#for em to hear it from directly out the door or is that not possible cuz it isnt actually that loud and you can only hear it in the room

[aria0fgold]

How was I ever able to write 3 snippets yesterday bro am struggling today. Also I just realized, I don't actually know How Loud a heartrate monitor gets during flatlines. Like is it so loud you can hear out from outside the room??? Do hospitals have soundproofing actually? Or are the walls thick enough to not let too much noise seep through the walls?

[ravawrites]

Invaluable

THIS IS UNIMPORTANT PART 2!!!!!!!

summary: your boss finally realises what you mean, and how he feels. warnings: smoking, drinking, sexual situations (not smut!) a/n: this is based on that time aaron SNATCHES that cigarette out of the unsubs mouth and it’s hot. If you want a smut part please comment or leave a thing in my inbox. love ya <3

wordcount: 4687

The next few weeks nothing had changed between you and your boss since his confession of you being important to the team. But at the same time, everything had. He had become less dismissive once you handed him the usual bitter black coffee he gets. Instead of the usual “Thank You,” just thrown your way without a sparing glance.

Now, you were still thanked. However, he turned his head towards you, making eye contact for a slightly lingering moment before continuing on with the case and turning back to the drawing board. It was pity, you assumed. Pity for the fact that you had almost been shot and killed in a police precinct bathroom.

Another small change was the way he asked for things. He had went from harshly barking orders at you to have papers ready, collect that box of files, prep the interrogation room. To coming up to you directly, asking you quietly and politely.

On the other hand, something completely different, never happened before, your boss, Aaron Hotchner had brought you a coffee on the jet. Albeit, the rest of the team were passed out in a deep sleep. Em had her head rested on JJ’s shoulder as they slept together. Spencer had a book over his face and Morgan had his music playing in his ears.

“You’re not sleeping?” He asked as he bent down to place the coffee on the small table in-front of you. Lifting it up you take a scalding sip from the mug. Boiling hot, burning your tongue but exactly how you liked it.

“How do you know which way I like my coffee?” You ask, the shock evident in your tone and get given pointed look because the answer to that was obvious. “I can’t sleep when something is moving, car, train, private jet.” Your mouth quirks up at the last one. You see him nod in understanding and he makes his way back to his seat and to bury his nose back into the files. “Thank you.” You whisper out loud enough for him to hear but not enough to wake the team.

The rest of the flight back to Quantico was peaceful. Silence after a long and hard case was always welcome, the calm after the storm.

-

Silky sheets caress your legs as the loud blaring of your alarm rings in your ears. The orange beginnings of daylight peek through a small gap through the curtains. Rolling over, the blue light from your phone glares in your eyes. New email. Meeting at 8:30. Urgent.

One thing you hated about your boss was his inability to elaborate when things were important. Rushing to get ready and throwing your work clothes on as fast as possible, your mind races. Skimming over every mistake you had made in the past few months that could lead to you getting fired. Or anything the rest of the team could have done to prompt an urgent meeting.

Arriving at the office the rest of the team stand in the bullpen, equally confused.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Emily asks you as you join the huddle at her desk.

“No idea.” You reply with a shrug and the six of you turn to look up into Hotch’s office. He has the landline up to his ear and seems to be talking intensely to the person on the other end. “What do you think that’s about?”

“No idea.” Spencer echoes your words from earlier. “He doesn’t look happy though.”

Then without a word Hotch opens his office door and with no more than a nod, orders you to the conference room. It wasn’t unusual for him to look that way. Stoic, serious and unmoving.

“We’re all fired.” Pen squeaked out with a determined nod. She then marched up to the conference room, the rest of you following in her stead.

The conference room was not a stranger to long intense silence. It usually happened when one of the team had made a mistake that Strauss wouldn’t let go. Usually a mistake that your unit chief’s job was put on the line for. Hotch is sitting when you enter.

“Have we got a case?” Derek asks with a nod to the remote in Hotch’s hand. The screen behind him lit up and he stood up.

“Not exactly.” A look of disgust was commonly shared around the circular table at hearing about the heinous crimes that the team solved regularly. However, a look of panic, was rare and was prominent at what Hotch said next. “We have been invited to the FBI christmas gala.” Groans and eye rolls were shared around the table.

“We are on orders from Strauss to not take any new cases until after the event,” He continued, “As we are most likely going to revive an award.”

“When is it?” JJ asks, her chin in her hands and her hair falls over her face.

“Next Friday. We all get a plus one.” Hotch finishes and gets up, striding out of the conference room and back to his office to stare at more files until late in the evening.

“You know what this means ladies.” Penelope starts, her body pretty much vibrating with excitement. “Dress shopping!” The huge smile on her face made everything more bearable. At least one of you was excited.

-

A few days later the girls and you were standing in some high-end boutique, browsing the multiple colours of dresses. Racks upon racks of different cuts, shapes and lengths are everywhere. Penelope was rushing through them at a speed you'd never seen, picking out what she thought would look best on the three of you.

"Em, you just have to wear red!" She gushes and hands Emily a stack of different shades of red. "Go try them on." Pen gives her a shove toward the fitting rooms. "Same for you." She says to JJ, her pile filled with a variety of blues, pinks and purples.

They both come out one at a time, showing you and Pen all of the dresses she had specifically picked out. Naturally, Pen loved every single one they came out in, smiling every time. Until they both came out at the same time and she let out a dramatic gasp.

Emily was wearing a deep red velvet dress that came down to her ankles and was tight-fitted down her body. JJ's was light pink with light lace flowers all over in lace. It flared out from her hips and draped over her legs. "Those. Are. Perfect." She squealed at the pair as they both did a spin. They both blushed at your and Pen's extensive compliments about how well the dresses fit them.

"You guys look amazing!" You say from your seat and Emily's look turns from appreciative to mischievous.

"Now it's your turn," Emily smirks and she and JJ take their place on the plush bench that you and Pen were just perched on. JJ hands you the pile of perfectly curated dresses Penelope had picked out for you, in many different colours. You pick out all of the colourful ones and leave them on the bench. You catch the girls confused looks.

"While a gala is a break for you, I'm still on the clock." You explain and shake the black dresses in your hands. "I have a dress code, black only." You watch Penelope's face drop.

"But, that green one would look so good." She says, obviously disappointed you wouldn't get to wear the one she had envisioned you in. "Try it on for me?" She asks and gives you a look you couldn't resist.

"After, I find my one for the night." You put emphasis on after as your friend was not one for patience.

A few dresses later, varying reactions from the girls as you came out. Some 'oohs' and 'ehhs' gave you a clear opinion of what they thought. Penelope had found her dress almost instantly, it was a silky champagne with black lace over the bust. Finally, you had thought you had found the one. It was black, of course, and didn't come down too low at the bust, stopping just before inappropriate. The fabric stopped at the floor and didn't restrict your walking movement.

"Oh, that's lovely," JJ says as you pull the curtain back to reveal yourself to them.

"That is the one!" Penelope jumps up and gives you a hug.

"I think I'm all dressed out." Emily slumps against the wall as you make your way to get changed back into your normal clothes and bag up your dress of choice.

Making your way to the till, you all pay for your dresses and head your separate ways home.

-

The fateful day had finally come. Hours upon hours of explaining that you are not a profiler to a part of the BAU team but their PA. Then having to listen for hours upon hours on why the BAU was favoured by the director as they had a private jet and a PA. Looking good was crucial if you were a benefit, you had better be a good-looking one.

If the dress had to be black and plain with a simple shape and a boring unappealing neckline. You'd dress it up with dainty jewellery and amazingly high heels in a matching black. You had turned a simple dress that was gathering dust in the back of the racks into a sublime sleek look. The ding from your phone catch’s your attention as you grab your clutch.

It read ‘We’re outside’ and quickly you smooth down your hair one last time and make your way out of the apartment building, seeing the girls waiting in one of the SUV’s for you. Emily at the wheel with Jj in the passenger seat and Penelope in the back.

“You look stunning!” Penelope shouts from the window as you walk towards the car and you can’t help but produce a huge smile on your face.

“So do all of you.” You say as you shut the car door behind you. The drive to the venue wasn’t long, small talk being the main focus of the conversation.

“Are any of you looking for a man tonight?” Jj asks, a smirk on her face. She had brought Will as her plus one and he was currently residing in the men’s car who were trailing not too far behind them. “Or woman.” She adds, casting a small glance at Em.

“If something happens, it happens.” Emily says with a shrug, knowing that she would be approached many a time during the night.

“I’m fine with my chocolate thunder.” Pen says, her face lighting up. “But you never know.” A few hums of agreement echo around the car. “And what about you, beautiful creature of the night?” Penelope asks.

“I’m working.” It was a short answer but you didn’t miss the simultaneous eye rolls of the three others. “What was that?” You ask with a scoff, looking between the three of them.

“Oh yes. ‘Working’” Pen says, “Until you go out for a smoke.” She smirks as she says this.

“You’re just jealous it works.” You snark back, as you pull up the the grand hotel that the gala was being held in. “I am now officially on the clock.” You say, getting out of the car and opening the doors for all of the girls. At the same moment the men’s car pulls up behind you. You do the same for each of them. Each of them thank you as you open their car doors.

“I hate treating you like this, you’re our friend not our employee.” Spencer complains as you walk in on his arm. “It feels strange.”

“It’s one night. And technically I am, your employee.” You smile up at him. “Your assistant.” The room you were in was huge, the carpet was a deep red plush, the cushions on the chairs matching. The ceilings held up by marble stone pillars that towered over everyone.

You and the BAU find their way to their large circular table in the middle of the room. Not a single corner of solitude where they could not be observed by the rest of the FBI. They place their, clutches and Jackets on the table and you turn to them.

“Drinks?” You ask looking around the table.

“You don’t have to.” Derek starts but you cut him off with a hand wave.

“I am being paid.” You say sternly, “Drinks?” You ask with a stubborn tone. “The usual?” You continue and receive nods from around the table. Making your way to the bar you rattle off the teams orders. “A whisky on the rocks, a neat whisky, two glasses of house red, a glass of house white, two jack and cokes and a lemonade. Please.” You receive a nod and wait for the poor bartender the make all of those drinks. “Oh and a tray please!”

You weren’t a stranger to the looks of envy from other departments as you carried the tray of drinks to the table. Or from the patrons stood at the bar fetching their own drinks.

“I come bearing gifts.” You say and hand out their drinks accordingly around the table. Whiskey on the rocks for Rossi. Near whiskey for Hotch. House red for Jj and Emily. House white for Pen. Jack and coke for Derek and Will and a lemonade for Spencer. “Now go socialise, you important people.” You say and they disperse around the room in pairs to go and talk to the other agents. That was your queue was to go and stand in the corner of the room as all of the people who thought better of themselves, boasted about their achievements in the field and out of it.

It took thirty minutes until it was announced it was time for dinner and all of the patrons made their way to the assigned seats. Wait staff flew out of every door, brining everyone the meal they had chosen a week prior. And that was your cue to go for a smoke.

It was dark outside when you push the door open. The pebbled ground crunches under your heels as you make your way to the back of the building and there is your solace. A bench. It was wooden and was sat in the middle of a small green patch of grass.

These FBI things had been few and far between with your with the BAU. The team rather spending their time on cases and saving people’s lives rather than spending time being paraded around by the director. However, that had meant that in the couple times you had been at these things, you had a tradition.

Men loved being saviours. So when they see a poor woman, sat in the cold, waiting for her cigarette to be lit. But in reality, you had a lighter placed in your bra. Dinner had just started so you pull out said lighter and light your first cigarette and take a drag. The smoke flaying out in-front of you in the light as you sit on the table of the bench, your feet on the seat.

-

The team sat around their round table, slowly eating and sipping on their drinks, longing out the process to avoid the socialising that was to come again next.

“It’s just not fair how she doesn’t even get a seat at our table,” Spencer huffs as he puts another forkful into his mouth. “The team would barely work without her. She’s a part of the team.” Everyone around the table nods in agreement.

“If it was up to me, she would.” Hotch says, also continuing to eat his food and sip his drink.

“Well you could push harder for it.” Spencer says, his mood sour and he fiddles his fork around his plate as he mumbles.

“Don’t worry Spence.” Emily said from next to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “She’s just fine.” She says smirking at Jj and Penelope from across the table.

“Pump your brakes, what does that mean?” Derek says with raised eyebrows looking between the three of them. “Is she with someone here?” His eyes flit between them and waits impatiently for one of them to answer.

“Not yet.” Jj barley whispers into her wine.

“And what does that mean?” Derek pushes again and looks towards Penelope. “Babygirl, what do you know?” He asks leaning towards her and she hides behind her hands. “Penelope.” Everyone around the table was interested in what the ladies of the BAU knew about your love life.

One thing about the team was they were nosy. Specially about the love lives of the other members of the team. Behavioural analysis made it easy for them to tell when a night was spent out of bed.

“I’m not supposed to tell.” Pen squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual, feeling the pressure of all of the curious eyes on her. But her reddening face and the pitch in her voice getting higher and higher indicates that she was going to spill and soon. Even Hotch was engaged and listening. And spill she did. “Hot rich men carry lighters.”

“And what does that have to do with sleeping with other agents?” Rossi chimes in, his hand resting around his glass and his finger tapping against the side.

“When time comes to dinner and she doesn’t get a seat at the table, she makes her way outside with two cigarettes,” Emily starts to explain. “She lights and smokes the first one while dinner is happening.”

“Then after dinner, she waits for someone to come and offer to light her second cigarette.” Jj picks up from Emily. “It’s actually quite smart.” She smiles as she finishes.

“Then they get to talking then she’s got somewhere to sleep for the night.” Penelope finishes. “The FBI is so cheap, they don’t even book her a room.” She rolls her eyes and takes another sip, clearly getting tipsy. “She never tells us who she’s been with, i’m dying to know.”

“Who would have thought she had it in her huh?” Derek says with an impressed smile.

“Literally all of us.” Emily laughs at him and wait staff begin to collect in empty plates and people begin to stand and shuffle and talk about boring corporate nonsense.

They watch Hotch get up abruptly from his chair and stride toward the bar, he doesn’t order anything he just stands there and waits for the team to disperse around the room.

“He’s not as subtle as he thinks.” Will laughs out towards Rossi who gives a small shrug before turning around and shaking the hands of agents from all over the US.

-

The shine of your shoes caught your attention, the patent dark material reflecting in the light. Circular rings dance across them and reflect in your eyes. Your first cigarette had long been smoked and shoved into the stones beneath your feet. You’d began to wonder if you just hadn’t gotten lucky this time round. Maybe you hadn’t grabbed the attention enough for anyone to follow you outside. Your eyes hadn’t left the ground yet, and were now tracing the irregular pattern of the stones. Just about to give in to the temptation and time, reaching into your bra to pull out your lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Your head shoots up and your hand goes heck to its original position by your side. It was him, your boss. Aaron Hotchner,one of the richest and hottest men you knew. You hadn’t heard the stones rustle on the way over, he always walked quietly. His voice didn’t travel far in the large empty space.

“I thought you were meant to be a profiler, sir.” You say smiling up at him and scooting over, making room for him next to you. “Get tired of all the questions?” He sits down, mirroring the way you were perched.

“I’ve already told you.” He says, the lights that were wrapped around the leaf filled arch lit up his face in such a perfect way, you couldn’t describe it. “It’s Aaron.” He repeats from weeks ago and you see him turn towards you out of the corner of your eye. Now, it was time to test if your theory was correct.

“Ok. Aaron.” You put specific emphasis on his name with a laugh and you look over to him. “Do you have a lighter?” His eyes meet yours.

“You shouldn’t smoke, they’re bad for your health.” He says avoiding the question, maybe you were wrong. “But I do. There.” He pulls it out of the inside pocket. It was fancy, silver with an engraved pattern with his name next to it.

“This is a fancy lighter.” You comment as the orange flame shines on your face. Pulling the cigarette to your mouth you take a drag. “Lots of things are bad for your health.” Your hand passes the imaginary line between you and you hold the cigarette in front of him and you raise your eyebrow in question.

“Thanks.” He takes it from your hand and pulls it up to his face but pauses. He stares at the deep red circle around the paper. “It was a gift from Rossi, he just likes to spend his money.”

“That he does,” You smile at him and notice his hesitation. “It’s just lipstick.” Resting your elbows on your legs you tilt your head to the side, hair falling over your shoulders. “It’s safer than shaking hands or whatever Spencer says when he meets someone new.” You joke. He laughs deeply at that and finally takes a puff of the cigarette.

His face contorts in slight disgust. “Those don’t taste like I remember.” But he keeps it in his hand.

“That’s because they were incredibly cheap.” Giggling, you realise you are still holding his lighter in your hands and it shining in the light.

“So you won’t mind then?” He asks and you look towards him confused.

“Mind what?” You reply, the line between your eyebrows prominent.

“This.” He smirks and throws the cigarette on the ground and stamps it out. You make a noise of protest as you watch the small orange glow disappear.

“I’m in a right mind to keep this lighter now.” Looking down into your lap shyly where your hands lay. Fiddling and flipping open the lighter. He made you nervous, usually you were able to take charge of these men and lure them to bed without a word. However, this man, your boss, was terrifying to you as he sat there breathing steadily, while your heart raced erratically.

“You’re welcome to.” He says with a shrug and brings his hand up to adjust his tie.

“It’s beautiful out here, it looks like a wedding venue.” You were deflecting and refuse to even look in the man’s direction.

“It is.” His answers were getting shorter and shorter and your heart was getting faster and faster.

Adrenaline ran through your veins as the next words flew out of your mouth before you could spare a second to think about it. “Do you know the FBI don’t even pay for my room at these things?”

“Really? I’ll look into it.” He says and taps the side of his head and keeping it in there for later.

“Thank you.” The two of you sit in silence for a while, breathing in the fresh air and looking around the grand garden and taking note of the potted plants dotted around the place. The night was clear and the stars were out, looking close to the small fairy lights that surrounded the pair of you.

“You’re part of the team, just as much as me or anyone. They should get you a room.” He says, his pinky finger inching across to yours, laying millimetres away.

“You’re the Unit chief and they’re agents.” You laugh. “I’m just an assistant.” You continue. “I’m not-.” You realise you go to say important and your mind flies back to your conversation in the parking lot.

“Important?” He sighs and you turn towards him and he says your name in the same airy voice. His tone suddenly changes back to his normal firm one. “You know what?” He asks and you raise your eyebrows at him. “You’re not important.” He states.

Your face morphs into confusion. “What?” You scoff at him and you lean back, also pulling your hand away from the closeness of before. You stand up abruptly and start to quickly walk away from the bench, grabbing the bottom of your dress up and keeping it away from your heels.

He says your name again but this time it’s a shout. “Wait!” He shouts again and you spin around and shake your head at him.

“What! Sir!” You shout at him harshly and take a step towards him in anger.

“You’re not important because.” He starts and you roll your eyes and he takes a step towards you and the gap gets smaller and smaller. Your breath getting shorter and shorter.

“Because what?!” You shout again and wave your arms around in emphasis.

“Because.” He says your name softer this time. “You’re invaluable.” Your mouth hangs open and all of your air leaves your lungs and you stand there for a moment. Your boss had rendered you speechless once again. Staring at him with his perfectly tailored suit and that sexy fucking red tie and just his sexy fucking face. “You’re invaluable to me.”

Dropping your clutch on the floor you quickly walk at him, trying not to trip in your heels on the uneven ground. “You stupid, stupid man.” You say and the two of you hover close to one another. “Aaron Hotchner, you massive idiot!” You gasp at him and grab his tie and pull him down to you and kiss him.

It was quick and rough and you pull away after a few seconds. “Shit, you’re my boss! Fuck!” You exclaim and look up panicked, running your hands through your hair and take a large step back. Your chest heaves, as you look him in the eyes. “I’m invaluable to you.” You say dumbly and blink quickly in more confusion than before.

“Yes, you are.” He says and takes a large step forwards, putting you toe to toe. His hands run up the tops of your thighs and over your hips and land in the small of your waist. “Say my name again.” His nose runs up your neck towards your ear.

The realisation hits you then. “I’m invaluable to you, Aaron.” You say smugly and he leans into kiss you this time and he hums in agreement inside your mouth. You’re pressed up against him as his large hands on your waist have you pulled against him.

You’re own hands start to wander as his tongue enters your mouth, they slide their way up the back of this suit and into the nape of this neck and the top of his hair. “I’ve waited so long to do that.” He sighs as the two of you separated for breath.

“Me too.” You smile as the two of you hold each other. “Your room?” You ask and intertwine your hand with his.

“Definitely.” He says and you begin to walk to the back door of the hotel, you leading the way.

“I’m your invaluable assistant.” You smirk at him as you open the back fire exit door. You felt smug being invaluable to the man. The man you’d had a crush on since you’d joined the BAU.

“Yes, you are.” He repeats and reaches down to give your arse a squeeze, in your tight dress.

“Oi!” You reach down and smack his hand away with a laugh. “Just for that, you’re going up the stairs first.” You say and push him towards the staircase.

“I’ll have you know my eyes are always front.” He says and starts to walk up the steps to his room, key card already in hand.

“Mine aren’t.” Your eyes and centred directly on his arse as he walks up the stairs to his room.

[jinxxangel13]

Phantom of the Night

Chapter 6:

Tw: blood, gore, minor character death, guns

~Masterlist~ ~Prev~ ~Next~

“Echo 0-1, moving interior.” Phantom called out, flipping her NOD’s up and sweeping her gaze around the first room.

