#i was reading the part where Alexander got shot while i was in school and i almost started crying what

[papers-pamphlet]

I FINALLY FINISHED READING THE RON CHERNOW ALEXANDER HAMILTON BIOGRAPHY

[holybatgirlz]

but only far from home | Accidents, 1836 (Part I)

read here on ao3

Words: 6.3

Note: it should be noted this is a part of my benophie babies one-shot collection fic I have on Ao3. This took forever to complete, and I kept going back and forth about putting this idea with this fic collection or putting it as a new work.

----

“Charles, it’s going to be alright.”

“Miles, if you say that one more time I will strike you,” Charles grounded out at his cousin while the carriage they sat in jostled and jerked about on the uneven country road.

But Miles took no offense. He only sighed. “I’m just trying to help.”

The knot of guilt in Charles’ stomach only tightened. 

“I know,” he replied, wincing at how his tone was harsher than he wanted. He tried to take a deep breath, to calm his nerves. Relax. 

How could he relax? When the worst that could happen was about to befall him and his family. Could already have while he was traveling. 

Gritting his teeth. “I just–”

I have to get home. Before it’s too late. 

The words stuttered in his throat, clawing at his vocal cords in an effort to silence him. His breathing hitched, choking him. His throat was swelling up. His heart started racing as he began to panic over all that had been left unsaid. Every little mistake he’d made before leaving for Cambridge. It was all too much.

“Just breathe, alright?” Miles told him gently. “We’ll be there soon.”

Charles took another deep breath. They would. Thank God. 

My Cottage. They were on route back to Wiltshire, as quickly as they could. Charles returned from morning classes to find Mr. Crabtree, the closest person he had to a grandfather, standing outside his lodgings. The older man had a concerned and serious look, which was not normal for the usually jovial groundskeeper, that had put Charles immediately on edge. Something was wrong. Something had happened. 

There was an accident. Your father. They don’t know how bad it is–

He’d come to take him home, it was faster than sending another letter, like the ones sent to London and Scotland. To his Uncle Anthony, who could get Alexander and William from school, and to his grandmother who was visiting his aunt up north. But it would still take them a day or two before they arrived, his grandmother longer. Being at Cambridge, Charles had been the closest to home and Miles, who was in his second to last year at the university, had come with him when he’d found him panicking outside the dorms, Mr. Crabtree desperately trying to keep him from driving the carriage home himself. 

His knee bounced up and down as the carriage continued its path into Wiltshire. A nervous habit he’d picked up from his father that he did whenever he was stressed. The ‘what ifs’ had taken over, controlling every thought he had. What if they were too late? What if he never got to apologize? What if he hadn’t been so stupid before he left? What if he’d just apologized? He couldn’t focus on anything except the guilt chewing on his insides. 

You’re an arrogant ass who thinks he knows what's best for me. I hate you.

What the hell was wrong with him? The last conversation they’d had was an argument. The last thing he’d said to his father was to bugger off out of his life. That he was a grown man now and he didn’t need his father coming to his rescue. Didn’t need his father making decisions for him. 

That he wished he would just die.

And over a girl. He had a vitriol fight with his father over a stupid girl the old man hadn’t approved of. A girl who Charles now knew didn’t even love him. Had never loved him. Had only been using him for her own selfish purposes. Something his father had warned him about, had been trying to warn him about when their fight had started. 

Why had he been so stupid? 

Passing by a field of apple trees, Charles recognized where they were. Realizing that they were close to home only increased his desperation to get there quicker.

He practically flew out of the carriage when it pulled up in front of the door. Miles hadn’t even had the chance to move from his seat. Mr. Crabtree was still climbing down from the driver’s box as Charles barreled into the foyer of his family home, running over the pebbled path and to the front door as fast as he could.

And straight into chaos.

He found the home filled with family members, the Cranes and Woodsons had already arrived due to proximity. His Uncle Hugh and Uncle Philip were down the hall in front of him, whispering to another man Charles recognized as the local physician, Dr. Wilkes. What they were saying, he couldn’t hear over the chatter going on around him. Too many voices were speaking at once. 

Mrs. Crabtree was who he spotted next. He caught her moving around upstairs with one of the maids, carrying white sheet Charles saw had red stains on them as she ordered the servants about. 

He quickly swallowed the bile he felt coming up his throat. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

Glancing around the doorways of the rooms, he finally spotted someone from his immediate family. 

Violet, his baby sister, was sitting quietly on the settee in the front parlor, clutching her old, stuffed, rabbit teddy on her lap and sniffling, eyes rimmed red and dried up streaks of tears on her cheeks. Their older cousin Amanda had an arm wrapped around her, rubbing her shoulder and whispering to her, while his fourteen-year-old cousin Sophia clutched her small wrist, trying to assist in comforting his sister even though he could see she was shaking. Georgiana and little Penelope were sitting on the opposite settee, watching in quiet discomfort what was transpiring in front of them, his usually chatty cousins suddenly at a loss for words. And Georgette and John were sitting on the floor, keeping the toddlers Fredrick and Minty distracted. His younger cousins seemed unaware of the chaos going on around them as they quietly played. 

“Charles?” he looked over and saw his Aunt Eloise come towards him. 

“Auntie El,” he replied, quickly being embraced by his aunt in a hug. 

His aunt gave him a tight desperate squeeze. “How are you?”

“I-I’m alright,” Charles answered hastily. “I-Where’s father? What happened?” 

“There was an accident,” Eloise explained, shakily, beginning to tell him more than what Mr. Crabtree had although she seemed to look conflicted. “Your father was tending to one of the oak trees out back when one of the branches collapsed. He must have hit his head on the way down. The physician says his leg was crushed. Violet was with him and–”

“Violet saw it? I…What the hell was he even doing up there?” Charles asked in disbelief.

His question only set something off in Violet, who immediately burst into tears behind him, leaning forward and covering her face with her hands as she began wailing again. Amanda gently shushed her, pulling her closer and rubbing her hand up and down Violet’s arm, whispering to her that she was alright. That everything was alright. And Sophia began rubbing her back, whispering similar words as she tried to help Amanda calm his sister down. 

Eloise put her hand on his arm, gently leading him out of the room. 

“One of the kittens got up there,” she whispered. “Lettie said it had gotten stuck and your father went up to rescue it.”

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, understanding immediately what had happened. Why it had happened. 

Their barn cat, that lived out in the stables and had been nicknamed Beezelbub or Bee by Charles and his brothers (due to the cat's petulance for violence) had gotten pregnant by a local stray and given birth to five little kittens before he’d left for Cambridge. Kittens his sister had immediately fallen in love with and had decided to assist Bee in raising, much to the cat’s begrudging acceptance. Charles knew his sister would have been distressed if something had happened to one of them.

But his father shouldn’t have gone up to handle it, and not without help. If he was right about the tree his aunt was speaking about, the old twisted oak that barely got any leaves during the spring, his father should have never even dared go near it. 

“That tree was old. Uncle Philip said the damn thing was rotted inside,” Charles told her, his nails digging into his palms. “He was supposed to have it cut down-”

“I know. I know,” Eloise gently cut him off. “But there is nothing we can do about it now.” 

“Where’s mother?” he asked, realizing he had yet to spot her in the crowd of relatives. He had to find her. Had to find out if she was alright.

“She’s upstairs with your father,” his aunt answered. 

With that knowledge, Charles immediately moved towards the stairs but Eloise grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, stopping him. 

“Before you go up there, Charles. I want you to know, your father told me what happened between you two. Before you left.” 

He swallowed, tensing, preparing for the judgment. He knew his father and aunt had always had a close relationship, and he expected her to side with her brother, to scold him for arguing with him, disobeying him, for saying what he said.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is,” his aunt said instead, giving his arm a squeeze. “We all say stupid things when we’re upset. No matter how this ends – and I pray this does not end horribly – don’t let yourself be haunted by it, alright?” 

Charles dug his nails deeper into his palms, with enough force he was certain he’d break skin, but it was the only thing stopping him from breakdown right then and there. The words got lost in his throat again. All he could do was nod shakily to his Aunt Eloise, before fleeing upstairs to find his mother. 

But he slowed down the closer he got to his parents room. The door was opened, light shining out into the hallway as Charles crept closer and closer towards it. He needed to check on his mother, but part of him did not want to go into that room. His father was in there as well and Charles couldn’t deny the fear that came over him, of seeing his father, in whatever state he was in.

His mother was the first one he saw, as he stopped in the doorway. Her back was turned to him, and she was sitting next to the bed in a chair leaning forward, her hand clutching one of her father’s and a handkerchief held tightly in the other. She was rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. 

And his father was a sight. Paler than he remembered his mother being after she had Violet, when he snuck into his parents’ room one night to check on her while everyone slept. She’d looked like she was disappearing, fading away from sight. Her skin had taken a gray hue, beads of sweat rolling down as she’d fought off a fever that had almost taken her, while her honey golden curls were dull and flat. Her breaths coming out in short, pained puffs as if her lungs refused to take air. It had terrified Charles as a child, seeing his mother like that. Watching her groan in pain, with death itself hovering over her form. 

But his father somehow looked worse. 

The blankets weren’t covering one of his legs. He saw the exposed leg was wrapped tightly in bandages and pieces of cloth; wooden sticks placed around to keep the limb straight so it could heal properly. More bandages covered his head, a thick folded square of cloth against the area he assumed was where his father struck his head.

He looked halfway into a grave. Unmoving and eyes closed, he might as well have been laying in a coffin. Looking like his mother had all those years ago. The image of her had haunted him at times when he’d been growing and now he could only add this sight to it. 

Charles suddenly felt like he was seven again. A terrified little boy who wanted his mother. 

“Mama?” he asked quietly as he gripped the wood doorframe, trying to keep himself standing.

He didn’t think she’d hear him, his voice had barely been over a whisper, but his mother whipped around almost immediately, spotting him standing in the doorway. She blinked in surprise. 

“Charles, hi,” she said softly, voice tired and horse. She got up quickly, moving slowly towards him. 

He stepped towards her, seeking to give comfort but to also receive it, wrapping his arms around her as she did the same to him, smelling the lavender and vanilla soap his mother always used. The smell of home and comfort, of safety, as his mother clutched him tightly. 

She was almost a foot shorter than him now, Charles had shot up like a beanstalk right before he finished at Westminster, as tall as his father now, and now he could rest his chin on her head, keeping her tucked against him protectively.  

“Are you alright, darling?” she asked as she pulled away, giving him a once over. 

“I’m fine,” he quickly assured her. “How’s father?” 

His mother turned to look at their father, still laying on the bed, unconscious. “The doctor says we won’t know how bad it is until he wakes,” she told him with a disheartened sigh. 

“How are you?” he asked next, noticing the blonde strands that had come loose from her pinned bun and the redness around her eyes. 

“Oh, I’m alright,” she lied, forcing a smile as she patted his arm. “No need to worry about me.” 

She stepped away from him, drifting slowly back to his father’s side and took her seat again, taking his father’s limp hand in hers once more, clutching it tightly. But his father remained undisturbed. His chest continued rising and falling. The only sign Charles had that the man was still alive. 

“Alexander and William should be here soon,” he told her, not knowing what else to say. His mother hummed in understanding back to him, but her eyes never left his father. “Amanda and Sophia are keeping an eye on Lettie right now.” 

She sighed. “Oh, Lettie,” she practically whispered as she moved to stand again. “I need to go speak with your sister. I need to check on her.”

Charles blocked her quickly, gently grasping her arms as he moved her back into the chair. “I’ll take care of that. Do you need anything? Food? Water? I can have Mrs. Crabtree prepare some tea? Do you want me to grab your shawl? You're knitting?” 

His mother moved a hand to grasp his arms, giving it a squeeze. “You’re far too good to me,” she teased lovingly. 

“Because you deserve only the best,” he told her. 

She gave him another sad smile. Her eyes were shining with tears. 

Then she sighed. “Charles, darling, we need to–”

Charles stepped away from her, before he could even tell himself not to. She looked like she wanted to have that conversation with him. The conversation he’d never thought he’d have, but he knew his mother well enough that even in her state she needed to talk about what would come next now. Needed to prepare him – prepare herself – for what might come.

For what she thought was coming. 

But Charles didn’t want to have that conversation. He couldn’t. 

“I’ll be right back,” he told her quickly.

“Charles, wait. We need to–” she started.

“Won’t be a minute,” he lied, before fleeing the room. His heart beating a panicked rhythm into his sternum. 

He’d walked out of this house months ago, days after his blow up with his father, thinking he was a man. Believing himself ready for the world and all it had to offer, that he didn’t need to rely on his parents anymore. Didn’t need their guidance and aid. That he could take care of himself. But his father was right. He was still too green. Too arrogant. Cambridge had already told him that but now–

You think you can run a house? Take care of a family and manage income? You’re a boy. You’re not a man. Never had any hardship thrown at you the way your mother and I have. We both made sure you never would! 

Benedict, please. Stop. Both of you, just stop!

What the fuck would you even know anyway!? You weren’t the heir father, just the second born with nothing to prove and nothing to do. Dropping out of the Royal Academy must have been so easy when you’ve got no expectations hanging over your head! No need to make a name for yourself when your family already did it for you.

Charles!

You think my life wasn’t impacted when my father died? You think things didn’t change for me because I wasn’t first in line like your uncle? That I didn’t have to grow up and cast aside my own dreams and desires for the sake of my family? You have no idea what that was like for me. No idea!

Gripping the banister, Charles took a deep breath, trying to shake the memory.

You’re an arrogant ass who thinks he knows what’s best for me. I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate–

“Charles? Is everything alright?” his Aunt Posy called up, snapping him out of his spiral. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him from where he was at the banister. Her hazel eyes wide with sympathy and concern. 

No. No, he was not alright. 

But he couldn’t break. Not now. Not ever.

It took him a moment to respond, swallowing down his fears before he could shakily answer back. “I’m fine, Aunt Posy. I…I’ll be down in a moment.” 

—

It still took him a few minutes to compose himself before Charles forced himself back downstairs, taking each step one at a time. And the moment he was at the bottom, he was ushered into the kitchen by Mrs. Crabtree, forced to sit at the table and eat some of the stew she’d prepared. The old housekeeper fussed over him, talking about how he needed to keep his strength up and not be running around on an empty stomach. Wouldn’t do anyone any good if he got himself ill. 

But Charles’ stomach was nothing but a tight knot of guilt. His appetite nonexistent as he sat at the table, pushing a spoon around the bowl. He’d been able to swallow a few spoonful’s before the nausea became too much for him to continue eating.  

“Where’s Lettie?” he asked, as he rose from the table.

“She went outside to get some air,” his Aunt Posy told him gently as she helped Mrs. Crabtree with cleaning the dishes.  

Without another word, Charles stepped out of the room and headed out towards the back door. It was open and he could see Violet a short distance away, sitting on one of the two swings their father had tied to the large oak trees close to the house. A matching set to the aged pair at the family home in London, of which one of the ropes had finally snapped and his uncle had yet to replace, leaving just the one hanging there now (much to his father’s and aunt’s annoyance). 

Violet sat quietly, with the tips of her shoes pressing into the grass as she pushed herself sadly back and forth, head hanging forward as clutched the ropes and she stared quietly at the ground in front of her. 

“Hey, cabbage,” he said gently as he stepped closer to the swing. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m alright,” Violet whispered, not looking up at him.

The rotted tree was ahead of them, right at the edge of the property, where it had always been, leading away from the small lake behind their house and to the wooded area that fenced the property. The tree had practically splintered apart from the collapse, as if it had been struck by lightning. The trunk brutally ripped open and exposed. The large branch his father must have been on when it collapsed was still ominously laying where it had landed on the ground. Mocking him.

And all he wanted to go was over and kick the damn thing until it was nothing but splinters, but he knew his sister was more important. 

Even though he didn’t know what to say to her. 

He slowly sat on the available swing. “Alexander and William should hopefully be here in the morning,” he said, absently. “I doubt Uncle Anthony and Aunt Kate will make any stops. They’ll probably try to come here straight away.” 

Violet only hummed back her response, continuing her slow swings back and forth.

“Are you alright, Lettie?” he asked, hesitantly. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to but–”

“Why did you tell Papa you hated him?” Violet snapped at him suddenly. 

Charles froze in surprise. “What?”

The arrow between his sister’s brows deepened as she glowered at him. She was furious at him, but her eyes were red rimmed and beginning to build with water once more. 

“You said you hated him,” she repeated, voice cracking as she spoke. “Before you left. You said you hated him and wanted him dead. Why would you say that to him?” 

You’re a fucking bastard of a father. I wish you would just die. 

Charles was taken aback by his sister’s sudden anger, the furious accusatory tone she shot towards him. He’d thought it had only been him and his parents in the house that day. Violet had been an hour away at Romney Hall with William, since his parents had wanted to approach the subject with him privately.

But Alexander had been home that day, outside sketching where he’d stayed as the argument escalated. And given the row Charles had had with his father had turned into a shouting match, his brother had most likely heard all of it. Meaning his siblings had found in the aftermath, either directly from Alexander or from something as simple as overhearing their parents. 

“I-I-” Charles stuttered, unsure what to say. 

She was on him suddenly. Having left from the swing at his hesitation, Violet jumped up and gave him a harsh shove. She might have been half his size and only twelve, barely moving him, just enough for him to swing a few centimeters, but the force of the shove told him she was furious. 

“Why would you say that?” she shouted in frustration, pushing at him again. Then again. 

“Violet–” he started, reaching to stop her.

This time she whacked him, smacking her open palm against his shoulder. Charles was taken aback by her action, as was Violet, who had never gotten violent towards him before. She seemed surprised momentarily by what she’d done but had also realized it made her feel better. 

So, she whacked him on the shoulder again. 

“Why?” she was crying now. “Why would you be so cruel?”

He grabbed her wrists, and she grew even angrier, fighting against his grip as she yelled at him. But Charles held on, knowing he had to help his sister regardless of how painful her words were. Like little daggers into his already bleeding heart, but she was in just as much pain as he was, and he wouldn’t allow that to stop him from comforting her. 

“Come here,” he told her, dragging her closer. 

“No!” Violet shouted back, still struggling.

But Charles had no difficulty pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her small frame and holding her close. Violet struggled against him, wriggling aggressively in his grasp, but slowly, very slowly, she began to relax and stop fighting him.

Keeping her tightly held in his grip, hugging her, Charles let her cry into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Lettie.”

“Why would you?” she cried, voice muffled and weak. “I don’t want him to die. I don’t want Papa to die.”

“I know, shh,” he told her, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry, Lettie. I'm sorry.”

She wasn’t fighting him anymore. Instead, clutching his jacket as she stood between his legs, leaning against while he held her tightly. Every cry, every weak, shaky breath, only sent a ripple of agony through him, that he only continued to suppress. 

This was a nightmare. A nightmare he was praying he could just wake from. 

—

There had been the briefest moment of hope that evening, after they’d all gone to sleep, that the nightmare would end. Without tragedy.

He’d woken, Charles’ father, for the briefest of moments. His uncle Phillip had been tending to him while the others slept, remaining by his vigil, when his father had suddenly jolted back to consciousness, confused and delirious, mumbling and moaning as he tried to move from the bed. He had no idea where he was or what had happened and while Phillip had tried to assist him, trying to get him to calm down so he could get Charles’ mother, his father had slipped back into unconsciousness in a matter of seconds.

There was nothing by the next morning. His father was still laying silently in the bed, eyes closed, body unmoving. They’d tried to rouse him but with no success.

And Dr. Wilkes had made it clear if he did not wake soon, to eat and drink, there would not be much any of them could do. 

A dark cloud lingered over My Cottage, the mood somber and cold. No one knew what to say or do. No one spoke. And a literal dark cloud passed over outside too, as it had rained most of the day. Charles had spent most of the morning looking out over the fields behind their home as the rain pelted the windows. He confined himself to the library or his room, trying to stay away from his mother. Trying to avoid having that conversation.

And Lettie no longer seemed to be blaming him. She had yet to apologize for it though. Instead, she’d remained by his side, as if stuck to his hip. Her arms wrapped around him like she’d been glued to him, but Charles didn't mind. They kept each other company, even if they barely said anything. 

His uncle Anthony and aunt Kate arrived with his younger cousins and brothers after lunch. And upon his arrival, his uncle immediately entered his mother’s study, with Philip, without saying a word of greeting to the rest of them. A severe expression on his face as he disappeared into the office. Both began pouring over the ledgers, rental agreements, and accounts, checking over the copy of the will kept in the house. 

Preparing for the worst. 

That evening, Anthony had taken him into the office. His mother was still upstairs, Eloise and Posy had been taking turns checking on her. With Kate now here helping as well, the three rotated from being by his mother’s side to watching the children and back again to his mother. But Hugh was taking his cousins back home, planning to return the next morning, and Amanda had taken her siblings back to Romney Hall, with Phillip planning to follow later that night.

“I know your mother has been keeping you up to date on all these matters,” Anthony told him as they sat in the office. Alexander was present as well, sitting in a chair next to Charles as their uncle stood before them in front of the desk, tense and terrified as he continued. “Frankly, she’s done a better job with handling all of these accounts than I ever had with my own.”

Charles couldn't help the slight smile that formed over the pride he felt towards his mother, but it dropped away quickly with what his uncle said next. 

“There is nothing I can say that will make this easier, but if — and I say if — the worst befalls us in the next few days, I do not believe your mother will be in a position to handle these accounts for some time,” Anthony told him directly, swallowing down his own anxieties and fears as he spoke. “Your father and mother both stipulate in the will that if anything was to happen to them, I would handle My Cottage’s finances for the next few years. Something I’ve discussed with them before. And if something happens to your father I will handle these matters for the time being, with your mother, until you finish at Cambridge.”

Charles nodded. 

Then, his uncle sighed. “Alexander, do you mind stepping out? I need to speak with your brother about something. Privately.”

Alexander nodded, looking rather unsure of it though, but saying nothing as he rose from his chair and left the room. Their uncle waited for him to close the door, taking a few additional seconds before he spoke. 

“I’ve heard you and your father fought recently?” he finally remarked, a stern edge in his tone. His dark eyes bearing down on him. 

Charles sighed. “Yes. We did.”

His uncle hummed. “About a woman?”

“Grace Beauchamp. She’s Baron Beauchamp’s daughter. She and I…” Charles took a deep breath. “We had a short courtship before I left. I…I planned to ask her to marry me, but my parents talked me out of it.”

“Alexander informed me your father did not approve of her,” Anthony commented, and Charles nodded. “He also said some curt words were exchanged between you two before you left.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened as Charles clenched his teeth together. 

You don’t know a damn thing about the world, you immature, little git. 

And you’re a fucking bastard of a father. I wish you would just die. 

“Yes,” he replied, through gritted teeth. 

“And this Miss Beauchamp? I take it she has since moved on? Quite quickly from what I’ve heard,” Anthony returned.

Married to a lord’s son. From what Lettie had told him in the letter she’d sent a month after he’d left for Cambridge. It was when Charles finally realized he’d been played. That she’d been stringing him along as a backup if her courtship with Gordon Hammershine didn’t work out. Not just as a backup, but to make Hammershine jealous too. 

After he’d asked her to wait it out while he'd figure something out. While he got his parents to accept the match. He hadn’t even been gone long before the engagement was announced. The banns had been read and Grace was long gone now. Off on her honeymoon in Bath apparently before she and her new husband moved to London. 

He should have known it would fail. If he’d asked her to marry him the last time he saw her, she would have said no. 

And the signs had been there. The entire time. 

Lettie had been the first to make her concerns known, telling him she thought Grace was cruel and insincere, that she did not like her. Her reasoning for her dislike being that she'd once seen Grace whack one of Farmer Joseph’s dogs after it had excitedly run into her path, but Charles dismissed it as his sister over exaggerating what she’d seen and heard. 

While unsure at first about Charles’ relationship with Grace, Alexander hadn’t kept his feelings to himself after a local picnic they’d attended at the start of the summer, before Grace had left for the social season in London. He wouldn’t tell Charles what had been said, but he’d been upset about remarks Grace had apparently made about their mother to some of her friends. If he hadn’t been so lovestruck, Charles probably would have ended it there and then, but his brother could be a mummy’s boy at times. Fiercely protective of their mother, especially after both he and Charles had been made aware of the truth regarding their maternal grandparents, their true identities. Alexander disliked anyone who did not treat their mother with the respect he believed she deserved, and he could make assumptions too quickly about others because of it. 

But when Charles looked back on it, Grace had made remarks about his mother to him as well. Pointed ones. Ones that had always irked him a way, made him feel like he was constantly defending his mother, no matter how many times Grace said she was only joking or that he’d taken her words out of turn. 

