#finally got around to drafting it

[randomfandombullshiz]

A childhood friends, high school to university AU

Steve likes Sam

Sam likes Bucky

Sarah (Sam's twin because I said so) ALSO likes Bucky

Bucky...is complicated (until he isn't). He just wants to flirt with pretty people and do hooligan shit with his best friends.

Cue lots of drama, angst, and pining abound.

[blitzy-blitzwing]

Obviously they blame each other. :V

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4/?

[kabukiaku]

found this papa terzo in my drafts, decided to finish it!! 💜💛🖤 𐕣

[starry-bi-sky]

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

--------

Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[faerynova]

i just want her to be part of the family u guys

[dadralt]

the 4 bases of intimacy according to geralt & yennefer (insp.)

[diadraws]

great idea! but have you considered: those extra limbs do NOT have thumbs 

[cryptidclownz]

HEY!!! i finally got out of my art block and ended up switching to a drawing tablet instead of my phone! i have one pretty big thing being worked on currently, but here's some lamb to hold you over for a few days ^^

[burningcheese-merchant]

Can we get more of all of the yandere beasts? Idk. I'm kinda feral for your headcanons

Y E S

Assorted trivia/factoids because they've been rattling around in my head for ages now

Most to least physically violent: Burning Spice (duh), Silent Salt, Sahdow Milk, Mystic Flour, Eternal Sugar

Most to least horny (I mean they all are, but... idk some of them REALLY need to go to Horny Jail): Burning Spice + Shadow Milk (tied for 1st), Eternal Sugar (she doesn't necessarily act on it usually, but the thoughts are certainly there), Silent Salt + Mystic Flour (tied for last; both are actually quite sexually repressed. Salt feels guilty for ever thinking of White Lily in such a "dirty" way, so he tries very hard not to ("exaggerated disgust for sin/impurity and shame for feeling/expressing such as is often seen in religious fundamentalism" is the vibe I'm going for). For Flour, it's just another manifestation of the extreme denial of her obsession that she grapples with. It's arguably worse because there is no worldly attachment more egregious and corrosive than lust. Just another way Dark Cacao has ruined her chances at enlightenment...)

How often do they actually try to go after their Ancients?

Shadow Milk: All the time lol. A few times a month, at least. Cooldown periods between harassment attempts only because he likes to make a big, elaborate show each time he appears to Pure Vanilla, which can take time depending on what Shadow has in mind

Eternal Sugar: Not too often, really. The laziness is strong with this one lol. When she reaches out to Hollyberry, she does so in dreams or just through stalking her via the Soul Jam most of the time. Something particularly upsetting has to catch Sugar's eye to get her to actually go after Holly in person (usually involving jealousy)

Mystic Flour: No. The answer is no. She maintains as much distance from Dark Cacao as possible. Back to the Ivory Pagoda she went after he left Beast-Yeast post-battle, and in the Ivory Pagoda she shall stay. Alone. Away from him. No matter how empty everything feels without him, including herself. No matter how badly her soul aches without him there. No matter how her blood boils at the thought of someone else taking up his time and attention. Because she doesn't want to do that anyway...

Burning Spice: All the time. About the same rate as Shadow Milk, more or less: a few times a month, with cooldown periods in between (but only to heal bc Golden Cheese beats the hell out of him every time he shows up). There are times where he gets extra hungry/desperate and hunts her down more frequently; once, he stalked and attacked her at least once a week for almost two months straight. It took her dropping another building on him to send him away again.

Silent Salt: He doesn't have to "go after" White Lily, he's already there lol. He's the most "successful" of the five in this regard; he gets to be near her pretty much 24/7. She is effectively trapped in Beast-Yeast because she feels an obligation towards him (mostly towards keeping people safe from him, but also that weird sense of pity and misguided commiseration), which he takes advantage of without hesitation. He sees her pretty much every day... whether she notices him there or not. (She does, most of the time. He's actually pretty difficult to ignore, even if he's hiding from view. She just SENSES him there. It's very off-putting)

Is there any possibility for redemption of some sort? Could professional help benefit them at all?

