#also dissension goes so fucking crazy

[bookoformon]

Ether 11, Part 1. "The Evaporation."

Wars, dissensions, and wickedness dominate Jaredite life—Prophets predict the utter destruction of the Jaredites unless they repent—The people reject the words of the prophets.

1 And there came also in the days of Com many prophets, and prophesied of the destruction of that great people except they should repent, and turn unto the Lord, and forsake their murders and wickedness.

2 And it came to pass that the prophets were rejected by the people, and they fled unto Com for protection, for the people sought to destroy them.

3 And they prophesied unto Com many things; and he was blessed in all the remainder of his days.

4 And he lived to a good old age, and begat Shiblom; and Shiblom reigned in his stead. And the brother of Shiblom rebelled against him, and there began to be an exceedingly great war in all the land.

Com, "sour milk" finally decides to listen to the prophets and things seem to be wont to turning around, but then Shiblom "the brakes" is born and everything goes to hell again.

Why can't the people get it right? Election years, that is why. Every four years, some asshole tries to come along and fuck things up in this country. Recent history is proof. Things were going fine after President Obama left office, especially after he cleaned up George Bush's TARP nightmare, and then, in came the buttfucker who was determined to end RVW things have just not been the same. Trump didn't come in swinging his ax about climate change, poverty, or improving the benefits of citizenship in America in any way, he wanted instead to make it easy for little girls and women to get raped.

I am outspoken about the demerits of Joe Biden's attempts to wait and see about a dead man and his Dead Man's Party, but nonetheless, this current election year explains why the world is always a mess: we lack consistency and dignity in the Oval Office. Instead of slamming on the brakes of iniquity, we always seem to want to stir sinful things up.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 1: And there came also in the days of Com many prophets, and prophesied of the destruction of that great people except they should repent, and turn unto the Lord, and forsake their murders and wickedness. = The Torah.

The Torah was first printed and distributed in the 16th century. The Torah did not just drop out of the sky and everyone's talking about it. It has always been with the human race. And about people like Donald Trump and the Republicans it has a few things to say. Attacking Israel is not one of them.

The Value in Gematria is 8946, חטדו‎ , htado, "evaporation."

There are circumstances like the death of a child or loss of a loved one, a divorce, even subtle things like aging, or not so subtle like getting fired are the reasons we turn to faith. Faith is not meant to steer crazy persons away or make them obey the law and do the right things. This is supposed to be basic to modern human civilization.

When we turn to the Torah and realize we are in deep shit because Donald Trump is not an ethical person and niether are the people he associates with, Donald Trump is an adulterer, he lies, he fucks little kids, he murders, it is too ironic. The dream has evaporated, leaving us with questions with answers that are quite straightforward.

Faith was not created to remind us we possess basic values, these are legal requirements, it is supposed to teach and support us when the answers for our questions are not so obvious, for experiences in life that really are unfathomable without God's help.

God knows we are going to experience knocks and pings in life but not the sort that will force the whole world to take notice and then need to recover from. Our sins are too big, they are too far reaching. They need to be toned down.

Rather than accept this, we turn the pages of the law books and the Scripture and pretend:

v. 2: And it came to pass that the prophets were rejected by the people, and they fled unto Com for protection, for the people sought to destroy them. The Value in Gematria is 7941, זטדא‎, "a cyst."

A cyst is when one discovers one has too many problems. The more you rub it and the worse it gets, growing above and also below the skin. A cyst has to be removed by a professional:

v. 3: And they prophesied unto Com many things; and he was blessed in all the remainder of his days. The Value in Gematria is 4507, דהאֶפֶסז‎‎‎, דהפייסז, "deface."

Donald Trump is the face of our national cyst. He is one man that sits at the top of a large spiritual cancer that is affecting America. Disasters, murders, tragedies, terrorism, and threats of the collapse of our international relations, which have always been America's strength, are being popularized, turned into something patriotic and beneficial, like a Flintsone Vitamin.

He needs to be completely effaced, and removed from our lives which means the Republican Party and its embers will have to be extinguished.

The Book of Mormon promises if we do this, life will go on. If we don't...

v. 4: And he lived to a good old age, and begat Shiblom; and Shiblom reigned in his stead. And the brother of Shiblom rebelled against him, and there began to be an exceedingly great war in all the land. The Value in Gematria is 6194, ו‎‎אטד‎ ‎‎, and ated, "rebel and go to the Thorn Bush."

Recall Moses went to see God on Sinai so the two could discuss what to do about a Pharaoh, the Hebrew word for Confederate, a man who forms a nation by taking away his people's rights. What did God tell Moses to do? He said, "tell Pharaoh to let the people go."

America is toying with the possibility it will allow a man who brokers power to himself by taking away the rights of others. This violates every principal of government and administration we have agreed to abide by for centuries.

So, someone please inform the public that Donald Trump will NOT be on that ballot in November, the Republican Party, a state sponsor of terrorism will be prosecuted and closed for all the evil it has done to its own people, and the light of God's Grace will finally shine on the people of this nation, and then all around the world.

This is why one should read the Torah or the Gospels in particular to find ways to bring the blessings of the God of Creation out of the realm of the unfathomable into real world and make it a better place.

