#but turns out it didn’t charge me when I ordered it like half a year ago and instead it charges me when it ships (in like two weeks)

[victory-cookies]

god I’m so torn. I have a few things I really buy rn but realistically I don’t think I can afford all of them. So I’m trying to weigh what I should let myself but bc I haven’t bought myself anything nice in a while

[kamospeach]

fuck it guess we both ain't shit .ᐟ

plot: bodyguard!toji just can't help but show his charge what she's missing

content warning: cheating on both ends, age gap(21 & 32), second hand embarrassment, pwp, fingering, cunnilingus, mating press, doggystyle, oral f! & m!recieving, cum eating, p in v sex, quickie

peachy's yap: wc 2.6k.ᐟ cringed writing this :P without cringe how else would i get him to blow her back out? i don't believe in cheating, pls remember everything is FICTIONAL before y'all jump me.

“i do not need a bodyguard!” you yell at your father who rubs his temples getting fed up with your antics. you’ve been against the bodyguard idea and have had the bodyguard for two weeks already. speaking of said bodyguard he stood there shoulders slumped listening to you argue this. you did this every day‘ it’s getting old…’ toji thought to himself.

toji watched your every move as you paced back and forth in your father's office. your short pink pleated shirt that left little or maybe even nothing to the imagination. it showed the bottom of your ass and the tattoo of the 'Brat' logo under your left ass cheek. your extremely tight crop top that showed an unnecessary amount of cleavage. your hair past your hips almost mid-thigh.

to toji you looked fuckin' hot but that was because he was a womanizer. any woman dressed in a small amount of clothing was his type.

he knew his job was to protect but he had an inkling his father wasn't really the best at hiring people. toji came to the interview dressed in ragged clothing a black shirt with a half circle cut out the left side. his sweatpants had small stains of blood that your father somehow didn't see. if anyone else had seen toji they would have immediately raised red flags faster than you can blink.

but your puny, oblivious, money-hungry, self-centered, (toji's words), and questionably caring father didn't notice. hired toji the same day and bought him a suit until his custom-tailored ones could be ordered. took him to your penthouse gave him the code to your door and dropped him off downstairs. he huffed that day realizing 'great father' would never be one of your dad's many attributes. yet who was he to judge?

“IT’S TOO FUCKIN LATE Y/N HE’S IN A TWO-YEAR CONTRACT.” your father yelled at you, you frowned turning around. you walked away snapping your fingers twice signaling toji to follow you. toji didn’t like you either the feeling was insanely mutual.

“take me to my boyfriend’s house,” you instructed toji who had no choice but to obey you. he started the car taking you to your boyfriend’s house. knowing the way there since you went there every day. and as always toji was required to follow you in the house.

it was a little different this time, you barked orders at your boyfriend. yelling at him telling him ‘get toji a drink’ and your boyfriend nods running off. he handed toji a bottle of water and you snap your fingers at your boyfriend. giving him a sharp glare ordering ‘take me upstairs’. to which he obliged picking you up.

toji sat downstairs on his phone telling his wife he’d probably be home late. toji wish he could quit after he met you and got to know you personally. and this? was the worst part of the day, when you’d go to your boyfriend’s house. while your boyfriend fucked you and you let out fake moans and your boyfriend yelled out in pleasure.

he honestly felt bad for you, not only were you an annoying spoiled brat. but you couldn’t get fucked properly by your shitty ass suck-up boyfriend. you were a naturally dominant woman and you wouldn’t get any pleasure if you weren't with a man who was as dominant as you.

you walked down the stairs rolling your eyes as your boyfriend begged you to stay. you being your bratty self waved him off and snapped for toji to follow you. he was getting fed up with the demands and was sure he was gonna tell you off soon.

he drove you to your house parking the company's car and getting out. he opened the door for you allowing you to leave. as always toji followed you to the door of your penthouse making sure you got in safely.

"leave me!" you yelled at toji and that was his last straw.

"i'm getting real tired of your shit. your a fucking spoiled brat, if this is gonna work you need to learn real manners. you dont yell at me and snap your fingers just 'cause your daddy's money is going into my pocket," he yelled at you. you were taken aback. no way was he yelling at you. you owned him. "

"just like you said my dad is paying you. which means if i say you're fired you'll be fired," you said and he raised a brow at your dumb assumption.

"your name is nowhere on the contract... you hold no power over me. we're both equals you work for your dad and so do i. we're practically co-workers darlin' nothing more nothing less." he said with a smug smirk. your nostrils were flaring in anger and your fist clenched by your side. your brain scrambling for a comeback to say to this ignorant man.

"well yea... i'll get my boyfriend to beat you up!" you yell voice shaky and toji chuckles darkly. he walked towards you, you were shivering under his intense glare.

"your weak ass boyfriend can't even make you cum and you think he'll beat me up?" he laughed and your face dropped.

"h...how did you know i wasn't finishing?" you ask swallowing a big lump in your throat. it was getting intense and toji had backed you into a corner. figuratively and literally. your back was pressed against the island and his hands trapped you.

"i've sat downstairs listening to your fake moans and his weak thrusts for 2 weeks now." toji smirked as you looked away from you. "plus i know what it sounds like when a woman's actually cumming."

the silence was loud and your breathing was erratic. toji looked back at your microwave checking the time. his brain was fighting his heart to go along with what he was thinking he'd do. while toji was deciding what he wanted to do, you knew what you wanted. when toji turned his face back to you you smashed your lips on his.

you pulled back remembering not only was he 11 years older than you, he was a married man. you both looked at each other in shock you held your breath hoping he wouldn't snitch to your father. but before you knew it toji's lips were back on yours, he picked you up placing you on the counter. his fingers ran across your thighs as your hands rubbed up and down his toned back.

it was wrong you knew it but did you care? hell no. his wife was a bitch anyway, you knew she was just a backup for his first dead wife. even if you did hear it unethically from snooping in on your father's childlike gossip. he didn't really like his wife so this technically isn't wrong. just as you finally let go of all thoughts it was toji's turn to pull away.

"this is wrong... i'm married, you have a boyfriend-" you cut him off not wanting to hear the excuses.

"you don't like your wife and my boyfriend can't make me cum. i think we have good reason for what we're doing this," you say and toji's eyebrows furrowed.

"those aren't good reasons..." he mumbled ignoring his thoughts and grabbed your chin roughly pulling you to him. he kissed you roughly your teeth clashing. the roughness of his fingernails digging in your skin knowing when he removed his hand there would be prominent crescent indents on your jaw.

he was so rough and it wasn't how you were used to. usually, you initiated everything with your boyfriends. it seemed as if toji was in a rush to get it over with and he needed you as soon as possible. he played with your thong under your tiny skirt.

his fingers slipped under the band of your thong pulling on it and letting it snap against your skin. "get down and go to your room." he tells you backing away and you furrow your brows.

"you can't carry me up there?" and he laughs walking away from you and heading to your room. this was shocking for you it felt like you went from one extreme to the next. first, you were with a submissive nice man and here you are with a dominant asshole. you swallowed your spit as you walked into your room seeing toji standing there naked.

you knew toji would be big but not that big. he was bigger than any guy you've ever slept with. you walked over to toji while stripping out of your clothes. you were down to your bra and skirt when toji grabbed your waist pulling you closer. he unclasped your bra letting it fall to the floor and tossed you on the bed.

you propped yourself on your arms and toji leaned over you pressing his lips on yours. your hands were anxiously touching him everywhere nervously. you felt like a virgin not sure where to put your hands or what to do. without any warning, toji pulled down your skirt and thong all in one pull. he kissed down your neck and pulled away glancing at his watch.

"we got 20 minutes," he said going back to kissing your neck sucking and nipping at the spot that made you moan.

"un...until what?" you asked and he laughed.

"until i have to leave. my wife's expecting me," he mumbled and you frowned.

"don't mention her while you're with me from now on," you tell him and he smirks.

"as you wish doll," he agreed not wanting to talk about his wife anyway. although it was wrong you both felt so right being here with each other. for you, toji was everything you needed rough and in control. for toji... well, you just gave it up and he wasn't one to turn down pussy he didn't have to pay for.

he kissed down your chest teasing you purposely missing your nipples. until you whined out and told him to stop teasing. he played with your clit rubbing and collecting your juices on his finger. pulling away from your nipples placing two fingers in your mouth. you grabbed his wrist as you tasted yourself on his digits.

after your spit was running down his fingers he removed it from your mouth. he pushed them in your entrance feeling how tight your needy cunt is. he scissored his fingers attempting to stretch you out. toji didn't talk much and initially, he wasn't in the mood for intimate foreplay. but now he did want to taste you since you were so wet.

he continued kissing down your body and one last time on the mound of your privates. he wasted no time sucking on your clit while vigorously fingering you.

"toji wait." you moaned out the feeling was becoming too much for you. you had never been eaten out before and this was new for you. the stimulation of your clit and his fingers massaging your rough g-spot had you gasping for air. your hands reached for his black hair pulling harshly. he groaned against you making you squeal in pleasure.

his tongue moved expertly against your clit taking his fingers out of you. you whined missing his fingers inside you and he leaned over you. he looked down at you with a bored expression but your clouded mind read it as admiration.

"ya ready?" he asked and you melted at the concern in his voice that you were definitely making up. you nodded lost in thought as toji wasted no time pushing into your entrance. your body arched at the feeling of him stretching you out.

he didn't wait for you to adjust to his size and started stroking immediately. you were moaning at the feeling already pushing on his stomach.

"take some out." you moaned head thrown back and toji just laughed at your pleas.

"it's only halfway in doll," he whispered in your ear pushing himself all the way in now. you tried to run from him but he gripped your waist holding you in place. you couldn't believe that it was only part way initially. yet you could definitely tell the difference now. his cockhead was kissing your cervix as he roughly pounded into you. you reached up to grab his face pulling it down to you and kissing him messily.

his hips didn't slow or stutter as he pounded into you mercilessly. he was fucking like he needed to leave right away, you could've sworn you both had another 15 minutes. he grabbed your legs pushing them against your chest putting you in a mating press.

"did he fuck you like this?" he grunted looking down at your tight cunt that sucked him in like a vice. you were squelching and your cream was painting his dick white. the view pushing toji closer and closer to his release.

"mm mm..." you hummed but it came out more of a moan. toji wasn't satisfied with this answer. he wanted to hear you say that he was the best you ever had.

"use your words ma. did he fuck you like this?" he repeated himself thrusting into you with a particularly pointed thrust as you were about to talk.

"nooo!" you squeaked and he pulled out smiling at the mess of cream on your folds. he flipped you over perfecting your arch and sliding into you again.

"fuck you're so tight," he groaned pushing himself into you. he gripped both of your ass cheeks roughly nails digging into the fatty flesh. once he calmed himself so he wouldn't nut too early he begin to fuck you again. this time making it a point to push his tip into your g-spot.

"toji m'close," you mumbled as your face was pressed into the pillow. before you knew it you felt pressure on the side of your face. your eyes opened seeing toes in your face.

you were in utter shock toji had his foot on your head thrusting into you relentlessly. the new found angle only pushing you closer and closer to release. you reached under yourself playing with your clit. you clenched around his dick making his thrust slow down at the grip.

"relax doll m'right behind you, just hold it for me," he grumbled still thrusting into you letting out small moans and guttural groans. he pulled out jerking himself off flipping you over and rubbing your clit quickly.

"fuck toji!" you yelled as your body convulsed and jerked as your squirt soaked him and the bed. he slapped your clit causing your body to lightly flinch from the feeling on your clit.

he crawled over you hover over your chest stroking his cock over your face. his dick twitched in his hand and his hips bucked into his hand. you leaned up wrapping your lips around his tip and swirling your tongue until you felt him release his hot cum down your throat.

"fuck yea ma that's it." he hummed as you took him down your throat and pulled off him with a pop. you swallowed his cum open your mouth sticking out your tongue.

"ah." you showed toji that you swallowed it all and he smirked softly smacking your cheek.

"good girl." he smiled looking at the watch on his wrist. "5 minutes to spare," he hummed to himself getting off of you. he didn't bother cleaning you up, he simply slipped on his boxers, then his suit.

"uh," you say not really sure what to say to be honest. he looked up at you where he sat on the end of your bed putting on his shoes.

"see you tomorrow," he said grabbing his phone and keys from your nightstand. without waiting to hear it back from you he jogged down your steps and to your front door. he left out locking the door with the code. you sat on your bed looking down at your hands with a smile.

"so that means we're together? right?" you thought to yourself out loud.

sure girl... sure.

[darlingi-loveyou]

things that definitely happened in the percy jackson series’ that rick left out/didn’t expand on (basically a collection of headcanons)

- leo teased percy and annabeth about the stables scene for weeks until it got old

- leo trying to make a move on EVERYONE he interacted with, especially the aphrodite cabin

- (leo was a hey mamas lesbian in a past life i will die on this hill)

- bi4bi percabeth

- some of the apollo kids give out free stick-n-poke tattoos. will has a small treble clef on his hip for his mom, nico has a tiny skull behind his left ear, percy has a smiley face on his right middle finger bc he thought it was funny

- annabeth tried to act like she didn’t think it was funny and called him an idiot

- ella also gives out free tattoo services at camp jupiter, and camp half blood when she and tyson visit. frank told her to start charging for them, but being a harpy, she doesn’t really have a need for money. honestly, she just wants an excuse to do more tattoos, since there’s not a lot of space left on tyson

- percy always orders blue food or drinks when he’s out if it’s an option (basically canon in the senior year adventures). at this point it’s instinctual

- percy refuses to drink or smoke bc of gabe. sally understands this and that’s why, before she had estelle, she would only have a single glass of wine with dinner. annabeth likes to have a few drinks here and there, but when she does drink, she makes sure to never do it in front of percy

- dionysus is essentially the camp therapist, because deep down, he really does care about the campers. he has open office hours and a sign-up sheet for appointments (private or group therapy) in the big house

- percy has started calling dionysus the wrong name back, and it’s dissolved into a competition to see who can think of the most ridiculous names (so far perceval jackoff and destiny’s child are tied for first place). some of the other campers are waiting for the day dionysus turns percy into a bottlenose dolphin or a pile of dust and ashes, but he would never do it

- there’s also a sign-up sheet to use that single computer that chiron has, where everyone gets up to an hour of screen time

- after discovering the projector in chiron’s office, it’s common to find cabins or individual groups of campers having movie nights. nico and hazel’s boyfriends and friends use this as an opportunity to show them (when hazel visits) different movies. for example, one night percy brings all 3 back to the future movies (he doesn’t realize the irony until nico won’t stop teasing him about it), annabeth brings the last unicorn, which makes hazel cry (me too girl), piper brings jennifer’s body (hazel and frank both get all flustered during the sex scenes, nico is surprisingly unbothered until will nudges him and makes a comment about colin when he appears onscreen), reyna, on the rare occasions that the hunters visit, brings isle of dogs (she hasn’t watched a lot of movies, but that one is one of her favorites), frank brings the little prince, which makes percy openly sob, and will brings heathers, to nico’s surprise

- some camp traditions include telling ghost stories at the campfire, karaoke nights in the apollo cabin (they tried to hold one in the big house once, but that only lasted about ten minutes before dionysus kicked them out), secret santas, halloween parties, and thanksgiving at the jackson-blofis house for the year-round campers (and percy, annabeth, tyson, and ella, ofc)

- piper likes to walk around doing chappell roan’s vocal flips and reneé rapp’s riffs

- will is actually a pretty good singer, but he doesn’t think he is bc his powers are more focused on his role as a camp medic, so he compares himself to his siblings. he can also play guitar really well, but his favorite thing is playing it horribly and as loud as possible, or playing at nico because he knows he hates it

- will and annabeth both struggle with imposter syndrome, percy starts talking to dionysus about his ptsd, nico is working on breaking his disordered eating habits, and tyson makes ella a fidget that she can play with so she doesn’t pull out her feathers

- piper and leo like to reference modern pop culture in front of chiron, who is eternally confused and has stopped trying to understand “the youth”

- annabeth is a swiftie (her favorite album is ttpd) and percy says he isn’t, but sally sometimes catches him singing “safe & sound” or “never grow up” to estelle (he has no idea she knows) and sends videos of it to annabeth. he can’t sing very well, don’t get me wrong, and it’s almost always off-key, but estelle doesn’t seem to mind

- percy does that thing that dads do where he stands at the edge of the room when estelle is watching one of her shows with sally and pretends he isn’t watching it, but eventually ends up sitting with them on the couch and singing (again, very poorly) along to the bluey theme song

- will isn’t actually a morning person, but as the camp medic, he’s just used to getting up at the ass-crack of dawn and running on three hours of sleep and multiple celsiuses (this is why, on “making-nico-and-hazel-watch-movies-we-think-are-important-movie-nights,” he never even makes it through the first one without crashing out)

- apollo did in fact develop a little crush on nico during the tower of nero, but for his son’s sake, he’ll take that secret to his grave (metaphorically ofc)

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 19

Hello everyone! Welcome to the new year! I am back and swinging! I have a good backlog now and I'm feeling better about writing after that break. I was feeling really burned out after Christmas. I still love writing, but I didn't have the energy to do it.

But after that three week hiatus, I am back to writing 800-1000 words a day which is what keeps me up to date on my backlog when I'm posting.

I recommend reading the last chapter again as a refresher before this one (linked below).

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

In this chapter we have the boys' night out and Eddie and Steve talk about where they stand with other.

~

Eddie was standing at the front of the hotel looking at his watch and tapping his foot, when the three adults pulled into the valet parking lot.

When Gareth got out and tossed Steve the keys, he came bounding up to them. “What time do you call this, young man?” he teased, putting his hands on his hips.

They all burst out laughing as Eddie tried to hold the serious pose and failed miserably.

“Just a small hiccup up at the stadium,” Jeff said, rolling his eyes. “A fan recognized me and Gare and we were signing autographs for about a half hour.”

Eddie paused for a moment and tilted his head to side. “You were signing autographs without me?” He put a hand on his forehead and pretended to swoon. “You have forsaken me!”

Steve turned to Gareth and blinked rapidly. “Um..is he always this dramatic?”

“No,” Gareth snorted, “he’s worse.” He turned to Eddie. “Chill out you big baby. You don’t like sports and would have been miserable.”

Eddie stopped for a moment and then straightened up. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“God,” Jeff huffed, “I’d kill for a stiff drink. Have the front desk call Brian up and meet us in the bar.”

“Sounds good to me,” Eddie said, falling into step next to Steve as they walked to the bar, Gareth splitting off temporarily to get Brian to join them.

“Did you have fun?” Eddie asked, a big grin on his face.

Steve rolled his eyes and licked upper lip. “You’re the one that suggested they take me, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Eddie said, twirling his rings. “But Jeff and Gareth loved the idea. They wanted to get a chance to know you better and this basketball game seemed like the perfect opportunity. Plus I know you’ve been feeling trapped in this town with all the bullshit that happened with your dad.”

Steve smiled up at him. “Well, I approve. It was lots of fun. The Harlem Globetrotters are known for their wacky playing style and over the top theatrics. So I was a little,” he held his finger and thumb really close together, “surprised when you didn’t want to come with.”

“I think I would’ve been more annoyed,” Eddie huffed. “Can’t stand it when people play normally, so having a group of players just fucking around and still have it be legal...no thanks.”

“Fair enough,” Steve said as they reached the bar.

They sat down at one of the tables and Gareth ordered two draft beers, one for him and one for Brian. Jeff ordered a double shot of whiskey and Eddie ordered a Manhattan.

“I’ll have a Coke and lime,” Steve said as a waiter took their order.

Eddie smiled slyly at Steve. “Good boy. I was wondering what you were going to order with my little ban on alcohol until you’re actually twenty-one.”

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes. “If I keep up this dry spell, I’ll lose my tolerance for it and lose my title as keg king.”

Jeff who had been taking a drink, did a spit take. “You were a what now?”

Their drinks arrived, so Steve was able to dodge the question for a moment longer. But he was forced to confess under the stern eye of Eddie Munson.

“Me and my friends would have chugging contests,” Steve said with a shrug. “I had the best time. Like always. But I haven’t even had a beer in literal months.”

Eddie blinked. “Wait, really? I would have thought for sure you would found someway to get a beer at least.”

Steve shook his head. “The people who still like me are kids and their parents. One of which is the Chief of Police. Yeah, I’ve been sticking clear of booze thanks.”

“Um...” Jeff said, rubbing his chin. “The hotel room is in Eddie’s name and he’s over twenty-one. You could literally order from the hotel and no one would bat an eye.”

“I just figured that fell under the umbrella of buying alcohol using Eddie’s money,” Steve said with a shrug. “So I just didn’t.”

Eddie slid over his Manhattan. “I wasn’t intended to dry you out completely. I just didn’t want you flashing that fake ID around using my credit card.”

“Oh,” Steve blushed and hid it by taking a sip of the Manhattan and he closed his eyes, letting the alcohol hit his system for the first time in months. “Yeah, I’m going to have to go easy on these otherwise you’re going to be dragging my drunk ass up that elevator.”

They all laughed.

Steve finished off the Manhattan while Eddie ordered a different cocktail. Then he went back to the Coke and lime as to pace himself.

They all talked and laughed and got to know each other better. Steve was only tipsy when they called it a night.

Eddie walked Steve to his room, not only because he was the suite across the hall, but because he wanted to make sure Steve got in okay.

“All right, little Canary,” Eddie said sternly. “What aren’t you, Jeff and Gareth telling me?”

Steve put his arms around Eddie’s neck and cooed, “What makes you think we aren’t telling you something?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “I might not know you as well as I would like, Stevie, but I know when Jeff and Gareth are leaving something out. And with you a little tipsy, I thought I’d see if I could weasel it out of you.”

“Missed you,” Steve breathed, trying to grind against Eddie’s crotch. “I’ll be super good for you.”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s hips and pulled him a little bit away from his waist. “You are a treat, sweetheart, make no mistake. But you’re a little too drunk for anything other than conversation. So why don’t we get you in bed?”

Steve pouted but did as he was told. He opened the door to the hotel room and immediately started stripping his clothes off.

Eddie turned his eyes skyward, with his hands on his hips until Steve pulled up the shorts on his pajamas Eddie had gotten him his first night at the hotel. But he was grateful when Steve shimmied the top over his head, neglecting to undo the buttons.

“You look cute, Stevie,” he murmured as he came up to him, checking him out as he neared. “I thought you would. You really look good in yellow.”

Steve blushed, tugging at the hem of the top, “Thanks.”

Eddie scooped him up and carried him over to the bed, that was turned down by Rosa, like it was every night. He laid him in the bed and then tucked him in. He brushed Steve’s hair out of his face and kissed his forehead.

“Good night, little Canary,” he murmured.

Eddie moved to stand up, but Steve caught the hem of his jacket, keeping him there. He looked down at Steve and immediately his heart broke. Steve had tears in his eyes and one slid across his nose.

“Baby?”

“My dad was at the game,” Steve murmured. “We didn’t see him until after we were leaving, so we don’t know if he saw me. But that’s why Jeff and Gareth did an autograph signing, so that I could sneak past him.”

Eddie’s knees hit the floor and he was gathering Steve up in his arms from one breath to the next. “Oh, Stevie...” he whispered into Steve’s hair. “Now I understand why you guys didn’t want to tell me and I’m not mad. Well, I am but at your dad for ruining your night out. I wish I could just make him go away for you. Just *POOF* off the face of the earth.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and then another. “But at least this means we know they’ve been staying in Indy.”

“There you go,” Eddie whispered, smoothing out Steve’s hair, “a silver lining. So we’ll make sure you get to go places other than Indy and you know what your dad likes so if there is a fun thing you want to for one of your kids like skateboarding or something that you know your dad would avoid like the plague, we still send you to those, okay, little Canary?”

Steve ran his nose along Eddie’s jaw and he shuddered with want. But he knew Steve was too drunk to do anything but sleep, so he gently untangled himself from Steve’s arms, and before he could even get to his feet, Steve was sound asleep.

“Sleep well, my little angel.”

~

Steve woke up with a pounding headache and lancing of shame down his spine. He had basically thrown himself at Eddie last night and the man had been a perfect gentleman. He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling, wallowing in his misery.

There was a gentle knock on the door and Steve forced himself into a standing position and waddled over to the door. He opened it to see Eddie on the other side, bright and cheery. Which made the pain in head throb worse.

Eddie held up a bag of McDonald’s and grinned. “I brought you best hangover cure known to man.”

Steve let him in and Eddie set the food on the table. Then he went over and started brewing a pot of coffee. He then filled a glass with water from the tap in the bathroom and handed it to Steve with two pills that were obviously ibuprofen. All this without comment or condemnation.

Steve took the painkillers with a grateful smile.

“Eat one of those Egg McMuffins,” Eddie said indicating the bag with his chin. “Then go shower. By then the coffee will have been brewed.”

“Thanks,” Steve muttered and ripped into one of the breakfast sandwiches with relish. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I behaved badly last night and I’m sorry.”

Eddie chuckled. “You were cute. But nah, I get it. You’d been dry for a couple of months there and then suddenly drinking again? Yeah, I would have been more than a little tipsy, too.”

Steve blushed and focused on his food for a moment before he said, “It was really scary seeing my dad last night, but Gareth and Jeff handled it. Better than I would have had I been alone. I really owe them.”

“I talked to them after tucking you in,” Eddie said sprawling out on the sofa. “They didn’t want to tell me because they were worried that I would forbid you from going out again. Which, I can see where they’re coming from. But I would rather know about it and plan better than not. So they agreed to tell me from now on.”

“Lucas loved hanging out with them,” Steve said, smiling around his bite of food.

Eddie chuckled. “I don’t doubt that. Jeff and Gareth had a blast, too. Jeff is talking about getting season tickets to the Pacers’ games. I told him to hold off on that for a bit to see where this goes first, but they definitely want to hang out with you more.”

Steve finished the sandwich and wiped his mouth again. “I had fun hanging out with them, too.”

“Go get your shower, little Canary,” Eddie said fondly. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get out.”

Steve got up and rummaged through his drawers for something to wear. He settled on comfort over style because even though the pain in his head was beginning to recede, it was still there throbbing behind his eyes. The shower went a long way in driving the pain further from his head so that when he got done with his routine he could walk almost normal instead of everything hurting with every move he made.

When he walked out, there was a woman arguing with Eddie. A woman he vaguely recognized. Then it hit him. Chrissy Cunningham. Their manager. The one that currently didn’t like him because he took up too much of Eddie’s time.

“You know,” he said dryly from the bathroom door, where he was leaning against it with arms crossed, “I might be only nineteen, but I at least know to talk to someone when they have a beef with me.”

Chrissy whirled around and stared at him in shock. Like she had forgotten this was his hotel room. “Steve!”

He walked up to her and huffed out a breath out of his nose. “It’s a free country the last time I checked. Eddie can spend his time and his money how ever he wants. So either suck it up or hit the road, because even I know I can’t reason him out of giving me things.”

Chrissy looked between Eddie and Steve and then sighed. “You don’t care that he’s basically your sugar daddy at this point?”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and licked his lips slowly. “Considering the alternative is living out of my car? No. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that Eddie wants to take care of me. So you know what? I’m going to let him. I like him. I enjoy spending time with him. I’m not a gold digger or whatever else you think of me. But I will enjoy it while it’s here.”

Eddie slow clapped. “He’s got a point. We get along great, we enjoy each other’s company, and I like spoiling people. Is my Uncle Wayne a gold digger because I take care of him too?”

She glared at him and then threw her arms in the air and then with a terse, “Fine!” she stormed out of the hotel room.

Eddie grinned. “Now where were we?”

Steve just threw his head back and laughed.

~

Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[quokkaholic]

Confession and Cuffs s.c

Warnings/tags: suggestive fluff, cop hate lol, cussing duh, y/n aggressively flirty low key would be harassment irl. Lightly edited

Synopsis: You are a notorious criminal that is very familiar with your local police force. Detained on a faulty warrant and interrogated for hours, you give them nothing but sass and harsh criticism. That is, until you meet Detective Seo.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●���○・●・○・●

You remain in the same sterile interrogation room you have been in for hours, stainless steel chair bruising your tailbone and digging into your spine. With an adjustable lamp clamped to the edge of the table turned off, the lighting is dim but you can still see the reflective surface of the one way glass opposite you. Even though you are alone, and have been for a while, there is no mistaking the feeling of eyes on you monitoring and examining your every move, every breath, every blink. You feel like it has been at least an hour since the last officer was in here with you demanding a confession to a crime you, for once, didn’t commit; even if you had, you’d never spill your guts to them. The only reason you are here now, is they arrested you under the guise of a warrant out for not paying a speeding ticket you received years ago as a teen. You know for a fact you paid it and got it expunged from your record, but it was so long ago you no longer have proof of the transaction. On top of that, it's a Friday night so the records department won’t be up and running again until Monday. These pigs orchestrated the whole thing to get you in their custody, and you aren’t even the perpetrator in this case.

Since your arrest, it has been a revolving door of officers trying different tactics on you. They’ve made offers of food and lenient sentencing. Tried to coerce you to sell out your compatriots. The last guy practically just screamed at you for half an hour, voice screeching and droplets of spit flying from his red hot face, trying to scare out a confession, but all you could do was laugh. He must be new, you thought, despite being a criminal, you have gotten to know and are on decent terms with a lot of the more reasonable officers. After having to release you on the grounds of no evidence countless times, many of them have accepted that your actions tend to only harm other members of the seedy underbelly of the city.