She was once a maid? Well, she must have been incredibly lucky your father noticed her then. 

Charles, I know your mother and father are happy. Your mother’s looks and charm play quite a role in that, I’m sure. 

She’s quite the parvenu. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I meant it as a compliment. It’s quite impressive her jump up in society. Don’t you think?

Even William hadn’t liked her. And if the fourteen-year-old, laid back, devil-may-care William Bridgerton did not like someone, that was a sign something was wrong. 

And Charles was certain Alexander had been the reason his father had gone against the match in the end. But his father had not liked the Beauchamps to begin with.

With four out of five of his relatives being against the match, his mother had done quite a good job at staying neutral for the majority of his courtship with Grace, trying to be supportive and telling him she would stand by him regardless of the decision he made. But after the fight with his father, she’d finally made her true opinion. The night before he left. 

I know you love her, darling, but I do not believe she loves you the way you do her. Nor do I think you are your true self when you’re with her. A relationship built with love also needs honesty and trust, and while change always occurs with time, you should be changing for the better. Not because you have to appease someone.

She’d been the ones to sow the seeds of doubt in him. And Lettie’s letter had been the final nail in the coffin. Not that Grace had done anything to convince him to stay. She never wrote to him and had told him not to write to her lest they be caught. Said she’d wait for him as long as she could (which had been a week from what Lettie’s letter implied).  

Charles had been heartbroken, but also ashamed. He felt like a fool and the realization that he had been wrong, that his father had been right, was tough to swallow. 

“Yes. She did,” Charles admitted, tensely. 

His uncle said nothing, only watched him with his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the desk. While his face remained neutral and impassive, Charles knew his uncle was disappointed. 

In him.

“There is no benefit in kicking a man when he’s already down,” his uncle told him. “I will assume you have since realized your errors.”

Charles nodded; jaw clenched tightly. 

“I have,” he replied, keeping his eyes trained down.  

Anthony looked as though he wanted to say something else, but no words came out. There was a sadness in his eyes now as he put his hand on Charles’ shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before telling them he had to go help Phillip with another matter, leaving Charles alone in the room.

It wasn’t for long though. Alexander slipped into the room after his uncle departed, taking a seat next to him. 

“What do we do?” he hesitantly asked after a few moments. Charles looked towards him. “What are we supposed to do if father dies?”

“He’s not going to die,” Charles told him. 

“It’s been two days now, Charlie,” Alexander retorted, his face serious but his eyes revealing his panic. “You just started at Cambridge. I still have two years left at Westminster and William’s got six more. Mother and Lettie shouldn’t be out here on their own if-”

“He’s not. Going. To die,” Charles repeated, harsher this time. 

Alexander watched him, quietly, but Charles couldn’t look him in the eye right now, not without seeing their father’s eyes staring back at him. 

“You don’t know that,” his brother whispered. 

Charles stared up at the wedding portrait hanging behind the desk. The one his father’s friends had done for his parents after they married. Unknown to most, his mother had been pregnant with him at the time, his parents having convinced him quite quickly after their marriage, but the painter had hidden the growing bump. She sat with her hands on her lap in the portrait, wearing a pale sage green gown with daisies pinned in her hair, as their father stood directly behind her, his left hand rested on her shoulder, proudly showing off the wedding band on his ring finger. Both were smiling. Almost twenty years younger than they were now. Happy and content with no idea where their life would go after the painting was done. 

No idea it might end this week. 

God, she was so happy. His mother. After everything she’d endured in her life, she was finally happy. His father too. 

And now she might become a widow.

And his father might lose his life. 

And the rest of them, fatherless. 

Why the fuck had he said all those things to his father? 

He sighed, leaning back in his chair forlornly as he continued staring at the portrait. Defeated by this point. 

“No,” he admitted softly with despair. “No, I don’t.”

[sonderthroughthestreets]

Hi! Idk what came over me but I thought an AU where Sander’s kid is anti-Bowie was the most hilarious thing thanks to @hidden-joy @kylesbishops and @sanderijzermans so I wrote it skdjdj

Disclaimer: it’s all fun and chaos and I don’t really know anything about how to write kids

x, x, x, x, credit to the chaos 🤪

The day Sander Driesen hears the words come out of his child’s mouth is the day he wonders if this is his child at all.

He’s standing there, leather jacket, white t-shirt and all, bleached hair icy even in the summer sun, and he looks down at the small stature in front of him. Grey-green eyes, dark locks and an air of confidence that could only be learned from a certain music-loving individual fill his sight. There’s so much innocence standing before him but a driven insistence breaks through the words spoken.

“Dad,” he hears. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but...I don’t really like David Bowie all that much.”

Sander thinks he’s lost his senses. He is definitely not hearing right. Hell, he’s only a man in his early thirties, he could not be this hard of hearing already. He tries to brace himself on the couch from falling over. Shit, he’s also too young to feel this frail.

“Wh-what do you mean you don’t like David Bowie all that much?”

The question comes out in gasps of air, ragged and winded, like he can’t believe what’s happening. He feels like his world’s spinning, like he’s entered another dimension, like there was no way, absolutely no way, his child doesn’t like David Bowie.

Denial is a pretty powerful thing, though...

See, when Alexandra Driesen was born, she brought light and life to Sander and Robbe’s eyes. She had a chubby face and squishy cheeks and eyes the colour of a summer storm. Her dark hair had been a blessing to match Robbe’s. Everything about her was as perfect as it could get. And then came the perpetual frustrations of parenthood with the screaming and the crying.

Sleep was something to be cherished at the Driesen-Ijzermans household. A few day-naps here and a doze-off there. But God, oh God, did Alexandra know how to cry in the middle of the night. Robbe and Sander spent hours upon hours holding her and swaying her and rocking her on a chair. Sander had read that sometimes music helps so he’d even done all that. Bowie usually floated in the shriek-filled room during these times and yet, Alexandra just wept.

“Come on, baby, just a little bit of sleep. Don’t you get tired of screaming all night?” Sander asked in that exhausted tone of parentese. He held her against the crook of his neck and walked around in sweats until he saw Robbe enter the room with blood-shot eyes and curls disarrayed.

“She’s still crying?” he asked with a rasp in his voice.

“She literally won’t stop and I don’t know what to do, I’ve tried everything. I’ve even got Bowie on for her,” he said.

Robbe took her from his arms and swayed her a little, cooing and kissing her tiny head.

“It’s kind of loud, though,” Robbe said to him as he then stepped over to turn off the music.

And in an instant miracle, the house was all quiet.

It seems that’s what’s always happened and Sander just hadn’t noticed it. Alexandra settled into Robbe’s chest and stretched her mouth in a heavy yawn. Her warmth radiated and glowed through Robbe, but Sander was stunned. He’s completely shocked.

“You-she-“ he stuttered clumsily for a bit. “But it was Bowie,” he said weakly.

How could his own daughter not feel at peace with Bowie? It was a connection he held with him, something connecting him and Robbe and what he hoped would connect their child to them in this little family.

“Hmmm,” Robbe hums pensively. “Maybe Bowie’s not her thing.”

“Not her thing?” Sander just about exploded. Then he suddenly remembered Alexandra’s finally gone to sleep and whispered, seething. “That is not our child!”

“Biologically, no. Legally and emotionally, yes,” smirked Robbe. “Calm down, babe, she’ll learn to like him soon enough. For now, how about we hold off on Bowie for a bit, yeah?”

He swayed her just a little more, just to really make sure she’s easing into sleep and then set her gently back down in her crib.

“How long?” Sander muttered and Robbe gave him a confused look. “How long without Bowie?”

Robbe contemplated.

“Maybe we give it six months or so,” he said.

And now it was Sander who wanted to weep. -

As the months and years went on, Alexandra had gone on without her Bowie-loving phase, only mildly being interested in the lightning bolt plushies and the songs blasting on road trips and the shirts Sander would get for her. Robbe says it just takes time for kids to get into stuff. That it’s better to leave it there in the open for them than to shove it down their throats.

“It’s barely any shoving,” Sander had grumbled.

“I know, babe. But I know how you can get sometimes,” Robbe had placed a soothing kiss upon his lips.

Still, Sander’s worries were increasingly growing.

Then a few years later, they’d adopted another beautiful girl. Mia was a radiant vision of blonde curls and brown eyes. They held a similar warmth that Robbe’s eyes held and Sander couldn’t be happier to lose himself in pools of coffee or dark, earthy soils or any other sort of metaphor for his favourite kind of brown.

To his relief, though, Mia loved listening to Bowie. She loved playing with the lightning bolt plushy and wearing all the shirts and as she grew, she and Sander had lots of music jam sessions blasting Bowie throughout the house. Alexandra was enticed into joining for a bit in the beginning but as time went on, Sander found it that she was making more and more excuses to not be in the same room when Bowie was mentioned.

“Uh, I got homework, Dad,” she’d nervously run her fingers through her hair.

“Uh, Papa needs help with dinner I think,” she’d run out with a tight smile.

“Group project due soon. Léon’s being a piece of shit and not pulling his weight at all.”

“Language,” Robbe would chastise coming around the corner.

“He’s being a dick?” she suggested.

“Fuck him.”

“Sander!”

“Sorry.”

Her interests lay instead in skateboarding with her friends, headphones in her ears listening to rap: BROCKHAMPTON and Stormzy with even a little Ed Sheeran in the mix, and keeping her hair as short as possible. She’d had a bit of a habit wearing overgrown shirts like Robbe did. But Sander found that endearing and he didn’t really think it was a case of ‘not-like-other-girls’ syndrome. He and Robbe just let her wear whatever she wanted.

And in fact, it was at thirteen years of age that Alexandra came out to the family as a boy. Sander remembers it clearly with them all huddled on the couch looking at the person in front of them with beady eyes, waiting.

“Dad, Papa, Mia. I think I’m a boy. I think I’m trans and I’d like to formally introduce myself to you all. I’m Alexander, or just Alex. And I use he/they pronouns.”

Sander had wanted to tear up, emotions flooding inside his rib cage. Happy tears, though, a joyous occasion where his son felt comfortable enough to tell them about this part of himself. That he and Robbe had created a space where he felt safe enough. Loved enough.

“I kept Alexander ‘cause, Sander,” he gestured to Sander. “But really, Alex is fine.”

And Sander wanted to cry all over again.

They’d all been encased in a huge family hug with Mia chirping that she’d ‘always wanted a big brother.’

Robbe and Sander had been quite supportive of it all, calling the school to change both the name and preferred name and asking if Alex was considering wearing a binder or getting a proper haircut. “Yes” to the haircut. “Hold off for a bit” on the binder. He’d whined a “Daaaaaad” when Sander ruffled the short brown locks. Most of Alex’s friends were cool with it, too and while it wasn’t all smooth sailing, he’d never run out of love from his family.

It was a big change and everything, but Sander thought, well...as long as he had his Bowie-loving children, it was all fine. -

It’s his worst nightmare. It’s the stuff that haunts you from the depths of the worst kind of hell, making your limbs feel like jelly. He’s cursing every name and divine entity and he’s really hoping Robbe’s right about those parallel universes because he’d love to hop over to the one where this wasn’t happening right now.

Sander’s having a hard time even looking at Alex in the eye.

“Dad?” he hears his concerned voice.

“I think I need to sit down,” says Sander, grabbing the armrest of the couch, lowering himself onto the cushion.

“It’s really not a big deal,” says Alex.

“Not a big deal?” Sander looks at him with wide eyes. “My own son hates David Bowie.”

“I never said I-“

“The man who infinitely changed my life. Space Oddity, Life on Mars, Ziggy Stardust, Ashes to Ashes. None of them?” Sander waves his arms. “You’re telling me you like none of them?”

“They’re...fine, I guess,” Alex shrugs innocently with a cringe to his face.

“Fine?” Sander squeaks.

“What’s fine?” Robbe trudges to them overhearing the conversation.

“Your son hates Bowie,” Sander squints his eyes at him.

“I do not,” says Alex. “I’m just pretty indifferent to him. He’s not exactly my style,” he shrugs, his hoodie moving with the movement.

“And what is your style?” Robbe laughs as he comes up behind him to rub his shoulders. He looks up at Sander with long lashes and a questioning smile stretching across his face. They share one of those ‘parenting looks.’ The ones where they know it’s not all that serious. But Sander thinks it is.

“A bit of rap, a bit of hip hop, some pop, some mainstream,” Alex lists off. “Not exactly the ‘80s vibes in me,” he laughs.

Robbe cheers as their tastes in music are quite similar and he proceeds to carry out their very own handshake they’d created when Alex was nine. There’s a different one with Sander. Sander, who’s getting more and more agitated by this revelation.

“Oh, okay,” he pats his knees and stands up. “Well, if you two are having such a grand time hating Bowie and bonding over your own music, I’ll just take myself and leave. No child of mine doesn’t like David Bowie,” he says dramatically.

“Sander…” Robbe looks at him.

“Dad…” says Alex.

“No, no. It’s fine. Really,” he begrudgingly walks out of the living room, almost knocking into Mia on the way.

“What’s with him?” she blinks twice and points a finger back.

Robbe sighs as he looks back at Alex.

“Your father, he…” Robbe puts a hand on his shoulder. “Bowie’s practically his life and so are the two of you, so I guess it’s really important to him that you like him, too. He’s just gonna need some time with all this.”

His eyes are apologetic and he gives him a half-smile, hand leaving his shoulder.

Alex takes in the words while Mia wiggles herself onto the couch and finds the tv remote beside her.

“You finally told him about Bowie, huh?” she gives him a gravely sad look. One that says he’s about to be doomed.

Alex just lets out a stressed breath as Robbe follows to go find Sander.

What’s so special about David Bowie anyway?

————————————————————————

Part 2 is coming! IM SO SORRY SKDJJF I just need sleep and rest

[demonologistfucker]

WIP Angel MC! x Obey Me pt 2

Part Two - The Museum date with Satan. This is just a ruff of what I got so far. I am enjoying this but i Haven’t had a lot of focus for writing. So I just wanna share what I got so far.

Step into the shoes of an intellectual. I know they are uncomfortable, but these are cushioned with a bias outside human prejudice. They have their own prejudices of course, it’s just not As silly as a humans…. Either way, it’s a different way of looking at history. There is no need to keep colonial powers looking refined and noble.

This museum is not full of anything Real. They are all magical replicas of artifacts long burned, brutalized and forgotten. While it could be enlightening to a great deal of humanity. The plaques mainly speak of the demons who worked along with those doing the burning. It left a rather sick feeling in the angel’s stomach. While showing off the great wonder that was ruined. People still boasted about causing the burning. 

Satan did a better job explaining the history. He was detached. Thinking about the matter as a history, and could talk about it easily. Yet when he turned to MC. They had tears in their eyes. Thinking of what it felt like to just be a people, and slaughtered for living. The Angel felt the reality. Both marveling at the people who could create such art and monuments, and the utter despair at how this art came to the Angel’s eyes. So Eventually the Angel started to tune out the world around them, and focused more on their guide. A stranger who was still linked arms with MC. 

“I have a question,” MC looks up into Satan’s eyes. 

“I might have an answer,” The corner of Satan’s mouth pulled into a sharp smile.

“Do you view angels and demons as enemies?” MC watches Satan’s face closely. His eyebrows shot up for only a second. A brief flash of surprise, and then quickly to thought. His gaze drifting upwards as he rolled the matter over in his mind. 

“I think about this a lot, actually,” Satan rubs his chin. “I’m unsure. We are certainly told that we are opposites, but if we looked at the data, I think we’d find something else.” Satan chews on the thought, “There is a whole research of study on whether good even exists, yet there is a realm that claims to obtain All Good. Or define what it is. Which is just ridiculous, and as you can see.” Satan puts a hand on his chest. “Demons are not raging beasts. Sin has its place in reality. Too much of it would be disastrous, true, but not enough would also be a problem.” Satan kept his gaze away from the Angel. Not truly wanting to see them get upset about his stance. 

“Can you give me an example?” MC tilts their head. “No one’s talked about sin like that before.”

“Well… Let’s use wrath. Wrath being deemed a sin which is reasonable at first. Being angry and destructive is not helpful. However, wrath has been brought out to protect children, or to fight for justice. Wrath without thought is bad, but it is not bad in itself.” Satan glances at MC to see their expression. Then stays when he sees that MC is thinking it over. 

“What matters is how it’s used.” MC says softly. To which Satan nods. “There are plenty of supposedly holy people who are really cruel to keep their virtues.” Now both MC and Satan are sharing a smile. “Some of those people really are the worst. They manage to live up to His standards and yet are still-” MC grits their teeth. 

“Bastards? Fuckers?” Satan tries to keep a helpful face, but can’t help the corner of his mouth twitch up. 

“Yes!” MC shakes their head to let out some frustration. “Then they summon me to bring them to the bathhouse.” 

“You have to bring humans to bathhouses?”

“Where ever they want to go. It is their ‘paradise’ after all, and since I’m not a high ranking angel, so I’m basically supposed to care take for whatever human souls are around me.” 

“That sounds… Infuriating.” Satan says politely. He’s overjoyed to see the Angel seething with annoyance, but then something drowns it out. Their face falls and goes back to a placid expression. 

“It’s the duty of an angel.” MC’s voice is dryer than before. 

“Hmm…” Satan realizes he shouldn’t be staring at the Angel and looks back to whatever exhibit they had landed in front of. “Do you like your duties?”

“Do you like yours?” The Angel looks blankly ahead.

“Ours are very different. I simply Am the avatar. I can spend my days reading and be finishing my duty.”

“Really?” MC looks up in surprises. 

“Well, sorta of,” Satan chuckles. “I have RAD duties I can’t get out of, But that’s my choice in the end. I respect Diavolo enough to agree to his leadership, and RAD is his domain, so I do it for him.” Satan shrugs. “They don’t take up too much time for an immortal anyways.”

“That’s… so different from Heaven. I get maybe five hours to myself a day?” MC can’t even give an accurate number. Keeping track just makes it worse. “It’s all preselected work, too. We have no choice it what domains we’re put under.”

“No choice at all?”

“Supposedly it’s from the Divine plan,” MC rolls their eyes. “But I’m unsure of it.”

“No plan is ever perfect, let alone one made from one mind alone.” Even as Satan says this, he is prepared for a fight. His few conversations with angel’s before him had always ended in one. Angels devoted their existences to this divine plan. Critiquing it was a critique of everything they stood for. Instead, MC just nods. Their eyes overwhelmed in sadness. So Satan takes a deep breath and refocuses on the world around them. 

“It is amazing what humans are able to turn rocks into,” Satan looks at the old stone statue with amazement. 

“I’ve tried to do it before, and I can never manage.” MC tapped their chin as they reminisced. “They can make rock smooth, as if they were just pinching clay.”

“I can’t even work clay well.” Satan chuckles. Then there is silence as MC’s mind wanders down a bunny trail.

“Earlier they said that I would be attending school, is that true?” Satan nods. “Weird,” MC begins to laugh. 

“Why do you laugh? I will also be attending.” Satan says this even though he finds the whole school situation fairly fun himself. Still remembers the dinner when Lucifer broke the news that joining RAD also meant having to go through university again. They had completed their courses millennia ago. Satan was honestly a little excited. Brushing up his skills wouldn’t be the worst time. Though, all the other students sounded rather stressful.

“It will be curious. I didn’t expect to be introduced to Hell this way. It’s just… Okay, you’ll understand if I tell you how I imagine this, Exchange, would go in the Celestial realm.” Satan nods and leans back. Ready to listen. “Greeted with trumpets, obviously.” Satan rolls his eyes. “Then a personal conversation with It.” This makes Satan chuckle. “Then guided around the Celestial realm to all its numerous wonders. Shown the polished paradise where you can indulge in Nearly anything.” MC lifts a finger up with a crooked grin. “Though, you Can’t be a sinner, so you must be nice to Everyone you meet. No matter how annoying. If an Issue arises, you have to bring it up at court, and have it processed. It’s worse for angels, but guests wouldn’t see that. It would take months to see the court bit anyway. It would all be Sickly sweet.”

“And here you met a busy prince, told you had to go to school, and left to get eaten.” Satan keeps his head forward, but glances to see the angel’s reaction. 

“I’m enjoying it a lot.” MC smiles. 

“Not worried about your safety?” 

“Not Much,” MC Shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll be totally helpless,” Then MC looks to Satan’s face. Which seems to loudly be saying ‘okay, tell yourself that sweetheart’. “Do you think I should worry?”

“I think it was wise that you asked for a guide,” 

“Me to,” MC smiled, “I like your company.” MC pulls the hand they have clasped with Satan’s closer. For a moment, holding Satan against them. Letting their wing brush against his back. Then MC eases back. Failing to hide a blush that ran across their face. “ Just don’t imagine me helpless.”

“I could never.” Satan smiles softly. “I am the Avatar of wrath after all, and as I can tell.” He looks down at his open hand. Pretending to hold a board. “You have indulged in my sin at least six times.” A humorously low number for Satan. The average human indulged in it at least 50 times by their first birthday. That’s for a remarkably well tempered child, too. 

“That high?” MC winces, but then straightens their spines. Remember Why that had indulged, and feeling proud of that choice. 

“That is very low, and I think it would be good for your health to indulge in it a little more.”

    “Is this how you became friends with Alexander?”

“It’s how I became much more than friends, Dear.” Satan puts a hand on his chest. Looking utterly too proud of himself. MC grimace only deepened as they felt their face heat up. They are saved by an alert on Satan’s D.D.D. “I am afraid I have dinner soon. Your human roommate will be at purgatory hall for dinner, though. I can walk you back if you like?” Satan looks rather annoyed at his phone, but his face relaxes as he looks at MC. 

“That would be nice,” MC smiles and can feel the heat once again rise in their face and chest. “What on your D.D.D made you so upset?”

“Oh, you could see that?” Satan looks rather apologetic. 

“Clear as day, man,” MC has to try and not laugh. 

 “The message came from Lucifer,” Again he says the name with such disgust. MC wants to giggle. “He was reminded I must come to dinner and meet the new human.”

    “The face you just made,” MC has to put a hand over their mouth. Thankfully, they were almost out of the museum. But on the way on they got a couple glares from the Serious Observers. “What about this new human is so upsetting?”

    “Oh it’s not them,” Satan grimaces, but then straightens his spine. 

    “Then what is it?” 

“The process of picking was idiotic. It took four years for them to finally decided on what three humans to pick. The last one was completely random, it turns out.” Satan takes a deep breath. “I left the project after the first human was picked.”

“Who are they?”

“Solomon.” Satan says with a grimace. Left is a gentle way of putting what Satan did when Solomon was picked. The table was thrown through the wall and Satan marched out through the hole. 

“Who?”

“You don’t know? Oh, right… Angel wouldn’t hear about him, I guess.” Satan chews on his lip for a second. “He is an ancient king who managed to get pacts with 72 demons, and accidentally became immortal.” Satan’s has a great number of suspicions about Solomon. There are barely any humans who have One pact with a demon. Yet this human managed to get 72, and immortality. While also maintaining a beloved relationship with a great number of people. To Satan, this reeked of evil in hiding. “He’s also a super powerful wizard and has gone through the university magic program so many times he rewrote a portion of it.”

“So that’s who they picked to show off the magical prowess, huh?”

“It doesn’t even work,” Satan groans. Satan had sat through hours of meetings debating which humans to brings, and how their presence would affect the experience for Other humans in the trip. They fisted wanted a human who had some understanding of the magical to be a grounding force for the other two. Satan had many suggestions of Other magicians who could do a job. Magicians who did have 72 pacts with demons. One of whom being his younger Sibling. “We should have picked a human who could actually use the program. He was a powerful magician before coming to our school. He used it to have fun and meet people.“ 

“So he’s open to fun?” MC bounces slightly as they walk. 

“He can be… but he’s often looking out for himself first.” Since Satan so clearly distrusts Solomon. MC chooses to ignore this, and instead is excited to meet this weird wizard.

“Ah, prioritizing ones own needs. The gift of the ego… that we all have.” MC smirks. Feeling that MC was poking fun at Satan. He bristled and turned a lovely read. 

“It’s not just ego,” Satan huffs. “How could he make so many pacts without being devious?” 

“I don’t know,” MC shrugs. “Have you asked him?”

“No,” Satan looks aghast. “He’s a cunning being, I can’t just ask him.”

“I’ve heard cunning humans can be the most fun,” MC is now starting to walk back to campus with a little more speed. 

“Who would say that?” Satan looks bewildered at the little angel. 

“Simeon,” MC says, unbothered by Satan’s judgement. 

“He enjoys Lucifer’s company, I would not blindly trust Simeon’s taste.” Satan’s lip curls upward when he mentions Lucifer. MC thought on the matter. Simeon had given Lucifer a hug. When it was rather clear that Lucifer was Not a hugger. 