Shadow Milk: No. Death penalty.

Eternal Sugar: No... but a boring as hell talk therapy session might at least put her to a sleep deep enough that she can't be bothered to harass Hollyberry. Maybe. (Her laziness is her downfall, really. It's all anyone can count on sometimes.)

Mystic Flour: No, but she wouldn't say no to help. She does not want to feel this way about Dark Cacao. At this point, she'd rather forget he exists at all. He can keep the Soul Jam; if that's the price she has to pay to be free from this sickness, then fine. Just give her the cure. Please. For the love of God

Burning Spice: NO. DEATH PENALTY.

Silent Salt: ...No? Probably not. It's weird. His gentleness with White Lily herself, plus his genuine efforts to try to please her, almost make it seem as though he can be reasoned with, at least to some degree. But it's what makes him so scary, in a different way from the others - and it's what helps lock White Lily in the sad, strange little cycle they're in. He keeps lulling her into a false sense of security and enticing her to believe he won't act out this time... until he inevitably does, because, ironically, he can't keep his controlling nature under control for long. He'll only "behave" as long as he believes it'll curry White Lily's favor. And as long as there's nothing and no one there to challenge him or their "bond"...

And height comparisons, just because. (These are canon for me in general, across the board. Not just in this creepy ass AU lol)

Pure Vanilla: 5'9"/179cm VS Shadow Milk: 5'9"/179cm

Hollyberry: 5'6"/170cm VS Eternal Sugar: 5'5"/167cm

Dark Cacao: 6'1"/185cm VS Mystic Flour: 5'9"/179cm

Golden Cheese: 5'7"/173cm VS Burning Spice: 6'5"/198cm

White Lily: 5'8"/176cm VS Silent Salt: 6'1"/185cm

[lothbats9000]

*que Sonic belting out the HTTYD soundtrack*

(also close ups and rambles bellow ;)

I am so ready for this game! I can't believe it's less then two months away now rahhhhhhh!!

[d4rk-x-w0lf-17]

sorry

*proceeds to rub my gay lil hands all over the silly stick figures*

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

One of my fav Demo hcs I see from time to time is that he's really into mixology, especially if it's framed as a shippy thing he does for people he loves. And ofc u guys know my big Demo ships so I'm imagining something smoky, warm, and made with apples for Sniper and something deceptively sweet (almost sickeningly so) and extremely strong for Medic, maybe something with pink or red food coloring (bc of the blood). Idk I think it's cute it's a nice little love language thing that I'm always thinking about

[pocket-watcher]

“It’s interesting, with a power set so vast you must have some weakness just as broad to balance you out.” The scientist said as they poked and prodded you.

You laughed nervously. “What? No. That’s ridiculous. I don’t have any weaknesses.”

And you believed that, of course. Fire resistance, high pain thresholds, and you no longer had your fear of heights! Turns out saving people 20 stories up really helps with exposure therapy!

“Biologically speaking, everything has a weakness. Predators have blind spots, they’re scared of noise, they can’t conceal their blood like prey can. So… what’s your weakness?” The scientist mused once more, not asking you specifically but more as if asking the universe.

You took a deep breath and tried not to panic. This was one of the top scientists in the country, here to help you, not to take you down.

“Are you okay?” They asked, innocently.

Too innocent.

They looked up as you looked down. Nose to nose.

Your head shot upwards to avoid their stare.

“Yeah! I-I’m fine. Just… you know…” You rocked your head slightly trying to think of another topic to talk about. “So… what do you think my weakness is?”

Their eyes lit up.

In a flash they rounded up a box and began showing your data.

Despite your enhanced intelligence your brain couldn’t keep up with the speed at which they spoke.

“-and if you look at this graph here, you’ll find what’s really interesting is the activity in your prefrontal cortex spikes! At the same time your right medial temporal lobe starts working overtime, like a forceful relaxant. It’s like somehow a specific combination of lights and patterns overrides your brain like a giant helping of melatonin!”

Um.