That is the case for most of the force, but obviously not the next officer that walks in. You can tell by his demeanor that he is going for bad cop as he saunters in with an expression of disgust and accusation when he looks your way. He avoids eye contact, maybe because he wants you to feel lowly and beneath him, but it's more likely he knows you will see through his ruse if he lets you meet his gaze.

“We know it was you” he spits flipping through a folder labeled evidence that is without a doubt filled with blank pages. While you usually give ambiguous answers or simply remain silent, you’re over messing with the investigators at this point,

“Hmmm no you dont” you hum out matter of factly

“Quiet! We’ve got you this time,” he must be really committed to the bit, raising his voice and ordering you around.

“Really? What dirt do you have on me? Go on. I wanna see.”

“It's in the evidence storage for the night,”

“You don’t have photos in that conveniently marked folder you've got? If I’ve told you dipshits once, I've told you 100 times,” you pause to squint at the name badge on his chest,

“Skinner, I’m not your guy” shouting back to get the attention of the people that are without a doubt recording, before leaning back in the chair that feels like a bed of nails at this point. Not allowing your discomfort to show, you continue,

“You're a bad liar, Skinner. If you had something real I'd have been arrested for a real charge and not some backhanded bureaucratic nonsense. I’m done talking” your statement punctuated by the crossing of your arms over your chest. The goose bumps on your skin are impossible to ignore; it's a damn icebox in here, another tactic to get you to admit to this crime you played no part in. Despite your refusal to engage, he went on accusing you and shouting garbage before stomping out like a frustrated child.

A while later, you are beginning to doze off with your head resting on the frozen table, but the sound of the locks being opened shakes you from your drowsiness. In walks a hunk not in the typical uniform. He’s got on a white button up that hugs his thick arms so perfectly accentuating his toned form and a black vest over it and pressed black dress pants with a key ring and badge clipped to the belt. You turn to the mirror and attempt the make eye contact with the people on the other side before blurting out,

“Oh so we’re doing sexy cop now? That's new,” before looking back at the man entering the room. He puckers his lips and presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek trying to fight back a smirk while dropping his file on the table across from you.

“I’m Detective Seo. I’ve been assigned to this case, and I just wanted to ask you a few questions” He says with confidence but politely as he pulls out the chair opposite to you and takes a seat.

“You and every other pig in this pen.” You say coldly before allowing your grimace to shift into a cheeky grin, “Don’t worry, I can kid around with them. We’re all close; I practically know them all by name” feigning sincerity in your tone.

“I bet you do” he lets the words slowly fall from his mouth as he mocks you for your seemingly endless unofficial record, opening the thick folder,

“I’ve checked out your file”

“Oooh a fan I assume?” you question, heightening your tone to speak more sweetly staring up at him through your lashes. He looms over you flicking on the table lamp. If he wasn’t so jaw droppingly handsome, you'd be irked by his attempt at asserting dominance over you. You like the look of him above you, but it ends all too soon as he pulls out the chair on the other side of the table and gracefully and controlled lowers himself into the seat drawing your gaze to his muscles straining against the fabric of his button down.

“You could say that,” he mumbles seemingly unimpassioned. His eyes skimming the papers in his hands,

“I can’t lie, I’m impressed. Life long career criminal and not a single conviction”

“I don’t know what this criminal nonsense you speak of is, but you're damn right, my record is as clean as a whistle. Well, I guess until today,” you aren’t trying to maintain an ere of innocence. Everyone here knows what you do for work, and you aren’t oblivious to that, but you’ll be dead before they get audio of some half ass admittance of guilt they can spin and manipulate to finally take you to court.

“We both know this charge is bullshit, and you’ll be set loose on Monday,” he nonchalantly muses and he peers over the top of the papers at you. His warm eyes would be mezmerizing in any other circumstance, but you have to remain sharp.

“You sound sad, babe. We’ll work hard to make the most of the time we have together,” you tease. Leaning forward to rest onto his elbows,

“I know I will,” he assures you then asks,

“So why did you do it?” he asks. You give an exaggerated disappointed huff before answering,

“So so handsome, but unfortunately just as dense as your mates,” clicking your tongue before continuing,

“Just as I told your last goon, and the one before that, and the one before that, and I’ll say it again just for you, babe, I. Didn’t. Do. It.” Holding unblinking eye contact you lean forward closing the distance between you, your voice becomes a cooing whisper as you go on,

“I don’t know how else to put it, love. Why can’t you understand me?” drawing up your eyebrows and slowly shaking your head to convey distress continuing to draw closer to him.

“My name is Detective Seo,” He mutters trying to correct you as he seems to struggle to keep his eyes from drinking in your approaching features.

“Oh I know, baby” whispering for only him to hear.

He has remained strong, not letting your seductress intimidation technique win out over his macho demeanor, but as you near only a foot of nose to nose separation he pushes back not only his upper body but his whole chair from the table causing a smug smile to spread across your features. His slight fluster is impossible to hide due to the pink rising to his cheeks and his lack of grace as he gathers his documents before heading to the door. Soon the feeling of watching eyes fall back over you, and you hope so deeply that they are his.

Despite the painful furniture and frigid temperature the only thing on your mind is Seo. He’s there when you’re awake being grilled by other cops or just staring at the damn wall, and when you get brief moments to rest, he's in your dreams.

You’ve long lost track of time in the windowless room, another way they are trying to disorient you to let your guard down. With some sweet talking, you convince them to allow you to use a private bathroom as opposed to the grimey stalls that the other detainees use. While you are lucky to be affording this luxury, you have ulterior motives. As your escort guides you through the hall passing cubicle after cubicle, you get a glimpse out the window. The light is dim and dusky; it must already be Saturday evening. Your romantic daydreams have done wonders for making time fly by. After a few turns down corridors, you see what you’ve been looking for, not the bathroom, a rich wooden door with a window covered neatly by a curtain, and just to the right a gleaming placard. Detective Seo Changbin. Such a pretty name for such a pretty man. You commit the path to his office to memory for potential future use.

They graciously let you rest for just a bit longer before starting up the interrogations again. Without fail you continue your typical slough of jesting and snarky comments without revealing any semblence of guilt, but unlike usual, there are some requests for the handsome detective sprinkled in. This continues late into the night and you can assume early into Sunday morning.

During a particularly kind session of questions, more like pleading on their part, you had just had a scrumptious meal hand delivered by your favorite officer; you are feeling generous. After some careful deliberation, you decide to throw them a bone but only on your terms.

“Bailey, you know me. You know I work alone and what little evidence you have points to a group of at least two. The fact that you guys won’t drop this line of questioning after hours of getting nowhere is making me question your sanity, lady,” you chide with a mouth full of food.

“I feel bad for you, hon. So bad, in fact, that I want to help you guys. I’ll share…” her face lights up as if what you're about to say will free her from this never ending game.

“But only to Seo” and her giddy face shifts to one of despair before one of determination as she rushes out the door pulling out her phone from her back pocket as the door slams behind her. Not an hour later, the man of your dreams is pushing open the thick door. Equally as confident as last time, but he has ditched the tough guy demeanour for a more flirtatious one to match your own.

“I heard you were begging for me all night” he humors with the corner of his full lips pulling up into a sly smile.

“Oh baby that wasn’t begging, that was negotiating, but I'll beg if that's what you want.”

He moves close, foregoing the chair and sitting on the edge of the table forcing you to tilt your head back to keep the steamy eye contact that makes a heat rise in your stomach. He sends you a wink and opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off,

“Getting you here is only part of my request. I'll help you, but in exchange, I demand a date with you once I’m released”, his sultry look quickly shifts to a genuine smile and red cheeks as he breathily chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief,

“Before you go on about it being unprofessional, this is all just a big misunderstanding on record, babe. Remember, there was simply a glitch in the system that put out a warrant for my arrest. I am perfectly innocent. Actually, this is a massive mistake on your part and a major inconvenience to me. It truly is the least you could do”

“Oh really? I don't think innocent is the right word,” he leans down a bit, eyebrows raising knowingly.

“How about blameless? I'm just a blameless woman held hostage by a mismanaged police force, the least you could do is take me to dinner.” jokingly sticking out your lower lip to pout. He gives his best attempt at a disappointed sigh, but no matter how many times he attempts to release his tensing cheek muscles, they keep returning to a full smile.

“Fine, now who was it?”

“You think I’m that easy, Changbin?” pulling back clutching your imaginary pearls with one hand in faux shock,

“I'm not doing your job for you, plus I can't be on record selling out a coworker can I? Now, you promise me to take me out Monday after we clear up this silly clerical mistake, and I'll tell you where to look, you just have to trust me, yeah?” Caused by the name drop and your outlandish proposal, the shocked look on his face is genuine unlike yours.

“Trust you!?” he chokes out the question, but you just look back expectantly waiting on his response.

“I promise, y/n, to take you on a date this Monday” This the first time hes had a serious look in his face since he walked in.

“No take backs detective Seo” you warn. His flush brightens hearing you say his title for the first time after only calling him pet names.

“The old storage units on the west side of town”

“The owner? No way Mrs Lee had anything..”

“Let me finish!” you yelp, holding hand up to stop him.

“The owner of unit 87. Me and Mrs. Lee are actually members of the same book club, and I have it on good authority that the owner of that unit hasn’t paid his dues in three months”

“So he's the…” you once again interrupt him trying to jump to conclusions.

“No! I said I'm not doing this for you! However, your cute looks and eagerness make me want to help you extra. His kid has some unsavory affiliations, and they have been using said unit to store some… things. I'm not saying it's them, but what I am saying is the stuff you find there will lead you guys to the perp as long as one of you has even the barest minimum of reasoning skills. I know that can be few and far between in this line of work.” You just had to slip in that last jab, “Now, there's your in. You're welcome in advance, baby” He is a whirlwind running out the door, but before it shuts he shouts back to you

“See you tomorrow!”

They keep you in custody for the majority of Sunday, but no one enters to question you further. Only a few familiar officers pop in to chat or share a meal as you're finally able to drop the smug persona since Changbin is hard at work clearing your name. He returns to finally have a normal conversation with you and iron out the details of your date before your release. While it is policy to keep suspects cuffed on your way out the door, they usually never do, but Changbin insists. Both enjoying it a bit too much as he locks your wrists together before guiding you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. You stop before the main entrance of the station for him to remove your restraints. While your conversations have been respectful and polite ever since you gave the crucial information in solving the case, his smirk resurfaces as he twists the key.

“If you behave for me, maybe I’ll bring these tomorrow night.”

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

A.n- I can’t be anti authoritarian; one of my best friends is a cop! Thanks for reading! I felt particularly delulu writing this one. Wanted to name this ‘If you’re bad cop, and I’m good cop, who is sexy cop?’. Also, what the hell else do you call a smirk? Lots of smirking in this one. I can only alternate bt smile, smirk, and grin so much before I start feeling silly

-mo (acab)

Masterlist

[loganwritesprobably]

Meet Cute

Tags/Warnings: Peter/GN!Reader, meet cute, fluff, coffee shop Word Count: 505

Frankly, the place charged far more for their shitty pastries than you thought any person with common sense had any business paying, but their coffee was good which kept you coming back again and again. The best coffee in town, in your opinion. You came to MELD at least three times a week in a normal week, but with a big deadline at work approaching, you’d been every day for the last six days, ordering two coffees at a time. You’d drink the first once you had it, then take the second with you to work, and when it turned cold you’d pour it over ice for an afternoon iced coffee. You’d seen more people who lived in your small town in the last six days than you had in all your time living here, you were almost sure of it. You supposed one thing that most people could bond over was coffee.

There was a man ahead of you in line, handsome even from the back with a nice ass that you hoped you were admiring subtly. He ordered a large latte and one of the shitty pastries you’d been avoiding for the entire year and half you’d been coming to MELD.

“Really? What do you do for work that you can afford one of the pastries?” You asked once you joined the handsome man at the counter, waiting for your drinks. “They’re worth the price they cost, unlike most coffee shop pastries.” He replied with ease, a small smile on his lips. He was even more handsome from the front, a little older than you but no more than two or three years maybe, and he carried himself with a confidence you weren’t sure you’d ever have in your life, like a predator amongst prey.  “Really? I always thought they looked a little soggy.” The man received his pastry, in a small, cute cardboard box. “The display pastries, sure, they’re only changed out if they mould, they’re not supposed to be eaten. They make them fresh each day. I spoke to the owner about it over tea. The pastries are much better than they look.” He assured you, smiling at a young woman with familiarity as she bounded over, loose blonde curls bouncing with her as she moved. “Your coffee, Peter.” She said, holding out the large to-go cup.

“Peter. Suits you.” You commented, smiling at the woman when she looked at you. “Do I get to know yours?” You told him your name, turning to take your own coffees when a young black man came to deliver it to you, he was broad and his head shaved. “Lovely. Maybe next time I see you, I can treat you to a coffee and one of the soggy pastries.” Peter said, confident and sure of his offer.

The two of you didn’t trade numbers, instead choosing to allow fate to determine when you’d see each other again for your little date. It was fun, and you’d not been this excited in a long time.

Tags: @cainnoable @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @frillsinadress @categoryace

If you'd like to tip me and get exclusive ficlets, Kofi

[warping-realities]

Rebranding (Repost)

"How can you be so reckless, Vincent? Be grateful I pulled your ass out of the fire and threw a coat over your sorry self, you idiot. But the fallout... Don’t you get that this could totally wreck your whole career?"

"I know, but that bitch..."

"Don’t you dare use that word again; it's already bad enough to have it on tape flying around all the gossip shows!"

"Sorry, that... woman..."

"Valery, your girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend, or do you really think I’d stick around after she cheated on me?"

"Understandable you broke up, but threatening her and calling her all those names in front of a bunch of paparazzi? Half-naked, no less! What were you thinking?"

"That’s what I’m asking; what was I thinking when I decided to date a brainless bimbo with fake blonde hair?"

"Be super careful with what you say; after all, that’s not the image you wanna project, Vincent."

"Ah, I’m sorry." He replied, eyeing his agent's long blonde hair.

"Apology accepted, asshole. But we’ve got bigger fish to fry. So, tell me, what am I supposed to do with you?"

"I didn’t get your question."

"But I was so clear that even a bimbo would get it."

"Look, I already apologized for how I acted..."

"It turns out that in our circle, just saying sorry isn’t enough. We’ve got an image to protect and sell. Like you said, the vibe Valery gives off fits perfectly with betrayals and gossip sites. But you? Not so much, at least not until this week’s fiasco. Honestly, I never understood what she saw in you. Sure, you’re a well-known gamer influencer, but you’re just a nerd. She’s on another level, with more followers than you, and I bet she’ll be a fashion icon in no time."

"If you called me here just to roast me, I’m out." He said, getting up.

"Sit your ass down and shut it." Inexplicably, he found himself compelled to do just that.

"Hmmm, hmmm."

"Much better, right? I should've figured out your type way earlier, the nice guy who makes funny videos, the friend to everyone, protesting for minorities... but who, deep down, is just another sexist and misogynist like so many others. You’re way worse than a dumb jock, you know why, Vincent? Because they don’t hide who they are; women can smell the toxic masculinity from a mile away. But you, our so-called allies... what a joke... allies like you? I don’t need that. You come at us with your soft words and sensitive hearts, and women like us fall for it. We only catch on to all the microaggressions, the hits to our self-esteem when it’s gone too far, when that happens." She said, pointing to the eye prosthesis.

"I had a heart-to-heart with Valery this morning. Turns out, on top of all that, you’re a lousy performer in bed. That’s why she’s been sneaking around with her gym buddies. Poor girl, always picking the wrong guy, but at least the last dude had an enviable body and an even more enviable... tool, maybe the reason for your little meltdown. In your defense, she swore to me you never laid a finger on her. So, my dear, I’ve decided I’m not gonna bail on you, and Valery’s agreed not to press charges. But for everyone to be happy after the mess you made, you both gotta agree to clean up your images. And for that, you’re gonna participate in a reality show! Fun, right?" She finished with a smirk. Vincent's shocked look showed he wasn’t finding this fun at all.

"Now, Valery is perfect for the reality show in question, and as for you... we’ve got a few months until the next season drops, which I really appreciate, 'cause we need to let the dust settle to work on your image and do a total rebranding. Get up and strip down to your underwear; I don’t need to hurt my only eye with the sight of your tiny dick."

Vincent again found himself compelled to comply and robotically followed his manager's orders.

"It really isn’t good material! But let’s change that; how about a few years less studying foreign languages and more time getting swole at the gym, Vincent?"

Suddenly, all knowledge of Spanish and French evaporated from his mind. Followed by a weird feeling in his body, starting in his feet, which ballooned from size 8 to size 11. Then his calves, a joke among his friends, widened and showed more definition, as well as his thighs, which grew to the point of making him move one leg away from the other, with a little help from his dick, which went from size 3 to 7. Then his abs started to show the shadow of a six-pack, with defined pecs to match, and finally, his skinny arms gained the size and definition of someone who actually lifts weights at the gym. As soon as it started, the feeling passed.

"Much better, flex those muscles for me, Vincent." And so he did, screaming in horror in his own head, but utterly speechless on the outside.

"I think we still have room for improvement," said Monica distractedly. And Vincent, summoning all his willpower, finally got a moment of clarity, rushing to the table and trying to grab anything he could use against her. Not succeeding he just used all his remaining willpower to raise a fist in defiance.

"Stop right there! A fist? Seriously, Vincent? I figured with all your big-brain intellect you’d come up with something better." She mocked the frozen man.

"Apparently, that intellect isn’t all that great. So how about we trade twenty IQ points for another twenty pounds of lean muscle, a few extra inches on your height, on that useless dick of yours, and on those big feet; for some reason, some women go crazy for that!"

Vincent was hit by that odd feeling in his body again, this time accompanied by a sensation of being sucked into his own mind, which prevented him from even thinking. His feet reached a gigantic size 14, giving off a pungent odor, his calves grew until they took on the shape of diamonds, and his thighs expanded to the size of tree trunks; his penis - little Vinnie, a name that popped into his head - reached an impressive 9 inches in length, along with the circumference of a beer can. That hint of a six-pack evolved into a defined eight-pack, and his pecs turned into two slabs of meat, completing the sculpt he developed with broad shoulders and huge, vascularized arms.

"Almost there! The body’s perfect, and intellect down to just the right level. But something’s missing. How about we swap your obsession with game culture for an obsession with yourself? A few tattoos, and what were you saying about fake blonde tan and bleached blond hair? Let’s make sure the outside represents the inside well, my dear, and the main thing is that every woman who lays eyes on you knows what kind of man she’s dealing with.

…

The two girls sitting on the sand tried to focus from a distance on who the man was approaching at the edge of the sea.

"Is he mine or yours, Val?"

"I think he’s yours, Brit; from this distance, I can’t be sure, but he doesn’t look like any of mine... except... no way!"

"What, Val?" asked the other anxiously.

"Wait and see, Britt! But I can guarantee you this is gonna blow some minds!" answered Valery, seeing the young man approaching.

"Hello, ladies!" said the man, exuding cockiness.

"Vincent Parker?" Britt asked in disbelief as Valery just smiled.

"No formalities, girls. You can call me Vinnie!"

[gold-rhine]

What the guard dogs are for

There are some things you never want to hear your secret years-long crush saying, such as “I’m getting married,” “I think we should stay friends” or “I’m the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity.” Wriothesley’s very bad, no good day of trying to unravel conspiracy theories, fumbling a tea party with Chief Justice and learning Teyvat’s ancient history and vishap lore from the leading expert lector.

Genre: angst and misinformation campaign

Characters: Neuvillette\Wriothesley, Enjou

Warnings: sfw in a sense that nothing even remotely sexy happens, but there is dissociation, ptsd episode, brief mention of self-harm, and Enjou doing same thing he does in canon, which is not quite gaslighting? Anyway, let me know if you feel any other warnings need to be added.

Chapters: 1 out of 2. Wordcount: ~8k

With his morning tea, Wriothesley riffled through the reports as usual. Nothing was marked urgent, so he started with the most boring part, - the official ones. The production numbers, coupon consumption statistics, everything is prepared for Neuvillette’s upcoming inspection, which was mostly a formality, but he would want it to go as smoothly as possible. 

Reports from the surface informants. Traveler stirring up a ruckus with the research institute… Well, about time, that pit couldn’t go on forever pretending that massive explosions are just a part of science routine. 

Next, creatures called “vishaps” appeared recently in Erinnyes Forest. These vishaps are apparently a lesser form of dragons, and connected to Liyue vishaps, also lizard-like creatures, though in Liyue they are aligned with geo, not hydro. Non-hostile to humans, aside from one accident. But in that one they fought back against the hunters sent by nobles to capture them as novelty pets. So the only regrettable part was that they didn’t get the nobles, only their lackeys. For shame. 

Next, there are gangs with new lingo going around, which generally was a good thing to pay attention to as they usually ended up in Meropide. Wriothesley frowned, reading the lingo translations, as he suddenly felt old. “Trendy Zaytun Peach” was something he’d got called for taking it up the ass a lot in his days, but now it’s a hip and cool nickname with the youngsters. 

Informal internal reports. Victims of beret society are rehabilitating fine, preparations for the wedding are underway. Good. Albert, a new guy from the shop, is sending him tea. Quite good tea at that. Obviously a bribe attempt, though he didn’t ask for anything as of yet, so it was basically free. Everything was fair in love and bribes as far as Wriothesley was concerned. You could throw everything at the feet of your beloved as to the feet of your targeted bureaucrat, and receive nothing and you would have no claim to complain. Now, the fact he wouldn’t take it into account when making decisions about their proposals, and sometimes would even consider it a negative, was a different matter altogether. 

He perked up reading the last report. There was a new conspiracy, whose agenda was not very clear, as they were more careful than the others, but the gist was something against Neuvillette, so Wriothesley was tracking it for some time. It was hard to get anything concrete though, as they were pretty good at keeping a low profile, but now apparently one of the members by the name of Jacque got into the Fortress on unrelated charges, and he was reportedly not the brightest shank on the block. 

Wriothesley made the arrangements. 

Half an hour later, he happened to stroll by when Jacque was being beaten up by three guys in the shadowy corner. 

“Hey, what’s going on here? Leave him alone!” he said, walking up to them.

“Oh yeah?”, said one of the bullies, turning to him. “Well, make me!”

They were paid double for the pretend fight. It might have been an overkill, usually Wriothesley would go for just scaring them off without combat. Especially because anyone who’s been in the Fortess for some time or had a head on their shoulders would understand that nobody would try to openly fight the Duke outside of the fight club arena. But Jacque was as fresh as they get, allegedly stupid, and it was Wriothesley’s first chance at any info in two whole months, so he decided to make it as impressive as possible.

He went as easy on the guys as he could, they theatrically threw the fight and retreated. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, kneeling next to the guy in the corner and putting his hand on his shoulder for emphasis. 

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’m fine,” Jacque muttered, shaking his head. 

“Why did they attack you?”

“They don’t want me to spread the truth...” Jacque said with heavy emphasis. “But uh, thanks for helping me out.” 

“No need to thank me. I feel bad enough that honest folk like yourself get picked on in MY Fortress. That’s not how I want to run my place, so it’s only natural that I stand up for you.”

It took a moment, but finally the guy gasped.

“Your fortress? Are you… the Duke?”

At least he knew what “Duke” is.

“Yeah,” Wriothesley grinned, turning up the charm. “And allow me to get you a couple of drinks to compensate for the rude welcome you’ve received so far.”

He got them to the Coupon Cafeteria, where best meals were already arranged, and generously poured alcohol into the poor guy, listening to the story of his life and misfortunes that brought him to the Fortress, nodding empathetically. He didn’t ask about Neuvillette at all, to not spook the target, trusting that he will come to this anyway, and finally his patience was rewarded. 

“You know, you’re good!” the guy said drunkenly after some time, clasping his hand on Wriothesley's shoulder, which he beared stoically, grinning with all friendliness in the world. 

“You know, they say we can’t talk to you because you’re bought by that lizard, but I think you’re a good guy. You just don’t know all the facts!”

“Which are?”

The guy leaned closer to him and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Neuvillette is an evil dragon!”

Wriothesley choked on a laughter, which was way too obvious to turn into cough even for the dunce this stupid. 

“No, you don't understand! Dragons were enemies of humanity that Celestia conquered. But they come back when killed! They reincarnate! He is a hydro dragon who was reborn in a human form so he could more easily trick us!”

Wriothesley blinked, remembering Neuvillette standing under the rain, and the old children’s song. “Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, don’t cry….”

“He put our rightful archon Furina on that trial, right? No one else saw the verdict, so he pretended she was declared guilty. He forced her to abdicate and took the power for himself!”

Wriothesley realized long ago that Neuvilette, of course, was not human. It was clear to any idiot who talked to him for longer than a minute in an informal setting, not to mention a lifespan of at least five hundred years. But there were a lot of options other than “evil dragon”. There were old gods who did not receive archonhood, but instead decided to serve the archon, like Liyue’s adepti, and he always assumed Neuvillette was of the same kind. But the idea that Iudex was some kind of evil monster with a grudge against humanity was ridiculous. Especially when he showed up at the Fortress and saved the entire Fountaine and Wriothesley’s own hide from the flood.

“Really?”

“Yeah! We should restore our true archon Furina to her rightful throne!”

Furina’s insurrection? Interesting. Wouldn’t peg her for someone capable of this type of conspiracy.

“And did Furina herself give us her blessing?”

“She can’t speak publicly, as this monster threatens her.”

Hmm, inconclusive on Furina’s involvement.

He spent more time with the drunk Jacque, trying to get more details, but couldn’t get much more than unhinged ramblings on how evil the dragons are and how insidious it was for a dragon to pretend to be a human. He had to leave to prepare to Neuvillette's arrival the next day.

_____

Neuvillette stepped out of Opera Epiclese into the rain and slowed down his pace to prolong the sensation. It was a bit of what humans called guilty pleasure, as he felt guilty from inflicting rain on humans for his own pleasure. Though from his understanding, humans felt guilty because they saw this pleasure as something bad for themselves. Even if often this supposed harm made no sense to Neuvillette. Eating too much food until a human's stomach hurt was at least understandable to see as such, but he heard one of palais’ secretaries say that romance novels were her guilty pleasure. How could humans feel guilty for something as simple as reading? He stopped and asked her why she would feel guilty for reading, because melusines kept telling him that socializing with humans is very easy, you just need to ask them questions about themselves and let them talk about what they like. Well, it didn’t seem to work, as the secretary stumbled, started hyperventilating and emanated levels of panic and anxiety comparable to someone in the defendant’s chair. Sensing human emotions did not actually help Neuvillette in communicating with them, as he could not discern the reasons. He asked her if she perhaps came into possession of any cursed texts? He could generally sense the stench of corruption and there was nothing on her, but there was always a possibility that it was a curse he could not register. She panicked even more and vehemently denied. At this point he decided to give up on socializing, as it was obviously very distressing for humans, but felt obliged to tell her that if she ever did read anything she felt was cursed, to inform him. He hoped it would assuage her fear of reading. She thanked him, stuttering, and after that day avoided him at all costs. 

The rain was a compromise solution in any case. Neuvillette always felt a bit strained and uncomfortable in his body, but after obtaining full dragonhood and most of the memories of past lives, the human shape felt downright stifling. He now remembered thousands of years of being something much bigger, long coils that could easily crush the spire of Opera Epiclese. Now, when he looked at his own reflection, it was hard to comprehend that this small and ridiculous frame was actually him. In addition, all of his memories and instincts called him to be submerged in water. But even with his poor understanding of humans, he realized that seeing the Iudex floating in the river would alarm humans much more than him standing under the rain. So rain was the closest solution he could get at his position. 

He summoned rain instinctively, to be as close to engulfed in water as possible. It was a bit embarrassing that even humans noticed it and composed a rhyme, even if that rhyme was inaccurate. He didn’t cry, as vishaps didn’t cry at all and even his current human shaped body didn’t have tear ducts. The closest he could pinpoint to human experience, as he understood it, was being stressed and desire to be comforted, for which water was his best remedy.

And currently he was quite stressed, looking over the Fontaine laws in an attempt to revise them. The current system that treated justice as theater was clearly imperfect, which he realized long ago. But he never saw himself as authorized to change it, as humans were the responsibility of the archon and even without it, he was well aware he didn’t understand humans, so he knew it wasn’t his place to question the human justice system, to which he was only a temporary guest. But now, as fontanias became part of Teyvat after his decision, and so, a part of his responsibility as Teyvat’s god of life, even if the usurper tried to deny him, he couldn’t ignore the need for change any longer. The problem was that he did not understand humans any better, so it was very stressful to try and restructure their systems of governance. 

He extended a hand, catching raindrops on his palm, when he noticed a silhouette near the elevator to the Fortress, and stopped himself from visibly controlling the weather. 

Wriothesley caught his eyes and grinned, approaching him at brisk pace, umbrella over his head.

“Greetings, Monsieur.”

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley always somehow managed to make a “Monsieur” sound more impactful than Neuvillette could “Your Grace”, despite one being a noble title and another just a polite greeting. 

“Would you like to…?” Wriothesley extended his arm with an umbrella, without actually covering Neuvillette with it. In the past, as a part of playing a role of “normal human”, Neuvillette accepted such offers, though there were not many aside from Wriothesley who dared to approach him with it. But now, as he was a full-fledged dragon, at the height of his power and influence in this land, surely he could afford to discard this role? Surely he could afford to be himself at least in this?