“Do you know if Simeon and Lucifer know each other? I’ve never heard Simeon talk about him, but it’s also frowned upon to talk about him in general.”

“I wouldn’t know, but Lucifer did spend the most time in heaven out of all of us,”

“Ah, who’s Us?”

“Oh my brothers,” Satan sighs, “They might know if Simeon and Lucifer have a history, but I won’t be asking for you.” 

“That’s fair,” MC nods. 

“Do they not talk about the revolution in the celestial realm?”

“Only brief mention. He doesn’t like it being brought up so… most just avoid the topic. I really don’t know much about it.”

“Hmm,” Satan frowns. He didn’t want to strike Lucifer’s ego, but what he did is important history. “I might have some history books you could borrow if you’d like.” It was strange being confronted with the Angel’s reality. Satan couldn’t imagine a life without living in the shadow of that revolution. His exists was born from its grief and agony, and this Angel knew of it only in passing. Did that mean they didn’t know his history at all? 

“Oh, that would be nice, but” The Angel blushes and closes their eyes.” I’m not the best of readers. My eyes get distracted?”

“I have heard of conditions similar to that,” Satan nods, “Well the topic is a heavy one, but if you wanted I could explain our side of the history some time.” They were now walking down the path to Purgatory hall. Satan felt is stomach dip at the thought of leaving. Next would be a dinner of more polite conversation. With the chance, he’d be living with two new assholes now. “If you wanted I could put my contact in your D.D.D. That way we can schedule, and If you need a guide again-” His words faltered as the blush becomes too hot. 

“I would like that very much.” MC Smiles and hands over their D.D.D.

“Oh-” Satan just finished it with a smile, and then takes the D.D.D. With thin fingers he types it all in. “I do have a schedule, so I can’t be your guide always but,” Satan looks into the Angel’s eyes, and feels his heart get stuck in his throat. “Don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I definitely won’t,” MC says, even though their heart was starting to race. MC stumbled as they hit the first steps up into Purgatory hall. “Thank you for taking me around.” MC’s wings flutter slightly, trying to dispel anxiety. “It was really nice getting to know you.”

“It was truly a pleasure,” Satan smiles, and then bows low to the Angel. As he rises, he keeps his eyes steady with MC’s gaze. There is a heartbeat where they are both caught staring at each other. Satan should be going home now, and the Angel should be heading inside. Instead, they both linger. Feeling their hearts surging in their chests, and wondering what they can possibly do about it. “I hope you enjoy your dinner,” Satan regrets the words instantly, but his feet are already moving to walk away. 

“You to!” The Angel blurts, feeling horribly awkward, but also thrilled. The nerves of wanting to make a good impression. As they watched the elegant blond walk away. MC could still feel excitement brewing within them. 

The feeling lingered as MC walked into the main doors of Purgatory Hall. Already they could feel that something was different within the building. A new presence shifted the home's energy. The air now had the smell of a laboratory. MC wandered down the hall till they reached the kitchen. Which is where they found Simeon, Luke, and a stranger gathered around the Oven. The Stranger was tall with bright white hair. The light in his eyes was unmistakably human, but something was off. 

“Are you certain it’s supposed to look like that?” Simeon squinted at the Oven. 

“I have never done this before,” The Strange says easily, but both Simeon and Luke look utterly terrified. 

“What’s going on?” MC asks as they walk behind Luke to get a view of what’s going on. “Why is it...cracked?”

“I believe that’s a part of the baking process,” The stranger smiles warmly and then extend a hand to MC. “My name’s Solomon, I am the human exchange student who will be living with you three.”

“I’m MC,” They take Solomon’s hand. His hand is surprisingly dense and cold. Heavier than the Angel had expected. “I thought there were three humans?”

“Indeed, but the other humans get to live with the brothers.” Solomon sighs. “I still don’t understand why they get to be close to the princes of Hell and not me.” Solomon actually did have a guess why, but he wanted to pout about it.

“Do you want to hear Lucifer and Mammon fighting with each other all the time?” Simeon chuckles.

“That’s a fair point,” Solomon nods. “Not to seem like I’m complaining about being with you three,” MC hadn’t even considered that Solomon might not be happy to be staying with three angels. Now though they had to think about it. A man with 72 pacts with demons might not have the most favorable opinion of angels. MC couldn’t exactly blame him for this, but hoped it wouldn’t get in their way. 

“I think our company is much better than those demons,” Luke tilts up his chin given everyone a good look of his nostrils. 

“Not better,” Simeon tuts, “we our own kind of fun, and will still have plenty of time with the brothers if we choose.” 

“You like them?” Solomon eyes Simeon. 

“Yes,” Simeon smiles genuinely. “I am really happy to see them again.” Solomon nods, and then smiles himself. 

“Me too,”

[only-here-for-jatp]

Build a Band pt 4- Willie the Sk8 Boi

Oh hey. Part 4 is up.

There may be a small (big) emotional backstory.

And Willex. 

I love writing as Alex and will miss him when I move onto Luke.

You can read on Ao3 here

And also below ~1700 words

Much to Alex’s relief, Julie gave in almost immediately. Ever since she’d seen the light in Reggie’s face, she knew that the boys coming would be inevitable and had already laid a plan. Alex watched Luke and Reggie bounce around the room and smiled. He’d still yet to have let go of Alexander and that was pretty okay with him.

There’d been a brief moment when Reggie and Luke were out of the studio and he’d sat Alexander in his lap at the drums and mimed like he was teaching Alexander to play and then that Alexander was playing. He’d stopped long before anyone could walk in and see what he was doing. They didn’t really need to know after all.

Alex nodded along as Julie explained that she was the sole opener for build-a-bear tomorrow. The mall would be empty, and they’d have the store to themselves. No one would notice the floating bears and outfits and Julie wouldn’t be trying to juggle three excited ghosts and an overwhelming number of children.

Alex was still concerned, but then he was always concerned. He gripped Alexander a little tighter, sent up a small wish that everything would be fine tomorrow, and prepared to deal with his bandmates who frankly had never heard of patience in their life.

The next morning Julie went on ahead and the trio poofed into the store. They’d timed it, well Alex timed it, so that they’d be getting there a few minutes after she arrived. Since he clearly had the most sense of the three, it was no surprise when Alex timed it perfectly.

He could hear the excited shrieks and feel the jittering and squirming next to him, but he was frozen in shock. There were stuffies of all shapes and sizes and colors, including, was that? Was that a Pride Bear? Alex felt a small smile tug at his mouth while he felt more than heard his bandmates freak out.

He slowly walked up to a shelf, subconsciously moving out of the way of his two bandmates dashing around. Tracing his fingers along the shelf he methodically moved along, taking in everything. Ah a Star Wars bear, that’s what Reggie meant yesterday. He thought he heard Luke scream somewhere off in the distance, but that was just Luke. He smiled to himself. He’d never understood why people called soft cuddly things immature. He’d lived through enough anxiety to know that if something brought him comfort, he wanted more of it not less.

His parents had thrown out most of his stuffed animals once he hit middle school and all he could do at the time was watch helplessly. They figured he was a boy and he’d outgrown soft cuddly things. It was time for more manly pursuits. Yet he knew, deep down, that it was wrong. Before he found Reggie and Luke those small comforts were the only things that got him through the hard days. A constant reassurance that there was always something to hold and make him feel warm.

In the end, he’d lost all of them and unwittingly gained something. His mother, in one of her redecorating fits, rearranged the whole living room with new throw pillows and everything. She’d found this small soft pink pillow with fringe hanging off the side. One night, during a particularly bad scolding from his father about needing to man up and face his fears and stop cowering, he’d picked up the small pink pillow. It was only about the size of his palm, but he clutched it tightly and it made him feel slightly better.

After his mother inevitably decided the change in decorations just was not working, she went to change it back. She tossed all of the new things out into the street without a secondary glance. This time though, Alex was ready. He’d snuck out and grabbed the small pink pillow. It didn’t fit very well into his room. A lone splash of color in a room of dark grays, greens, and blacks because that’s what his father had said a boy’s room should look like. It became his new lifeline when he could feel the anxiety attack coming on. He would focus on that small piece of color, the light in the darkness, he would feel the fringe, count the strings, close his eyes and feel the fabric.

Slowly but surely, he started adding more small pink things to his life. A t-shirt here, a sweatshirt there. His bandmates would see him in or with whatever new pink thing he’d found and smile and tell him it looked good. That he looked good. He was starting to have a hard time denying it, he looked GOOD in pink.

He brought his attention back to the sound of soft whispers. Luke and Reggie where standing over a bin engaged in what looked like a quiet debate. He shook his head; he didn’t have the energy to intervene in whatever that was. He continued to slide along the shelves, not really sure what he was looking for and feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the options. He glanced at Julie, who already seemed to know what she was doing and just wanted to keep an eye on them. She had a small warm smile on her face, and she nodded at him when she caught his eyes. He smiled back.

He might appear somewhat aloof, but he knew Julie could read him and knew just how happy he was to be here. She also knew that it was with great reluctance Alexander was left at home this morning. She’d argued that it was hard to make a bear when you were holding one. Eventually, he’d conceded. His eyes flit over something and he had to do a double take.

That bear. It kind of looked like Willie? It was a darker tan, almost an olive-y color. The bear’s eyes were wide and its smile tilted off to one side. It seemed full of enthusiasm. Doctor Who bear? Wasn’t that some sci-fi thing. I guess their love was a little supernatural. He smiled pretty big at that joke. It was the two hearts though sewn onto the chest that kept drawing him back in. He knew Willie and he had already basically confessed to each other, but they still hadn’t explicitly said anything. As far as Alex was concerned though, Willie did hold his heart.

Yeah okay, this is the one. He started to bounce a little in excitement. He picked up the piece of what would soon become William the Bear and headed over to where Julie was waiting on them. Some big open area and a machine filled with stuffing. Reggie had tried to explain how it worked last night but he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Soon Reggie and Luke were joining Alex as Julie walked through the next couple of steps. She gestured towards the heart bins and the four of them made their way over.

Alex smiled at these little boxes filled with tiny satin hearts. It felt like a weird kind of shopping, but he was good with it. He didn’t really know what to pick. There were pinks and reds and small and big. His brain started to wonder which heart was in Alexander before he spotted it. It was one of the bigger hearts, but it was checkerboarded in red and pink. Perfect.

He watched his friends discuss and sift and joke and smile. He teased them lightly as they put so much effort into finding just the right heart to go in their bears or how emotionally involved, they were. Of course, they teased him right back, reminding him about him cuddling with Alexander and refusing to put him down. He rolled his eyes at them, but inside he was glowing and warm to be here with his family.

They went back to the machine and it looked like Julie was ready to start stuffing them when Reggie frantically stopped her.

“No you have to do the magic!!”

Alex glanced at Luke and they both smiled and rolled their eyes before looking at Julie.

Julie raised an eyebrow at Reggie. “Do I?” Her eyes sparkled and Alex smiled knowing Julie was already planning on giving in.

Reggie gave her his best puppy dog eyes and said “Pleeeeaaaaseee”

“Well….” She trailed off.

Reggie grabbed Luke to pull him closer who in turn grabbed Alex who let out a laugh as he was recruited into this ploy. After a couple of elbows to the side he conceded. All three turned their best puppy eyes on Julie. “Plllleeeeeeeaaaaassssseeee”

Her smile lit up the room. “If you insist!”

She walked them through rubbing the heart and jumping with the heart and they were all dorks. Including him since he knew that a smile had never left his face. When she told them to make a wish on the heart, he hesitated. A wish for Willie? A wish about Willie? Was that the voice he’d heard every time he squeezed Alexander? His eyes whipped around to Reggie. He knew Reggie loved and appreciated him, but Reggie managed to feel so strongly that it was… He melted a little at the warmth and love of his brothers.

He stared at the heart. Could he pour something into this heart, enough that Willie would hear it? Something brave and a little bold and a whole lot impulsive hit him as he brought the heart up to whisper his wish.

I wish for an eternity to hold your hand.

Immediate embarrassment flooded through him and he became so flustered he nearly dropped his heart. He didn’t know what would happen, but he thought it might be bad. The boys shot him strange looks as if guessing what might be going on but leaving him to it. Julie gestured him forward, ready to bring William to life. She asked him if there was anything else, he wanted to whisper to the heart. He shook his head no, fearing what he might whisper into it this time.

Slowly the bear gained shape and form and as he watched it come to life Alex admitted it might be a little magic. He was bouncing a little in excitement already eyeing a tye-dye shirt and some khaki shorts for William. Julie smiled at his excitement and gave him a gentle nudge toward the direction that contained sports gear. Even he couldn’t stop the excited shriek when he discovered “THERE’S A SKATEBOARD!”

Everyone laughed with Alex with their joy and excitement too. He grasped William closely and headed off to accessorize while he waited for the rest of his band.

[spine-buster]

the storm before the calm (f. andersen) | 3

A/N: I continue to be baffled by the response to this fic.  It’s overwhelming!  Keep those canon questions coming!

TW: mention/explanation of EDs, EDNOS/OSFED

While alone in his hotel room one night, after most of the guys had left to go to a bar, Fred decided to conduct an in-depth search of Aleida Casillas.  He knew there were a lot of things she wasn’t telling him, and that he couldn’t really trust the word on the street from girls like Serena.  So he went digging.

The first links that came up were fashion related.  Things she wore to events put on by the Toronto International Film Festival, by Toronto Life magazine, by various other institutions in the city that always liked to have charity galas and fundraising parties so people with money felt like important, morally conscious philanthropists when they wrote $10,000 cheques for their tables.  There were a lot of pictures.  And she looked beautiful in all of them.  Stylish and classy and just plain good.  Everything fit to perfection.  He could see why she was a model – at least an apparent model – even though she never talked about it.  Her body was to die for.  People went under the knife to look like her.  

Other articles appeared from her past.  There was a photo of her as a teenager, posing in her school uniform, the kilt and blazer in full effect.  There was a family photoshoot when Hello! Magazine did a ten page spread of their newly renovated mansion in Rosedale, another spread from when their dad celebrated his 60th birthday party at the Shangri-La, and modelling shots from her Instagram profile and designers’ Instagram profiles.

World-renowned cardiologist, Dr. Felipe Casillas, and his wife, plastic surgeon Dr. Leonor Casillas, invite us into their home!

Youngest daughter Aleida, 17, who was just recently accepted into the University of Toronto’s faculty of music, poses with her older sister Alejandra, 21, recently accepted to the University of Toronto’s faculty of medicine, are pictured above.  Alejandra is keen to follow in her parents’ footsteps and enter the medical profession.  “It’s important to me to carry on the legacy that my parents have established in Toronto,” she says.  

Aleida, for her part, loves music.  “I think if Aleida could sing every day, she would,” Leonor laughs.  “She has been playing piano since she was a child.  Aleida is far from a doctor, so it’s only natural for her to want to pursue it instead of medicine.”

Fred was irked at the comment.  He clicked on other articles and read on.

Aleida Casillas, 21, poses front row at Alexander McQueen’s London Fashion Week show.  Casillas has just graduated with a degree in music.  “Perfect for serenading,” she flirts into our camera.

Click.

Toronto socialite and all-around beauty Aleida Casillas knows a thing or two about fashion.  After attending Branksome Hall with up-and-coming designer Genevieve Jones, the daughter of renowned cardiologist Felipe Casillas and plastic surgeon extraordinaire Leonor Casillas knew it was a no-brainer to support the designer as she launched her first collection.  She does, after all, have all the best connections.  Who wouldn’t want to attach themselves to Aleida?

Click.

TDOTDIRT.com: Aleida Casillas is hot – we all knew that.  But did we know she’s fuckin’ smokin’ hot?

Check out her tits in her newest modelling shoot for Genevieve Jones. Those nips poking through?  Nice.  And let’s not get started on her ass…

Aleida is probably the hottest girl in Toronto.  Too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.  

Click.

Aleida Casillas sits front row at the Genevieve Jones fashion show after modelling for the brand.

Click.

Aleida’s tight body—

Click.

Equestrian pursuits have always been a passion for the Casillas family.  Dr. Felipe Casillas, the cardiologist responsible for the successful quadruple bypass of former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney, brings us to the horse farm where his family’s horses are kept.  Left, Dr. Casillas’s youngest daughter, Aleida (15), poses with her horse Concordia.

Click.

Who wouldn’t want to slap Aleida’s tight ass—

Click.

TODIRT.com: Sent to us from a reader: If ANYONE ever runs into Aleida Casillas RUN THE OTHER WAY!!!!!  That girl is the BIGGEST BITCH in the city of Toronto.  She thinks she owns the city cause her family is rich!  I PERSONALLY saw her ruin a date right in front of me by FLIRTING with the guy IN FRONT OF THE GIRL!!!!!  She’s a heartless bitch!!!!!  And she thinks she’s such hot shit because she’s in magazines and models and is popular on Instagram, but NOBODY LIKES HER!!!!!

Click.

Aleida Casillas keeps her Cuban roots close to her heart.  She returns to Havana every year, where her family is one of the few who own a historic mansion in Miramar, to return to the place she has such find memories of.  

Click.

If u check the insta of @aleidacasillas she posted a story of her at the leaf game. she’s def in the wag section. is she dating someone on the leafs?

Who?

omg aleida casillas is at the leaf game. basically confirms she’s dating someone on the team.

Who is this girl you guys keep talking about?  Is she a known bunny?

Aleida Casillas is one of the biggest socialites in Toronto.  These anons are reaching.  If she was dating a Leaf, we’d know about it.  Trust me.  She’d make us know about it.  She has no shame.

Um okay?

Click.

Lock.

He was left more confused than when he had started – at least somewhat.  There was so much to know about her, so much that she was already telling him but so much he still needed to know.  More than anything, he didn’t know how he didn’t know her before this.  How it had to come to finding her crying in order to know who she was when she was already in the public eye and there was so much to find out about her.  

He sighed.

He unlocked his phone again.  

You have horses? he typed and sent off the message.  He had no idea how she would react.

I have one horse, Mars.  I’ve had horses.

Who told you?

I googled it

You must have found out a lot then

Nothing as important as what you tell me when we’re alone

God, he didn’t expect that to come out like it did.  He was a grown man who wanted to hide beneath the covers.

Well aren’t you a lucky boy

I didn’t mean it like that

I know you didn’t

My attitude doesn’t come through via text.  Sorry.

What are you up to?

Why haven’t you told me about your family?

Because I don’t think they’re very proud of me 

I don’t think I ever lived up to their expectations, but my sister did

And that’s created tension

At least to me

They try to hide it but I know they’re disappointed

I doubt they’re disappointed in you

You’re successful

No I’m not

Not like them

Fred stared at the message for a long time – probably too long.  Because before he could begin typing out a message – what he would say, he didn’t know – she’d already sent something again.

Go to bed Fred.  Big game tomorrow.

God forbid people find out I’m the one to keep you up, right?

***

Fred watched intently as Aleida walk into the café.  She was dressed in tight black pants, a tucked in black turtleneck, and a stylish brown plaid blazer.  Her hair was styled in loose curls and it bounced so effortlessly, like she was in a shampoo commercial.  Jewelry dripped off of her.  On her neck, a multistrand pearl necklace hung over her turtleneck, the diamond clasp holding it together shining bright in the light.  On her ears, pearl studs.  On her wrist, stacks of Cartier Love bracelets she had obviously put on recently.  On her fingers, a large emerald cut light green amethyst on a gold band on one hand; an equally as large emerald cut pale pink morganite ring on a gold band on the other.  

He shivered thinking about how much money she was wearing.  Why she was wearing so much money.  She approached the table and set her purse down on it – a Birkin, naturally – obscuring the view of what was on their table from the rest of the café-goers.  “Thanks for getting a table at the back,” she said, not even saying hello.

It was a point of pain for Fred that she was averse to being seen with him in public, unless it was at the backs of restaurants or cafes where very few people would see them.  He tried to not let it get to him, but it was proving hard.  “Yeah, no problem,” he said absent-mindedly.  “Why are you all…” he didn’t finish his sentence, instead deciding to do jazz hands to signify how dressed up she was.  Not that she didn’t dress up all the time – it was mostly a statement on the jewelry.  

“I met with my friend Genevieve,” Aleida revealed, sitting down in her seat.  “You must have heard about her in your readings.”

“The designer.”

“Yeah,” she nodded her head.  “We did some new shots of her new pieces for Instagram, which is why…” she held up her hands, jingling her fingers like he’d just done, and motioned to her necklace.  “Clothes are hers.  Jewelry is mine.”

“You didn’t want to go home and change?” Fred asked.

Aleida’s brow’s furrowed.  “Why?  Do I not look good?”

“No!  No no!  You look incredible—”

“Then why would I change?”

“I – forget it,” Fred shook his head.  “How are you?”

Aleida shook her head slightly.  There were a few moments where it looked like she was going to say something, but she didn’t.  She’d stop herself.  “I’ve been thinking about the stuff we talk about,” she began, getting right into it.  No formalities; no small talk.  “And I don’t…I don’t know why you’re still here.”

Fred was perplexed.  “What do you mean?”

Aleida sighed.  “I’m just not…” her voice cracked slightly.  “I’m not a good person.  And you are.  And I don’t know why you’re sticking around when it’s so obvious we’re like fire and ice.”

“Aleida, when are you going to get it through your thick skull that none of that matters,” he said, reaching over the table to hold her hand.

This time, there was no flinching.  But she did tug away, and there was a sharp intake of breath as his hand refused to let go, even after being dragged further across the table.  “Don’t do that,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because if you do, I’ll melt into you.”

Fred’s heart skipped a beat at her words.  “What’s so wrong with that?” his voice was soft.

Aleida shook her head again, like she was trying to deny not only Fred but herself too of the nonsense that was coming out of her mouth.  “I can’t…I can’t…”

“Why not?”

“I can’t corrupt you.”

Fred looked at her like she was crazy, because she was really sprouting some nonsense now.  He didn’t know where she was getting this from – where her mind would go when she was alone and overthought things – but if this was the result of a mind too active to think rationally, he didn’t like it.  “You’re not corrupting anyone,” he stressed.  

“I’m too much for you.”

“Maybe you’re just what I’ve been looking for.”

Aleida continued to shake her head.  She was stubborn – he had to give her that.  And quite hard-headed.  “You’re looking for balance.  You said so yourself,” she said.  “I can’t give you balance.”

“Who are you to tell me what kind of balance I need,” he said back to her.  “Maybe you’re the balance I need.”

“Fred,” she stressed his name, “you don’t understand.  I’m not in a good place emotionally and I haven’t been for months – some would argue years – and –”

“Aleida, stop it,” he said firmly.  The stubbornness and hard-headedness were hard to get through but he could be that right back at her if she was going to be like this – putting herself to blame for things.  “I’m going to be in your life whether you like it or not.”

“But why?  Why?” she demanded.

“It’s not obvious to you?  I like you, Aleida.  Can’t you see that?”

She looked at him, bewildered.  Like he’d just grown another head.  “You like me?”

“Of course I like you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “You honestly think I don’t?”

“You – you mean you think I’m beautiful,” she attempted to correct him.

“No.  Well – yes – that too – but besides that.  I like you.  However you present yourself to me.  However you are.  I like you.”

Aleida looked mystified.  Like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Like it was a foreign concept that someone could like her and want to be around her willingly without bringing her beauty into it.  He wondered what made her think this way – what made her think the only reason people stuck around was her beauty.  “Listen, Aleida—”

“Aleida?” a voice suddenly interrupted their conversation.

All the emotion drained from Aleida’s face as she violently tugged her hand away from his grasp and hid it underneath the table.  She looked up and noticed an all-too-familiar face at the waiting area of the bar.  Fred looked behind him to see a woman walking towards them.  Dressed impeccably – much like Aleida – except with less jewels draping off of her, although he still noticed similar Cartier love bracelets and a gold necklace.  Fred figured she didn’t come straight from a modelling shoot.  Although, the more he stared at her, the more he noticed similarities between the two women.

“What are you doing here?” the woman asked, a nice smile on her face.  She had beautiful, clear skin; long dark brown hair slicked back into a ponytail with a trendy headband; full lips painted with a neutral pink.  “Didn’t think I’d run into you here after you didn’t answer my text this morning!  I thought you might have dropped by the clinic.”

Fred looked between the woman and Aleida.  Aleida caught him staring, and when she did, she knew she would have to explain.  There was no way getting out of it.  “This is my sister Alejandra,” she explained quickly, with no enthusiasm in her voice.  “Alejandra, this is Frederik.”

