#in cutter the chapter that ends with him... well cutting her the whole point before that is to show how much they love and trust each other

[ervona]

one of these days I'll just do a "Cutter explained" post because it's my duty as an actual, unironic Tos'un stan atp to counter the "so what, he got zero development and was evil after all?" takes I've seen on like. reddit. lmao but truly I think it bears explaining how fucked up that sword is... and how effective it is on someone with overall weak emotional intelligence in two instances of being completely helpless and wracked by grief it's literally not comparable to Drizzt or Catti or Dantrag or whoever else wielding it because all people are different, having their own strengths and weaknesses (this is a dnd spinoff series) the tragedy Khazid'hea wrought was just by landing on somebody who never should have touched it but proceeded to do so... and make it his whole personality after his earlier personality of "I love having friends" stopped being relevant through them all brutally dying... then in Cutter he loses one child at the hands of the other, knowing it's indirectly all his own fault and knows that they'll never be able to live normally again - and then he holds that sword again... supercharged by Doumi killing many many people. like what's not clicking

edit: in one of the CC books (I forgot which one) he's hugging Doumi while she has Khazid'hea on her hip and it just immediately halts all of his self reflection, grief and regrets at the moment. it's in the text and it's even more blatant than earlier on

[woodsteingirl]

A case in suburbia, domestic dynamics, and a forever home. What could go wrong?

the moment i’ve been waiting for! chapter one is up now! read here or under the cut.

Cas and Dean were searching for a forever house. They had been pretty much since Cas got back from the empty. They were ready to distance themselves from hunting. Dean had always wanted a sort of suburban, white picket fence life, even if he didn’t admit it to anyone. And since he already admitted how he truly felt to Cas, why not throw his need for a domestic lifestyle into the mix. Cas was all for it. Ever since Jack had given up most of his powers to Amara, thus causing her to take his place as God and him almost human, Cas had been hoping for a place to raise him like a normal child. The bunker was great for hunting and a place for Cas, Dean, and Sam, but not so much for raising a 5-year-old kid.

House hunting had been a burden to bear, but they were making out alright. Up till this, they’d looked at about 3 other houses. They were all a no for different reasons. The first one Cas decided was in a school district that wouldn’t be good for Jack, the second didn’t have a big enough garage or backyard, and the third didn’t have enough bedrooms for all of their family to stay. With the whole credit card scam they’d been running for as long as they remember, budget wasn’t really a problem, but they didn’t want something extravagant.

There it was, 538 Chapel Street in Pine River Crossings. It wasn’t too far out of Lawrence, only a few hours' drive, and all the houses looked nice. Very cookie cutter, but that was sort of the appeal. They couldn’t guarantee that they would fit in with the traditional, upper middle-class people, but what the hell, if they could kill god they could take suburbia.

A few days passed, and they were set up to look at the home. They drove the hour and a half to the next medium-sized town with the belief in their minds that this was the one. It had all they needed, a two-car garage, a respectable school district, and two guest bedrooms. They were so caught up in this concept they made the mistake of not checking the news for the nearby areas. Once they arrived, a realtor who showed them around the dwelling greeted them. It was all they could ask for and more practically too good to be true, especially for people like them. The actual presentation of the house went over without too many problems. The person exhibiting the residence commented on how it had been on display for almost a month now, which was the first red flag. A house as nice as this, in a densely populated area, would usually not be on the market for that long in weeks unless there was some hidden con.

They signed on it not a day after seeing the house in person. It was all set up and they could officially start moving stuff in the next week. They officially shared the good news with everyone the day after they signed. Sam was beyond happy for them. Not only would he finally have a space to himself, he was proud of his brother for living the life he’d always wanted. Jack was thrilled that he would get to go to actual school and have friends that were his age and not cosmic entities. In the meantime, Cas did more research into the neighborhood. There was their hidden con. The newspaper Cas had pulled up on his phone said, “Local Couple Murdered in Own Home.”

“Dean, look at this.”

Okay, that was a setback. A murderer on the loose in the neighborhood they were moving into was not exactly what he had planned, but he had delt with worse. “Alright, that could be a problem.”

“I think it’s a little bigger than a problem,” Cas retorted.

“Is it our type of thing or just something local law enforcement could deal with?”

Cas read on in the article, “the couple was stabbed, there was no sign of forced entry, neighbors reported nothing amiss besides lights flickering before the murder. The weapon, as well as the perpetrator, was never found. No official suspects have been labeled, everyone has seemed to have an alibi.”

“It definitely sounds like our thing. Lights flickering, no breaking and entering, and all.”

They decided they could pose as residents, as it seemed perfectly normal for the newcomers to be concerned about the literal murderer on the loose. Since Cas was newly human, and Jack was, well, 5, Dean thought they might need outside help. Being out of practice to spend more time with your husband and child really had its fallbacks. Sam was off the table as backup. He was out of town and Dean didn't want to interrupt his first weekend without him in god knows how long. Plus, they needed someone who wouldn't draw too much attention to their family dynamic.

“Hey, Cas, what do you think about calling in Claire to help us with this one? You think she’d do it?”

“Calling her in for help is a good idea, whether or not shed actually do it is another question.”

“I’ll call and ask, and if she wants to help, and if not then I can think of something else.”

He kept his promise and called Claire not an hour later. He decided it might be best not to tell her it was undercover work, or that it was taking place in a white picket fence neighborhood, as that might turn her off from it almost immediately.

“Hey Claire, its been too long since we’ve talked,” he started.

“Hi Dean. what do you want, there’s no way you’re just calling to catch up if you’re starting with ‘its been too long.’”

“You got me there. I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me and Cas on a hunt. Its not too far from the bunker and we’d have you back home in a week.”

“Sure, that works. When do we start?” She hadnt seen Dean and Cas since they rescued Cas. That was over a month ago, she’d been meaning to visit, but she’d been so busy with hunting, and getting to know Kaia again now that she was finally back. This seemed like a perfect opportunity to reconnect and not miss out on anything too big back at home.

“If you could come down here by Wednesday, that’d be great.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” She was tempted to sign off with an ‘I love you’ but she was never a lovey-dovey person in that way.

On tuesday she promised Jody she’d be extra careful and would be back in under a week. Kaia told her to make sure to call every day and update her on what was happening. Claire agreed, promising to keep in touch. She spent the rest of the day driving down to Kansas.

Back on Dean and Cas’s end, they were trying to get the house set up for 4 people when they had no furniture prior to this. Cas had always loved furniture shopping even before he had a use for it. When he worked at the Gas-and-Sip, he would browse the home improvement magazines in his spare time. Dean was pretty much the opposite. He had never had reason to care for it, so he didn't. Maybe his hatred for Swedish furniture was rooted in his deep-seated commitment issues. It didn't matter much why he hated it, he just left most of the choices up to Cas. there was then the issue of appliances and such you couldn't find in a furniture store. That was left up to him. Cas sent him out to Walmart to get things for the kitchen. That was something he could do. He picked out a mixer, some silverware, and a pioneer woman kitchenware set. It came with pots and pans, mixing bowls, and a few normal sized plates. That was enough for him to consider it an absolute steal. He brought his finds home to the bunker, setting them on the table designated for things that were to go in the new house. Jack was sitting on Cas’s lap, pointing at things on the computer.

“What’re you guys finding?” Dean asked, hovering behind Cas’s shoulder.

“Djungelskog!” Jack exclaimed, showing Dean a photo of a large stuffed brown bear.

“I thought you were looking for furniture?” Dean directed the question more at Cas, but he was still looking at Jack.

“We are. Jack just got us a bit sidetracked. We found the majority of what we need. Among other things not of as grave importance.”

Dean looked over the shopping cart and then gave the go ahead. Not before adding the stuffed bear to the cart, though.

The next day Claire arrived. Everyone was thrilled to see her. Jack ran up and threw himself around one of her legs and Cas gave her an awkward dad side hug. Dean wondered when he would tell her what the hunt would actually consist of, but he didn't want to interrupt the moment.

A few hours later, Dean fixed everyone a real dinner and had them sit down at the kitchen table. The realization dawned on him that this was going to be his last sit down meal officially living in the bunker. Everyone sort of just sat in silence for a beat. Perhaps reflecting on their own lasts of officially living there. “Claire, I sorta forgot to add this when I called you, but the case is a lot of undercover work. Also its in a suburban area.”

“And why didn't you tell me this sooner?”

“Well to speak freely, I wanted you on this case and I was worried it would make you not want to come.”

“It almost does, but i'm already here now, and i wouldn't want to waste a days driving on something i'm not actually going to do.” She guessed this would probably take longer than a week. “And i'm guessing this isn't just something you decided to do out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“We bought a house in the area, and we just wanted to make sure it was safe,” Cas explained.

“Hang on, you bought a house for real and you didnt even think to tell me? You didn't think that that was valuable information?”

“It didn't come up in our phone call,” Dean said.

“And? That’s no excuse to leave your daughter out of major life events!” The ‘daughter’ part just sort of came out without her noticing, but seconds after she said it she regretted it. God, how embarrassing.

“You’re right. We should’ve told you sooner. It was kind of a recent decision, though, so you haven’t been out of the loop for too long,” Cas said.

The next day was moving day. Dean loaded the appliances into the back of Claire’s car, since the back of the Impala was already full. Claire took her own car, while Dean, Cas, and Jack rode in Baby. Their real furniture was being delivered as they spoke. Cas offered to ride with Claire, but she assured him she’d be fine by herself. The drive wasn’t even that long, especially compared to the distance she drove yesterday.

Dean was silently nervous. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but it was written all over his face. His first real stable house, with the man he loved, and his two kids, he could only hope that he didn’t mess it up. Cas put a hand on his shoulder showing he saw how Dean was feeling.

They turned onto Chapel Street and pulled up into the driveway of the house. It somehow looked bigger and more daunting than it had during the walkthrough. Claire arrived almost ten minutes later. Everyone just sort of paused in front of the house for a minute, reveling in the stability most of them had never had.

[thebigbadbatswife]

The Witching Hour - Chapter 1 - All Hallows’ Eve

Summary - When her friends dragged her to Gotham’s old cemetery for some Halloween ghost hunting fun, Y/N really didn’t think her life would end up changing like this.

Chapter Warnings - referenced/implied character death

Word Count - 3.3k

The cell phone on your nightstand buzzed incessantly as your friends continued to spam your messages. They had been doing so for the past hour or so. You were surprised that the damn thing hadn’t vibrated off of the nightstand yet. When it finally stopped, when you finally thought they had given up, you returned your attention to the document you had open on your laptop. Just as you were about to start typing again, your phone resumed its buzzing.

Huffing, you shut your laptop’s lid, placed it on the bed next to you, reached over and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. Over eighty messages both from your friends individually and within the group chat, begging you to come along with them to the old cemetery that sat outside of town. They wanted to go because it was Halloween and that meant it was the best time to go ghost hunting! And they wanted you to go along because of how you were usually drawn to this type of stuff. As well as how this type of stuff was also usually drawn to you.

Come on! For old time’s sake? Plus we’re going to have a much better chance at actually catching something if you come along!

The message was from your friend John, the ringleader of your group. The reason you and your friends had always gotten into trouble at school. Now he was trying to work his magic once again.

Only because I’m a meta with an uncomfortably close relationship with death…

As far as you knew, your powers were genetic instead of being caused by that arc reactor explosion that had given a lot of metas their powers. You were able to look past the “Veil”, as it was called, and see and interact with spirits on the other side. Not that you did so often or even liked to do. It creeped you out and you sometimes saw things that would certainly traumatize most people if they saw them. Not to mention the strain on your body and mind each time you did it. 

Why the obsession with the old cemetery now?

It had been years since John had mentioned ghost hunting, let alone the old cemetery. Back during your last year of high school, it had been all John could talk about. He was convinced that it was where the “cool” ghosts would be hanging out. None of you had ever actually gone because your last year had passed surprisingly quickly and before you all knew it, you were all moving to different parts of the country for college. In all that time it had never been mentioned again. Until now.

Ha! She finally replies! I knew you wouldn’t leave us to scream into the void forever!

The next message was from Tom, your oldest friend. Unlike the others, you two had known each other since kindergarten. If anyone was capable of talking you into going, it was probably him.

It’s been years since all of us were in the same place at the same time! Not to mention it’s Halloween and a full moon! I don’t think it could be more perfect!

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that.

You know you want to come! And don’t you dare lie!

He wasn’t wrong about that either. You were a little curious. The cemetery was on the outskirts of Gotham City. According to the internet, the cemetery had members of Gotham’s oldest families buried there. If you were to use your powers there to look past the Veil, there was a chance some of those people could still be hanging around. It would certainly be an unique opportunity to converse with them and, perhaps, attempt to help move on. Or maybe you would find inspiration for your next short ghost story. You certainly had been struggling with inspiration recently so maybe this was exactly what you needed.

Okay! Fine! I’ll come!

You scoffed as you hit ‘send’. Once again, Tom had talked you into joining them. A small part of you was convinced he was a meta with some sort of manipulation power.  

That’s great! ��Cause we’re already outside your house!

John replied, causing you to roll your eyes. Of course they were already outside. Why wouldn’t they be?

You locked your phone, got up from your bed and slipped your phone into your pocket. You grabbed your jacket from your wardrobe and made your way out of your bedroom and down the stairs. You grabbed your keys from the bowl on the table, near the front door.

“Y/N? Where are you going at this hour sweetheart?” your grandma called from the living room.

“I’m going to meet up with some old friends. I’ll be back soon!” you replied. You didn’t tell her where you guys were going since you knew she would most definitely disapprove.

“Stay safe!”

“Will do!”

After your parents’ death, your grandma had not only raised you, but helped you learn how to use your abilities so that, should you choose to, you’d be able to use them. Not that she would approve of you constantly using them. Looking through the Veil could sometimes draw the attention of extremely unwanted creatures that were looking for a route to the physical world. You knew how to defend yourself from them, but that didn’t mean you really wanted to get into that situation to begin with. If you were going to use your abilities tonight, you were going to have to be extremely careful.

The entire drive there, your friends excitedly talked about what they could potentially capture on either video or audio. John was driving, Tom sat in the passenger seat next to him and you were sitting in the back with Rebecca.

A couple of hours later and the car finally pulled up in front of the cemetery. John turned off the engine and you all got out. Since it was pretty much pitch black out here, you all got out your phones and turned on your flashlights.

Tall stone walls covered in moss and vines surrounded the cemetery and an old rusted iron gate stopped the car from going any further. Threaded through the bars of the gate was large rusted chain with an equally rusted padlock. Even if you guys had the key, you seriously doubted it would have worked anyway.

“Are you kidding me?” asked Tom, as he useless pulled against the chain. “This is so unfair!”

“Uh, maybe we could try to scale the walls or something?” Rebecca suggested as she walked over to where the vines seemed at their thickest. She gave them a gentle tug. “Looks like it might hold our weight, if we go up one by one.”

Tom shook his head. “And get covered in spiders? Yeah, no thanks!”

Rebecca frowned as she used her phone’s light to have a closer look at the vines. “I can’t see any spiders.”

