and the same one that pierced through the lab’s window. Who was this man? Was that...was that who I thought it was?

Before I could ask myself anymore questions though, a few of the other agents cautiously approached the man in hopes of subduing him, only to be shot directly in the forehead with a series of sharp bangs as their blood sprayed onto the floor. 

And as if that wasn’t enough, an electronic blast violently erupted throughout the plaza, shutting down all the security gates as well as deactivating the Agents’ pistols, causing the audience to scream in fear once they realized they were trapped. I tried to order my remaining agents to put down the culprit, but was forced to stop when he pulled out a detonator, making sure everyone could see it.

“Anyone moves a single muscle,” he roared, “and I will blow this place to hell...where it belongs.”

Tiffany let out a shaky breath in the background, paralyzed in place as she watched the scene. I supposed I wasn’t the only one who recognized him. 

“...B-Bruce?” She whimpered, sounding heartbroken. “Is that y-you...?”

His attention flicked over to her, and a wicked twinkle of delight glinted in his gaze.

“Didn’t think you’d be so surprised to see me, Tiffany. Especially after Jacob gave you quite the warning. But that’s the Agency for you, isn’t it? Refusing to listen to what it doesn’t believe. Looks like you should’ve heeded my advice.” 

Bruce took a few steps in my direction, holding me in place with his gun. “Psh, look at you. Tending to the sheep, convincing them you’re their shepherd. Do these people realize you’re also the wolf preying on them at night? Picking from their herd, choosing whose wool to strip? Funny, how you don’t mention that. I bet Bruce Wayne would have a word or two to say about it.”

I grimaced at him, almost growling my next words. “...so you’re Lazarus.”

“A name given to me by your people,” Bruce replied. “Even now, the Agency continues to create me. Everything I do, everything I am -- it’s because of you, Waller, and I hope you understand that. Though, it does make me wonder...where do we go from here? How does this road come to an end? I mean, we all know its destination...don’t we?”

I waved a strict hand. “Enough, Lazarus. Surrender now, or my people will shoot you where you stand.”

Bruce obviously wasn’t shaken by the threat, and continued his little game.

“Be careful, Waller,” he warned. “Your courage makes you vulnerable...but so does your fear. How is it that polar opposites could give you the exact same result?” 

Bruce prowled towards me in a calm manner, still holding me at gunpoint. 

“That’s how the universe toys with us, you see. It tricks us into believing we can divert our paths, and it laughs at us when we try. After all, there’s no crueler method to torture a man than giving him the illusion of choice. But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Director? Why don’t you tell these people what you really did to Bruce Wayne? Tell them how he truly died.”

I could see the audience watching us with a newfound interest, but I refused to give in and kept my mouth shut. Bruce stormed to me, planting the gun’s barrel directly against my temple as he leaned uncomfortably close to my face.

“TELL THEM!” He hissed, his tone dripping with venom.

“I will not,” I said sternly. “You think you can just march onto the stage and order me around because you’ve got a gun? The Agency has dealt with people like you before, and it will continue to deal with people like you. You’re nothing special. Just another common criminal trying to become king when you’re only a rat in the gutter.

Bruce chuckled, almost sounding genuinely pleased.

“A common criminal, eh? Tell me, Director, how many common criminals do you know of...that can say they’ve killed the Batman?”

A unanimous gasp emitted from the crowd, and people immediately starting turning to each other, murmuring out of disbelief.

“--Batman’s dead?”

“--That’s impossible, you can’t kill Batman...”

“--Holy shit, what are we gonna do?”

My eyes widened at the claim, and I looked at Bruce with bewilderment. He actually went there. 

“What are you--”

“--Where else do you think Batman’s been these past few days?” He taunted, enjoying himself far too much. “Why else do you think that, whenever the GCPD fires up the Bat Signal, he never answers anymore? It’s because he’s dead, Waller, and you better get used to it.” Bruce held up the detonator, announcing his final words.

“I’m only giving you once chance, Director. This road will lead to death’s doorstep no matter what, but I’m giving you a choice on how to venture it. Take your Agency and leave Gotham for good. Otherwise...this city will belong to me by the end of the week, and today’s events will pale in comparison to the future.”

I gritted my teeth. “You can’t be serious!”

He chuckled. “Oh, but I am.”

Activating the detonator, colossal clouds of the Lotus virus suddenly burst into the air with a ground-shaking boom and spread like wildfire, painting the sky yellow as it infected all of City Hall. Drones soared through the sky and ejected paralytic bolts, shooting down people who were trying to escape as they pushed and shoved each other aside, desperately running for their lives.

“Gas masks ON!” I yelled at my agents. “Get these civilians to safety, NOW!”

Civilians immediately began scrambling all over the place, bolting blindly through the thick fog and falling to their knees as they suffocated on the virus, coughing to death within seconds. Only this time, they didn’t actually die. Instead, their bodies twitched and mutated into disgusting creatures, growths developing around their heads as the insanity took affect instantly, causing them to viciously attack others nearby. It was hell on Earth.

Parents were carrying their children away from the terror and wailing for help, pointlessly covering their kids’ mouths as they were forced to face the inevitable. People banged their hands on the walls of police cars as they evacuated the square, screaming at the drivers to let them in and climbing on top. Meanwhile, those who didn’t manage to escape were tackled to the ground by the mutated victims and ripped to shreds, screaming in agony during their final moments. 

It was like something out of a nightmare, and I was powerless to wake up.

I turned to Bruce with a look of terror amidst all the havoc, trembling inside out at the scene. 

“...What...what have you done?”

Pulling down his bandana, Lazarus revealed an inhumane, twisted smile that had been hiding underneath the fabric as it continued to stretch wider, fueled by the shrieks of panic that could be heard throughout the plaza. 

He sauntered off, vanishing within the mist like a phantom escaping daylight.

“Why, Director...I’m just finishing what you started.”

From John’s POV

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed at the screen. “Was that...was that Bruce?! What’s he doing here? I thought he was dead! You mean...he’s not?” I cackled excitedly, jumping out of delight.

“You say that like it’s good news.” Harley retorted.

I strapped on my gas mask and snatched a pistol, slamming the car’s door open. 

“It is! Hehe! It means the enemy of my dreams is back! Only, he’s doing it all wrong...! I’m supposed to be the villain. Not him! Wait here, hon. I’m gonna have a word with this ‘Lazarus.” I took out my walkie-talkie, giving orders to my men.

“Forget the bombs!” I said. “Looks like Lazarus took care of that for us. Just go after Waller, and bring her to me alive! I want to personally put a bullet in her brain. Got it?”

“Right away!”

Shutting the door behind me, I fought through the virus’ thick fog and gunned down agents and cops alike, shooting my way to Bruce who had grappled onto a rooftop, slithering away like a snake. Well, even if Batman was gone, he certainly hadn’t given up his old toys.

Using my own grappling gun, I latched onto the roof’s edge and hurled myself up, chasing after the man as I called out his name.

“Brucie!” I waved a hand, sprinting towards him. “Buddy! Where do you think you’re going?”

He halted in his tracks at the sound of my voice and steadily turned around to see who it was, but didn’t stay long enough to greet me. Instead, just before I could reach him, Bruce set off one of his damned smoke pellets and clouded my vision, leading me to lose sight of him. I coughed at the stench for a few moments, waving the puffs away as I tried to relocate Bruce, but to no avail.

Why was he being so evasive? Usually, the man was so eager when it came to pursuing me, but now, it felt like he was shutting me out. Was this because of what I did at Wayne Enterprises? Was he holding a grudge against me for killing Regina? It would make sense...but even then, Batman always confronted his problems face-to-face. It was so unlike him to just...run. 

But then again, he wasn’t Batman anymore, was he? The Agency had morphed and twisted Bruce into something far more dangerous than he could’ve ever imagined, and his insanity was only going to drive him closer towards the edge.

As much as I loved Bruce’s fire...this wasn’t how I wanted things to happen. I was supposed to be the villain of his dreams, and he was supposed to be the caped vigilante who saved the day. I was his light...outside of Arkham. Why was he trying to snuff me out? What did Waller do to him? What did I do to him?

Roaming towards the rooftop’s border, I viewed the beautiful aftermath of Lazarus’ attack below, revelling in the turmoil that now stained the air. Police sirens echoed with emptiness in the distance, survivors of the assault were sobbing uncontrollably, my men were wreaking havoc, and countless, deformed corpses littered the streets surrounding City Hall. It was mayhem like none I’d ever seen, and I absolutely loved it. 

I didn’t know what Bruce was like now, or who this ‘Lazarus’ was, but I couldn’t deny that I was hooked onto his new, malicious nature. Watching him parade on stage like that, injecting fear into those around him...it made my heart soar with excitement, and I found myself howling with laughter at the madness ensuing in the plaza below.

“You can run all you want, Lazarus,” I shouted to the sky as if he could hear me, “but we will meet again! I promise you that! The stitch...ain’t broken yet! HAHAHA!”

[rt8815]

Untitled: “Last Gasp” Inspired

A/N: I’ve been struggling with another piece since before Halloween. Honestly, I’m wondering if I should scrap it altogether. The episode “Last Gasp” inspired this little fic.

I’ve written my OC McKinley Durand before, but you don’t really need the other bits to appreciate what I have here. I haven’t created a Masterlist anyway. Naughty me.

Word Count: 983

March 14, 2018

McKinley stood at the back of the lecture hall, listening to Spencer adorably ramble to his students, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands and pacing across the podium. She had the whole afternoon free and wanted to provide her friend moral support, especially after what that bitch Barnes had done.

McKinley loved watching him teach – he truly was a natural – but he belonged in the field. She’d also spent the past hour trying – and failing – not to roll her eyes.

Doing a quick headcount, she calculated that roughly 95% of Spencer’s audience were women. Well, hardly women. Most were barely legal.

Not that they let that fact deter them. They leaned forward in their seats, doe-eyed and sighing audibly every five seconds. A few twirled their hair. McKinley swore she saw one scribbling “Dr. and Mrs. Reid” in her ‘notebook’ and blinking ‘I love you’ in Morse Code. It strongly reminded her of that scene from Raiders.

“Oh honey, as if,” she thought. Right then, Spencer’s voice pulled McKinley out of her head.

“You're probably gonna want to write this down. I shouldn't be telling you guys this, but I'm definitely putting this on the final.”

“I'm only auditing this class,” a girl in the front row simpered in reply.

“Ugh, is she drooling? Sweetheart, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Spencer addressed the whole crowd. “Is anyone else auditing this class?” Nearly everyone raised their hand.

“Okay,” he replied, genuinely perplexed. “Unfortunately, that is all the time we have for today. Thank you, guys.”

His cell rang as the students filed out, all the auditors dragging their feet. McKinley straightened her leather bomber jacket and grabbed her bag off the table.

As she passed Spencer’s fan club, she whispered, “It’s never gonna happen, ladies.” They scowled.

“Hey Spencer, you ready for lunch?” she asked when he hung up.

“Actually, something’s going on at Emily’s. Raincheck?” he asked apologetically.

“No problem. C’mon, I’ll drive you.”

They weaved through the congested hallway, where the same girls threw McKinley sour looks before resuming their gossiping. “Those vultures won’t dig their claws into my friend, not if I can help it.” Almost subconsciously, McKinley slipped her arm into Spencer’s. The growls were positively primal.

“Succubi,” she grumbled.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing, not important,” she answered a little too quickly.

“I’m surprised so many people audited the class,” he stated, opening the door for her. “If they were that interested, why not just officially sign up?” Sweet man. He had no clue.

McKinley debated on telling him. She’d settled on waiting but her face betrayed her.

“What’s that look? You seem…half amused, half disgusted.”

She sighed heavily, pausing the search for her keys. She placed her hands on his shoulders as though bracing him for bad news. “I don’t know how to break it to you Spencer…most of them weren’t there to learn about triggers and stressors. They were there for you.”

His brows wrinkled. “What d’you mean?”

“They came to ogle at you,” she explained. Spencer stared blankly.

“Bless your heart, you don’t realize how desirable you are, do you? Tender heart, beautiful brain, modest, funny, impeccable fashion sense. That lovely speaking voice and passion for teaching both work in your favor, too. You’d be quite a catch.”

He hung his head. “But those girls only wanted to…to…”

“Undress you with their eyes? Yes.”

Spencer grimaced while clambering into McKinley’s tiny car. “I’m technically old enough to be their dad!” he exclaimed.

“Pretty sure that’s part of the appeal,” she intoned, firing up the car and pulling out of the lot.

The drive was punctuated by Spencer’s groans of mortification. When they parked on Emily’s street, he abruptly turned to McKinley.

“Seriously?” he blurted incredulously.

“I’m telling you, they wanted to jump your bones there and then. They’ve already planned weddings and picked baby names. You didn’t smell the pheromonal stink of desperation?”

“No!”

“Bro, they dipped in stank.”

Spencer fell silent as they climbed the stairs. McKinley reached for the doorbell, but he blocked it with his hand.

“You really think I’m a catch?” he asked softly.

“Does Steven Hawking roll through the quad?” McKinley replied, not missing a beat.

“Huh. Came up with that awfully fast there, Durand.”

Spencer didn’t remove his hand, so she rapped the doorknocker instead.

“Oh no! It’s ‘did,’ past tense, because Hawking died earlier today. He’ll never roll anywhere again.” She teared up.