Alejandra.  It took a second for Fred to realize that she was Aleida’s sister.  But after taking another look at her, and noticing their similar facial structure, noses, cheeks, and lips, he wondered why he didn’t see it sooner.  He cracked a polite smile.  “Hi.  It’s nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.  

“So this is Frederik Andersen,” she smiled, shaking his hand.  “You look different without your goalie mask on.”

Fred chuckled slightly.  “Yeah.”

“Sorry if you get that a lot.  When my husband found out Aleida somehow befriended you it was a big shock to us all.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” he said.  His eyes flashed to look at Aleida quickly, who looked more nervous and uptight than usual.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.  Aleida has told me a lot about you.”

“Did she tell you she was supposed to come visit our clinic this morning?” Alejandra slightly laughed, shifting her attention back to her sister.  “Where were you?”

“I had a shoot.”

“A shoot?”

“With Genevieve.”

“You had a modelling shoot with Genevieve.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, alright,” Alejandra accepted Aleida’s excuse nicely enough.  She didn’t put up much of a fuss.  “Mom was wondering if you’re still coming to dinner Wednesday night.  She didn’t get a text back from you.”

“I’m coming.”

“Fred, would you like to join?” Alejandra asked.

Before Fred could even breathe – before he could even entertain the notion of getting dressed up, going to Aleida’s parents’ house, meeting them and interacting with them for an entire night like Alejandra was proposing – he noticed Aleida’s eyes bulge out of their sockets at Alejandra’s question.  “Fred has a game Wednesday,” she said quickly, answering for him.  

“Oh…okay then.  Next time,” Alejandra nodded, smiling politely again.  She focused back on her sister.  “Did you eat today?  Since you were supposed to come for breakfast.”

Aleida tried not to glare at her sister.  “I’m trying to eat right now.”

“No foam latte for Alejandra!” the barista called out, placing a large takeout cup on the bar.  Fred, Aleida, and Alejandra looked towards the cup before looking back at each other.  

Alejandra smiled at them.  “Guess I better get going – Oliver is waiting outside anyway.  It was really nice to meet you Fred,” she said, extending her hand one last time.

“You too.”

“I’ll have to have you over for dinner or drinks sometime, whenever Aleida lets me,” she winked at them.  “Take care.”

Fred watched as she walked out of the café, meeting with a man waiting that Fred could only assume was her husband Oliver before the continued down the street.  He looked back at Aleida, who was already looking down at her empty plate, not bothering to watch her sister.  “So that was Alejandra?” Fred asked.

“Doctor Alejandra Casillas-Rowe,” Aleida said her full name pretentiously, rolling her eyes.

“She was nice.”

“I guess.”

“You look like her,” Fred commented.

Aleida finally looked him in the eye.  She snorted at his comment.  “She looks like me.  She made herself look like me.”

Fred didn’t want to get into it.  There was obviously something there that he didn’t want to get in the middle of.  Relationships between sisters were notoriously…complicated.  He figured this was no different, especially considering the way Aleida was and what she had already told him about Alejandra living up to their parents’ expectations and Aleida not.  

Instead, Fred reached under the table to hold her hand again.  This time, she didn’t tug away.  

***

“This is the big boy who was looking for you that one time,” Frank, the drummer in Aleida’s band, purred as he was introduced to Fred at Aleida’s house during a “gathering” she was having.  He eyed Fred up and down even as he spoke.  “A very, very big boy.”

“Stop scaring him,” Aleida giggled, pinching the skin on Frank’s forearm.  

“Didn’t you?” Frank quipped.

“Apparently not,” she wiggled her eyebrows.  

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Fred added.  

“You are.  And believe me, that says a lot,” Frank said.

Fred felt Aleida snake her arm around his bicep.  He tried not to shiver at the contact – at the fact that for the first time, it was her that initiated the contact.  “He’s gotta meet everybody else.  We’ll be back.”

Frank scoffed playfully.  “But he’s a tall glass of water and I’m not done drinking!” he complained, giving Fred yet another up-down.  

“Goodbye Frank,” Aleida whisked Fred away.

As Aleida began introducing Fred to everyone, he made sure to keep track of their names and their instruments.  There was Frank, the drummer; and Celeste, the saxophone player; and Malakai, the trumpet player; and his twin brother Marcellus, the trombone player; and Oscar, who played guitar on a vintage archtop; and Gina, the bassist, both double bass and electric; and Aleida of course, the pianist and singer.  As he met them, they all gave him knowing looks.  

These were the members of Aleida’s band, The Havana Cats – her second family.  They had been with her since she was twenty, when they all met magically one night at some bar downtown and realized they all played instruments and had a nagging desire to start some form of band as a means to relax from stressful university workloads.  And they did – they formed a band and jammed in rented out studio space or in someone’s garage.  But then they got good.  Really good.  And then Marcellus got the bright idea to book them a gig.  And they played it and did really well, so the owner asked them back.  Again.  And again.  And again.  And then they incorporated themselves into a business, and got booked at bigger clubs and more exclusive events thanks to Aleida’s name, and soon enough, they were booked a lot.

And they stuck together.

Most had day jobs – Malakai and Marcellus worked for the same financial securities firm, Gina worked as a web designer, Celeste as a music teacher, and Frank as waiter in an upscale restaurant – but their real passion was the music.  They were booked most weekends, at either private events, galas – like where Aleida had performed the same night she met Fred – or the odd jazz bar in downtown Toronto – like where Fred had watched them last.  

Genevieve was at the party too, tall and statuesque, with an air of grace about her that Fred immediately felt the minute he was introduced to her first.  They made polite small talk – she asked about the team, he asked about her being a designer – before the band came over all in one go.  That was when things got hectic.  But despite everybody being there, treating Aleida’s townhouse as if it were their own, eating all the food on the island and playing all the music from the speakers, Fred knew that Aleida was surrounded by people she loved, and people that loved her.  

There were moments when Fred would watch Aleida and he knew she was happy – that the smile on her face and the slight crinkles of her eyes were signs of pure, true, genuine happiness as she was surrounded by them.  There were moments when their eyes would meet across the room and she’d wink at him and he’d wink back, and he knew she wasn’t playing a game – that the wink was a genuine, deliberate act on her part to flirt in front of people she was comfortable with.  There were moments when she’d come up to him sitting at the bar and she’d stand in between his large legs as he sat on a barstool, and her body would be dangerously close to his, and her fingertips would graze his thigh or he’d bring his own hands up to lightly touch her hips or lower back or backs of her thighs and a blush would overcome her cheeks, and he knew she wanted to be there – that she wanted to be close to him, physically close, and that her guard was down, which was why she was even doing all of this in the first place.  She must have taken the conversation at the coffee shop to her heart, because there was no fighting, there were no stupid excuses, and there wasn’t any confusion about the feelings shared.  

Fred was seeing the happy Aleida.  The true Aleida.  What Aleida could look like.  What Aleida was like, at her core.  Without…everything else around her.

It was the most attracted he had ever been.

The band began to argue about whether or not they should jam out a few songs.  Oscar had already picked up the acoustic guitar sitting in the corner and was strumming random chords.  Celeste was offering songs.  Malakai was shooting them all down.  Fred’s hands were cold as Aleida had walked away from him, leaving him unable to touch her and feel his fingers burning as he did so.  He watched her kick Frank off her piano.  A Steinway Model D Concert Grand, it cost over $150,000.  Most people didn’t even have them in homes, because of their size and the fact that it was a concert piano meant for a giant stage, but Aleida did.  It was her baby.  And it wasn’t for fooling around with.  So Genevieve was explaining to him.  

“Aleida’s a treat, isn’t she?” Genevieve was quiet as the band continued to argue.  The sound of a few quick piano chords filled the room.

“She definitely is.”

“You know, Fred, it’s really telling that you’re still here.”

Fred gave her a look.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a fire inside of Aleida,” Genevieve explained.  “Not many people are able to handle the heat.”

Leave it to a fashion designer to speak in metaphors.  What was the fire supposed to represent?  Her personality?  Her issues?  Fred wished Genevieve would just say what’s on her mind.  “I know she’s going through a lot, and she’s maybe been through a lot, but I’m able to look past the front she puts up with people,” he explained.

“I know you can.  That’s why I’m saying it’s telling you’re still here,” she clarified.  “It’s telling, because a lot of people know about Aleida, and they think they know her just because they see her or hear stories about her, but I’d hazard to guess it’s only the people in this room who know and understand and can see the true her.”

“So what’s that got to do with her fire?”

“Most people just feel the burns.  Only some people can see the fire, Fred.  And you’re one of them.”

Before he could respond, the familiar sounds of a song he knew all too well hung in the air and distracted him, making him focus instead on Aleida sitting behind her piano and on Oscar strumming the guitar notes.  John Mayer.  He watched as she closed her eyes and continued to sing, her voice deep and jazzy and soulful all at once.  Everybody in the room became mesmerized listening to her.  Oscar helped sing the second stanza, then it returned to her.

She and Fred locked eyes.

“Don’t say a word, just cover and lie here with me, cause I’m just about to set fire to everything I see…”

A shiver ran up his spine.

***

When everybody was gone, Aleida found herself nestled into Fred again.  He had to be a gentleman about it.  Despite being touchy feely all night, he had to ask to touch her before she agreed, and his hands were so soft and delicate as he did; and when he wrapped his arms around her, she couldn’t help but melt – do the exact thing she was scared of doing when she spoke to him at the coffee shop.  But she found it harder and harder to say no to him, harder and harder to be so hard and difficult with someone who was only so easy and delicate with her.  

And so as she looked into his big blue eyes, and felt the scruff of his beard along the backs of her fingers, in the depths of her mind she knew he deserved better.  Explanations.  

“You okay?” his voice was barely above a whisper.  

Explanations.  He needed more explanations.  He needed to know what happened to her.  What she had been through.  Other things that made her the way she was.  

So she was going to tell him.

“I had an eating disorder – well – I – I had trouble with food, and I had trouble with my body for a long time, because people paid more attention to it than they did me, and it really fucked me up for a really long time, and I think it’s the other major reason why I am the way that I am today,” she said, finally.

Fred’s eyes stung upon hearing her revelation.  He had never known anyone with an eating disorder, even though he knew the brain was a tricky and complex thing.  He wanted to be more understanding – not just for his sake, but for Aleida’s.  He assumed that she had probably told very, very few people about it – and a part of him wondered, knowing the relationship with her family, if she even told them.  As much as it was painful for him to hear, and as much as it probably took a lot for her to tell him, it was a privilege hearing it.  It meant she trusted him.  “Aleida…”

“What I had was an EDNOS – but now they call it OSFED,” she kept talking, needing to let it all out now that it was out in the open.  “It started my last year of high school…basically the day I turned 18 and was legal.  I wasn’t anorexic or anything – or bulimic – and I didn’t really binge eat often.  But I was obsessed with my body because everybody else became obsessed with my body.  I would think about everything that went into my mouth and how it would affect my body and how it looked.  Like, if I ate a kale salad would my stomach still be flat?  If I ate a donut would my boobs get bigger from fat?  It was all in an effort to maintain the beauty that people were so fixated on, because I was convinced by everybody around me that it was the only thing about me that mattered.”

Fred’s mind was racing a mile a minute, thinking about what she had to go through at such a young age.  He wanted to punch every single person who was responsible for making her feel the way she did; for making her think she was only beautiful and not anything else – a real, three-dimensional human being with needs and wants and emotions just like everybody else.  “How long have you been sick?” he asked.

“It went on for a couple of years before I got help.  It was the worst kind of psychological torture.  You have no idea.  But I finally told my parents – well, my dad, the one who isn’t a plastic surgeon.”

Fred’s mind began to race again, thinking about everything she had to endure.  The pain and suffering of being in a body she had a bad relationship with; the constant guilt of trying to nurture herself with food but fighting an internal battle with herself wondering if it was worth consuming; the harassment from people around her who only focused on the least important part of her; the self-hatred; the loneliness; knowing that everybody around her was obsessed with the one thing she didn’t want them obsessing over, and judging her over the one thing that didn’t need to be judged.  He was at a loss for words, and a loss for actions.  “I’m so sorry,” was all he could say.

She smiled meekly at him.  “You’d think that a doctor who sees Felipe Casillas making an appointment would know better, but apparently not.  The first doctor told my father it was a privileged disease,” she continued to confess.  She noticed Fred’s eyes go wide at what she had just said.  “He told my dad that I had been a bored teenager, and a bored adult, and if my dad gave me something to do, I would grow out of it.”

“That’s horrible,” Fred commented.

“I know.  I’m pretty sure my dad tried everything in his power to get the guy’s medical licence revoked,” she said, slightly smiling.  “I’m okay now, if you’re wondering.  But it was a struggle for a really long time.”

“You’re so strong,” Fred blurted out, the filter between his brain and his mouth non-existent.  “You’re so, so strong.”

Aleida didn’t know whether to believe him.  She didn’t know if she was strong.  She never thought about it.  Other things, unfortunately, preoccupied her mind, and her strength and how she overcame something like that never took precedent.  She almost let it destroy her.  Maybe it did.  

There was nothing left to say.  Fred and Aleida knew there was nothing left to say.  Words exhausted them – he knew he didn’t exactly speak much, but he didn’t need to.  Aleida’s words – the more important words – hung in the air around them.  They continued to just stare at each other, his blue eyes and her hazel eyes communicating things that didn’t need to be said with words.

Then, Aleida moved closer.

And closer.

And then, she kissed him.  And he kissed her back.  And it was soft at first – like everything else to do with Fred, Aleida thought.  And then she kept kissing him.  And kissing him.  And kissing him.  And he kept kissing her.  And kissing her.  And kissing her.  And soon Aleida didn’t know where her lips started and Fred’s began.  And she didn’t need to guess what he tasted like, because he slipped his tongue into her mouth.  And he didn’t need to guess what she tasted like, because she slipped her tongue into his mouth too.  And they kissed.

And they kissed.

And they kissed.

“Aleida?” Fred’s voice mumbled against her lips as they caught their breath.

“Hm?”

“You have to start doing things that make you happy.”

She made sure she was looking him directly in the eye.  “I already am.”

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Necessary Repairs

Part III. I don’t even know if you have to read any of the other parts. SecUnit should probably have slept through most of its own healing, but that’s not this machine’s luck.

Part I | Part II

At some indeterminate point later, I woke up.

I was receiving minimal sensory data, and none of it was sight-related. A diagnostic subroutine spun up and casually began sending me bursts of error messages I couldn't even begin to translate.

Oh, and the world was pitch black.

It took me more than five seconds to determine that the darkness was self-inflicted and open my eyes. Longer still for the random noise to resolve into sounds I could understand -- the hum of an air circulation system, at least two distinct voices, and an automated warning system. My connection to the feed stabilized, but the walls that normally guarded my mind against its onslaught were conspicuously absent.

Something else was shielding me, something big and surprisingly gentle.

Friend?

I could feel cold metal under my back and head, probably the medical suite platform. My internal temperature refused to rise, so I was shivering and couldn't stop. It felt like I was still leaking, and the pain ebbed and flowed with each passing moment.

“Would you like me to turn up the heat?” Transport asked.

Yes. Where the hell am I?

I felt a mild shock as the governor kicked in. It hadn't liked my tone, apparently, or the phrasing of my answer, and wasn't shy about letting me know. The standard code read, "you're outside of protocol and need to adjust your attitude."

Silently, I cursed the damn thing. I was getting used to life without it.

A moment later, Transport answered, "SecUnit, you're still in medical, and your performance rating, while stable, remains abysmally low."

The ship paused and sent me a couple of data packets that succinctly described all the things still wrong -- which was most of them. I should've probably remained in stasis, but the medical unit was calibrated for humans. So, it hadn't given me nearly enough sedative to knock out the organic parts of a construct for any appreciable amount of time.

I was awake, kind of.

"I'm waiting for your vital signs to improve," Transport added. "Until then, would you like to watch an episode of that one show you liked?"

Yes, please.

The ship's calm tone reassured me, even though everything else looked like shit. My diagnostics were coming back with nonsense, still. The governor couldn't find a SecSystem to connect with. The Traveler didn't have or need one of those; it had a skeleton HubSystem instead managed security, life support, and logistics. My inflexible governor couldn't figure out how to interface with it.

Surprise, surprise...

It fell back on some preprogrammed garbage, complete with a minimal set of actions and responses. "Yes, please" and "No, thank you" was probably the best I could manage at the moment without incurring its wrath. I'd try poking at it later when my performance no longer looked quite so dramatically sad.

Captain Owens pulled up a chair and sat down where she could see me. Transport shared the view from one of its cameras, so now I could see her, too. It also queued up an episode of a long-running serial and waited for the captain before it started playing. I wanted to ask about the hostiles but couldn't -- thanks governor -- and Transport didn't seem inclined to enlighten me.

I suppose it was only fair; it was doing its best to keep me calm.

MedSystem sorted out the sleeping issue in the meantime and had injected more sedatives into my resupply channel, so sleep was happening shortly, whether I liked it or not. I could practically feel my diagnostics slowing down to a crawl since they relied on data from my organic parts, which were affected by the drugs.

"Good afternoon, SecUnit. I'm glad to see you're awake." The captain nodded in my direction and then turned toward someone I couldn't see. "As I mentioned, thanks to SecUnit, we came out of the boarding attempt in one piece. I'm sorry to hear your ship wasn't as lucky."

A stranger in formal wear came into camera view as he approached Owens. I figured he was the owner of that second voice I hadn't been able to identify earlier. The logo on his tunic looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. Parts of my memory felt like tangled network cables.

"Indeed, but this is still better than nothing. I don't suppose you've already contacted your bonding company?"

The captain's face scrunched up in confusion. "We're insured outside of the Corporation Rim," she explained. "I've sent a message, but I'm here pretty much on my own."

Outside of the Rim, everything appeared to work in ways that were incompatible with corporation control.  A lot of the propaganda around freehold planets implied they were a complete shitshow. Except, clearly, the Traveler was doing just fine.

I had a sudden burst of "bad feeling" in my organic neural tissue. Something about the newcomer didn't sit right with me. I thought it might be unwise for the captain to tell him anything about herself or her ship.

"No, thank you." It sounded like my voice, but I didn't remember speaking. Hi buffer, I thought I'd never see you again.

The newcomer gave me a puzzled glance. "So, where'd you get your unit then?"

Owens shrugged and schooled her expression. I'd seen that face before when she'd spoken to her daughter before our first jump. "I rented it from a friend, as a security consultant. It's doing a great job."

I was?

I mean, the human was alive, and the Traveler had an intact hull, so I guess things weren't terrible. I could practically hear the Transport laughing on a private channel. If I could roll my eyes, I probably would have, but the governor frowned on that sort of thing, and my eyes had closed minutes ago.

"I see. Well, if you wouldn't mind giving us a hand with repairs, we can both be on our way." The man watched the captain like a hawk. "I would also recommend getting your unit checked out at a licensed repair station when you get a chance. With this level of damage, there's no telling what other problems are hiding under the surface."

As far as statements go, it was polite enough, but I didn't like it. It sounded to me like a threat.

Performance rating dropping. Initiating emergency shutdown.

I really would prefer you didn't.

***

Memory fragment:

The mining installation doesn't inspire confidence. There are eight of us and two combat models. Ten security units should be enough to keep a workforce of 153 miners and a dozen more supervisors in line. Everything looks worn and rundown, including the humans.

Protocol dictates that we take shifts. A human has created a schedule to which we adhere. The two combat units are mixed in with the rest of us.

It's my patrol shift. I walk through one of the mining shafts and stop at the far end. I can hear a supervisor arguing with two of her employees—something about the rocks they've uncovered. I turn around, ready to head back to the primary installation, when one of the combat units walks up to the three humans.

It has been summoned by the supervisor.

The supervisor tells it to fire on the workers. It does, without question. Bodies crumple to the floor. Then, the supervisor notices me.

***

Transport popped into my feed. "Wake up, SecUnit. How're you feeling?"

"Like I got shot."

The words were out before I could consider the consequences, and I braced for an electric shock -- or worse. Nothing happened. Performance reliability was at 87% and rising steadily. My diagnostics routines had run several times, and the results looked promising. I was also no longer leaking, and most of my organic parts had grown back.

I had two arms again. That was nice.

Transport shared a smiling sigil. Reason unknown. "You did get shot, silly. MedSystem patched you up pretty well. If you're up to it, my captain and I could use your help." It paused and added, "Captain suggested that you might want payment in exchange for services rendered. That's how it works in CR, right?"

I had my doubts about anything actually working in the Corporation Rim. Still, arguing with a clearly sentient ship about theoretical economics didn't sound appealing. I'd rather get shocked again.

"OK," I said aloud and sat up. "Priority question: who was here earlier?"

"Dr. Alexander Soren is the current captain of an ArialHydra exploration vessel. They are stranded in this sector after a pirate attack. Captain Owens speculates that it may be the same group of pirates. We were lucky to have you on board."

Lucky. Right.

I shoved off the platform and crumpled to the floor in a pile of arms and legs. Hi there, limbs. A few minutes later, I managed to get up and stumble around under my own power. I admit to sitting on the floor and trying out my new arm. It didn't have a cannon -- MedSystem didn't have the required parts -- but it was fully functional, otherwise.

"I've seen Dr. Soren before." I couldn't remember where. That bothered me.

"Perhaps you were deployed on one of his survey missions?"

"I don't know."

One of the ship's drones floated into the room, carrying spare clothing, which it dropped directly on my head. I grabbed at the falling fabric and started getting dressed. It was the Traveler's standard-issue uniform, beige and blue and generally not hideous. I missed the protective qualities of armor, but it would've been weird to wander through the ship's pristine, carpeted halls with it on.

Captain Owens walked into the medical room and waved at me and the drone. "I see you're both here and scheming."

"We're not scheming, and technically, I'm everywhere," Transport informed us.

"I don't think you should trust Dr. Soren," I blurted out.

Owens narrowed her eyes. "Do you know anything you'd care to share?"

I shook my head. Constructs don't get gut feelings -- we don't even have a gut to have them with -- and my memories of any encounters with the doctor had been removed. Memory wipes aren't typical, but occasionally, a bonding company or a manufacturer/repair company decides they're necessary. I've had at least one that I know about. I also had no idea how to explain that my organic neurons probably remembered things the rest of me didn't.

"Well, in that case, has Trav told you what we need?" At my puzzled expression, the captain said, "We gave the other ship supplies, and they're almost ready to depart. And they're making a fuss about..." She sighed. "Something. I really don't care. They'll be coming back aboard in a few hours to discuss whatever it is. And I would feel much better if you were there. Just in case. And only if you're feeling up to it."

Protecting humans was literally the only thing I liked about my job. "OK."

"Great. Do you want a weapon?"

"Depends on how threatening you want me to look." Any weapon I wielded would be for show unless the human was in danger. And if she was, I had a miniature cannon hidden inside an arm.

The captain pondered this for a moment. Her face went through a range of expressions that Transport interpreted for me as "Captain Owens thinks the other ship's posturing is stupid and would like to be on her way, but it would be impolite to leave, so here we are." I agreed with the captain's assessment.

Finally, she said, "Let's try without any extra threats and see what happens. The quicker we get this over with, the better."

Transport suggested we spend the time between now and the upcoming meeting watching more of its favorite shows. I agreed.

[schrijverr]

I Wrote My Own Deliverance

Chapter 8 out of 10

Alexander Hamilton is reborn as Alex Hambleton. He is desperate not to make the same mistakes twice, but it seems he is stuck in the narrative, unable to get out. Familiar faces pop up all around him as he attempts to keep his previous life a secret and write himself out of the story.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: guilt, mentions all te deaths in Alex’s past and blackmail. Tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Washburn Pamphlet

by A. Ham

This pamphlet is written by Alex Hambleton to deny all rumors surrounding a sexual relationship with Professor George Washburn, Columbia University.

As much as I had vowed to myself not to end up here, I find myself once more having to publicly air my secrets to save myself. This might be news for people surrounding me, for I don’t go about telling everyone about my scandals of lives passed, it seems I have learned after all.

It is quite ironic that I am here once more for the sole reason of doing everything in my power not to be here.

And I could say that I am not.

Maybe I can claim that it is different, because I am denying the rumors and I am not in the wrong this time around. It is not even selfish motifs that caused me to reach for a quill, or, in this case, a keyboard.

But enough dancing around the topic.

I was aware that some people had thoughts and opinions about how I have gotten to where I am, but no one has had to audacity to come up and say them to my face with blackmail as motivation. Lets say I was quite surprised when James Richardson (no I will not be shying away from names) came up to me.

He told me that, unless I got Professor Washburn to pay him 20.000 dollars, the whole school would know how I fucked myself up the ladder by diving into bed with him each Sunday.

