#but then she approves of his violence and starts to rely on him

[shallowseeker]

Oh. Mary displaces her emotions re: John leaving her kids (and herself leaving her kids) onto Cas.

Damn.

[sidekick-hero]

when all you are is a weapon

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 6, prompt: "Who did this?"

Tags: canon divergence, Post-S3, drug dealer Eddie sells weed to Steve and Steve falls in love, protective Steve and his nail-bat

words: 1.5k | AO3 | rated teen

After Starcourt, after Billy, after too many concussions and more trauma than anyone should endure, Steve found himself relying on weed to calm his nerves and help him sleep. It had become a routine, something that felt almost normal. He didn't see the need to tell anyone, especially not Robin.

Robin's strong stance against smoking made it clear she wouldn't approve of his weed habit either. Steve told himself he kept it from her to avoid adding to her worries. But deep down, he knew the real reason: he wasn't sure he could stop if she asked him to.

Weed dulled the relentless pain, both in his body and mind, like nothing else could. But there was another reason he didn't want to quit: without it, he'd have no reason to see Eddie again.

Steve never imagined he'd have more than a few words to say to Eddie "The Freak" Munson. Liking him was never part of the plan. Yet, out of nowhere, he found himself effortlessly joking and bantering with the guy. What started as quick transactions of money and weed gradually stretched into five minutes, then ten, then thirty. Soon enough, it wasn't just about the weed anymore—it was about spending time together.

Sure, the weed was always part of it, but it quickly became clear that it was no longer the main reason Steve kept coming back. Not by a long shot.

When Steve knocked on the trailer door, he was already smiling, but that smile vanished the moment he saw Eddie.

“Oh my God,” Steve gasped, unable to contain his shock.

Eddie's lip was split, and his right eye was already swelling and turning purple.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie greeted him with a forced cheerfulness that sounded more hollow than the mocking tone of their first encounters.

Ignoring the greeting, Steve stepped forward, gently reaching out to touch the bruised flesh.

“Who did this?” he demanded, surprised by the anger in his own voice. There was a violence there, a violence he usually reserved for monsters from another dimension.

Eddie flinched slightly at Steve's touch but didn't pull away. "It's nothing, just a misunderstanding," he said, attempting a casual shrug, though it was clear he was in pain.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “A misunderstanding doesn’t leave you looking like this. Who did it?”

Eddie shook his head. “Drop it, Harrington. I’m your dealer, not your charity case. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. He could see the stubborn set of Eddie’s jaw, the way his eyes flicked away, avoiding any chance of connection. Pushing now wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Fine,” Steve said, though the word tasted bitter. He let his hand fall away and took a step back. “But this isn’t over. I’m going to find out who did this.”

Eddie sighed, looking both relieved and exasperated. “You’re like a dog with a bone, you know that?”

Steve didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash, handing it to Eddie without another word. The exchange felt different this time—heavier, more loaded. Eddie took the money, their fingers brushing momentarily, a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken between them.

“Take care of yourself, Eddie,” Steve said quietly, turning to leave. As he walked away, he silently vowed to uncover the truth and make whoever did this pay.

Because for reasons he couldn’t fully understand, seeing Eddie hurt felt like a personal attack. And Steve Harrington wasn’t about to let that slide.

Steve's determination didn't waver as he dug for information. It didn't take long before he heard whispers that Jason Carver and his goonies were behind Eddie’s beating. Rage bubbled beneath his calm exterior, and he knew what he had to do.

Armed with his trusty nail-studded bat, Steve tracked them down to the parking lot behind the high school. Jason and his gang were lounging by their cars, laughing about something that immediately died down when they saw Steve approaching.

Jason sneered, stepping forward. "Well, if it isn't the King himself. What do you want, Harrington?"

Steve didn't waste any time. He swung the bat onto his shoulder, making it clear he wasn't here for a friendly chat. "I know what you did to Eddie."

Jason's smirk faltered, but he quickly recovered. "So what if we did? That freak had it coming."

Steve's grip tightened on the bat, his eyes blazing with anger. "You listen to me, and you listen good," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "If any of you lay a single finger on Eddie again, you'll have to deal with me. And trust me, you don't want to pay that price."

One of Jason’s goons stepped forward, trying to look tough. "You think you can take all of us, Harrington?"

Steve swung the bat in a wide arc, the nails catching the light menacingly. "Try me," he said coldly. "I’ve fought things a hell of a lot scarier than you."

Jason held up a hand, signaling his friends to back down. He eyed Steve warily, recognizing the dangerous resolve in his eyes. "Fine. We'll leave Munson alone. But this isn't over."

Steve stepped closer, his voice a deadly whisper. "Oh, it is over. You stay away from him, or next time, it won’t just be a warning."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Jason and his gang in stunned silence. As he left, Steve felt a sense of grim satisfaction. He had protected Eddie, and for now, that was enough. Steve may be a disappointment as a son, he may have failed as a boyfriend, but he can be a weapon. He can protect the people he cares about - and he begins to realize that he cares about Eddie.

The next time Steve visits the trailer for their bi-weekly exchange, Eddie's bruises have already started to fade. But as Eddie swings open the door, it’s not the fading bruises that catch Steve’s attention—it's the anger blazing in Eddie's eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing, Harrington?” Eddie spits out, his voice trembling with rage. “I told you I’m not your fucking charity case. Did you get hit in the head so many times your hearing is gone or what? I told you to stay the fuck out of this, not threaten Carver and the other meatheads with a baseball bat. I mean, what were you thinking?”

Steve remains calm, letting Eddie’s words wash over him. “Actually, it started to, yeah.”

Eddie stops mid-rant, confusion replacing his anger. “What?”

“My hearing. The concussions caused this annoying high whining tone in my left ear, so sometimes I don’t hear as well. But I heard you, Munson. You’re not a charity case.”

Eddie blinks, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly. “Then why’d you do it?”

Steve takes a deep breath, stepping closer. “Because you don’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does. And because… I care about you, Eddie. More than I thought I would.”

Eddie's anger deflates entirely, leaving him staring at Steve with a mixture of frustration and something else—something softer. “You’re a real piece of work, Harrington.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to look out for you. Might as well be me.” Steve’s voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument.

Eddie shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Steve says, his own smile breaking through. “But you’re stuck with me now. Whether you want it or not. You can send me away, but I’ll still look out for you. So, better get used to having me around.”

Eddie steps forward and pulls Steve inside the trailer, closing the door behind them.

“And what if I want you to stick around? What do I have to do?”

Tugging Eddie closer by the hem of his threadbare t-shirt, Steve locks eyes with him. “A kiss would be a good start. Breakfast in bed. Attention whenever I want it. I’m high-maintenance, Munson. Gotta treat me right.”

Eddie nudges Steve’s nose with his own. “I think that can all be arranged.” His voice turns serious. “I’m not sure this isn’t all some really weird, weed-induced dream, man. Can you… I know this sounds insane, but can you pinch me, please?”

Steve leans forward and slots their lips together, kissing Eddie for the first time. It’s slow and sweet, and just when they’re about to break apart, Steve bites his lower lip.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Seemed like more fun than pinching you. Convinced it’s not a dream?”

Eddie grins, the last of his uncertainty melting away. “Not sure yet. You should kiss me again.”

Steve laughs softly and happily obliges, pulling Eddie even closer as their lips meet once more.

[grumpyeagleandfriends]

Outpace Us All - Ch. 4 - Santiago Fic

A/N: Set two years after the mission in Colombia. The boys walked away with enough money to begin new lives back home. Santiago divides his time between being an investigator and a short-term foster care provider with the state. He begins to question himself and his ability to do good after he has several run-ins with a young boy in a delicate situation. As he is trying his best to help this kid through a tragedy, he begins to rely heavily on his complicated relationship with Frankie.

Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Original child character. Frankie is a single dad who owns a diner. Santiago and Will are cops. Benny is Benny.

Rating: Adult

Word Count : 11,000

Warnings: Men loving men. Sex. Cursing. Mentions blood and violence. Mentions drug use. Some lines of Spanish dialogue, which I include as a warning only because I am a non-native speaker.

Masterlist

___________________________________

Wednesday, October 9th, 2021. 7:45 AM

They were only four days in, but the situation of Samuel and his mother still remained mysterious. Hardly any of the questions brought up that night at the police station had answers. 

All Santiago did know was that the kid was cleared to stay at his place for at least another week. Depending on how things developed over the next few days, the duration could be prolonged. For the moment, a week’s worth of visibility was the only bit of clarity they had. 

Santiago recognized that there was a high possibility of Samuel's stay in care being stretched to two or three weeks. The longest emergency foster he had ever hosted was a little over two months. There was no official timeline or exact definitions given by the state of California, but emergency stays that lasted much longer than a couple months usually started to bleed into a different category. If Sonia's situation didn’t begin to show signs of improvement, then their case would inevitably change in the eyes of the law. If that were to happen, Sam would formally enter the foster system and require a placement in a more long-term setting. Santiago's home would need to be made available once more for other emergency cases. In the best of circumstances, Sam would go live with another family. In the event that there wasn’t an available home that was a good fit for him, he could also be sent to a group facility. 

Thinking about either outcome didn't feel particularly great, so Santi decided to stay focused on what was currently in his control. For the time being, he could provide Samuel with a roof and a bit of stability. The rest was outside of his sphere of influence. 

As it currently stood, things with his mother were complicated.

Even though Santiago left his number with Sonia and encouraged her to call or text whenever, all of their communication continued to pass through Dana. 

They were set to have a phone call with her later that evening, but in the back of his mind, Santiago was wary of the possibility that it might not happen. Sam's confession to fearing his mother abruptly leaving him still rang fresh in his memory, but he felt that it was important to look at things objectively. There was still so much he didn't know, and this situation didn't quite feel like other cases he had seen. This woman didn't fit the profile of someone who abruptly abandons a child, even if her young son seemed convinced that she was going to try. 

Despite everything, there had been an update the night before that was positive. 

Dana explained to Santi in a text that Sonia was already pre-approved for public housing. They would just have to wait for her paperwork to be processed and for whenever the next unit would become available. She was also in the early interviewing process for a new job, in what field exactly Dana hadn’t specified, but things were progressing. She still wouldn’t give any answers about what happened in the weeks and months leading up to her eviction. Dana and the staff at the shelter tried their best to coax any amount of details out of her, but she held strong to giving them only vague non-answers.

They were being led to believe that everything about her situation was simply due to hard luck. Nothing more. 

Samuel was their only other potential source for information, and he was just about as tight-lipped as Sonia. 

Santiago was already beginning to see the impact of everything on the boy. He wore the markers of someone who carried an unabated stress, like something under the surface was quietly eating away at him.

Samuel was undeniably well-behaved, but not in a easy going, mild-mannered way. He displayed a level of discipline that was disconcerting for a boy his age. His bed was always made. He knew to put his things away and how to fold his clothes nicely. Every day it looked like he was making a conscious effort to leave as little a trace as possible of his existence in the house. 

He regularly picked and chewed at his fingers, to a point where his cuticles were irritated and red. Saturday evening when they went to the supermarket, Santiago turned around from looking at cereal to find dried blood caking Samuel’s fingertips. With a fair amount of difficulty, he managed to fight the urge to scold the behavior. Instead, he found the public restrooms at the back of the store and sent him to go wash his hands. They later made their way to the check-out line with a couple boxes of band-aids thrown into the cart. 

Sleep seemed to be another issue for him. The hushed sounds Santiago thought he imagined coming from across the hall the first evening were now a nightly occurrence. He would lay there in his own room, listening to Sam's bed creak from tossing and turning, only to be interrupted by noises that hovered between sobs and whispered pleas. It was impossible to be sure, but it was almost like muffled prayers being spoken into the dark. 

Over the last few days they struggled to find something close to a routine. Santi took him to school in the mornings, picked him up in the afternoons. Later that day he planned to surprise him with a stop by Frankie's on the way home.  

Sam seemed torn between absolutely hating Santiago while simultaneously needing to follow his every move around the house. He spent a lot of time glaring and trying to look angry, but couldn't hide the fact that he didn't seem okay with being left alone. He would always try to hover in or around whatever room Santi was in, pretending to ignore him. It wasn't necessarily bothersome, but Santiago did find himself growing slightly exasperated by having suddenly acquired this disgruntled and mute second shadow. 

The only times Sam really spoke at length were during the rides to and from school. For whatever reason, there in the back seat of the truck, he felt comfortable enough to voice a small part of whatever was passing through his mind. He would often ask several questions in a row - usually about his mother, but sometimes there were surprises. 

Is my mom staying at someone's house or in a hotel? 

Is she in trouble? Is it kind of like a jail?

Does she get to go outside?  

Are there animals?

Is there a pool? 

Why don't you have any animals? 

Why can't I take the bus to school? 

In the space of a single car ride, it was impressive just how many questions he could fire out. Santi figured that it was maybe his way of trying to make sense of what was happening in his world - a grasp for some semblance of control.

That Wednesday was no exception. They were slowly crawling along in the thick morning traffic. The unusually heavy rain from the weekend was gone, leaving only crisp autumn air and a starkly clean blue sky. The song "Don't Fear the Reaper" was coming to an end on the radio. During the brief lull between each track in the DJ's morning mix, Santiago could hear the sound of Sam steadily picking at his fingers. 

They were about to exit off of the freeway when a voice piped up from the back seat. 

"Santiago?" 

He glanced briefly at the rearview mirror to find the kid staring in his direction. 

"Yeah?" 

There was a stretch of silence where he sensed that Sam was working up the courage to ask whatever was on his mind, but what finally came out took him by surprise. 

"Are you a cop?" 

It was asked in a manner that wasn't at all spontaneous, it was clear that he'd been thinking carefully about the matter for some time. The boy sat back with the seatbelt crossed over his chest, looking down at his lap as he awaited the response.

"Kind of..." Santiago began to thoughtfully chew at the inside of his cheek as he came to a stop at a red light. The conversation about what he did for a living was one he was used to having around other adults. It was surprising that he felt just as defensive about his choice of work even here in the presence of a child. 

"So, I'm a detective." He started. "Which means that I help lead investigations. Do you know what the difference is between me and most of the police you see?" 

He caught sight of Sam once again in the rearview mirror. 

The boy frowned as he shook his head. "No."

"Cops usually patrol out on the street. They're the ones you see in black and white squad cars." Santi explained as he turned onto the last street before Sam's school. A quiet groan left him the moment he caught sight of the long stretch of cars and school busses sat between them and the drop off point. His fingers restlessly drummed against the steering wheel. 

He reached over and cut the radio before turning around to look directly at Sam. 

"Those cops drive around looking to stop crime from happening. Detectives like me don't really do that. We sit at a desk most of the day. We only really go out when there is something to investigate, so that means that the crime has already happened." 

Samuel seemed to think over his words for several moments. He stared out the window, watching as older children advanced up the street on foot towards the school.

"But you've got a badge like a cop." He rebutted.

"I do." Santi agreed as he craned his neck to try and see past the long line of cars. He toyed with the idea of parking on a side street and walking Sam up himself. 

"I don't like cops." 

Samuel's confession was stated plainly, with no anger or malice. His tone of voice carried the same level of indifference as if he were talking about a vegetable that he doesn't eat.

"Oh yeah?" Santiago considered him through the rearview mirror, watching the way he disinterestedly fidgeted with the nylon straps of his backpack. "Why's that?"

He thought back to the night he picked him up at the police station, to the scene he found taking place in that hallway. He began to wonder about the likelihood that maybe the encounter hadn't been Sam's first bad experience with police. 

"Cause..." He began with a shrug, only the dark curls at the crown of his head were visible while his eyes remained trained down at his hands. "They ask too many questions."

Santi never had the chance to ask for any further clarification. The carpool line had progressed rapidly, effectively bringing the conversation to a swift close. He managed to quickly exchange a one-sided goodbye before Sam jumped out from the backseat. He watched for a few seconds as his blue backpack marched off toward the steps of the school. 

___________________________________

Wednesday, October 9th, 2021. 1:00 PM.

The office had a certain level of noise going at all times. Phones ringing. Tapping keys while someone typed. Chairs rolling across the floor. It was an open concept workspace. People were constantly walking in and out. The adjacent hallway was always reverberating the loud clanking doors on either end. 

Will's concentration flourished in that sort of environment. His mind was able to soften all the individual noises to a dull roar, turning it all into soft static that played in the background while he filled out reports and progressed through his schedule.

He and Santiago worked side by side. Their desks were back to back just outside of their head of unit's office.