She heard him before she saw him, registering the repetitive phrase just before she reacted.

“Mut!” Die.

Phantom pulled the trigger without hesitation.

“Grenade!”

She threw herself into the room on her left to avoid a direct blast and any shrapnel aimed her way. Once the explosion settled, she stepped back out into the original room, meeting Soap’s eyes with a nod.

“Fuckin’ hell. Good one.” Soap shook his head as he looked at what remained of the body.

“Check the bodies. Need positive ID on Hassan.”

As a team, Soap and Phantom moved together to clear the first floor, unintentionally making it a competition to see how many AQ soldiers they could down.

“Kill confirmed. Negative on target.” Phantom turned back towards where Soap was, seeing him dropping another soldier.

She rolled her eyes at his suggestive eyebrow wiggle, following him to the stairs where Ghost and another Bravo soldier waited for them.

“Pushing to second deck.”

Phantom could hear some sort of broadcast of Hassan playing in the first room on the right at the top of the stairs. Ghost reached the door first and opened it, only for an AQ soldier to walk out just as he would have gone in. Ghost pinned the soldier against the wall next to the door and shot him once in the stomach and once in the head. 

Hot.

Soap and Ghost entered the room ahead of Phantom and encountered another AQ soldier.

“Got two x-rays. Neither Hassan.” Ghost spoke to Soap and Phantom, who stood at the door right behind them.

“Dump ‘em.”

Phantom raised her gun and fired at a final soldier slumped in the corner, most likely for a surprise attack.

“Good eye.” 

“Thanks.” Phantom muttered, turning back around to lead them down the other hallway.

She avoided directly in front of her, swiftly stepping to her right through a crumpled wall and shooting an AQ hidden behind a pillar.

“Dropped another.”

Phantom stepped over the body and leaned out of the archway, just narrowly avoiding a bullet in the side coming from the room at the end.

“Tha’ fuck?”

She ducked across the hall as fast as possible, peaking around the doorway to figure out where the other enemy was coming from. Looking down, she noticed there was a grate at the bottom of a wall, a muzzle barely glinting in the light flooding from outside.

Phantom raised her gun, took a slow breath as she aimed carefully around the corner to avoid making noise, then fired twice.

Soap rushed down the hallway when the way was clear to her.

“Sneaky little gits are everywhere.” he spat, double checking the room.

Phantom swiveled around to the final hallway, trying to hear if someone was there before risking her neck again. She hadn’t heard anything so she peeked around the corner, taking a second before stepping in quickly. A shot rang out without her thinking about it, not even realizing she had been the one to pull the trigger on the last AQ soldier who was hiding behind the busted door in the back.

“Room clear.”

Ghost followed behind her into the room.

“Shit-He was here. This was a bloody op-center... Poke around. Likely Hassan's. Good intel from Laswell."

Soap tailed Ghost into the room, both looking around as she went through the broken door to do the same. When Phantom came back into the room, she watched Soap shuffle some papers on top of the desk written in a mix of what looked to be Arabic and a few others she couldn’t tell from the distance.

“Look- Hassan's uniform. So, he was here.” Soap turned the desk chair to show a black jacket with the familiar patches they were looking for.

“Lost him when we secured the crash site.”

Phantom turned back to Ghost as he spoke.

“Are you sayin' we shouldn't have helped?” Soap looked surprised, exchanging a glance with a partially angered Phantom before turning back to Ghost.

“Choices have consequences.”

“Glad to know I was a choice.” Phantom growled out as she shouldered her way past Ghost, ignoring the odd look he gave her and continued back downstairs.

Their radios went off simultaneously.

“All Bravo- we got movement out here.”

“On the way... All Bravo, circle up outside.” Ghost was behind Phantom, following her back outside and heading left behind the building to a warehouse.

“If Hassan's gone, then what the hell are they still protecting?” Soap called from behind her.

“Bloody good question. Let's find out.”

Phantom didn’t bother flipping her NOD’s back down, having an inkling she wouldn’t need them once they breached the rolling doors.

The three of them met with the rest of Bravo Team outside the house and headed down toward the warehouse together

“What do we got?”

A Bravo soldier answered Ghost back on his right, barely audible from where Phantom stood on their left.

“A warehouse. Roll up door's open. Heard somethin' inside…”

“Copy. Let's clear it.” 

The group of them crawled under the door and entered the darkened warehouse. Suddenly, the warehouse lights turn on and AQ soldiers burst out of hiding all along the back. Bullets started flying and the sounds of screams and glass breaking rang out in the room.

“Contact!”

Phantom took cover behind some crates with Soap, losing eyesight of Ghost and the rest of their team as she focused on the AQ soldiers. She switched guns as fast as she could, double checking that she had enough bullets before going prone and aiming between the slits on the side of the shelves.

[ucetheones]

Found Family (part 2.) | Jey Uso x The Judgement Day!Polycule

Solo was the first one to find out about Jey and The Judgement Day being together. 

It had been a mistake to be anywhere near The Bloodline's Enforcer, one Jey knew he was making when he agreed to accompany Finn, Damian and Dominik to Smackdown. 

Still, he couldn't say no.

Well, he could've, and his boyfriends would've left it at that, they would have understood Jey's reluctance and made sure he was nowhere near the arena when Friday rolled around. They expressed this countless times, even as recently as during the drive to the arena. They gave Jey endless outs, yet he declined each one.

Truth be told, Jey didn't want to disappoint them, especially not with their relationship being so new. So fresh. 

Since Rhea is in India, they'd already be down a member; not to mention the fans would be able to tell immediately just why Jey was absent. They'd call him afraid, they'd say he was too much of a coward to face his brothers, and cousin. It'd draw the wrong kind of attention to the faction. 

And maybe it's true, maybe Jey is a fucking pussy, who's chest seizes up, and tightens harshly when he so much as hears their names.

It's his right.

Because some days he can still feel the phantom ache in his throat, and a twinge in his back from the combination Samoan Spikes and Spears he's been on the receiving end of far too many times.

He can still feel Jimmy's hand wrapped around his ankle, forcibly tugging his body out of the ring and depositing him on the ground with a 'thud.' He can hear and feel the sickening kick to the side of his head.

Still, he chose to go.

Despite being careful, and only leaving the locker room when their music was set to hit, Jey still ended up on Solo's radar.

Halfway through the show, he'd made eye contact with his baby brother who was peeking through the small window of the door, his brows pinched when he caught sight of Damian who was in the middle of pulling Jey back into his lap. His hands were dangerous low on his hips.

Before he could react, Solo was gone.

Jey wondered if he imagined him.

As possible as it was, he knows he didn't because when he turns to face Dominik, the younger just nods gently in acknowledgement and presses a kiss to his lips. 

Neither say anything to Damian or Finn. They have a match coming up in a bit, they don't need the distraction.

Though Jey can sense Dom wants to tell them, he's biting his tongue for the sake of the Samoan.

The younger waits until they've left to say anything, Jey is grateful. 

"Baby…why didn't you tell them?"

Jey offers a shrug, his lips tugged into a frown. "They got enough to worry 'bout, man. They 'ont need my shit piled on top of that. I couldn't do that to 'em. I can handle myself, Dom Dom."

Dominik grows visibly upset at his words, leaving the Samoan with a heavy pit settling in his stomach.

"Stop talking about yourself like you're a burden, Jey!" The younger man huffs, his cheeks puffing up as he continues, "we've been together for months now, and you still don't come to us willingly. You think I don't know you sneak out of bed sometimes to have fucking panic attacks in the bathroom? Do you think so little of us that you assume we'd just leave you if you decide to show us weakness? We lo—care about you!"

Jey isn't sure how to reply, he wants to deny Dom's words, but he doesn't have the chance to, because the door to the locker room is swinging open and Solo is slipping inside; closing it behind himself. 

Ignoring the worry pooling in his belly, Jey rushes to his feet, his body placed directly in front of Dominik; shielding him from the view of the larger man.

Solo is silent as he stares down his older brother, his arms crossed over his chest as he purses his lips.

At some point during their impromptu staring contest Dom had joined Jey in standing, though he now stood beside him; instead of behind him.

It was unsurprisingly Dominik who had broken the silence, his tone similar to that of his ring persona; nothing like the soft spoken airy way he spoke to his partners;

"Get the fuck out of here! What gives you the right to barge in here?" 

To his credit, Solo raises an eyebrow curiously, before shaking his head and focusing his attention on his brother.

"Jey."

With his chin tilted upward, Jey prompts the younger Samoan, "whatchu' doing here, Uce?" He knows exactly why Solo is here, he knows his brother had been checking in on him, he knows the younger man saw the interaction between him and Damian and has more than likely come to his own conclusions. 

Knowing Solo, those assumptions were probably right on the money, as he was always more observant than his older counterparts. 

Solo takes a beat, his eyes softening just barely when he says, "I don't understand what y'all got going on, but if you're good, then…it's all good. We ain't on good terms, but you know my lips are sealed, Uce."

He and Solo share a look of understanding, before Jey is nodding his head, his jaw clenched.

"Hope RAW is treating you right, because the first sign Roman or Jimmy gets that things are turning south, you know they gon' butt in."

Jey knows without clarification that Solo isn't really referring to the Brand he was a now a member on, but the relationship and faction he's found himself in.

Dominik seems to catch it too, but thankfully remains silent aside from the scoff he lets out.

Jey can't blame him, the irony isn't at all lost on him. 

With quick, unsuspected movements, Solo is pulling Jey into a brief, but tight embrace, his voice only loud enough for the elder to catch. 

"I love you, Josh…Always gone look out for you…"

His words are shaky, laced with a longing that could only be remedied by Jey, his older brother. 

Jey's heart aches, because he knows he can't give Solo what he wants, even if he wanted to, he couldn't leave behind the four people who have been nothing but loving and respectful towards him. 

Still, he nods; his arms wrapping around his not-so-little brother, "I love you too, Lil' Uce. Always."

After Solo leaves, Jey feels unsettled. Even when Dominik is trailing his fingers up the length of his back, scratching softly over the fabric, something that usually helps, he still feels a bit nauseous and as if he'll cry at any moment. 

Jey doesn't say anything, but it stings a bit when Dominik halts his movements and begins to scroll on his phone, frantically typing at random intervals. 

That goes on for nearly fifteen minutes, before Jey's eyes are filled with tears and he's once again raising to his feet, his feet attempting to silently carry him out the locker room.

He doesn't even make it to the door, because Dominik is grabbing his wrist and pulling him back down onto the couch. Jey is gearing up to complain, his eyes squeezing shut; when suddenly Rhea's accent is flooding his ears, calming a part of him that had been frazzled all night; 

"Little Blue Jey, are you okay?"

The nickname has him chuckling, the sound watery and broken, but it still makes Dominik and Rhea smile, Dom's hand steady as he holds the phone in front of Jey.

When the younger taps him, his eyes flutter open and he's met by the sight of a sleepy, yet ethereal Rhea Ripley. 

Even with bags under her eyes, she still takes both Jey and Dominik's breaths away. 

With reddening cheeks, the elder shrugs his shoulders in response to her question, his lips tugging into a frown when he does speak, 

"M'good, babygirl. You know you don't have to worry about me."

Almost immediately Dominik is gasping, his tongue clicking angrily, 

"Mami, he's a liar! A pretty liar, but he fibs! Jey was literally about to cry forty seconds ago."

It's Jey's turn to gasp, this time in betrayal as he gently shoves his boyfriend's shoulder, "she ain't ask you, she asked me!"

Dominik sticks his tongue out at Jey, though they both turn their attention back to the screen when Rhea clears her throat, 

"Boys, settle down. Dom Dom told me everything that happened, so it's understandable you'd be upset, love. I know you weren't looking forward to seeing any of them, but I am glad it went off without an issue."

To this, both Jey and Dom agree easily. While seeing Solo at all was definitely upsetting for Jey, he was at least relieved things hadn't gone badly.

For the next ten minutes, Rhea and her boys spoke mindlessly, the call was mostly to calm Jey down before Damian and Finn would be needing Dominik at ringside. After the fourth time she yawned, Jey insisted she went back to sleep, she tried to fight it, but the allure of a few more hours of sleep and the promise of group cuddles when she returned proved to be enough to send the woman on her way.

The night ended with Jey and Dominik retelling all that occurred with Solo during Damian and Finn's match, which somehow translated into the two elders depositing AJ Styles at Jey's baby brother's feet; both parties ignoring Jimmy's presence in the ring.

Some kind of fucked way to show their gratitude, but it worked for Solo. It worked for everyone in The Judgement Day.

Despite not being the one to have a match, or any physically taxing jobs for the evening, by the time they reached the hotel; Jey was fighting to keep himself up right, his eyes wouldn't stay open for longer than a minute before they were shutting again. For some reason, Finn thought it was adorable and voiced this a number of times during the ten minute drive. He had the added benefit of being the person Jey leaned on, only adding to the Irishman's overall enjoyment. 

It hadn't taken much to wrangle Jey into bed that night, a slightly cramped three person shower and one of Rhea's band-tees was all he needed before he was settling against Damian and Dominik, giggling at Finn who pouted when he realized he wouldn't be sleeping beside the male tonight. 

To make up for the elder's trouble, Jey leaned over and made sure to kiss him sweetly, deepening the press of their lips only slightly when he felt his boyfriend smiling.

They only separated when Dominik cleared his throat loudly, playfully shoving Finn away from Jey, "enough of that! You're always all over my boyfriend."

This makes Finn laugh and claim Dom's lips with his own, whispering as he does, 

"Calm ya' horses! He's just as much my boyfriend as he is yours, Dirty Dom."

After Dom has had his fill of Jey as well, he smiles triumphantly and kisses him once more, one of his hands cupping the man's cheek.

"That conversation we were having earlier isn't over, as soon as Mami gets back we're all sitting down and having a serious discussion."

It's obvious Finn and Damian are confused by their partner's words, but they take them for what they are; knowing that true to Dom's words, they'd be talking about whatever it was the day their girlfriend returned home. Home being with them.

It isn't until Finn and Dominik have dozed off that Jey finds himself able to properly see Damian off to sleep. 

Burrowing against the large man's chest, Jey all but melts into the kiss. Damian's hands pull him impossibly closer, before trailing down his back to rest on the swell of his ass. He squeezes just barely, but it's enough to have Jey gasping into the kiss, the sound soon breaking off into a whimper when the other's tongue brushes against his. 

Much like every kiss Jey has shared with his partners, it's over far too soon, leaving Jey with the ghost of a pout on his lips and flushed cheeks. 

Things between the five of them haven't gone very far, but the build up has been nothing short of promising and delicious. 

It sucks, not having Rhea there to send off to bed with an embrace or kiss of her own, but Jey knows in a few short hours they'd all be together again. 

They'd all be together and happy, the way they always should be. 

Sure, their futures career wise were uncertain, the situation with Solo was tumtulous at best, but they had one another. They could weather any storm so long as they did it as a faction. As a family. 

[caltropspress]

DISPATCHES FROM 2ND ST. STUDIOS: Fatboi Sharif & DRIVEBY in session

I went to DRIVEBY’s apartment in Jersey City because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of documenting musical exxxprrrimentation, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I knew witnessing Fatboi Sharif in the studio would be morbidly rewarding—I felt it in my critik’s skull-and-crossbones (memento mori, pirate flag, poison pictogram). It was New Year’s Day in the year of our Lord Have Mercy 2024, and I had to pull myself away from a tree documentary that had, sadly, begun to disappoint. I had opened a stocking-stuffed box of Goobers and was reluctant when Sharif sent the invitational text. I had settled in for the night. But it was my idea to watch the man work his black magikal esoterika hammer-don’t-hurt-them-witches recording session, so I’d be a real punk to rebuff the offer. I got into the Toyota and headed down Route 3 toward Jersey City. I was on the 1&9 in no time—the truest highway to hell, if one ever existed. Ate de Jong could never scout such a location. AC/DC roadside appliance wasteland. Potholes pave the way, but in a De Nah Soul manner. I finished eating the Goobers in the car, by the palmful, and lost one to an erratic lane merge. I motherfucked and shitted at the thought of a chocolate stain on my upholstered driver’s seat, or worse, the seat of my pants. My dad delivered Blimpie’s for thirty-plus years in Jersey City, long before it became Brooklyn-of-the-West, so I know parking spots there are at a never-dream-of-’em premium. I parked several blocks away from DRIVEBY’s studio and cloven-hoofed it while huffing brick air. Texted from outside, but Sharif was already ushering me through a wrought-iron gate (suitable for guttings and impalements) and into the basement apartment: DRIVEBY’s 2nd St. Studios. That gate was like an entrance into a secret garden—overblown and overflowin’ with a riot of root rot, weeds, and (of course) crumbling-but-still-grumbling gargoyles, most with the medieval motif of mooning jutting out from the church buttresses. DRIVEBY’s had a William Shatner’s TekWorld comic next to his speaker. Dusty keyboards lined the floor. Sega Genesis cartridges, a Sharp boombox, and the requisite vinyl collection on bowing crates completed the scene. The space stored antiquated and dead media—ghost machines humming and haunting.

⤧

Sharif told me he’d be recording some tracks for his upcoming album with Blockhead, something for Bigg Jus, and several features. When I arrived, he was in the middle of recording one of the Blockhead tracks. The mic and the iso shield were directly inside the door of the apartment, and I sat on the couch to the left of that. Sharif would be spitting at me, beyond me, as he did his thing—an intimate setting, to say the very least. Beans of Antipop Consortium sat on this same cushion months earlier, I thought. They recorded “Sex With the Leopard Print Lady” here. While I pondered the legacy of stylist berzerkers of past and present, Key & Peele played on the television in front of me. I wanted to make myself scarce, invisible as possible, Brundlefly-on-the-wall, non-participatory, so I watched the “Laron Can’t Laugh” sketch on mute and registered how Laron’s noiseless convulsions and eventual shriek expertly pantomimed Sharif’s vocals. These layers of silence allowed me to hear some of what Sharif was spewing forth and commit it to memory. He spoke of avenging the death of Candyman. The words loom like Tony Todd—tall as a ponderosa pine in a Cabrini-Green courtyard. Caroline crossed eyelids…90 degree pressure… Closing in on 400 degreez, but we’re talking below zero. The winter of our disconnected selves. Sharif tells DRIVEBY he wants his voice to sound “fucked up.” He’s snorting, super sinusy. He wants to cultivate a specific sound—it coats the inner concavities of his skull. He just needs to externalize it into a self-portrait in a convex DAW interface. “The soul establishes itself,” John Ashbery writes. Sharif is shoeless, I should add. He’s black socked as he cuts the song’s first of three adlib tracks. The first is completely muddled, barely audible—a grumbly grumble grumb. The second is a helium-huffed high pitch mania. The third, a yell—“the banshee,” as DRIVEBY calls it. Sharif slackens the headphone wires and walks across the room. He does “the banshee” from as great a distance as possible. You’ve no doubt heard the banshee adlib track before (B.A.T. for short, as in, the hematophagic vampire bat). If you’ve heard a Fatboi Sharif recording, you’ve likely heard a hotly desperate and deranged voice coming from the depths of a hellmouth—sinners swallowed and still writhing, quasi-alive, anticipating rigor mortis. DRIVEBY captures the natural reverb. Sharif asks him to put distortion and echo on the last word of the verse. 

⤧

Fatboi Sharif was reading lyrics off his phone, but by then he was Loosifa loose—engaging me, inviting me to dialogue, reveling in the job.  His feet are light and nimble, like McCarthy’s Judge. He says that he will never die. And, you bet, he dances in light and in shadow. He’s a craftsman and possesses an engineer’s ear, an ant-infested and severed one he probably plucked from a manicured lawn in Scotch Plains, NJ, Jeffrey Beaumont style. For the second verse of the song, he makes an alteration and decides to end the verse earlier than he had written it, stopping at the phrase “role model” because he likes the “swing of it.” Okay, Nuke Hellington. I see you, Benny Badman. A natural performer, the recording session reflects both technical know-how and impassioned delivery. He doesn’t quite lose himself as he does on the stage (or the audience floor where he so often ends up), but he’s unequivocally locked in, as he kids say. Locked in a room with padded walls, more apropos. On the next, he requires a seemingly endless run of retakes. I begin to wonder if my presence is a burden, a distraction. But the session keeps its devil-may-care air intact. Still, Sharif has a sonic vision he yearns to achieve. He won’t settle for less. He eventually gets the take he desires and tells DRIVEBY he’s gonna do three adlibs. These two men work in harmony to develop their songs of disharmony. They’ve been boys, and so that keeps the chemistry alchemical for the duration. Open and honest, DRIVEBY tells Sharif that three tracks of adlibs is “too many.” FUCK THAT! Sharif shouts at him. Sharif wants the adlibs to sound beneath everything—six-feet deep, or “buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways” (unexpressed emotions, that is), as Freud or a Freud-fraud once wrote. Sharif wants echoes. He wants to sound like he’s a signal coming in and out of the radio as you drive through the night. These are the requests he makes, delicately selected from his mental doom board as DRIVEBY adjusts the mix, adds effects. “Do you do a lot of vocal mixing on the spot?” I ask. Sharif shakes his head, points to DRIVEBY slumped over his computer monitor, clicking and dragging, random access memory maybe lagging: “He’s on his Bob Power shit.” Listening to the playback, Sharif tells me he wants to be like Joker in the children’s hospital scene. What kinda clown carries a fuckin’ gun?! I’m waiting for the next Sharif release, crossing my fingers into an arthritic mass of flesh and bone in hopes of his cover of “If You’re Happy and You Know It” appearing on the tracklist. 