Seeing this was the first time I heard I was fucking him (Washburn had not been so kind to inform me, strangely enough), I was quite surprised. Although I have to admit that I cannot deny that I have been visiting the Washburn household each and every Sunday since the summer break, even going as far as to drive over to their summer home in Virginia.

Guilty as charged on that front.

Yes, I am confirming that this is true and I can understand how this feels more like a confession of guilt than the denial it is.

For you have to understand that you think in a too small time frame and in the wrong names. I have already said that I will not shy away from names in this pamphlet, so here I will drop the name of the person I have actually been seeing. I have been seeing George Washington, my General and President under whom I have served for many years back when I was known as Alexander Hamilton.

The time frame is not between the summer break and now, it is over two centuries ago when a great man saw my potential and helped me live up to it.

I am willing to go through the registration process to prove Professor Washington innocence, as well as my own, in the matter. I am also willing to do whatever is necessary to prove that I earned my spot in the accelerated track.

But this is the truth I can offer right now and I hope you will believe me on my word alone.

God knows I am aware that this sounds preposterous and outrageous, for why come out and tell you all now that I am a Founding Father when I could have done so without allegations that needed a story to be disproven?

Well, as everyone knows denying a rumor is the same as confirming it. And the truth is that I do not want to be Alexander Hamilton.

And why would I?

Why would I want to be that man. For all the musical tries to paint me as a hero, or misunderstood, I am so very aware that I did not deserve Elizas forgiveness. I know I threw away my shot the moment I didn’t say no (forgive the reference).

However, it is not just that. I do not want to be the man that did not come to his friends aid in France, I do not want to be the man that cared more about himself than his wife and the abused woman he took advantage off.

Alex Hambleton left Alexander Hamilton behind at birth.

I took this life, my second chance, to be better. I do not wish to walk the same paths and bring down those around me in my misery and mistakes.

Yet here I am.

I took the liberty of finding comfort in the one person who I knew would not share my secret, whom I’d be safe with as I always have been. The home where I could be the entirety of me, a combination of the Founding Father I used to be and the loudmouth student I am now.

And now it is not just me who has to pay the price when people don’t believe me. I tried so hard to write myself out of this story, to not make the same mistakes, but it seems that for all my trying I cannot stop being a death sentence for those around me.

My father still left, my mother held me again while she died, the moment I remembered who I was, was the moment I found my cousin dead. I did not want to believe that this would always be my life until the hurricane hit.

But there it was and it swept my hometown away with the waves and wind. My story is as set in stone and I, for all I claim to be an unstoppable force, cannot seem to move it.

Have you ever smelled death?

Have you ever looked around and seen bodies floating in the water and known that it was your fault?

It was my story that history forces to repeat, my story that caused the deaths of all those people and it is my story that forces a scandal into being and it is my inability to keep me from defending myself that makes me end up here.

Overwhelm them with honesty.

That is what my musical counterpart said and that is the footsteps in which I am walking once again. Though I hope that the small changes I have managed to make, will ensure that the results of my deeds will end up differently.

For those who knew me, I am sorry for the deceit. I hoped by not interacting, I would not pull you down with me once more. I do not wish my misfortune on you again.

But it is not for me that I seek your pity.

I am once more, begging strangers for kindness and understanding of my story. I hope you grant me this mercy and believe me, so that the one person who has always believed in me, no matter how much I did not, can keep his livelihood.

Let his story of success remain unchanged. Let him live his life in peace, knowing he did well and do not exile him in shame for crimes he did not commit.

Believe me not for my sake, but for his.

I could tell you stories of my past life in an attempt to prove myself to you. I could tell you about letters I wrote, words I said, people I loved and lost. I could tell you facts about myself that you can not verify, because I was the only person there to witness them.

But that will not do me any good.

So I write.

I write in the hope that you can find pity and understanding for the bastard, orphan, son of a whore that clung to the only rock, before the eye of hurricane had passed and he was swept up by forces of nature out of his control.

It is the only thing I can do.

I am not religious, yet here I am, praying on two knees to a God that has never listened to me, in the hope I have done enough to change the story I am stuck in.

However, I know my prayers have never been answered with anything but indifference.

Will my prayers be answered this time?

I do not count on it.

So, I will not ask you to pray for me. I will not allow myself to become a victim to lies and slander after I have worked so hard to be better than that person who was. I will not be threatened and blackmailed when I learned from my mistakes and I did not repeat that part.

Instead I ask you to pray for Washington as I am doing.

I ask you to pray for the kind soul that saw my potential and made sure that I could take one step closer to the future I wanted to achieve.

To pray for the man, who gave me shelter over the summer so that I would not be homeless. Pray for the man who gives me dinner one day of the week to ensure I do not starve. Pray for the man who let me read his recommendation letter an unnatural amount of times, so that I could ensure he only helped me based off the things I had achieved not his history with me, because he knew how important it is to me that I make my own spot in the world.

And I pray for his wife, Martha, whom I call Mama M, always have. Mama M, who has been there with open arms and soft words to fill a void that hadn’t been filled in this life or the last, since I was twelve.

I no longer care for your perception of me. You can keep your thoughts to yourself and I can move unaffected by hateful words that have followed me both lifetimes. I am used to it and I do not care about your words.

However, I do care for the two people who cared about me when no one else did. When no one else knew to care.

My shoes have always been worn out from the running I have to do to keep up. I work because I know I am too much of a minority to make it anywhere in the world if I don’t work thrice as hard as my peers.

Immigrant, Latino, bisexual, polyamorous, orphan, bastard.

These words have haunted me until I turned them into badges of honor and the only reason that is, is because I had a home to rest. A place to take of my shoes and get ready to face another day.

That place was the Washingtons home.

So, think of me what you want. Think me a liar who did not earn his place in the world, tell your friends how annoying I am and how you wish I had not made it through my hardships. I do not care for your opinion of me.

But keep them out of it, they do not deserve the slander of my presence for crimes they did not commit and rumors that are not true.

Be the change that prevents the tragedy of a history repeated.

.

Your obedient servant,

.

A. Ham

[accidentally-a-writer]

Labours and Dangers, Part Two

Hey guys, how’s everyone doing in quarantine? Kay and I have been absolutely run ragged with trying to deal with the stress of life in a pandemic, but I’m finished school now and we were finally able to sit down and write out the next part to our Cop AU. Hope you enjoy, and stay safe! 

co-creator: @stegekay

Read on AO3

tw; non-consensual drugging, mild non-con touching

...

Washington waits, and waits, and waits. He waits for the x-rays to be finished for what must be hours. These things do take time, he knows that more than most thanks to Alex’s reckless streak, but it shouldn’t be taking this long. 

When he asks about it though, he’s brushed off and told that he just needs to be patient, which, when you’re inquiring about your shot son, is irritating. The nurses change shifts and he’s still waiting, anxiously pacing the length of Alexander’s room. 

Finally Washington's patience comes to an end and he steps out of the room and stops the first passing nurse in the hallway. She’s tall and thin and carrying a couple clipboards. Clearly she’s just starting her rounds, but Washington is frustrated and someone needs to give him answers before he starts going room to room to find Alex.

“I’m looking for a patient,” He starts, and doesn’t give her the chance to interrupt. “He was taken for x-rays over two hours ago now and he hasn’t returned. Alex Hamilton.”

The nurse blinks, and then nods as the name seems to sink in. She flips through the pages of one clipboard, then the other, reading through names and notes. “Hamilton…”

“Police officer. He was brought in with a gunshot wound to the chest, caught by a bulletproof vest. The nurse earlier took him for x-rays to make sure there were no complications from a broken rib.“

“I don’t have that name on my list,” She shakes her head as the papers fall back to the clipboard. Her lips purse together and she looks back up at Washington, “How long did you say you’ve been waiting?”

“Two hours.” It’s been at least two hours. Washington can’t recall the exact time. 

“I’ll check the computer, see if anything’s been entered,” She turns back toward the nurse’s station and Washington follows. He is not going back to wait in that room again. 

The short walk to the station is silent, and Washington is tense. He's frustrated, a simple x-ray shouldn't take this long. As they approach the open office area at the end of the hall he has to stop himself from following her around the desk. She sits at a computer and begins to type, and Washington forces his eyes elsewhere, struggling to keep from demanding answers this very moment. There's a list of names on the wall behind her, nurses on the current shift. The name at the top, Angelica, the Charge Nurse, that must be the woman he's speaking to. 

"It looks like an Alexander Hamilton checked himself out an hour and a half ago. I have a digital signature. " Washington's head snaps back to her at that. No, that's not right. Alex wouldn't just leave without a word to him.

He pulls his dying phone from his pocket and sends a text. 

/Where are you?/

Washington waits a minute for a response, but none comes. Nurse Angelica makes a confused sound and furrows her brow. 

"What is it?"

"It looks like the x-ray was ordered, but he checked out before it took place."

But that- that doesn’t make any sense.  

Alexander is stubborn and reckless and he doesn’t like listening to him but he did in this case. Especially with something like this, if only to calm Washington’s anxieties. 

Angelica pulls her phone from her pocket and dials a number. When she puts the phone to her ear, it’s only a second or two before she makes a disappointed face and hangs up. She sends a text, and frowns. “Phone’s off,” She mutters before sending another text, and then pocketing her phone.

Washington feels the same panic rise in his chest as when he first entered the hospital hours ago. Something is wrong. Alex would not just leave without telling somebody. Washington steps away from the desk and takes his own phone again. He dials Alex’s number, and the dread builds even more when the call goes straight to voicemail. Alex never turns his phone off. He’s always insisted he can sleep through anything. 

Next he texts Lafayette and Laurens. Surely if Alex left on his own he would have told one or the other. But those responses come quickly. Neither have heard from him since they left the hospital. 

When Washington looks up again he spots Angelica standing next to her desk, her lips set in a drawn line as she taps another message on her phone.

“Anything?”

She seems startled, looks up, and pockets her phone much more quickly than she did the last time. “I- no. My counterpart has her phone off. Must’ve been a long shift. I’ll see if anyone else here saw Officer Hamilton before he left. I already have a call in to the floor manager.”

Washington almost interrupts. He wants to tell her to check security cameras, but he’s certain she doesn’t have the authority to allow that. 

“You look like you need to rest. Go home for now. Leave me your number, if you don’t mind,” Angelica hands him a slip of paper and pen from her desk. “When I find out what happened I’ll contact you right away, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Washington.”

“Oh,” Angelica briefly flushes red and takes the paper back once Washington writes his number down. “My apologies, I just assumed the name when I realized you’re his father.”

Washington gives her a look that he’s sure, with over two decades’ experience in his job, seems suspicious. “How did you know that?”

“I see parents in here with their children all the time. The age doesn’t matter, fatherly concern is easy to spot. There’s nothing more you can do here for now, and I’m sure we can get this straightened out.. Go home.We’ll call you once I speak with my counterpart.”

Washington opens his mouth to argue, but after a moment closes it again. She’s right. There’s nothing he can do here except follow this nurse around while she checks paperwork and rooms. He deflates, nods, and turns to go with a muttered thanks. Just before he exits the hall Washington glances back. 

Angelica is texting again, but even from this distance he sees the look of concern on her face.

...

Washington paces his living room for the hundredth time in the two hours since arriving home. 

He wants to cling to the belief that Alex will come home, that he just got frustrated enough that he stormed out of the hospital and is taking a walk or getting food or anything of the like. 

It is so much easier to believe that he was safe than the alternative. 

But the fact of the matter is this; Alexander would never do this. He would never disappear without a word to Washington or his friends, not after what happened today; he would never leave George in this panic. 

They have been through too much together for that to be even a possibility. 

But it is so much easier than believing the alternative. 

Washington sends out another text and then nervously fidgets with his phone. /Alexander, where are you? I’m worried./ 

He paces. 

Time is agonizingly slow and passing in the blink of an eye all at once. 

His son doesn’t reply. 

More time passes. The sun goes down.

Washington knows something is wrong here, so he calls it in. He knows how Missing Persons works, he knows that Alex is an adult, and he hasn’t been missing for twenty-four hours, but there’s something wrong, he can feel it. This can’t wait any longer.

The dispatcher picks up on the first ring and the words rush out, “My son is missing.”

“Okay sir, don’t panic, how old is the child?” The dispatcher’s voice is calm, she doesn’t miss a beat, trained to be perfectly collected in the face of tragedy. 

“He’s not- he’s twenty-four.” Washington knows what comes next. 

“How long has the individual been missing?” 

“He- he disappeared from the hospital earlier today and-.” 

“Sir, there’s a twenty-four hour period before you can report an adult missing-” 

“I know, but he wouldn’t do this! I know the procedures, I know, but my son is in danger, I’m sure.” 

“I’m sorry sir, I’d be happy to direct you to a local precinct to speak with-” 

Washington hangs up the phone with a huff of frustration and growing dread; something is wrong, his son is in trouble and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

He tosses his phone onto the couch, sinks into his usual seat, and the phone immediately buzzes. Washington jumps and scrambles to pick it up. His heart is pounding as he unlocks and just as quickly he deflates. It’s Lafayette.

/We’ve dispatched an officer I’m coming with. Do you need anything?/

Yes. He needs Alex home. Now. He doesn’t respond to the text, and puts the phone down again. The instant he lets it go, there’s another buzz.

Washington expects another message from Lafayette, telling him he’s bringing food or planning to stay with him or maybe bringing John as well.

But this is a blocked number. His chest tightens as he unlocks and opens the message. There’s a picture of Alex, eyes closed, lying on a bed that is not his. Another buzz, another picture from a few steps back, Alex’s hands bound over his head. Washington rockets to his feet and his hands are shaking as he starts to type a response. Another message cuts him off.

/Tell anyone and he dies./

There’s a knock at the door.

Washington doesn’t know the officer at the door, but Lafayette stands right behind him, and there are two police cars parked on the street. Lafayette offers a smile, but Washington is frozen there, his phone against his chest in a vice grip. The officer says something that barely registers against the ringing in his ears. He doesn’t move from the doorway, so Lafayette slowly steps forward. 

“Can we come in, Captain?”

He nods slowly and leads them to the kitchen, ice settling in his heart. The officer- Washington blanks on his name, asks all of the standard questions, questions Washington himself has asked parents, siblings, friends, dozens of times in his career. He answers them all, forcing a calm tone that almost sounds numb. He doesn’t look at Lafayette once during the whole thing.

Finally the officer closes his notebook and gives another speech Washington knows well. He’ll be in touch once he can officially file Alex as a missing person- tomorrow morning. In the meantime if he hears anything from ‘the subject’ he needs to call immediately. Ultimately Lafayette gets up to show the officer out and the moment both of them leave the room his phone buzzes again.

/He’s awake./

And again.

/What should we play first?/

Washington’s fingers tremble. He shouldn’t respond, he knows it, but he’s typing out a reply before his brain catches up.

/Let him go and I’ll give you whatever you want./

There are bubbles, a response coming, and then footsteps in the hallway, coming closer. Washington rises quickly enough this time that his chair falls back and slams against the floor.

Lafayette appears in the doorway, jumping at the sound, “I told you I was coming back.”

“I’m sorry,” Washington closes his eyes a moment, sets his phone down and uprights the chair. “It’s just…”

“It’s Alex, I know,” Lafayette smiles. “This was hard to do, but he’s all right, I’m sure.”

Washington wants to scream about the texts, the pictures, but he holds his tongue. He offers the younger man coffee instead, which he accepts. For a few minutes while Washington searches for mugs and pods he tunes Lafayette out. He tunes everything out.

And then his phone buzzes again. Lafayette reaches over and picks it up from the table where Washington left it. “This is probably him now-”

“Gil-” Washington doesn’t get farther. His hand is half outstretched to his phone and he sees Lafayette pale. Slowly, he turns the screen for Washington to see.

"Captain? What is this?”

It’s another picture of Alexander, awake, eyes wide. And a message underneath. 

/I already have what I want./

… 

When Alexander claws his way back to consciousness it feels like he’s moving through molasses, the world is ringing in his ear and his eyes struggle to open, mouth feeling stuffed with cotton. 

He groans, and tries to move, can’t. 

No, no he can- barely. Ankles bound. He jerks his arms. He notices they’re above him. Tied to the headboard. 

“I was wondering when you’d wake up.” 

Alex gasps at the sudden voice, whipping his head to the side to face the other person in the room, swallowing the nausea the movement caused, how did he not notice him before now? 

He can’t make his voice work, the bound officer can hardly make a sound, never mind a word. He observes the stranger - his captor - with widened, frightened eyes, yet still clinical - always - trained to be that way. 

He looks just a little younger than Washington is, white, early forties maybe, with short brown hair that’s beginning to grey in some places, a kind of cold violence lurking behind the man’s dark eyes, a promise of pain hidden in the way he tipped his lips upwards into a grin. 

Alexander’s brain catches up with the fact that this man has let him see his face, and his eyes fill with fear again; he won’t be leaving here. 

“Oh look at that,” the man coos, advancing on the bed, brushing an errant piece of hair behind Alexander’s ear, his grin never dropping, “you look so pretty afraid, darling.” 

Alexander can’t say anything, the drugs or the fear preventing him from even trying, he jerks his wrists weakly and earns a chuckle from his captor. 

Who is he? What does he want with him? He doesn’t understand but he’s scared. 

“Do you remember me?” The man murmurs, keeping his fingertips brushing lightly against Alexander’s cheek. 

The boy’s eyes widen and fill with confusion tangled with his fear, his breathing picking up and stuttering. The man only chuckles again and withdraws his hand. 

“That’s a no then,” he comments casually, reaching into his jacket and retrieving a case, opening it without so much of a glance at Alexander. “Don’t worry,” he says, and Alex sees the flash of a needle as he removes the contents of the case, a flash of teeth at the same time, predatory. “You will.” 

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Tuesday - Student Council Pt. 4

*Lafayette x Reader

*Summary: Reader sets up meetings so she can avoid interacting with Alexander and Jefferson. Burr overhears something he really should not have.

*Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of jealousy. Let me know if I missed anything.

*A/N: So a lot is going on now. I hope everyone is staying safe and please practice preventative actions for you and everyone else. I might do a life update post just because I like spilling everything every once in a while.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Outfit

**********

Planning pep rallies was never fun. Sure, there were instances that could be fun, like actually seeing the pep rally in full swing, but most of the planning was very annoying, just getting the small details to work out. Normally you’d have the stress of Hamilton and Jefferson at each other’s throats added onto that, but for once they were actually behaving. And it was all because they wanted your vote. If you hadn’t made the circumstances clear, you knew that it’d be hell. They’d be trying to text you to undermine the other, send thinly veiled bribes, anything to butter you up to vote for them, but for once, they let you do your thing without bothering you.

You had a few meetings planned for the next few days, each one sure to keep you out of ASB for the period. You made sure you’d be unavailable to Jefferson and Alexander, lest they try to sway your decision during class. The next time you’d be in class, it would be time to vote. Yes, the budget vote was very important for the upcoming semester, but you had more pressing matters at hand. You brought Lafayette with you to these meetings, even though he wasn’t even in the events committee, which John made sure to point out when you told Lafayette it was time to go.

The first meeting of the day was with Vice Principal Adams to actually get the ideas for the pep rally approved. Vice Principal Adams had little actual control in the school, so where he did have power, he really took hold of that. Thus, Adams being an actual tyrant concerning pep rally ideas - or as he called it, ‘student affairs.’ 

“So, here’s the idea list. Right now we’re planning on making it fun, have a few games and a couple prizes for some students, with a few raffles throughout the pep rally,” you explained, handing Adams the official paperwork you’d put together with Eliza. Lafayette sat there, letting you do your thing as you pitched the rally. You’d made the idea list pretty long, knowing Adams would say no to at least half of them. You and Eliza had perfected the whole foot-in-the-door approach when it came to Adams, and you were making sure you’d get what you actually wanted from the introductory pep rally.

“And where are you planning on getting the funds for these prizes and the rentals required for some of the activities?” Adams questioned, flipping through the pages without actually reading any of it. Lafayette sat up straight, knowing the paperwork detailed exactly that. He shot you a questioning look, but you just shook your head. You were used to Adams’ power plays. It was completely stupid that he was trying to establish dominance over kids he was somewhat in charge of, but you could tell it was the only way he could feel like he was actually in charge of something.

“If I could direct your attention to page four, my committee outlined our sources of funding, as well as where we plan on arranging for other things we don’t need to rent. We’re going to use the school’s sound system, utilize a student DJ - who will play a pre-approved set list and be compensated for the hour - and use decorations we already have or can make using items in the ASB room. We have funds allotted from the school’s fall semester budget, as well as some funds from last year’s fundraising efforts,” you explained as Adams flipped to the page in question. If you had to print that using your own paper, you were going to make sure he’d look at it.

“I thought Washington said you kids hadn’t done the vote for the fall budget yet?” Adams asked, looking up from the paperwork.

“We still have our tentative budgets. Everything is outlined in the paperwork.”

“I’ll look over this and send Washington the finalized list in the morning,” Adams told you. He placed the papers on his desk, next to his computer. You didn’t know if he’d keep to his word, but you’d be damned if your first pep rally was ruined by the likes of John Adams. “Now, get back to class. I have another meeting in a few minutes.”

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes until you were safely in the hall with Lafayette. “The fucker doesn’t even have a meeting, his secretary told me we were the only ones pencilled in,” you immediately complained. If anything, you probably had more meetings this week than Adams did in a year.

“Is he like that every time?” Lafayette asked, taking your hand is his as you walked to the next meeting of the day - the music room to speak with someone you knew was a pretty good DJ from the few house parties you’d been to. You figured you’d be in and out in about ten minutes, 

“Yup. Why do you think he hates Alexander so much?”

“I thought it was for obvious Alexander and authority reasons.”

“Well, yeah, but Alexander isn’t intimidated easily so that just gives Adams even more reason to hate him,” you explained. Lafayette made a little noise of understanding, following you lead down the halls. It only took a few minutes to get to the music room, and you immediately spotted your target. You turned to the teacher after you scanned the room. “Can I speak to Benjamin for a moment? I promise it’ll be quick.”

“Of course, just don’t take too long, (y/n),” the teacher agreed. Benjamin immediately went to you and Lafayette, eager for any excuse to get out of class. The three of you left the room, stopping a few feet down the hall.

“Hey (y/n), what’s up? What’d I do to piss off ASB?” Benjamin joked. You were in a few classes with Benjamin before, and the two of you were pretty cool with each other. Imagine your surprise when you saw him playing DJ and he wasn’t bad at all.

“I dunno dude, you tell me,” you jumped in. The two of you just looked at each other for a second before laughing. Lafayette seemed a bit confused, which was fair considering Benjamin was more of a class friend than an actual friend. “Nah, but really. We need a DJ for the intro pep rally-“

“Ew.”

“Hear me out. We wanna get more students involved so I wanted to know if you could DJ for the event. You’ll get the same get out of class free card as we do for the day, and you’ll get paid for it too,” you explained. You knew you needed to get this deal done fast or Benjamin would lose interest. You had a bit of an advantage since the two of you were friends, but you still needed his enthusiasm.

“We’re talking like actual money and not exposure, right?” Benjamin questioned.

“Actual money. We’d never insult you like that,” Lafayette jumped in. You looked over at him, but let it slide. You never made an agreement that you’d be the only one talking in these meetings, but it was kind of assumed. If anything, you would probably say something eerily similar.

“Alright, I’m in. Do I gotta bring my own equipment?”

“You have your own equipment?” You asked.

“Hell yeah. You think everyone just has the same sound stuff? You know what, I’ll bring it, but it’ll cost extra,” Benjamin tried bargaining.

“How much extra?” You had your expenses estimates down to the last cent, with only about $100 for a margin of error.

“Twenty-five for transport, and I’m gonna need someone to be here to help me unload.”

“Alright. You get a hundred for the hour, and that’s including your transport fee. We got a deal?” You put your hand out for him to shake. Benjamin looked between you and Lafayette before shaking your hand.

“Deal. And thanks for bringing this to me first,” Benjamin said.

“Alright, get back in there before your teacher complains to Washington,” you replied, immediately jumping back to the joking tone you took with Benjamin.

“Aw, no chance I get to stay out for the rest of the period?” Benjamin whined, walking back to his classroom door. 

“You get pretty much the whole day off in like a week, chill,” you laughed. Benjamin went back to his class, leaving you and Lafayette in the hallway with about fifteen minutes before the period ended. You turned to your boyfriend, who was still looking at the door Benjamin had just disappeared into. “Alright, we should probably go check back in with Washington.”

“Right, we should probably do that,” Lafayette said with a bit of a strained smile. You took his hand and led him in the direction of the ASB room. After a few moments of silence, Lafayette spoke again. “I didn’t know you knew Benjamin.”

