#but the storm came out of nowhere and stopped the sabotage from actually working

[korkorali]

Oooooohhhh are we talking about Bradford telling Della about the Spear of Selene? I think we're talking about Bradford telling Della about the Spear of Selene!

Okay okay this is something I have Ideas™️about- specifically why he told her, and why she believed him.

The answer (as I have so humbly decided is obviously the abject truth) is the same for both: Because he'd been manipulating her for years.

He was trying to be the Emperor Palpatine to her Anakin Skywalker.

Why? Simple: The Papyrus of Truth.

Think about it- it doesn't make sense to immediately go 'oh, only Scrooge McDuck's heir can find the Papyrus? Welp, time to steal some of his DNA and make a kid!' That's supervillain territory, and Bradford isn't a supervillain! (He's just a bit of a scumbag, but that's not a supervillain so it's obviously fine.)

So picture this: he finds out about the wish Scrooge made on the Papyrus, that only his heir could find it, and his thought patterns line up with Scrooge's:

He thinks "Alright, then it has to be one of those rugrats."

The question is, which one? Della, or Donald?

And honestly, when they're both kids- it's not really that much of a question, is it?

Is it Donald, the angry coward who loves to hole up in his room and write songs about eating the rich and basically doing everything that Scrooge hates?

Or is it Della, the adventurous and energetic ball of high-octane excitement and adrenaline, unable to sit still for a single moment, who acts like Scrooge McDuck, who likes all the same things as Scrooge McDuck, who is pretty much every single thing that Bradford Buzzard hates about Scrooge McDuck, all rolled up into a bratty child?

(Nevermind the fact that she isn't actually like that, not entirely. Nevermind the fact that she's doing all that because she feels she has to be useful, to be likeable, and that means mirroring Scrooge McDuck because if he likes himself so much then he must like seeing himself in her.)

Obviously it's Della. It has to be.

Which means, in order for him to get the Papyrus, he needed to get his claws into Della.

Which shouldn't have been hard- you can't tell me that Scrooge wouldn't do the same thing with Donald and Della that he did with Louie. He'd take them to the Money Bin (after all, it's like a second home for him), then head into his office and tell them not to disturb him.

And that'd leave Della in the perfect position for Bradford to begin to wheedle his ways past her defenses.

(Of course, multiple problems arise, not the least of which is she's a child and Bradford undoubtedly hates children. But moreso it's that she's genre-savvy, and also (and we love her for it, but) kind of dumb. It's a very frustrating mix that leads to her very nearly calling him out on what he's doing a lot.

But also, despite all that- she's still a kid.

And despite how much she thinks she knows, he's still better.)

It'd take a while, and I don't think he ever really manages it, but he still gets her to trust him.

Eventually, of course, he learns that Della isn't the 'heir of Scrooge McDuck.'

(Not sure how this happens, but it obviously does- I'm sure that lots of the Adventure Trio's adventures in the earlier days were spent searching for that missing Papyrus, but for some reason they stopped. The whole thing threatened to tear Donald and Della apart, or something.)

And that makes all the work he spent on her useless. All the time spent manipulating her, and trying (and -mostly- failing) to get her to be something he wanted, to push her to break up her family, all for naught.

Or- maybe not.

Because Scrooge keeps a secret. He makes her a spaceship. An untested, unreliable, terrible spaceship that literally runs on money.

It's horrible.

It's a waste.

It's perfect.

All the work doesn't have to be for naught. All Bradford has to do is let Della come to him one day, when she's at the Money Bin (probably because she and Donald and Scrooge were going shopping for baby toys, and she kept trying to get these really dangerous and deadly-looking ones, and ultimately got sent to the Money Bin as a bit of a 'time out'), let her rant and burn herself out to him about how frustrating Donald and Scrooge are being, how unfair they are (how scared she is, how much she just wishes they'd let her actually handle some stuff, how bad they make her feel for still wanting to adventure at a time like this, how much it feels like all either of them care about anymore are the kids and not her), how much it blows to be stuck like this.

And all Bradford has to do is offer up some half-hearted consolement, assure her that (while Donald is definitely being too overprotective) that of course Scrooge still cares about her, is still thinking about her, is still thinking about her, after all he's making her the-

And then cut himself off, like he said too much. That's aaaaallll that's needed to peak Della's interest, after all. And as soon as that's peaked- it's over.

All he has to do is hem and haw back and forth, say 'oh but he made me promise never to say anything' and 'I could get in trouble' and so on and so forth. Make it seem like he didn't want to say anything. Make Della feel like she earned the information, that he didn't plan this from the start.

And when she finally gets the information about the Spear out of him, and her eyes light up like stars and she darts off to go see if he was telling the truth, he can be confident that she'll never remember that he was the one who told her about it. All she'd be able to think about is 'I figured it out.' Because she had, after all. She'd figured it out, all her, he definitely hadn't pointed her in that direction at all.

He got to get rid of a liability and break the family, all in one fell swoop.

[simthorium]

Shea, playing crash-landed pilot Jessie Rose, lifted her face up slowly from the sand. She blinked her eyes, sand coating her face, and looked around as if in a daze. Nearby were pieces of the plane she’d just piloted, smashed into the beach.

“What the--,” Shea said, making her voice as strained and hoarse as possible. The waves in front of her crashed softly mere inches away. She lifted herself slowly from the sand, wiping her face and wincing when her hand touched the bruised flesh on her face.

Shea was completely in the zone. She felt as if she were an actual confused and shipwrecked person, lost on a strange island in the middle of nowhere. Just a few feet away was the entire crew, and all their gear, filming the entire thing.

“Perfect, perfect,” Jake muttered, watching Shea’s performance on the monitor. “She’s a natural,” said Jen. “It’s why we chose her,” Jake said with a smile.

Sarah, playing socialite Astrid Meadows, began to come to on the beach as well. She sat up slowly, sputtering ocean water and sand out of her mouth. “What the hell?” she said, holding her head up.

Jessie and Astrid slowly rose to their feet, looking around. When they spotted each other, they rushed one another, nearly bumping into each other. “I thought you said you could fly this stupid thing!” Astrid shouted. “I can!” Jessie spat back. “I’m a pilot, for god’s sake.” “Some pilot!” Astrid screamed. “You nearly killed us!” “Well, sorry princess, the plane was malfunctioning, there wasn’t a lot of time to do much else,” said Jessie.

Astrid scoffed and pulled out her phone, frantically trying to get service. Jessie pulled her phone out to do the same. “Great,” Astrid said. “No bars.” “No kidding,” Jessie grumbled. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.” “Well, at least we’ve got that sorted out, thanks captain,” Astrid said.

“I don’t need this,” Jessie said, storming away. “Where are you going!” Astrid demanded. “Come back here right now!” “Bite me!” Jessie shouted, heading into the brush of trees and forest just off the beach. Astrid groaned and followed her.

“What the hell are you doing!” Astrid asked, watching as Jessie climbed up a tree. “Can you stop cursing at me for once in your life?” Jessie said. “And I’m not your servant, you know? You can’t just demand things from me.” “You crashed us on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere!” Astrid shouted. “Not only am I gonna miss my fashion show, but I’m probably gonna get mauled by gorillas too! So I think I deserve some answers!”

“Would you just shut up for once!” Jessie shouted. She scooted higher up in the tree, trying to look around and survey the island. Astrid stamped her feet. “No!” she yelled. “I will not shut up. For once, I think this is actually the perfect time for me to get mad! You said you could fly that disgusting old plane and that you could get me to the show, and now look at us!”

Jessie dropped down from the tree and Astrid immediately stepped toward her. “We’re stuck on an island, no phone service, with a broken plane!” she screamed. “I think I’m allowed to freak out, don’t you!” “You don’t think I’m freaking out too?” Jessie said. “I’m trying to figure out how the hell to get us out of here!”

“We wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place if you hadn’t insisted on flying that stupid toy plane of yours!” Astrid said, pointing at Jessie’s chest. “God, I should’ve known you were trying to sabotage me! You’ve always been jealous of me! Ever since your mother came to work for my family, you’ve always been jealous. I should’ve known you were going to sabotage me, but I didn’t think you’d try to kill me!”

Jessie pushed Astrid’s hand away. “Don’t you ever talk about my mother ever again,” Jessie said in a low voice. Astrid was taken aback by her response, but said nothing. Jessie scowled and pushed past her, shoving her shoulders as she walked back to the beach.

The two returned to the beach and began rifling through the plane fuselage. Jessie was focused on finding pieces she could repair while Astrid was attempting to find her luggage if possible.

“Have you seen my bag?” Astrid asked. Jessie said nothing, still focusing on identifying plane parts. Astrid groaned loudly as she continued to search.

The plane was in horrible shape. Jessie sighed as she rummaged through the broken up bits. She knew it was impossible to repair and switched gears. The sun was setting and they would need to start thinking about a new plan for escape.

Using plants, tree bark, rocks, and a random assortment of scattered plane debris, Jessie was able to construct a makeshift shelter on the beach beside a small campfire. She sat before it, staring into the flames as she racked her brain for a new plan. Astrid finally walked over to her. “Mind if I join you?” she asked. Jessie said nothing.

Astrid sighed and sat down in front of the fire. “I’m sorry about what I said before,” she said. “It was stupid of me to assume you crashed us on purpose, and I shouldn’t have talked about your mother. I know you both work hard for my family.” “Are you just kissing ass so you can sit in front of the fire and not freeze to death?” Jessie asked. Astrid shrugged. “Kind of?” she said. Jessie laughed. “It’s fine,” said Jessie. “I made it for both of us. We’re gonna need to start thinking of an escape plan soon, you know?” “I know,” said Astrid. “But I’m so damn tired. Can we just go to sleep?”

Astrid knocked out in the shelter a few minutes afterwards, but Jessie stayed awake. She stared out into the flames of the fire, her mind racing. She was a pilot; how could her plane just go down like that? She sighed as the last of the flames went out.

It was cold on the beach, but the shelter provided an adequate amount of cover. Soon, Jessie was asleep too.

[juniorgman187]

Daddy Issues (Spencer Reid Imagine)

*NOT MY GIF IF ANYONE KNOWS THE OWNER PLZ LET ME KNOW SO I CAN GIVE CREDIT*

Summary: While tending to Reid’s wound he obtained in a bar brawl, Reader finds out about his true feelings but not without the hurtful mentioning of Reader’s daddy issues. 

Category: Angst Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Mentions of a violent bar fight, allusions to abandonment, self-destructive/sabotaging tendencies  Word Count: 2.6K

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“Naughty boy.” 

You put your thumb on the dimple of his chin and your index finger under his chin to turn his head to the side gently. Reid let his head turn without resistance so you’d have a better view of the large laceration on his cheek. It was bloody beyond belief. “God, what’d you do?”

“What do you mean ‘What’d I do?’ He was the maniac that punched me.” Because of Reid’s little bar fight, you were all kicked out of the club and forced to come back to Spencer’s apartment to clean him up. While the rest of the team was in the living room, you were in the bathroom, kindly helping him. But he rejected your help when he wrapped his large hand around your wrist to pull it off his face so he could hop off the sink and push past you and out the door. 

“Reid, get back here! You of all people know how much worse that cut will be if I don’t clean it soon.”

Apparently, reminding him that he might develop an infection was enough to convince him to drop the tough guy act and come back. He walked with his tail between his legs when he had to pass you in the doorway to sit back on the sink. You brought out the emergency kit, while Spencer looked over his shoulder to check out his wound in the mirror. 

“Yes, you look cool. Now stop looking at yourself in the mirror and look at me so I can disinfect it.” Reid almost looked embarrassed when you said this, but you both knew it was true. He did look pretty badass. 

After you pulled out all your supplies, Reid shyly spoke up. 

“Do . . . do you really think I look cool?” 

This coming from a man that had been shot twice, survived an anthrax attack, been in a handful of hostage situations, and got out of prison. He was so strong, but he didn’t even know it. How was he so oblivious to his own strength? You had to laugh.

“Why are you laughing at me? What’s so funny?” Reid sounded genuinely hurt. If his previous question didn’t radiate ‘sad puppy dog energy,’ that question sure did. It was as if he had reverted to his shy 24 year old self that still asked for validation. 

“You do not need to get punched to prove how tough you are, okay? You’re plenty strong as it is.” To him, he thought you were just saying that, but you didn’t mean it. “Hey - look at me,” You demanded, making him meet your eyes. “You are so fucking cool. You hear me? I mean it, Reid. It takes one to know one after all.” He tried to fight a smile at your playful joke, but he failed. You always knew what to say to cheer him up, and tonight was no different. 

Reid’s shoulders finally deflated as he settled down. You stood between his legs while you tended to the cut. While you were between Reid’s legs, you felt his finger playing with the belt loop of your jeans. It was such a small gesture you didn’t notice it at first, maybe even because he’d probably done small gestures like this a million times before. He wasn’t even doing it on purpose, but he was fulfilling some subconscious need to be touching you, even if it was simply playing with your belt loop. 

“You know, if you don’t tell me what happened, Morgan will. Do you really want that?” You threatened. Knowing Morgan - he'd be more than happy to recount the incident to you.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Alright. If you say so,” You stared directly into Spencer’s eyes. “MORGAN!” You yelled loud enough for him to hear you. 

Spencer immediately clapped his hand over your mouth. “SHH! Fine, fine I’ll tell you.”

See? Worked like a charm. 

When it came to Reid, you played dirty, and without fail, he’d give you what you wanted. Even if it took a while - he’d always give in. 

Always. 

“Remember that guy you were -” Reid gulped back the lump in his throat. “dancing with?”

After pausing to recall the night, a faint memory resurfaced. “You mean Owen? What about him?” 

“After you danced, you went to the bathroom with Garcia, remember?” You nodded again. “He watched you the entire time. Emily tried to tell me it was nothing - but then I saw some guy come up to him and give him a handshake, with a twenty in his palm. So I gave Owen a piece of my mind.”

You tried to contain your laughter at his choice of words. “Guys make stupid bets like that all the time, Reid.” He only huffed as a response. “Hey,” You softly said, turning his head to look at you. “Thank you.” You finally said after a moment of staring at Reid. “Thank you for defending me when I wasn’t around.” 

Reid pouted a little and shook his head. “Why do you go after guys like him?” His voice was so quiet that a whisper would’ve been loud in comparison.

“What?” You didn’t ask because you didn’t hear him, but because you didn’t understand him. 

“Seriously, Y/N, it’s like you have this obsession with douchebags. Are they the guys you think you deserve?”

“What are you saying?” Your voice had a hint of anger behind it.

“I’ve tried to understand why you do what you do, but it just makes me more confused. I know you like guys that give you attention your father never did -”

“Whoa, back up. You did not just say that.” You were actually in disbelief. 

“Am I wrong? Your father left in your formative years, so your love map -”

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Hearing him say that as if you were some damaged unsub that he was trying to empathize with made your blood boil.

“Face it, Y/N. You’re always telling the girls that you want a nice guy, but then you dance on some asshole because you’d rather screw up a relationship with a jerk than mess up a relationship with someone you actually deserve. But if you opened your eyes for once, then you’d realize that if they actually were deserving of you - they wouldn’t abandon you like your father did.” 

As soon as the words left his lips, Spencer received a second bruise that night. The sound of your palm hitting his other cheek echoed through the bathroom. It was enough to call the team’s attention to you two. 

“Fuck you!” You shrieked, leaving the bathroom and pushing past the team that was doing they’re best to stop you.

You stormed out of Spencer’s flat and felt seven pairs of eyes following you as you ran down the stairwell. 

. . . 

“She couldn’t have gotten very far.” Hotch reasoned as he looked into the distance. 

All of us were looking for Y/N, who wasn’t returning any of our calls. Everyone was worried about her, including me. Especially me. It was my fault after all, which the team had no problem reminding me.

“What were you thinking, man? Bringing up her dad like that? That was messed up and you know it.” Morgan added right after Y/N walked out.

“You could’ve been more gentle, Spence.” JJ sighed while ringing Y/N for the fifth time. 

“Just give her some time.” Prentiss advised. “Yeah, I’m sure you two will be back to cracking Star Trek jokes in no time.” Garcia added. 

I hadn’t even realized what I was saying when I was saying, nor had I thought through the repercussions of my words. 

It was a known rule that we should never profile one another, but I couldn’t help it. It was all too easy to distinguish the source of Y/N’s poor taste in men. Although, I had to admit, who was I to judge her based on her father’s absence? What with my own father leaving me and my mom. 

“Hey, Boy Genius,” Rossi called out to me. “You know her better than the rest of us. Where would she go?” Everyone’s eyes looked at me. 

It was true. If anyone knew where she was - it would be me, but I was too flustered from the argument to think clearly. 

“I don’t know! She goes home when she’s tired. Goes to the cafe when she’s working. Goes to work when she needs a distraction. Goes to my apartment when she’s sad . . .” My voice faded when I realized I probably screwed that up, too. I loved her late night visits. They were a reminder that she needed me. That I was valuable. 

That’s when a memory from years ago resurfaced. 

“I know where she is.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“You’re back already? I thought Hotch told you to take some time off.” 

She wordlessly nodded. “Yeah, he did, but I’m fine. Plus, I’m already behind in paperwork.” Whenever she tried avoiding her problems, she’d bury herself in her work to distract her from her underlying pain. It killed me to see Y/N like this.

“Where’d you go last night?” I felt compelled to ask since as soon as the jet landed, Y/N practically disappeared. She didn’t even call me, which was weird. 

“Nowhere, why?” She hadn’t met my eyes when she answered my question, instead keeping her gaze locked on the surroundings below her while she took her seat at her desk. 

“I just . . . I could tell you were upset about the case.” 

Cases weren’t easy to begin with, but Y/N was especially sensitive to yesterday’s. A young woman named Hanna was killing older white, affluent men as surrogates until she got to the real source of her rage - her father. He’d abandoned her in her early years which imprinted on her. She’d grow up to find out that her father left her and her mom for his wealthy mistress. They went on to raise two daughters. It was a shock that Hanna never tried to hurt her half sisters or their mother, but that only meant she was going to inflict that much more pain onto her dad. 

When we finally found Hanna, she’d already killed her father, but it wasn’t too late to save Hanna. 

Y/N was the one talking. 

“Hanna, think about your mom. She loves you so much. Your father leaving devastated her, but you being there made all the difference. You gave her purpose. Don’t let your mom lose you, too. She needs you. Just put down the poison for your mom.” Y/N pleaded while lowering her gun into her holster. 

But as Y/N came closer to her, Hanna reacted quickly by downing the poisonous concoction. Y/N ran right up to her and stuck her fingers down her throat to force her to throw up what she’d just drank, but it was no use. Soon Hanna fell to the floor with Y/N clutching her body as it violently convulsed. 

“Y/N! Y/N!” Hotch yelled, trying to pull her off of Hanna, but she refused to give up. 

I’d never seen her as disturbed as she was on the plane ride back. Her eyes never left the window. I wanted so badly to ask her how she was or offer my help, but I knew she’d rather be left alone. I didn’t blame her. Losing someone you’re trying to save is devastating, but it’s worse when you relate to the unsub. When you very well could have been them. Y/N saw herself as a reflection of Hanna because of how similar their childhoods were - how closely they paralleled. Not to mention, the likeness in age and appearance only served to haunt Y/N as she imagined herself being in Hanna’s shoes. Y/N would’ve wanted someone to save her, so she tried to save Hanna, but she couldn’t. 

It took Y/N a moment after she told me that she went ‘nowhere’ to say something again. “I’m sorry, Reid. I don’t want to lie to you.” 

“Then don’t. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.” It hurt me to see her like this and I was willing to do whatever it took to be there for her. 

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” She began. I promised her I wouldn’t. “I went to the park. Like with a playground. And . . . I just sat on the swings. For like a really long time.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“I see her!” Garcia shouted, waving around her pointer finger. The entire team was about to jump out of the car when I stopped them. 

“Could you guys just wait here? I think I should go alone.” 

Amicably, they all agreed to wait inside the car, while I trudged to the swing set. 

“We were worried about you.” I softly said, creeping up behind her. 

She didn’t even flinch at my voice or turn around when I spoke. “I knew you’d find me anyway.” She replied. I recognized her voice. She’d been crying. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for what I said back there,” No response. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

Another short period passed before she actually said something back. “I’m sorry I slapped you.”

“I’m just glad you did it on the other cheek.” I joked, trying to say something that would make her smile.

Come on, Y/N. Smile for me, please. 

I slowly took a seat in the swing next to her, wrapping my hands around the chains. A familiar squeak noise rang out when I adjusted my full weight. That’s when I looked down at her feet and noticed they weren’t even touching the wood chips. How cute.

“Why do you care?” Her voice surprised me. “Why do you care if I go after the wrong guys?” 

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. I don’t want to see you get hurt by someone that didn’t deserve you to begin with.” This was only half true.

“No, no it’s more than that. Like, why did you punch Owen? Morgan was there, too. But he didn’t start a fight with him and let’s be honest - between the two of you, he’s more likely to use his fists, but he didn’t - you did. Why?” I was rendered speechless. I just couldn’t come up with the right words to say what I wanted to say. “Say it, Spencer . . . please.” 

It took me a moment. I couldn’t even meet her eyes at first, but slowly, I lifted my head to look at her through teary eyes. “Y/N, how can you say you want a nice guy when, after all these years, you’ve never looked twice at me?” Her eyes broke away from mine. “Why won’t you let me love you?”

“You know why. You said it yourself.” 

‘You’d rather screw up a relationship with a jerk than mess up a relationship with someone you actually deserve.’

We didn’t say anything more for a painfully long time. 

“I can’t be with you, Reid.” She finally spoke.

And even though a large part of me wanted to protest, object, and disagree, I stayed quiet. That was an answer I had to accept. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get over you.” I admitted, halfway laughing at myself for sounding so childish. If I looked up a millisecond later than I did, I probably wouldn’t have caught the small smile that formed on her face after hearing me profess this. 

“You know, I’m not even sure I know what love is, honestly,” She lightheartedly confessed. “But if it’s anything like how I feel for you, then you should know that I love you. I love you so much. I love you more than I love myself, and I truly want you to be happy. I want to see you smile harder than you’ve ever smiled before. I want you to laugh harder than you’ve ever laughed before. I want you to love harder than you’ve ever loved before . . . but not with me.”

And though, she didn’t say it out loud - her eyes told me. 

‘This is the most I can love you in this life. Let that be enough.’ 

And with my eyes, I told her:

‘It’s enough.’

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

A/N: So this might ruin the vibes of the story, but I felt like I just had to explain the ending. 

Reader does want to be with Spencer! She wants nothing more than to be the reason he smiles, laughs, and loves, but as Spencer pointed out, she self-sabotages and has destructive behavior, and she knew that long before Spencer told her that, and for that very reason - she can’t be with Spencer. 