“That’s because you’re not looking in the right spots,” he replied as he walked over to her. He shone his own light up at the vines.

While you walked over to them, to get a better look at what Tom was trying to show her, John shook his head and walked back toward the car.

“See all of those tiny turquoise dots shinning back at us?” he asked her as he pointed above where there were a lot of tiny turquoise dots sparkling in the light.

“Yeah, they’re like little drops of moisture right?”

“You would think, but they’re not! Those are the eyes of all those horrid little spiders!”

Rebecca squealed and immediately backed away from the wall. “Tom! Why the fuck would you tell me that! Fuck! There’s probably going to be so many of them inside the actual cemetery! And now I know how to spot them!”

“I don’t think that’s going to be much of an issue considering we can’t get in anyway,” you said as you gestured toward the very locked gate. This whole thing was starting to feel like a massive waste of time.

“Oh! But we can!” John announced as he strode on over to you three with a large pair of bolt cutters in hand. He also had a backpack slung over his shoulder. As he cut the chain, John explained how he had swung by here earlier to see if there was anything that would stop you lot from getting in. When he saw the chain, he had gone to the hardware store, that was located in the worst part of the city, and bought these. “Only place I could find that had bolt cutters big enough for a chain like this!”

“Aren’t we like breaking the law or something right now?” Rebecca asked just as the cutters snipped through the chain and it clanged against the gate.

“Probably,” John replied very nonchalantly. “But we’re pretty much committed at this point now. Besides, look at this place! No one’s been here in years! I seriously doubt we’re going to get caught.”

The iron gate creaked loudly as it was pushed open and you all headed inside. The others walked ahead while you trailed behind. The way they were talking, discussing who was buried here and therefor who they could potentially “contact”, made you feel like you had time-travelled back to high school.

When you all got to the centre of the cemetery, John took the backpack off and opened it. It was filled with all sorts of equipment that was used in modern day ghost hunting. Voice recorders, emf meters, even a couple of high end night vision cameras. Damn, he had really gone all out for this. After the gear had been handed out, John began to give everyone directions as to where they were off to investigate.

Tom and Rebecca were going to be investigating the southwest of the cemetery, which was the newest part, John was headed up to the north, where some mausoleums were shaded by an old willow tree and you:

“And Y/N, you get the oldest part of the cemetery which is toward the east!”

“Right, of course, send the meta to the creepiest part of this place,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes.

“Well, you said it, not me! Good luck and we’ll meet back here in a couple of hours,” John replied. With that, you all split up and went your separate ways.

The cemetery was vastly overgrown. Most of the headstones were buried beneath the long unruly grass, brambles and vines. Every now and then your flashlight would catch a glimpse of the grey stone underneath. You also caught more glimpses of those glowing spider eyes and were doing your best to ignore them. You really hated Tom sometimes.

Thanks to all of the plants, you could barely see the path. The only thing that indicated you were walking on one was every now and then you could feel a stone slab shift underneath your feet.

The further east you walked, the darker and darker the cemetery seemed to get. It also seemed to get creepier and creepier, which was strange to you because you never really found cemeteries creepy. Instead you had always found them peaceful. A lot of people found you weird for that. There was also the feeling that something was watching you. The uneasiness that came along with that feeling was enough to prevent you from using either your recorder or your abilities. If there really was something watching you, you got the feeling that the last thing you wanted to do was attract its attention. After all, who knew what truly lurked here? Especially on the other side.

You eventually reached a group of mausoleums. Much like the rest of the cemetery, they were covered in bramble, vines and other plantlife. They were tall and the parts of them you could see, you could tell were certainly made of far more expensive stone than the rest of the place. This wasn’t just the oldest part, this was also the richest part.

You approached a few of the mausoleums and managed to clear away some of the plants covering the name plates. The majority of the names had been erased due to the elements, but not all of them. The names that were still readable were also names you recognised. Kane, Elliot, Crowne. Three of the First Families of Gotham.

You were about to approach another when you saw something large and black move, out of the corner of your eye. You spun around and shone your flashlight in the direction of the shadow, but there was nothing there.

“Hello?” you called out, which was probably a terrible idea, but it was the only thing you could think of doing. “Who’s there?” You waited for a reply, but no reply came.

Was your nerves making you see things? It couldn’t be a spirit; you weren’t using your powers. Unless… Throughout your life you had heard of non metas who had “seen” things in their peripheral vision. Sometimes they were spirits that had briefly broken through the Veil, other times it really was just people imagining things. Until now you had never experienced it before and you hated how impossible it was to tell which one it was.  

Turning on your phone’s screen, you looked at the time. You still had an hour before you had to head back to meet back up with the others. Turning the screen off again, you looked back in the direction you had seen the shadow move toward. Did you follow? It sounded like an awful idea, but the only other thing you could do was head back early and then wait around for everyone else, and that sounded incredibly boring.

‘ Okay, guess I’m doing this then,’ you thought as you began to head down the path, in the direction the shadow had gone.

You had previously thought that there was no way this cemetery could be anymore overgrown than it already was. This new part you were now walking through proved you wrong. Extremely wrong.

Branches hanging low off of trees and thorns from the brambles tugged at your clothing as you passed them. You had to keep an extra careful eye out on where you were stepping so that you didn’t trip over and injure yourself. There were more mausoleums, but you could barely make their shapes out through all of the greenery.

As you walked, that feeling that something was watching you increased tenfold and you found yourself constantly glancing back. Each time you looked you were met with the same result. There was nothing there.

‘ It’s just my overactive imagination ,’ you told yourself, but that did nothing to soothe your growing fear. What if the thing you had seen had been an actual person? And not a good person at that. This was Gotham after all and for some reason Halloween was when most, if not all, the psychopaths suddenly came out to play. Were you about to become another notch in some serial killer’s knife hilt? Oh, you really hoped not. That was not how you wanted to go.

Before your mind could lead you down a dark path of all the vivid ways you could be brutally murdered right now, the path came to an end. At the end of it sat a lone mausoleum. This one didn’t look nearly as old as the others nor was it as covered in plants like the rest. As you walked over to it you saw one of the large iron doors had fallen off its hinges and now laid on the ground.

Cautiously, you approached the entrance. When you were close enough, you shone your light on the name plate. The name ‘Wayne’ was engraved on to it. You got a feeling that that was somehow important, but you really didn’t know why. Nor why you were so drawn to it. Almost as if you were now on autopilot, you stepped inside the mausoleum.

The first two names you saw were Martha and Thomas Wayne. Even years after their deaths, you knew the names well. Before their untimely deaths they had been trying to use their fortune to help the city and its more vulnerable citizens.

The next name you saw, you didn’t recognise. Jason Peter Todd. You were shocked when you saw his death date. “Fuck, you were barely sixteen years old,” you whispered. That was... that was not fair at all.

The last name was Bruce Wayne. It stood out to you a lot more than the others had. Almost as if it was…. Glowing? What? That made no sense. Okay, you were definitely just seeing things now. To prove that to yourself, you turned your flashlight off. The name continued to glow, in fact now it was a hell of a lot brighter.

“What the fuck?”

You peered closer to see if there was any small lights or something similar causing it to glow, but there wasn’t anything. The name was actually glowing! Freaked out, you took a picture of it (without the flash of course), and sent it to Tom. A few agonising minutes passed before he finally replied.

Why are you sending me a completely black photo?

What? You checked the picture you had sent and, yeah, the name was definitely visible.

Can’t you see the glowing name?

If Tom couldn’t see it, then what did that mean?

What are you on about? There’s nothing there. Are you okay?

Was this somehow related to your powers? Is that why Tom wasn’t able to see it? If that was the case, and with each passing second it seemed to be, then he or the others couldn’t help.

Yeah, I’m fine. Nevermind.

Sighing, you checked the time before you shut off you phone and slipped it into your pocket. Thirty minutes before you had to head back. You were on your own. If this was related to your powers then what exactly did you do with it? Your grandma had never mentioned anything like this before, so you had no clue. You still felt uneasy and this new discovery had done nothing to help so you really didn’t want to peer through the Veil, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Would anything happen if you reached out and touched it? You sometimes got flashes of memories or feelings when you touched some items. Maybe this could be the same? You supposed the only way to find out would be to touch the stone. Cautiously you reached out and pressed the palm of your hand against the cold stone.

Images flashed through your mind. Movie tickets, a pearl necklace, a gun. There was the sound of the gun firing, a child’s blood chilling scream and the loud wailing of police sirens. Then it was over and you were brought back to reality, with far more questions than you had previously started with.

Before you were able to question or make sense of what you had seen, your phone vibrated. Taking it out, you saw a text from John, as well as several others.

Are you nearly here?

We were supposed to meet up fifteen minutes ago. Where are you?

Did your phone die?

It did, didn’t it. Unless you’re currently doing one of your meta things?

So what had simply been mere seconds for you in reality had been forty five minutes for everyone else. Which wasn’t all that unusual for you, but could certainly make people that didn’t deal with it daily worry. With that in mind, you fingers flew across your keyboard as you typed out your reply.

Yeah, meta thing, sorry. I’m on my way back now.

You turned your flashlight back on and walked back to the entrance. Before leaving, you looked back to where the glowing of Bruce Wayne’s name was now slowly fading away. Whoever he had been, he was asking for your help. You were sure of it and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

[wellhellotragic]

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal  3/4

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: Guy, I suck so hard core. I don't even know how I let so much time lapse between chapter 2 and now, and then to really top off my suck-o-meter, I realized that there's going to have to be a chapter 4 because I can't fix what I've done so easily. Not realistically at least. I promise, and happy ending is coming though, and it won't take me another 8 months to get it up. I hope to have it up and finished by the weekend.

The AO3 version

It’s been a hell of a night. She’s not sure where exactly it falls on her list of worst days ever, but it’s in her top five. It has to be. It’s not the worst, that honor is saved for the night she almost lost Killian, but it’s still up there. She’s spent hours now going through all of the details over and over again with Graham and Lance, her story never changing. Getting poked and prodded by EMTs, despite telling everyone that she’s fine.

She’s not, but they can’t stitch up her insides.

David, her partner, on the other hand has a bullet hole in his leg. Better than his head though.

She’s not even sure if she can fully reconcile everything that happened. She and David were investigating the death of a low profile importer, a nobody, interviewing some dock workers that had found the body. Some gruff looking men who easily blended in with the usual fishmongers and cargo sorters.

But they weren’t. She realized it just a second too late, right before a bag was pulled over her head. She fought like hell, but she was at a disadvantage. From what she heard, David had put up a fight as well, but in the end, it was useless, and she lost consciousness with a sharp blow to the head.

She woke up strapped down to a chair with David the same a few feet beside her. She shouldn’t have been surprised, Jefferson had always given her a bad feeling, but she never actually thought he’d go dirty. She certainly never expected to be facing the wrong side of his department issued sidearm.

Even now, everything is still a blur. Graham assured her it’s the shock, that it’ll fade once the adrenaline wears off; that everything will clear up after a good night's rest. She’s not sure about that though. It’s four in the morning now and the adrenaline seems to be hanging on for dear life still and she knows she's not going to rest any time soon. Humbert offered to drive her home but she declined, choosing to wait for August to finish wrapping up his report.

She’s not sure what time it is when they finally arrive at her apartment. The battery in her cell phone died ages ago. Neither of them even make a move for the fridge, choosing to bypass the beer she keeps stocked for the hard nights. Instead, the two of them move in silence to her room. She plugs in her cell before crawling in bed next to him, like when they were kids in Ingrid’s foster house. She’s not sure who’s comforting who at this point, but she knows that she just needs to be with family.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t, but she knows she needs to or it’ll eat her alive. She’s tried that once already and it ended up with her almost having a complete nervous breakdown and a three week leave of absence with daily Archie sessions.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

It’s true. So much has happened in the last twelve hours, there’s no one easy to pinpoint place to begin. So August goes first. He fills in the blanks that he can, so that she might be able to piece together the rest. He tells her about Killian sending him undercover, about Jefferson and missing drugs and money. How Jefferson was helping to conceal evidence that would link Walsh and the Nikko empire to a wide distribution of pixie dust.

Some of it is just speculation, that Jefferson must have figured out they were closing in on him and that’s why he went for Emma, and David was probably just collateral damage. How he most likely picked Emma because he knew how much she meant to him , and while he didn’t say Killian’s name specifically, the implication hung over her like a heavy cloud.

“Before you got there, he told Killian to choose. Between me and David I mean. To pick which one of us would live and which one would die. And then he just started laughing and screaming in this crazed voice that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

It was the single most terrifying thing she’d ever heard. The mania that accompanied it. She already knew that it was going to haunt her for months to come, if not longer.

It’s a real Gracie’s choice. Gracie’s choice Killian. GRACIE’s CHOICE!!!

She felt August shift next to her.

“Gracie was his daughter. She died while he was undercover with a Southie Gang. Killian was undercover with Cruella at the time. It was a freak accident, a gas leak and the house went up in flames, but he was convinced that she was killed by one of the De Vil boys. He told me once that he knew Killian had given him up as a snitch to prove his worth. The De Vil’s had nothing to do with the Southie boys, but he’d twisted it up in his mind. I never thought he’d do anything about it though. It was just crazy drunk venting one night.”

She knows August. Knows that he’s blaming himself for what happened tonight, but she ignores it. Nothing she says will stop him from tormenting himself, and she’s not done.

“I told him to choose David. He has this whole perfect life, you know. An adoring wife and a new baby, all of these people that would miss him if he were gone. I told Killian to save David, and I-” She hates how small she feels when she cries, but she can’t hold back the tears. “He gave me this look. He’s been cold, but this was something different. There was just so much anger in his eyes.”

And that’s when she breaks. Knowing that hated her was one thing, but watching him train his gun on her. Seeing the pure darkness in his eyes. She doesn’t know how to voice it to August, but she knows that if August hadn’t arrived when he did, she knows he would have done as she asked. That he wouldn’t have had to think twice about it. And it’s that knowledge that sliced open the last piece of her heart that had been hanging on by a thread, even after all that time.

August holds her through the tears, until she finally exhausts herself enough to sleep. And so she drifts off, completely unaware of the new voicemail alert waiting for her.

________________________________

The February air is cooler on the water and he kicks himself for not bringing a heavier jacket. It’s been ages since he’s been out on this boat, and time has helped him to forget everything except for the things he wishes he could. Liam always used to tease him, so much so that Killian would reject any offers of warmth from his brother just to prove a point. He wasn’t some silly kid that needed to be minded anymore. He was capable of doing everything on his own, except for bringing an extra coat. He forgot everytime, and today was no exception.

Luckily for Killian, the spare that Liam kept on the boat just for him is still in its place, folded neatly in a small storage locker below deck. It hits him in the gut a little, that Liam could be so right about some things and incredibly wrong about others.

It’s eating Killian alive, not talking to his brother. Not being able to express himself because despite everything Emma has done for him, Liam still doesn’t approve of her. Liam often still thinks of him as the teenage boy, awkward and desperate for approval from anyone that will give it to him, even if it means getting taken advantage of.