Santi was the exact opposite in that he hated the office noise. Often he would ask for Will's help to fill out paperwork because he couldn't string coherent sentences together with all the distractions happening around them - the chatter that would build up near the office coffee machine, the people randomly filing in and out of the meeting rooms, the phone they shared between their two desks ringing every other hour. All that time he spent following cartel activity out in the jungle had changed his threshold for sensory input. Two years later and he still struggled to recalibrate. 

There were times when it bordered on overload. In those moments, Santiago would push away from his desk in frustration, announcing that he needed air before getting up and taking aimless strolls through the hallways and stairwells to clear his mind. He often needed those breaks. From the moment he joined on with the narcotics division, he always preferred to take his lunches outside. He was far from the only one, certainly, but Will couldn't think of one time where Santi chose to bring in leftovers or a sandwich from home. He always went out to grab food, run errands, or go to a nearby park to walk. 

Sitting in the breakroom and shooting the shit with other colleagues wasn't ever going to be his thing, and that was okay. Will didn't talk him in to joining the force because he needed him to socialize.  

It was precisely 1 o'clock when he came strolling back in from his lunch break. A takeaway coffee was securely nestled in one of his hands, a large shopping bag dangled from the other. 

Will didn’t look up in his direction, but could still hear the moment he paused mid-step as he spied the cream colored envelope left sitting on his keyboard. It bore the official seal of the Sacramento police department’s bureau of professional standards.  

“Came in while you were at lunch.” Will explained over his shoulder. 

Santiago’s eyes squinted to read the label as he took the envelope into his hands. There was an official looking gold and blue seal embossed over the back, with his name and desk number clearly addressed on the front. 

"You mind sharing why the Lieutenant of Professional Standards is noticing you?”

Will's voice was calm as he presented the question, but he felt the beginnings of a familiar anger rising up within him. He had brought Santiago on with Narcotics not just because he knew that he was overqualified for the job, but also because he knew how badly he needed the distraction. They all noticed how he closed in on himself after Colombia, but Frankie had been the one to see first hand just how deep Santiago's spiral went. 

Will never wanted to know the details of what transpired between the two of them that one weekend, but he was able to deduce enough for himself. Whatever shit that had been brewing off in the distance must have come to shore, because ever since they seemed to be silently weathering that storm together- silently in front of everyone. Will didn't need to ask any questions. He just saw that Santi needed to be saved from himself, so he tried to do his part and talked him into the job as a means of protecting him, as a means of keeping him close. 

But Santiago was one of those people who couldn't be kept out of trouble. He had an innate desire to go searching for it himself, always under the premise of some self-righteous bullshit.

“Shit, this came today?” He whispered in disbelief as he looked down at the envelope. 

With a gentle thud, he settled down onto his own desk chair, attention fixed to where his name, office floor, and desk number were neatly printed across the front. His finger quickly slid underneath the flap to break the adhesive seal. A few pieces of stapled paper were neatly folded inside. 

Santiago left Will’s question to hang in the air between them as he began to read over the documents. There were several lines of formalities before he finally arrived at the essential information. 

"This letter is to inform you that a unique system tracking number has been allocated to your filed report. You will be notified by the department as soon as report #10D53335F8296 has been assigned an investigator and upon the completion of the initial preliminary review..."

Santi ripped his eyes away from the papers to find Will staring at him, one eyebrow threatening to arch in a silent demand that he be filled in. 

"On Monday I filed a complaint about an officer." He supplied, his voice kept purposefully to a murmur as he continued to scan over everything. 

Attached were several similarly worded documents informing him that over the course of three days his complaint had astonishingly progressed through the first steps outlined in the opening letter. A civilian investigator had officially been matched to his case and had already begun the preliminary review. He was given a time and date to be interviewed about the incident. 

Will dragged a hand over his mouth. He took a slow inhale before looking back at the man still intently reading over the stapled documents. 

“You filed a complaint for what?”

“Improper force." Santiago responded while promptly re-folding everything and neatly fitting it back inside the envelope. "The cop on duty the night I picked up Sam was out of line. So I notified the supervisor of his unit. She advised me to formally file a complaint so it would be on record.”

Will's eyes narrowed as he listened. 

“You filed this Monday and they responded today? That doesn't seem right." 

He sat forward in his seat, nodding over to the envelope in his hands. 

"Mind if I take a look?" 

Santi shrugged before handing over the documents. “They just want me to attend a meeting. Give my side of the story...”

Will silently read over each page, seeming unable to accept Santiago's dismissal of the situation. His expression remained neutral as he analyzed the details, convinced that there should be some sort of error. He knew well enough how these things worked. Normally it was a question of months before anything went anywhere, not days. 

"What's the officer's name?" He whispered, still intently reading. 

“Powell.” Santiago replied before draining the last of his coffee. "Some young rookie who was on patrol the night Sam was picked up."

There was a minute twitch in Will's features before he let out a low whistle.  

Santi couldn't pretend to have missed his friend's reaction. "What's that look?" He insisted while taking the letters back. 

Their eyes met. Will could only shake his head as he settled back in his chair. 

“For your sake, Pope, I hope he's not related to Deputy Chief Powell.”

"So what if he is?"

Santiago wore a mirthless smirk before he turned around to face his own desk. Powell could be related to the head of the CIA for all he cared. He would still go to that stupid formality of a meeting, give his version of what happened, maybe get Dana to corroborate if necessary, and then it would stop there. Powell would at most get a slap on the wrist, but there would at least be documentation of his conduct somewhere. Maybe it could serve the next person who might need to report him for something. 

Will didn't entertain his question. He recognized that it wasn't worth the back and forth. Santiago's bleeding heart and his need for the last word were things that he knew too fucking well.

___________________________________

Wednesday, October 9th, 2021. 3:30 PM.

Every day so far after school, Santiago had taken to picking up Samuel at the park directly across the street. While he waited for the dismissal bell to chime, he found himself reflecting on their conversation from that morning. Currently, there was a general feeling of mistrust hanging over his house, and he was fairly certain that the sentiment went both ways. 

The first few months after returning from Colombia, he lived on edge. The money they stole belonged to more people than just Lorea. The list of dangerous individuals who would be looking for answers was long. Despite how careful he had been in-country to destroy any trace pointing to him or the boys, he couldn’t shake the paranoia that followed him home. Every night he would make the rounds in his own house, checking all of the windows and locks. He installed a security system with cameras. He looked frequently in the rearview mirror while driving. Whenever he couldn’t sleep, he peered through the blinds to survey the street outside.

Even though the paranoia began to fade after the first six months, Santiago never really lost those habits. 

After the kid tried to run away on Saturday, he found himself once more making the rounds to make sure that all windows and doors leading outside were properly secured. Santi had no choice but to keep his house keys either in his pocket or locked in his nightstand. It only seemed to further cement their roles as jailor and detainee, but for the sake of Sam’s safety he couldn't risk making the same mistake twice.

Due to the abrupt nature of how most placements were brought to his home, Santi regretted how difficult it was to build a rapport with them. The past few days with Sam were proving to only be more of the same. Most of their interactions so far felt like forms of interrogation, so he couldn't exactly blame the kid for not liking him. 

He worried that staying in a foster home while his mother was in a shelter felt like something akin to punishment. 

The afternoon sun blazed down onto the concrete and the rooftops of cars. The crisp autumn air from that morning was gone, as the heat of summer desperately tried to make one of its last appearances before the cold weather officially took over everything. All of the kids walking up to their respective rides had abandoned their morning jackets for short sleeves. They were chatting happily, buzzing with energy as they shoved at each other and ran around. 

As he scanned through the crowd for signs of Samuel, Santiago couldn't keep from thinking about how different he was from these children. Their steps seemed light and easy, their sleep at night was probably unburdened and peaceful. 

Amongst the throngs of pupils walking along to find their parents, Samuel abruptly appeared alone. With his head bowed, he slipped between the small packs of kids to hurry towards the truck. His movements were quick, his sneakers pushed off hard against the sidewalk as soon as he caught sight of Santiago's truck. The moment he yanked the door open and clambered up into the backseat, he skipped right past saying hello. 

"-When are we going to call?"

A gentle scoff escaped Santiago as he turned back to the front to readjust his seatbelt. He could only shake his head while shifting the truck into reverse. 

"I told you already this morning, Sam. Not until after dinner. She's still busy during the day." 

The boy's face visibly soured at the answer. His backpack was promptly shrugged off and allowed to drop to the floorboards before he twisted around to grab his seatbelt. Since yesterday afternoon, he had been repeatedly reconfirming with Santiago the timing of the phone call. Whenever the subject crossed his mind, his body began to fidget with impatience. It had likely consumed his thoughts all day while at school, which only made Santi worry that he was potentially getting set up for another big disappointment. 

He had seen one too many times how phone calls with parents could fall through. It was a small, disruptive blow that could be so cruelly devastating for a kid in care. Having that dangling carrot ripped away unexpectedly just made their already difficult situation that much more unbearable.

Even the announcement of stopping by Frankie's didn't seem to lift Samuel's mood. That afternoon there were no unexpected questions fired from the backseat. They drove along listening to only the radio. 

The moment they pulled into the parking lot of the diner, a garish red instantly caught Santiago's eye. 

Parked in the very first spot by the front door, sat Benjamin Miller's pride and joy. Against the deep charcoal of the asphalt and the cool metal of the building's exterior, the gaudy paint job almost appeared to be glowing. 

Even Sam seemed to perk up in the back seat. As they slowly drove past, his head turned to continue peering out at the sportscar, his expression showing just how perplexed he was by the vehicle. It was easy enough to understand why. Next to all of the humble sedans and pick-up trucks, Benny's Ferrari looked like it descended from another planet.  

Maybe he likes cars, Santi quietly thought to himself as he found parking a few spaces down. 

They slid out from the truck into the balmy heat. Before he could properly close the door to the driver's seat, Sam was already scurrying past him. 

The boy balanced restlessly on the outer edges of his sneakers.

“How long are we staying here?” He squinted against the harsh late-day sun.

Santiago shot a dry look in his direction. He shook his head once more before locking the truck and joining him up on the curb. 

“Not too long. Thirty minutes, maybe.” 

Sam’s face fell at his answer. 

“Why?” Santiago demanded with a smirk. “You’ve got somewhere to be that I don’t know about? You got a part time job somewhere?” 

Even for a seven year-old, the rhetorical nature of the question didn’t go unnoticed. The boy was still a bit too young to master the art of rolling his eyes, but his stony expression conveyed the same message. He ignored the joke and turned on his heel.

Just before he could fully face away, an odd shaped hole at the collar of his t-shirt caught Santiago's eye. 

“Hey! What happened to your shirt?"

Sam didn’t turn back to him, but his head dipped forward as his hand reached up to press against the rip at his collar. It was a plain dark red t-shirt, one of the new things that he bought him recently. After a couple seconds of reflection, it dawned on Santiago that Sam had been wearing it every day to school since Monday. He hadn't been able to notice in the mornings because Sam was usually wearing his jacket. 

"Kid, have you been wearing the same shirt all week?" 

Santi felt almost guilty, wondering if the teacher at school had noticed him arriving every day in the same clothes. Instead of answering the question, Sam looked at him with the expression of a child who is trying to judge just how angry the adult confronting them might be. Santiago could once again feel their conversation hurtling towards that interrogation pattern of cop against fugitive, and he knew that he needed to back off. The last thing he wanted was to make a kid feel guilty over a seven dollar t-shirt. 

"Do you like that one a lot or something?" He asked easily. 

Sam continued to look unsure, but he nodded his head faintly.

Santiago didn't really know if he was being truthful or not, but it didn't matter. The truth surrounding why he didn't change his clothes for three days wasn't the real issue. He needed to find a way to help him stop feeling so wary around him. 

He only shook his head as he tsked in quiet disapproval. "What is that face for? C'mon, you're not in trouble." 

He lifted his baseball cap and pushed back some of the curls off his forehead before he walked over. "Look, it's fine. I ripped my jeans about every week when I was your age- drove my mom absolutely insane. I can buy you more in that color if you like it, but try to wear a different shirt every day, alright? People are going to think that I don't take care of you."

His hand dropped down onto the boy's shoulder, he gently steered him towards the diner. 

"C'mon, I'll let you meet the guy who drives that car." 

Together they began to head for the front door.

The late afternoon sun cast its glow through the windows of the bustling diner, covering the space with a warm autumn light. The air hummed with a mix of sounds. Conversations intermingled with the scraping of silverware, the clatter of dishes, all while the staff hurried back and forth from behind the bar to the tables. Unlike the last time when Santi brought Sam in the wee hours of the morning, the place was now packed. The entire neighborhood seemed to have the same idea to swing by after work and school. Patrons filled the cozy booths and the worn counter stools, the aroma of the sizzling grill, coffee, and homemade pies wafted through the air. 

Dead in the middle of the buzzing diner, Santiago's eyes honed in on the familiar figure of Benjamin Miller. He was sitting perched on a barstool at the counter, a basket of half-eaten onion rings set out in front of him. He wore a smile as he joked with someone standing on the other side of the kitchen window, probably Frankie. 

Despite himself, Santiago felt a grin crack his features the moment Benny spotted him.

He quickly stood from his barstool, loud voice booming over the dull roar surrounding them. 

“Ahh, there he is!” Benny brightly called. His tall figure was dressed in a sweat damp t-shirt and Carhartt work pants, a faded baseball cap turned backwards over his damp blond hair. He was no doubt fresh off from some project, probably flipping another house to sell.

Sam paused mid-step, unsure where to go in the busy space packed with people. Before Santiago's legs could collide into his back, his hands easily dropped down onto his shoulders. Silently, he guided the boy forward, steering them both in the direction of the counter. 

“Hola, Santiago… ”

Santi’s head spun at the familiar sound of a woman’s voice. 

Carla, Frankie’s second in command was shooting him a grin as she carried plates of food over to a table. 

“Oye, Carla, que tal? ” He brightly greeted over his shoulder. 

They reached where the younger Miller brother stood waiting for them at the counter, just across from the opening where orders were passed up from the back of the kitchen. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Benny grinned before firmly drawing Santi close. His large hand clapped hard against his back, making a hollow thumping noise that warmed his insides. 

He pulled a face of amused disbelief as he pulled away. “Ah, c’mon, we saw each other like three weeks ago.”

In his defense, it was true. Three weeks of absence was nothing at all compared to his previous track record, but now that he was stateside for good, his friends and family demanded more of him. His old excuse of working on the other side of the world didn’t fly anymore. 

Santi craned his neck to glance around at the filled tables. “Jesus, Ben, did you invite the entire block to come here with you?” 

“Yeah, told them Fish was paying.” Benny deadpanned before his eyes fell to Samuel. “Who's the kid?”

Sam’s hands held onto the straps of his backpack as he looked around to watch the bustle of the diner. 

“This is Sam. He’s staying with me for a while.”

Benny's eyebrows rose minutely before he could catch himself. He didn’t quite know what to make of the pair. He’d seen Santiago take in older boys, most of them old enough to at least have a learner’s permit. This one looked like he just learned to ride a bike without training wheels. 

"This is my friend Benny." Santi explained down to the boy planted in front of him. "He's the one who drives the red Ferrari outside." 

Samuel's gaze traveled slowly from Benny's work boots up to his face, seeming torn between being impressed and feeling some mild disbelief. 

For years Santiago had witnessed Benny have that effect on people. He didn't know him before their time together in the army, but Will always swore that he came into the world with that magnetic pull, and never for a second did Santi doubt it. Everything about Benny drew attention - his height, his loud voice, his ice blue eyes and disarming smile. The flashy car parked out front was just another cherry atop what was already a well-decorated cake. 

"Is Frankie around?" He asked, eyes already scanning for him amongst the kitchen staff. 

As a direct answer to his question, Frankie's broad back suddenly appeared through the door to the kitchen. He was busy lifting a white cook's apron over his head. Both his stride and posture read like he had been having a rough afternoon. 

It was all but confirmed when his mouth formed a tight apologetic smile the moment he caught sight of Santiago. He made his way over. 

"Two cooks called out today." He quickly offered. "Go ahead and sit down. Let me bus this table in the corner and I'll be right there."

His eyes never lifted to properly greet Santiago's, instead his hand only squeezed his bicep as he slipped past. 

"Y'alright, Fish?" Benny demanded.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Rush is almost over." He waved dismissively, speeding away to the other end of the diner. "Carla, you tell Angel that I got the dishwasher working again. No excuses for the dishes being backed up anymore!" 

