#i tried explaining to my bishop that hey! my feelings and needs aren’t like most ppls! i literally have a diagnosis about it!

[comradebestie]

fuck byu all my homies hate byu

[drabbles-mc]

Call Me Back

Bishop Losa x Reader

Request by my #1 Presidente fan @masterlistforimagines​ : Hiii, can I request “don’t you dare walk away” “call me now, it’s urgent” and “why do I even bother” with el Presidente (aka the only person I request for). I’m thinking maybe they were in an argument and he left mid argument to handle club shit. Maybe something important happens and that’s why there’s the whole call me back part. Like angst to fluff?

Warnings: language 

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: The prompts are from This Post in case anyone was curious! Also, I wanted to make it angsty but not tooooo too angsty because then my heart would be too sad haha. Hope you enjoy it!

Bish Tag: @sincerelyasomebody​ @sadeyesgf​

Gif Credit: @sonsofeorl​ 

You and Bishop were standing on opposite ends of your dining room table. You were leaning against the back of the chair on the very end, trying to keep your tears from falling. You hated that you were an angry crier. Bishop was standing at the opposite end, staring intently down at the surface of the table. He hated seeing you so upset, and when you’d start to cry that’s when his heart would really start to break.

“I didn’t think it was worth bothering you with,” his tone was level, which sometimes made it more infuriating to argue with him, “It wasn’t that big of a—”

“It was a big deal to me!” you snapped, a tear escaping and trickling down your cheek, “It fucking matters to me! I don’t understand why that isn’t enough of a reason to keep me in the loop. All it takes is one goddamn phone call, Obispo. I’m not asking for a hell of a lot.”

“And I’m telling you, that if I want to keep you safe I can’t always just,” his phone vibrated in his pocket and he paused to see who was calling. With a sigh he hit the reject button and went back to is discussion with you, “I can’t always afford to do that. We’ve had this conversation before, I don’t know why we have to keep having it.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you wipe the tears off of your cheeks, “So if I just decided to fuck off for a couple days and not communicate with you at all, you’re saying that you’d be okay with that? That wouldn’t set off any alarm bells for you?”

He shook his head, “It’s not the same, Y/N. You aren’t tied up with a goddamn cartel!”

“That’s all the more reason you should take the five seconds to send me a text so I know you’re at least alive and not dead in a fucking ditch somewhere.”

“What exactly do you want me to send you then, huh? Drop you a casual text saying that the drug run was successful and that we—” his phone went off again in his pocket and he huffed as he answered it, “What?!”

You shook your head and collapsed in the chair that you had been leaning against. Of course he would answer his phone in the middle of an argument. God forbid he get through one conversation with you without having to reprioritize.

“Fuck me,” he sighed, “Alright, I’m on my way. Stay put and don’t do anything stupid.”

You jaw dropped, “You’re kidding right? You’re not leaving right now.”

“It’s shit with the—”

“Shit with the club, yea, I know,” you shook your head, “You can’t just leave in the middle of this, Obispo. You can’t keep dodging this conversation.”

“I’m not dodging it,” he took his kutte off the chair and slid it on, “but the club needs me right now.”

“I need you right now!�� you slammed your hand on the table.

He took a deep breath, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t you dare walk away,” your voice was quieter now, “For the love of god, Obispo.”

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” he stormed off and out the door. No goodbye, no I love you, nothing. That hurt more than him yelling.

You buried your face in your hands as the tears began to flow. It was half anger, half sadness fueling them now. You were constantly left feeling like you were being unrealistic with asking certain things of him, and also knowing that what you were asking for was the bare minimum. You cared about him too much to be alright with not knowing if he was safe. No matter how many times you tried to explain that to him, though, he never seemed to get it. Or maybe he did and just actively went out of his way not to get into it because he couldn’t offer you any comfort about it. If that was the case though, you reasoned, that was another discussion he should be having with you.

But you never got to discuss anything. Because there was always something going on with the club that would cut into it.

You wiped the tears off of your face and grabbed your purse and keys from the table. If he could leave, then so could you. You couldn’t keep sitting in the house feeling sad and lonely. You were done with that. If Bishop really wanted to talk to you, he could come and find you.

The radio was blasting and the roads were empty. You had no idea how long you had been driving for. You were all cried out though. You took a deep breath as you blindly dug around in your purse for your cigarettes and lighter. You were able to take one out of the pack and put it to your lips without taking your eyes off the road. Your fingers fumbled with the lighter for a moment before you glanced down just long enough to make sure you were going to safely light it.

You looked back up to the road and screamed, swerving your car to avoid hitting the coyote that was standing in the middle of the road. It scampered out of the way, getting out of the altercation unharmed, but you couldn’t stop yourself from swearing repeatedly as you realized that your car had dragged along the cement median, still there from the never-ending construction. You didn’t want to get out and look at the damage, but you knew that you had to.

You put your hazards on as you safely found a place to pull off the road. You grabbed your phone, turning the flashlight on so you could see what you were dealing with. Tears stung at your eyes again as you took in the damage. A good chunk of it was cosmetic, just scrapes and dents down the passenger side of the vehicle. But you had also busted your passenger-side headlight, and also ended up ripping off the side-view mirror as well. The car was drivable, but if you passed any cops there was no way they weren’t going to give you some kind of ticket.

Your original plan had been to make Bishop come and look for you, but that all went out the window. With a heavy sigh you called him. The line rang, and rang, and rang. No answer. He always had time to pick up for the club, but suddenly now his phone was out of reach. You rolled your eyes, trying not to let yet another wave of tears come cascading down your cheeks.

Your thumbs flew across your phone’s keyboard, “Call me now. It’s urgent” you hoped that maybe he just couldn’t answer a phone call, but maybe he’d have the time to spare a quick look at a text message. You weren’t one to bother him with “emergencies” that weren’t really emergencies. If you said you needed help, you meant it.

You gave it ten minutes before you sent a follow up message, “Forget it. Why do I even bother?”

You scrolled through your contacts until you landed on Chucky’s number. This wasn’t his problem, but you knew that he’d show up in a heartbeat to help you. You dialed and he picked up on the second ring.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Chucky. I’m, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s late and you’re probably dealing with your own shit right now, but I’m in a bit of a spot.”

“You know I would do anything for the First Lady of the club,” he sounded so earnest.

It made you smile and shake your head even if he couldn’t see you, “You’re sweet, Chucky. Are you still at the yard?”

“I’m just getting ready to leave. You called me at the perfectly fated moment.”

You chuckled despite the fact that you wanted to cry, “Something like that. I, uh, I banged up my car. I was wondering if you could meet me with the tow truck? I’ll owe you one for sure.”

“All you’ll ever owe me is company and good conversation.”

You laughed as you gave him the mile marker that you were closest to. The whole evening had been a shitshow but it was impossible to not feel a little lighter after talking to Chucky. You just hoped that it wouldn’t take him too long to get to you.

He got to you in about forty-five minutes, which was good time considering you had been driving for a while before all of this happened. He didn’t say a word as the two of you hooked your car up to the tow truck. That was one of the things you loved about Chucky—he didn’t ask a million questions. You hopped in so you were riding shotgun and you both began the ride back to the yard.

As promised, you kept a conversation going with him the entire time, and it almost made you forget about the chaos that had landed you in that truck with him. There was so much to Chucky that you wanted to know about. He was like the most interesting puzzle you’d ever encountered. He was always so kind to you, and you knew he did everything he could to help take care of the club. There weren’t many people who were as selfless and loyal as he was. You were glad to know him.

He drove through the gate to the yard and clubhouse. You let out a deep sigh when you saw Bishop sitting on the steps to the clubhouse. There was a cigarette in his hand and he was staring down at the ground, looking up only when he heard the truck roll onto the lot. He flicked away the last of his cigarette as he jogged over to meet the truck when Chucky put it in park.

“I figured that you would be able to get it off the truck and onto the lift tomorrow?” Chucky offered up as he stepped out of the truck, “Or one of the club?”

Bishop nodded, wanting to dismiss him quickly without being rude, “Yea we got it. Thank you, Chucky.”

“Glad to be of service,” he nodded to Bishop, “Have a good night, Presidente,” he turned back to you, “Despite the circumstances, I appreciate the company.”

You smiled at him, “You’re a good man, Chucky. Thank you.”

He smiled as he walked away, “I accept that.”

It was just you and Bishop on the lot. Everything was dark except for the street lights that shined into the compound. There was a considerable gap between the two of you. You were nervously fussing with your hair, not wanting to try and get into all of this shit with Bishop now. All you wanted to do was go home and go to sleep. The adrenaline was wearing off and all of the crying that you had been doing was exhausting.

“I’m sorry about the car,” you finally broke the silence, “There was a coyote in the middle of the road and I didn’t want to hit it and I just—”

It seemed like it only took him all of two steps to close the gap between the two of you as he came and wrapped you in a hug. He squeezed you tighter than he had in a long time, with one arm wrapped around your waist and the other looped so that he was keeping your head pressed against his chest. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight, like he was trying to revel in how you felt in his arms.

“I don’t give a fuck about the car,” he mumbled into your hair as he peppered the top of your head with kisses,” he pulled back so he could look you over, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, “Yea. It really wasn’t that bad. It’s a lot of cosmetic damage. I’ll need a new headlight and mirror though,” you sighed, shaking your head, “Dumb fucking coyote.”

There was the smallest hint of a smile on his face, “I told you that no stray animal like that is worth wrecking the car over.”

“I didn’t wreck it. She’s just got…you know…some battle scars now.”

He shook his head as he pulled you into another hug. He tilted your chin up for a moment so that he could kiss your lips. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt into it for a moment, savoring the taste of him before he rested your head back against his chest again. His arms tightened around you again, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

You were smiling against his chest but you couldn’t help the words that came out of your mouth, “You woulda known sooner if you answered your fucking phone when I called.”

You felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed, “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“Did Chucky tell you he was coming to get me?”

Bishop nodded a smile quickly passing over his face as he said, “Barged in on Templo,” he gave you a pointed look, “Which is why I wasn’t answering my phone, by the way. And I would’ve gone with him but I didn’t know if you were still pissed off at me.”

“I’m not done being mad at you yet, Obispo,” you sighed against him, “But I would like to hit pause on this argument for now. I’m tired and I just want to go home with you.”

He scooped you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist as he held you, “I would really love it if you were done being mad at me, Amor,” he pressed his forehead against yours.

You rolled your eyes as he nuzzled his nose against yours, trying to be sweet enough to drop your anger, “Are you really trying to schmooze your way out of this argument?”

He walked, carrying you over to his bike. He set you down on your seat and gently cupped your face in his hand, “What if I’m trying to schmooze and I promise you that going forward I’ll work on being better at communicating with you?”

You smiled, leaning into the warmth emanating from his hand, “Alright, fine, I’ll allow it,” you kissed his palm, “But you’re on thin ice, Obispo.”

There was a small smirk on his face, “I always am,” he handed you his helmet, “So do I get to ask why your next call was Chucky? Why not one of the guys?”

You laughed, “Why? You jealous of Chucky?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “He is quite the charmer.”

You chuckled as you clipped the strap to his helmet, “He refers to me as the First Lady and it does wonders for my confidence.”

“Don’t let it go to your head too much, Y/N,” he tapped the top of his helmet, “Or this won’t even fit you anymore.”

“If it still fits you, I know I’ll be fine,” you smirked before letting out a laugh.

He shook his head at you before leaning in and giving you a kiss, “Always gotta have something smart to say, don’t you?”

“That’s why you love me.”

He got onto his bike, and you were still able to hear his laughter even though you were sitting behind him, “One of the many reasons, Amor.”

[there-must-be-a-lock]

wings & the way down - part 1

Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan

The Moreid high school AU! In which there will (eventually) be pining, misunderstandings, identity crises, and general teenage shenanigans. 

Word Count: ~1520 this chapter. 

Warnings: Awkward boys flirting awkwardly. 

A/N: Title from a Ray Bradbury quote: “If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair... You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.”

This is shaping up to be long. Oh boy. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments! 

Thursday, January 2 - Spencer

“Checkmate.” 

“Yeah, I thought so.” Spencer examines the board and frowns before movement catches his eye.  

Gideon is pointing out where he went wrong, but Spencer isn’t paying attention any more. Losing to Gideon isn’t a particularly novel or interesting experience, and there’s something — someone — much more interesting walking into the park. Spencer crosses his legs, shifting on the bench to rest his elbows on his knees, and watches. 

It’s cold for Vegas, 60ish and breezy, but the guy is wearing short sleeves like this isn’t his usual January. New in town? But Spencer hasn’t seen anyone moving in. Visiting family for the holidays, maybe. He’s got the look of a newcomer: carefully cultivated confidence, studied swagger covering for the unease that always comes with foreign territory. 

There are other things, too, things that Spencer tries not to notice: biceps rippling under the short sleeves, long skilled fingers spinning a basketball idly as he walks, a bright white flash of a grin when he sees Spencer staring —

Spencer is staring. Crap. 

He looks down at the chessboard much too quickly — there’s no way it comes off as anything other than guilty. He glares daggers at his bishop as Gideon clears his own pieces away.

“Rematch tomorrow?” Spencer offers, trying to keep his eyes on the board. “School doesn’t start until next week.” 

“Can’t tomorrow, going up to the cabin. Call you when I get back.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Spencer sneaks a stealthy glance, only to see the guy grinning in his direction, and he averts his eyes again, blushing furiously.

Gideon barks over his shoulder, “See you soon, Doctor Reid.” 

The nickname makes Spencer smile at Gideon’s retreating back, but then he looks down at his lap and remembers he’s sitting criss-cross applesauce, wearing his fraying Converse and his mismatched socks — one covered with yellow dinosaurs, one argyle. He sighs to himself. Gideon treats him like an adult, but most people sure as hell don’t, and Spencer can’t exactly blame them. 

“You wanna shoot some hoops?” the stranger calls out, and Spencer doesn’t look up, because he’s obviously talking to someone else, except…“You in the Chucks! Pretty boy!” 

That makes Spencer look up fast, because he assumes it’s sarcastic; it’s the sort of stupid thing the jocks at school might yell, right before they ask him if he wears women’s underwear, or something. There’s no trace of malice on the guy’s face, though. His smile is so bright it’s hard to look at. 

Something warm and awful curls in Spencer’s stomach. 

“I don’t really — I don’t do hoops,” he mutters, averting his eyes again. 

The guy takes the seat opposite his, sprawling out, taking up space. Spencer hunches in on himself, poking at the beginnings of a hole on the faded knee of his favorite jeans. 

“I could teach you.” 

“Given my lack of hand-eye coordination, I really doubt that,” Spencer tells him, which gets a laugh; eyes sparkle, a dimple creases his cheek — he smiles with his whole face. 

“I’m Derek. Derek Morgan.” 

Spencer raises one hand in an awkward wave. “Spencer. I’m — Reid’s my — Spencer is me. That’s my name.” 

Yikes. 

“You from around here?” Derek asks, twirling the basketball on his fingertip, showing off casually. 

Spencer nods and then blurts out, “You’re not. Morgan — is that like the Morgans on Lake Road?” 

“Sure is. That’s my auntie and uncle. I’m staying with them for a bit.” 

“That’s roughly zero point three miles from my house,” Spencer tells him, but when Derek raises his eyebrows, he remembers that walking around aimlessly, memorizing the names on every mailbox because you can’t stand being at home, is not a normal childhood pastime. He continues hurriedly: “Where are you from?” 

“Chicago.” 

That makes sense. He’s cool in the way that Spencer would imagine people from big cities to be. He seems… jaded isn’t the right word for his smile, but experienced, maybe. Sophisticated. Comfortable in his own skin. Sure of himself. 

Everything Spencer is not, basically.

Also, Spencer is staring again. 

“Do you like it here?” he asks. “It must be… different.” 

“That’s an understatement. Toto, we are not on the South Side any more.” A shadow of sadness flickers over Derek’s expression for a moment, like a cloud across the sun, before he smiles again. “It’s good, getting a change of scenery. You know?” 

Spencer doesn’t know, because he’s never been farther away than California, but he says, “Yeah.” 

He tucks his hair behind his ears and then picks up his castle, turning it over in his hands just for something to do. 

“I’ve never actually played chess, but aren’t there supposed to be more pieces?” Derek asks. 

“Gideon likes to use his own pieces, I like to use mine,” Spencer tells him. It’s a sensory thing, for him; he likes the feel of the warm ivory, and Gideon prefers his own heavy stone set. 

“Gideon?” 

“Professor Gideon,” Spencer amends, wondering how to explain that. “I… took a class with him? At UNLV. That’s sort of how we met, but… we play chess.” 

That’s the short version, anyway. 

When Spencer decided to find a cure for schizophrenia, at the age of fifteen, he started by reading everything the local library had on the subject. When he was done there, he started sneaking into the college library. Gideon was the first person to realize Spencer wasn’t a student, but he didn’t call security; instead he offered to let Spencer audit one of his advanced psychology classes in the evenings. Spencer has taken all his classes by now, and Gideon jokes about him earning his Masters before he finishes high school. 

“Want to show me around the neighborhood?” Derek asks, and Spencer blinks at him for a second. 

“You were going to play basketball.” 

“Sure. But you said you don’t ‘do’ hoops.” Derek gestures at the empty court. “Nobody else to play with. Playing with myself gets boring.” He laughs at his own joke, and then his eyes sparkle, devilish, as he says, “I’d much rather play with you.” 

Spencer chokes on nothing, and somehow he makes things even worse by asking shrilly, “Are you flirting with me?”

Derek grimaces. “If I say yes, am I gonna get punched?” 

“Like it’d hurt you even if I did.” 

“Then yeah,” Derek says sheepishly. “I was flirting with you.” 

Spencer stutters for a few incoherent seconds before he recovers from that particular world-ending shock. Then all he can say is, “Oh.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. If I was wrong about — if you’re — do you?” 

He cannot possibly be asking what Spencer thinks he’s asking. 

“Do I — play for that team?” he ventures. Derek shrugs, and Spencer can barely breathe. It feels like he’s paralyzed for a second before he can croak, “That’s not — you’re not wrong.” 

“Just to be clear, we’re not talking about basketball any more.” Derek is grinning again. He has a really nice smile, and Spencer needs to stop staring already. 

“Yeah. We’re clear,” he manages. 

For a second they just smile at each other, and Spencer has this swooping sensation in his stomach like he just missed a step, except the disorienting moment of uncontrollable vertigo feels good. 

“Sorry. I’m not used to — this is new to me.” Derek seems almost bashful now, looking down as he starts to toss the basketball from one hand to another. “Being able to admit when I’m… flirting. With a guy, I mean.” 

“I’m not used to being flirted with,” Spencer counters. He clears his throat and adds, “I don’t mind it.” 

Derek doesn’t move his head, but his eyes flick to Spencer. His smile is hopeful and happy and more than a little shy.

“Anybody ever tell you you look good in pink?”

“Huh?” Spencer frowns down at his sweater, which is… yeah, still definitely blue. 

“You’re blushing.” 

“Oh.” He presses his palms to his feverish-hot cheeks. “That makes sense.” 

This doesn’t happen to Spencer. Flirting doesn’t happen to Spencer, let alone flirting with someone who looks like that. There’s a bubble of reckless exhilaration swelling in his chest, helium-light, threatening to lift him off his feet. 

“So, how about it?” Derek asks. “Want to show me around?” 

Spencer nods, way too eagerly. “I could do that.” 