⤧

DRIVEBY puts Joker on the TV. It’s the bus scene; he can’t stop laughing. He hands a fellow passenger his card: Forgive my Laughter: I have a Condition. Sharif still sleeps to beats. He’s told this story numerous times to various media outlets, and so it’s beginning to take on the tone of lore. But it’s not. Even wilder, he’s not listening on headphones as he sleeps; he blasts the beats on speakers. Sharif prefers to record late, well into the wee hours of morning. DRIVEBY’s couch often becomes Sharif’s bed. “He’ll have the same beat on for five hours,” DRIVEBY explains. He’ll be in his bedroom, unable to sleep. Sharif grins and tells me, “That’s when I’m in the mindfuck.” Sharif reapproaches the mic. Another Blockhead track. “He told me he made this one especially for me,” Sharif says. The beat sounds like a Gregorian chant in a cavern. Beware of the Shroom Monster. Sharif has managed to amass an intimidating number of releases over the past several years while not indulging us to excess. He’s conservative with his run-times. Clocks ain’t shit to him. Many of his projects are EP-length, but categorizing them in any terms would seem to discredit his ingenuity. As the session unofficially ends and we settle into more casual conversation, Sharif implores DRIVEBY to play selections from their unreleased album, currently on ice like a corpse. I listen and hear of an exorcism of Antoinette, of Elvira and death resurrections, of Basquiat painting in Transylvania, crossroads, and plosive sonic samples from The Pagemaster—a film I have absolutely no recollection of but DRIVEBY speaks almost as highly of as his Fantastic Damage instrumental CD-R. OneShotOnce shows up, presumably for a session, but not before he and Sharif pillage DRIVEBY’s fridge. They feast on cold chicken while I gather myself to leave. 

Images: Astronomical table detail from the Almanach Purpetuum of Abraham Zacuto (c. 1500)

[frostgears]

We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 3: Bree 2

Bree sketched a glyph in the dirt atop the hill and forced power into it, grumbling with the effort of manipulating something not part of herself. It eventually flared into upward-drifting motes of purple light. Just a matter of time now…

An hour later, a steel cable dropped from the sky.

She planted her feet on the small platform at the very bottom, hugged the cable, and spoke a word that quenched the beacon's light.

In response, the cable hauled her into the clouds. She couldn't help but whoop in delight; this had yet to pall for her. Wind whipped at her cloak. Chill mist streaked pass her, darkness engulfed her as the cable passed directly through a cloud, and then she was through the clouds and soaring though the clear, star-dappled night. Above her, she could barely see her destination against the sky: a black shape with a warm glowing light at its center.

It reeled her in, pulling the cable up toward its belly. Doors opened. She waited for them to close again, stepped off the cable platform, and executed a neat little bow to the woman at the winch controls.

"Perfect grab, Nost."

"W-well, it's a calm night, not much turbulence up here… thank you!"

The little redhead locked up the winch controls and beckoned to the hatch leading out of the winch bay.

"C'mon! I woke up the girls when I saw the beacon. We're all waiting for you."

Bree followed her, ducking under the low hatchway. She only regretted the extra height she'd built into herself above her original design in tight spaces, such as below the decks of her very own airship. Which was its own compensation, really.

The rest of her crew was seated around the big circular table in the mess room, which, when the plates were put away, was also the strategy room, the map room, and occasionally the surgery.

Emmerline had her feet up on the table. The curly-haired mage smiled as Bree walked in, then suppressed a yawn. Probably on the day watch.

"Emmerline, get your feet off the table," Nost said with the air of someone not really expecting to be obeyed, and then added, "It's unbecoming of a lady."

"Ugh, Nost, you sound like my governess, or my mother," Emmerline replied, as she tucked her feet under herself in the chair. "Bree, help, I'm being forced to have manners. These two bullied me terribly while you were away."

"You're the representative of the Kingdom's blessed aristocracy, long may they reign," Bree said, packing the traditional toast with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "Aren't you supposed to act like it?"

"Yes, maybe, but not up here! Also, welcome back and all that." She yawned again. "Did you find it?"

"I found it." Bree tapped her left arm. It made a hollow sloshing sound.

"Can we move on, then?" the third crew member asked. "We've been on standby for weeks and there's only so much I can do from up here through a telescope."

"Nice to see you again too, Zai. What's this I hear about you forcing poor Em to have manners? Is it true?"

Zai gestured to Emmerline. "I simply suggested that she would be most useful as an asset if she continues to play the role of a Kingdom noble, which should not be that hard, since she was allegedly born to it."

"Zai," Bree said, "it's also not manners to point at people with a knife."

"She cleans under her fingernails with it," Emmerline interjected.

Nost was horrified. "You clean under your fingernails with an alkalium throwing dagger?"

"It's perfectly safe and non-reactive as long as I don't break the skin— all right, fine. I'll put it away."

The dagger vanished. Bree's crystal eyes tracked much faster than humanly possible, and even she could barely follow Zai's hand as she pocketed it. Dark eyes caught hers, and surprisingly, Zai smiled.

"Welcome back, Bree."

"Thanks. Okay. Time for good news and bad news. The good news is that I have, here and in flasks in my pack, about as much liquid utterfrost as I could safely carry, and Em, it's everything that you predicted and more. The bad news is that on the way back here, at Glacierport, a Crimson Fist hit squad found me. They're using dolls now. So that's exciting."

"Dolls," Nost said flatly.

"Yep. Well, one doll."

"From the fucking Pact?" This from Emmerline.

"Not sure about that. I mean, definitely Pact. She was as haughty and full of herself as any Fist executioner I've had the pleasure of dealing with. But also, the design looked an awful lot like me. So maybe not Pact-built. I don't know."

"Did you beat her?" Zai asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Had a civilian with me. Had to break and run."

"Hm," Zai said in response. Then, "Could you have?"

"I don't know," Bree told her. "She was tough. Took a septupled utterfrost construct blade to the chest, knocked her down, but that was about it, didn't more than scratch her enamel. Used at least one spell I don't know by sight and didn't get close enough to feel. Not sure if she cast it, or if it was cast for her."

"She was pretty."

"What? Like me, a bit, but blonde. Shorter. Not by much, though. Red eyes."

"So yes."

"I don't know what to say to that."

"Not much stops you. She did. That's a problem for us."

"I promise it was because I took my best shot given the circumstances and she got right back up! Plus the civilian!"

"Hm." A moment's pause. "Forget I said anything."

"Yeah, it's probably not that. She has a whole crew of hotties up here. I mean, there's me, obviously, and then Nost is extremely fit from all that artificing — don't think I haven't noticed, Nost — and even our pet spook would clean up really nicely, I bet."

"Emmerline!"

"You don't think so, Nost? Like if we put all that long dark hair up, and got her out of those trousers, and maybe took her knives away — okay, I've got to be realistic here, I can tell by that face she's making, so we give her some prettier knives—"

"Emmerline, go to bed."

"Yeah, get some sleep, Em. I'll give you the whole travelogue in the morning."

"I'd have to see the knives," Zai said.

It was good to be back.

---

prev: We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 2: Lyric 1 next: We Who Are Far From Home, ch. 4: Lyric 2 original location: https://www.tumblr.com/frostgears/751006242320826368/bree-2

[urfavslav]

my first attempt at cap. price characterization. gn reader. platonic. comfort4hurt. my speciality >:) thank you larkin for proofreading this <3

it's been weeks since you've been formally introduced to the task force, and nothing's gone wrong per say, it just felt off.

you were a spectacular soldier, being transfered and moved around to different teams was your normal, even picking up the callsign 'nomad' from others. although, your history of traveling around came with a price, you were shuffled around like a card from a deck. you wanted to gain some sort of connection, friendship.

that project had been abandoned a while ago. having decided to forgo a human companionship and any mutual emotions, you were cold, cruel even to anybody who tried to get close.

this task force seeming slightly different you kept your walls up, assuming you'd be out of here after some big mission. but no, time has passed and you've had slips, letting your cold, hard, façade crack. warmth seeping through. of course the members started to notice, slipping in a observant question here and there.

"you doing alright ?" a friendly face you'd come to know as 'john price' had sneaked beside you right outside of the base, starting up a conversation. you mindlessly nodded to his question. "what's up?" the response had come out bluntly, like an attempt to get him off your case.

"nothing, just wanted to check on you. you seem out of it." his cool blue eyes glazed over your figure, watching for clues of fatigue or such. "have you settled in well with the rest of the team?"

that was when all the memories came flooding back, nights where all you could do was replay the interactions of teammates like hitting a rewind button. where you could've possibly made them feign more interest before you were shipped off to some new team like a box of goodies. nights you spent listening to someone's video essay, desperate to have the comfort of hearing someone talk to you, imagining they were speaking directly to you. how pathetic ?

alas, it wasnt enough. you decided it was easier to block everybody out. a choice that wouldn't have been made without a lot of thought, but it seemed like the best idea to you. shutting out anybody rather than taking another chance.

you turned, focusing your attention on the captain, and somehow, it all came spilling out.

"I, I don't know..." your words came out in a blubbering mess, tears were quickly dropping over your cheeks as fast as you tried to wipe them up. "I've never been stationed in one place so long, and everybody is so kind. I haven't stayed this long to get to know a person this well. I want to be friends with them I just." you paused, smiling as you frantically wiped the remaining tears, "haven't been able to do so in so long."

and price just nodded, listening to each word that you said. he caught your attention, offering his open arms as a present of comfort while you just slid in them. "listen (name), it's alright. I don't think you're going anywhere as of yet, you can stay a while." he pulled back after a while, looking you in the eyes. "my team won't bite ... well maybe ghost but over all they're friendly people. opening up isn't the worst thing, maybe talk to em at lunch ?"

he gave your shoulder a light punch, before moving towards the door, "c'mon, it's cold outside."

★ all works belong to @urfavslav , do not repost on anywhere else with or without credit, do not plagiarise. thank you !

[integra1127grimmreaper]

The Replacement - Part thirty-one

Negan Masterlist

Series Mastlist

Part 30

Warning: violence, swearing

“Don’t move...” Negan carefully instructs the young man standing in front of him, frantically trying to mount a horse.

“How many are there?”

“Twelve...” the boy fearfully utters out.

“What are they armed with?” Negan demands then.

“Machine guns” the boy responds, slowly turning around to face him.

A woman comes running up behind Negan then.

“What’s it look like?” Negan enquires from her.

“A lot dead” she responds.

“Guard in charge is arguing with two others, a priest and a guy with spiked ball for an arm.”

“Shit” Negan sighs out.

“Gabriel and Aaron...”

“You know them?” the boy remarks.

“T-They didn’t know either... We come from a place call, the Commonwealth. This isn’t what I signed up for-”

“Shut up” Negan interrupts his ranting, going toward the horses to retrieve a map.

“There’s a community right here...” Negan directs him on the map.

“You ask for Maggie... no one else. You tell her; Gabriel and Aaron are in trouble.”

The boy nervously stares at the map for a second until Negan snaps him out of it.

“Go!”

Negan and his companion stealthily creep down a passageway, nearing a door where they hear someone rambling nonsense. Hearing commotion from outside, the man runs out to check. A guard steps closer to the doorway, a restrained Gabriel in hand, whilst having his back facing the doorway.

Negan’s companion, being closer; makes her move then, stabbing the guard directly in neck. A confused Gabriel looks behind him only to find the guard bleeding out on the floor, looking up then; his face instantly turns to shocked surprise when seeing who had taken the guard down.

“Negan...?”

“Gabe” Negan utters in greeting, reaching to cut his restrains then.

The two of them walk toward the entrance, where they witness Aaron being held at gunpoint but their possibility of saving him is interrupted by Negan’s companion calling out a warning.

“Two coming in, we gotta go...”

After saving Gabriel, Negan them, along with others from the complex managed to get to safety in one of the building’s secured rooms.

Everything seemed safe and quite for a while, until a loud voice rang out through area.

“Residents of the complex... you have been deemed enemies of the Commonwealth... one of you have stolen from us... that cannot stand... bad news is... your warlord is dead. Good news is, we can still make things right... give us what’s ours and we’ll leave. That will be that...”

“Where are the weapons?” Gabriel demands.

“I don’t know” Negan’s companion responds.

“Then ask them... quickly” Gabriel demands.

“Gabe...” Negan interrupts him.

“If she says they don’t have ‘em, they don’t have ‘em.”

“You don’t understand...” Gabriel responds.

“I’m praying that you did steal them... because without them, we’re dead. He’s not gonna let any of us leave here alive.”

It wasn’t long when the sounds of someone screaming for their lives, and of a body hitting the ground was heard. Soon thereafter more continued.

Gabriel, not being able to listen anymore; steps out into another room and that’s when he sees you.

“Hey Gabriel...” you greet him with a faint smile from your seat in the room.

“Y/N...?” an open-mouthed Gabriel stares at you.

Maggie along with Aaron, Lydia and Elijah finally make it into the complex in their mission to save Gabriel. As they moved their way through it, the sounds of the Commonwealth soldiers gunning down the inhabitants could be heard.

Maggie and Aaron stealthily enter one of the apartments, scanning it they come across nothing... or so they thought.

As Aaron looked outside the window, Maggie was surprised from behind when a gun is pressed into the back of her neck.

“One more step, you die...” a woman’s voice warns them.

She slowly makes her way out into room; the gun still presses into Maggie as Aaron held his up in her direction.

“Drop your weapons” the woman orders both of them but before anyone could move; Elijah had snuck up behind her, followed by Lydia.

The woman refuses to lower her weapon and Maggie attempts to reason with her. She demands Maggie’s name then but is interrupted.

“Her name is Maggie...” rings out as Negan makes appearance then.

“Jesus...” Aaron breathes out in shocked surprise.

“Hey everybody...” Negan remarks walking further into the room.

“Let's put our shit back in out pants and zip up, shall we...?”

The room is silent for a moment as everyone stands down whilst staring at him.

“Hey Kiddo...” Negan smiles at Lydia.

“W-What are you doing here?” she asks dumbstruck.

“We live here” Negan explains, stepping closer to woman.

Everyone stares in utter confusion at the two, (wondering what the hell had happened to you if Negan was there with the woman.)

Not wanting to risk asking and hearing any upsetting news about you, Lydia changes the topic of thought.

“Ok... so what now?”

“They have Gabriel” Aaron responds.

“No, they don’t” Negan comments catching everyone by surprise.

“C’mon...” he instructs, leading them toward a secret entrance behind some clothing that led into the apartment and that’s where they find Gabriel, safe amongst the other inhabitants of the complex.

After reuniting with Gabriel and a bit of arguing over who had taken the weapons, an agreement to get everyone safely out of the complex was reached.

The woman refused to leave, not until those that were still out in hiding were retrieved. Maggie enquires what her plan was to do so, and she suggests splitting into teams to find them and safely evacuated thereafter.

“Alright, let's go” Negan states once it’s all been agreed to.

“No, you stay” the woman instructs him.

“They need someone they trust protecting them, and you know the other reason why you’re needed here most.”

Knowing what she referring to, Negan caves in. The woman suggests, Maggie should accompany her instead.

After having spoken to some of their people, Negan makes his way back toward the others.

“You left without saying a word...” Lydia finally confronts him.

“I left, because I gave a shit” Negan replies.

“I left, because that’s what everyone needed, right...?”

“What about Y/N?” Lydia growls out.

“Do you know what happened to her? She’s missing?! Don't say you gave a shit! Because you didn’t about her! You left her... then she went missing. Probably went out to go look for you and God knows what happened to her!”

Negan doesn’t respond to her, pressuring Aaron to speak up instead.

“How’d you find them? And your... what is she to you?”

Lifting his left hand up, Negan silently displays the wedding ring on it.

“You’re married...?” a heartbroken Lydia stares at Negan’s betrayal of you.

“It’s crazy right...?” Negan smirks at his hand, looking up with a broad smile then.

“But not to her. Annie’s a family friend...”

“Family friend?” Lydia frowns in confusion.

“You being here fits” Aaron remarks then.

“You have a hand in putting those skulls on Ian’s shelves?”

“That’s it. I've had enough of you shitting on my husband, Aaron...” you finally announce your presence by stepping out of the other room.

“Y/N...?” all but Gabriel, stare at you as if seeing a ghost.

“You’re...” a dumbstruck Lydia steps closer to you.

“Alive” you smirk, reaching out to cup her face.

“How?” Lydia remarks.

“Negan came for me during the night. It was for the best that I left as well... especially with this little one being on the way” you explain, placing your hand on your stomach and that’s when the size of it registers to Lydia.

“You’re pregnant?”

You broadly smile, nodding at her in response.

“Did you know before you left?”

“That’s why we had to leave” you finally speak up.

“It wasn’t safe... not with the threat of Maggie possibly killing Negan at any time. We made the decision to raise our family away from Alexandria and on our path to find a new home, we came across Annie.”

“Negan said she was a family friend... I amuse you know her, but how?” Aaron butts his nosey self in again.

“I knew her before the fall” you respond, glaring daggers at him.

“We were neighbors. She convinced their leader to take us in, as I was visibly pregnant by then and I had the raw resources for the means of cultivation, we made a deal. We were safe, on the path of thriving, until you brought those soldiers here!”

“We didn’t know” Gabriel speaks up then.

“The place we’re living now is different from every place we’ve ever seen.”

“No, it isn’t” Lydia comments.

“I hoped that they’d might be but... they just wanna swallow up other communities. They're like the Whisperers, just wear different masks...”

“You brought these people here, to our home” you raise your brows at Gabriel and Aaron accusingly.

“How do you plan on fixing it...?”

Both silently stare down at the ground at your words but before they could say anything, Annie radios in that the window for escape was narrowing as Commonwealth soldiers were nearing in.

Everyone disburses to get ready; Negan goes to the window to check the outside perimeter.

“Oh shit...”

“What’s it?” you look to him in concern.

“Stay here...” he instructs you, leaving without explaining.

“Is that...?” you stare open-mouthed when Negan returns.

“Maggie’s kid” Negan sighs in response, nudging him toward you.

“Hershel, what the heck are you doing here?” you scold, pulling him closer to inspect for injuries.

“Whoa... you’re huge...” he comments staring down at your stomach in amazement and avoiding your question in the process.

“Forget about that” you scowl at him.

“How did you get here? Does your mom know you’re here?”

“Snuck away in the truck they came with” Negan offers the answer.

“We have to let Maggie know.”

You silently stood in front of Negan as he radios to Maggie what had happened, promising her to keep Hershel safe.

“I hope she can keep a clear mind” Negan sighs after the conversation.

“She has to...” you reply, looking toward Hershel with your hand on your stomach.

“To ensure her son gets out here alive, she has to and so do we.”

Staring at your stomach, where his unborn child was growing; Negan nods, silently making his way to where Hershel was.

“My Mom told me to stay away from you...” Hershel remarks as Negan enters the room.

“Your Mom is a very smart lady...” Negan faintly smirks in agreement.

“Why doesn’t she like you?” Hershel enquires then.

“Because of something that happened a long time ago” Negan responds.

“Was it something bad...?” Hershel remarks.

“Yeah... yeah it was something bad” Negan softly replies, stepping further into the room and that’s when panic begins to settle in for you.

“Are you a badman?” Hershel asks.

“I was...” Negan admits in shame, turning his back toward Hershel for second and that’s when you hear a gun being cocked.

Rushing to the room, you froze when seeing Hershel pointing a gun at Negan.

“Hershel don’t!” you cry out and he turns the gun in your direction.

“Y/N, get the hell back” Negan warns you.

“Kid, point-the-gun-at-me...” he calmly attempts to direct Hershel’s attention away from you.

“My Mom told me a badman killed my Dad...” he turns the gun back onto Negan.

“Was you, wasn’t it?”

You slowly move forward whilst Negan remained quiet for a second and both were distracted, finally he speaks up then.

“Yeah... yeah it was me.”

“I told you to stay back!” Negan scowls, having noticed how close you were then.

“Why are you helping him?” Hershel frowns at you in confusion.

Negan calmly sits down, and you move to stand next him.

“Look, Kid... what I took away from you and your mom... there’s nothing I can say or do that’s gonna make that better. And I know you wanna pull that trigger... and I don’t blame you.”

Placing your hand on Negan’s shoulder, you remain silent as you tightly squeezed it in fear.

“The thing is, if you do... the bad people are gonna know where we’re hiding. Maybe, I deserve to die for what I did to your dad, to your family. But these people here, they don’t.”

Hershel remains silent as he looks out the door to see Lydia, along with the others silently staring at him. He turns his attention to you then.

“The baby... is it his?”

Negan instantly tenses under your grip at his question.

“Yes” you don’t think twice about admitting.

“Kid-” Negan hastily speaks in panic, pausing then when Hershel silently lowers the gun.

Negan and you both let out a sigh of relief when Lydia manages to take it off him. Staring silently at Negan for a second, he then rushes out the room.

Negan quickly stands up and you instantly slump into him in relief.

“That was a stupid thing to do” he scolds you, pulling you tightly in for a hug.

“Not the first time she’s done something stupid while pregnant...” Lydia mumbles.

Stepping back from the embrace, Negan frowns down at you.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing...” you croak out, avoiding eye contact.

“Lydia, what did she do?”

You shoot Lydia a warning glare, but Negan persists.

“Lydia...?”