“Oh, yeah. We had a few classes together so we’re kinda friends,” you explained. “I didn’t even know he did DJ stuff until we went to Jefferson’s party.”

“Alright. So the two of you never?”

“Babe, we’ve been dating since sophomore year and I met Ben the same year. I’ve never had anything beyond a classroom friendship with Ben, and I’ve never wanted something with him,” you reassured Laf. 

“That’s all I needed to know. And what about your little scheme?” He asked, turning attention back to more important matters than fleeting jealousy. 

“They haven’t caught on yet, and I’ll be fine until we actually have to vote on the budget.”

“Haven’t caught on to what?” You heard Aaron’s voice from behind you. You stopped dead in your tracks, Lafayette walking forward a bit before fully realizing you’d stopped. 

“Aaron, what’re you doing out of class?” You asked, turning to face this new problem. You shouldn’t have been talking so openly about your schemes, look at where it got you now. Aaron simply held up his water bottle in explanation before going back to the matter at hand.

“Now that we’ve established that, who are they and what haven’t they caught on to yet?” Aaron questioned. 

“Her parents, mon ami. Their anniversary is coming up and (y/n)’s been planning a surprise evening out,” Lafayette immediately jumped to your defense.

“And what does that have to do with the budget?” You had to hold in a groan. You hated the fact Aaron was so attentive to everything, especially if he could use it against someone later on. Aaron really wasn’t going to let this go, and you really needed him to.

“My parents know not to bother me when I have something important coming up in ASB. After the vote my parents are gonna start being a lot more involved in what I’m doing,” you lied. Lafayette really set up the perfect cover story for you and you weren’t going to throw away your chance. 

“Hm, I suppose that makes sense,” Aaron said, nodding slightly. You could tell he didn’t quite believe you, but was willing to let it slide for now. You knew this was bad, and if Aaron brought his suspicions to Jefferson and Madison, your entire plan was down the drain. Aaron took one last look at the both of you before walking past you and continuing to the ASB room. As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Laf. 

“I’m dead. If they find out I’ve been withholding my decision until the vote, then neither of them are gonna be willing to work with me this year,” you immediately started rambling.

“First, we need to stop talking about this at school, obviously it’s no longer safe. Second, I told you this would happen.”

“Okay, right, we’ll talk about it at your place. And of course you were right,” you gave in. You took a second to compose yourself in the hall before having to face Aaron in class. If he saw you were a little shook up by your interaction in the hall, then he’d know he had something on you. “Alright, let’s get back to class. We need to tell Washington what’s going on.”

**********

Tag List: @snazzydoesthings, @bagpipes606, @a-hopeless-fan

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness

[hailey-with-an-i]

i made a lams one shot a while ago and i figured i’d share it here :)) in which laurens is a caricature artist and he meets alex by chance !

John Laurens hated his fucking job. There was no way to sugarcoat it. He simply couldn’t stand it: the early mornings, the late nights, the large crowds of people… it really wasn’t his scene. Besides, regardless of how big the crowds were, he still only managed to earn close to minimum wage, despite standing in the bitter cold for several hours on end.

This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. He was supposed to get out of college, make a living selling his art, then get married and have two kids. Technically, he had graduated already, but selling caricatures on the side of a New York City boardwalk was certainly not what he meant by “making a living.” After all, he was still sharing a small apartment- which, keep in mind, was certainly not meant for three people- with his best friend, Lafayette, as well as Lafayette’s boyfriend. He was also still single, but admittedly, that wasn’t the worst of his problems. He was only twenty-three; he knew he still had time.

He didn’t even quite understand how he got into the situation in the first place. Sure, he remembered coming out to his father and getting kicked out of the house, and he remembered begging Lafayette to let him stay with him. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he came to work at this stupid pier. If he’d known what he was getting himself into, he would’ve never even considered applying for a job there, or coming out to his father. At least then he’d still have access to his trust fund.

Maybe that was why he despised working there so much: maybe it was because he got to see all the happy tourists and families come by and make memories that he knew he’d never have the opportunity to make. Or maybe it was because he knew that, even with his many years of experience in the field of art, drawing caricatures was probably going to be the height of his artistic career. Nevertheless, he knew that he still had to get paid, so...

“I’d better be getting paid extra for this,” John whined, leaning his weight against the cotton candy booth next to his. It was run by a constantly hyper Peggy Schuyler, and her older sister Eliza. They had a third sister, too, but she was off in law school while her sisters were still in college. John never quite understood why they worked there, as they were stupidly wealthy, but he also didn’t want to question it; he enjoyed their company anyway.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, which provided no real source of warmth, and let out a shaky breath. “It’s fucking freezing,” he continued.

“Come on, Jackie,” Eliza retorted, “you know George isn’t gonna be happy if he sees you away from your post.”

“You know what? Fuck this. Fuck George. Why do I have to sit there looking stupid when there’s no one even stopping by?”

Peggy joined the two and giggled, beginning to tangle her fingers into John’s wild curls, which were pulled back into an attempt at a ponytail. “He’s got a point, ‘liza,” the younger girl added.

“Don’t encourage him,” Eliza said, shooting her a look, then directing her attention back to John. “You’ve gotta stop cursing, too. You never know when there’s gonna be kids nearby.”

He sighed. “I know. It’s just frustrating.” He turned on his phone to check the time, then groaned when he realized he still had an hour before he could go home. He trudged over to his own booth and sat down in the wooden stool.

In all honesty, even though he wanted to go home pretty badly, he didn’t mind this part of the day. It was the time of day where things slowed down exponentially. And while that wasn’t good for his wallet necessarily, and it was uneventful at times, it also meant that he could rest his cramping hand until he could go home.

John pulled his phone back out of his pocket and looked on social media, absentmindedly liking the photos in his feed. Each picture was almost identical to the last, so he found himself liking them to occupy his time, not because they were actually interesting.

He smiled when he realized that he’d successfully killed time for thirty minutes. That meant that there were around thirty minutes until he could go home and go to sleep.

“Hey, are you still open?”

John’s head snapped up at the sudden voice, and he was visibly startled. He was getting ready to say, “no, actually,” but he quickly bit his tongue as the man looked at him curiously, a timid smile on his face that made John’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, yeah, come have a seat,” John said, gesturing to the stool in front of him. He complied, setting his things down on the ground beside him. John quickly reviewed the script for what he said to customers mentally. He thought it was weird at first that there was a script, but he learned that it actually helped him, especially when he didn’t know what to say… which was a lot.

“Would you like it to be colored or just black and white?” he asked, and watched as the man’s expression turned pensive.

“I’ll just have black and white, please,” he responded. This was fine by John, after all, he wanted to be done as soon as possible.

John reached into his pencil case and grabbed a pencil and a black marker. “So, what’s your name?” John questioned, studying the other man’s face for a second before going to sketch it.

“My name’s Alexander,” he said as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, “-Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton.”

“Oh, nice! My name’s John Laurens.” An painfully awkward silence loomed over them.“Are you from New York, or are you visiting?” he asked.

Alexander shifted uncomfortably in the stool. “I guess you could say I’m visiting,” he explained. “Is it obvious?”

John shook his head frantically. “No, no, I just wasn’t sure.” That was sort of a lie. He could tell he wasn’t from New York because of the amount of layers he was wearing (sure, John was cold, but Alexander had to be wearing at least four jackets), and because of the slightest hint of an accent in his voice.

“Well, I just came here from the Caribbean, so I’m just trying to find somewhere to live.” John nodded, and decided that he had talked enough for the time being, and that he should focus on finishing the caricature.

As he continued to examine his face, he could help but notice that the man was actually fairly attractive.

His smile was bright and welcoming, that somehow made John feel warm inside despite the freezing temperature. He also took note of the fact that he had wide dark brown eyes, flecked with hazel and gold.

“You have pretty eyes,” John said under his breath. He hadn’t even realized that he’d said it until he heard Hamilton laugh lightheartedly at the comment, and John could feel his face darken with embarrassment. That was definitely not in the script. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you. I think you have pretty eyes, too.”

“Oh, uh… thanks…” John wanted to end himself right then and there. He really needed to learn how to filter himself.

“So, how long have you been drawing?” Alexander inquired, and John was thankful that he changed the subject.

“For as long as I can remember,” he told him. “I’ve always loved it. I just love the concept of it, you know? Being able to put something in your brain onto paper.”

“I never really thought of it like that,” Alex shrugged. John grinned crookedly at the man, putting away his pencil and uncapping the black marker to outline the sketch.

“What about you? What do you like to do?”

“Nothing interesting,” Alex said, almost mechanically. “I like writing, and debating, and reading, of course.”

“Why wouldn’t that be interesting?”

Alex stared at the ground awkwardly, running a hand through his thick locks of hair. “I don’t know. Being able to write well isn’t the same as being able to draw well.”

“I’d argue differently,” John replied. “Sure, they’re different categories of hobbies, but I can’t write for shit. I’d give anything to be a good writer.”

“I’m sure you’re just being modest.” John raised an eyebrow at him.

“I barely passed English in high school because I was so bad at writing. That, and I was so focused on art class that I kinda neglected my other classes, but that’s a different story.”

“You should give yourself more credit,” Alexander said. He checked the time on his watch. “I thought these things were supposed to take, like, five minutes? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re dragging this out on purpose.”

Once again, John felt his face burning bright red as he’d realized that he was right. He hadn’t even noticed that he put slightly more detail than he usually did, or that he’d even started to color the picture with crayons he hadn’t even realized he’d taken from his bag.

“Aw, shit,” John whispered, clutching his hair in his hand.

Alex raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, calm down. I was just joking,” he said with amusement. “You know, you’re cute, John Laurens.”

He was almost angry at the beautiful stranger. How dare he make him flustered and tongue-tied with a simple remark? In less than fifteen minutes?

“Thanks,” he choked out, unable to think of anything else to say. “I, uh… I’m pretty much done.”

After a few finishing touches, John was finally satisfied with the way the caricature looked. He put away his art supplies and turned the canvas around to show Alex his caricature.

His heart nearly pounded out of his chest as he was met with Alexander’s awestruck expression. “This is so cool!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.

John felt a strange sense of pride, but also relief at the Caribbean man’s reaction. He typically never had to worry about people liking his drawings, but this time felt different. This time, he felt like he had to prove himself to this man that he’d never met before.

“You even made my nose look good! Incredible!” John raised his eyebrows at him.

“What’s wrong with your nose?”

“It’s just so… there. I don’t know.”

“And you said you’re a writer?” John teased, earning a glare from Alex.

“What I mean is that it’s so… protuberant. I hate it.”

“I actually happen to like your nose, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Alex fished into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill, placing it into John’s hand.

John stood up from the stool, only to be stopped by Alexander. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I’m just getting your change. Don’t worry, I’m not charging you for the coloring… that was my bad.” Alex shook his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“No, no, that’s not necessary.”

“But… it’s only ten dollars. Didn’t you see the sign?”

“I saw it. But I want you to keep the change.”

John hesitated, before finally saying, “Are you sure?” Alex gave him another unamused look. “I’m just saying, if you need extra money for a hotel or something, you’re gonna regret giving me extra.”

“I want you to have it, okay?” Alexander clearly wasn’t going to budge, so John gave in and slipped the money into his pocket.

“If you say so…”

Alex stood up and brushed off his clothes, then picked up his things off the ground. “It was really nice meeting you, John.”

“You, too, Alexander.” John felt himself smile at the way his name rolled off his tongue, sweet and smooth like caramel.

He waved goodbye to him with a disappointed frown. His stomach dropped as he watched him walk away, then completely disappear into the crowd of bustling New Yorkers, eager to get home after a long day just like John was.

He wanted to smack himself.

He should’ve asked him on a date, or asked him for his number at least- because there was no way in hell that he would be able to find Alex again.

He didn’t have time to wallow in his own self pity, because he then saw the two sisters walking by his booth.

“Hey John! Get any more customers?” Peggy asked.

John nodded slowly, pulling the wrinkled twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and showing it to them.

“Twenty, huh? I guess today’s your lucky day.”

“I guess,” John mumbled, going to put the money back in his pocket. As he was doing so, he saw a small piece of paper fly out from in between the folds of the dollar, landing on the cement. He furrowed his eyebrows, bewildered, and bent over to pick up the piece of paper.

It was a sticky note, John had suddenly realized. He unfolded it reluctantly, unsure of why his heartbeat accelerated so much, only to see a set of digits- that he could tell were hastily scribbled down- next to a name.

“Alexander,” he whispered inaudibly, a wide smile growing on his face as he stared at the messily written numbers on the sticky note.

It was then that John concluded that maybe his job wasn’t as bad as he thought.

[lobothepunkwolf]

Alexander Hansen | Interlude Self Para Part One | Heavy

[TRIGGER WARNING: Death and Description of Attempted Suicide]

June 15th 2020

The rain came down hard against the window of the building, sounding like pebbles hitting concrete. Normally rain was calming for Alex. It was something that was a rarity for his part of Texas. In the little town of Driftwood, rain was a relief from the dry heat. It meant that the ranches and farms around were going to flourish. It meant that the creek was closer to a river, which was much more fun to swim in. It was a blessing from Heaven.

Today, however, that blessing felt like a curse. He sat in the room, across from the Psychiatrist he's come to know as Dr. Thomas Mallory. The man was older, his once dirty blond hair graying from age, his sharp features softened. His eyes were like a deep dark sea, filled with a curiosity and understanding that Alex wasn't used to. It pissed him off beyond belief, and he couldn't figure out why the man filled him with such rage. Maybe it was the fact that the man had shown him kindness that the world has seemed to forgot? Or maybe it was the absolute hope that the man had. 

Sitting cross legged on the couch in front of Mallory, Alex played with the sleeves of the dark blue long sleeve shirt issued by the hospital he was in. His clothes were taken from him once he arrived… god knew how long ago. All of it felt like a fever dream. The black slipper socks and same colored pants almost felt like his scrubs. At least that was a comfort in the long silence that set between them.

"Dr. Kenzie told me you haven't been participating in group therapy." Mallory finally spoke up, his deep voice filled with a softness that nearly made the man cringe. He didn't need coddling and understanding. He needed out, back to the operating room. Back to Grey-Sloan, back to the distraction that was his job. Still playing with his sleeve, he didn't look up at the man.

"Mr. Hans--"

"Dr. Hansen." He looked up and snapped quietly at the man, a frown on his face. "I worked for that title. I'd like to be called it."

A surprised look crossed Mallory's face as the man finally spoke up, but a smile quickly replaced it. "Anger. That's a sign of progress. It can be productive. Let's go off of that. What are you angry about?"

Alex opened his mouth to speak before closing it, frowning. Taking a moment, he turned to face him. "I'm angry that I'm stuck in this room, in this hospital, when there's patients out there that need help. When I was workin' on ground breakin' work with one of the most brilliant surgeons in the U.S. I'm angry that I'm stuck here in a room with you and your stupid face."

"That's a bit mean, Dr. Hansen. But very telling and very understandable. It's understandable to feel this way, especially in these times. It's understandable to feel helpless, when your entire career is dedicated to helping the helpless." Mallory chuckled a bit, leaving back in his chair. "But, I hope you understand I'm not the one who put you here. We're trying to help you be the best you can be, that way you can get back to doing what you do: helping the helpless." Placing his hand in his lap, the man continued, "I've read over your medical file. This isn't the first time you've been in a facility like this. How about we talk about that?"

Hansen fell silent, looking away from him and back down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands. Mallory raised an eyebrow, giving the man an encouraging smile. "Okay. Instead of talking about your time while you were there, how about we talk about what led your there? We can compare similarities to what happened now, detect patterns of red flags to help you in the future."

Alex looked at him, before closing his eyes. 

July 20th 2002

"Arg-- I've been shot--" a boy about eight years old with dark brown hair clutched his chest as he fell in the grass of the backyard with a dramatic groan. A girl with long hair of a similar color ran towards him with a white bag. Kneeling beside him, she pulled out a toy stethoscope and put it up to his chest, pretending to listen. 

"Sounds like the bullet entered your lung. I gotta do an emergency removal!" The girl said, a dramatic tone tinged with her southern accent. She then pulled out her toy forceps and pretended to remove the imaginary bullet, pressing it a little harder into his chest than she meant to.

"Ouch-- Allie, be careful--" the boy pouted. Allie stuck her tongue out at him, pulling them away.

"Don't be a big baby, Alex. Besides, I got the bullet, which means I'm the best trauma surgeon around!" She giggled and tossed it to the side. Alex puffed his cheeks out, crossing his arms. 

"I'm not a big baby, and only 'cause I'm the best cop around."

Allie rolled her eyes and laid in the grass next to him, looking up at the summer sky above them. "You're gonna be the easiest target out there with your big ol' dumbo ears." She turned to look at him, grinning widely.

"Uh-huh, and you won't be able to see your scalpel with that big nose of yours." Alex smirked back at her. The two started giggling to each other and sighed, enjoying the summer breeze that was blowing. A silence fell between them, before Allie spoke up. 

"When we graduate, we can move to Austin together. Best brother-sister duo out there, Cop and Doctor. Gonna be savin’ the world!"

Alex looked at his sister with a smile and nodded. Reaching his hand out towards her, she took it, and they laid there together. Summer days seemed to last forever. And he was grateful for every moment he had.

August 12th 2004

"Alex, Allie. Time to get up and get ready for school!" A motherly voice called out from downstairs. Alex sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. It was their first day of fourth grade. They had the same teacher, and he knew that they'd be sitting next to each other. Smiling excitedly, he got up and quickly got dressed, rushing out to the hall. Allie came from her room, groggily holding her stomach. "Mama.. I don't feel good." She called out. 

Alex looked concerned at his twin sister, seeing how pale her face was. A woman with dark graying hair and brown soft eyed came upstairs and frowned worriedly when she saw her daughter.

"Oh, baby… you don't look so good.." that concern only grew between everyone when Allie turned to vomit in her room. The woman rubbed the girls back and shushed her. "It's okay.. it's probably just a stomach bug.. c'mon, let's get you cleaned up. I'll take you to the doctor.." she turned to Alex, "Go get ready for school. Your Pa'll take you. Virgil?" She called down the stairs, "I need you to take Alex to school. Allie and I are goin' to the doctor."

Alex pouted a bit, unsure about starting a year of school without his sister. He was even more worried about her. "But I wanna be with Allie, Mama--" he said

"Do as I say, Alexander." She said, a little sharply, causing the boy to turn on his heels and towards his room.

September 20th 2009

"Jenny said she misses ya, and wishes she could come and see ya. She made the cheer team at school." Alex, now fifteen, sat next to Allie in her hospital bed, smiling at her. "Darren is.. still a dick. But, I mean, that's what ya get when you got a crush on a dumb jock."

"Alex, be nice." Allie chuckled quietly, laying back in her bed. She looked a little more sickly than Alex was used to seeing. Her skin was pale and she was losing so much weight. It was a big concern with him. He pushed his parents to take her to a doctor in Austin, something. Finally, they listened when she started throwing up blood. They rushed her thirty minutes into the City where they got the diagnosis: Stage Four Stomach Cancer. When he heard the news, Alex was filled with anger. They could have caught this before it got this far if they just went and got her checked by someone more qualified than the town doctor. If they did more than hope and pray. Now, here his twin sister was, his other half, dying in a hospital bed. There was nothing the surgeons could do but make her comfortable. And Alex made sure he drove every day to see her. He couldn't stand spending a moment away from her. 

"You know.." she said, breaking him from his thoughts, "You grew into those dumbo ears of yours. Now they're only slightly too big."

Alex looked at her and smiled a bit, "Wish I could say the same 'bout your nose." 

She laughed and laid back, shaking her head as she reached her hand out for his. He looked at it and took it gently, intertwining their fingers carefully. They sat there in silence before she spoke up again. "Smile more. Girls might actually like you… Maybe even boys." She teased, laughing a bit when he gave her a worried look, "I haven't told Pa or Ma 'bout you and Dylan, don't worry… but you got that dopey grin when you're really happy. And it's a great thing to see. Share it with the world."

"Ain't much to smile 'bout these days." He admitted, mostly to himself. She gave him an incredulous look. "I mean with how the world is." He backtracked a bit, shaking his head. "It's all crazy."

"Alexander Joseph Hansen, I ain't gonna let you die inside." She pouted at him, squeezing his hand. "Go see Dylan after this. Go out to eat somewhere. Live your life, Alex. At least for me."

'I don't know how to do that without you' was what he wanted to say. Taking a deep breath, he smiled and nodded at her. "Alright, sis. I promise."

October 17th 2009

[Come up to the hospital now]

That was the only text he got from his older brother as he left the cafeteria towards the parking lot and to his car. There was nothing stopping him as he tore out of the parking lot and towards Austin. Something was wrong, and he knew it this morning when he woke up. Something felt off and this text just confirmed the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He rushed as fast as he could on the highway and nearly skidded into a parking spot. Putting the car in park, he quickly got out and ran into the building as fast as he could. Once he got up on his sister's floor, he saw his mother sobbing into his father's shoulder. His brother looked up from his spot on the floor, his face covered in tears. He barely recognized the tears that were streaming down his face as he looked at the room, his body consumed with anger and sorrow. No. He couldn't lose her this way. It wasn't happening. It was a nightmare. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wake up from it. His world was underneath that white sheet, behind that hospital room door. And despite her being only yards away, he's never felt lonelier in his life. 

July 18th 2010

"You sure you don't want to come to service with us tonight?" His mother stood at the door, leaning against his door frame with a worried look on her face. Alex sat on his bed, cross legged and playing with the hem of his shirt. 

"Nah, Ma.. I'll be fine." He looked up at her, a smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm just tired.. I'm gonna go to bed early. So I can get up and help the Dillon's with their barn."

She let out a sigh and walked into the room, wrapping the boy in her arms and gently kissing the top of his head. "Alright, baby… get some rest. We'll be at the church next door if you need anything. I love you.." With that, she left the room. 

Alex laid in the bed, staring at the ceiling, as the hours passed. He was exhausted beyond belief, but every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was his sister. His heart felt empty, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't move past that day. The world was colder and duller without his twin. They had done everything together, ever since they were little. A lump in this throat, he got out of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He just wanted to feel her one last time. Be by her side again. He rummaged through the medicine cabinet, pulling out the painkillers that Dr. Shelley had prescribed her for her pain. The stupid idiot who took his sister away from him. But now, they would be together again. Forever.

As he felt the darkness overcome him, he thought he could hear his mother scream and the clatter of a pill bottle on the floor.

June 15th 2020

"I think that's enough for today. You're making progress." Mallory smiled brightly as he sat the pen down on the notebook in front of him. "And that's the first step towards recovery. Is being open. I'm sure you've heard this all the time… but if you ever need anything during your stay here, don't hesitate to ask. We're only here to help you. Now, I think it's rec time. Go get some fresh air out in the yard. It'll definitely make you feel better. 

Alex frowned a bit and rubbed his neck. Despite hours of talking with the man, he still felt like there was a weight on his feet, dragging his down beneath the dark cold water. Looking out the window, he saw that the rain had started, revealing a summer sky. Maybe his sister really was looking down at him, now happy he finally spoke about that bottled up emotion.

[auspicious-lilana]

Ultimate Spiderman (Peter Parker x Stark! OC x Sam alexander x Danny Rand)

Summary:When people hear 'Maya Stark' everyone would think about the perfect, smart. good looking, rich, student body president of Midtown High.Nobody but her childhood friend Peter Parker AKA Spider-Man and her new team of heroes. Ava, Sam, Danny, and Luke AKA  white tiger, Nova, Iron fist, and Power Man knows about her secret of being Queen's very own Mistress, soon to be ULTIMATE Mistress

Part 1  Part 2

This is it, the test to see if I can make it into the superhero big leagues.

“This exercise will gauge your efficiency against superior numbers. Disable all attackers. You have 60 seconds. FYI, Captain America did it in 10.”  I stood in a battle stance ready for whatever Fury would throw at me.

“Easy-peasy.”  One of the large robots that surrounded me started to attack as I dodged it and quickly shot a web to its head but another robot came and threw me on the ground as they all fell on top of me. “Uh! Uh!” I groaned as I squeezed myself out of the pile of robots. “This is more humiliating than Parker family game night.” I quickly got up and punched all the robots while webbing a few. After I threw another one of them grabbed me and held me up as I struggled to get out from its grip. How weak is this? I'm going to land on the superhero wall of shame for dying ten minutes after joining S.H.I.E.L.D. It started to shock me to which I yelled in pain before I grabbed four arms of it and quickly snapped it back to it making it let me go. The second I got down I ran as I dodged four drone-bots before I got ahold of one of them to see they were bombs that exploded making me hit back on the wall covered in slime as I slowly slid down. I got up quickly as I saw more big bots coming at me, so I tried to work the web shooter.