And that’s when his phone rings. 

He knows what it means, before he even looks at the screen, and all that giddy excitement drains away at once. 

He pulls out his phone: Mom calling. He doesn’t pick up yet; he doesn’t want to have this conversation within earshot of Derek. 

“I have to go,” Spencer says miserably. He sweeps his chess pieces carelessly into his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and gives Derek a helpless shrug. “I just — really need to go. Can we — tomorrow? I’ll be here. Tomorrow. Same time.”

“No worries,” Derek says, with a rueful little half-smile. Spencer turns, starts running, and he almost misses it when Derek says, “See you tomorrow, pretty boy.” 

Spencer doesn’t let himself look back, but he smiles. 

He flips open his phone on the very last ring and says, “Hey, Mom. I’m on my way.” 

.

.

Part 2 is here! 

.

[justahopelessssromantic]

Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys here’s another update of this story for y’all! Sorry I haven’t been posting much I promise I am working on updates and your requests that you have kindly given me. I’ve just been in a little rut but I promise I’m trying my best to work through it. Thank you so much for reading and your patience ❤️

Warnings: Mentions of drugs and violence

Daniella followed Angel into the scrapyard. Her nerves only increased the closer she got. She held Hope tightly to her, the little girl nuzzled against her shoulder. Her palms were sweaty and her body felt like it was shaking internally, all normal sensations for Daniella when she was nervous. She didn’t understand why she was making such a big out of this. He didn’t care about her so why should she care what he thought? Still she couldn’t shake the feeling of him wanting to be proud of her. To show him how well she turned out without him, without anyone. Even though it was hell to get there.

Composing herself, she followed Creeper and Angel into the clubhouse. She immediately looked around taking in her surroundings. A habit she had developed over the years.

“He’ll be out in a minute.” Creeper said before leaving her and Angel alone in the room.

Angel smiled looking down at Hope. “She looks just like you. You’re gonna be a little heartbreaker like your mother, huh?” He asked tickling Hope with zero reaction from the girl besides her squirming away from him and closer to Dani.

Daniella rolled her eyes as she looked around the small space. The place was littered with Mayans memorabilia making the place seem more homey, but that seemed to be the purpose of the clubhouse. A home for the members of the club. Daniella knew enough about MC’s to know they were much bigger than just a club, they were a family.

She could relate, she had her own sense of family away from blood with the women she worked with. They were more of a family to her then she ever had, always looked after. They had her back just like she would always have thiers.

Many people looked down on them, like they were less than because of their line of work. Thinking of them as only an object to get off too, a warm body at their disposal, but they were so much more than that. Those women were the strongest, most incredible people she had ever met. As fucked up as a situation that it was that got Daniella into prostitution it was one of the best things for her. Another step in the right direction that led her to where she was now, who she was now.

“So, is her father in the picture?” Angel asked.

Daniella turned her attention back to Angel actually welcoming the conversation as a distraction for her bundle of nerves about meeting her own father. “No, it’s just us. Her dad is kind of a piece of shit anyways, it's better this way.” It wasn’t a lie.

Angel nodded, tucking that information away. At least he didn’t have competition with that douchebag. “Anyone else?” He asked. He had to know if there was any man whatsoever in the two girl’s lives, had to know if there was an opening for him.

“Nope, just us.” She repeated, “And before you say anything else no, we aren’t looking for anyone else.” Well besides Bishop Daniella thought. “And we don’t need anyone else.” She wasn’t here to flirt, or find love, or any of that shit. She was here for only one man. He was her top priority. She couldn’t afford any distractions and Angel was just that, one tall, attractive distraction.

Angel went to speak up again only getting cut off once more as Daniella’s attention was immediately drawn to the Templo’s door opening.

Bishop and Taza came out of Templo to meet their potential new girl. With Taza just behind him Bishop momentarily froze in his place when he met the eyes of the young woman. Eyes he knew so well, eyes he never thought he’d see again. The eyes of the love of his life staring back at him. It was like seeing a ghost or being shot back to his past. His heart clenched in his chest at the memory of what was lost to him, of what he tried to bury all those years ago when he gave up all hope.

It was all so surreal.

She looked just like her mother. Being in the same room with both her and Bishop the likeness couldn’t go unnoticed by Taza either.

Bishop composed himself quickly, looking cool on the outside as he approached her, his daughter.

He just knew it was her.

“Bishop Losa,” He introduced himself with a smile. He was so caught up in his own thoughts when he saw her that he almost didn’t notice the small child in her arms.

Daniella was praying he wouldn’t notice her trembling hands as she kept her grip on Hope. One thing for sure the two had in common was being able to remain their composure on the outside despite the rushing thoughts and emotions running through them.

“Daniella,” She said with a smile, “and this is my daughter, Hope.”

Daniella, Bishop thought to himself, and Hope. His daughter Hope, now went by the name Daniella and ironically named her own daughter Hope.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Daniella.” Bishop said. “Why don’t we have a seat,” He suggested nodding over to a table in the back. “Angel can take your daughter. “ He saw the uncertainty in her eyes as she contemplated his suggestion. “They’ll stay close, won’t go out of sight.”

“Okay,” Daniella agreed, passing Hope over to Angel. She tenderly tucked a strand of Hope’s hair behind her ear. “I’ll be just over there, okay?” She told the young girl, “I won’t be far.”

“I’ve got her.” Angel reassured her before taking Hope over to the bar and setting her on top of it. He watched as she kept her eyes on her mother, sucking her thumb before turning her head to look up at him, her big eyes melting his heart.

Daniella stole one last glance at Hope before taking her place across from Bishop at the table. It was crazy how in just the few days she had known Hope she had become so attached to her. She couldn’t imagine being here alone anymore. Deep down she needed Hope maybe more than Hope needed her.

“So, Daniella.” Bishop started, “Where are you from? We haven’t seen you around before.”

“All over the place, really,” Daniella said with a friendly smile. One that anyone during an interview would have. “But most recently Stockton.”

“Stockton?” Taza spoke up from where he was standing behind Bishop. “What were you doing there?”

Rowena suggested she stick as close to the truth as possible that way she would be less likely to slip up so that was exactly what Daniella was going to do. “I’m going to be honest with you,” She started. The way the two men perked up at those words and how they were observing her rather carefully was not unnoticed by Daniella.

At the same time, she was doing the same thing to Bishop. She took in every detail of him that she could. The way he spoke, how he held himself, and any little movements he made.

Bishop was waiting for her to tell him she was his daughter. He tried to plan out what he would say to her, what he should say to her. What do you say to your daughter who was taken from you so long ago? Who probably did not have an easy life, who you loved with all your heart but was not there for?

“I just got out of a luxury stay I had booked at Stockton State Prison.”

That was not what the two men were expecting to hear. Taza smiled to himself, like father like daughter. Both were clearly trouble makers.

“I was booked for possession of heroin with intent to sell, being under the influence of heroin, and resisting arrest.” She watched the men, mostly Bishop trying to read any reactions. “The heroin wasn’t mine, it was my step dad’s.” She explained. Leaning down on the table she clasped her hands together. “Look, I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of but I’m clean now and just want to start fresh not only for me, but for Hope.” 

“I appreciate the honesty, Daniella.” Bishop said. He wanted to reach over and grab her hand in his but didn’t. To hear what she had been through broke him. His baby girl was never supposed to have that life, but it’s the life Joselynn had so it was no surprise that she had been dragged under with her. He wanted to kill Joselynn for what she did, and kill fucking Billy too because he was almost certain the scumbag was involved as well. “We believe in second chances here. I can see you are trying to start new, that’s admirable.”

The warmth practically radiated from him making Daniella almost forget every horrible thing she knew about him, almost. She knew better than to let his act fool her though.

“What about any of your other family?” Bishop questioned. Daniella couldn't really see how that would pertain to the job but kept listening regardless. “Is your mother around? Or your father?”

“No.” She said plainly sitting back in her seat.

“What about her father?” Bishop asked nodding back to the little girl on the bar who was staring back at them waiting patiently for her mother to be done paying no mind to Angel who was trying to give her his keys.

“Not in the picture. It’s just us.”

Bishop nodded. Whoever the prick was did not deserve her time or to be in the young girl’s life in his opinion and he really hoped to never meet the man. “Okay, well we will of course have to do a background check.” He informed her. Now was her chance to speak up.

“Of course,” she smiled that fake smile again, that smile her mother used to give to anyone she was not too fond of. To anyone else it looked like a normal polite smile but Bishop knew better. “I don’t have anything to hide. I’m an open book.”

“Well, Daniella, find a sitter for your kid and you can start as soon as tomorrow. I think you will be a great addition around here.”

“Great,” her smile became more genuine. She was not expecting it to be so easy to get a job. “I already have a girl. You won’t regret this, I promise. Thank you so much, Bishop.”

Bishop smiled at her shaking her hand before she headed back towards Hope scooping the girl up in her arms and exciting the clubhouse with Angel behind her.

Stepping forward Taza set his hand on Bishop’s shoulder giving it a squeeze. “She's finally home, hermano." Taza said looking at the door where they just disappeared from. "Do you think she knows?"

"She knows." The way she was carefully watching him during their interview was what really gave her away. She knew who he was, he was certain of that. Maybe she didn't know he was her father but she definitely knew of him. "There's no way her showing up here is a coincidence."

"Are you going to tell her?"

“No,” Bishop shook his head. “I want her to come to me. She’s been through enough already. Who knows what lies Joselyn filled her head with. Now is not the time. I just got her back," Bishop's voice softened as he thought of losing his daughter once more. "I don’t want to push her away already.” More than anything he wanted to learn more about the woman she had become.

Taza understood where his brother was coming from. He never personally met Joselyn but as one of Bishop’s closest confidants he had heard the story of how he lost his love and his daughter in the same night. Bishop would not often talk about it but he never truly gave up looking for her either, even after all these years. None of them could have expected that she would be the one to find them first.

“So how does it feel, grandpa?” Taza teased.

Bishop shook his head with a smile. “Fuck off.” Standing up from his seat he passed Taza with a pat to the shoulder before making his way back to Templo. Taza watched his brother head in and close the door behind him before heading outside with the other’s to give him a moment alone.

Sitting down on his chair at the head of the table Bishop pulled the old diamond engagement ring out of his cut where he had kept it since the day he lost his family. It was nothing fancy, a simple small diamond on a silver band but his Evelia would have loved it. She was a simple woman who only needed two things in her life, Bishop and their daughter, her family.

As much as he missed her he was thankful that she did not have to live with the pain of losing their daughter like he had. At least she was spared that much. She would not have survived that.

Brining the ring to his lips he gave it a small kiss before placing it back into his pocket just over his heart. He rested his hand on top of the leather where he could just barely feel the delicate jewelry as he thought about his family and how he now had a chance to know his daughter. “She’s home, amor. She’s finally home.” He murmured. “I promise I won’t lose her again. I won’t fail her or you this time.”

Carrying Hope, Daniella headed back to her vehicle in a bit of a daze trying to fully wrap her mind around the interaction. She finally met him, actually talked to her father. She wasn’t sure how to feel in this moment and Angel walked beside her going on and on about who knows what was not helping. She could only faintly hear his voice as he talked her ear off, his words sounding muffled as her mind was elsewhere. She wasn’t listening to him but he didn't seem to notice or care. He could be telling her his deepest darkest secrets and she would never know.

“Yo. Earth to Dani.” Angel said, sticking his phone closer to her face until she subconsciously reached out and took it. He was just talking about getting her number for work which she had nodded along to but now it was like she had not listened to a single thing he had said.

“What?” Dani asked looking over at him. They were now stopped in front of her black ford focus.

"Your number?" Angel nodded down at his phone in her hand. "For work."

She shifted Hope on her hip as she looked at Angel’s bright screen with the beginnings of a new contact with her name across the screen. “Is this your way of getting my number? Man you really don’t give up. You’ve hit on me what, three times now in one day? That’s gotta be some type of record.”

Angel licked his lips leaning against her car annoying her further. She wanted to play hard to get than that was fine with him. He liked the chase. “Just for work purposes, I swear little mama." Angel smirked.

Daniella was more irritated now as she glared back at him. “So you’re telling me you aren’t going to use it as a way to send unsolicited dick pics of your,” Daniella paused to glance down at the crotch of Angel’s jeans before back up to his face with her own smirk, “less than impressive package?”

“Trust me one night in my bed and you won’t be saying that.”

Danielle chuckled, unlocking the door to her vehicle. “Trust me,” she said opening her back door nudging Angel out of the way. Bending over she set Hope into her car seat making sure she was secure all while feeling Angel’s gaze directly on her ass. Once she had Hope fully situated and buckled she turned back to face Angel. “That won’t be happening.”

Now that sounded like a challenge to Angel. “We’ll see about that.” Walking backwards he smirked as Daniella glared at him. Looking past her he waved to Hope. “Bye Hope,” He said before meeting Dani’s eyes. “See you tomorrow little mama.” Smirking Angel left her with that turning around heading back to the scrapyard. The car door slammed behind him before the vehicle started up and headed down the road. He wanted to turn back around and give her one last look but he was not going to. He was exactly where he wanted to be, under her skin.

****

Daniella shot up in bed clutching her stomach as the pain pierced through her abdomen so vividly. She was drenched in sweat and consumed by panic as she tried to come to her senses. Looking down she found her shaking hands free of blood bringing her some comfort as she came back to reality.

It was just another nightmare.

“Fuck,” she breathed out running her hand through her hair. Reaching over she grabbed a scrunchy from the bedside table and piled her hair on top of her head securing it loosely. Looking over she found Hope sound asleep and sprawled out across the other side of the bed, her hair sticking to her face from the heat that radiated from the young girl while she was asleep. She brushed the strand off her forehead before slipping out of bed in hopes of not disturbing her.

Padding down the hall she made her way effortlessly through the dark apartment snatching her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table on her way to the window. She unlocked it and slid the pane up. Daniella situated herself on the windowsill, one leg dangling out the edge with her back resting against the side. Lighting up a cigarette she took a long drag holding it a moment before blowing the smoke out and into the night. She leaned her head back and stared out at the full moon. They say strange things happen during full moons. Maybe that was the reason behind the violent nightmares. But if that were the case she wouldn’t have so many so often. No she knew that wasn’t true and didn’t believe in all of that anyways.

No matter how many times she had the nightmares they always seemed to shake her up, feeling just as real as when she was in prison. Most of the time it was just flashbacks of her time inside, more often than not the day she was jumped in the hall. She would never forget that moment, the rush of adrenaline when they grabbed her, the piercing pain, the metallic smell mixing with the sickeningly strong aroma of bleach from the cleanup that happened just prior.

Two women grabbed her and held her tightly in their grasps against the wall as the third, some woman with red hair and the most sinister smile on her face pulled out the shiv and waved it in front of her face, teasing her with the sharp object. “With love from Billy bitch!” The woman sneered. Before Daniella could really register what was happening the shiny metal was pierced through her abdomen, not once, not twice, but three times before they finally let up, releasing her. She clutched at the open wounds, the blood coating her hands as she collapsed onto the cold hard tile, one hand reaching out to catch herself but slipping across the floor doing nothing to lessen the impact. Leaving her with a swift kick from each the last thing she remembered is watching the women be let out by the guard as her vision clouded around her.

But this time the dream was different. Instead of being in the prison she was back in her childhood home and this time it was Billy holding a knife as he sneered down at her, her mother watching on from behind, encouraging him to finally rid her of the worthless, ungrateful reminder of what she lost, of what she’d never be.

Daniella caught the brief movement from the side of her eye and looked over into the living room almost slipping out the window. Her heart leapt into her throat as she reached out catching herself before she could go anywhere. “Jesus Christ.” She muttered with her hand on her head. Daniella looked back into the brown doe eyes staring at her. “We really need to get you a damn bell or something.”

Hope sucked on her thumb as she stared at Daniella wide eyed with Mr. Bear as Daniella called him held tightly against her chest.

“Can’t sleep?” Daniella asked, putting the cigarette out and sliding back into the apartment. She pushed the window back down, latching the lock securely before closing the curtains. Crouching down in front of Hope she ran her thumb across her face, caressing her skin where a stray tear had found its way down her plump little cheek. “Me neither. How about we put on a movie, yeah?”

Standing up she walked with Hope to the couch helping boost her up onto the leather sofa. Bending over in front of Hope Danilla caressed her face. "This is our fresh start, okay? They can't hurt you anymore. No one will ever hurt you again." Kissing Hope on the forehead she gave the girl a small smile. She meant every word. She would do anything for Hope.

Stepping back to the entertainment center Daniella sat down on her knees looking through the various titles on the shelf. Unfortunately when Rowena set everything up it wasn’t with a toddler in mind. She ran her fingers across the spines of the many DVDs before pulling out Stranger Things. “How about this?” She asked holding the case up for Hope to see. “Ro said it was the first thing I needed to watch once I was out and there’s kids in it so that means it’s kid friendly, right?” Hope stared back as always snuggling into one of the purple pillows on the sofa. “Yeah, we’ll try it.” Daniella decided, popping the disc into the DVD player and grabbing the remote before sitting down next to Hope.

The show began playing the theme song quietly as Daniella stared ahead watching the colors flash across the screen. Her mind wasn’t on the show however but her meeting with her father just hours before. “I know I should have told him, but we don’t even know the guy Hope. Right now we have the upper hand, the chance to see just who he really is before we give ourselves away.” She explained. Maybe she was a coward but she had been burned too many times in her past. She wasn’t about to open herself up to him leaving herself and Hope included vulnerable to him or anyone for that matter.

She chewed on her bottom lip as she replayed the meeting over and over in her mind. “He wasn’t what I was expecting Hope.” Daniella said, turning to look at Hope. “He didn’t seem like the shitty person mom made him out to be.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch sitting criss crossed. It was weird seeing Bishop in person to Daniella. He seemed nothing like what she had envisioned from the few details her mother would give her. He seemed like a good guy and she craved to get to know him better, craved the love she didn’t receive growing up but she knew better than to get her hopes up. “But first impressions don’t mean anything, Hope.” She explained to her as Hope listened intently. She was a good listener at least. “Most people won’t show you their real colors until they’ve already sunk their claws into you. You can’t trust anyone. It’s just you and me against the world now. We gotta look out for us.” In time he’d slip up and show her the real him, it was really only just a matter of time.

Tagging: @everyhowlmarksthedead @cind-in-real-life @ifoundmyhappythought @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @carlaangel86 @sammskellington @chibsytelford @mheart27 @scuzmunkie @vsfavs @starrynite7114 @gemini0410 @whyisgmora

[incoherentbabblings]

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (7/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer’s work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Ao3 Link Here!

“Hey…” Tim said, still lying on the floor.

“Dude!” Conner’s voice came through, exuberant. “Bart you were right! He did answer!”

Bart’s high-pitched giggle ran straight through Tim’s bones. It cut off abruptly as he processed Conner’s incredulity.

“Why do you guys always think my plans are bad?”

“Shush.” Cassie’s voice also drifted in. Tim must have been on speakerphone. “Tim… what is going on? Like… is this for real?”

“No way.” Said Conner. “You would have told us. It’s gotta be fake. Weird fake, but fake.”

“…It’s not fake.”

“Pardon?” Bart asked, being awfully polite. “Why didn’t you keep us in the loop? Or are you channeling Batman this month?”

“It had to be real. Like super real. No heroes, no nothing.”