The door swung open to reveal a weary yet determined Emily Prentiss.

“Ley, hey. I wasn’t expecting you. Thanks for bringing Spence over but…you can’t be here,” she warned her young friend.

McKinley caught a glimpse of the others shuffling papers out of sight and Penny hastily turning off the TV before Emily stepped out and pulled the door shut.

She grinned mischievously. “You’re working a case behind Barnes’ back, aren’t you?”

“You don’t know what we’re doing, Ley, because you were not here today. Understood?”

“Got it: plausible deniability,” McKinley nodded. “Tear her a new one, Em,” she begged as Emily retreated into the house.

“Later, Professor Pretty Boy,” she teased, echoing a text from the mysterious Derek Morgan, fluffing Spencer’s hair for added effect. It worked – he blushed, ducking in after Emily.

A pleasant warmth spread from McKinley’s fingertips, swallowing her whole. Her cheeks stung and despite the chilly March air, she desperately wanted to shuck her wool-lined jacket…but her heart had lightened and she refused to lose that warmth.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she realized she’d felt that before; throughout her childhood, and whenever she visited her Mom. Home. Spencer felt like home.

“Well this changes things,” she announced to thin air. She glanced once more in the rearview mirror, imagining her friends huddled in Emily’s den, fighting with limited resources to save lives, risking everything to do what’s right.

“Stay safe, guys.”

“Whatever makes you feel the sun from the inside out, chase that.”

Gemma Troy

[jostenminyard]

Signing on the Line - Ch. 1 & 2

Summary: When Neil Josten is offered a position as a starting striker for a professional Exy team, he feels like all of his dreams are coming true. He signs the contract, not caring about the strict morality clause that controls who he can and can't date in the public eye.

Then he meets Andrew Minyard, the top-ranked goalie of a rival team, and then Neil thinks he might just have to care after all.

A/N: Detailed tag list and warnings on AO3. I’m posting around twice a week there, and will round up the chapters once a week here!

Chapter 1 on AO3 | Chapter 2 on AO3 

The contract was read by his manager first, then his lawyer, his manager again, and then finally given to Neil.

He had a week to read it over, and he took to every word like they were something sacred, like he needed to memorize all of it. He hardly understood a thing, but was fortunately smart enough to not let his eagerness of being signed cloud his judgement.

From that first day in little league, to his last day at the University of Arizona, he’s been working towards a contract like this all his life. Playing for the pros, he’d be larger than his own existence. His name would grow to be bigger than his body, no longer associated with anything else, attached to Exy and only Exy, longer than he’d ever be alive.

In the heat of the moment, the fruition of a dream, he almost signed the contract before he even read the opening statement.

But thankfully, he didn’t, so now he sits here in his manager’s office with his manager, his lawyer, the head coach of the team, and one of their recruiters.

The lawyer goes over all the parts Neil had highlighted, the parts he couldn’t quite grasp. The salary he understood and thought of as unimportant, but the sponsor part, not so much, so his lawyer helpfully explains the process; a proceed of any profit made from a sponsorship or ad goes directly back to the team’s management.

His lawyer says the percentage is negotiable, but Neil waves it off. Money is the last thing he’s playing for.

When they get to the public relations section, everyone in the small room grows tense, aware of who Neil is, who Neil was.

He was a Wesninski, but Neil had left that name in his past long before he ever attended UOA. He hadn’t known what that name even meant until a camera crew showed up at his stadium and deemed him ‘The Butcher’s Son’.

Neil’s mother never did explain it, never told him why he had to be Alex, Stefan, Chris and then Neil Josten, of all names, and that he could never again be Nathaniel Wesninski after his father passed away. He was too young to ask why, so it was a new name and a new home every few years until his mother too, had to move on from life.

She died with her sickness and with every secret and with the very strict order to be anyone else but himself.

It made for a very interesting start to Neil’s final year of university, to be cut from class so he could be interrogated by the FBI. But Neil didn’t know anything; who his father was, what his father did, what his mother told him, where the money went.

Mary hadn’t told Neil a thing, so he could never be incriminated.

But the name stuck - Nathaniel Wesninski, the son of a murderer - and it made captaining his team all that much harder. Working with a team that refused to listen to him and was sickened by the sight of him made for some very easy losses, and prevented them from entering semi-finals.

It had every recruiter turning their gaze away from Neil, writing him off as unimportant, even though he was fighting with every tooth and nail to rally his team together.

Somehow, however, one pair of eyes stayed on him, and those eyes weren’t able to deny his talent.

Those eyes brought Neil here, to the San Francisco Seakings.

Here, to where he’s about to sign the contract of his dreams, except for one little thing:

The contract is a story, a script, and his freedom of speech has been stripped.

Every interview, TV spot and paparazzi picture will all be handled by someone above Neil’s head. He’ll be assigned his own publicist to go over media training with him, to create plans and strategies, and to control all his social media accounts from here on out.

But . . . he doesn’t care about any of that, not really. He’s here to play. He’s used to being anyone but himself.

They go over a few more things about his image clean up. It’s already been decided how Neil will be marketed - the official partner of Kevin Day. The rookie that’s going to help Kevin bring his team up the ranks, the same way Neil was able to run UOA up until his fifth year.

Kevin’s eyes were the ones on him, apparently, when Neil was sure nobody was watching him.

The talk of PR naturally brings up the part in the contract that had Neil scratching his head in confusion the most, because he didn’t understand how ‘dating and relationship(s)’ could be associated with playing for the pros.

It’s apparently a very big association, as it takes up a large paragraph in his contract.

Like everything about his own life so far, who he dates can only be shown in the limelight if it’s beneficial for him, the team, and the sponsors. As if Neil is nothing more than a special-edition trading card.

Any celebrity, from A to Z, could end up on Neil’s arm at some point. If it’d help his image, bring in sales, increase viewership, the Seakings’ PR team will be signing a check to whatever starlet’s name is most popular at the time.

It’s about image.

A morality clause; saying that his name must be publicized a certain way, and if he acts against it, Neil will be, in other words, slapped with a legal fee to cover the cost of potential damage, and be forced to forfeit his contract.

The black words on the paper don’t say he can’t be anything outside the ‘norm’, but they do say he can’t be perceived as such. Neil scowls at the wording, sending a scathing look at everyone in the room, hoping it’ll somehow reach whichever airhead wrote that and felt that they got to decide what normal is.

He stares down at his dream contract and suddenly sees it as a pair of handcuffs.

“I’m not comfortable with signing that,” Neil explains, and waves a hand at the thick binding of paper.

“It’s not real, Neil, it’s a show. It brings in the viewers and the ticket holders, which then raises the amount the sponsors are willing to put in,” his manager explains, as if it’s all obvious. “Every player you’ve ever seen in a game has signed this part of the contract. It’s nothing.”

“This basically says you’re forcing players out of their orientations,” Neil says, one eyebrow lifting. “That’s nothing?”

“Listen, kid, nobody’s forcing anybody. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, whatever, because we’re not saying you can’t be,” Coach Mullens suddenly says. “The world just can’t know and that’s how it is. If you want a career, then you’ll keep your secret love a secret and away from my court. If that’s gonna be a problem, then you’ll never find your footing in this world, I can promise you that.”

Neil hears the click of metal, the handcuffs sliding into place. “For the rest of my life?”

“You wouldn’t be considering this contract if you didn’t want to play Exy for the rest of your life.”

And that’s what it all comes back to, the handcuffs sliding off, the room tilting back into colour.

Exy.

It doesn’t really matter to him anyway, does it? He’s yet to encounter anyone electric enough to spark up his skin. Nothing will shock him as much as this sport does.

If they want to control who he holds hands with just to make a profit, then he won’t stop them, because it won’t stop him from his game. It won’t stop him from winning medals and trophies and championships. It won’t stop him from standing on an Olympic podium one day.

So he picks up the pen, signs the contract, and doesn’t think another thought about it.

-

He can’t believe he ever thought it was as easy as just playing Exy.

The season officially starts in October, training starts in August, but now, mid-July, he stands in his manager’s hotel room as a stylist yanks him into a black velvet suit. The first step to playing for a professional team, it seems, is attending charity event after sponsorship dinner after press conference after banquet after charity event. And repeat.

Tonight the NEL hosts its debut banquet, with every team attending, with every sports journalist in the country going to try and snatch as many first-time interviews as they can.

His manager and his publicist have been drilling him all week, preparing him for whatever questions may be asked and how he’s supposed to respond. His publicist will never be more than ten feet away, and in case that fails, and in case Neil’s mouth gets away from him, Kevin Day will be attached to his hip.

Neil would complain that he doesn’t need a babysitter, but he understands the role he’s playing now.

The Exy world knows who Neil is, knows that Kevin’s the one who saved his career. They’ve only exchanged the barest of words so far, but Kevin and Neil are far past the point of being teammates now. They’re to be a pair.

One of the dynamic duos that fans go crazy over. If successful, their names will be on shirts, hats, signs. When you hear the name Day, Josten will never be far behind.

It just sucks that nothing in his life is under his control. He doesn’t even get to choose the colour of his socks tonight.

A town car arrives to pick Neil up, Kevin already sitting inside, dressed in a similar suit. His tie is aqua, Neil’s is silver; the two colours of their team.

“All this for a game?” Neil asks, as they draw closer to the banquet. From the car he can see the red carpet, the security guards, the paparazzi and the news teams and journalists and the flashing cameras. “We’re athletes, not celebrities.”

Kevin hasn’t said a word to him all throughout the ride, and he doesn’t bother to meet Neil’s eyes, choosing instead to look out the window at the awaiting media frenzy. “In this world, it’s the same thing. Most people like it.”

Neil swallows roughly, and wonders for a split second if this is what he was really made for. “Are you one of them?” he asks, his voice slightly shaking.

Nothing in Kevin shakes. He’s been playing for this team for two years. He’s walked this red carpet before.

“I get paid to play something I would pay to play. It works for me.”

The words effectively stop the race to Neil’s heart. The words latch onto him and pull up the corners of his mouth, releasing the smallest of smiles. The words are exactly what Neil needed to hear.

“Then it’ll work for me.”

There’s a roar of a crowd once they step out of their car. Immediately they’re met by flashing white lights and their names being called, security trying to hold back aggressive reporters from crossing their line.

Kevin smiles, tight and clipped but somehow wide, his signature look. Neil’s publicist instructed him to leave behind the hard, jagged, bitter mess of what he was at UOA. His script tonight says to smile, smile, smile, be warm, be forgiving.

If Kevin can do it, then he can do it.

Their publicists push them past certain reporters, usher them closer to others, and Neil answers the questions that come his way as best he can, actively trying to be on his best behaviour, to be the face they want him to be.

Kevin’s partner; the untapped potential that Kevin saved, pulled from the rubble of a crumbling career and given another chance.

If that’s the story they want to portray then he’ll play it, as long as he gets to play his own game. That’s the one thing they can’t control; how hard he hits and how fast he runs and how many goals he gets to score will be all his.

Still, once they’re finally inside the dimly-lit banquet hall, with fewer reporters and more athletes, Neil lets out a breath of relief. Event workers direct them to their table where their other teammates are seated.

Neil’s met a few of them before, and has played against a few of them too. Laila Dermott was the goalie for the Trojans when Neil’s team went up against them in his first and second year. Matt Boyd, who greets Neil with an eager handshake, played with Kevin for the Foxes, but he graduated before Neil could ever get a chance to play in the championships against him.

Small talk ensues, most of the team happy to be reunited after the off-season, eager to get back to their stadium next month and begin practices.

But he’s been directed to talk only to Kevin in public for the time being, so unless he’s spoken to, he doesn’t open his mouth.

There’s a loud commotion near the entrance way, a flood of reporters flocking the doors, lights going off and names being called. Another team has arrived.

Beside him, Kevin goes tense.

Then his hand is on Neil’s arm, and he’s beckoning him upwards. “Come on.”

Their publicists remind them the entire walk over of what they should and shouldn’t say; Kevin has to flaunt his new partner, and if Kevin and Neil are to be the duo that dominates the country, they’ll have to find a way to best the current duo that holds top status.

Riko Moriyama and Andrew Minyard, of the New York Nighthawks.

They stand next to each other like they’d rather be anywhere else in the world, faces stony and cold, eyes sharp and on anywhere but each other. They allow their pictures to be taken, but their patience doesn’t last, and Riko raises a finger to the nearest photographer in an immediate order for them to disperse.

The season hasn’t even started yet, but the pair’s presence has fear and rivalry hot in the air, soaking into the skin of every team present. The two stand there in their matching black and metallic suits and strike the atmosphere like a bolt of lightning.

They’ve been a fascination of Neil’s since he started university. He knows all about the cracking partnership of what was once Riko and Kevin, and the intense rivalry between schools that soon followed.

But it was Andrew who was the focal point of Neil’s fascination.

Andrew signed with Riko’s team immediately after graduating from Palmetto State, and caused the whole world to disrupt into a maddening dark chaos.

Because he was supposed to sign with Kevin’s.

Spurned by two former teammates and partners, Kevin leads the way towards them, looking determined to wave his new partner in their faces. As they get closer, Neil becomes aware of the fact that he’s Kevin’s choice now, but he was never his first.