“What?”

They blinked at you. “Aha… got a little excited there. Maybe a demonstration would help?”

You began to agree as they span you into a seat and wheeled you through the lab.

Dear god these scientists were fearless, you thought.

When you came to a stop you were hooked up to several wires, a heart-rate monitor, some strange-looking device holding your head in place (and possibly scanning it too?) and your arms pinned down… not that those restraints could do much. You’d bench pressed a 747 before lunch.

“Okay. So, I want you to listen to the voice coming out of the speakers and to watch the screen. Okay?”

You nodded, still unsure, but that unsureness seemed to disappear instantly once the screen began flashing.

The colours were too fast for you to register. The voice was repeating words that both you couldn’t understand but also rewrote your brain.

You felt your mouth hang open and your body go limp. You were vulnerable, incapacitated, all within a single minute of this scientist hooking you up to the machine.

“It’s just as I thought! How do you feel?” They asked, lifting your limp wrist and dropping it down before scribbling more notes.

You couldn’t have answered even if you wanted to.

They checked your pupils for responses and studied the data, whilst you sat there staring at the screen. Listening to the constant flow of unintelligible words.

“Okay! We should probably get you outta there, huh?” They said as they flipped the machine off.

It took you a while to fully come to your senses.

“…What was that?” You asked, incredulously.

“That was your weakness. Theorised, and now proven.”

You didn’t know what to do. You’d never been made to feel so small. So at the mercy of someone else.

“You had no right.”

You stopped. The safety of the world was at stake. If this information fell into the wrong hands…

“Woah there, we’re the only ones here! I won’t tell anyone. I promise…”

You felt an “if” coming.

“If you let me run more tests like that? We can work together, see if we can find a way for you to resist it.” The scientist smiled kindly.

You felt scared for the first time in a long time. Scared of what someone could make you do. How they could make you feel.

“Fine. If that’s the price to keep you from talking, we can run more tests.” You settled.

“Great! I promise you won’t regret it!” The scientist waved you out of the room. Once you were out of earshot they typed out a message:

It worked just as you said it would. I’ll start working on the conditioning pronto. You sure I shouldn’t have tried turning them now?

A phone pinged back a moment later:

No… slow and steady wins the race my friend. Great work.

Somewhere, a villain smiled at her phone, dreaming of a subservient hero.

[airdst]

Coquelic: Do you think you can easily toy with people's lives? Do you think you can easily defeat me?

Shalom: I wouldn't dare, Mentor. I know your time is much longer than mine. You know better than me what is destined.

Shalom vs Coquelic in Flora Unfurl — happy first anniversary event!

[miabrown007]

Adrien is so tired of the new wave of fangirls every time he makes it to the Vogue's most eligible bachelors list. so Marinette jokingly suggests this year he should date someone while the results are being complied, thus avoiding making the list.

but Adrien thinks, dragging an unwitting girl into this and dropping her the next week would just be cruel. and Marinette thinks, as Adrien's very good friend and achingly platonic superhero partner, she should have really shut up instead of offering to help.

[firststrikerr]

(A late night Steelstep conversation, 1052 words. Inspired by this specific exchange that keeps me up at night.)

“Chen.”

“What is it?”

The mattress sinks beside me as Marion shifts their position until they’re lying on their side. The tips of their fingers brush against my arm, but they don’t move it any further forward. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I turn my head to face them. Considering the number of things I feel responsible for, this might as well be about anything. Instead of trying to narrow down which of my many failings they're referring to, I wait for them to resume speaking.

“I know I didn't take it well when you first told me about it, but… you did what you had to.” A corner of their lips tugs upward at a harsh angle. Though they try to make their smile reach their eyes, the strained squint makes their imitation less convincing. “Thank you. For looking out for Ortega.”

“It’s in my self-interest to do so,” I mutter, catching up to what they're getting at. Why are they telling me this now? Why are they trying to pretend that they accept what happened? Their attempt at reassurance only serves to remind me of truer words they spoke in the heat of the moment. From the heart.