She loves him more than she loves herself, so as much as she wants to make herself happy by being with him - she wants his happiness more. And he wouldn’t be happy with her long term because of how Reader is in relationships. 

The line: This is the most I can love you in this life. Let that be enough. means ‘I’m loving you as much as I possibly can without hurting you. I know it’s not the kind of love we think we want, but please let it be enough.’

I hope that clears things up. 

[wolveria]

Unable to perceive the shape of you - Ch. 1

Pairing: Connor x f!Reader x Nines

Summary: After breaking the RK twins out of the MarineLife facility, you were determined to return them to the ocean before getting caught by your employer.

What you hadn't counted on were the brothers deciding you belonged to them.

Prompt: Mermay!

Word Count: 2.3k

AO3

The lab was empty and the only noise that filled the space was the gentle sound of lapping water. After a quick glance to make sure the techs had left for the day, you sat at the edge of the tank and pulled off your shoes and socks, dipping your toes into the chilly water. A sigh escaped you, the cold a balm against your aching feet, and the pain in your legs receded to a manageable level.

As if on cue, two fins broke the surface of the water, one stout and grey while the other was dark, elegant, but curled over as if it had lost its rigidness. They headed in your direction, causing ripples from the speed of their passing. Just as the disturbances reached you, they broke the surface, revealing twin faces with very different expressions.

The one with the grey dorsal fin chirped in greeting, brown eyes wide as he rubbed the side of his face against your shin like a cat. You smiled, just as you did every time Connor greeted you that way, and reached down to run your hand through his slicked brown hair. And like every other time, his eyes became half-lidded and a soft rumble came from his chest.

The other Ceta sapien with the dark, limp dorsal fin, his twin brother, kept at a tentative distance. Icy grey eyes, the color of stone in the dim light, watched with an unreadable expression. That was to be expected from Nines, but you knew him long enough to know that he was pleased to see you.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said as you rolled up your pant leg, attempting to keep it dry and away from Connor’s affectionate rubbing. “Had a lot of work to finish up.”

Your smile faded as you took in the sight of the contraption around his head; a metal cage that acted as a muzzle, forced onto him earlier that day by the technicians. Nines must have done something to piss them off again.

“I hope you didn’t bite anyone this time,” you said gently, fishing a ring of keys out of your pocket. “Not that they don’t deserve it. I just don’t want them to put you in isolation again.”

You held out your hand to show him the keys. “Come here, I’ll take it off.”

You’d probably get in trouble for it, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The only reason you were still at this shitty job was because of the RK twins. Everyone else treated them like curiosities at best, lab rats at worst. You were genuinely afraid what would happen to them if you left.

Connor rested his chin on your bare knee as he watched his brother cautiously swim toward you. His face normally didn’t have a huge range of expression, but you could have sworn the area around his eyes was tight with fear. That wasn’t like him at all.

Making sure your movements were slow and unthreatening, you reached down to the small padlock keeping the strap in place. The techs had put it there because Nines had figured out how to undo the straps and remove the muzzle himself, leaving it at the bottom of the massive tank so the divers would have to get it. Probably on purpose, knowing him.

Your fingers were careful as you removed the lock and pulled open the straps, lifting the cruel device from around his face.

“There,” you said, tossing the muzzle away, glad to be rid of it. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

Nines remained silent as he usually did, nowhere near as vocal as his brother, but he brushed the edge of one broad shoulder against your calf, leaving you warm with surprise as he retreated a safe distance. You could count on one hand the times he’d made physical contact, and as far as you knew, you were the only person he’d ever touched willingly.

Connor, on the other hand, was an insatiable cuddle-bug, and even now he was nudging his nose against your leg, and then actually licked it, making you jump.

“You’re especially clingy today.” You ran your fingers through his hair, eliciting another happy thrill. “Is it because of what they did to Nines?”

The smaller ceta was normally much more friendly with humans, but when they handled Nines roughly, he could become a vicious storm of teeth and claws. The techs never worked on them both at the same time for that reason, separating them into different pools and causing them both more stress than necessary.

You hated it. Hated everything about this place, from the rough techs to the cruel doctors. Dr. Stern made your blood run cold, but Dr. Kamski made the flesh on the back of your neck prickle. You hated them both, and you were human. You couldn’t imagine what it was like for the twins.

“It’s okay,” you said, rubbing Connor’s cheek now and letting him lean into your palm. “You’re both okay now.”

A lie you had to tell but hated telling. More than you hated your heartless bosses who only saw the cetas as a source of grant money and academic prestige.

As if they could sense your mood, which you were half-convinced they could, Connor wrapped his fingers around your ankle and gently tugged. He was always gentle with your legs, especially on bad pain days. That’s just how Connor was, in tune with your moods in a way that was almost unsettling.

Even Nines swam closer, brows perked with interest as he hovered a couple feet away.

“I don’t know if I have time for that tonight, guys,” you said, shoulders hunched. “It’s late and I have to be in early tomorrow—“

Connor interrupted you with a pitiful noise very close to a whine and his brother frowned up at you, lips pursed into an expression that was almost, and hilariously, bitchy. Sometimes, you really thought they understood what you were saying. You wished more than anything they could talk, but they couldn’t. They weren’t human, no matter how you wished otherwise.

Connor gave up on pulling you into the water, and instead propped his chin on your knee, staring up at you with big brown eyes that could put an actual puppy to shame.

“I can’t,” you insisted, the sternness of your voice sabotaged by the smile creeping on your lips. “Not tonight.”

The larger ceta snorted through his nostrils and turned away. You thought he was going to ignore you and pout, but instead he dived beneath the surface and—

You yelped and covered your head with your hands as his large black and white tail slapped against the surface, covering you in an impressive wave of cold water.

“Oh, you asshole!” you choked out as you wiped the water from your eyes. Connor was making a rapid-fire clicking noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter. You sent him a narrowed glare and his lips widened into a toothy grin.

“Don’t encourage him,” you said, pointing a figure at Connor. The smaller ceta simply tilted his head as if he had no idea what on earth you were talking about and he’d never done anything wrong in his life.

You really were spending too much time with them. It was a bad habit of yours, seeing things that couldn’t possibly be there. Little looks and gestures that seemed to mean something more, and you constantly had to remind yourself it was all wishful thinking and loneliness.

Huffing and rolling your eyes, you pulled your legs out of the water and rose to your feet. You needed to put a stop to this and start spending time with other people, even if you would rather be here than anywhere else in the world.

Connor made a small, pathetic chirp as he swam to the edge of the water. He grabbed the ledge and stared up at you, and you could have sworn there was sadness there. Even the armband around his right bicep, normally glowing blue, brightened to a bright yellow, reflecting his increase in heart rate and blood pressure.

Goddammit.

“Okay. Okay. You two are gonna get me fired, you know that?” Your protested sounded weak to your own ears, but it was all worth it to see Connor’s ears perk up and his armband return to a soothing blue.

Even Nines had come back, waiting along the edge of the research pool with Connor, staring up at you expectantly. His armband had never changed from its blue color, but that was just how he was. Somehow, he’d learned how to keep his vital signs calm and cool, even when he was seconds away from trying to take off someone’s fingers.

The techs blamed faulty equipment even though they’d never found anything wrong with the armband. You knew better; Nines had learned the humans used the armbands as a gauge to predict their moods, and Nines had outsmarted them. And would continue to outsmart them, because you seemed to be the only person who realized what he was up to.

Sometimes, like right now, as he was leveling his unblinking, heavy gaze at you while you got undressed, made you wonder just how smart he was. Even now, his grey eyes were too aware, and you had to turn away as you tugged off your clothing.

You wore a bathing suit underneath, a two-piece consisting of boy shorts and a halter top. It was convenient in that it acted like underwear under your clothing, and let you slip into the pool at the end of your shift to swim with the twin brothers.

The swimsuit also had the benefit of being kind of sexy. Not that you were trying to impress anyone. It was sad enough the brothers were the closest things you had to friends.

You sat down at the edge of the water and turned around, resting the ledge against your stomach so you could slip down into the water more easily.

A pair of arms grabbed you from behind immediately, pulling you down into the water.

You gave a startled yelp, sputtered as salt water entered your mouth, and spit it out with an annoyed growl. The arms didn’t let you go, and instead pull you back against a warm chest as he swam backwards along the surface of the water.

Usually Connor gave you a little more time to adjust before grabbing you and swimming around like a seal with its favorite toy.

Normally you tolerated it, but you couldn’t stay as long as you usually did, and you wanted to actually get some swimming done to try and ease the pain in your leg joints and soothe the rigid calf muscles.

“Okay, Connor, that’s enough.”

A frantic chirp came from the left from a few feet away. You opened your eyes, startled to find Connor following after you.

You tensed, heart hammering as your limbs went rigid, and the ceta carrying you along slowed to a stop. He didn’t release his hold and you looked down to see the arms were slightly bigger than they should have been.

Oh, fuck, was your first thought.

He’s going to eat me, was your second.

You took a breath and tried to hold your voice steady. “Nines. I need you to let me go.”

You remained firmly within his embrace. If anything, he slightly tightened his grip.

He’s is definitely going to fucking eat me.

“Nines, let me go.”

The fear was definitely clear in your voice now. He must have heard it. You were so screwed. It was the only thing your brain would repeat, even though human deaths by cetas were rare these days. They still happened, though, and the corded muscles holding you still could easily tear you limb from limb.

Connor moved closer, head tilted in curiosity, but worse, his armband was glowing yellow again.

Blue, go through.

Yellow, not mellow.

Red, you’re dead.

The motto the technicians lived by. You were pretty sure you were dead anyway, even without the color codes. You glanced down at Nines’ armband and it was yellow too.

Not good.

Connor chirped sharply at his brother. Nines returned the sound with a lower, deeper growl. The monkey part of your brain told you a shark was about to sink its rows of teeth around your neck.

Connor released another series of noises, complex chirps and clicks you’d never heard before, and could have sworn… they were talking. Sure, cetas communicated with each other, but they didn’t have a language. They didn’t—

Connor moved forward and Nines moved back in equal measure. You could feel the bend of his tail against your legs, long and powerful, and the monkey part of your brain shrieked in fear again.

It was nothing compared to the terror when Nines took you away from Connor and picked up speed. You knew he was going to pull you under the water, drown you, probably not even doing it on purpose.

Tears pricked your eyes as your heart thudded in your chest. This was it. They were going to find you at the bottom of the pool the next morning, drowned and partially eaten.

Would anyone even care?

“Nines, stop!”

Your mouth hung open, your brain unable to process. You hadn’t shouted the words.

Nines came to an immediate standstill. Connor swam forward, brows furrowed sharply as his eyes darted between you and his brother.

“You’re scaring her.”

The words were soft, gentle, and impossibly coming from Connor’s mouth.

“Unfortunate,” a voice said, directly next to your ear. A voice that sounded almost identical to Connor’s. “But unavoidable.”

A hand clamped down over your mouth when you tried to scream, but the fight was already going out of you as an intense dizziness hit, leaving you woozy and weak. This couldn’t be happening.

They were talking.

Next Chapter

[tsthrace]

clexa + jail + college + activism

Thought I’d repost the whole story here for those of you that don’t do ao3.

9,500-word one shot No content warnings Enemies to lovers Break up/Make up (sort of)

Sneak peek: “Why do you even care anyways?” Lexa shook her head. “You’re almost out of here. Aren’t you going to Ireland or something.”

“I don’t care.” Clarke’s voice returned to its sophomore octave.

“Well, you certainly like to spend a lot of big feelings on something you don’t care about.”

“Someone.” Clarke swallowed. Her head was tilted down but her eyes drifted up to Lexa’s, the blue endless like the middle of the ocean.

Lexa bit her lip. “Clarke…” The softness in her voice was no longer commanding.

Clarke felt a jump in her chest.

Madness

She had been stripped. She had been probed and prodded in places even lovers had never gone. She had been assigned a number by a male officer who referred to her only as “inmate” and refused to look her in the eye. She had been given a sandwich of dry bologna and moldy bread and a styrofoam cup of yellow-tinted water.

But none of that was worse than the manic smile on Clarke’s face.

“Can you calm her the fuck down?” The woman who asked had a tangle of long brown hair and dark circles under her eyes. She couldn’t stop her fingers from fidgeting, and her eyes scuttled from side to side like she was watching a tennis match on fast forward.

Lexa rolled her eyes. Kettle meet pot.

“She’s not with me.” Lexa threw a sideways glance at Clarke who paced the wall of bars in the holding cell. Lexa kept her face flat, but she felt her heart pounding. 

“What the fuck, Lexa!” Clarke's sharp voice rang off the cinder block walls. She didn’t stop pacing, that empty, wild smile still spread across her face.

The fidgety woman let her eyes rest on Lexa for a split second. “She seems to know who you are, sweetie.” Her eyes took off again.

Lexa rubbed her eyes hard. What was left of her eyeliner smudged across her fingertips. This wasn’t how this day was supposed to go. She was supposed to give an inspiring speech to tens of thousands of people in green shirts, rousing them to a roar no one in Exxon Mobil’s Houston compound could ignore. Drone shots would capture the magnitude of the gathering packing Springwoods Village Parkway so that every road into the campus was blocked—no one would get in and no one would get out while they were there. They had been planning it for months. Every move was choreographed. The timeline was carefully managed so as to be inconvenient but not unsafe for the people inside. But then Clarke’s Extinction Rebellion infiltrated. They brought superglue, chains, locks, signs, and 400 of their own people who were also highly choreographed, though their timeline was, well, flexible. Indefinite.

“We can spin it,” The words tumbled out of Clarke’s mouth like rocks in a landslide. “This is a win, Lexa. It’s a win. They’re already working on it. It’s already on the news.” Her eyes looked nowhere and everywhere, alive and wired to the point of vacancy.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with her?” The woman’s glance bounced back and forth off of Clarke.

Lexa didn’t know. A battle was waging inside her. Clarke had sabotaged the biggest day of Lexa’s career. She had commandeered her protest, her cause, undermining its legitimacy and stealing its power. Lexa was angry. But she was also worried. In all the years she had known Clarke, she’d never seen her like this. 

---

They met at UVA in their Approaches to Environmental Politics course. Clarke, a sophomore who had no business being in the upper-level class, was paired for the final project with Lexa, a senior who was just trying to get through her final semester. The project was broad and ambitious: plan one action that would have a meaningful impact on the growing climate crisis in the United States. It could be anything: legislation, corporate policy, activism. Break the action down into manageable parts. Be detailed. Account for opposing factors.

Lexa’s concentration was Environmental Policy, but she was tired. She wanted to find the plan with the fewest variables, the least amount of pushback. A major corporation like Walmart calling for biodegradable packaging in all their stores. Google switching exclusively to sustainable energy for their data center operations. Lexa hated capitalism. She faulted the constant profit and growth it demanded for getting the world into the climate crisis in the first place. But she knew, for the purposes of this project, that working within capitalism would be easiest. Being “green” was in; big moves in sustainability would be a PR dream for these corporations. And it wouldn’t disrupt the lives of the general public.

Significant change with little pushback except from the most radical in the movement. And then Lexa could graduate.

“We block railroad tracks all over the country, so that coal trains can’t get where they need to go.” This was Clarke’s idea. “We chain up to each other as blockades on the tracks. We set up camps around those blockades as a system of support and to control the narrative when the media arrives.”

It turned out that Clarke was one of the radicals. She had a dozen ideas and a hundred unconventional approaches to each of those ideas, and they all boiled down to massive disruption for the sake of an ultimate good. 

“If this plays out and all your dreams come true, millions of people will be without electricity.” Lexa rolled her eyes. “All you’ll have is a bunch of people resentful of your movement. That’s gonna be the narrative.”

“So you just want to sell out?” Clarke returned the eye roll. Her face still had the soft roundness of a girl still trying to become a woman. Her voice seemed an octave too high. “You want to work with the people who created the mess in the first place?”

“It’s not selling out, it’s being realistic.” Lexa wondered if she had been so naive when she was a spry underclasswomen. “Besides, do you know how many contingencies we’ll have to plan for? National guard. Fox News painting us as lunatics. Working class railroad workers pissed that they can’t do their jobs. Do you think they’re gonna get paid when the trains aren’t moving?”

“This isn’t the time for incremental change, Lexa.” Clarke’s eyes darkened in a way that startled Lexa. “This is a crisis. We could be at the point of no return in a decade. People need to make sacrifices”

“This is a final project for a college class, Clarke,” Every word came out slowly, deliberately, quietly. Clarke didn’t know her well enough yet to know that Lexa getting quiet should set off alarms. “I just want to get an A and be done. You can save the world after I graduate.”

“You don’t even care, do you?” Clarke’s face looked more sad than angry.

“I do care, Clarke.” Lexa sighed. Clarke’s words stung, and it surprised her. “And I plan on doing the actual work when I get out of here. So can we please just make it easy on ourselves for now?”

“If you cared, you’d take every opportunity you get to make a difference.”

The next six weeks were a string of arguments, eye rolls, and unsatisfying compromises. Their final product earned them a B-minus. On the last day of class, Lexa strode out the door without even a glance in Clarke’s direction. 

But then UVA gave her the best package for grad school, and she found herself on campus for another two years. Her first year of classes kept her far away from the undergrads. She’d seen Clarke a few times in the coffee shops on the edge of campus and once at the library, but had always managed to keep her distance. For some reason, the sight of Clarke gave her a vague sense of guilt. It picked at her like a vulture picks at roadkill. 

But Lexa’s fellowship required her to TA her second year. The thought of teaching Intro to Poli-Sci made her want to claw her eyes out, but Lexa made sure it didn’t come to that. She engaged in a quiet networking campaign in which she happened to be at the same bar as the dean and then somehow got herself invited to dinner at Dr. Gudmundsson’s house. The professor’s children were delighted by her explanation of why rain happens. The following week she was assigned to assist in the professor’s Sustainability and Adaptive Infrastructure course, a high-level class that required more support of student research than actual teaching. 

Adaptive infrastructure had become Lexa’s speciality during her grad studies. Intentionally building entire cities from their sewage systems to the top of their skyscrapers in the image of its people’s shared values would require not only intellect but power, and Lexa was both smart and ambitious. 

She almost didn’t recognize Clarke in the second row of desks on the first day of class. She looked different. Her face curved more sharply towards her chin, her jaw line harder. Her blonde hair had been long two years ago, but now it barely reached past her ears in a scrappy bob. There was a steadiness in her eyes balanced by a glimmering intensity. She hadn’t become a woman so much as she had become so much more herself. 

Clarke noticed her, though, and threw a dismissive smirk at Lexa before she turned to square her shoulders to the front of the room.

A wave of irritation rolled through Lexa when she realized she was biting her lip. She sighed. At least they wouldn’t be assigned any final projects together. Besides, maybe Clarke’s approaches had gotten more sophisticated. Maybe she had grown up since the baby curves on her face had melted away. 

The first assignment proved otherwise. Lexa graded all the weekly assignments, and Clarke was furious with her six out of ten points. 

“Is this some kind of long-awaited vengeance?” Clarke had stormed into Lexa’s tiny office during office hours.

Lexa barely looked up from the email she was reading. “Are you serious?”

“I followed the assignment. I hit all the requirements.” Clarke pointed at her phone where, presumably, a copy of her graded assignment was on the screen. 

Lexa couldn’t see it in the glare of the office light, but she remembered it. It was creative, clever, but not what she was supposed to do. Her head didn’t move, but her eyes shot up to meet Clarke’s.

“You didn’t even try to hide the fact that you’re only studying Chicago’s bus system in order to disrupt it.” She let out a deep breath. “And you did a great job finding the limitations in routes and efficiency. I can tell you understood the study, which is why you got six points.”

“But I followed the assignment.” Both of Clarke’s hands were now on the edge of the desk as she leaned in.

“No.” Lexa sat back and closed her laptop. “You didn’t. And you know you didn’t. Maybe you can get away with that in other classes, but we need you to follow instructions. You can get creative with your final project.”

“Will you be grading that, too?”

“Part of it, probably.”

“Then I doubt I’ll be able to get too creative.” Clarke huffed and slung her backpack over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

The rest of Clarke’s assignments were flawless, though her analysis had a spiteful flourish to them. Each time, she found the most obvious conclusions and spent far more words than necessary coming to them. After four weeks, Lexa could only laugh. She had to hand it to her: even as she colored within the lines, Clarke managed to protest. It was artful.

They didn’t acknowledge each other in class. Most of the other students held Lexa with an earnest and completely unearned reverence. She had a presence, a silence that made her intriguing. The boys gave her shy smiles when she walked in, and she’d acknowledge them with a curt nod—which only drew them in more.

Halfway through the semester, Lexa noticed Clarke lingering in her office doorway. She could tell from her body language that she did not want to come in.

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Ms. Griffin, can I do something for you?”

Clarke looked up. “Can I come in?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Clarke walked in and looked back. “Can I shut the door?”

Lexa was intrigued. “Uh, sure.” She smirked. “You’re not here to yell at me, are you? Your work has been more than acceptable.”

“No, it’s not that.” Clarke sat down in the chair uninvited. “I...uh...I need a recommendation. From Dr. Gudmundsson. But she told me I had to go through you.”

“You could have emailed me.”

“That felt...cowardly.”

Lexa’s forehead creased. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I mean, given our history.”

“Clarke, it’s not like I have any say in your recommendation.” Lexa sighed. “It’s just a form that I need to fill out. Or you fill out, ideally, and give it back to me. Dr. Gudmundsson glances at it, I draft a letter, and she signs it. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing for you, but maybe it’ll feel less disappointing to know that I’m basically her administrative assistant. For this kind of stuff, at least.”

“It’s…” Clarke paused and took a deep breath. Streaks of sunlight streamed through the branches of a tree and broke across her. “Look, I know how this works.”

“Good.” Lexa shrugged. “I’ll email you the form.”

“Can we just do it now?” Clarke was chewing on her lip, her finger tapping on the arm of the chair.

“Uh, sure.” This wasn’t how Lexa wanted to spend her office hours. “Let me just pull it up.” Her eyes darted around the screen. “Okay.” She asked some logistical questions about Clarke’s major and concentration, electives she’s taken, and planned graduation date. Then she went to the next part of the form.

“Okay, so who are we sending this recommendation to?” 

Clarke smiled and looked down. “Friends of the Earth in Ireland.”

Lexa typed. “Okay, for what, though?”

“Their Extinction Rebellion training program. It’s kind of like a fellowship.”

Lexa stopped typing. “Aren’t those the people who superglued themselves to the gates of, like, a hundred coal mines last July?”

Suddenly, Clarke was looking her straight in the eyes. “Yes.” 

Lexa felt that strange guilt wash over her. She sucked in her lips and decided not to comment. She looked down at the screen. “So what do you think your intellectual strengths are?”