He’s not that kid anymore though. He isn’t letting his crush steal his essays and letting her claim this as her own. He isn’t using all of his hard earned money to buy her jewelry that she’s just going to pawn for cash later. He isn’t following after Emma like a lost puppy dog.

He’s in love with her, and he has a sneaking suspicion that she feels the same way. But at this rate, he’s never going to get Liam’s blessing, the only approval he needs anymore.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this now. He really shouldn’t. Not when he and Liam are sitting in a rented dilapidated loft across from an abandoned fabric warehouse waiting for the Canal Street Cutter to emerge. There had been a lot of chatter that morning about where he might be hiding and Liam assembled teams throughout South Boston hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Emma and August were stationed about eight blocks over. Lance and Arthur were on the edge of South Boston and Waterfront. Other teams were scattered, but too far away to get to if they needed assistance.

Killian had tried to tell Liam that it was a bad idea to spread everyone so thin, but the elder Jones brother had been instant and headstrong as ever. It would have been a career making arrest, and Liam, ever aspiring to be more just wouldn’t let that chance pass him by.

“I just think that you have other obligations that require your attention right now.”

“If this is the bros before hoes speech you can just save it.”

“Killian,” The exasperation evident in his brother's tone, “you know I detest such vile language. It's crude and you are better than that little brother.”

“What obligations?” He has to quash his desire to correct his brother’s description of him.

“I just think that you are meant for so much more in this life and I worry that you gave up so much when you left the narcotics division to follow her into homicide. You were a rising star there and now you’re having to cut your teeth all over again.”

“It’s not as if I’m starting all over. For God’s sake Liam, I just made Lieutenant. But there’s more to life than a job.”

His brother takes his gaze away from the binoculars to turn to Killian.

“Look at father and all of his vices. It strayed him from the path. But you, Killian, you persevered and now everything you've wanted is in your grasp.”

“This isn't the same thing and you know it. Emma isn't some pathetic man’s addiction. Liam, I'm in love with her.”

“Killian,” Liam pauses, taking a deep breath. “She's a distraction. Think of all that you’ve accomplished in the year that you were undercover. You brought down an entire crime syndicate. You did that without her taking your attention away.”

“I didn't bring the De Vil family down because ‘we’ were apart. I did it because we were ‘apart’ and I knew the only way I'd be able to see her again without putting her in harm's way would be to find the evidence and make the arrest.”

“Fine, if you need another reason, have you thought about working directly with her, or even over her in a supervisory position? Have you considered how your personal relationship with a subordinate could affect your judgment?”

“It’s not-”

Liams sees movement in the distance, cutting off Killian’s rebuttal, but his view is obscured so he motions for Killian to follow him, to leave the safety of their little room. They stay silent as they walk downstairs and head out a propped-open door leading to an alleyway. They had to wind through hallways to get from the loft outside and now they’re further away from the warehouse with no cover.

Killian even tries pointing out how visible they are, but Liam shuts him down, determined to close the case. He’s halfway sure that Liam’s trying to prove a point about how Killian can’t be successful and be in a relationship with Emma. He’s seen it before, the way professional jealousy destroys couples. But Emma’s not like that. She wouldn’t see his success as her failure.

They try to skirt the perimeter and he knows he should keep his mouth shut, this just isn’t the time, but he’s just so frustrated that he can’t keep holding it in.

“Please don’t make me choose between you.” It’s an angry whisper, more to himself than anything, and even though he did his best to keep his volume low it’s still enough that Liam’s heard and turns back to him, missing sight of the empty beer bottle at his feet.

The glass battering against the gravel echoes through the night as they both stay silent, waiting to see if they’ve been heard. The air is still around them, and Killian thinks they just might have lucked out.

And then he hears the gunshots ring out.

Liam is on the ground before Killian has time to register what’s happened. He runs to Liam, but gets knocked to the ground before he can get to him. His body hurts and he can see blood covering his hand from where he just touched his abdomen. He’s always heard people say that the shock blocks out the pain, but they must all be liars, because the longer he lays there, the more the pain intensifies.

It takes everything he has to pull himself behind a dumpster, half crawling, half slithering like a snake.

The shock eventually did kick in though, because even to this day he has no memory of radioing in for help. Just the vague memories of Emma leaning over him. The look in her eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears.

The same tears he fought back the night he left Boston, like the coward he was. But Archie was right. He needed to get his head on straight, to distance and center himself. He had to leave, for her.

He’s still wrestling with the guilt. He talked about it with Archie, how she begged him to kill her and save David. And that he actually considered it for about two full seconds. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want her feeling the way he did. The burden of knowing that someone else was dead, and knowing that no matter how good you are, how hard you try, that you’ll never live up to them. He didn’t want her hating herself the way he did. Didn’t want her to destroy herself like he had.

But then something snapped inside of him and rage bubbled up. The audacity of her to beg him to kill her. For her to try and force that decision on him, with no regard to him or his feelings.

It was at that moment that he finally realized what he’d been doing to her ever since Liam had passed away. He finally understood the choice she’d been forced to make that night. And he knew - he knew that despite it all - he could never live with himself if he’d chosen anyone but her. That he couldn’t let her go just like she didn’t with him.

The only thing that saved him was Boothe. In the moments that passed after August arrived, while the two of them tried to wrestle the gun away from Jefferson, he felt the weight of Liam’s death wash over him. And then he heard a shot ring out and there was nothing but panic. Panic and guilt.

It felt as though ages had passed as he searched for Emma in the smoke filled room. The SWAT team had moved in at some point, but he’d been too focused on fighting off Jefferson to notice. He pushed through the sting in his eyes and the tightness of his chest as he looked for her, but all he saw through the haze were armored cops everywhere.

It wasn’t until he was forcibly escorted outside the building that he saw her, saw that she was safe, and then his stomach turned. He ran around a corner away from all of the prying eyes, and for the first time in his career, he gave in and let the night overcome him.

It’s been nearly a year since that night and he’s been running ever since. Some days are better than others. The anger is mostly behind him, but some nights he still wakes up in a sweat clutching his bed sheets, ready to fight. But there’s never anyone around to take a swing at, because he’s all alone. He’s pushed away anyone that ever mattered and isolated himself on that damn boat.

He thinks of Emma, wonders if she’s moved on or not. He’s too cowardly to call her, partly because he has no idea what he will say if she answers, but mostly because he’s terrified that she won’t answer. So he broods. He takes to the local bars as he sails the coastline and drinks a little too much before stumbling back to Liam’s boat alone. It’s a wonder nobody’s robbed him yet for what a careless sot he’s been.

Tonight is one of those nights. He’s made his way down to Florida and back, only a few hours away from Boston, and his demons are screaming again. He’s hoping against all hope that the rum in the tumbler across from him will help quiet them. Just holding the small glass in his fingertips helps a bit. A placebo of sorts. He doesn’t want to be this man anymore though. This pathetic lonely human. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. Archie said that him realizing it was a good first step but he’s not sure if he agrees. He’s called Archie a lot over the last year. Somehow doing therapy over the phone as the boat sways back and forth under his feet has helped to ease his hesitancy. There’s something about knowing that he can hang up at any time if he wants, and that no one knows. No one will judge him.

They don’t talk about Emma, not in present tense at least. They’ve had conversations about the way he’s treated her in the past, about his complicated feelings for her, the way it’s all shaped him, but they never talk about her now. He’s not sure if it’s because Archie doesn’t know if he’s ready for that, or if Archie knows something that he’s absolutely not ready for.

Archie is here tonight though, the rum is.

He’s still twirling the amber in his hand as he hears the familiar scraping of a nearby barstool against a wooden floor. There’s a scent that follows, a floral perfume that doesn’t match with the musk of the dive bar. He doesn’t look at her directly, doesn’t need to when he can see her from the mirror behind the bar. Her top is low, flashing more skin that it’s covering. She’s closer than he thought.

“Is that for me?” She’s bold.

He’s reminded of those early days on the force, when he wouldn’t even have to talk to a woman. When he could just flash her a smile and she’d be on his arm heading out the door to her place. He’s not that guy though, he’s salty and cynical, and the look he flashes her is closer to a smirk.

“Excuse me?” “Well, you’ve been toying with it for almost twenty minutes. I just thought maybe you were waiting for me to walk into your life.”

Was he this bad at picking up women?

“Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m not in the mood for woman.” “So you’re gay?”

It’s a good thing he hasn’t started drinking yet because he damn well might have chocked otherwise. He doesn’t get a chance to respond though. The bubbly blonde that served him his rum has returned with a spray bottle in hand. “Mary of Mothers. Didn’t I already have you escorted out of here tonight, Teresa?”

“Bite me, Tinkerbelle.”

The girl behind the bar might be all of five foot tall but there’s a beast inside her that towers over any man in that bar and before he knows what’s happening the bartender is drowning the girl in what smells like stainless steel cleaner and the words coming out of her mouth would make any Navy man blush.

The girl ends up running away and Killian isn’t sure what to make of any of it. He’s broken up bar fights before, but he’s never seen anything quite like that.

“Sorry about that. I know this little bar might not seem like much, but it’s all I’ve got and I’ll be damned if I let the likes of her selling her body in here.” “Oh, she wasn’t-” “Trust me, where you had agreed upfront or not, you would have been light whatever cash you have left in that wallet before the night was up. And I’ll bet you dollars to pennies you would have had a lovely little itch or two down there.” She nods her head towards his crotch before switching the subject like she hadn’t just implied the poor woman from before was an STD ridden whore. “So, I haven’t seen you here before. Where you from?”

He’s not sure how she’s disarmed him so quickly, but he finds himself telling her all about himself over the next hour. Business has slowed down and her other barmate seems to be more than capable of handling the few strays still walking in.

She makes him laugh too with her feisty spirit. It’s been far too long since he’s felt at ease like this. They talk and talk. Not about much in particular, just random conversation. She bought the bar about six years ago, and tells him about how it’s let her build the family she always wanted and never really got. She’s carved out her own little place in the world and he envies her that. The way she can just lay her whole life bare to a complete stranger while he can’t even talk to the people that know him best.

The night rolls on and it’s time to close up. He half expects that she’s going to invite him upstairs, to the little apartment she mentioned earlier, but she surprises him. She’s done that a few times tonight, but this one hits him in the gut. “So, what’s her name?”

This time he actually does chock on the water she’s poured for him.” “I’m sorry, what?”

“Killian, in the last few hours, you’ve told me your entire life story, everything from your shitty father to your arrogant brother, your job, your leave of absence, but you haven’t mentioned a girl one single time. You’re holding back, which means there’s something to hold back.”

“You don’t know that. I could be gay.” “Um, ya, I saw you check out Teresa’s rack earlier, definitely not gay. So what’s the deal.” He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t want to be rude either. So he gives her as little as possible, but she sees through him. In fact, she actually asks him what the hell he’s waiting for as she pushes him out the door.

He doesn’t really know what he’s waiting for to be honest. He’s wanted to go back to Boston, but there’s just so many threads he left unravelled when he left.

[all1e23]

Chim chimney, Chim Chim Cher-ee [One-Shot]

Summary: Thanksgiving with the Barnes-Roger-Barton Clan. Oh, and Tony. 

Warnings:  FLUFFFFFFF. Hinting at the sexy times. 

A/N: Everyone says they want to see what family dinners are like and I figured the biggest dinner of the year (for us Americas anyway) would be the perfect one to share. This is their first Thanksgiving together so it takes place 4 months chapter 17 in November. If you have not read the series Astrophile, THERE WLL BE MAJOR SPOILERS.  

Catch up on the series here!

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!*

The morning went by fast. Faster than Y/n expected it to. Maybe it’s just that Y/n isn’t used to all this hustle on Thanksgiving. It’s been a long time since she had a Thanksgiving to celebrate with anyone. After her grandparents passed, she stopped cooking as much on the holidays and usually kept the shop open to pass the day. There isn’t much of a point in making some grand meal when it’s only her. 

She does get pie though because it’s pie. 

This year is nothing like she's used to. It started in Bucky’s bed, which isn’t anything new as of late, of course. She has a feeling it will become a permanent move here soon. For now, she’s okay bringing a bag over to spend a few days at a time. This morning though started with lazy kisses and slow touches. Quiet confessions of love, wanton whispers and soft panting that could only be heard by them. 

The slow air of the morning ended not long after Ori flew through the front door with a flurry of excitement at noon, Steve, Sam  and Ollie in tow behind her. After spending the night with her uncles, she was very excited to see her parents this morning. Ori helped Y/n with desserts because that’s the family dinner rules -- whoever hosts only does sweet treats and the turkey. 

About a hundred cookies sit on the counter now because they may have gotten out of control. They do that when they are together. Bucky knows it’s better to stand back and let them do their thing. Meddling never ends well. In hindsight, Y/n probably should have stopped Ori at seventy and skipped the last batch. She looked so cute picking which cutters to use and was so excited to decorate each one Y/n couldn’t tell her to scale her baking back. 

Thankfully Uncle Steve saves the day. 

Un-iced cookies abandoned for another day in favor of playing. Ori is hanging off Steve’s arm, feet hanging several inches off the ground as she stares at the wall of bookcases that hold everything from movies to books to toys and family pictures. She’s mulling over which movie is best for after dinner because that’s tradition, too. 

Everyone eats until they can’t move, and then they can’t move to go home. Clint takes the couch for the night. Sam and Steve bunk in the spare room and Natasha shares Ori’s bed for a night of cuddling.  Which is why Y/n has apple pie and pumpkin cinnamon rolls for the morning and lots of coffee for Clint. 

“This one, Uncle Stevie.” 

Steve grins at his niece and takes Mary Poppins from her hand before she falls off his arm and scoops her up. He boops her nose with his making her giggle and he sighs dramatically, “Now how did I know you were going to pick this one? What if we pick a holiday one, Bucket?” 

Ori thinks for a second, and her eyes light up with an idea. 

“The Santa Clause!” 

Steve grins and trades Mary Poppins for The Santa Clause. 

“That is an excellent choice!”  

Y/n sets her attention back to the pie in front of her -- now that the cookie adventure is over. Thankfully she prepped it yesterday, so it only needs a tweak to the streusel topping and placed in the oven. Bucky’s hand flitters along the edges of her dark blue skirt as he walks by, grazing the backs of her thighs and making her shiver. He smirks and shoots her a quick wink. He’s supposed to be tending to the turkey, not her, and she tells him so. There’s a dark chuckle rumbling through the room filled with more than humor, and it has her toes curling in her boots in want. Bucky abandons his flirting long enough to pull the turkey out of the oven.

Someone has to do the carving, or they will never eat.  

A knock shuts the chatter down a bit. Someone at the door is strange, the whole family is already there. Bucky looks over just in time to see Tony sauntering inside, three white boxes in his hands that he’s quickly passing to Steve.

Perfect. Just perfect. 

“Uh, Beck.” 

“Hm?” 

“What is Tony doing here?” 

Her fingers freeze in the bowl of leftover streusel as Bucky’s arms wrap around her from behind. That deep voice resounds in her ear, and she can’t help but smile. 