"Sure thing, Frank." Carla sighed from where she stood at the cash register. "He's been like that all damn day." 

She looked up at Santiago as she muttered the last part. He craned his neck to follow Frankie, teeth gently worrying the inside of his cheek while he studied him. 

Benny didn't say anything, choosing instead to busy himself with clearing away his empty basket of onion rings. He stood and moved easily behind the counter like he was no different than any of the people actually on Frankie's payroll. He disposed of his trash and dropped the plastic basket with the others, only pausing to serve himself a glass of ice tea from the beverage fountain. 

“Hey, kid..." He called over his shoulder to Samuel. "Why's there a hole in your shirt?” 

Santiago watched as Sam slightly straightened in surprise, caught off guard to be suddenly the topic of conversation for Benny. Like before, his hand moved to defensively touch the aforementioned rip.

"Nothing." He mumbled.

“Nothing, huh?" Benny repeated before taking a mouthful of ice-tea, the familiar shine of amusement never leaving his eyes. "Sounds fake. What really happened? Did you get in a fight?” 

A short pause fell between them, where Samuel only stared at the man with a furrowed brow. Not sure that Benny's playful teasing landed, Santiago nearly opened his mouth to intervene before a faint half-smile slowly broke across the boy's face.

“No!” He quietly insisted.

“Uh-huh. Did you at least win?” Benny demanded, playfully wiggling his eyebrows as he munched on a piece of ice. 

"No!" Samuel looked down at the counter to conceal what could only be described as a bashful sort of grin. 

“Aha!" Benny quickly exclaimed. "You did win, didn’t you!”

Sam tried to make an exasperated face, but couldn't suppress his own urge to laugh. 

It was the only time Santiago could recall seeing him smile. Before he could even begin to dwell much on that realization, Frankie was making his way back over to where they were sitting.

"Cómo te va, Samuelito ?" He lightly nudged the boy's shoulder as he walked past.

He expertly slipped behind the counter, immediately beginning to search all around before brandishing a silver ice cream scoop. “How about some ice cream? I’ve got chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla.” 

Sam blinked at the new proposal. His mouth parted with initial hesitation, unsure of what he was supposed to say. There was a faint creak of the barstool as he turned to look at Santiago, his sable brown eyes asking if he had permission.  

“Yeah, it’s alright, go ahead.” Santi nodded to him. “-But just one scoop, Frank!” He quickly added, already familiar with the diner’s generous portion sizes. “I need him to eat dinner tonight.”

Frankie audibly scoffed at the proposal, mumbling "who eats just one scoop?" under his breath.

“Sociopaths.” Benny easily chimed in, never looking up from his phone.

Much to Santiago’s dismay, his protests only fell on deaf ears. He watched as two large balls of strawberry ice cream were scooped into a small bowl. They were dressed with a few jets of whipped cream and a wafer cookie before being promptly delivered to the space in front of his young charge.

His disapproval quietly dissolved into the back of his mind as he watched the way Samuel dug into his free dessert, his feet swinging in the air ever so slightly. By the time Santi looked over to issue a silent thank you to Frankie, the man had already disappeared back to the kitchen.  

“Are you coming to the cookout at Will’s this weekend?” Benny asked as he settled down on the open stool next to him.

Confused, Santi sharply twisted around to face him. “I just spent all afternoon next to your brother. Since when is he grilling?” 

“Since I just texted him to say that we’re cooking at his place this weekend.”

The explanation didn’t come as a surprise, but Santiago only gestured his head vaguely in Samuel’s direction.

“I don’t know, Ben. I'm not exactly free.”

“So what? Bring him.” Benny declared before standing on the foot rest of his stool. He abruptly craned over to peer through the open window to the kitchen. “Fish! Tell him he should bring the kid to Will’s!”

“Jesus-” Santi whispered, his hand softly hitting the counter top in exasperation. Discretion was a quality Benny seemed to abandon once in the civilian world. 

“You should bring him.” Frankie replied from the kitchen, never looking up from the order of food he was plating. “It’ll do you some good to have a break.”

It didn't take long for him to finally agree to stop by Will's place on Saturday. He didn't truthfully have a good enough reason not to go and the idea of sipping a beer on the immaculate deck in his buddy's backyard didn't sound too terrible. He didn't quite know what he would do to keep Sam entertained around a bunch of adults, but he half-suspected that Benny would take care of it for him. 

___________________________________

Wednesday, October 9th, 2021. 7:30 PM.

It took everything he had to keep Samuel occupied before they were meant to call Sonia. The boy rushed through his homework and through eating dinner. For the entire evening, his eyes never once stopped following Santi around - looking for any sign that it was finally time. The unvoiced question of "when" sat plainly between them. 

Santiago didn't know what to do with him in these moments. He didn't seem interested in TV. Multiple times he tried to sit Samuel down in front of cartoons while he went to do things around the house, but without fail he would abandon the bright colors and flashing lights to come find him. He would try sending him to go play, but that was an even bigger failure, though for reasons that admittedly weren't Samuel's fault. The only things remotely resembling toys lying around the house were several decks of playing cards and an old football that was too big for the kid's child-sized hands.

His only remedy to Samuel following him around was to give him little chores. Part of him worried that it would come across like a punishment, but to his surprise Sam was strangely eager to work alongside him. Things like sending him outside to pick up sticks in the yard while dinner cooked, getting him to help unload the dishwasher, setting the table - he was visibly content to have little jobs to perform, to be useful. 

Santiago made a note to call his own mother and ask if she had any of his old toys in storage. Even if it was a solution to make the time pass, giving the kid chores to occupy him felt a little too much like something out of a Dickens novel. He didn't know where that obedient part of his personality came from, but further exploiting it wasn't something he wanted to make a habit. 

A half-hour after dinner they finally went to the back bedroom to call Sonia. 

Samuel climbed up on to the desk chair this time, while Santiago sat down on the foot of the bed. 

His number must have been registered on a pre-approved list since the last call, because they were put directly through by the shelter. Much to Santiago's surprise, Sonia picked up on the very first ring. 

She sounded better than the last time they spoke with her. Her voice was lighter, less tired. Immediately she wanted to share good news with them. A new job had been offered to her at an insurance company. She would be able to start in a couple of weeks. They just needed to wait for the city housing office to place her and Samuel in an apartment. 

"It won't be long." She promised him repeatedly. "Just another week, sweetheart." 

After answering his many questions, she happily demanded to know everything about school and how we was doing. 

Santiago sat back and watched Sam as he began to recount the last three days in great detail. The good news had clearly lifted his spirits, but something about having his mother's undivided attention made him positively beam. Sides of himself that he never showed before began to peak their way through. He seemed to drop his serious demeanor as he talked about what they were learning at school and how he got to help feed the class pet that day. For once he began to sound like almost any other seven year-old. 

It made Santi think back to himself as a little boy. He could remember having some of the very same reactions and mannerisms- speaking animatedly with his hands while he told stories, using the occasional word in English when he couldn't quickly find what he wanted to say in Spanish. 

Sonia let Samuel rattle on for twenty-five minutes, lightly laughing as she listened and only ever stopping him to briefly ask one or two questions. 

Hearing his voice seemed to have the same effect on her as it did on him - it was both a source of comfort and sadness. 

Before long she made a quick excuse about needing to go. The way she said goodbye to her son and wished him goodnight was inexplicably rushed. 

___________________________________

Saturday, October 12th, 2021. 3:00 PM

Will’s backyard was impressive compared to the mix of patchy grass and dirt behind Santiago's house.

It was a space that was designed for a family, for entertaining lots of guests. Will didn't yet have the wife and kids element locked down, but Santiago knew he was working on it. Out of all of them, he was maybe the most cut out for that kind of life. He didn't ever talk about those sorts of things with him or Frankie, but Benny probably knew his plans for the future. They all used their shares of the Colombia money in various ways to rebuild their lives back home - each of them trying to construct something closer to what they had imagined for themselves - each with varying levels of success. Maybe for Will, using his time and money to carefully curate and care for this big house with a magazine-worthy backyard was a way of manifesting.

For now, it hosted their boys' nights and get-togethers with Will & Benny's extended family.

The grass was perfectly maintained, soft enough to comfortably walk on barefoot, with absolutely no prickly weeds or sharp little stones. There were large oak trees in the very back near the fence, the kind with low branches perfect for hanging a tire swing. There was a stainless steel double grill for large cookouts, a sand pit for playing horseshoes, even a built-in seating area on the deck that held a fire pit.

Samuel and Santiago were the last ones to arrive.

There was no bright red Ferrari in the driveway, but Santi recognized the black SUV out front as one of Benny's back-up vehicles. Frankie's truck was parked along the curb. 

Following the usual protocol, he led Samuel along the side of the house toward the back gate. Even Will’s side lawn was perfectly mowed, the tall wooden privacy fence stained an HOA-approved color. While balancing a small cooler of drinks under one arm, Santiago easily reached over the fence and unlatched the wooden door with his free hand.

Sam stayed close behind him as they entered the backyard, dutifully carrying the grocery store bag of burger buns they were tasked with bringing.

Already, he could hear the sounds of Benny’s laughter and Creedence Clearwater Revival from the outdoor speakers. The smell of grilled meat hung in the air, ambient mosquito lamps were lit around the back porch.

Will was unsurprisingly manning the grill when they walked up to the back deck. He was dressed in cargo shorts and flip-flops despite the autumn chill that was guaranteed to arrive once the sun went down.

“So this is your plus one?” He asked over his shoulder. The burgers sizzling away were left briefly unattended as he turned around to face them.

Santiago ushered Sam to stand in front of him. “Go ahead, say hi to Will.” He pressed.

Sam looked up from the plastic sack of buns he held against his belly, obediently mumbling a quick hi just loud enough to be heard.

“How’s it going, kid?” Will nodded to him before pointing to the table at the center of the deck. “Go set those over on the table for me, will you?”

The boy moved to follow his instructions. As Santiago worked at transferring his beers into the bigger communal cooler, he watched Samuel from behind, his gaze needlessly supervising while he went about the simple task. 

Will couldn’t keep himself from smirking. It was always the same with every new placement Santi took in. In the beginning he was always hypervigilant, needing to establish order so he could pass as a reliable authority figure. When most of the teenage boys he took in stood a full head taller than him, he had to play the bad cop over the first few days and make them earn his trust through curfews and chore lists. But before long he always eased up.

Seeing him with a child seemed to have completely morphed that old strategy. He stared after Samuel with the same energy as a mother hen, always looking to be a split second away from fretting over him.

Santiago caught Will watching him the moment he straightened up from filling the main cooler. His eyes narrowed as he craned his head to the side.

“What is your deal, Miller?”

Will could only shrug and shake his head before he turned back to the grill.

Frankie and Benny came out from the sliding glass door, a young black Labrador eagerly following behind them. The dog was just about at adult size, easily weighing over 60 pounds. His nails clicked across the deck as he scurried over to greet the newcomers.

His deep bark reverberated throughout the backyard before he suddenly lunged toward Samuel. Instinctively, Santiago’s hand gripped the boy’s shoulder. He abruptly stood up, ready to move himself in front to intercept, but Benny already had a firm hold on the dog’s leather collar. 

"Bo, settle down!" Will sharply called his dog's name. 

"He's fine. I've got him." Benny easily calmed the situation. “Big guy's just a little excited.”

Sam didn't back away from the overly energetic dog. He stood squarely planted in the same spot, grinning as he offered out a hand for him to smell.

“Atta boy, Sam.” Benny quietly praised, his grip still steady on the dog's collar. “Let him smell you first. When he sits down then you can pet him.”

Santiago watched as Bo finally dropped into a sitting position. Sam reached up to scratch at his ears. 

“You like dogs?” He asked him.

Sam nodded at the question. He leaned back as the dog’s pink tongue tried to lick his face, softly laughing as he attempted to dodge the overgrown puppy's affection.  

Santi thought back to conversations they held in his truck on the way to school in the mornings. Multiple times the kid had asked him why he didn't have any pets. Watching him confidently interact with Will’s dog showed that he clearly had grown up around animals.

A strange tension in his jaw slowly melted away, one that he hadn't even realized he was holding. A single corner of his mouth ticked upward in a hesitant smile. He began to wonder if maybe he overreacted a bit. In truth there had been no real danger. Will's dog was young but he was well trained. Even if that weren't the case, in this backyard surrounded by these four men, nothing bad would have ever happened to Samuel. 

He hadn't even noticed Frankie digging out a beer for him from the cooler. Cool and wet fingertips suddenly wrapped around his elbow, still dripping from the ice water. Santiago felt his chest deflate some as the frigid glass bottle was pushed against his open palm. He tried to lean into the man's touch, turning his head slightly in hopes that they would graze one another, but Frankie slipped away just as quickly as he came. 

The brief contact still caused something in Santiago's chest to buzz, like the quickest flash of static electricity. He tried to meet Frankie's eyes as he set about grabbing drinks for everyone, but his brow was obscured under the brim of his hat.

His body language was the same as in the diner a few days ago. He may have been physically present with them in the backyard, but mentally he was so clearly elsewhere. 

Santiago only swallowed and nodded to himself. With the help of a nearby lighter sitting on the table, he popped open his beer with ease. He tried not to mull over any hidden meaning in that fleeting touch as he took his first swig. 

The afternoon sun warmed the air around them. For the next few hours, Sam chose to stay close, quietly hanging off to the side and listening as the adults talked. Conversation was principally dominated by the Miller brothers. Benny had a fight in Vegas coming up. Will wanted to organize a boys hike in a couple of weeks.

Samuel sat between Frankie and Santiago, happily eating whatever was offered to him. Ever since their last telephone call to his mother, Sam seemed to be eating and sleeping much better. Santiago was relieved to see for the last few evenings that there was hardly any food left on his plate. Late at night when he would finally to bed, there was hardly any noise at all coming from Sam's bedroom across the hall. 

As the sun gradually began to set, Sam finally ventured off the deck to play in the yard with Will's dog. He happily chased after the black Lab, chucking his grimy tennis ball up in the air for him to catch. 

Happy that the kid was occupied and knowing that they would be staying a while longer, Santiago allowed himself to settle back with a second beer. The sun was beginning to fall already, and Will was starting to gather the supplies to light a fire.

Frankie sat next to him on a folding chair. He hardly spoke the entire afternoon, opting to drink water instead of beer. His shiny black eyes made a point to avoid Santiago as much as possible. He sat with his arms folded, intensely watching Will's very involved technique for placing logs in the metal base of the firepit. 

Impatient, Benny reached over to nudge his brother with his foot.

"You playing Lincoln Logs there or what?”  

"I’m trying to get the most use out of this wood.” Will retorted as he worked at securing the logs in place. “How many of my fires have kept your asses from freezing out in the field?"

“Hundreds.” Santiago agreed. 

“Well now we're freezing our asses off in the middle of civilization. Hurry up, will ya?” Benny replied while tugging a hooded sweatshirt over his head.  “The temperature's dropped like 20 degrees.” 

The crackling flames soon danced in the firepit, casting a warm glow.

Their collective attention was redirected when Bo came trotting back up onto the deck, sans tennis ball and without Samuel.

Sanitaog scanned the backyard, struggling to locate the boy until he noticed a small dark figure high up in the big oak tree near the back fence.

Thanks to the lights Will had installed on the back of his house, Santiago could see Sam dangling from a thick outstretched limb of the magnolia tree. In one fluid try, he managed to bring his legs upward, wrapping himself entirely around the branch. His skinny arms weren’t covered with much muscle at all, but what little he possessed seemed to be well toned. He was completely at ease while he worked his way comfortably atop the thick branch, settling himself into a sitting position.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a country boy, Pope.” Benny laughed as he looked over his shoulder, one brow raised in amusement.

“That’s definitely a kid that spends time outside.” Will hummed before taking a sip from his beer. 

Santiago had to admit that Sam was surprisingly strong for his size. He doubted at age seven that he possessed the necessary core or upper body strength to pull off those maneuvers.

Still, that nagging instinct to keep the boy out of danger remained ever present at the back of his mind. Slowly, he cupped one hand around his mouth.

“Sam, buddy, that’s high enough!” He cautioned across the yard.

“I’m fine!” A small voice eventually called back. 

A soft sigh of frustration escaped Santiago when it was clear that his warning went ignored. He set his untouched bottle of beer down beside him.

“I better go make sure he doesn’t fall and break something.” 

Before he could even move, Frankie’s hand gripped his shoulder, gently nudging him back down onto his chair. “Stay. I’ll go keep an eye on him.”