“Riko. Andrew,” Kevin says cooly, and it feels like the entire room goes quiet. “Welcome.”

Neil keeps a step behind Kevin, not using him to hide but letting him be the focus of whatever is to come.

Riko Moriyama is not what the TV makes him look out to be. Neil has spent a portion of his college career watching Riko’s every move, studying all his games religiously, taking notes and copying moves and techniques to use in his own game.

During a game or facing off against a reporter, Riko is venomous, dangerous.

Standing in front of Kevin, he looks a foot shorter. If he wants to meet Kevin’s eyes then he has no choice but to tilt his head up, a fact that only increases the hatred radiating off of him.

His voice and his presence have him standing seven feet tall, though. “Kevin, Kevin, Kevin,” he says easily, his smile glinting in the dark of the room.

And then there’s Andrew.

Neil wasn’t aware that Andrew was staring at him, and accidentally locks eyes with him when he looks over. It feels like a stab, and it takes everything in Neil to not jerk back. Andrew’s energy is just that; a knife held out, ready to slice.

“I wanted to formally introduce you to our new starting striker, Neil Josten,” Kevin says, and turns slightly to put a hand on Neil’s arm, beckoning him forward. It’s the last move Neil wants to make, feeling more like being shoved into a shark tank with an open wound than anything else.

“Oh, yes,” Riko says, nodding. “The one from Arizona. His team’s performance last year was quite miserable, so I understand why you had to beg for him. Good thing you’re used to begging, right, Kevin?”

Riko doesn’t shake Neil’s hand, and instead makes direct eye contact with him, as if that’s enough.

“You best get acquainted with Andrew. He’ll be blocking all your shots this season.”

Standing there in his silver and black suit, hair sleek and eyes sharp, Andrew says his first words of the night, and directs them all at Kevin. “Another pet, Kevin? What if this one tells you no, too? Where will you be then?”

“Andrew,” Kevin says, almost warningly.

It all goes above Neil’s head, words clearly holding message from a past that he wasn’t part of. It’s not part of his story, any of it, so he focuses on the story he has to tell now; being Kevin’s partner, starting striker for the San Francisco Seakings.

“I’m Neil,” he says brightly, or as bright as he can in the face of two devilish beings. “I played against you my junior year at Arizona.”

He thinks he hears Kevin’s breath hitch when he extends his hand out for Andrew. The atmosphere of the entire room slows and swirls with danger, but it’s too late; Neil’s hand is already out, presenting itself clear to Andrew.

Nothing changes in Andrew’s bored expression, but his eyes drop to the offered hand.

Then he takes it, gripping it tight in a firm shake.

“Odd. I don’t remember you at all.”

Immediately, there’s a flash of a camera near them, but neither pull away. Neil lets his hand be held for another moment, and when it becomes evident that Andrew won’t be the first to let go, he forces his hand to slide out and away.

“I can’t wait to get acquainted,” Neil says, going for simple and light-hearted, but it comes out more heated, more twisted, more teasing.

Andrew effortlessly slips his hands into his pockets and doesn’t take his eyes off Neil. “The pleasure will surely be yours. Or maybe not. Riko? Let’s go.”

Kevin grabs Neil’s arm tight and doesn’t give him a chance to try and respond, hauling him away from the duo and taking him back to their table. “That was a mistake.”

Neil is too busy looking at his hand to look at Kevin. It feels like it’s still being squeezed, tingling along his palm. “That was your idea,” he says pointedly.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Kevin says, gripping Neil’s arm harder. “Do you have any idea what you just started?”

Confusion weighs heavier on him than the impending fear of danger, so he frowns and asks, “What?”

Kevin groans, finally releasing Neil like he can’t stand to touch him anymore. Then, away from the table still and away from the whole world dying to catch just a few of their words, he leans in and hisses near Neil’s ear, “Andrew wouldn't have bothered to shake your hand unless he found you interesting.”

And at first Neil doesn’t understand.

But then, he does.

And he can’t help but feel like he just shook the hand of death itself.

-

After listening to a few speeches, hearing his own name come up a couple of times, posing for various pictures with various teammates and being asked the same round of questions over and over, he desperately needs to breathe.

Breathe in smoke that is, the scent reminding him so much of his mother, so he pays a server twenty bucks to tell him where the most discreet place to take a smoke break is. Kevin sends him a look when he pushes away from the table, but he ignores it, buttoning up his suit jacket as he stands, then takes off to follow the server.

He’s guided through a hectic kitchen, led down a hall and then another hall before being led out a large metal door. The loading docks, he guesses, judging by the packing boxes and the garage doors.

Neil says thank you, then quickly lights up a cigarette as soon as he’s left alone. One deep inhale to get it going, and the heavy weight of expectation seeps out of him, replaced by a temporary ease. He knows he’s being stupid, and that this is just how it is and that he needs to get used to it, but he just didn’t expect it all to be - like this.

Maybe when practice starts it’ll get easier, it’ll feel real, like he really is here to play a game and not pose for a picture with a practiced smile.

“Does Kevin know you smoke?”

In the empty loading dock, the sound of another voice echoes, rebounding off every wall, but even when the sound fades Neil’s heart is still racing. He immediately looks around, eyes narrowed and posture careful.

Across the way, shadowed by a stack of crates, stands Andrew Minyard. His regal suit and equally regal hairstyle contrast too sharply with the mess of crates and boxes and graffiti, but leaning against the wall with one leg propped, Andrew looks casual, relaxed.

Pretending his heart didn’t nearly just detonate from shock, Neil takes another inhale of smoke before crossing over to Andrew. He notes the cigarette in Andrew’s own hand, nearly burned down to a stub, and arches a brow. “I don’t, but does Riko know that you do?”

“Doesn’t matter. Riko doesn’t own me,” Andrew says simply, then crushes the end of his cigarette against the wall and tosses it.

Neil pauses, considering that, then says scornfully, “Kevin doesn’t own me.”

Andrew answers that with a bored look.

“He doesn’t,” Neil insists, not sure why that look riles up his every nerve. He takes another breath in and holds the smoke in his lungs for too long of a second, then slowly lets it out, but it does nothing to calm him now.

“When somebody is the reason for your very existence, they own you. Kevin got you your contract, yes? Well then he owns you.”

Anger flares in Neil’s chest, along with something he can’t place, something sharp and jarring. The truth, maybe.

Neil keeps it reined in, making his face blank as he can make it. He’s barely aware that he’s speaking, that annoying flaring feeling still bright in his chest, masking the increasing rate of his pulse. “Is that why you wouldn’t sign with him then? You didn’t want to be owned?”

Andrew considers that, it seems, by the way he tilts his head slightly to the side, but that illusion of confusion is snapped when he leans forward and grabs Neil’s cigarette from his fingers, bringing it up to his own mouth.

“A heavy question to be asking,” Andrew says slowly. “For a man who doesn’t know me.”

“I don’t have to know you to know your statistics,” Neil says, voice heavier now with annoyance over his stolen cigarette. Oddly enough, his lungs don’t ache without it, not if he can watch the ring Andrew’s lips make around the filter. “You’re not just the top-ranked goalie in the NEL.”

It only takes a few seconds for his mind to cough up the info he needs, the small facts and the large facts about Andrew Minyard, jersey number three, the New York Nighthawk’s starting goalie. Facts ranging from his speed to his aim to how many shots he blocked in total all of last season.

When he’s done listing the facts, the statistics, he expects something in Andrew’s face to change, expects to see some form of pride or triumph, but Andrew doesn’t even blink.

He blows out a cloud of smoke right into Neil’s face and says, “You’re straddling the border between obsessive and creepy. I should be calling security.”

“They’re facts. Everyone knows them.”

“Not like that.”

“I have to know,” Neil says defensively. “If I ever want to score on you.”

“Knowing all that won’t increase your level of talent,” Andrew scoffs, finally showing a sliver of emotion - judgement.

“I just don’t get it,” Neil says, backtracking to turn the subject to its origin point. “You and Kevin were a great pair. You’d do even better if you were on the same team again. Why’d you sign with his enemy?”

Andrew says, too easily, “Kevin’s enemy is not my enemy. I am my own enemy. Signing with the Nighthawks made that less so.”

Neil barely has a second to frown, to think about that, before Andrew is pushing away from the wall and taking a step closer into Neil’s space.

It’s strange, he thinks, in the brief few seconds he has before Andrew opens his mouth again, that he’s spent all night feeling suffocated but now, with a stranger breathing smoke in his face, standing toe to toe with him, all he feels is air.

“My answers come with a pricetag. You can compensate me with one of your own; why did you sign with the Seakings?”

The way he says it almost sounds like he’s implying that Neil had a decision, that Neil had other options to consider.

It takes a few seconds, but then it hits Neil.

Andrew isn’t implying that at all, he’s implying the opposite.

Rubbing dirt in the wound, running a highlighter across every word, shining a spotlight right on Neil’s still-aching heart.

He didn’t have any options.

“They were the only team to offer me a contract,” Neil admits, low and quiet, and even though that rage is back in his chest, he doesn’t push Andrew away.

“Then perhaps you should quit harping on what contracts I did or didn’t sign and focus on yourself,” Andrew says, and it’s venomous but it’s bright. “Like the real reason Kevin signed you. I bet you still think it’s because you’re his chance at finally besting Riko, right?”

Neil stares at a spot over Andrew’s shoulder, trying desperately to build his wall back up brick by brick, but every breath and word from Andrew has cement crumbling like dust in Neil’s hands.

“That’s one of the reasons, yes,” Neil says flatly, avoiding Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew leans in closer until his mouth is near Neil’s ear, and makes a buzzing noise, deep and grating, like Neil got the answer wrong. This close, a noise like that can’t echo off the walls, but Neil still hears it being repeated in every nerve in his body.

“No. Kevin will never have faith, in anything or anybody, a lesson you need to learn quickly. He will give up on you if you cannot give him what benefits him,” Andrew says quickly, that venom in his tone stinging so much Neil thinks it’s paralyzing him. “You know what you are? His scapegoat. When your team inevitably loses, he can place the blame on you, and no one will question him.”

Neil is still, from head to toe, but some bright hot instinct kicks in a second later, giving him the strength to snap his neck down and face forward, glaring down the scant few inches between him and Andrew.

“You’re going to eat those words,” Neil promises, and without looking he reaches between them for his stolen cigarette.

Andrew jerks his hand away, holding it out of Neil’s reach.

“I’m not hungry,” Andrew says, then flicks the cigarette behind him and turns away to walk back inside.

Then Neil is alone, with nothing and nobody saying his name, with nothing but his thoughts and the truth of him and the weight of his reality, and a sudden burning promise fueling its way through him.

He suddenly doesn’t need to breathe. He just needs to prove Andrew wrong.

- Chapter 2

If that one brief interaction out by the loading docks supplied enough rage-induced encouragement to last a decade, the question that Neil answers on his way out of the banquet supplies enough encouragement to last a lifetime.

When he’s asked it, he doesn’t think of the repercussions, doesn’t think about the fact that every word said in public is a play in a game.

It’s the truth, at least, and maybe that’s why he says it.

Two security guards guide Neil and Kevin to their town car, the night having run its course on Neil and the effects of alcohol having run its course on Kevin. But the guards’ presence doesn’t stop the remaining reporters from flocking to their car, doesn’t stop the flash of cameras.

Doesn’t stop the question; “Neil, Neil! Now that you’ve met the opposing teams, how do you feel about your chances? Do you still think you can help Kevin bring your team to the playoffs?”

Neil stops, turns, and fixes on a smile that he doesn’t have to fake. He can see Kevin shaking his head from the corner of his eye, their publicists practically begging him to not answer this question.

He has to. He made a promise in his head to Andrew.

“Actually, if anything, I feel even more encouraged,” Neil says warmly, as if his words are pleasant opposed to cruel. “I know that with Kevin’s guidance, together we’re going to change how the playoffs are played. His enemies are now my enemies.”

He hopes that somehow, someway, Andrew watches this, and knows Neil’s words are for him.

“Are you referencing Riko Moriyama and his team?”

His smile deepens. “Andrew Minyard,” Neil says, and likes the way his tongue feels after saying his name. “He’s not as impenetrable as he thinks he is, and I’m going to take him down goal by goal. I’m going to score on him.”

Instead of prompting Neil for more, the reporter directs the microphone to Kevin, who stands there shell-shocked, as if Neil just reached into his chest and punched his heart. “Comments?”

Kevin glares at Neil, then faces the camera. “With enough coaching and practice, I fully believe in Neil’s future success,” he says dully, before motioning towards his publicist to clear out the reporters.

All in all, the question took less than a minute to answer.

Neil smiles to himself on the drive home, not knowing that one question will fuel the rest of his life.

-

It was an inevitable feud.

Long in the making, already in the process before Neil Josten was ever a Seaking. This feud was perhaps the main reason Kevin vouched for his recruitment. There hasn’t been a hype like this over a season since Kevin and Riko signed to the pros.

Because this feud started off between the Ravens and the Foxes, technically.

The Foxes lost the championships in Kevin and Andrew’s final year. That loss against the Ravens was only intensified when Andrew signed with Riko, and Kevin was forced to start his professional career on his own.

In Neil’s opinion, Kevin’s the best, but he was too used to having support. His first year as a Seaking, they made it to playoffs and were eliminated after the first round. His second year, they hadn’t earned enough points to qualify.