“Bullshit, Tim.” Conner’s tone was fond, but a little exasperated. “Kara’s been on my ass about it too. Some of us have secret ids yaknow. No metas in Gotham rule aside, we could help?”

“I mean… it’s complicated. There’s a bunch of murders recently.”

Cassie sounded worried. “We saw the news the other day. You and Stephanie were shot at?”

“…Yeah. Someone’s targeting brides who wear this designer. Steph and I were trying to make ourselves the next pair on the list… the guy botched it and shot Bishop Sherborne.”

“So… once Batman catches Mr Always the Bridesmaid Never the Bride… then what?” Asked Conner. “No more wedding, I guess. Which – yikes – bud. I’ve seen the stuff online. Some people are being brutal about this whole thing. You have too many fake engagements people aren’t gonna believe a real one after that.”

Cassie piped up again. “Not to mention Steph is gonna be thrown into limbo, right?”

Tim was silent as he listened to his friends. He couldn’t explain. This is why he didn’t tell them. They weren’t doing it intentionally, but they were setting off all his alarm bells. It seemed Bart heard something in the silence that the others did not, and asked, more than a little befuddled,

“Wait… you and Steph aren’t together together for reals are you? ‘Cause, you really should have told us! Like no bachelor party? Really? No me as your best man?”

Conner sounded very affronted when he cut in, “Eh. No. That’s me.”

“You can have a girl as your best man right?” Cassie pondered. “Nowadays? I’d be good at that…”

Tim rolled onto his front, utterly depressed. “I don’t know. Know what I wanted… Know what Steph wants…”

It seemed Tim’s sadness finally clicked in the minds of his friends, and Conner lowered his tone.

“You getting your heart broken bud?”

Tim’s eyes grew wet. “I can’t help her.”

“Help her how?”

Cassie began to shoo the other two away. “Let me speak to him. One to one.”

“I can still hear the phone you know.”

“Shut up, Conner. I don’t want you and Bart butting in.”

“Rude.” Bart chirped, but did as he was told. There was shuffling, and the sound of someone being kicked, but soon enough it was just Cassie on the other side of the phone.

“Can’t help her how?” She repeated Conner’s statement, and Tim heard him huff in the distance.

“We… we both want to be together.”

“That’s…that’s good Tim. Right? So, what’s the issue?”

Tim sneered. She wasn’t making it sound good. They just wouldn’t understand, but Tim continued to try.

“But she… I thought she was in a better place. I thought I was in a better place. But the stress is getting to her. She’s tired of being judged. And that’s all I can offer her.”

Cassie was quiet but full of conviction when she responded, “I don’t believe that.”

“No but…Cassie I’ve never seen her like this. Like she’s three steps away from jumping out the window. And that’s supposed to be me. I don’t know how to show her, that she doesn’t need to be frightened. That other people don’t matter. People just aren’t coming on side, not entirely. Not even her helping Bishop Sherborne when he died was enough. And she’s losing her drive.”

“Could you…” She mused it over. “Have you got an event coming up?”

“The engagement party.”

“No, no. Something smaller. Something about your job. Something you could share with her. Show her she doesn’t need to be afraid to share a life with you. Start small to build back up confidence. Steph’s…she’s a little rough round the edges.”

“She’s from Gotham.”

“Exactly. But the more she does that sort of stuff with you, the more people will get to know her and that squidgy centre you talk about. I mean those engagement photos were beautiful.” Tim burned red. Of course, they had seen them. “And I want her red dress more than life itself, but that’s not her. Not you really either. You both do stuff outside of nightwork… do that stuff together y’know?”

Stephanie had asked him about his work. She had asked several times in fact. She had been on multiple visits to his office, watching as he went through conference calls, reports and other dry white-collar work whilst she sat with her college notes spread around her. She herself had said she was interested in what he did. Tim blinked, a plan coming together.

“…Thank you, Cassie.”

“My pleasure.” She said, sounding smug. “Is she there with you now?”

“No… we… we had an argument. She’s gone to cool off on patrol.”

Conner pinched the phone then. “Not to sound judgy, but man… she’s got a temper. And you said when she gets angry, she gets stupid.”

Defensiveness replaced depression, and Tim’s tone became a warning. “Conner.”

“I’m just saying. Think you should go find her.”

“She’s competent Kon.”

“…Sure.”

It was very difficult to not take an imagined slight to Stephanie as a slight against himself. “What’s that mean?”

“Listen, dude—”

A frantic beeping from his phone interrupted Conner. It was the distress signal of Batgirl, one that she did not ring often, or ever, and Tim’s heart stopped.

No. No. No.

“Have to go.”

“Wait –”

“It’ll be over in two weeks so bear with the radio silence.”

“Huh? Dude don’t shut us out after –”

“Bye.”

And he hung up, then rushed downstairs.

**********************************************************************

She had fallen, because if Stephanie suspected of how she would die, it would be from gravity being a bitch. Some bastard had shot at her, she had jumped to avoid it, then collapsed through the roof – rotten wooden beams giving way under her weight. She had crashed down with a horrendous smack, and likely had a concussion. Her neck had snapped in such a way that left her terrified to move her head. Her leg felt damp. Struggling, she pressed her little beacon. Someone would be on their way soon. Outside the building, she heard that man whooping in victory, trying to figure out a way in.

She was in over her head. She wasn’t paying attention. And now she was in agony on the dirty floor of some shithole in Gotham, a murderous drug lord wanting a piece of her.

Wow, she really was spiralling down.

And somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to blame Tim. He hadn’t caused these issues. He’d been honest with her, given her multiple opportunities to back out. And she had hurt him, in every manner of speaking. Even if he had been putting her under pressure… she didn’t…

She didn’t even blame Bruce, who was only trying to protect people, and entrusting his family to help him do so.

Her issues were hers and hers alone. Maybe she’d never really dealt with them, maybe she’d never really worked her way through them. Maybe she just buried it all. Ignore it, and it will go away.

She wasn’t sure how long she was left alone on the floor, safe from the man outside, but however long it was, it wasn’t enough for her to get back on her feet. Her head lolled on the ground, and she tried to push herself up. Keep moving, that’s all she had to do. She’d been through worse and coped. She only managed to get onto her hands and knees when someone grabbed her blonde hair and ripped her back, making her cry out in shock. Her neck clicked oddly. Her left leg limply dragged across the floor, leaving red streaks behind her, whilst the right spasmed, trying to get a footing so she could kick herself upright and punch the bastard, but her head injury was disorientating her beyond being of any use.

“Can’t believe it’s that easy to take out one of you lot.” The cold feel of a pistol pressed against her jaw. If fired, it wouldn’t kill her immediately. This guy wanted her to hurt.

No. She had to apologise to Tim. She had to… She had too…

She had no time to prepare a snarky comeback, because one of the family’s hook shots had rammed itself into the guys arm. He shrieked, hand dropping the gun and her hair, allowing her to roll away into the corner to get a better look at her leg.

She looked up, to see Tim, fully dressed as Red Robin amongst the rotting rafters, angrier than she had seen him in a long time.

She got caught between sharp relief and guilt. Tim had come for her. Dutiful, loyal, Tim.

Letting her head thump against the floor, Stephanie flittered in and out of consciousness.

Tim, meanwhile, had lost his temper.

He knew he was a bit overprotective of Steph. He also knew she was competent. She had been through a lot with and without him, and as Batgirl had saved Gotham multiple times over. He wasn’t a white knight coming to rescue the damsel, but something feral would be set off seeing her in danger. Didn’t matter if he was fifteen or twenty, someone hurting her, someone touching her, was enough to set him off.

It wasn’t like with Captain Boomerang, where everything was calculated, cold and methodical. Steph was hurt, Tim had the means to make the man who did it hurt.

And hurt him Tim did.

Stephanie watched most of it, not really in the right frame of mind to do anything but watch. She wanted to call for him, pull him back to her. But then she would black out for a moment. When she would reawaken, any chance at orientating herself would be lost from the view in front of her.

Bones were meant to be inside limbs, right?

Tim’s torture continued until Dick yoinked him away.

“That’s enough. Okay? Don’t make the same mistake as me.”

Dick was home? The thought was enough to cause the red to fade, and for Tim to start to catch his breath. His stomach began to drop. He’d done something stupid?

No. Where was Stephanie?

Nightwing had him held in such a grip that was designed to allow Tim to break out if he wanted, but also jolt into him some semblance of what he was doing.

Tim blinked, then wriggled out of Nightwing’s hold. His brother looked more than a little white at the scene before him. Tim’s chest was heaving, and he could feel sweat dripping off his chin. Slowly he turned to see what damage he had done, then immediately looked away. He had done something stupid. And potentially murderous. For her. Again.

Stephanie had somehow pulled herself into a sitting position, one leg laying limply at an angle. She was breathing heavily, trying to control her body’s response to the pain. Her head was tilted, resting on her shoulder, as if it was too heavy for her neck to support.

“Batgirl…” And then Tim was at her side, looking for the injury in her leg. She hissed when he got close, but from what he could see, there was no fracture, only a puncture wound.

“Landed on the crates. Mother of all splinters..!” She felt her eyes rolling around, vision a blur, and grunted to herself. Play it off. It’s not serious. She hadn’t messed up. Not really, not as bad as before.

Her tone was deliberately light, but Tim couldn’t bring himself to smile. He had realised that his hands were wet and didn’t want to pick her up if he was going to smear her in more blood.

“I’m sorry.” She said, taking Tim away from his brooding. “I hit you. I shouldn’t have.” She looked like she was going to start crying, the pain in her leg and head coupled with the guilt seemingly too much. “I don’t want to hurt you and I did. I’m sorry.”

Tim wanted very much to pull back her cowl and stroke her hair, but restrained himself.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you the way I did.”

“No but –”

He shushed her and she whimpered.  Shamefully, he gripped and wiped his hands on his cape, trying to make himself somewhat presentable, then very carefully, very gently, picked her up in a bridal hold. She cried out but reached up to wrap her arms around him.

Nightwing called both the police and an ambulance, staring at the dying man on the floor. Dick couldn’t do anything to help him, too many broken bones to even move him safely.

Tim watched Dick’s face grow cold.

“I’ll take her back to my apartment.” Tim said.

“No, you will not.”

Tim’s temper spiked again, though holding Stephanie he was unable to act on it as he would have liked. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

The signature sound of Batman’s cape fluttering, and the distant noise of sirens approaching, made the potential argument end.

“Nightwing, drive them both back to the Manor. Have Batgirl checked over.”

There was something very odd in Bruce’s tone that Tim wasn’t used to hearing, but it made him a little frightened.

“As said injured party member…” Chirped Stephanie, head craned back and straining her neck. “I feel like… I need a medical.”

“Hurry up!” Nightwing ordered, making his way to the batmobile. “You can drive my cycle but put Batgirl in the back.”

Four hours later, out of her costume and several stitches in her leg from where she had received the mother of all splinters, Stephanie’s head began to clear. She remembered Tim swooping down, and she remembered him hurting that man. Badly. Really badly. All because she lost her footing. All because she was in the wrong headspace to go out on patrol.

She was better than that. She knew she was.  

She stayed silent, but when Tim returned to her side, the two stared at each other for the longest time. Neither knew where to begin.

Bruce started it for them.

“Do I even need to say what went wrong tonight.” There was no question in his tone. Just a flat, tightly bound anger that Stephanie nearly whimpered at the sound of. She shook her head.

“I messed up. I let my emotions get in the way and I got hurt when it was easily avoidable.”

If Bruce was impressed by her self-awareness, it did not show. He turned to Tim. “And you?”

Tim said nothing. Only glared. Stephanie pressed her hands to her eyes, she wouldn’t be able to block out the sound of the oncoming argument, an argument that was her fault, but that didn’t mean she was going to watch it.

“Tim.” Bruce pushed.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nightwing, who had been sat a little back from the whole scene, piped up. “You know that’s a sack of bullshit Tim.”

Tim’s ears burned red, and Bruce didn’t miss the look of betrayal on Tim’s face at his brother. Seemed like that look was all Bruce was seeing recently.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Tim repeated.

It was the wrong thing to say.

“This is just one more thing in a continuing dangerous trend with you and I have half a mind to –”

“I don’t answer to you anymore!” Tim was turning as red as his uniform, but Bruce would not be moved.

“You’re both grounded until the wedding is finished.”

Ordinarily, Stephanie would have fought back. Bruce was not the boss of her. Even Babs barely counted as a mentor anymore. Not really. She was her own keeper, and Bruce attempting to parent her was just an embarrassing effort at best.

Now, with her hands pressed over her eyes, blind to anyone’s expressions, she nodded her consent.

“Promise.” She warbled.

Tim on the other hand, was in the mood to fight. He was so wound up from the day’s events, with no outlet, that it poured out of him defiantly. His voice cracked childishly.

“No! No, no! She didn’t do anything wrong and her injury isn’t even that bad!”

Dick watched Tim grow increasingly frustrated and frowned. What the hell had he missed the past six weeks? Bruce was going to return in kind with an equal aggression that would only serve to blow the roof off the cave, so Dick decided it was his turn to intervene. He got up and shoved past Bruce, physically grappling Tim and dragging him away from Stephanie. Bruce could cool down for a moment and talk to the crying girl. He’d try to give Tim a reality check.

When they reached the stairs, Tim wriggled out of Dick’s grip, eyes still on Stephanie, but his anger was directed straight at Dick.

“What do you think you’re—”

Dick grabbed Tim’s arm again, shaking him, making Tim look at him. “I think Tim, you’ll be needed to look after Steph. Yeah?”

“I don’t need to be grounded to do that. I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m not being punished for something I didn’t do!” Tim protested, tugging back to remove Dick’s hand from his arm. Dick huffed, feeling Tim was letting his ego get in the way of the point he was trying to make.

“I really don’t care about that. I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re both off kilter. Take a break. Look after each other.”

“I am not –”

“Tim look at her!” Dick hissed. Bruce had moved over to Steph’s side, and sat next to her. Tim watched as the two talked.

“What happened?” Bruce asked, voice somewhat softer.

“I… I’m having a bit of a freak out at the moment.” It was an odd thing for her to confess to Bruce of all people, but he seemed to be listening. “The whole… pretending to be in love mission is throwing me off more than I thought it would.”

“Pretending?”

“Oh God…” She moaned. Where did Bruce get off sounding so confused? What did he even think of her and Tim as a couple? Were they that transparent in their pining? “I’m finding it emotionally taxing.”

Always easier to be flippant. Say exactly what you mean, but hide it under a layer of sarcasm as a back door exit in case the sincerity of the statement was called into doubt. Bruce did not doubt her. Instead, he asked her something else.

“Can you keep going?”

“I swore to.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Then Bruce leaned forward, grabbing her wrist. He tugged it away from her face so she wasn’t hiding her eyes. At the look she gave him, so tired and sad, his grip moved down to her hand, and she squeezed back.

“I can keep going.” She sniffed, her bodily pain catching up with her miserable mood. “Not gonna lie, Batman… I feel like I’m slipping back into bad habits.”

“That’s why I said no patrol.”

“I know.”

“You going to listen?”

She nodded. “No Batgirl for a couple of weeks…Promise.”

“At the very least you can catch up on sleep a bit.” It was meant to be reassuring, but Bruce’s claim made Stephanie snort a gentle laugh. “And work on whatever is troubling you.”

Stephanie’s smile faded. “I can try. That’s all I can do at the minute. I’ll fix it.”

“Okay. I’ll get Alfred to give you a painkiller to help put you down tonight.” Bruce looked to Tim, who was in the corner with Dick. He looked equally miserable but chewed his lip and walked back over.

“I want to take you back to the apartment, Steph, if you want me to. I’ll take a couple of weeks off with you.”

She nodded. “I want that. Lemme get my drugs first.”

Bruce’s eyes hardened a little as he inspected Tim, who was stubbornly avoiding his gaze. Their conversation would have to wait. Once dosed up, Stephanie wrapped her arms around Tim’s shoulder, and hoisted herself up so she could hop over to his car.

“Goodnight Bruce…thank you.”

His mouth twitched, but with what emotion, Stephanie couldn’t tell.

When they got back, Stephanie managed to get settled on the bed. Tim promised to stay up with her to ensure she wouldn’t pass out with nobody to check on her. She lay like her limbs were made of lead, her head resting on a pile of pillows trying to support her neck.

“I’ll be okay. Alfred said since I can hold a conversation and my pupils are normal, I’ll be fine.”

“Your pupils are not fine. They’re as big as dinner plates.”

“That’s the painkillers.”

“I know… I just…”

She smiled. “You worry.”

“Yeah.”

She looked down at her hands, wringing them together. Her fingers on her right hand settled on her engagement ring, and she sighed.

“I’m sorry Tim, for everything. The argument and the hitting and me being a brat for weeks…You don’t… you don’t deserve any of this.”

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you the way I did. And I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.” He fought back.

“No…not really.” She wrung her hands. “There’s no excuse. I’m better than this… better than my dad.”

“You’re not your father.”

Stephanie nodded in response. He thought she believed him.

Tim, who up until this point had been standing on the other side of the room, moved to sit on the bed. He was facing away from her, but Stephanie could see both of their faces in his mirror. The guilt that was rippling across his face was hard to watch, so she stared straight forward instead, looking at the fat yellow duck at the foot of the bed. Tim saw her do so, and his fingers curled up in the bed sheets.

“Can we get some things out in the open? Like, brutally honest out in the open?”

“Interrogating someone whilst their high on painkillers? Sure. But can I start?” She asked. Tim screwed up his nose and nodded. Stephanie kept her eyes on the duck. “Why did you hurt that man so badly?”

Tim’s palms became sweaty, and he nervously wiped them down his sweatpants.

“He hurt you.” He offered lamely.

“No. This was… this was different.”

“It is related to why Bruce and I don’t get on much in the suits anymore.”

Understatement. She didn’t know what he’d done. She couldn’t know…

“You think you have to be that harsh? Your fighting is getting colder and crueler. I worry…”

“What I was doing before wasn’t working. I’m not Jason. Not that far gone. But I’m not… not the same person I was when I was fifteen, Steph.”

Please don’t abandon me for it.

Stephanie shifted, creeping out from under the covers. She curled up behind him, her sore leg still stretched straight, and then reached around so she could link their fingers. She was smiling a little dopily, and Tim would have found it sweet if he could have gotten the day’s events out of his head.

“Look at us. You’d think we’ve been through some traumatic things the past few years.”

Tim raised his eyebrows at her teasing. “Weird that.”

Steph laughed, though it sounded a little slurred to his ears.

“You know, I figured out a long time ago. Why I love you.” She whispered conspiratorially, begging Tim to play along. Eventually she would conk out, drugs and injuries tiring her out too much to stay conscious, but Tim let her take the conversation off track. Her breath and hold were so warm it was nearly feverish. She had seen him nearly murder a man, but then she had let him pick her up with blood stained hands, and she now held his fingers like nothing was wrong. Maybe the pair of them were beyond help, but Tim couldn’t give up the idea of a happy life for Stephanie. Preferably with him in it but…he wasn’t too picky.

“Why?” He muttered.

“You’re so gentle. So gentle. No other guy I know comes close to it. And, yeah, at first, I was infatuated with you because oh so cool Robin, so brave, so smart… but when you stayed with me despite the pregnancy… I don’t know how to put it… you have a giant brain and a giant-er heart. I don’t care about how well you can hurt people. That’s never been part of it. And I believe you’ve never enjoyed that bit of superheroing. Knowing you had come for me, that made me feel safe, that was all I needed. Watching you nearly kill that man…”

“I panicked.” He confessed. “You’d left on such shaky terms and then your beacon went off and all I could see was red. I was so upset.”