“Got somethin’ you need to share, sweetheart?” 

So, she should have told him sooner, but sometimes surprises are good? Er, most of the time. This time they may not be. 

“Okay, I know you guys don’t always get along, but he did throw our daughter a birthday party, and Pepper got stuck at some airport for work, so he was all alone. I couldn’t let him be all alone for Thanksgiving, Buck.” 

Bucky smiles and kisses her cheek, letting his lips linger, and his arms tighten around her -- she’s always going out of her way for others, so why is he surprised it happened today? 

“It’s fine. He’s not so bad.” 

“There is this year’s hosts!” Tony says as he directs Steve where to place the boxes on the dining room table and grins at the couple. It was not that long ago, six months or so, that she was standing next to Tony.  The thought makes her freeze as if Bucky can hear her thoughts. He knows. Everyone knows they dated, but sometimes the reminder is… sobering. The three of them stand in awkward silence. Bucky’s hand still resting on the small of her back.

For an open floor plan, the house feeling very, very small right now. 

Y/n clears her throat and wipes her hands on the constellation towel hanging on the sink next to her. “It’s good to see you, Tony. How is Pepper doing? Did she get a hotel, at least?” 

“Oh, yeah. I made sure Pep is taken care of. She's all set up with room service.”  

The silence returns, and Bucky is about to ask if he can get Tony something to drink because he can’t handle this discomfiture a second longer. He has to do something other than just stand there, and then Tony cuts the tension by being… well, Tony. 

“You know,” Tony chuckles softly and looks at Y/n. “I just realized you’ve seen both of us naked. Talk about awkward. Am I right, big guy?" 

Bucky stiffens next to her and the hand on her lower back twitches. Yes, he knows they dated, and he assumes they were together in that sense; he doesn't want to think about it, and he definitely doesn't want to hear about it from Tony.

"Tony…" 

Y/n leans into Bucky's side and glares at Tony. "I don't think that's really--" 

"Who's bigger, you think?" Tony asks, glancing between Y/n and Bucky. "You know what? Nevermind. The look on your face says it all." 

Tony grabs two un-iced turkey-shaped cookies off the copper baking sheet still resting on the island and saunters back into the kitchen, leaving the couple alone. Y/n sighs and glances at her boyfriend, who is starting at Tony with a look she’s only seen once or twice, and it’s only ever been directed at Tony. 

“I’m going to beat his ass before the night is out.” 

“Buck…” 

“I’m serious, Y/n. I’m finally going to do it. This is my year.” 

She shakes her head, smiling fondly because Bucky is all bark and no bite and places a kiss to his cheek. “Tony is trying to mess with you to get a rise out of you. Besides, weren’t you the one that saw me naked last night?’” 

Bucky’s pout fades into a grin, and he pulls her firmly against him, gripping her chin between his thumb and index finger and locking eyes. 

 “And again, this mornin’.” Bucky reminds her. 

“Yeah, this morning. This morning was…” She tugs on his hair gently and continues in a low, raspy whisper. “Good, but next time let’s try to wake the neighbors.”  

Bucky leans in, so their noses are bumping, and he whispers, “Why don’t you put the sugary pie stuff down and come upstairs for a minute? There’s somethin’ I gotta show you.” 

The exaggerated wink he’s gives her makes her laugh and squirm for a reason she can’t say out loud. 

“Right now?” 

Y/n’s eyes dart out to the group in the living room that is unaware of what the two are discussing next to gingerbread pumpkins. 

“Yeah, right now, Beck.” 

Bucky places a kiss to her cheek, followed by a lighter one to the line of her jaw and one on the corner of her mouth. 

“Y/n?” 

Bucky’s smirk falls at the sound of Ori’s voice, sending the moment to a crashing halt. His head drops onto her shoulder, muffling his groan as Y/n looks down at the little girl. Y/n somehow holds back her chuckle long enough to ask what the she needs. 

“Yes, starlight? What’s up?” 

“Did you really go on a date with Uncle Tony before daddy?” 

Bucky’s head snaps up at Ori’s question. “Uncle Tony? Who the hell--” 

Y/n pinches Bucky’s side, effectively shutting him up, at least in front of Ori.

“Where did you hear that?” 

“Uncle Tony said that he took you on a date, and it was the best one you’ve ever been on. You had cheeseburger and if it wasn’t for him daddy would have never told you he loved you.” 

Bucky starts towards the living room, but Y/n grabs him by the shirt. “Yes, I did, starlight, but I’ll let you in on a secret.” 

Ori’s eyes light up at the promise of a secret, and she steps closer to hear it. 

“I was so in love with your daddy back then no one else stood a chance. Uncle Tony included, and my best date was our trip to the zoo.” Ori grins and waits for the nod meaning she can spill the secret. The second she gets permission, she runs back into the living room to tell Tony what she learned, and they can hear Tony’s laugh followed by a, “You got me there, kiddo.” 

“You were in love with me, huh?” 

Y/n turns her attention back to Bucky, and he’s grinning like an idiot in love. She is too. Her cheeks hurt from the size of her smile. She leans into his Bucky’s arm and gives him a chaste kiss. With the look in Bucky’s eyes, if she gives him more than that, the pie will never make it into the oven. 

“I thought that was pretty obvious by now. It just took me a while to see it.” 

“Pie’s got about 10 minutes after you put it in, right?’ 

“Mmm, about twenty.” 

Bucky hooks his fingers in the belt loops of her skirt walks back towards the half bath next to the laundry. He gently guides her into the tiny bathroom and shuts the door as quietly as he can, so they go unnoticed. Bucky grips her hips and hoists her up onto the sink, swallowing her yelp with a lingering kiss. 

“What are we doing, Buck?” Y/n asks between pecks. 

“Gonna spend a little time kissin’ you. That okay, Beck?” 

“Yeah,” she whimpers when his fingers trail up her inner thigh. “That’s okay.” 

Twenty or minutes pass, and no one has seen or heard from Bucky or Y/n. Steve comes into the kitchen, peeks out the back window. No host or hostess. The turkey is uncarved. The pie is cold on the counter, but everyone’s sides are warming nicely on the stove. 

“Where the hell is Buck?” 

Natasha smirks at Steve’s naivete and nods towards the closed bathroom door where a soft glow pouring out from the crack between the floor.  

“I think they are talking.”

Sam snorts and whispers for the adults in the room, “Making out like a couple of horny teenagers, you mean.” 

“They always like that?” Tony makes a face, and Sam nods, mirroring his disgust. 

“Yeah, it’s gross. All the time, and it’s all I hear about at work.” 

“Well, the pie is cold.” Clint pokes the cold crust with his pinky and pouts. “What are we supposed to do for pie!”

“Relax, Barton. I brought three pies.” 

“Clint…” Sam tugs the foil off the white casserole dish they brought and bends down to sniff the red, brown, and yellow pile of mush. “What the hell did you make?” 

“It’s a cheesy hot dog tater tot casserole!” 

Clint’s grinning from ear to ear, giving off that excited puppy face he has when he tries a new recipe. Tony leans up on his toes to peer over Sam’s shoulder and winces at the pile of slop in filling the 12-inch baking dish. 

“Good God, that looks… I’m gonna level with you. It looks gross, Clint.” 

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose, takes several deep breaths, and looks at her husband, “I thought we agreed on broccoli casserole? It’s traditional and easy enough for you to make. I deleted Pinterest on your phone for a reason!” 

“Yeah, but then peanut and I went out for lunch that day we watched her, and we got chili cheese dogs, and we both agree they are way better than broccoli.” 

Natasha looks down at Ori, who is holding her hand beaming brightly, and the little girl nods, confirming Clint’s story. “They are, Aunt Nattie.” 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.” 

“Thanks.” Clint beams proudly. 

“Not you.” Natasha is quick to correct him. “You’re in trouble when we get home.” 

Clint wiggles his brows and wraps his arms around Natasha’s waist, placing a kiss to her cheek and whispers in her ear. “You promise, baby?” 

“Your niece is right there.” Steve scolds with the expression of an exhausted dad who just wants his kids to behave long enough that he can take a nap. He’s just grateful his son is far too little to understand what they are saying and fast asleep in the playpen in the living room.

“It’s bad enough we’ve got those two locked in the bathroom when we should be eating dinner.”

Sam marches to the bathroom and pounds on the door with his fist, quietly shouting through the thin wood frame, “You’ve got two minutes to get your butts out here, or we are eating without you.” 

It takes a few thumps, and lots of giggles, but Bucky and Y/n emerge from the bathroom, clothes rumbled and grinning like teenagers caught getting handsy. Bucky clears his throat and slips his arm around her waist, resting his hand on her stomach. 

“Sorry. There’s a light bulb out, and I need help the screws.” 

“Right,” Y/n nods, fighting off a smile. “The screws are a pain to get off.” 

“I bet those screws can be hard to get off sometimes, huh?” Sam asks, grinning smugly. 

“Maybe everyone should mind their own damn business?” Bucky shoves Sam away without any real force. “Ever think about that?” 

“Daddy?” Bucky looks down at Ori standing next to Natasha, brow raised, waiting for her to continue. “Why are you wearing Y/n’s lipstick?” 

Y/n giggles at the dumbstruck look on his face. She reaches over and swipes her thumb along Bucky’s lip, wiping away bright red lipstick. His cheeks pink when he catches everyone staring their way and the smirk on Natasha’s face. Tony goes to open his mouth, and Beck holds her hand up.

“Let’s go eat, hm? We can deal with the cold pie later.” 

“I told you, the pie is always the one thing that gets ruined. That’s why I come with pie.” 

Plates are grabbed, turkey is being cut as everyone moves about the kitchen in a hustle to grab their favorites; stuffing and rolls and turkey. All taking their respective seats -- the ones that Ori assigned with colorful turkeys she hand-painted with Uncle Stevie. Ori sits between Steve and Tony with Oliver sleeping close by. Sam heading up the table with Natasha and Clint across from Bucky and Y/n. Somehow Clint’s casserole made it to the center of the table for everyone to try despite the attempt to keep it hidden.

Something about sitting down around the table quiets everyone down. No one cares about hot dogs or lipstick stains. Ori’s giggling as Tony tries to get Steve to put a mini marshmallow in his nose. Steve sets Tony with a flat look and a resigned sigh, mumbling, don’t teach my niece to put food in her nose, Tony. Clint is pushing his hot dog mess on Natasha, who takes a scoop hiding a grimace behind her smile. Sam stares at the lump Clint sets on his plate, and Tony asks for a second scoop.  Y/n leans back in her chair and takes in the sight in front of her. 

Bucky leans over and kisses her cheek. “You okay, babydoll?” 

“Yeah,” She sighs happily and leans against his shoulder. “I was just thinking this is a lot different than my last Thanksgiving is all. All the crazy is kind of nice.” 

He grins and wraps his arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Yeah, the crazy is good, Beck. It’s all good.” 

“Okay,” Tony silences the table with words that will no doubt be remembered till the end of time. 

“The chili dog casserole is the winner.” 

“Yes! High five peanut!” 

Ori and Clint high-five across the table and Natasha hangs in her hand in her hands.

“Oh, vey!” 

[ariainstars]

Star Wars, the Last 20 Years or Can We Please Try to Stop the Blame Train?

I would like to touch a subject that’s starting to grate on my nerves a little.

Anyone here knows that I disliked The Rise of Skywalker heartily. And I’m not the only person here or elsewhere who tore it to shreds. But I am reading (again) over and over why and how JJ Abrams, Chris Terrio, Kathleen Kennedy and Co. made this mess. Instead of searching for culprits, this time I would like to point out a few things.

I. Star Wars Prequels

Jake Lloyd, Ahmed Best and Hayden Christensen had to endure awful harassment in their time: the audience largely vented their frustration on them because when the prequels hit theatres, they did not get the Star Wars they had wanted. Politics are a dry subject, and young Anakin and the Jedi Council were all too human to be liked by fans who expect coolness in a hero more than everything else; which is probably why Darth Maul is a huge favorite although we hardly learn anything about him and he says almost nothing. Ditto Obi-Wan although he is clearly not suited to train Anakin and it’s him who maims him and leaves him to burn in the lava. (Until I saw the film, I had always assumed Palpatine had tortured Anakin to push him to the Dark Side.) 

The prequels’ messages in general were not liked: the Jedi were not perfectly wise and cool wizards, the Old Republic was stagnant, Anakin was a hot-headed, frustrated young man desperate to save his wife and unborn children. The films do not want to excuse what he did; however they portray him not as a monster but as a human being who was under an almost unendurable pressure for years and years until he finally snapped.

These messages may not be “cool”, but they were realistic and most of all, humane. Portraying the Jedi as well as Anakin as powerful, flawless heroes and the old Republic as a just, prosperous and balanced place would have meant undermining a central theme of the original trilogy: the former generation could not have been all that powerful and wise, else the collapse of their world and the failure of their convictions would not have happened in the first place. It is a sore point, but still twenty years later Obi-Wan and Yoda denied that Vader was human and expected Luke to commit patricide. 