Losing three years in a row to someone he used to win with only had Kevin playing harder.

But now, Neil isn’t sure what Kevin saw in him that made him think partner.

Kevin’s Comeback Key, most articles had nicknamed Neil. It put a new spark in an old feud. Kevin had ammunition now - or, as most of the Exy world saw it, Kevin had no excuse not to win now.

With a new season, a new striker, a new attitude to Kevin’s playing style and a determination that nothing could cut through, it was an inevitable feud.

It was never meant to be like this, however, between the rookie and the goalie. Nobody ever thought it’d be Neil vs. Andrew, but now that it is, it’s everywhere.

Neil knows how press works, he’s seen his own interviews show up online as soon as they’re filmed, he knows better. Yet he still feels a bit stunned at how quick this - whatever this is - blows up. Everything and everyone, between the ESPN channel to the smallest online magazine, has something to say about it.

The picture of their handshake dominates every single article, with screaming headlines printed over top, their names flashing and bright. Minyard vs Josten, 03 vs 10, Rookie to Score On Goalie?

One news site tracks Andrew and Neil’s college career, and pulls up the footage of Neil’s deathmatch against the Foxes. In the video, Neil tries to run at the goal and score, only to have Andrew catch his ball and rebound it off Neil’s helmet.

It’s their only in-game interaction to date, but it’s more than enough to tip the scales in Andrew’s favour. Neil’s rookie image is painted even darker.

Statistics are compared, histories are recovered, stories are made up. The more gossip-run sites say Kevin only recruited Neil to replace the hole that Andrew left in his shield. Some sites say that Andrew’s going to use Neil’s inexperience to flaunt his own talent back in Kevin’s face.

It’s a mess, and Neil helped make it.

Unlike before though, there are people who want to support him. Neil almost doesn’t believe it when old teammates from Arizona are recorded vouching his name, saying their praises, citing his grim determination as an advantage over Andrew Minyard.

In August, the Seakings start preseason practice, often hosting open practices for fans and reporters to sit in and watch. Kevin pushes Neil to play harder, even if it is against his own team, reminding him that the world is watching.

The world is watching, and once they witness that grim determination in action, the scales tip slightly under Neil’s weight. Reporters begin to comment positively on his accuracy. Fans start to show up at their practices with signs.

Neil can’t remember the last time a fan held up a sign with his name on it that wasn’t followed by massive black X’s.

It’s inspiring, and has Neil fighting more aggressively during practice to prove them all right, that he deserves their faith.

It’s inspiring until the day it isn’t, when the feud hits its next point, and then even Neil loses faith in himself.

The whole team is gathered in their lounge after practice, sweaty and exhausted, but whatever’s about to play on the TV is apparently more important than showering. Coach Mullens stands by the television with his arms folded, face grim, remote control clutched tightly in one hand.

When he’s sure he has his team’s attention, he faces the TV and clicks play on the remote.

All the way over in New York, the Nighthawks are having their own open practice. A sportscaster from ESPN talks at the camera, commenting on the team’s impressive technique as a scrimmage plays out.

Any reporter who knows Andrew Minyard knows the risks of putting a microphone in his face, yet that doesn’t stop this reporter from approaching him as he walks off the court, helmet in his hands and eyes uncaring as he attempts to walk past them.

“Andrew, what do you have to say about the current buzz surrounding Neil Josten of the San Francisco Seakings? He says he’s going to score on you, what do you think his chances are?”

Andrew stops abruptly and turns to face the camera, fixing it with a look that could shatter glass.

“To say he has a chance would give him false hope. There is no chance and there is no hope,” Andrew says, cooly. “If Neil ‘Pipe Dream’ Josten wants to challenge me in public, then he better be ready to be destroyed in public.”

Not sparing another breath or word, Andrew turns from the camera and walks away, leaving the reporter stunned in their spot.

There’s something satisfying about hearing Andrew say his name, but Neil can hardly focus on that when his chest suddenly feels ten times heavier.

Coach is talking, the team is murmuring, Kevin is sending an angry, frantic glance in Neil’s direction.

Neil stares at the TV screen, still seeing Andrew on it. His heart turns in panicked circles, spinning faster every time he replays Andrew’s sharp words.

His heart stops spinning, and decides to land on a feeling Neil hasn’t felt in awhile, a feeling that Andrew’s rivalry ignites; the silent swell of hope.

-

“You shook his hand,” is Kevin’s explanation for ripping Neil from his apartment at 10:00PM and dragging him to the stadium. “You started this, now you are going to find a way to end it.”

It’s incredibly jarring to be two souls in a stadium that seats thousands. Loud and echoey and all-consuming. Neil almost prefers it. He almost doesn’t quite mind the sleep deprivation that will follow. He almost thinks he can tolerate Kevin’s harsh words and harsher critique.

“Andrew doesn’t do challenges; he crushes them. By putting yourself in his path you’ve single-handedly obliterated our chances of facing them in the playoffs.”

Neil glares up at Kevin through the faceguard of his helmet. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“You don’t know Andrew, he works on spite or not at all. He’ll personally see to it that you never make it within ten feet of his goal. Lucky for him, it should be rather easy.”

It aggravates Neil, but that was likely Kevin’s aim, to get Neil to push himself the next step forward. His shots are forced to be faster, more aggressive, until Neil’s every cell is cursing the very second that Kevin Day was born.

Their private practices continue until Neil feels reformed, shaped into something - better.

That feeling of such elevation might have gotten to his head, because at their next open practice with the team, a reporter asks Neil, “Are you excited for the season to start?”

And Neil easily responds with, “More excited than I’ve ever been. Kevin’s an incredible captain, and he’s shaping us all into a weapon. The Nighthawks should be scared, and Riko should be sorry.”

“Why’s that?”

“That he ever doubted Kevin in the first place,” Neil says, frowning a bit, as if the answer was obvious. “But he can apologize on our court come November.”

To the viewers and the multiple news outlets that try to analyze Neil’s statement, it sounds like good-natured team rivalry. It sounds like the role he’s meant to play - the rookie to Kevin’s captaincy, partners, together, a duo.

That’s not how it sounds to the Nighthawks.

Not at all, Neil realizes, the next day during a closed practice, when Riko Moriyama steps onto their court all the way from New York City.

The entire team falls silent.

Riko’s dressed in a blue so dark it could be black. His eyes scan the lines of their well-worn court as if the floor is fouling his shoes. The Seakings stand around in their gear, scrimmage paused, looking from one to the other with a million silenced questions. Their coaches stand in the inner court, equally quiet, not making any movements to signal a stop to Riko’s presence.

Laila’s the first to speak up, storming out of her goal as she rips her helmet off. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you even get in?”

Riko doesn’t look at her, his glare trained on both Kevin and Neil.

“Your court is a shame to the very sport you play,” Riko says, crossing his arms over his chest. “My family invented this sport. It is not difficult for me to gain access to any and all stadiums.”

Despite their hostile history, and despite the anger rippling across his face, Kevin remains wordless.

“This is a private practice,” Neil finally says, after sending a disappointed look Kevin’s way. “You’re in violation of the rules.”

“My family invented this sport,” Riko repeats, more viciously, turning all his attention on Neil. “You are a mockery to it. What makes you think a rookie like you has the right to speak against my team? Your name does not belong anywhere near mine.”

“It wasn’t you I was challenging,” Neil says, as calm as he can make it. It’s not that Riko unnerves him, it’s that Riko irritates him, and it irritates Neil even more that Riko has the audacity to say such things while standing on the Seakings’ logo.

“I didn’t come alone,” Riko says, and doesn’t turn around when the court door suddenly slams open. “You think you can score on Andrew? Prove it.”

The Seakings remain dead quiet as somebody else steps onto the court, footsteps like gunshots off the floor. Andrew comes up towards them wearing his own team’s gear, clashing harshly with the aqua of the Seakings.

Andrew stops right behind Riko and swings his racquet up to rest against his shoulder, looking like he’s contemplating taking a nap in the next five seconds.

“I’m not doing this,” Neil says firmly, taking a step back.

That only strengthens Riko’s grave smile. “Then we can give ESPN a ring and have a reporter here in minutes. I’m sure they’d love to hear you admit defeat.”

“You can’t -”

“This is what you get when you run your mouth off with foul and false accusations. Do not make promises if you have no way to make them true. You will practice against Andrew until you finally see how dim your chances are.”

Riko sends a look Kevin’s way, something dark and controlling in his eyes, and Neil’s stomach sinks, knowing fully well how Kevin will respond to that look.

With a small sigh, Kevin steps up to Neil and grabs his racquet, halting it. “Don’t use all your energy at once,” he says, a red-hot warning low in his voice. “Pace yourself.” Then he gives the racquet’s net a tug and walks away, following Riko and the rest of the Seakings off the court.

Then it’s just Neil and Andrew, and suddenly Neil’s knees feel weak.

Ignoring that, because nothing about Andrew unnerves Neil either, he steadies his face and turns a look on his opposer, souring his expression as best he can. Despite that sourness, he manages a smirk. “I thought Riko didn’t own you.”

Andrew says nothing but sticks his racquet out to roll a ball towards himself. Without breaking eye contact, he flicks it up and sends it flying right at Neil’s helmet. It bounces off with a sharp smack, then rolls away.

Neil doesn’t back down from that challenge.

He follows Kevin’s advice and paces himself, firing perfunctory shot after shot, carefully thought out and planned. Andrew responds to that by standing completely still and tilting his racquet whichever way he knows Neil is going to swing.

Irritation itches under Neil’s skin. He’s giving nearly every percent he has and Andrew’s barely turned his switch on, but Neil doesn’t fall for it, doesn’t give his one-hundred just yet. He waits for Andrew to break patience first.

Tens of minutes later, or at least that’s how it feels, Andrew finally stops moving to stare at Neil blankly. He leans down to pick up a ball, tosses it slightly, then smacks it with all his might, firing it at Neil at a speed that could hurt him.

Slow doesn’t exist after that. Fast, faster, fastest, Neil dodges every shot and shoots them back even quicker. He runs and leaps and tries from a different angle every single time, but somehow Andrew just knows where they’re going to land. Neil might as well be shooting at a brick wall.

His blood hasn’t felt like this before, never been so hot. It burns with determination, infuriation, some primal sort of need flowing through him to shoot and score and to wipe that stupid look off Andrew’s stupid face.

After trying every trick he knows, he thinks back to night practice, and shifts his body into a move he’s seen Kevin perform.

Andrew is expecting that, too, and flicks the ball away with a short snap of his wrist.

Neil stands a few feet back from the goal, panting and doubled over, watching his failure of a ball roll shamefully away.

“Remember,” Andrew calls out, the mocking in his voice sounding almost like a song. “All the night practice with Kevin won’t change a thing, he will never keep his faith in you. A few more shots and he’ll be done with you for good.”

“No,” Neil grits out, and snaps into action, investing his last percent into charging the goal with every ounce of passion and hatred he has. Except when he swings his racquet back to fire a shot, all his muscles twist to a stop. It forces his grip slack, has him skidding to a halt.

Without momentum, the ball slides free of the net and hits the ground with a low thud.

The only body part that doesn’t burn are his eyes, so he watches the ball roll away, physically unable to reach out for it.

A banging on the court wall has Neil fumbling to find enough energy to look over. Kevin is making a cutting gesture at his neck, while Riko stands next to him, arms folded and face expressionless. The lack of smug satisfaction across Riko’s face is somehow worse than any at all.

Neil gasps out in defeat and doubles over, and doesn’t dare look up at Andrew, not even when there’s a tap against his helmet, the large net of Andrew’s racquet in his face.

“At least you tried,” Andrew says, and taps Neil’s helmet again.

“I never said I’m giving up,” Neil says back, just barely, before finally looking up at him.

The rest of the stadium vanishes, disintegrating quickly as Andrew leans forward, too close, as close as he was the night they met in the docks. The sound of his breath and his voice right by Neil’s ear shouldn’t sound so familiar, but it is.

Their helmets are all that separates them physically, but nothing can stop Andrew’s words from touching him. “Then until we meet again,” Andrew says, and it’s too much of a whisper to be a threat.

Andrew strolls off the court looking as if he hadn’t moved so much as a muscle while playing against Neil. Without another word to the Seakings, he and Riko disappear.

Footsteps break up the world of silence. Kevin rushes onto the court where Neil is now kneeling, his every body part on fire. “Neil.”

For whatever reason, there’s a defiant part of Neil that doesn’t want to look up, to meet the eyes of somebody who isn’t Andrew. Staring at Andrew had forced Neil to look as honest as he’s looked in months - he means it when he looks at Andrew with intent. Looking at anybody else will force a mask back on, and he’s not sure if he can fake it right now.

Kevin tugs at him when he remains quiet, gripping him roughly until he’s steady on his feet.

“He’s good,” Neil says distantly, staring at the court doors.

“You can’t beat him alone,” Kevin says somberly, and then, after a pause, “We have to do it together.”

It’s far from the harsh criticism Neil’s accustomed to. It draws his eyes to Kevin’s retreating figure as he walks away, trying to piece it all together.

He stays alone on the court for a few more minutes.

Showing Neil just how unattainable something is won’t make him want it any less. There’s fire in his muscles, a stinging suggestion that perhaps he won’t ever score on Andrew, but if anything, it only makes him want it more.