“I was frightened for what you would do. For a second.”

Her stating her worry seemed to almost traumatise Tim. An uncomfortable length of time passed as he worked through what she said in his head. Stephanie didn’t know him. She didn’t love him. Not who he was. Not really. That violence was part of him now. She said she knew him, but with who he was now staring her right in the face, she did not want it to be true.

She leaned closer, her breath a warm whisper against his neck. “I told you. I won’t let you forget. Especially seeing that violence tonight. I promise Tim. That’s not you.”

He choked a little when he responded, trying to play it down and play it off.

“I try not to think about it. The moment I do for too long, I’ll believe Bruce is right to be worried.”

“Nah. He’s just being a dad.”

A long moment of silence passed. Stephanie continued to play with Tim’s fingers whilst she did nothing but think through the day’s events. Finally, she pressed her forehead against the back of his neck, against the burn scar he had received what felt like so long ago.

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you love me? Actual quantifiable reasons.” She shifted behind him, uttering more to herself than him, “Gimme an ego boost.”

Tim answered immediately, “Because you’re brave. Because you refuse to accept your lot in life. Because you’re beautiful. Because you came back to Gotham when you had every right to leave forever. Because somehow, after everything he’s done to you, you don’t hate your dad.”

“Don’t like him either.”

She didn’t respond to any of his other points. She was trying to accept them as truth, as Tim had yet to lie to her for all of this hellish two months. But something just prevented her from absorbing it. That wasn’t her. Or maybe it had been.

“Not the same thing.” Tim sighed and leaned back. The way she was sat meant his head thunked on her collarbone. “Steph? You’re a good person. Even if you doubt it sometimes. Reason enough.”

Steph’s breath washed over Tim, smelling of the medicine she had slurped down earlier.

“I hurt you.”

“Remember when I throttled you and kicked you in the stomach?”

“That was different.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m a big boy and can handle an argument here and there. This pity party, Steph… it helps no-one. Speaking from experience here.” Tim’s mind drifted back to his conversation earlier. “I have an idea. Well, Cassie suggested it actually.”

“You spoke to the Titans.” There was a flat curiosity in her tone. It wasn’t aggressive, just resigned.

“They’re getting sick of being ignored. Don’t think embarrassment is going to cut it as an excuse anymore.” Tim watched as Stephanie looked away, ashamed from being chided. “Listen. I want you to come with me to do some stuff for work.”

“What stuff?”

“Tomorrow I’m visiting the community centre down the road. There’s an after-school club for kids whose parents work crazy hours. We funded the renovations and pay a few members of permanent staff. It’s just a fluffy photo op, but you might enjoy it more than anything else I do for my job.”

“How old are the kids?”

“Middle school and down.”

She sat still and thought it through. Tim sighed. “Listen. You once told me that I was going to drive myself mad one day.”

“You are going to drive yourself mad one day.”

“Why?”

She huffed, already knowing what angle he was playing. “Because you worry too much and have overly controlling tendencies when left unchecked.”

“…Yeah. Sure.” He tried not to sound too resentful as she relayed his flaws so dispassionately. “So, where’s Miss “The Only Variable You Can Control Is Yourself”? Huh?” Tim nudged her jaw with his forehead, causing her to grumble. “You do you, Steph. The rest will fall into place. Come with me to this event. Play some foosball with kids.”

She screwed her eyes shut, and Tim watched her at the awkward angle. Finally, her internal battle ended, and she nodded her head.

“It’s another thing for the job if nothing else.”

“I’m not asking you to do it for the mission.” Tim breathed. He couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. “I mean it’s a side perk sure, but I just want it to remind you that you’re not a bad person.”

Stephanie finally pulled away, back under the covers of the bed. Her eyes were wet.

“I’m maybe not a bad person but I am a mess. Don’t know why you put up with me.”

“That’s okay.” And Tim crawled over to her. Being unbearably tender, he pulled all of her hair to one side and began to braid it, hoping it would help her sleep better than her usual tangled mop allowed. A sudden memory occurred to him, and he smiled absentmindedly. “You’re worth a few stomach ulcers.”

She looked at him suspiciously at his weird statement, handing him a hair tie from her wrist as he worked his way down. “I haven’t changed my mind. About what I said. I’m not emotionally ready to be with you. Not strong enough yet.”

“Do you want to be?” He asked, tone light, trying to not pressure her too much. He finished tying off the braid with an exaggerated snap of the elastic.

“With you?”

“Mm.”

“I do, Tim.”

“Then I’ll wait. After this mission is finished, we can… start from scratch again. Take it slow.”

“…I like the sound of that.”

“And in the meantime…” He got under the covers next to her. “We work on one thing at a time. Like a checklist. Number one, sleep and work off that injury.”

“Tim…” She smiled, but it was brittle and fell very quickly. Tim stroked loose strands of hair away from her face, and she shut her eyes. “How do you know I’m not just using you? You could be with someone like Tam right now. Why stay for the promise of maybe?”

“Well, firstly, you don’t have a manipulative bone in your body.”

“That’s a lie.” Her voice was starting to slur. She was growing heavier and sleepier with each moment.

He quickly rebuffed her rebuttal. “Mmm? I don’t know about that. And secondly,” He rested his hand on her cheek. “I don’t want Tam, or anyone else. Just you. I want to be happy. So, I want to stay in Gotham. I want Bruce to get off my case. I want to help people. And I want… I want you. That’s all. Think that’s…pretty standard for a guy in his twenties.”

Softly, slowly, Stephanie had moved closer and closer whilst Tim mused aloud. When they were sharing a pillow, Tim’s eyes drifted down to her lips again, and chewed his own nervously.

“You can kiss me.” She said, tone still flat. “If you want to. For real.”

“…Not good for you. You said. Once.”

“Once.”

But Tim knew she was only saying so to punish herself. He may have been sick in love with her, but he still wasn’t so far gone as to make out with someone who, as far as he knew, was still pretty high on painkillers.

Then their foreheads were touching, and Steph’s hands were burying into Tim’s hair. He felt awfully cruel when he did so, whilst knowing it was the right thing to do, but Tim reached down, under the sheets, and pushed four fingers into her stitches.

She shrieked, rolling away on to her back. Her cry turned into one of laughter, then she groaned, writhing a little under the sheets as the pain in her head and leg sharpened at the sudden movements.

“No funny business madam.”

Breathlessly, she grunted, nodding a little too fervently.

“Sure, sure.”

She was becoming that last stage of manic before the exhaustion caught up with her, so Tim tried to gently press down on her limbs, one by one, hoping to create a reassuring weight to help calm her down.

“Things will be better in the morning. You’ll see.” He laid back down, wrapping an arm around her, essentially making them spoon. His hand reached for hers, and he began to play with her ring. “Wanna take it off? To sleep?”

She shuffled backwards, until the curve of her spine pressed against his chest. “S’okay.” And then she yawned, nuzzling her way into the pillow.

They lay in comfortable silence for a long moment, before Tim reached back to turn off the lights. When his hand returned to hers, she called his name, though it sounded distant and fuzzy to her own ears, as she was half asleep when the thought came to her.

“Tim?”

“Mm?”

“You promise to wait for me? Just a bit longer?”

“Promise.”

She squeaked happily, then promptly began to snore. Gone. Tim chuckled, then closed his eyes.

[mayansmcx]

Hell Hath No Fury - An Invitation (part 2)

The car ride starts off just like any other car ride between two people who don't know each other but now have to spend the next two hours together: quiet and awkward.

After a few minutes of tense silence, I decide to muster up the confidence I had right before we started our drive back. Luckily, charging head long into conversations in potentially uncomfortable situations is something I'm great at.

"So, how long have you known those guys?" I ask.

He looks at me quickly before shifting to lean against the door. His eyes are fixated out the window as he replies "Coco, man I don't even know how long. Feels like forever though. And EZ, I've known him since he was born."

"Brothers?" I inquire.

"Yeah but I got the better genes in the family 'cuz clearly I'm the sexier one" he says as he lays his hand on his chest in emphasis.

"Well I was just gonna say that, obviously. Poor EZ must have had such a hard time growing up with a GQ cover model as a brother," I laugh.

He seems more at ease too, "You say that like a joke, but we both know I'm fine."

I shake my head and chuckle and we return back to the previous state of silence.

"So..." he begins, apparently feeling like it's his turn to break the tension, "how long have you worked for Pena? I haven't seen you around much before."

"You make it a habit to know all of the Mayor's staff?" I start to joke. "But no, I've been here about six months now."

"What is it you do for her exactly?" He asks, his interest seemingly genuine.

"I basically oversee all her staff. Handle the day to day stuff, coordinate things for her, advise her on things. I'm pretty much her right hand." The answer never changes but the more I have to explain it, the more boring it sounds.

"So she says jump and you say..." he starts off before I jump in.

"I say 'how high? Through which hoop? Have you considered what me jumping through this hoop will do for re-election? Have you considered how jumping over skipping may impact our optics?'" I rattle on.

His eyes widen a second as he processes what I'm sure is my alarmingly unpolished personality. "How'd you get into working here?" he fires off another question.

"Well, in college I majored in Political Science. My dad got me into politics at a young age. I tried on a bunch of different majors: Nursing, English, hell, even Philosophy, but none of them kept my interest and I'd find myself debating constitutional rights and policy with the weird school protestors. After I graduated, I did a fellowship program up in Sacramento in the Capitol. From there I headed up the campaign for a Congressman and when he won election he brought me on as his Communications Director in DC. Shortly after that, he made me his Chief when his other one crashed and burned." I explain. 

"Is the money good?" He asks

"Growing up my dad always told me 'you can do anything for money but if you spend 40 years of your life doing something you hate, you will never be happy.' But that being said, no, the money doesn't suck for the most part. I took a huge pay cut coming from DC to here, but I'm happier. Or at least I think I am." I tell him

"So why aren't you in DC?" He prompts further.

"That's a long, complicated story. Anyways, what about you? Are bar fights your favorite hobby?" I ask, hoping he'll gloss over me trying to change the subject.

"Not always," he says, "but sometimes people piss me the fuck off".

"So you're a hot head" It's not a question, but a statement.

"I like to think I'm just a passionate guy." He jokes.

"Ok, hot head" I laugh.

The rest of the ride, the tension dissipates. The conversation remains light; I talk a little bit about college and some of the things I've seen and done in DC, and he tells me bits and pieces of his story in return, neither of us delving into anything serious or heavy.

We work our way back into Santo Padre and he starts to guide me to wherever it is I need to drop him off.

"So where is it that I'm taking you?" I ask.

"The scrapyard. Bish will probably want to see you again, you know, to say thanks and all that" he tells me.

"That's fine" I tell him.

We eventually pull up into the scrapyard, which based on the signs is called "Romero Brothers Scrap & Salvage". I park and Angel and I both exit the car.

"This way." He indicates as he sets off to the main doors.

We walk in and see everyone dispersed around the room. EZ is behind the bar that Coco is sitting at, while Bishop and Taza are casually talking to other members on the couch.

"Hey Prez, we're back." Angel interjects when their conversation seems to hit a lull.

Bishop looks up and sees us both, stands up, and walks over to us.

"Glad to see you in one piece, Angel" He slaps his hand down on Angel's back twice. "And Lennon, thanks again for doing this for us.' He says earnestly.

"It was no trouble at all, my pleasure really. It's not every day you get to be on the inside of Fight Club" I smile, hearing Angel suck his teeth and bite back a retort.

"Coco says you scared the piss out of the badges." Bishop says, sounding amused.

"They got under my skin. When people get under my skin, my mouth runs faster than my brain can filter. The results are always amusing for someone, not always amusing for me though" I smirk.

"Sounds like you and Angel have that in common" Bishop says, a smile on his face.

"Seems so. Only I have the common sense to use my mouth and not my fists." I wink at Angel.

"I bet you do." Angel catches the innuendo I inadvertently made.

Rolling my eyes, I look back at Bishop who is now flanked by Taza.

"ANYWAYS," I sarcastically emphasize, "it was a pleasure helping you guys out." I tell the two leading members.

"Thanks again" Bishop nods, he starts to turn away before quickly facing me again. "We're having a get together tonight. You should come so we can express our gratitude properly. There's booze, and we'll even have Angel fight tonight that way you can see what it is that you released back into society." He smirks.

"Yeah, that actually sounds great. I don't get out much since Toni... uh Mayor Pena... is the only person I ever really see. Work is never done, ya know?" I tell them.

"'Toni?' You and the Mayor are tight?" Coco suddenly jumps into the conversation; I was unaware he'd been listening.

"Yeah," I say, pissed at myself for letting that slip. "It's not something I like to broadcast. I'd rather people know I got here on my own merits than thinking I'm just my friends lapdog. I met her during my fellowship." I explain further.

"That one up in Sac, right?" Angel asks without missing a beat.

"That's the one" I smile.

"Angel finally pays attention for once" EZ jokes.

"Tch, shut up, EZ" Angel shoves him.

I'm thoroughly enjoying this interaction, feeling incredibly comfortable in the presence of men who are well documented to be on the other side of the law when I see a black Escalade pull into the scrapyard.

"Seems you guy have some company, let me get out of your hair. I'll see you guys tonight. What time?"  I ask the group.

"Eight O'Clock" EZ tells me.

"Alright, see you then" I smile brightly as I start to turn around. With all the smiling I've done today I thank god my parents invested in good orthodontia work when I was in high school.

"Shit!" I hear one of the men say as I press my hand on the door to swing it open.

As I make my way through the lot back to my car, I see the men start to exit the Escalade, but can really only make out the details of the two closest to me. The man coming from the back is well dressed in what is easily a designer suit. His hair is styled meticulously, and his face is well chiseled. The man next to him has two long braids and even from a distance looks intimidating. As I slide into my car, I make eye contact with them both. I start my car and begin to pull away. Looking in my sideview mirror I can see they are still watching me; it's almost as if they want to ensure I leave. A chill rushes down my spine briefly which causes me to laugh.

I've been in the room with serious power players before, two random men from a tiny city in the middle of nowhere are hardly any threat. I think.

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 31

Last time: Roy gave Riza his number, war was hell, and there could only be one Doc. Onwards!

Envy is not happy to change jobs from Doc Marcoh’s waiter to Scar’s maid, cleaning up his latest mess of brain matter. And so much for the guard dog. Or dogs? There’s an empty collar… Riza’s seeing Ed out after tea, when Ed worries about her new job as a hostage she waves it off as a better chance to kill him in his sleep. That’s one way to look at it, I suppose. One message to pass on about Scar being back, and thanks for talking about Ishval, and Ed’s off. Quick, go save your brother from his new admirer! Episode 31 - “The 520 Cens Promise“ Cens? Is that like an Amestris version of a penny, or what? Ed catches up with Al at a clock-fountain, you can tell how much hearing about Ishval got to him when he calls himself “practically a kid”. And it definitely casts a light on Roy’s drive to become the Fuhrer, if it’s really just setting himself up for Mob Justice. Speaking of the future, they talk about their plans after they regain their bodies. Food for Al, of course, he should still be carrying around that “Stuff to Eat” book. Ed claims that he’s been so busy just trying to get his limbs back he hasn’t thought about what comes next. Maybe some courtesy calls NO NO NO NO Leto-damn it, boys! “Let Granny and Teacher know we’re all right”? “They’ve both helped us out so much”? “They’ll be smiling when they see us”?!?! Stop it, you’re signing their death warrants! Oh my Leto stop with the optimism, you are painting great big targets on yourselves for the Irony Gods. Moving on, moving on! Ed talks about his plan to get around Uncle’s Anti-Alchemy Field with Alkahestry, I’m a little concerned about that seeing as Uncle changed his method to counter Scar’s mixed style, but it’s still a starting point. Time to get lessons from a little girl! A little girl who has skipped town, apparently! Doc says she left his house/hospital that morning. Wow, I get that you’re upset Ed, but there’s no need to just hang up on the Doc like that. And people wonder why he’s snippy all the time. Now, how to track down the little princess? It’s not like she has a unique identifier like a foreign animal companion OH WAIT Elsewhere in Central, Havoc gets visited by Breda and a gift of dumbbells, a farewell gift before he gets shipped off to the West. Fuery and Falman catch up as well as the latter goes to drop off a chess board, Falman griping about the cold of the north. I feel ya buddy. Up in Roy’s office Riza stops by as well, to get a few things she forgot but also to tell him about Scar being back and tell him to take care of himself. Then it’s just Roy, on his own in a big empty room. No pawn (what, just because Fuery’s short he gets the pawn?), no bishop (always serious Falman), no rook (stocky Breda), no knight (poor Havoc), and no queen (CAN’T STOP THE SHIP). But don’t count out the wannabe-king just yet! He’s still in play. And so is the Conspiracy, hidden message in the king! Go Falman!

Hey, Ed? You might wanna work on your drawing skills, or at least don’t inflict your own Angry Gremlin art style on a poor panda. At least Al’s there to show people what it actually looks like, but the day goes by and they haven’t gotten anything. Suddenly the Colonel drives by and offers them a ride, as well as any leads on May he finds. Anyways, about that- Leto, watch where you’re driving man! Anyways, about that money that Ed borrowed to panic-call Winry? [Ed]: “You remembered?! C’mon, how much did I borrow, 500 cens?” [Irate!Roy]: “It was 520 cens!” Titledrop! Ha, nice. “I’ll pay you back when you become Fuhrer.” Now he has even more reason to wait why is the music menacing? Seriously, Roy? You’re asking how Ed learned of your ambition to become Fuhrer? It’s not like you’ve kept it a secret. A bit of snarking about paying back pocket change after each time Roy improves the country, seriously though the music is making what I would normally be chuckling at depressing as heck. Stop it. Alright, back to their ro- Person in the room, look out! Wait, who. Oh jeez, it’s Ling’s other bodyguard, uh… *rifles through past posts*. Fu, right! Last we saw he was escorting Ross to Xing. Yeah, so while you were gone a couple of things happened… Really, Roy? One day without your Conspiracy, and you go drinking. I am- [Roy]: “Hey.” [Bar full of ladies]: *turns* [Who dis?]: “It’s Roy! Well I’ll be damned. Long time!” What. Who are you and why are you hugging Roy. What is going on. Riza, Riza I need you to get over here now. Uh anyway, we have a new character in the owner of this ‘establishment’, Madame Christmas. *Sigh* Come on Roy, I know that you and Riza aren’t official, but you just called her your queen! Show some- Oh. OH! The epic plotting music has started up, Roy’s passed a note to the Madame asking for something special. Secret informant group, go! One that has a direct line to General Grumman, no less!