“Sorry” Lydia directs at you, turning toward Negan then.

“There was a storm and Walkers had breached the walls. They were swarming the house, so Rosita went out to keep them from entering.”

“Ok” Negan nods, getting an idea of what had occurred.

“Where was Y/N?”

“She was inside with the rest of us” Lydia replies, heading dropping for second as she uttered her next words.

“Then she rushed out to help Rosita...”

“What?” Negan attention snaps back to you in displeasure.

“What?” you shrug in defense.

“She was being swarmed by them. I wasn’t about to just stand there, cowering behind a closed door and watch her get ripped apart by them.”

“I get it, ok” Negan sighs, brushing the hair out your face to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m just glad nothing bad happened.”

“Actually...” Lydia butts in then.

“She blacked out after.”

“What?!” Negan growls, stares down at you in disapproval.

“It happened months ago” you remark nonchalantly.

“It's over and done with.”

“That’s fuckin’ obvious” Negan scoffs.

“It’s the fact that you didn’t tell me about it, that’s got me pissed.”

“Well, unpiss yourself, because we have to keep a clear head so that everyone can make it out here alive” you remark.

With clenched teeth, Negan takes a moment to calm himself.

“I don’t want you out my sight, got it?”

Feeling the frustration boiling at a high, you silently glare at him.

“Got it?” Negan snaps at you.

“Fine” you grumble out.

With a nod of approval, Negan pulls you back into his arms, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Just need you to be safe, ok? If anything happened to you or the baby...”

His voice breaking with emotion at the unthinkable happening.

“God... I don’t even wanna think about it.”

“Hey” you pull back so that you can look at his face.

“We’ll ok. Ok?”

“Ok” Negan nods, a strained smile crosses his lips as you wipe the tears from his cheeks.

Pressing a quick kiss to his lips, you smile at him.

“I love you.”

Britting into his lip, Negan nods.

“I love you too.” 

tag list: @rockey258 @ultrasweetnephilim @twd-fanfics @starry-night-20 @dellsdeath  @vaaalexandra @thatgirljayy @aleemendoza2425-blog @conrzd​ @tonysterco​     @igotmajordaddyissues

[squirreljc2]

He wakes up from a nightmare. He’s not sure what happened in it exactly; Dean just knows he doesn’t wanna go back. A glance at the clock lets him know that it’s way too early for a normal person to be up.

Dean sits up and heads to the kitchen. If he’s going to be awake this early, he might as well get as much coffee into his bloodstream before there are others up to share it with.

As tired as he is, Dean immediately hears voices come from down the hall. He grabs his gun (just in case. What kind of psychopath would be up at 4 am unless they were up to something?)

He follows the noises and is surprised to find they lead to the kitchen. Cautiously, he takes a look inside, and… Cas?

Cas and Jack are both in the kitchen, neither looking particularly happy about being up at this hour either. Jack’s sitting on the counter, letting his legs hang over the side and swing. He’s obviously tired, but he’s giggling happily as he watches his dad, who is intently focused on something on the counter.

“Jack,” yep, that’s definitely Cas’ ‘I’d rather be dead than conscious right now’ voice, “I feel like we’ve done something wrong.”

Dean can’t tell what they’re doing from his hiding place, but both Cas and Jack are a mess. There’s a bunch of cooking shit all over the place, and both Cas and the kid seem very invested in whatever it is they’re making. By the looks of it, they had already finished whatever project they were working on and stuck it in the oven.

Cas was kneeling by the oven now, and staring intently at their creation.

“Shouldn’t it be done by now?” Ah, the head tilting. This must be very confusing.

“Depends. Did ya turn on the oven?”

Cas and Jack both slowly turn to look at Dean with a look some might describe as abject horror (ok, that was the look on Cas’ face. Jack just starts babbling about Dean and motioning to be picked up. Dean obliges.)

“Dean! Why are you not asleep?” Cas seems genuinely surprised to see Dean up and at ‘em so early (to be fair, most of the time nowadays getting Dean out of bed before 9:30 was a task that required way to much effort to make it worth trying).

“Y’know, the usual.” Cas immediately looks apologetic, as thought it’s his fault Dean’s brain refuses to let him forget the past if just for a night. “It’s not your fault, man.”

“I know, but I should have checked on you after I got up-“

“So whatcha making?” Dean interrupts. He and Cas have had more than enough apologies for one lifetime.

“Um. Nothing.” Cas says at the same time Jack yells, “Pie!” directly into Dean’s ear.

“Pie? For what? It’s the middle of the night, dude.”

“Um, I-“ Cas is cut off by the sound of somebody opening the door and walking to the kitchen.

“Cas, is it done yet? Because the only whipped cream I could find was the low-fat kind, so I kinda wanna handle that part before Dean-“ He looks up, seemingly only just now noticing what he walked into.

“Heya Sammy. Am I the only one who didn’t get an invite to this little pow-wow?”

“Dean, you’re… awake.”

“Obviously, dude. So, what’s this little council meeting about? We voting me off the island or something?”

“No, Dean, it’s-“ Sam is once again interrupted, this time by Jack.

“Happy Birthday!” The kid seems proud of himself for remembering why they’re all there, and then promptly nods of in Dean’s arms.

“What? Wait, what day is it?”

“Dean. It’s January twenty-fourth.”

“Oh...” Dean realizes. It’s his birthday. This was for him. His weird little family got up at an ungodly hour to do this for him.

“Yeah, man. The pie was meant to be a surprise once we managed to pry you out of bed, but it looks like you did that all by yourself. Everybody else isn’t meant to be here until 12.”

“Everybody else?”

“Yeah, we figured that you’d want a bit of peace with just Cas and Jack after you woke up, but Charlie insisted that she get to see you as soon as possible so she can, quote, ‘Let you know who to credit for the amazing party’. Twelve was our compromise.”

“Except you were meant to wake up to a pie, and I somehow managed to mess that up.” Cas seems genuinely upset that he didn’t get to give Dean the surprise they had planned.

“Well, this is is even better.”

“It is?” Another head tilt.

“Yep. Because now I can make sure you don’t burn it.”

Cas frowns a little at that.

“Well. I’m gonna leave you guys to it. See you at noon. Happy birthday, jerk.” With that, Sam turns and walks out of the room.

“Are you really okay, Dean? This was meant to to go differently.”

“Cas,” Dean waits until blue eyes meet his, “it’s perfect.”

Cas still looks uncertain, so Dean pulls him in close and kisses him. “I love it.”

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

“Thanks, Cas. Now, we should probably turn on the oven.”

“Oh, yes.”

————————————————————————

Dean claims the pie was the best he’s ever had. Cas doesn’t believe him.

[inlovewithfairies]

The one in which they think Maria died

ship: Blackhill (Natasha Romanoff x Maria Hill) - MCU

+ Natasha Romanoff & Nick Fury - Maria Hill & Nick Fury (not as a ship for fuck's sake)

words: 673

warnings: none I believe

author's notes: 1. I need Ao3 back... 2. I hate this but didn't want it to die in my drafts 3. yeah, i dont think it is actually angst, you were right em @emylilas

-

It could have been seen by everyone on the floor, it was so open and public, but she was alive. 

Natasha ran, she ran as fast as she could, avoiding people and the weird gazes as the flash of red aimed for the other side of the room, to a frail looking woman. Maria was half covered in blood, her arm up in a makeshift support, slight limp on her left leg as she walked down the quinjet; her eyes desperate searching in the landing bay, Bobbi was standing behind her, not in as much a weary state but also injured, she had blood combing through her blonde hair and a stab wound in the shoulder. Bobbi was taking most of Maria’s weight, helping her walk further away from the plane. 

Natasha caught up to them fast, long strides taking her last steps before she was engulfed in Maria’s hug. Maria cradled her close as Natasha rested her head over her heart, listening to the hurried beats, she was alive, she was going to be okay, she was-

“Masha-” It came out as a broken sob and Natasha cradled her closer. 

“I-I’m sorry” It was watery too. Natasha fell to her knees, burying her face on Maria’s stomach, hands circling her waist and pressing her closer, the heat of her body reminding her that this was not a dream. 

Natasha was not at all a religious person but she asked whatever was up and above to claw away the feeling in her heart, the memory of May’s voice calling that their team had been ambushed, the fireguns ringing in the audio, Bobbi shouting to Maria to look out, the guttural sound that followed, and the desperate voice of Bobbi telling “We need an extraction, Hill is-” that ended the tape, to let it be replace with the soundful beating of her heart. 

They had been radio silent for five more days, Natasha had taken a quinjet to go look for them, only managing to sit down before the systems were taken over by SHIELD and she was forced back. Nick Fury had had the sense to at least look remorseful then. Natasha had walked to his office, kicked the door open and aimed a gun directly to his head, her hands shaky. 

“Let me go look for her” It was mustered with as much courage as possible. 

“Agent Romanoff” Fury’s face betrayed no feelings as he stood up, but his eye was red. “This is not going to help her”

“I have to find her” The gun dropped to the floor.

“Natasha…”

“Your intel got her into this problem, I told you he wasn’t reliable, I told you he was going to betray you and you fell for it!” She aimed to punch him in the face and Fury caught her hand. “I warned you!” He stopped her next assault and brought her hands to his chest, stopping her motions. 

“Coulson’s team is looking for them. Everybody is looking for them”

“Then let me help” Natasha pleaded, looking up at the man, her emotions betrayed her and her eyes filled up with tears. “Let me go look for her, Nick” Her eyes fell close and Fury pulled her to his chest, holding her tight. “I need to find her, if I lose her, I don’t think I can go on”

-

A day after they were back, two weeks after they had lost contact with the team, Fury called Maria to his office. The Commander was quite put together, bandaged and limping but alive, she stood straight and composed. 

“Sir, you called for me?” Fury stood from behind his desk with a grave face. “What’s wrong?” He cut the distance between Maria and him and looked her dead in the eye. 

“Don’t you ever, you hear me, ever do that again” Maria found herself suddenly trapped in a hug “You had me dead worried, kid” He whispered. Maria smiled lightly and returned the hug with her good arm.

There was a reason love was for children, it would havoc an empire.

[mysticonsheadcanons]

Mysticons Next Quest 2 Episode 6: Decoys and Distractions

The Mysticons are just settling into their new stronghold when Proxima calls the Mysticons to the Academy, and tells them about a circus that people have been disappearing in. Piper suggests that she sneaks in to go undercover, and while the other Mysticons are hesitant to put Piper in such a dangerous situation, they eventually decide to trust Piper. Proxima seems nervous about the plan, and makes Piper promise to be careful. She tells them about the next time the circus was advertising people to join the circus, which is the following day.

Piper meets up with her grandfather, Cagim, about it, and talks about how excited she is to be able to do circus stuff for a mission. Cagim warns Piper to be careful, since the people disappearing means that it’s likely a trap, and if she gets too excited by being in the circus, she may forget to be careful about her surroundings. He adds that them recently moving to a different stronghold may also be a distraction for her. Piper promises that she’ll be fine, and skips off happily.

Piper goes to the auditions, as the other Mysticons are spying. Piper’s routine goes well, and even though Piper is enjoying herself,  she remembers what her grandfather warned her about and is keeping an eye out for traps. There are none, and she does the routine perfectly. The ringleader allows her to be at the performance, and says that there’s a spot for her to do that same routine in an upcoming performance, then she can leave Drake City and move into the circus. Piper finds the others, and Zarya says that, if there is the possibility of Piper being taken out of the city, they should abandon the plan. However, Piper insists on finding the other people, and Em admits that Piper has a point, and that the others can look for the missing people while Piper is performing, so hopefully she can get away from the circus before leaving Drake City. However, the idea of possibly leaving her new home does seem to upset her.

During the performance, the Mysticons are about to look for the missing people when they see Cagim and asks what he’s doing there. Cagim tells them what Piper said about the mission and admitted that he was worried, so he wanted to go to the show to make sure everything went smoothly. Zarya asks Cagim to tell them if anything strange happens, and Cagim promises to do so.

The Mysticons look for clues as to where the missing people went, but are unable to find anything. Meanwhile, Piper is performing in the show, but doesn’t notice machines hooked up on the sides until strange mist envelops the ring, making Piper fall asleep. Cagim has a bad feeling about the show when another performer is where Piper was, especially since Piper seemed surprised at the mist. He calls the Mysticons, and as he could faintly hear a door opening and saw slight movement on the floor, he suspects that Piper, and perhaps the other missing people, are underground, perhaps directly under the main stage area.

Piper finds herself in a strange cell with other people, and Piper recognizes them from the circus. She is especially surprised to see Tazma, who explains that the circus works with a witch to drain the performers’ magic, then forces them to continue performing in order to lure people into the circus. Just then, a group of people take Piper to a different room.

Larine, as well as a strange machine, is in the other room. Larine smirks, saying that she didn’t expect to get a Mysticons’ power. Piper is pushed into the machine, and just as the machine starts, the other Mysticons find her and free her. A fight ensues, during which Piper notices her powers are weaker, and the Mysticons manage to escape. As they’re escaping, Piper tells them about the other trapped people, including Tazma. They free the other victims, but Tazma leaves before the Mysticons can talk to her.

At the stronghold, Malvaron says that Piper wasn’t in the machine long enough to have serious effects, and that her magic should recover on its own. Sharise notices that Piper is deep in thought and asks what’s wrong. When Piper admits that being part of the circus was fun and that performing in it made her realize how much she missed it, Arkayna reassures her that there’ll be other times for her to do circus routines and offers to see if the next royal party needs an entertainer. Piper excitedly agrees.

[rodthomaswriting]

The Persuader

It's hard working in hell.  Not everyone is up for the job.  I personally run the place.

I have many names.  Ask the interns if you want to hear the most insulting ones (Yes, Jeff, the break room walls are NOT soundproof).  Most of my friends by proximity call me the Persuader.  It's a healthy medium between too casual and too intimidating.  Anyway-

So, a while ago I was sent upstairs to kind of scare the new kids.  Give 'em the whole speech about why they're here, what to expect, the scariest part of their job, too, usually, and Deborah walks in with this "urgent message."  Apparently, it was so urgent I had to stop mid-sentence and let Ed take over.  Ed's only been working here since... well, not very long, trust me!  Deborah wouldn't tell me who the message was from or the subject or anything really, but I trust Deborah's judgment.  Probably the only wholesome person this place has left.  Relatively.

My office has been a mess since the dawn of mankind, but Deborah assured me the message was "on my desk" and shut the door behind me.  Okay.  Even finding my desk among the piles of records, books, and urns is difficult.  Also, a message on the line, in paper, what?  Thanks, Deb.

Rifling through papers, shoving stacks taller than me (which most would say doesn't take much), and eventually finding my desk was the easy part.  If I'd known what was coming next, I wouldn't have been so enthusiastic about the whole thing.  Nothing would have prepared me.  Before I even read the address, the crisp, bright envelope told me whom it was from.

The Director.  Again?  I thought we'd resolved the whole property dispute.  I own downstairs, the Director owns the upper levels, and the ground level's anyone's game.  What else was there to talk about?

I'd never seen the particular style of envelope from the Director's office before.  The crew usually sent me the cheap, standard-style white ones with the clear window and rumbled edges like they'd been in Felix's desk drawer for my entire lifetime.  That was what I was worth, honestly, but this one was a strange off-white.  Lilac nearly.  Why?  Thicker paper, also.  Well, no use analyzing every little thing, despite my track record of doing exactly that.

I should be the one complaining about the Director.  Those repairs you promised what, a century ago?  Where are they?  The tile’s still cracked in hall six.  The pipes in the bathroom are always bursting.  The incinerator is always getting overloaded, but do we complain?  No.  We're all adults here.  If there  was a real issue, why not just reach me immediately-

Persuader:

Call me soon.

The Director

-on the line.  What was this?

Probably just wants to choke me out in person.  Yell at me all you want, Director, you won't hear any reaction from me on the other end.  You taught me the art of crying silently.

I couldn’t tell you what the actual number is.  It’s all muscle memory.

"You've reached the Director's main office.  Unfortunately there is a short waiting time before you may speak directly to-"

"Angel, I know you only do this when me or my team calls.  The Director always picks up.  There's no reason to hijack-"

"May I ask what your business with the Director is at this time?"

"May I ask what is yours interrupting a very urgent business call?"

A giggle.  "Oh, I seriously doubt that.  Your prank calls are a bit pathetic at this point."

"Listen, Angel, your boss contacted me."

No response.

"I was told to reach the Director as soon as possible.  You are hindering that."

Silence.

"I wouldn't call if I didn't absolutely need to.  You know how rocky it's been since the- well, you know.  You still there?"

"... One moment please."

Aw, yes.  The cheesy looped music that assures me the line is still connected.  The harp might be uplifting, but the pan flute?  Poor choice.

"Persuader?"

"What's with the whisper, your highness?"

"Shhh... I don't want this getting out.  Is there- is there a more private way of reaching you?"

"Right, I'll humor you by being soft spoken, but there is absolutely no reason to give you my private information.  I've never asked that of you for a variety of reasons, least of all the terms we’re on.  The tiniest amount of anger, the devastating consequence, and so on."

"Shh.  Shh!  I know that.  I'm the first to know that, please.  I just-"

"...Yes?"

A cough.  "I'd like to go over some terms with you.  I feel our arrangement has left you with definite disadvantages, and it would be beneficial to both of us to resolve them.  A more multimedia form of communication might make certain aspects of this easier to manage."

"Strange.  You seemed mighty satisfied with giving me the short end of the stick then."

"Do keep your voice down.  I'd like to get into the details during the agreement, if it's alright with you."

"Oh, and it always is."

"You'll do it?"

"No."

"Persuader, I don't like doing this.  All I'm asking is a few moments of your time.  This issue’s pressing for me, too."

"If I was capable of emotion, I'd be sorry, but this whole conversation is incredibly inappropriate as well as a poor reason to interrupt a serious project of mine."

"Oh!  I was unaware- When I said urgent I didn't mean- I'm sure there's-"

"Later, Director."

"I just-"

Strange.  Very odd, the Director being so vague.  I would expect such from Felix, Angel, or any of the crooks working for the Director, but why would someone with such a high image stoop so low?  And they call ME unprofessional.  What a joke.  I'm thriving considering the work environment.

No matter.  Hopefully Ed hadn't put the place completely up in flames while I was gone.  Or maybe... Hmmm... I should try that.

All was as well as it could be upon my return.  Ed had brought three to tears, one had left, and one with glasses was squinting, arms crossed in defiance and determination.  It was a good group.  Maybe I should promote Ed.  Ha!  Even being the head operator, there was still a lot outside my jurisdiction.

"Hey!  Where were you?"

"Strictly business, Ed.  No further details."

"Woah, 'kay.  Didn't realize you actually did anything classified.  ExCUSE ME."

"Good job with the new recruits." I went to a whisper.  "Name of the one with glasses?"

"Asked to just be called Hansen.  Probably a last name.  Why?"

"Take Hansen to Deborah for training.  There's something I like about this kid."

Ed nodded.  "Hansen!  Follow me.  Rest of you, listen to the Persuader.  You know now not to fool around."

Ed closed the door softly, and I was left in silence.  I stared each of them down.  Again, good group.  Most seemed adequately scared.  Finally, I smiled.  "You kids want to see all the repairs the Director promised to fix but hasn't?  You'll get the full tour."

It felt good to see them a bit more relaxed, I guess.  They followed me in a neat little line as we steadily made our way through the halls.  "Yep, that's where the cooling malfunctioned and tore through the wall.  Jackie tried to fix it with some coffee sleeves, but it's still an eyesore.  Oh, here's the electrical that never works.  We tried to switch to thermoelectric, because it would make sense down here, but there's no funds."

"Persuader?"

"Yah?"

"Maybe it's rude to say, but... I've heard so many bad things about you and this... place.  It doesn't seem terrible.  Why-?"

"No, not at all.  We get that a lot.  See, if you know your place is even slightly better, you do a lot to talk it up, yeah?  So, what easier way than to make the other person's sound like the absolute worst?  People don't like honesty.  I never said this place was perfect, you know?  Does that answer your question?"

"I guess."

"Great.  Any others?  The exposed concrete's a good stopping point in our tour.  Yes, in the back?"

"So, what are we going to do here?  Other than...."

"Don't worry about the nitty-gritty.  We already have people working on that floor.  Most of our entry-level stuff is just running errands, sorting paperwork, that kind of stuff.  Tedious, yes, but not so much suffering unless you really hate papercuts.  Aw, and up next here we have my favorite hall.  Watch your step, though.  There was an incident."

"What kind of incident?"

"Yes.  Now to the bathrooms.  They don't work.  Don't even try.  The cold water boils."

Someone was running.  "Persuader?"  It was Deborah.

"Yes?"

"The Director's on the line."

"Again?"

"There was an earlier call?"

"Not important.  Deborah...  Can you continue the tour?"

"Of course, Persuader."

"Where's Hansen?"

"Who?"

"Wow.  Where's Ed?"

"I saw Ed going to the ground floor with a new arrival.  You really shouldn't leave the Director on hold, Persuader."

"Yes, right.  Thank you, Deborah."

"Anytime."

Back to my office.  Over and over again.  I was looking forward to being busy and getting out of my office, but no.  Three flights of stairs down to the lowest floor.  I would take the elevator, but it's been under repairs since... forever.  Also, I didn't want to catch anyone crawling up the elevator shaft again.  I can't report what I can't see (and yes, it was Ed).