[jugemusequencer]

PLEASE DRAW STEVEN FROM STRANGLED RED PLEASE PLEASE PELASE PLEASE PLEASE

its okay im in love with him too

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Fatal Ties Ch. 7

Pairings: Baekhyun x You

Genre: Angst/Smut/Fluff | Mafia AU

Warnings: Mild Violence

Word Count: 2k

Description: The temptation to give away secrets has never been so sweet.

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | The Ending |

The bandage was falling off his head again. You saw the fresh stitches underneath. Skin forcibly pulled back together with special thread to heal faster. Slightly inflamed from irritation. He could apply things to it to fade the scar after, but there would always be a remnant. Because of you. You and your stupid fucking temper the first day you met. Baekhyun was under your protection now. Nothing could happen to him. He was your asset. Your responsibility. These motherfuckers who decided to shoot at you were attacking him as well whether intentional or not. You'd make sure their scars would be far more permanent.

Jacket in hand, you shoved Baekhyun down. Forcing his torso to bend, and he whimpered as his face stopped millimeters from the seat by your knee. You steadied yourself with a hand between his shoulder blades as Chanyeol swerved a bit. You'd need a clear shot at their tires to stop them for good. It was a much easier target than their heads. Calling out over your shoulder.

"Steady out the car. I need to aim."

"You're crazy!" he argued. "They'll shoot you as soon as you put your head out the window!"

"Then do a 180."

"That's the opposite direction we need to go!"

"They won't expect it. I'll shoot at their tires while we pass them. Do it, Park!"

"Fuck!" Chanyeol pressed his lips together in a firm line, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel with one hand while the other hovered over the gear shift. Closing his fingers into a fist once then taking hold of it. Glancing in the rear view to see the positioning of the car following. You took a steadying breath and rolled your window down that had already been shot once. Bracing on the door. Two more gunshots burst in the air. You couldn't think of the possibility that you'd be killed the moment they had you in sights. This was the best chance you had at hitting a tire and escaping. Your brain barely registered the music Chanyeol had been playing before still running on the stereo. Tuning out all else to focus on surviving. You only had seven rounds in the gun to get it right. You had to get it right.

Then his voice boomed,

"Now!" The car jerked hard to the left. Rubber screeching on asphalt. Your momentum all but dead as it channeled into the front of the vehicle. Pivoting almost directly on the spot. As the rear end swung into the correct direction you heard Chanyeol jerk on the gear shift. Engine humming louder as he stepped on the gas quickly. You followed the position of the other car. The assailants slowing suddenly as they came up on your front. It worked. They were shocked. Them stopping as you gained speed. You pointed your pistol out the window, second hand steadying your first. Forearm rested on the windowsill for the greatest stability. Looking down your sights to the wheels of the other car. Pulling the trigger. Each concussive bang far too familiar to your ears. One, two, three, four, five, six.

It struck. The air pressure exploded out as the lead tore through. It was your turn to be surprised. The chassis falling limp on the rear side. Scraping and shrieking on the road. Scraps of tread trailing after them. Red lights and a bit of smoke signaling their frantic and unexpected stop. Chanyeol shifted into the next gear. Accelerating away. They sat there. Crooked on the side of the road. No one got out. Typically your little pistol wouldn't have enough power to do anything beyond puncture so the tire goes flat after a few minutes. It gives you time to create distance. Maybe they would have been fine if they hadn't stolen a lemon with tires decades old, but they didn't. It was compromised from point one. So you profited.

Heaving a loud sigh, you mashed a finger on the button to roll the window up again. The wind soon closed off to the confines of your car. You shut your eyes and took a moment to breathe. It didn't last past the inhale. Hearing loud panting behind you. Turning to see Baekhyun scramble to pull his pants leg up. The fabric bunched and got tight at the knee. Revealing split skin on his calf. A nice clean line of a grazed bullet. Crimson clotting slowly. Your eyes darted to his door. A dent. Lead smushed inside. You followed the line back to your side door to where you could see the entry point. Sunlight coming in the small hole.

Shit.

You quickly took out the clip on your gun and counted two remaining bullets. Shit. The clip clicked back in to place. You mis-counted one of their gunshots as your own. A stupid mistake. You also hadn't forced Baekhyun's legs up on the seat like you had your own knowing this was a possibility. Another even more idiotic mistake. By all rights you shouldn't have even gotten ambushed.

"I know what you're thinking," you sighed. Baekhyun's breathing remained shallow. Eyes wide in fear.

"I don't know. Were you thinking, 'holy shit holy shit, I just almost got shot'?" At least he seems alright, you think. No. You were thinking about suspects. Motive. Timing. It was all too convenient with the plan of the alliance. Someone who knew your schedule had whispered poison to the wind of deceit and clutching for power. Someone with friends willing to go about the foolhardy mission of taking your place. Someone who knew killing you would keep chaos and senseless precedents on the street. Thinking the wedding was distraction enough to catch you vulnerable. There was a mark on your head, and a spy among your inner circle.

First was to identify the problem. That was done easily enough. Human greed never surprised you anymore. The ambush lighting their intentions brighter than a flare. Second, think up solutions, and lastly, proceed with the most viable one. Working toward a concrete goal is the best coping mechanism in your mind; it solves the problem. Leaving no room for grief or worry. The second step was holding you back. Procedure broken.