Mid-episode pictures of Roy scowling at his King, and That Ass Kimblee strutting around in his white suit from the intro. Uh oh. Fu is not happy with the bodyguard he left to watch his liege. Lost her arm, Ling got Goth’d, and now moping in a dingy basement. Look dude, with all the foes WHOA nope! No hitting the lady! I get that you’re upset, but she did the best she could! Then it finally sinks in that Lan Fan lost her arm. Wait, what? [Lan Fan]: “Please forgive me, Grandfather.” He’s your grandpa? I thought it was just a teacher/student job, but they’re family? Ouch. Still very upset with you for hitting your granddaughter, dude, not letting you off the hook. But yikes, this has got to cut deep. You leave for half a season, and come back to this. Alright, time for a roadtrip! Lan Fan needs to meet up with Winry in Rush Valley to get her new arm. Or not? Come on gramps, this it not the time for foolish national pride, you can’t just- Oh. Ok yeah, the Goths have seen Lan Fan’s face now and have already threatened harm to Winry unless Ed toes the line. If she patches up one of their foes? It sucks, but they have to find another way. Fu thanks Doc for saving Lan Fan’s life, and I’m sorry this is a touching scene and all but I can’t get over the magically floating cigarette whenever Doc talks. Sweet scene of him blustering and trying to act grumpy and all, but really. That cigarette. Later, ninjas. Gather your strength, save your young lord, and give that old fart back in Xing immortality (again, ruining any chance of Ling advancing, but whatever). Greed? You just take care of Ling’s body until we can kick you out. The Doc’s resting on his couch, now that he can actually use it, thinking about… um. Thinking about a basement operating table with corpses strewn around the room. Um. Whatever THAT was, it’s compared to May and Lan Fan thanking him for his treatment, which he scoffs at. Yikes. His grumpy attitude and self-dismissal make a lot more sense now. Knock at the door, Doc goes to answer- “Uh, g-good evening Dad. Good to see you.” “It’s been awhile, how are you?” This is his family? His ex and son who were in the area and decided to stop by? And for the son to say he plans to become a doctor? To the tune of tinkly music? Yeah, no. I call bullshit. This is some Goth nonsense right here, I’d say a trick of Envy except there are two people so I don’t know how. But no way this is happening, especially after the giant middle finger to the Irony Gods earlier in the episode. Bracing for awfulness! Dude is crying as he gets some cups for coffee, asking God for a break. Just asking to enjoy some time with his family.

Next day in Central, looks like a cell with OH FOR LETO’S SAKE NO. How does Kimblee have that Stone? Wow, really officers? You gave this Blood Knight the most powerful MacGuffin in your setting, and after he did your dirty work you expected him to just hand it over and file a report on the power he once wielded? How have you survived this long? So it seems Kimblee got arrested for their murders, but no one else knew he swallowed the stone so he’s had it since. But if that’s true, why the heck has he just been sitting around in a cell all these years, not even escaping when Mr. Freeze tried to recruit him? He’s being released? Wrath, what are you up to? I can only assume that you knew he at least had a Stone because the Goths spearheaded the whole process, so why keep Kimblee locked up all this time only to release him now? How does this help you? Could be a distraction for the Protagonists, I suppose. Oh! I see it now, it’s for Scar! Throw the murderer of his people and family at him so he stays away from you. Kimblee’s walked out by a grumpy Warden who might as well be talking about his retirement party in three days. Death flags everywhere for this fool. Kimblee’s outside at an open gate, turns around to shake the man’s hand- and Transmute a bomb to his wrist. Leto, that’s- a baby chick? Wow, ok. Strapping a fake bomb to the man, just to see his freakout? You’re an ass. So now that the jerk’s free, he gets waved into a car by a MP who yup is Envy in disguise, here to give Kimblee a job. Marcoh’s gone. Or maybe not? Oh yeah, that missing guard chimera. If Marcoh could transmute living tissue to make a fake body, ala the Ross Deception, then he could have escaped with Scar. So the job’s to kill Scar and retrieve Marcoh, and then wipe a- A town?! Holy Leto, they’re gonna target Resembool! Scar, kill this ass! Ugh, and then in addition to his hidden Stone Kimblee gets a fresh one from Father, made from the assistants of Marcoh that first time. Makes sense in a jerk way, I guess. If you have to kill off the witnesses, why not grab those souls they aren’t using any more? Scar and Marcoh are hiding out in an alley, Scar explaining that Marcoh’s more useful alive to provide info on Kimblee and info about his brother’s research. Right, there’s that whole thing about Amestris’ alchemy being strange, and not just in that it’s different from alkahestry. Oh, and May’s caught up! She’s curious about their new companion, Scar’s quick to shut that idea down. He’s just the guy who made the Philosopher’s Stones-

Bleh. May hears “immortality” and jumps on it, she’s tugging on Marcoh’s sleeve and begging him to teach her how to make a Stone. Little one, stop. You have no idea what the true cost of a Philosopher’s Stone is. You can’t- Ah. I can see Scar’s logic here: better to remove the temptation now. I guess Marcoh is… still alive after that HoD? Oh yeah, the doctor is kinda recognizable, needs a new face. But wow dude, dick move to just grab him without any warning. Now, time to go and get his brother’s notes… In the north. Looks like everyone’s going to Drachma! Time to break out the winter outfits!

[angelbabylu]

The Art of Losing // AI

pairing: i created an oc for this bc its pretty heavy

prompt: Imagine you and Ashton are married and have a baby girl. You and your baby girl are driving back from a long day at the carnival and you get into a bad car accident.

warnings: this is supposed to be sad okay, warnings for death, drug use, & problematic domestic situations

word count: 5.5k

notes: this is for @myemptywallets who sent me the prompt. i hope this is does your prompt justice. shout out to my love @5sosnsfw ! thanks reading and editing this. love you 

title from the poem One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

-- 

- before -

There is no sound in the dressing room as Ashton sits typing away at the screen of his phone. He had taken a few photos of the boys during sound check, and now he’s posting them: Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, the works. With his focus buried deep in the world of social media, he is lost to the world around him.

A voice floats through the device on the desk in front of him, disrupting the silence with an exasperated, “Ash.”

He lets his eyes to flicker up to the neutral-faced woman on the screen for a half a second before shifting his attention down to Twitter once more.  

“One second, babe. I just need to send this tweet.”

With a heavy breath, she tries to convey her feelings of discontent. Were Ashton paying attention, he would have picked up on it in seconds. Then again, were Ashton paying attention, she wouldn’t be upset in the first place.

“Ashton, I think you guys are big enough now that you can hire someone else to run your twitter account.”

He doesn’t hear her. Or, if he does, he’s too engaged to respond.

It takes a full minute for his head to pop up and his eyes to meet piercing ones, their intensity dulled by the LCD display. She never quite looks the same behind a screen. Something about her felt diluted by the machine that separated them.

“What?” His thick brows furrow, creating a deep V in the space between them. She is opening her mouth to restate herself when his brain catches up.

“Baby,” he scoffs. They had talked about this. “You know how impersonal that is to me. Our fans deserve to hear straight from us.”

This time he keeps his eyes on her long enough to take in how disconcerted she is. Ashton knows that face better than his own. There were hours in years past that he dedicated to learning her every emotion. On that day that Ashton said those fateful words (“Maren Anderson, will you marry me?”), he promised to always do what he could to keep her happy. His current actions were contradicting that vow.

“Mare, you okay?”

The look she gives him says that she obviously isn’t. He feels a twinge in his gut at the realization that he had been neglecting her. Placing his phone back in his pocket (after covertly hitting send on the tweet), he gives his attention over to her.

“What’s up?”

“I miss you.”

It is three simple words, but the weight of them is enough to crush Ashton’s heart. This is why he had become so engrossed in the business side of the tour. Being the band’s personal PR agent is just one of the many tricks he uses to keep his mind occupied. The more menial tasks he finds to consume his days, the less time he spends thinking about to what he left behind at home.

She reaches her left hand up to sweep her hair out of her face, the diamond on her ring finger catching the light, sparkling on screen. Ashton still remembers the day he gave her that ring - more so than the day he had stumbled into Tiffany’s at Saks Fifth Avenue, drugged out of his mind but sure of one thing: how much he wanted her to be his wife.

“Why aren’t you on tour with me again?” He tries to keep his tone light, recognizing what the scrunch of her nose meant. If he allows the conversation to continue with professions of just how much pain the space between them is causing, she will inevitably start to cry. Selfishly, he doesn’t want to go on stage thinking about his wife crying thousands of miles away, with no way to comfort her.

“We’re blaming Eden,” she says, and that is just the segue he is hoping for. If there is one thing that could put a smile on both their faces, Eden is it.

“And where is my little devil?”

His wife is sitting on the couch in their living room, and if the smile she shoots over the screen of her phone is any indication, so is their five-year-old daughter.

“Daddy!”

The scream is accompanied by high pitched giggles as a flurry of dark curls materializes on screen, dislodging the camera from her mother’s hand. In the next second, Ashton is facing the light of his life. She is smiling, as always, her dimples the size of craters on her cheeks.  

“Hey! How’s my favorite girl?”

“Once again, your daughter comes on screen, and you forget I exist.”

His wife’s voice comes from somewhere to the left of the device, meaning she doesn’t see the roll of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he calls out. “Who are you again?”

Neither Maren nor Eden take lightly to the joke.

“Daddy, don’t be mean!” the curly-haired kindergartener chastises.

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in defeat. “What are my two favorite girls going to be up to today?”  

Maren’s head pops up on screen then, resting her cheek gently on the top of their daughters head. She doesn’t take the phone from Eden, knowing how much she likes to be in control during these family FaceTimes (“She gets this control thing from you,” Maren never hesitates to tell her husband.)

“We’re going to the carnival!”

He catches his wife’s guilty eyes over his daughter’s head. Just last week she had sworn they wouldn’t go to the carnival, citing it as punishment for Eden’s recent unruly behavior.

“We’re only going for a few hours,” Maren tries to explain. “Because Eden was good and cleaned her room today without me having to ask.”

“And I spoil her?” His voice is incredulous, hinting at a conversation they’d had numerous times before.

Eden, too clever for her own good, comments, “You both spoil me.”

The sound Ashton releases is an embarrassingly loud guffaw. Eden is sharp, to the point where Ashton is continuously amazed by her mind. Of course, he remembers watching his younger siblings mature, but something about watching his daughter, someone he helped bring into the world, go from only being able to laugh and babble to now developing her own firecracker sense of wit, felt different. He is immensely proud. And grateful to be blessed with someone as amazing as her.

“Your eyes, your smile, and now your sass,” his wife says fighting a slight smile. “She is her father's child.”

And she is. The resemblance is uncanny. Not only in their looks, but in their personality as well. They are both talkative pranksters, demanding of attention, always in need of stimulation and excitement. Together, they wreak havoc in their house. They are partners in crime. His wife often complains that they needed another child ASAP. It is easy to feel out of place in the Ashton and Eden Show.  

“I’m daddy’s child when I’m bad, mommy’s child when I’m good, and uncle Lu’s niece when I whine too much.”

Eden recites the mantra Maren has been repeating since Eden could talk. There are more sayings for the other boys as well. She is Mikey’s niece when they couldn’t get her away from her video games and Calum’s niece when she is melodramatic.

(A few days before they had gone on tour, Ashton had walked into their house to find Eden home from Kindergarten, sprawled out on the tan carpet of their living room. His wife at their record player with a Depeche Mode album in hand.

“What’s going on here?” he had asked.

Maren shrugged. “She came in, threw herself on the carpet, and asked for this album.” She waved the Some Great Reward Vinyl in her hand before slipping it out of its sleeve and onto the player.

“Bug?” Ashton turned to his daughter then, looking for more information.

No such luck.

“People are people, daddy.” She said as if there was some great weight on her five-year-old shoulders only Depeche Mode could solve.

Ashton caught his wife’s eyes. Then, as if there was no other response to the scene in front of them, they both sighed, “She is Calum’s niece.”)

They speak for a while, Eden monopolizing most of her dad’s attention. She is in the middle of a nonsensical story that Ashton was having a hard time following.

“Four, five, six hippo princesses and a dinosaur car chase!” Ashton’s mind supplies, and even though he has no idea what that means, he nods along anyway.

A knock on the door interrupts them just as Eden begins to mention Ali’s tater’s and lasers, or perhaps alligator lasers, Ashton isn’t really sure. She pauses though, all three of their attention shifting to the door as Ashton called the person inside.

It’s three people. Luke, Calum, and Michael stumble through the door of their dressing room looking all fired up and ready for the show. As soon as they see who’s one screen, they do not spare Ashton a second glance.

They crowd around the back of Ashton’s chair and begin to all speak at once, offering varying greetings to Maren and Eden.

“Sorry little bug,” Calum begins once everyone has finished exchanging pleasantries. “We’ve come to steal your daddy away.”

Luckily, Eden does not put up as much of a fight as she usually does.

There are tears - there are always tears. The second Eden hears that her dad has to leave, she begins to cry. Her nose scrunches, similar to the way Maren’s had earlier, and her eyes well up with rivers.

“No please,” She begs her uncle. “I wanna talk to daddy.”

All five adult hearts at that moment shatter. The boys know how hard it is for Ashton to be away from his daughter. Truthfully, it is hard for them to be away from her too. At that moment, Ashton is the only one with a child, and in many ways, Eden has become theirs as well.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, they have done this enough that everyone knows how to calm the five-year-old down.

“Eden,” it is Luke’s turn this time. He crouches at Ashton’s side, bringing himself down to be face to face with the screen of the iPad. “You know your daddy & your uncles will call you after the show.”

“Yeah,” Maren chimes in, her hand gently running through the unruly mop of curls on her daughter's head. “And we have the carnival. If you talk to your daddy all afternoon, we won’t be able to go.”

Eden still doesn’t budge. “I wanna keep talking to daddy.”

“My little sunshine.” Ashton and his daughter are twins. He boasts about knowing how to talk her down. “Go to the carnival. Have as much fun as possible. Then later when you get home, you’ll have twice as many stories to tell me and all the time in the world to tell them!”

At the thought of making more memories to share later with her dad, the kindergartener reluctantly resigns. “Okay,” she pouts.

“Love you, little bug.”

They exchange a round of “I love you’s” before Ashton got up and got ready for the stage.

- after: ashton -

Calum receives the news first. He is the closest to the wings of the arena stage that night, so when their manager rushes on stage, only ten minutes of the set remaining, he is the first one she runs into.

Ashton doesn’t realize that he has stopped playing for a full minute. It is not until Michael and Luke stop playing as well, both their attention on Calum, that Ashton begins to register that something is off.

Later, he will tell them that he knows the bad news is for him from the get-go. How can he not, with the way Calum breathes, “Fuck,” and immediately turns to him.

The arena is almost silent now. What was once thousands of fans yelling the lyrics to She Looks So Perfect is now a mass quiet, curious faces. Ashton wonders if the crowd can feel it too, can feel the realization that his manager’s next few words will tear his life apart forever.

“We regret to inform you that due to a family emergency we will be cutting the show short. . .”

Ashton doesn't get to hear her finish the speech because the boys rush towards him, all but forcing him off stage. He knows his body is moving, vaguely aware of the gentle hand at the small of his back, guiding him through the backstage area. His mind - that is elsewhere. It buzzes with one question only: What the fuck was happening? It takes him a full minute to realize he is repeating it aloud.

He doesn’t get his answer until Calum shoves him into a chair in their dressing room - the very same chair he sat on earlier when talking to his daughter and his wife.

“Promise me you’ll take deep breaths after I tell you this,” Calum commands. That is never a good sign. That phrase is not one that is usually followed by good news.

Ashton looks up and meets Luke’s eyes. He is surprised to find that he and Michael are confused as well. Calum is the only one who knows what was going on.

“Cal, what the fuck is happening?” Ashton says in lieu of the promise.

Calum is silent for what feels like a full minute. Ashton could hear the sound of each second passing from the clock on the dressing room wall. Tick, tick, tick.

It counts down the seconds before Ashton hears, “Maren and Eden got into a car accident.”

Luke and Michael release gasps of shock, both staggering as if Calum’s words are enough to knock them off their feet.

For Ashton, the words don’t quite sink in. He is on his feet before Calum’s next breath. The phrase alone is too much for Ashton to process, but he is aware that it is Mare and it is Eden and it is bad news.

“Okay, I need to - “

He doesn’t get to finish before Calum is pushing him back into his chair. “You need to breathe. We have a flight. The four of us. We leave for LA in 2 hours. The car will be pulling up any second now. We’re gonna go to the hotel, grab what you need, and then we’re gonna go.” He speaks like he would were it Eden in a crisis, demanding and almost infuriatingly slow.

“Do you understand?”

When Ashton nods, Calum shakes his head. “I need you to use your words, Ashton. Do you understand?”

He’s not sure his voice will work. He surprises himself when he’s able to croak out, “I understand.”

--

“Did you want to try eating breakfast today?”

He doesn’t get a verbal answer. Instead, the mop of hair peeking out from underneath the comforter slowly shakes no.

“You need to eat something,” There is a pleading in his voice. Still, he gets no response from the body tucked tightly in the bed sheets.

Sighing slowly, he closes the door behind him.

Maren hasn’t said a word since they came home from the hospital without their daughter. He understands. Some days he’s surprised he’s able to get out of bed at all. His mother thinks that he’s in shock, that the finality of everything hasn’t hit him yet. Maybe he hasn’t realized he will never see his little girl again, never see her smile, never hear her say a sharp comment, nothing. He thinks she’s partially correct. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognizes that this truly terrible thing has happened to him, but if he doesn’t give himself the time to think, the time to mull on just how world crushing the situation is, he won’t snap. He won’t fall to pieces like his wife has. And right now, he has to keep it together for her.

When he gets downstairs, he finds Calum, Michael, and Crystal in the kitchen.

There are a million people staying at his house right now. Luke refuses to go home. He spends most of his days curled up in bed with Maren. From what Ashton can gather, neither of them say very much. They just sit together in silence. Sometimes when he walks by the TV will be on. Other times, they’re crying. But he hasn’t heard either of them utter a word. He’s happy (a funny word at that moment) that Luke can be there for Maren in a way that he can’t.

Mikey and Crystal will go home sometimes. Mostly because Maren doesn’t like seeing Crystal, the small 4-month baby bump a reminder that of the child they had lost.  

His mom and his siblings are milling around somewhere. They flew in just a few hours after he did.

God. Just 4 days ago he was still on tour. He shook the thought out of his head. There was no point in worrying about how his fans were reacting to its abrupt cancellation.

Calum catches sight of the motion and looks over him with scrutinizing eyes, “You okay?”

Calum had been his rock in the past four days. Ashton will never forget how he ushered him from one place to the next that first night, getting him ready for the plane flight and the subsequent visit to the hospital. And now, there was no way he could plan this funeral without Calum. They were the only ones strong enough to. Better yet, the only ones strong enough to pick themselves up after a good cry.

Neither of them told anyone about the day at the funeral home. Calum had barely been able to clarify, “We’re looking for child caskets,” before the both of them broke down in tears. That was the only time Ashton allowed his emotions to slip. Even then, he forced himself to regain composure, perhaps too quickly. Ashton is afraid that if he lets himself to really cry, he will never stop.

“Fine.” He responds to Calum’s earlier question.

Eventually, his sister joins them in the kitchen and all five of them make breakfast. It is a little crowded, but everyone just wants to be around each other, so no one complains.

The funeral and wake will be later that day. The wake is being held at his house so of course his mom has been up since the crack of dawn cleaning. Never mind the fact that they could easily hire an entire crew to do so. His mom recruits his siblings, Michael and Crystal to help with the cleaning. Calum and Ashton go over final funeral details. And Luke and Maren. . . they cry and try to gather their strength for the funeral.

Ashton makes it through the funeral, his eulogy, and the wake that follows. He makes it to the end of the week. He makes through seven days of his wife not uttering a word to him. So, he feels weak when the thing that finally causes him to break is his mom leaving.

He had rolled his eyes at the airport when she asked, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” and all but pushed them onto the plane. He knew they wanted to stay and be there for him, but his siblings still had school. They had already taken a week off. They made promises to see each other the next holiday and then said goodbye.