They all watched Frankie's broad back traipse across the lawn, his hands in his pockets as he approached the oak tree. 

“Does he seem off to anybody else?”

The three of them didn’t look at each other. Santiago let his question hang in the air, spoken softly enough so it couldn’t be heard on the opposite side of the backyard. 

Frankie stood at the base of the tree, head tilted back while he mindfully watched Samuel climb. His words weren't entirely clear, but they could hear him speaking in Spanish. His hand moved to point to something once in a while, gesticulating while he gave some sort of direction or encouragement.

“He does.” Will quietly agreed as he lowered himself onto one of the open Adirondack chairs. “I thought maybe things weren't going great at the diner.”

Santiago knew that if things were going poorly at the diner, Frankie would just be stomping around and slamming cabinets while cursing up a storm. This went beyond the dishwasher breaking down and line cooks calling out. The empty look in his eyes for the past few days suggested something much deeper. Even more so, Santiago knew that Will was more astute than that. He had to have the same alarm bells ringing in his head. 

“No. You and I can both see that it's something more.”

Will stoked the fire some before settling back into his seat. He looked Santiago in the eyes, his face still remaining neutral. 

“Look, we only found out today.”

Santiago's brow knit together as he stared at the two brothers. His attention zeroed in on Benny, catching the moment he began looking uncomfortably down at the beer bottle in his hands. Will may have been known for putting on a stony mask, but his younger brother was never quite able to hide his emotions in the same way. 

“What do you know, Ben?” 

Benny's lips pressed together into a tight line, but he never lifted his gaze. It wasn't his information to share and he fucking hated being the messenger, but he knew that when it came to Frankie, Santiago could not be talked into backing down.

“Elena is trying for full custody.”

The silence that followed the admission was heavy, and it only set Santiago further on edge as he struggled to process the information. His mind raced to try and find some kind of meaning. 

Elena had ample reason to be pissed at Frankie, but their daughter had stood as a no-conflict zone between them. They always co-parented well, despite their differences. And even though she hated Santiago's guts, he didn't know her to be a cruel or vindictive person. Something had to have happened. 

“She's gotta be doing this to try and get his attention. Have either of you spoken to her?”

Benny cleared his throat, his eyes still trained down towards the mouth of his beer bottle.

“It's still so fresh, man. He’s only known since Monday.”

Will shook his head before pointing a warning finger at Santiago. “This isn't our fight, Pope. And frankly, of all people, you definitely need to keep your nose out of it.”

Only a year earlier, that sort of comment would have sparked rage deep within Santi. Maybe it was because it was coming from Will, and maybe the 2nd beer had him feeling more relaxed, but he simply nodded.

“Yeah, I'm aware.” He bore a bitter half-smile as he held up a placating hand. “But this isn't fucking right and we all know it.”

Santiago took a sip of his beer, only turning his head so he could verify that Samuel hadn't gone any higher in Will's tree. 

Frankie must have succeeded in convincing him to climb down, because he was now hanging upside down by his knees from the lowest branch. 

Seemingly eager for a subject change, Benny nodded to the scene taking place on the other side of the backyard. 

"What's the story with this kid?"

Santiago shrugged. "Hard to say. His mom's got issues, but she won't talk to anyone. We just know that they were evicted and about to sleep out on the street. It looks like she's running from something. Maybe an ex. Maybe she owes someone money."

Will leaned onto the armrest of his deck chair. "Does she have a record?" 

He let the question drift out between them casually. Due to their line of work, they both had access to certain connections and the privileges that went along with them. It was a practice that wasn't discouraged or encouraged, but they both knew that Santiago could have easily obtained her file if Sonia had one with the police. 

"Nope. All clear." 

"What about the kid?"

Santiago slowly blinked, his dark eyes incredulous. 

"Does he have a police record at age seven?" 

A smile appeared across Will's face as he looked out across his back lawn. He could so clearly hear the indignation in his friend's voice as he disbelievingly rephrased the question, there was no need to look over to confirm that his eyes were probably narrow slits.

"I meant have you tried asking him for more information, Pope." 

An empty laugh pushed its way from Santiago's chest. 

"I've tried, but I'm not exactly his favorite person." He sighed, his chair creaking as he leaned back into a long stretch. "We've fallen into this cops and robbers routine somehow. He goes non verbal the second I start asking any questions." 

Will's fingers scratched against the stubble growing under his chin, this time a twinge of genuine amusement flashed across his features as he tried to imagine the scene. 

"It's only been a few days, right? Don't they usually settle in after a while?" 

"Yeah, yeah..." Santi hummed as he began peeling off the foil wrapper around the mouth of his beer bottle, clearly unconvinced. "Most of them do." 

Benny leaned forward to chuck another log onto Will’s fire, his face contemplative while he looked for the right spot.

“If something’s really wrong, he’ll eventually talk.” He spoke while a few stray fireflies took off into the air.

Santiago didn't ask for clarification, but he couldn't keep from mulling over how Benny's advice applied to both individuals on the other side of the backyard. 

___________________________________

Saturday, October 12th, 2021. 10:15 PM

They left Will's house around 10 PM.

After saying their goodbyes to the Miller brothers, Santiago and Frankie stood between their trucks parked on the edge of the front lawn. Sam was already climbing up into the backseat of Santi's truck while the two men said goodbye to one another. Santiago purposefully lingered in the embrace they shared. His arms held the man against his chest, stopping him from being able to pull away too quickly. It was indulgent, surely, but he needed to feel that contact, for however brief it ultimately would be. The conversation he held with Will and Benny just a few hours earlier still rang fresh in his mind. To say that he was concerned for Frankie didn't come close enough to the worry he was now feeling. Santiago knew that if what Elena was attempting to do was for real, his own heart would break at having to watch such a callous thing be inflicted on the man he loved. 

He ghosted his mouth against his warm skin, first finding the shell of his ear, then the plush flesh of his cheek. It was risky behavior, because they’ve always made a point to be lowkey when out in public, but he was reassured when Frankie thankfully didn't tense up. 

“Tomemos un café está semana?” (Let's go for a coffee this week?)

Santiago whispered the proposition warmly to him when he pulled back and their eyes met for what felt like the first time all damn night. He was sure to subdue the smile he wore, knowing in the back of his mind that Frankie could suspect something if he played this too strong.

Maybe the two beers he drank that afternoon made him less observant, but if Frankie suspected anything, he didn't let it show. His large hands only lingered on Santiago's waist. He gave an easy nod to the question before his dark eyes flicked downward, seemingly to fixate on his throat.  

“Claro, cuando tú quieras.” (Sure, whenever you want.)

It was impossible not to think about the fact that "going for a coffee" used to be their old excuse to sneak off and see each other - when they were both in the army and even when Frankie and Elena were still together. Sometimes it would be just that, a simple coffee and a long talk, but more often than not it was more. 

This time, Santi really only wanted to talk to him. Frankie was so damn good at hiding whatever he had going on inside. Being able to speak one on one - that meant without the boys, without the diner chaos around, without one of the foster cases in tow - would probably be the only way he was going to be able to get anything out of him.

The drive back to his house was short. Just after he ushered Samuel inside and sent him back to brush his teeth and change in to pajamas, his phone began to ring in his pocket. 

With the boy heading off down the hallway, he pulled the device out and made his way into the kitchen. A frown took over his features as he caught Dana's name across the screen.  

Even though he could hear the water running in the hallway bathroom, he kept his voice hushed as he answered.

"Hey, what's up?" 

"Sonia didn't return back to the shelter after curfew last night. Her phone has been going straight to voicemail all day." 

His footsteps froze in the middle of the tiled kitchen floor. Dana sounded angry as she began to rapidly recount what few details she possessed. 

"Even if she did come back, I doubt I can convince the shelter at this point to keep her spot. Not to mention she's also-" 

"No, no, hang on." Santi abruptly cut her off. His mind was racing with the slew of information she just fired at him. He already knew what she was suggesting and he didn't want to hear her voice it out loud. "How many hours has she been gone now? Let's not jump ahead before we know what we're dealing with." 

"Her phone has been turned off all day, Santiago." Dana repeated. "You know what this looks like. I know what this looks like." 

He let out a slow exhale as he tugged off his baseball cap. The faint hum of the fluorescent light over the sink registered in his ears. He tossed his hat onto the counter before his fingers threaded deep into his tangled curls. He began to gingerly pace over the kitchen, making the same brief circuit around his island as he listened to Dana list their options. 

"Listen, it's your call." Santiago cut in once she finished. "But maybe we should just ride out the weekend and give Sonia a chance to come back and explain-"

Just as he rounded the island for the umpteenth time, he caught sight of a small figure standing in the kitchen entryway. It immediately brought his words and movement to a direct stop. 

Samuel's face was unreadable. He stood stock still as he stared at Santiago, the black darkness of the living room just behind him. 

No one moved. No one spoke. 

Fuck.

___________________________________

@velocibee @thirstworldproblemss, @ohsomightypeaches, @ellenmunn , @hopeamarsu, @astroboots, @kesskirata , @itspdameronthings , @acdeaky @waywaychuck , @unbelievable-dear , @niki-fromthevoid @songsformonkeys , @duckydanny @rebel-fanfare

[bohemian-nights]

I laugh whenever I see delusional Daemyra stans claim that Daemon was Rhaenyra's #1 supporter and that he would've been the best marital choice for her. When it's like are we watching the same show?! He constantly undermined her claim since episode one! Lemme give you a very quick rundown:

1x01: He was jealous of her unborn baby brother, celebrated her mother and brother's death, made Baelon's death all about him and how he was denied the throne

1x02: He stole Baelon's dragon egg, squatted in Dragonstone (the seat for the heir), and called himself the RIGHTFUL heir to the throne. Does that sound like someone who supports Rhaenyra's claim?!

1x04 aka the most infamous: He sets her up by taking her to a brothel, publicly exposing her identity, has sexual contact with her, leaves her half naked by herself in the brothel for everyone to see, almost causes her to be disinherited, lies to Viserys saying that they had sex, and just abandons her leaving her to suffer the consequences of his actions, and leaving her to marry her gay cousin

1x05: He teases her at the engagement feast and then just leaves her ass to get trampled on by the crowd

1x08: The most unified that they are, but that shit goes downhill as soon as Viserys dies

1x10: Where do I start? He ignores her while she's bending over in pain after being told of Viserys's death, ignores/defies her orders whilst she's having a horrific stillbirth, ignores her screaming bloody murder to plot his war, doesn't even comfort her while she's cradling their dead baby covered in blood sweat and tears, makes decisions without her approval, undermines her authority throughout the entire episode (showing that she was never the one in control), and then CHOKES HER

We've had 6 episodes showing us that Daemon has never truly supported Rhaenyra's claim to the throne, nor has he been a reliable partner for her to rely on. The grooming blinded her to his true character and made her create this image of a man that he wasn't. She thought that she was the exception to his madness and violence, but she quickly learned in 1x10 that she wasn't and as a result she'll look at him in a different light. And most of all she fears him. It's understandable why Rhaenyra is so blind to Daemon's obvious red flags (b/c of the grooming), but the audience has the hindsight and the outsider POV to see how bad he is for her. Why do they deny it and continue to ignore it?

No, you see the show isn't canon(they say only after episode 10 aired🤣). It's the books that show Daemon was the best husband ever to Miss Maegor even though he tries to ruin her reputation to force her father to give him his hand since no one else would want her, cheated on her, and abandoned her when she needed him the most. He did not groom to get closer to the throne, his brother, etc. that’s all lies.

Lol if they admit that Daemon is just using Missy Anne and he doesn’t love her in that way(and the show that they were fine with until the choking scene even though people told them it sucked a**, never showed Daemon loving her) then all their arguments fall apart. Dumbnyra is supposed to be Jonerys done right so they’ll just keep on denying it even if nothing(not the books or the show) supports their delusions.

[peachymilkandcream]

How Levi Would React To Anything/Anyone Taking Evelyn's Attention

(A/N: I've highkey missed doing headcanons for these two so I wanted to do one. Oneshots are nice and so is Break Me Slowly but headcanons are just so relaxing and fun to do. [Also if anyone's curious you can totally request a set of headcanons in my asks just so long as you specify you'd like a headcanon ^^] Please please read the warnings of this one it's gonna be a little darker than usual)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, child abuse, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

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

Levi is not letting anything/anyone come in-between him and his wife, it doesn't matter who or what it is. If anyone or anything gets a hint more of her attention there will be some really crazy consequences.

If It's Their Child ->

If Levi feels like Evelyn is spending more time with their son/daughter than both mother and child are being punished. Levi is a strong believer of discipline so that means he will act cold and standoffish to his offspring until they beg for Papa's forgiveness.

He'll by far be more gentle with the child than Evelyn, making sure relying on manipulation to force the child to obey and continue holding him a reverent light.

They'll get a lecture on the importance of being number two in Mama's life, and how Papa is the most important thing to her and they come second in all things.

Evelyn on the other hand will be reminded who is first in her heart by ahem, giving her another child. He wants her to remember who gave her those kids she loves so much in the first place and how she should respect him more for giving them to her.

If she doesn't seem to learn her lesson the children will be taken away from her for a period until she smartens up, telling the children Mama's sick or she doesn't want to see them, making them cling to Papa even more since he loves them more than she does.

Once she has her act together they're allowed back in her life, although they'll have to learn how to accept their new sibling in her belly.

If It's A Pet ->

Surprisingly, Levi would be open to a pet, so long as it was a large dog. He would enjoy the added security when he's not home as well as the ability to smell out his wife in case she tried to escape.

However it would be his pet, she would be allowed near it but if she got to close the dog would be taken away from her. He can't allow her to get too friendly with the animal in case it stopped serving its use which would be adding a level of fear to make her submit.

It It's A Friend ->

Having friends is already a privilege that Levi allows sparingly. He has to pre-approve any and all friends she's allowed to have. Women are fine unless she starts to spill too much or other women get too nosy.

Men are never allowed to be friends with Evelyn, if by some odd chance she befriended one in secret the culprit would be found out quickly. When that happens he'll either be threatened into submission or killed in front of Evelyn as a warning, telling her what she's done because she couldn't help but flirt with everyone she met.

Women who get too nosy often meet the same fate depending on their social standing. Normal Scouts, commoners, and servants are quickly killed and disposed of, allowing them to see the truth before their final moments for the sake of irony.

Those who belong to higher standing circles are often blown off and never spoken to again. If anyone comes curiously wondering what happened Levi holds the threat of violence and ruin over them unless they keep silent.

If he feels Evelyn is getting distracted by her friends he'll isolate for weeks or even months at a time to learn the importance of his company and his alone.

If It's A Hobby ->

Levi allows Evelyn to pursue any hobby she'd like within reason, he wants her to be mentally stimulated so she doesn't think about escape. However if that's all she wants to do and rejects his affections in order to work on a hobby then it's taken away.

Or if she's stubborn about it he'll find some way to ruin the hobby completely for her until she has no interest in it once her punishment is over.

[yanderes-galore]

WOOOOOOOOOO! Can I request a Yandere Anna from Metro Last Light/Exodus? Just a concept of course!

- ☢️

After researching Metro your Anon name makes sense, lol! I'll try my best to write Anna... I had to gather her personality from scenes as no wiki said it. I'm focusing on her Exodus personality, sorry if something is off... still new!

Yandere! Anna Miller Concept

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Paranoia, Trust issues, Violence, Subtle possessive yandere, Subtle yandere behavior, Dubious relationship.

Anna may appear cold or focused at times... but she does genuinely care for her allies.

She is one of the most skilled snipers for the Rangers, she probably actually met her darling through the Rangers.

You've proven yourself to be a Scout and work to find supplies.

Similar to Artyom, she falls into protective behavior.

Naturally she wishes to look out for you due to your job.

She's a sniper so she ends up placing her scope on you to follow you wherever you go.

She plays her behavior off as just being concerned for you since you're a crucial part of the Rangers.

She always checks over your equipment and checks you for any injuries.

If she catches something wrong she asks her father to order you to stay at the base.

Anna has times where she can be ruthless or stern... but she does hold care towards others.

She scolds you if you're reckless and you can never seem to lie to her.

Mostly because she's stalking your every move through her scope when she can't be around you.

Similarly to Artyom's concept, she may also try to make you rely on her.

After all, she's the one monitoring your scouting runs.

She takes care of any threat before they harm you.

Even when you're unaware she followed you, you're reminded of her presence when a bullet flies through the skull of an enemy in front of you.