"This is all dissolving into one miserable fucking headache," you lamented. Agitated and unnerved. Your lack of knowledge dented the neat little compartments you had your anxieties stored in. Wrapped in a steely will. Without a clear explanation you could formulate no plan. You could not rationalize the steps. You were left confused and wandering listlessly for answers. You were left anticipating another strike at your heart with no counter measure.

Now was not the time to demonstrate how frightful you could be to keep the lower ranks at heel. Too many bodies had been piling up lately. Crushing small prey under your boots in hopes of rooting out dissension wasn't an option. Now was the time for tact. But comprehension breeds control, and as Chanyeol drives a long path to double back to your manor you steadily realize you are lacking in fuel for this trait at the moment. You dare never show it. You coveted composure. It empowers you. Pragmatism your blade in an industry where emotions get you killed, or worse. You don't have a plan.

But they don't know that. Your gaze flitting between the back of Chanyeol's head and the window that was shot first. He was the most likely mole. He knew where you were and where you would be at almost any hour of the day. Setting up the ambush would have been as simple as sending a text when he picked you up at the tailor shop. The thought roiled uncomfortably in your belly. Sweet, dorky Chanyeol. So bright and naive to your world outside this car. It would have been all too easy for someone to slither ideas into his head. Or perhaps he had always despised you under his polite mask. Would you have to kill him outright? No. There was someone bigger pulling the strings. You needed intel. You needed to manipulate and keep keen eyes for clues.

"Are you...alright?" you hear quietly from the seat over. You've been silent too long it appears. Brooding, even. Baekhyun has already pushed his torn pants back over the minor injury and settled his frantic demeanor. Adrenaline spike sloping downward now that danger was no longer immediate. Returning to his regular gossamer state.

You can't give anything away. Chanyeol would be watching for weakness too. And if not Chanyeol, it could be anyone. You must endure alone. Your chest anguishing with betrayal yet blotting out any outward variation in expression.

You chase knowledge with the intent of preserving the empire around you despite others' thoughts that your methods are cruel. Making the wrong choice will mean more lives lost. It's only natural for you to fear failure. The more you succeed, however, the more it seems people pour their lives into your hands. Dependent on your guardianship. The weight turns heavier. The dread around uncertainty grows.

The more you endure, the more you're affirmed trust is intrinsically illogical. Everyone is an enemy. Every action not calculated leads to chaos. You slipped, distracted by Baekhyun, and danger came all too swiftly. Strength is both safe and exhausting. You envy Baekhyun's freedom to be soft as he is. Agonizing internally, aching to give in but still unable to. Nonetheless, you have to tell Baekhyun something.

"I'm fine. We should tighten security until the wedding is over."

"Do you have any idea who that was? Do you think they work for my dad?"

"Hush," you ordered. "It doesn't concern you."

"It doesn't concern me?" Baekhyun repeated bitterly. Voice raising. "I was nearly shot! I think that entitles me to some kind of explanation!"

"Nearly," you replied monotonously. Refusing to look at him. Instead staring out the front window past the empty passenger seat. "Clear difference from actually being shot."

"I can't believe you're so...like this!"

"Then I guess you're just as light-headed as I suspected." You only need him to shut up. Out of your peripheral you see him face you directly. One hand sinking nails into the front seat to steady himself and channel his aggravation. Knuckles white. His glare does nothing more than itch. No weight behind it. He would never lash out physically. So it did nothing to deter you.

"It's another secret isn't it?" Baekhyun guessed. Tone more pained than anything else. It was unexpected. You glanced. He hadn't been glaring after all. His brows were pinched in worry, eyes swimming with sympathy. "Please, this is my life too. You can trust me. You can depend on me." He would break, you think. All too soon. Shaking your head in disapproval, you turned away.

"I wish that were true." His nails retreated from the leather. The backs of his fingers ghosting from your upper arm to your shoulder, and then your jaw. You shut your eyes briefly and tensed against the shuddering breath your body attempted to betray you with. Baekhyun's fingers glided over the shell of your ear as if brushing away hair.

"If I take over wedding plans," he said in a muted voice. "Will that help you?"

"Yes."

"Then you can rely on me." He continued to pet your cheek and trace under your chin. Then taking it in his grip and turning your face to him. Repeating it like a promise. "You can rely on me." Your eyes flitted back to him. The temptation was there in his sincerity. For a split second, you considered it. Your lips parted and your eyes pleaded for his help. Baekhyun waited, holding his breath. Then,

"No.” The most honeyed voice is often the most dangerous. You hardened your heart and tore his hand from you. Sitting straighter. You couldn't give up any control. "And the events that just happened don't leave this vehicle. Chanyeol, dump the car once you drop us off."

"Yes boss." You needed to set an established course of action in your mind before you returned to the manor. You needed information for yourself, and you couldn't agitate whoever was after you. It would only provoke them to strike harder. Your vulnerabilities needed more than a shadow. There could be no cracks in the facade.