It doesn’t hit him until he gets home.

There are no more distractions.

The funeral is over.

The few days post-funeral he had spent shopping for and catching up with his mom and his younger siblings.

Now they are gone too.

Michael and Crystal are home together.  

Luke is probably curled up somewhere with Maren.

Calum finally went home to his girlfriend, no longer needed to help plan a funeral.

Ashton is alone.

Maybe not totally alone.

He takes a deep breath and climbs the stairs, en route to his room. He knocks but knows better than to expect an answer before pushing it open.

He’s surprised to find that Luke isn’t there. He’s even more surprised to find his wife sitting up, and scrolling through her phone. “Luke went home?” he asks.

She doesn’t even look up at him.

“Yeah.”

Yeah. The first word his wife has spoken to him since the death of their daughter.

He sits gingerly on the bed. His side of the bed. A bed he hasn’t slept in for months.

“Should we. . .” he trails off, looking at her, hoping to meet her eyes.

She keeps her gaze down.

“Should we talk about it?”

For a minute, he thinks she isn’t going to respond. She’s almost robotic in the way she stares at the small device and in the movement of her thumb. He thinks that maybe if he sticks it out, if he sits by her, she will look up at him and they will finally get to talk about it - to go through this pain together.

They don’t.

“Ashton,” Her voice is small. She turns off her phone, but her eyes never leave it. “Don’t take this the wrong way but - “

Her voice is breaking, just like his heart.

“I’m having a hard time okay? I just want to be alone to process my emotions. I can’t talk about it. It is still too painful.”

He doesn’t know what that means. What he’s supposed to do with that information. A million responses roll through his mind.

He eventually settles on, “Okay.”

Before he’s even out the door, he has his phone in hand, dialing a number he hasn’t touched in years.

- after: maren -

The first words Maren says after Eden dies are, “I need to go get Eden ready for school.”

She’s woken up by someone placing something on her bedside table, and for a brief moment, before she even opens her eyes, her subconscious thinks it’s Ashton waking her up to go get Eden. They had done it many times before. He would make her breakfast, a nice gesture, but inevitably wake her up with the clanging of the breakfast tray on the bedside table.

But this time it wasn’t Ashton, and she would never get Eden ready for school again.

When Luke lets out a shuddering breath, reality comes rushing back to her. As soon as her eyes open, she is crying. She has only seen people through her tears recently.

Luke is crying too.

At this point, it’s two days since Eden’s death. One day since they got home from the hospital. The car was hit on the passenger side, where Eden had been peacefully babbling, playing with a stuffed giraffe she had “won for her uncle Lu” at the carnival.

A drunk driver. Dead on impact as well.

The car had spun out, gone off the bank on the opposite side of the road before being stopped by a thicket of trees. She had been conscious until the airbag deployed, causing the majority of her injuries.

Lucky. That’s what the doctor said when she awakened. She was lucky to walk away with a few burns and a broken arm.

Mourning a child felt impossible. If the driver had hit her side and Ashton were planning her funeral, she knows it would be hard, but some part of her thinks like it would be better.

She has experienced life. Eden has not. She’ll never experience the first day of first grade, she’ll never get her first report card, do a science project, have a first crush, bring a significant other home, anything.

The thought swarms her mind what feels like every second of every day. So much so that she can’t speak. She thinks that if she does, all that will come out is a list. A list of things that she’ll never see her baby do.

So, she locks herself away. Luke is the only one brave enough to come and see her - and even then they don’t speak. They cry and listen to Eden’s favorite albums and watch Paw Patrol of all things. All without exchanging a word.

She leaves her room twice in that first week. The first time, she shuffles down the stairs in search of water. It’s expected when what feels like a thousand voices float up from the foyer, getting clearer as she gets closer.

She knows that all the boys are there. They wouldn’t leave Ashton’s side at a time like this.

When she walks into the kitchen where they’re gathered, everyone grows quiet, watching her as if she is teetering on the edge of a break.

To be fair, she is.

She sees Crystal’s baby bump for the first time since the accident and immediately breaks down in tears.

The second time is for Eden’s funeral.

Ashton even gets a fucking priest. Neither of them are very religious, so it feels disingenuous. She briefly wonders if five-year-olds go to heaven. If Eden is somewhere at that moment, being taken care of.

It’s a nice thought. Something easy to believe.

Perhaps that’s why Ashton got the priest in the first place.

She sits in the back and leaves before it’s over.

Ashton tries to comfort her at times. She’s aware of him coming to her door daily, of the food he sends up with Luke even after she says she doesn’t want to eat, of the gentle hand that he places on her shoulder at the funeral that she promptly shakes off.

She loves Ashton.

She does.

But Ashton is Eden’s twin. They were always joking about that. Now, Maren couldn’t look at him without being reminded of everything she’s lost.

She doesn’t expect it when Ashton stops trying.

The day she sends Luke home is the day she pushes Ashton away.

She realizes too late that it’s a mistake. It means getting out of bed and making her own tea.

The first day she tries but finds one of Eden’s sippy cup forgotten at the back of the cupboard. She spends three hours on the kitchen floor crying.

At the end of the second week, she works up the energy to make an appointment with a grief counselor.

“And how is your husband taking all this?”

Counseling is going great until she gets that question.  

She doesn't know how to tell her counselor that she hasn’t seen her husband in weeks. She has no idea where he is or what he has been up to. She never even asked him how he was feeling about the death of their first child.

At the encouragement of her counselor, she makes an effort to reach out to Ashton.

Staring at her phone screen for hours, she finally decides on a text.

Dinner?  

She’s not sure that he will respond.

He does, seconds later.

He says, i'll be home in 20.

After all that time, Ashton still came running when she called.

She thinks it’ll be cute to bring back some of their old traditions. The first time she cooks for Ashton, it is after spending an entire day wrapped around each other. Naturally, she was wearing his clothes while she did it. Somehow, it becomes a ritual of theirs: her wearing his clothes as she moves about the kitchen, him watching from the sidelines pretending to help.

What she finds in his t-shirt drawer derails the entire night.

When Ashton walks in, she is not in the kitchen preparing dinner, but in the living room, sitting quietly in the dim light of their table lamp.

“Really?” Maren asks. This is the second conversation they’ve had since Eden, and she feels like this will be their last.

Ashton’s eyes finally fall on the bottle in her hand. It’s a translucent orange with a handful of white pills sitting at the bottom. When she shakes it, its rattle thunders through the room. His flinch lets her know that at least part of him feels remorse.

He had stopped taking Xanax before they got married. It was their deal. She would only marry him if he got clean. To know that he was back. . .

Ashton’s first reaction is to downplay it all.

“Eden is fucking dead, Mare. This is my way of dealing with it. Just like yours is to disappear to your room for weeks and refuse to say anything to me.”

Maren doesn’t respond. She knows that if she opens her mouth to speak, she is going to yell. Gritting her teeth, she tries to keep her comments to herself – comments about how her dead daughter is not an excuse for him falling off the wagon.

Her silence only serves to agitate him.

She has to tighten her grip on the pill bottle as he continues, voice rising as he yells, “What so you’re allowed to feel things, and I’m not?”

Anger bubbles inside her. First, he uses their daughter as an excuse to go back to the dark places of his past, and now he is throwing her own grief back at her. She stands, facing him, but tries to keep her voice level, aware of how easy it would be for both of them to start screaming.

“This isn’t feeling things. This is you not knowing how to deal with your emotions, same as always.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” He asks, as if this isn’t a conversation they’d had before, as if she hadn’t once begged him to go to therapy for it.

“When you were on tour, and you missed us, instead of allowing yourself to feel it, you buried yourself in work and pretended everything was fine. This is no different.”

“You’re comparing the pain that I’m feeling over our dead daughter to me missing you on tour?”

“No.” She knows he is purposely misunderstanding her for the sake of argument. She explains herself anyway, “I am saying that just like how you refused to deal with your pain then, you are refusing to deal with your pain now.

“Ashton, our daughter is dead.” He winces at her impassive tone. That is the difference between them. It has taken her months of depression and counseling to be able to say those words. Ashton isn’t there yet, and she knows that if he doesn’t acknowledge his feelings, he never will be.

“Our daughter is dead. And that is not something that you can forget or pretend isn’t happening with drugs. You need to allow yourself time to mourn her. The drugs? That’s not helping you feel things.” She calls back his earlier phrase again, to drive her point in. “That’s helping you burry those feelings.”

He recoils as if her words are a slap to the face.

“Oh get off your fucking high horse, Mare!” Because of the volume and the intensity of his words, now Maren is the one to flinch. It was like this before too, with the drugs. He was easily irritable, prone to blaming his out of control behavior on anything other than himself, “I had to deal with this shit by myself. You disappeared. I had to plan this funeral while I mourned the loss of our child. And you created this distance between us. You! The only other person who understood what I was going through.”

He’s screaming by the time he has finished.

And he’s right.

That’s the painful part. Maren fucked them up first, but if she sticks around, Ashton is going to make everything worse. She knows she didn’t deal with Eden’s death in the best way just like she knows that Ashton isn’t coping in the best way now. If they continue down this path, they’re just going to keep hurting each other.

“I think I’m gonna go.”

“Go where? We’re not done.”

She ignores his angry protests and sidesteps him as she makes her way to the door.

“I love you,” she says. Her back is to him, hand already poised on the knob. “I will never love someone as much as I love you. And that’s why I think it’s best if I go.”

“Why are you always trying to walk away from us?” His voice is small now, barely above a whisper. She can feel him pleading in his words.

He is referring to the first time she gave him an ultimatum. Back then, he had brought her the beautiful ring that still sat on her finger, but he had been so drugged up he could barely get words out. What she told him then is what she tells him now.

“You need to realize Ash that this is bad for you, for the both of us. When you realize that and you get clean, come find me.”

She looks back at him for a brief second, and the last thing she sees before she leaves are the tears running down his face.

--

end notes: don’t forget to let me know what you think! thanks for reading!

tag list: @5sosnsfw / @bloodmoonashton / @lukescaboose / @5sex-of-summa / @deviantnines / @halcyonnhood / @gh0st-0f-y0u-95 / @aspiringwildfire / @cal-pal-cuddles / @hotmessmichael / @hereforlukescruff / @softforcal / @ohhmuke / @calum5os / @grittyisathot / @calumamongmen / @ashtonandcalslefthand / @asht0ns-world / @colorful-queen-of-the-roses / @peraltiago-drarry / @slowlyelectronictragedy / @myemptywallets / @pagesuponstpages / @fallfrxmgrace / @thefireisgone / @michaelorwhat / @dammitbands

[umbraastaff]

@merle-casts-zone-of-truth

(well, this got out of hand! i was intending to write this concept as a much shorter, not-shipping fic, but then i decided to use this prompt as an excuse to actually write it, so here we are i guess!!!  --oh, and using the last name Hadar comes from the ideas ive seen on your blog, ofc. hey i love that a lot and i had to give it a shoutout!)

Overgrowth [a sort of companion fic to Harvest, though you don’t need to read one to read the other]

★ ★ ★

On Tesseralia, they say they’ll give over the Light when John makes peace with the enemy.

The Light of Creation is right at their fingertips for the 30th cycle. All it’ll take is a conversation with the omniverse’s most enormous, threatening force.

“If there’s anyone in any plane who can do it, it’s you,” Lucretia says.

John smiles wryly. “Yes. If there’s anyone.”

“If you can’t make peace, get information,” Davenport advises. “But don’t sell yourself short. You’re good at this.”

“I’m good at this,” John repeats.

★

The first sign of the Overgrowth’s approach is widening cracks in sidewalks and rocks. Vines creeping up mailboxes. Farms yielding crops a little faster, fruits a little bigger. The sun feeling a little brighter.

★

John fixes his tie, closes his eyes, and wills himself into a deathly vulnerable space. He opens his eyes to a bizarre scene. It’s a beach, because he’s standing in the sand by the ocean, with waves that creep up close to his feet, then slide away just in time to leave them dry. Across from the ocean, though, there’s a dense forest, and stray trees permeate the rest of the environment: standing in the sand, and even in the ocean, swaying with the waves. They aren’t even trees you usually find near beaches.

The whole place looks like a collision. It’s as if a forest and a beach decided they both wanted to be here for this meeting, and they both followed through, with no coordination. There are two suns in the violet sky, too, as if to drive home the idea that it’s two places mashed together.

And John is standing across from someone else, in the sand, in the point of contact between these two climates. He’s a dwarf in a bright-colored shirt with a tropical print. He looks like a regular guy. Like a dad, even.

The dwarf squints at John, blinks a few times. “Huh,” he says, in a voice that’s too gruff, too earthy, too real to belong to someone at the center of a universe-consuming mass of plants.

“Hello, sir,” John says, forcing the bewilderment to keep out of his voice. “I am John Hadar. May I ask your name?”

“Highchurch. Uh, Merle. Highchurch.”

“Highchurch Merle?” John says, extending a hand. “A pleasure.”

“Other way around,” Merle chuckles, shaking it. “The pleasure’s mine! This is real weird, though. How’d you pull this off?”

“It’s something called Parley. A technique for peacemaking, which is what I hope to achieve with you. It ensures that the guest-- that’s you-- is perfectly safe. I invited you, so I can’t harm you,” John explains. He omits the bit where Merle can kill him, but he’s sure the dwarf will pick up on it. Then he adds, hopefully, “Question for a question?”

“You already asked my name,” Merle says, but after a beat where John’s trying to come up with a response, he grins. “Kidding! Let’s sit down. Then you can ask whatever you want.” He gestures past John, and so the human turns around to see a picnic table. He’s absolutely sure that wasn’t there a minute ago.

They sit down. John speaks again. “So, this place… I don’t recognize it, myself, but I’m wondering if it holds any significance to you.”

“Never seen anythin’ like it,” Merle says earnestly. “But I figure it’s, y’know, a metaphorical space. I’m from the beach, myself, always loved it. And the trees… I like ‘em plenty, too, but that’s gotta be more to do with my whole situation… and Pan. I’m a cleric, you know. Well, was a cleric.”

“Huh. Do you mind if I ask--”

Merle shakes his head, interrupting. “I get another question, pal!”

“Ah, yes,” John says, very worried that he’s going to have to give away (or come up with a lie about) important information.

“Do you like chess?”

John raises his eyebrows. “Oh, er, yes. I do. Very much.”

Merle smiles. “You seemed like the type.” He knocks on the table, and a square platform of wood rises from it, with a checkered pattern appearing as it does. Then, a boardful of chess pieces appears in their rightful places: John’s set is made of wood, and Merle’s pieces are all made of tiny, woven vines. “So, what was your question?”

“Oh, right. I was wondering, since you were a cleric before, how did you go from that occupation to… this?”

“Funny you should ask it that way,” Merle says, “Since I probably wouldn't be here if I wasn’t a cleric in the first place.” He taps the table gently in thought. “People from my church, they… they found out something big, and they asked me to explain it. I asked Pan about it. And this whole shebang sprung from that event.”

“I… see.” John nods slowly, taking that in. He’s grateful for the chessboard: a perfect distraction to pad the conversation and keep his big questions from seeming too frequent. “I’m afraid I don’t know which of these sets counts as white or black, so I’m not sure whether to make a move or wait for you.”

“Oh! Who cares. You go ahead!”

They play for a few turns in silence. Merle is very slow, but he’s very good, and they’re about equally matched in skill. Finally, the dwarf says, “You mind if we get rid o’ the whole back-n-forth thing and just have a normal conversation?” With a cautious nod from John, he continues. “What really brings you here? I can’t imagine trying to talk things out with the plant plane was your first solution, if I’m causing so much trouble for you.”

“Ha,” John lets out a hint of a laugh at that. “No, it wasn’t. I only recently learned this technique. We just figured that it couldn’t hurt to try talking, right?”

Merle looks him in the eyes, looks through his eyes. It’s uncomfortable. John likes to be in control of what people see in him, and Merle looks like he’s reading an open book. “It’s more specific than that.”

John blinks. “Yes. Well, there’s also the issue where we won’t get the Light of Creation here unless I make peace with you,” he says, and only after it comes out does he realize how much he’s said, too directly. It was so compelling, in that moment looking at Merle’s eyes, to be honest. Goosebumps prick the back of his neck.

“The Light, huh?” Merle moves his bishop. Whaddya need that for?”

John hesitates. “We’re scientists. Er, my party. We want to study it.” Each of the last few words has to be forced up his throat, burning his tongue just slightly as they come out.

Merle meets his eyes again, looking disappointed this time. Like a parent of a kid who stole candy instead of, John reminds himself, an enormous eldritch forest that suffocates whole planar systems. “You don’t have to tell me,” Merle says, “But please don’t lie. Not in such a lovely place.”

So not even half-truths work. And it’s not as if John can risk trying a charm spell on a man with so much power. He’s just going to have to play the game: be honest, and try to get more information than he gives. “My apologies,” he says. “I hope you can forgive my caution.”

Merle nods. “You want the Light to get it away from me, right?” When John’s only response is a startled stare, the dwarf continues. “That’s good. I hope you use it for something better than we do.”

John blinks, but as he’s trying to find the right question about that, he feels a pressure on his legs. He looks down to see vines creeping up from the ground, locking his feet to the earth. “Uh, what’s--”

“Oh, shoot,” Merle exclaims, looking under the table from his side. “I think our time’s up. Is it possible for you to come back later? A while later. I don’t want you to be endangered here.”

“Ah, yes,” John says quickly. “Nice meeting you, Merle.”

“Yeah, yeah, nice chat, get outta here!” the cleric responds, voice lacking any real annoyance.

John closes his eyes.

★

The Overgrowth’s second sign is the death of small plants on the forest floor as the shadows of the canopy overtakes them. It’s the sidewalks crackling, home gardens climbing up the walls and through the windows. It’s people getting ill from non-native plants releasing toxins they don’t have the immune systems for.

★

Smoke hardens back into John’s form, and he looks up from his place on the floor. Everyone is still here: the crew, and Oriana. She looks down at him, question apparent on her face.

Back in his element, John pastes a bright, relieved smile onto his face. “The Overgrowth won’t be bothering us anymore.”

The crew stands in stunned silence, and then they break into cheers, with varying levels or sincerity. Oriana takes a bit longer to convince, but John says everything he needs to, gets ahold of the Light, and returns to the Starblaster with his crew.

Davenport speaks as soon as the door shuts behind them. “Well done getting the Light. What actually happened?”

“I played chess with the Overgrowth. His name is Merle,” John says flatly. Six pairs of eyes stare at him.

“You played chess with plant hell?” Taako clarifies. “For real?”

“So there was a specific person at the center of it all?” Lucretia asks, already writing.

“Yes. And he used to be a cleric of Pan. I think… it seemed like godly power was involved in the Overgrowth’s creation. I’m going to ask more later.”

“What? Why not just stay there and get the rest of the info back then?” Magnus asks.

“The plants there started acting up, and he asked me to leave. I was worried I’d die if I didn’t, and then we’d have no chance to get this world’s Light.”

Davenport nods. “Good call. Give it as much time as you think it needs, then get back in there.”

Lup finally speaks. “He didn’t kill you. Like, he actively tried to not kill you. That’s nuts.”

“Yeah,” John says.

★

In the Overgrowth’s later stages, plants start to animate. Roots wrap around the foundations of buildings and crush them. Vines overrun the streets and valleys. Touching any of them gets you dragged underground, locked in a dirt tomb until the world ends.