All of this goes to show that the Jedi’s moral standard was flawed and their attitude not rooted in compassion and pacifism the way they claimed. In the end, what they cared about was winning, no matter the cost. In this, they were no better than the Sith.

~~~more under the cut~~~

II. Star Wars Sequels

J.J. Abrams, Kathleen Kennedy, Bob Iger and company were the ones who introduced the Star Wars sequel trilogy and with it its themes, characters, setting etc. to us in the first place: I think we should give them credit where it’s due. Rian Johnson made a very beautiful second chapter with The Last Jedi, but he did pick up where the others had left. 

Kelly Marie Tran made experiences similar to Jake Lloyds or Hayden Christensen’s when The Last Jedi was hit theatres. She was disliked for not being “Star-Wars-y” enough, chubby and lively instead of wiry and spitfire, and also taking a lot of screen time while many fans were impatiently waiting for some grand scenes from Luke and / or Leia. 

That Episode VIII, the central and most important one, was called “The Last Jedi” cannot be overstated. Luke was literally alone with the heavy task of rebuilding a religious order that was gone and destroyed long before he even learned about it, and at the same time he had to patch together his own family and atone for his father’s sins. This is a crushing burden for anyone to carry. It was important both for Rey and for the audience to meet Luke to see that he was a good man, but still just a man.

When Luke spoke openly to Rey about the failure of the Jedi Order, it was the first time he ever spoke about it that we know of; this wisdom he obviously acquired only after his nephew’s fall to the Dark Side. Luke has understood that the ways of the Jedi were wrong; but he does not know a better alternative. Force users are still born all over the galaxy, and they have to learn to use their powers - only how? Again, Luke is not to blame. How is he to know, when the Jedi of the Old Republic had lost sight of Balance in the Force for so long that they didn’t know what it actually meant anymore? 

Same goes for Leia, the princess without a realm, who tried to rebuild the Republic after the galaxy had been terrorized by the Empire and devastated by war for many years. She assuredly did her best, but she was only human. That she failed her son is of course shocking, but after the horror she had to endure at the hands of her own father it is not surprising that she would be terrified of her son possibly going the same way. Ben, like Anakin, was crushed under a legacy and responsibility that was by far too heavy for him. The tragedy of his life and the disruption - and in the end, obliteration - of his family was another proof for the failure of the ways of the Jedi. 

All of these lessons until now were not learned from. But let’s be honest: how many of us come from dysfunctional families? If we do, was getting away from them enough to heal the wounds of the past? Did we find out what to give our children on their way in life, or did we fail them because we had not elaborated the past enough to make way for a better future? Such problems are very common, and to heal them is complicated and takes time. A “happy ending” e.g. in form of finding a new family is not enough, on the contrary, it can lead to wanting to leave the past behind, leaving wounds unhealed that will fester their way through our lives again, sooner or later. Star Wars always was an allegory of the human mind, even if deeply cloaked in symbolism. The saga also abundantly takes inspiration from the Bible, and I think it’s not coincidentally said there that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children. 

As fans, we would have wanted to see films that cemented the Jedi as guardians of the galaxy, with the Skywalker family right at the center. Which in itself is impossible because Jedi are supposed to remain unattached, making the mere idea of a Jedi having a family absurd. If the prequels told us that the Jedi were flawed, the sequels tore down the myth of the Skywalker family. And both trilogies showed that you can’t be a Skywalker and / or a Jedi / Force user and have attachments and a happy family of your own at the same time. At least, not until now. 

 III. Film production

Many fans of old complained because the sequel trilogy implied that the “happy ending” of the original trilogy’s heroes had not been so happy after all and that after having made peace for the galaxy, they had failed to keep it that way. Other viewers however liked the new trilogy and new characters right away and began to root for them. But they, too, jumped on the blame train when the trilogy had ended: expectations were not met, and now director, producers, script writers, cutters etc. are faulted all over again.

The first person coming up with the idea of Han’s and Leia’s only child turning to the Dark Side was Lucas himself. It always was a main theme of the saga that war separates people who actually belong together, like family, couples or close friends; that is not played for mere drama, but because it emphasizes the absurdity of war.

We as the audience do not know how production went - it is very possible that Lucas approved the general storyline, and there is always a whole team on board. It is not easy to purchase such a large and immensely popular franchise; it was to be expected that if things went not the way the audience expected, the Disney studios would be blamed harshly for having “ruined Star Wars”. With the prequels, at least Lucas was still at the helm; it was conceded that maybe he had lost his magic touch with storytelling, but certainly not that he was trying deliberately to ruin his own creation. And the fans who could not praise the Disney studios enough after The Last Jedi came out, now blame them over and over.

The Disney studios have long-term politics to consider and contracts to observe, and we don’t know their contents. We have every right to be disappointed, but I think it’s not fair to blame one or a particular group of persons who are trying their best to satisfy as many viewers as possible. If they simply wanted to satisfy the average dudebro who sees nothing but clichés, two-dimensional characters and Good against Evil - then why did they allow The Last Jedi to be produced in the first place? The studios obviously are aware that there are fans out there who are ready to look deeper in the saga’s themes, who wish to see the Force coming to Balance, who value family, friendship and love over “victory at any cost”, and who do not place the Jedi on some kind of pedestal.

In a sense, The Rise of Skywalker seems like a bow before The Last Jedi: the weakest chapter of the saga followed one of its strongest. Maybe the authors were aware that equaling or even topping what Rian Johnson had created would be next to impossible, so they patched up the open threads of The Force Awakens together with some fan service hoping to be out of the business as quickly as possible.

In retrospect, the infamous podcast with Charles Soule might also be tell-tale: Soule obviously is not elbows-deep in the saga and largely ignores its subtext. Since his The Rise of Kylo Ren comics are quite well-made, I assume that the general storyline did not stem from his own creativity and that he only carried out what he had been advised to do. The production of the whole sequel trilogy may have happened in a similar way. I am not excusing the poor choices of The Rise of Skywalker; merely considering that one or a few persons cannot be blamed in a studio that has thousands of creative minds on board.

I am still hoping for the next trilogy to finally bring Balance to the galaxy, and also into the fandom. Rian Johnson had negotiated the rights for the next trilogy along with The Last Jedi; I assume it is very possible that there was a clause about intellectual property saying that only he would continue Episode VIII’s topics, nobody else. This would at least be an explanation, given the embarrassing, jumbled mess that Episode IX was.

The overall title of the saga assuredly never wanted to inspire the audience to start online wars attacking the studios or the actors or other fans out of the conviction of being entitled to blame someone else’s worldview. The saga’s message is compassion. Both George Lucas and the Disney studios are telling us their story; the idea and the rights do not belong to us. Harping on “whose fault” it allegedly is won’t bring us anywhere; what we can do is make the studios understand that we’re not too stupid not to understand the subtext, the symbolism and metaphysics of the saga beyond the action story. If they listened to the Last Jedi haters, in all fairness they are bound to listen to us, too. 😊

  IV. Will Ben’s story continue?

My husband already warned me years ago that Ben most probably wouldn’t survive, or at least not get a happy ending. As Kylo Ren he had already been the head of a criminal organization for six years at the start of The Force Awakens, but all of that perhaps could still have been condoned within the scope of war. It was the very personal and intentional act of patricide, the killing of an unarmed, forgiving man, who turned him into a damned person. And after the deed, Ben was aware of it. He knew there was no way out for him, he had gone too far.

Many members of the audience did not understand that Kylo / Ben is not an out-and-out villain and that this narrative ultimately was about his redemption. Bringing him back to the Resistance after the Exegol battle alive and by Rey’s side would not have been accepted; how was Rey to explain everything when she hardly understood it herself? How would the audience have reacted to the former head of a criminal organization, a patricide, suddenly standing out as a hero? Remember how in Return of the Jedi Luke asked Vader to come away with him. Now suppose Vader had complied? It would have seemed (and been) sheer madness. Nobody would have believed neither father nor son that the terror of the galaxy had had a sudden turn of heart. Nobody knew that he was Luke’s father; Luke himself did not know Anakin’s backstory; nobody knew what had transpired between Luke and Vader so far. Yes, Ben was young and healthy, but he still had terrorized the galaxy for years and killed his own father. He knew himself that he was damned and could not go back to normality, as Vader did.

Rey was coded as the heroine: narratively, the sequel trilogy was her story. Ben couldn’t become the hero, with or without her, at the very last moment. She usurped power like her grandfather in his time, the Skywalker family was obliterated the way the Jedi were, she takes over another mantle (Skywalker) the way Palpatine did (becoming the Emperor). Balance in the Force never was truly in the cards, it was only vaguely hinted at in The Last Jedi by the Force mosaic in the Ahch-To temple. Balance is a complex and difficult subject; it would have been extremely difficult to develop it in the sequel trilogy together with introducing the new characters and giving the old ones closure.

However: if Ben is brought back in the next trilogy, his sacrifice for Rey will have been his atonement. If his role this time is not that of the villain but of the hero, it would reverse Anakin’s path and make clear that he no longer is the same man. Vader was redeemed, not rehabilitated. His grandson might still have the chance to go that way.

- Luke had promised Rey a third lesson, and it happened. He also had promised Ben to “see him around”, which has not taken place yet.

- On Tatooine, Rey watches the twin suns setting, same as Luke before he met the other half of his soul (his twin sister) again.

- The studios had said that the sequels would be “very much like the prequels”; the prequels were a tragedy where the Dark Side (Palpatine) won that was followed by a fairy tale where the Light Side won.

- The Skywalker saga is closed, so if Ben comes back it would be justified by his being a Solo, i.e. the story of his own family and not his grandfather’s.

- Given the parallels with Beauty and the Beast, the Beast died before the broken spell brought him back, making him a wholly new person - his past identity, purged and redeemed.

- George Lucas repeatedly said that the prequels and the classics belong together as one narrative, with Anakin Skywalker at its center. First news of the next trilogy came up with The Last Jedi. Since there are strong parallels between Ben and his grandfather, we may assume that this six-chapter instalment will be his; Anakin also was left for dead but came back with a wholly different role and name.

- When Anakin was reborn as Darth Vader, he “rose” slowly from the ground, clad in his black armor. Ben fell to the ground abruptly and shed his black clothes, disappearing. This could be another clue. (It was also already speculated that Leia’s body dissolved exactly in this moment because she gave her life-force to her son for him to have another chance to live. Both Han and Luke had done what they could to atone for their remorse towards Ben; this might be her turn.)

- Much as I love Luke Skywalker, I can understand that Lucas did not see him as the saga’s protagonist. The overall arch is not so much about Luke’s heroism than about Anakin’s redemption and atonement. It is unusual because we expect the story’s “hero” to be the one who kills the Bad Guy; and indeed Anakin is, because he kills Palpatine in the end, the twist being that technically he is also a villain though not the archvillain.

- Ben had promised Anakin he would finish what he started. Anakin had been meant to bring Balance to the Force, and he had started a family. Until now, Ben did neither.

- If Ben and Rey are a dyad, i.e. one soul in two bodies, then Rey is in urgent need of her soulmate for her future tasks. She has her friends of course, but none of them gets her the way he did.

So, I still see reason to hope for a continuation, and, hopefully, satisfying conclusion of The Last Jedi’s themes.

  Film production: on a side note…

In the Nineties, Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale were the directors both of Beauty and the Beast and Atlantis: two more different stories are hardly imaginable with regard to everything - drawing style, setting, characters, development, music etc. This outcome can’t have been only due to the director’s choices, there must have been a wholly different idea behind both films right from the beginning. Just saying.

[dragonoffantasyandreality]

Kamen Rider Thunderbirds chapter 3 (Bit 3)

(Prologue, Bit 1, Bit 2...)

Finally, this chapter is moving! XD

I should thank @myladykayo, @gumnut-logic and @willow-salix for cheerleading for me and helping me with the plot. You ladies are awesome! :D

(Also tagging @tsarinatorment​, for some lil Military bros moments ;)

-0-0-0-

"Thunderbird One to base. I can see the building fire! Looks pretty bad!" Scott reported as he steered his mighty 'Bird above the danger zone, “According to the firefighters and PD, they kept fighting the fire, but it kept on coming!”

“Alright. Be careful out there, for we do not know the cause.” noted Jeff through the comms.

The blue sashed commander maneuvered his sleek, silver Thunderbird. He searched the area, scanning everything. The building was still standing but the fire had consumed most of it. The intense heat melted the snow around it. This wasn't a good day before Christmas.

Luckily, most of the fellas inside had been evacuated. But a small group had been trapped within the basement. Nobody knows how long till the building will collapse above them. That's where International Rescue comes into the picture. And that's what made Scott a little wary… something's not right…

He didn't like the sound of it. From the information that he had processed from John and the firemen down below, he felt that the cause of the fire was intentional. It was said that the fire had started in one part of the basement, then another one in some other place, then another one… it felt like something, or someone had been setting fires all around the building… this is not okay...

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two, when are you arriving?" Scott commanded.

"Arriving at the danger zone in about 3 minutes…" replied the voice of Virgil.

"Well be quick Virgil! We don’t have much time!" hastily said Scott as he landed Thunderbird One on the safe zone.

The green behemoth arrived shortly after, Scott was at the edge of his seat as he watched her land near his sleek grey bird. He didn’t have the time to instal mobile control, since the operation was needed in all hands. He began briefing the mission at hand. The field commander nearly raised his voice at the babbling terrible two, only to stop himself from doing so and kept his calm as possible. He finished briefing and got to work.

While Virgil went to prepare the Firefly, Gordon and Alan were donning their heat-protection suites as they waited for the next part of the operation. They were no longer chit-chatting, only worried. The young blond pointed out how Scott was heated as the fire of the building. The aquanaut agreed. Yeah, they did tease their elder brother for being a little grumpy. But now, they were beginning to see the problem. The terrible two can only hope this is the last rescue for their eldest, so Scott can have a long break…

Thunderbird 2 raised herself, her four copper legs raising her big green body to reveal her pod. The big door of the pod opened, falling down slowly as a yellow, bulldozer-like vehicle rolled over it as soon as it hit the floor. Firefly had been deployed!

Virgil guided the big anti-fire vehicle towards the rumble of flaming debris at the foot of the building. He struggled as he pushed them away. The heaviness and heat slowed the process, but it was better than nothing.

“Gee, this fire was a lot hotter than I thought! Even my heat-resistant suit won't cut it!” The mechanic noticed as he gritted his teeth, his grip to the wheel tight as he continually pushed the accelerator.

"Try using the fire-retardant on it!” Suggested Scott, a tone of urgency in his voice.

With a nod, Virgil reached out for the switch, "Here it goes…" he muttered, as he fired the retardant into the fiery ruble.