[severalbakuras]

and now let’s finish season 4!

long post warning!

episode four:

i’m telling you i just don’t trust those nier-qiraji looking spire temple things. if they’re trying to spin this as the heartland of all good things it’s not working it just looks eerie. doesn’t help that there’s not a lot of aliens running around doing normal living stuff so it looks dead too.

god there sure is a lot of interesting action happening off-screen thanks for the info firo. sure is a lot of planets keith’s helping to liberate that y’all apparently aren’t because of ~parades~

i’m getting the feeling this episode won’t have anything actually mattering happening so there’s a non-zero chance i’ll end up skipping.

ok yeah jumping around there’s a dude bitching about them not being there on time and ice skating and then “~lover boy lance~!” and there’s no action scenes or cuts to the real zarkon or anything so i don’t think i’m going to miss much skipping this one lol

might watch it for real some other time i do like coran and his coranigans but his comic moments are best in small doses rather than like the entire episode imo.

episode five:

didn’t they already have a map before?

ok so i was under the apparent mistaken impression that the galra had conquered a shitload of the universe, not a couple of galaxies. noice i can use this for the warcraft au to explain how the galra never ran into sargeras, the legion or the draenei. (that will likely never be more than scattered hcs lol).

matt’s in the furry squad i see. i’m gonna say... fox, or perhaps squirrel.

lotor’s leggy looking ships made me laugh idk why.

snippy lotor.

oooh dissension in the ranks acxa.

SHAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!!!

i can’t believe allura’s got a :I face on talking to Best Girl.

is that it for shay aww...

lotor i feel like you not explaining shit to your generals, while understandable given what happened with narti, is probably going to bite you in the ass like do you not trust them enough to know what’s going on or what.

related did you explain narti bc if you did it didn’t sound like you explained it to ezor very well before.

uh maybe stay away from the death planet of death?????

who’s this secret team?

lotor if you know enough about honerva’s experiments re quintessence that that’s what happened then you know what quintessence does to people who fuck with it.

if he crosses this barrier he’s gonna hit the hell-dimension where the voltron materia came from but he’s also going to hit the shit that killed daibazaal AND his parents. lotor. lotor are you sure about this.

iF ZETHRID GETS EATEN BY THE HELL-DIMENSION I SWEAR TO GOD LOTOR.

i can’t tell if that thing drifting off-screen is his ship or a bit of debris, it’s the only other thing moving in the shot but its colours are off.

but like it’s annoying enough with firo around i don’t need to worry about notor and zethraint coming back to acxa and ezor tyvm.

hey it’s those two! uh, three.

SHAAAAAAAAY

FUCK YEAH HUNK GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO

ok maybe hunk would survive LFR after all.

is that our first lady galra in charge of one of these things? i love her.

holy shit that wasn’t the voice i expected to come out of the dog-person. i swear to god they sounded just like dub honey in ouran.

there goes furry squad i guess.

that knifework keith!!!

that was a very visceral death squish noise, ick.

dropping the charred remains of the enemy ship on the enemy is a+ psychological warfare.

oh god those poor three galra. a normal day and then voltron lands on theHE FUCKING HOPS AWAY... I LOVE HIM...

oh fuck you show you skip the transformation, make them defuse and then immediately make them transform again AND IT’S THE FULL SEQUENCE.

this music’s surprisingly melancholic, i guess lotor’s more sad then mad his plan failed again.

see lotor i told you this would bite you in the ass.

wow the fps dropped like crazy for her walking animation was that meant to be viewed from further away than it was?

FOR NARTI OOOOOOOOH YOU FUCKED UP LOTOR this is why you explain things like ‘why i sliced our friend in half and left her cat behind’.

i like the shot of his eyes it’s like ‘god dammit really?!’

oh nice they captured galra lady alive.

zethrid actually seems kinda sad about this and so does loTOWHAT THE FUCK LOTOR!!!!!!!!

YOU PUT ZETHRID SOMEWHERE SAFE RIGHT NOW I SWEAR!!!

oh thank god.

are they gonna join the rebellion??? or just try and harvest the super quintessence on their own?

did the druids always slide around like they’ve all got heelies under those robes?

uh oh haggar had a cunning plan. this whole ‘never explaining shit to your allies’ gene is from both sides of the family i see.

episode six:

‘a new defender’ so we’re probably getting a new semi-permanent character on the squad for the next season noice.

MACROSS LASERS

another lady galra!!! she reminds me of toriel for some reason i think it’s the ear growths. feels like there’s a lot more variation on the appearances of the galra and the aliens in general this season i approve.

i wonder what keith’s mother looks/looked like.

oh so no wonder haggar is confident, zarkon’s off doing something entirely unrelated.

lotor how are you even moving your arms right now i know a guy who dislocated his shoulder. that shit hurts and keeps on hurting.

damn that’s depressing he’s just entirely alone in space. he doesn’t even have the comfort that firo did of having people to search for and people who’d care enough to try and find him for good reasons. he’s just hounded like an animal.

what is that... mass on cyberkon’s back? like there’s got to be something underneath that plating it can’t just be his neck orb. it’s giving me vibes like the thing in Inside  i don’t like it.

ok as much as i laugh at his leggie space ship lotor does manage to make it look damn graceful.

holy shit the texture on the sun. you know you’ve got a good lava/very hot thing texture if it makes you wanna stick your hand in just like with real lava.

i wonder if haggar’s magic is corrupted altean magic or something she’s learned as a zombie. i wonder if lotor could pull off altean magic, or something close to it? magical boy lotor.

does naxzela have a world soul???

for a second there that sphere looked like one of the resurrection seeds from drakengard ending B. that would be the most fucked up AU.

is the planet actually a giant robot????

oh fuck so is it turning itself into a neutron star?

it’s a bomb oh ok.

ten solar systems from one planet jesus.