“No, thank you,” he said, smiling and trying to sound as cordial as possible, so that Wriothesley would not think it was a slight against him personally. “Don’t take it as offense, but I actually like being under the rain.”

The Duke smiled back, shaking his head.

“No offense taken, but why didn’t you say it last time? I felt like an idiot forcing you under an umbrella.”

“Really?” Neuvillette perked up, falling in step with the human. “You could tell that I…”

“Hated it? Yeah, for sure.”

“....prefered not to have an umbrella.”

Wriothesley let out a low, guttural bark of laughter that somehow got to the dragon despite him not being interested in humans in general.

“Not only I could tell I disturbed you, but I had to walk on the flowerbed to get to you, and then I trailed dirt in the Palais while everyone here glared at me for the audacity. Meanwhile you walked on the same dirt, but stayed pristine!”

“I’m sorry for…”

“Hey, don’t apologize. I’m just kidding, don’t worry.”

Neuvillette met the greyish blue eyes of thawed ice directly and sensed that he was truly not bothered, which didn’t make much sense. But Wriothesley was one of the very few humans who was not scared in the dragon’s presence. He was, probably, the only one who emanated only positive emotions at their meetings. Neuvillette mostly encountered negative reactions in his daily life at the trials, so he could not tell apart which positive feelings exactly that he read from Wriothesley due to the lack of exposure. But perhaps…

“I wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome at the Palais,” Neuvillette said after a short pause.

Wriothesley grinned with a careless shrug.

“Then I will be there, even if the rest of your bureaucrats make faces. As I said, don’t worry.”

Neuvilette frowned, but didn’t see much point in pressing this further. After a confrontation with Navia, the dragon realized that his lack of understanding of humans hindered him, instead of making him truly impartial. Especially now that he was de facto in charge of the entire Fontaine government. And practice showed that only direct interaction with humans could give valuable experience, as watching from the Iudex seat did not allow him a nuanced understanding. 

So perhaps, if Wriothesley was a rare human who was not scared of him, and he proved rational and trustworthy in the years they knew each other, Neuvillette could confide in his true nature and maybe ask for advice in understanding humanity?

“Perhaps staying for some tea would make up for this past offense?”

Wriothesley stumbled for a moment.

“Seriously?” He sounded as casual and ironic as usual, but the surprised burst of positive emotions from him was bright and obvious. “After all these years you finally decided to deign my humble office with your presence?”

“It’d be a completely unofficial visit, of course.”

“Sure, sure. It was never my secret plot to bribe you with a tea party, trust me, even I realize my tea is not that good.”

His voice was ironic, but for a moment Neuvillette could see his crooked grin turn into a genuine smile. So, reassured that he was not imposing, Iudex nodded and followed the human into the Fortress’ entrance.

_________

The inspection itself was mostly a formality. The Court of Fontaine technically had no direct authority over Meripode, but it provided guards and substantial resources, and so it had a right to oversee the use of these assets. The actual budgeting was done on the regular in behind the scenes reports though, as the data was not visible in the in person visit. Still, it was a time honored tradition that got Neuvilette to show up regularly.

“Take a seat. It will take me a minute to make tea.”

Neuvilette gracefully sat down on the visitor’s chair In Wriothesley office, folding his hands on the cane. He still sat with a ramrod straight back and perfect posture, but there was a certain lightness to him today, which was hard to put into words. 

“The inspection is over, yet you are still nervous.”

Wriothesley knew he had a poker face good enough to cover it, yet Neuvillette saw it anyway. He had theorized for a long time that the Iudex could sense emotions, but usually he would not acknowledge it directly like this. “I wasn't nervous about the inspection to begin with. But inviting a high and mighty Iudex himself to the tea for years and then disappointing him when he finally accepts would be a devastating faux de pas. They will mock me on the first pages of all the papers tomorrow.”

Neuvillette frowned slightly.

“I must underline that I’m not here in any official capacity, and I would hope I’m talking to Wriothesley, not the Warden or the Duke. If you agree, I would ask that we leave the titles at the door.”

“No, of course,” Wriothesley, who had fantasized about leaving titles at the door and then clothes on the floor for actual years, said quickly, frantically recalculating how he could turn the tea party to wine tasting, which best wines he had confiscated in his storage and how he could make turning on the gramophone and then maybe leaning against the edge of the table in front of Neuvillette look natural and smooth. “Absolutely. I was just joking anyway, don’t mind it.”

“Ah, I see. I apologize, I’m unfortunately prone to missing humorous intent, so I appreciate your clarification.”

With how far the Iudex went out of his way to assure people of his good intentions in informal situations, Wriothesley really didn’t understand how everyone found him so intimidating. Especially because he very often had to interact with assholes in positions of power who did try to intimidate him on purpose and the contrast was very apparent. Neuvillette projected an aura of power without really wanting to, and then tried to over-explain himself to make others feel at ease. His earnest awkwardness was something like the clumsiness of a huge beast like an elephant trying not to step on the gaggle of kittens at his feet.

“In any case, there is nothing to be nervous about. After all, tea is liquid, and it’s really hard to make liquids unpleasant. So far I think only Fonta truly managed it.” Neuvillette drummed his fingers on the table and glanced at Wriothesley. “To be frank, if crimes against water could be prosecuted, Fonta would receive life in prison.”

Wriothesley snorted. “So no sugar in your tea, I take it?”

“No, thank you,” Iudex said politely and then, after a short pause, “And to clarify, I was not serious. There is nothing wrong with people liking sugary drinks, of course. I was just making an attempt at a joke.”

He really was horrendously bad at pretending to be a human. How could anyone hear him talk and still believe he’s a scheming manipulator was beyond ridiculous.

“No, I got it. It was a good joke,” The Duke grinned, placing a teacup in front of Neuvillette and sitting down across the table with his own.

Neuvillette gave him a graceful nod with a little smile and picked up his cup, giving it a swirl before tasting.

“Hmm. Interesting. Poignant. Bitter,” he said thoughtfully, tilting his head. 

Wriothesley was about to mention that this sort was not usually bitter, but Iudex continued. 

“Not by nature, but forced by circumstances. Not nearly enough water to be nourished, so it had to adapt and conserve strength, letting leaves seen as unimportant to die and concentrate on survival of the main branches. But there is not just hunger… there is a dream of rain. An ache of something not ever known, but yearned, longed for, without realizing what it is. But then…” Neuvillette closed his eyes for a moment. “It happened. There is a memory of luminous joy of water not gathered by mere drops, but drank in full, overwhelming, a feast after a life of fighting for scraps of morning dew. It had tasted rain at least once in the end.”

Wriothesley put his own cup down, leaning forward in disbelief.

“No way. This was a harvest from a drought year and it’s normally a mild sort, considered unusually strong in this season. How could you know this? Are you cheating?”

“You’re welcome to test me with other samples,” Neuvillette said with an air of a magnanimous ruler granting a boon and put the teacup down with a delicate clink. 

“Oh, I’m taking you up on your word, trust me,” the Duke grinned, but then paused. He didn’t want to spoil the mood, but he remembered how strongly Neuvillette felt about the perceived melusines conspiracy. Wriothesley had to tell him about the evil dragon idiots just to make sure he’s not thrown off balance later. That’s what the guard dogs are for, after all.

“Actually, before we move forward with testing your psychic tea reading abilities, there is something concerning official business that I think you should know. And then we can forget it completely.”

Neuvillette inclined his head with a small smile.

“There is a small group of conspirators, - and I must reiterate, it’s very small - who operate on the ridiculous idea that… uh, that you’re some kind of an evil dragon who schemed to overthrow Furina.”

Neuvillette's smile froze.

“You don’t have to worry about it, really. It’s negligibly small, and well, anyone with a working brain would not believe that you’re a monster in disguise.”

Iudex was silent for some time, not meeting Wriothesley’s eyes.

“Are melusines implicated in this?” he said finally.

“No. No, there’s no connection to them in this stupid theory.”

“Good. That's good. They do love living with humans so much.”

Wriothesley suspected that Iudex was taking things kind of out of proportion again.

“Listen, it’s really nothing…”

“No, no, I understand. It would be so unacceptably horrifying for humans to learn their ruler is a… monster.”

Neuvillette's voice wavered, but his face was impartial, strict, previous lightness gone completely. Wriothesley saw his hands tighten their grip on the handle of his cane a moment before he abruptly stood up.

“I must apologize for impropriety, but I have important business in the Palais which was inappropriate for me to neglect for so long. I must beg your leave to depart.”

Wriothesley stood up too, scraping to understand what he did wrong.

“Wait, it’s not…”

“Thank you for your time, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley shut his mouth, the title feeling like a slap for the first time in his life. The formality and politeness somehow only made it worse. He took a deep breath and willed himself to sound calm.

“I hope you have a nice evening, Monsieur Iudex.”

Neuvillette left in what for his usual dignified pace could be considered a hurry. Wriothesley followed him without being seen, partly to make sure he doesn’t get bothered by inmates and partly on an instinct to investigate. 

At the Fortress’ entrance, he watched Neuvillette walk under the rain, lifting his head upward. The blue strands of his long hair glowed and so did his coat-tails. They extended, shining brilliant bioluminescent blue, trailing behind the Chief Justice, in a moment looking like fish’s fins, then the next - as colossal snake’s coils. Sea waves crashed against the ridge without any wind, rising high, reaching to a lonely glowing figure of Iudex. With bated breath, Wriothesley watched Neuvillette extend a hand, as if catching raindrops - and rain stopped mid-flight in the air, lingering over his palm, waves frozen cresting over the earth. The raindrops gathered in a shuddering spheres, and then stretched upwards, against all laws of gravity.  Wriothesley’s heart skipped a beat as Neuvillette closed his fist and the rain flew backwards to the skies.

Wriothesley stormed back into his office and frantically searched through the reports, pages flying about, until he found the one about vishaps. He looked at the photos, seeing similarities he would never look for before. The dark blue color of vishap’s hide was nearly identical to Neuvillette’s attire, but that was small beans, easily written off as coincidence. Their eyes, bright magenta with white vertical slice of a pupil, resembled Iudex, but there was room for debate, as his eyes were much paler, lilac merging into gentle blue instead of a bright pink, even as white vertical pupil was so similar. What really struck Wriothesley after all this, was actually the little blue feather at the side of the head of both vishaps and Neuvillette. It was identical and looked so… deliberate. It had to be chosen and placed precisely like this. 

Still, this was not enough. He needed more evidence. He needed… he needed answers.

He walked to Jacque's block as quickly as he could without alarming inmates, but when he got to the conspirator’s room, Jacque was sleeping on the bed and a man was sitting on the chair next to him, reading a book. He looked up when Wriothesley walked in and stood up, clumsily dropping the book. He was tall and gangly, had dark hair, Inazuman features and light brown eyes behind the glasses. 

“Who are you?” Wriothesley was really not in the mood for playing games.

“Well, my organization caught wind that you are interested in learning some… historical information, and our poor Jacque is really not the best source, which is why I’m here to answer any questions you have,” the man gave him a groveling smile. “You can call me Enjou.”

“Not here. In my office. Follow me.”

When they got there, Enjou whistled musingly.

“Uh, what a nice office! Must be a pretty sweet gig. I wish I had an office instead of slinking in dump ruins all the time.” He sighed theatrically. “So, I assume your main questions are on the vishap situation. I…”

“Wait,” Wriothesley said, walking up to one of his wall cabinets. “You can’t expect me to just believe you on your word.”

“Oh, of course, of course! You’re free to rough me up a bit first. Maybe a little bit of torture? But only a little bit, I’ve got a glass jaw, haha!”

Wriothesley didn’t live so long as an undisputed champion of fight club to not recognize a freak who gets off on pain. He grimaced, walking up to the table where Enjou was already trying to rifle through the papers. He stopped with an apologetic grin and put his hands up. Wriothesley put a glass vial on the table.

“Drink.”

Enjou raised his eyebrows.

“Are we dining and wining first or?...”

“It’s a truth serum,” it was a secret project of the Sumeru Akademiya, before the sages were overthrown. Dendro Archon reportedly could read the thoughts of people, and sages were trying to replicate the effect at least partially. Wriothesley came into possession of it after using his network to get the sages connected to the needed people in Fontaine institute, as Fontaine was at the cutting edge of mech technology and the sages were apparently building an artificial god. Didn’t pan out for them, but the serum worked. Wriothesley was sure of it, because he tried it on himself first.

“Oh! How exciting! How does it work? Will it perhaps burn my insides in agonizing pain if I lie?”

“Drink,” Wriothesley said through gritted teeth.

Enjou smiled and drank the vial in one shot.

“Well, nothing is burning so far, but the evening is young, haha,” he said, smacking his lips.

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“Why are you here?”

“Huh? What do you mean? To explain the history to you, as I said.”

“Because of the goodness of your heart? What’s your agenda? Your goal?”

Enhou cleared his throat.

“Well, first of all, I do believe in uncovering and spreading so-called “forbidden” knowledge. But with your particular case can you really question my agenda? I didn’t come to you first. You were the one who sought us out. I didn’t even want to be here! I was doing my own thing without knowing about you, to be honest! But, well, I am in an organization with some unfortunate morons who thought that recruiting a convenient idiot and then sending him into underworld prison to make sure he isn’t heard is a great plan. And then when the Warden takes note of the idiot and gets him to blabber, these same morons go, Enjou, you have to get there, because you’re a vishap expert! Ugh.” 

Enjou shook his head in seemingly sincere frustration.

“But um, yeah, I’m not trying to recruit you or anything. We know how you’ve disposed of House of Hearth agents and how you generally obstruct Fatui’s activity, and we just don't want you to do the same to us. Because we’re not your enemy! So I’m here to provide you with the necessary context to see that.”

Wriothesley drummed his fingers on the table.

“Okay. Start talking about Neuvilette and vishaps.”

“Well, Neuvilette is a Hydro Dragon, that should be obvious. To clarify, Hydro Dragon here means Hydro Dragon Sovereign, because technically all hydro vishaps are hydro dragons. If you didn’t know, which is understandable, as you’re more of a fighter type and not a bookworm like myself, haha, vishaps are primordial elemental creatures, original rulers of this land and mortal foes of humanity. Long before Archons, there were Dragon Sovereigns in charge of each element. Then there was a war with Celestia, specifics of which are not widely known, but we do know that Celestia won, dragons were largely eradicated and the huge chunks of powers of Sovereigns were taken from them and given to the Archons. Hydro Sovereign was killed.” 

Enjou made a dramatic pause, before leaning forward with a grin. “But you see, vishaps reincarnate. Neuvillette is a Hydro Sovereign reborn in a human shape. There was actually an Inazuman prophecy about it, recorded in the Byakuyakoku Collection. That Hydro Dragon will descend in a human form, and it specifically mentions a cane. This really baffles me, to be honest. How could they predict the cane? Why does he even need a cane? Surely not because of any weakness, he’s an immortal dragon, 500 years is very young for him. And the records say when Neuvilette took his position as the Iudex some 400 years ago, he already had a cane. Was he born with it? Like, had he sprung fully formed, with a cane? Did he pick it up as, I don't know, honorary agreement with a prophecy? Or were his fashion choices actually predetermined to the degree that the prophecy knew them millenia ago?”

“Get back on track,” Wriothesley growled.

“Oh, sorry. Hmm, this serum works by forcing you to spell your thoughts out loud, yes? Well, then it’s not my fault I’m even more blabbering than usual!”

Wriothesley clasped his hands together and said slowly, carefully watching Inazuman’s reaction. “Even if he is a hydro sovereign dragon, as you say, this alone does not make him evil, as your conspiracy claims.”

Enjou fixed his glasses. He really had the hands of a bookworm, no work calluses or fighting scars. But there were spots of reddened, peeling skin that looked like burns that didn’t get to fully heal before getting burned again.

“Did you miss the “mortal foe of humanity” bit? But okay, sure. This is Fontaine after all, presumption of innocence and all that. I mean, I can’t read his thoughts to tell you under oath that he’s evil, so don’t take me to court, hehe!” Enjou grinned, clearly pleased at his own joke. “But I can tell what I know and ask some questions. My first question is why, after losing a war and presumably being killed by Celestia, would an ancient dragon god want to serve a servant of Celestia? The Archon, who rules with what is actually his own power? Unless he had some sort of agenda, perhaps? And come to think of it, why would Hydro Archon put a mortal foe of humanity into a position of such institutional power?”

“Are you implying Neuvilette forced Furina to give him the position of Iudex?”

“Well, I wasn’t here!” Enjou raised his hands defensively. “But why else would he become the Iudex?”

“There are higher beings and gods serving archons in other nations. Like Liyue adepti serving Rex Lapis.”

“Morax was known as the prime of the adepti. None of them could compare with him at strength. Same with yokai and Baal in Inazuma, she was the strongest by far. It’s natural that they would accept servitude. But here…” Enjou glanced at Wriothesley with a sly smile. “If you had to make a bet on a direct fight between Neuvillette and Furina, who would you bet on? Come on, I know tales that her own court would not listen to her until the Iudex tapped his cane.”

Wriothesley couldn’t really argue with this. When the Primordial Sea started breaking out, he himself sent for Neuvillette and didn’t even think to ask the actual Archon.

“In that case, why didn’t he just kill her immediately? Why would he play the judge?”

“Well, you see, he would not get his power back from just killing her. It would just pass to the next Archon. No, the Hydro Archon had to destroy her own throne. And running out the ruler requires a long game, as you know very well yourself, You Grace.”

Wriothesley kept a calm face, but something must have given him away, as Enjou grinned predatorily.

“Next set of facts and questions. You know of the infamous Archon trial, of course? When it was revealed that fontanian people are actually oceanids, given human shape by the previous hydro archon, Egeria? And the prophecy of the flood works because Primordial Sea waters dissolve fontanians into their oceanid forms. Well, the flood actually came. Why were fontanians not dissolved?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me that.”

“Hehe, yes. It was because Neuvillette turned them into real humans with his powers of Hydro Sovereign. How generous of him, yeah? The question is, why did it take him so long? It’s been 500 years, and yet fontanians were made human only minutes before the flood.”

Despite a feeble bookworm posturing, there was a shadow of unhinged madness in his eyes, dangerous enough that in any other case Wriothesley would cut contact. But the stakes were too high right now. He needed to get all the information he could out of this lunatic.

“You might also remember that on the same trial it was proven that Furina is not a Hydro Archon. And I can tell you that the actual Archon, Focalors, was in the Oracle machine the whole time. Sorry, I’m not even trying to pronounce that full name, haha!”

The urge to punch this bastard was overwhelming, but Wriothesley kept himself in check, mostly because he could tell he was being baited into it and he didn’t want to give the piece of shit the satisfaction.

“Anyway, Neuvilette had an audience with her right after a trial, and as result she killed herself and gave him power back. You see, Hydro Archon doesn’t have the ability to turn oceanids into real humans. All of you were just… things, playing at being humans,” Enjou said with a smirk that looked more fascinated than mocking. “But Hydro Sovereign, the original god of life, does have the power to do so. And he also, conveniently, has control over the Primordial Sea, which you, Your Grace, already know as he stopped the flood in your own Fortress.”

Wriothesley raised an eyebrow and Enjou smiled with a shrug.

“Again, I was not there! But I do know Hydro Sovereign controls the Primordial Sea, and that there is an entrance to the Sea in the Meripode Fortress. I also know that there was some emergency in the Fortress, where inmates were told to run as close to the surface as possible, and then Monsieur Iudex visited and the disaster was somehow avoided.”

Wriothesley frowned. 

“If he was really a mortal enemy of humanity, why wouldn’t he just let the gates of Meripode break and the flood happen right there and then? We would all be gone and he wouldn’t need to lift a finger. Instead he ran to help when I… when the Fortress called.”

“And what would that achieve? He still wouldn’t get his power back,” Enjou shrugged dismissively and then smiled, almost wistfully. 

“No, you know what I would do if *I* was the Hydro Sovereign with an ability to take human form? And if the Archon who held my power hostage was relatively weak AND had the prophecy involving a flood of the Sea I control? Well, I’d infiltrate human society, take a position of high authority and make sure the humans not only see me as the personification of law and justice, but also respect me more than their own Archon. And when the prophecy deadline is coming up, I’d make sure I have people loyal to me in some key positions. Such as Royal Duelist… and the Warden of the Fortress.”

“He didn’t make me the Warden,” Wriothesley gritted out. 

“No, but he did make you the Duke, didn’t he?” Enjou smirked with a wink. “Our sources say the Court was not thrilled to give the highest noble title to you. And if the Iudex did not throw his own weight behind it, it would have never come to pass. How generous of him.”

It was true, Wriothesley’s own informants reported that the Court loathed to give him a title, let alone as high as the Duke. Neuvillette was the only one who fought for him and fought hard, because usually Iudex’s one word was enough to make a decision, but here the stalemate lasted for two months. They wanted to compromise and give him the viscount, but Iudex wouldn’t budge, so in the end, they caved.

Wriothesley never asked Neuvillette for the title. Neuvillette never mentioned what he did for the Warden and never dropped anything even as close as a hint of asking anything in return.

Unless you see it as a part of centuries long game, where mundane favors didn’t matter, but being called first to the access of the Primordial Sea did.

“Ah, you’re starting to get it, don’t you?” Enjou sensed blood in the water, like a proper shark would. “Then I would orchestrate a public court hearing to absolutely discredit the current ruler and corner the actual Archon. And when Focalors is forced to talk to me…. I would make a bargain. Saving the lives of all fontanians in exchange of getting my full power back and Focalors dying. Isn't it ironic that the dragon playing human was the one to turn human-shaped water things into actual humans?"

Enjou leaned back against his chair, grinning with satisfaction.

“And then I’d have an entire country loyal to me as a ruler, which would make a great foothold to use for attacking Celestia.”

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“You really expect me to take you on your word? You might believe it yourself, which will pass the truth serum, but the word of a lunatic is not evidence.”

“Oh, of course not! I would never expect you to take my lowly word for it. Instead, why don’t you take Monsieur Iudex’s word?”

Enjou made a dramatic gesture of spilling a heap of conches onto the table. Wriothesley raised his eyebrows, when the other man poked one of them awkwardly.

“Now that I have reclaimed one of the Seven Authorities from the hands of the usurpers, I have regained my true form,” a calm voice that was undoubtedly Neuvillette, said out of nowhere. “I am now a fully fledged dragon, powerful enough to judge the rest of the gods. My final destiny is to judge the Usurper-King in the heavens above.”

“This could be faked,” Wriothesley said automatically, just to argue, but his heart already fell.

“You wound me! These are his words, and I spent an entire night fishing them out for you, I’ll have you know. It’s quite hard to capture this. You’re welcome to listen to all of them and see for yourself.”

Almost against his will, Wriothesley reached out and touched one of the conches.

“…I shall fulfill my vow to judge all of The Seven in turn, even if the sky should fall and the ground give way.”

Wriothesley took an abrupt breath through his teeth. Enjou sighed and stood up.

“I think it’s better for you to listen to this alone. After, you’re welcome to reach out to us, but please don’t make any hasty decisions. I’ll see you soon, Your Grace!”

Enjou walked down the stairs, and by the time Wriothesley got to them, there was no one there. The Duke couldn’t bring himself to focus on that though. Instead, he walked up to one of the wall cabinets and took out a bottle of whiskey he was saving up as a possible gift.

He didn’t bother with the glass. He fell down into the chair in front of the conches and clenched his fingers on the bottle, icy veins springing up from under them. He took a sip and touched another conch.

“…my grievances with the usurpers have yet to be settled... They owe a debt of blood that shall not be forgotten.”

He drank, staring blindly into the distance, and listened, and the quiet words burned worse than whiskey sliding down his throat. He caught himself on a familiar thought. “This can’t be happening. This is too monstrous.” The same feverish thoughts he had when he discovered the truth about his foster parents.

As if by now he shouldn’t have learned that nothing is too monstrous in this world.

“As a survivor of the dragon race who has regained my full dragonhood, I must fulfill my oath and obligations even if it means returning all the water in the oceans back to the heavens.”

It really did sound exactly like Neuvillette. Wriothesley tried to find the lie, something that sounded fake, but not only the voice, but the cadence and word choice fit. And it sounded calm, impartial as usual too. And then there were hydro vishaps appearing in Erinnyes…

Fuck, was it really that easy to fool him? Was he really this big of a fool? He learned to distrust sweet words and warm smiles, and he was so sure that he wouldn’t get caught in the same lies ever again, even if he sacrificed his ability to love for this. But all it took was a seeming opposite, direct and harsh, too cold and intimidating to appear manipulative, but endearingly awkward just sometimes, just enough to make him believe that… That there was something true and clear in this rotten world. That he could trust in *someone*.

“Nothing will stop me from rendering judgment on each of The Seven.” 

He went through all of the recordings, frantically at first, wanting to find contradictions, then, when none were found, numbly re-listening to the few that hit the worst.

“…also the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity. “

Wasn’t it too obvious in hindsight? Why would the Iudex stake his own reputation on Wriothesley’s title? How could you not see it coming? Oh, because you thought you “deserve” it for turning this dog-fighting pit of a prison into something with a modicum of fairness? Because you thought he recognized your redemption? Gods, what are you, fucking fourteen again, did you learn nothing, why would anyone ever care about you, you naive goddamn idiot?

Soon, the bottle was somehow almost done. At this point he was running one recording on repeat, mindless and purposeless except for repeating slashes of pain, familiar rhythm like the knife on his wrists years ago.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry." Whoever had penned that rhyme, as well as the Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the Hydro Dragon all that well, considering that they thought the Hydro Dragon could cry. What did they take said Dragon for, some sort of bleeding heart who grieved for humans and the heavens alike?”

If this was true… If this was true, then Wriothesley didn’t just get fooled himself. Then he helped a monster take control of the country and potentially use it in war against heavens. 

He clenched his hand and it took him a moment to realize he broke the bottle he was holding in it. That pain from glass pieces in his palm felt small and distant now. But at last, it spurned him into action.

If this was true, he only had one shot. He’d already told Neuvillette of the dragon conspiracy, like a good little idiot eager to please. And any tyrant worth his salt would make sure to take him out after his, especially now that he outlived his purpose in giving access to Meripode vaults. He might have some time because of how oblivious he was, dismissing the conspiracy openly, but it couldn’t be long. 

He couldn’t take his time. He couldn’t hope for the better. He had to act like it’s the worst option possible. More than anything, he needed to confront Neuvillette, dragon Sovereign or not. He had to fix this, no matter the cost.

He realized he needed leverage. Brute strength was out of the question. Even before the flood, Neuvillette absolutely destroyed Fatui Harbinger in one flash, quicker than anyone in the audience could see what happened. Wriothesley would put himself against Harbringer with no hesitation, but he wasn’t an idiot. If this was how powerful Iudex was before, then after allegedly gaining his full power, there was no way Wriothesley could threaten him. No, he needed something else.

He took out the paper and wrote a note, taking care to not stain it with blood. Fortunately, he held the bottle in his left hand, so he could keep it out of the way.

“....and so confess that I, Wriothesley, Warden of the Fortress of Meripode, killed Chief Justice, Iudex Neuvillette.”

He finished the note and carefully put in his signature, then folded the paper into an envelope and closed it with his personal seal. Then he walked up to a safe, one of the hidden ones, and punched in a code. When the safe opened, he rummaged in it for a moment, until finally taking out two vials.

This was sold to him as the poison that could kill a god.

[vero1shere]

spring breakers! chapter three

pairing: roman roy x fem!oc

word count: 3.4k

summary: Marla Carranza, despite being a board member, hasn't talked to the Roys in years. This changes the minute a very desperate Kendall Roy calls her.

warnings: more sexual comments, foul language, there's one joke about incest, logan roy!

a/n: i must say this work is mainly self-indulging but i''m also happy some ppl are reading this!!!!! if anyone's read king lear, i just wanted to add i based marla on edmund (aka my fav character) who is basically in this weird love triangle with the two sisters, so that WILL translate into marla's character. maybe not necessarily in a romantic way with kendall (could be, idrk rn) but mainly in how she's literally playing both sides with both brothers.

series masterlist. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁inbox

The boardroom was already tense when Marla arrived, its heavy oak doors swallowing the murmurs of Waystar’s elite like a judge’s gavel calling court to order. The air had that thick, charged quality—anticipation laced with just a touch of dread. It smelled of expensive cologne, stale coffee, and the underlying rot of old money in crisis.

She stepped inside, deliberate and silent, the click of her heels muffled by the plush carpeting. Eyes flicked toward her but didn’t linger. She was not the main event. Not today. That honor belonged to Kendall, except, of course, he wasn’t fucking here.

Marla stood in the hallway outside the boardroom, arms crossed, watching as Gerri pressed her phone tighter against her ear. The older woman’s face was a mask of forced calm, but Marla caught the way her fingers drummed impatiently against the side of her blazer.

“Gerri. Can you hear me?” Kendall’s voice crackled through the speaker, cutting in and out. “Hey, where are you? Listen, I’m... I’m almost there. The traffic stopped. I need you to stall.”

Marla exhaled sharply, shifting her weight onto one foot. Stall? Logan was already in there, and she knew damn well he wasn’t going to wait around for his son to show up and stab him in the throat.

“What? What’s that? Bad connection,” Gerri muttered. She glanced at Marla and Roman, exasperated. “Kendall, I can’t hear you.”