Her father doesn't usually approve of her outings to follow you... but he can never seem to stop his daughter.

Anna doesn't care what her father thinks... she wants to make sure you're safe.

At first her obsession is definitely just friendly.

Everything she does is to protect you and keep you out of harm.

Especially near the end of the Dark Ones war.

In fact, I highly doubt Anna lets you participate in that final battle.

Her father and Artyom wanted her to stay out of it... so she wants you out of it too.

While that final battle happens she probably spends time getting to know you more, claiming it was the best decision to keep you out of the battle.

Even when Anna's feelings towards you begin to turn romantic... she still feels just as protective over you.

She isn't really possessive for the same reasons as Artyom, most of the people and creatures in this world just wish to kill you.

Although... with allies? Maybe then Anna shows some aggression.

Like with Artyom... she cares for him but gets defensive when he brings you up.

If people say Anna is being too obsessive about your safety, she tells them off.

She cares for you... she loves you... you'll see that soon enough.

It gets to the point she doesn't like you on your usual missions anymore.

Her father tries to object, but Anna ends up confessing the fact she adores you too much to see you slowly die to the radiation outside.

In that moment... her father decides to enable his daughter just enough to aid her efforts.

Miller takes you off of scouting missions, he claims it's just for a little while.

Yet afterwards Anna starts to get more affectionate.

She's more flirtatious with you, always wanting you in her sight.

Soon enough she may manage to convince you to give in to her affections.

She's taking your first kiss... holding you close... whispering that you don't need to scout anymore.

Artyom can scout for you, he's the best at it.

Just... give in to her.

She knows everything about you.

She loves you... and deep down she knows you love her too.

If you refuse and say you can't give up your job... that you can't give in and be with her...

Anna shows extreme disappointment.

But... oh well...

She'll have to try harder to convince you.

She knows you love her... how could you not when she's watching over you?

Even if you say no... she'll never let you go to anyone else... even if it means locking you in the base with just her to speak to.... away from all the danger and people the world offers.

[sky-kiss]

HEY

HEY YOU

Storge 3

Eros 3

LUDUS 3

I DID NOT ASK FOR YOUR DARK BURDENS. SDFLKJLJ

Storge 3:How far does parental approval (imagined or expressed) impact upon their current sense of self-worth?  What might they sacrifice or attempt to achieve in order to ensure the approval of their parents?

Cannot believe you are asking this question to a bhaalspawn. They are very truly just daddy-issues. It composes every fiber of their being. Durge Joi’s entire identity and life revolved around pleasing her father and being his most precious girl. She didn’t exist. All that mattered was the glory she could bring to his name, the ways she could please him, the ways she could fulfill his creed. Her worth and self-actualization relied on his whispering in her head. There wasn’t a limit to what she would have done to achieve his approval, and that shows. Joi killed, maimed, twisted and basked in the violence. She’d have killed herself, Orin, anyone if it meant Father Bhaal was pleased.

In the post-canon, his approval means nothing to her. She was ambivalent about it until he started trying to reclaim her. Now, she’s…bivalent.  

Eros 3: How do they feel about public displays of romantic affection?  Does it make them uncomfortable?  How do they feel if a romantic partner kisses them in public?

Absolutely does not make her feel uncomfortable. The more, the better. Public affection delights Joi. To some extent, it’s her nasty little territorial self. Her people are hers and she is theirs.  Her lovers are hers and she is theirs. She enjoys sharing that with the world. If someone kissed her in public, she’d be absolutely chuffed. Just hold you close and stroke your hair. 

To Joi, it means you care enough to outwardly showcase your feelings. It creates value. She’s typically the more outwardly expressive/physical partner, so if someone else takes initiative it's quite special.

LUDUS 3: How does your OC feel about one night stands?  Have they ever enjoyed a night of passionate romance with a stranger?  Is this something they are quite keen on recreationally?  Or only something they might engage in under specific circumstances (such as the eve of a battle or after a difficult breakup)?

We fall into a nebulous divide here about what we classify as one night stands, due to Durge induced…Durging. 

Overall, Joi feels positive about one-night stands. They’re just an outlet, and there’s something beautiful in the give and take. It’s an agreement just like any other, and she finds it quite honest to exchange pleasure. Haarlep makes perfect sense to her. 

Weirdly, despite this comfort, she tends to end up in very dedicated relationships, so the one-night stands don’t usually crop up? She finds her person and latches on. Like a lamprey.  

[ladyoriza]

I don't mean to be a bitch about this. And I'm sure you're very confused why I'm texting you. Or how I got your number. John just sent me a dick pic.

She waited a few minutes, until the read receipt displayed on her screen. She could practically hear Joseph's ranting from the Spread Eagle.

Text bubble. Another text bubble. A pause, a restart. Her giggles not helped by the Franzia Mary May had stashed away that Hannah had drank 3 glasses of before starting texting Joseph.

Her strength was in her degree, in understanding how the mind worked. She was relying on it here more than she ever had while working. So it wasn't a hard decision to take the route of making them squabble with each other. Suze somehow got a hold of a bunch of phones, and apparently one of the Chosen had all three of their numbers. Which would seem like something Joseph wouldn't have approved of, but there was a pretty robust Parental Control app on all of them.

John did send her a picture, though. All his tattoos gave it away. So at least she wasn't making anything up. After a few more minutes of typing notifications her phone lit up.

My apologies, Hannah. Thank you for sharing this, I do hope it hasn't upset you.

Nah, it's just rude. Plus I figure something you're probably really not cool with.

Of course. You have my word that no more unwanted pictures will be sent your way.

Thanks. And this might not be my place but it IS my job, so. John needs a lot more emotional support than he seems to be getting. His type of trauma is pretty insidious. It might be worth it to pull him back to your compound before he gets himself shot. I can send you a list of book recs for this sort of thing.

Perfect, excellent, if she can pull that off and get John out of the way without any further violence? She'd prefer that to the alternative. And with how interested in her Joseph seemed to be, it was a good way to see just how willing he was to listen. It could give her leverage later on for the rest of Hope County.

Ever the professional. In the morning, perhaps. Sleep well, Hannah.

Oh, shit. 2am.

You too.

[shapingandreshaping]

Luce Delire's 'Beyond Representational Justice' - Meetings on Art - Venice Biennale 2024

We were speaking about the talks I watched at the biennale, mainly about Luce Delire's critique of the biennale's curatorial decisions and their attempt to showcase trans communities and experiences. She criticised them for remaining in the status quo - exhibiting trans artists and their stories inside the box of representation - not actually challenging the institution or their viewer and profiting from the exposure of the theme and the artists and researchers, as herself, being a trans woman invited to talk on a panel organised by the biennale about trans activism. She was particularly brave and radical not only for criticising the institution, but especially for doing it by their invitation, and not just that, for speaking openly and directly to the biennale's curator, who was on the first row, constantly looking at him as she argued her points, and even addressed him at times with "I want to talk, can we talk?". Her words made me think of Audre Lorde's speech 'The Master's Tools Won't Dismantle the Master's House', and reinforced that we need to desperately find new and imaginative ways to dismantle these "impossible representations" of identity in favour of profit and capitalist structures and ideologies. Luce brought attention to epistemic violence in these modes of representation ("what you desire hurts you, as you can only be a distorted image of your opressor") and said that in turn of labelling and boxing identities, we should show the " scrambles of the impossibility of representation." instead.

The panel as a whole was impactful, with talks by strong and radical artists, writers and researches from Ghana (Va-Bene), Palestine (Maria from Queers of Palestine) and Turkey (Jiyan Andiç and Asya Leman), sharing their communities' struggles that are in fact global and humanitarian struggles. Together, they brought awareness to the current status of humanity - of violence, aggression, oppression, manipulation and destruction. However, they didn't simply rely on these catastrophic realities but provided practical and imaginative ways to transgress the norms, slowly building the start of a vulnerable but visible road to walk on. 'Radical imagination and creativity' became key concepts during these talks, key to find new solutions and hope in current times.

___________,_________________,____________________,_________

I left with wide open eyes and an electric sensation in my body. I could feel my nerves moving on the inside and on the outside through my trembling hands. I left with a feeling of urgency, of needing to act, to write, to work, to talk, to think... I realised how important are the things I've been feeling and thinking about lately, about all the ads and media surrounding me nowadays, either on my phone or on the streets, on the train and on the stations, but also in the music I listen, the shows I watch and the articles I read. I feel constantly 'attacked' by ideas of what I should think and feel, of what I should own and what I should strive for in life. I feel like my existence doesn't belong to me.

A 'tunnel of ads' in an underground station in London, 2024

Naturally, I started thinking of Walter Benjamin's project on The Arcades and his essay The Age of Mechanical Reproduction. Just as he did with The Arcades, I want to start collecting some of these ads and representational ideas being input into me daily without my consent and, sometimes, acknowledgement. Ideas I feel I have no power in accepting or refusing, but immediately absorbing through their forced position and invasion of my personal space, facing my body and permeating my brain without my approval.

Outdoors on a train station in London (I don't want to buy kindness, I don't want to watch tv if I miss a train) , 2024

My project on my ancestral roots and sense of cultural identity growing up in a migrant context needs to be reformulated. What are exactly the points I want to focus on in this research? Do I want to focus on my experience with representation - on the stereotypes I grew up with, of my dual identity and my language? Do I want to reflect on the stories of the women in my family? Specially the single women and the prejudice towards them? Do I want to focus on my family's migrant history and how they engaged in colonial structures and views of the world but also of their personal struggles in building a life in a new culture and climate?

Most of all, I want to reflect on Abdellatif Laâbi's sentence:

"Don't respect borders and be not afraid of being lost. The earth all together is your homeland and all of humanity is your people."

[tiderideraa]

1, 2, & 7 for the tav meme :D

how does harry advise the player character when it comes to the dream visitor?

he advises suspicion & violence. claiming they all have enough "things" crawling around their head without a golden paladin making itself at home as well. he would express a lot of suspicion at the dream visitor, especially in presenting itself as a protector and if the player character succeeds an insight they will also detect resentment and anger at needing to rely on the dream visitor for protection from the absolute / the chosen's mind control.

harry would advise that the player character play dumb until they're presented with an opportunity to take the power from the dream visitor and to kill them at the next opportunity.

do the other companions have special comments or reactions upon recruiting harry?

gale & wyll would probably be most skeptical of his recruitment. wyll, as the blade of frontiers, has also most likely heard of, or even tangled with harry / uma / the crew before. he would be adamantly against harry's recruitment and would probably disapprove if the player character recruited him anyway ( but realistically, harry would probably be recruited before the player character finds wyll in the grove anyway so bullet dodged ). the vibes would just be off for gale. he's express distrust and suspicion, probably a warning along the lines of "be careful with this one" but wouldn't have anything but instinct to back it up.

karlach would most likely be the same, her instincts are on point and she would probably mention that harry reminds her of "some people i met in avernus" or something similar. lae'zel would likely approve just based off of him stomping a mindflayer to paste, but she'd likely mention that he'd be a good addition to the party as a fighter and that if he does anything to change her mind they could always kill him later.

shadowheart would either be indifferent or would be hiding her suspicion / distrust by deflecting with something like "he's easy on the eyes, if you're into that sort of thing," or "worse comes to worse, we can use him as cannon fodder" or something else equally dismissive.

i think astarion would approve of harry's recruitment similar to how he approved of lae'zel's: violent, lethal, and unafraid of enjoying the simple pleasures of killing.

i think harry's presence would unsettle most of the party just because of who he is. halsin would comment on how harry's love for the ocean doesn't match his utter disregard for nature. minthara would say something about how even rabid dogs have their uses as long as they're kept on a long leash. jaheira would probably offer a warning similar to gales ( though i want it known that harry would consistently flirt with jaheira just to annoy her ). minsc . . . well, he's minsc. harry tossed boo some bread once and now minsc thinks the three of them are besties.

what can they be found doing at the tiefling / goblin party?

he's playing knife games by the shoreline with some training dummies and some spectators. taking bets, winning, the knife games get progressively more dangerous as the night wares on if the guests are tieflings, if it's goblins they started off throwing knives at an apple balanced on another goblin's head. the player character gets an option to throw a knife or be the one with the apple balanced on their head. both options will trigger a chance of harry propositioning the player, attracted to carelessness, disregard of life, and the chance of spilling blood, or boldness, and the trust the player puts in him not to injure them.

[prometheusinitiative]

Ridley | MM | A Violent Yet Flammable World

Again.

Back then, the end didn’t have a face. 

It felt like something dangerous, maybe, in the same vein as what she was scolded for when fire enchanted her as a little girl.

Death didn’t have meaning yet. Cessation of existence was something she couldn’t comprehend; she’d asked her brother several times when the thrasher in his hands would wake up again and he told her the story of their father invoking the same lesson with a hare when he was her age. They could do that to creatures smaller than themselves… And forces greater than themselves could do the same to them.

That was when the unknown became known. Whatever existed outside of what she knew could be as small as it was large. Whatever moods their parents found themselves in each day had the same unpredictability. 

And that was when the fear started.

When people said there was nothing to worry about, couldn’t prove it to either of them, and actively did harm when they tried their best to prepare regardless.

So when Laben took her out each morning before the sun rose, Rivkah took his handgun without complaint and held it out exactly as instructed even as her tiny wrists stung and her elbows trembled, learning exactly how to utilize that fear of the unknown to give herself an advantage when it finally came. 

Again.

The weight in her hands grew heavier the older she got. Recoil from the butt of a rifle left bruises against her slim shoulders; calluses on her fingers drew mockery from her peers and suspicion from the ones meant to guard the entire compound. Spending time with her brother lost its charm, becoming a chore instead as she fired at glass jars positioned so far away in the dark she had to rely on the barely visible reflection of their campfire to break them. 

“Again.”

It was the year before they tore him up and left him to die when he said that. 

She’d thrown his rifle down at her feet in tearful frustration when he set out the next set of glass jars, begging to know why he made her hunt and practice and maintain the knives every day when they both knew she’d never be allowed to—when she wasn’t even supposed to—and Laben grabbed her with the same violence one day when she had been younger and oblivious to a rattlesnake coiled in plain sight.

There was no rattlesnake this time—just him subduing her with one arm and pressing the other into her neck as they dropped to their knees in the sand.

“This is how you die,” he hissed, leaving no room for her to move. “This is the moment they get you.” 

Aside from thinking her brother was the same level of bastard as their father in that moment, Rivkah didn’t understand it then.

But his voice didn’t carry anger—only terror.

That had been the difference to truly bring the gut feeling of something being wrong, that whatever he and Noah shared during their findings was more than just stories to keep her entertained. 

“And we die because we let it happen.”

So she listened when that coldness, shaped like her, sank into her impressionable mind:

“You’re going to find yourself facing someone bigger and stronger than you are who can push through the pain one second longer than you do. That’s all it takes.”

When it made sense, Rivkah went slack and her brother let go. Their parents and the Elder Brotherhood were supposed to be the ones to worry about those things. Supposed to. A connection formed in her mind and the unknown began to creep in again. Their father was as tall as he was strong and did nothing with that strength even when there were times he could have. He did do what he was told, though. There was never any hesitation there.

“So when does it stop?! Why do I have to be the one to—”

“Listen. Rivvy, listen to me.” 

Without thinking, she struck Laben as hard as she could just to see how he would react—and when he did nothing but nod in approval, she did it again, smashing fists against his palms and shoulders, kicking heavy boots into each leg until the last of her strength left her and the sun finally came up. Her brother waited the entire time without raising a hand or saying a word until she was truly finished, packing their things to return home and cradling her against him every step back.

“You have to stand up and carry it with you, even when you can’t. You have to embrace the suffering to survive. All of it.” 

It felt like a year of her life expelled from her lungs when she sighed, staring hatefully into the rising sun. When he put the rifle in her hands and asked her to do it again the next day, she did it without complaint. She did it every time thereafter even after they defied what they were born to do and escaped. 

Again.

...

The abyss is perfectly silent as they fall; Ridley finds herself staring only at Apocalypse, wondering if they’ll all fall forever in this perpetual state of terror, waiting for the end as it looms over them, the final unknown that awaits the rest of them.

What brought them all here, anyway? Fear of the unknown? The world as they knew it—even if they barely knew it at all—changed irreparably, with none of them having any remote idea what would be left or how long it would remain. Nobody knew what became of the future that had been on its way in before everything stopped; maybe it’s another point in time for Jules to find and navigate in search of a better scenario for one more person, even if it’s nobody they know by name. 