VICTORY OR DEATH SPACE ORCS CONFIRMED (again)

go keith!!

lotor are you going where i think you’re going...............

............... i don’t want to be hopeful i’m almost always wrong...............

aww lance!!! it seems like he’s real good at team stuff so long as he’s inside the lions. weird.

i really like the spacy dust background here.

aaaaa coran ;A;

keith what’s with that look.

keith what did you just say.

KEITH WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

NONONONONONONONONONOONONONONONONONONONONOONOONNOONONOON

LOTOR DID YOU JUST

LOTOR DID YOU JUST

ok so overall not the strongest season but it had its good moments even if i was salty for a while.

i’m more hype for season 5 than i was for this half of the season i will say.

(also keitor has been shuffled from ‘entirely crack’ to ‘they will probably meet face to face at some point’.)

(so naturally now it’s my Everything especially with my ot4 gone and zethura still being crack as all hell. maybe with this new season the content will be less old-school deathshipping and more millennial deathshipping)

[megaphonemonday]

lose inhibitions/give exhibitions

JustSimplyMe: Ginny getting roofied at a club and Protective!Mike.

Okay, so I tweaked this a little bit, because roofies make me really squeamish, but I think this is still in keeping with what you wanted

read it on ao3

Something strange is going on. 

Mike’s not sure if it’s been like this all night or if it only started recently. He should’ve been watching more closely, should’ve known the minute that something shifted. It doesn’t matter that he’s spent most of the evening within arm’s reach, he still should’ve known. 

What should be a laid back night out with the team has got a knot of worry eating away at his gut. Because something is... not right. But he can’t put a finger on what.

Okay, he can. It’s Ginny. 

(When isn’t it Ginny?) 

He just hasn’t figured out why she’s acting so unusually and it’s starting to drive him crazy.

She’s not sloppy. In fact, Mike doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ginny even get drunk on team outings. Tipsy, yes, but rarely drunk. She tends to keep such exacting control over herself. 

So, while she’s drunk more than she usually does, it's not anything to raise eyebrows. Well, anyone else’s eyebrows. But there’s definitely something different about her tonight. 

She’s... looser. Freer. 

She’s all over him. 

For her at least. It’s not like when groupies sidle up to him at the bar, flirting and asking for a selfie, tossing their hair and pressing their breasts into his arm or back. That’s not Ginny’s style and if she’d been doing it, Mike definitely would have caught on faster. 

The problem is, none of what Ginny’s doing is that different from how they usually are with each other. 

She’s just been touching him slightly more than usual: letting her hand linger on the waistband of his jeans as she slides by him at the bar, leaning her head against his shoulder as she laughs at their teammates for a breath longer than usual, twining her fingers through his beneath the table. 

And the staring. It feels like Ginny’s attention hasn’t wavered from him all night. 

Which is probably a good thing because if Ginny’d touched anyone else half as much as she’d been touching Mike, there would’ve been problems. 

(Problems that Mike would’ve dealt with by ordering a double bourbon and sulking, but still problems.)

What should be a celebration, even a slightly bittersweet one, has been overshadowed by Mike overthinking what the hell is going on in Ginny’s head. There’s part of him that hopes her sudden need to be as close as possible is tied to the press release his agent put out this morning: Mike Lawson’s hanging up his mask at the end of the season. 

Even if it’s not true, he wants answers. And unfortunately, there’s really only one place for him to turn.

“Anyone know how much she’s had to drink?”

There are shrugs and rolled eyes all around. Nanny Lawson at it again. 

“You weren’t counting?” Dusty jokes, turning back to the table. 

Mike won’t dignify that with a response. Because they’ll definitely make fun of him if he does. 

It’s not until Salvi says, “Didn’t someone buy her a drink, though? When Mike dropped the guard dog routine for a minute to take a leak?” that Mike really starts to worry. 

(Worries so much, in fact, that he misses the consensus that, yes, it had happened, but, no, Ginny hadn’t accepted. He also misses the shared looks of amused disbelief as he heads off to find the pitcher, expression stormy.)

What had he missed? Some creep hitting on her and Ginny just needed a little physical reassurance to get over it? Unlikely. It was far more believable that she’d put anyone trying to pressure her in their place without any kind of assistance. And Mike’s sure that he would’ve heard if she’d started a brawl. 

Mike’s still puzzling it out, turning it over in his head. She really hasn’t been drinking enough to explain the odd behavior. More than usual, but Ginny’s pretty good at holding her liquor. Unless—

Christ. What if someone spiked her drink? 

It makes sense: her slight spaciness and the way she’d had to lean on him to stay standing the last time they’d visited the bar. 

She’d never gone to college, probably never learned how to watch her drink. It probably never even occurred to her to worry about it. 