“I’m in a tunnel. OK? Stall.”

And then—silence.

Gerri stared at her phone for half a second before muttering, “Fuck.”

Marla barely had time to process before Roman let out a sharp, amused breath beside her. “Wow. Amazing job, Ken. ‘I’m in a tunnel?’ What, is he driving in from the fucking underworld?”

Marla ignored him, turning to Gerri. “What now?”

Gerri pinched the bridge of her nose. “We go in. And we don’t make it look like we’re scrambling.”

Marla rolled her shoulders back, adjusting her blazer. Kendall needed time, and she wasn’t exactly in the business of defending dumbass rich boys, but she wasn’t about to let Logan steamroll this before it even started.

Roman smirked at her, watching her straighten up. “Aw, look at you. Actually trying to save your little buddy’s coup attempt.”

“Somebody has to,” Marla shot back, already walking toward the boardroom doors.

Behind her, Roman chuckled. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Marla slid into a seat at the far end of the table, a safe distance from Roman, but unfortunately not far enough from Logan’s eyeline. She felt his gaze skim over her, sharp and assessing, but he said nothing, yet.

Stewy sat down beside her, catching Marla’s eye and giving her the faintest nod. At least one person here wasn’t openly hostile.

Frank cleared his throat. “Uh, I... I just got word. I think Kendall will be a few minutes late.”

Marla stayed still, barely breathing. Logan, seated at the head of the table, didn’t react at first, just stared at Frank like he’d spoken in a foreign language.

Frank hesitated. “Request for a late start?”

“No!” Logan barked.

Frank flinched. “No?”

“He can catch up,” Logan said, waving a hand. “Fuck that! Where is he?”

Frank cleared his throat. “Stuck in traffic. That’s all I know”

“Okay, come on, come on, let’s go. Let’s go.” He clapped his hands together, impatient. 

“It’s twelve noon, and I’d like to call the meeting of Waystar Royco to order.” Frank straightened his papers. “Roll call.”

Roman made a face. “Roll call?”

Logan scoffed. “We’ve never done roll call.”

Frank ignored them. “We’re doing it today.”

“Why?” Logan asked.

“Because that’s how we do it,” Frank muttered.

Marla caught the way Logan tilted his head, he surprisingly still hadn’t caught on to what was about to happen. 

Frank pressed on. “Logan Roy.”

Logan spread his hands. “Yeah.”

Frank continued. “Frank Vernon, present.”

“Kendall Roy. Absent, Roman Roy.”

“Yo,” Roman said, popping the ‘o.’

“Ewan Roy, absent. Marla Carranza”

“Here”

“That’s a fucking surprise.” Logan’s mutters were still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. 

And so Frank continued on with the roll call, realising that there was not much stalling left that could be done. 

He set the papers down. “Mr. Chairman, we have a quorum. So,” he said lazily, “everybody has a copy of the agenda and the minutes of the last meeting. Is that right?”

A quiet chorus of yeses followed.

“Do any of you have any questions that have come to you immediately after looking at them?” Frank asked, glancing around. “I know that I—I have a few thoughts we might have to take a look at.”

“What thoughts?” Logan asked, raising a brow.

“Just wait a second, and I’ll get to it.”

Marla glanced sideways as Gerri checked her phone again. The same tight, contained expression.

Still no fucking Kendall.

As Frank was about to move forward, the conference room doors swung open with a slow, deliberate creak.

Every head turned.

Ewan Roy stood in the doorway, adjusting his coat like he had all the time in the world. Behind him, a stunned assistant hovered awkwardly, half-gesturing toward the entrance, clearly having failed to stop him from walking in unannounced.

Marla caught the flicker of surprise in Logan’s eyes, very brief, but there.

He was starting to realise something was going on.

Ewan gave the room a disapproving once-over before speaking.

“Well… you just can’t keep away, huh?” Logan finally broke the silence, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Ewan sniffed. “Thought maybe I’d show up for once. Watch the fun.”

Marla glanced at Roman, who leaned back in his seat, whispering a barely audible “Jesus” under his breath as he stood up to receive a call from whom she could only assume was Kendall.

Marla hadn’t been to board meeting in years but she was still aware that this was a fucking shitshow. 

Frank’s eyes narrowed. “So, let’s move along to item 3.1.”

“Mm-hmm? Uh, what’s ‘Performance issues?’” Logan frowned. “Sounds fucking vague. And why is it so high on the fuckin’ hit parade?”

Logan’s frown deepened. “What is this?”

Marla braced herself.

“What the f**k is this?”

“I think Kendall wants to make a comment.” 

Through the speaker, Kendall’s voice came in, slightly distorted but unmistakably tense.

“Hey, guys. Can you hear me? I apologize. I will be there shortly.”

Logan tapped his fingers against the table again, but this time, it wasn’t amusement. It was irritation.

“Where are we at?” Kendall asked.

Frank hesitated. “We are at your item. Performance issues.”

Silence.

Marla gripped her pen. Come on, Ken. Say it.

A siren wailed faintly in the background.

“You want us to wait?”

Logan tilted his head, eyes sharp. “F**k that. We’re movin’ on.”

Another pause. Then—Kendall’s voice, firm.

“No, no. It’s okay. I can do this.”

Marla exhaled slowly, pulse picking up.

This is happening.

“…every day he refuses to retire, he is one day closer to destroying his own legacy.”

The air in the boardroom felt thick, pressing in like a held breath. Across from her, Ewan scoffed, tearing at his croissant with deliberate disinterest. Marla could hear the flake of pastry crackling between his fingers, a sound almost as loud as the silence in the room.

Logan leaned forward, his voice sharp despite the gravel in it. “Speak up. Can’t hear.”

Kendall’s voice returned, stronger.

“He took on levels of debt that threatened the very existence of our firm. He’s lining up dead-weight acquisitions in a sector he has a historic regard for but which are non-growth areas. If he pursues the full breadth of his megalomaniacal vision, we will end up with years of political conflict with the FCC, executive, legislative, and judicial branches of government. He is making decisions for a future that he no longer understands. He’s gambling our last dollars at the track on a horse that’s ready for the glue factory. And I am calling for a vote of no confidence in him as CEO and Chairman.”

Silence.

Frank cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “Logan, since you’re the subject of the vote, you need to recuse yourself.”

Logan let out a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head. “Bullshit. No.”

Frank hesitated. “That’s… not how this works.”

“Fuck you. I built this place,” Logan snapped. “If you want to stab me in the back, you’ll do it to my face.”

Ewan whistled lowly, amused.

“You don’t get to vote, and you don’t get to comment,” Frank said, steadier now. “Really, you should leave the room.”

Logan’s gaze cut through him like a blade.

“I’m sick,” he muttered. “Can’t move. Fuck that. Vote.”

Frank exhaled sharply, but he let it go. “Alright. All in favor of the vote of no confidence in Logan Roy?”

Kendall’s voice didn’t waver. “Me. My hand is raised. More in sorrow than in anger.”

Logan scoffed, low and derisive. “No shit, Judas.”

Frank’s hand went up. Then Asha. Then Ilona, her voice cutting through on speakerphone.

Marla felt Logan’s stare before she met it. That gaze piercing, amused, waiting.

She had made her choice long before stepping into this room, but somehow, lifting her hand felt heavier than expected.

Still, she did.

Logan exhaled, the sound almost like a chuckle.

Marla didn’t dare look at Roman, but she noticed the way he tensed through her peripheral vision. It was like he wanted to nudge her, like he was about to say something but thought better of it.

Stewy surprisingly abstained. Marla thought him and Kendall were close, at the very least friends, so she made a mental note to ask Stewy about his vote later. Datu voted for Logan.

Four for. Four against.

Kendall’s voice was tight now. “Lawrence?”

Lawrence didn’t even hesitate. “I abstain.”

Marla felt it before Kendall did. The loss settling in, slow and suffocating.

And then, it was Roman.

Marla turned her head slightly, catching him in the corner of her vision. He was leaning back, trying to look unaffected, but his knee bounced under the table.

“Roman?” Kendall’s voice crackled through the Polycom.

Marla saw the flicker of hesitation in Roman’s hand, the start of a movement.

Logan clocked it too. His eyes locked on his youngest son.

“You better be smelling your fucking armpit, Romulus.”

The moment stretched, thin as a wire.

Roman let out a breath and lowered his hand.

“Against,” he said.

A beat.

Frank’s brow furrowed. “But he started to vote–”

“He can fucking change,” Logan snapped.

Marla didn’t move, didn’t let herself react, but Roman’s gaze had fallen upon her, he seemed embarrassed. 

To be completely fair, Marla didn’t whole-heartedly care about the results of the vote. She was there as an attempt to get back in, become a part of the scene. 

However she did understand what Roman had just done. How he had betrayed his brother. 

“Whatever. Count him out. Deadlock! Continuity prevails. I’m chairman, casting vote, I win, it’s fucking over!”

Kendall stepped into the room too late, the failure settling over him like a second skin.

“My son,” he said, smug and sharp. “You lost.”

Logan leaned back, victorious. “And Kendall, Frank, Asha, Ilona. Off the board. Fired, with immediate effect.”

Frank stiffened. “I’m not sure you can—”

“Fuck you. I can do anything.”

Marla exhaled, barely audible.

The minute Logan started yelling, calling for security, she stopped paying attention. She heard a little bit of Frank trying to convince Logan of this being a stupid idea but he didn’t budge. One by one, they start to leave. Kendall doesn’t look back. Asha glances around, like she still can’t believe what just happened. Frank exhales sharply, but doesn’t argue. 

Marla stands too, slow, measured. She’s almost at the door when—

“Not you.”

The words hit the room like a snap of a whip.

After a while, the rest of the people continued to exit the meeting, Marla stopped. So did Roman, halfway to the door. He looked back, eyebrows raised, but Logan didn’t even glance at him. The others hesitated for half a second before heading out, leaving Marla standing there, arms loosely crossed, amusement flickering behind her eyes.

Roman let out a low chuckle as he pushed the door open. “Well. That’s interesting.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

The silence that followed was thick and expectant. Marla tilted her head slightly, watching Logan as he leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you mad at me, Mr Roy?”, she said sarcastically.

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, a laugh, but not quite. He gestured for her to sit.

“Sit down.”

Marla didn’t move at first, just studied him, like she was considering whether this was worth her time. On the inside she was frightened. Had she pushed too far on her luck? Was this the end of the adventure she’d just started? When accepting to help Kendall she thought there would be no actual consequences since she thought she would not care. That was before she realised how much she enjoyed playing the game, the scheming, the expectations. She loved the attention, the thrill. It was at this moment that Marla understood the gambling addicts, it’s hard to walk out when you know that some right moves could guarantee you power. She hoped this was an opportunity for her to make those moves.  

Logan’s eyes didn’t leave her.

She smiled, containing her thoughts. “So. What’s this about?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He just watched her, the way a hunter might watch a fox that had wandered into his trap. Marla didn’t flinch, though her fingers twitched slightly against the armrest of her chair. She forced herself to stay relaxed, to match his energy.

Finally, Logan let out a small, unimpressed huff. “You don’t give a fuck, huh?”

Marla shrugged. “Not particularly.”

Logan’s lip curled. “You voted for Kendall.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

She leaned back, stretching her legs out slightly. “He asked nicely.”

Logan laughed, low and incredulous. “He asked nicely.” He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Jesus Christ, you’re a piece of work.”

Marla didn’t reply, just met his gaze evenly. 

“You’re a smart girl,” he said, quieter now, almost amused. “Too smart to be backing a loser.”

Marla smirked. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like an underdog.”

“Bullshit.” Logan’s voice was sharp again. “I have known you since you were barely a teenager. You have that drive inside of you. You like to win.”

Marla tilted her head, considering. “Sure. But I like to play more.”

Something flickered in Logan’s eyes, recognition, maybe, or something close to it. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “So why bet on Kendall? You know the minute you step outside, he’ll be on the phone, offering you a job. That’s not exactly taking risks.”

Marla didn’t hesitate. “It’s more so a strategy.”

Logan narrowed his eyes.

She gave him a small, knowing smile. “If both sides want you, you’re playing the game right.”

A beat of silence. Then Logan let out a low, dry chuckle.

“You’re a cocky little shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You remind me of—” He cut himself off, the thought unfinished.

Marla did not dare to ask him who she reminded him of. 

“You want a real bet?” He leaned back again, like he had all the time in the world. “Stay. Work for me.”

Marla arched an eyebrow. “Doing what? You know I have a steady job at my mum’s law firm.”

“Ha! You can threaten me with Kendall’s offer but not with your mothers. I want you as a financial officer. Numbers, strategy, real decisions. You’d rather play the game than watch from the stands, right?”

Marla kept her expression carefully neutral, but her pulse quickened.

This was it. The right move.

She exhaled through her nose, as if considering it, but the answer had already formed in her mouth.

“Glad to be part of the family again.”

Logan smirked.

────୨ৎ────

Marla stepped out of Logan’s office, the weight of his offer still settling in her chest. She had won something tonight. What exactly, she wasn’t sure yet. But it was something. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t quite left when she heard a slow, deliberate clap from the hallway.

She turned, already knowing who it was.

Roman stood leaned against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching her with that lazy, knowing smirk.

“Well, well, well. Marla Carranza did show up for little Kenny after all,” he drawled. “Back from the dead and already on her knees for my dad. That’s gotta be a record.”

Marla huffed a laugh, stepping closer. “Bold words, coming from the guy who actually sucked him off at the meeting.”

Roman’s expression didn’t shift, but something flickered in his eyes. His smirk widened, but it didn’t quite reach them.

“Oh, please, if I were blowing my dad, you think I’d still be junior puppet boy with a fake title?” He tsked, tilting his head. “Nice try, though.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re a traitor, Roman.”

His jaw twitched, so quick she almost missed it. “Yeah?”

“Kendall trusted you. The whole vote was on you. You could’ve changed everything.”

Roman scoffed, shifting his weight. “Oh, fuck off. What were we gonna do, huh? Let Ken win and all hold hands? My dad would’ve burned this place down before he let that happen.”

Marla studied him, the amusement in her expression dimming slightly. “You’re so scared of him.”

Roman didn’t flinch. “And you’re not?”

She didn’t answer.

He exhaled through his nose, glancing away for a moment before looking back at her. “So what’s the play, huh? You got voted out, and now you’re just gonna… what? Lurk around Waystar?”

She smiled, slow and sharp. “Not quite.”

Something in her tone made Roman’s eyes narrow.

“What?”

She made a mockingly wounded face. “Oh, Rome. I thought you’d be happy.”

Roman frowned, his mouth parting slightly before he caught himself.

“Wait, what the fuck did my dad tell you?”

Her smile widened.

“See you around, Roman.”

She turned, walking away before he could piece it together. She didn’t have to look back to know he was staring after her.

By the time Marla reached the elevators, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out, glancing at the screen, immediately noticing Kendall’s name at the top.

She’d expected a call.

“Hey Ken.”

“Hey,” Kendall said, his voice lighter than she expected. “So… you coming over?”

Marla frowned slightly, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the lobby. “For what?”

Kendall let out a small huff, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “To talk. To figure shit out.”

She didn’t respond immediately.

He took her silence as agreement. “Listen, it’s good, okay? We regroup. You, me, Frank—whoever’s left. It’s not over. My dad just pulled a bullshit move, but it’s fine. I’m not letting him cut me out. We’ll fight back.”

She leaned against the cool metal wall, tilting her head slightly. “Kendall…”

“You’re with me, right?” he pressed. “I mean, he obviously didn’t…” He hesitated for half a second, but Marla caught it. “uh…he didn’t take you back, so…”

So you have nowhere else to go.

It wasn’t cruel. He didn’t mean it that way. It was just a fact, in his mind.

Marla smiled to herself.

“Oh, Ken.”

Something in her tone made him pause. “…What?”

She shifted her weight, watching the numbers above the elevator door tick down. “I actually don’t think I can make it.”

Silence.

Then a quiet, confused laugh. “What? Marla, come on, I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Another pause. Then, slower now: “Where are you?”

She exhaled, straightening up as the elevator slowed to a stop. “Still at Waystar.”

She let it sink in.

Kendall didn’t speak right away. When he did, his voice was different: lower, tight.

“No, you’re not.”

Marla stepped out into the lobby, heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

“Your dad offered me a job.”

Silence.

“And I took it.”

Then, a sharp breath. “You took the…” Kendall stopped himself. Then, incredulous: “He fucking gave you a job?”

“Sure did.”

A bitter laugh. “No, he…he’s just screwing with you.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I just played my cards right.”

“Marla.” His voice dropped, something urgent in it now. “He’s using you.”

She smiled, sharp and knowing.

“So were you.”

That shut him up.

She adjusted the strap of her purse. “I’ll see you around, Ken.”

She hung up before he could say anything else.

Stepping out into the cold night air, she let the satisfaction settle in her chest.

This was going to be fun.

────୨ৎ────

taglist: @televangrl

[poraphia]

"Four Medium-Sized Coffees, One Big Fat Work Crush"

lvjy!wilbur x manager!reader 1457 words • 8.9.23 request by @mrssabinecallas! "lead singer will with a manager reader! they book all their performances and bring them coffee every morning, just happy to be there with Will and their friends"

requests are still open!! dont be shy :3 pt. 2 here <-

How to be a good tour manager: 1) Bring them coffee every morning 2) Don't fall in love with the lead singer

♡♡♡

Y’know, when I signed up for this job, I didn’t expect the roller coaster of emotions and action that would come with being an on-tour manager. 

I especially didn’t think I’d end up falling for the lead singer of Lovejoy, William Gold.

I have been a stage director for concerts for a couple of years now since I graduated from university. I worked for different venues, taking up jobs such as being in charge of soundcheck and directing the lights. After years of hard work and a resume of experience, I was finally offered my first opportunity of being an on-tour manager for a rising band that was touring the world.

I have to admit, it was different. I was constantly away from home and on the road. The one thing genuinely battling this homesick feeling was the constant adventure and excitement we faced in every city. From sitting awkwardly in an Uber as the driver told us horrific stories, to running around the late-night streets tasting cuisines we had never heard of before.

I remember on the first day, I was a nervous train wreck. I spent most of that night pacing around my hotel room while occasionally practicing in the mirror how to greet the band, how to talk to them, and how to even shake their hand. It wasn’t until the peak time of 4 AM I decided that I should keep things simple (and that I should probably go to sleep because I had to wake up in three hours).

I met up with the band at our first venue for a soundcheck. When I got the text that they were arriving shortly, I ran to the nearest cafe and ordered four coffees, each with a simple shot of espresso, two scoops of sugar, and a cup of milk. It was basic, and it wasn’t guaranteed it would be something they’d love, but I was far too deep to turn back around and return the coffee. Plus, wouldn’t that be a super awkward situation? Oh, hey Mr. Barista! Sorry, can you refund me these four coffees after I walked in the blazing city heat for roughly ten minutes before—

“Hi,” A deep, posh voice caused me to snap out of my thoughts. I looked around, not even realizing I was already at the venue, and the man was holding the door for me. He was tall with disheveled curly hair and he wore a striped T-Shirt with some basic black jeans. Glasses rested on the bridge of his nose but more importantly, there was the guitar case slung across his shoulder.

“O-Oh, thank you!” I stuttered, rushing past him to avoid any more embarrassment. He softly chuckled behind me before closing the door. I turned around, half-smiling to shake off the embarrassing situation I’ve seemed to stumble in.

“You must be (y/n), right? Our manager?” He asked, his eyes trailing from my face to my lanyard, to the cardboard cupholders presenting four hot and fresh beverages. 

“Yeah!” I exclaimed a bit too loudly. Guess that’s another check on the list for what will keep me up tonight. “I, uh, I got these coffees for you guys! Just to help you guys out with the jetlag and all…” I trailed off in the end. But thankfully, the man smiled and took a random cup, slightly pursing his lips to retrieve the beverage only to flinch back, laughing.

“Holy shit, this is hot.” He chuckled. I couldn’t help but laugh along as well. “Oh, fuck, where are my manners– My name is Wilbur, Will, William, honestly call me what you like.” He shrugged. “My other mates are right there and are practicing on stage right now. There’s Ash, Mark, and Joe.” He pointed to the respective person, each calling out their name. 

We both began to walk toward the backstage area and continued talking. As Wilbur walked nonchalantly with coffee in hand, I struggled to catch up to his long strides while also maintaining the balance of the rest of the drinks.  “It’s a funny way how we all became a band actually–” He turned around. Noticing my struggle as he spared a few milliseconds so that I may catch up. Will chuckled before continuing to walk at a much slower pace.

Once we arrived in the backstage lounge, I pushed the door for him with my back. He thanked me before walking past. “Oh, (y/n), I would like to mention something–” He said, turning his head to face me. I tilted my head, anticipating. “Next time you get us coffee, I’d like mine with two cups of milk!” He smiled. “Although, it is perfect as it is anyway. I’m sure the rest of the band would love it.”

As I watched him finish up his coffee and make his way to the stage, my mind was set on a new goal:

“Find out Lovejoy’s desired coffee orders.”

From that day forward, I brought them coffee every morning. From meeting them on the tour bus, at soundcheck, to even waiting in the hotel lobby. I would listen closely to what comments they would make. If Joe slightly mentions to Ash he doesn't like sweet coffee, I'll remember to add less sugar. If I heard Mark asking around for creamer, I'll remember to put more cream. My petty rule for myself was that I wouldn't dare ask them directly about their preferences. It was a fun little game for me, and it only took Wilbur a little over two months for him to notice.

Wilbur and I were sitting in the tour bus booth area going over the set list when he brought it up. "Hey, (Y/N), can I ask you something?" He said, tapping at his cardboard cup. I looked up from the piece of paper I was writing on to meet his eyes. 

"I know what you're gonna ask– I've already asked the stage crew if we could add smoke for The Fall along with some more flashing lights during Warsaw." I explained, pointing at the paper with the pen I had in hand.

Wilbur let out a soft chuckle with the softest smile on his face. His hair covered a bit of his eyes but even then I could see the reflection of light making his pupils sparkle. His laugh caused a fluttering sensation in my chest. My hands and stomach tingled as if dozens of butterflies were dancing on my skin. Was I.. Getting flustered?

"No, no, I wasn't going to ask that." He spoke gently. I held my breath, a little embarrassed for my rambling. "Though I do appreciate it all. You've picked up so much about us as a band in just a couple of weeks." He held the end joints of my fingers between his grasp as he spoke, fidgeting with them as he talked. 

"Oh, well…" I felt the blush creeping to my face. "that is kind of my job." I chuckled.

"Also you've been getting our coffee orders perfectly I've noticed. Mark was raving to me earlier about how good it tasted. Ash even posted it in his story." Wilbur said, reminiscing on his mornings with his friends. 

I couldn't hold back the biggest smile on my face. It took every nerve of my body not to jump up on the table and do the goofiest, happiest dance of my life. Instead, I nodded and hummed, using my thumb to rub circles into his hand.

"I'm really glad to hear that. This is my first on-tour job, so here it's just–" I stumbled over my words trying to find the right phrases, but I was so overwhelmed with giddiness I just sighed. "Thank you…"

Wilbur looked back up to meet my eyes again. His cheeks were dusted with the slightest bit of pink as he examined bits of my face. I wanted to take in every feature of his as well. From the small mole near his eye to how pink his lips were. How pretty his lips are… they look so… Soft–

"(y/N)! Wilbur!" Mark called out from the other end of the bus. Immediately we pulled away from each other, sinking ourselves in our opposite-end seats from embarrassment. 

"Yeah?! What is it, Mark?" Will called out, but he dared not to turn around to face him. 

"We're in LA now! You guys ready for our last gig in the States?!" He asked excitedly.

Oh, God. 

It was the last gig. 

Which means… 

I looked over to Will, who also had a slight shock on his face as if it slipped his mind as well. 

This is it, I suppose. 

Who was I to think I would get my happy rom-com ending?

♡♡♡

my wilbur soot masterlist ~! a / n ~ i have a part two idea for this already omg should I do it?? reblogs and likes are super appreciated!! they be motivating me :33

[bqstqnbruin]

Just Friends - Part 9

I cannot begin to describe how much I hate them tbh but hey they were the answer to one of the trivia questions in this trivia contest my girls were in today against some other schools in the area and the ENTIRE SCHOOL turned to look for me when they announced the answer was the Boston Bruins

Read the previous part here!

Warnings: Parent things, swearing, I was mean

WC: 3908

___________________

The whole scene in front of Emeline felt surreal. She had been waiting for this moment for her entire life, sitting with her mom and having a simple conversation. She pictured herself seeing her mom, somewhere randomly, Emeline being able to go over to her and hug her like the climax of a corny movie. As a little girl, Emeline thought her mom would just show up at her door one day and whisk her, her dad and her grandmother away to somewhere amazing, telling them that she left because she wanted them to have everything and didn’t know how to give it to them until now.

She didn’t think it would happen at a restaurant in nowhere, Connecticut, on a street that looked like a rundown Commonwealth Ave after spending two days mustering up the courage to even reach out to Celine and tell her that she was in the area. She didn’t think that she would have gotten to the restaurant half an hour earlier than her mom, despite the fact that Emeline purposely ran late as it was so she could have a grand entrance, not her mom, who came flying in like a tornado. 

But, she was with her mom, the woman who looked just like her that she had only known through noninteractions on her Facebook page, watching her the last seven years as her sons grew up, wishing so desperately that she could have been with them. Emeline was sitting in this weird restaurant, with her mom, and she had no idea how to feel about it. She was angry, she was confused, she was happy, she felt like crying.

Emeline wasn’t even sure how long they had been sitting in that booth at that point. She found out that her mom was there at her dad’s funeral, her senior night in high school for lacrosse, her high school graduation, her grandmother's funeral, almost all of her games at BC, she was there when she won the national championship, her BC graduation, she’s even managed to make it to a few of the games she coached at her school. Emeline had no idea she had been there, no idea that she cared. How did she never notice that her mom was in the background of some of the most important events in her life? 

She had been telling her mom about breaking up with Keelan after seven years, then having him show up at her surprise birthday party that Jeremy had thrown her because she didn’t tell Fran and Maddy when they were in charge of the guest list, the fight she and Keelan had. 

“I have no idea what to do. He keeps blowing up my phone and acting like I didn’t break up with him twice,” Emeline tells her, staring at the plate of food in front of her. It was the first part of the conversation that Emeline was in charge of.

“Get a restraining order” Celine shrugs, her fingers on the tip of her straw stirring her drink, avoiding making eye contact with Emeline.  

“He wasn’t entirely bad,” Emeline feels herself deflate,, thankful her mom wasn’t looking at the disappointed expression on her face. She still wasn’t sure how she couldn’t see that about Keelan when everyone else could. Why was she even defending him in the first place? “He was there when Grandma died.” 

“One good act doesn’t make him a good person. Enough about him, though,” her mom says, taking a sip of her water. “What about Jeremy?” 

“Why didn’t you ever reach out to me?” Emeline asks instead of answering the question and talking about the person she didn’t want to bring up. Celine didn’t get to know about her feelings for Jeremy. Not yet. Depending on how things went, Emeline didn’t want to bank on the idea of her telling her ever. “All these years, if you knew where to find me, why were you silent?”

Celine sighs, shaking her head. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.” Emeline could feel her anger growing, the woman in front of her acting like a teenager getting scolded for staying out past curfew instead of her mother admitting she didn’t know how to contact her daughter.

“You still should have tried.” Emeline told her, her voice shaking while she tried to keep her composure. “You obviously knew you could have. You could have found the right moment, the right time. You were there for so much of my life, and I didn’t even get to know that you were there to begin with. Do you get how that feels? Like I was no more important than background noise to you,” she continues, watching the woman across from her shaking her head in agreement, opening her mouth to say something. Emeline cuts her off before she gets the chance. “Does your family know about me? Your husband and kids?”

“My husband and my oldest, Ethan, yes. Oliver and Luke don’t yet.” 

Emeline looked down at her plate, still mostly covered in food as she really hadn’t felt like eating. “You need to tell them. I want to know them. I want to know my younger brothers, and the man who is technically my step dad. I have a brother who lives in the same city as me who I never met, who I don’t even know if I’ve seen by chance, and I want to meet them. This is the only family I have left, and I haven’t done anything wrong to not be allowed around them other than being born at the wrong time.”

“Emeline,” her mom sighs, a hint of panic in her voice.

“No,” she cuts her off. “This is what I want. I spent my entire life thinking that my own mother didn’t care about me. I grew up with my entire family being my dad and my grandmother, and while they were more than enough, I shouldn’t have to go on without knowing the family I have left when I did nothing to deserve that. You knew that I had no one left in my life when you were there at the funeral. You saw me stand there and give the eulogy where I said I lost the last family member I had in my life. 

“I get that you weren’t ready to be a mom when you had me. You were young, I get it. You and my dad weren’t in the right place. I would rather you have admitted that than try and fail to raise me. But you should have done something when you were ready, especially after you had Ethan if you were ready for him. You’re the one who needs to own up to the fact that you have a daughter on her own with a family who doesn’t know who she is.”

“I know.”

“And you need to tell Oliver and Luke. I teach kids who are Oliver’s age, and if Ethan says anything, or if they have any hint of suspicion, they’re going to find me somewhere online, and then they’re going to be just as pissed at you as I am for not saying anything.” 