There was as much of the unknown awaiting them here as there was out there, spurred on by the promise of something that probably sounded too good to be true in the eyes of most people. And yet… Their collective survival of one thing set the wheels in motion for everything else. Why survive at all, if only to die from something else strong enough to push through whatever hindered it for one second longer?

Jules, Tracy, 16, Oz, Emmeline… They’re stronger than anyone here, if they’re still here to do more than just escape Death. They outright confronted it.

44. 45. 46. 47…

No. 46. There won't be a 47.

It’s not the clarity of her own fear that brings the revelation, but everyone else’s. To be on the opposite end of what she endured, to watch from afar as it happens, powerless, a single change to intervene and be the person who lasts one second longer than the rest of whatever snaps and snarls at what remains—

This is just the latest instance of why it happens again and again and again. Ridley’s been prepared for this despite every tantrum she threw as a child or traumatic recollection endured as an adult, clinging to life even when there’s nothing, willed into existence by the combined spite of herself and her brother for a world that wanted them dead to begin with. In the end, Royce had the right idea, fulfilling whatever purpose he felt entitled to and instilling that same insane will to live in someone else.

God help anyone else who tries to take it away from the ones that remain.

Her turn.

“IVETTE!!!”

The Dolorosa doesn’t struggle in defiance as it howls, eye sockets going dark again as the collective fear of unfulfilled confessions, hopes, dreams, experiences, and reunions seep into each vein and bone. Ridley’s own fear is an easily discarded afterthought, focused on everyone else’s exclusively as memories from the cohort flood her mind from childhood to the present, every instance that’s brought them here and everything they fear even from timelines beyond their respective existence.

Don't give up. It's not over. Some of the smartest people I know are in this tower right here with us busting their asses to find a solution to this. You're one of them. We're gonna figure it out, and... And you're going to get home, and you're going to do everything you're still waiting to do. And it’s going to be good.

She remembers idly playing with Ivette's hand, palms flat against each other, fingertips tracing along their wrist as their fingers interlaced and separated again. 

You've made it this far. You're doing this because you want to help others, too... You care about so many people. So many things. You're kind. Curious. You're looking danger in the face and you haven't given up yet.

The sheep skull cracks again to free the wolf’s head, jaws already unhinged as fire brighter than the sun blooms somewhere deep inside her. It won’t happen. She won’t let it happen. 

"FIGHT!!!"

The Dolorosa waits for the final second when there's nothing left to hold onto, readies its weapon—love in all of its unknown terror—and a beam of blinding light roars through the abyss to tear through Apocalypse.

[wispythreads]

I was worried about putting the word human in there because of the fact this is a game about androids, but it was late and I figured just using the word in this context was the easiest way to convey what I meant, as I'm approaching the situation from the standpoint of what someone civil and decent would do. It's purely meant as a phrase, and was supposed to be a silly post even though I was frustrated. I did just wake up so I'm sorry if for the rest of this I misunderstood what you were trying to say.

I probably would need a guide into how to not end up with her as a love interest, because, as I rambled in my notes, it only took three moments of the relationship improving, in spite of the many, many time I was facing her disapproval, for the "Lovers" to pop up for me.

The way the game goes about it doesn't feel very natural to me at all. I hear the narrative take that even though she disagrees with Markus she still respects him, because surely that'd have to be the case if they were lovers, if she was following him to the end, but I don't really see that in game.

I see someone who is scared and had an honestly terrible life who got out with violence and therefore relies on violence as her go-to "this works" tool when put into a position putting similar stress and fear on her. Not great when seemingly the whole world despises her very existence! I can't fault her for that.

I see this scared person questioning everything this version of Markus is doing, and trying to convince him to a different path every time. One that worked for her. She doesn't like or respect his methods focusing on peace and nonviolence, but she likes his results. And I have to say she only likes the results, because no matter how many times Markus proves his methods work, she can't stop offering her tool to him instead, trying to convince him it's the better one. The one time she finally stops is at the very end of the game, as they're barricading themselves in for their protest. That's the only time she doesn't question Markus on what he's doing, try to convince him to stop or take the opportunity to strike at the surrounding humans. And that's only after the game locked the two of them into a romance, and they're similarly locked on the path that this Markus has chosen. As he said at the start of this, there's no way to turn back now.

I try to emphasize in my original frustrated post about how the two choices that lead to a romance are just the decent thing to do, because what this game shows and forces is a scared and violent-oriented lady falling head over heels for a kind-hearted guy doing the bare minimum.

Asking someone questions back after they've asked a lot of questions about you is just normal conversation flow. It's rude to just take all those questions about yourself and then exit the conversation. So I asked questions about her. And somehow from that they're lovers.

Not leaving someone to die if you have the capability to help them is just the right thing to do. It can imply a whole lot more care for the other person, but North is the LAST person I do this for. Literally!

She doesn't understand why you would slow yourself down and risk getting shot to help pull Simon away from the gunfight. Both Josh and her argue against allowing Simon to be found, as it would be a risk to Jericho, but she's the one that immediately jumps to shooting Simon. And this Markus said no. I'm going to help Simon, and even if we can't take him with us, I'm not going to kill him.

I could've ignored Josh fighting for his life against the military agent, it would've been safer and I'd be closer to the goal of destroying the ship called Jericho, in order to save what lives of the people of Jericho were left. But I didn't ignore him. I couldn't just leave him to die.

This Markus has a much higher approval with both Simon and Josh, but no romance path starts with them over the basic kind act of refusing to just let them die, even with pressures that leaving them for death would be the safer, wiser choice.

The only difference is that she's female. A female that differs from him greatly on a pure ideological level, but who has the same end goal, so clearly she has to fall in love with Markus, right? Clearly Markus returns those feelings and has to love her back, right? Why else would he be kind to a woman? Why else would she follow him?

I would've been fine with just the companion role, even if I'd still be throwing my hands in the air going "ok?? I guess??? Don't know why we're here when we argue so often but fine" the Lover's title and how they then interact with each other is just. Incredibly baffling and frustrating.

Like there was no weight for me when detective Perkins tried to convince Markus to surrender, that he and North could have a good life for themselves, just the two of them. I wouldn't have taken it even if Markus had a romantic interest I was actually attached to seeing the relationship develop, as I know that Perkins had to be lying and just saying whatever he thought could get under Markus's skin, but I didn't feel even the least bit guilty or hesitant. Just. "Dude, you're barking up the wrong tree with that tactic. I don't have that attachment to play on."

I don't trust North we disagree on literally almost everything why does me attempting to still be a civil human being with the basics of decency lock Markus and her into a romance what the heck

[erodasfishtacos]

Just Tell Me

prompt (from kofi commision): “Can you do gang Harry where she actually needs his help? I know she never gets scared of needs his help but I think it would be cool to see the beginning of their relationship or a year in where something happens and she actually needs his help and is scared for once! :)”

word count: 7k+

warnings: smut, violence, blood, weapons

***<— click for visuals throughout the story!

i write for FREE - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here. 

Just like this one-shot, you can commission me for any writing - avaliable through my kofi pag!

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it!

-

Since the beginning of their relationship, starting back from when they had declared they were going to try to kill one another - YN had made one thing very fucking clear.

She did not need Harry or anybody else’s help for anything. 

If she died trying, she died trying because she did not ever rely on anyone for anything - she learned that early on in life.

Harry and YN have been dating for nearly six months, after coming to the realization that it wasn’t hatred they felt but lust and emotion.

Both have felt that strong lust before but not that pull at their hearts, the desire to see each other, or miss each other when they were away from one another.

That didn’t mean they weren’t stubborn. 

YN refuses to show weakness because Harry hadn’t - she wasn’t quite sure if he had any by the way he held himself.

They were still in the new fresh phase of their relationship where they were ice-skating around speaking about their true feelings toward each other and trying to impress one another.

Harry sat in his favorite seat in the club, right of the stage where his girl took the stage every time, the main stage because she was their best and she was his. ****

He watches her flit around the floor first, not her call time yet, flirting with old and young men alike - smirking and fluttering her lashes when they slip her large bills. ****

Harry was never a jealous man before her - didn’t mind sharing his partner with others, sometimes with many at a time.

 Not her though.

It was bad enough she bared herself to the room at large, private dances, and people viewing what he has claimed as his..

It was unexpected, to say the least, Harry had hung around with other dancers and never felt an ounce of emotion when others oogled them.

He isn’t a rational man, not when he sees her sit on a leather stool next to a man with a wad of visible bills in his breast pocket - his girlfriend eyeing it greedily. 

The man that she's conversing with, Harry does not approve of, his name was Damien. 

A high-up banker with a love for cocaine and strip joints while his wife was at home with their kids.

He also knows this man has a tendency to rough up the women he is with and force them into situations they don’t want to be in.

Harry is out of his seat, leaving mid conversation with his associates to stride confidently over to the bar and slip up beside her - back turned so she doesn’t see him.

“Oh, I bet. Your job sounds so stressful,” She emphasizes in a airhead, dumb tone that is the opposite of how she really talks, “Sounds complicated.”

“Much too complicated for a pretty girl like you,” The greying man simpers condescendingly with a dry hand rubbing her arm.

“Whiskey neat,” Harry rasps to the bartender who comes over to take his order immediately - leaving his other patrons hanging.

Harry smirks as YN’s body language shifts at the sound of his voice and he feels some unidentified emotion when she leans back her weight into him.

But she doesn’t lose stride with this man.

Harry knows her games like the back of his hand, she wants to get this man alone in a private room, dance for him, and then rob him blind.

That tone she uses, airy like a bobblehead, makes Harry’s skin prickle - now he just wants to rough her up, fuck her up - like he’s never had the desire to do with anyone else.

Before, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass what the person hanging around did - he was only concerned about himself.

Not now, he didn’t want YN dancing, seducing, and scamming all of these men - not because he was possessive (okay that was part of it) but he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her (he wasn’t going to tell her that though).

The other day Niall had accused him of being in love with YN - he had shot at his feet, barely missing before cursing him out with full denial.

Harry didn’t love. 

He hates and fucks. 

That’s it.

“That cute little outfit would look splendid on my bedroom floor,” Damien infers, Harry was about two seconds away from breaking that hand that was on his girl.

“Mmm, I’m not that easy,” YN fake giggles, her foot bumping purposefully against Harry’s under their bar stools, “Buy me for a private dance, then we can talk.”

When Harry zones in on the man’s hand coming to squeeze at her hip and whisper, “Sweetie, I’ll treat you so good.”

He’s done eavesdropping, as quick as a dart, he grips his hand and pulls it from her body - his tattooed knuckles crunching the man’s bones with barely any effort.

“You’re breaking my hand! Stop it! Yo-“

Damien cuts off when his beady eyes connected with the dark green ones that he knows instantly, knows who it is and his now mangled hand goes limp in his.

Harry straightens up, slipping smoothly off his bar stool, and inserting himself in front of his girlfriend - pushing her behind him.

“Diablo, I swea-swear I didn’t know she wa-was one of y-your prostitutes,” Damien stutters with wide eyes, cradling his injured hand.

YN scoffs at his words, about to say her own witty remarks to correct him but Harry has taken control of the situation.

“She’s mine. If I see you in this bar again, I won’t hesitate to break your other hand. You shouldn’t even be here - not with how much money you owe me, anyways.”

“Ye-yes. I wil-will pay you back. I pr-I promise,” The scared man babbles, eyes wide and frightened. Sweat dripped from his wrinkled brow.

Harry was so wrapped up in his fun of harassing this man that he hadn’t noticed YN had disappeared from behind him - doesn’t notice until Damien runs from the bar and he turns around to her.

“Fuckin’ brat,” He chuckles to himself, unaware of what he’s is heading toward.

Harry catches just the last glimpse of her sparkly bra as she disappears into the single  bathroom - down the corridor.

He tries the knob - locked because she doesn’t let anything just be easy - “Open this door, now.”

No response from the other side.

One thing Harry does not have is patience, he pulls out his gun - silencer making the shots near noiseless in the loud club and aims at the knob - smashing it to pieces before he manages to open the door.

He doesn’t know what to expect - well…yes he did.

He thought this was going to lead to some hot bathroom sex but instead, YN is sat on the counter with a scowl and her favorite small pocketknife clutched in her hand.

“Knifeplay in the bathroom? Thought we saved that for the bedroom, darlin’?” Harry smiled crookedly, shutting the door to the best he can.

“Don’t come close to me,” YN warns, eyes dark and tight lips.

 God, she was so fucking beautiful.

Harry wasn’t a romantic, he wasn’t, but shit if he didn’t find the most beautiful woman on this planet - even when she was threatening him with a knife, maybe that made her even hotter.

“You look stunnin’ tonight, baby. Can’t believe I’ve finally tied you down,” He is totally trying to use his sex voice on her but her shoulders stay tense and eyes focused.

“If you take one step closer to me, I’ll do it,” Her teeth are clenched, fire in her expression as she nearly shakes with irritation.

It’s impressive, YN is the only female who has really ever challenged him - let alone threatened to stab him and god, if that didn’t make him twitch in his trousers.

“Are you actually cross with me?” Harry asks in disbelief, he steps closer despite the warning - he isn’t scared, knowing she may make a superficial wound but nothing more.

“You fucking ruined that for me! I saw how much cash he had in his pocket. You just had to barge in and assert yourself in my fucking business,” She growls, chest heaving with true anger.

Harry scoffs, he’s close enough the tip of the blade is poking into his pectoral but he doesn’t mind the mild sting, now he’s mad too.

“I don’t want you doing that shit anymore. One of these days, one of those men is going to kill you when I’m not there to protect you,” Harry warns, chest heaving as he presses in further and YN pulls back a bit so she doesn’t impale him.

“I was fine before you,” YN hisses defensively, on high alert with narrow eyes and kicking her tall heel out to dig into his muscular thigh.

“Were you?” Harry barks loudly, voice reverberating off the walls and distorting. 

He grabs her wrist roughly before she can dodge him and he flips it over to a gnarly scar that goes from her wrist to inner elbow - puffy, raised skin.

A reminder from a previous altercation with a man with a hidden knife while she tried her tricks - a reminder of when she had almost lost her life.

“Answer me! Were you? You fucking need me, brat,” The gang leader growls, twisting her wrist quickly that has her dropping the knife on the floor with a clatter and yelp of pain.

Then YN gets uncharacteristically quiet as she stares at him with a curious look on her face, her voice substantially softer as she asks, “Why do you care?”

Harry scowls, crowding between her thighs with his hand tight on her hip, through gritted teeth - he responds, “What do you mean?”

“Why do you care what happens to me?” 

And…this is where Harry freezes like he never does.

They haven’t ever said I love you or I want you forever, anything binding or romantic because Harry didn’t know how to.

He’d never once told anyone that he cared or loved them - literally anyone including family because no one had ever said it to him.

Harry already knew he was unlovable - didn’t need the confirmation from others.

He was deemed not only the biggest gang leader in Europe but he was also deemed the evilest person on the planet by multiple news outlets.

And for YN to put him on the spot, about why he cared? 

She couldn’t just expect him to lay out feelings that he didn't even know how to explain.

The couple showed their affection through rough, spontaneous sex and playing fighting that borders on harassment.

He knew that he didn’t want her to be with anyone else, he knew that he didn’t want to get hurt and he would put himself in front of a bullet for her, and he knew that he wanted to spend all his time with her.

But that couldn’t possibly be love….

Right?

“Why do you care, Harry?” YN repeats demandingly, keeping him at short distance with her high heel digging further into his skin.

“I don’t fuckin’ care! Do whatever the fuck y’bratty arse wants to do,” He doesn’t mean it, it’s a instant reflex because he is terrified of admitting something and getting rejected.

Automatically, he feels like a piece of shit when he sees the hurt flash across her face before she covers it quickly with a rigid scowl.

“Fuck you,” YN whispers through tight lips, Harry can tell she is holding back tears which frightens him because he’s never seen her cry.

He realizes quickly that YN was wanting confirmation from him that he was just as serious about this relationship as she was because they haven’t talked about it.

“YN, listen to me -“

“Back the fuck up,” She orders before hopping off the counter, shouldering past him, and knocking him roughly before she’s out the door and storming towards the dressing room

“Fuckin’ shit,” Harry roars, unable to control himself when he turns and punches the wall hard enough that he creates a sizable hole in the plaster.

When he finds his employees, waiting patiently for him to resume the meeting, he orders them to disperse and that he is leaving - done with business, done with everything tonight.