Mike sees red at the mere thought, wants to haul the bartender over the scarred oak bar and demand who ordered that drink for her, but he manages to take a breath. Maybe it’s not even true. And anyway, it doesn’t help anyone, but especially Ginny, if he loses his cool right now. Before he gets her out of here. 

The fact that once she’s safe, he can come back and tear the place apart with his bare hands goes unsaid. 

Feeling marginally better, he seeks out Ginny almost unconsciously. Thankfully, she’s exactly where he left her: leaning up against Blip and Sonny, pouting slightly. 

She catches him looking and lights up.

“Mike!” she cheers, tipping against Sonny, who pushes her gingerly back to Blip. The outfielder rolls his eyes, but takes Ginny’s weight easily enough, not that she notices. She waves him over and Mike goes. Not just because she’s potentially been drugged, but because he’s incapable of not bending to her every whim. 

Once he’s close enough, Ginny shakes off Blip’s support and twirls into Mike’s arms. He catches her readily, frowning at how much she has to lean on him to stay upright. 

“You finally gonna dance with me, old man?”

She’s pouting, which is the only reason he spins her around, only stopping when she stumbles and has to grab his shoulders to remain on her feet. He sends Blip a concerned look and gets a frown in response. 

Loudly, not just for Ginny’s sake, he announces, “I think it’s about time we get this show on the road.” 

His assessment receives mixed reviews from both his teammates and their various hangers on. Whatever. The guys can handle not shutting down the bar for once in their lives. 

The loudest dissension, though, comes from Ginny herself. 

“You’re gonna leave, now?” she demands, incredulous. Her fingers tighten on his shoulders like she’s preparing herself to physically bar him from going.

The rest of the team leaves them to it, either to go home themselves or avoid another episode of the Ginny and Mike Show. 

Not that either of its leading characters really notice. 

“We gotta get you home, Gin,” he murmurs, gentler than he would be otherwise. Ordinarily, he’d tease her into agreeing with him, but it seems unlikely that she’s going to remember this in the morning. He tucks a stray curl behind her ear and does his best not to let himself linger. 

(Not that his best is all that good. Not when it comes to this.)

She grins, soft and bright. Her head tilts and god damn it, she looks fucking adorable, but she’s high out of her mind. “Oh, really?” she asks, practically a purr. 

Mike swallows and ignores the way she’s looking at him, hates that it’s just the product of some drug she didn’t want or take for herself. “Yeah. Night’s over.”

Something like confusion passes over her face and she burrows closer to his side. When he tucks his arm around her shoulder, more protective than because he likes the way it feels (and God does he like the way it feels), and starts steering her to the door, though, it passes and she sighs happily. 

“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” she murmurs, her arm curling around his back and fingers inching under his shirt to hook into a belt loop.

Somehow, Mike manages to pour/lift Ginny into the passenger’s seat of his truck—suddenly the woman is part octopus, all clinging limbs—and drives her back to the condo she calls home. Though the thought of directing his car back to his house crosses his mind, Mike blots it out quickly. The idea of Ginny in his house is one he doesn’t want compromised by the fact she’s only there because some asshole was trying to take advantage of her. 

Just thinking about it makes his hands curl around the steering wheel, knuckles going white with the strength of his grip. Ginny doesn’t seem to notice, fiddling with the radio and humming along once she finds a song she likes. He’s a little surprised that she hasn’t passed out, but there’s always a chance that whatever got slipped into her drink wasn’t the average roofie. His mind tries to cycle through other possibilities, though it’s not as if he’s at all familiar with that kind of drug. 

He pushes the whirring thoughts from his head in favor of getting Ginny safely home. It’s not such a hard task when Mike concentrates on the tuneless, if contented, humming coming from the passenger seat. He lets her lull him into the easy rhythm of muscle memory (easier with the reminder that she’s fine and nothing happened), navigating San Diego’s late night traffic on auto pilot. 

It’s only the catch of her door releasing and the flare of the overhead light that knocks him out of his stupor. In a flash, he’s out of the car and jogging around the front to give Ginny a hand. For her part, she’s remarkably steady on her feet, but still takes the offered support. 

He leads her up to her door, watching as she fumbles her keys. Ginny giggles a little, leaning on him as her usually able and agile fingers fail to get the right key, once she finds it, into the lock. 

Mike doesn’t tease the way he usually would, too worried about whatever is working its way through his system to come up with a good joke, but he does gently extricate her keyring from her grasp to open the door himself. 

Ginny turns up to him, grinning. “Taking charge, captain? I think I like that.”

Mike rolls his eyes to keep himself from taking her words seriously. “Goodnight, Ginny,” he says instead, already taking a step back.

“Aren’t you coming in?” she pouts, stopping him in his tracks.

Mike’s conflicted. On the one hand, he needs to be far far away if Ginny’s going to keep looking up at him through her eyelashes and biting her lip. On the other, he’s going to feel awful just leaving her here to wake up confused and potentially scared in the morning. And right now, making sure that Ginny’s okay absolutely trumps driving back to the bar and tracking down the piece of shit that did this to her. 

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that nothing happened and Ginny is safely back at home, before nodding. 

“Give me the tour, rook.”