“I’ll tell them tonight.”  Emeline stares at her, the gnawing feeling in the back of her mind telling her that her mom wouldn’t do what she said she would. She didn’t know Celine, she had no reason to believe her. “I’ll tell them tonight and I will call you tonight after I do and let them talk to you if they want to.” 

Emeline nods. It was better than nothing. “Thank you for dinner, Celine, but I have to get going, actually.” She stands up, her mom staying seated. “I do want to do this again, you and me. If you want to.”

“I would love to.”

Emeline turns on her heels before Celine could get out of her seat. That was a lot, a rush of emotions coursing through her that were manifesting in a sob that was caught in her throat. She heads back toward the entrance, ready to go back to the car she had rented and drive back home. She got what she wanted, and she had a long way to go before she had to teach the next morning now that the traffic was starting to get worse. 

“Oh, sorry,” she says, bumping into a person waiting by the host stand while she was pulling up the directions for her to get back home. “Jeremy? What are you doing here?”

She couldn’t believe it, the only thing she could think of doing was hugging him despite the people trying to get around the two of them. She felt him kiss the top of her head as he held her tight. She wanted more than this, eventually. 

“We came to find you when we didn’t know where you were. You didn’t think you could disappear on us and no one would care, did you?”

Emeline felt her heart swell. “We?”

“Fran, Maddy, and Johnny are in the car.”

“And that’s safe?”

“I left the windows open.” Emeline lets out a laugh, not caring about the tears that were also coming with them. “How did you even get here?”

“I rented a car.” 

“Do you want to drive back alone, or do you want to drop the car off and come back with us?” 

“If I go back with you guys, I’ll have to talk about things I don’t really want to talk about right now.” 

Jeremy loosens his grip on her, getting a good look at her as he shakes his head. “You know we won’t make you.” 

Emeline follows him out to the parking lot, driving to the nearest rental place that was still open to take the car back, Jeremy following closely behind. She settles that, getting into the passenger seat next to Jeremy, Fran, Maddy, and Johnny sitting in the back, not saying anything as they head back to Boston. 

“I told him ‘no,’ by the way. I practically had to break up with him for a second time in a week or so,” she tells them after sitting in silence for almost an hour. “I was never going to marry Keelan.” She looks out the window, not seeing the four of them exchange hopeful glances behind her before she buried her face in her hands. “I’m so stupid for spending seven years on a man I had to have known deep down that I wasn’t going to marry.”

“Babe,” Fran says, reaching forward and resting her hand on Emeline’s shoulder and giving her a gentle squeeze. Emeline reaches up to her. “You aren’t stupid. You are the farthest thing from stupid.”

“You met him during a hard time in your life. He helped bring you back from that. It’s natural to want to stay with him, to want to stay with that feeling,” Maddy adds.

“I think I fell out of love with him right after I fell in love with him. I should have broken up with him a long time ago. Especially if I was starting to fall in love with someone else,” she added that last part quietly, only loud enough for Jeremy to hear since it was about him anyway.

“He didn’t deserve you. He never did. We’re just glad we finally got here.”

Emeline nods, resting her head against the headrest and looking up at the ceiling of the car. The rest of them fall silent, the sun having set long before they got on the road making everyone in the back seat sleepy. 

The three of them nodded off as soon as they passed the sign for the University of Connecticut, the absurd traffic and somehow, multiple accidents on the highway, causing the exit that should have been passed forty five minutes into their drive take them almost an hour and a half to reach, leaving just Jeremy and Emeline together for what was going to be a long time. “How are you doing?” he asks.

“I told my mom I want to know my brothers.”

“Really? We met one of them today. That’s how we knew where to find you.”

“What?” Emeline asks, excitement she wasn’t expecting coming through her voice. “What’s he like?”

“He seems like a good kid. He’s definitely your brother. Threatened to put the cops on us if we did anything to your mom.” 

Emeline laughs. “I always knew I got my personality from my mom.” She pulls her feet up to her chest, trying to get comfortable with the seatbelt constricting her. “I guess the oldest one goes to BU, Ethan. Mom said he’s a freshman on the hockey team.” 

“Let’s go see a game together sometime. Let’s see your brother play. I’m sure I can swing tickets when they play Maine.” Jeremy smiles, keeping his eyes on the road, careful not to look at Emeline staring at him. 

“It’s a date,” she says, putting her hand down in the center of the console. Jeremy reaches over, taking her hand in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze, sending a rush of warmth through her. 

She could feel her eyes getting heavy, the only light being from the brake lights of the cars around them definitely not helping her. “Go to sleep, Em, you’ve had a long day.” 

Emeline didn’t even realize she fell asleep until she felt the car finally stop, Jeremy putting it in park. The three in the back groggily climb out and mumble their way up to the girls place. 

“Jere?” Emeline asks, taking his hand before he could get too far away. “How did you end up finding me?”

Jeremy shrugs, staring at their hands locked together. He rubs his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand while he shoves the other one in his jacket pocket. “Fran mentioned something about your mom, and it reminded me of how you knew where she was. I really just guessed and hoped that we would find you there. It was easily our wildest option.”

“Yeah?” she asks, smiling, walking towards the stairs of their building. “What were the others?”

“Maddy and Fran suggested BC or your hometown, but, I don’t know, neither of those seemed like places you’d run away to. Johnny was no help until he was fed, naturally,” he explains, earning a laugh from Emeline. “And Keelan just said that you’d turn up eventually.” 

“You talked to Keelan?”

“God, no,” he scoffs. “I guess he texted Maddy and Fran asking where you were on Sunday. I’m glad you said no to him, by the way.”

Emeline laughs again. “Me, too.”

“No, seriously,” he says, stopping. “Em, Fran was right: he doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t know anything about you. You are this amazing, strong, kind, intelligent, beautiful person who should be with someone who can see that and celebrate that and help you embrace all of that. He was too stupid to see all that you are and too much of a coward to fight for you the way you should be fought for. He tried to break up with you over text instead of doing it in person like a civil human with a heart. God, if you had said yes.”

Emeline knew there was more to his sentence as he trailed off the way he did. “What would you have done?”

He shakes his head, not making eye contact with her. “I have no idea. I would have been devastated.” 

“Why?” she asks.

“Emeline,” Jeremy whispers, shaking his head as he closes the distance between them just like she had started to do the night of her party.

“Please?” she asks him. 

“God, Emeline,” he says, letting go of her hand and resting his hands on her waist, his shoulders relaxing when she drapes her arms on them. “You know I’m in love with you.” 

Emeline leans in, Jeremy doing the same. This is what she had been waiting for. She was sure she loved him, too.

“Wait,” Jeremy said, squeezing his eyes closed and shaking his head. “We, we can’t, Em.” 

“What?” Emeline asks, her voice small. He was rejecting her, her heart dropping to her stomach.

“I want this. God, you have no idea how much or how long I have wanted this, wanted you. But you just got out of a seven year relationship. I don’t want to be your rebound from that.” 

“Jeremy, you aren’t a rebound,” she tries to argue.

“But I would be,” he tells her, reaching up to her arms, a gentle pull on them. “I would be your rebound. You deserve better than Keelan, but I deserve to be more to you than a rebound.” 

“You aren’t a rebound,” she repeats.

“Em, I would be. What else do you call the next guy not even two weeks after a break up? Not only that, but the guy two weeks after a break up where you were with the other guy for nearly a third of your life so far? What do you call this when I know all of the reasons why I love you and I don’t think you know anything about me?” Emeline didn’t say anything, dropping her arms from his shoulders and looking down at the pavement below her. His arms traveled with hers, both of his hands in hers. “You need to take some time. You don’t just move on from seven years.”

“What if someone else realizes how great you are and you fall in love with them?” she asks him. What if someone else she cares about leaves her when she doesn’t expect them to? What if he realizes that he doesn’t love her anymore, that she’s not good enough? What if everything he thinks of her is a lie? What if, what if, what if?

“If you think I wouldn’t wait for you, you really don’t know me.” 

Emeline steps back. “So what does that mean for us?”

Jeremy laughs, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head. Emeline swears she could see his eyes starting to tear up. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this. But I think we can only be friends right now.” Emeline nods. He was right. She hated that he was right. “Let’s head upstairs. We need to go to sleep.” Jeremy takes her hand, Emeline feeling his shaking almost as much as hers was as he leads her to their apartments. 

They stand outside their doors, neither of them wanting to make a move to go in. “Where does this leave us?” Emeline asks.

Jeremy swallows, shrugging. “I guess it leaves us where we started, like I said, just friends. But we have forever to figure out what comes after that.” 

Emeline nods. That could be all they were meant to be. Their ‘next’ might not be anything new for them. 

Before they could say anything else, Fran’s head pops out of their apartment door. “Ok, I need someone else in here with me, I cannot be the third wheel to these two any longer,” she says, pulling Emeline into their apartment. She tries to force out a laugh, turning back to see Jeremy staring down at his shoes, his hands shoved in his pockets as the door closed on him. 

“I thought you said Johnny was here, too,” Emeline says once she’s dragged to their couch, finding only Maddy sitting there. 

“Fran yelled at him so he’s in the bedroom making us a new playlist,” Maddy says, patting the seat next to her. “What happened, Em?”

Emeline shrugs, pulling her knees up to her chest once she sits down next to Maddy, Fran on her other side. “I’ve known where my mom was for the last eight years. And, I don’t know. Keelan and I broke up, then he proposed out of nowhere, and I just snapped. Something inside me told me that I needed to talk to her. After all this time, it was Keelan finally leaving my life that made me feel like I needed to talk to my mom.” 

“Are you glad you did?”

“Yeah. I had all this emotion that I didn’t realize I felt, and seeing her let me get that out there. She’s supposed to be calling me tonight. I might get to talk to my brothers.” Fran and Maddy both nod, neither of them sure what to say. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You talk to them.”

“No, not that. My life, now. The entire time I’ve been an adult, I have been with Keelan. I’ve been his girlfriend. I was 17 when I met him, when I met you guys. I still have you two, but I don’t know who I am without him.”

“You’re our Emeline,” Fran says, both her and Maddy hugging her. “You’re a badass teacher who cares about her students more than I’ve ever seen someone care about someone else’s kids. You’re smart, you’re funny, you can probably kill any of us if you really wanted to.” The three girls laugh.

“You’re the one we both know will be there for us if we need you,” Maddy continues, “You will do anything for anyone because you have the biggest heart. You’re not afraid to stand up for us. You know what you want and you get it.”

“Then how come I didn’t know I didn’t want to be with Keelan? Why did it take me so long to realize I want to be with,” Emeline starts, trailing off. Jeremy thinks she doesn’t know anything about him. 

She knows how much he loves his sister and his parents, how he cares for Linus’s kids as if they were his own even though he’s in Ottawa now. She knows that he loves shootouts despite the fact that they seem like absolute hell. She knows that he would drop everything for her and his teammates if they asked him to, no matter what they were asking. She knows that when he falls asleep on the couch when they’re watching a movie on the weekends, that his lips part slightly but he clenches his jaw. She knows that he gets this intense stare whenever he’s concentrating on something, that he starts to shake his leg if he’s on one thing for too long. She knows that even when they’re with their friends, that he can’t take his eyes off her, and that he looks at her the way she has always wanted Keelan to. 

She knows that she’s been falling for him since the moment they met. Not the moment when he came into her apartment for the first time, the day he was moving in and she saw him in the lobby. She was waiting for Keelan to pick her up but he was late, using the time to catch up on her grading when she saw him. She had no idea who he was but something in her told her that he would be important to her. 

She knows she’s been in love with him, and the only thing they are is friends. 

“Babe, you’re crying,” Fran says, wiping a tear Emeline hadn’t realized fell.

She lets out a laugh. “I was just thinking about everything, the last few months.”

“Like what?”

“I loved Keelan so much. If I can love the wrong person that much, imagine how much I love the right person.”

[bloodyfeverdreams]

Like I Could Pull Aside the Mask, and There Would be the Face of My Son, Diego

Soooooo I know this Zorro fandom is literally so dead, as the show's been over for literally over sixty years 😅 but I was watching the show for the first time since I adore Zorro, and as I went, I got an idea for this, annnnd then this happened. Whumptober let me finish this so it counts haha. If y'all don't mind reading fanfics for fandoms you're not familiar with, I'd be really excited if you could try this one. I'll give you a guide so you can follow the story.

Don Diego de la Vega - Zorro, the main character of the show. He's convinced the rest of Los Angeles that he's a dandy, completely inept with a sword in order to keep people from discovering he's Zorro.

Don Alejandro de la Vega - Diego's loving father, who doesn't know who Zorro is under the mask.

Bernardo - Diego's manservant, and best friend. He's mute, and also pretends to be deaf so he can help Diego with being Zorro.

Tornado - Zorro's horse, who's incredibly smart.

Sergeant Garcia - A soldier of the King of Spain, who's not the brightest, who's charged with arresting Zorro while also "secretly" thinking he's a hero

Corporal Reyes - Another soldier, who's probably slightly autistic lol who takes everything Sergeant Garcia says way too literally, and is as dumb as a box of rocks.

The Eagle - The main villain of the second half of the first season.

Juan Ramos - A guy I made up for the sole purpose of hurting Diego.

pueblo - What Los Angeles was before it really became a city. When they say pueblo, they basically mean the whole city.

hacienda - Alejandro's house, he's a rancher, Diego lives there with his father after returning from university in Spain.

cuartel - basically the police force/police station

Okay, now that we've got that out of the way, let's get down to the actual story.

Adrenaline really could be a powerful drug sometimes, Diego thought vaguely. It was why he never drank too much wine when he was drinking, he never liked his senses being dulled. But sometimes, as Zorro, he would get so caught up in the simple act of not getting killed, that his world narrowed to just what he was doing. Facing multiple enemies at once will do that to a person, even the most accomplished swordsman. And while the idea of Zorro could never be destroyed, that didn’t mean that Diego de la Vega wasn’t still just a mortal man.

The Eagle’s men were often very well-trained in swordplay, some even rivaled Diego himself, and this one was no different. Juan Ramon had been sent to smuggle a supply of weapons from Mexico to the Eagle’s men waiting in the outskirts of Los Angeles. As soon as he’d figured out the Eagle’s plan, Diego donned his mask and Zorro rode, and he intercepted the wagon full of the concealed weapons, redirecting it to Sergeant Garcia to prevent any of the Eagle’s men from getting their hands on it. The shipment of weapons had been stopped, but Ramon decided to ride with Sergeant Garcia to capture Zorro, citing the reward. It had been all too easy to evade the Sergeant, as it usually was, but Ramon wasn’t so easily misled, continuing to race after him as he rode on Tornado.

Tornado was the fastest horse in the pueblo, but it seemed nothing would stop Ramon from capturing Zorro. Ramon’s sword slashed at his back, slicing through some of his cape. So he’d turned Tornado around to fight the man honorably, though it seemed the man had none, and their swords began to clash in the darkness. Ramon was a fierce swordsman, a true challenger to Diego’s skills. Being Zorro for so long, he’d gotten very used to fighting in the dark, so he could parry Ramon’s strikes, though fighting on horseback was quite difficult. He didn’t just have to protect himself but he had to protect Tornado. He had no doubt that this man would strike Tornado just to get to him. As his blood thundered through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest, Diego felt the world narrowing to this fight, keeping himself and Tornado alive.

Luck it seemed was on his side though, and he could hear the rattle of a snake in between the crashes of their swords. Ramon’s horse bucked into the air, causing Ramon’s last thrust to veer off course as Ramon was thrown from his horse. Diego could sense that Tornado hadn’t seen the snake yet, though his good friend clearly heard it, and he used his new advantage to ride away before Ramon could get back on his horse to chase after him.

But something strange began to happen as he rode to the hacienda. His vision began to blur a little around the edges as his heart couldn’t slow down. Diego could tell that something was wrong, but he couldn’t tell what, this had never happened to him before. He tried to ignore it, hoping if he just made it home, he could deal with it then, but black spots began to dance across his vision as he rode. After checking that no one was following him, he had Tornado slow down, thinking that would ease his heart into something calmer. Again, it didn’t. Black spots still began to dance across his vision, actually if anything they got worse. At this point, Diego knew that something was terribly wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He began to slump a little in his saddle, and he became aware of a distant throbbing in his right side. He urged Tornado home, never more grateful that Tornado was the smartest horse in the state, as he was losing the ability to guide Tornado himself.

The throbbing in his side was beginning to get stronger, turning sharper and fouler with a kind of pain he’d never felt before, and he felt himself getting weaker and weaker far too quickly. Diego’s hands then came to his right side, trying to ascertain what was causing his unusual and unpleasant feelings. He ran his fingers up the right side of his shirt, and found part of it to be wet for some reason. He didn’t understand, his sharp, witty mind moving unusually slow, and he looked down at himself.

Wearing all black often let him move around in the pueblo in complete secrecy, moving as one with the shadows. But something he’d never thought of before was that being dressed in black would prevent him from seeing things like blood when they started to stain through his shirt. It wasn’t until he noticed that his shirt was ripped that he even saw the wound. It seemed Ramon’s last strike had found its mark.

All at once, when he finally registered he was wounded, the pain slammed into him like a horse kicking him in the chest. He doubled over, crying out as his hand covered the wound, and his breath left him like he’d been punched in the stomach. His mind went a little dizzy at seeing his flesh sliced open, and he leaned on Tornado to keep himself upright.

“Tornado, take, ahh, take me home.” Diego murmured, his eyes having trouble staying open. But he trusted Tornado, as he was the smartest horse Diego had ever met, and he knew his friend would get him home.

Darkness started to pull at him a little as Tornado trotted along carefully, as if sensing his master was wounded. Pull it together, he thought to himself, the hacienda wasn’t far. He just had to make it back home, and then Bernardo would be able to get him a doctor. He was sure Bernardo would be able to make some excuse of why Diego had been stabbed that didn’t involve Zorro. Probably in a way that made his father disappointed in him again.

Diego’s thoughts began to stray as the pain became unbearable, his body lurching with every step Tornado took. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking of his father, and the disappointed look he always had in his eyes whenever Diego backed down from a fight. Maybe because he’d just fought proudly and honorably for the people he and his father wanted to protect, but his father would never know it. He preferred it that way of course, because he never wanted his father to get caught up in his adventures of Zorro, as he risked his life often and losing his father would absolutely destroy him. But that didn’t make disappointing him any easier.

Thoughts of his father drifted as his body got weaker, as his mind lost the ability to think beyond the pain. He was slumping further and further in the saddle, his body now laying against Tornado’s neck, as he was unable to sit up anymore. His blinks got longer, heavier, his eyes feeling like lead, and he was losing the strength to keep them open.

“Torn’ado, get… get ‘ernardo. Get help…” Diego whimpered, the pain overwhelming him to the point where he could barely speak anymore. The adrenaline that had kept him going this entire time was fading, and he was losing what little strength he had.

But Diego couldn’t see his horse’s answer, as his eyes slipped closed and stayed closed. His body went limp, and he slowly slid out of the saddle. He collapsed onto the ground with a soft groan. He felt Tornado nuzzle his face, heard the fright in his friend’s neighs, but he couldn’t respond beyond a low moan. Tornado tried to get him up once more, but Diego still lay unmoving on his side. With the little bit of strength he had left, Diego tried to reach out to Tornado, unsure of what he was even reaching for, but desperate to try and not give into this darkness. Even though Zorro was a fearless hero, Diego was still just a man, and he was scared he was going to die here in the dirt, away from anyone he loved. His hand trembled as he fought as hard as he could, putting all of his remaining strength into trying to move, but his hand went slack as the little strength he had waned, and he collapsed into darkness.

Originally, Alejandro had wanted Diego to ride with him this morning since he thought that getting some fresh air would do his bookworm son some good, but when he knocked, Diego hadn’t answered. He assumed his son must still be asleep, having stayed up late due to his books and poems, no doubt. Thinking that he’d just see his son at breakfast,  Alejandro decided to ride  across his hacienda alone.

Riding across the hacienda every morning had become a part of his routine when he’d sent Diego off to Spain to finish his education. He’d missed his son terribly, so he’d taken to riding in the morning to clear his head to start the day. Diego had always loved riding when he was younger, so Alejandro rode in the mornings to make him feel close to his son while he was gone. And even though Diego had returned from Spain, Alejandro still missed the young boy he’d sent to college. Diego had been such a rambunctious youth, always getting into trouble, always swinging his sword at every problem in an effort to imitate his father. He wasn’t sure what had changed in his son during university, but something had. So Alejandro still rode every morning to clear his head, to let him focus on the day ahead of him, and to think about his son. He’d tried to understand, tried to get Diego to tell him what had happened to him, but Diego had suddenly become very evasive over his true feelings, and he wouldn’t speak to his father the way he used to. Whatever it was that had happened, he hoped that Diego would tell him eventually. He wanted his son to trust him, regardless of what path he walked in life.

A horse’s neigh started him out of his thoughts, and he was stunned to see Zorro’s black horse riding up to him. He’d only seen the horse a few times when he’d run into the outlaw, but it seemed that Zorro owned the only black horse in the entire pueblo, and everyone would recognize the horse on sight. But something was wrong, as an experienced ranchero like him would immediately spot the tell-tale signs in the horse. The horse came up to Alejandro without fear, and bucked a little. Alejandro could tell the horse knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t tell what.

“Where is your master, horse?” Alejandro murmured, very confused as to why he was seeing Zorro’s horse without seeing Zorro. The horse still had his complete saddle on so Zorro must have been with him last night. Then the horse then nipped at his arm, gently grasping Alejandro’s jacket and pulling. The kind of control Zorro’s horse had of nipping at him without hurting him was incredible, and Alejandro wondered how Zorro had been able to train his horse so well. The horse nipped at him again, clearly trying to communicate through their language barrier, and he could tell the horse clearly thought whatever it was it was urgent.

“You want me to follow you, is that it?” Alejandro asked, and even though he hadn’t been expecting an answer, it seemed the horse was smarter than Alejandro thought and immediately took off. The horse turned a little, looking at him, and Alejandro nudged his own horse on, following Zorro’s horse.

When the horse realized that Alejandro was indeed following him, Zorro’s horse took off like a shot. Alejandro had to ride quickly to keep up, and the faster the horse ran, the more worried he became. Dread churned in his gut the more distance they covered, and Alejandro wondered what he would find when they finally reached their destination. Animals were often much smarter than most people thought, especially the ones who didn’t spend their lives raising them and training them. But Alejandro was an expert in horses, and he knew that Zorro’s horse wouldn’t have left his master without a good reason.

His eyes went wide when he finally saw what the horse had been leading him to. Zorro was lying on the ground, facedown, in a pool of blood, and he didn’t seem to be moving. Alejandro couldn’t even tell if the man was even breathing. Even though Zorro was a bandit, an outlaw, Alejandro respected him immensely for always riding for justice. He hadn’t forgotten how Zorro had saved him from Comandante Monastario, and how he owed Zorro his life. So Alejandro acted immediately, dismounting the moment he saw the still form of the hero, and he rushed to the man’s side. His hands hovered over Zorro for a moment, but then Alejandro grabbed the man’s shoulder and rolled him over, instantly leaning down to the man’s chest to check his heart. Alejandro could hear the soft thump-thump of Zorro’s heart, though he thought it sounded a little too fast, but the important thing was that the man was alive, and that meant that Alejandro could help him.

Even though Alejandro was getting up in years, he was still able to slide his arms underneath Zorro’s back and knees and he was able to lift the man into the air. He whistled his horse down, and with his horse kneeling, he was able to finagle the unconscious man onto his saddle and get behind him. Zorro was a little taller than he was, just about Diego’s height, so his head lolled onto Alejandro’s shoulder as they began to ride away. Alejandro had one hand on his horse’s reins and the other over Zorro’s chest, holding the unconscious man in the saddle as he whistled for his horse to take them back to the hacienda. Even though Alejandro hadn’t said anything, Zorro’s horse trailed after them, still upset and as frantic as a horse could get, easily matching his horse’s strides. Zorro truly had a magnificent horse, he’d never seen a horse so loyal before.

As they rode home, Alejandro wondered how long Zorro had been lying unconscious on the ground before his horse found Alejandro, how long his horse had clearly sought help. Zorro rocked back and forth limply in Alejandro’s arms as they rode, and Alejandro’s grip got tighter as they approached the hacienda. Even though he was being bounced around a little on Alejandro’s horse, Zorro still hadn’t woken up, and a pit of dread was starting to form in Alejandro’s stomach. With Zorro’s head on his shoulder, he could feel the man’s shallow breathing, and he prayed that he had gotten to the heroic outlaw in time to save the man’s life.

The hacienda was quiet as Alejandro approached, which was usual, as his vaqueros were already out taking care of the cattle and horses, and the servants were most likely still preparing breakfast. Alejandro rode into his hacienda, and he opened his mouth to call Diego down so he could help, but he thought better of it. He didn’t want to put any of his servants or employees in any danger by associating with someone who helped Zorro, even if they loved Zorro. But thankfully, Diego’s manservant exited Diego’s room, probably having just woken Diego for breakfast. Bernardo saw them almost immediately, and he ran down the stairs, coming right up to Alejandro and Zorro. Alejandro dismounted his horse, and Bernardo helped him ease Zorro’s limp body down from his horse and together, they wrapped his arms around their shoulders.

Unfortunately, Zorro’s horse had followed them into the hacienda, still very attached to his master, and Alejandro tried to gently shoo the horse away.

“Go on, horse.” Alejandro waved the horse away with the hand not currently holding the still unconscious Zorro. “We’ve got him, you’ve got to get out of here. It’s dangerous, you must go.”

The horse just neighed and bucked in response, obviously not wanting to leave Zorro’s side. But in order to keep Zorro safe, it had to be a complete secret that he was here, and this horse was far too recognizable. Bernardo turned to him and gestured for him to take all of Zorro’s weight. Alejandro was confused, but Diego trusted this man, and he trusted Diego’s judgment. So he held the limp Zorro in his arms as Bernardo approached Zorro’s horse. Strangely enough, the horse actually reacted to the deaf-mute. When the man put his hand on the horse’s chest, the horse calmed a little. Bernardo then pointed for the horse to leave, and miraculously, Zorro’s horse actually trotted away, obviously returning to where he lived with Zorro. Alejandro stared at Bernardo for a moment, completely bewildered by the man’s actions, but Bernardo then took Zorro’s other arm from him and wrapped it around his shoulders. Alejandro knew he could be confused as to why Zorro’s horse had reacted to a man he’d never met later, right now, they had to get Zorro into the hacienda where no one would stumble upon him.

“We need to find shelter for him.” Alejandro said, and then cursed himself as the man stared at him a little. Right, he couldn’t hear. Lord, he didn’t know how Diego communicated so well with the man. Bernardo then pointed to Diego’s room, and Alejandro nodded. Diego would have no issues giving up his bed for Zorro. He knew that Diego always spoke about how Zorro was a criminal, but he knew the twinkle in his son’s eyes when he was teasing, even if others didn’t.

So Alejandro and Bernardo carried Zorro’s unconscious body up the stairs, and maneuvered him into Diego’s room. Surprisingly, his son wasn’t there as he’d expected Diego to be. He wanted to ask where Diego was, but Bernardo couldn’t hear so that would have to be a question for later. Maybe his son had already gone down for an early breakfast.

Carefully, Alejandro and Bernardo laid Zorro down on Diego’s still made bed. Alejandro removed Zorro’s hat and torn cape, and Bernardo removed Zorro’s shoes and gloves. Then Alejandro gently pulled at the fabric stuck to Zorro’s skin, and hissed at the sight in sympathy. There was a roughly three inch gash in the man’s right side, dried blood mixing in with the dirt Alejandro had found him in. When Bernardo saw the gash, his face was extremely expressive in his worry. Bernardo placed his hand on Zorro’s forehead, and Zorro’s cheeks. He looked at Alejandro, clearly frightened and Alejandro gently touched the man’s skin around the wound. Dammit. It was already warm with fever. Alejandro cursed under his breath.

“Okay. We have to clean the wound, and no one can know he’s here.” Alejandro said slowly, trying to use gestures to explain what he was saying. Thankfully, the man seemed to understand, and he nodded. Alenajdro then gestured to the room, and the books that Diego loved so much. “Where’s Diego?”

Bernardo struggled a little, his gestures not making any sense. Alejandro sighed, wondering how Diego dealt with this all the time. At least his bookworm son had learned patience in Spain. Bernardo then shrugged, and Alejandro sighed. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Well, he could worry about where Diego had disappeared to later. Zorro needed him now. He trusted his son, Diego would be alright without his father and his manservant for a little while. His son was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

“Go get some water and several soft cloths.” Alejandro said, and tried to mime that to Bernardo. Even though Alejandro was not used to communicating only with his hands, Bernardo nodded quickly, and slipped out of the room. Having been deaf his whole life, he was probably very used to understanding gestures.

Even though Alejandro only knew cattle and horses, and wasn’t a doctor himself, he’d seen enough injuries over the course of his life that he had a fair idea of what to do. He had to clean the wound, stitch Zorro back up, and let him rest for at least a few days so he could recover from the blood loss and fever. He hoped that that was all Zorro needed, as Alejandro wouldn’t risk bringing a doctor to the hacienda unless it was at the uttermost end of need. The less people who knew of this secret the better.

Bernardo was rather quick in his return, carrying a large basin of water with several soft washcloths. Alejandro cleared a space on Diego’s nightstand for the man to set everything down. Alejandro then tried to gesture for Bernardo to lock Diego’s door, and he nodded quickly. At least now no one would be able to come in unannounced. Diego would understand why he was locked out of his own room once he came home.