That night, Lexa was having a drink with some of the other TAs when she noticed Clarke across the bar. She was with a group, sitting next to a completely unremarkable young man whose face was giving her his complete and devoted attention as she talked. It wasn’t clear if Clarke knew he was there. 

Lexa smiled. Boys are so ridiculous.

She sipped at her beer and silently nodded through the TAs’ complaints about work conditions and bad pay. It’s not that she didn’t agree with them, but it was all they had been talking about for the last thirty minutes, the last thirty days. And she only had one semester to go. By the time it was actually resolved, she’d probably be gone.

She scooted her chair out and left her ranting colleagues to find the bathroom. Two gender neutral bathrooms lined a narrow hallway, and both doors were locked. As she waited, wondering if the narrow hallway was ADA compliant, one of the doorknobs rattled and Clarke emerged.

“Oh, hey.” Clarke looked past Lexa, almost like she was embarrassed.

“Hey.” Lexa studied Clarke’s face. It was strange to see her looking unsure. She waited for Clarke to move so she could get into the bathroom. She didn’t move. Instead, she leaned against the door frame.

“Can you believe this virus thing?” she asked.

“What?” Lexa squinted. 

“The virus, the Coronavirus that’s going around in China. Seems like a pretty big deal.” Clarke finally looked at Lexa. “I’ve heard there are some cases in Italy, too.”

Lexa remembered seeing something on Twitter but hadn’t paid much attention. “I haven’t heard much.”

“I just wonder if we should be nervous.” Clarke’s confidence seemed to return. “I don’t think this country is prepared for anything like that.” She scoffed. “I mean, I don’t think this administration is prepared for much of anything.”

Lexa tilted her head. She didn’t know why Clarke was suddenly bantering with her about viruses. “Can I…?” She looked behind Clarke, nodding towards the bathroom.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry” The hallway wasn’t so narrow that they couldn’t get past each other, but their arms brushed against each other in a way that made Clarke look back when she got to the end of the brief corridor. Lexa was already closing the door behind her. Clarke bit her lip and went back to her table.

At the start of their next class, Lexa noticed that Clarke looked up when she walked in, though she looked away quickly.

It was Lexa’s task that day to explain the students’ final project. It was relatively straightforward:  choose one infrastructural element in your hometown, assess its current efficiency in terms of sustainability, and design three ways to improve that efficiency—two of which were realistic given financial, social, and political limitations, and one pie-in-the-sky, no holds barred approach.

Lexa had a feeling which one Clarke would devote most of her time to.

To her surprise, Clarke dropped in during her office hours again a week later. She didn’t linger outside the door this time, she just walked right in. Even more surprising, it was to ask about writing policy and navigating local government legislation. 

“I mean, tax breaks created a society of stand-alone homeowners, right? So why can’t tax breaks encourage high-density living and co-housing?” Clarke spoke breathlessly. When she committed to something, she threw herself in, even if it was housing policy.

“Aren’t we talking about Bangor, Maine?” Lexa asked. “Isn’t that a small town?”

“Not tiny.” Clarke squinted, annoyed. “And besides, high-density housing isn’t just for big cities. It’s not just good for sustainability. It helps build community. When people encounter each other everyday, they start to care about each other. People are super isolated in Bangor.”

Lexa nodded. “Okay.” She didn’t need to know the particulars. She was just glad Clarke was finally recognizing how long-term change realistically happened. “So what are your other two approaches?”

Clarke pulled out what appeared to be a folded engineering map of a Bangor neighborhood. “Do you mind?” She nodded at the blank space on Lexa’s desk.

“Sure.”

They both leaned over the map as Clarke pointed out potential locations for rainwater collection tanks. 

“This is pretty ambitious,” Lexa said, her eyebrows raised. She looked down again, her hands gripping the edge of the desk, her long hair tumbling towards the map and hiding her face. 

Before she could stop herself, Clarke reached up and slid the loose hair behind Lexa’s ear. They both froze. Lexa felt goosebumps shoot up her arms. Clarke bit her lip in a dare. She didn’t mean for this to happen, but maybe...she did?

Lexa eyes shot to the map. She felt Clarke’s hand slide over hers. She glanced over and saw the line of Clarke’s neck curving delicately as her head tilted in her direction. She suddenly loved that line, wanted to run her finger over it. 

She swallowed hard and pulled away.

“We...this…” She fumbled her words. “We can’t do this.” She looked up at Clarke with stony eyes, though uncertainty lingered at their edges.

“Oh, right.” Clarke grabbed at the corner of the map, sweeping it in a wave off the desk. She didn’t bother to fold it as she gathered her backpack with her other hand. She turned towards the door without looking back. 

At that moment, both of their cell phones buzzed. Clarke stopped and looked at Lexa who was already looking at the text. 

Attention. There has been an emergency on the UVA Charlottesville campus. Health services has identified 23 cases of the Novel Coronavirus today. This virus is extremely contagious. To limit the spread, you are instructed to shelter in place. Please do not move from your current location until directed by authorities. If you are indoors, close internal doors and open external doors and windows. If you are outdoors, remain outdoors.

A tinny female voice repeated the message from a public address system in the hallway.

Clarke let the map flutter to the floor. “Shit.” She closed the office door.

Lexa let something that was half a sigh, half a laugh escape from her mouth. She went to the window to push it open.

“This isn’t funny,” Clarke said quickly, her eyes wide. “This could be really bad. I read that this virus can be airborne for a long time. They don’t even know what the incubation period is.” She turned her wide eyes on Lexa, suddenly worried. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel fine,” Lexa said, throwing up her hands. “Except I didn’t eat lunch. So there’s that.”

“This is serious, Lexa.” Clarke’s words were quick and clipped. “People have died in China, and it’s getting worse in Europe.”

“Are you feeling sick?”

“No, but—”

“Then let’s just deal with what’s happening right now.” Lexa’s voice was calm, almost soothing.

Clarke sighed loudly and collapsed into the chair. “You mean the fact that I’m now stuck here with you?”

Lexa bit her lip. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

Clarke looked out the window. “Let’s...just forget…”

“Clarke…” Lexa leaned back in her chair. “It’s not that—”

“What is your deal, Lexa?” Clarke stood up, suddenly angry. “It’s like you’ve had it out for me from the second we met.”

“I just don’t think changing the world requires breaking everything, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. “It’s nothing personal.”

It only made Clarke get louder. “No big change has ever happened because people were following the rules.” Her face went red. “You’re smart, Lexa. I know you are. And you care. You just don’t care enough.”

Lexa felt her heart pounding, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t move. She had been accused of not caring her whole life, people mistaking her calm for distance, her quiet for heartlessness. Even as she spent three years of undergrad building the network and support to change the university’s HVAC system from fossil-fuel based to an electric heat recovery model. It wasn’t glamorous, but it reduced the school’s emissions by almost 50%. Even as she slowly persuaded Dr. Gudmundsson to support the TA’s cause, one small conversation in passing at a time. Even though she’d never see the fruits of that labor.

She looked out the open window. “You don’t know me.” Her voice was soft and even yet somehow completely commanding.

“You’re right.” Clarke took a deep breath and sat back down. She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do you even care anyways?” Lexa shook her head. “You’re almost out of here. Aren’t you going to Ireland or something.”

“I don’t care.” Clarke’s voice returned to its sophomore octave.

“Well, you certainly like to spend a lot of big feelings on something you don’t care about.” 

“Someone.” Clarke swallowed. Her head was tilted down but her eyes drifted up to Lexa’s, the blue endless like the middle of the ocean.

Lexa bit her lip. “Clarke…” The softness in her voice was no longer commanding.

Clarke felt a jump in her chest. 

A door in the hallway crashed open, and heavy feet marched down the hallway pausing until a muffled voice shouted, “Clear!” Then the steps continued, then paused. “Clear!” Again and again. 

Clarke looked out the window of Lexa’s office door and saw two people in hazmat suits scanning every office down the hallway. She watched until they finally made their way to her. 

“We got two!” a man yelled through his plastic mask.

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked through the window.

“That virus,” the man said as he tapped on the phone he was holding. His face was sweating. “The one on the news. There’s been an outbreak on campus. We don’t know much about it, but it’s supposed to be super contagious. We’re just being cautious.” 

“I can go straight home,” Clarke said, her voice on the edge of frantic. “I only live two blocks from here. I’ll stay far away from people.”

“No,” the muffled voice replied. “You have to shelter in place until we can test you. The tests are on the way. Should only be an hour or two.”

“Do you see the size of this office?” She looked back and saw Lexa looking up at her with smug but amused eyes, which only irritated her more. “Half of it is taken up by a desk. There’s no food.”

“I have a protein bar,” Lexa said, shrugging.

Clarke rolled her eyes.

“It’ll only be a few hours,” the man repeated. “You’re big girls.”

“What did you say?” Clarke squinted at him with sharp eyes. Her hand reached for the doorknob.

“Clarke.” Lexa said, quiet but unassailable.

Clarke’s hand dropped.

The man either didn’t see or acted like he didn’t see. “I need to get contact info from both of you. Names, numbers, and emails.”

“Why?” Clarke crossed her hands in front of her. 

She didn’t see Lexa rolling her eyes behind her. “I don’t know, Clarke,” Lexa said. “Maybe so they can get in touch with us while we’re trapped in this room and let us know what’s going on.”

Clarke sighed and sat down in the chair across from Lexa. “Fine.” 

They both gave their information, and the two hazmats suits continued on their search. “Someone will be here in a couple hours.” The man called back as he walked off.

“I don’t trust them.” Clarke sunk into the chair.

“Seems to be a theme.” Lexa gathered her hair with both hands and pulled it back into a bun. She sat back. “You could obviously handle a campus outbreak much more competently.”

Clarke opened her mouth then realized that Lexa was suddenly leaning forward, waiting for a response. Her eyes were shining. Clarke bit her lip and sat down. She looked down at her hands. A thick silence filled the tiny office. A cool breeze circled the office, rustling her hair. She pulled her jacket closed around her, and turned to look out the window. 

Lexa sat back and noticed that curve in Clarke’s neck again. Somehow soft and sharp at the same time. She felt one corner of her mouth curve up and shook her head. She shivered. Clarke noticed.

“Should we shut the window?”

Lexa had a quip ready about Clarke being the epidemic expert, but she sucked in her lips instead. “Do you think it’s safe?”

A tired smile crawled across Clarke’s lips. “I don’t know. But I’m cold.”

Lexa stood up to close the window.

Clarke took in a breath and held it for a moment. “I didn’t mean…” She said, letting the breath out. “I didn’t mean to step over a line. I just figured...I mean, you’re only two years older than me, and I know you’re a TA, but…”

The corner of Lexa’s lip creeped up again in a sad but kind way. “It’s not that, Clarke.” She looked up. “I mean it is. Professors discourage it, but it’s not forbidden. But…” The sadness melted off her smile as it widened. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you kind of drive me crazy.” Lexa bit her lip.

Clarke tilted head. “Crazy how?” A light shone in her eyes. She stood up.

Lexa watched her as she circled the desk, that curve of her neck running smooth. 

“Like crazy in a bad way?” Clarke stopped just in front of Lexa and leaned against the desk.

“Definitely,” Lexa responded, her eyes shining. She leaned back. An invitation.

Clarke bent down and put her hand on Lexa’s cheek. Then she leaned in.

Lexa jerked her head back quickly, though mischief danced in her eyes. “You sure you want to do that? I could get you sick.”

“I don’t care,” Clarke replied just before her lips reached Lexa’s.

---

When they went home that day, they didn’t know that, though they lived less than half a mile from one another, they wouldn’t see each other again for three months. They didn’t know they wouldn’t be allowed to leave their homes except to buy groceries. They didn’t know that classes would be moved online for the rest of the year. They didn’t know that the only fanfare there’d be for graduation was receiving a piece of fancy paper in the mail in July. 

They didn’t know that it would be a terrible time to fall in love. But they did it anyway. They sat on Google Hangouts while they studied together. They sent Spotify playlists that they carefully curated for each other. Clarke mailed Lexa sketches she made of Lexa’s face from classes on Zoom. Lexa sent Clarke seductive texts during those classes and smirked as her face went red. Late at night, they touched themselves together on speakerphone, hoping their roommates wouldn’t hear.

When the quarantine finally lifted in early July, their reunion was marked only by their roommates who occasionally caught them in the kitchen grabbing food or walking from the bathroom back to the bedroom. 

When Lexa landed a prestigious internship at the World Resources Institute, she convinced Clarke to move to Washington DC with her. Clarke’s Friends of the Earth training had been moved from Ireland to online, and DC wasn’t a bad place to find activist friends. 

They found a tiny studio in Southeast. Lexa took the green line to H Street every day. Her work took her to Capitol Hill where she sat silently in meetings and took in the careful dance between her supervisors and congressional leaders. It was a game of give and take, sometimes infuriatingly slow and steady—too much given, not enough won.

“By the time you make any change, the planet will already be burning.” Clarke was stirring a pot of jarred pasta sauce. Neither of them had ever been very interested in cooking. “It already is.”

Lexa sighed. This was a variation on a nightly conversation. She moved in behind Clarke, wrapping her arms around her and resting her head on her shoulder. Her blonde hair smelled like summer. “Not tonight, okay?”

The scent of mediocre tomato sauce filled the room. Lexa sat down. “Anyways, how was your day?”

Clarke looked back with a hint of trouble in her eyes. “We talked about how to, uh, accelerate government action.” She smiled that smile that both drew Lexa in and infuriated her.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk.” Lexa rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stifle the grin.

Clarke set the wooden spoon down. She strode across their tiny kitchen and straddled Lexa, sliding her fingers up Lexa’s neck and through her hair. She smiled that smile and bit her lip. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

---

After three years, Clarke had turned their tiny apartment into the neighborhood headquarters for climate justice. Flyers about pollution in Congress Heights covered their kitchen table. Posters illustrating rising sea levels along the Anacostia River were stacked on a chair in the living room. Every Tuesday night, she gathered a small group of activists to brainstorm projects and actions.  

Lexa complained whenever she was home, which was rare. She had been promoted to project manager and was gone for days or weeks at a time at meetings in The Hague or conferences in South Korea.

“Do you know how much fossil fuel those trips put into the atmosphere?” Clarke had a hard time understanding how the good Lexa was doing at these meetings outweighed their carbon footprint.

“I’m sure you can tell me the exact amount,” Lexa snapped. She had just gotten home from the Netherlands and was not in the mood for Clarke’s preaching. She looked from the pile of flyers on the table to the bed which was a messy heap of blankets to the stack of dishes in the sink. 

“What do you even do when I’m gone?”

Clarke lowered her head, and her eyes narrowed. She took in a long breath as her jaw clenched. 

“You don’t get to do that,” she said in a low voice. “You don’t get to come back and act like you’re the only one doing ‘real’ work.” Her air quotes were comically exaggerated. “Just because I’m not on Capitol Hill or at the fucking Hague doesn’t mean I’m not doing real work. I’m not your housewife, Lexa.” 

In three years, Clarke had learned that Lexa heard her whispers better than her shouts. She had learned that her anger distilled and harnessed got her much further than her anger exploded and dispersed. She didn’t realize in the moment that she had learned those things from Lexa.

Lexa clenched her fists and took a breath. She let her fingers relax. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

Clarke looked down. “I don’t know if we should be doing this at all.”

---

Clarke moved into a giant, run-down house on the edge of the city with some activist friends. Lexa found a studio in Logan Circle. 

“This isn’t what I wanted.” Clarke turned the key to their apartment over and over in her hand.

Lexa looked up from the box she was taping up. Her green eyes were heavy. “It’s not what I wanted either, Clarke.”

Clarke looked slowly around the mostly empty apartment. It made her smile, and it made her tired. So many memories. Lexa stood up. Her face was streaked with dust and sweat, but her shoulders were pulled back. She stood up straight, unshakeable.

If things were different, Clarke would have hugged her until her body went soft. Instead, she set the key on the kitchen counter. She looked up. “I love you, Lex.”

Lexa nodded slowly and sucked in her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment then looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I love you, too.”

Clarke turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

---

Their paths crossed only a few times in the following years—at coffee shops in Capitol Hill and once at a bar in Southeast. Lexa texted Clarke on her birthday. Clarke texted Lexa when she found out Lexa had been hired as the Executive Director of Organizing for Climate Action, or OCA. 

Can’t wait to see all the “incremental change” you make, Clarke’s text read after the initial congratulations. She couldn’t resist. Lexa didn’t respond.

Clarke never told her that she kept a binder full of Lexa’s white papers. She didn’t tell her that she sometimes googled Lexa’s name and watched her interviews from local news shows on YouTube. OCA was steadily and methodically taking on the fossil fuel industry, coordinating deep investigation with targeted peaceful protest to force oil companies into altering their practices, and Lexa was quietly becoming a driver of the movement. Clarke, despite her irritation, couldn’t help but be proud.

What Lexa was gaining in influence Clarke was gaining in notoriety. Her first action was a die-in at Union Station 300 people covered in fake blood laid down across the public transit hub, stifling the morning commute. They demanded that Congress and the President declare a climate emergency. Clarke had coordinated logistics and wrote the demands. A few months later, she traveled south where she and 500 others covered in blue paint chained themselves to each other in a rough line across downtown Miami where the sea was predicted to rise in 50 years. This time, she was the one with the loudspeaker. She talked to the media, declaring their demands.

Lexa rolled her eyes when she saw a very blue Clarke on CNN calling for legislative and economic climate action. But she also couldn’t help but smile. This was always who Clarke was going to become.

But their worlds didn’t come together in a meaningful way for six years—when they locked eyes across a sea of people in Houston, Texas.

---

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” Lexa said under her breath as she watched her carefully orchestrated protest disintegrate. Her green-shirted supporters looked around in confusion as the Extinction Rebellion chained themselves to gates and trees and then to each other in lines across the roads that led in and out of Exxon Mobil’s facilities. 

“Lexa!” a muffled voice called through the walkie-talkie. “What do we do?”

“Just keep everyone calm.” Her voice was low, barely containing her anger. 

The news crews that had been gathered at OCA’s speaker podium started migrating towards the sudden action at the gates and intersections. Some of the green shirts were joining the human chain. 

“For decades, Exxon Mobil has been a leader.” She heard Clarke’s voice ringing out over the crowd. Clarke was standing in the bed of a truck where a makeshift PA system had been set up. “A leader in pumping carbon into our atmosphere. A leader in pushing for deregulation of laws that protect our earth. A leader in covering up fossil fuel’s impact on our environment. They knew. Oh, yes, they knew. And now they’re not going anywhere until they listen to what we have to say!”

A massive cheer went up. The crowd, including Lexa’s green shirts, raised their fists and phones.

“We will be heard! We will be heard! We will be heard!” Clarke started chanting, and Lexa’s green sea followed her, their voices echoing down the long parkway.

“Lexa!” the voice called through the walkie talkie. “You’re losing them. You have to do something!”

Fuck you, Clarke, was the chant repeating through Lexa’s thoughts as she swam through the crowd towards her. She was at least 100 yards away, and the crowd was thick.

The people went silent as Clarke climbed onto the roof of the truck with her mic. “They will continue to profit on the destruction of our planet, of our home, as long as we let them.” Her voice swelled. “We must stop them.”

“We must stop them! We must stop them!” The crowd took up her words again.

Lexa finally made her way to the truck and looked up at Clarke. What the fuck are you doing? Her eyes said what she couldn’t say out loud. Clarke smiled and jumped into the bed of the truck again. 

“Does OCA stand with us?” Clarke asked into the mic. She looked across at the mass of green shirts around her before her eyes settled on Lexa. She held her hand out to Lexa, inviting her up into the truck bed.

Lexa felt hot anger pulsing through her veins. Anger that Clarke stole her moment. Anger that all the details she had so carefully plotted were now falling to the ground like broken glass. Anger that she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t refuse Clarke, not now. She grabbed her hand and climbed into the truck, and Clarke immediately jumped onto the roof and waited for Lexa to follow. 

Lexa swallowed hard, letting go of her plans, her pride, her power. She grabbed the mic from Clarke’s hand.

“We stand together to call Exxon Mobil to accountability!”

The crowd roared, and she felt it wash across her like a wave. This was power, but not the power she was used to. This was raw and untamed. Clarke took her hand and they turned to face each other. The blue in her eyes flashed, and the power danced between them.

The energy suddenly changed. Shouts went up together with bursts of smoke. Tear gas. The crowd jolted, looking for an escape all at once. The people chained together cried out, unable to bring their hands locked in tubes to their faces. The edges of the sea spilled out across the parkway.

“Don’t run, Lexa.” Clarke’s voice was calm, but something wild lingered at the edge of her words. “They can’t see you run.” She gripped her hand hard. “Stay with me.”

Lexa saw black spots pushing through the crowd towards them. 

“Those aren’t cops, Lexa.” Clarke’s chest rose and fell quickly. “They’re private security. We’re on a public road. They shouldn’t be touching us. Stand your ground.”

“How can you tell?” Lexa hated how her voice was shaking.

Clarke’s jaw clenched. “You always thought my training was ridiculous…”

Six black spots surrounded the truck, men covered in riot gear. “Security! You need to come down.”

“No, we don’t,” Clarke said with her wild calm. 

“Come down or we will bring you down.” The man sounded like he was enjoying himself.

“Go ahead.” Clarke shrugged. “We’ll bring a lawsuit.”

The speed of their violence startled Lexa. They leapt into the bed of the truck and grabbed Clarke’s legs, pulling them out from under her. Clarke grunted as her back caught the edge of the roof. She went silent when the back of her head slammed into the bed of the truck. 

“Clarke!” Lexa shouted as she dropped to her knees and held up her hands. The riot men grasped at her. “If you fucking touch me…” She drew her shoulders back and glared as she started to climb down. The men let her climb down.

As she dropped into the bed of the truck, she saw the men pulling Clarke’s limp arms behind her to cable-tie her wrists. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Lexa rushed to her body. She glanced at the dozens of green shirts that had gathered around the truck holding up cell phones. “You sure you want to do that? She’s not even conscious.” 

The men backed off.

Lexa folded herself over Clarke. “Clarke,” she whispered frantically. “Are you okay? Wake up.” She swallowed. “Please.”

Clarke stirred. 

“Oh my God.” Lexa gathered her into her arms. “Are you okay?”

Clarke slowly turned and looked up at Lexa with drowsy eyes. “I can’t believe you’re with me right now.”

Lexa felt tears prick at her eyes. “I’m so fucking mad at you.” She smiled.

Sirens rang out in the distance.

Clarke closed her eyes and smiled. “It was an opportunity we couldn’t pass up. You organized it so well.”

“Fuck you, Clarke.” Lexa leaned over and kissed her forehead. 

When the police arrived, Clarke was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. 

“These are the leaders?” they asked the private security men.

“Yeah,” said the man who had pulled Clarke down. “They incited this whole thing.”

“This was a legal gathering,” Lexa said. “I have permits.”