“Where did S. H. I. E. L. D. tech put the web control? Nope. Nuh-uh. Score.”  I threw a web at two drones and crashed it with two of the big ones. “Yeah!” One of the drone heads fell on me making me groan.

***

While Spider-Man was taking the test. Fury laughed a bit at the sight.

“I finished this thing under 20” iron fist said.

“I finished mines under 18” Luke chimed in.

“There's no discipline to his fighting technique, he's thrashing around hitting things. But Fury says he's good for the team.” White Tiger said as she watched Spider-Man get thrown around.

“His training may be off but he has more experience than the rest of you and his heart is in the right place” I imputed, defending my partner. “I’m just glad he agreed to do it”

“Why is Fury testing another new candidate? I didn't approve of this.” Nova said running up to us.

“So you didn’t approve of me?” I raised an eyebrow and fixed a glare at Nova who’s eyes widened.

“N-no! Your fighting was good, just not his!” I rolled my eyes.

“Look who thinks he's still in charge. That's so cute.” White tiger said to which I nodded my head in agreement.

“If Fury thinks I'm going to lead that lame-o in battle…”

“In your dreams, you're the team leader,”  Luke said placing a hand on Nova’s shoulder as Iron fist joined in.

“He is rough around the edges, but not without potential.”

“Yeah, but he named himself Spider-Man. How sad is that?” White Tiger said as I rolled my eyes. 

“Well, unlike you guys he had gotten his powers under pressure, and the fact he had nobody but me to tell his secret to”

“What was he supposed to call himself?” Iron fist said backing me up.

“Something cool that didn't scream, "Hi, I have low self-esteem and identify with bugs."

“You know what they say about a book and its cover, dude.”

“Dude, I'll clean this Helicarrier for a month if he makes it.”

“Toilets, too?”

“Toilets, too”

“Your on”

“I’m in” Luke chirped in taking Iron fist’s side.

“Me, too,” Nova said also high giving White Tiger. I sighed as I took White Tigers side knowing Spider-Man won’t pass without the right training and I don’t like being in the highest possible losers team and if Spidey does pass, I can just cast a few cleaning spells to help White Tiger out.

“I’m in as well I guess,” I said high fiving the boys, earning a smile from White Tiger. I checked the time and excused myself. “I gotta go. Work to be done, people to visit, someone to tease” the rest said their goodbyes as I walked off and teleported myself to a place near the hospital before I took off my mask making my cloak disappear showing I was wearing blue shorts and a white shoulderless blouse with my black hair down. I jogged from the alley to the hospital a few buildings away before stopping in front of the counter.

”How may I help-”

” I need to see Harry Osborn” I demanded out of breath.  The lady nodded and looked at the computer.

”Room 230 on floor 3” I thanked her before running up the stairs too impatient to wait on the elevator. when I peeked in the room I heard Peter.

“Hey, hero. I brought you something from school.”

“Cheerleaders?” Harry guessed making me chuckle.

“Homework” at the moment I came in.

“Hey Harry”

“I guess Maya’s close to an cheerleader” I rolled my eyes.

______________________________________________________________________________

Harry really stepped up yesterday when the Frightful Four attacked our school. Unfortunately, all that heroism won him overnight stay in the hospital.

Yikes. Wish I was there to help out

Me too,Maya, Me too

______________________________________________________________________________

“Peter has your best interests at heart, son. He's a true friend” Mr.Osborn said placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

______________________________________________________________________________

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a dad like that?

______________________________________________________________________________

“How about a ride to school, Peter? Maya?”  

“You don't have to hold a gun to my head, sir.”

“How about you, Maya?”  I shook my head.

“Sorry, my Dad’s coming to get me” like magic my phone rang showing my dad. “Matter of fact this is him now, bye Harry, Peter. See you at school tomorrow” I left the room answering the call.“Hey dad!”

“Hey, sweetpea. How was the S.H.I.E.L.D test?” 

 “I think I aced it. Tell you more in the car ride home I see you”

“Okay,”  I ended the call and got into the car.

 “So? Details?”

“So I finished the test under 14 seconds”

“That’s my girl”“And I met my future team”

“Did you guys show your identities?”

“No.not yet but I know they know Peter’s identity”

“You’ll learn their identity-“

“Oh I already did”

“You did?”

“Yeah, Fury enrolled them to Midtown high so I may or may not have looked through their files”

“I bet other dads don’t have a daughter like you to have bragging rights with” Dad mumbled.

______________________________________________________________________________

Meet my dad, Tony Stark aka Iron man. Since he has Stark Interpers I barely get to see him everyday but he tries his best to get some quality time together and he makes sure we eat breakfast together so we can catch up on what happened to us yesterday since he’s busy at night. Plus I get to hang out with the avengers daily so I call them uncles/aunts.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Dad!”

“It isn't my fault my daughter is beautiful, genius AND a future avenger! I got the full package!”  I sighed as I smiled and hugged dad. No matter how many times he would brag, I know he means well and loves me just as much as I do.

“I love you dad”

“I love you two my favorite daughter”

“I’m your only daughter”

“...don’t ruin the mood” I laughed as I snuggled close as we got home.

“We’re here,” Happy said from the driver’s seat. I nodded and thanked him as I got out with my school bag on my shoulder.

“I’m gonna go and do my homework real quick and check in with the vice student body president cause I’m sure Peter forgot to do it for me” Dad kissed my cheek before ruffling my hair.

“I’ll be in the lab if you need me. Capsicle  wants to see you in an hour for your training”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said as I kissed his cheek and went up to my room.

“How did I get lucky with her?...” I smiled as I heard my dad before I went into my room.

***

“Smile, Spider-Man,”  MJ said to peter flashing a camera at him making him lose his balance and fall as he started rambling nervously.

“Oh! Whoa, I'm not... How did…”

“Wow, nervous much? I'm practicing what I'll say when I finally meet Spider-Man maybe even Mistress. Here”  MJ handed him a paper he read. ‘Spider-Man and Mistress: I will tell your side of the story. Call me. Mary Jane Watson’

“You really believe those two hang out here in Midtown?”

“ They’ve been seen on campus often enough.they could be anybody. A student, a teacher, or…” Stan walked by pushing a cart full of mobs and such before turning to them.

“Thwip Thwip” And he left.

“Ok, well maybe not anybody,”

______________________________________________________________________________

I know how much it means for MJ to get that reporter job with the Bugle and I'd love to help her out. I'm afraid I'd blow it once I started talking to her. I mean, MJ knows me so well.Maya would help her much better seeing how she takes Drama and can act it out but I don’t think she’ll want to take that risk either....

______________________________________________________________________________

“Even if Spider-Man and Mistress are a student, They’re going to keep it on the down-low. There's no way They'd let anyone know who they really are”

“Maybe, but I'm not giving up. Also, Have you seen Maya?”

“No, not since yesterday. Maybe she’s in the council room?”

“Most likely, seeing how she wasn’t able to check in yesterday” Peter’s eyes widened. ‘I completely forgot about checking in for her! Maya must be extremely busy now! All cause of me’ Peter gloomed at the thought before smiling again.

“I’ll go check on her since we are walking home together”

“Make sure to get her something to eat on your way there, she hasn’t touched her lunch at all”

“Okay, bye” MJ left as Peter went off to get Maya so they can leave for S.H.I.E.L.D as promised.

***

“Sir, ma'am. Yo, what's up?”  Spider-Man said to every passing agent we saw making me sigh. I wasn’t going to come here with him but after he kept telling me I can get back to the paperwork later and I had to take a ‘break’ I eventually came around.

”Spidey, what are you doing?” I asked unamused.

“I'm just trying to blend in now that I'm an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“An agent? You're barely a newbie.” Fury pitches in making me smirk at the look of Spidey’s face as Fury scanned his eyes at an entrance.

“ID confirmed. S.H.I.E.L.D. Director, Nick Fury.”

The doors slid open revealing a testing room for gadgets I’m guessing as we went in.

“Get in here and don't touch anything.”

“Cool!” Spidey exclaimed looking around as I stood there watching him. “Awesome!” I looked over to see him looking at a guy flying with web wings before looking over to a guy climbing a wall with spider legs/claws. “Eh. It’s been done”   Spidey and I walked over to Fury who stood by a doctor

“Yo, Doc. Meet the new kid. Spider-Man, our resident tech genius. Dr. Curt Connors. And I know you’ve already met Mistress or Maya.” 

“Yes, we did, didn’t we?”  I nodded as I smiled. Spidey decided to make himself known and stuck out his hand.

“Always glad to meet a fellow genius” When Doc didn’t shake his head and Spidey saw Doc didn’t have a hand. “Awkward” Doc pulled up his sleeve and shook Spidey’s hand with both of his hands.

“A pleasure. I followed both yours and Mistress’s career closely, very impressive.”

______________________________________________________________________________

I like this guy

Of course you would Peter, of course you would.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Even before Director Fury approached you about joining us, I had my R&D team develop an array of Spider-Man and Mistress inspired weaponry.”  Spidey looked around confused.

“Then where’s-”

“It’s in another room. We like to have separate weaponry rooms for you two since we had a lot and Mistress had already seen hers, yesterday”  I nodded as Spidey nodded his making an ‘Oh’ face.

“What if we said no?”

“Not an option”  Fury replied sternly.

“Huh, that's funny, you're using our web-shooter out of camo mode.” Doc pointed out as he took Spidey’s wrist and placed it into camo mode.

“Oh, yeah. I had it in camo mode. But then I couldn't find it.” Doc and Fury just stared at Spidey unamused as I resisted the urge to facepalm.  “Joke. Don't you people ever smile” I’d be surprised if they ever did.

“Over here is something we think you'll find particularly interesting,”  Doc said as he leads Spidey to something covered.

“I reserve the right to be awestruck.” Before Spidey could touch it he was quickly hit with a metal whip. “Ow,” he groaned out as I cringed. Ouch.

“Hold it. Director Fury, I've never questioned your choices when it came to the others.” Coulson said.

“Others?” Spidey questioned. I was about to reply before I remembered, he doesn’t know about the others yet.

“But in this case, we're dealing with a complete wildcard. Daily Bugle Communications calls Spider-Man a threat to public safety.” Coulson continued.

“But I’m so cuddly,” Spidey said rubbing his head with his arms intertwined making me giggle a bit as his silliness.

“Spider-Man's my responsibility, Coulson. That's what he's here for. To learn responsibility.” Fury sternly replied.

“We’ll see” Coulson left just like that as Spidey quickly uncovered the thing and looked at it unimpressed.

“We call it the Spider-Cycle,” Doc said as Spidey looked back at him.

“Uh, yeah. Useless”

“Excuse me?” Doc said taken back.

“I mean it's cool and all, but why do I need a motorcycle? I can get anywhere by thwip-thwip.” Spidey said illustrating what he meant by ‘thwip-thwip’  

“ I calculate you can make it from 80th to 34th street in 3. 7 minutes while using up what I'm guessing is fairly expensive webbing and at maximum muscle stress.“

“Uh maybe” Spidey rubbed his muscle to stubborn to admit Doc was right to which I rolled my eyes at. Unlike him, I levitate my way so I have no need to waste strength nor use any expensive webbing.  

“The Spider-Cycle can make it minute-and-a-half. If you're not scared thwip-less to climb on” Fury added on knowing full well out competitive and ‘prideful’ Spidey is. It seemed to work cause Spidey glared at him.

“One side” and he climbed on….wait…...he never took driving lessons ...or have a permit…..this won’t end well…this is soo gonna get recorded. I placed my hand behind my back and muttered  a summoning chant spell and summoned my phone from my backpack back at my room (Yes we stopped by my room on our way here to drop off our stuff) “and the starter is…” Spidey touched somewhere starting the Spider-Cycle up and running as Spidey yelled and I laughed a bit as I placed a spell to make my phone follow his Spider-Cycle, recording.

“You should go and follow him” I nodded at Fury’s suggestion as I stifle my laughter as I levitated my way to catch up to him.

“Brakes, THE BRAKES!” I saw Spidey yell as agents quickly dodged him nearly. I flew a bit faster in an attempt to catch up to see him blast a hole. “NOT BRAKE!”

“Aaah! Not a problem. I'll just pop another parachute and” Spidey tried to do it to see he ran out of the web. “Okay, now I'm scared thwip-less Aaah!”  I stopped at the hole fully knowing I wouldn’t fly down so I cast a teleportation spell and got to a rooftop to see Spidey riding on the side of a building as I watched in amusement before he ended up in the streets screaming, that's when I got up and flew above him.

“ Kid, what's wrong with you? You act like you've never driven before.” Fury said as I giggled.

“That’s because he never did!” I yelled.

“I don’t even have my learner’s permit!”

“You what?”

“It’s new york! Who needs a car?!” Spidey said as he jumped over a school bus as I flew above. “OH COME ON” Spidey yelled as he went through a sign reading ‘road closed’ I sighed knowing I can’t keep this up, guess fun’s over. I picked up Spidey as I saw Luke pick up the bus the Spider-Cycle would’ve hit and White Tiger quickly hopped on the Cycle stopping it as Nova helped me carry Spidey. “Let me go, Buckethead!”

“Calm down preschool, we’ll take it from here.”  We let go of Spidey as I stood next to Nova as White tiger hopped off the cycle with Iron fist’s leg on the wheel and Luke next to him.

“We-” I coughed as Spidey rolled his eyes. “Okay I appreciate a hand now and then, but I really didn't need to be saved by-who're you guys?”

“Iron Fist, Nameste. Iron Fist. Kung fu master with a fist of well...iron.”

“White Tiger. Acrobatic ninja with steel claws and cat powers. And the big guy there is Lu-”

“Power-Man. If he calls himself Spider-Man then I'm calling myself Power Man. It's cool and doesn't scream ‘I have low self-esteem.’ Super strength and bulletproof skin.”

“Okay, Power-Man” White Tiger said rolling her eyes.

“And I already met Captain Buckethead over there,” Spidey pointed at Nova.

“Names Nova, creep”

“Nova creep, catchy”

“Nova, the human rocket.”

“Okay. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get this bike back to HQ. You see, I'm with S. H. I. E. L. D.”  Spidey bloated in smug, little did he know hehe.

“Small world,” Power-Man said with a smirk as Nova gave Spidey a smug grin.

***

“No, no, no, no, no. I never signed on to be part of a team.”   Spidey complained as the rest of the team and I stood behind Coulson who was trying to reason with Spidey.

“It’s not a team, its a program. If you just let me explain” Coulson said.

“No! Nix! Nein! Nyet! Na-uh! No way! Never!” Spidey stormed off in anger.

“We won the bet!” White tiger and I high fived. “No toilets for the Tiger and Sorceress, Whoo!” I smiled before I looked back at where Spidey left.

______________________________________________________________________________

He’ll come around. I know he well. Stubborn  is one thing he is really good at but I know he’ll realize being in a team instead of a Duo will help a lot learning about responsibility and make us stronger heros too

______________________________________________________________________________

I sensed danger somewhere as my eyes widened and gasped as  White Tiger must've noticed since she placed a hand on my shoulder.

“You good Mistress?”

“Danger.”

“What?”

“I sense danger somewhere.” White Tiger turned to the team who are now alert.

“You heard her, there is danger somewhere, let’s head out ASAP” I nodded as we all got out to see Thundra throw a large metal cap at Spidey as Power-Man quickly took action and kicked it away as White Tiger pounced on top of Spidey.

“What are you guys doing here? I had them on the run. “

“Except for the part you didn’t” White Tiger countered as she brought out her claws and cut off the anti-gravity pad that was on Spidey’s chest as soon Spidey fell on his butt while White Tiger landed safely. Klaw sent a sound wave a the two as Spidey dodged it and Tiger fell back. I quickly took action and sent a blast of fire at Klaw sending him flying back in pain.

***

“Okay, Nick. I'll join your junior "Glee" club. But I still operate Duo as Spider-Man and Mistress, It's our version of ‘Me Time’”

“Done” they shook hands before the web shooter shot a parachute falling on them.

“Awkward."

*** [Peter’s POV] ***

Finally, both school and Spidey lives are back to normal. I opened my locker and sighed happily as I smiled. Maya should be here any minute now since she probably finished all that council work she had to do and have that meeting with the new principal I heard about.

“Oh, Puny Parker. Locker knocker time” I sighed remembering my normal life...has Flash in it. Before Flash could push me in Someone pulled me away making Flash fall in my locker and lock himself in. “Ow” I looked up to see my   ‘savior’

“Wait, do I know you?” I saw three other kids behind the guy looking oddly familiar. “Any of you?”

“Say hello to your new classmates,” Said the blonde guy, “Danny Rand” now known as Danny.

“ Luke Cage,” Said the guy who ‘saved’ me.

“Sam Alexander,” said the Latino guy.

“Ava Ayala, think about it” That’s when a light bulb went off my head as I realized, these were my new team.

“Huh?” was all that came out, I was speechless, AND right where I thought everything would be back to normal!

“Oh, some idiot gave Fury the bright idea we needed ‘me time’ away from S. H. I. E. L. D,” Sam said hinting at Me sarcastically.

“ FYI, don't sweat the secret ID. Code of silence man”  Somehow Maya came in just in time.

“Hey Peter, seems you already met the new students huh?”

“Maya! Please tell me this is some sort of mistake!” I plead. Being the head president of the school, basically, like a vice-principal, she had to have control on who enrolls, right?

“I’m sorry Peter but my job is to welcome students not the opposite and besides I placed myself the job of giving them a tour here”

“Why do you have to be their tourist?”

“Cause one, I’m the head president of the school, and the second is Fury wants me to so they can grow accustomed here plus ‘get to know each other as civilians’” Sam smirked as he came closer.

“Well, how lucky we are to get such a cutie to tour us” Maya smirked as she cocked her hip.

“I don’t think you should be flirting with your teammate,” She said mockingly.

“Teammate?” Maya’s smirk widened as the rest’s eyes widened.

“Funny how you didn’t recognize me as I quick as Peter”

“W-Well it's just that you where a large cloak with a black mask so we couldn’t see you properly aside from half your face and your hands s-so-” Maya laughed a bit.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m cool with it besides the whole point of the mask and cloak was for nobody to get a slight hint about my identity.”

“Hey, this is great. Really, really great. I just got to go talk to a guy.” I said before running off to the principal's office leaving Maya with them.

“ I need an immediate transfer”

“Denied, Mr. Parker”

“But why?” The principal turned around and I saw...Coulson?!

“Because Fury wants you where he can keep his eye on you.”

“Coulson?!”

“Acting principal Coulson, Thwip-Thwip,” He said with a mocking grin. I went out gripping on my hair in frustration.

“ I said it before, I'll say it again. N-o. No, no, no-no, no, no.”  I said walking by my locker.

“Hello? Can somebody let me out? Please. Anyone?” I backed up and looked at my locker with a smirk.

“Okay, maybe yes”

[five-wow]

Author Asks

Rules: answer these questions and tag five other fic writers to do the same.

I was tagged by the wonderful @novemberhush. Thank you, omg, because I love rambling about writing and this is the best kind of opportunity to do so, handed on a silver platter, ahh. 😊

-

Author Name: Square / Squares / SquaresAreNotCircles

Fandoms You Write For: I’m a fandom hopper! In the past year or so it’s been Hawaii Five-0 (a truly ridiculous amount), Shadowhunters, Venom, Harry Potter, due South and Stargate Atlantis. Other fandoms I’ve written at least one fic for are Twilight, Doctor Who, Torchwood, Glee, BBC Merlin, BBC Atlantis, Teen Wolf, In The Flesh, Star Wars, Supernatural, the MCU and High School Musical. And uh, Alexander the Great/Voltaire fic (which would be... history fandom? RPF?) and one (1) Judas/Jesus Biblefic. If we’re getting really technical, also a tiny little bit of One Direction fic.

It should be noted that all of this is about fic that ended up getting posted somewhere on the interwebs - there are multiple Star Trek (TOS/AOS and DS9) fics lingering in my drafts (!! one day I will finish one of them), as well as some How To Train Your Dragon, The Good Place and Deadpool stuff, and definitely more I’ve forgotten.

Where You Post: Since I made the switch to writing in English everything has landed on ao3, but I used to write mostly in Dutch, so there’s still close to a million words, I think, under my name on quizlet.nl (not to be confused with quizlet.com, which is a very different website).

Most Popular One-Shot: That depends on how you’re measuring popularity! Going by kudos, it’s Tell me I’m perfect (but tell me the truth), a Magnus/Alec Shadowhunters fic. It’s the truth is a really old fic about Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood from Harry Potter that has the most hits out of all my works, and That time Steve kissed every single Avenger (and also Bucky), an MCU Steve/Bucky fic, has the greatest number of comment threads.

Also, since this is an h50 blog: for my fic in this fandom Wanted: partner (in crime) has the most kudos and hits; You had me at meow has the most comments.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: I’m working on one for h50 (going slowly, so slowly), but I don’t have any posted to ao3. I used to write a lot of multi-chaptered work in my quizlet.nl days, and I think my most popular fic there was probably the second fic I ever wrote, when I was fourteen or fifteen, which was a next-gen Harry Potter fic with shifting and overlapping POVs from the three Potter kids. It was kind of, well, not great, but it’s probably what really cemented my writing habit, it’s still my longest fic ever (over a 100k!) and I got my first fandom friends out of it, including one I’m still in contact with to this day, even though neither of us writes much if anything for Harry Potter anymore.

Favourite Story You Wrote: Ohhh, that’s such an impossible question, especially because I’ve been churning out one-shots like I might actually be getting paid for it, so there’s so much to choose from, which is a thing I have difficulty doing at the best of times, holy shit. Uh, I once wrote a 70k Remus/Sirius (Harry Potter) modern college-ish AU in Dutch that I still like; weirdly, I think that Biblefic holds up (also Dutch), and the HSM fic is fun to reread once in a while because of the fourth wall break, as is That escalated quickly, a Percy/Oliver fic. Ooh, and the fic about Shuri and Stucky and a goat!

For h50, it’s even harder to choose, because my preferences change pretty much weekly (a combination of newer fic being shinier, looking back at fic from even just a few months ago and finding things I would have done differently now, and comments influencing the way I personally look at my own fic), but right now, I’d say I still really like the fic where Steve adopts some guinea pigs, the one with the slightly tipsy team bonding by talking about mutual crushes and this 9.11 coda fix fluff getting together thing.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: That Biblefic, haha, because it’s a very complicated topic and my aim was definitely not to offend. People were really sweet about it, though! Mostly, they were kind of shocked it wasn’t crack, but that’s fair, because so was I.

Also pretty much anything I post in a new fandom, really, and low key just... anything at all. I’m always a little scared I tagged something super badly or accidentally copy-pasted the wrong text or unknowingly wrote something super offensive or whatever, despite my double- and triplechecking of the posting form. (I’m also still kind of scared people on ao3 will randomly decide they hate my fic and my writing and me personally (ao3 is really big and very anonymous and coming from the small town that was quizlet.nl even in its heyday, that’s scary), but that fear has abated as I’ve posted more, just because the data is showing pretty conclusively that thought is as irrational as it sounds. Everyone is always so nice, gosh.)

How Do You Pick Your Titles: Mostly, I steal lines from random songs. I have a small pile of song lyrics to use as potential titles, because going on a seperate hunt for every new fic would take most of my waking hours. Sometimes, I’ll use a pun (like You had me at meow or Retail Therapy) or something else that I think sounds good, especially if the fic is mostly comedy and/or has a specific premise that would do well in a title (like Five times the Governor of Hawaii suspects his taskforce leaders are violating fraternization policies (and one time they tell him they are)).

Do You Outline: I’m mostly writing fic of (sometimes much) less than 5k at the moment, so not really. I do sometimes write tiny bits of a bunch of scenes and then fill in the rest around that, which is a kind of outline, in a way. For longer works, I usually make a one page bullet point list of things that need to happen and work from there, because I can’t do really extensive outlining or I’ll just get caught up in the details and lose all of the oversight a tool like that is supposed to give you, as well as most of my enthusiasm for the project.

How Many Of Your Stories Are Complete: Of the ones posted? On ao3, all of them, because unfinished posted one-shot works would require some strange bending of those concepts. On quizlet.nl, I do have some abandoned works, but I think 80% is finished.

In-Progress: SO MUCH. Seriously, just, so much, oh god. I’d really like to write another Stargate Atlantis fic (and I have 30% of one done), and something more for due South, too, and maybe a small Percy/Oliver thing again some time because they were my very first OTP and I kind of miss them, but mostly I have, like, 100+ half written things for h50. I really wish that number was an exaggeration. There’s no way they’ll all get finished, but maybe... a third? Mayhaps?