Still my office.  Still a mess.  Even just opening the door, I could hear the line was on.  Deborah hadn't even put it on hold, just left the receiver sitting on a stack of paperwork.  "Hello?  Persuader?  Please!  Is anyone listening?  Hello!"

"Director?"

"Oh, sorry.  Listen, I'm not happy with our conversation earlier."

"I am.  You have ten seconds."

"I am trying to help you!  I want to make a deal.  If you give me a simple, private way to contact you with further details, it will be very beneficial for both of us!"

"How?  You've told me all that. What is this arrangement?  What deal?  What are you promising me?  I am more than happy with the terrible, disgusting, crowded, sweaty, damp conditions I've been left with.  What do you want?"

"I-I just... Can. We. Please! Talk. Privately?"

"Fine.  With conditions.  I always have a price, Director."

"Of course, of course.  Name it."

"You will detail your affairs in a letter.  I want to know everything you can tell me about whatever it is you're talking about.  At this point, I will be able to accept or refuse your offer.  If I accept, I will give you my personal line.  I will, however, still expect business-like conduct.  I also can't guarantee my associates don't know how to listen in.  Also, I would like a few repairs."

"Is that everything?"

"Yes, Director.  Too much?  That is my only offer.  Ever."

"If you do not accept my offer after the letter, do I still need to provide the repairs?"

I pondered. "Yes."

"No."

"Thank you.  Never contact me again."

"Fine!  Goodbye!"

Strange.  I thought I was the vague one.  I thought I was the one who pestered people needlessly, and yet... Oh, well.

Ed.  Where was Hansen?

I went to the ground floor.  I looked briefly at the door to the upstairs.  Would they let me?  Could I sort this out in person?  What did it look like up there?  Their door was definitely cleaner.  They probably had actual cleaning staff.  That would be a good extension.

"Persuader?"

Ed?  No, Angel.  I tried my best to smile.  "You heading up?"  

"Yes, but... I'm glad you're here.  I was meaning to ask you about something.  This will save time."

I waited.

"Has the Director asked for any favors?"

"No."

"So, what's the situation?  Why all the contact?"

"I have no idea.  Some agreement, the terms of which have not been disclosed to me, so I didn’t accept.  I asked for details, but my ultimatum was rejected.  I'm sorry if it's been an inconvenience for your staff.  It won't continue."

Angel nodded.  "Good.  Well, goodbye."

"Sure, yeah."

I was tempted to peek through the door as Angel headed up, but no.  Hadn't seen Ed or Hansen yet.  Hadn't really looked for them either.

Nowhere to be found, either of them.  Best to just head downstairs, but I didn't.  I stood there for a moment, in front of the door to upstairs.  It was so clean.

"HEY!"

Fear filled me until I saw it was just Ed and the kid.  "Hello."

"What are you doing touching the upstairs door?"

"Oh, wrong door."  I crossed the hall, holding the door open for them.  "What were you two up to?  Deborah said you passed without a word."

"Right."  Ed had a satisfied look.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Just showing the kid the ropes, boss."

"Take the kid to Deborah, Ed.  Then see me in my office."

Ed still seemed unmoved.  The ground level was a fairly social spot.  It wasn't where work was done.  Taking a new recruit there might allow them to sneak upstairs.  Who knows what that would mean for us.  Well, me.  Ed probably wouldn’t be punished.  I took one last look at the upstairs door and followed them down.  Hansen seemed fairly indifferent towards me.  It was... different.

Why did I have to say in my office?  Was there even seating there?  Was it even intimidating in there?  Did other people go in my office?  Would I even know the terrain better than Ed if we got in a fight?  Ed WOULD fight me.  Oh, well.  Hopefully civil discussion would be enough, especially with how great it was working for my Director situation.

After being there so many times in such a small span, I could almost ignore the smell of my office.  It wasn't a particularly bad smell, but definitely mildewy.  That and ash.  Not a great or logical combo.

I managed to find myself a seat.  One stack of books was a chair at its base.  Ed would have to stand.  Fine by me, and no one else matters.  Ha ha.  Just kidding.  There's got to be another chair here somewhere.

"Persuader?"

"Ed?"  

It was.  

I slowly sat at my desk.  About my chin and above was visible, but I guess it added some effect.  "Come in."

"I don't see what the big deal is."

"The," I suddenly had a very scratchy throat.  "The," I coughed, "ground floor should only be for senior employees who have orders to go there.  Neither of those," another cough, "fully apply to you, and especially not to Hansen.  I'd be in my right mind to send you downstairs."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Ed?"

"Yes?"

"What were you doing on the ground floor, exactly?  I don't want upstairs making a situation out of this."

"I was showing the kid around, boss.  I figured Hansen would make it there anyway, if you're already sending the kid to work with Deborah."

I shook my head.  "That is not your job, Ed."

"Sorry."

"Yeah!  See?  Are you getting it now, Ed?"

"Not really, but you know."

"Just don't do it again, okay?  I won't be so lenient next time.  No matter what, sending you downstairs.  This is your warning."

"Right, chief."

"Great.  Get back to work."

"Yeah,  yeah."

"Good talk, Ed."

"Later, boss."  Despite the attitude, Ed closed the door quietly.  I really do like Ed, but this kind of thing happened all too often.  Last batch of new arrivals, Ed took about three deep downstairs, and I couldn't get work out of any of them for quite a while.  Most didn't blink for about a week.  Should I have done something by now?  Yes.  Did I keep giving second and thirty-fourth and four hundred ninetieth chances?  Yes.  I couldn't help it.  Ed was so young when we first met, and I still see Ed that way.  Still acts that way, too.

Hansen.  I should call Deborah and see how it's going.  I rang up the line.

"This is Deborah.  Persuader?"

"Yes.  Did Ed manage to get Hansen to you?"

"Of course.  Hansen is here.  Why?"

"Oh, nothing, it's fine.  Is Hansen in one piece?"

"Yes, Persuader.  Everything is going well.  I'm still with most of the new recruits, actually.  They're very fascinated by the state of the 'break room.'  You don't mind a brief extension of the tour, do you?"

"No, that's great.  Sounds like it's going well."

"It is."

"Thanks, Deborah.  You're the best."

"Oh, I don't know if-"

Yeah, I hung up.  The door opened.  Sam walked in with something.  Sam doesn't say much, just gave a little nod and left something on my desk before leaving.  Quiet, too.  In non-verbal ways.  Like, even with maybe a few nickel-sized pieces of carpet showing and the rest of my office being covered in crinkly trash, the whole endeavor was silent.  Impressive, Sam is.  A real acrobat.

Oh, yeah, the thing on my desk.  Another clean envelope was sitting there.  Oh, no.  Yep, from the Director.  I really, really, really didn't want to open it.  No.  I was dealing with this later.  Where was Deborah?  I might as well help with the tour or even go on it myself.  Deborah's take on it might actually be educational.

What should I do with the letter, then?  I WOULD deal with it, just not now.  I didn't want to lose or crease it.  What if someone found it?  This could be fairly confidential if the Director was being serious (debatable).  Hmmm... perhaps in my coat pocket.  Not on its own, no.  Where was... no.  YES!  Okay, a small book to support it in my coat pocket.  Perfect.  Where was Deborah?  Not in my office, that's for sure.

*

There was a happy group of nomads.  They wore animal skins and poured white salt on each other's heads.  It left their hair white.  Some of the salt was unclean.  Many became infected, their skin, hair, and garments turning the pale white of the salt.  The pure were afraid and and tried to crawl away, but the infected were too fast.  They rode large horses with legs that cut like knives.  The salt on the children's heads turned deep red.

"Boss?"

I didn't realize I was sleeping.  "Yes?"

"You have several strange calls from... you know."

"Do I?"

"The Director."

"Oh, this better be good."

Ed lingered.  "So... What is going on?  Between you and the Director?"

"Some business plan.  Even I know very little."

Ed nodded slowly.  "Right...."

"Please leave."

"Gotcha."  Finger guns?  Really, Ed?  Oh, well.  My order was followed.  It was time.

My efforts proved ineffective.  The edges of the letter had been wrinkled in my pocket.  It was still a crisp shade of lilac, however, and just fragrant enough to know where it came from.  Upstairs seemed so pretentious based on what little I'd seen come from it.  It seemed like the type of place to have sparkling water and potted plants everywhere.  I'm sure any hardwood was refinished monthly if not more.  I'm absolutely positive there is not a single bubble in the wallpaper or scuff on the tile or macro shred of waste on the carpet.  The place must be spotless and smell of rose and sandalwood.  What did I get?  Sulfur.

That's what the envelope smelled of, by the way.  Rose and sandalwood.  A few other notes to make it full, but an eternity in the musty basement has weakened my sense of smell, and I’m already pushing it giving you this length of description.  I’m ashamed.

I tore the letter open as messily as I could.  It didn't make me feel any better.  STATIONERY?  Since when was I worthy of stationery?  The letterhead was tacky, but nonetheless, an attempt at being elegant.  Disgusting.

Persuader:

Please.

Tell no one.

I have recently found some value in the allure you use so often to entice and mislead the masses.  Truth be told, I was hoping to speak privately because my arrangement is not at all a business matter.

Forgive me.

I have done nothing to earn your trust or admiration.  I have been nothing but unkind to you after a certain era I'm sure we both remember with ill feelings.  I would like to mend our relationship and amend our arrangements from that time.  You were destined to be disadvantaged and fail.  No one should be treated the way you were.  Under the circumstances, you've behaved more than redeemably.  I have not contacted my 

higher-ups about this.  It is strictly between us.

Please.

I would like your input as far as new terms, but I have a few to suggest:

- No boundaries

- Complete repairs in the lower levels

- Ceasing procedures in the bottom-most floors

- Meeting in person to discuss more terms

Anxiously awaiting your response.

Please.

The Director

It took a few rereads and blankly staring at the page for too long for me to realize what it said.  More importantly, I knew what this meant I would have to do.

I put on the line, but called no one.  I sat for a moment.  "Deborah?"

"Yes, Persuader?"

"Could you and Ed come to my office?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

I waited and soon heard a gentle knock, practically a tap on my door.  "Come in."

Deborah waltzed in followed by Ed, who was slouching but still smug in the face.

"You are not being punished."

Ed straightened up.

"I simply have a new series of damages I need to bring to your attention."  I stood.  "Follow me."

We made our way down the hall.  Deborah was silent.  

Ed was not.  "Where are they?  How bad is it?  Pretty sure there's nothing new.  I would know.  Series?  More than one?  That's impossible.  Do you think it was the new recruits?  It wasn't me.  Really, Deb, it wasn't!  Don't give me that look.  So is it caused by natural forces and decay or, like, something living?  Something living?  No.  Nevermind."

I stopped.  "Here we are."

It was just a door.  One of the few ones intact, actually.

"You may not see it from here," I assured them, "but the inside is an absolute mess.  Really, you should have a look."

Deborah went in first.  Ed followed after shooting me a look.  I stayed in the hall, hands in my pockets.

"Seems fine, Persuader," I heard Deborah say.  "What is the issue?"

"The tile, especially under the furniture."

"Nothing seems wrong, boss," Ed said.  "You sure-?"

I locked the door.  I couldn't have these two listening in on the call I was about to have, and I know they do.  Always hear their breathing on the other end of the line.  Deborah was better at hiding it, but I could still hear the chair squeak or the click of hanging up when the conversation was boring.  "Keep looking.  I swear it was there."

The walk back to my office was long.  Had I really gone this far?  Maybe I’m putting off what comes next.  What was going on in the Director's head?  I would soon find out.  Well, at least remotely.

*

"Persuader, I really don't see anything.  Do you, Deborah?  I just... What are you doing?"

Deborah had an ear against the door and a hand on the handle.  "It's locked.  The Persuader’s gone.

"What?  Let me see that!"  Ed confirmed it was locked by loudly turning the handle and shoving it against its hinges.

"Wow.  Had to find out for yourself.  Really?"

"Yes!"

"Unbelievable.  There's a reason the Persuader has me get you instead of just asking you to come in."

"Right, right, 'cause we all just wish we were as perfect and obedient as you, Deb!"

"Deborah.  We say your name with one syllable because it's all we can bear."

Ed had no comeback.

Deborah showed no satisfaction. 

"I guess we just have to wait it out, then."  Ed sat on the floor.  "Glad there are no damages.  Makes it a little easier to just hang out."

"There are damages.  Look at the ceiling."

"What about it?"

Deborah pointed to the center of it.  "See the way it's bulging there?  Won't be long before it falls in.  The materials used seem very flimsy to begin with.  If you look at the edges, you can see microfractures from the stress."

Ed stood up and stood right next to Deborah, staring straight where Deborah's finger pointed.  "Huh.  What else?"

"Well, the paint is chipped on the doorframe.  I'd say it's lead paint, as well, which isn’t great.  Most other door frames in this hall have at least been painted over.  I'm guessing this room is empty and unused because of the lead paint, despite the ceiling being a more pressing issue."

Ed nodded.  "Anything wrong with the floors?"

"No.  See, I knew almost immediately this whole trip was a distraction, but saying the tile was the issue confirmed it.  Firstly, it's linoleum and in nearly perfect condition.  The only flaw is the installation.  And only if you look real close.  Where it meets the walls, you'll notice it's not parallel.  They put it in crooked."  Deborah knelt down and ran a finger along one of the lines to illustrate.  "See?"

Ed did but didn’t say anything.  Only stared intently.

"I'm sorry, Ed.  I'm sorry about what I said about your name."

"No, it's fine. I agree."  Ed was still looking at the floor.

"I can see why I'm working here, but you?  How did you end up in this place?  You really don't deserve-"

"Shh... Do you hear that?"

Footsteps.  They both stood and Deborah put an ear against the door again.  Closer and closer, barely audible.

"Someone there?" Ed shouted.  Deborah glared.  "Sorry," Ed whispered.  Deborah's eyes rolled.  It was too late.  The steps had stopped.  It was silent for a painful moment.  Then, a jingle of keys.

"Oh, thank it all," said Deborah.

The lock turned.  The door quickly cracked open, making them both jump.  A note fell through the crack.  Deborah fully opened the door.  "No one's here."

"Figures."

"I could be lying.  After all, the locked door needed double checking."

"I trust you."  Picking the note up from the floor, Ed's face showed nothing but confusion at the white slip of paper.

"What does it say, Ed?"

"'verminfritter.'  One word.  Lowercase."

"What?"  Deborah walked over to make sure.  Sure enough, 'verminfritter' in plain, neat handwriting in the top left of the paper.  "What does that mean?"

"Who knows.  Also, who do you think that was?  My guess is April.  April is messing with us.  The Persuader walks too loud."

"It probably wasn't April."

"Prove it, Deborah.  I want you to prove it."  Ed held the door.

"I don't have to."  Deborah walked through.  "This seems like something Edge would do."

Ed followed at Deborah's steady pace.  "Why do you call Felix 'Edge?'  We all know it's just an attempt to seem cool."

"So's 'Ed.'"

"You apologized!  Absolutely treacherous, dude."

"I don't take it back this time.  Edge is as real as it gets."

"Fine, but you have to call me the Blade now.  I can be just as cool as Felix."

"I refuse to call you that."

"But it's cool!"

Their arguments became softer and softer as they made their way down the hall.  The echoes didn't carry far, but don't worry.  They were heard.

*

I hung up.  Only then did I realize the Director's letter was balled up in my sweaty hand.  It was out.  My private line was no longer such.  I knew Deborah and Ed weren't listening, but what about the Director's team?  I didn't know how it ran up there.

Big picture.  Reality.  Here.  Now.  I took a deep breath.  I was sweating.  I never sweat.  My back hurt.  Where did I put my jacket?  I'd been leaning forward.  Had it been that intense?  We kept our voices casual in case anyone had been listening in, but mine had been on the brink of cracking for the whole duration.  Well, that was that.  No taking it back now.

Ed and Deborah.  Oh, no!  They were still locked up.  TOGETHER.  I ran out, grabbing my coat and putting it on as I sped-walked to seem more put together.  I'm sure the entire notion was a failure, however.  Tripping over my shoes with my coat half on wasn't THE look, but it was A look.

"Persuader!  Just the one I wanted to see!"

"Hi.  Uh-"

"Jackie!  It's Jackie."

"Right!  Jackie!  Yeah.  What can I-"

"Glad you asked!  Now, I hate to be a snitch, but are you aware...  Oh, it's terrible.  I.  Saw.  Ed."

"On the ground floor."

"Yes!"

"It's taken care of."  I got my second sleeve on.

"Great!  And there was discipline?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Ed was more than just threatened, yes?  It's just," Jackie looked up, "Sorry.  It's just difficult to see someone go so long unpunished when some of us, and I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, oh no!  But some of us... how do I put this?  Do our jobs with a little more... care?  And I really don't think Ed's behavior will, you know, improve!  If actions aren't...  taken."  Jackie's face held in a grimace.

"...  Yes.  I was just looking for Ed.  You haven't seen-"

"Just saw Ed and Deborah running around talking about some recruit caught in the kitchen vent.  Now, I did not believe it, because those vents haven't been cleaned in..."

I was halfway to the stairs.  Love Jackie, really do, but some people have a way with words, economy to them.  Weight.  Jackie does not.

Kitchen, kitchen.  Second floor had a kitchen, but so did one floor above me.  I'd placed my bets, you know?  Man alive, these stairs could use a mop.  The bottom step was almost coated completely in chewing gum.  Maybe tar.  Couldn't tell you, but worth avoiding.

Yep, I heard screaming.  Unless the bottom floor was expanding, this was the place.  The smoke wasn't comforting.

I followed its trail, and sure enough, I opened the door to see feet sticking out of the wall and Deborah's face poking out over the fridge.  And Ed brandishing a broom.

Aw, the smoke.  The smoke was coming from inside the fridge.

"Deborah?"

"Yeah?"

Ed lowered the broom.

"What's going on?"

“New recruits, Persuader.  Also, Gabe is here and wants to talk to you.”

Ed managed to turn the feet into half a person with a sharp tug.  

“You two have this under control, then?”

“Sure, boss.”  Ed saluted and pulled again.

The half a person turned into Gabe, risen from the vent.

“Oh!”

Gabe smiled.  “Great kids you’ve got here!”

“Hello, Gabe.  I thought you were waiting… somewhere else.”

“Naw.”

Deborah slammed the fridge shut.

“We can talk in my office.”

Gabe brushed off several dust bunnies.  “I’m alright.”

Never quite sure how to talk to Gabe.  Far too casual for someone from upstairs.  And comfortable.  “Something you needed, or, like--”

“Well, I’m not one to believe everything I hear, Persuader, but what I heard was this,” Gabe managed to find and start eating an apple from the fridge, “I heard that you and the Director-”

“Deborah, Ed, thanks for your help.”

The two left quickly, Deborah faster than Ed, who looked back and was pulled by the wrist.

Gabe got a bit too comfortable at what was once a break table, I’m sure.  Another bite.  “That you and the Director were figuring something out.  No details, but we were speculating-”

“What are you doing here, Gabe?”

Deafening.

“I’m asking.  I don’t mean to be rude.”

Gabe smiled, looking at the wall.  “Don’t tell anyone, but I like ya’ll.”

Unfortunately, it was mutual.  “You should probably go.”

“So you’re not gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Alright.”  Gabe stood.

I did my best gesturing to the door I’ve done in years.

“Persuader, you don’t mind me, do you?  I know I’m stopping by a lot.”

The other door opened.  It was Sam.

“Don’t mind you, Gabe.  It’s actually pretty nice to see you.”

“Really?”

“I’m just not sure I’m the resource you think I am.  And I don’t want to see you in hot water over stopping by.”

“And you like seeing me?” Gabe’s smile was performing its purpose.

I had to think fast.  “You’re a delight.  Get out.”

“‘Kay.  Bye, Persuader.”  A stiff wave.  “Bye, Sam.”

Sam nodded.

I closed the door behind Gabe and listened for the amount of ascending footsteps I found appropriate.  Also Deborah or Ed’s footsteps.  “Another letter?”

Sam blinked.

“Okay.”

I did look in the fridge.  It seems Deborah smothered whatever was in there.  The hole Gabe left behind led to somewhere unlit, so it was probably fine.

An overwhelming smell of lilies hit me.  Another crisp envelope was in my face.

“Oh.  Thank you, Sam.”

I looked up to an empty room.  I wasn’t above speculating a cruel prank.  Some things just feel very possible.

Kitchen could use mopping, too.  I can’t remember the last time I had this many papers in my coat pockets.  The crumple when I walked could have been embarrassing, but there are worse things.

“PERSUAADDERR!  Hiii!”

“Could you follow, me, Jackie?”

“Oh!  Sure!”  The smile became more hesitant.  “I just wanted to talk to you ab-”

“I actually had a very important job for you.  I was hoping we could meet with Deborah and Ed about it.”  I flipped my wrists out to push my cuffs back up.

“OH.  I don’t.  Persuader, I’d rather not meet with-”

“Well, if you’re not interested in the position-”

“Oh, I am!”  Jackie took the last few stairs carefully.

We’d arrived at my office.  Sure enough, Ed and Deborah were already waiting outside.

“Hey, is anyone watching the recruits, Deborah?”

“Jackie was.  Hey, Jackie.” “Oh, hi!”

“Sam just passed with a few of them.”  Ed’s arms were crossed.

Everyone followed close behind into the stacks of books.  “Jackie, you had something to tell me?”

“Oh, it can.  Wait.”