“It stopped being legal when the chains came out,” one of the cops said. “You’re both under arrest.”

Clarke remained conspicuously silent as they were read their rights. Fury wrestled with concern inside Lexa. She was worried about Clarke, but she was also being arrested because of her. When Clarke stood up and swayed, losing her footing for a moment, the concern made a comeback.

“Shouldn’t she see a doctor or something?” 

“She seems fine to me,” a policewoman said as she led Clarke away towards a separate car. Clarke looked back at Lexa with sleepy eyes.

“Do you want to make a call?” Lexa heard a man’s voice ask distantly.

“What?” She turned. The man arresting her had soft eyes.

“I’m about to take your cell phone,” he said. “Do you want to make a call before I do?”

“Is that allowed?”

“It’s at our discretion.” 

“Did she get a call?” Lexa nodded in the direction of Clarke.

“I don’t know. I didn’t arrest her.” His soft eyes became impatient. “I’m not going to offer again.” 

Lexa sighed and pulled out her phone. She found Eleanor, the chairwoman of OCA’s board of directors, in her contacts.

“Lexa!” Eleanor’s voice was frantic. “Are you okay? I saw the video.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, it’s all over Twitter. Who was the other woman? The blonde. Is she alright?”

“That’s the woman from Extinction Rebellion.” Lexa felt the fury crest as she refused to say Clarke’s name. “Listen, I’m being arrested.”

“What? Why?”

“They think I was part of—”

“Thirty seconds,” the cop interrupted.

“Listen, Eleanor,” Lexa took a deep breath and drew her shoulders back. “I need you to figure this out. Bail me out or whatever...I’ve never done this before.” 

“We’re already in touch with the lawyers,” Eleanor said. “Just hold tight.”

“End it now,” the cop reached for her phone.

Lexa clenched her jaw as she ended the call and handed him her phone.

---

Clarke’s pacing had grown frantic.

“Calling into the water,” Her words came out louder and more senseless with every passing minute. “He just doesn’t know it yet.” Her frenzy filled the small holding cell. 

Their tangled-haired cellmate’s eyes followed her back and forth. Her face had grown pale, and her finger-fidgeting sped to a wild pace. She looked like she was going to be sick—or start a fight.

Lexa glanced between the two of them, feeling the tension push at the edges of the small space, the bars of the cells trapping everything. Her rage had carried her through the first hour. She had ignored Clarke, hoping she’d calm down so she could be properly angry with her. But Clarke hadn’t calmed down. Her eyes grew more vacant with every passing hour, her pacing quicker and more rickety. 

“Facing the springs,” she mumbled, stumbling a moment before her hand caught a bar to steady herself. 

“You need to do something.” The fidgety woman’s shaky eyes landed on Lexa. Her shifty fingers were now balled into tight fist. “Or I will.”

Lexa’s muscled stiffened. She felt her heart beating evenly, solidly throughout her body, and time seemed to slow. Her anger at Clarke had been boiling at the surface, but it seemed to melt, rolling off her skin, as something spread through her from her very core, taking control. She turned her whole body towards the woman and tilted her head down while shifting her eyes up.

“Just try,” she said, her voice low and quiet.

The woman wrapped her arms around herself and pushed herself against the wall. “Just…” Her eyes shot upwards, glancing everywhere except in Lexa’s direction.  “I didn’t mean anything…” She let out a sigh, and her body seemed to go limp like an opossum playing dead.

Lexa exhaled. “Right.” She turned her head towards Clarke’s quick, hollow voice.

“Can’t climb the clock,” Clarke was saying. She was panting and sweat trickled down the side of her face. “Can’t climb it.”

Fear started to creep through Lexa. Clarke had always been intense, always danced at the edge of wild, but she was also calculated. She never lost control. She managed madness like an ER doctor, knowing which screams mattered and which could wait. At least that was the Clarke Lexa had known. But now the madness was taking over. She swayed with the nonsense of her words, even as her feet kept carrying her back and forth, back and forth. They wouldn’t keep her up much longer.

Lexa swallowed, longing for the anger that had now fallen away. It had anchored her. It had made being in jail tolerable. It had given this terrible day meaning. It had made looking at Clarke tolerable. She was familiar with anger—knew how to stoke it like a well-tended fire that would burn hot but not too big.

A fire she could manage. She didn’t know what to do with fear. And Clarke was scaring her. 

Clarke’s legs finally gave out. She fell hard, her knees crunching onto the cement floor. 

Instinctively, Lexa darted to the floor beside her. She gathered Clarke in her arms. She was burning up. At first, she was dead weight against her, but she slowly lifted herself up as if waking up.

“Clarke?” Lexa whispered.

“Lexa?” It took a few moments for some life to come back into her blue eyes. They steadied, tired but focused. “What are you doing here?”

“Inmate 67348!” A man’s voice echoed through the cell. 

Lexa looked down at the stick-on badge they had given her. 67360. Not her. She looked down at Clarke’s. Not her either.

The fidgety woman seemed to be asleep in the corner. 

The guard shouted this time. “Inmate 67348!”

The fidgety woman shuddered and blinked her eyes open.

“Do you want out of here or what?” The guard didn’t lower the volume. “You made bail. Let’s go.”

The woman looked so pale that Lexa was almost worried about her. But she wasn’t her problem anymore. She shuffled out of the cell, and the cell door slid closed with a crash. 

It was just the two of them now.

“Lexa,” Clarke’s eyes drooped. “Where are we?”

Lexa squinted at her. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?”

Lexa let out a long breath as she finally realized what was happening. Memory loss. Fever. She swallowed.

“We’re in jail, Clarke.”

“What? Why?” Clarke’s eyes closed and her head tilted against Lexa.

“No, no, no, Clarke.” Lexa shook her. “Wake up. You need to stay awake.”

Clarke lifted her head, blinking her eyes like she’d had a little too much tequila. 

“Let’s go sit on the cot.” Lexa stood and helped Clarke to her feet. They shuffled to the cot. Lexa rested her back against the wall and propped Clarke into a sitting position. 

“Why are we in jail, Lexa?” Clarke’s voice was quiet like a child’s.

“We were at a protest.”

“You got arrested with me?” Clarke's smile was drunken, gleeful, and exhausted. For a moment, Lexa saw what she must have looked like as a child when she was begging to stay up with her parents even as she was asleep on her feet.

“Sort of.” Lexa sighed. It wasn’t worth getting into.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore.” Her eyelids fell again.

“Stay with me, Clarke.” 

“I’m here.” Clarke’s voice was sweet and quiet. “I still like you, you know. I mean, love you. Always have. There’ve been others since, obviously, but...not like you.” Clarke fell quiet for a long time. 

Lexa swallowed and closed her eyes for a few moments. Her heart started pounding in her chest. She felt like she was hearing a secret she shouldn’t be hearing, but she wanted to hear more. She took a few deep breaths, bit her lip, then finally shook her head.

“Clarke, wake up.” She put her arm around Clarke’s shoulders and pulled her towards her. “Tell me the last thing you remember.”

Lexa spent the next two hours nudging Clarke awake when she faded and asking her things. Recent things. Factual things. When Clarke hazily asked her if she remembered that day in her office when the coronavirus hit, Lexa steered her back towards the details of her activist training. 

Eventually, after several deflections, Clarke lifted her head like it weighed a hundred pounds so she could look at Lexa. “Why won’t you talk about us?”

“Because it’s not the right time.”

“Do you still love me?” She cut to the center of it, never one to give up. Her voice was quiet but clearer than it had been.

Lexa took a few breaths before turning her head and looking into Clarke’s eyes. “It’s impossible not to love you.”

“Inmate 67360!” The guard's voice rang. He looked into the cell. “You made bail. Unless you want to keep cuddling with your girlfriend.”

“She’s hurt,” Lexa said as she stood. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“She hasn’t made bail.”

“She might have a head injury.” She narrowed her eyes at the guard.

“She hasn’t made bail,” he repeated without an ounce of feeling. “Do you want to leave?” He looked up. There was a bit of feeling in his eyes. “You can probably help her more out there.”

Lexa nodded slowly and looked back at Clarke. “Are you okay?”

Clarke’s eyes were glassy, but a tired, wistful smile crossed her face. “I think so.” Her eyes drooped again. “Lex, how’d we get here?”

Lexa sucked in her lips. She hated to leave but the guard was right. She walked to the bed and bent down so that her face was even with Clarke’s. She brushed her fingers down her cheek. 

“I have to go, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded as her eyes slowly closed.

“Clarke! You need to stay awake.” Lexa shook her shoulders. “Hey.” She put her cheek against Clarke’s and whispered into her ear. “Just for a little longer.”

“I’ll try.” Clarke raised her hand to Lexa’s face.

---

It was late into the night when Lexa was released. Eleanor was waiting in the lobby for her. She was an older woman who had made the most of a marriage into money, smart enough to wield it to her will but smooth enough that people still liked her when she did. A natural-born chairwoman of a national organization’s board. Lexa was less charming and more aggressively direct, which made them a good team.

Lexa was surprised first by how sharp the older woman looked for the end of a disastrous day and then by the positively giddy smile on her face. Eleanor seemed to notice and evened out her features.

“Are you okay?” she asked like she was supposed to.

“What is going on?” Lexa was more interested in why Eleanor was so being so weird.

The smile splashed across Eleanor’s face again. “Everyone has seen the video, Lexa. It caught fire on twitter and then CNN picked it up and then all the rest. I’ve been fielding interviews all night.”

“What video?”

“Videos, actually. Dozens of them. From the protest. Everyone saw those goons take down that blonde woman.” Eleanor led her outside towards a waiting car. “It looked bad. Do you think that woman is alright? I mean, she shouldn’t have been there in the first place, but….Don’t you know her?”

Lexa bit her lip. “Yeah.”

Eleanor gushed past her. “Lexa, they want to talk to us.”

“Who?”

“Exxon Mobil’s people.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you understand how bad the videos look.”

“Of Clarke getting hurt?”

“Is that her name?”

“Why do they want to talk to us? It was Clarke who...” Lexa trailed off.

Eleanor shook her head as she opened the car door. “It was their people who threw the teargas into the crowd, too. They were off their property. They shouldn’t have been there. They need to clean this up. And there’s no way they’re going to work with that group of radicals.” Eleanor spit the word out like it tasted bad. “We’re the real players here, Lexa. They want to set up a meeting tomorrow. And the senators said they would reschedule for tomorrow or the next day, so that’s still on the table—”

“But what about Clarke?” Lexa rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted.

“I’m sure her people are taking care of her.”

“But you don’t know?” Lexa looked back towards the station. “You haven’t talked to them?”

“Why would I call them?” Eleanor’s eyes were angry. “They ruined everything today with their ridiculous chains and human barriers.”

“That’s not what you just told me.” Lexa tilted her head.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, Eleanor.” Lexa’s voice was sharper than it should have been with her chairwoman. “Because if I recall, Exxon Mobil’s people had no interest in talking to us before all this. It seems to me that if Clarke hadn’t been attacked—”

“—To be fair, Extinction Rebellion was asking for it—”

“—If she hadn’t been attacked,” Lexa interrupted the interruption, “there would be no seat for us at their table. Is that true?”

Eleanor sighed.

“Listen, Eleanor.” Lexa took a deep breath. “We’ll take the meetings, okay? I promise. But we need to take care of Clarke. She was in that cell with me, and she’s not okay. It’s the right thing to do. Even if you disagree, it would still be good optics. OCA taking care of the environmentalist who was attacked.” She looked up at her with tired, soft eyes. “We need to be on the same side.”

Eleanor studied Lexa for a long moment. Finally, she nodded, a small, curious smile tugging gently at the corner of her lips. “I’ll call the lawyer.”

---

When Clarke was released, she came out hanging onto a guard’s arm. She could barely stay on her feet. Her face was pale and shimmering. Lexa rushed over and propped her up, guiding her slowly out of the building to the car where Eleanor was waiting in the front seat.

“Oh my God.” She brought her hand to her mouth when she saw Clarke’s dazed face. 

“We need to get her to the hospital.” Lexa strapped Clarke in and slid into the backseat next to her. “You still with us, Clarke?”

Clarke nodded distantly.

“Just a little longer,” Lexa whispered, her voice no longer able to hide her deep worry.

Eleanor’s head swivelled at Lexa’s tone. She saw Lexa wrap her arm around Clarke, pulling her towards her. She saw Clarke rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder and Lexa close her eyes as she reached for Clarke��s hand. She had never seen her this soft.

Eleanor smiled quietly to herself and turned her eyes back to the front.

“Hey,” Lexa whispered again. “Stay awake. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“I know.” Clarke’s voice was so faint. She fell silent for a few long moments. “Hey, Lex?” she finally asked.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we can try again.”

Clarke didn’t see the tiny smile creep across Lexa’s face, but she heard it in her voice. 

“We’ll see.”

[drummergirl231-2]

A Recap on the Buzzards

Now that we officially know the Buzzards are the heads of F.O.W.L. as @astrodances​ speculated, I think it’s time we review their actions from the show so far (and of course  I have to add my own commentary afterwards).

“Woo-oo!”

Episode notes:

Bentley Buzzard informs Scrooge business is expanding in the Spoonerville and St. Canard markets.

Bentley informs Scrooge they are cutting funding to “unnecessary departments,” including Historical Research, Experimental Tech, and Deep Sea Exploration.

Scrooge, devoid of all enthusiasm, sarcastically replies, “Fantastic...”

DG notes:

In one of the earliest scenes in the show, we see Scrooge isn’t making the financial decisions in his own company. The Buzzards were cutting funding from departments for things he once cared about, and he raised no objections. Once he got his family back though, he also regained his enthusiasm for adventure and life in general, and those departments became necessary again. Within a few hours of meeting his great-nephews, he decided to take them on a deep sea exploration adventure, and I’m sure the Buzzards didn’t like that at all. They would have had to come up with a new strategy to maintain control of his company since his grief as a bereaved parent wasn’t enough anymore.

“The Great Dime Chase!”

Episode notes:

They call an unscheduled meeting with Scrooge shortly after his nephews move back in.

Bradford informs Scrooge that, as he knows, revenues are down in several international markets. He lists four of them and says, “We feel that...” before Gyro bursts in.

After Gyro’s spiel, Bradford asks him how he plans to ensure Li’l Bulb won’t achieve sentience and turn evil like all his other inventions. 

Li’l Bulb shakes his fist and runs a finger under his “throat,” to threaten Bradford. Bradford asks what it’s doing and Gyro says, “Waving. It likes you.”

Bradford shares a glance with each of his colleagues and then denies Gyro’s request for funding.

Scrooge tells Louie his board are the only people cheaper than he is, and he trusts them completely to make good financial decisions.

Bradford interrupts Scrooge and says they are calling the meeting “to discuss cutting your unnecessary spending here at the... money bin.”

The first cut they propose is on Scrooge’s $15,000,000 he’s spending on magical defense, to which Scrooge replies, “Do you have any idea how many vengeance curses I have on my head?!”

Bradford asks Scrooge how he can justify spending $5,000 on a velvet pillow for a dime.

Scrooge calls them “ya penny-pinching Buzzards!”

Scrooge says if they can find him 3,000 gallons of silver polish for cheaper, he’d love to hear about it. Bradford replies by saying this is getting them nowhere, and if Scrooge refuses to make cuts, they’ll be forced to fire bin employees to save money. 

Bradford says the obvious first choice is the archivist. Scrooge argues Quackfaster has kept his archives secure and orderly for 50 years. Bradford says, “Fine, Quackfaster stays.”

Bradford then says Gyro is “definitely unnecessary.” Scrooge argues Gyro is one of the most brilliant minds of their time.

 Scrooge sarcastically says if they’re going to fire all the employees, why not shut the whole bin down? And Bradford points out he does have a perfectly good office downtown before asking:

Scrooge tells the Buzzards if they fire his crazy employees, they’ll definitely seek revenge. Bradford asks for a vote: “All those in favor of keeping the bin and everyone in it far away from our offices?” The other two reply, “Aye.”

DG notes:

Isn’t it interesting that once Scrooge’s nephews moved back in, the Buzzards held an unscheduled meeting to try and get him to cut funding to his defenses and/or fire Quackfaster and Gyro? And possibly even shut down the money bin?

I’m sure the Buzzards knew exactly what they were doing in asking Scrooge to cut funding on magical defense. They knew there was something dangerous he was keeping locked up on an island somewhere. They also likely knew he had vengeance curses on his head and they wanted him defenseless. 

When they questioned him about the velvet pillow under the dime, it’s possible they were fishing for information about his dime, which we now know is more than just sentimental.

Then they tried to get him to fire Quackfaster, who keeps Scrooge’s records... even any existing records of the Spear of Selene. They probably figured since Scrooge’s family was back in his life, the event that drove them apart was bound to come up again, and if you’re familiar with this blog or @alliterative-albatross’, you’ll know we have reason to believe the Buzzards have something to hide when it comes to the incident. We believe they may have threatened Gyro to sabotage the rocket (and Gyro would have pretended to go along with their plans to buy himself time, but not actually plant real bombs on the rocket).

After they failed to convince Scrooge to fire Quackfaster, they tried to get Scrooge to fire Gyro, who built the Spear of Selene and would definitely have information to spill to the nephews if they came asking.

Then they tried to get the whole bin shut down, and deep inside Scrooge’s archives at the bin is the shrine he built in Della’s memory to process his grief in his own way.

Fortunately, with Scrooge’s family back in his life, we see a drastic change from the bored, depressed, broken, and submissive man he appeared to be in the pilot episode. With his family back, he has the strength to fight back against how the Buzzards want to run things. He said he trusted them completely to make good financial decisions - a sign they’ve had him under their thumb for years - but this was his first meeting post-reunion, and he’s not the doormat they’re used to anymore.

“Jaw$!”

Episode notes:

The Buzzards called to say Scrooge’s adventures were causing costly damages to Duckburg.

They also had Beakley pass along the message that they had set up a television interview for Scrooge with Roxanne Featherly to help boost his character.

DG notes:

Either they really did want Scrooge’s reputation to get a boost because that’d be good for the company and therefore good for them if they could regain control, or they knew Scrooge would make a fool of himself and they hoped he’d come to the conclusion again that he needed to listen to them.

“The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!”

Episode notes:

In Scrooge’s flashback of the events following Della’s disappearance, we see the Buzzards telling Scrooge his spending on the search for Della has far exceeded its budget and every other area of spending in the company. This is followed by a clip of his own private funds from the money bin draining drastically.

We see another clip of the bin draining again, followed by a clip of two of the Buzzards dragging a frantic Scrooge away from the control panel and out the door while the other stands in the background.

DG notes:

I’m willing to bet the Buzzards - while they had possibly hoped to get Scrooge killed with this rocket - found Della’s disappearance just as useful, if not more. If Scrooge had died on the rocket, that could have led to an investigation of what went wrong mechanically. But with Della lost in a cosmic storm, and with Scrooge believing she stole her own present for a test run (rather than knowing she discovered the conspiracy and was confident she could bust it on her own), the whole thing could look like a tragic accident... no one to blame but Della herself. And with Scrooge a broken and grieving man, he was easily manipulated.

The Buzzards would have known all they had to do was occasionally tell Scrooge he was spending far too much to look for Della when it was hopeless, knowing he wouldn’t listen to them, and only when Scrooge was “nearly bankrupt,” as Beakley said he was, would the Buzzards swoop in and put a stop to Scrooge’s search efforts, making them look like the heroes who saved his company and pulled him back from the brink of the abyss. From then on they had his trust and cooperation... until he reunited with his nephews.

“Last Christmas!”

Episode notes:

The Buzzards attended Scrooge’s first annual McDuck Enterprises Christmas Party in the 1960s.

Duckworth pushes present-day Scrooge toward the Buzzards to talk business. Scrooge asks them if they are enjoying the party and they huddle up to discuss the question for a moment before answering him in unison, “No.”

Bradford tells Scrooge with the economic downturn, having a Christmas that is both holly and jolly isn’t fiscally responsible. 

DG notes:

Calling a holly jolly Christmas fiscally irresponsible should have convinced more fans of their evilness. 

That aside, let’s look at the timeline a bit. This party took place after the events of the flashbacks in “The Confidential Casefiles of Agent 22!” Beakley was at the party, so she and Scrooge were already friends, so Scrooge had already worked as a freelance operative on a S.H.U.S.H. mission where they thwarted the F.O.W.L. agent, Black Heron.  When present-day Scrooge arrives at this Christmas party in the past, we find out it was the first one for McDuck Enterprises because he’d just started his company. The Buzzards, who have since been revealed as the heads of F.O.W.L., have been stationed in his company since it began because he was already an enemy of F.O.W.L.

“The 87 Cent Solution!”

Episode notes: 

They attended Scrooge’s staged funeral.

DG notes:

How much d’you wanna bet the whole time they were thinking, my gosh, the things we have to put up with to play the long game... 

“The Richest Duck in the World!”

Episode notes:

The Buzzards called a meeting after Louie spent $100,000,000 on an ottoman. Brandford asked him how exactly the ottoman benefits the company. 

Bradford tells Louie McDuck Enterprises is a business, not a bank account, and the money has to come from somewhere. Louie tells him to figure it out, since that’s what he pays him to do.

Bradford brings up the money spent on magical defense that he tried to have Scrooge cut in Season 1. He says it’s spent on a dark, mysterious island. Louie, not knowing what’s on the island, tells him to cut that. Bradford pulls a device with a single red button right out of his suit jacket and presses it, releasing the Bombie.

While on the island and trying to escape the Bombie, Louie calls Bradford and tells him to cut the funding to the McDuck satellite system immediately and drop them all on his location. Bradford asks him if he’s sure he knows what he’s doing, and he tells him he does. Bradford drops the satellites on the island and they explode. 

At the end of the episode, we find out the McDuck satellite system was a series of defense satellites, and once they went down, Lunaris was ready to invade.

DG notes:

Scrooge may have known all the ins and outs of McDuck Enterprises, but Louie did not. Scrooge knew that 15 million on magical defense was important and he knew why. Bradford probably also knew exactly what he was doing when he suggested cutting the funding to magical defense again, even though this time he didn’t bring up how much the company was spending on it and, if he had, Louie would have realized the 15 million wouldn’t have made up for the 100 million he just spent. It wasn’t about making up for the money he’d lost at all. They just wanted to get rid of Louie and get control of the company again, whether it was through becoming the heads of McDuck Enterprises themselves, or manipulating a grieving Scrooge again.

They also would have known those satellites were defense satellites, and while they’re evil, they’re not out to destroy the whole world (as Bradford later said in the finale, “...without the world, who would we larceny against?”). Bradford asked Louie if he knew what he was doing and while Louie said he did, of course he didn’t. (“The ducks almost cost us the world today...”)

“Moonvasion!”