This isn’t the first time he’s been to her condo. Though, the extravagant housewarming that Evelyn and Amelia had orchestrated hadn’t given him much opportunity to explore beyond the state-of-the-art kitchen, well decorated living room, and back deck. Mike had ducked into the powder room to splash water on his face when the sight of Ginny leaning on the kitchen island, head tipped back in laughter, had devolved into a long, inappropriate train of thought all about other scenarios that involved Ginny bent over that counter. 

Mike’s got a feeling that powder room won’t be making the tour tonight.

Not with the way she’s grinning at him, hardly even bothering to turn on the lights as she leads him up the stairs to her lofted bedroom. 

With every step he climbs, Mike tries to tell himself that he’s just going to make sure she gets into bed, has a trashcan and a supply of aspirin handy for when she wakes up. Every time he manages to get himself halfway convinced, though, Ginny turns back and smiles at him. And when her grin makes his heart beat faster, he forcibly reminds himself of what an awful fucking excuse for a man he’d be if he does anything to act on the way he feels. 

Eventually, though, they make it to the top of the stairs. 

Mike’s somewhat relieved to find a little sitting area, a neglected desk in the corner, that forms something of a pause between the landing and her bedroom. If he’d stepped right into the intimacy of Ginny Baker’s bedroom, it would have been so much harder to stand firm. Sure, he can still see her messily made bed from here, but he can probably convince himself that this space still qualifies as a public area. It’s just an extra place to hang out with friends. It’s not weird that he’s here. Not at all. Just as long as he doesn't go any further, everything will be fine.

Ginny, however, is less content with him staying put. 

She grabs his wrist and tugs, pouting a little when he digs in his heels. Strong as she is, she’s still drunk and high off of God knows what. There’s no way she’ll get him to take one more step. 

“Nice place,” he observes, trying to keep his tone neutral as he pretends there isn't a pouting pitcher latched onto his arm, doing her damnedest to get him into her bedroom. 

Why couldn’t she have just passed out? Sure, it would’ve been a pain to haul her up here, but it would’ve been worth it for how easily he could’ve gotten her tucked into bed. He’d get her settled and then be out the door (or more likely, camped out on her sofa downstairs so he could check and make sure she hadn’t choked on her own vomit in the middle of the night) without any fuss. 

But he’s pretty sure a fuss is what he’s going to get. 

Ginny finally stops pulling at him, having finally realized that he’s staying put. Instead, she peers up at him through her eyelashes, head cocked to the side. “It is,” she agrees, leaning into him as she’s been all night. Her hands fall away from his wrist, but before Mike can feel relieved, they settle on his hips, fingers weaving into the belt loops there. “But it’s hard to appreciate from so far away.”

Mike, God help him, stares intently down at the bold seductress that’s taken over Ginny. His jaw works side to side, but he can’t come up with a good response. There’s no way he’ll regret not giving in, not when the alternative is fundamentally betraying the trust he and Ginny have built, but he’s also sure the way she licks her lips and her gaze falls to his is going to haunt him for the rest of his natural life.

Before she can lean in even more, Mike finally finds his voice.

“Ginny, we can’t.”

She frowns, pulling away slightly. The little pucker in her brow would be adorable if it weren’t for the flash of hurt in her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because we’re still teammates,” he reminds her, gentle. No need to freak her out and tell her that someone spiked her drink. 

“But you’re retiring.”

“Yeah. At the end of the season.”

Ginny smiles at that, sidling back into him. Her fingers tangle in his belt loops again, anchoring their hips together. She takes a few step backwards, and Mike mindlessly follows before realizing how much closer her bed suddenly is. 

“Maybe I don’t want to wait for the end of the season.” 

Her face tilts up to him and it’s all Mike can do not to lean down and finally find out what she tastes like. He groans, disengaging her fingers from his jeans, and pulls away. 

“We can’t do this.”

Ginny doesn’t follow him, but her arms come up to wrap around herself. “You already said that,” she says hollowly.

A hand scrubs over his face and Mike sighs, “I know,” slumping as he realizes how hurt she is. 

“Why did you follow me up here, then?” she demands, a lick of anger overriding her lost confusion.

“Because you asked me to.”

It’s obviously more complex than that, but it all boils down to the same fact: Mike would do just about anything for Ginny. To protect her, keep her safe, make her happy. 

“Well, now I’m asking you to kiss me.”

Mike swallows, but still has to answer, “I can’t,” around the lump in his throat.

Ginny’s face falls. If she’d been sober, Mike’s sure that she would’ve done a better job of hiding the dismay. Then again, if she’d been sober, he wouldn’t have to keep her at arm’s length right now. They’d both probably be making themselves very at home in that bed of hers. 

But she’s not, so she also doesn’t manage to hold her tongue.

“Don’t you want me? Did you change your mind?”

Her chin wobbles, but there’s no sign of tears. Not that that makes Mike feel any less wretched. 

In a heartbeat, he’s back in her orbit, gathering a slightly resistant Ginny into his arms. She only relaxes when he admits, “Of course I want you.” It comes out huskier, more raw, than he intended. But this is the first time he’s told Ginny about his feelings for her in so many words. 

In any words, even. 

“Then why keep saying we can’t?” She sniffles a little into his shirt.

“Because I need to know it’s you who wants this and not whatever you’ve had tonight.”