“Shame.  I was hoping to use your leadership as an example, especially to this one.”

Ed flinched.

Jackie brightened.  “Well, it was a little about that.”

“Ed, would you be interested in me making Jackie your correspondent?”

The letter fell out of my pocket.

“The thing I wanted to say, Persuader, was, um… well…”

Ed left.

“In terms of new recruits, I think we should absolutely not trust Ed with training in any capacity.  Well, if it were up to me.  I mean, it’s irresponsible based on all previous-”

Deborah followed.

“And after the events in the kitchen-”

“What did happen in the kitchen?  I missed it.  Do fill me in.”

“Oh!  Well, we thought a new recruit was stuck in the vent but actually the recruits are the ones that shoved GABE in the vent, so I don’t know how that happened, but I think if I was given more responsibility, I could really help things run a little more smoothly around  here.  Do you think?”

“Would you be interested in being Ed’s correspondent?”

Jackie smiled.

“Because that’s what I’m offering.”

There was a smell of burning hair and a distant scream.  I didn’t recognize it, so probably fine.

“Let me know if you’re interested.”

I remembered my headache and picked the letter up.  I sat at my desk.  I think.

“You can go now, Jackie.”

“Huh?  Oh, sure!”

The moment Jackie left, Ed and Deborah came back in.  

Ed’s arms were still crossed.  “You’re not serious?”

“Naw, I’m messing with Jackie.  I would not trust that one with reception.”

“We have reception?!”

“Ed.”  The sigh was deep.  “That was the joke.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you, Deborah.  What did happen in the kitchen, for my records?”

“Well, by the time I got there, a broom was already being employed.”

Ed mouthed along.

“Ed?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Who was watching over the new recruits at the time?”

“What?  When Gabe arrived or when Gabe got… got?”

“Were the two different?”

“No.” “Was it you?”

“Listen!  To be fair, I was, like, three away from getting each newbie to their departments based on interest expressed, so forth, so on, right?  Three newbies left overtook Gabe.  I find that very impressive!”

“Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re one of my favorite employees.  Don’t jeopardize that.  Okay?”

“Okay!”

“And I’m not going to have Jackie work under you.  But-”

“Awwww, commee onn.”

“I am floating the idea so Jackie stops making write-ups and hand delivering them.”

“We have write-ups?”

“No,” Deborah said.

“Thank you, Deborah.”

“Thanks, Deb.”

“You’re welcome, Blade.” “HEY.”

“The two of you should get back to work.  I’m going to… try to clean up around here.  Maybe.”

Deborah nodded. “You gonna try to hold my hand again?” Ed mumbled.

“Shhh…”

The lily smell still hurt my head.  Opening this letter felt different.  It was a different kind of off-white from the last.

Hi, Persuader!!

This letter is written on behalf of all of us.  Good

luck!  You’re going to need it.

Love, Upper management

Wonderful.  I wondered whose tongue it was.  Felix?  Gabe?  Angel.  I also wondered where honesty ended and taunting began, admiring the audacity.

I picked up one stack of books.  Was it enough?  Was it ever going to be enough?  Pretend I’m still talking about books.

Probably the floor wasn’t a good place to start.  Something smaller.  I started with the desk, adding to the floor.  I should separate books from papers.  Always gotta start somewhere.  Somewhere...  I wish I was somewhere.  Here sucks.

*

I’ll be honest:  I’d been lying face down on my desk for a long time.  One of the few joys I have left.

“Persuader?”  It was a voice I didn’t recognize.

“Yeah?”

“You seem busy.”

“Must be the reason no one’s seen me for eons.”

“Are you busy?”

I looked up. It was Hansen.  “No.  What did you need, kid?”

“I’m doing alright in the, um, selection department, but I wanted your advice.”

“Haven’t checked on that sector in a while.  How things running down there?”  I opened a pen with my mouth and wrote a note to check selections.

“Good.”

“What advice are you lookin’ for, then?”

“I guess my heart’s just not in it?”

“PSSSSHH!  Come on.  Whose heart’s in anything these days?  I think you’ll do fine.”

Hansen sort of looked at the floor a minute.  “I feel like I’m doing it wrong.  I want to do it right.  I want to be fair.”

I stood up. “Listen.  Kid.” I’m still not sure what compelled me to clap Hansen’s shoulder.  “The truth is, I really don’t think there’s good people and bad people.  Really.  Like, maybe we’re all just in weird spots trying to do our jobs as best as we can.  Can you do that for me?”

“I’m up for it.”

“Exactly!  Great.” Hansen stared at me.

“Do you need directions back?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

I knew it more by feel anyway, so I just walked the kid there.  The stairs almost killed me, and that was before I turned around and went back.  Would have helped to have the spikes removed.  Unimportant.

I don’t know why I keep going back to my office.  Lets people find me.  Sure enough, I met Deborah there.

“... Are you okay, Persuader?”

“Kinda no.  Went to selections to help Hansen out.”  I went to my desk.

“Oh god.”

“Good news is,” I caught my breath, “the selection department is basically running as normal, no complaints.  And Hansen’s doing well.”

“That is good news.  Well.  To us.  Any news on Jackie’s request?”

“Which one?”

“The latest one.  Regarding the, uh.  Repairs and job opening as correspondent.”

I wiped my forehead.  It didn’t help me think.

Deborah leaned forward onto a stack of papers.  It crunched.  “What’s going on between Ed and Jackie?”

“What?  You don’t know?”

“I mean any new developments.”

“I don’t think anything new has happened.  I just think they still remember.”

Deborah turned to the door.

Why?  You interested? I wanted to ask.  I didn’t.  Watching Deborah leave always makes me nervous.  Not for anyone else, but for whatever situation I’m in.  Truly the only one around here doing their job.

Then again, I did have a new reason to not do mine.  There’s a room people don’t know about.  This is where my personal line is kept.  And, while we’re being honest with one another, I would say I’ve been neglecting it.

To be fair, it’s not entirely my fault.  Sort of an on and off relationship with its entrance existing, but I did what I could.  It’s a dark place except for the crack just above where the line was resting.  Really should get that fixed.  I picked it up.

Someone was waiting.  “Hello!”

“Oh.  Hi.”

“You still sound so nervous.”

“I know.”  I could’ve sworn I smelled flowers again.  “Tell me ... more about those chairs.”

“The plush ones?”

“Yes.  With the buttons.”

“They’re so soft!  We could get them in any color you like, really.”

“If they’re upholstered anything like Angel dresses, I’ll need them much, MUCH darker.”

“Of course!”

“We used to have a lot of wooden furniture down here. Did not last long.”

“Oh, no!”

“Yeah.  I mean, I guess you do get used to the temperature difference after a bit.  Could be worse.  I won’t expect you to fix that, really.”

“I don’t know if I would.”

“What?  Fix it?  Or get used to it.”

“Either, dear.”

“...”

“Did you want some photos?”

“I hope you mean the chairs.”

“OH.  Yes!”

“You got, like, a catalog or something you could send down?”

“I do.  I wish I could send it personally.”

“I’d enjoy that.”

“Sending it down?  Or the ‘personally’?”

My mind wandered to anything else.

“Hello?”

“Right!  Yes, please send me a catalog if you have the time.  I could stand to read even that much.”

“Sounds like someone’s working too hard.”

“Not really.  Well, it’s not that I do nothing, but I could use more things to occupy myself.  Far too many hours in the day.”

“Oh, I wish I had that problem.  Lately, I’ve been losing sleep just to get my work done.”

“I don’t sleep.”

The Director had the sort of laugh that was very hard to tell if it was fake or not.  “Oh, we’ve all been there!”

“... Uh huh ...”

“I hear you’re working harder than ever.”

“Oh, it’s very outsourced at this point.”  Something crossed what little light I had.  “Do I make your job difficult?”

“Would you like to?”

I heard a footstep.

I hung up.

Deborah had done a poor job leaving my office.  “New mail from Sam, Persuader.”

I grabbed the envelope.

Deborah didn’t give it to me.  “Lotta mail lately.”

I finally got it.  And stared.

Deborah did the same.

I don’t like to be mean.  “You’re this far up for a reason.  But.  Even I doubt your ability to keep particular secrets.  I would hate to take away certain privileges.  Especially in a place like this.”

“What?”

“You’ll keep a secret, won’t you?  Structural as it is, we wouldn’t even have a downstairs to work anymore if this got out!  This is my LIVElihood, Deborah!  I can’t trust you with my LIVElihood?!  Do you know what this means?  What if we get found out?  If I’M found OUT, DEBORAH?”  I stepped in close, eyes bulged.  “Then we’ll both be sweating to the oldies.”

“... WHAT?”

Perfect time to check in on Hansen.

“Persuader, wait!”

Again, I don’t really have a mental map of the place, per se.  I just sort of let muscle memory take over if I want to get somewhere as quick as possible.

“Boss!” the back of a large canvas said to me.

“Ed?”

“Found some new art for commons!  What’d you think?”  As it turned towards me, a chill went up my spine.

I looked Ed right in the eye.  “Hideous.  Well done.”

Ed smiled.

“Persuader!”

I hadn’t walked as fast I thought I did.

The smile faded. “Deborah?”

I tucked the envelope into my coat and kept moving.  And, for the first time in a long time, I was happy to see Jackie.  “Persuadderr, hiii!”

“Hi, could I follow you?”

“Sure!  So, I considered the position you offered me- gee, you’re fast!- and I think I’ll take it!”

“That’s excellent, Jackie!  I think you’d make a great correspondent, but would you mind a trial period where we have you correspond with selections for a bit?”

“Actually, that sounds great!”  The smile faded from Jackie’s eyes only.  “Wow.”

I suddenly felt very light-headed.  The smell of roses.

“So, should I go to selections?”

“Oh, yes.  They’ll be expecting you.  I’m headed there now, actually.”

“Wow, okay, great!”

Suddenly, Deborah.  Arms crossed at just the staircase we needed to take.

I stopped in my tracks.  “How?”

“I followed the smell of upstairs mail.”

“Well, I’ll be damned...”

“Deborah!  Hi!”

Deborah twitched.  “Hello.”

Jackie smiled.

Look, I’m not one to encourage conflict, believe it or not, and if there is one thing I know how to do, it’s satiate one Jackie Spakes.  I went up a few stairs and held out a hand.  “Hey, I’ll meet you in selections in a bit, okay?  I gotta take this.”

Jackie smiled.  “I can do that!”  I couldn’t help but notice how slowly those steps were taken and how cold the hand I’d taken was.  Nevertheless, soon me and Deborah were to ourselves.  And it got quiet.

I’m no good at studying faces.  My art teachers’ll tell you that.  I think Deborah was mad at me.  Finally, I got something out.  “I don’t like to be listened to.”

“Is that why Ed works here?”

“My mail’s my mail!  What do you want me to say?”

I think Deborah was still mad.

“Look, I trust you but it’s literally my business, Deborah.”

“You’re right.”

And I was more scared.

“You’re right.  It is your business.  I apologize.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!”  Oh, I didn’t like those bulging eyes at all.  Or the arms still being crossed as Deborah turned and walked away.

Deborah was also right.  I stank bad.  You ever tasted rose?  I had to get rid of this thing.  And it would be a good test of how long a few minutes is to Jackie.  And, this time, no one was gonna follow me.

*

“Hey, Ed?”

“Yuh?”

“I need your help.”

“No.  You really don’t.”

It’s not nice to hit someone in the ribs while they’re trying to lift boxes.

“OW!  WHAT?”  Ed finally looked up.  “Woah, you okay?”

“We need to get some upstairs mail.”

“Okay.  Why, though?”

“To read it.”

“You alright, Deb?”

“I’m sure as it gets more common, it’ll be easier to find discarded letters.  I bet we could even find one or two now while Persuader’s office is empty.”

“You could also just, like, talk to Felix or Gabe and see it before Sam does.”

“What?”

“Not that I know that.”  Ed continued rearranging the boxes.  “Oh, hey, check it out!  You wanna see old photos?”

“Not particularly.”

“Yeah, probably some grody stuff in there anyway.  What’s actually bothering you, by the way?”  Ed held out a box.

Deborah took it.  “I guess all these years are catching up to me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes.”  Deborah set it down and grabbed another.  “I guess when you know how bad it’s going to be, it’s easier.  All this is new.  I’m used to knowing.  I felt like I knew everything.”

“That bites.” “Yes, it does.  Wait, Felix?  Felix would intercept?”

“Not if I asked.”  Ed plopped the box less delicately than the last one.  “If you asked, though, yes.  And I’ll bet Felix would be better at it than Gabe is, no disrespect.”

“And would I give it back to upstairs after, or?”

“Well, yeah.  Unless you also have upstairs envelopes and clean fingers.”

Deborah laughed.  “Not after this.”

“Hey,” Ed nudged, “you’ll be alright.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry.”

Deborah set the next box down.  Sure enough, it left plenty of soot.  “Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Next one’s heavy!”

Deborah grabbed the other end.  “Is this meant for downstairs?  This can’t be-”

The box fell, revealing... grim contents.

Ed did not shy away.  “Huh, I wonder who this was.”

Deborah’s words were choice.

“Been a while, but, no, this is for us.”  Ed’s fingers were now red as well.  Took a few scoops to return the remains. “You wanna set this closer to shelf five?  I bet it goes with those cases.”

“These are new shoes.”

Ed lifted the box on one shoulder.  “So, after this, you wanna do nextdoor or see Felix first?”

“We should organize 818 first.  While we’re here.  I don’t think Jackie will occupy Persuader much longer, and I’d rather get caught doing my job.”

“Suit yourself.”  This plop wasn’t graceful either, but sounded more wet.

*

I wish I could tell the Director everything.  I might eventually even say how I feel.

Not important.  I had a bill to settle.  And in walked that bill with Ed.  “More mail from Sam.”

“Thank you, Deborah.  I also am happy to see you.  To apologize.”

“Pardon?”

“I think I do owe my most loyal a bit more credit where it is due.”

Ed smiled.

“And why are you here?”

Ed frowned.  “Oh, Deborah was gonna tell you mail and I was gonna tell you we got leftovers,” Ed pointed a thumb out to the hall.

"That... shouldn't happen.  Where was this?"

"819."

I made a sound once described to me as “if a deflating balloon could feel hate.”  Won’t tell you who said that.  Deep breaths.  “Thank you for telling me.”

“Boss?”

“Yeah, Ed?”

Deborah held out the letter.

“Right!”  Straight to the jacket this time, no pit stops.  On the way to 819, however-

When I say I ran into Sam, please take it quite literally.

“Jesus!  Sorry.”

Sam straightened up and shrugged.

“How are you, otherwise?  Me notwithstanding?”

Sam looked one way and the next and smirked.

“Glad to hear it. I think.”

Sam looked me in the eyes in a way that frightened me.

“Well, I’ll see you.  Thank you.  Sorry.”

There was a leak in the hall just over from 819.  I think we use that hall for leaks, anyway.  Not too worried, personally.  And I could tell what box must contain Ed’s mentioned leftovers almost immediately.  Even if I didn’t, the weight of it would’ve clued me in.

Have you ever carried a bloody box up three flights of stairs?  What about stairs that are all located at different legs of each floor?  I’ll trade you.

Ground floor.  I put a hand on the lid and kissed the stained cardboard.  I stood, kicked the box, and out rolled the human form, who stared at me.  "What's your name?"

"Liz."

"Welcome back."

I watched Liz walk away before my vision drifted to the door.  Not the one I came from.  The other one.  This may've been the closest I stood to it.  I don't know.  I touched it, too, but it didn't come to life.

I’m not supposed to do it, but you can’t stop me if I remember how.  I’m surprised I remember.  I suppose I miss leftovers.

And then a very animated wave caught my eye.  Gabe was “waving me down,” as I’m almost positive some of the kids say.

“Hey!  What’re you doing here, Persuader?”  It was said with a smile, but I couldn’t help but feel accused.

“I could ask the same,” I also smiled.

“Weellll, you know how it is.  I was checking on Mari, but I shouldn’t be way out here, I guess.  I just get way curious, you know?  Oh, you definitely know.”

“I do.”

“Also, really nice seeing Deborah.  We all need to hang out more often.  I can tell I keep hitting you at kinda bad times, but I do appreciate the time.  You guys are awesome!”

The high five was painful.

“Take it easy, Persuader!”

“I am.  Thank you.”

The box still had soot but was otherwise unblemished on the way back down.  And much lighter.

Once again, I was alone in my office. Strange how uncommon it had become.  I did look at the latest letter.

Persuader:

I’d like to see you <3

No more.  Though, no less.  Only then did I realize it smelled like soot.

I stared a moment, truly taking in my surroundings, something all the tapes I’d bought over the years to try to fix myself had failed to make me do.  The notice I’d thrown out weeks ago detailing ethical lower level proceedings was at the top of my waste basket.  My heaps of tomes stacked on the floor were suspiciously organized.  Much more than I had left them.  Someone had moved several of my books revealing full inches of dustless desktop.  And, worst of all, my last interaction with someone from upstairs had been positive.  I had to do something about it.

The business line itself had joined the destitute, covered in dust.  I picked it up and punched in what I knew I must.

“... Hello?”

“Yes, your boss told me you had something to say to me specifically.”

“I’m afraid not, Persuader.”

“You sure?  The Director was pretty adamant, actually.”

“No!”

“Look... It’s gonna get to me eventually, Angel.  I’d prefer to hear it from you.  Just spill.”

“Fine!  I have made a few comments on your etiquette.  If you’re here to genuinely improve, which I don’t believe for a second, I can list them.”

I held the receiver in the crook of my neck, balancing the lid of the leftovers box on my knees.  The only pen I could find on my desk wrote purple.  “Oh, I’d love to hear.”

“Well, sarcasm like that is a great start.”

“Sar... casm.  Great.  What else?”

I heard a knock.

“Come in!  Sorry, Angel.  We’ll have to pick this up later.  Stay in touch.”

“Not as long as I live!”

I hung up.

Jackie waltzed in.  “So!”

I braced myself.

“It seems like I’m back to working this level!”

My heart fell to my feet, unlikely to ever return.  “Great!”

“Isn’t it!  It really seems like I was just not suited for, what was it?”

“Select-”

“Selections!  Oh, I can’t stand it.”  The laugh felt very violating.  “So, I’m back!”

In walked Ed.

Out slipped Jackie.

“Bad news.”

I nodded.  “Yeah, I saw that.”

“No, it was something else.”  Ed sighed.  “Why does everyone think I care about Jackie?  No, look:  there’s a crowd forming on the ground floor.”

“They do that,” I searched my desk.

"Woah, how'd you get the blisters, boss?"

“I’m grateful for you, Ed.  I really am.”

“Fine, I’ll get out of your hair.”  Ed turned, scowling.  “Clean in here...”

And it was.  Still smelled like fire, though.

The door lock clicked into place.  And the line rang. And there was a knock at the door.  I crawled under my desk.  Look, I don’t expect you to fully understand, but perhaps a little.  Stress, right?  Why else do people fall asleep with the lights on?

Doesn’t matter.  It was quiet when I crawled out.  Sam was sitting on my desk.  “OH!  Hey.”

Sam nodded.  And dropped a pile of letters on my desk before leaving.  Beneath the desk beckoned me again.

But so did the line.  I picked up.  “Yah?  Persuader speaking, how can I help you?” “Where have you been?”

“How long was I out?”

“Darling, we’ve been waiting upstairs.”

Every letter.  Every letter was from the Director.

“Gimme a minute.”

“I-”

I hung up.

You know, I haven’t really looked at myself in a while.  Perhaps an eternity.  I’ll leave that up to you.  Gabe’s jokes about me not showing up in mirrors didn’t help.  I’m embarrassed to care about it.  Or maybe I’m embarrassed I spent such a chunk of time not caring about it.  One of those.

But I did look before going to the ground floor.  I also rubbed an envelope that smelled like daisies in my armpits, but that one’s less metaphorical and glamorous.

* We met on a lovely day.  Rain poured down the windows, the sun still peeking through the clouds and casting a salmon hue all around.  Of course I was nervous.  Duh.  The feelings had become embarrassingly mutual.  Just this once, I'll admit it.

I sat on the plain, powder blue chairs of the ground floor, palms sweating.  Well-pressed upstairs employees kept assuring me the Director was on the way.  The potted plants didn't help.  One's long leaves lulled in the breeze of the fan at the abandoned front desk.  I wanted to run.

"Persuader?"

But I couldn’t.

The Director stood before me.  She practically glowed.

I tried to stand only to fall to my knees, tears in my eyes.  "I'm sorry."  Why did I do this?  How had I done this?  Was I so low I managed to deceive the one above all?  Was this illusion of power my ultimate punishment?  Years of damnation were nothing compared to this.

"No, don't be, Persuader."  The voice was at my level.  I opened my eyes to see the Director's, glistening with tears of her own.  She took my hands.  "I wanted to see you.  I've missed you, Lucy.  I should be the one apologizing."

She brought me to my feet.  Though shaking, I managed to balance.  She was glorious in every way.  She wore a soft pink cardigan and a cream dress.  Her white curls hung in an angled cut, the longest ringlets barely brushing the tops of her ears.  Her skin was deep and warm.  I'd forgotten those eyes.  How could I forget such a lovely brown?  The Director.... my Abiel.

"Were you expecting such a- such a deep reaction?"

She smiled, taking my hand.  "Perhaps."

"Typic- typical."  I was still racked with sobs.  I still wouldn't put up with pretense, especially not from her.  Upstairs, always acting so superior.  They were, but, you know.