Episode notes:

We find out the defense satellites were also useful for communication.

At the end of the episode, it is revealed the Buzzards are the head of F.O.W.L., and Bradford gives the following speech: “This has gone too far. The ducks almost cost us the world today, and without the world, who would we larceny against? The pieces are finally in place. Time to come out of the shadows, take control, and end Clan McDuck. If the McDuck family wants an adventure... we’ll give them their last.”

DG notes:

While I was certain the Buzzards were evil (we even had that IDW comic panel that proved they were trying to get rid of Scrooge), it still feels unreal that their evilness has been revealed in the show. #BlametheBuzzards2019 is officially valid.

There’s a lot to unpack and unravel when it comes to enemy spies being planted in Scrooge’s company from the beginning. Our new little conspiracy theorist Huey will have his hands full. 

And while Season 1 showed the parallels between Della and Dewey (their personalities, confidence, and love of adventure), and Season 2 showed the parallels between Della and Louie (seeing the angles and stressing out when their plans don’t go the way they thought), Season 3 will almost certainly show parallels between Della and Huey. And if Della did take the rocket because she tripped the wire while investigating a conspiracy, that would definitely parallel Huey’s search for answers. Seeing Huey try to bust a conspiracy on his own could be quite triggering for Della. She may try to stop him before he gets hurt.

I’m definitely looking forward to seeing what the Buzzards have been up to and how the family will find out about it all.

[jenroses]