Riko’s the one who failed tonight.

Neil’s alone on the court, but he feels the ghost of Andrew’s closeness, and now more than ever, he can’t quite quell the hope of it.

-

Even with his arms stinging and burning, he couldn’t quite make himself go home.

So now he stands alone in the Seakings stadium, out on the court, envisioning where the ball would go if he stood here, or there, if he lifted the racquet like this and not that. The only conclusion he can come to though, is that no matter how he throws the ball, Andrew will be there to block it.

Neil wants to find it strange that he only feels determined in face of such an impossible challenge, but he doesn’t. What he does find strange is what he can’t explain; how ontop of determination, he feels put-off, disoriented, like there’s an answer in Andrew that is right there but Neil just can’t see it.

He can feel it though, like pinpricks and frustration and -

Shock.

Because when Neil turns around after staring at the goal for an endless minute, Andrew Minyard himself is standing in the open doorway to the court, leaning against the plexiglass frame with his arms crossed and his expression cool.

Neil suddenly lets out his breath and begins to smile, and the urge to figure things out disappears as he lets curiosity take over. He was tired before, tired and sore, but for some reason, with Andrew right there, he no longer feels like sleeping.

“Hey,” Neil says, taking off his helmet as he steps closer. He looks over Andrew’s head for something or somebody in the distance, but Andrew is alone. “Where’s Riko? Did he finally loosen your leash?”

Andrew’s expression hardens, then fades into blankness. “One would think that with all the time you spend talking about Riko that he owns you, as well.”

“So he does own you?”

Andrew ignores that and steps further into the court, walking a circle around Neil. “Your determination to play could be admirable if it weren’t so pathetic,” he says, eyes drifting to the racquet still in Neil’s hands. “What’s keeping you here?”

“Uh, well . . .” Neil looks at his racquet and realizes then how much it hurts to hold it. “I want to?”

“You want to, or you feel you’re expected to?”

Neil frowns and plucks at a string in the net. “There’s not much of a difference if I like doing it though, right?”

Andrew scoffs and makes another lap around Neil, never making eye contact as he walks. “Let’s play a new game,” he says while nodding. “It’s called ‘let’s not talk about Exy for five minutes’.”

Neil frowns again, but it’s quickly won over by a smirk. “You want me to stop talking about Exy? When we’re currently standing on an Exy court, in an Exy stadium, where I am dressed in my Exy gear, while holding my Exy racquet?”

Andrew pauses, face falling even more blank. “Can you do it or not?”

“Do I win anything if I do?”

Andrew finally looks at Neil then, his eyes narrowed as he thinks, then says, “To be determined.”

For some reason, Neil laughs.

And even though he hasn’t gone more than a minute without thinking about Exy over the past five years, Neil has never been one to back down from an impossible challenge . . .

“Okay, you’re on. Starting now.”

Except Neil hasn’t ever been faced with a challenge quite like this.

Andrew stares at Neil for the first thirty seconds, as Neil’s mouth forms different shapes and half-muttered words escape his lips only to be bit back down - because everything and anything he has to say has to be about Exy, the game, his team, his sponsors, his statistics, press pieces for the media and pre-written answers to endless repetitive questions and -

And he hasn’t ever been asked to talk about anything else.

“I - uh -” Neil stammers, heat flooding his face. “What do you want to talk about?”

Andrew’s eyes look as if they’re about to roll back. “How did you manage to complete college with the vocabulary of a two year old? What do you want to talk about?”

There’s a force in Neil’s throat, like the hand of someone controlling a puppet, about to make him say what they want him to say. He grits his teeth in time to stop himself and then sighs, giving his shoulders a slight shrug.

He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but he wants to say something.

Because Andrew stands there calmly, willing to listen.

“. . . my running shoes are beginning to break down,” is what Neil ends up saying, face flaming crimson now that the words are out. “I’ve put off buying a new pair though. I guess I hate spending money.”

He watches with his heart racing as one of Andrew’s eyebrows slowly lifts; clearly bored with Neil, and his pathetic attempt at normal conversation.

“I’m trying, okay?” Neil asks rather desperately, trying hard not to flinch as that eyebrow raises higher. “I’m not very interesting.”

All at once, Andrew smirks, and it transforms his entire face. He takes a step closer until he’s right in front of Neil, a powerful presence when compared to Neil’s nervous wreck of a body. He eyes the racquet that Neil’s still holding and threads his fingers through the net, giving it a quick tug.

“Your vocabulary is in need of a refresher, Neil,” Andrew says lowly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “I don’t think you understand what ‘interesting’ means. You win this round. ‘A’ for effort, and all that.”

He tugs on the racquet again before turning around to leave, and even when he’s gone, Neil doesn’t understand.

But he wants to.

[turkiyeecom]

Matt Hancock backs 'One Nation Tory' Johnson for leader

Boris Johnson's allies dismissed talk of a Brexit pact with Nigel Farage today - as he won the backing of former rival Matt Hancock. Supporters of the Tory front runner insisted he did not 'need' to do a deal with Mr Farage, despite the rising threat from his new party. The rebuke came amid claims Conservative donors are plotting a tie-up with Mr Farage that could prevent the Eurosceptic vote from splitting at an election.The arrangement could mean the Brexit Party does not field candidates against Tories they see as sound on making a clean break from the EU. Mr Johnson's procession towards Downing Street gathered pace today as the Health Secretary backed him - amid claims he has already started promising Cabinet jobs.  Mr Hancock dropped out on Friday after a disappointing result in the first round ballot, but has now put himself in the running to be the next Chancellor by endorsing the favourite.Michael Gove also appeared to be trying to smooth relations this morning, rejecting the idea that Mr Johnson should be ruled out on grounds of 'moral probity' and saying he 'has what it takes' to be PM.However, Mr Johnson is facing more criticism over his 'submarine' campaign strategy of minimising scrutiny.Having snubbed the first Tory leadership TV debate last night, Mr Johnson is stay awaying from hustings with political journalists today. Mr Johnson (pictured leaving his London home today) is looking unstoppable for next PM Mr Stewart has been installed as second favourite in the Tory leadership race - albeit a long way behind Mr Johnson  Foreign Secretary Jeremy Hunt (pictured out running today) is Mr Johnson's closest challenger - but came a distant second in the first round of voting last week  Justice Secretary David Gauke laid into Mr Johnson on Twitter today as tensions rose Brexit minister James Cleverly said if Mr Johnson became PM he would not need to do a deal with Mr Farage.He told BBC Radio 4's Today programme: 'I can't see that is something he would want to do and it is not anything he would need to do.'He is able to win elections with Conservatives and Conservative support. He didn't broach electoral pacts in London and I can't imagine he would need to broach electoral pacts at this point.' Channel 4 faces backlash over 'dodgy' Tory leader debate  An empty podium was left by Channel 4 to embarrass Boris Johnson after he snubbed the Tory leadership debate last nightChannel 4 was today accused of holding a 'dodgy' Tory leadership debate where candidates were encouraged to 'knock chunks out of each other' - while hard Brexiteer Dominic Raab was 'sidelined'. Viewers who attacked the broadcaster after last night's TV battle also declared that Boris Johnson had 'won' because he had refused to take part, calling it a pro-EU 'kangaroo court' and a 'trap'.Host Krishnan Guru-Murthy, who attended Oxford University, was also blasted as 'snide' for introducing each candidate by the school and university they went to.Channel 4 today insisted that the audience was made up of 'floating voters' who were 'open' to voting Tory and picked by an independent polling company.But those watching at home said those in the studio appeared 'biased' towards the EU because there was so little clapping for anyone advocating Brexit, calling it a 'remainer fest'.Channel 4 tried to shame Mr Johnson during the showdown last night by leaving an empty podium where he should have been - while Guru-Murthy taunted that there was still time for him to 'get a taxi' to the studios.The other hopefuls slammed Mr Johnson - who was holed up in his London flat - for his 'submarine' campaign strategy, with Jeremy Hunt demanding to know: 'Where is Boris?'But the would-be PMs then took a series of brutal potshots at one another, with Rory Stewart raging about 'macho posturing', Sajid Javid saying Dominic Raab was 'trashing democracy', and Mr Raab retorting that his colleagues would 'buckle' to the EU.   During the Tory leadership TV debate last night, Rory Stewart was the only one of the five candidates present who said they would be willing to talk to Mr Farage about how to secure Brexit. The International Development Secretary insisted Mr Farage was the 'man that led the Leave campaign' in the 2016 referendum.But a clearly infuriated Michael Gove retorted: 'Nigel Farage is not the face of Brexit.'Jeremy Hunt said Mr Farage's 'first choice' was Brexit on basic World Trade organisation terms, and that should not be the Tory position.  Sajid Javid said: 'You don't beat the Brexit Party by becoming the Brexit Party.'  Chancellor Philip Hammond will not survive the changeover to a Johnson regime, meaning the prized spot at No11 is up for grabs.Treasury chief secretary Liz Truss has been pushing hard for the job, having backed Mr Johnson from the start.  However, allies of Mr Johnson said he had been 'inspired' by Mr Hancock's campaign and it is understood the pair spoke several times over the weekend. Mr Hancock said he 'wholeheartedly endorsed' Mr Johnson who he said can 'bring the party and country together' by 'dominating the centre ground'.He praised Mr Johnson's 'disciplined campaign' and argued he is 'almost certain' to be the next PM. 'We need to unite behind him with a strong team that can bring the party together and then bring the country together,' he told The Times. 'I have repeatedly argued for a strategy of defeating the danger of Farage by delivering Brexit and defeating the danger of Corbyn by dominating the centre ground thereafter. That is Boris's plan and I wholeheartedly endorse it.'Mr Gove admitted he was disappointed by Mr Hancock's decision.'He is a friend of mine and I know that over the course of the weekend he had a very tough decision to make,' he told BBC Radio 4's Today programme.'Without going into private conversations, I know that he was alternating between supporting Boris and supporting me.'He felt that we were the two strongest candidates in the race.' During his interview, Mr Gove was repeatedly pressed on whether Mr Johnson's 'morality' should rule him out of the battle for No10.  'I would dismiss that altogether,' he said. 'Moral probity does matter. But I think that all of the candidates who are standing to be leader, in my view, are capable of being prime minister.'I personally think that Boris and all the other candidates are people who on every ground have what it takes to be a potentially good prime minister.'Supporters of the Tory front runner insisted he did not 'need' to do a deal with Nigel Farage (pictured outside No10 earlier this month) despite the rising threat from his new partyMatt Hancock pictured at Parliament after quitting the Tory leader race on Friday, having securing just 20 votes in the first round - and has now endorsed Boris Johnson Rory Stewart told GMB today (pictured) that if he worked for Boris Johnson he would have to 'advocate for a no deal Brexit that I think can’t be delivered' An empty podium was left by Channel 4 to embarrass Boris Johnson after he snubbed the Tory leadership debate last nightHe added: 'There have been various attempts to to mount personal attacks against him and against some other candidates. 'I think that is wrong. Look, in the past, I have had my criticisms and differences with Boris. 'But I believe he is somebody who is capable of being prime minister.' Mr Hancock quit the race after securing just 20 votes in the first round with an admission that the party was not looking for the 'candidate of the future' but 'a candidate for the unique circumstances we face right now'.Mr Johnson's team insisted no offers of a job in a future cabinet had been discussed. Mr Hancock is seen as a potential chancellor or business secretary in a Johnson administration. Boris vows fast broadband in every home by 2025 - but doesn't say how much it will cost   Boris Johnson vowed to put fast broadband in every home by 2025 today - but faced a backlash about how he will pay for the pledge. The Government is currently aiming to have completed the rollout of full-fibre broadband to 100 per cent of homes by 2033, a target Mr Johnson described as 'laughably unambitious'.But the Tory leadership frontrunner said the pledge would be delivered within 'five years at the outside' if he becomes the next prime minister.Justice Secretary David Gauke, who is on the Remain wing of the party, said every intervention by Mr Johnson was increasing borrowing by billions. In a swipe at ministers such as Matt Hancock who are angling for a top job under Mr Johnson, he tweeted: 'If Boris wins, good luck to whoever becomes his Chancellor. 'It would be a noble act of self-sacrifice to accept the job. Who’d do it?'  It came as Mr Johnson's campaign was buoyed by a poll showing voters believe he is the only leadership candidate who can win the next election. The YouGov poll for the Sunday Times showed the Brexit Party was now ahead of both the Tories and Labour.It put Nigel Farage's party on 24 per cent, three points ahead of Labour and the Tories on 21 per cent with the Lib Dems close behind on 19 per cent. A total of 47 per cent think Mr Johnson can see off Jeremy Corbyn and Nigel Farage and only 22 per cent disagree. Just 15 per cent say his nearest rival, Jeremy Hunt, can win the Tories another term in power. It also suggested Mr Johnson was the only candidate who would persuade voters to turn to the Tories. Some 22 per cent said they were more likely to vote Tory if he was leader.None of his rivals scored more than 8 per cent. But 59 per cent of voters said they wouldn't buy a used car from Mr Johnson.The endorsement comes despite Mr Hancock having turned his fire on Mr Johnson in the early stages of the contest over his attacks on business. Mr Johnson reportedly said 'f*** business' in fury at the CBI and other business groups trying to spread scaremongering stories about No Deal.Mr Hancock argued Mr Johnson had the 'wrong attitude' and told the BBC's Today programme that it was vital for the Tories to 'back business and not bash business'.'We need to support businesses because they're the ones who create the jobs.'Yesterday Mr Johnson fuelled rumours of an early general election after footage emerged of him saying he would 'get Brexit done and get ready for an election'.The comments came at hustings with party members on Saturday, but Mr Johnson's team furiously denied the claim. They said he had repeatedly ruled out an early election and argued he was referring to the election in 2022. Rory Stewart surges to SECOND favourite in Tory leader race  Rory Stewart lashed out at Boris Johnson for not having a 'plan' on Brexit today after making a shock surge into second place in the Tory leadership betting.The International Development Secretary launched a withering attack on the front runner after bookmakers had him leapfrogging Jeremy Hunt as the closest challenger.The criticism came at a hustings event with journalists in Westminster - which Mr Johnson has opted to snub as his 'submarine' strategy continues.Mr Hunt also taunted the favourite this morning, saying he needed to find some 'Churchillian courage'. Mr Stewart has won more backers overnight after putting in a strong performance in the Channel 4 TV debate, with minister Margot James and Scottish Tory Paul Masterson declaring their support. But he again flip-flopped today over whether he would serve in a Mr Johnson Cabinet, telling Good Morning Britain he '100 per cent' would not. Mr Johnson also won the endorsement of former work and pensions secretary Esther McVey and former Scotland Yard boss Bernard Hogan-Howe – now a cross-bench peer – who described him as a 'really great mayor' of London.Meanwhile, a new poll gave Mr Johnson a major boost and dashed the hopes of Mr Stewart.It found more than three quarters of Tory members believe the former foreign secretary would make a good leader but fewer than one in three thought the same about the International Development Secretary.The YouGov survey reinforces the view that if Mr Johnson makes it onto the final ballot paper when two candidates are put to grassroots activists to choose from he will be almost impossible to stop.Some 77 per cent of Conservative Party members believe Mr Johnson would make a good Tory leader while just 19 per cent believe he would do a poor job.Mr Johnson is also viewed by the general public as the candidate most likely to make a good leader as he was backed by 31 per cent of voters.Mr Stewart was the only remaining Tory leadership contender who failed to be viewed positively by a majority of Tory members.Just 31 per cent said Mr Stewart would be a good leader compared to 50 per cent who said he would be a poor choice.The poll will be welcomed by Dominic Raab who had the second highest rating among the Tory grassroots.Some 68 per cent said the former Brexit secretary would make a good leader and 21 per cent said he would be a bad choice. What happens next? 'Stop Boris' Tory leadership hopefuls now locked in a battle for second place to make it onto the final ballot paper The field of Tory leadership challengers has been whittled down to six after three candidates were ousted at the first ballot of MPs on Thursday and Matt Hancock opted to withdraw on Friday.Those still standing now have one day in which to persuade more of their Conservative colleagues to back their bids before the second round of voting takes place tomorrow.At this point the race is entirely about momentum. Boris Johnson has cemented his status as the favourite after he secured 114 votes - enough to effectively guarantee he is one of the final two candidates.But for the remaining five candidates, it is all still to play for. Four Tory leadership challengers are now out of the race for Number 10. Esther McVey, Andrea Leadsom and Mark Harper were eliminated in the first round of voting while Matt Hancock has chosen to withdraw from the raceWhat is happening today?Five of the six remaining leadership candidates will face a grilling by political journalists at an event in Parliament. The candidates will take it in turns to face 20 minutes of questions but Mr Johnson is not taking part. There will also be another hustings event, this one in front of Tory MPs, featuring all of the candidates as they seek to win further support. What happens on Tuesday?Tory MPs will vote for the second time in what is likely to be a make or break moment in the race to succeed Theresa May.There will be six candidates to choose from but only Mr Johnson will have any certainty about making it to the next stage.Anyone not named Mr Johnson will now have the same goal: To finish in second place and make it onto the final ballot paper alongside Mr Johnson.Jeremy Hunt came second in Thursday's vote with the support of 43 of his colleagues.But none of the other remaining candidates are too far behind and all of them will be hopeful of hoovering up at least some of the MPs who backed the four candidates who are no longer in the race.They will need at least 33 votes to progress to the third vote but if all of the six candidates manage to get past that threshold, whoever has the fewest votes will be eliminated.  The Foreign Secretary came second in the first round of voting and will now be hoping to persuade Tory MPs that he is the candidate capable of challenging Boris JohnsonRory Stewart faces the biggest challenge after he only secured the support of 19 MPs in the first round. Mr Johnson's grip on the contest is expected to grow still further after he picked up the support of former rivals Mr Hancock and Esther McVey.Once the second ballot has finished and at least one candidate has been eliminated there will then be a televised leadership debate on BBC One at 8pm hosted by Emily Maitlis. Mr Johnson has said he will take part after snubbing one held by Channel 4 on Sunday.What happens after the second round of voting on Tuesday? It is the job of Tory MPs to cut the list of candidates to two and after Tuesday's vote there will then follow further ballots on Wednesday and, if necessary, on Thursday, until the chosen pair remain.The number of further ballots needed will be determined by whether trailing candidates opt to withdraw from the contest but the third ballot is scheduled for Wednesday while the fourth and fifth would take place on Thursday.What happens once there are two candidates left? The Conservative Party's estimated 160,000 members will be asked to choose who they want to be their next leader. The final two will have to face 16 leadership hustings events across the nation with the first due to be held in Birmingham on June 22 and the last one taking place in London in the week starting July 15.Ballot papers are expected to sent out to members between July 6-8. The overall winner of the contest is due to be announced in the week of July 22. Mrs May will then go to see the Queen to formally resign and the newly elected leader of the Conservative Party will be invited to Buckingham Palace to form a new government. Who could the MPs who supported the four eliminated candidates now back?Mr Johnson has racked up endorsements from both Esther McVey and Matt Hancock over the weekend - increasing his already impressive tally.The support will be hugely disappointing to Mr Raab - who needs votes from Brexiteers like Ms McVey - and Mr Gove, who had been hoping to woo Mr Hancock's centrist acolytes.The 10 MPs who backed Mark Harper, a candidate with a softer approach to Brexit, have been targeted by the likes of Mr Hunt and Sajid Javid.   Boris Johnson is now the prohibitive favourite to succeed Theresa May after securing the support of 114 Tory MPs in the first round of votingSo does Boris have it sewn up?Previous Tory leadership contests have shown that the person who leads the race at the start of the process does not always finish in first.Leadership campaigns are also volatile and it is distinctly possible that an unforeseen event in the coming weeks could radically shake up the battle for Number 10.Mr Johnson is in pole position but there is still plenty of time for that to change.  Read More Read the full article