When the man returned to Diego’s bed, worry still written clearly on his face, he pointed at Zorro, and then pretended to undress himself. Alejandro nodded resolutely. “You’re right, let’s get his shirt off.”

Bernardo then came around to the other side of Diego’s bed, and carefully, they eased Zorro’s body into somewhat of a sitting position. Alejandro ripped the already torn sash around Zorro’s waist and removed his gloves, and Bernardo supported Zorro’s unconscious body as Alejandro began to slowly try to remove Zorro’s shirt. The man moaned softly in pain as he did so, and while it hurt Alejandro’s heart, he was almost glad for it. The heroic outlaw wasn’t too far gone if he was still able to make noises. Bernardo helped Alejandro wrangle Zorro’s limp arms out of his shirt before they managed to pull it off his head. The pull of the fabric pulled a little at Zorro’s mask and bandana, and when that happened, Alejandro saw Zorro’s eyes open a little. He must have trained himself to recognize anything trying to unmask him, even when he was barely conscious.

“No… n-no…” Zorro whimpered, his trembling hand trying to come to his mask.

“Shh, it’s alright, Zorro. You’re safe here.” Alejandro took Zorro’s hand and squeezed gently. Zorro weakly tried to pull away, his hand trying to come back to his mask. Alejandro could see the fear in Zorro’s eyes, so he spoke with pure conviction, his only goal reassuring the outlaw. “I give you my word, Zorro. We will not unmask you. You’re safe here.”

Zorro stared at him with brown eyes that reminded him of Diego, and he must have seen Alejandro’s sincerity even though the haze of his fever, and he nodded a little, his head then falling limply down as his hand clutched Alejandro’s as tightly as he could. It frightened Alejandro with just how weak Zorro’s grip was.

“... hurts.” Zorro moaned, clearly insentient from the fever, as Alejandro doubted that the masked man would ever admit he was in pain if he were fully in control of his wits.

Again, Alejandro was reminded of Diego, of a time when Diego had been about twelve years old, still young but trying so hard to be a man like his father. Diego had climbed a tree to impress the young Rosarita Cortez, but he’d been more concerned about showing off to the girl he was infatuated with than caution, and he’d slipped and fallen out of the tree. He’d landed hard on his left wrist, and Alejandro had immediately taken him to the doctor in town. As Diego had clung to him in the saddle, he’d made the same exact sound, whispering that it hurts. He’d been trying very hard not to cry, but constantly being jostled around in the saddle had overwhelmed the small boy. But Alejandro had promised his young son that admitting he was in pain was a strength, and not a weakness. Diego then started sobbing into his father’s shirt as Alejandro rode to the doctor, and he comforted his young son as best as he could. If he remembered correctly, Diego still had the scar on his left wrist from the break, even though he’d fully healed years ago. But now was not the time to reminisce about his son. He needed to think about the man in front of him now.

Somehow, as if sensing Zorro’s distress, Bernardo then pulled down Zorro’s mask so it properly covered his face again. The restoration of his mask seemed to calm the outlaw, and his eyelids fluttered as he struggled to remain conscious. Alejandro wondered if he should let the man sleep again, as what he was about to do was going to be painful, but he also didn’t want the man slipping into unconsciousness again to the point where Zorro wouldn’t wake up again.

“Lay him back down.” Alejandro said, there was silence and stillness for a moment, and then he gestured for Bernardo to lay him back down. Gently, Bernardo laid Zorro back down, careful with his head, until Zorro was once again laying flat in Diego’s bed.

Alejandro then reached over, grabbed a small cloth, and dipped it into the water. The water was only slightly cool, and Alejandro hoped that this wouldn’t be too much of a shock to Zorro’s fevered skin. Bernardo then got his attention, and gestured for a cloth of his own. He mimed placing something on his eyes, and Alejandro nodded, understanding. He handed Bernardo the cloth he’d had and grabbed another one. Bernardo folded the damp cloth and then placed it over Zorro’s eyes, over his mask. Alejandro hoped that would help ease the heroic outlaw into knowing that his secret was safe with them.

Taking a deep breath, Alejandro then brought the cool cloth to Zorro’s right side, starting with the skin around the wound. Zorro whimpered in pain at the touch of the cool cloth, but Alejandro knew he couldn’t stop even if his actions were going to cause the man pain. He slowly began to wipe away the dried blood and dirt around Zorro’s wound, trying not to use too much pressure but also trying to make sure he washed off all of the dirt around the wound. As he worked, he saw Bernardo out of the corner of his eye, gently stroking Zorro’s cheek, most likely trying to do what little he could to comfort the suffering man.

Stroke after stroke, Alejandro used gentle pressure to wipe away the dried blood and dirt around the gash in Zorro’s side. He tried to ignore the soft noises of pain that slipped past the outlaw’s lips, knowing that even though this hurt, he needed to clean the wound so Zorro could heal. But each noise twisted his gut a little, even if his hands remained steady as he cleansed the man’s skin. For a reason Alejandro couldn’t figure out, Zorro’s noises of pain sounded almost exactly like Diego. Alejandro ignored it, thinking that it was just his paternal instincts responding to Zorro’s pain as Zorro had the same eyes as his son. Though, Zorro clearly had much more muscle than his scholarly son, training to fence as well to be as skilled as Zorro was would of course build up that muscle. He wished Diego had put that much devotion into his fencing skills rather than his books. He’d heard from around town of just how hopeless his son was with a sword, which he didn’t understand. Diego had been a fine swordsman when he’d left for Spain. Even if he didn’t fence the entire time he was there, he shouldn’t be so hopeless now.

Even though Alejandro couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting to Diego, his hands moved just as they should. Slowly, carefully, he gently cleared away the dried blood and dirt away from Zorro’s right side. When he finished, he looked back up at Zorro. Bernardo was still softly stroking his cheek, and Alejandro saw droplets of water running down Zorro’s cheeks. Alejandro hoped that they were from the cool compress over his eyes, rather than the poor man being in so much pain that he was crying, though he knew it was probably the latter. Alejandro sighed. Unfortunately, it was only going to get worse.

“Bernardo, hold him down.” Alejandro said, trying to gesture to the deaf-mute. “This is going to be painful.”

He saw the fear on Bernardo’s face, as if he could hear the grimness in Alejandro’s tone, but most likely, he just understood what had to come next. Bernardo shifted a little, using his arm to pin Zorro’s shoulder’s to the bed. Using his other arm, Alejandro pinned Zorro’s waist to the bed, and he took another deep breath, trading the dirty cloth for a clean one.

Alejandro then brought the clean cloth to the wound itself. Zorro shrieked in pain as soon as Alejandro touched it, but Bernardo quickly covered Zorro’s mouth, trying to muffle the shrieks and groans of pain as Alejandro worked. The wound had stopped bleeding at some point during the night, but as soon as he began to try and wipe the dirt from the gash, it started bleeding sluggishly once again. Having been a ranchero all his life, Alejandro was very used to blood, human or cattle. But out of all the blood he’d seen in his life, this was the worst. This wasn’t some vaquero who’d been gored by a bull for getting too close to his mate, this wasn’t a man who’d accidentally cut himself as he was fixing the perimeter fence, this wasn’t a man who’d been kicked by a horse. This was a man who’d been intentionally injured because he fought for justice and cared about all people in the pueblo. Still, Alejandro had to do a job to keep the man alive, so he pushed away all thoughts of the cruelty of this wound.

With Bernardo muffling Zorro’s sounds as best as he could, Alejandro worked, trying to get all of the grime in the wound. He had to use a fair amount of his strength to keep Zorro pinned down, but he tried not to focus on that, on how much pain this was causing the man. He just did his best to work as quickly as he could without losing his caution and attention to detail. It felt like it took hours upon hours to make sure there was no more dirt in the wound, but just as he was finishing up, Zorro went completely limp in their arms. The poor man must have passed out from the pain. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, but at least the man wasn’t in agony anymore. Alejandro finished cleaning the wound as Zorro lay unconscious in Diego’s bed, and he sighed heavily when he thought that this would be as clean as he could get a wound like this.

Alejandro then stood up, taking the bloody rags, and threw them in Diego’s fireplace. When he turned back to the man, he saw silent tears running down Bernardo’s cheeks as he continued to stroke Zorro’s face. Even though the man couldn’t hear the horrid cries of excruciating pain he’d been trying to muffle, it seemed he could still tell just how much pain Zorro had been in, and tried to do what little he could to comfort the outlaw. Alejandro then placed his hand on Bernardo’s shoulder, surprising the man a little, but the deaf-mute just nodded at him. The man then started miming the act of sewing, and Alejandro motioned for him to continue. Bernardo then slipped off of Diego’s bed, and went to his desk. He ruffled around for a little bit before returning with some skin sewing thread, which confused Alejandro.

“Why does Diego have medical supplies in his desk?” Alejandro asked.

Bernardo must have understood the question even though he didn’t hear it, and he picked up one of Diego’s books, and pulled his hand back as if he’d been injured.

“He has sewing thread for the skin in case of a papercut?” Alejandro said incredulously, unable to believe that Diego would have something so extreme for something as insignificant as a papercut.

Again, Bernardo seemed to understand, probably going off of his facial expression, and he shook his head. He mimed getting another papercut, and Alejandro realized he’d gotten the wrong conclusion from his actions. Bernardo then mimed riding a horse, and Alejandro finally thought he understood. The man was just using a book to imitate the sensation of getting cut. He remembered how Diego had struggled to ride Princessa even though he was a fantastic rider, how sore he’d been after he’d slipped off of her. When he’d seen his son on the ground, he’d been afraid that Diego had been seriously hurt. Suddenly hitting the ground after being on a horse could cause any manner of injuries. Diego must have the thread because he knew just how dangerous it was to be thrown from a horse, and that sometimes the doctor couldn’t be reached immediately. If anything, his bookworm son had a good, logical head on his shoulders.

“I understand, come here.” Alejandro said, waving the man closer. Bernardo came to him, handing him the thread. He could see the hesitance in the deaf-mute’s face as Bernardo mimed sewing, clearly trying to ask a question.

“Yes, I can do this.” Alejandro nodded. He’d stitched up small wounds on cattle before, so he was confident that he could handle this. He then guided Bernardo’s hands to Zorro’s skin, lightly pressing the wound together. Zorro made another small sound of discomfort but he didn’t move, so Alejandro assumed the man was still unconscious, and Alejandro thought this was the best time to do this.

Alejandro threaded the needle, and with a fierce determination, he began to sew Zorro’s skin together. The process was arduously slow, and every time the needle pierced Zorro’s flesh, he let out another soft noise of pain, feeling the agony even as he slept. It broke Alejandro’s heart, but he didn’t let that affect him. Bernardo had turned away, unable to keep looking as Alejandro stitched the gash closed, and Alejandro didn’t blame him. Sometimes even the most experienced vaquero could be sick at the sight of an injury like this.

Puncture right, push through, puncture under the left, pull, switch sides, then repeat. The repetitive process of sewing Zorro’s skin back together was grueling, as the man had never stopped making those small noises of pain that reminded far too much of Diego. But eventually, after what felt like ten hours but was actually about ten minutes, and roughly twenty stitches later, Alejandro finished stitching the wound shut. Zorro’s skin kept twitching a little as his body adjusted to the stitches, but Alejandro knew that the man’s body would calm after a little while. Alejandro readjusted the cool compress over Zorro’s eyes, feeling Zorro’s warm forehead, but other than keeping Zorro safe and helping with his fever, Alejandro wasn’t sure what else he could do to help the outlaw.

As soon as Alejandro had finished stitching, Bernardo had let go, just staring sadly at Zorro. Alejandro grabbed Bernardo’s shoulder, trying to do what he could to comfort the man. Bernardo just looked at him. Bernardo then gestured to Zorro, and then mimed looking for something and then a question mark.

“I’m not sure,” Alejandro said, still speaking aloud even though the man couldn’t hear him. “I don’t know if the soldiers know he’s wounded, but I suppose it’s only a matter of time. So we must keep his presence here a complete secret.”

Alejandro tried to communicate his words in gestures, which was still a struggle, but Bernardo nodded, so he assumed he might have done something right. He then looked to Diego’s locked door, wondering where his son was. Diego wasn’t the type to go missing for such long periods of time. Alejandro noticed that Diego’s bed hadn’t seemed slept in, but he just assumed that Diego had gotten up during his father’s ride and Bernardo had just remade the bed. Of all the times to be off by himself reading his books or doing whatever it was that he was doing. His son truly had become a mystery since his return from Spain.

But now that the worst part was over, Alejandro was able to focus on other things again. Alejandro then got Bernardo’s attention.

He pointed at Zorro, and then tried to mime riding a horse, and then used his fingers trying to imitate how Zorro’s horse had listened to the deaf-mute. “How on earth did you get Zorro’s horse to obey you?”

Bernardo seemed to understand his question, and then he pointed at Zorro and also mimed riding a horse. He then mimed a lasso, and reached out and held an imaginary horse. Finally he mimed a spoof of one of the king’s soldiers.

“Ah, when Zorro’s horse had been captured by the soldiers, yes.” Alejandro murmured, speaking aloud instinctively. He nodded and then motioned for Bernardo to continue.

Bernardo pointed to himself and used his fingers to imitate walking and then the horse again.

“You were walking by where they were keeping the horse.”

Bernardo mimed the satirized version of a soldier again. Then he mimed a whip, and Alejandro gasped lightly.

“One of the soldiers was whipping Zorro’s horse?” Alejandro asked. “How dishonorable, attacking a defenseless animal like that.”

Bernardo continued as if he hadn’t spoken, miming the whip again, and catching it in the air. He then waved his finger from side to side in a fierce ‘no’.

“You tried to stop him.” Alejandro nodded, putting the puzzle pieces together in his head. Bernardo had been near the corral, and had tried to intervene when he saw the soldier whipping the horse. With as smart as Zorro’s horse seemed to be, that easily explained how Zorro’s horse knew that Bernardo could be trusted. “So he knows you as a friend. I see.”

It was very lucky indeed that Alejandro had been the one who found Zorro. The horse would’ve followed his master into the hacienda of whoever had found him, as everyone in the pueblo would have taken Zorro in, and they might not have been able to send the horse away. He did wonder where the horse went, but Zorro needed his attention more. He had wanted to wait a little to wrap the wound, wanting to give the poor man a break as his body adjusted to the stitches, but now it was time to continue.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Alejandro said slowly, trying his best to mime out his words. “I have some extra bandages in my room from when I was injured, I need to go get them.”

Bernardo nodded. Alejandro still marveled at how easily Bernardo was able to understand him, even though he couldn’t hear him. Alejandro then slipped out of Diego’s room, and carefully came to his own room. He searched through his drawers and found the bandages. As long as the wound didn’t reopen, he thought what he had would be enough.

A knock startled him, and he shoved the bandages into his pocket to hide them. He took a deep breath to steady himself before answering, “Yes?”

“Senor, breakfast is ready.” Alejandro sighed, recognizing his servant’s voice. He’d been afraid that it would be a soldier looking for Zorro.

Alejandro then exited his room. “I shall come down for it later, my son and I have some important business to attend to. I ask that you don’t disturb us.”

The servant nodded, and Alejandro just sighed, walking causally back to Diego’s room. But he trusted his son. Diego was a smart boy, when he returned if anyone asked about this ‘new important business’, his son would easily catch on that his father needed him.

He was beginning to become worried, as it was not like his son to go somewhere where he’d be gone for a while without telling anyone. But he trusted his son to be careful. He was sure Diego was alright. As his father, he felt he’d know if something happened to his son. Still, the longer Diego went without coming home, the more worried he became. Oh mijo, where are you?

Alejandro slipped back into Diego’s room, and pulled the bandages out of his pocket. Bernardo helped ease Zorro into a sitting position again, causing the man to again make a soft noise of pain as they unfortunately jostled his wound. Bernardo then got his attention and mimed a circle and then pointed at himself. It seemed Bernardo wanted to wrap the bandages. Alejandro nodded, seeing no reason to deny him, and handed him the cotton bandages.

Holding Zorro by the shoulders, Alejandro then adjusted himself so he was holding Zorro upright. Bernardo then began to softly wrap the bandages around Zorro’s wound. The man’s touch was incredibly delicate, almost reverent, like he was bandaging a close friend. Maybe Zorro had thanked him for rescuing his horse from that cruel, dishonorable man in some sort of way and Bernardo felt indebted to him as he did, as many did after encountering the hero.

Alejandro watched as Bernardo’s nimble fingers wrapped the white cotton around Zorro’s abdomen. Bernardo moved quickly but tenderly, making sure not to cause any further pain to the hero. He seemed very experienced in this, and a small part of Alejandro hoped that he’d just learned how to do this in his training as a manservant, and not because he’d bandaged an injured Diego before. He hoped that wasn’t what changed his son while he was in Spain. He’d seen the aftereffects of some battles that left men shaking whenever they held a sword again.

Swathes of white soon covered Zorro’s abdomen, and Bernardo tied the two ends together. Together, they laid Zorro against the pillows once more, and adjusted him so he’d be as comfortable as he could be. Alejandro sighed. At least now, all they needed to do was let Zorro rest. They shouldn’t need to cause him any more pain.

With Zorro taken care of Alejandro needed to tend to the hacienda as he always did, trying to assume a look of normalcy. No one could suspect that Zorro was here, that anything was out of the ordinary. And even though Alejandro wanted to remain with Zorro, to watch over the hero as he had watched over Alejandro, it would be better for him to keep the secret and act completely normal. That would keep him the safest.

“Watch over him.” Alejandro said, pointing to his eyes and to Zorro. “I need to tend to the hacienda, otherwise it will seem suspicious.”

Bernardo nodded, and Alejandro placed his hand on Bernardo’s shoulder before heading out. Even though he didn’t really feel like eating, he went down to breakfast anyway. Maybe Diego would be there, waiting with a smile that always calmed Alejandro’s heart.

Bernardo had been exhausted from waiting up all night for Diego to return, but the second he saw his friend in Don Alejandro’s arms, he’d suddenly become wide awake. It was as if he’d drunk a whole keg of coffee, his heart racing in his chest at seeing his friend so injured. Bernardo knew that being Zorro was risky for Diego, it was risky for him too when he joined his friend, but this was the first time Diego had really gotten injured. There had been that one instance when Diego had hit his head against a rock, but he’d been fine afterwards, except for a rather strong headache. He’d been perfectly fine after a little rest. This injury would not go away so easily.

Holding Diego down as his father cleaned the wound was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Hearing Don Alejandro’s promise to not unmask Diego had been slightly comforting, but his friend was so injured, already afflicted with fever that it was hard to feel it. He’d had trouble keeping up the ruse that he was also deaf, especially when Diego had started screaming in pain. Covering his mouth to muffle his sounds broke Bernardo’s heart, but he knew it was necessary. Diego couldn’t be found here like this, unable to defend himself, and Diego certainly wouldn’t want his father being implicated in helping Zorro, no matter what state he was in.

When Diego finally passed out from the pain, Bernardo didn’t know whether to be grateful or distraught. While he hated to see his friend be in pain, he longed to see Diego’s eyes open once again, so Bernardo could see that he was alive, he was awake. But even in unconsciousness, Diego wasn’t relieved of the pain. He’d kept stroking Diego’s face as gently as he could, trying to bring what little softness and comfort he could to his best friend, trying to give Diego something to focus on that wasn’t the horrible pain he was in. Unfortunately, it hadn’t seemed to work, as Diego continued to make those soft noises of pain as Don Alejandro worked, even after he’d finally lost consciousness.

Bernardo had almost been sick at having to hold the two edges of Diego’s skin closer so Don Alejandro could stitch them together, but he forced himself to be strong for his friend. Diego had always been so strong for him, defending him from people who thought that his inability to speak was a deficiency and made him unintelligent. It was one of the main reasons he’d become so devoted to Diego, who never got frustrated with him because he couldn’t speak. In Spain, Diego had never let anyone speak ill of Bernardo, even dueling a couple of people because they insulted him. Diego was one of the kindest, most patient men he’d ever met, and Bernardo would do anything for the man who had become his best friend. He’d never thought he’d become best friends with someone who was sixteen years younger than him, but Diego was special. He’d never had such a good friend before. So no matter what, no matter how ugly or hard this healing process would be for him to watch, he’d see Diego through this if it killed him.

When Don Alejandro told him he was leaving to keep up appearances, Bernardo nodded, wanting some time alone with his friend. Bernardo locked the door behind him, so he wouldn’t be disturbed. Slumping a little in relief, Bernardo immediately came back to his friend. Gently, Bernardo removed Diego’s bandana and then his mask. This time, Diego’s eyes remained closed, knowing Bernardo’s touch even in sleep. Bernardo then dipped another one of the cloths into the water, and began to dab at the dirt still on Diego’s face, trying hard not to wake him. Judging by the dirt on Diego’s body, he must have fallen off of Tornado at some point. He wondered how long Diego had laid in the dirt before Don Alejandro had found him.

Tenderly, Bernardo began to reveal Diego’s soft skin from under the dirt. His friend slept on, unaware, only occasionally murmuring nonsense in his sleep. He’d never known Diego to talk in his sleep before, but fevers often did strange things to people. So he just focused on his task, gently cleansing Diego’s face with the cool water. This way, Don Alejandro didn’t have to do it and they wouldn’t have to risk Diego’s father potentially accidentally seeing under his mask. Bernardo knew that Don Alejandro promised he wouldn’t unmask Zorro, but still. He and Diego didn’t like to take risks they didn’t have to.

As he worked, little droplets of water ran down Diego’s face, mixing in with the tear tracks so obvious within the dirt that still remained. Bernardo softly stroked Diego’s face with his fingers again, looking sadly upon his friend. Seeing Diego cry was such a rarity that the memories were vivid in his mind. The first time was when Diego wept at the bedside of a good friend when he’d died unexpectedly of yellow fever, and the second was at a wedding as Diego (and most of the crowd) had teared up during the vows. And now this was the third.

Once Diego’s forehead and eyes were clear, Bernardo immediately put the mask back on. Even though the door was locked, he knew Diego would be more comfortable with it on. Despite his fever, Diego still clearly had enough of his wits to remember that he was Zorro, not Don Diego de la Vega. Bernardo hoped the mask’s presence would give Diego the emotional comfort he clearly needed to reassure him that his identity had remained a secret.

Bernardo’s touch was gentle as he brought the cool cloth to Diego’s cheeks, but it seemed that all the touches to his mask and face had woken his friend anyway. Diego’s brow furrowed as his eyes fluttered open. Bernardo could see the fevered glaze in Diego’s brown eyes, and his heart hurt for his friend.

“Ber… bern’do?” Diego whimpered, and Bernardo was grateful that Diego wasn’t too far gone to not recognize him. Bernardo cupped Diego’s cheek gently, and Diego whispered, “wha…?”

Bernardo shushed him gently by putting his finger on Diego’s lips, and then he took Diego’s hand. When he’d first become Diego’s friend, Bernardo had taught him a few hand positions to use as a way to communicate with him. He’d taught Diego the same signs his family had used for the alphabet. It wasn’t something he needed to use often, as Diego was unusually good at communicating with him, but it was what he used to spell out his words as a last resort.

Carefully, Bernardo shifted Diego’s fingers into a fist, with his index and middle fingers raised, and he waited for Diego to recognize it. It took a moment for Diego to understand him through his fever, but eventually he murmured a breathless, “U…” Bernardo then crossed Diego’s fingers, and again waited. “R…” Bernardo guided Diego’s fingers into four successive letters, and when Diego didn’t respond except a confused noise, he did it again. “S-s-a-fe. Safe.”

Bernardo nodded, and cupped Diego’s cheek again. “‘ts good.”

Diego’s eyelids seem to hang heavy over his eyes, and Bernardo’s fingers softly brushed over his bandana. He then grabbed the glass of water he’d gotten earlier, and brought it to Diego’s lips, cradling Diego’s head to help ease him up. Diego wasn’t strong enough to hold the glass, but he managed a few sips of cool water.

“Tor… tornado.” Diego suddenly gasped, his exhausted eyes opening wider in fear, and Bernardo shushed him gently again, setting the glass aside.

Bernardo mimed himself sending Tornado back to their secret hideout, and then he softly stroked Diego’s forehead again. Diego nodded weakly, understanding that Tornado was safe too. Tornado was a smart horse, he’d keep himself out of trouble.

It seemed that the knowledge that he and Tornado were safe was enough for Diego to slip back into sleep, and Bernardo just stroked his cheek until he was sure Diego was deeply asleep again. Bernardo then brought the damp cloth to Diego’s cheeks, softly washing the dirt from Diego’s skin. His touch was featherlight, not wanting to wake Diego again when he clearly didn’t have the strength to stay awake.

After that, Bernardo worked in complete silence, just washing the dirt from Diego’s cheeks, and then Diego’s neck. His costume covered everything else except the wound, and that had already been taken care of. But just as Bernardo placed the dirty, damp cloth to the side, he noticed a thin sheen of sweat on Diego’s skin. He felt Diego’s forehead again, still feeling too warm as the fever burned within him. Hopefully it would burn itself out soon. Diego would need all of his strength to recover from this wound.

Diego hadn’t been at breakfast. He also hadn’t been home for lunch. Alejandro hoped that Diego was just in town, with his friends, and that he was alright. It really was not like Diego to go for so long without at least telling his father where he would be going. The only thing he could think of was that Diego had taken a spur of the moment trip, perhaps to the mission, as potentially someone in town wanted his presence. Still, Diego usually stopped by the hacienda to tell his father where he was going, but perhaps this was an emergency. Alejandro just hoped that Diego came home soon, he missed him.

It was evening by the time that Alejandro had been able to return to Zorro’s side without arousing suspicion. It took a little while for him to get the deaf-mute’s attention inside, but eventually Bernardo unlocked the door upon seeing him.

“You should get some rest, Bernardo.” Alejandro said, doing his best to mime, seeing the exhaustion on Bernardo’s face. “I’ll watch over him for the night.”

Bernardo seemed torn, looking at Zorro with forlorn eyes, obviously not wanting to part from the hero. Alejandro placed his hand on Bernardo’s shoulder, miming “I’ll fetch you if I need you.”

While the man clearly still did not want to go, he did nod. Alejandro wondered if the man had slept the previous night, but whatever had exhausted him was catching up to him. Bernardo took one last look at Zorro, but he went to the door. He knocked three times in a rhythm, and then again. Alejandro realized he was setting up a code for him to use, so he nodded, showing he understood. At least Alejandro could hear the knocks when Bernardo wanted back in.

Alejandro sat at Zorro’s bedside, watching the hero sleep with a worried expression. Zorro’s eyes darted around under his eyelids, his body restless and trembling. Alejandro pressed his hand to Zorro’s forehead, and frowned at the heat he found. All they could do now was hope that an infection had not taken hold and that what was causing this fever would not be as serious as that. An infection would mean Alejandro would need to fetch a doctor, and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to do that. Alejandro grabbed another cloth, it seemed Bernardo had restocked while he was gone, and he dipped it in the cool water.

Carefully, Alejandro brought the cool cloth to Zorro’s collarbone, deciding to forgo touching the man’s face since the slightest touch to his mask had woken him the last time. Tiny beads of sweat had formed across Zorro’s skin, and he softly wiped them away, hoping the cool water would help break the man’s fever. He brushed the cloth over Zorro’s chest, carefully avoiding the bandages around his waist.

As he brushed the cloth over Zorro’s arms, he saw something rather incredible. Zorro also had a scar on his left wrist that Alejandro could’ve sworn looked exactly like Diego’s. He lifted Zorro’s hand, taking great care to be as careful as possible, examining the scar curiously. It was the same length, same width, seemed just as old as Diego’s.

“You know, my son has a scar just like this.” Alejandro murmured. He wasn’t quite sure why he was talking to an unconscious man, but he hoped that his voice could bring the hero some kind of comfort as he slept. “Though, I’m sure you got yours a different way, being the master swordsman that you are. You probably got yours as you honed your incredible skill. My son fell out of a tree, heh.”

A soft moan filled the air, and Zorro’s eyes fluttered open. His brown eyes were glassy and dazed, and it took them a moment to focus on Alejandro.

“Father?” Zorro murmured, his voice weak and confused.

“Shh, it’s alright, Zorro. It’s Don Alejandro.”

Zorro just whimpered again, raising his hand a little. “Father.” Alejandro just grabbed his hand and held it tightly.

“Father… I’m sorry.” Zorro whispered, staring directly into Alejandro’s eyes. Alejandro frowned in confusion, pursing his lips, feeling a little discouraged that Zorro didn’t recognize him. The fever must be distorting Zorro’s mind into thinking Alejandro was his father. “I tried… tried so hard to make you proud.”

“Shh, Zorro, it’s alright.” Alejandro squeezed the hero’s hand. “You did everything you could. Even the bravest in battle get injured. I’m sure your father is very proud of you.”

“No…” Zorro slurred, his glazed eyes drifting softly to the wall. “My father isn’t proud of me.”

“Nonsense.” Alejandro instinctively started stroking Zorro’s hair over his bandana, as Diego always liked his father petting his hair when he wasn’t feeling well. He just hoped that Zorro took comfort from it too. “You’re a great hero. A savior of our people.”

“No… my father thinks I’m a coward.” Zorro muttered. “Always so disappointed in me. I can see it in his eyes.”