But he’s not like that, despite the urge to go get wasted, he waits outside the alley of the club so that he can make sure YN gets home safely.

And when she steps out in the foggy, fall weather with a large hoodie and leggings on - a stark contrast from her near naked body inside.

“Brat-“

She knew he would be waiting, “You can’t even tell me you care about me.”

Harry swallows harshly, “Why do you need to hear it?”

“Why is it so fucking hard? I don’t want to be with someone who can’t even tell me they care for me. I want to be loved!” YN shouts, arms crossed and standoffish.

And he’s not proud that he explodes.

His leather boots scrape across the rocky gravel as he strides towards YN - until their chests are almost touching, he can smell the mintiness of her spearmint gum and she can smell the sharp taste of whiskey on his lips.

“Really? Tha’s how you want t’play it?” Harry challenges, his hands itching to collar her neck but he resists, “I do fuckin’ everything f’you. Rearrange my schedule constantly so you’re always safe going home from work, make sure nothing happens to you after you beat and rob men on a daily basis, make sure y’have everything y’ever want..”

He’s not done, he then bites out, “Fuckin’ ungrateful. You think I’ve ever done this for anyone else in m’ life? I haven’t. Prissy lil’ brat.”

With that, he steps back - knuckles clench and nostrils flaring but he turns on his heel away from her back down the dark side street to avoid getting more upset.

“Harry-“ YN begins, stunned and remorseful.

“My men still make sure you get home safe. I want you t’leave me the fuck alone after tha.”

YN still is unsure why Harry reached so vicesarlly to her - all she wanted was to hear those words out loud, they’ve been together for long enough - she wants to know if he loved her.

Hoped he loved her.

“Are-are you breaking up with me?” YN croaks out - she wasn’t going to cry, she never showed weakness but fuck, her eyes were welling up.

Harry stops in his tracks, his voice harsh and he turns sharply to glare at her, “Did I say I was fuckin’ breaking up with you?”

She shakes her head, “No.”

“There’s your answer then,” His voice is distant as he rounds the corner - momentarily, she hears his expensive sports car rev up and peel away.

-

He doesn’t go home, Harry instead goes to one of his many warehouses to get lost in business - There’s always drugs that need weighed and packaged - weapons that need to be transported or unloaded from shipments.

Harry was in a foul mood, much worse than usual, as he watches his men work - threatening them with his gun when they so much as breathe too heavily.

His phone vibrates, “What?”

“She was dropped off at her apartment. Bitchy little thing, she is,” Doug mutters with annoyance, hinting that she had been a pain in his arse.

Harry wants to ask how she was, if she had seemed upset or if it looked like she’d been crying but he wasn’t going to sound soft with his men.

Instead, he snaps, “Stop fuckin’ around and get back ‘ere. I have shipments that need to go out,” before hanging up promptly on him.

He didn’t know what to do because he’d never felt like this before - he was physically aching to go check on YN but he refused to be weak.

Instead, he has the perfect outlet to take his frustration out on when a group of his men drag in an agitated, combative bloke who has blood dripping from his mouth already.

“Wha’ do we got here?” Harry rasps with a demonic smirk decorating his face, his hand touches his gun in his waistband subconsciously.

“Found this stalking around the premise of one of our safe houses,” Niall grins, he flashes Harry a knife that must have been in the man’s pocket - an emblem of an eagle on it.

“Oh really? And I doubt y’wanted to hang out with us,” Harry coos mockingly before adding sharply, “take ‘em to the chamber now. I’ll be right in t’deal with him.”

His men oblige and by the time Harry is walking into the dark, damp room - the man is restrained in a steel chair with significantly more blood flowing from a fresh wound near his temple.

Harry shucks off his shirt, it was gucci and he wasn’t going to let this man stain it but when he did - he also revealed a mural on the fiery depths of hell across his chest - the flames creeping up his neck and 666 in bold, black letters beneath it.

“Want to explain t’me why you were near m’ property?” Harry asks conversationally, picking up the knife they found in his pocket, nodding towards the Eagle, “part of The Cedars, I see.”

“Fuck you, I’m not saying shit,” The man growls through his red-stained teeth, wrists cutting into the nylon that was binding them.

But Harry was smart, smarter than most, he had a weird feeling about this situation, The Cedars weren’t a sloppy gang - the leader would never just order the men to trespass so obviously on a rival's grounds - especially not Diablo’s.

It’s a set-up, but he’s not quite sure for what, so instead of being able to take his time to torture this man like he really wanted to - he had to get to the bottom of it.

He presses the knife to the man’s neck, the blunt edge threatening his jugular vein which was rapidly pumping blood from his hammering heart.

“Wha’ is this? M’not a fuckin’ idiot. Wha’ is this a set-up for?” The leader demands angrily, the tiniest droplet of blood dripping from the pressure of the blade.

The man doesn’t speak, even as Harry pushes it into his skin enough that the tip disappears. He grits his teeth to avoid screaming in pain but nothing comes out.

 Again, normally Harry would make this an hours long ordeal but he knows anytime he spends here - something is going on behind his back.

“Niall,” He orders, reaching his free hand out and his main man puts a cell phone in his open palm - the man’s mobile to be precise.

Harry steps back, relieving the man from the prick of the weapon, voice steady as he swipes through the phone, “Carl Panz, 5678 Orchard View Lane, a pretty wife named Darla, and oh, it looks like you have two precious babies - Sophie and Sarah..”

It always does the trick, especially when Harry adds, “Do my men have to pay a visit to your little family because daddy won’t cooperate?”

It works every time and it has Carl squealing like a pig at the thought of his family getting hurt - now what he doesn’t know is that Harry would never.

He never would hurt an innocent person and he would never do any harm to a mother or her babies - he was a monster but not in that way.

He did the opposite, he killed the men who hurt women and children - he protected them as best as he could.

God, that’s why he never wanted children. 

Never wanted to have something that would make him so fucking weak at the knees, vulnerable - on top of the fact that he would be the worst father on earth.

“Oh my god,” Carl gasps, eyes wide in fear and realization of what may happen if he doesn’t talk right now, “Ple-please, Di-Diablo. I’ll ta-talk - jus-just not my fa-family.”

“Then start fuckin’ talking!” Harry roars, he takes the phone and smashes it to dust in front of them before glaring back at the man.

“I-I was sent as - as a diversion, so - so that,�� The man babbles barely breathing, swallowing harshly, “So that you’d be distracted and the-they could sna-snatch your girl.”

Harry feels an emotion he hasn’t felt in over a decade wrack his body - fear - it licks him from the base of his neck to his toes, he swears his blood runs ice cold.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Harry explodes, his bright white teeth bared in a terrifying snarl - Carl swears he sees Diablo’s eyes shift into pure obsidian black.

“A-at th-three fifteen, the-they’re goin-going to g-get her,” Carl cries out, pathetic fat tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks, “An-and ki-kill her.”

Harry is no longer human, his brain shuts down and all he sees is tinted in red and he’s feral - losing his own self-preservation because they weren’t going to take the only thing that mattered - not without killing him first.

He is storming through his warehouse, barking orders at his men as they scramble to prepare duffle bags full of explosions and weapons.

As he peels out of the garage in his black, fully bulletproof hummer *** onto the empty London streets, rain pounding down viciously - his personal phone rings and when the bright screen in the dark car flashes Brat 🔪 - he’s never answered the phone faster.

“YN, baby-“ He's never called her that before, has wanted to but pushed back the urge to be affectionate - he doesn’t give a single fuck now.

But he’s cut off and he physically feels his stomach give a nauseous churn when YN’s sharp wail rings through the speaker.

“Harry, fuck - they’re, oh my god,” She cries in a high-pitched distressed register that he’s never heard before - this wasn’t her faux innocent “I’m hurt” act.

No, she was actually terrified for her life.

“Brat, listen to me. What is goin’ on? I need y’to tell me clearly,” Harry winces at the shakiness of his voice as he hears banging and shouts that are unmistakably male.

“I-I was at h-home and someo-someone knocked - t-thought it was y-you,” YN gasps hurriedly, heavy pants muffling their connection, “T-these g-guys barged in. I man-managed to stab the one who grabbed me b-but I’m locked in the ba-bathroom and the-they’re gonna break I-it down. I’m going t-to die.”

Luckily, YN lived in a very high-and apartment and her door was actually made of a thick stone that would buy them extra time as they couldn’t just kick it in.

“You’re not gonna fuckin’ die,” Harry snaps angrily, pressing his foot to the floor, uncaring of the cars that have to swerve to avoid being rammed by him and his following brigade of black SUVs.

“Harry. I need you, please please please,” She weeps into the receiver, repeating over and over, “H, please. I need you.”

He’s only two blocks away as he suppressed his anger to attempt to soothe her, he’d never felt the desire to make anyone feel better - but something switched in his mind.

“Baby, I’m almost there. I’m not going t’let anything happen to you, okay? Need you, make m’life worth fuckin’ living, brat,” Harry says firmly, blatantly ignoring all the screaming backlash in his mind at letting emotion show.

“H, m’sorry about earlier. I jus-“

“Shut the fuck, tha’ doesn’t matter. I need you to be fuckin’ strong, no more cryin’. I need m’girl, m’strong fuckin’ bitch of a girlfriend.”

Then she lets out a blood curdling scream and the line goes dead - a monotone beep signaling the call has ended and when he calls back - straight to voicemail.

“Fuck fuck,” Harry yells, letting his voice reverberate against the sleek interior and soon he’s cutting the engine in front of the quaint upscale building, his men in a line behind him.

The front door requires a fob to get in but he doesn’t waste time getting the one YN gave him out, instead he cocks back and puts his fist through the glass to reach in and open it.

The stinging cuts and blood do not even register in his thought process as he and his men take the staircase up to the fourth floor.

Harry is already expecting the man waiting on the fourth level for them, he doesn’t hesitate before pulling out his desert eagle with a silencer and watching the man crumble to the ground.

The Cedars didn’t stand a chance against Harry, the amount of men, weapons, resources that they had made it impossible for anyone to really fuck with them.

Didn’t mean they didn’t try.

“Kent, Angelo, Luca - stay the fuck here and block this door, make sure none of these motherfuckers get out alive. Do you understand?”

“Yes boss,” They all agree in unison, armed with their assault rifles as they close off the door entry.

Then Harry’s bolting down the hallway until he’s shouldering open YN’s locked front door - ignoring the flair of pain from splintering the wood.

And when he enters into her entryway, which opens into her living area - Paul, the leader of The Cedars is standing proudly in the middle of the room.

He has YN strategically positioned in front of him, as a human body shield but Harry feels a sense of his own pride when he meets YN’s stone-cold facial expression - refusing to give her captor a reaction.

“Y’girlfriend is quite the nasty whore,” Paul spits out, the barrel of his gun pressing into the smooth skin of her cheek, dimpling it.

Harry’s men scatter into the apartment, searching for others and it’s not long before the distinct sound of gun silencers start going off.

“I know she is,” Harry smirks cockily, he could totally aim and shoot Paul right in the forehead but he wasn’t going to take any risk with YN involved.

To anyone else, it would appear as if she was unbothered by the whole situation - bored expression, fidgeting from foot to foot impatiently.

Harry sees right through it, can spot the minut quiver of her bottom lip, the tears pooling in her eyes, the way her chest is heaving faster than normal.

“Wha’ the fuck do you want?” Harry grits out, seeing out of the corner of his eye that his man is dragging a body across the floor before pulling out their gun, “You wanted my attention and y’got it.”

“Give me back my fucking turf. I barely have any income right now because of you!” Paul shouts angrily, shoving it further into her skin.

Harry knows exactly what he was on about, a small strip of street in the east side that he had recently overrun by offering cheaper prices and better quality - all in a day's work.

“Y’product is shit and you charge too much for it,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly, “It was like takin’ candy from a baby.”

“I’ll fuckin’ shoot ‘er,” Paul rasps, infuriated by the taunt which Harry should not be doing right here and now.

And YN’s eyes widen in fear, her jaw clenching as she holds back a scream as he grips her harder - it was difficult to watch, his normally fierce girlfriend - vulnerable and fearful.

Harry had never felt needed before, she needed him and he wasn’t going to fucking let her down. 

He steps forward and Paul directs the weapon at him instead, “If you come any closer, I’ll shoot you dead.”

Harry takes another step forward - expression unwavering.

“Harry, don’t,” YN whimpers in panic, “Don’t, please.”

“Hush, m’fine,” Harry titters without any fear, staring at Paul, “You won’t kill me. If you kill me, y’know you, your family, your friends - my men will make sure you all suffer before they kill you. Even y’elderly nan who’s cooped up in May Belle Retirement Home.

Paul’s face falls in confusion but Harry answers his unspoken question, “I know everything. Your wife, Dara, who works at the local library. Your sons who go to Green Mill Elementary and play footie on tuesdays and thursdays.”

Niall shouts from another room, “Don’t forget Paul’s mum! She works at that bakery.”

Harry gives him a sinister grin, teeth more like fangs as he watches all the blood drain from his rival's face at the thought of his family being threatened.

“If y’let her go now, I won’t kill you. I let y’walk straight out tha’ front door, can’t say the same for your men,” Harry offers, his shit-eating grin not wavering as he stands tall, “Give me m’girl, now.”

Paul’s consideration doesn’t take more than a minute, he roughly shoves YN forward - she stumbles on her unsteady legs and Harry instantly reaches for her.

He maneuvers her behind him, until she’s out of view of Paul, he can feel her hands clenching the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Harry bites the corner of his lip, like he’s thinking hard, “Y’know, usually I would keep m’word and not kill you but y’fucked with m’woman.”

It’s not even a split second before Harry is whipping out his gun and putting one, perfectly aimed shot into Paul - falling to the floor, instantly dead.

“Niall!” Harry shouts out.

“We’re clear in ‘ere! I just called Ricky to bring the cleanup crew in! Boys say that the hallway is clear for exit,” He announces loudly, his voice filled with excitement from the action.

Harry can’t comfort her here, he’s not trying to be cold but he grabs her wrist firmly and leads her out of the apartment then helps her into the hummer.

The drive home is quiet, YN hasn’t said one word, and Harry doesn’t know where to start - but he has to figure it out because he’s just pulled into his home garage.

His nails are digging into his palms, teeth drawing blood to his lips as he looks forward, feeling YN’s eyes on his profile as she shakes from the adrenaline and cold.

“I love you,” Harry states harshly, “I want you to be by m’side for the rest of m’life. Y’the only thing on this dumb fuckin’ planet tha’ makes it worth livin’.”

“Y’make me feel somethin’ other than dead inside. It has t’be love, I never felt it or said it before,” He tacts on, he doesn’t think his heart ever beat this fast before.

And then he finally, begrudgingly meets her gaze, her eyes have a bit of sparkle return to them and Harry doesn’t expect her next words, “Prove it.”

“Wha’ the fuck y’mean? I just saved you f-“

YN smiles softly, her hand coming to thumb at his cheek, “I want you to take me to your bed and show me how much you love me. Make love to me, Harry.”

If it was any other situation where someone asked him to make love to them, he would have laughed so hard he lost his hard on.

But not now, he takes a deep breath and chuckles sheepishly, “I don’t know how to do tha’.”

“If you love me, it should be easy,” YN murmurs, her mood is unlike any other - it’s like they’ve both dropped the protective shield that they hid behind and where finally where they needed to be.

Harry shouldn’t feel nervous to perform during sex - he really really fucking shouldn’t because he’s great at it, awesome at it.

He’s pleased women and men alike with never a complaint, always coming back for more - he’s pleased multiple people at once and it’s always been a grand time.

And he’s been fucking exclusively YN for months but it has all been - beginning of a relationship, new and exciting sort of sex not deep, meaningful passionate.

He’s never done that.

“I’m gonna shower and then I’ll meet you in your room,” YN kisses him softer than she ever has before, lips barely brushing before she’s padding off to get clean.

“Shit, fuck-“ Harry grunts, frazzled as he tugs off his leather jacket and kicks off his boots in the foyer of his mansion before running a hand through his long hair.

Does he light candles? Dim the lights?  He doesn’t have any roses. 

Isn’t that what they do in the movies? Fuck.

He literally just told her that he loves her.

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t part of the plan but really YN wasn’t originally either - pushed and demanded front and center in his life from the first time they met.

He still looks fondly at the scar on his hand.

Harry does lower the lights in his bedroom but besides that he strips to his briefs and does it with his back against the headboard - waiting with anticipation.