[captaincanarygotmelike]

Voices Carry ch. 14

I'm baaaaaack! Finally. I didn't mean for it to take this long, but I've been crazy busy. I forgot to say this on the last chapter, but thank you all SO much for the Best WIP nomination. Idk if the award has been announced yet or not, but I'm so honored and grateful for the support. It means so, so much to me. Thank you!

Read on AO3

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Life continued after the Markov device went off. The day after the earthquakes destroyed half the city — the half containing the Markov device they hadn’t been able to disarm —  restoration projects immediately began.

The team at S.T.A.R. Labs — including Sara and Avery — were still at Leonard’s safe house in the mountains of Central City, waiting until it was safe enough to return.

“Iris,” Barry called from the kitchen a few days after the Markov device went off, “Turn the news on.”

Iris switched the TV from a primetime comedy show to the news channel, which was showing a shaky video of Malcolm Merlyn being led handcuffed by several cops through a throng of reporters and cameramen up to the police precinct. The day of the earthquake, Merlyn was caught by the Star City police at the train station. They had been alerted to what he had done and were waiting when he arrived.

“We’ve seen this a hundred times, Barry,” Iris replied.

She was right. News of what had happened in Central City was being reported on nearly every channel, and once it was rumored that Merlyn was the one responsible for it, his face was dragged along with it.

“I read online that Tommy Merlyn’s finally gonna make a statement about what happened,” Barry explained.

“About time,” Sara said as she entered the room carrying Avery, “How many days has it been? Two? Three?”

Avery angrily rubbed her eyes with her fist. She had just woken from a long nap and was clearly not happy about it.

“Daily bubble,” she grumpily chanted, “Daily bubble, daily bubble.”

“In a second, Avery,” Sara replied, sitting her on a barstool at the counter and moving to stand behind the couch, “Mommy’s just gotta watch something important right now.”

Not too long after, the news reporter announced Tommy’s press conference and the screen switched to Tommy Merlyn standing at a podium in the lobby of the Merlyn Global Group headquarters.

He looked much more professional than Sara was used to, having ditched his usual henley t-shirt and jeans for a slick black suit and tie.

“Hello,” he said, looking into the camera, “I’m Tommy Merlyn and I’m here to address the actions of my father, Malcolm Merlyn, CEO of Merlyn Global Group. We all know of the terror that has happened in Central City. I would like to come forth and admit that the rumors are true. My father is the perpetrator.”

He paused for a moment, waiting for the buzz from the reporters to die down.

“We are still currently undergoing investigations, but we suspect that this was planned several months to a year in advance and involved at least one accomplice, including an engineer who designed the machine that caused the earthquakes. He called it a Markov device, and we found the remains of one on the east side of Central City, which caused the damage. Members of the CCPD also found a disabled Markov device in a highway service tunnel on the west side of the city. We owe a lot of gratitude to the anonymous heroes who shut off that machine.”

“Way to go, Sara,” Iris said, giving her a high-five.

“I think I should put ‘anonymous hero’ on my resume now,” Sara joked.

“I just want to make one thing very clear,” Tommy continued, “This was an act of terror. This was a premeditated terrorist attack committed by my father in the hopes that you all — the citizens of Central City — would be scared into compliance —”

“Daily bubble,” Avery whined.

“One second,” Sara mouthed to her, “Please.”

“— This does not reflect the overall views of Merlyn Global Group, and to help make up for my father’s actions, we would like to donate our money and our time to restore your city. We will do whatever it takes to make up for what was lost on that night.”

Tommy nodded once and then the news reporter returned, already introducing the next segment.

They were all silent for a moment.

“Well,” Harry finally said, “That went better than I expected.”

“Do you really think he’s gonna follow through?” Cisco asked, “Do you think he’ll actually get the company to pay to fix what Merlyn did?”

“Sara, he’s your brother-in-law,” Caitlin said, “What d’you think?”

“Tommy’s definitely not the brightest guy I know, but I do know that once he starts something, he refuses to give up until he succeeds — it’s probably how he ended up marrying my sister —”

“It’s time for the daily bubble now!” Avery shouted, her eyes wide. Several of the people in the room looked over to her in surprise at her sudden outburst.

“Alright,” Sara said, running a hand through her hair in frustration, “My darling child, we’ll do the daily bubble. Let's go.”

“No, I want Lenny to do it.”

Sara raised one eyebrow.

“I invented the daily bubble. Lenny stole that from me,” she said. Avery put one hand on her hip and fixed her mother with the sassiest expression she could muster, “He did, and anyway, you’re outta luck. You know Lenny and Lisa are at the grocery store.”

Avery hopped off her stool and started running towards the stairs.

“I’m gonna go wait for them,” she called over her shoulder as she grabbed the railing and started to climb up the staircase.

“Of course you are,” Sara muttered under her breath. She collapsed on the couch next to Iris, sighing heavily.

“You good?” Iris asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, “I’m fine. I know she’s only acting out because she’s bored. She wants to go home. Otherwise she wouldn’t be acting like this.”

“And think of the alternative,” Iris reminded her, “Think of how much harder your life would be if she didn’t like Leonard.”

“That’s true,” Jesse said from the kitchen, “Apparently when my dad started dating again, I was kind of a terror.”

“Terror doesn’t even start to cover it,” Harry replied, “You used quantum physics to explain why I shouldn’t have been dating that woman.”

“That’s not that bad,” Jesse waved her hand flippantly.

“Then you set her dress on fire,” he finished.

“She wasn’t wearing it.”

“I really don’t think that makes it any better.”

“Yeah,” Sara agreed with Iris,” That’s true. She could be taking this whole me-dating-Len thing totally differently. I guess that’s what’s throwing me off. I’m just waiting for the day she gets all mad at me for being with him — like what you did to your dad, Jesse.”

“Hang on,” Wells cut in, “These are two very different situations. There’s a chance I should have trusted my daughter’s intuition slightly more than I did at the time because those women I dated ended up being awful. I wasn’t happy while I was dating them and they were wrong for me. You, on the other hand, are clearly very happy and in love with Snart, and Avery senses that. As someone who’s been through a similar set of circumstances, let me just say that you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“She’s also four years old,” Joe added, “Iris, you don’t even remember how awful you were when you were four.”

“No, I don’t,” Iris laughed.

“Convenient,” he replied, “If you remembered all embarrassing things you said in front of all my cop buddies, you’d give me a lot more than a card at Father’s Day.”

“C’mon dad. I wasn’t that bad,” Iris rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you were,” he said pointedly, “but you grew out of it.” Joe turned back to Sara. “Kids go through different phases all the time. This is one of them, and soon she’ll grow out of it and you’ll have a whole different thing to stress out about. Trust me.”