It exploded as the fire had been put out. But for a moment, the mechanic swore he heard an echo of a distant scream after that. It sent a chill down his spine. What was that?

"Did you guys hear that?" He asked, almost frantically. It wasn't just him who heard it, was it?

"No we didn't. What did ya hear, Virge?" Gordon chimed, a teasing tone in his voice.

"I swear I heard a scream! And it doesn't sound human!" Virgil gritted, both from the struggle of pushing away the rest of the ruble and from the annoyance for a certain redheaded fish.

"Okay, okay. You sure it isn't your engines fired up from pushing all this debris?" 

"Firefly's engines don't sound like that!" Virgil growled.

As Gordon was about to say something, an irritated Scott cut their chat and told them to focus back on the mission. Their elder brother was almost at the end of his rope, as both Virgil and Gordon realized. The second eldest gently reminded Scott to keep his calm, in which his brother did. He can only hope his big bro can withstand a little longer… for now.

As soon as Virgil finished the clean up, Alan and Gordon, with Scott on board for extra hands, rolled out from the pod inside the Mole. The giant drill stood at the entrance, waiting for Firefly to cross paths with her so the second eldest can join his brothers. 

Once that was done, the Mole drove again towards the clearance that was made by the anti-fire tractor. She stopped at the middle of it, her carrier then lifted her to an angle towards the ground. Her drill began spinning, her sharp propellers digging through ground as she dove into it with the help of her thrusters. Moments later, she's gone! Like a mole itself into the depths of the soil.

The brothers, with the help of John, navigated through the hard rock to the basement. 

Alan began feeling an uneasy sensation clutching his stomach. He swore he can feel his tiny baby hairs rising from his skin as they dove deeper. A wave of shiver echoed through his body, his legs almost clamped together. There was something wrong down there… Very, very wrong…

"Hey Sprout, what's wrong?" Asked the starman of the brothers.

The youngest shook his head and waved off, "Uh… it's nothing John."

The elder blonde gave him a narrow-eyed look before getting distracted by Scott, who told everyone that they were nearly in the basement. 

Geez, Scott was really tight on his nerves! Thought Alan...

Soon enough, they had busted through the concrete wall. Fire-protection suits on and rescue tools equipped, they ran out of the Mole (except for Virgil, just to keep an eye on the pod vehicle and he will be examining the area around her).

The whole basement was full of smoke and in big ruins. The floors was filled with huge holes and gapes. Fire was in every corner. What had happened here? This isn't caused by normal means...

Scott, Gordon and Alan scouted the areas, every room and every corner in search for any survivors. They cut through doors, putting out the flames, calling "This International Rescue! Do you need any assistance!?" But no one had answered. Only echoes of their voices through the halls… 

Alan swore he saw shadows within the flames, seemingly stalking them in every corner. He could feel his flight or fight instincts kicked in. He began to feel his desire of wanting to warn his bros! But he decided to ignore the warning… He needed to focus on the rescue… 

No one would believe him...

They had managed to find the trapped group, who were stuck in the storage area after Scott broke through one of the doors to the storage room using a laser cutter. They immediately gave the poor fellas some oxygen masks and some immediate care.

"Th-They came out of nowhere! They just appeared and attacked us!" A poor man stuttered, as they were escorted out of the storage area.

"Who's 'they'?" Asked Scott as examined for burns, scrapes and other potential fatal injuries.

The man suddenly shook as his eyes turned into giant saucers. He lifted his hand and pointed somewhere behind Scott's head and screamed, "T-THEM!!!"

Scott looked behind him... and dodged with the man at the last second the moment his corner of his eye caught a claw swinging his way!

He looked up at the mysterious attacker. Then Scott felt his blood froze at the sight… a humanoid creature standing in front of him, his head is that of a panther. Some parts of its muscular red and grey body had flames protruding from it. It wore roman-like skirt and golden cuffs, almost looking like an ancient warrior. And armed with a long, black metal claw on it's right arm. It looked nasty… deadly as it growled at the IR commander...

"What in the-..." His words had been cut off as he had to dodge again from another swing, the creature growled in annoyance.

"Gordon! Alan! Get the guys out and RUN!!!" He shouted at the top of his lungs as he ran the man with him.

As soon as they took notice of the situation at hand, the terrible two made a run for it with the rescuees. Gordon could almost feel the panic taking over his nervous system as they fled from the monster.

The panther creature walked as he swung his claw, unleashed a wave of flames that somehow reached in front of them, blocking the way with a wall of fire! They were forced to take another direction when they were faced by another monster!

It was like the fire-panther warrior, but it was bulkier and heavier, armored with a shield. And instead of having a head of a cat, it had the head of a goat!

“Guys! I have been under attack!” Yelled Virgil through comms.

"Really!? By what?!" Gordon dreaded this when Virgil answered his question.

"I had been attacked by some unknown threats! They will damage the Mole if I stay!"

"Hang on Virgil! We are on our way!" Scott ordered, as he and his team dodged a charge from the fire-goat monster.

"You better be quick! I can't stay here much longer!" It was Virgil's only reply before a deafening explosion was heard from the radio, before it was cut out!

"Virgil? Virgil?! Damn it!" Scott's blood froze, even when the adrenaline was rushing through his bloodstream. His brother… his best friend… Oh god please no…

"Come on, Scott, we better find Virgil!" Gordon snapped him out of his thoughts with a shake of a shoulder.

Right, they are still running. Running from these… things! Whatever they are, they are after their heads!

They kept on running. Running with the weight of the rescuees on their shoulders. Running with the flame creatures at their tails. They tried to stay close to the path where they came from. Back to the Mole… if she's still there… They are growing tired but they keep on going. Even if they had to dodge the flaming claws of the panther monster and the flaming horns of the goat monster.

They were just near their destination when the floor in front of them collapsed! Alan nearly dropped along with a guy just as Gordon caught them in time. But the respite was short, as two new humanoid fire-monsters flew out of the crevasse! One was a cobra, skinny but agile, armed with a fire staff. And the last one was an armored dragon, it's flaming sword in hand and it's fiery wings nearly fried the poor group.

"We're dead! We are so dead!" Wailed one of the poor rescuees, clinging on for dear life on Alan.

"Not yet..." Scott grunted, as the monsters closed in. "Gordon! Go this way with Alan and the rescuees! I'll distract them!

"Are you crazy?! Ya going to get yourself killed!" Warned Gordon as he grabbed his eldest brother's arms. He held it tightly, fear radiating from his eyes.

"No time, just run!" Scott shook off his brother's grip violently and ran towards the other direction. Some of the creatures got his attention and went after him.

"Scott! Come back, you Cloud Idiot!" Gordon nearly lost his professionalism as he yelled at his eldest brother, but his brother had already vanished into the flames of hell.

The prankster of an aquanaut cursed under his breath and ordered Alan continue running to find another way of escape with the rescuees, while the remaining monsters were at their tails.

The Earth shook all of the sudden. Cracks formed on the wall, Gordon halted the run to avoid potential debris from falling on them. Then a familiar drill broke through, her almost burned, yellow hull pulled from the dirt, dust and debris. Her hatch opened, revealing a certain ruffled up mechanic.

"Virgil! You're okay, ya big son of a devil!" Gordon almost cried out of joy.

"Come on, buddy! Get the rescuees in here quickly!" Virgil urged, smiling a little. 

"But... what about Scott?" Alan asked, giving his second big brother worried puppy eyes.

"We'll get him!" 

As soon as they settled, the rescuees secured the medbay and the terrible two seated and seat belt on, the mechanic attempted to move the Mole again. But she made some noises of a broken mechanism. He pulled the ignition again... Same thing... And the digger hasn’t moved an inch. A moment of realization...

"Damnit, the Mole broke down!"

"Are you kiddin' me!" His fish brother gaped at him, sweat and dust pouring from his face with worry. Alan sat where he was, gulping almost.

Virgil glared at the scanner, noticing two figures approaching the Mole. He won’t have time to fix her if those things are going to make things worse! Not until the blonde daredevil suggested that they should distract the monsters while Virgil repaired the Mole.

"You are not going out there shooting these bastards all by yourself, Sprout! I’m coming with you!"

"Alright! But please don't take chances!" Virgil warned seriously as he began work on the repairs. He just hope his brothers won't do anything stupid.

The terrible two pulled out their guns and let out battle cries as they began shooting the monsters, getting their attention. Together, they stayed close as they ran, getting their attention away from the broken down digger. It was a battle they didn't expect to deal with in a rescue. But, they had no other choice. They have to get out and get Scott as soon as the Mole was in a working order.

From time to time, either Gordon or Alan asked how long or what needs to be fixed. They get a response that either one or some of the gears fell off, or some circuit got fried.

They are lucky that the engine hasn't got damaged.

"Hey! Come and dare to take a piece of me, ya lizard heads!" Gordon spat as he shot the snake and dragon fire-monsters. The bullets hit them, but they only let a few sparks as the charges ricocheted off their tough bodies. The squid gritted his teeth.

 He had spoken too soon!

Enraged, the dragon Monster used his flamethrower breath. The duo dodged the sting of fire, but they got separated. With a fence of flame in-between them, they got to change tactics and fast!

Just as Alan tried to run around the monsters, a familiar figure jumped in front of him! And he barely escaped its claws!

The Panther was back! Does that mean… 

Scott...

Alan realized he had dropped his gun! And nowhere to run! But then he spotted a potential weapon next to him. The young blonde picked up the piece of a metal pole and let out battlecry as he charged at the fire-panther creature and hit it with all of his might. But the pole bended on impact, much to his horror. The creature grinned at him as he swiped him with its muscular arm, sending the youngster to fly and land hard.

When it began approaching Alan, multiple gunshots was heard as the sparks fly off the back of the monster. This got its attention away and turned to the one responsible for the intervention: Scott! 

He was breathing heavily like a bull, the flames that reflected on his cobalt irises revealed a thundering rage. He held his gun tightly in front of him, arms stretched out towards the face of the menace.

He had enough...

"Don't you dare…" Scott growled.

The fire panther-humanoid flexed its shoulder as he approached the blue sashed commander, as the latter continued to shoot it. Realizing that the charges weren't doing much to fire-monster, Scott decided to change strategy.

The young blonde watched as his brother fighting back the creature. It ignited his desire to help his big brother.  He can't just stand there and do nothing! He just can't! 

But he was caught by surprise when the goat monster reappeared! He was pushed by its big shield, sending him flying towards a crevasse! He grabbed the edge just in time, his hands tightly taking hold of the , his tiny feet dangled over the deep depths of death.

"Alan!" Cried Gordon. He tried to run to the rift to save his little brother, but he got blocked by the goat, snake and dragon fire-monsters! Ready to cook some fish meat!

Scott wasn't having a great time. His ammo ran out as he was distracting the panther monster. He got close calls with the amount of fireballs and flaming slashes thrown at him. He managed to barely dodge them all, but he wasn't sure how long he would last.

But that moment of pause made him regretting, as he felt himself getting grabbed by the neck and lifted to the air, his eyes took a glance of the ugly face!

Oh shit...

Alan was hanging for dear life as he was watching his poor big brother getting thrown around like a puppet with its strings cut off. His hands are getting numb, his arms losing strength, hopeless to do anything but to expect the inevitable doom. Of himself, of his brothers, of the rescuees...

“SCOTT!!!” cried Alan as he saw the creature was about to slice his big brother to ashed pieces.

It lifted its nasty claws, and as if by magic, they ignited with nightmarish fire. The monster’s eyes glowed as it grins down at him, having finally cornered his weakened prey. Then, it swung its arm at Scott, where the latter shut his eyes, welcoming the fiery demise! Or was he…?

Its flaming claws barely touched his face when a sudden roar of the engine echoed through the walls. The creature stopped and looked over Scott as its face transformed from an evil smug to a surprised worry.

Scott Tracy followed its gaze and saw a dark figure beyond the inferno. It was approaching fast as the sound of a motorcycle grew louder and louder.

The creature took a panicked double-take before a gold and red bike flew over Scott and hit it, causing it to fly a few meters away from him! The strange motorcycle then landed in between them. The field commander nearly gasped when his eyes processed the shape of the mysterious rider...

No… not just a rider… a Kamen Rider!

-0-0-0-

[snarkwrites]

09 | gangsta; sweetpea

Notes:

SO.. I uhh... Got super into writing this recently. I just really liked where it was heading after part 7. Yes. Yes, I realize that literally no one asked for more of this but.. I wrote it. Might as well share it.

I warn in advance. There as a graphic and detailed fight in this chapter. Also. There is a LOT going on in this chapter. A LOT.

This is the second of four parts I have already written and waiting to go. I know, I know.. Literally no one asked for this. But you’re getting it anyway.

Warnings:

loosely canon compliant - this is the biggest warning, so if you’re into things that follow exact canon plot you are… definitely not going to like this. angst & slow burn, heavy sexual tensionstarting now, actually - this is just so everyone who started reading this thinking the smut would transpire in a hurry knows that apparently, it is not. violence / swearing & fighting, possible underage drinking and other shenanigans- look.. it’s high school. shit happens. also apparently, my ofc Alyssa uses the word fuck like all the time?…eventual sexual content / a virgin original character- this one is self explanatory. yes, i plan to write a smutty chapter in this at some point. when? i don’t rightly know. it’s got a while before we get there.

Pairing:

Andrews!Sibling OFC, Alyssa x Sweet Pea

Other Parts:

[ one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight -   soundtrack ]

Other Stuff:

[ faq - tag list doc ]

Tagging:

@brithedemonspawn​ is the only person on my Riverdale tag list. If you’d like to be tagged for this story by all means.. Please let me know. Please, I beg. It’d make me super duper happy!!!

                                          NINE.

“What do you mean Hiram asked you to go cut their chains? Archie, this is not your place. They’re trying to fight back against this bullshit. Because that’s what this is, in case you’re wondering.”

“You need to make other friends. Literally anyone but them, Al.” Archie answered calmly. I glared at my brother from across the dining table. My father surprised me when he spoke up.

“You’re still friends with Jughead, right? How is that any different than your sister, being friends with Toni? Or that Fogarty kid? Or the other one, the moody one.. What’s his name?” my dad asked.

“Sweet Pea?” I questioned, taking a few more bites of my cereal. Grumbling about Hiram Lodge as I did so.

“He’s trying to help this town.” Archie muttered.

“What he’s doing is making people homeless. I bet you wouldn’t say that crap if he were trying to run anybody on this side of town out, Archie.” I snapped, pushing my chair away from the table, standing abruptly.

“Okay you two.” my father warned, glancing from me to my brother. Adding quietly, “Your sister has a point. That’s exactly why I’m going to talk to Hermione today about terminating the contract to build the housing.”

“Dad, you needed that contract.” I protested. Going quiet.

“I don’t need it bad enough to watch people gettin run out of their homes, tiny. I can find other jobs.”

“Dad..” I started, but he shook his head. Judging by the way his jaw was set, he’d made his mind up on this. I sighed, going quiet. Assuming that it was probably my fault he even made the decision that might just cost him the construction company in the first place. I think he could tell I was worried, because he caught me on my way out the door for school after Archie had stormed out, bolt cutters in hand to go and do Hiram’s bidding.

“I chose to do this on my own, okay? I just want to make sure you know that, Al.” my dad searched my face, waiting on me to give confirmation that I understood. I wasn’t entirely sure it was true, because for the past twelve hours, the fight had been ongoing between my brother and I.