★

Since it’s only a month to the end of the year, and the heightened activity of the Overgrowth might distract Merle in later conversations, John decides to Parley at the next reset. He finds himself in the same place, with waves a little calmer than he remembers. This time, the picnic table is already in front of him, and their half-finished chess game is waiting. And on the other side of the table…

“Merle,” he says.

“John! Nice to see ya. Thanks for waiting.”

“Of course,” John says. “May I ask what cut our last meeting short?”

Merle takes a moment to think. “Hard to explain. When I’m not here, with you, I don’t have a body, or even individuality. I’m just part of the mass. And I’m sort of a reassuring force, because of my role in all this. So when I’m not there, they get… antsy? Like a bunch of kids,” he adds with a laugh.

John smiles. He can’t quite get behind the humor of calling the Overgrowth “kids,” but Merle’s shameless enjoyment of his own joke is sort of endearing.

“I gotta question,” Merle says, sitting down at the table. John joins him. “Whose turn is it in the chess game?”

“Yours, I believe. Was that your question?” John jokes.

“Ha! Nice try,” Merle retorts, using a pawn to take one of John’s diagonally. “I just moved between planar systems. Does this parley thing work across different systems, or do you have a method of transport? I know for sure you’re not hitching a ride with me.”

John considers how to answer that. On the one hand, Merle would probably let him decline to answer. But on the other, that could mean Merle refusing John’s questions later. And John has to be honest if he does answer, so… best to just keep it vague. “My friends and I, er, that crew of scientists,” he says, “We found a way to pass between dimensions just before you do. Using your portal, but not your plane.”

“Huh. That explains how you’ve done it without the Light in hand.”

John hesitates. “One more thing. During our first meeting, you mentioned that the Overgrowth-- er, that is, your whole plant plane, here--”

“Overgrowth?” Merle laughs. “Kinda on-the-nose! Better than mine, though.”

“Yes, well,” John continues, “You said it all started with someone asking you about… something. What was it?”

Merle’s expression falls, but before John can find out why, he realizes that his hand, resting on the table, has nettles starting to grow over and around it, with spikes that are precariously close. “Time to go, then, I suppose.”

★

It’s a few more sessions before John tries the question again.

“I just keep wondering,” John explains, “because what you've done is so… incomprehensible, so unique. I can't imagine what you were asked that made you create it.”

Merle closes his eyes. “When I was a cleric, back home, some members of my church found the Light of Creation. Young people, you know? The sort to ask big questions. Problem is, the Light had answers.” He takes a minute to make a chess move before continuing.

“They were scared of what they saw, so they showed it to me, looking for answers. And I- I saw--” Merle takes a shaky breath, and John realizes his eyes are glistening. “I saw everything. It wasn't just the concept of eternity, it was every single moment of it. And everything we do is so small, John. It was all so antithetical to everything I'd ever believed. I… I don't…”

John puts a hand on top of Merle’s, on the table. Merle looks up at him, some of the distress relaxing into gratitude. “John,” he says seriously, “With all your space travels and whatnot, don’t you ever lose sight of the little things. Don't zoom out so far into the big picture that you forget what's important.”

John’s lips quirk upwards. “Don’t worry. I’m a bard. I know every note is important.”

“A bard, huh?” Merle leans back, (not far enough to separate their hands), and he takes on a jokingly offended look. “You been holdin’ out on me? What do I gotta do to hear you play?”

“Sing, actually,” John says. Usually he’s not a fan of impromptu requests, but he finds he doesn't mind this one too much. “I mean, I do most of my magic with motivational speaking. But I sing sometimes, too.”

And then he does. He sings an old Dwarvish song that he learned on a previous world, something with a softer melody than most of their music is known for. He doesn't actually know any Dwarvish outside of the lyrics he's memorized, but he knows what it's about: A stone that falls and rolls down a mountain, who talks to all the animals and plants it passes. And at the end, when it's sitting still at the base, thinking it is alone, it learns it has befriended the mountain itself.

Merle is crying by the end of it, letting out any tears he was suppressing. “That was beautiful,” he says. “Thank you, John.”

★

The Overgrowth never appears in the sky. It climbs out from the core of the plane, a parasite, suffocating the world in shadow and cold as a cocoon covers it. And once the planar system is engulfed, it expands to its true size. The crew only ever sees it for a few moments-- an enormous mass of plants, with vines reaching out to them, before time freezes and resets.

★

“I’ve seen dozens of civilizations use the Light to pursue knowledge,” John says. “How did your use of it create the Overgrowth?”

“It wasn't in pursuit of knowledge,” Merle says. “It was… I led the church in a prayer. And because I had the Light, the whole world joined in as I called to Pan.” he sighs. “But I think that the vastness of eternity-- of real eternity-- was too big for gods, too.

“So Pan gave us his power. Or we ripped it out of him, I don't know. I don't think the light amplified his magic so much as… made its own version. Because, this--” he gestures to the forest-- “this isn't my Pan.

“Anyway, yeah. The Overgrowth began with that. We were all so afraid of being alone, being small andshort-lived in an uncaring universe. Of being nothing. But if we joined everyone together, if we became our own universe, we could be… something.”

★

“What brings you joy, John? Do you enjoy singing?” Merle asks, after another song.

“Yes. I like to... inspire people. And I like the way words and notes can be woven into any shape.” When Merle waits, John adds, “And… I love my crew, and…” They meet eyes.

“That’s good. Don't ever stop loving things, John, don't ever let yourself stop.”

“What do you enjoy, Merle?”

“I love your singing. I love our meetings. I love these waves,” Merle says, gesturing out towards the sea. “I wish I could remember any of that when I’m not here. Then, maybe… maybe I could stop all this. Stop… hurting everyone. Hurting you.”

★

In the ninety-second cycle, against the advice of the rest of the crew, John calls Merle for a final meeting. They've spoken in every cycle up till now-- multiple times in some of them, when Merle could manage it.

On the beach and in the ocean, there are more trees than there used to be. It's been a gradual increase over the decades, but it still feels like far too many, too fast. Above them, the night sky sparkles with stars.

“This may be our last meeting,” John says immediately. If he sits on the information, Merle will know something’s wrong.

Merle senses the weight of that statement, and so he doesn't endanger John by asking why. Instead, he says, “What, your friends finally figured out you're having an affair with the enemy instead of grilling me?”

John goes red for a moment before he relaxes and laughs. “You, personally, aren't my enemy, Merle.”

“Just look at you, hopelessly brainwashed!”

They laugh. John has mentioned before how he’s sure the crew thinks he's being Charmed, what with how happy he always leaves parley sessions, and with less new information each time. But he still fights against the Overgrowth just as hard as the rest of them, so they keep trusting him.

Merle speaks again as their laughter dies down. “I was wondering when this’d happen. You got any plans for our last day?”

Without really thinking, John starts to sing. He sings about the stars reflecting on the waves, about impossible wishes breaking the backs of meteors, about how far apart each star in a constellation is. He lets magic creep into the music, making the stars twinkle with different colors and having their reflections swirl in the ocean.

Merle faces away from John for most of it, staring out at the sea. “I loved that,” he says quietly at the end. “Where is it from?”

“I… I made it up just now. I thought you'd notice, what with all the stumbling and off-key notes.”

“It was perfect,” Merle whispers. They stare at the sky for a while, and then he breaks the silence again. “And you know I'm tone deaf, right?”

John laughs. “Oh, that's right! I forgot. Guess that part doesn't matter, then.”

“Yeah,” says Merle, and before they can fall into another silence, he adds, “Hey, you wanna know about these constellations? I think I still remember a few of them.”

“That would be lovely,” John says.

★

Seventeen years later, John drinks the ichor of a second voidfish, and he is overwhelmed by a sea of memories. In the emotional mayhem, he almost tries to parley. The thought is interrupted by the deafening crack of the moon base being torn through. The crew sees an enormous tree trunk grow straight up through a dome and then through the ceiling. There is a horrible, lurching tilt as the base's ability to stay airborne goes out, and it remains in place by the tree’s strength alone.

★

Not an hour later, John vanishes from a barely-functional elevator and finds himself in an almost-familiar space. His shoes are on sand, but he's surrounded by a fairly thick forest. He can see the ocean water to his side, glinting off the spots of sunlight between leaves. The picnic table is broken in half, with a tree dividing it.

And he sees Merle. “Holy shit, that worked,” the dwarf says. He's on his knees, surrounded by foliage. His right arm looks like it's made of wood, and his left eye has a flower obscuring it. John can't tell if it’s growing over the eye or instead of it. He doesn't want to know.

“Oh gods, Merle,” John says in a panic. “Fuck, it's been-- what's going on?”

“It’s this very original idea I had,” Merle grins, considerably less worried than John is. “I call it Parley!”

“What happened to your arm? Your eye? Merle--”

“Don’t worry about it. And what about you? Your complexion? You look awful,” he laughs.

“I had my good skin stolen by elves who played… electronic dance music.”

“The hell’s that? Can you sing it? Will you--” his tone drops to something a little more serious. “Will you sing for me? One last time?”

“I- I can't,” John says. “They took my singing, my… my sense of pitch. I can't sing.”

Merle looks at him for a long moment, and John expects something sympathetic, pitying. He doesn't want that at all. But before he can say that, Merle says, “You’re tellin’ me your pitch is stopping you from singin’ for Merle “tone-deaf” Hitower Highchurch, in a private parley area?” The trees around them seem to shift and creak. “What happened these last couple decades? The John I remember wasn't shy like that.”

“No, it's-- I appreciate that, Merle, but it's not that simple. I can't feel the changes between notes at all, and it throws me off my rhythm every time. I can't hold a tune.”

“John, if you won't sing, I will,” Merle decides. “And you're gonna hate it.”

“I doubt that,” John challenges.

And so Merle starts singing a loud, obnoxious shanty, wheezing every time it requires his voice to go higher. John realizes a few bars in that he recognizes it. It was broadcasted by one of the voidfish at Legato Conservatory.

As Merle predicted, John hates it, in an amused sort of way. He decides to try joining in, and he finds it's easier to keep up with the rhythm when he's being guided by Merle's (albeit terrible) singing. They yell the song to the sea, lacking any semblance of harmony or tune.

“See,” Merle says, “You still got it!”

John laughs. “I just didn't have any other way to drown you out, that's all.”

“You coulda killed me,” Merle says, tone far too flat. John stops laughing. The trees seem to lurch inwards around them, making John feel mildly claustrophobic. “This is parley.”

“What? No, Merle, what?? I'm not-- I won't kill you. I can't. Don't say that.”

“It might solve your problem.” As he says it, John feels vines creeping up his feet, tighter than usual. He tries to kick them off.

“And it might not! Jesus, Merle! We're gonna find a way, okay?”

Merle sighs. “Thought you might be like that. C’mere.” When John leans away from his inviting gesture, Merle adds, “I won't trick you into killing me. I'm not a jackass.”

John hesitates another moment before stepping forward, shaking the plants from his legs. He sits down in front of Merle-- with him cross-legged and the dwarf up on his knees, they're nearly eye-level.

Merle puts his non-wood hand on John’s upper arm. Roots are starting to twist over both of their legs. “John,” he whispers, “Do you wanna know the worst lie I've ever been told?”

John leans in. “Yes…?”

“It’s that love and moments and songs aren't worth anything because they'll be gone someday. And I've been living that lie for ninety-nine percent of my last few centuries alive. Except when I’m with you.” The trees are getting wider, taller. They’re starting to actually close in. The wind whistling through the branches sounds like a scream. “So I wanted to tell ya thanks for that, and I also wanted a minute here to cast-- Zone of Truth!”

The last words are a shouted spell, cast from his wooden hand, which has its fingers on the ground. The earth glows all around them, and then suddenly everything ignites. The arm, the trees, the vines. John expects the fire on his legs to burn him, but it just feels pleasantly warm.

As he's squinting at the blaze, John feels Merle squeeze his arm a little tighter and cough. He looks down to see vines constructing Merle's chest, aflame but too thick to be burned through yet.

“Oh gods, Merle, are you okay? I can-- Maybe I can heal--”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Merle wheezes gently. He moves his hand up to John’s head, running it through his hair. Then he presses their foreheads together, and they stay like that for a moment. “Destroy these bastards for me.”

And then John wakes up on the side of a dirt road.

★

At the end of the battle, John sees Merle once more. He’s sitting on the shore of the beach, looking like his normal self again. And there aren’t any trees in the sand or water-- only some vegetation scattered further away, where it would be on a normal beach. Far across the water, two suns are setting, one just slightly above the other.

Merle looks up and smiles at John, then pats the ground beside him. “Will you sit with me?”

John does, his mind swirling with questions and wishes and apologies-- something, anything to say to Merle before he’s gone. What does he say? Why can’t he get any words out?

“We don’t have to talk.” There’s an almost amused smile in Merle’s voice, like he knows what John’s thinking. “Let’s just watch this together.” He puts his hand on John’s, and they look out over the water.

When the first sun sets, and the other is three-quarters down, John feels the weight on his hand vanish, and when he looks over, Merle is gone.

Alone, he watches the other sun vanish, and then he is returned.

★ ★ ★

[braincoins]

Do you know what's needed? A Ripley/Hicks fic where Alien3 never happened. Hicks wakes up in a medical bay or something, sees Ripley and realized that she managed to survive, save Newt, and learned that she even fought a huge Xenomorph Queen. A happy fluffy fic, if you feel like to do it ❤️

((YES PLZ. I’m surprised that there aren’t a ton of these fics out there though? I should go hunting some time… Anyway, this is one of those ones that’s going to be hard for me to keep short, but I’ma try for you and for our shared love of Aliens))

He sat up with a shout. It was bright, too bright, and he was disoriented. Bright and white and odorless and for a moment he thought he was dead and he’d gone on to…

Ripley - Ellen - came into his view. “Hicks! Calm down. Come on, ease down.” Her hand was on his back and she smiled despite worry flickering in her eyes.

He gulped down a few breaths so he could say, “Wait, this might still be Heaven.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, but he caught the blush in her cheeks. “You’re not dead. None of us are. Well…” Her hand slid away as she moved. He followed her - the only familiar thing here - and saw her sit in a chair. “…you, me, Newt, and Bishop, anyway.”

He looked around and recognized what the place was, at least. “Med-bay? Which station?”

“Gateway,” she replied.

“Gateway…” He threw the covers off and tried to stand up, to go look out the window. This close, he could see Earth…

“Stop that, or the nurse’ll come back in here and strap you to the bed!” Ripley tugged him back down. She was strong, but she wasn’t stronger than he was, physically, anyway. She shouldn’t have been able to, but either he was weakened from his wounds or he just… let her. He wasn’t sure which. “Stay in bed. You need to rest. You already ripped your IVs out twice.”

He glanced at the bag hanging near his bed and frowned. “I hate needles.”

“Says the man with… how many tattoos?”

“Hey, I get to be drunk when I get those.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be a bad idea?”

He grinned a little. “You have any tats?”

She smirked. “Maybe you’ll find out someday. But for right now, yes, we’re at Gateway. Home, or very nearly. We’re being kept in standard quarantine, and… well, you needed the medical care. Fortunately we’re in quarantine together.”

“Together?”

“Just like one big, traumatized family.” She sighed and stretched in her chair. He watched her body move in her hospital-issued jumpsuit. “I’m so sick of therapy, but I think it’s good for Newt. The real issue is Bishop.”

“What’s wrong with Bishop? He’s an artificial person; he can’t get infected or…”

Her eyes caught his. Most of her face hadn’t changed, but her eyes… they begged him not to say it. Not to make it real. He noticed her rub her chest and shift uneasily. He caught himself repeating the motion and then hissing in pain.

“Don’t do that. The artificial skin is still healing. Your wound was pretty bad.”

He nodded. “So… Bishop?”

Ripley explained to him the extent and cause of Bishop’s injuries. “Holy fucking shit, the QUEEN? There really was a Queen and you took her out?” He was surprised but at the same time not; if anyone could, it’d be Ripley.

“Well, I… blasted her out into space, anyway.” Her smile was like a battle-shredded flag: worn, tattered, but triumphant. “Same old trick.”

“Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. But they can fix Bishop up, right?”

Ripley rubbed the back of her head. “That’s the thing. The Company isn’t real happy with us. They didn’t like me to start with, since I blew up one of their cargo ships; finding out we blew up an entire colony…”

“Yeah, oops.” He wasn’t feeling terribly guilty about that. The faces of his lost friends flashed across his mind. The thought of how many colonists there’d been there, and… We lost more than just a colony; we lost friends, loved ones, PEOPLE. But that was the Company for you.

“Officially, they’re ‘waiting until end of quarantine’ to come in and fix Bishop. He’s a ‘hero’ now, just like we are. The whole thing’s in the Sulaco’s data logs, and it was leaked to the press, so they can’t sit on it and pretend it didn’t happen. But unofficially?”

“We’re up shit creek without a paddle,” he summed up. “Yeah, that’s no surprise. I’ll see what I can do. I know some damn good mechanics, but I don’t think any of ‘em ever worked on an A.P. before. I’ll ask around though. If the Company ‘fixes’ him, who knows what they’ll do while they’ve got him?”

She nodded. “It’s… not going to be easy from here on out. You know they’re going to take some of this out on you.”

He shrugged. “Eh, same ol’, same ol’. Bein’ shit on is a grunt’s lot in life.” He leaned back in his bed to consider it. “I’ll probably get promoted and then ‘encouraged’ to retire early. I’ll see if I can wring the pension out of ‘em as hush money, so I can more easily ‘disappear’.”

“Good, good. You do that. I’m glad you’ve got a good option.” Her smile was tight. 

He sat up and reached over to lay his hand on one of hers. “You know I’ll help you. And Newt.”

“You don’t have to,” she replied immediately.

“Yeah, I do. And I want to.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll get through this together.” When she raised her eyes to his, he smiled and hoped it was reassuring. “One big, traumatized family.”

Her smile hit her eyes for the first time. It lit up her whole face. “Thank you, Dwayne.”

“My pleasure, Ellen.”

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #223 - Muppet Treasure Island

Spoilers Below

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: No.

Format: DVD

1) “Shiver My Timbers”

This is quite possible the strongest song in the entire film. The song written by Brian Mann and Cynthia Weil, combined with an arrangement by Hans Zimmer manes it fittingly epic. It creates an immediate sense of danger which is unique in a Muppet film, but it doesn’t go too far. It’s fun, filled with adventure & helps set up the stakes and tension of the film. I freaking love it.

2) Billy Connolly as Billy Bones.

Connolly’s role is brief yet important/memorable. He is able to blend Bones’ drunkenness and occasional frightfulness well with the Muppety fun which defines the film. A veteran comedian, Connolly fits the role like a glove.

3) Kevin Bishop as Jim Hawkins.

Bishop isn’t exactly groundbreaking in the role of Hawkins, but he isn’t bad by any means. His longing and sense of adventure are represented well by the child actor who fits almost as well with the Muppet characters as Tim Curry does (no one can match Tim Curry though). He’s a solid foundation the film is built off of.

4) “Something Better”

I don’t particularly LOVE this song, in fact I think it’s the weakest in the film. It’s not bad, I just find it incredibly cheesy. It tries a little too hard to be cute, acting as Jim’s “I Want” song. It does well to establish the different attitudes Jim, Gonzo, and Rizzo have towards the idea of adventure (as well as their brotherly relationship), but some of the moments just feel like they’re trying too hard to me. That may just be a personal thing though.