Not much later, YN pads out of the master bathroom with her hair damp and laid down her back, skin glistening in the glow like a bloody angel, Harry thinks.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” Harry blurts out almost boyishly as his eyes trace her body reverently - this was his to touch, only his.

YN tries to hide a smile as she steps towards him with just the towel tucked under her arms, now she looks nervous with avoidant eyes and tense shoulders.

“Listen, what I said was stupid. We don’t have to do that, we can just do what we normal-“

Harry is slipping off the bed to grasp her jaw lightly in his tattooed hand, “Don’t do tha’. Y’asked me t’make love to you and tha’s what I’m going t’do because I love you. Don’t be a pussy.”

YN snorts out a laugh at his crude words but it melts into something more sultry as she blinks up at him, using a more kittenish voice, “Then show me how much.”

“Fuckin’ whipped, I am,” He mutters under his breath but he lets go off her jaw in favor of unknotting and tossing the towel to the side, when he sees her just - perfect body, he groans, “Shit, baby.”

Now the pet name came out easy without resistance.

He moves his hands back up, cupping her jaw and pulling her into a kiss - slowly brushing their lips together with no rush, sluggish as he slips his tongue into her mouth.

One palm stays cradling her to him but his other moves to trace down the curves of her body, thumbs lightly ghosting over her hardened nipples before continuing to explore the smooth expanse.

His mouth moves after a few minutes, his lips dragging from hers, down her jaw and the column of her neck, he takes extra time in sucking a harsh spot onto her collarbones and pillowy tops of her breasts.

He feels a tug on his hair, not demanding but just her fingers slipping into his long locks to twist and knot there as his puffy lips find her hard nipple.

In old habit, he bites at the nub with his front teeth but YN let’s out a squeak of surprise which has him soothing it apologetically with kitten licks, a squeeze to the plush of her hip as well.

“H, yeah…” She moans out beautifully, it was an honest sound not played up to egg him on or to be noisy - it was raw to let him know that felt good for her.

He switches to the other, alternating between lapping and sucking as his fingers move to pluck and rub at the neglected one.

The energy was still charged, filled with lust and desire but it was just different. There was absolutely no rush to finish or make it more intense.

Her hand comes to palm at him, where his briefs are stretched tight from how hard he is, twitching in her touch but he pulls back from her, shaking her head.

“C’mon brat, pay attention. Don’t worry about me, take wha’ I’m giving you,” He encourages lowly, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips before kneeling in front of her.

Her doe eyes watch him as he leans in, it comes naturally to pepper kisses over her smooth mound, it doesn’t feel forced or like he has to try hard - because he does love her and he wants to show her.

His golden green eyes find hers as he leans forward and swipes his tongue on her lips, tip pressing between the warm folds to prod at her clit.

She breaks eye contact first, eyes squeezing shut and head tilting back as he uses more pressure to part her and start a steady mixture of licks and suckles of her bud - fingers rubbing teasingly at her entrance.

“Have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever see ,” He goads in between his ministrations, “S’like a treat every time, y’pretty folds hidin’ y’little clit.”

“Har-Harry…” She mewls as he grips one of her thighs and places it over his shoulder so that she’s better on display for him to get at easier, “Yo-you’re doing so well.”

The praise raises his confidence, he hadn’t even thought about his neglected cock because he truly enjoyed devouring her and could do it for hours.

His fingers curl lightly towards her front wall, stroking at the spot that has her legs quivering and clit throb between his lips.

Normally, he would be nipping, biting, mercilessly teasing her bud, moving his fingers hard and quick in her while spewing filthy promises.

And he would have made her come.

But this….this was somehow better than he’s ever had.

Right now though, he pulls away despite her desperate hurt noises of protest - hands tugging at his hair as she tries to guide him back as he pulls out his fingers.

“Behave,” He scolds lowly, “I want y’to come on m’cock while m’showing you how much I love you.”

He hadn’t felt rejected when he told her he loved her but he had noticed that she hadn't returned the sentiment - a lingering uneasy feeling turning his stomach.

“I need you in me, please baby,” She nearly whispers, holding onto Harry’s tattooed shoulder as he helps her thigh down and steadies her.

“I’ll give it t’you,” Harry promises as he lays her back onto his massive bed, kneeling between her spread legs and he drops down on his elbows beside her head on either side.

Her nipples brushing against his pecs as he lowers himself so their fronts are touching nearly everywhere, nose bumping hers before he finds her lips.

She bows her legs to give him room to ease himself into his heat, her legs wrapping around his bare narrow hips - heels resting on the curve of his small toned bum.

“Yes,” YN hisses happily when he pushes all the way in, the delicious feel of his neatly trimmed pubic hair feeling electric against her overly sensitive clit.

He begins a rhythm that isn’t anything more than a paced, powerful but slow thrust before pulling back just a little before repeating the motion.

Their eyes meet, his thumb rubbing at her temple lovingly, as her hands grips his biceps, “Never had any better.”

Harry’s chest (and cock) swell with pride at her words, “Yeah? Best y’ever had?”

“Only one who’s ever made love to me,” She gasps as he nudges at the special spot that has her orgasm barreling onwards.

“Only one who ever fuckin’ will,” He grits out possesively, the feral needs to get her to come overwhelming but he manages to keep it calm with his syrupy thrusts.

“M’close,” YN moans, hips starting to bear down to meet his motions, lips searching for him but he pulls back.

“Want t’hear y’beautiful moans, come for me, baby. I love you, show me, c’mon,” He encourages, hand coming to massage her breast as he speeds up - just the slightest amount.

“Oh my go- fuck, yes,” She mewls, arching her back and her sweaty thighs clamping tightly on him as she nearly sobs as she rides out her high - regal and gorgeous.

“God, how are you tha’ fucking pretty?” Harry groans, fire building in his stomach at just the mere sight of the pleasure that he gave her.

YN blinks open her eyes, dazed and not completely focused but she meets his gaze and murmurs something that Harry has never heard before.

“I love you, H. So fucking much.”

And Harry will never admit that’s exactly what made him come but it does, pumping in until he softens before pulling out - but he’s tugging her into a bruising, passionate kiss.

He pulls back after a moment, “Y’moving in with me, m’not havin’ you out of my sight like that - ever again. I can’t do it, brat.”

Harry expects a fight - maybe a threat of stabbing or a lamp thrown before she even considers the idea but to his utter surprise…

YN nods tiredly, a smile in her eyes, and her voice is filled with satisfaction and fondness as she replies, “I’ll move in with you.”

“Tell me again,” Harry mutters, embarrassed at the request but he just…

“Hey,” She says, grabbing his chin and nudging her nose against his, “I love you. Tell me.”

“I love y’so fucking much, brat.”

-

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it!

hiii mini tacos! if you want to be tagged for tag notifications - follow my side blog and message me to be added! @erodastacostand

[leefpot]

Ekko and Jinx’s characters in arcane contrast eachother So So well.

im not the best with words, but i just Need to talk about these characters. They start out pretty similar in the first act, both are kids around the same age in Zaun, both really good at tinkering and inventing stuff, and at the end of episode three they both lose their whole family. but after this they both take drastically different paths, Jinx becoming dangerous and chaotic, helping silco with his plan for the underground via shimmer and violence. meanwhile ekko takes the pieces of his life and makes the firelights, a light in the darkness of zaun. he helps people recover from shimmer and other losses, and actively fights against silco, while also trying not to kill people while doing it. i find it so interesting how two characters with similar roots, take completely different paths, they contrast eachother so well because of this. i think the reason this happens though is because of the differences they have when they are kids. Ekko is a pretty independent kid, he has friends but we don’t see him rely on them or their approval the way powder does. meanwhile powders whole deal as a kid is her need to be included and around the people she loves, she feels like she needs to be useful to them and gain their approval. mainly the approval of vi. when she cant do this or be helpful she completely breaks down. so when vi abandons her (from jinx’s pov) she’s left without that attachment and theres this vaccuum, and powder NEEDS people. so she attatches herself to the first person she can, silco. and then does whatever she can to be useful to him and get his approval, like she did with vi. anyways both ekko and jinx are some of my top favorite characters from the show theyre so damn interesting i just want to hold them.

[startanewdream]

Divination

It was not a prompt on my Bingo Card for @harryandginuary, but I couldn't help myself this time:

______

‘I hate being a Weasley,’ Ginny declares ruefully, sitting next to Harry on the couch of the Common Room. Harry reacts at once, placing his arm around her waist and drawing her closer so Ginny can rest her head on his shoulder.

After weeks of dating, he is getting good at this.

‘You love being a Weasley,’ he says softly, putting strands of her hair over her ear. It’s soothing and very effective in somehow lifting her tiredness.

‘Yeah, I do,’ she admits, exhaling. ‘I just wish we weren’t called alphabetically, I am tired of being the last one ever…’ She turns her head to stare at him, and Harry gladly loses himself in the warmth of her eyes. He is not complaining out loud, but he misses her so much in the last few days. ‘Imagine what we could do if I were called… Anderson.’

Harry doesn’t need to imagine. All his free period while Ginny is taking her OWLs has only brought him dreams… and memories. Especially memories from the days before.

‘Ginny Anderson,’ he teases, making her grimace exaggeratedly. ‘Doesn’t sound good.’

‘You favour Ginny Weasley better?’

‘I definitely favour Ginny Weasley,’ he agrees, and then she moves her head closer, their lips brushing tantalizingly, and Harry can feel her soft breath—

There is a cough nearby, followed by a fit of giggles, and Harry remembers they are not alone in the Common Room. Ginny looks mutinous as he breaks apart, but Harry smiles and pulls her closer again; maybe he can wait for her after her Astronomy exam that night, only the two of them in that Common Room, and then they can revive one of Harry’s favourite memories…

‘How was your exam today?’ he asks, hoping to drift his mind away from this particular memoriy—the Common Room is far too crowded for it.

‘Astronomy was okay,’ she replies distractedly. ‘I know all the planets and moons, my problem is just keeping my eyes open at night… Well, I did better than in Divination, I hope.’

‘If it helps, I told my examiner she should have died three days before.’

Ginny laughs. ‘I told my examiner he would have a long happy life, which will be true if he approves me in the exams.’

‘It’s Divination, nobody takes it seriously.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ she cries, looking indignantly, though Harry knows she is just playing; he recognizes the smirk at the corner of her lips—he has kissed that smirk too many times now. ‘Divination is the noblest magic art!’

‘Don’t let Hermione hear you saying this.’

‘Oh, I won’t, I can foresee exactly what she would tell me,’ she replies, winking at him. ‘Here, let me read your hand.’

Harry rolls his eyes, but he offers his hand anyway, placing it upon Ginny’s open palm.

‘Trelawney has already told me I have the shortest lifeline she ever saw,’ he mumbles, but she is not listening and after a while, Harry forgets about lifelines too.

Ginny is sliding the tip of her finger over his hand, her fingernail soft over his skin; it is almost ticklish, but Harry won’t ever confound what she causes him with tickles. Tickles don’t make him want to pull her closer, forgetting all crowd around them, and kiss her until she is moaning into his arms, his hands exploring her skin—

‘You have a very interesting hand, Harry,’ she replies, a teasing in her voice that makes him realize she knows exactly what she is doing to him.

‘I can make it interesting,’ he promises, though he isn’t sure what he is saying. Every nerve of his body is busy relying on the feelings her fingernail is causing; his brain is all mushy now. ‘What can you read?’

She smiles, intertwining their hands together. ‘Unless I screw this up, I'm going to marry you,’ she says playfully.

‘Well, you better not mess this up,’ replies Harry without thinking. ‘I really want it.’

Ginny turns to him, her surprise evident on her face, and it takes Harry two seconds to understand what he just said. The blood returns to his brain with violence, all his face reddening instantly.

‘I don’t—this is not—I didn’t just propose—’

‘Harry,’ she interrupts him, her face pink too. ‘We were just playing. Don’t worry.’

He opens and closes his mouth a few times before nodding. There is a moment of silence, the first awkward silence he has experienced with Ginny ever since they started dating, and he wonders how he is going to fix this—

‘Hey,’ she calls him, smiling valiantly. ‘I mean it, don’t worry.’ She winks at him, more like herself, and lowers her voice as if sharing a secret: ‘I suck at Divination.’

Harry gives a half-laugh. Ginny seems content with this sound; she approaches him again, kissing him softly on the lips before standing up.

‘I need to check a few star charts before dinner. See you later?’

‘I will be waiting,’ he promises, grinning at her.

When Ginny is gone, he looks back at the palm of his hand, resting his back on the couch. He enjoys her prediction much more than any other he has ever heard.

[misfits-of-zaun]

For a split, dangerous second, Ekko felt himself freeze up - utterly unprepared for Vi to break free and come at him, he couldn’t react in time to stop her. Eyes widening in frightened surprise, he sucked in a sharp breath at the hands that snatched him by the front of his shirt and clamped tight, muscles tensing in instinctive anticipation of violence.

Shit-!

Fortunately, Ekko's mouth managed to finish the point he'd been making on stubborn autopilot, in spite of the rest of him locking up like a startled little boy getting yelled at by an older sibling - like a kid who was still only learning how to fight back, and didn't have years of muscle memory to rely on.

He hated that Vi made him feel like this. Hated that even now, part of him still viewed her as someone safe, and still craved her approval - enough so for it to come as a painful shock when she laid hands on him this way.

Ekko's hands fisted at his sides, but he stayed still in Vi's grip, staring her down.

Let go of me, or this is gonna turn ugly.

He didn't want to fight her. But he would, if he had to. If she pushed him any further.

Vi's face spoke of the complex and painful emotional journey she was going through. For several tense seconds, they stood like that in silence, as she processed his words. What he was trying to tell her.

Then, her shoulders sagged, and she finally released him.

“...Fuck, Ekko.”

Ekko rolled his shoulders, and mulishly fixed his rumpled shirt, eyeing the restraints that were supposed to still be attached to Vi's wrists. His heart was still pounding in his ears. Cool anger was starting to filter through the shock, fear and hurt.

How the fuck had she got the shackles off? When had she got them off? They were supposed to be secure. He'd checked them.

Obviously being an annoying escape artist ran in the family. Ugh. Whatever. Lesson learned.

"I told you," he responded in an unrepentant undertone. "A lot of shit happened while you were gone."

...That fucking enforcer better still be chained up where he'd left her. Ekko was swiftly reaching his limit with uncooperative prisoners springing surprises on him today.

“She’s still my sister…nothing can change that.”

A small scoff left him at the declaration; he fixed Vi with a sardonic look, edged with sharp appraisal.

"Yeah, well. People change."

Vi hadn't been able to handle the deaths her sister had caused by accident - how would she cope with all the deaths Jinx had caused very much on purpose? How would she cope with knowing Silco had moulded her sister into a monster - a monster that she herself had played a pivotal role in creating, that disastrous night all those years ago?

“...We’ll get Caitlyn home.”

Vi was technically saying the right things - unconditional love for her sister, agreeing to send the enforcer packing - and it seemed like she was even sincere about it. That wasn't enough to shake Ekko's protective wariness. If he let Vi be in the same room as Jinx, and it went wrong...

“...But then I need to speak to Powder. I need to see that she’s okay. No more bullshit.”

Ekko's jaw clenched.

"It's Jinx now. And maybe she doesn't want to speak to you," he shot back caustically.

"Do you realise what you left behind that night, when you got arrested? Of course she isn't fucking okay, Vi - she accidentally blew up her family. And then you left her."

He let that hang in the air for a moment. Gauging Vi's reaction.

Yeah, that's right, I know what happened. Or do you have a different version of events you'd like to share with the class?

"I've been trying to pick up the pieces of that night for years. And I won’t let you fuck up the progress we've made now, when things are finally getting better. So you don't get to come in swinging and making demands, okay? Sit the fuck down."

@just--a--jinx

"You better start talking. Fast." ((@just--a--jinx Vi to Ekko))

Ekko's carefully flat expression didn't falter, but his eyes hardened as he looked down at the girl he'd believed had died long ago. The big sister figure he'd grieved, and painted on The Wall.

"Funny, that was my line." He retorted in a tone utterly bleached of humour.

Don't try to call the shots here. This is my interrogation.

"You disappear for years - and now you turn up out of the blue, all buddy-buddy with an enforcer." He nearly spat out the word, making no effort to conceal his vitriol for their secondary 'guest'. His arms folded across his chest as he appraised Vi, bitter and distrustful.

You left her. You left us both. We thought you were dead - why did you leave? Where did you go?

And why have you only come back now?

Focus. Practical questions first.

"Are you working for the pilties now?"