So this is some backstory I wrote a few years back about the apocalypse. Four years later, I think I may have been overly optimistic about how long it would take for things to fall apart. 

~~~  The apocalypse wasn’t fast, and it wasn’t easy. Parts were dramatic and rapid, say, when the United States dissolved into chaos in 2020 and six new nations emerged from the rubble. The Pacific States of America became the progressive destination of choice, between California’s wealth and the Pacific Northwest’s natural bubbles of relative safety between the mountain ranges. Canada followed a few years later into disaster, with French Canada going its own way and British Columbia joining the Pacific States. The continent was re-shaped again by rising sea levels and sinking earth falling into the empty aquifers and the remains of fracking operations. 

The biggest issues early on were in the Confederacy, The Republic of Texas, and the Great Plains Republic. Rampant deregulation combined with widespread corruption resulted in the complete loss of vast areas to poisons both visible and invisible. 

Chaos in North America bred chaos elsewhere. A brief nuclear exchange in 2038 left vast parts of the Middle East, East Asia and the Indian Subcontinent uninhabitable. Washington DC and Moscow were hit, but as neither were particularly politically powerful by that point, the political fallout was less than the actual nuclear fallout of the 8 bombs. The EMPs from strikes in Israel, India, Pakistan, North Korea, China and Tripoli took out communications and governments alike. In the resulting chaos, many nuclear materials were “liberated” and attacks with “dirty” bombs became common in many areas of the world. 

Texas did not fall to bombs or to the poisons or to war, but to the increasingly tight focus of the sun through God’s magnifying glass, with temperatures soaring beyond the capacity of failing machines to compensate. Between the floods, hurricanes, and summer temperatures upwards of 150° F, without a larger federal infrastructure, civilization in the Lone Star quickly stopped working, and those who relied on the grid were forced to flee ever-climbing temperatures. California, being a large and wealthy state and later the cornerstone of the new Pacific Union, managed fairly well at first. Two dams were built to try to protect the Bay and the Sacramento Valley from rising seas, but the Golden Wall fell to sabotage before it could be completed, and Vay-deo dam, as the locals called it, cracked in the Big One, causing one of the largest, most rapid floods in history in what was already a time of great floods. Los Angeles didn’t fall into the Pacific, the Pacific fell into Los Angeles in creeping, inexorable inches, but the heat and drought and weather sent people north long before a large section of the metropolitan area was submerged. A dirty bomb in Hollywood in 2045 sent anyone who was still in the area, north.

The Northeast crumbled under the weight of too many people and not enough resources. The flooding of New York was an afterthought compared to the bombing of Washington, which didn’t do anywhere near as much damage as the civil uprisings of the 2020s. Pockets of well-armed wealth remained, tiny Corporation States which promised survival in exchange for freedom once it was obvious that the federal government was not coming back.

Refugees were everywhere, fleeing the food shortages, the fallout, the rising waters. In 2048, rampant use of greenhouse gasses, combined with ever rising ocean temperatures and acidity combined to cause massive slips of land ice into the ocean in both hemispheres. The seas had already risen more than predicted, but the catastrophic shift of ice from land to sea brought sea level an average of 33 inches higher worldwide. In some places, the net effect was closer to 40 inches. The impact on water circulation was severe, and Europe plunged into an ice age. The surge stopped, even subsided a bit as storms dropped record amounts of moisture into the mountains in a winter that would not quit, but the damage was done, and the lowlands were abandoned. The death toll was unimaginable. 

It was 2050 before things were stable enough for the PSA to do more than triage the daily catastrophes. New technologies had been developed on the fly to deal with immediate problems. Domes and filters to protect from fallout. Desalination to give the mountains near the Bay Area water, and then water reclamation everywhere as people stopped trusting anything that came from the sky. Mechanical pollinators helped keep people fed. Every home had a garden, indoors or out, on a wall if need be where space was limited, shelving systems with tiny twinkling LEDs and recirculating water. 

By then, the birth rate in what had once been the United States had declined from around four million babies per year to four thousand, and of those four thousand children, eighty percent were born early. Fully half of those births were within the PSA.

It was when they realized that the pregnancy rate across the continent was likely close to two million that it became clear that something was fundamentally wrong with humanity’s ability to sustain pregnancy. Individual tragedies became a countrywide fear and then a worldwide terror.

The bees were mostly gone by then, the few remaining hives living in research facilities in Oregon, Washington and British Columbia. 

Animal births faltered and stopped, but by that point the science of meat meant the vast majority of animal protein in the PSA was vat grown, indoors, no brain, no bones, no ethical backlash. Refugees came looking for food, but fewer and fewer children accompanied them. 

Concerted efforts sprang up at universities around the world, but as each fell, their best and brightest converged on the last functioning, tech-capable democracy in the world. 

The internet was no longer reliable enough for worldwide communication due to lack of maintenance of infrastructure and widespread sabotage, but the tech corridor of I5 and the data centers survived, and the PSA sent out drones with food, communication equipment and emergency supplies. Carbohydrates, protein, fats, vitamins and minerals, harvested and reassembled from dumps and compressed into shelf-stable bricks, accompanied durable, simple water purifiers, basic survival supplies, and informational pamphlets - pictorial as fewer and fewer people in the rest of the world knew how to read. 

The earliest iteration was called Project Dove, and the mission was to get as much information about humanity in other parts of the world as possible. Some of the drones were shot down. Some made contact and returned. A few simply vanished without a trace. The birth data that did come back was terrifying. Starvation in many areas was too widespread and rapid for the drops of supplies to make even a dent, but in the places closest to the PSA, they were a lifeline, and not always happily received. They had included information on birth control in the drops, because of the high rate of maternal death in unsuccessful pregnancies. What they did not do was put contraceptives in the food. But despite their adamant statements to the contrary, they could not shake the rumor.

Food Not Bombs, the second iteration of the humanitarian project, became not a nice pacifist organization but the only foreign policy that worked. Nutrient drops from the PSA, sent by drone, happened regularly across all territories that might be able to still threaten the PSA with terrorist attacks, and irregularly anywhere the PSA wanted information.The rhetoric against the PSA across the rest of North America was fierce, and fueled splintered and uncoordinated attacks by civilians, but after the Independent State of Exxon-Mobil was cut off completely from these drops for 12 weeks following their last incursion, no established government made any official attempt to wage war on the PSA.

The last year babies survived past infancy, anywhere in the world that the researchers could contact, was in 2059. 200 children were born within the domes of the PSA and nowhere else, where early doming and fanatic attention to clean food supplies kept the novel endocrine disruptors out longer than in most places. Their parents came from all over the world. However, a terrorist attack by religious zealots caused widespread contamination in the middle of 2059, and no more babies were born after that; though many pregnancies were documented, most failed in the first 30 days, and none survived past 15 weeks. Families with children banded together in several clusters, so that their children could take advantage of the wealth of expertise at the universities. But as the population of young people dwindled, first daycares shut down, then elementary schools, and families tightened their clustering so that the remaining children could be educated together. The Last Generation grew up with the knowledge that either they would figure out how to fix humanity’s problems, or that humanity would end with them.

Rapid transit built in the ‘30s still functioned from Eugene to Vancouver, and Seattle’s industry persisted even when families with children fled south to higher ground and less upheaval. Half of Portland was underwater, but the larger metropolitan area survived with varying levels of liveability. 

The University of Oregon ended up being the last fully functioning school by default, with enough agriculture and infrastructure to make it livable and just enough isolation to make it hard to get to for those without means. It was one of the oldest system of domes on the West Coast. 

It wasn’t invulnerable. The Jefferson Dissent, which began half an hour south of Eugene and ended in the mountains of Northern California, sent occasional raids until wildfires obliterated much of the area in the Great Draught. 

Parts of the school lay in disuse and disrepair, but groups of research scientists had colonized parts of campus that would otherwise have fallen by the wayside. A large team of scientists worked on nanotech and microtech in conjunction with the biology department, modeling tiny machines after viruses, bacteria and insects. 

In Portland and Seattle, competing teams of fertility specialists worked on the problem of the crashing population rate, but it was not until the agricultural specialists in Corvallis pitched in that they started making real progress at extrauterine gestation.

They found the problem quickly, once they understood the magnitude of the issue. Without the political chaos of the 2020s, they might have picked up on it ten or fifteen years earlier, when it was still fixable. But by the time it was determined that complex endocrine disruptors, wind- and water-borne, had spread worldwide in storms and floods and in the food supply, their epigenetic and generational effects were beyond easy remedies. Pregnancies might happen, but more things went wrong. In the war between placenta and endometrium, the endometrium had found a potent ally. Autoimmune disorders were endemic. And the last straw was a new disruptor, one which managed to interfere with the shift to placental support. 

Anyone who became pregnant died where medical support and birth control were inadequate. The resulting demographic shift did not help the political situation. The PSA became a refuge for people with uteruses. More conservative nearby nations screamed about the Godless heathens stealing their women. Within the PSA, gender was seen broadly as a social construct, though there were enough different religious and cultural groups with different ideas that the notions of binary gender were not completely obliterated.  

“God’s punishment,” the religious called the deaths during pregnancy. Science was blamed. Scientists were blamed. The last green places were blamed. In the transformed labs and classrooms of the last universities, frantic efforts were made to counteract the toxins in the environment, to find some way, any way for the human race to survive past the last generation. 

The population aged.

Suicide rates skyrocketed early, and surged even further when the fertility collapse was made known.

Animals started to be born that had been gestated from stored cells in vats, restoring extinct species from scratch, but the human puzzle was a tougher nut to crack. Fetuses could be grown, to a point. A few even made it to scrawny, translucent viability, but the children did not survive long, even with the highest tech support. 

Some changes were made to the tanks, with a regular program of stimulation, vibration, and auditory recordings. And a small cohort of infants were born, to cautious but joyful researchers. But the children did not adapt well, once born, and while they lived, the behavior issues and profoundly antisocial behavior they exhibited pointed to some deep flaw in the underlying gestational program. Babies screamed when held, preferring mechanical soothers. Language development was minimal, with babies averse to unfamiliar voices. Development was stunted and consistently unusual from child to child. They did not form attachments to the people who desperately wanted them.

At first, the researchers thought it was autism, but when autistic adults who specialized in the care of autistic children were brought in, it became clear that something different was going on. 

Brain scans were done which found profound abnormalities in many parts of the brain, abnormalities which were uniform across the cohort. 

As the children got bigger, slowly, they began to lash out, and it became obvious that the extrauterine gestational process was not going to be the answer as it stood.

The resulting scandal was huge, and an ethical oversight committee that had been bypassed on the grounds of emergency was reinstated. Meanwhile, The Babylon Cooperative worked frantically to salvage the human race, as the planet deteriorated around them. 

It became clear that cleaning the Earth would be a much longer-scale process than humanity could survive. The rest of the planets in the solar system were even worse. There was a Mars colony, a desperate, abandoned group of settlers too old to reproduce, the planned resupply missions scrapped when the world fell apart. 

No one wanted to say it, but there was a strong possibility that by the time the fertility problem was solved, there would be no one left to raise the resulting children.

Computing progressed, even in the chaos, in part due to breakthroughs in biosynth. DNA was a compact and complex data storage medium, and its structure could be used and mimicked to create self-replicating devices that stored their complete process in tiny spaces, scavenging what they needed from the materials around them. When the problem of controlling growth was solved, a research team made an excursion to an old dump, dropped a gluey ball of nano- and microtech on top of the trash, pointed a strong light source at the area to be salvaged, and waited.

Nanobugs were developed which could selectively break down molecular bonds. Microbugs were created to analyze, sort, inventory and group raw materials, and when that process was finished, they could then assemble into larger devices that continued the process of refinement and reconstruction. The self-replicating technology meant that a properly programmed bug could be placed on, for example, an old office building, or a pile of rubble, climb to the highest point, and digest it into a thousand more of itself, then consume the spawned bugs and create larger, more complex machines out of the result, eventually creating new structures in place of the old, from materials on site.

The end result was a pile of sugarplastic bubbles filled with raw materials and isolated waste products, which were set aside for more study, and along the edges, new gluey balls for other dumps. The remaining machines waited for further instructions.  

Someone asked if they had to be so sticky, and if they needed to have an artificial light source. “Not in an undomed dump,” the lead scientist said. “Plenty of bright light out there.”

The “genetic” programming was altered, and the next generation looked more like large pillbugs than badly drawn jellyfish. When the researchers built in the ability to power themselves from the waste heat of the molecular breakdown process, they could even work underground.

The raw material distribution included so many rare elements and complex hydrocarbons that as soon as word got out, and a few of the “pilebugs,” as they came to be called, were stolen, whole new resource battles broke out where there was not tight social control.

Control tightened everywhere. 

Biological interfaces with microscopic sensors and transmitters allowed many researchers to streamline their efforts with direct neural-computer wireless interfaces. Gone was the larger worldwide web, but enough had been saved, and the PSA had dedicated much of its resources to maintaining connectivity up and down the coast. Seattle was the hub, with redundant data backup of much of the cloud everywhere they had enough locals and infrastructure to support it. Redundant archives became a cultural obsession of a dying world. A hardcopy repository was started, in case civilization collapsed beyond help and humanity somehow survived.

The pilebug programming was a closely held secret, because of the potential for harm.  Backwards engineering was impossible for those without the Co-op’s resources. 

Within the PSA, the Babylon Cooperative became a dominant power. There were only a few people who truly understood how the bugs worked at a core level. It was clear that the potential applications were huge, but there just weren’t enough people who comprehended them well enough to make use of the tools to their best effect in the available time. Training the remaining young people became the driving goal of the Pacific States. 

As the PSA stabilized, it became clear that the entire population was suffering widespread psychological trauma. Efforts were made to train people to cope with the resulting stresses in productive ways, with varying success. Community beautification efforts were promoted as therapeutic.

Within the research clusters, neurodiversity was seen as an asset. New ways of thinking were prized, quirks and coping mechanisms supported, special interests encouraged. “Think outside the box” became “There is no box. The survival of humanity depends on new ideas.”

Skin-based links to the net abounded, traceries of gold at the temples and key points on the head for those who used it the most, headsets for more casual users. With the development of ever smaller and more powerful transmitters, it became clear that mental states could be influenced, if not controlled, and those without links grew increasingly suspicious of those with. Thus, “old-fashioned” data inputs did not die out, but the speed gains of working with a direct connection were obvious to those in the Co-op.

A wider culture of inclusion—motto, “We need everyone”—made for eclectic neighborhoods around the University, but farther from the research clusters, old tendencies for humans to sort themselves into distrustful subcultures persisted. As the years passed and no children played in the streets, nihilism and social unrest grew. As it became easier to rebuild and more people returned to school to learn about the newest technologies, the University grew, and changed, and became more isolated. Most people who came into the University were there to join the research projects, and only those trained for specific purposes in the larger nation ever left. 

In 2077, the last freshman class, about 80 students, gathered at the University of Oregon. The classes ahead of them were still attending, but what had, in its heyday, been a campus with 20,000 students was now a campus with 1500 researchers, 2000 educators and about 4000 students.

The speed of the population crash showed nowhere more than here. 2% of the student body were freshmen. 6% sophomores. 10% were juniors and 15% were seniors. The rest were grad and community education students of varying ages. There was no tuition. There was also no real salary, but the University, as the seat of power for the Babylon Cooperative, was already self-sufficient enough and powerful enough in the region to trade for whatever was needed. A monetary system still existed, of sorts—the robust local and regional networks also allowed for sophisticated tracking of barter of resources, skills and labor, but the social support networks that had come out of the Fall had matured well where they were allowed to thrive. 

Where the science was tolerated, housing could be grown, and with greenhouses built into the designs, food grown within the housing. Even computing resources could be grown. 

The science was not tolerated widely. Even within the PSA, dissent came and went in waves. Never monolithic, when crisis gave way to chronic, old divides resurfaced. As the population aged and skepticism about possible scientific solutions grew, rumors and rivalries brought political change.  

[nightowlfandom]

Kim Namjoon- Mixing Business With Pleasure (Office AU) Part 1

REQUEST FROM PROMPT LIST- RIGHT HERE

Leggo!

If this sounds familiar it probably is, I’m not in a creative space today since my request box is emptyyyyy. A part of this was inspired by a scene in the Webtoon let’s play where Sam stands up to Charles and it’s still to this day my most favorite part of that Webtoon. Like yes girl, tell him! Gosh I loved her aah!

Also I know that nobody probably cares but would anyone like me to post a playlist of my inspiration/writing list. I kind of want you all to know what goes through my brain when I’m typing. I’m probably gonna do it anyways so just like yah

...

You were grateful your aunt had managed to get you a job here, she just didn’t tell you what a complete bully the boss was. You liked to stay out of his way other than do what you were supposed to, bring him papers and what not. 

That didn’t stop your constant run-ins though. He was pretty cold. You were surprised that his heart wasn’t made of ice either. He shamelessly used his charm to get out of getting his ass kicked though and it baffled you. 

“Get it done.” Namjoon slammed the folder down onto the desk of the girl next to you. “Or you’re fired.” 

“Y-yes sir!” the girl looked like she was on the verge of a freakout as she began typing. “You.” he pointed to you. “When you of the phone with Mr. Jung, bring the report to my office.”

“Yes sir.” you said, holding back the urge to roll your eyes. 

You had a history with Namjoon, that dated all the way back to high school. You didn’t like going back in the past but it was no mystery why he was the way he was. It had nothing to do with you, but since you were the best friend of the girl he was dating with (who dumped him), it got you some...points. That’s another story though.

...

“Mr. Ki-” 

“So you got it done?” Namjoon took the documents from you.

“Yes sir.” you replied. “He said that he will definitely be working with you in the future, I just had to convince him...by that I mean beg.” you mumbled.

“Is that a new perfume?” he suddenly asked. “You smell different.”

“Uh...yeah.” you trailed off. “Is that an issue? Is the smell too-”

“No...It’s nice. It fits you, you should wear it more often.” he looked down at the papers. Your silence made him speak further. “It was a compliment Y/N.” 

“Oh..thank you sir.” you said. “I’ll get back to work.” you smiled, bowing a little. You exited the office, about to go back to your desk when you were blocked.

Office mean girl, no stupid wannabe korean drama lifestyle if fit without them. Don’t forget the useless, brainless followers to match.

“It looks like my computer is malfunctioning, so I hope you don’t mind me asking you do send out some emails for me.” she said. Whatever the hell her name was.

“Um, I have my own work to do and doing your work doesn’t seem like a fun time.”

“Well either fix my computer or do my work, there’s no in between.” she looked bored.

“How about a fist between the eyes.” you suddenly found yourself saying.

“Ugh! How violent!”

“You have been a pain in my ass since the day I met you, you know that” you asked. “Why Mr.Kim hired you I will never understand since you don’t have the capacity to-.”

“Are you jealous of her Y/N.” her friend said cut you off, smirking. “You didn’t get the promotion you wanted and now your all mad.”

“Hm...Y/N can’t help it that she’s mediocre and oops!-”

You were suddenly greeted by the feeling of something hot, thankfully not burning liquid. you sniffed your now brown stained shirt. Coffee. 

“What’s going on here!?” You heard Mr. Kim storm in upon hearing the round of “OOOOOHHSS” from onlookers

Namjoon was surprised to say the least to see you standing there, soaking wet. 

“Oh No...I’m sorry! It was an accident.” she laughed, not knowing Namjoon was watching the two of you. You could see him out the corner of your eye....and y’know what...fuck it. Namoon saw the coffee dripping down from your hair to your clothes....fuck...it

Crack!

You wanted to say you weren’t aware of what you were doing in that moment but you knew full and well what you were doing and why. You had enough of her constant belittlement and sabotage of your work. You didn’t care if you had gotten fired that day, in fact that would only add to the victory. It just felt good to feel her nose crack under the force of your knuckles.

“Oh my god! She punched me! My nose!!!” she screeched, pointed at you.

“YOU WANT ME TO DO IT AGAIN!” You threatened getting closer. She could only scramble to back away. No one came to her aid or anything, they were too busy looking at you. “I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU. I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS JOB,  AND I AM DONE!”

She looked up and saw Namjoon and instantly pointed at you. “She’s crazy!! She punched me for no reason! Fire her!!!” she cried. “She started it!” she lied.

“Y/N...a word please?” he said lowly, a glare etched on his face. Begrudgingly, you followed, crossing your arms. You looked around, your fist clenched. “If none of you have any work to do, I’ll be happy to give you a stack of paperwork.” he barked. You walked into Namjoon’s office, only to hear him slam the door shut. “Now before I lash out and fire you, I’m assuming you’re aware of the company policy of no fighting?”

“Fire me??!?! You’re seriously talking about firing me?!?!” you laughed in an over-exaggerated tone, but really you were fighting back new emotions welling up.

“Are you crying?” he asked, looking taken aback. “Y/N L/N Are you really crying right now?!?!”

“...I’m covered...head to toe...in hot coffee and the first time I defend myself, you’re threatening to fire me!. What the hell do you think I’m doing?!!? Have you any idea what goes on outside your office walls!!!”

“I know that I saw you react to playground bullying by breaking a presteigious worker’s nose.” he said as if what he was was factual.

“Y-you think that idiot is presteigious, she’s been getting everyone to do her job for her since she was even hired!” your office voice was gone and the real Y/N was starting to break free. “You’d have to be real fucking stupid to think she’s anything other than useless.” 

Before you could say another word, Namjoon began unbuttoning his shirt. “Take off your shirt.” he sighed. 

“I’m sorry?” your eyes widened. 

“Your shirt is covered in coffee and you are not returning to work looking. So take off your shirt and put this one on.” he said again, holding out the shirt he had just taken off his body. “I keep a spare in my briefcase.”

. “I’m going to have a word with Ms.Na.” he exited the room.

Ah so what was her name...

...

The next day you had walked into the building, still very upset from yesterday. Namjoon had called you into his office with a proposition...

“Apologize!?!?!” You were taken aback at his words. You had leaned against the door with your arms crossed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes. Ms.L/N” Namejoon warned. “Please don’t raise your voice at me. I only saw what I saw and if what i saw was you punch Ms. Na in the nose, then I have to set punishments accordingly.”

“Oh so forget the fact that she just poured hot coffee on my head an tried to degrade me-”

“You know what Ms.L/N, you leave me no choice-”

“ NO! Do You know what Mr.Kim. Instead of being standoffish and rude to people why don’t you try being nice for once in your miserable life. Has it ever occured to you that maybe being kind and actually smiling for one would actually make you a few friends. Maybe you want me to apologize to her because you and her are one and the same. You aren’t afraid to be mean and hateful towards people if it means you get what you want! People aren’t scared of you’re because you’re the boss, they’re scared of you because all you do is bully and scare people into think they’re gonna lose their jobs if they don’t do what you want. Well you know what? I am fed up! Fire me if you want but I refuse to stand by and let you or anyone bully me anymore! I refuse to apologize to that little brat and if you think for one second I will then you have lose your mind,” you spat, exhaling sharply. You had said everything in one breath so you had no idea what you said. “...S-Sir.” you added on politely. 

Oh no, now that came out of nowhere, oh man...oh man oh man oh man. 

Mr.Kim’s face was blank or at least blank in the sense that he wasn’t glaring into your soul. Suddenly, he smirked. He began laughing a little too. He reached out his hand, smirking a little. He untucked your shirt that you hadn’t bothered to fix and straightened out your collar.

“Hm...Spoken like a true future boss. So You finally stand up to me.” he chuckled. “I knew I liked you Y/N” he bit his lip. He laughed a little straightened up your necklace. “Maybe I should have given you that promotion.” he sighed.

“Then why didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was testing you.” his fingertips moved up to move your hair out of your face. “And I think you just may have passed. However, you can’t be a boss without looking the part.” 

“So...does this mean I get to keep my job?”

“Yes Y/N.....” he chuckled. “You can keep your job.”

“Mr. Ki-” the door opened and since you were standing in front of the door. 

“Ack!” you stumbled forward, falling right into Namjoon’s arms. Your noses bumped against one another, his lips brushing yours momentarily.

“Oh, it looks like you two are busy sooo-” the door closed.

You yanked yourself back, standing up straight. “I am so sorry sir! I didn’t mean to- I fell...I’m just....Bye now!” You squeaked, bolting out of the room.

[1a-imagines]

Get Jinxed:

@otaku-explosion Request: Please can you make a scenario of Midoriya and Iida with a fem s/o's quirk is called jinxed which causes bad things to happen to anyone and everyone (including herself) to experience unfortunate...and strange...happenings. She still can't really control her quirk, but she was accepted into class 1B so let’s hope the UA's roof isn't ripped off by a storm like her last schools.

Type: scenarios

Characters: Iida, Midoriya.

Iida:

"H-how-"

"I don't know! I was just walking past and sneezed!" You tried to explain to him as he stared at the the water fountain that was currently on fire.

You had actually done the impossible. You had set fire to water. "This is physically impossible! This defys every law of nature." Iida muttered in utter disbelief. He wanted to put out the fire! He simply couldn't let the schools fountain burn to the ground but what should he do?! Should he throw more water over it? Would that even work!? It was seemingly not affect by water at all, so all he could do was watch in horror as the fire grew on the waters surface.

You seemed strangely calm, but he assumed you were use to it. It was your quirk after all. You were probably use to this happening. He already had heard from you what happened at your last school. You walked into school one morning and the roof blew up. You knew it was fault because as soon as you leaned back against the wall of the school it blew up on contact.

If Iida was honest he feared for UA. He couldn't allow you to blow up the roof! But at the same time he feared for you too! He didn't want you getting expelled because you were unable to control your quirk. Not to mention how most of the bad luck seemed to aim at you.

As he was panicking the fire went out by itself. You coughed nervously into your hand. "Usually the things that happen have a time limit, mostly they stop when I walk away. I suppose you could say the chaos likes to follow me where ever I go."

Iida sighed and placed his hands onto his hips. "You have to learn to control your quirk somehow. The last thing this school needs is more problems." You had to agree. With all that's happened with class 1A. You felt almost thankful you were in 1B. At least you weren't put through such scary situations like the USJ attack.

"I'm sorry Iida. I want to! I just don't know how to control it! Where would I even start!?" You sighed in defeat and plopped down onto the edge of the fountain. Iida sat next to you, sympathy filling his eyes. "Well, we can figure it out! It's not like it would be impossible. We just have to try our best!"

You smiled up at him, feeling thankful you had him. Your friendship had been unlikely, so being in a relationship with him was even more bizarre. Class 1A's, class president, who respected the rules more than anyone else with the girl who litrally had bad luck following her wherever she went. You remembered how you two met. It had been within the first week of school.

You were walking down the halls and as fate would have it a rolling baseball came out of nowhere, you stepped on it and fell face first into the floor. But it didn't stop there. You fell in front of the support classes door and it suddenly fell off it's hinges, and fell right towards you. You gasped and held out your hands to shield yourself, but when you felt no impact you opened your eyes to see Iida above you he had grabbed onto the door before it hit you. When he knew you were ok he asked what happened. He had seen it all and it was mouth dropping. A ball came out of no where? No one was around! And the door fell off it's hinges without anything happening to it? It was like someone had set out to sabotage you.

You had to explain your quirk to him and since then he always made sure he was around to help clear up the chaos and keep you out of danger. Though it was hard to keep up with, since most of the things that happened had no explaination and denied the laws of physics. Things he thought previous impossible he had now witnessed himself. You caused him a lot of panic, especially when you coughed and three windows of the school smashed in.

He wanted to help you. Your quirk was actually very impressive. If you got control over it you could be unstoppable! How can people beat you if they're cursed with bad luck?!

"We? You're going to help me?" You asked unsurely. You figured if you were going to willingly use your quirk he would want to be far away. After all, it didn't just affect you but people around you. You tried not to laugh when you remembered walking past Monoma and his pants fell down. You felt bad but it was hilarious. You apologised but he didn't accept it since you were giggling away. You two were good friends though, but he still hasn't let the incident go.

"Of course! You're my girlfriend! I will help you through this and support you no matter what! It's my duty as your boyfriend!" He stated proudly. You grinned up at him and you jumped up off the fountain. "Ok! Let's do this!"

You went to take a step forward but before you could you ended up being swooped up into Iidas arms with a yelp.

"(Y/n)!!" Iida yelled and pulled you to saftey. You turned back to see you both had narrowly missed being hit with a heavy metal ball. A girl ran over and bowed in apology.

"I'm so sorry! I was practising my quirk! I don't know what happened!? It just went out of control!"

You sighed and assured her it was ok before waving her off. Iida put you down. "I know exactly what happened." You muttered and the girl ran away. "This is getting worse everyday! But how do you control bad luck?" You groaned. Iida hummed and thought it over. He wasn't sure himself, it wasn't like you were trying to control something physical, your quirk seemed to be more mental. "Maybe we should focus on what activated your quirk. Maybe bad luck happens what you feel something? Like when you become overwhelmed with a feeling. Have you ever actually tried causing bad luck willingly."

"No... well, sometimes. But it's not like I can just point at someone at bad luck happens to them. I don't know how it works!" You huffed. Feeling hopeless. It was stressful to think about. What if you could never get control over your quirk. You grumbled and turned around. About to start walking away but you ended up tripping over your own feet and fell onto your face. "(Y/n)!" Iida crouched down next to you in worry.

You lifted your head from your ground and met his eyes, you were completely done with today. Your quirk was acting up more than usual and you were fed up. You told him you were fine but his eyes widened, he stood up quickly. "Your nose is bleeding! That's not fine!" He helped you up and reached into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief. He held it up to your nose as you stared down at the ground in embarrassment. "Maybe I'm just destined to be this way forever."