Sara nodded, feeling decidedly reassured.

A few minutes later, Leonard and Lisa returned to the cabin from getting groceries.

“Lenny!” Avery screeched, running down the porch steps to greet him.

“Hey kiddo,” he said, swinging her into his arms, “Did you have a good nap?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, pushing her wild curls away from her eyes, “Can we do the daily bubble?”

“Sure,” he nodded, putting her back on the ground.

“Lisa!” Avery called over her shoulder as she pulled Leonard up the porch steps, “Come watch!”

Lisa dropped the grocery bags she’d been carrying back into the trunk of the car and followed them up the porch steps.

The daily bubble wand and container were on a wicker side table on the wooden deck. Leonard picked up the pink wand out of the plastic container. Lisa lifted Avery up so she was sitting on her arms.

“Ready?” Leonard asked, standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Yeah!” Avery nodded vigorously.

“One…” They started counting when the bubble was in the air.

“Two…”

“Three…”

The bubble hit a flowering tree and popped right before they could say four.

“Another one,” Avery requested.

“Only one a day or it’s not special,” Leonard answered, dropping the bubble wand back on the wicker table, “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s inside,” Avery answered. “Uncle Tommy was on TV and everyone was watching him.”

“Do you remember what he said?” he asked, knowing full well that he’d probably be asking Sara the same thing.

“Um,” she looked to the sky and furrowed her eyebrows in thought, “Oh yeah, he said that it was Uncle Malcolm’s fault that the city blew up and that his company is gonna fix everything for us.”

“Okay,” he replied. He did have a few follow-up questions, but for the most part, he was pretty impressed by Avery’ comprehension of Tommy Merlyn’s message. In fact, he was impressed by Avery’s comprehension of everything that had happened over the past few days. He’d had to keep reminding himself that even four-year-olds were capable of understanding things like this.

“Come help me with the groceries,” he said, “Then we can go see your mom.”

He gave her the two lightest bags and a carton of milk and followed her into the house.

“Mommy!” Avery called from the top floor, “Lenny and Lisa are back!”

“Did you do the daily bubble?” Sara asked. She turned in her seat and watched Avery carefully nod as she made her slow descent down the stairs, “How many seconds did you get?”

“Three,” she answered.

“Well then, maybe you shoulda had me do it instead,” Sara said pointedly.

“That sounds like excellent parenting,” she heard Leonard comment from the floor above.

“That’s what I was going for,” she called back.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, laden with grocery bags.

“There’s the sarcasm I know and love,” he said sardonically. She matched his smirk in return.

He moved all the groceries to the kitchen and then sat on the couch next to Sara, draping an arm across her shoulders.

“I heard Tommy was on the news,” he said. Sara nodded, “Say anything interesting?”

“Well, it seems like Merlyn Global Group will be completely paying for damages, no questions asked,” she answered, “The news is saying that restoration projects will be starting as early as tomorrow. They’re asking for volunteers. We should go help out.”

“Yeah, we should,” he agreed.

So that’s exactly what they did. The next day, bright and early, they all headed down to Central City to help fix what had been damaged the night the Markov device went off.

They helped clean up debris around the city and organized materials to rebuild things that had been broken. Even Avery helped plant new flowers in parks whose plants had been uprooted.

The long days of work proved to be too much for Avery, who still couldn’t even go a whole day without a nap, never mind a whole day of strenuous work. They all continued to help out in the weeks that followed, but most of the time, they went down in groups, a few people going to Central City and the rest staying with Avery at the safe house.

One day, a little over a month after the Markov Device went off. The whole group was going to head down to the city again.

“I don’t wanna go!” Avery said.

“Ave, we don’t have time for this. Everyone’s waiting,” Sara said, “Let’s go.”

“It’s gonna rain!”

“I checked the weather three times, Avery. I promise it’s not gonna rain.”

“I don’t wanna go,” she repeated.

“Avery,” Sara groaned, looking up at the ceiling.

“I can stay here with her,” Leonard volunteered.

“You don’t have to,” Sara replied.

“No, I don’t mind,” he shook his head, “Besides, I think it’s gonna rain too.”

“See!” Avery exclaimed.

Leonard smirked at Sara’s exasperated expression.

“You’re just egging her on,” she told him.

“Lenny said he’d stay so I can stay too, right?” Avery asked.

“I guess,” Sara gave in, “But you better be so good for him while I’m gone. He’ll tell me if you aren’t.”

She bent down and scooped Avery up, kissing her cheek.

“Are you gonna be back for movie night?” Avery asked, playing with strands of her mother’s hair.

“I’m gonna try so hard to be back in time but if I’m not, you can watch with Len and we’ll have our own special movie night tomorrow,” Sara replied. Avery nodded.

She set her back on the ground and looked to Leonard

“Thanks for doing this,” she said gratefully, “We shouldn’t be back too late.”

“Unless it rains,” he smirked.

“Unless it rains,” she repeated, rolling her eyes.

She stood on her toes and kissed him.

“Be careful out there,” he murmured against her lips.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I know I don’t,” he replied, “But I do anyway.”

She stepped away from Leonard and gave Avery one last kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks again for doing this,” she told him, smoothing a hand over Avery’s hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, “I don’t mind.”

He was actually grateful for the reason to stay. He’d been searching for a time to be alone with Avery for a while now, but with all the people who were living in the cabin at one time, an opportunity had never presented itself. Now he’d get his chance.

Sara and the others left a few minutes later.

“What do you want to do?” Leonard asked Avery after they’d watched the cars drive away.

“Can we go down to the beach?” she asked.

“Yeah, go get a swimsuit on,” he replied, nodding.

They went back inside the house and he sat on the couch and waited as she went into her room and changed. She returned a few moments later in a floral swimsuit with pink ruffles. One strap was dangling off her arm and the other had been pulled over her head.

“I don’t think it did it right,” she said.

“You’re so close,” he said as he fixed the straps so they formed an X-shaped cross in the back.

“Can you put my hair up?” she asked, handing him a blue hair tie and a brush. He took them and she turned around.

As he ran the brush through her hair, she leaned against his legs, her hands absently tapping on his knees.

Leonard wasn’t too bad at fixing hair. He’d done Lisa’s hair when they were much younger, but the last time he’d done that must have been at least twenty years ago, and anyway, her hair hadn’t been nearly as curly as Avery’s, but he did manage to get her hair brushed and into a decent bun pretty quickly.

“Let’s go!” Avery said urgently.

“Alright, alright,” Leonard replied, getting to his feet.

They went back inside and walked a couple minutes down the road until they reached a staircase that led to the little beach down below.

“Be careful on the stairs, Ave,” Leonard said, holding tightly onto her hand as they walked down the narrow wooden steps.

Once they were down, Avery kicked off her sandals and started wading in the teal-colored water.

“Not too deep,” Leonard reminded her. He was standing ankle deep in the cool bay with his black jeans rolled up.

He watched her paddle in the shallow water for a few minutes before getting to why he’d wanted to spend time with Avery in the first place.

“So Avery,” he began, feeling a nervousness in his chest he’d never felt before, “You know I’m dating your mom, right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, looking up at him to nod before turning back to the water.

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” she said, “Mommy’s so happy now. Ooh, look — fishes!”

Avery started to follow a little fish through the water.

“Okay, so you're okay with me dating your mom,” he continued, “Would you be okay if I married your mom? I know we haven’t been together long and it’s all been so fast but—”

“I’d be super okay with that!” Avery screeched, flinging water into the air in excitement.

“You would?” Leonard replied, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of his chest.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, “But only if I’m invited to the wedding, ‘cos when Auntie Laurel got married, she didn’t invite me.”

“I don’t think you were born yet,” Leonard told her, thinking back to conversations he’d had with Sara, “But I promise you will be invited.”

“Yay!” Avery said happily, hopping around in the water and creating circular ripples around her.

She straightened up and met Leonard’s eyes.

“I have a question,” she said.

“Shoot.”

“If mommy is my mommy and if you marry her, does that make you my daddy?”

“They call that a stepfather,” he told her.

“But could I call you daddy?”

Leonard didn’t immediately respond. The answer that immediately came to mind was yes, he did want her to call him dad, but he also knew that this wasn’t entirely his choice.

“I think you should talk to your mom about that,” he finally said,  “But not yet. You can’t tell her any of what we talked about. It won’t be special if it isn’t a surprise.”

“Okay,” she nodded.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she repeated seriously.

They stayed by the lake for a little while before they headed back to the cabin. By the time they returned and Avery changed into dry clothes, it was time for lunch.

When they sat down to eat, Avery began asking question after question about Leonard marrying her mom.

“Are you gonna live with us after you get married?”

“Yeah.”

“What about before?”

“Maybe. We’re living together now, aren’t we.”

“Kinda. It doesn’t really count. Will we live in your apartment or mine?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Can my stuffed animals come to the wedding?”

“Maybe just pick your favorite one.”

“What about Lisa?”

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Is mommy gonna marry her too?”

“No, probably not.”

“Who’s Lisa gonna marry?”

 “I don’t know yet.”

“Do you think Lisa’s gonna marry Cisco?”

“I’d rather not think about it.”

“Will Lisa move in with us too?”

“I don’t think so.”

That continued for a long time.

After Avery was done eating and Leonard was cleaning up the kitchen, he asked her a question of his own.

“Avery,” he said, “Do you think your mom will say yes when I ask her to marry me?”

“Yeah!” Avery replied, “‘Cause she loves you a whole lot. She told me so.”

Around five o’clock, they heard thunder rumbling in the distance and saw flashes of lightning illuminating the sky.

“It’s gonna rain,” Avery said matter-of-factly as she ate her dinner of mac-and-cheese and dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.

“I think you might be right,” Leonard replied.

A few minutes later, his phone rang.

“Sara,” he said when he picked up.

“Hey,” she replied, “So there’s a storm right over the city right now and it’s holding all the projects up. I think we’re gonna end up being a couple hours late.”

“So it did rain,” Leonard smirked.

“I know,” she groaned, “Ave’s never gonna let me forget it. By the way, tell her I’m sorry for missing movie night, but I’ll probably be back in time to put her to bed.”

Avery was a little disappointed when he told her Sara would be late, but she bounced back quickly.

“That means I get two movie nights instead of one,” she said gleefully.

Thunder rolled over the sky. Leonard looked out the window to see a deep green sky with black clouds in the distance. The rain in Central City was headed for them.

“Avery, let’s go on the porch,” he said. He took her hand and led her upstairs to the back deck, the one that overlooked the Central City Bay.

“Why?” Avery asked.

“We’re gonna storm-watch,” he replied, “Lisa and I did this when we were younger.”

Truthfully, storm-watching was what Lisa and Leonard would do when they were hiding in a locked bathroom in their rundown childhood home. Their father was often even worse than usual during thunderstorms. He drank more, yelled louder, and hit harder, his actions masked by the noise of the storm. Leonard and Lisa would watch the storm makes its way across the sky from the tiny bathroom window as they waited for their father to either pass out on the couch or leave the house, making his way to the nearest bar he could find.

But Avery didn’t need those details.

She climbed up onto the couch and sat cross-legged on the cushions, Leonard sitting beside her.

Avery watched the storm with tentative fascination. She laughed with glee when the rain began, first just a drizzle, but quickly becoming a downpour.

“I told Mommy it would rain!” she said, “I told her!”

Her eyes lit up with every bolt of lightning, but she jumped every time it thundered, the low rumbles becoming booming crashes. Soon, she had climbed into his lap, holding his hands so his arms wrapped around her middle, and playing with his fingers.

When the storm was right overhead and wind started to blow rain onto the porch, they went inside.

“Ready to watch a movie?” Leonard asked, sitting on the couch.

“Yeah,” Avery said, climbing up next to him and sticking her thumb in her mouth, “Can we watch Tinkerbell again?”

“Didn’t you watch Tinkerbell yesterday?” he reminded her, “Don’t you want to watch something new?”

“But I dunno what to watch,” she replied.

Leonard thought for a moment.

“Have you ever heard of Narnia?” he asked. She shook her head, “It’s a book series that I read to Lisa when we were kids — I think I might have some of the books here, actually. Anyway, they made some into movies and they’re pretty good.”

“Okay,” Avery agreed.

Sara and the others returned to the cabin a few minutes after the movie ended. Leonard was leaning back on the couch with Avery on his chest. The end credits of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe were still rolling across the screen.

“I told you it would rain!” Avery screeched when they all walked downstairs, drenched from the storm outside, “I told you!”

“Yes, Avery, you were right,” Sara said, brushing strands of damp hair out of her eyes, “I should have listened to you.”

“Do you want to show your mom what we worked on today?” Leonard asked her. He turned to Sara, “I taught her a knock-knock joke.”

“It’s really funny!” Avery piped up, “Mommy, knock-knock — who’s there?”

“Wait no,” Leonard interrupted, laughing, “You just say knock-knock. She says who’s there.”

“Oh yeah,” she said, “Mommy, knock-knock.”

“Who’s there?” Sara asked dutifully.

“Canoe.”

“Canoe who?”

“Do you wanna play with my canoe?”

Sara furrowed her eyebrows as Leonard burst out laughing.

“Avie, no, that’s not the punchline,” he said. He leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Avery giggled and and turned back to her mother.

“Knock-knock,” she began the joke again.