The Dire- Abiel laughed.  "I am sorry.  I just..."  Both hands held mine.  "This is new for both of us."

I pulled my hand away, partly to blow my nose and mostly because it was getting too sappy for my taste.  I noticed my blisters had disappeared.  Maybe I'm just bitter.  "Really, though, it's nice meeting you."

"You, too, Lucy.  My thoughts have been with you for so long.  I think this will be the beginning of...  I hope your unique insight will improve my facility's functioning."

"Right, right... Right."  I pocketed my tissue, and looked up.

She was staring at me, eyes... sorrowful?  No, waiting.  For what?

"Kiss her, you fool!"  The door to downstairs was just barely open, the dark gap facing us.

"Thanks, Deborah."  I turned to Abiel.  "If I may?"

She nodded.

I didn't care who was watching.  I barely remember what came next myself.  Let's just say I'm glad ground floor staff is a thing of the past, and I felt terrible about all the dark lipstick I left on Abiel's face.

No, I am still not permitted to go upstairs, but Abiel is trying to sort it out.  Something about me burning up upon entry.  I'm sure it's all myth.  We do talk a lot, but there's not much more to learn about each other, so it's mostly meaningless chatter.  My staff hasn't let me hear the end of the whole thing.  Even Deborah cracks wise, but they're all single, so... Well, not Felix, so perhaps that’s not a good metric to judge one’s self-worth.

I guess what I'm trying to say is it really has been better despite really only one thing changing.  The fact my relationship ended a professional feud and better funded some of my departments isn’t my fault.  Some might even call that a conflict of interest.

But sometimes the little things have quite an impact.  Less fear and regret for sure.  After dealing with Abiel so long, I've acquired great patience, even with Ed.  Sometimes, we even get work done.  Hell can't run itself, afterall.

*

"I can't believe the Persuader wore that blazer.  It's hideous.  She didn't even lint it."

"Ed, now is not the time."

"What?  Do you really think that emerald top goes with those sage green shoes?  Please!  Different hues."

"... Yeah, it really doesn't, but don't you see what's happening here?  The body language, Ed.  They're going to go in."  Deborah smoothed their slacks and deepened their squat to have a better look out of the inch of space they had to see.

"I totally see it.  Now, would you call the Director or the Persuader more dominating?"

Deborah shrugged.  "Depends.  Also, I always pictured the Director differently.  Longer hair."

"Stop changing the subject, Deb."

"Fine, we'll go back to fashion, Edna!  Why are you wearing the waist on your pencil skirt so low, hmm?  It's not very flattering."

"Excuse you!  I have it belted and low to give the illusion of curves.  You know I wasn't gifted with hips!"

"Shhh!  I think it's happening!"

Ed leaned so far into the door, Deborah's grip barely kept it from swinging open.  They watched.  They waited.  Nothing happened.

"What are they doing, Deborah?"

"I just don't understand.  What are they waiting for?"

Ed leaned even further down.  "Yah.  Seriously."

More silence.  Deborah sighed.  "I'm going to do it."

"Do what?"

They took a deep breath, preparing their lungs.

"Deborah, no!"

"Kiss her, you fool!"

"And it's out.  Wow.  I thought you were the master of subtlety."

“There it is.  Well, subtlety hasn’t gotten me anywhere yet.  Look at us, Ed.”

“... What?”

“This is why I just don’t say anything.”  They stood.

“Wait, should WE kiss?”  She stood as well.  “Deborah!”

They walked faster.  “That skirt is cute, though.”

[labwebs]

Peter shuffled his feet awkwardly, still not entirely used to sticking around for the thank yous. Spider-Man usually got in and out pretty quickly, though that was as much practical as it was him wanting to avoid any sort of awkwardness. There were more than a few police out there who were either over-eager to arrest him for vigilantism or who were in the pockets of various crime lords or others who'd prefer the webslinger not interfere in crime in the city. As for Peter Parker, he'd kept to himself for years. Not doing anything worth more than a quick, customary 'thank you' like holding a door or fixing stuff around his aunt's home. And getting thanked for something he'd done as both sides of his life...? That was entirely new.

"You asked. I wasn't gonna say no," he shrugged, a loving yet bone-tired gaze over his shoulder at MJ before returning his attention to the pancakes. Yes, he had slept decently well- so deeply that neither of them had moved at all in the night. But it had been a long, difficult night beforehand. Emotions still swirled, calmer than a few hours ago but still pushed down and set aside for now. But of course she asked.

"A little sore," he said, still not looking directly at MJ. Sticking to the physical rather than the mess of a place his brain was at the moment. "Knuckles're still a little bruised which is weird but whoever that guy was he's- he's... I dunno." He already had some theories- and a few ideas for how to take the guy down. But that wasn't what MJ needed to hear right now. He knew what she was asking- what she was really asking- but he wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about that yet. No, he knew he wasn't ready yet. Still needed to figure out how to put what he was feeling into words that weren't cruel or able to be interpreted as him breaking up with her. He didn't want to run from this... and he knew he couldn't. Whatever they were to each other, Peter knew that he would always care for MJ. Nothing could change that. And that did scare him a little. That he'd formed a bond that deep and lasting with someone again. But what he'd gotten in return for opening himself up again... Love. Warmth. Someone he was able to share all parts of his life with. The ability to feel comfortable and... and happy as Peter Parker again. Worry and stressed balanced with feeling more like himself than he had in years. All because MJ had refused to let him brush her off.

Slipping the pancakes onto a plate and grabbing a cup of coffee for himself, Peter sat on the counter next to MJ- not bothering with a chair. "'s May's recipe," he said, nodding towards her plate... possibly attempting to change the subject. "She gave me this like... little box with cards that had the recipes of some of my favorites on 'em when I moved out. Though not all of them since she said she had to make sure I'd keep visiting her," Peter explained with a short, quiet laugh.

Spatula in one hand, a pencil sketching on a notebook he’d stuck to a cabinet door next to MJ’s stove in the other, Peter had been so focused on what he was doing that he hadn’t heard her get up until she spoke. “Hey- hey! Hold on.” Quickly flipping pancakes that’d been on one side for just a touch too long to start with, he put down the spatula and grabbed a chair from her small kitchen table (again, so much more put together than he was). Placing it down just a few feet from the stove so she could be nearby, Peter helped her sit down- knowing she still had to be sore. His own timeline for healing was very different, of course, but even he would still be feeling… that.

“I got it,” he reassured her- though at the same time the smell of slightly-burning bacon hitting his nose. “Crap.” Multi-tasker Peter Parker often tried to be, but just as often found some part of his life on fire (figuratively or literally) while he tried to balance everything else. Bacon out of the pan and onto a plate, he cracked a window open for good measure, too- not wanting to set off any smoke alarms. “Sorry about that. I can, um, make more. Unless you like your bacon extra-extra crispy?” The pancakes thankfully were fine- near-perfect and fluffy thanks to a trick May had taught him years ago. He put some on a plate for MJ along with a fork and handed it to her. Seconds later, a cup of warm coffee was on the counter next to her, exactly how she liked it, and a glass of milk if she wanted something cold instead. If he’d had time to think about it, it might’ve surprised Peter just how well he knew MJ’s place and her kitchen. Just as well as his own at this point, probably. It was only logical of course- they were dating after all- but… surprising nonetheless for the guy who thought he’d be on his own for the rest of his life. Both out of heartbreak and fear for what he might do if he lost someone he cared that deeply about again. Right now, he was trying desperately not to think too much about the second part of that sentence.

Peter shoved the notebook that he’d been sketching and writing on into a pocket, but she might’ve glanced a bit of what he was working on before he did. Some ideas for a different fabric, a homing beacon, what he could remember about the guy from last night… It hadn’t been a pretty fight. He’d gotten knocked around a bit himself, but the rage and panic at seeing her like that had made it so he’d barely even noticed. It’d unleashed something that he thought he’d locked away, that he… He paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “How’re you feeling?” he asked. Peter’s voice was softer, glancing back at MJ as he put some pancakes on for himself. Yes, they needed to talk. He needed to be more honest- with her and himself. But first he needed to make sure she was ok. Always putting others before himself.

[rappaccini]

smash 4 thoughts

well, this is it. last good gwen comic for a while.

real dumbass move on marvel's part to make the giant size release a week in advance. with it all in sequence though giant size is a lot better.

em jay's symbiote being still present is clearly set up.

... but there isn't any lead-in to emjarnage being civil enough to want to work with gwen. that still comes out of nowhere in gs.

gwen and the band have reconnected... but we don't really see the four girls sit and talk it out. i guess it happened in between the final performance and the plane ride home.

confirmation that the point of smash is that "gwen stacy matters just as much as ghost-spider, and you've been neglecting that side of yourself". love it.

em and glory haven't broken up. but they also haven't acknowledged em's thing for gwen at all and what it means for their relationship. that can gets kicked down the road.

so em jay IS still in love with gwen.

and gwen isn't in love with em jay. no I Loved You All Along to be found. (good. gwenjay shippers keep forgetting that gwen isn't nearly as into em as em's into her. and that the point of ghost-spider isn't to switch the center of gwens' world from a boyfriend to a girlfriend. this writer knows the continuity, and the point of gwen's character.)

BUT. gwen doesn't shut it down and leaves the door open. also consistent with the mcguire run AND a good buildup to gwen's behavior towards em in gs: she's literally on the verge of coming out.

no twist villain in natasha. idk if she's 'black widow' or just 'natasha' but she's definitely working for shield. and good setup for her and gwen working together again in gs.

mortis's setup makes her presence in gs feel less random. still don't really feel wowed by her personality or design, but i like that gwen's getting a unique villain that isn't just a carbon copy of one of peter's. i wouldn't miss her if we never saw her again, but i'd also like to see someone write the hell out of her someday.

the cliffhanger is fantastic. perfect lead-in to giant-size.

and since we know giant-size acknowledges that em jay's toxic behavior towards gwen isn't okay, that makes another part of this issue go down easier. no, the writer isn't turning a blind eye to em being an asshole; she's setting up that GWEN is the one who can't see it.

other notes:

very interested in melissa flores' decision to make mutants a big part of smash. mutants in earth-65 are basically a blank slate, and it's nice to meet a few and learn that they are a known thing. would love to hear more about them.

love the desert mesa location of banner's bunker. it looks great. (also "an abandoned bunker in the middle of las vegas" says gwen, who is in fact in the middle of a desert and not the city of las vegas. writing error or does gwen think las vegas is a state.)

love that gwen isn't into working with shield. one of the most interesting things about latour gwen was her distrust of authority by the end of the run, and about earth-65's shield being shady and untrustworthy. i'm so glad she isn't jumping at the chance to work with them again. she's almost back from her girlboss relapse.

loved seeing gwen team up with another older female hero. i said it in gs, i'll say it here too. also feels apt that instead of teaming up with captain america, an older, more pragmatic gwen pairs up with a shadier agent.

love that we get to both acknowledge that em jay's in love with gwen AND that she's an asshole to her, without excusing the assholery or downplaying the love. it's not that hard!

LOVE that gwen says she's open to the possibility of a relationship with em, which is so close to coming out i could yell. for the first time, gwen has said she's open to a relationship with another woman.

it's not the same as going through with it, or saying "i'm bi" out loud, but it's a big step forward.

love that the songs throughout smash play directly into the emotional plotlines: opening the run about gwen redeeming herself to her friends with em jay singing about second chances. closing with a dazzler song about confusing love with possession and the pain of learning you can't own your crush as em jay attacks gwen.

enjoying more that shippy shit with gvc round 2. em jay sure loves pinning gwen to walls and licking her.

not enjoying that glory and em jay never get any closure on em treating glory like a placeholder for gwen.

love the twist that it's em jay who doesn't see gwen in the end. gwen didn't acknowledge em's feelings-- but em doesn't treat gwen like her own person, and that's a lot more serious. she's very much like peter parker 65 in this way.

not so sure about the whole "carnage is your true self" "no she's not" argument.

-> the whole thing about earth-65 symbiotes is that they ARE a reflection of your true self. they don't corrupt you, they amplify who you were the whole time.

-> so either the writer doesn't know that, or the gamma blasts into carnage mutated the symbiote into something different from gwen's.

-> gwen's symbiote is her true self. em jay's is her worst self.

love the inversion of 65-bruce being the asshole and hulk being his kinder side.

.... but idk what to do with the argument that "deep down, this creepy stalker who abducts women is actually a good guy." no he isn't! fuck that guy!

i really don't know what to do with him being paralleled to em jay in that way. because on the one hand, if we believe he is a good dude, like natasha seems to imply, all his shitty behavior's excused. nope. not okay.

on the other, if the characters are misguided in giving bruce an out, then they are for em jay too. which means deep down, em jay's intentions are absolutely not good and carnage really is the essence of her true feelings for gwen.

which is compelling as a source of future conflict and fits with em's behavior in previous issues: em jay is not good for gwen. she has a controlling streak, she gets violently angry when gwen does the smallest thing she doesn't like, and she wants more from gwen than gwen can ever give her. that shouldn't end well.

(just because they're women doesn't mean the relationship can't still be toxic or abusive. diet harlivy indeed.)

technically this is paid off in smash, when gwen and em jay can't unpack their feelings because em's own toxicity is in the way, and em takes responsibility for taking care of that shit on her own before they do.

but tbh i'd prefer it if we went into it more. especially since we don't actually know if any of em's symbiote boot camp will stick with her-- there's a pretty good chance that if we see her again, she'll be the same asshole as before. good opportunity to actually address the toxicity instead of getting rid of it offpage.

anyway great foreshadowing in this splash page-- for the smash conflict, and potentially the gwenjay relationship down the line if we ever get there. em jay's emotional issues are a festering wound that's going to fuck up their dynamic, and gwen's way out of that is remembering that she's more than just Someone's Girlfriend.

so. all in context...

alright i was going into this mini skeptical. with the 616 run around the corner i was wondering if smash would be about severing her ties to 65 and her friends, and killing the possibility of gwenjay happening right before gwen's thrown into 616 future gwilesification.

what a surprise. smash doesn't do that at all, and it's actually fucking good. smash+giant size is the best comic gwen's had since the mcguire run. you could skip all her other minis and come right here, even. there's great attention to gwen's continuity, her supporting cast, and her character, and real love for her world. it balances the fanservice of giving the people the gwenjay they want without making that relationship gwen's entire purpose for being or absolving em of her shitty behavior. oh my god remember when spider-gwen comics weren't about forcing her into the multiverse? remember when they were good? this is what it felt like!

great reintroduction to earth-65 that smooths out some of the dangling threads from the end of the mcguire run and gwen's absence. even all the loose ends in giant-size feel like they were meant to be a perfect launch for a 65-based gwen solo.

.... which we know isn't coming. astonishing how stupid it was to hire a writer to reintegrate gwen into her own world and get her one conversation away from coming out just to undo all that work one issue later and hurl her into spiderverse pandering. i think flores said she didn't know they'd do that and it shows. with that in mind, no hard feelings about giant-size being such a dud of an ending: it wasn't meant to be one.

well. anyway. the plus is that gwen has more reason than ever to go home and whoever gets her there has waiting for them a clear payoff to a long-awaited gwenship that's powerful enough to defeat gwiles, an arc about gwen finally coming out, plus a first arc villain in the sinister six. it's never been easier for her to go back and the hook is strong: everything we've been waiting for for a decade is Right There ready to go.

and it's never been dumber for her to leave again. once more, nothing against the sgtgs team, they might have great ideas, but that book needs to go down like the hindenburg because gwen being in 616 is more important than anything she'll do or anyone she'll meet there. getting her back to 65 is the biggest priority.

on that note: i'm not gonna buy it. not gonna talk about it. not gonna acknowledge it until it's cancelled (or, less likely, they keep the writer or book but gwen goes home to 65 for good after a few issues). so i might not be reading gwen's stuff for a while. oh well.

[mackenzielovee]

letters to you: two - rafe cameron

summary: coming home doesn't always feel so nice when you're no longer sure where home is

warnings: swearing, hints of cigarette smoking, intoxication

wc: 5k

a/n: i know i know i know there's not a ton of interaction with them here i promise it changes i just have to lay the groundwork. please let me know your thoughts, i am so appreciative of all of you! xoxo

part one

It’s raining as you run from the parking lot up to your apartment, duffle bag over your shoulder and a half completed copy of A Sicilian Romance tucked under your arm.

Rafe did not take you up on your offer to attend your family’s Christmas meal, meaning you spent the day lounging and reading while you brushed off the tension swallowing the house. Your parents, married for 24 years, spoke about ten words to one another the entire day. Not wanting to upset anyone, you pretended as if it didn’t bother you. But the silence, the apprehension, it had you on edge.

You’d been all too happy to return to UNC today. Your father had driven you down to catch the ferry and hugged you tightly against his raincoat. If not for the difficulty of watching their marriage fall apart, you wouldn’t be leaving him so soon.

“Just in time!” you hear as you walk through the front door to your apartment.

“Em?” you call back.

She muffles out a noise to tell you she’s in the kitchen. You flick the hood of your raincoat off your head and throw your duffle bag down in the hallway, then round the corner to the kitchen. Emma, your roommate, is pulling a pan out of the oven, her hair dangerously close to falling into whatever she’s just made.

Emma’s beautiful, you’ve always thought so. You contrast each other in the best ways. Everyone the two of you meet tells you they don’t know how you two click, because you’re so different. You’ve never minded.

She grins and sets a tray of burnt sugar cookies down on the stove, holding her oven mitt covered hands up victoriously.

“I made Christmas cookies!” she cheers.

You laugh and step forward to investigate them. Not too burnt, but you know she got distracted and forgot to take them out of the oven when she should have. You would expect nothing less from her.

“They look great,” you say, giving her a smile.

“No they don’t,” she counters, “At least, not yet. I have store bought frosting. We’re gonna lather these babies up and then cover them with Christmas tree sprinkles while we catch up.”

You laugh and nod your head in agreement, sliding your rain jacket off and moving back to the front door to hang it up.

By the front door, you notice a stack of mail sitting on the shoe rack Emma purchased after she drunkenly tracked in too much dirt one night and found you mopping it up the next morning. She’d apologized profusely and you had insisted it was fine, and the next day, she promised to always take her shoes off so it never happens again. Things like that are what makes you so sure Emma is a good fit for you.

“Come on!” she calls from the kitchen, “I am desperate for the Outer Banks gossip. I’m coming home with you one of these times. This place sounds like a fever dream.”

You don’t reply because you’re too busy debating on flipping through the envelopes. All day yesterday, you’d told yourself that you didn’t do what you did for Rafe with the expectation of something in return. He had no reason to pursue anything with you, and even if he did, the odds of him wanting a friendship with a girl who no longer lives in the OBX are slim.

Yet, you give in and pick up the pile. You flip through it as quickly as possible, even though Emma would never question you if she saw you.

Nothing. No letter from Rafe.

You smile to yourself and nod as you place the mail back down, pushing all the feelings of disappointment and doubt aside.

“You picked up the mail?” you ask as you walk back into the kitchen.

“What?” she calls, head in the fridge as she searches for her already opened can of frosting, “Oh, yeah, before I headed home. The mail guy gave them directly to me and then winked.”

Of course he did. Emma is always on the receiving end of male attention. It’s never bothered you because it keeps her occupied and you don’t have to reject anyone.

“So those are all old?”

She stands up straight and holds up a container of buttercream frosting. You’re sure it’s from the week you two moved into this apartment – a year and a half ago – but you decide not to ruin her fun.

“Why are you so concerned about the mail?” she raises an eyebrow.

“No reason,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance, “My dad just told me to keep an eye out for some grad school information.”

“Don’t remind me,” she points an accusing finger your way, “I don’t want to even think about you going off to grad school and making new friends without me.”

She’s teasing and you know it, which makes you laugh.

“Between the two of us, who’s more likely to make friends?” you joke and step forward, plucking the frosting can from her grasp.

“Good point,” she nods, “So, tell me everything. How are your parents?”

You fill her in on all of the details with your parents, leaving out nothing. Emma’s been your person since you first met her; the one you tell the good, the bad, and the ugly to. When she asks about the famous Eight banquet, you brush over it. If she notices, she doesn’t say. She’d been the one to pick out your dress before you left and told you to talk to people that are under the age of forty. Although you’d successfully done that and you’re sure she’d foam at the mouth to hear about what happened with Rafe, something about that night feels personal to you. It meant something – even if it meant nothing to him. Sharing that right now just doesn’t feel right.

You ask Emma about her trip back to Virginia to see her family for Christmas, and after she snaps a hundred pictures of your beautifully decorated cookies to post on her Instagram story, you tell her you’re going to unpack and shower.

The sight of your bedroom has you sucking in a deep breath, finally getting that sense of truly being home. This apartment with Emma has felt more like where you belong than the home you grew up in for the past year.

After a hot shower and organizing your dirty clothes from your clean ones in your duffle, you pick up your hamper and exit your bedroom to start a load of laundry. As you’re throwing clothes into the washing machine, you hear the front door to your apartment open. It’s still raining outside and you smile to yourself when you hear Emma’s shoes squeak together as she removes one shoe with her other foot.

“Y/N?” she calls through the apartment.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s Rafe Cameron?”

Your eyes widen and your arms freeze, mid-drop of clothes into the washer. You’re sure you’ve heard her wrong. You shake your head and release the clothes in your hand, taking a deep breath before calmly replying.

“What was that?”