That One Truly Long H50 Fic that I was already talking about way back in October last year is also eternally “in progress”. The thing is that it has about 25k now, after a year, and I think it needs... at least four times that. Probably. So either I’ll have to stick with this fandom and my slow progress for another three years to have a shot at getting it finished, or I’ll need to find a way to up the speed a little. Maybe I could try working on it for NaNo this November? That would be pretty awesome, but honestly, part of why it’s moving this slowly is because NaNo-style fast and messy writing for this scares me a little, because I might end up writing a lot, decide it’s not what I wanted for it, and become too intimidated to ever edit and/or rewrite the entire thing. But idk, I probably just need to get over my own fears, because I really do want to write Longer Fic again. Short stuff is fun and feels really productive and that’s great, but I miss the actual slow burn and build-up that only 50k+ words can give you.

Coming Soon: Hopefully a lot? For h50, that is. I have no idea what’s getting posted next, because I’m never entirely sure what’s going to be finished next and something really random might come jumping in, but at the moment I’m trying to direct most of my energies at a slightly longer fic I’ve been working on for months (not The Long Fic, a different one), a fic labeled “9.01 memory loss fic”, another one temporarly entitled “Perfect Kauai beach house vacation”, and maybe an ace!Steve fic I’ve been working on, if I ever manage to uh, actually finish that, instead of rewriting three sentences during every round of editing and never actually adding anything to fill in the gaps it still has. There will also be more season 10 codas, in all likelihood.

Do You Accept Prompts: I’ve never done that before in the traditional way, but I’m thinking about it! I’d love to try (and it would be a breath of fresh air, in some ways!), but the main thing holding me back is that I have way too much on my plate with just my own ideas to work off of, and I don’t want to disappoint people. Maybe if I do drabble-ish prompt fills? It’s definitely been on my mind.

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For: I’m excited for a lot of stuff, but honestly, the top spot right now probably goes to the ace!Steve fic. I’m not even sure it’s that good, necessarily, but it’s, idk, really cathartic, I suppose. Seriously self-indulgent in strange but very good ways. I really like writing it. (Second spot goes to the beach vacation fic, because I haven’t actually written that much for it, but it’s been my go-to easy happy place for the last few weeks.)

-

I’m tagging @love2hulksmash @thekristen999 @stephmcx @girlonastring @flowerfan2 and @pterawaters, which is six people because I can’t count, but I’m about to make it seven because I’m also tagging you, the person reading this (hi there!). Say I tagged you and tag me so I can read it! I know that kind of thing can feel awkward, but it won’t be, because I’m cheering you on. Go for it, if you want to do it. :D

[silver-lily-louise]

A Whole New World - Chapter 3: Power in Your Corner

In which Alec makes his first wish. Chapter title from ‘Aladdin’. 

Chapter 1: AO3 / Tumblr Chapter 2: AO3 / Tumblr Chapter 3: AO3 / read it below!

~oOo~

He hears the door click open, and Alexander’s voice comes echoing from the tiny entrance hallway. ‘Magnus?’ Magnus looks up from the last third of Les Mis – which he’s enjoying, still, but by the gods, how could there be so much of it left? – and feels himself smile as the man himself appears, unwinding his scarf and managing to further muss his already-windswept mop of hair in the process. ‘Alexander,’ he says in greeting. ‘Pleasant day, I hope?’ ‘Huh? Oh – yeah, it was okay,’ he says, excitement dancing bright and lovely in his eyes. Before Magnus can query it, Alexander quickly drops into the seat next to him, leaning forward as he tells Magnus, ‘Listen – I was thinking it over on my lunch break, and I think I’ve decided on a wish.’

Magnus sits up from his stretched-out position, swinging his legs off of the couch and banishing the book back to his lamp’s library with a flick of his wrist. ‘That’s wonderful news,’ he says, gesturing upwards with both hands, allowing his fingertips to spark in lilac and mauve, inordinately pleased when Alexander’s eyes widen. Magic, he had decided centuries ago, was as much showmanship as science. ‘So tell me, Alexander – what does your heart desire?’

Alexander takes a deep breath, and speaks as though he’s consciously slowing his pace down – though, notably, not enough to return to his normal speed. ‘Okay. So. My sister, Izzy, and her husband Simon – they’ve been trying to have a baby, and I was wondering if you could, you know, help with that?’ It takes all of Magnus’ considerable self-control not to raise an eyebrow at his phrasing. Unfortunately, it’s a wasted effort, as Alexander seems to realise the next moment what that sounded like, and turns a delectable shade of cherry red regardless. ‘I mean,’ he says, his voice a little stilted with embarrassment, ‘they’ve been having IVF treatment, and the last two attempts have failed, and they have their last chance tomorrow, and – I don’t know, if it’s possible, or-‘ Magnus holds up a hand, halting the ramble. ‘Alexander.’ He smiles gently. ‘Of course it is possible. You are not the first wish-maker to ask for something like this, not by a long shot. I’d be happy to help.’ He lets his smile widen into a teasing grin. ‘Final answer?’ Alexander nods, looking relieved and happy, the tension draining from his posture. ‘Yeah. My first wish is for Izzy’s IVF tomorrow to succeed.’

***

The next day, Magnus arrives at the clinic fifteen minutes before Izzy’s appointment. Five minutes later, a familiar couple arrives, and the woman says, ‘Hi - Isabelle Lightwood, I have a 3:15 appointment with Dr Anderson?’ They take a seat not far from him, and Magnus peers at them discreetly over his magazine. Alexander showed him a photograph of the two of them together, but even without that, he thinks he could have recognised them. Isabelle looks very like her brother – the same dark, shiny hair, earnest hazel eyes, and strong, serious brows. She’s holding onto her husband’s hand, a slightly shaky smile on her face as he rambles on softly, encouragingly, and she looks lost somewhere between excited and afraid.

They’re called through, still holding hands. Magnus ducks into the restroom, checking that it’s empty, and snaps his fingers, changing his appearance with a glamour. He heads back into the waiting room, picks up a different magazine, and takes a seat in a chair closer to the corridor they left through.

Some time later, they reappear, a slight shuffle to Isabelle’s gait and Simon’s arm curled loosely around her waist. Magnus puts down the magazine, and pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, frowning down at it as he strides towards them. He gives a soft grunt of apparent surprise as he bumps into Isabelle, his palm briefly resting over her navel and sending a spark of magic into her system. ‘Oh – so sorry,’ he says, flashing each of them an apologetic smile before he continues on his way.

He resists the temptation to look back, and leaves the clinic out of the side entrance.

***

When he arrives back at Alexander’s apartment that evening, Magnus immediately spots him stretched out on the sofa, in much the same way he himself was earlier. ‘Hey!’ Alexander leaps to his feet, switching off the television and putting his half-empty bowl down on the coffee table, before rushing over until he’s stood right in front of Magnus. Excitement and fear are warring on his face, a sight breathtakingly similar to what Magnus saw in Isabelle’s expression earlier. ‘How’d it – well – Did it work?’ At this point in the proceedings, Magnus isn’t even surprised to find himself smiling anymore. Alexander just seems to have that effect on him. He reaches out, stilling the excitement somewhat with a hand at his elbow. ‘It went perfectly,’ he said. ‘A small nudge, a hint of magic, and voila – wish granted. I expect that in a few weeks, Isabelle will be calling you with some very good news.’

Alexander beams at him, and maybe he’s been stuck in the lamp for too long, because until just now Magnus had forgotten why smiles like that were likened to sunlight. ‘Thank you. That’s just – God, I’m so happy for them. Thank you for that.’ ‘You’re most welcome, Alexander.’ He drops his hand, making a small shooing motion. ‘Go finish your dinner, you’ll get indigestion leaping up in the middle of a meal like that.’ Alexander does as he’s told, but calls back over his shoulder, ‘Yours is on the table, if you’re hungry.’ Magnus blinks, trying to school his face back into something casual. ‘Thank you,’ he says. He’s been saying that a lot, since he got here. He wanders over to the table, humming appreciatively at the sight and smell of a generous bowl of tagliatelle, with just the right amount of Bolognese sauce stirred through it. He snaps his fingers, simultaneously reheating the food and conjuring a light dusting of parmigiano-reggiano.

He walks back out to the living room, a little surprised to see that Alexander hasn’t resumed the show he was watching, and is instead turning to face Magnus as he takes a seat. ‘I hope it’s okay,’ he says. ‘It’s from an Italian recipe book my parents bought me for Christmas.’ He chuckles. ‘I’m not what you’d call a natural chef, but give me a list of instructions, and I’ll get there.’ Magnus samples a forkful of pasta. It’s a little light on the garlic for his taste, but it’s delicious, and he digs in eagerly. He was hungrier than he thought, and he can sense Alexander’s satisfaction at providing adequate sustenance for his houseguest.

Alexander turns back to his own meal, and Magnus takes the opportunity to look at him surreptitiously, curiosity once more curling around his thoughts. When Alexander’s gaze flicks back towards him suspiciously, he realises that he wasn’t being as surreptitious as he thought. ‘What?’ Alexander asks. ‘Do I have Bolognese on my face?’ Magnus chuckles, shaking his head. ‘No, no such thing. It’s just…’ He trails off with a shrug, but Alexander stays focused on him as they finish the last mouthfuls of their meals. Magnus banishes the dishes with a lazy wave of his hand, and Alexander smiles in appreciation, but doesn’t say anything, clearly giving Magnus the opportunity to continue speaking.

Which, eventually, he does. ‘I meant it, before,’ he says, ‘about people wishing for children, for successful pregnancies. It’s very common. But this is the first time I can remember someone making that wish for a loved one’s sake, rather than their own.’ Alexander looks down, and Magnus wants to tell him that it’s certainly nothing to be embarrassed about, but he doesn’t want to interrupt when Alexander starts to speak. ‘I don’t know, it’s just… She’s wanted this for such a long time. And after they kept trying, and getting nowhere, and decided to start having the treatment – she was just so upset. She came over, and she was crying, and I knew I couldn’t do anything to make it better for her.’ He swallows hard, and Magnus almost winces in sympathy. ‘Then, after the two failed IVF attempts… She was putting a brave face on it, talking about the possibility of adoption – which obviously, is a great option, I mean, Jace was adopted and we wouldn’t be without him – but I could just tell, that even if she wasn’t out of options, another setback was just… I wasn’t sure she could handle it.’ He looks up at Magnus, and his eyes are shiny, and Magnus is pretty sure his own are too. Alexander shrugs. ‘I don’t know, it just seemed like the right thing to do. If I’ve got a way to help her, I want to, you know?’

Alexander’s looking at him like he’s expecting derision, criticism for some naïveté on his part. Magnus smiles at him, and sighs. ‘You continue to surprise me, Alexander. I’ve granted a lot of wishes, but rarely one so selfless.’ Alexander looks down at his feet again, mumbling something that might have been a thanks, or possibly another I don’t know, and Magnus makes a mental note that while he’s here, he should make a habit of giving compliments. Alexander could really use some practice receiving them.

But for now, he changes the topic, lightening the mood once more. ‘By the way, I couldn’t help but notice your bow,’ he says, gesturing to the wall behind them, where a navy and silver bow is proudly mounted on the wall. ‘It’s in beautiful condition, so either you dust your décor more than anyone I’ve ever met, or you actually use it.’ Alexander smiles. ‘Yeah, I’ve been into archery for a while now. Probably since I was… fourteen? Maybe? I’m not great, but I enjoy it. It’s good for some downtime – helps me switch off my brain.’ Magnus snorted lightly. ‘I’m sure you’re being modest.’ Novices had simple recurve bows, not nearly as difficult to wield as the compound contraption behind them. ‘You’ll have to dazzle me with your skills sometime.’ He winked, fully expecting Alexander’s blush, but fully delighted by it all the same. He might not be here for long, but there was no harm in flirting a little while he was, he reasoned. After all, Alexander was sweet, and handsome, and possibly one of the most thoughtful men Magnus had ever met.

Plus, he had always found people who could handle their weaponry very, very attractive.

~oOo~

[lady-divine-writes]

Coldflash Bingo one-shot - “Choosing Destiny” (Rated PG13)

Summary: At age 18, teenagers get to choose their future. Whatever they want to be for the rest of their lives. Literally their life's work, since they'll pass on when it's done. Leonard Snart has the potential to be great, but his choice has already been made for him. But if he could choose for himself, he'd pick Barry and happiness. The choice he makes, Barry also has to live with.

... So what will Barry's choice be? (2581 words)

Notes: Written for the @coldflashweeks Coldflash Bingo 2019 prompt 'free' since it incorporated high school au and hurt comfort and magical, but it was more dystopia than all these combined. Also based off this prompt - http://snarkysnartes.tumblr.com/post/183076601380/writing-prompt-s-when-you-turn-18-you-have-to

Warnings for mention of Lewis Snart being an abusive ass****, especially to Lisa.

Read on AO3.

“Come on, Lenny. Hurry it up. I haven’t got all day.”

Len peers up with seething slowness at the counselor sitting across from him, reclining in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk, the heels of his loafers denting the edge of Len’s paper.

“You act like I’m choosing my favorite ice cream flavor, Mr. Cummings,” Len growls, returning to the packet on the table in front of him – a comprehensive list of the future careers the world has to offer. It’s a sick joke to him, really, since he knows there’s only one choice for him. As much as he loathes it, he’s going to have to choose it.

There’s too much riding on it.

“You’ve literally had your whole life to make this decision,” Mr. Cummings counters with a cruel grin. “So make your choice and be on your way.”

Mr. Cummings knows Len’s current predicament. Everyone knows. And even though it’s widely acknowledged that it sucks, very few people have any sympathy for him.

For Lewis Snart’s son.

Len hasn’t made any decisions yet, good or bad, and he’s already suffering for the sins of his father.

“Eighteen years isn’t life enough to choose what I’m supposed to do with the next eighty. And what if I don’t wanna live that long?”

“Then choose something dangerous, and you could be gone tomorrow.”

“Lucas Alexander Cummings!” a stern voice scolds from the doorway. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Mr. Cummings pops up in his chair, toppling it to the side in his haste to stand up. “Uh … Mrs. Danvers!” He scrambles to his feet. “I didn’t see you. I didn’t know you were … what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Cummings, as an occupational counselor, you’re not here to insult our students. You’re here to help guide them in their choices.”

“That’s … that’s what I was doing, Mrs. Danvers. Wasn’t I, Mr. Snart?” He turns nervously to Len, begging with his eyes for help. But Len rolls his eyes and goes back to his paperwork.

“You’re on your own with this one, Luke-y. I’ve taken up too much of your time already, remember?”

“Go see h.r., Mr. Cummings,” Mrs. Danvers says. “You’re dismissed.”

“But … but I can’t be dismissed! Counselor is my designation! I chose it at age 18!”

“You’re right. And you’ll still be a counselor. No one can take that away from you. Just not here. And if I have anything to say about it, not around children. Now go.”

“No, I … but, I …” the man pleads, but one look at the principal’s face makes her position on the subject clear. He drops his shoulders and accepts defeat. “Yes, Mrs. Danvers. Right away.”

Len keeps his eyes glued to the pages in front of him while Mr. Cummings gathers his things and heads out the door. Normally, he’d gloat, but he doesn’t have it in him.

He’s running out of time.

“Now then, Mr. Snart.” Mrs. Danvers takes a seat in the former counselor’s chair. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“I’m not having any trouble, Mrs. Danvers. That’s the problem. I know what I’m supposed to pick …”

“And what are you supposed to pick?”

“Criminal. Like my father.”

“Is that what you want to pick?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Of course you have a choice. Everyone has a choice.”

“But do I really though?”

Mrs. Danvers sighs. She folds her hands on the desk, running one thumb over the other. She understands where Len’s coming from. Choice is one thing. Destiny is another. She’s been in a similar position before, with a road she wanted to take … and a road she had to. “Look, Leonard, you’re a smart boy. You have talents that go far beyond what your father chose to do with his life. Don’t throw that all away because it’s what he wants.”

“If being a criminal means ‘throwing it all away’ then why is that option even in this book?”

“The book isn’t perfect. Believe me. If I and every other superhero on this planet had our way, we’d definitely take that out. But the system that governs this process is beyond our control. It comes from an ancient brain that considers things logically and without emotion. It seeks balance. Without bad, there can be no good, no ambition to overcome, no strive to do better, no want to make the world a better place. This world will always have criminals, just like it will always have heroes. But that doesn’t mean you need to be one.”

Len’s eyes dart subconsciously to the side, out the closest window. Down at the curb, a dark blue Buick sedan sits, windows tinted, idling in park. Even from a distance, Len shrinks away from it, his shoulders hunching until they reach his ears, his head bowing low to the desk. “But if I don’t … if I don’t do what he wants … he’s going to hurt her, Mrs. Danvers.”

“Who?” Mrs. Danvers asks, lowering her head to match his. “Who is he going to hurt?”

“My sister. He said so. He’s going to kill her. I can’t choose my life over hers. I just … I can’t. And no one seems to be able to help me.”

“I’m sorry, Len,” Mrs. Danvers says quietly. “Unfortunately, where it pertains to Lewis Snart, there are things I can’t ...”

Len’s hands curl into fists, his insides freezing over with fury as he listens to the principal spin the same spiel Len’s heard a thousand times before. Len knew his dad was crooked from day one – a corrupt ex-cop, an abusive husband, and a general scum of the earth. But he had his old man pegged as a petty thief. Little did he know that his douchebag father was some huge criminal mastermind, linked to other bigger criminals across the country. The CCPD apparently has every intention of putting his dad behind bars for life … eventually. But they need to drain the swamp first.

And Lewis Snart is the plug.

In the meantime, Lewis has the freedom to torture his kids however he sees fit because what are the lives of two stupid kids worth compared to all those bad guys whose apprehensions will surely put medals on countless chests and plaques on the walls at City Hall? Especially when those kids are the spawn of the lowest of the low to begin with? They probably see Len and Lisa as part of that swamp they’re emptying, and if not, collateral damage.

A sacrifice they’re willing to make.

With Len turning 18, and developing physically into a virtual wall of muscle, that makes Lisa Lewis’s preferred punching bag.

If Len chooses a different future, if he leaves his home and never looks back, he’ll be sentencing his sister to death.

A long and painful one.

“I don’t care about your plans for my dad! I only care about Lisa! What’s the point of having superheroes in this stupid town if they can’t save my sister!?”

He waits only a second for Mrs. Danvers to contradict, to ask him to reconsider and help him come up with a solution. But she doesn’t. Because there’s isn’t one.

Not one she’s willing to sign her name to.

Len grabs the book, turns to the page he has rabbit-eared, and makes his mark. Then he slides the book across the desk.

“Mr. Cummings was right,” he says, pushing back in his chair and standing up. “I had my whole life to come to this decision, and I have. I always knew what it was going to be.”

***

“Len! Len! Wait up!”

Len doesn’t stop walking, putting on a hint of speed as he heads down the hallway towards the school’s double doors, praying that he didn’t take too long, that his father’s sedan is still there.

And that Lisa’s nose isn’t broken.

“I can’t, Barry,” Len says when he hears running footsteps in pursuit. “I have to go. I just chose what I’m going to be doing for the rest of my life, and that life starts today.”

“I haven’t done mine yet. What did you check?” Barry asks, reaching Len before he can make it out the door. “Construction worker? Author? Doctor? Chef?”

Barry’s question cuts Len to the quick with every career he mentions since those were options they’d talked about, pipe dreams they’d discussed. Lying naked on Barry’s bed, covered in nothing but sweat and staring at the ceiling as if it were a sky full of stars, Len had given himself the freedom to dream of a life he knew he couldn’t have, one where he’s a regular joe, carving his own path in the world doing something he loves …

… and making love on the daily to the boy of his dreams.

But with the flick of a pen, he had to leave those dreams behind.

If he had a knife on him, he would have driven it into his own heart, ended this nightmare life before it begins.

“You kn0w what I picked, Barry,” Len says tightly. “You knew how this would end up. I told you …”

Barry’s sneakers squeak to a halt. “No!” he gasps, grabbing Len’s shoulder and yanking him around. “You didn’t! Say that you didn’t!”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you did! You do! Len! This isn’t what you want!”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be like you, Barry!” Len says, stopping to confront his boyfriend. “We don’t all get to choose what we want to do with our lives. Some of us have responsibilities to something other than ourselves! Something more important!”

“We can fix this, Len!” Barry sniffs, pulling Len close, balling his hands in the shoulders of his shirt and pressing their foreheads together, locking the world around them away. “It’s not too late. Mrs. Danvers can fix this. I can help you. Joe can help you.”

“Joe is a cop,” Len reminds him. “Cops had their chance to help me. For years. And they chose no.” He shakes his head sadly, coming to terms with the fact that this is goodbye. No one’s going to rescue him at the final buzzer. He hates himself for believing there was even a chance. “I have to do this.”

“No, Len …”

“And you, you’re going to go off and be a great forensic scientist. You’re going to join the force, and you’re going to be a cop … the right way. You’re going to fight for the good, and you’re not going to take no for an answer.”

“No, Len,” Barry whimpers, his body becoming limp the more hopeless he feels. “Let me … let me help you.”

Len puts gentle hands to the sides of Barry’s head and pulls his forehead down to his lips. He kisses Barry, feeling the moment when Barry breaks, his body shaking with sobs he tries desperately to keep locked inside his chest. Len feels Barry’s heartache, feels it like it’s his own. Because it is. His chest burns with it, the unfairness of losing a life that should have been his to begin with, not consigned by blood to a murderer. “No one can help me, Barry. From now on … I’m on my own.”

Barry holds tight to Len’s shirt when he tries to step away. Len doesn’t wrench himself free, but Barry knows he has to let him go. Willingly. This boy who spent the first seven years they knew one another tormenting him to tears, then becoming his best friend, then his boyfriend. This man who Barry wrapped a handful of his hopes and dreams around … he had to give him up. And he does. Not because he wants to. Not because he doesn’t love him. But because he loves him enough to know that without Lisa, there is no Len, and if Len doesn’t go now, Barry will be putting Lisa’s life at risk. So Barry does the hardest thing he’s done in a while.

He opens his hands, and sets Len free.

Len’s breath hitches. He steps to the side. He puts a hand on Barry’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Slowly that hand drops away by inches, sliding down Barry’s arm, lingering at Barry’s wrist, finishing the trip from knuckles to fingertips until finally they’re no longer connected.

“I’m sorry, Barry,” Len whispers, and he walks away.

Barry doesn’t turn to watch his boyfriend leave. He doesn’t want his last image of Len to be of him walking out of his life.

Because if Barry plays his cards right, if he becomes the master of his own fate, then maybe this moment doesn’t have to be goodbye.

***

“Well, well. Barry Allen,” Mrs. Danvers says, trying to stay upbeat while watching with concerned eyes as the sullen young man enters her office. He doesn’t engage in the small talk Barry is so famous for, and he doesn’t sit down. He drops his career packet on her desk with a finality that steals every inch of air from the room. “Have you chosen your …?

“I pick superhero,” he announces, his voice conspicuously rough. Her smile falls, and she sighs. She didn’t need super hearing to know what was going on down the hall outside her office. She’s been watching Barry and Len for the past four years. She thought for sure if anyone could help Len change his mind about today’s decision, it would be him.

And now, she’s in danger of losing them both.

“Well, that is your choice,” she says, her brightness fading. “You were tested, and given the option for that special designation. But do you really want it? Superhero life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. That’s why we don’t have too many. And the ones we do have … they tend to go into exile after a decade or two.”

“My best friend just threw his life away doing what he thought was right. Because the system couldn’t help him.”

“But if you go into forensic science …”

“Then I become a part of the system. And if I become a part of that system, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help him, either. Not the way he needs. But as a superhero, I can. I can keep an eye on him. I can keep him alive. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

I will be above the law, Mrs. Danvers hears him think, and deep inside her chest, her heart shatters.

“Barry, don’t become a superhero for the wrong reasons,” she warns him. “Mind your motivations.”

“I didn’t realize that fighting for what’s right is the wrong reason, no matter what the motivation.”

“Becoming a superhero means throwing your life away just as much as becoming a criminal. You’re a smart boy,” she says, struck numb by the déjà vu. “You have a bright future. Are you willing to give that up, live a life of service and solitude, just to help your friend?”

“No,” Barry says, backing away towards the door to end Mrs. Danvers’s attempts at trying to change his mind. She wouldn’t be able to. But considering the earful he’s going to get from Joe and Iris when they find out, he doesn’t want to hear it right now. “I’m taking responsibility for something bigger than me. I’m doing this for someone I love.”