5) One of the most interesting things in this film is the brotherly dynamic Jim, Gonzo and Rizzo have with each other. Specifically: juxtaposing Gonzo’s enthusiasm against Rizzo’s fear leads to a lot of fun character interaction. Unfortunately it doesn’t get the focus I wish it did around the halfway point of the movie, but it provides for an interesting hook which explains a lot of the motivation for these characters. They’re looking out for each other.

6) I don’t know why I find this line so funny.

Blind Pew [stroking Jim's hair]: “Oh a pretty little girl is it? Yes, take me to Billy Bones, ma pet!”

Jim: “You've got it all wrong, there's no Billy Bones here, and I'm not a girl!”

7) I’m a sucker for fourth wall breaks and self aware humor.

Bill Connolly was actually the first actor to die in a Muppet movie (or play a character who did). He’s proud of this.

8) The pirate raid on the inn is fine. It’s a tad scatted and there’s better action later in the film, but it’s an important part of the story that gets in a few solid laughs through Gonzo & Rizzo antics.

9) Mr. Bimbo, the man that lives in Young Trelawney’s Finger, is a running gag in this film Frank Oz (the actor behind Fonzie Bear) initially hated. However, as filming went on it reportedly grew on him so much that it was one of his favorite jokes by production’s end.

10) Tim Curry as Long John Silver.

Without a doubt, Curry is the best part of this film. A Muppet fan for years, this is one of Curry’s favorite performances of his and it shows. The actor is just so totally committed to the part that he steals every scene he’s in. Wickedly charming and charmingly wicked, the actor is clearly having a ton of fun in the film which means we have a lot of fun watching him. Even if you catch him in the background of some scenes, he’s so freaking into it the entire movie is just elevated by his performance.

11)

Sam Eagle as Mr. Arrow [about the captain]: “Is he bad tempered!? The man is a raging volcano! Tormented by demons the likes of which mere mortals cannot fathom!”

This play with expectations versus reality, even if you know Kermit the Frog is coming, is actually remarkably funny and one of the best gags in the film.

12) Kermit as Captain Smollet is actually kind of interesting. From his initial introduction you get a sense that Mr. Arrow’s description of him may be a TAD more accurate than one might think considering he’s, you know, Kermit the Frog. This primarily comes through via his initial inspection of the ship and a seriousness he largely carries himself with until on the island. It’s kinda interesting.

13) “Sailing for Adventure”

This song is remarkably fun, even if it is no “Shiver My Timbers”. It captures the titular sense of adventure well in a charming way, giving each member of the crew a chance to shine and for Tim Curry to show off some of his vocal chops (more on that later). It’s a strong call to adventure which a film based on Treasure Island needs. I dig it.

14) Roll call.

This is a fun extended sequence that delights in playing with audience expectations (primarily with Big-Fat-Ugly-Bug-Face-Baby-Eating O’Brien and then Angel Marie). You kinda just have to watch it to understand.

15) The distance that grows between Jim and his brothers Gonzo/Rizzo is never really explored in the film, it just kinda happens. I wish we’d developed that more.

16) While no Treasure Planet (man, I love that movie), there are a number of nice moments of sympathy and compassion between Long John and Jim. You understand they’re almost always supported by ulterior motives, but the more invested you are in their relationship the harder Silver’s betrayal hurts.

17) I always found the scene where Gonzo ENJOYS his torture really funny. Not sure why.

Polly: “This won’t work, he likes it!”

18) “Cabin Fever”

Without a doubt the most pointless song in the entire film. “Cabin Fever” does nothing to serve the story but instead fulfills the movie’s 99 minute run time. Having said that, its randomness and fun energy mean the number is actually incredibly enjoyable. It’s really weird but simultaneously really entertaining.

19) Remember how I said I love fourth wall breaks?

Clueless [from the brig]: “Hey Polly? What was that song that just happened?…You know, ‘Cabin fever! Ah!’ That.”

20) Gonzo is so freaking weird I love it.

Gonzo: “And my pants are filled with starfish.”

Rizzo: “You and your hobbies.”

21) This is me whenever I like the villain of a movie.

Floyd Pepper: “Hey man, I can’t figure out what side we’re on.”

22) “Professional Pirate”

As observed by Long John himself, this is Tim Curry’s main song in the film. His performance propels the piece from incredibly entertaining to rip-roaring fun. Again supported by the original composition by Brian Mann and Cynthia Weil, along with Zimmer’s arrangement of the pice, the number is one of the most surprising treats of the film. It just pulls you in for a great ride.

23) Long John taking Jim’s compass, knowing how much it means to him (since it’s all Jim has of his late father), shows how his greed outranks anything else. He loves the treasure more than he loves Jim, which is what drives their relationship apart.

24) According to IMDb:

Hormel Foods Corporation, makers of Spam, sued the film production company for making the name of a warthog character "Spa'am". Their suit was defeated on September 22, 1995. The judge noted that "one might think Hormel would welcome the association with a genuine source of pork."

25) Guys, it takes Miss Piggy 66 minutes to show up in this movie. It’s 99 minutes WITH credits. She’s in less than 2/3s of the movie!

(GIF originally posted by @marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer)

26) Long John going off on the pirates about using a page of the bible for the black spot is actually an incredible showcase for Curry’s talents. He’s so over the top and fun it’s just…man, I love Tim Curry.

27) Ah, Piggy/Benjamina.

Miss Piggy as Benjamina: “You know, I’m starting to see a pattern in the men I date.”

28) “Love Led Us Here”

While a poignant and well composed number, it doesn’t really feel earned by the film. Piggy’s been in what, 15 minutes of the movie so far? And we’re getting a grand love song for her and Kermit’s character? And then it plays as the backdrop of the pirate finding the treasure? That doesn’t really fit. I don’t know. I like it on its own I just feel it doesn’t fit with where we are in the movie.

29) Kermit’s face here gets me every time.

30) The final fight is pretty solid. Muppets aren’t exactly designed for action scenes. But even though it’s not a moment of greatest tension, there is an incredible sense of fun to it along with nice gags and surprises. Especially Tim Curry’s fight with Kermit the Frog is a standout moment in the entire movie because, again, Curry is just SO into it it’s hard not to have fun!

31) The final goodbye between Jim and Silver actually has a nice amount of poignancy to it, especially when Silver can’t shoot Jim and then Jim can’t turn in Silver.

While not the strongest theatrical Muppet film, it’s hard to go wrong with the franchise. Muppet Treasure Island brings the series’ trademark fun & whimsy to the classic story, with good songs and an incredible performance by Tim Curry. It’s just a genuinely fun watch.

[mayansmcx]

Hell Hath No Fury

Hi all! I’ve literally never done creative writing but I’ve been so fixated on finding Mayans fan fic. As an obsessive fan and reader, I’ve read pretty much all of them. So that led me to trying to write my own to try and fill some of the need for more! Deciding whether or not to make this an Angel/Nestor love triangle thing or not. I like messy relationships. Let me know that you think!

————————————————

Working in the Mayors office wasn’t my lifelong aspiration but after working for a Congressman who embodied all that was bad in politics, I couldn’t get away fast enough. That’s what led me here, to Santo Padre. I always knew I wanted to work in politics, but leaving so abruptly from the office in DC, and under the circumstances, it was difficult to find a job in any level of the field where my old boss wouldn’t immediately try and sabotage. Luckily, Santo Padre doesn’t even qualify as a dot on a map and so my former boss had no damn idea I was applying here or the connection I had to get into this office.

Mayor Antonia Pena needed a new Chief of Staff after hers went ghost and never showed up for work again - they still don’t know why he bailed or why he never came to get the stuff from his desk, but apparently his last few months there he started to spiral: drinking all the time, jumpy, bursts of anger... the works. No one was entirely surprised he left, by what I’ve been told.

Its a pretty mundane gig. The town is, for the most part, quiet. The outlaw biker gang, the Mayans, have some weird unspoken arrangement with the cops where they help keep the town as safe as they can on their respective sides of the law.

We never see much of the outlaws, which is why it is weird as shit that the head of the motorcycle gang just walked into our office and requested an urgent meeting with the mayor. Usually I try and field these requests and take the meeting for her, but in this case she wants to meet directly.

“Come on back, the mayor is ready for you Mr.....” I trail off, as I realize I never actually caught his name.

“Just call me Bishop. And this is Taza.” He says, gesturing to the man next to him.

“Nice to meet you Bishop and Taza. My name is Lennon. I’ll be staffing the meeting.” I reply politely.

“Lennon, we were kind of hoping for a private meeting with the Mayor, no offense.” Bishop says, running his hand through his hair, seeming a little tense.

“As the Mayors Chief, it’s my job to staff her. If it makes you feel better, whatever you say in there, I’m going to find out anyway. I’m the cogs that make everything run for this office. I take on the grunt work so she can focus on the big picture. It’s usually easier for me to hear things directly than getting the recap later.” I explain, hoping they understand what it is that I do.

“Ah, so you’re the one who makes shit happen” Taza lets off a quick chuckle.

“More or less.” I give a light laugh, “she makes the decisions, I coordinate it to make it reality. Makes her life easier, and gives me a job.”

I open the door the Mayor’s office and invite them in. Mayor Pena is reviewing paperwork for the newest city council proposal for repairing the sidewalks by the school.

“Hey boss, our drop in is here” I alert her.

She sees our visitors and promptly puts the papers back into their folder before standing up to greet them.

“Bishop it’s so nice to see you again. Or at least I believe it is for now, it depends on what you’re about to discuss” Antonia states, trying to sound relaxed, but the rigidness in her body language is hard to ignore.

Bishop smirks, “Well, you know us, always trying to stay out of your hair. That’s why we feel bad about coming to you. We need a favor.”

Antonia relaxes a little, which I find odd (all things considered). “Well, tell me what I can do for you” she replied confidently.

“One of our guys is locked up in Indio right now. Nothing bad, just a little drunk and disorderly charge after a bar fight. Given the fact that he’s wearing his kutte, they seem to be going a little harder on him.” Bishop explains.

“Ah yes, those damn biker stereotypes foil a nice evening once again!” Antonia says as she plet off a genuine laugh which Taza and Bishop joined in on as well. “We’ll see what we can do. Lennon, I’m going to need you to work this today.” Antonia said as her eyes met mine.

“You got it, boss.” I nodded quickly. “Now gentleman, why don’t we go grab some coffee and you can tell me what it is that we’re working with.” They both stood up and followed me out of the building and across the street to Tino’s Café.

We place get our orders and grab a seat in the back corner.

“Alright Mr. Leader of a motorcycle gang, what’s the situation” I say playfully. Humor and playful banter is my go-to for alleviating any tension. People tend to ease up with a fun-loving approach.

“It’s not a gang, it’s a club. And my official title is president”, Bishop says as firmly as he points to the patch on his chest before he lets off a quick laugh. “Anyways, like I told the Mayor, one of our guys is in lock up in Indio. He drank a little too much and some hedge fund lookin’ kid got mouthy. Shit escalated, a fight broke out. Hedge fund kid cried about the big bad biker and got off, said he wanted to press charges, and then our guy was hauled away.” He states matter-of-factly.

“Ok, that’s not too bad.” I say as I mull over the facts. “What’s his name?” I ask.

“Reyes. Angel Reyes.” Taza, who I now see has a Vice-President patch, answers. “Two of our guys, Coco and EZ were with him. They made it back this morning.”

“Alright, give me a second and I’ll make a call to up there and see what magic I can work” I tell them as I get up and walk outside, not waiting for them to okay my decision.

I google the number to their police department and dial. It rings three times before someone answers.

“Indio Police Department, this is Officer McMann” a monotone voice comes on the line.

“Hi, my name is Lennon Parker and I’m the Chief of Staff for Mayor Antonia Pena here in Santo Padre. I hear you have one of our constituents. Who do I need to speak to about the charges and possible release.” I say in my ‘official and authoritative’ voice.

“No one. He’s staying here. He’s not getting bail given the fact that he’s a member of a known criminal group.” He finishes his statement and immediately hangs up the phone.

I walk back into the coffee shop not bothering to hide my annoyance.

“That idiot hung up on me. Looks like I’m talking a trip to Indio. Can’t hang up on me to my face.” I snap as I grab my purse.

Both men raise their eyebrows and look at each other.

“I like your attitude, kid” Taza tells me. “We’ll send some of our guys with you.”

“It’s fine, I should be okay getting there and back.” I express, a little confused as to why they’d want someone to accompany me.

“Nah, he’s one of ours. And after last night, if Coco and EZ aren’t there to talk shit when he gets out, they’re gonna feel real sad” Taza laughs.

“Can’t deny you guys these simple joys in life. Have them meet me at the office in 20 minutes and we’ll go from there.” I concede.

I stroll back to the Mayor’s office and let Antonia know what’s going on.

“Be smart, Len.” She tells me, “I know how your mouth can get you in trouble.” She tries to laugh it off, but deep down we both know she’s serious.

I’ve only been working for her for six months, but we met each other about a decade ago when I was in a fellowship program and she was working for the City Planner. She was a good bit older than me, but somehow our friendship still clicked. She took on the roll as friend, and surrogate big sister. It’s why I didn’t want the Chief job the first time around. Mixing professional with personal can get messy.

“Oh c’mon Toni, there’s no fun in this if I can’t ruffle some feathers.” I winked at her as I walk out of her office at sound of motorcycles fast approaching.

I walk out to the parking lot and see two men hop off their bikes. One is shorter and lean with long hair and eyes that scream “don’t fuck with me”. His black and white plaid jacket was under his kutte. The other is tall, well built with short hair and a cut off shirt that drew attention to his muscular arms. His kutte wasn’t like the rest, it was less adorned and had a simple “PROSPECT” patch.

Without any pause, I introduce myself. “Hi I’m Lennon, you must be EZ and Coco. Now who is who?”

“Im EZ” the tall one raises his hand. I reach out to shake his hand, which he meets.

“So that makes you Coco.” I say as I move my hand to shake his. He looks at my hand for a second before giving it a quick shake as he nods.

“I assume you all don’t want to ride in my car, so if you want, follow me or meet me there. Whatever you want.” I tell them as I turn around and walk to my car.

“Alright, catch you there” one of them says, I don’t look back to see which one.

I turn the music up in my Audi A4 and start my drive. Getting lost in my thoughts as I strategize every possible path to getting this stranger out of jail.

Almost two hours later, I arrive at the jail. The two bikers are already sitting in the parking lot smoking their cigarettes.

“Took you long enough.” Coco says, not even bothering to make eye contact.

“Well you know, if I try and split lanes like you guys get to, it becomes a car accident.” I retort with no hesitation or care about his coldness. “Let’s go do this thing. Let me do the talking, they’re already holding the whole ‘biker’ thing against him.”

EZ opens his mouth to say something, before realizing there is no logical point he can make to find flaw in what I have just said.

I turn around, and walk up the steps. Throwing my shoulders back, I open the door and walk to the front desk. Quickly checking the name tag of the officer at the desk, I note it’s the same ass I spoke to on the phone. My annoyance from earlier reemerges.

“Hi Officer McMann. My name is Lennon, we spoke earlier. I need you to go get your superior.” I smile sweetly, but my tone reads more menacingly.

“No, he’s busy. If it’s about that biker, I already told you, he’s staying put.” He tells me, completely unphased.

“Oh no, officer. You seem to be mistaken. I did not request to speak to your superior. It was an order.” I say, losing all pretense of fake politeness.

I immediately see someone come out of the office in the back.

“Officer McMann, what seems to be the problem?” The older officer asks.

“This woman would like to speak with you, Chief, regarding the release of biker from their po-dunk down. She works for the Mayor” McMann tells his boss.

“Well it seems like you’ve wasted your time coming down here if you’re trying to get him out” the Chief tells me, the air of superiority he has immediately gets under my skin.

“Well, Chief… Ryan, is it? Chief Ryan, you seem to think this is an exercise in futility because our city is, what did this inept officer say? Po-dunk? I didn’t come down here to try and get Mr. Reyes released, I came here to do it.” My sickly sweet smile now dissipates. “You see, you might think I’m a nobody from a nothing-to-do town, but before I worked for our Mayor, I worked in DC, for a Congressman. You know what’s nice about being a Chief of Staff for a Congressman? All of the connections I made.” The Chiefs face falters and fear starts to creep into his eyes as he realizes he doesn’t have the upper hand in this discussion anymore. “In fact, I have your Senator and Assemblymember here in my contacts. I’m sure you know what they do, right? They help secure your funding. Senator Monroe and Assemblywoman Ruiz are quite fond of me after a bill our offices all worked together, I’m sure they’d love to hear about your prejudicial treatment of one of the Mayor’s constituents. So now, before I have to escalate this - which based on the look of your face is something you don’t want – go release Mr. Reyes and see to it that no charges are filed.” I finish, the confidence and ferocity of my voice is lost on no one.

“But… you see, we’ve already started the paperwork for the case…” the Chief states, clearly rattled.

The falsely sweet smile returns to my face, “I’m sorry, did I stutter?” The smile drops again, “I said release him. Any paperwork you’ve filed sounds like a personal problem. One that you can fix once you release Mr. Reyes.”

Chief Ryan is quiet for a few seconds. “McMann, go get Mr. Reyes and apologize for our mistake” he tells the young officer

“Good call” I tell him as he sulks back to his office.

“Damn girl” Cocos voice calls from behind me, the previous coldness in his tone was gone “that was some good shit. Old boy looked like he saw fuckin’ Jesus for a second.”

“I don’t like being talked down to. Especially not by some old white dude with an ego.” I shrugged.

“You didn’t knock him down a peg, you kicked his ass down the stairs” Coco is replied.

“Look here he comes Angel” EZ says as we look up and see an extremely tall, well built man with a beard getting uncuffed at the end of the hall.

He walks out rubbing his wrists which bear indentations from the handcuffs and are lightly red.

Before they can start to talk shit to him, I jump in.

“Hi Angel. I’m Lennon. The Mayor sent me here as a favor to your president. I wanted to introduce myself before these two start giving you shit” I say as I shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you. And thanks” he says casually.

I walk out of precinct, the three men close behind me.

“Nice job there, genius. You can’t go around punching rich blonde pretty boys and not catch shit.” I hear Coco tell him.

I tune out the rest of their friendly bashing as we get to where we parked.

“So, we have two bikes and a car. Is Angel going to be riding bitch or will his gargantuan ass need to ride with me?” I say, clearly comfortable with the situation at hand which catches them off guard.

“Uh, yeah. That’s good. Still a little hungover from last night so I appreciate it.” Angel tells me as looks back at his friends.

“Alright then Sasquatch, get in.” I jokingly command. “But don’t expect too much quiet.”

“Whatever you say, lady.” He shrugs.

“I’ll see you guys wherever I drop off Floyd Mayweather here.” I tell the two men on their bikes.

“Mayweather? I can read.” Angel tells me, obviously a little taken back by my personality.

“For some reason, I doubt that.” I tell him deadpan before smirking.

I laugh as I slide behind the wheel of my car, “Let’s go Angel. You have two hours with me. Let’s see how much you can handle.”

“Damn little girl. If i would have known they were gonna send a comedian, I might have stayed in jail.” Angel says as he keeps the banter going.

“I like her!” EZ yells to the other guys before he starts up his bike.

“Fuckin’ great” he rolls his eyes, the sarcasm in his voice immediately followed by him shaking his head with a smile. “Lets go!” he chirps as he slides into the passenger seat.

This will be fun.