“Actually, it was your mom who kind of reminded me what getting mixed up with the Lodges might bring on me. Has nothing to do with you and your brother fighting. But I wish you two would sit down and talk.”

I nodded, sighing. “I wish I knew he’d listen. But he’s changed so much since he started taking up with Hiram…” I shook my head. For the first time ever, I was actually kind of disappointed with my big brother.

If he weren’t under Hiram’s thumb right now, I have no doubt in my mind he’d either be helping Jughead with their protest, or he’d be doing everything he could to call attention to the issue.

“I know. Happens sometimes, tiny. All we can do is hope this whole thing is a phase and it doesn’t backfire on him. Be there for him when it does backfire.” my dad advised, pulling me into a hug.

As I went to step out, my dad tossed a brown bag towards me and I caught it. He smiled and shrugged. “Pretty sure when your friends get to school today, they’re gonna be starving. FP said they hadn’t eaten since 8 last night. This was some kinda hunger strike. Tell Fangs to share the bacon. I know he’s a growing guy, but shit.”

I laughed and smiled, doubling back to hug my dad. Really giving him a good squeeze.

“I love you too, kid. Now you need to get going.” my dad laughed when the hug broke, walking to the door and leaning in it, watching me til I got to the end of the street.

I spotted Cheryl waiting at our usual spot as of late and I made my way over. Opening the bag and letting her take out a biscuit. “Dad sent food for the others. That is, if Hiram doesn’t insist that my brother, idiot he is, escort them all straight to the police station.”

“Has your mother gotten back to you at all on the legality of what Ms.McCoy did before she stepped down as mayor?” Cheryl asked. I shook my head. Watching the sidewalk from the direction that Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea normally came from intently.

“Where are they?”

“Toni texted me a few minutes ago. They’ll be here.”

“So Hiram didn’t make my brother and the other guys on the wrestling team take them to the station? Because if he thinks for a second I won’t dig into my college fund to post bail, my brother’s a bigger idiot than I ever imagined. Because I will.”

Cheryl was smiling at me. Giving a soft laugh as she bit into the biscuit she’d taken from the bag in my hands. “ Take deep breaths, lioness.”

I took a deep breath, deadpanning at Cheryl, “Happy?”

“It will suffice.” Cheryl’s grin broadened when she caught sight of Toni.

I let out a ragged breath when I saw our friends heading our way, fuming in anger. Sweet Pea seemed to be the angriest, arguing loudly with Jughead and Fangs about how they should’ve just let him go and not held him back or tried to stop some fight.

Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea came to a stop in front of Cheryl and I. I held out the bag to Toni and she grabbed it, not wasting a single second. Grabbing a biscuit and groaning as she practically inhaled it. Then grabbing a few strips of bacon. “Oh my god, I love your dad too.” 

“There’s enough in there for everyone. Fangs, he said you had to share the bacon, man.” I laughed at the way this made Fangs pout a little.

I stopped in front of Sweet Pea who was still angry, almost shaking at this point. I grimaced at the bruise forming on his jaw. Stepping a little closer. “Are you going to eat, Hulk, or nah?” I teased, shaking the bag at him.

“I’m too fuckin pissed right now, Cherry.” Sweet Pea answered, a harsh tone. His jaw setting.

“Oh.” I muttered. I realized just how close I was standing to Sweet Pea and suddenly aware of that, I stepped away a little and let Fangs take the bag because I was tired of holding it. As we started to walk to school, I found myself walking right next to Sweet Pea all over again when Kevin Keller caught up to us and chose to walk next to Fangs, putting me in between Sweet Pea and Fangs by the time we’d all sort of formed a line.

“Kevin, don’t you own a car?” I teased gently, giving him a knowing smirk. I’d kind of picked up on the fact that he might or might not have himself a little crush on Fangs.

“It’s broken right now.” Kevin answered my question, nodding towards Sweet Pea covertly as he smirked at me. I bit my lip, glancing over at Sweet Pea as I shook my head. Because I knew what Kevin was about to assume and I knew that at best, Sweet Pea only tolerates me because of Fangs and Toni.

“Dad’s supposed to take me out to let me try getting used to driving his truck this weekend.”

“I’ll be sure to let my dad know so he’s on standby.” Kevin taunted, making me stick out my tongue at him. “I’m not that bad.”

“I’d like to agree, but I have Snapchat, so I know about your driving. I saw the go-kart thing. I had no idea  you could make a go kart drift, if we’re being honest. You drive like a lunatic, woman.” Kevin taunted. I pouted at him, folding my arms. “I do not! I just wanted to win.” I pretended to be annoyed, holding my hand up at him.

Sweet Pea’s hand brushed against my other hand and I glanced down. Curling my pinkie around his. Giving it a squeeze. I didn’t dare to look up at him as I did this, of course. When he didn’t pull away, I didn’t either.

He was upset. I considered him a friend. I tried to tell myself that my hopes in doing what I was doing were to calm him down. Nothing more.

But deep down, I was starting to realize that this might not exactly be the case. That maybe I felt things…

Things I knew he’d never feel in return.

Things I knew I needed to get over.

XXX

He bit his lip when he felt her finger curl around his. A glance over at her revealed that she wasn’t even looking at him, instead, she was buried in something Kevin was showing her on his phone. He’d almost swear that she didn’t even realize she’d grabbed hold of his finger again, but then, she gave it a little squeeze a few seconds after she glanced up from Kevin’s phone.

She still hadn’t looked at him. Or let go of his finger.

Every part of him knew he should let go but he didn’t want to. And he kept telling himself that more than likely, it wasn’t anything more than just her, trying to be a friend because he was madder than hell and it was obvious.

Oh but he wanted it to be so much more than that.

Their sides brushed again and his breath caught in his throat a little.

Fangs had a good point the night before when they’d been talking. It was getting harder and harder to hide the way he felt.

The fight he’d gotten into with Alyssa’s brother came back to him and he used Archie’s words as a reminder as to why he needed to forget the way he felt.

Because Archie did have a fair point when he pointed out that Sweet Pea wasn’t good enough for her and sooner or later, Alyssa spending so much time around them was going to get her in serious trouble or worse yet, hurt somehow.

But then what Fangs and Jughead both insisted the night before came back to him too and their advice made him want to fight. To act on the way he felt. To prove her brother wrong. To be with her. Be the guy who made her laugh. The guy she cuddled up with on a rainy Saturday to watch her horror movies. The one she came to when she was hurt or scared or just needed him.

They were making their way across the parking lot and she still hadn’t let go of his finger. To be fair, he hadn’t let go of hers yet, either. The connection was keeping him calm. Giving him other things to think about beyond the way he wanted to lose his entire mind over the fact that he was losing everything and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He felt powerless. He hated the feeling.

But the way she linked her finger through his and left it there gave him something else to focus on for a change.

And now, thanks to it, all he could think about was just how hard it was getting to keep his feelings himself.

“Alyssa?”

“Yeah, Kev?”

“Are you going out for the play? Come on, you have to.” Kevin pleaded.

Alyssa mulled it over, shrugging. About to shake her head before Kevin frowned. “You have to.”

“I’m not good at the whole getting up in front of people crap. We’re lucky I can manage cheering at the games without freaking out, Kev. Or have you forgotten the fairy debacle from Kindergarten?”

“It wasn’t that bad!” Kevin was giving her the pleading face.

“Kevin. I left the stage and ran to my dad. In front of the entire school.” she shook her head, laughing. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Besides, me singing? The sound of cats dying. I am not going to put people through that.”

“Oh come on.”

“Nope. Not happening, man.” she shook her head, smiling.

“Toni and I are thinking about it.” Cheryl spoke up.

Toni raised a brow, laughing as she nodded. “Thinking is the key word here, babe.”

Sweet Pea took a deep breath. Willing himself to either let go of her finger first or push things a little further. Maybe grab hold of her hand. Or brush his hand against her hand. He grumbled in frustration when he couldn’t make himself do either thing.

After a second or two, he managed to find a way to graze his hand against her hand and make it seem as if it were an accident. To his surprise, before he could pull his hand away, she’d linked her fingers between his.

She glanced up at him for a second or two, licking her lips. Giving his hand a little squeeze. They were almost to the doors of Riverdale High by this point. He figured she’d let go of his hand, but she hadn’t yet.

Everyone else split off, going to their own classrooms. He let go of her hand to push open the door, letting her step into the room as he held it open, letting it close behind him. As they took their assigned seats, she sank down in her chair, digging around in the pocket of her jeans.

Holding out a pack of chewing gum to him. Sweet Pea took a stick of the gum, unwrapping it. Popping it into his mouth.

After opening the text books, their teacher spoke up, addressing the class.

“We’ll be doing a bit of a different assignment. We’ve been studying genetics and I feel that it would be interesting to give this a try. You’ll be given dice.”

Sweet Pea chuckled when one of the other Serpents in class with them muttered an audible, “Finally, somethin I fuckin know about.”

Mr. Keaton glared at the other Serpent, silencing him. And then Mr. Keaton continued. “You will then roll these dice to determine what physical traits that offspring between yourself and your lab partner would inherit. You will chart the results and write a detailed summary. If you choose, for extra credit, you may draw this offspring.”

Sweet Pea coughed, shifting around in his seat awkwardly. Because all this entire project brought to mind for him was a mental replay of a particularly dirty dream he’d had about Alyssa not too long ago. The silent acknowledgement that he felt this magnetic pull to her and the harder he fought it lately, the more it refused to stay buried. The way it felt when her finger curled around his or the way it felt when he’d taken hold of her hand on their walk to school.

Every single touch, accidental or otherwise as of late.

Alyssa fidgeted a little herself, he noticed. He found himself wondering if she was fidgeting because she was suddenly regretting being paired with him for the term, or if she was fidgeting for the same reason he’d been fidgeting.

,, There’s absolutely no way she’s into me.” his mind taunted.

Mr. Keaton passed out dice and once they’d gotten their dice and the list of physical traits that Mr. Keaton compiled they’d be rolling for, Sweet Pea cleared his throat.

“Wishing you’d made a fuss about now, hm? Gotten switched to work with no brains over there?” he said it only half jokingly.

“Why? Are you?” Alyssa asked, gazing over at him, a brow raised. Laughing softly. “It’s just an assignment, Sweet Pea. And you’re not like.. You’re not a leper or something. I mean, I could do a lot worse.”

“If you’re fine with it, what the hell.” Sweet Pea shrugged, chuckling to himself quietly. Trying to fight back the sliver of hope that chose that exact moment to rise to the surface. The fact that she wasn’t switching, while surprising, didn’t necessarily mean anything. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

From the back of the classroom, Reggie spoke up. “Mr. Keaton, I’ve been thinkin… Maybe I should switch partners with Sweet Pea.”

Sweet Pea tensed.

When he knew Alyssa wasn’t looking, he shot Reggie an angry glare.

Reggie smirked at him, daring him to say something.

Mr. Keaton looked from pair to pair, rubbing his chin. “Amanda? Alyssa? Would either of you want to switch?”

Mandy was just about to speak up. He felt Alyssa tense up beside him and heard her mumble to herself, “Not today, Satan..” as she turned in her seat, giving Mandy an angry glare.

Mandy glared right back at Alyssa before giving their teacher the sweetest smile she could muster. “I’d love that, Mr. Keaton. Reggie’s an idiot. I’m sure even that Serpent is so much smarter.” 

“The Serpent has a name, bimbo. You wouldn’t like it if I only called you bimbo, right?” Alyssa whirled around in her seat to snap at Mandy before she could stop herself. “Anyway, Reggie’s no stupider than you. Kind of a perfect fit if I do say so myself.” 

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes at Mandy, but he cleared his throat, tapping Alyssa’s shoulder so she’d turn around before she got into trouble. He found himself super focused on the way she got heated just now because Mandy hadn’t bothered saying his name.

“If he makes me switch, I swear to god, I’m unleashing my wrath.” Alyssa grumbled to herself. Making Sweet Pea take a shaky breath or two.

Why did this matter so much? 

Sweet Pea found himself a little surprised. He honestly thought she’d be jumping at the chance. He assumed she’d be happy to get away from him.

“Alyssa? Your thoughts on the matter?” Mr. Keaton questioned.

“ Nope. I refuse to have that absolute pig be the  father of  my non-existent children, sir. I’m fine where I am.” Alyssa answered, turning to shrug at Reggie as she said it.

Reggie pouted a little.

Sweet Pea smirked, shrugging at Reggie when their eyes met. Reggie glared at him, finally turning around when Mandy cleared her throat.

“You could’ve switched, Cherry.”

“ I realize this. But I didn’t want to.” Alyssa answered, finally meeting his gaze. Biting her lip. “Unless you wanted me to switch?”

“No, no. Fuck no.” Sweet Pea’s answer tumbled out in a rush. Alyssa laughed softly, managing a little smile. “In that case, we should probably get started. This is a pretty long list. Oh, while I’m thinking about it.. We’re trying to avoid my shitty eyesight, red hair and skin that burns at even a hint of sunlight.” she muttered, glancing over at him.

Sweet Pea caught himself doing it again, getting caught up in her eyes. Staring like an idiot. He nodded. “Okay, since we’re going there, Cherry. We’re trying to roll with the hopes that this kid doesn’t knock their fucking heads off every time they walk through a door.”

“I mean, it’s better than climbing shelves and counters to reach things your idiot brother puts out of your reach deliberately, but hey.. Go off I guess.” she teased gently, smiling at him. Holding out the dice.

“You roll first. I am.. Not good at dice.” Alyssa pleaded. Sweet Pea chuckled and shook his head. “Oh no. No, you first.” he smirked at her, he couldn’t resist it.

Alyssa pouted but  took the dice and rolled.

“Okay, so.. Doubles..” Alyssa announced when both the dice settled on the side with one dot.

“Twins.” Sweet Pea consulted the list. “We were rolling for a number of offspring just then, right?” he asked.

“They better have given me good drugs.” Alyssa joked, filling in the chart. “I’ll roll for one, you can roll for the other?” she asked. Sweet Pea nodded. Silently hoping to god she hadn’t noticed him staring yet again. He answered in a daze, “Yeah.” as he took the dice to roll again. This time they were rolling for hair color.

“You better roll again, sir. Remember? We’re trying to avoid red hair.” Alyssa nodded to the dice settled on the top of the desk between them.

“Actually, no. I’m not. You are, but I’m not.” Sweet Pea smirked, the smirk growing when he saw her pout a little about it. “Deal with it, Cherry.”

“Well, we’re off to a great start. Can’t even agree on hair color.” Alyssa teased, noting that they’d gotten the red hair trait from her.

She took the dice back. “Come on dark brown and functional brown eyes..” she muttered, smiling when she rolled for Sweet Pea’s eye color, but scowling a little when she managed to roll that yes, they’d have vision trouble. “Poor kids.” she shook her head, laughing. Holding out the dice to him.

Sweet Pea had been in a daze yet again. Luckily, he managed to pull himself out of said daze when she placed the dice in his hand. He rolled. Grumbling when he got himself for the height gene.

The bell rang a few seconds later. Alyssa gathered her books and started for the door. Sweet Pea caught up to her. “Wasn’t so bad.” he mused. Carefully.

Alyssa smiled, shaking her head. “No, it wasn’t.” hiding a laugh as Reggie and Mandy made their way past in a very heated and angry argument. She nudged Sweet Pea, nodding towards them. “Some people should never be allowed to procreate.”

“They really shouldn’t.” Sweet Pea answered, swallowing down a lump as it formed in his throat. Letting his gaze linger for a few seconds. “Hey, if you want.. We can finish this tonight at the Wyrm.”

“You’d be okay with me showing up at the Wyrm.” Alyssa eyed him carefully.

He shrugged. “It’s not any different than all the times you came with Toni.” 

“I’ll be there, then. Oh and Pea?” Alyssa turned back to look at him. He chuckled. “What?”

“Your name is coming off the top of the Mortal Kombat leaderboard. Tonight. Better bring your A game, sir.”

He bit back a groan at what she said. There was just something about the look in her eyes just now.. Teasing and playful… that combined with her calling him Sir definitely gave him a reason to need the walk to his next class.

Because he needed to pull himself together. He needed to get his head around everything and more importantly, he needed to really stop and think if he wanted to keep fighting whatever was starting to happen between them.