Unconsciously, Alejandro’s mind flashed to Diego, that first day when he’d returned from Spain and he hadn’t wanted to take up arms against Comandante Monasterio. How heartbroken Alejandro had been when Diego hadn’t wanted to draw his sword against the corrupt captain, or even draw his sword at all. But how could anyone think that Zorro was a coward? Zorro risked his life constantly for the people of Los Angeles. No one could dare call him a coward or a disappointment! He was tempted to ask who his father was, as he had a few words to exchange with the man. Zorro had risked his own life to save Alejandro’s, how could anyone ever say that he was a coward or a disappointment?

“Your father is wrong.” Alejandro squeezed Zorro’s hand again, his voice full of conviction, which brought Zorro’s fevered eyes back to Alejandro. “You are no coward. You are a hero to us all, Zorro, from the richest ranchero to the poorest peasant. Every day, you risk your life to save us from tyranny and injustice. If your father can’t see that, then even a blind man can see more than he can.”

Zorro’s eyes glistened as Alejandro spoke, and he saw a single tear slide down into the mask. Alejandro’s heart twisted in pain. His thumb came to Zorro’s face, softly brushing under Zorro’s eye. Zorro’s eyes fluttered closed, and Alejandro didn’t stop his ministrations until he was sure that the hero had fallen asleep once again.

Alejandro sighed softly as he gazed upon Zorro’s sleeping form. He hadn’t met the outlaw often, but he never would’ve guessed he’d had such a difficult family. He couldn’t imagine having a father who treated him so disrespectfully. Even he had gotten used to how bookish and unwilling to fight Diego had been since he got back from Spain. Truthfully, it had been hard, but Diego was his son. That meant that Alejandro loved him unconditionally, whether he was a master swordsman or a dandy. Diego was the best thing in his life, nothing could ever change that, even his son’s inability to handle a sword. But Zorro, he was a hero! He did more for the pueblo than anyone. How could anyone be disappointed in that?

Alejandro shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. As much as it hurt to hear that Zorro’s family didn’t appreciate him as they should, there was nothing he could do about that. But what he could do was do his best to help the man heal. He continued wiping the sweat away, brushing Zorro’s skin with clean cool water. He checked the bandage, and thankfully, he didn’t see anything that would indicate an infection. This fever was most likely caused by the stress of getting such an injury, Diego and his late wife had been prone to them as well, Diego especially once his mother passed.

A sudden knock on the door startled him, and he quickly composed himself, covering Zorro with Diego’s blanket and trying his best to hide his mask with a cool compress over his eyes. He then went to the door, trying his best to calm his nerves.

“Yes?” Alejandro answered, seeing one of his servants.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, sir, but Sergeant Garcia is at the door and is urgently requesting to speak to you.”

Alejandro’s heart raced. What could Sergeant Garcia be wanting at this hour? Had something happened to Diego? Were they looking for Zorro? His stomach twisted with dread, but he kept a straight face, looking appropriately worried rather letting the terror and panic he was feeling show. He nodded simply, and then headed down to the entrance of the hacienda.

“Sergeant.” Alejandro said, fighting his every nerve to keep calm. “What brings you here this late into the night?”

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Don Alejandro, but on our last attempt to capture Zorro, it seems he was wounded.” The Sergeant said. “ One of the swords that did battle with him came back with blood on it. So we’re searching everywhere in the pueblo for him, as he’d need help, and since we couldn’t find him in any place he’d seek a doctor, we’ve started searching all the haciendas to see if we can find him.”

“We want to make sure he’s still alive.” Corporal Reyes added.

“Babosa!” Sergeant Garcia shouted, smacking Corporal Reyes upside the head. “You’re not supposed to say that!”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said, Corporal, now be silent!” Garcia growled, and then turned and smiled bashfully at him.

Alejandro’s heart raced, his mind becoming a whirling dervish as he struggled to think of a reason he could deny them entry.

“Well, Sergeant, it is very late, perhaps you could come back tomorrow.” Alejandro said. “Most of the hacienda are already in bed, and I’d hate to wake them.”

“I’m afraid I must insist.” Sergeant Garcia said, sounding regretful. “We must check everywhere for Zorro, even this late at night. N-Not that I suspect you, Don Alejandro, but the Comandante would be very upset if I didn’t search everywhere, including your hacienda. But we’ll try to be quiet.”

Alejandro fought to keep his composure. He had to think, how could he keep them from discovering Zorro? There was no way to sneak him out without the soldiers noticing!

“Well, if you must, but I must ask you that you do not go into Diego’s room.” Alejandro said, hoping this excuse was enough to deter them. He didn’t have the time to think of another. “I’m afraid my son is sick, and cannot be disturbed. A-and I wouldn’t want you catching what he has.”

Sergeant Garcia looked surprised. “Diego is feeling unwell? Oh I’m very sorry to hear that. I was wondering why he hadn’t met me for lunch yesterday as we’d agreed. It’s not like him to miss our lunches together.”

Wait, Diego had made plans and then not kept them? Sergeant Garcia was right, that wasn’t like Diego. That wasn’t like his son at all. He almost asked when the last time the Sergeant had seen his son, but he stopped himself as he realized that he couldn’t. He was pretending Zorro was Diego. The Sergeant would find it very odd that Alejandro needed to look for Diego when supposedly he was lying sick in bed. He would send Diego’s manservant out tomorrow at dawn, and see if the deaf-mute could find his son. Bernardo knew Diego best since he returned from Spain, perhaps he’d be able to find Diego.

“Yes, he has a fever.” Alejandro said, trying to hide his worry for his missing son. “He’s asleep at the moment, and the noise of someone searching his room will most definitely wake him.”

“I do apologize, Don Alejandro, but I must search every room.” Sergeant Garcia said. “But I’ll check his room myself and just peek in there to make sure I don’t wake him.”

“I appreciate your understanding, Sergeant.” Alejandro said, a vice grip squeezing at his chest. The only thing he could hope for now was that the Sergeant wouldn’t recognize Zorro on sight.

With his heart pounding out of his chest, he followed Sergeant Garcia up the stairs while the other soldiers began to search the hacienda. He swallowed nervously as they went up the stairs, using every faculty he had to keep himself acting calm, even if he wasn’t inside. Quietly, Sergeant Garcia opened the door. The soldier peeked through the door, and Alejandro was so anxious about him finding Zorro that he could barely breathe.

Miraculously, Sergeant Garcia closed the door after just a moment. “I apologize for disturbing him, Don Alejandro. It’s obvious Zorro is not in there. Please let me know when he feels better, I would like to come by and see him.”

Don Alejandro smiled, and he actually meant it this time, knowing that Zorro was safe. “Of course, Sergeant. When he feels up to seeing visitors, I’ll send for you.”

Sergeant Garcia nodded happily, smiling broadly at him.

After that, Alejandro could act as he usually did around the soldiers, chatting with them as if nothing was wrong. He knew nothing else in the hacienda would give away that Zorro was here, so there was no chance of them finding Zorro here. Internally, he worried about Diego. What could’ve happened to his son to keep him away from home for so long? To miss plans that he’d made. Diego was not one to go back on his word. Alejandro had taught him the importance of integrity from a very young age. Where on earth could his son be?!

Alejandro wasn’t sure how long the soldiers spent looking for Zorro, but it was still a relief seeing them leave, Sergeant Garcia again apologizing for the disturbance as the rest complained to the Sergeant that they wanted to stop and go home so they could sleep. He bid them adios before returning to Diego’s room. There was nothing he could do about Diego since it was late in the night, and there was only moonlight and starlight to search for him. But the moment the sun rose, Alejandro would start looking for his son.

The moment Alejandro stepped through the door, he could tell something was wrong. Zorro was thrashing a little, having kicked off the blanket which was now tangled between his feet, with the cool compress laying on the pillow beside him. He was murmuring nonsense in his sleep, but it was clear that he was in distress. After locking the door, Alejandro rushed to Zorro’s side.

“Shh, Zorro, you’re alright, you’re alright.” Alejandro said, trying his best to sound soothing.

“No, no please,” Zorro whimpered, still lost in the throes of a nightmare.

“Zorro, wake up, you’re having a nightmare, you’re safe here.” Alejandro gently cupped Zorro’s cheek, hoping the touch to his face would wake him.

But Zorro kept thrashing, his head moving from side to side, his face twisted in fright. Alejandro tried again to wake him before suddenly going still, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Zorro’s thrashing had dislodged his mask, revealing part of his face. Even though he was asleep, Alejandro still recognized the face of his son.

Diego… Diego was Zorro??? His bookish, pacifist son was the hero of the pueblo who fought with the strength of ten men? Impossible. Yet here he was, staring at his son as he thrashed from a nightmare, clearly Zorro under the mask. Surely, it must be a dream, but he was wide awake, and this was no dream.

Alejandro then acted on impulse, his paternal instincts screaming at him to comfort his son. He took Zorro- Diego by the shoulders and brought him up to Alejandro’s chest, his arms wrapping around his suffering son’s body in a fierce hug, holding Diego close to him. He slowly began to rock back and forth, just as he’d done when Diego was a small child.

“Shh, Diego, it’s alright, Father’s here, you’re safe, shh, you’re safe.” He whispered, keeping one hand on Diego’s head, keeping him pressed against his chest. He knew his son, he knew what would comfort him. It had always worked when he was a child, he saw no reason it wouldn’t work now that he was an adult.

Just as he thought it would, Diego’s murmurs of fright softened as his father held him, whispering comforts as he slowly rocked back and forth. When Diego’s mother was alive, Alejandro would often find a sleeping Diego in his late wife’s arms as she sat in her rocking chair. He knew that the feeling comforted Diego, especially after his mother passed. So he just kept rocking back and forth, holding his son tightly until Diego’s cries quieted down. But even though the nightmare seemed to have passed, Alejandro didn’t let go of his son.

Carefully shifting Diego’s weight so he could hold his son with one hand, he gently pulled off the mask of Zorro. He figured, since he’d already found out it was Diego, he wasn’t breaking his word to not unmask Zorro. Gently dropping the mask and bandana onto the bed, he tilted Diego’s head up a little. Alejandro had burned his son’s face into his memory when he’d come home from Spain, having missed him so much. And here he was, in his arms, sleeping peacefully now.

How could he have missed this? How could he have not seen that his own son was Zorro? Obviously, Diego had gone to great lengths to hide his identity from his father, as well as the rest of the pueblo, but Diego was his son. Alejandro should’ve been able to tell. Now that he knew, the clues were rather apparent. No one had ever seen Diego and Zorro in the same room at the same time, Diego was never around whenever Zorro appeared, the fact that Diego was constantly being accused of being Zorro (even though previously it seemed so evident that he wasn’t), Diego’s sudden evasiveness over his feelings, how Zorro sounded so much like Diego especially when he was in pain, the scar on his wrist… it all made sense now.

“I fail to see what we can do.”

“We can stand up to him, fight him!”

“Calm yourself, Father. The use of force should be our last resort.”

“I hardly expected such discretion from a son of mine!”

Diego hadn’t been a coward in the face of Comandante Monastario, he just made Alejandro believe that. He’d seen the hurt in Diego’s eyes when Alejandro had been so vocal about his obvious disappointment when Diego had refused to take a stand against Monastario, but he’d been more concerned about his son becoming a coward after he left for college rather than comforting his son. It must have been very painful for Diego to let him think such low things of his own son.

“I’m sorry. I tried… tried so hard to make you proud… My father isn’t proud of me. My father thinks I’m a coward. Always so disappointed in me. I can see it in his eyes.”

The only time words had caused Alejandro to feel such pain was when the doctor had told him that his wonderful wife was dying. Never before had Alejandro felt such a sickening regret in his chest that consumed him so entirely. Diego, his incredible, precious son thought that he was a disappointment. That Alejandro considered him a coward. Admittedly, Alejandro hadn’t been very good at telling his son how proud he was of him when Diego constantly ran from a fight, not understanding how his amazing son could’ve become such a coward in a few short years. But… he understood now. Diego never ran from a fight, he just became Zorro to fight that fight.

“It is strange. So strange. It is almost as if I had known you. You seem so much like someone I know. I'm a foolish old man with foolish dreams. So often have I dreamed that my son came back from Spain and he would be like you. Now that you're so close, it is so much like my dreams. I feel almost that I could pull aside the mask, and there would be the face of my son, Diego. I would not pull away the mask. I would not have the courage. An old man must cling to his dreams as desperately as he clings to life.”

Alejandro startled at seeing tears run down Diego’s cheeks as he slept, but he soon realized that the tears were coming from him, dripping down from his face onto Diego. He tucked Diego’s head into his shoulder again, kissing his hair.

“Oh, mijo. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He held his son all night, unwilling to let him go. His only consolation was at least now he didn’t have to worry about where Diego was. His precious son was right here in his arms, where he should be when he was… wounded. It was the smallest of silver linings that he hadn’t known that this was his son when struggling to treat his wound. He felt nauseous just thinking of his son being so grievously injured, especially when all his son was trying to do was help people.

Dawn’s early light surprised him, as he was so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed that several hours had passed. Diego was still overly warm in his arms, but he seemed to be resting quietly.

A set of three knocks in a row startled him enough that he nearly dropped his son. There was a pause, and another three knocks. Alejandro’s shoulders slumped when he realized it was just Bernardo. He leaned forward, cradling his son’s head with the utmost reverence as he laid Diego back down. He got up to let Bernardo in before he hastily remembered to put on Diego’s Zorro disguise. He wasn’t sure if Bernardo knew, but if he didn’t, he wouldn’t reveal his son’s secret.

Alejandro then let Bernardo in, and the man immediately rushed to Diego’s side. Bernardo’s hand came to Diego’s forehead, his cheeks, checking on his fever. Diego didn’t stir at the touch, and now Alejandro knew what that meant. Even as Zorro, Diego recognized the touch of his friend. He wondered if that meant that Bernardo knew too.

Diego murmured nonsense in his sleep again, and Alejandro sat beside his son, stroking his hair over the bandana. “Shh, Diego, it’s alright, you’re alright. Sleep my son, shh.”

His son calmed, soothed by Alejandro’s voice. Alejandro just stared at his son for a moment, taking in his peaceful expression before he noticed that Bernardo was looking at him in panic. At first it confused him, before he realized that somehow Bernardo must have understood that he knew now that Diego was Zorro.

“You knew?” Alejandro said, his voice incredulous before it turned to anger. “You knew this whole time?”

Bernardo struggled again with nonsensical movements before he just nodded.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” Alejandro demanded. “I’m his father!”

Bernardo then pointed to Diego and pressed a finger to his lips, showing that Diego had asked him not to tell.

Alejandro groaned and ran a hand over his face. Then he stopped.

“Wait, you can hear?” Alejandro exclaimed. “You could hear the whole time too?”

Bernardo nodded again.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Alejandro asked. “Why deceive everyone in such a way?”

Bernardo pointed at Diego again, and then he covered his ear. He then mimed walking again, and used his hands to mime talking. Then he placed his hand behind his ear to mime the word listen. Then he placed his hand over his mouth as if he was whispering and pointed to Diego.

“Diego wanted you to pretend to be deaf so you could overhear others’ conversations and what, report back to him?”

Bernardo gave him a hand wave to indicate perhaps a maybe, and pointed at himself. “You wanted to do that?” Bernardo nodded again. “Why?”

He placed his hand behind his ear again, and then mimed running and then whispering to Diego again. He made a ‘Z’ sign, and then pointed to Diego, and then mimed a shield.

“So… you could overhear things that would indicate that Zorro needed protection?” Alejandro asked.

Bernardo nodded happily.

Alejandro sighed. “At least Diego trusted someone to help him.”

Bernardo frowned and patted his shoulder in what seemed to be a gesture of comfort.

“So Diego has been Zorro this entire time.” Alejandro sighed again before a terrible thought entered his mind. “Even… even when we drew swords against each other.”

He remembered dueling Zorro when he and the other landowners tried to rush the cuartel to free the unjustly imprisoned Torres’ women. He’d noticed back then that Zorro had seemed very reluctant to draw his sword against them, a sadness in his eyes that he hadn’t understood in his anger. And all the time, it was Diego. Diego forced to fight his own father. Even if Alejandro’s intentions were good, his actions had still led him to fight his own son. Poor Diego. Diego had never hidden how much he loved his father, even if he hadn’t told Alejandro his secret.

Bernardo nodded at his statement, pointed at Diego, and then mimed an obvious frown, telling him that Diego had been very upset at having to do that. He could tell the man wasn’t trying to make him feel bad, just trying to tell him that Diego had been just as upset as he was right now, that Diego hadn’t wanted to fight him, but that brought him no comfort. He couldn’t imagine the strength of will Diego must have had to make himself fight his own father on his quest for justice. He doubted he’d have been strong enough to be able to draw his sword against his son.

“We need to take off his mask.” Alejandro said, reaching over. Bernardo grabbed his wrist, shaking his head and waving his finger in a no gesture.

“I’m not doing this because I know now.” Alejandro said. “Last night, while you and most of the hacienda were asleep, the soldiers came here.” Bernardo’s eyes went wide with fear. “Don’t worry, I was able to convince them that Diego was ill to hide Zorro’s presence, but now people expect Diego to be ill. And… I suppose he really is. But if we cover the bandages with a blanket, and hide his mask, then no one will be able to tell that Diego is Zorro. We could let him rest without worry of someone discovering him.”

Alejandro could tell that Bernardo was still uncertain about his plan, but after a moment, he did let go. Alejandro tenderly reached over and slipped Diego’s bandana off, and then very carefully, his mask. Without his Zorro disguise, Diego looked so young, like the boy who he’d sent to university those few years ago. Alejandro softly stroked his son’s cheek, unable to tear his eyes away for a moment. His poor son. Having to shoulder all of that responsibility, all of that pressure to protect the pueblo and distribute justice all alone, unable to confide in his own father. He didn’t know how Diego did it.

They lapsed into silence for a while as Diego slept beside them. Bernardo placed another cool cloth on Diego’s forehead, and Alejandro just sat, brushing another cool cloth over his son’s skin. At least, now that he knew it was Diego, he knew how to help his son. Whenever Diego had gotten stress fevers before, when he was a child, Alejandro just had to give him water, and keep him cool. When they checked his wound as they changed his bandages, the wound showed no sign of infection. Alejandro was nauseous at the sight of seeing his son’s body torn up and stitched together, but he had to be strong for his son. If Diego could fight under his mask as Zorro, then Alejandro could take care of him as his father. When Diego was born, he’d promised to always take care of his son, and he wouldn’t let him down now.

Dusk was settling gently in the west when Diego stirred again. To Alejandro’s immense relief, and when Diego opened his eyes the glaze of fever was gone. He smiled softly at his son.

Soon, fear entered his son’s eyes, and his hand came to his face, obviously searching for his mask. “Father, what… why did you…”

“Last night, you were thrashing in your sleep.” Alejandro explained, his voice saddened by his son’s fear and confusion. As much as he was grateful that he knew, he would’ve wanted his son to tell him of his own free will, and he knew Diego would’ve wanted that too. “It disturbed your mask, and well… I could recognize your face from the other side of the pueblo.”

Diego just stared at him, with his fingers still under his eye. Bernardo then took his hand, and Diego startled a little, having been so distracted with Alejandro’s presence that he didn’t notice his friend. Bernardo smiled a little, but Diego didn’t seem to react to it.

“I am sorry, my son.” Alejandro said, and he knew his son could sense his sincerity. “I know this isn’t how you wanted this to happen.”

Diego slowly brought his hand back down, and he suddenly couldn’t meet his father’s eye. “Are you upset with me? For not telling you?”

“Of course not, mijo.” Alejandro stroked Diego’s hair as he did when he was a child. “I could never be upset with you because you decided to keep a secret. Even one so big as this.”

Diego met his eyes once more. It hurt Alejandro’s heart to see shame in his son’s brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, Father.” Diego murmured. “I didn’t mean to lie to you for so long. I hated doing it.”

“It’s alright, Diego.” Alejandro smiled down at his son. “I can understand why you did it.”

Diego tried for a smile but it didn’t quite make his eyes. He shifted a little, seemingly uncomfortable, and then he winced, frowning in confusion. “What…?”

“Diego, what’s the last thing you remember?” Alejandro asked quietly, as it seemed like Diego didn’t know what had happened to him.

His son paused, his brow furrowing a little. “Riding Tornado. We’d just gotten away from Ramon, the last man I fought. He was trying to smuggle weapons into the pueblo. I… I remember my side hurting, and I didn’t know why. After that, it’s a bit of a blur.”

Alejandro hummed slightly, nodding. That lined up with the timeline that Alejandro had been able to figure out from what little information he had.

“What happened?” Diego asked. “How did you find me?”

“Your horse, actually, he’s incredibly intelligent.” Alejandro explained. “You must have fallen out of the saddle as you rode, and your Tornado went looking for help. He found me and brought me back to you. I found you lying in the dirt with your side sliced open. I brought you home, and since Diego de la Vega wasn’t in his room, I thought we could use it as a place to keep Zorro safe. Bernardo and I took care of you from there.”

“Oh.” Diego said softly, his hand coming to his right side. “I wondered what hurt so much.”

“I can send someone into town for laudanum tomorrow.” Alejandro said. “I couldn’t risk it when you were Zorro, but since the soldiers now think that Diego de la Vega isn’t feeling well, we can ask for it without repercussions.”

“The soldiers?” Diego asked, becoming afraid. “Why were the soldiers here? Is everything alright?”

Alejandro explained how the soldiers had come looking for him and left easily enough, thinking that a sleeping Zorro was a sleeping Diego. That calmed Diego visibly.

“Thank goodness.” Diego murmured. “I never wanted to put anyone in danger.”

Alejandro cupped Diego’s jawline, brushing his thumb over his cheek.

“Bernardo,” Alejandro muttered softly, and the man turned to him. “Can you give me and my son a moment alone?”

Bernardo looked to Diego, who nodded. Alejandro wasn’t sure of what had happened to make Bernardo so loyal to Diego, but he was glad his son had someone who would always stand by his side. It was clear Bernardo didn’t want to go, but he still listened to Diego, and he stood. He mimed getting Diego some water and food, and Diego smiled gratefully.

“That would be nice, Bernardo, thank you.”

Bernardo smiled at his son, and then he slipped out of the room. Now that he and Diego were alone, Alejandro sighed heavily.

“Why didn’t you tell me, mijo?” Alejandro murmured, asking the question that had been burning within him since he found out. “You know I wouldn’t have told anyone. You didn’t have to make me think that you had changed so much since I sent you to Spain.”

“Because I knew being Zorro would put you in danger, and I couldn’t risk that.” Diego whispered, his voice tinted with shyness and shame. “I knew I had to become someone I’m not to fight Comandante Monastario, I had to become someone he would never suspect. A scholar who couldn’t wield a sword couldn’t possibly be Zorro, and it worked. I knew if we took open action as you wanted to do, your life would be in danger. And I had to protect you.”

“You’re my son, Diego, you’re not responsible for protecting me. “ Alejandro said. “I’m responsible for protecting you. I swore to your mother that I would protect you until the end of my days and I will keep that promise. Even if it means dying for you.”

“I couldn’t risk that.” Diego said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Seeing you get shot was one of the worst days of my life. I’ve never been so scared, not even when I’m fighting the whole of the cuartel at once. I couldn’t knowingly put you in danger, and being Zorro is nothing but danger. I could choose to risk my own life, but I could never ask you to risk yours. I had to protect you, Father, even if it meant lying to you about who I was. I’d rather be a disappointment in your eyes than the reason you were killed.”

“Oh, mijo.” Alejandro sighed, stroking his son’s cheek. “You could never be a disappointment to me. You’re my son, I will always be proud of you. Yes, it was difficult to understand why you wouldn’t fight alongside me, why you suddenly had become so interested in books and music when you hadn’t been before. But that never meant that I thought of you as a disappointment.”

“Father-”

“Diego.” Alejandro said firmly. “Whether you’re a scholar and a diplomat or a dueler and an outlaw, I will always be proud of you. I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that. You’re my son, I love you more than life itself.”

Diego smiled again, and this time, he could see it in Diego’s eyes. “I love you too, Father.”

Alejandro smiled in return. This was probably the most honest talk they’d had since Diego returned from Spain, and he was glad that his son could finally be honest with him.

Diego huffed quietly, slightly smirking. “I will say, I’m not looking forward to the worry and fretting you’re going to do whenever I go out at night.”

“I see no reason to do that.” Alejandro laughed, seeing Diego’s attempt at humor for what it was, but going with it anyways. Diego looked surprised at his answer. “You’ve bested me in a duel, my son. Not to mention you constantly fight the curatel and always escape unharmed. You… do escape unharmed every time, right?”

“Yes, Father.” Diego nodded, soothing Alejandro’s worry. “This is the first time I’ve ever gotten seriously hurt being Zorro. Usually, I’m very good at avoiding it.”

“Then I have no need to be worried.” Alejandro said. “I trust in your skills.”

Diego smiled. “Thank you, Father. I’m glad Zorro is skilled enough to earn your trust.”

“I did wonder what happened to your skills when you came back.” Alejandro mused. “When you left, I was sure you’d become the best swordsman in California before age thirty. But I suppose I wasn’t wrong, I just thought it would be under the name de la Vega.”

Diego chuckled. “So did I. I wish I could’ve shown you the medals and trophies I won back in Spain for fencing. You would’ve been so proud.”

“Medals and trophies?” Alejandro asked, confused. This was the first time Diego had ever mentioned anything of the sort since he came back.

“Yes.” Diego nodded. “I won several. I was one of the best swordsmen at university.”

“Where are they? Did you hide them?”

“Yes… at the bottom of the ocean.” Diego said wistfully. “I was warned our bags would be searched when we arrived in Los Angeles, so in order to keep up the illusion that I was completely inept with a sword, I had Bernardo throw them out the port window.”

“That’s a shame.” Alejandro said. “I would’ve liked to have seen them. And shown them off.”

“I can always go swimming the next time I go to the coast.” Diego smirked, and they both laughed together. A somewhat heavy tension between them dissolved softly into nonexistence.

Bernardo soon returned with some soup and a glass of water for Diego. His son went to sit up, before he immediately fell back into the pillows, whimpering in pain and clutching his right side.

“Easy, son.” Alejandro soothed, helping Diego adjust, sliding behind him so he could keep Diego up, maneuvering him into a sitting position. “You’re not ready for that yet. Just let us help you.”

“I don’t seem to have a choice in that.” Diego muttered, and Alejandro could hear the slight bitterness in Diego’s voice. His son had always been independent, and Alejandro knew how difficult it was for him to accept help sometimes.

“The more you rest, the faster you’ll heal.” Alejandro murmured. “I can certainly attest to that.”

Diego huffed quietly, still obviously upset at his situation, but he didn’t protest further. Bernardo could also clearly sense Diego’s desire to not be dependent on them, as he fed Diego as quickly as he could without making him sick so Diego wouldn’t have to deal with being so weak for longer than he had to. Alejandro could tell his son’s strength was waning as he finished, and when Diego was finished, he gently moved so Diego was resting against the pillows again. It took a moment for Diego to adjust and get comfortable again, but his eyes were half-lidded by the time he was done, clearly exhausted.

“Sleep, my son.” Alejandro whispered. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

It was barely a few minutes between Diego nodding softly and Diego’s breathing evening out as he slipped back into sleep. Alejandro stayed with him the entire night, promising himself that he’d watch over Diego until his son was fully healed and riding for justice again.

[aneurinallday]

Green Eyes

Chapter 19: Atonement

He took Alec home - not to Arrow House, but to the old flat above the betting shop in Small Heath, where Thomas had lived as a bachelor before Grace, and which was much closer.

All eyes were upon them as they entered, Alec an arresting sight with his dishevelled curls and smudged makeup, clutching Thomas’s coat around himself. The fringe of his dress was visible below it, the long tassels dancing around his bare legs. But nobody would dare remark upon his appearance.

“You’ll be safe here,” said Thomas as he guided Alec upstairs. “I own this part of the city, and the people answer to me. Nobody can harm you here.”

The small, sparsely furnished flat overlooked the dreary cobblestones of Watery Lane, a view which Thomas had looked at every day while building his empire brick by brick. Alec stood lost in the middle of the room, glancing at his unfamiliar surroundings. He was still clutching the empty picture frame - the only material object that still mattered to him.

“You can put that down - nobody will take it away from you.”

Alec reluctantly set the frame down on the dresser.

“Are you hungry? I can heat up a tin of something.”

Alec shook his head.

“Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, eh?”

Leading Alec into the small en-suite, he sat him down on the edge of the bathtub and turned both taps. He removed the blanket from around Alec’s shoulders, folded it, and set it aside.

“Take a bath,” he said, “I’ll have my men start looking for your daughter.”

He left Alec staring into the water, and headed downstairs into the betting shop. From there began the search for Clara Cobb - a search he knew would most likely end in failure.

“Her name is Clara,” he said to the assembled Peaky Blinders, “She’s a year and a half old. Yellow hair, green eyes. If Cobb didn’t kill her, he most likely dumped her at an orphanage. Pay a visit to every children’s home in the area. Track down everyone who’s adopted a little girl of that description since late January. Tell them she was kidnapped and should never have been put up for adoption. Whatever compensation they want in exchange for her, tell them Thomas Shelby will pay it.”

He faltered, reluctant to voice what he needed to say next.