You hoped I was dead. It would be more convenient.

My denial felt sincere at the time, but can I really say there isn’t even a grain of truth to their accusation? My appointment as Marshal, Ricardo constantly on the brink, Sentinel’s retirement, the new recruits, the sniper—after a certain point, it was all too much. Whatever was going on behind the autopsy pictures felt beyond me.

“It can’t have been easy to tell me this,” I say in the end, because trying to understand them is the least I can do.

The silence that follows persists for long enough that, not for the first time, I wish I could pick up glimpses into their mind like they can with mine.

“Chen,” they repeat, as if they even need to call my name to have my full attention. They stare down at their limp hand. “I don’t want to be someone you feel responsible for.”

I unwittingly frown, but purposefully keep it on as my expression of disagreement. “You know that you’re more to me than that,” I sigh, taking their hesitant hand in mine. Not mine. But they squeeze back hard enough to almost make me believe it is.

“Guilt’s the only reason why you let me into your life,” they return, matter of fact.

“Guilt isn’t what got you here, in this apartment. In this bed.” I sigh, running my free hand through my hair. “In my damn head, even.”

Their grip loosens as their thumb brushes over my palm.

“When the time comes,” they say, leaning their head against my shoulder. When, not if. “I won’t blame you for making the right choice.”

“Marion,” I say, strained, now that the reason behind their forgiveness from earlier has become more evident. “Is this about…” There’s no better way to summarize this mess than with a single, proper noun. “Ricardo?”

At the mention of that name, their gaze finally flits back onto me. They plaster on an infuriatingly serene smile on their face. “Ah, you got me. I guess I was being pretty obvious, huh?”

My jaws tighten, but I manage to hold back my sigh. “We never did get around talking about that. Properly. Don’t think I forgot what you did.”

“I hope you didn’t,” they shrug. “Can’t have my matchmaking efforts go to waste like that.”

Without their usual touch of snark, they almost sound like they mean what they say. Pulling them in closer only makes it evident how tense they are.

“I’m not going to leave you behind, Marion.” Their fist clenches between their chest and mine. “Not again.”

“Let’s face it. This thing between us? It won’t last.” Pushing my arm away from them, they let their shoulder fall limply back on the bed until they’re facing the ceiling. “I’m trying to spare you from the consequences of this lapse in judgment, Marshal.”

“I know exactly what I’m getting myself into,” I lie. As expected, they toss me a glare for it.

“You don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I counter, lifting myself up and narrowing my eyes at them. “Because it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not letting you push me away.”

They follow my lead and jerk upright, unwilling to give me the high ground. “What’s your grand plan, then? Keep me on a leash until you manage to fix me up and make it all right?” Their fingers dig into the sheets as they scoff. “Good luck with that.”

“I don’t know,” I admit, trying not to dig into the spaces between my joints. “I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do. Not yet. But at least…” After a beat of hesitation, I take their hand again. They don’t pull back. “At least let me try.”

Their head hangs low, but they grip my hand hard enough to tremble. It should hurt, but these hands aren’t made to feel pain.

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Maybe.” I can concede that much. “But not as much as the alternative.”

They choke on the incredulous laugh that escapes them.

“Chen, I…” Upon hearing the quiver in their voice, they grit their teeth and take a sharp breath. Their other hand comes up to clamp down on mine, which I then cover with my own free hand. As I do, it occurs to me how cold I must be to the touch. How unpleasant I must be to hold. Maybe that’s why—

Their forehead drops onto our entangled fingers.

“I don’t want to let go.”

I can’t help but smile. That’s all I needed to know.

“Then don’t.”

“But I should.”

“Still.” I press my lips onto their knuckles. “Don’t.”

A silence of disbelief stretches out the moment. Then, all at once, they toss a handful of blanket over my head, pushing me back down to the bed along with them. With a grunt, I pull the covers away from my face.

“You’re insufferable,” they sigh, even as they drape an arm over me and drag themself closer.

“If that’s what it takes, then sure.”

To that, they have no retort. Their steadying breaths signal their surrender.