“Rafe. Cameron. There’s an envelope–”

Your hamper falls from the spot it had been expertly balanced in; between your torso and the washing machine. Half of your clothes tumble out, but you don’t care. Once you round the corner to the front hall, Emma’s standing in a half-soaked sweatshirt and has a stack of envelopes in her hand.

“I’ll take it,” you say, breathless.

She pulls the envelope back from your extended hand, “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird.”

You respond too fast, too urgent, for her to believe you. She peaks her head around the corner and looks down at your spilled laundry basket, then raises an eyebrow at you.

“You’re right,” she mutters sarcastically, “Totally normal.”

“Em, come on,” you push.

“Is this the precious grad school information you’re waiting on?”

You consider lying, but you know she’ll see right through you. Shaking your head, you reach for the letter, but she pulls her hand back again.

“Who is he?”

You close your eyes, “He’s this guy I know from home. Please.”

When your eyes flutter open again, she’s gaping at you like she’s never seen this side of you before. In fairness, she hasn’t. You’ve never been one to crave male attention, to want it, need it, or even put up with it. As hard as she’s tried to change your mind, you don’t budge. You just pray she doesn’t ask you to explain, because you know you can’t.

“Fine,” she holds the envelope out and you snatch it before she changes her mind, “But you have to–”

“Let me read it before I agree to anything,” you insist, backing up toward the washing machine again.

“Fine,” she repeats.

Your hands shake slightly as they grasp the envelope. You press into it a bit to try and judge the thickness; to see if it’s just a ‘hey, thanks for the cookies!’ or if it’s something else. Something real. You calm yourself by finishing up with your clothes, then carry your hamper and the letter calmly back to your bedroom. Emma watches from the couch, but you don’t dare look at her. You close your door and then sit down at your desk, just staring at his handwriting on the front of the envelope. It’s imperfect and messy, but somehow, it looks just as you thought it would. You stare at the return address for longer than you should, committing his address and apartment number to memory.

A voice in your head tells you that you’re being silly, that Rafe is just writing because he is being polite and that will be the end of it.

To prove the voice wrong, you carefully open the envelope from the top and pull out the neatly folded piece of notebook paper. It shakes in your hand, but you don’t let that stop you. When you unfold it, you see how perfectly the messy handwriting matches the handwriting on the envelope. That, and the fact that the letter is long. This makes you smile.

The paper smells faintly like cigarettes, and you wonder how many he smoked while he wrote to you. You wonder how long it took him to write, if he relentlessly thought about the night before Christmas Eve the same way you did when you wrote to him. Nervously, you chew on your bottom lip as you begin to read.

Y/N,

You made me cookies. You made me fucking cookies on Christmas Eve because you were thinking about how I was going to be alone. I’ll tell you what I was thinking the other night when we were talking, because I had the same thought when my doorman handed me the container with your letter. It’s impossible to believe that you are real. Do you make cookies for every asshole you meet at parties you don’t want to attend?

For what it’s worth, I think you should re-read Pride and Prejudice. Sometimes, looking at things through a different lens can change the meaning altogether. Who knows, you might even agree with me after that. I doubt it, though. It’s pretty obvious you’re smarter than me when it comes to all things literature. Other things too, I’m sure.

I’m curious why you left OBX so soon after Christmas. I was wondering about it when I first read through your letter, but then I realized that so many people on this island dream of escaping it. I used to.

Anyway, you don’t have to write me back. School will be keeping you busy. If you decide to update me on how your re-read goes, though, I wouldn’t complain. I’m feeling a little inspired to read a recommendation myself.

Thanks for the cookies.

Rafe

The smile on your face as you immediately start to read over the letter again is interrupted by Emma knocking on your door. After a moment, she opens it and pokes her head into the crack, a grin forming on her face when she sees your expression and you tight grip on the letter.

“So,” she says mischievously, “Rafe Cameron. What a name.”

You laugh, “What does that mean?”

“That means,” she elaborates, throwing the door open and collapsing on your bed, “Is everyone on this island so pretentious as to name their child Rafe?”

“Pretentious?” you question.

“It’s a word,” she defends, then adds, “Is it short for something?”

“I don’t know.”

She nods as if she doesn’t believe you, then rolls over onto her side and stares at you. Some part of you can’t look away from the letter. You’re already planning what you want to say when you write back. The last line catches your attention and when you figure out what he’s referring to, you bite the inside of your cheek as a plan forms in your head.

“Can you fill me in, now?” she asks.

You smile, “I guess. You can’t make fun of me, though.”

She pretends to be appalled by this accusation, then reaches for the letter. You pull it back instinctually, wanting to keep it for yourself.

“I would never,” she fusses.

“Then I have to start from the beginning. The letter won’t make sense otherwise.”

She nods and lays flat on her back again, waiting for you to start. Just as you get into detail about stepping outside on the deck, your phone rings. Kiara’s FaceTime call lights up the screen and reminds you that you’re supposed to be telling this story to her, too. With a shake of your head, you pick up the phone and hold a finger up to Emma.

“Hey,” you greet.

“Hey!” she cheers, “Girl, I am so beyond curious about what happened the other night. It seriously is the talk of all the Eight moms.”

You roll your eyes, “I was just telling Emma.”

“Oh, fill me in, too!”

The girls greet each other, having met previously on another FaceTime call. You set your phone up against your water bottle and then decide to start over for Kiara’s sake.

“But I have to hurry,” you add, “I have a book to finish.”

Every day for the next five days, you sit in front of a blank sheet of paper and a pen, staring at it. Then, you groan and move back to your bed, opening A Sicilian Romance and reading until you need another break.

“Y/N!” Emma calls from the living room, “Pregaming starts in a half an hour! Are you dressed?”

You look down at your shorts and old tee, wanting nothing more than to finish the last twenty pages of your book.

“Yes!” you lie.

Emma busts open the door to your room and crosses her arms, raising both eyebrows as she assesses your state. She’s wearing leather pants and a sparkly, silver tube top. Her hair is curled loosely and her makeup looks beautiful. She looks like she’s ready to ring the New Year in with a bunch of strangers at a bar, and unfortunately, she’d demanded you come with her.

“I’ll pick you out an outfit while you finish,” she rolls her eyes and marches over to your closet.

You smile and put all your focus back down to your book. She’d agreed to your plan when you first told her about it, but now, she’s ready for you to just finish the book. You hear her groan as she looks through your clothes, but you don’t acknowledge it.

“None of this is going to work,” she says, “I have something for you, though.”

With a mischievous grin, she rushes off to her room. Her black boots tap against the floor as she hurries through the apartment. You flip the page; eighteen more to go. Still, no letter has been written. You sigh and figure you’ll have to write it out tomorrow, once you figure out what you actually want to say.

“Ta da!” Emma exclaims from the doorway.

She holds up a sequin gold dress that leaves little to the imagination; exactly what would suit Emma but would definitely not suit you. It looks as though it would come up about mid thigh, but holds a small slit on the right side. There are thin straps holding it up, but other than that, you’d be completely exposed in that outfit.

“I can’t wear that,” you say.

“Why not?” she pouts, “You’d look amazing in this.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

She rolls her eyes and throws the dress at you anyway. You remove it from on top of your book and place it beside you on your bed, looking back down at the words.

“I bet Rafe would like it.”

Your skin heats up at the thought of Rafe seeing you in that. He hadn’t been subtle about looking at you in your dress from the banquet, and yet, this one is far worse. Emma’s using Rafe to get to you, you know this, but you’re also sure she’s right.

“You don’t know Rafe,” you say without looking up.

“Oh, I think I do,” she laughs, “Any man would like that dress. Just try it on, Y/N. It’s New Year’s Eve. Live a little.”

You groan but comply, “Fine. But I have to finish that book before we leave, so I’ll put it on and then you have to leave me alone.”

Emma makes a face, one that tells you she’s going to tweak the plan.

“How about you read while I do your hair and makeup?”

“Fine.”

You march into the bathroom and strip, putting the dress on completely and zipping it up before you even glance in the mirror. You’d never seen yourself in anything like this before. Swallowing, you turn and examine your body from every angle, silently critiquing yourself. You’re sure this is going to be one long night.

When you open the bathroom door, you slide out sheepishly and don’t meet Emma’s eyes right away. She squeals when she sees you, telling you everything you need to know.

“Oh, my God! This is going to be so great,” she grins.

You just sigh and pick up your book once more, letting her collect your makeup from your bathroom and work on you.

Emma decides to straighten your hair and is just putting the finishing touches on you when you hear a knock at your front door followed by it being pulled open.

“Emma? Y/N?”

“Come on in!” Emma yells back.

You look up at her in confusion, “Who is that?”

“Oh, did I not tell you?” she pretends to have forgotten, but you know she didn’t, “I invited Ethan and Christian over. Everyone else is gonna meet us at the bar.”

You groan, “Emma!”

“Stop,” she demands, brushing through your hair with her fingers, “I need your help keeping Christian busy. Ethan likes me.”

She smiles then, and when she sees you have two pages left, she presses a friendly kiss to the top of your head.

“Are you sure–”

“Do not change,” she commands, stepping away from you, “Finish up and come out. I put shoes for you by your dresser.”

You nod in agreement and watch as she closes your door, exploding in cheers once she sees the boys standing in your kitchen. You wrap up A Sicilian Romance and smile, setting it directly beside the blank piece of paper you’ve been attempting to write Rafe with for days. Now that the book is done, you’re sure the words will come. Just as you bite your lip, debating telling Emma you’re going to stay in for the night just so you can draft and redraft your letter to Rafe, she yells your name from the kitchen.

You slip on the short heels she’d left for you – proving she knows you too well by not picking one of the thousands of bigger heels she has in her closet.

With steps of uncertainty and one final gaze to that blank piece of paper on your desk, you walk out of your room and out to the kitchen. Emma’s laughing with the boys, wasting no time with Ethan, who already has his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“There she is!” Emma grins.

“What’s up, Y/N?” Ethan asks politely, giving you a smile.

“Hey, guys,” you speak as you lean against the wall, uncomfortably running your hands up and down your forearms. Neither Ethan nor Christian are wearing jackets, but you’re certain that they aren’t the types of guys who would hand their jacket over to a girl if she’s cold. No, you’d already met that type of guy. How, you wonder, could Rafe Cameron be raising your standards in such miniscule ways after just one night?

“Mierda,” Christian mutters under his breath in Spanish as he takes you in.

You’d met him a few times briefly, and only once had he actually made an attempt to talk to you. Ethan and Emma had been so drunk that they started making out in the kitchen, and he wandered into the living room, where you were watching The Golden Girls in your pajamas while they drank.

He hadn’t said too much to you that night, only breaking the silence to laugh or ask questions about the episode. Emma told you the next day, however, that Christian told Ethan he was curious about you. So, given Christian’s Spanish swearing and wandering eyes, you’re feeling more than a little uncomfortable now.

“You’re something else, girl,” he says louder, looking up at you.

You give him a tight smile, then look over to Emma. She widens her eyes, her silent way to tell you to relax.

“What do you drink, Y/N?” Christian asks.

He’s wearing a black collared shirt that shows off his biceps, and you know Emma watches your eyes get caught on his strong arms for a moment too long. He’s handsome, you’d even admitted that to Emma after the night he watched TV with you. His hair is jet black and slicked back with gel – not too much, just enough. He steps toward the fridge and looks back at you expectantly, waiting on an answer.

“White claw,” you finally manage.

“Okay,” he smiles.

You watch him open the fridge and squat down, digging into the box and rattling the cans around.

“Tangerine or watermelon?” he calls over his shoulder.

Looking up at Emma, you see her biting down hard on her bottom lip to stop from grinning. You just shake your head.

“Tangerine is fine.”

He stands and hands the can over to you with a smile, one that seems kind and genuine. You return it without hesitation.

“She’s not a huge drinker,” Emma tells Christian, “We’ll have to try and change that tonight.”

They certainly do try. Emma and Ethan continue to buy shots and you continue to hand them to Christian, who is gracious enough to take it for you without embarrassing you or telling Emma. Each time you hand over the plastic cup to him at the bar, he brings his hand to the small of your back and downs the shot. You smile and so does he. On the final shot, five minutes before midnight, he attempts to pull you closer just as Emma sets her hand on your forearm.

“Y/N,” she says, her eyes trying hard to remain on yours through her drunken state, words slurring slightly as she hangs on Ethan, “I’m gonna take a pic of you on my film camera. You should put it in the envelope with your letter.”

You shake your head, “No. Why are you even thinking about that?”

She grins and lifts her drink up to her lips, sipping on it before leaning back into Ethan, who presses his lips into her neck.

“Because. I am an artist when it comes to making guys jealous. Oh, and make sure to spray a little perfume on the paper!”

“I’m not trying to seduce Rafe–”

She’s not listening at all as she pulls her film camera from her bag. You groan and try to push her away, but it’s no use. She’s relentless.

“Pose,” she demands.

“I don’t know how to pose, Emma.”

She rolls her eyes, then picks up your third White claw of the night, “Chug.”

“Are you only speaking in one word sentences now?” you ask sarcastically.

“Yes,” she glares at you, “Drink.”

Three and a half minutes until midnight now, according to the countdown clock being projected on the wall of the bar. You do as she says and finish off your White claw, throat burning as you take down half the can.

“Good!” she cheers, “Now, give it your best shot.”

You bite your lip hesitantly, but as the alcohol empties itself into your veins, you gain more confidence and less hesitation. Your hands find your hips and a smile finds its way to your mouth, and when Emma grins, you know you’ve done it.

“Perfect!” she exclaims when she pulls back from the lens.

“I’m not giving that to Rafe, you know,” you tell her.

She gestures for the bartender, who has been at her beck and call all night, and orders you another drink.

“Hmm,” she hums, a smirk on her face as she turns back to you, “Are you gonna kiss him at midnight?”

“Rafe?”

“Christian.”

You frown, “I hadn’t thought about it.”

She smiles and shakes her head, then puts her camera back into her purse.

“Live a little,” she says, “It’s just a kiss. With the way he’s been throwing back your shots all night, he probably won’t even remember it tomorrow.”

Your jaw drops at the fact that she’s known this entire time, but she stumbles off to Ethan before you can say anything. When you turn back to Christian, he’s leaned up against the bar and smiling at you.

You return it and step over to him, allowing his hand to return to its place on your back. He pulls you in so he can whisper in your ear instead of yelling over the music.

“Will you let me kiss you at midnight since I’m drunk as fuck and it’s your fault?”

A playful smirk teases his lips. Emma’s words echo through your mind, distorted by the drink you’d chugged minutes before. Without meaning to, your eyes flicker down to his lips. You smile and wonder when you became such a lightweight.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Good.”

When the projector counts down and Christian leans in, you feel almost giddy. You don’t do things like this – go out to bars and kiss guys you barely know. Somehow, that makes it all the more exciting. Just as Christian’s lips touch yours, your first kiss of the new year, you wonder who Rafe’s New Year’s kiss is. The fire in your stomach seems to die down at the thought, and you’re sure Christian can tell.

Rafe,

I don’t make cookies for anyone outside my family, really. And you’re not an asshole. I just thought they’d be a nice addition to your holiday season. I try to make them often, but I don’t really bake at school and I’ve been coming home less recently. They’re my dad’s favorite and I figured you’d enjoy them, too.

I think I will re-read it. I will let you know how it goes. Although, you showed me how defensive I seem to be over Jane Austen, so be prepared. I won’t give up easily.

It’s not so much escaping the island that was the reason I left so quickly. It’s just personal stuff. I think when you start to grow up, you start to recognize how places and people change. Being there doesn’t always feel like home. That’s actually why I left the banquet hall to begin with. I felt kind of suffocated. It’s funny, though. Talking to you, I didn’t feel so out of place. Maybe that’s just because we were talking about books. Who knows.

I was waiting to write back until I finished A Sicilian Romance. Since you’re thinking of reading it, I figured I would give you my copy. That way, you don’t have to buy it yourself. Books are so expensive.

I hope you had a good New Year’s celebration. My friends and I went out to a bar. Nothing super fancy or formal. Nothing like the Eight moms put on, I’m sure. Did you go to a party on the island or to the Club for the family festivities? Did you have a New Year’s kiss? You don’t have to answer that. I’m just curious.

Don’t feel pressured to write back. I’m sure you’re busy now that the holidays are officially over.

Take care,

Y/N

“Can I read it?” Emma questions, inching toward the kitchen counter that housed your open envelope to Rafe and your book.

“No.”

You’re planning to drop it by the post office on your way to gather school supplies; needing a big enough package to mail the book as well. Emma groans, hands tucked behind her back as she rocks on the heels of her feet. You turn your back to her as you pull a bottle of water from the fridge.

“But–”

“I have to run,” you stop her, “Need me to pick you up anything?”

When you turn back around, her hands fly away from the envelope. It’s sitting at a different angel now, indicating she’d touched it.

“I’m fine,” she squeaks, “You should seal that up.”

“I will,” you grunt.

You snatch it from the counter and lick the envelope, closing the envelope completely just so she can’t have access to it. She grins but is quick to wipe it away.

“See you later,” she sings, skipping out of the kitchen and into her bedroom.

You laugh at her antics, then pick up your belongings and head out the door, already looking forward to getting another letter from Rafe Cameron.

Tags: @valeriiecameron @lovedetlost @lurkymurker @scenesofobx @mardema @girlsneedloovee @red-wine06 @itsalexwin @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @witchwyfe @malums-trash-can @emotionalbruv @parkerreidnorth @milkiane @rafecameronswhore @kotzmagoatz @wanniiieeee @kookkyra @sarahwasfound @lilgoddesshines @proactivetypeofperson @abrunettefangirlnerd @the-chaotic-cow @absolute-fcking-chaos @kaatelyyynn @jordynsharum @anonymousobxfan @premixed-margarita @princesspogue @outlaw-abby @samcaniglia @marveloussensations @dr3aming0utl0udx @thisisthewayrose @iammirrorball @r0und3bitch @thesimpletype @fashphotolife @notdisneychannel @gillybear17 @solllaris @lilacsandwhiskey @i-is-for-inspiring @sksliz @drewstarkey @luversgirl

[ddejavvu]

Please do something for Sirius and his daughter where she is rather dramatic like him and stubborn. She gets sorted into Slytherin and she just absolutely refuses. Dumbledore sends Sirius a warning that you were sorted into Slytherin just in time for y/n to walk in the door and walk directly to your room.

All I can imagine is

Sirius: pup you're supposed to be in school.

Y/n: no I got sorted wrong obviously so I'm just gonna stay here and be taught by you and Moony.

Receiving a letter that his daughter was missing was the absolute last way Sirius wanted his morning to go. His eyes roamed frantically over the scripted ink, brows furrowing when he read Dumbledore’s explanation for your behavior.

“Mr. Black, I trust you knew she was hesitant about the possibility of Slytherin. She hasn’t been seen since the ceremony, her roommates said she didn’t come to their dorm last night. Rest assured we will locate her immediately and keep you updated throughout the process.”

Sirius heard the door open behind him, heart racing in his chest as he swiveled around, “Moony, Y/N’s- Y/N?”

You stood gloomily in the doorway, trunk by your side and sour scowl on your lips. The knot in Sirius’s chest loosened itself slightly, panic no longer clouding his head and quickening his breathing.

“Whaddya doin’ here, pup? I watched you get on that train m’self, y’should be at school.”

“‘M not goin’ t’school there anymore. Y’can homeschool me.” You declared, crossing your arms over your chest and letting your trunk lean against your leg.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Sirius stood, stuffing the letter into the pocket of his robe.

“The stupid hat sorted me wrong, ‘n Dumbledore won’t let me retry. ‘S so unfair, it’s not my fault their talking clothes are cracked!”

Sirius felt a fond smile creep over his lips, worry dissipating from his weary form, “Hat’s never wrong, pup.”

A look of heinous indignation crossed your features, nose scrunching as your mouth opened in protest, “What’re you saying? That I’m a bloody snake?!”

“Y/N,” Sirius’s voice was tinged with amusement at your language, “Being in Slytherin doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

You propped a hand on your hip, raising one eyebrow in a fashion that reminded Sirius of himself, “Then how come every Slytherin we know is someone you’ve cut off?”

“Just because I didn’t care for any of them doesn’t mean they’re bad. Plus, whether your robes are red or green, you’re still my kid, ‘n I love you.”

Your lips formed a soft pout at his words, eyes glazing over with consideration, “But everyone’s gonna make fun of me. They’ll say I’m walking in grandma’s footsteps.” 

At the mention of his mother Sirius’s face turned sour, “If anyone compares you to that cow, I’ll pummel ‘em for ‘ya.”

You let a soft smile overtake your face at his (probably) empty threats, “’Still wanna stay here with you ‘n Moony.”

Sirius leaned down to mutter into your ear, “Y’didn’t hear it from me, but Moons is lookin’ for teaching jobs at Hogwarts. ‘Wants t’make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”

“I’m your kid,” You huffed, “I got into trouble on my first night there.”

Sirius chuckled, a hand on your shoulder as he hugged you tight against his side, “I know, pup. Jus’ think, if he finds a job, y’can start having lunch with Moony and his big black dog on weekends.”

The rest of the worry that had clouded your brain was wiped away at the thought of your father sitting under the table at a Hogsmeade cafe, reduced to begging for scraps so as not to appear human. You let out a soft giggle, watching as Sirius grabbed your trunk, slipping his robe off so that his slightly wrinkled clothes were on display, “C’mon then, pup, let’s get you back to school.”