“It’s possible that Cobb planned to raise her until she was old enough to start working. Search every business he owned, in case she’s being kept among the other prostitutes’ children. Those businesses belong to Bragg now, and he won’t like us poking around, but he won’t risk starting shit with us - not when he’s still trying to establish himself as the new man in charge. Go in pairs, and don’t leave a single fucking stone unturned. This child needs her father and he needs her. We don’t have time to waste. Understood?”

A map of the West Midlands region was rolled out, and pins were placed to mark the brothels Cobb had run. Once he’d finished giving the men their orders, Thomas returned upstairs to his flat.

He expected to find that Alec had finished his bath, but instead found him sitting in a half-empty tub. His naked knees were drawn up to his chest, and he was gazing vacantly at nothing. His tasselled dress had been dropped in a pile on the floor, unwanted.

Thomas dipped his hand in the water. It had turned cold.

“You’re going to freeze,” he said.

He turned the hot taps on full blast, then crouched by the side of the tub. With a bar of soap and a sponge, he began to scrub Alec’s body, trying to wash away the memory of the Arcadia. The downward trajectory of Alec’s life was mapped out on his skin - fresh welts layered on top of old bruises, ribs making their presence known above a malnourished stomach, rope-marks itching on his wrists and ankles. On his neck and shoulders were love-bites left by loveless encounters - uncaring visitors who’d taken what they’d wanted and given nothing in return.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said quietly. “I never should’ve sent you away.”

Alec didn’t respond.

With his thumb, Thomas attempted to wipe away what remained of the smudged liner from around his eyes, but it held on stubbornly.

“That’s not giving up easy,” he said to fill the silence, “I’ll ask my Aunt Pol if she’s got anything to remove it. While I’m at it, I’ll ask her if she’s got anything to make these marks go away quicker. A cream or something...”

He checked the water temperature again. It was warm. He turned off the taps. Picking up a bottle of shampoo, he shook some of the fragrant liquid into his palm, and began to rub it into Alec’s hair.

Finally Alec spoke, his voice thin and hoarse from disuse.

“I’m never going to see her again,” he whispered.

“You will.” The dark, wet curls were slick in Thomas’s hands. “I promise you will.”

“She’s gone, Mister Shelby. I’ll never find her.”

“I’ll find her for you,” Thomas assured him, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“She won’t remember me,” Alec mourned, “Even I find her tomorrow, she won’t remember me. It’s been two months. She’ll have forgotten me by now.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Alec put his face in his hands and took a deep, shaky breath to steady himself, trying to suppress his tears.

“I’ll be nobody to her. I’ll be nothing. She won’t love me any more. If she has new parents, she’ll love them instead.”

“She might not remember you, but she will come to love you again. She’s still just a baby. All she’ll care about is that you’re the one holding her, you’re the one singing to her, you’re the one playing with her. Those are the things that matter to a child.”

Alec lowered his hands and looked desperately around the bathroom.

“I can still hear her, but she’s not there. Sometimes I dream that I’m holding her. I can feel her in my arms like she’s there. When I wake up, I just…I just want to go back to sleep, so I can feel her again.”

“I’ll find her,” Thomas repeated firmly.

With wet hands, Alec grasped at Thomas’s arm and clung tightly to it.

“I don’t know what to do, Mister Shelby,” he whispered, “She was…she was all I had. Before I met you, she was my only friend. And after you sent me away, it was the same. But now she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My whole life, I was just…I was nothing. I was invisible. People only saw me when they wanted to use me. I didn’t know why I was here - what the point of me was. But when she was born, suddenly I became someone. Someone who mattered. Clara loved me and needed me, and she didn’t care what I was. She didn’t care if I was a whore. To her, I was just her dad. And I was a good dad too.”

He could no longer see through eyes stinging with tears and soap-suds.

“When I held her, I could see her whole future. All the nice things she’d have and all the places she’d go. And I knew I’d do anything to make it come true. I knew I’d do anything for my Clara. And I didn’t hate myself anymore, because I knew I was finally doing something good.”

He choked back his sobs.

“I was nobody until I became a dad. But now she’s gone and I’m not a dad any more.”

“You still are. You always will be.”

“I’m not. How can I be?”

“My Grace is dead but I’m still her husband. Your Clara is still out there, and she will come back to you. I don’t know when, but she will.”

Alec’s ragged sobs subsided into hiccups.

“I’ve always protected her. I’ve always tried my best. But now she’s gone, and I don’t know where she is, and I don’t know if she’s alright. What if she’s in danger? What if she’s…?” He couldn’t speak the word.

“She’ll be alright,” Thomas said, “Whoever she’s with, I’m sure they’re taking care of her. There are decent people in the world.”

“But…”

“You’ve come this far by yourself. Now I’m here, and I’m going to help you. We’ll see it through together, the two of us. Understand?”

Alec nodded through tears and released his grip on Thomas’s arm.

Scooping up more water, Thomas cupped the young man’s jaw to hold his mouth shut, and tipped his head backwards. He placed his hand over Alec’s forehead to shield his eyes, and carefully poured the jug over his hair, rinsing away the foam.

“There.” He kissed Alec’s shoulder, pressing his lips against damp skin. “All done.”

“What should I do, Mister Shelby?”

“Right now? Nothing. You’ve worked yourself to the bone. It’s time to let us take over.” Thomas straightened up. “Now, come on. Up you get.”

Alec’s body was stiff from sitting in the tub for so long, and he struggled to rise. Thomas helped him to towel himself dry, then led him back into the main room. In the corner stood a narrow bed with an iron frame and a single pillow.

Thomas pulled back the old patchwork quilt and sat Alec naked on the edge of the bed. Then he helped him to lie down, lifting his bare legs up onto the mattress.

“Get some sleep,” he said, covering Alec warmly with the quilt.

Alec was unresisting, his mind elsewhere. Then he startled. He suddenly sat up, pushing back the quilt and attempting to rise.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he croaked, “I should be out looking for her.”

“My men are already looking for her. You have to rest.”

“I can’t just wait here. I can’t just do nothing.”

“Easy now,” Thomas said as if soothing a skittish horse. “Easy…”

“How can I stay here? It’s been so long…I haven’t held her in ages. I need to find her.”

“Alec, stop. Listen to me.” He held Alec’s face between his hands, stroking his haggard cheeks, gazing into his hollow eyes. “Listen. We’re searching for her. We’re the Peaky Blinders and we own this town. Wherever she is, we’ll find her much quicker than you could.”

Alec seemed to feel slightly comforted. It was probably the first time he’d been offered any kind of reassurance.

Thomas gently pushed him back onto the bed. Physically and mentally spent, Alec lay unmoving while Thomas adjusted the pillow and straightened the quilt. Thomas fetched the picture frame that was all that remained of Clara, and pressed it into Alec’s hands, then pulled up a chair beside his bed.

“Get some rest. If anything happens, I’ll wake you. Alright?”

“...Alright.”

Unable to argue any longer, Alec closed his eyes, hugged the empty picture frame to his chest, and sank into miserable unconsciousness. Thomas kept a silent watch over him, and when the nightmares came, he was ready. As soon as the sleep turned uneasy and the restless tossing began, he stroked Alec’s damp curls and murmured softly in his ear until he settled again.

Thomas knew that it was his own failures that had led them here. In his desperation for companionship, he’d refused to recognise the obvious warning signs before it was too late. And once the undeniable truth had been revealed, he’d failed to show mercy to a powerless pawn who’d been wielded as an unwilling weapon. Failed to predict the extent of Cobb’s vindictive cruelty. Failed to protect an innocent child from being separated from its father. Now Alec and Clara were paying the price for Thomas’s catastrophic mixture of stubbornness, complacency, and pure aching loneliness.

He knew there was nothing he could do to make up for those abject failures. But he had to start somewhere, and for now, all he could do was offer Alec a moment’s respite from the living hell of losing his daughter.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

So, the atrocities Rhaenyra committed never happened because “unreliable source” but F&B is suddenly very trustworthy when it comes to the Greens, am I right ?

Most of the stuff that Rhaenyra was claimed to have done was stuff she did. Eustace primarily looked to whitewashing Aegon II with his whole “he didn’t care until his children were threatened” BS.

Most of what she did during her half-year tenure (the taxes, the murders, the lavish feasts while her people starve, refusing to offer credible surrender terms to the Greens, etc.) cannot be mistaken as anything but her doing, with the only exception of Haelana, who may have been pushed, may have committed suicide, or may even have been murdered by Larys Strong (I doubt that though). Arguing for people who doubted the Strong bastards’ paternity to have their tongues ripped out definitely happened (and as Tyrion stated, “when you tear out a man’s tongue, you are not proving him a liar, you’re only telling the world that you fear what he might say”). Rhaenyra knew about Blood & Cheese beforehand, and never punished Daemon. Maelor’s death can’t be biased history, her Knights Inquisitor were publicly charged with finding Maelor. Ordering Lord Mooton to murder Nettles and ordering Addam Velaryon to be executed without trial was also something that definitely happened, writs of execution have paperwork.

The smallfolk of KL turned on her, and that can’t be explained away as propaganda after-the-fact, they were the ones living it. Their reactions can’t be explained away as propaganda; they slaughtered the dragons: the living symbols of Targaryen power, and justified their actions as righteous action. How can that be construed as anything but legitimately held rebellion against the very aspect of her rulership ? The heads that were placed on pikes above Maegor’s Holdfast too, are physical things that can be observed and confirmed (or disproven).

See, I don't think anyone taught you how to analyze unreliable sources. An easy way to do that is if there are other sources corroborating the story or see if the idea makes sense with the person being talked about. It's also important to consider the context of the decisions, which is analysis 101 by the way. So, since apparently holding your hand and walking you through something like I'm your fucking middle school teacher is necessary, let's go through your post.

First off, the taxes. Yes, I agree with you, the taxes are something Rhaenyra actually did, we know this because in a kingdom, tax records are always kept. This is how I know that you, much like all the Nettles stans who interact with me, have never fucking read a thing I've written. I've said that the heavy tax isn't something that's a sign of Rhaenyra being incompetent or a tyrant. It's a necessary cost of war, especially since the Greens stole the treasury, she needs money. The people did hate this and eventually riot, but, by looking at the context of the riot, it was rooted in hatred of the war, not Rhaenyra. They believed that if she took the throne, the war would be over, but it wasn't because of Aegon's cowardice. If Aegon was still on the throne, the people would have still rioted, they hated the war and blamed the monarch, end of story.

As for the beheadings, I hate to break it to you, but F&B takes place in a medieval world, meaning that beheading was the method for punishing treason. Aegon's supporters committed treason then, unlike Rhaenyra's supporters, tried to hide throughout the city. Now, am I saying that beheading your enemies and putting their heads on spikes on the walls is a good thing? No, it's something that's barbaric and cruel, however, it's no less than what Aegon did to her supporters, so condemning her for something Aegon does is extremely hypocritical and sexist. Also, it wasn't a witch hunt, Rhaenyra needed to find the treasury and Aegon in order to stop the war; was it extreme, yes, but, again, context is important. I find it interesting that you condemn the taxes she levied while also condemning her attempts to end the reason for the taxes, could it be you just hate Rhaenyra and are looking for any reason to shit on her?

Now we're getting into something that requires a little critical thinking, which I know is hard for you: the feasting. The only source that says Rhaenyra held feasts while she was in KL is Septon Eustace. Let's look at Eustace really quickly; he's the man who crowned Aegon and is known by the in-universe writers of F&B to be unreliable, he also wasn't in KL when Rhaenyra was ruling. So, if the maesters who wrote the sources F&B drew from deem him to be unreliable and he wasn't present during her reign, does that make Eustace a trustworthy source? And if the many courtiers who were in KL and weren't fans of Rhaenyra didn't corroborate this rumor, is it likely to be true? The answer to both of these is no. Eustace claiming Rhaenyra feasted during her time in KL is 99% a lie, and that other 1% would refer to the fact that nobles always ate better than their people.

Now, I have another question for you anon, I do hope you'll consider it. Would you offer mercy to the man responsible for the deaths of all but two of your children, your husband, your ex mother-in-law who acted as your surrogate mother, began a war based on your gender, and wanted to kill you and your remaining children? Unless you are literally a saint, the answer is, no, you wouldn't be inclined to offer that person "credible surrender terms". I think you're just referring to when Rhaenyra refused to split the kingdom between her and Aegon as well as refused to spare his life if she caught him while she was in KL. How exactly is throwing the kingdom into a shit storm by splitting it in half, despite the fact that a majority of the lords supported Rhaenyra, "credible terms"? It's not, it's fucking entitled and ridiculous, of course Rhaenyra rejected that audacious idea. Also, Aegon refused to surrender in any way, in fact he was more determined than ever to keep the war going (even after Rhaenyra was murdered, he kept fighting), what's the point of offering peace terms if they're going to be rejected again? She already offered very merciful terms at the beginning of the war.

"As for my half-brothers and my sweet sister, Helaena," she announced, "they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer." (Fire and Blood: The Dying of the Dragons - the Blacks and the Greens)

Keep in mind, this is an official decree by Rhaenyra, terms delivered to Aegon and his council, meaning they were recorded and had official documentation. So not only are you not using any critical thinking, you're flat out lying and making shit up to try and support your argument.

Now, moving on to Rhaenyra's sons, her wanting people who are committing treason to be punished how the king decreed isn't an outlandish or unreasonable expectation. Jace, Luke, and Joff were declared the legitimate sons of Laenor by Viserys, Corlys, and Laenor himself, making them (at the very least adopted) Velaryons. Are you saying that people who are adopted are undeserving of inheritance just because of their blood? That's not even a medieval idea, since adopted heirs has been a custom since the Ancient Romans. Moving on, Viserys was the one who declared the punishment for the treason of questioning the boys' legitimacy, not Rhaenyra. There's also the fact that no one outside of the Greens cared about whether the boys were Laenor's blood or not, they are recorded by everyone, including Eustace himself, as true Velaryons. I'm not even going to address the Tyrion quote, since you clearly don't actually care about accuracy or literally any of the messages in ASOIAF.

Continuing your trend of blatantly making shit up, there's no evidence that Rhaenyra knew about B&C. All we have is Daemon's letter to her, which only said that Luke would be avenged, something which could be accomplished through taking her throne and executing Aemond. In fact, that's the most likely conclusion to be drawn from such a vague letter.

As for Maelor, Rhaenyra did order her knights to find him, as having Aegon's last child could motivate him to surrender. However, she didn't order him to be executed, that was clearly an example of how war twists people and drives them to atrocities. Rhaenyra offered a reward for his return, meaning she wanted him alive, it's not her fault that a mob tore him to pieces. Her people came to break up the mob, but they were too late, so they executed the people responsible. Rhaenyra gave Maelor's remains a Targaryen funeral, something Aegon and Aemond didn't bother giving to her children.

Rhaenyra ordering Nettles' and Addam's executions are actions that I don't defend and never have. Those are signs of how Rhaenyra is another gray character, a woman driven to intense paranoia and making unjust and harmful decisions. This makes her a gray protagonist, not an unredeemable villain, as you and her other antis seem to believe. If you guys want all good protagonists, maybe read a differen book series.

As I said earlier, the revolt of the KL smallfolk weren't against Rhaenyra herself, it was against the war. They killed the dragons because they were being led by a man who took their discontent and used it to support his religious fanaticism. The Shepherd wasn't preaching against Rhaenyra, he was preaching against the Targaryens, including Aegon. That's why they killed all the dragons they could, not just Rhaenyra's, they killed Jaehaera and Helaena's dragons, how is that an act just against Rhaenyra?

TG stans and Rhaenyra antis' arguments are driven solely by a lack of critical thinking, willful ignorance, and twisting of passages. You either have issues that aren't actually supported by the narrative or simply apply double standards to Rhaenyra while supporting other characters who do the same or worse. You seem to think that this ask was a "gotcha" moment, however, you have simply shown how even the Rhaenyra antis who have read the book lack critical thinking and don't understand how unreliable sources work. Have a good day/night anon, I do hope you'll eventually learn how to use logic and your critical thinking, I'm sure you can do it.

[peterbythewayi]

Being human

What if the team of guys on a mission had a sixth person - a female Marine from intelligence?

Part X

They returned back to the guys at dawn, when the sun had barely begun to appear from behind the high mountains. Will was the first to see them, and, standing up, he asked warily:

"Everything's all right?"

They nodded at the same time, breathing heavily after walking.

“The boat is in place,” Anna answered, frowning from the gradually increasing pain in her shoulder. "He'll wait."

“We didn’t go into town,” Benny continued, slowly walking towards the bags to finally sit down, “but it looks like whoever's in charge there has a... kindergarten that's looking for us.”

"How many of them?" Will asked tensely.

"Two or three pros and twenty heavily-armed teenagers."

"What about the next town over?" Tom, who had been silent until then, finally raised his voice.

“It's over hundred miles to the south,” Santiago responded and the team sighed heavily.

“I’ll distract them with myself,” Anna said, pressing her hand to her aching shoulder. The guys turned gloomy glances at her and she continued: “We’ll drag bags to the forest, and then we’ll go our separate ways. You go to the beach, Ben knows a shortcut, and I'll head into the forest.”

“This is not the time to play heroes, Anna,” Garcia shook his head, to which the girl only rolled her eyes.

“I’m not five years old, I consciously went for this and was aware of all the risks,” she said restrainedly and rose up, staggering slightly from the dark spots dancing before her eyes, “Stop protecting me as if I were a fucking porcelain vase.”

The guys looked at each other. Will, who had been silently watching them all this time, looked up at the gloomy Santiago and grinned. He liked that the girl was ready for anything, just like them. He now realized that the Navy would lose a very valuable member after this mission.

“Let’s tie the bags with ropes and tie them to us, it’s much easier to drag them than to go and come back,” Kishing promptly ordered and took a rope from her backpack, beginning to deftly tie the bags across each other.

The guys, following her actions, followed her example with heavy sighs and within half an hour all the bags were tied to each of the team. Anna helped Will tie the rope around his hips so as not to touch the wound on his side and cause him discomfort. The guy smiled gratefully at her, to which the girl’s lips touched a light, trembling smile.

"Wow,” Benny was knocked out of his lungs when Kushing pulled the rope tightly around his stomach. He held his breath, looking at the tight noose wrapped around his torso. "How... tight."

"Need loosen up it?" She slightly relaxed the rope and the guy exhaled convulsively, throwing his head back. Anna just silently pursed her lips, looking up at him with a reproachful look. “If it’s too tight, you could have told me. I don’t want to squeeze your muscles so that you faint from pain."

Slender fingers deftly tied the rope with a sailor's knot, while Ben silently watched her precise, fast movements. He ran his eyes over the girl’s face, who was checking the knots for strength, bringing her eyebrows together in concentration to the bridge of her nose. Noticing his gaze, she barely smiled at the corner of her lips and patted the stupidly smiling guy on the back, standing behind him in the row.

"Ready?" Frankie shouted and Anna showed him thumbs up, to which the man nodded, "Then let's move out."

* * *

When they reached the middle of the forest, Anna cautiously looked forward, examining the brightly flaring fire in the village, illuminating her face. She quickly backed away to avoid being seen and almost knocked Benny off his feet, catching his vest just in time. She slowly nodded to him and the guys deftly removed the bags from her, distributing them among themselves.

While Frankie was tying the new load to his own, Garcia, seizing the moment, walked up to the girl and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, attracting her attention.

"Be safe, okay?" he whispered, looking into her eyes.

“And you too,” she nodded in response, smiling at him one last time.

“Everything is ready,” Tom said quietly and Santiago, looking at his intern for the last time, followed the line of guys walking, leaving Anna alone.

The girl went deeper, away from the place where they parted, but also not far from the exit to the beach. She began to deliberately make noise in the forest, arranging everything so that it would look believable. Of course, luck was fifty-fifty here - her plan had too many if and no guarantees that the gang would fall for it and not scour the forest after they caught her. But Anna knew one thing for sure - if the guys got to the ferry by dawn, they would have an excellent opportunity to escape and stay alive. For some reason, she saw herself very dimly in this regard.

A familiar Spanish dialect was heard nearby and Anna quickly hid behind a large bush, bending down so as not to be seen. Immediately after this, a guy with a machine gun in his hand stopped in front of the bush, and the girl involuntarily held her breath and carefully crawled back, exactly at that second when he moved the bush with his rifle. She looked with wide eyes at the barrel of the machine gun, looming before her eyes, and mentally said goodbye to all her loved ones, when someone else rudely addressed the guy in bad English:

"Stop rubbing around one bush, because of you we will lose the trail! Check the others, they couldn't have gone far."

In response to this, he began to angrily whisper something under his breath - Anna did not hear, but it sounded like some kind of curse in Spanish. After waiting for him to turn away, she carefully stood up and crept to the edge of the bush, looking through the gap. The guy reluctantly shook the bush opposite with the muzzle of a machine gun, and Kushing, silently creeping up from behind, pressed her hand to his mouth and pinched his neck between his forearm and shoulder, beginning to choke him..The guy, groaning dully out of fear, fired several shots into the air, and the girl, cursing in Russian, kicked the rifle away and pressed forcefully on his throat, cutting off access to oxygen. After a couple of seconds, the guy wilted in her hands like a soulless doll and Anna dragged him into the bushes, covering his body with leaves and vines. Taking his machine gun, she quickly checked the magazine and threw it over her shoulder, hiding in the bushes opposite.

* * *

The guys stopped and ducked down by inertia, hearing deafening shots. After looking at each other, they instinctively grabbed their rifles, looking around furtively.

“Someone was shooting,” Benny retorted, looking somewhere behind him, “And not far away.”

Santiago turned around worriedly. They all knew perfectly well what these shots were about, which only made things worse.

“Come on, Pope, she can handle it,” Frankie, who always maintains a cold calm, pushed his friend forward, silently ordering him to go.

“She’s already shown what she’s capable of,” Will responded, supporting his partner’s words.

Garcia had no choice but to move forward again.

* * *

Anna quickly got rid of the gang, dragging one after another into the bushes and hiding them there. She knocked out two of the “pros,” as Benny had put it the day before, almost immediately and hid them in some ditch. The area she wandered into was swampy, so Kushing tried to drag the bodies into the quagmire so that they would not be easy to find. It is still possible to find hidden bodies in the forest, but hardly anyone will comb all the swamps for the sake of a bunch of teenage criminals.

“Done,” she whispered, throwing the last one into the quagmire and rising up, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

The girl raised her head up and saw that it would soon be dawn. Without giving herself time to rest, she quickly walked through the forest towards the beach, intending to go straight out into the bay.

However, at the exit to the shore, a surprise awaited her - the last leader of the gang, the third, whom she did not find, was chasing another car in a car. Taking a closer look, Anna saw Frankie and Will in the cabin, while Santiago and Tom were sitting in the back, surrounded by bags, shooting back. The girl rolled her eyes - two grown men cannot get into the same car. Taking out the gun and taking aim, she fired two shots, after which, looking up, she followed the car that had moved out of the way and sighed with relief.

"That's Anna?" Tom shouted and Santiago laughed happily, starting to wave his hand at her. She waved her hand in response and ran towards the bay, where Benny had already sailed on the boat.

“Let’s load the bags, and we’ll go on the next flight,” Kushing said and the guys nodded, starting to unload the bags from the back while she tried to catch her breath.

Benny delivered the bags to the ferry and returned back, after which the whole crew sat down on the boat and were finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

They reached the boat in complete silence, just as silently they climbed on board and scattered to their cabins. Anna, having greeted her friend with a weak nod, tiredly plopped down on the hard bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. She didn't believe that they had succeeded.

* * *

Benny stopped in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, putting his hands in his pockets and silently looking at the girl who was untangling her hair with her fingers, looking thoughtfully at the floor. She took off all her equipment, leaving only jeans and a shirt.

"How are you?" the guy asked quietly and Anna, slowly looking up at him, shrugged her shoulders vaguely.

“Alright,” she answered, licking her dry lips, “and you?”

“Same,” Miller echoed and, after waiting a couple of seconds, asked again: “How’s your shoulder?”

"Hurts,” Anna answered simply, shaking her head. “The effect of the morphine ended yesterday.”

Ben's eyes widened.

"Did you inject morphine?"

"Just a little."

"Fuck. Let me see,” he stepped inside, combing his hair back and looking expectantly into her eyes.

"What? Injection?" the girl did not understand, her gaze running perplexedly over his concentrated face.

Benny frowned upon hearing her question.

“Shoulder,” he explained.

Anna sighed. Reluctantly unbuttoning her shirt, she lowered it and lifted the sleeve of her T-shirt so that the guy could inspect her. He carefully removed the old bandage and the girl immediately nodded towards the cabinet where the first aid kit lay. Miller deftly processed her shoulder and applied a sterile bandage, tying it carefully with long, rough fingers.

"I hope not into a vein?" he finally said and Kushing shook her head.

"Intramuscularly."

“Thank God,” Benny breathed out with relief, tying the bandage and tucking its ponytails into the edge, “otherwise you would walk around with pierced hands.”

“With my blind eyes, just inject into a vein,” the girl smiled sadly, to which the guy laughed hoarsely.

He softly brushed her blonde hair behind her ear, noticing that her skin had tanned slightly, turning from a pale gray to a light olive shade. During this week that they spent in the jungle, he noticed quite a lot of details that complemented her image in his head and made the picture whole.

“Wanna ask,” Ben began hesitantly, running his hand through his hair and pulling his ear back, “Those shots in the forest. Did they shoot at you or did you shoot at them?”

“They shoot at me,” Anna shrugged and frowned in pain, completely forgetting about the wound. "Why?"

“Pope almost died, thought you were shot again,” Benny answered with a grin, stretching his stiff neck. "Barely calmed down."

The girl laughed quietly.

“Thanks,” she finally said, nodding at her shoulder.

Miller only silently nodded in response and patted the smiling Kushing on her good shoulder, after which he left her cabin, heading to his own.

[ele-sme]

“Hi Jake, Spider might or might not fallen of a tree”

 goJake was bored and annoyed, more than three had passed since the battle, and a lot happened during it. First of all, recom Quartich and his whole squad turned to Eywa’s side, which is good right? WRONG, well yes good, no one but the sky people died in that battle, and much information was given. But that motherfucker turned only because of Spider, and his minions followed because of ‘semper fidelis’. Now those things were in the Omatikaya forest learning the ways like he had done years before. Cringe. 

Plus, that bastard of a copy wanted Spider right next to him during the whole process, he wanted Jake’s son during the whole process!

Now, maybe saying son is a little hasty, in the end, him and Neytiri never officially adopt him, or never toke care of him. But still they accept him now

you should have accepted him immediately, he was just a child, why why why wh-

a call. 

“Yes?” Jake responded at the mobile that was used for him and the others who were in the forest for communication. 

usually before the battle, he would contact Max and Norm weekly, then once he called them for Kiri and another for Spider. 

now, he and the rest of the family would daily call Spider to check on him, which annoyed the blonde since he would spend all the weekends with them. 

still, every time Jake heard his voice, his heart would go in tilt, he could feel the joy, relife, love, longing and other emotions.

this time, it wasn't his son’s voice, but his other father. 

“Hello Jake, i didn't really want to call you, but your so called friends insisted that i do” Quaritch began “i think you can't really call someone like them friends you know? i wouldn’t like if someone called me telling what im telling you right no-” 

“Can you please just tell me what happened without telling me the story of your life?”

“Alright, Spider might have fallen of a tree...of twenty meters from the ground...and he might have craked his mask and broken some bones...and it might have got us almost thirty minutes to come back to the base...remove the might” Quaritch said

Jake’s heart skipped a bit, the pod became silent, he forgot about everyone in it, it took a few seconds before the house fallen into chaos. 

Neytiri practically jumped to him, taking the device off Jake’s hands, and starting telling off at Quaritch for saying something like that with such nostalange.

“at least is he alright?” she asked and after a few seconds he responded with a yes, which made Tuk calm down since she have started to cry. 

“alright we are coming right now” Jake announced and ended the call.

“yeah, let's go!” Lo’ak said trying to get out but Neytiri stopped him

“we are going means me and your mother, you stay here, not discussing that. Neteyam you are in charge” Jake said without letting Neytiri speak, like it was necessary.

he speaked for her, she speaked for him, he acted for her, she acted for him.

the flight which was usually of nine hours became one of five. The two Ikrans were exhausted. 

Neytiri praticlttly jumped off hers, running towards the infirmary, secretly hoping it was in the same place she remembered it to be.

Spider was asleep when they entered the room, next to him Quarithc who looked half asleep but was waken up when the other two entered the room. 

“you, me outside” Jake order the other avatar who silently obeyed him.

leaving Neytiri behind with Spider, they got to the outside, and Jake took his knife out pointing him at Quaritch. 

“i swear if something happened to him”

Quaritch let out a hiss but didn't respond

“we are taking him for all month, no need to say again“ Jake said, spitting at quaritch feet before returning to his mate and their child, finding Spider who was crying and Neytiri humming his favorite song. 

Without saying anything he got next to them an hummed with Neytiri the next verses. 

BONUS

Jake and Quaritch got out lefting Neytiri and Spider alone, the door closing made Spider wake up, and looked around finding Neytiri next to him. 

she gave him a motherly smile, one he never had, just it made him want to tear up all the water that was in him. 

“you came?” he said, it was more than a question, like Neytiri wasn't infront of him. But she was, and she was ready to give him a lot of kisses.

“You are my son after all”