“Who’s there?” Sara repeated.

“Canoe.”

“Canoe who?”

“Canoe play with me?”

Sara laughed at the cheesy joke.

“That’s a good one,” she said, “I take it you had fun with Lenny. Were you good?”

“Yeah,” Avery giggled, smiling angelically. She rolled over so she was splayed across Leonard’s chest, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Why don’t you go get your pajamas on and get ready for bed. I’ll go in soon to read you some bedtime stories.”

Avery nodded and climbed off of Leonard, running to her room.

“So,” Sara said, dropping onto the couch next to Leonard as he sat up, “How was she really?”

“She was good,” he replied truthfully, “She even napped for a while.”

“Wow,” Sara said, impressed, “How’d you make that happen?”

“We went down to the beach for a while. I think that might have drained some energy out of her,” he replied, “How’s Central City? Is everything coming together?”

“For the most part. We had to call Tommy in because some builder wanted to put the Merlyn Global Group logo on something they were rebuilding, which is exactly what Malcolm wanted.”

“She screamed at him,” Lisa commented as she walked into the kitchen, “He looked terrified. We were all thoroughly entertained.”

“Tommy took care of it,” Sara finished.

“So he’s following through on his promise?” Leonard asked.

“Looks like it,” she replied, “Joe said we can go back home soon. Our side of the city hasn’t needed a lot of construction. Oh, I forgot to mention, Merlyn escaped.”

“What?”

“Yeah, apparently he broke out of prison last night, but the cops caught him this afternoon on a bus to Coast City of all places.”

“I’m sure he thought he deserved a break after all the hard work he put in destroying half a city,” he said sarcastically.

“Yeah, well he’s in a maximum security cell now and they’re considering not even bringing him to trial.”

“Can they do that?” he asked skeptically.

“I dunno, but I’m not complaining.”

“Mommy!” Avery ran into the room, now in a pair of pajamas and carrying her bunny blanket, “I’m ready for bed.”

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yeah.”

Sara narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“You weren’t gone for very long. Are you sure?”

Avery started to giggle.

“Avery has a tell,” Sara told Leonard, “Ave, do you know what a tell is?”

“No,” Avery shook her head.

“It means that when you’re saying something that isn’t true, we can tell because you always giggle.”

Sara tickled Avery until she shrieked with laughter. She picked her up and got to her feet.

“Time for bed,” she said, “Say goodnight to Len.”

“Goodnight Lenny!”

“G’night Avery.”

After Sara had properly brushed Avery’s teeth and gotten her ready to go to sleep, they climbed into her bed, Sara with several bedtime stories in one hand. Just as she cracked one open, Avery started to speak.

“Mommy?” she asked, “Do you think you’ll marry Lenny?”

“Marry him?” Sara exclaimed, looking at her daughter in surprise, “Where’s this coming from?”

“I dunno,” she shook her head, “Would you?”

“Would I marry Len?” Sara asked. Avery nodded, “Well, he’d have to ask me first.”

“But if he did ask you and you said yes and you married him, would he be my dad?”

“Well, he’d be your stepdad,” Sara corrected her.

“I know!” Avery raised her voice in frustration. Sara raised her eyebrows at her outburst, “But would I call him dad?”

“Oh,” Sara said. Now she understood, “Are you a little confused about what’s happening?”

As Avery nodded, she scrunched up her face to hide the new tears in her eyes.

“Oh honey, you don’t need to cry,” she said, putting the book down and pulling Avery into her arms, “It’s okay to be confused. What are you confused about?”

Avery buried her face in Sara’s shoulder, the fabric muffling her voice.

“I wanna call him daddy, but you don’t call Grandma Donna your mom even though she’s your step mom,” she said.

“That’s because they got married when I was a lot older than you. I was so old that you were even at the wedding.”

“I was?”

“Yeah. You were only one then, so you don’t remember, but you were there. I also already had a mom my whole life: Grandma Dinah. I didn’t need another one. Plus, Grandma Donna already has a daughter that calls her mom.”

“Auntie Lissy,” Avery said.

“That’s right, she’s Aunt Felicity’s mom,” she nodded, “But you only have a mommy, so if Lenny’s okay with it, you could call him dad because you don’t have a dad yet.”

Avery nodded.

“But,” she continued, “That means sitting down and talking with Lenny about it, so if he doesn’t want you to call him dad, that has to be okay, because it’s his choice too.”

“And if he does, then I can?”

“Well, you’d have to wait until we get married — if we get married, but yes, it would be okay. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Avery replied.

“And if you’re ever confused about anything, you can always talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you so much, Avie.”

“I love you too.”

With that, Avery fell back onto her pillow, ready for her bedtime stories.

I’m currently upholding a no-schedule policy with this story, so whenever I finish a chapter, I’m publishing it. That means that the next chapter could come in three days or three weeks but just know that I’m always working on this story; my schedule is just iNSANE right now, but I am always working :)

[ofubox]

When Donald Trump descended the golden escalator to announce his run for president, none in the sceptical media pack below could have imagined he would win. It was on this day four years ago - at the exact same stage of the last US presidential cycle - that Mr Trump made his announcement: he would, for real this time, run for the highest office in the land. The property mogul and TV host was the 12th candidate to come forward to try to claim the Republican Party's nomination. If the Washington establishment was sceptical, it was because this was not the first time he had floated a run for the White House, only not to follow up on his own speculation. Many of the reports that day reflected those doubts. Many of them, employing a degree of mockery rarely used in news, denigrated his performance at the podium inside the gilded Trump Tower. Some of them, though only some, focused on his claim Mexico was sending "rapists" over the border. What did commentators that day fail to understand about the man who would be president? And what did they get right? "Donald Trump is actually running for president," our North America reporter Anthony Zurcher wrote. "Few people expected it to happen - he's gone through the motions many times before - and his political rants up until now have been roundly derided as a joke. But this time he actually said the words, and he seems like he means it... "He's already proven a willingness to take swings at his opponents. Jeb Bush and Marco Rubio 'don't have a clue', he said in his announcement speech. 'How are these people going to lead us?' he asked. "If he says that enough times during a debate - or in a multi-million dollar television advertising spree - a lot of people are going to stop laughing and take notice. And that's probably just what Mr Trump wants." Media captionHow Donald Trump announced he was running How does that view look now? "Donald Trump got people to take notice all right, but I never thought someone with negative ratings as high as his could capture the nomination," Anthony writes in 2019. "I figured the Republican establishment would coalesce around an alternative - and it never really did. "There's a theory that Trump's presidential campaign was a publicity stunt gone awry, a real-life version of The Producers, where an enterprise designed to fail became an accidental success. "Only Mr Trump knows the truth, but his pugilistic brand of politics capitalised on a moment in American history when just enough voters were fed up with the status quo to take a chance on an unlikely outsider." 'Much-needed seriousness' - Democrats What they said in 2015 "Today, Donald Trump became the second major Republican candidate to announce for president in two days," Democratic National Committee (DNC) spokeswoman Holly Shulman said in a statement that proceeded to lay on the sarcasm in spades. "He adds some much-needed seriousness that has previously been lacking from the GOP field, and we look forward to hearing more about his ideas for the nation." How does that view look now? Neither the DNC nor Holly Shulman responded when asked how they viewed those comments now. Trump may have an opening - Washington Examiner What they said in 2015 Days before Mr Trump's announcement, Byron York wrote in the conservative Washington Examiner that the mogul could appeal to Republican voters tired with the direction the party was taking. "It's been clear for quite a while that some conservative voters are so disgusted with the GOP that they would entertain the notion of a third party," he wrote. "If he pursues a race seriously, Trump could win the support of those I've-had-it-up-to-my-eyeballs voters. Their concerns aren't a joke. If Trump doesn't address them, somebody else will." How does that view look now? The fact Mr Trump was not an establishment politician, and could shake up the system, was a factor his supporters went on to regularly cite for why they loved him. Here's what some of his supporters told us in summer 2016: Media captionWhy they love Trump: 'He's not a politician' Four years on, there is no question that the Republican Party has been shaped in the image of the man who led it to the White House: more hardline and more aggressive. Former Ohio governor John Kasich, who was the last Republican candidate standing alongside Mr Trump in 2016, said in May that it was now the Trump party. "Ninety percent of the Republican Party supports him," he told CNN. All eyes on the primaries - New York Times What they said in 2015 Correspondent Maggie Haberman predicted Mr Trump's campaign would end with him not winning the nomination (and instead earning a nice fat cheque for the next season of The Apprentice). But she also anticipated intriguing times ahead in the crucial early states in the Republican primary race. "He would likely have to somehow outperform both Jeb Bush and Marco Rubio in Florida, where he is a part-time resident," she wrote. "If Mr Trump could buy a state with an early nominating contest, like New Hampshire, and brand it with his name, it might help." Anyone suggesting Mr Trump could win a primary at this stage was... a lone voice, shall we say. How does that view look now? Well, The Apprentice did return, but Mr Trump was a bit too busy to host it by that point. As far as the primary race was concerned, Maggie Haberman was right - his win in New Hampshire in the second primary gave him a critical boost. After that, he didn't look back. And by the time of the Florida primary in March 2016, his momentum did help him outperform Marco Rubio and Jeb Bush (who had by that point withdrawn from the race) - Mr Trump won 45.7% of the vote there. Trump could dominate debate - Washington Post What they said in 2015 Trump the performer could take up all the oxygen of the other candidates, predicted Chris Cillizza, now of CNN. "He will interrupt, bully and seek to dominate the debate in ways that will make it impossible to get a word in edge-wise," he wrote. "And, if past is prologue, the sorts of things he does say when he gains control of the debate floor will be stuff that appeals heavily to the Republican base and turns off, well, almost everyone else... "While it's possible Trump's poll numbers collapse between now and August, that doesn't seem very likely since much of how you perform in national polling at this point is a function of pure name recognition, and Trump has plenty of that." How does that view look now? Even though the Trump campaign didn't launch until mid-June, analysis shows his campaign was the second-most covered news story of the year on US television networks in 2015. No other candidate - apart from the Democrats' Hillary Clinton - was anywhere close. When the first Republican debate rolled around in August 2015, all the headlines were about him and what he said (in this case, he refused to withdraw comments he had made denigrating women). He would continue to dominate the news agenda all the way through to the election. Trump's 'pretty sexy' message - Fox News What he said in 2015 Republican media strategist Adam Goodman predicted Mr Trump's status as an outsider billionaire who was "unashamed" about his wealth could prove attractive to voters. Appearing on conservative channel Fox News on the day of Mr Trump's announcement, he told broadcaster Gregg Jarrett that Mr Trump was "talking to the disaffected" American. In prescient comments, he discussed how Mr Trump's "America First" platform would appeal to those voters. "In a way he's sending a signal to a lot of Americans who are not making it, which is: 'Put me in place, and I will make sure America's brand is back on top again'. 'I will make sure that when I am president of the United States, I will do everything I can to put you first, and allow you the opportunities I had to make it and fulfil the American dream.' "That's a pretty sexy message for anyone to hear." How does that view look now? Four years on, Mr Goodman maintains he "felt something" when watching Mr Trump declare his candidacy for the Republican ticket. He tells the BBC he stands by the comments he made on Fox News. Mr Trump's "America First" message, Mr Goodman says, was "code" to disenfranchised Americans who felt the system had "let them down". The "sexy message" he described on Fox News gave Americans "something to feel good about in a pro-America way". "Donald Trump, for all of his faults, certainly brought that message. Unashamedly and unedited," Mr Goodman says. "Trump reflected what was in people." Has Trump delivered on his promises? Neither Mr Trump nor his nationalistic platform have changed since then, Mr Goodman says. "Trump today is the same as candidate Trump in 2015," he says. In the 2020 presidential election, Mr Goodman predicts Mr Trump will leave a "lot of people scratching their heads again". Jeb Bush would win the nomination - Polls What they said in 2015 On the day Mr Trump entered the race, polling data painted a fairly bleak picture for him. He was languishing towards the bottom of the pack with 3.6% of support, according to a RealClearPolitics average of polls. Leading the field on 10.8% was former Florida governor Jeb Bush, ahead of Wisconsin's then-governor Scott Walker (yes, really). Mr Trump's average in the polls would dip to 3.2% on 22 June 2015, but that would prove to be his lowest ebb. From that point onwards, his rise was meteoric. His approval rating spiked on 12 July 2015, when he accused Mexicans of "killing us at the border" at a mass rally in Phoenix. Eight days later, he overtook Mr Bush, his polling average climbing to 16.8%. After that, only Ben Carson would surpass him - once on 5 November 2015 - until his nomination was confirmed. It's only the Democrats picking a candidate this time around and so far, their race has been dominated by one name: former US Vice-President Joe Biden. He has been the runaway leader for the nomination, even before entering the race on 25 April this year. As of 12 June, his polling average, according to RealClearPolitics, puts him top at 32.8%. Vermont senator Bernie Sanders is his closest competitor on 17.3%, while the rest of the pack - including Elizabeth Warren (9.2%), Pete Buttigieg (7.2%) and Kamala Harris (7.2%) - trail in single digits. Those ratings are likely to fluctuate as candidates lock horns in Democratic primary debates starting on 26 June. As Mr Trump's unexpected ascendancy in the 2016 race shows though, it's still too early to make any sensible predictions...

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