"That's not a good mind set to have! There will be a way to control it! We just have to work hard. We can do some research on similar quirks as well as some training. You'll see, you have control over it in no time!"

You smiled at his enthusiasm. He was so ready to help you and do whatever he had to, to make you happy. "Funny how the girl with bad luck ended up with such an amazing guy. Maybe you're solution to my quirk. Maybe you're my quirks weakness." You crossed your arms with a playful smirk gracing your pink lips.

He froze up, his cheeks going red. He felt like his breath got caught in his throat for a moment. "(Y/n)! It's innapropriate to flirt in public!" He whispered frantically, looking around to make sure no one heard.

"I can't help it, you make me so happy I just want to make you happy too. I can't keep all the love i feel to myself. I'll explode!" You were about to make this poor man faint. His whole face was burning up. "(Y-y/n)!" he sighed. Though he appreciated the love, he preferred to keep it for when the two of you were alone. You smiled down at the floor shyly. For some reason you couldn't help but acknowledge all the times he's saved you from your own quirk. How he was always there to stop your misfortune. Back at your old school things use to be much worse. You were always in the nurses office or getting yelled at for something but at UA, ever since you met Iida, things have been so much better. Bad things seemed to happen a lot less often and even when they did guess who was there to save the day? Of course it was your precious boyfriend. You were so thankful for him you couldn't even put it into words.

"At least I know I have one good luck charm in my life."

Midoriya:

"Have you seen (y/n)?"

"You're looking for her again? You really need to relax." Kirishima replied. Midoriya slumped over a little at the response. He couldn't help it. Your quirk always caused bad things to happen to you. He's lost count of the amount of times he's had to save you from danger, and the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt. You were a constant worry for him. You had told him several times that he didn't have to worry so much but he couldn't stop. You had even suggested that maybe you shouldn't be friends, when you first met, you already knew he was a bit of a nervous wreck so being around you would only cause him to faint from worry. Yet he refused to walk away from you. So much so you ended up going from friends, to best friends and then from best friends to lovers. Despite the worry he always felt for you, he found your quirk so interesting and he never let it get in the way of you two. Even when you caused him a bit of bad luck too. Like when you went to hug him and tripped, you fell over onto him and he fell back against the pavement. Luckily there was no serious harm, just some bruises. Though he did ended cracking his phone screen. You felt so bad you paid him money to get it fixed, despite all his protests.

"I-i can't help it. I care about her." He replied, walking out of the classroom to go to check class 1b. He looked around to see you walking down the hallway with kendo. Smiling at some joke you made but when you closed your eyes and began laughing someone sprinted out from around the corner and ran right into you. They hit you with their full force and You flew against the window in the hallway, it even cracked slightly from the impact. Luckily it didn't break.

"(Y/n)!" You boyfriend screamed out as he ran over to you. Kendo was crouched by your body that was now on the floor. Shaking your shoulder and asking if you were ok but it was obvious by the lack of response you must've been knocked out. The boy who ran into you was now apologising over and over again until kendo got him to stop. It was more than likely just your quirk acting up again. The boy said he wasn't even sure why he was running so fast. He looked really confused and worried. Guilt was consuming him.

You were unconscious, so it's not like you could even accept his apology anyway. Your head was bleeding pretty badly too. Midoriya brushed the hair from your face to look at the wound. You had cracked your head open. He didnt waste anymore time and bent down to pick you up bridal style. "I'll take her to recovery girl. You should tell your teacher that she'll miss class." He told kendo who nodded in agreement and he ran off down the hall. Seeing the blood drip down your forehead made him panic. He couldn't stand to see you like this. He knew you'd be ok after seeing recovery girl but seeing you bleeding and unconscious in his arms broke his heart.

He had actually been looking for you today because he had been doing a lot of research and learning ways for you to be able to control your quirk. He was pretty sure one of the methods he found would be of help to you. When he got there he placed you on the bed and recovery girl took care of you. Kissing your head and wrapping it up in a bandage. The whole time he stayed by your side, looking at your beautiful face as it scrunched up in pain. It made his heart drop even more. You quirk really was amazing. He could already see all the ways it could be useful in so many different situations. It was strong; the only thing he didn't like about it was that it hurt you, but that could change with some quirk control training.

Even though you always got hurt, you were so dedicated to leaning to control it and training with it. Anytime it caused bad luck for someone else you always tried to stop it or save them before the bad luck could ensue. You had gotten better at telling when you quirk was acting up, so you usually saved them in time.

He admired that about you, even if some people figured it would be better suited for a villain to have a bad luck quirk you were still so passionate about becoming a hero, and you were even proud of your quirk. You knew one day you would be able to use it to save so many people and that's why you were do determined to learn how to control it.

You woke up a few hours later. Your head was pounding. You groaned in pain and looked around, it hurt to even move your eyes around the room. You tried to sit up but everything went dizzy and your vision started to black out, so you lay back down. "Careful dear. You'll need to say laying down for awhile longer. That was a nasty head injury." Recovery girl warned you. You couldn't even remember what happened. You just remember the sound of your boyfriend screaming for you before you were knocked out.

"Wheres-"

"I made him go back to class. Though he put up quite the fight, he shouldn't miss his lessons too. Even if I doubt he's able to concentrate."

You sighed and closed your eyes. You were in here so often Midoriya would sometimes miss some of his classes. Not often, only when something really serious had happened. Like when you fell down three flights of stairs, broke your arm and got a concusion.

"Stupid quirk.." You muttered angrily. Not only is it causing you to miss important lessons but it was worrying all the people you cared about. It was affecting them too, so much so they would miss lessons just to make sure you're ok. It was nice to know they cared but you were starting to think you caused too much trouble for everyone. You felt awful. You were standing in the way of them becoming hero's.

"Don't beat yourself up about it. It's not your fault. If you really want this to stop I suggest working harder to control your quirk. But dont give up." It was like she was reading your thoughts. You knew she was right. You wouldn't give up anyway, you were just feeling down right now. Most students here already thought your quirk was a villainous one anyway. They think you don't belong here. They never said it outright but you could tell by the way people would be more cautious around you or try to avoid you all together. The only ones that didn't act that way were your boyfriend, Kendo and Shinsou. Everyone else seemed to be wary of you. Not that you could blame them. Whenever people were around you bad luck would fall upon them. Even the school itself had even fallen mercy to your quirk more than once.

You lay there for awhile as recovery girl made sure you we're drinking plenty of water to help with the blood loss and dizziness you felt. It must ve been hours later when the door was opened and your boyfriend walked in. It must've been the end of the school day already. Yet again you had missed a full day of hero training.

Recovery girl had left awhile ago to let you rest but you couldn't. Your mind was too busy thinking about what to do. Give up? Or work harder? At this point you weren't sure if you could ever use your quirk for good. Laying here in this bed with nothing but your thoughts hadn't been good for you. All day your brain had been giving you a hard time. Telling you that you would never be a hero or that you'd never be able to control your quirk. That you should just give up because hero's are suppost to bring good luck with them, not bad luck.

You hadn't even noticed Midoriya was there, you were so consumed in your thoughts as you stared out the window at the setting sun. He walked over to the bed, noticing your tear stained cheeks as he got closer. His eyes widened and he let out a dainty gasp. You had been crying? He figured it might've just been from pain but your expression showed to him that you were conflicted about something.

"(Y/n)" he muttered softly to catch your attention. You slowly turned to him with pain filled eyes. It broke his heart to see you like this. You looked so sad, your eyes were missing that bright spark. You did smile when you saw him but it was slightly forced and half hearted. "Hey. Sorry for worrying you. I heard you carried me all the way here." You reached over to take his hand. "You're my hero."

"That so typical of you?"

"Huh?" You questioned in shock when he tightened his grip on your hand. "You're always trying to make other people smile, even when you're sad." He looked into your eyes. "What's wrong?"

You looked down at your other hand that was resting in your lap. He already guessed what you were thinking. He wanted you to admit it and confirm his suspicions. "I just... feel bad that I cause so much trouble. It doesn't just affect me, bad things happen to anything and everyone that's around me. I know people don't like me because of it. They like to keep their distance. How am I suppose to use a quirk that brings bad luck for good? I don't think I'll ever be a hero at this rate."

"Don't say that!" His outburst suprised you. You looked up at him, his eyes were glistening with a mixture of sadness and determination. "You're choosing to use it for good! It doesn't matter what your quirk is! You want to use it for good and that's what makes you a hero! It's not about your quirk, it's about the choices you make. Don't give up Because-" He squeezed your hand as he took in a deep breath. "If you give up then the world will miss out on a great hero."

You felt tears welling up in your eyes at his words, it brought a real smile to your lips for the first time all day. You couldn't ask to have anyone better in your life. You reached forward and opened your arms. Signalling you wanted a hug. He didn't waste a second and sat down, pulling you into his arms. One of his hands began to pat down your hair softly as you rubbed your face into his shoulder.

"I love you. You're everything to me." You whispered into his jacket. Holding him as tight as you could, which wasn't very right considering how weak you felt. "I love you too." He replied happily, feeling his heart soar at your words.

You pulled back and looked into his eyes,cupping his cheeks in your hands. "You know, I'm cursed with bad luck, and yet somehow I ended up being the luckiest girl in the world." You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his. "Because I have you by my side."

A/N: Not my best work since I was struggling to think up a good scenario for it. I really liked writing it though, so hopefully it's not too bad T_T

[douxreviews]

American Gods - ‘Come to Jesus’ Review

Wednesday: "What do you believe, Shadow?" Shadow: "Everything."

American Gods finishes its first season strong, but storms brewing both in front of and behind the camera leave us with questions...

Let's just deal with the elephant in the room up front, since it sort of colors everything about this episode. If you're not the sort of person who follows behind the scenes shenanigans in TV production, allow me to introduce you to the elephant.

A few months after the initial airing of the season one finale, word came out that the showrunners, Brian Fuller and Michael Green, were exiting the show. Details were scarce, and those we did get were probably overblown to a degree, but the general reason given at the time was the traditional 'creative differences' with just a dash of 'budgetary concerns.'  The first series had come in enthusiastically over budget, which probably didn't make the network terribly happy but seems unlikely to be a deal killer on its own. Reports that Fuller and Green quit after clashes with Neil Gaiman over the direction of the show seem equally unlikely, as Neil is a profoundly decent human being and I just can't see him doing that sort of thing.

I suspect, and this is purely my opinion, that it was a combination of little things and was probably fairly amicable. It would appear, based on choices that they made in series one, that Fuller and Green saw the show more as an anthology series, with Wednesday and Shadow serving as a vehicle to explore other stories set in the universe. Gaiman was reported as wanting a more direct adaptation of the novel. The network, probably a little irritated with the overspending, came down on Gaiman's side, and so Fuller and Green moved on to other projects.

Again that's just my personal guess. What we do know for certain is that whatever happened behind the scenes led to both Gillian Anderson and Kristin Chenoweth deciding not to return for season two, which leaves a curious plot void after the conclusion of this episode.

We'll look at how this was handled when we talk about the season two premiere, but for now suffice it to say that it's impossible to watch this episode without being aware that both of them are about to exit prematurely, which definitely affects watching it now.

Whew. That's a lot of preliminary elephant.

So, after that brief come to Jesus moment, let's talk about 'Come to Jesus.'

As long as I'm breaking my own rules about what we do and don't consider in these reviews, I'll note that Jesus is notably absent in the novel. He gets a couple of mentions, but never actually pops in to have a chat. In the 10th anniversary edition there's a sort of appendix where Neil includes a portion of a chapter where Shadow meets Jesus, but notes that the interaction never felt exactly right for the story and so he kept not including it in the novel proper.

Here, almost as if to compensate, we have a lot of Jesuses. So many Jesuses that we're going to need a collective noun for a group of Jesuses, and I'm going to suggest that we call it a Faith. So, Wednesday and Shadow, and Mad Sweeney and Laura, arrive independently at the home of Ostara, aka Easter. Ostara is one of your 'harvest/fertility/spring/rebirth' sort of deities, and the nominal foundation of the holiday of Easter before early Christianity colonized it. She has the whole place tatted up for her annual celebration of herself, Easter, and is politely ignoring the many Jesuses who have kind of overrun the place.

So, no visual metaphor for the displacement of old beliefs there, no sir.

Easter is kind of a crystallization of a couple of things that have been going on over the course of the first season. For one thing she's the final instance of Wednesday individually seeking out an old god, wherever they might have ended up, and making a sales pitch for them to join his upcoming war. The fact that he appears to be successful in this case is deeply entwined with the other plot thread which she represents. Namely, the various ways that many of the old gods have or have not been co-opted and suborned by the new gods who have replaced them. Czernobog was never suborned, he was forgotten and left to rot. Vulcan allowed himself to be redefined completely, substituting bullets for volcanoes. Wednesday was offered the same deal as Vulcan and turned it down. Sweeney was never important enough for the new gods to even bother with – he'd been co-opted by General Mills long before. And Bilquis... well, we'll come back to Bilquis in a moment.

Easter shows us yet another variation on the theme; instead of being redefined, she's allowed herself to be overwritten. Christianity came along and claimed her special day, and pretended that the bunnies and the eggs had been part of their thing all along. And over the centuries, as the focus on her special day turned more and more away from her and toward whichever Jesus you happened to root for, she became more and more entrenched in her self delusion that it was really still all about her, deep down. They still followed all the old practices with the egg hiding and the rabbits, so she couldn't have been forgotten. Kristin Chenoweth did a great job here showing us a woman whose illusions are being brutally stripped away. She's made herself comfortable behind a layer of artifice, and once that's gone she faces the situation and reclaims her power. That's the point of her elaborate hairstyle coming undone and her hair falling wildly around her shoulders while Media's hat blows away. It's the pagan forces reasserting their power over the forces retraining them.

That said, while I appreciate what's happening thematically, and Mr. Wednesday is clearly successful in convincing Easter to reclaim her power and force humanity to worship her again, I'm almost positive that if Kentucky had a huge crop blight humanity's first response probably wouldn't be, 'Oh, I guess we should probably pray to Easter to take care of this.' Call me cynical.

Women being disempowered by men who fear them was a pretty strong theme all around this episode, and nowhere more so than the story of Bilquis, as told to us by Mr. Nancy. The visuals of Bilquis were great, particularly the fade from her ancient face makeup to her disco face makeup. I really like that we saw her in pre-revolutionary Tehran in the 70s. It's a period that American schools say absolutely nothing about, as if we talked about it we might have to discuss our own unfortunate involvement. Generally, I expect that US audiences know next to nothing about what Iran was like before the revolution, and that may be partly what made the incoming revolutionaries shooting up Bilquis' disco such a strong image for the female disempowerment metaphor they were building.

Watching Bilquis slowly deteriorate in the new world was heartbreaking, and it made perfect sense that she'd fall in with the new gods after Technical Boy offered her a new altar in the form of hook up aps. She doesn't seem to happy to be working for them now, however. It'll be interesting to see where that goes.

Which brings us to Laura, yet another woman who men are attempting to disempower. In this case it was Mr. Wednesday, via Mad Sweeney who had her killed, or as Sweeney puts it, 'sacrificed,' for no other reason than that he needed her out of the way so he could get to Shadow. And because it was a god who had her killed, Easter can't give her back the gift of life, which is convenient from a storytelling perspective. It also presented a great opportunity for the story to have Laura find out that Wednesday had her killed and sabotaged her casino robbery. Although I feel like we as a people need to accept that the 'eye holds the last image before it's death' trope is kind of tired at this point. Maybe let's rest that one for awhile.

So, ultimately season one was all about two things. Getting Shadow to a place where he is ready to believe in the existence of Odin and the other gods, and getting Mr. World to a place where he's willing to publicly commit to going to war against the old gods. Thanks to a prodigious sprinkling of Jesuses, this episode accomplishes both. I could have lived without Wednesday running over the bunnies though.

Quotes:

Mr. Nancy: "We should start with a story." Wednesday: "Oh Jesus, Nancy." Mr. Nancy: "I’m gonna tell you a story." Wednesday: "We haven’t got time for a story. Just do the f**king work." Mr. Nancy: "Let me tell a goddamn story!"

Mr. Nancy: "So long as I’m still alive, I can adapt. I still know what I am."

Technical boy: "Worship is a volume business. Whosoever has the most followers wins the game."

Wednesday: "Do not confuse confusion for anger."

Shadow: "I love Easter." Wednesday: "Many do. Some for the rabbits. Some for the resurrection."

Wednesday: "Believing is seeing. Gods are real if you believe in them."

Jesus: "I… feel terrible about this."

Technical Boy: "Hands free, honeypot. I have no intention of spending the rest of my days feeding your soul from the vagina nebula."

Media: "We popularized the pagan. We practically invented brunch."

Laura: "I will squeeze them straight out of the sack. It’ll be like shucking peas. I swear to Jesus. He’s right outside."

Media: "Put a pillow over that feeling and bear down until it stops kicking."

Bits and Pieces:

-- Jesus, sitting cross legged on the surface of a swimming pool with a drink sets his glass down next to him. The glass immediately sinks to the bottom of the pool. I get why they couldn't resist that sight gag, but there was really no reason for him to be sitting on the pool otherwise. Still funny, though.

-- So, after killing Vulcan, Mr. Wednesday and Shadow went directly to Mr. Nancy's place so that he could make them dapper new suits for the Easter party. Nancy knows that Wednesday killed Vulcan, but Easter believes the lie that it was the new gods who did it. That whole plotline is a little muddy.

-- What exactly is Mr. Nancy's relationship with the spiders? Are they his friends? Does he control them? I have so many questions.

-- I really hope Orlando Jones is enjoying his wardrobe for this series, because I certainly am. His outfits get more and more fabulous.

-- Are the bunnies all CGI? They have to be CGI, right?

-- One of the available Easter cookies was a sugar cookie in the shape of a hand, with red jelly in a neat circle in the center of the palm. I watched this episode four times before getting that.

-- I'm old enough that I remember it firsthand, but it seems just unfathomable that there was a point when smoking on airplanes was a thing.

-- Media seemed genuinely sad to lose Easter as a friend.

-- There's an adorable moment when Easter primps herself in her reflection on the sword while Wednesday is giving her his sales pitch.

-- Do ice cream trucks automatically play music when they're in gear? Because TV shows are unable to resist the music playing in inappropriate circumstances.

-- Sweeney still didn't tell Laura what he sacrificed for her last episode, even when she had him four feet in the air by his balls.

-- It was a serious mistake for Media to take the hard line with Easter over Mr. Wednesday's offer. That's what ultimately made up Easter's mind.

-- Technical boy comes up as 'The Man' on Bilquis' phone. You just know that he programmed that himself.

-- Genre fans should note, the primary Jesus we see here is played by Jeremy Davies. He's as good as you're imagining.

A really strong finish for a really strong year. Easter and Media are going to be missed.

Three and three quarter out of four CGI Bunnies. Is that allowed?

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[a-toon-out-of-toontown]

Chapter five

Again this is may 11th, so i have no idea if this is it or not, i would have probably made an update to say whether or not this is it so fdashasdkjsdklshkj maybe last chapter for now? Maybe not, i cant see the future

That was one of the worst decisions of my life. I ended up staying up staying up past midnight watching those stupid movies. Which meant I didn't get much sleep. So it took a lot of energy to drag me out of bed.

I got dressed, putting on that stupid resistance ranger outfit. Ever since storm sellbot, it's been mandatory for all resistance rangers to wear them while on duty, and my mom thinks it looks cute when we all match as a family. I thought it was stupid, but my mom forces me to wear it anyways.

I went to the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the stove as I went. All I saw was the hour, 12. I stopped, it's noon?! I looked back at the clock, and it read 12:30. Nonononono… I can't be late! I ran out of the kitchen as fast as I could, knocking over a flowerpot as I went. I grabbed my keys and portable hole and ran out the door.

I teleported to toontown central and I arrived outside of toon hall. I opened the door, walked down the hall to the right and entered the break room located at the end of the hallway. Instead of finding a room full of people, I only saw the toon hall cook, an elderly bear by the name of Madam Daphne.

"Hey Daphne, I said looking around, where is everyone?"

She looked up from her cooking. "Oh hello, Miss Bubbles it so nice to see you! You must be wondering where everyone is, the meeting still hasn't ended yet. Flippy had mentioned that it should take longer before it started." She paused, "whatever is going on I know it's serious business, even Lord Lowden showed up"

"really? I asked surprised, he only comes to meetings when he absolutely has too"

"Yeah, she replied, I wonder what could have happened"

She glanced towards the door to the meeting room,

"not that they tell me anything, I'm just the cook."

I walked over to the trays of food, lunch wasn't put out yet so it was just filled with dainties, and 4 pitchers of iced tea were at the end of the table. I took one of the cups beside it and poured myself some. When I took a sip I was overwhelmed by how sweet it was. I had to put it down.

"What's wrong bubbles? Daphne asked, is there something wrong with the drink?"

"no, I said as I picked up the glass, it tastes really good." I smiled as I took another sip, "it's as good as it always is!"

"oh that's good, I was worried for a second."

I looked into the cup, I guess the coffee had affected my taste for sweet things.

Just then the meeting room opened to reveal the toon council had finally finished their meeting. First walked out Flippy and my father, who were in the middle of a very serious sounding conversation.

Julia and Charlotte followed close behind laughing about something they were talking about.

Then the rest of the council filed out with Lowden and Ace holding up the rear.

"Hey Miss Bubbles, called Daphne as she was holding a tray of pizza, could you help me put these out on the table?"

"sure," I replied as I went around the counter and into the kitchen area.

I grabbed two of the pizzas, one in each arm, and followed Daphne out of the kitchen. Once we had placed them on the table I was pulled aside by my mother.

"Hey Bubbles, said, nice to see you! How are you?"

"I'm fine, I replied, how was the meeting?"

"It was good, she replied, we were mostly discussing the attack we did on the sellbot factory."

Just then my dad walked over "which I had a major role in, if it wasn't for me we probably would have failed"

My mother rolled her eyes, "Nick come on that's not true, it was mostly planned by Ace and his son, and we led the team together."

He was silent for a moment as if he was not sure what his response should be, then he said, "boy am I hungry, whats for lunch?"

Julia sighed, "it's pizza," she said as she pointed to the table.

Before he could leave Lord Lowden approached my parents.

"Nick, Julia, I just wanted to congratulate you on the attack on the factories. Without you those new cog goons would have been produced and taking back toontown would have become so much harder."

"well, my mom replied, that's what we're here for. Will you be staying for lunch?"

"No, I won't, he replied, I have things to attend to, which is unfortunate because it smells lovely. Bye Nick, Julia and Bubbles."

"Bye Lowden, my mother replied, don't work too hard."

He smiled and then turned around and headed towards the door.

Once he was gone, my mother spoke, "he works too hard, he practically never leaves his office."

My father nodded, then he turned towards the food. Toons had already begun to line up and some had already begun eating.

Seeing my mother's unamused expression return, he walked towards the line "Woah hold up there, make sure there's enough left for me."

My mother rolled her eyes and turned to me, "we should probably get some food, Daphne is a great cook and I really don't want to miss this pizza."

Once lunch was done, it was time for the public half of the meeting. This gives toons the opportunity to voice their opinions and concerns. It was brought into effect a couple years after Flippy with overwhelming support. I walked into the room and sat by the back of the room. One one side was a row of chairs where the council would sit, and about four or five where the toon population would sit.

There also was a roped off section where the media would sit. I sat at the far back and watched as the room filled up with toons.

I mostly kept to myself, and only a couple of toons looked in my general direction. A couple of the regular toons that came frequently waved in my direction and I waved back, but I did it very subtly.

It took about 10 minutes, but finally, the council entered the room. The chatter in the room subsided as they took their seats. Once Flippy had gotten to his chair everyone was silent.

"Now, before we begin today I would like to remind everyone that gags are not to be used in this building under any circumstance unless, by some very slim chance a cog is to find its way here, we don't want a repeat of 2012."

A roar of laughter came from the toons and rolled my eyes. Every time we start a toon council meeting they announce this and every time toons find it funny.

After the laughter subsided, Flippy continued. "Now, first things first, we as the toon council would like to thank both Ace and the Wildspeed duo for their bravery in sabotaging the creation of these new cog goons"

A round of applause came from the crowd and both my parents and Ace stood up. My father was about to say something when my mother interrupted him.

"It is a great honour to be able to help the citizens of toontown, we do this not for ourselves but for you and for the freedom of our home."

The crowd applauded again as they sat down and Flippy waited for the crowd to quiet down before continuing.

"Now, we will move on to the question period, we will start with the media, he turned and faced the roped off section, now who wants to go first?"

An aqua rabbit stood up. "You there, said Flippy, what is your question?"

"Hello Flippy, toon council, she began, My name is April and I'm from Toontown news for the amused. I have been doing a lot of research lately and what I've found is quite startling. I've noticed that cogs are having a better success rate with taking over task buildings, and when the building is taken back, another cog is there to take it back. It started first with the sellbots but now it seems that all the branches have gotten the information. The new anti stun cog goons, something the cogs themselves were not able to develop for years, but suddenly out of nowhere there able to come up with this? The answer is simple, we've been betrayed by one of our own, maybe not just one."

The crowd gasped and Flippy's face went from a look of happiness to a look of worry.

April continued "My question is this, has the toon council done any research on this topic? I feel like this is a very important issue."

My parents went to stand up, but Flippy gestured for them to sit down.

He cleared his throat "are you questioning my competence? Do you not think I've noticed this and have made sure there is no rat amongst us? I can't believe you would ask me something like this."

"well, asked April, is there a rat? I noticed you looked worried, is there something you're hiding?"

"HOW DARE YOU, Flippy yelled, THAT'S IT, IF ALL YOU'RE GOING TO DO IS ATTACK ME, MEETING ADJOURNED." and with that, he stormed out of the room.

Charlotte stood up from her chair and went over to where Flippy had just been "I'm sorry, but we're going to have to cut this meeting short. Now like always there will be refreshments and snacks-"

An ice blue mouse ran up and whispered something in her ear.

Charlotte nodded and resumed speaking "actually there will not be refreshments, so um, yeah. I hope everyone has a toontastic day!"

With that, the toon council awkwardly shuffled out, not sure what just happened. Slowly but surely, everyone else began to file towards the exit, confused chatter filled the hall. I saw the news reporter who asked the question still sitting in her chair.

A dark green dog walked up behind her and sat down beside her. I didn't stay to hear what they were saying, I turned around and left once the crowds were gone.

I found my parents standing outside, having a very serious sounding discussion. It took them a while to finish so I sat on the steps of toon hall and watched the clouds roll by.

After what felt like an hour my mother tapped me on the shoulder. "Come along Bubbles, she said, its time we go home."

After every toon council, we have a tradition where we have dinner together as a family. So together we went to my parent's estate. When we got there I was greeted by two very excited doodles, which knocked me over, covering me in slobber.

"Calm down Macbeth, Juliet, I pet them both on the head, it's nice to see you."

My parents who were walking in front of me turned and saw what had happened. They both burst out laughing. It took them a second to compose themselves, then my mother called both doodles over. I got up from the grass and brushed myself off. I walked into the house, my parents were already in the kitchen. I walked in, and they were in the midst of another serious discussion.

My mother turned to me, "Miss Bubbles, we're going to need you to leave us for a minute, we need to discuss something important."

"does this have something to do with flippy storming out today?"

"yes, she replied, I hope you don't mind."

"I don't, I replied, I can keep myself occupied. I can feed the doodles."

"perfect! We won't be long."

I contemplated eavesdropping, but if they found me they might become suspicious. I would get the notes from the meeting, so I could present that to the VP tomorrow.

I got the food out from the cupboard and walked outside. I poured the food into their bowls and called them over. I stepped out of the way before I got trampled again. I looked towards the door, nothing so I decided to sit in the shade of my old tree house. As the clouds rolled by, I thought of what I was going to give to the VP on Monday.

My parents always send me the notes from the meeting so I'll have that. They have literally no reason to give them to me, but they think it's good for me to stay in the know. Little do they know it's going to be used against them. I guess I could talk about Flippy storming out of the hall, cause that was interesting.

What if there was a way to, I don't know, take down the toon council from the inside? Flippy did seem worried about something, more than just the toons who broke the anti cogism act. Maybe Flippy isn't at all what he seems, what other secrets could he be hiding?

Before I could think about it further, Juliet came and sat beside me, halting my train of thought.

"Hey Juliet, I said as I scratched behind her ear, how's it going?"

She barked.

"Good? That's good to hear."

I looked up at the sky, and I noticed the sun had already begun to set. I got up from under the tree and stretched, sitting in one place for so long was not fun.

Just then my mother burst outside. "Miss Bubbles? Where are you?"

"I'm here mom, I said still standing beneath the tree, is everything ok?"

She sighed, "yes everything is fine, your father and I were just talking about things, more specifically the anti cogism act. We believe our stance has changed on the matter."

"how so?" I asked.

"We don't believe it should be kept from the public, the news reporter today told us this. The toons of toontown deserve to know the truth."

I nodded.

"I'm sorry Bubbles, she said, but we're going to have to postpone until next week, I hope that's ok."

"that's fine, I replied, I hope everything gets sorted out."

She sighed, "me too" She was silent for a moment, then she continued, "that reminds me, I have something for you."

She pulled out a brown paper bag and handed it to me.

"What is this?" I asked as I inspected the outside of the bag. "They're sugar cookies, she replied, I was hoping we would be able to decorate them today, but I guess we never got the chance. I'll make a new batch for next week, so you can have these."

"thanks, mom, but I should probably be getting home."

"I hope you have a wonderful evening and I'm sorry again about today."

"its fine, it's completely fine."

I was about to teleport to my estate when she stopped me.