Immediately, a switch flips and the tears disappear. Indignantly, Ginny rears back, jabbing him in the chest with a long finger. 

“I’m not drunk!”

“Gin—”

“Fine. Maybe I’m a little tipsy, but—”

“It’s not just that.”

She frowns, her lower lip jutting adorably towards him, though she’s clearly still annoyed. “Then what?”

“I think someone slipped something in your drink.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. He wants to kick himself. Ginny’s already emotional, he doesn’t need to layer panic and anxiety on top of whatever she’s feeling. 

Rather than panic, though, her frown deepens as she processes the information. “You think someone spiked my drink at the bar?” she checks.

Mike just nods, unsure of whether or not he needs to brace himself. 

He does. Just not in the way that he’d thought.

Because rather than freaking out or yelling or withdrawing completely, Ginny laughs. 

Full on, gut busting, full-throated gales of laughter.

“Ginny, stop laughing,” he practically begs, at a complete loss. “It’s not funny.”

She complies, though a few giggles manage to burst through the calm she tries to affect. Finally, though, she manages to look up at him with a mostly straight face.

“It is, though,” she replies, smiling in the face of his confused frown. The way her hands lay flat against his chest helps soothe the sting of her abject amusement, at least. “Mike, you watch my drinks better than I do. When would someone have had a chance to spike one?”

“What about the guy who bought you a drink while I was in the bathroom?” he counters a little too triumphantly.

Her brow furrows again. “The drink I didn’t take? I’m pretty sure even the strongest roofie can’t affect someone who doesn’t drink it.”

“You didn’t drink it?”

“Nope,” she responds, the word popping off her lips. Her hands slide over his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers gently carding through the hair there. “Only one guy bought me drinks tonight, and would you look at that? I went home with him.”

There’s not much Mike can do in the face of Ginny’s goofy grin other than grin back. Gingerly, as if he’s waiting for her to come to her senses, his own arms wrap more firmly around her. Ginny doesn’t protest, just slides even closer with a happy little hum. 

Mike’s lost track of the number of times that Ginny’s tilted her face up to him and rocked forward tonight, but she does it again. Not that her lips find their intended target. He turns his face at the last moment and her mouth connects with his bearded cheek. 

She pulls away with an exasperated huff. 

Sheepishly, he explains, “You’re still drunk.”

Ginny doesn't even bother to argue, which he appreciates. “Would you feel better if we slept on it?” she asks, her grin and the tilt of her head giving away just how indulgent she’s feeling. 

Mike rolls his eyes. It would, though.

That’s apparently more than enough answer for Ginny, who unwinds her arms from around his neck and takes a step back. Mike takes a deep breath and takes a backwards step of his own, heading for the stairs. Before he can take another, though, her incredulous voice stops him. 

“Where are you going?”

“Home. So we can sleep on this.”

“Stay.”

“Gin—”

“Listen,” she interrupts, sounding entirely sure of herself. “You’re already making me wait longer than I want, even if I understand why. But don’t think that I’m also going to wait for you to drive your ass over here after I wake up tomorrow morning and repeat this conversation back to you. Okay?”

Mouth twitching in the face of her annoyance, he nods.

But Ginny apparently isn’t done.

“And I know this won’t change your mind and you’ll probably ask if I meant this at least four times tomorrow morning, but I’m going to say it anyway.”

She swallows, a look of determination that Mike is all too familiar with crossing her features.

“I don’t want to wait for the season to end to be with you. We have been waiting so long already. I know a few months aren’t going to change the way I feel about you, but I’m ready to be happy now. And I am so, so sure that you’re going to make me happy.”

She pauses for a long moment to stare him down, to make sure that he’s paying attention. Mike is sure, no matter what comes next, he’ll never forget a single moment of Ginny telling him that he’ll make her happy. What could top that? 

Of course, he thought too soon because Ginny wasn’t done bowling him over.

“Because I love you, old man. Even when you’re crabby and make me give up the window seat on the plane. Even when you won’t shut up about your glory days. Even when you’re so protective you make up a drug scare just so you have a reason to take care of me. I love you.”

Speechless for once in his life, all Mike can do is cross the space between them, take Ginny’s hand, and press a tender kiss to her palm. He looks into her eyes as he does, trying to convey just how much he is with her. How much he loves her, too.

Much as he wants to kiss her, wants to sweep her into his arms and show her how deep his love for her goes, he knows he needs to wait. Just one night, to make sure that this isn’t some drug-fueled confession that she’ll walk back tomorrow. He doesn’t think it is, doesn’t think that any drug could mimic the vulnerability and honesty shining out of Ginny’s perfect face, but he needs to know. 

And Ginny, thankfully, understands.

She smiles, tangling her fingers with his as she pulls him towards her bed.

Once they’re both settled in, the lights out and curled intimately around one another, Mike lets himself think about how much he hopes she’s right. About being happy now rather than waiting. About being the one who can make that true for her. 

He wants that future so badly he can taste it. 

The last coherent thought he has before drifting off is that there are worse things in life than being in love with someone who’s right about everything. 

(Maybe not everything. In the morning, he only asks if she’d been serious three times before finally giving in and kissing her, slipping an “I love you,” into every breath and pause.)