"Wait I almost forgot, here are the notes from the meeting."

"thank you, I replied, see you next Sunday?"

She smiled "like always. Bye Bubbles."

"Bye mom," I replied as I jumped into my teleport hole.

When I got back to my estate, I put down the cookies at the door and managed to find a pencil and paper. I put the reports off to one side and put the paper in front of me. It was time to get this ready for the VP.

[cutebutstillsingle]

Here’s one every dater should practice: the relationship postmortem autopsy. 

Anytime you end a relationship you need to go back in and asses why that shit died, OK? And know that it takes two to start and two to end any relationship.  

I walked away from my most recent relationship death with two critical questions that I will now be sure to ask of every single guy who pulls the cord on a relationship with me, but...

I won’t be sharing them here because they will be part of a program I’m developing, sorry!

Nevertheless, anyone can do a relationship postmortem.  Other coaches and experts have recommended a similar review process.  Relationship expert Tony Gaskins calls it “analyzing the game film”, which he pulls from his history as an athlete.  David Goggins (though he’s not a relationship coach, he’s arguably a success role model) describes a similar process of review the military requires soldiers to go through after each completed and failed mission.  

You have to take the time to assess your actions, your choices, your successes, and your failures; because if you don’t, you will continue to have the same blind spots, repeat the same mistakes, and you will carry the same weaknesses into every future relationship.  

The only caveat I give is that sometimes we make decisions when we’re partnered with certain people that seem like they created “destructive sabotage” for you. In actuality, sometimes certain decisions that appear to be destructive decisions at first glance, are actually excisions.  Sometimes certain people, certain connections, certain influences, the potential for scarred emotional tissue in your life, need to be excised.  And the universe will use that relationship to do it.  

Did you know that when plastic surgeons perform an operation, they actually remove some of the tissue below the incision so that when the cut heals, it will heal flat, and won’t leave a scar?  That’s how certain happenings work during a breakup.  Sometimes things need to be cut out in, in what appears to be a painful or shocking way at the time, in order to reduce the tension and not leave a lasting mark in the future.  

Second part of this... “dumping them is not always the answer”...

A LOT of guys are avoidant-attachment style, or what Pia Mellody calls “avoidant love addicted”.  This kind of person habitually flees from any true shot at emotional intimacy and connection.  So I could not write these posts without mentioning that phenomenon.  

If you want to see yourself be successful in romantic connections, you cannot make a habit of dumping a partner every time the going gets tough.  After enough of my own dating failures I’m comfortable sharing the confident observation that if a partner dumps you out of nowhere, or at the first incident of a problem, they do not yet know how to problem-solve while staying in a relationship.  And if a partner is not a willing or able problem-solver while staying in connection, that’s not good.  

There is something called “fair weather friends”-- as long as there are no problems, the two of you consider yourselves lovers; and you’re willing to emotionally connect. But if it starts to rain and one or both of you can’t weather the storm; if, when the raindrops begin to fall and the wind begins to blow, you discover that the relationship begins to melt and blow away like paper dolls, that’s not good.   

I’ve literally done this exact thing before.  Textbook.  I came to my own conclusion without consulting my partner that I had to exit this relationship in order to reduce my own anxiety and fear that I could not handle feeling.  I dumped what may have been the closest thing to a soulmate if you went off of our compatibility and check boxes ticked.  When what you should be doing in these moments is communicating. “I’m feeling afraid because...”, “I’m feeling worried about...”.  “This situation/ happening is giving me anxiety; and I need...”.  Most importantly you must have the ability to recognize that the problem is even arising. Those all-too-familiar feelings of anxiety and tension are rising in you.  Those feelings of fear and panic that are making you want to jump off the skateboard that is picking up momentum as it rolls down the hill, faster and faster.  You want to jump off the board because you are convinced you’re going to crash and burn.  

... but what if you didn’t?  What if you stayed on and successfully rode that shit down the hill until it cruised to a pleasant stop?  

Well that is relationships, over and over and over.  Up, and down, and up, and downhill.  Fast, then slow.  Exciting, then boring.  Growth, stagnation. Storms, then sun. Sunshine, then rain.  rainbows. Arcs.  Cycles. 

One of you needs to have the wisdom and strength to know how to pull out the umbrella, rain boots, and parkas.  And it’s going to be the person who has been caught in a storm before, and successfully learned how to not get caught in storms.  The problem solver is going to be a winner in romantic relationships.  

You want that partner who knows how to prepare for the hurricane.  Who has the fully stocked food stash, the water jugs, the flashlights, and batteries. The one who has ideas for how to respond to the inevitable challenges that I most assure you, are going to arise in every single romantic relationship.  Being a willing problem solver, and even better, a willing teammate in order to synergize around conquering problems-- that is the person you want to be dating.  You want the man who’s like “baby don’t worry-- I’m gonna get us through this storm, we’re gonna make it out”.  You don’t want to be dating the man who runs away with his tail between his legs every time the winds pick up, ladies.  

and yes I direct this more in a gender-specific direction because it is the men who tend to run away and abandon more often than it is the women.  Women don't tend to put up with bullshit so we’ll straight up walk out. We’re not gonna run away.  I hope some men read this!

[itdans]

read on ao3.

After three hours by a damp roadside, following a long afternoon hiding from a storm, Keith had been happy to accept any help. Just before he could seriously consider bringing in their lions, they’d been able to get in touch with a local towing service and garage. They’d been dragged through a town center that consisted of a single road and a grand total of fifteen buildings, only to find that they’d need at least another day before their car was ready to go. According to the soft spoken mechanic with a harelip, they were short on supplies because they didn’t get a lot of business to begin with. Keith believed it. He was a little surprised that their town had a name to begin with.  

But she’d been able to give them a ride to the closest motel, a quiet, rundown place with only two cars in its parking lot.

“Hm.”

Shiro made a noise, low in his throat. He’d just gotten off the phone with his mothers, filling them in. It was a conversation Keith only caught snippets off, but he found himself worrying now. He’d never been particularly picky about where he stayed, but this was supposed to be their vacation, a chance to choose where they slept, even if it was on a threadbare budget. Shiro moved across the room, taking in the beaten air conditioning box. Its LED display was cracked, but beside a couple of wires duct taped together was a jerry rigged power switch.

Shiro’s face was pointedly blank as he turned it on. It sputtered and coughed before finally emitting a thread of cool air to try and disperse the humidity that followed summer rain. It sounded a little like it was dying.

“It’s bad, but we can work something out. Maybe get a different room?”

“Keith, relax.” Shiro said gently, moving to lean into his space, nudging him with his shoulder, just a little. “It’s no shack, but the company makes up for it.”

Keith couldn’t help but smile.

This wasn’t the plan, but to hell with the plan. Things somehow seemed a whole lot better when he could still feel Shiro’s lips on his own, and his whole body buzzed with electric anticipation. They’d both been running, pulling each other in two different directions. Shiro could only look back to a time he’d lost and Keith charging forward, promising himself that he’d left the past behind. Now, they were still, finding a gentle equilibrium in one space with two hearts.

Being trapped in the middle of nowhere never felt so right.

Outside, the rain tapered off, replaced by the last of the day’s heat as the sun slowly set. For the first time that day, Keith was able to peel off his damp socks, kicking his ruined sneakers to the side. He’d sloshed every time the mechanic had talked to them. After a shared glance, he and Shiro dropped their shoes outside the door, hoping they’d dry before someone decided to steal them.

Being stuck through the storm had been both squishier and less boring than Keith would’ve thought, but it still felt like he’d been waiting years for the chance to finally get out of everything soggy.

“Was the floor damp before I took of my shoes or…?” He asked, and Shiro snorted, running  hand through his hair. Uncombed and damp, all he did was make it stand in odd angles. Keith was kind of terribly charmed.

“I’m going to wash this off. I think I have ten layers of mud between my toes.” Shiro announced, heading to the bathroom, and he looked so genuinely appalled by it that Keith had to laugh. And things were good. Things were great. He heard the shower go off, and started sorting through his things, grateful that at least their bags had survived the storm. A bath wouldn’t be too bad either, he thought. It might be cleaner to spend the night in their sleeping bags. Keith was debating the merits of it when the door squeaked open, and Shiro walked out in nothing but a towel wrapped high on his waist, smelling faintly like cheap hotel soap.

Keith stared open mouthed before he finally caught himself and looked away, furiously blushing. It wasn’t the first time that they’d seen each other like this, years in the Garrison had stripped them of modesty and close quarters in the Castle was the same. Something had shifted, some tiny change that had then changed everything. A line had been crossed and suddenly, they both felt it. The air between them crackled with tension and Shiro immediately retreated.

When he returned, he was dressed and Keith was already waiting in warm clothes, poised on the edge between restless and excited. “I was thinking we could get something to eat?” He offered, an escape from things that seemed too overwhelming. After waiting so long for this, Keith couldn’t believe that he now felt it was all too fast. Shiro nodded gratefully and they stepped out together.

The storm had passed as quickly as it came, clouds rolling back to reveal a lazy blue mid-summer sky. The air was heavy and sticky, and the ground was still damp, but that didn’t seem to stop the people from the town from enjoying the early evening. They strolled slowly through the town, close enough that elbows bumped and fingertips brushed, testing out the new boundaries between them with an almost giddy excitement.

“They’ve got vendors set up on the street. Looks like we can get something to eat there.” Shiro gestured and Keith was immediately distracted by the smell of cooking meats and fried everything.

There were more tiny stalls set up than there were buildings on the main street, but seemingly out of the ground, people crept up, bringing life to the beaten patch of land. Even with the threat of another downpour hanging over their heads, they moved like they were racing against the sun. Keith knew they’d been gone for a while, but he was pretty sure people didn’t normally do that on a whim.

“You boys come down for the Summer festival?” One of the vendors called out, giving them a less than subtle once-over. Shiro caught Keith’s eye, his right hand casually slipping into his front pocket.

“The festival. Right.” That was a word for it at least. Shiro’s smile was crooked, but Keith thought he was still easily the most interesting thing on the field. “Mostly the smell of frying meat dragged us outta hiding.”

“I think you’re in the right place.” The vendor drawled, pointing at the grill he’d began to set up, and Shiro leaned over in curiosity. His stomach rumbled so loudly that even Keith had to laugh.

“They’ve got tacos!” Shiro sounded like he might have been in love. After two years in space eating jiggly green goo and who knew what else, Keith realized there were still things he missed. “I think I’m gonna get like twelve. I’ll bet I can eat more than you.”

“Then go do it.” Keith grinned. “I’m going to go see what else they have.”

“If they have anything on a stick, I want you to save me some.” Shiro said, his face utterly serious.

“No way, get your own.” He teased, but Shiro grabbed him by the shoulders and looked deeply into Keith’s eyes.

“I am going to eat your meat.”

“Oh my god.” Keith smacked his chest hard and escaped to the sound of laughter. Shiro watched him go, openly enjoying the view.

It hadn’t sunk in yet, not really. Shiro couldn’t believe he was here, with Keith in every way that mattered, but at the same time, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Who would be here with him, if not his best friend? There was a longing in his chest, made dull with satisfaction, but Shiro pretended he didn’t see the jagged edges that lurked just beneath the surface. Fate so rarely worked in his favor, and Shiro didn’t want to admit he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For now, he could bury his concern in spiced meat and heartburn.

All around them, the festival was coming to life. Game booths galore popped up as soon as the food had been set. There were horse rides from sleepy old mares, and a merry go round that probably should’ve been put out to pasture. An entire tent had been dedicated just to Bingo.

They really knew how to party, Shiro thought dryly.

The vendor came back with a truly obscene amount of tacos. Shiro almost had nothing to regret. “If you boys stick around, there’ll be fireworks tonight.”

There it was. Like he was someone’s eternal source of schadenfreude. Shiro could feel the corners of his smile sharpening into something cruel and cutting, like bits of glass were buried inside his mouth, and he could laugh through them.

“Isn’t that lucky,” He spat, and the vendor never noticed.

And that was fine. That was fine.

It wasn’t a problem. Shiro wouldn’t let it be. If he could deal with three hours of sleep a night with Keith less than an arm’s length away, if he could handle living in his mothers’ house and pretending that he was sane and normal for a goddamn week, he could handle a backwater light show. Blam blam blam wasn’t pow pow pow.

Things were finally looking up in a big way. Shiro wasn’t going to sabotage himself. When he left the stall, purchases in a paper bag, he was almost sure he could prove it. Except Keith wasn’t alone.

Shiro sauntered over to his friend, smile plastered across his face. He’d been able to forget what a mess he was for only a few hours, he should have known better than to let down his guard. He thought once he put some distance between him and the home that didn’t fit, it would get better, and for a few days, it had. Keith had helped him feel like he was normal again but it took something so small to remind him that he was just playing at being okay.

“So you’re just passing though?” The blond man next to Keith asked, leaning in a little too closely though Keith didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, we’re on a trip.”

“We’re a small town, but we’ve got some things to offer folks if they give us the time. We’ve got some pretty impressive sights, actually.  If you’d like, I can show you around?”

Maybe it wasn’t fine.

Shiro swallowed down the feeling like he needed to grab Keith and run. He wasn’t going to have a break down in public like this, not after things had been going so well, but he hadn’t counted on a sudden frustrated flare of jealousy. It was stupid and irrational, he knew that immediately, but it didn’t stop the twist of unhappiness of having some random stranger try to hit on Keith in the middle of their first almost date.

“Sorry to interrupt, but can I borrow you?” Shiro said evenly, but the guy didn’t get the hint.

“Give us a minute, buddy. We’re just getting to know each other.”

Shiro scowled, the tension in his shoulders sharpening like the bite of a knife. Keith still beat him to the punch. Keith had a way of doing that.

“No, we’re not.” He said, eyes narrowed into slits, angling himself forward, just enough to put himself between Shiro and whatever was making things difficult. He didn’t care whether it was clueless jerks or speeding bullets, and Shiro was almost bowled over by a warm rush of affection. It was just as strong as the shame that came with it.

With pointed intent that was impossible to miss, Keith wrapped his arm around Shiro’s and pulled.

“Hey…” Keith started, and Shiro knew him well enough to read the discomfort in his tone. Shiro could still feel the stranger staring. He grit his teeth and dragged Keith forward instead, because in that moment, it seemed better than hearing whatever Keith had to say.

“Look at this, ring toss. I haven’t seen this in… years.”

“Shiro, that guy’s not a problem.”

Shiro could feel his expression grow brittle around the edges, but he sold his smile for all it was worth. “I know.” Did he know?

“What’s wrong?”

Keith’s question was laced with worry, but Shiro brushed it aside. “Nothing’s wrong.” He said more sharply than he meant and kept pulling Keith down the street. “I just want to play a game or something. That’s what you do at a fair, right?”

“I don’t know.” Keith watched him warily as they stopped in front of one of the booths. “I thought you were hungry.”

“What, are you afraid I’m going to beat you? You’re not scared, are you?” Shiro mocked lightly, gesturing to the ring toss. “Or how about the Test of Strength. You might have done a lot of training this past year, but I still think you’ve got a way to go.” He flexed, fixed Keith with a challenging grin.

His dare was as forced as his smile, but Keith just gave him a strange look and Shiro was glad he didn’t ask any more questions. He paid the vendor of the Test of Strength and hefted the hammer, showing off for Keith before slamming it down on the pad. The bell at the top dinged and Shiro whooped in victory, giving his friend a wink. “See? I told you. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Congrats, kid, you win a prize,” the vendor replied, waving her hand blandly at the rack of pinned toys. Shiro beamed despite himself, until Keith’s new friend showed up. Keith had to wait his turn on the mallet.

“Not bad. Hey Lex, let me get a shot at that. Show these folks how it’s really done out here.” The smile he sent Keith was all teeth, and it looked like he’d forgotten Shiro existed at all. Shiro got some satisfaction out of seeing Keith react in no way at all. He still gave up the mallet and took a step back, and when blondy took a swing, he sent the metal bit skyward. It hit the bell at the end of the pole with a sharp ting.

But a few seconds slower than Shiro had.

“Funny. We were doing fine without you.” Shiro said, in a tone pitched to carry.

He was rewarded with a dry scowl as the blond rounded on him, looking him up and down in a way that felt distinctly territorial. “It sure looked like your friend was bored.”

And Shiro bristled.

“I don’t know why you’re not getting the hint-”

Behind them, the quick, clear ding of a bell sounded, followed by a hollow thud, and they both turned to see Keith dusting his hands off, the bell at the very top knocked clear off.

“How’d you do that?” The farm boy breathed, utterly surprised.

Keith fixed him with a stern stare, and replied without a hint of humor, “I’m an alien.”

Shiro was completely charmed. He burst out laughing, as the blonde sputtered. Keith ignored them both, choosing a small, cheap stuffed dog as his prize.

“Can we eat now?” Keith sounded bored and Shiro slung a possessive around him, leaving the farm boy behind. As soon as they were out of earshot, Keith’s scowl deepened. “You’re acting weird. I don’t need you picking fights with people, it’s stupid.”

Shiro deflated a little, hunching his shoulders before trying to salvage the evening. “It was all in good fun, it wasn’t anything serious. Just forget about it, let’s have fun, okay? If you’re hungry, let’s go back and get some of those tacos plus I saw some fried dough. It’s been ages since I’ve had any of that.”

“Or you could tell me what’s going on because you know I’m not good at guessing.” Keith stopped and fixed him with a steady stare. “None of this is like you. You were fine when we left the motel and all of a sudden, you’re aggressive and hypercompetitive. I thought you were the one saying we should just relax on this trip and not worry about the things that go wrong. Did I do something?”

“I-” Damnit, it wasn’t ever fair when Keith picked up on his lessons so easily. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It wasn’t about that guy and it’s definitely not about you either. It’s me, I just, I didn’t want to ruin things by having one of my stupid problems.”

Keith’s expression softened, and he leaned more heavily against Shiro, turning into his sleeve until he could nudge him. He didn’t push. He never did. Never asked for more than Shiro was willing to give, never expected thanks for staying, and that hurt in a way Shiro couldn’t prepare for. Keith deserved so much more. Keith deserved a life where he wasn’t afraid everyone would leave. He was amazing, and Shiro didn’t think he told him enough.

“There are going to be fireworks tonight.” Shiro said, but the words felt like they were caught in his throat. No explanation could soften the blow to his pride, and he suspected he’d already said too much. Then Keith just nodded, giving his metal arm a gentle tug.

“Let’s get out of here.” Keith tugged on his hand as he spoke, guiding Shiro through the field, back towards  their motel. Shiro let him take two steps, before pressing himself against Keith’s back, embracing him from behind. He buried his face in Keith’s hair, inhaling deeply like he could feel tension coursing through his veins. Shiro didn’t care who saw.

The way Keith held on told him he really didn’t mind.

“How about fried dough on our way out?”

Shiro breathed out a laugh. “Deal.”

They gathered up their fried treasures and headed back to the motel, barricading themselves in the tiny room and turning the ancient TV up loud enough to drown out the sound of explosions. Keith didn’t judge his weaknesses, deep down Shiro knew he wouldn’t, but it didn’t make them any easier to admit. He’d been so much stronger once, now he was sick to his stomach at thought of harmless fireworks, trying to overcompensate to prove he was okay. But he wasn’t okay, he wasn’t ever going to be the same again.

Somehow, that didn’t seem as overwhelming when Keith was by his side. He didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than what he was. It was going to take a long time to be able to accept how he’d change and be comfortable with his new vulnerabilities, but he didn’t have to do it alone.

“Here.” Keith murmured, almost out of nowhere, and out of his pocket he pulled out a tiny squished stuffed dog, one ear higher than the other, it’s little black eyes sweet, if a little lopsided. “Got it for you while you were busy being a dick.”

Shiro cooed, more sincerely than he’d intended and stroked along its fuzzy snout. “You remembered.”

“It seemed important to you.” Keith shrugged. Shiro felt it more than saw, but Keith didn’t relax all the way afterwards. Shiro moved his new companion to Keith’s lap, so it was staring up at both of them.

“I don’t think I want a real dog yet,” he confessed at length. “I think I like the idea of one. The idea of coming back, but it’s- not just different, it’s jarring like.”

“Like you expect the sky to be a different color?” Keith ventured. Shiro cracked a smile.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Keith was quiet for a long while, absently petting the stuffed dog’s brow like it could react in any way. “You could still get a dog. Just because things are different, doesn’t mean everything has to be.”

“I wouldn’t want everything to be different.” Shiro said. “I want you with me. That feels right… That feels real.”

They stuffed themselves with tacos and fried dough before curling up beside each other. When the first firework burst and Shiro tensed, Keith just turned the old rerun of I Love Lucy up even higher and pulled Shiro in tighter without a word.

Yeah, they could do this together.

Sleep wouldn’t come easy. Maybe it was the smell of lingering smoke or the phantom crackle of explosions that’d long ended, but even with a real bed beneath him, Shiro struggled to rest. Keith didn’t say anything, his breathing giving away his awareness, but he kept Shiro tucked against his side as the last of the festival’s celebrations petered out.

In the morning, they would collect their car and get back out on the road. Too many delays had cut their trip short, and they wouldn't be able to go as far as they hoped, but Shiro found he didn’t mind that too much. He’d already found the best part of his trip. Keith was still by his side.

[my-dear-hammy]

Basking in Firelight:Jamilton Sequel

Masterpost

Chapter Sixty-Eight:

In the Aftermath: Burr’s Interlude

AN

So as this fic steadily draws to a close, I wanted to tell y'all that has been the greatest of adventures making this with you with all your screams and vulgarities aimed toward me. It's been a blast and I'd love to continue being cussed out in the future. I also wanted to let you know that I have plans for several more fics. Currently, them being:

Heads or Tails: Jamilton/Hamlaf Across the Sea: Kingbury-not real sure about this one... The Calm and the Storm: Mixed Ship: Pirate AU The Sinner and the Saint: Jeffmads The possibility of a Whamilton, idk, give me some ideas or requests.

Just thought I should let you know! Be sure to share your opinions on them! A couple of them are already out!

And now, for your feature presentation

Oh, and I published this from my phone without double checking it through my laptop so there's likely to be more mistakes. Sorry.

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Warnings below

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The after math of the battle wasn't as bad as Jefferson had thought it would be. None of the hostages seemed to be badly injured, just some bruising and scrapes. Adams was sporting a black eye after a Govey got tired of him yelling at everyone. It wasn't until Hamilton's voice cut through the air that everyone really knew this had been a defeat.

"Where's Laurens?"

A brave person came forward and quietly murmured, "He died."

"I know," Hamilton snapped, "I meant where is his body?"

Adams stepped forward, "After the three of you disappeared back into the ceiling, the Goveys finished rounding up all bodies, their own and ours, and had them carted off last night. We don't know where they went."

Hamilton seemed to shut down. He was just standing there. Jefferson immediately went to him, wrapping his arms around the small man and holding him close, murmuring softly to him. Screw everyone watching, Hamilton needed him. Sure, they had some things to work out, to talk over, but right now, Jefferson knew he just needed to be there for Hamilton, they could talk later when they were both ready and everything settled down.

Jefferson could hear the whispers start up and travel around the room, there was no way their relationship was staying under wraps now. He honestly didn't care. Jefferson held Hamilton tighter as he felt the shuddering breaths start. No, Hamilton couldn't break here, Jefferson immediately steered him toward a wall, opened it up, and pulled him inside. At least there they had some privacy.

***

After the three of them took the ball room through a bloody battle that had all the hostages running for cover, Burr immediately set to work. He had to straighten things out and restore order. Adams wasn't going to be doing anything anytime soon so it was left to Burr.

When Jefferson went to comfort Hamilton, Burr couldn't stop his thoughts from turning to his dear Theodosia. He'd gotten a second chance with her and didn't even realize how lucky he was, no one got second chances when it came to lost love. No one except them it seemed. Burr hadn't remembered his past life when he was still with Theodosia and all too soon, she was wrested from his arms.

Burr had always been hesitant to join a side in the rebellion. He knew if he did join, it'd be as a rebel, but he never took that final step to join until Theodosia walked into his life. She laughed in his face about his insecurities and pushed him forward, joining the rebellion right by his side, constantly pushing him forward. She deserved better.

They were always by each other's side, covering each other's backs and making up for the other's flaws. Burr was a terrible shot but was great at sabotage and espionage, Theodosia could blow anything up and had the best aim in the regiment. Jefferson had yet to join and Hamilton was a legend a state away. So that left Burr and Theodosia, the unstoppable tag team.

That is, until they weren't.

It was a sudden skirmish, a Govey ambush. They'd been hiking through the forest, heading for a hill to make a camp until they'd move out again the next day. The Goveys waited until night and set the camp on fire. Burr could remember it like yesterday. Red orange flames growing higher and hotter, burning around them, smoke filling their tent, searing their lungs and making them cough uncontrollably, tears streaming from their eyes. Burr had pulled her out of the tent, guns slung over his shoulder in a hurry.

They emerged to find chaos.

Rebel soldiers were running back and forth, some shouting commands, some trying to follow them, most were fleeing, and the rest were falling to the ground as bullets ripped through their bodies. Burr had turned to Theodosia, pressed a gun into her hand and told her to run while he covered her.

She laughed in his face.

They fought back the ambush, barely. Most of them didn't make it through. One of them being Theo. She died as Burr held her to his chest, willing her to live as bullets whizzed over his head.

The only reason he was able to move on was for his little Theodosia, their child. He had to be there for her, he couldn't abandon her. But he could abandon the war. He went home to raise her, told her stories of her amazing mother.

It was only natural that when she turned eighteen, she enlisted. Burr begged her not to go but she wouldn't listen, so Burr joined again too.

She died in the exact same way. Except the only difference was that her death had been in the battle that they thought ended it all. Govey resistance disappeared, everything was going well. By then, Jefferson and Hamilton were famous, icons of the war.

Then they disappeared.

Burr didn't realize the second chance that he had until the day of the rally, when Hamilton's and Jefferson's appearance hit him like a gong, ringing through his head. He was lucky. He'd gotten a second life with her, a short one, but a second one nonetheless.

He didn't know why he went to that rally. Maybe it was because it's what Theodosia would've done. Maybe it was because he knew it's where his life would begin again. It didn't really matter, the fact was he went and then everything changed.

He recognized Hamilton first and then Jefferson. His gaze had stuck to Jefferson, guilt filling his chest. He never meant to shoot him. But there he was, standing as large as life, decked out in flashy magenta, laughing at the world as he came back from death. In more ways than one. Every day since, Burr's only motive has been to repay his debt, whether Jefferson and Hamilton knew about it or not. It became his new drive.

Only, his life got worse. Every night he couldn't sleep, guilt and loneliness ganging up on him and dragging him down to dark places. Dark dark places. Nightmares plagued him relentlessly, the only thing that kept him from ending it permanently was the knowledge that he hadn't repaid his debt, he couldn't die until he repaid his debt.

So he kept going. He was able to push away the loneliness whenever the entire group was around, everyone laughing, everyone blissfully ignorant, no one knowing about the past life except him. He was alone in that too. The guilt only got worse every time he saw Hamilton and Jefferson, every time he held a gun, Every time he signed A. Burr.

He was all alone in this dark place until he realized he wasn't. Madison lived in it like it was the best place to be. Burr didn't understand how he could, but Madison simply just lived in the darkness. Burr learned from him and they became close friends. Suddenly, Burr wasn't so lonely anymore.

But that didn't fix his problems.

People started to remember, Burr noticed. Jefferson and Hamilton came back and Burr just knew. Knew by the way Hamilton would glance death glares at him and stalk away, clenching his fists, trying not to snap, he knew by the way Jefferson looked at him, Burr could see the way Jefferson relived dying whenever he saw his face. So he decided it'd be best if no one knew he knew.

The day that Madison remembered, in the middle of the Convention, Burr knew immediately, the way he clutched at his hair and went pale, shaking slightly. There was a chance that he was just sick again, but when he excused himself, Burr just knew. The first chance he got, he went to help him, but Madison had already confronted Jefferson and Hamilton about it and by the time Burr got there Madison was already all caught up.

Madison hated Burr for shooting Jefferson too, he just didn't show it. Burr noticed but the sudden cold shoulders and the way he left the room when Burr walked in. He didn't hate Burr as much as Hamilton but he was nowhere near to forgiving him as Jefferson had. It took time for them to finally be on speaking terms again and ages more for Madison to actually willingly invite him things or seek him out.

At least Burr wasn't alone anymore.

But now he had stuff to do, things to take care of. He looked around the room, taking the blood that stained the wooden floor boards of the ballroom, the hostages that were now wandering around, checking on people they knew, calling relatives and friends, telling them what happened and that they were alright. There was going to be lots of paperwork and addresses he'd have to go through. He'd have to tell the people his account, how he went for the walls, how he was fighting the Goveys until he ran into Hamilton, how Laurens died, how he ran into Jefferson. What would he say about Jefferson's condition? That couldn't go public. He could just leave that bit out, distract people with Hamilton's and Jefferson's involvement. And then there were the elections. He had no idea who was running, but he certainly hoped it wouldn't be Adams. Adams was a good guy and all, but Burr couldn't stand his constant yelling and explosive personality. He much preferred Madison quiet and soft nature. Maybe he'd run. That'd be nice.

Burr made sure that everything in the ballroom was going smoothly, medics had finally arrived and we're tending to the people. One tried to tend to him but he pushed her off and left the retrieve Angelica's body. She couldn't be forgotten. They lost two important and great people in this, the Vice President, Angelica Schuyler and Secretary of War, John Laurens. They needed to plan a funeral and tell the nation to lower their flags to half mast.

Then the news people flooded in. He was suddenly pressed in at all sides, cameras in his face and words being shouted over each other. He knew this would happen. They were scrambling for answers, something to tell the people. Burr settled them down and started taking questions one at a time.

"Where are Jefferson and Hamilton? Did they make it through the battle?"

"Jefferson and Hamilton are currently being tended to for injuries in a private room. They are perfectly fine."

"How would this battle have gone with out their presence?"

"Slowly and there is the extreme probability that the Governmentals wouldn't have been pushed out."

"What was your involvement?"

"I'll make a full report as soon as possible, but now I must attend to my duties, if you'll excuse me," Burr pushed out of the group of reporters.

He had so much work to do.

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Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, sad things, depression,character breaking, after affects of previous character death, war, battle, trauma, backstories, lots of fun stuff, yep, don't cry.

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AN

I'mma go ahead and tell y'all, happier chapters ahead.