Because he’d been fighting it since he’d seen her around town for the first time. And he just couldn’t anymore.

Fangs caught up to him. “Didn’t you hear me yellin at you, man?”

“I was thinkin.”

“About?”

“Maybe you were right. About what we were talking about last night?”

Fangs smirked. “You’re gonna go for it?”

“I want to. Doesn’t mean I will. But I can’t keep saying I don’t.. Ya know.. When I do. Because it’s driving me fucking insane, man.” 

“Want her?” Fangs filled in the blank, snickering when Sweet Pea gave him a dirty look but nodded. As they made their way into class and took their usual seats in the back, Fangs leaned across the aisle. “For what it’s worth… I think she’s into you, man.”

“Yeah. I doubt that.” Sweet Pea looked at his best friend as if Fangs were losing his mind. He wished that were true. He wanted it to be true. But he doubted that it was.

“You’re blind.” Fangs chuckled, turning his attention to the note Kevin had slipped into his locker. Chuckling and rubbing his chin in thought as he debated on what his response was going to be.

XXX

Practice had just ended. I made my way over to my locker in the girls locker room and I opened the door, thinking I’d grab the clothes I bought to change into after practice. Clothes that were nowhere to be found.

I grumbled to myself, annoyed. A quick glance around the locker room put me onto the fact that Mandy and her little army of skanks were circled up, looking at me. Whispering and laughing. Mandy was bold enough to call out, “Missing something, are we?” as she held up my clothes, laughing… Slinking over to the door that lead into the hallway.

Tossing my clothes right out in the middle.

I turned and glared at her. “You bitch.”

“Aw, are you upset right now? What are you gonna do, Alyssa? Go cry to big brother? Go sic your Serpent trash loverboy on me? I’m so so so scared.” she nudged her friend Kaylie. “I bet she doesn’t do anything. I bet she just sits there and fumes like usual. I’m surprised she had the nerve to call me a bimbo earlier in class if we’re being honest.” Mandy smirked as she said it, glancing at me. Nodding towards the door. 

“If you want your clothes, sweetie, they’re right there! All you have to do is go get them…. Unless you’re afraid? Don’t flatter yourself, Alyssa. Nobody wants to see you in your underwear. Absolutely no one.”

I clenched my fists and took a deep breath or two. Mandy and her friends were all staring at me, waiting. Gazing from the hallway, where my clothes were piled up, back to me. Smirking and laughing because they were starting to think Mandy was right. That I wasn’t going to do anything. That I’d just turn and ignore Mandy’s attempts to goad me into a confrontation and shove down all my anger like I usually did. 

,, she wants you to turn the other cheek like you’ve been doing until lately. If you do that, you’re basically telling her she can get away with this crap.” the thought came and rather than shove it out in favor of being the bigger person, I leaned into it.

Because today was not the day and I was not the one.

I stood and walked out into the hallway. Right as the bell to dismiss final class for the day rang and the hallway was starting to flood with students. One of them being Sweet Pea. We locked eyes as I walked past, calmly going to the Riverdale crest on the floor that she’d tossed my jeans in the center of. Bending to pick up my jeans. Sweet Pea’s arm shot out.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, out here like that, Cherry? Have you lost your mind entirely?”

“Nope. I’m getting my fucking clothes. Since Mandy the thundercunt scattered them all over the hallway.”

Sweet Pea growled quietly, his fists clenching and unclenching. He took off his Riverdale polo, holding it out to me, but I shook my head, biting my lip and smirking as I did so. “Oh no. No.. see, if I don’t do something major now, she’s never going to fuck off. So thanks but no. Now put your shirt back on before you get in trouble.”

Sweet Pea eyed me. Shaking his head. I tapped my foot impatiently, holding his gaze. “Sweet Pea… Put the goddamn shirt back on. I know what I’m doing, okay? This is to prove a point.”

“What good is that gonna do when you’re caught by a teacher and you wind up in detention, huh? Take the fucking shirt, Cherry. Take it now.” Sweet Pea used his firmest tone, but I was too angry. It didn’t do anything to me.

“Put the shirt back on, Sweet Pea. Now.” I muttered firmly. A hand on my hip. “Do it. I’m willing to stand here until a teacher spots me if that’s what it’ll take to keep you from doing something that we know might get you expelled.”

“Goddamn it.” Sweet Pea gave up arguing, finally realizing I wasn’t going to budge one way or the other. Not until I’d done what I came out to do. And the less he argued with me, the quicker I could get it done and get back in the locker room.

I spotted my favorite Motley Crue crop tee near the girls bathroom. And totally zoned out, so angry that I was actually shaking a little, I paid not one single bit of attention to the fact that a few people were staring.

I was too pissed to be embarrassed and that is probably a good thing. Because if I wasn’t so pissed, I’d have wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole.

I spotted the red and black plaid shirt I’d been wearing over my tee shirt hanging over the rim of a garbage can and I calmly walked over, plucking it out. With my clothing gathered, I went to step back in the locker room, ignoring the one or two whistles and the Ghoulie who felt the need to comment something so gross that I debated heavily on walking over and twisting his dick in my hand until it twisted off.

I flung the door of the locker room open wide and when I did, it connected with Mandy’s face because she’d been standing there. Probably recording the whole thing to post on her socials later.

Because that’s totally something girls like her do for funsies.

She stumbled back, holding her nose as blood began to slowly pool between her fingers. And before she had a chance to react, I was slamming her against the lockers immediately to the right of the door. My forearm against her throat to hold her there.

“You’re going to erase whatever video you just recorded. Don’t fucking test me, you diseased thundercunt. Erase the video. I know you recorded the whole thing.”

“You little bitch, you broke my nose!” Mandy slammed her head into mine, causing me to drop my forearm from her throat and grab for my own nose. Once she was free, she threw a punch. I ducked it and came up swinging. Connecting with her jaw. And before she could even recover from the punch, I was grabbing her by the hair and shoving her head at the locker door.

She charged at me, knocking me on the ground. I grabbed hold of her face, trying to go for her eyes and once she was trying to block that, I flipped it and reversed it so that I was straddling her hips now. The first thing I did was grab hold of her phone and throw it on the floor a few feet away as hard as I could. When she tried to reach up and choke me, I choked her back and she rolled us so that she was on top this time. Fists were flying again. The benches that ran the middle of the locker room were being moved out of place. Lockers were being hit as we made full use of the floor in the girls locker room.

Her friends tried to rush over to help but Veronica and Cheryl stopped them from getting close as Cheryl called out to me, “Get her! It’s about time!” and she told Veronica firmly, “Lock the doors. Nobody gets in or out. Amanda has had this coming for a while now.”

Veronica nodded, locking the door to the locker room. Betty held off Mandy’s friends with Veronica and Cheryl’s help. Determined to let the fight keep going. At least until one of us or the other calmed down.

 I stood up, pulling Mandy off the floor. Pulling her towards the showers.

Turning on the water full blast and as cold as I could get it. Shoving her into it and as soon as I had her cornered, I leaned down to her level. Grabbing hold of her white and yellow Riverdale Vixens ringer that now had blood spattered on the front of it.

“You better hope that video got erased, Mandy, or this is just a preview of what your life’s gonna be like, honey.”  I said it quietly and calmly. “And if you think for even a second about messing with me again… Remember this.”

“You’re actually insane.. You crazy little bitch. Just wait. I’ll get back at you. This isn’t over, Alyssa.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that, you diseased mega skank.” I shrugged as I walked away from her, facing her. My middle finger up in the air. “You might want to clean yourself up, Amanda. We can’t have anybody thinking we were up to no good in here, now can we?” I challenged.

A teacher was pounding on the door and it started to click into place what I’d just done. I sank down on the nearest bench, panting to catch my breath. Trying to calm down. Letting the anger and everything subside.

Cheryl made her way over, Veronica and Betty in tow. Stopping to unlock the door as they went. Whatever Cheryl told the teacher had the teacher satisfied that nobody was up to anything bad in the locker room and leaving and once they had, Cheryl shut the door quickly. Leaning against it with her hand over her heart. “Whew. That was so close.”

Veronica sank down on the bench in front of me, the first aid kit we kept in the locker room open and across her lap.

“This is going to hurt, Al. I’m sorry in advance.” Veronica winced as she started to apply hydrogen peroxide to the few scratches on the side of my face and cheek.

All I could do was nod. Because I was still coming down from the adrenaline.

“If she messes with you again after this, she’s clearly an idiot.” Veronica spoke up after a few seconds. I shrugged. “Oh, she’s not done with me yet. But it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stop it before all hell broke loose.” Cheryl spoke up, wincing as I looked up at her and laughed it off, shaking my head. Trying to flinch away from Veronica as she came at my face with a cold and damp washcloth to clean the blood away from underneath my nose.

“Cheryl, trust me. I’m fine. I can handle myself. You guys were trying to count the votes, it’s not a big deal. Besides. I needed to stand up for myself.”

“I know, but if I’d been in here, I could’ve stopped her.” Cheryl butted in, gently but firmly.

“I should’ve stood up to her way before now, if I’m being honest. Take the high road, they said. It’s better in the long run, they said. That’s a load.” I grumbled. 

“Ouch fuck ouch hey.. Can you wipe less painfully?” I pleaded with Veronica.

She grimaced and muttered an apology.

“I can’t wait to hear about this crap later. Or try explaining it to my dad and Archie. Archie’s going to take the chance to spin this so that somehow, it’s anybody’s fault but mine.” I grumbled, shaking my head, disgusted at the thought.

“He’s just being a protective brother.”

“I wish sometimes he’d not do that.. So much. Did you know that he just stood back and let Reggie and Sweet Pea fight earlier when the team went to cut everyone loose?”

“I’m still angry with my father about that.” Veronica muttered, adding a second later, “But, that’s typical of him, though. He’s not happy until he owns everything and everyone.” Veronica fumed, shaking her head with a disgusted look on her face.

I bit my lip, nodding. Keeping my own opinions on the subject to myself. Because it’s not like she can control what her parents choose to do. And she tries to be better, she tries to make it so that there’s a very clear and obvious difference between herself and her parents, but with parents like hers, you wind up having to get your hands dirty sooner or later.

I’d just finished getting dressed and stepped into the hallway, finding Sweet Pea leaning against the wall.

“What the fuck was going on in there?”

I shrugged.

Mandy walked past with her friends and Sweet Pea looked from Mandy back at me. Grimacing as he caught sight of my face. Stepping closer. 

“Did she do that?” he eyed me in concern. Tensing up a little. The soft edge to his voice had my heart fluttering a little, but as fast as that started, I was quick to shove it down. Reminding myself that Sweet Pea only tolerated me because we happened to share two friends in common. His hand raised, gingerly touching at a bruise forming along my jaw. Hissing as he shook his head. I tensed a little because now that the adrenaline was completely gone and the shock I’d been in or whatever for the duration of my fight was wearing off too and now everything just plain hurt.

“Mhm.” I answered quietly, swallowing down a lump as it formed in my throat. Gazing up at him. I blinked when my body brushed up against his, not aware that I’d stepped closer to him.

“Did you do.. All that?” he nodded to where she stood at her locker in the hallway, glaring daggers in my direction, her friends flocking her.

“I hope you’re prepared to pay for Amanda’s broken nose, you crazy witch.” Kaylie called out calmly. “Her mother is going to make sure you pay for the fight.”

Mandy smirked at me. “I can’t wait to tell my mother everything. I’m almost as excited to talk to her about the way you’ve been bullying me as I am to post the video of you wandering the hallway of our high school in underwear.”

I tensed, taking a step away from Sweet Pea and forward in the hallway. Sweet Pea reached out quickly, grabbing me up and away by my hips. Putting me behind him as he eyed Mandy calmly. “You really don’t value your life at all, do ya?”

Mandy eyed him, gulping.

“It’s a simple question, Mandy.” Sweet Pea shrugged, smirking a little.

“What are you gonna do, Serpent? I can make one call and have you arrested.”

I growled from behind Sweet Pea. “Try it you fucking gremlin. Try it.” I threatened.

“Enough.” Sweet Pea’s tone was calm and firm as he looked from Mandy to me, folding his arms over his chest. I went quiet and Mandy’s lip quivered a little as she gazed up at him. 

“What you’re gonna do, Mandy… Erase whatever you recorded. If you don’t, you’re really not going to like what happens.” Sweet Pea stepped closer to her, giving a menacing scowl as he towered over her.

Just the way he said it had a slow and lazy heat settling in the pit of my stomach. Had my breath catching in my throat because of just the tone he took… You’d think he was my actual boyfriend. He was acting more like one than any of my past boyfriends, Reggie included.

If I were more hopeful, I’d almost want to say he meant every word of the threat he made to Mandy.

Mandy hurried off and Sweet Pea turned, settling his gaze on me. Eyeing my nose critically and grimacing. “It’s not broken. What the hell happened?”

“She was practically leaning against the damn door so when I threw it open, it hit her in the nose. She went to swing at me, I threw her against a locker… Then it kind of spiralled out of control from there?” I shuffled my feet, going fidgety under his intent and concerned gaze.

“Who locked the door?” Sweet Pea asked, admitting a few seconds later, “I tried the handle when I saw Mrs. Ellis heading for the locker room. I heard all the yelling and every time somebody hit a locker or the wall, so I figured something was going on in there… I was gonna warn you...”

“Oh, that was Cheryl. She wasn’t going to risk anybody going to get a teacher to come in and break it up.” I gave a soft laugh, shaking my head. I nodded towards the doors at the end of the empty hallway.

“We should probably get going. The last place I want to be locked in overnight is here.”

“Yeah, I was waiting on Fangs, but apparently, he ditched me.” Sweet Pea shrugged. I raised a brow, because that wasn’t like Fangs. Usually if he said he’d be somewhere, he was there.

“I haven’t seen him since lunch, come to think of it.” I spoke up after a few seconds.

“He probably bailed. He’s probably already at the Wyrm.” Sweet Pea shrugged. I nodded, agreeing.

“So.. ready?” I asked. Trying my best not to get my hopes up. Preparing myself for Sweet Pea to suggest going to my dad’s or to Pops instead of going to the Wyrm. Shocked more than a little bit when Sweet Pea smirked and nodded.

“Yeah. Just so you know, Cherry… If you think for one second you’re wiping me off the leaderboard, not gonna happen.” he chuckled as we walked down the hall and he paused to push the door open for me.

About halfway to the Wyrm, my hand brushed against his. I glanced down, biting my lip. Debating heavily on just grabbing hold of his hand.

Because friends held hands, right?

I mean.. I held hands with Cheryl and Toni all the time.

Except deep down, I knew that was not even remotely the real motive behind holding Sweet Pea’s hand. The simplest truth was that I just… Couldn’t stop myself from doing something. Anything.

I took a deep breath and carefully, I slipped my hand into his. Gazing down for a second or two after I’d done it. Shocked I’d actually had the damn nerve to go through with it. Even more shocked when Sweet Pea didn’t immediately scowl, tense up or let go.

Instead, his fingers laced with mine.

And like this morning, neither of us really mentioned it. But that tension that seemed to hang around us like a heavy cloud recently?

It got so very much thicker.

He pushed open the door to the Wyrm and I stepped under his arm, into the building. He stepped in behind me, nodding to a table with two chairs towards the back. Where it was a little quieter.

“We should be able to get everything finished back there, Cherry.”

I nodded. My eyes darted around. Finding it odd that the same people staring at me currently never even gave me a second look when I wandered in with Toni and Fangs.

I shoved the thought out of my head.

We were just two classmates.. Two friends.. Meeting to finish an assignment for school.

We made our way to the back of the bar, taking a seat at the table. At one point, while we were deep in rolling and making notes for the chart we’d been given and for our report we’d have to write later, FP wandered past.

“That’s good kid. Nice to see you actually takin school seriously. Don’t give Alyssa a hard time, buddy.” he flashed Sweet Pea a smirk and Sweet Pea nodded. Smirking right back at FP.

“People are looking at us like you’re doing something wrong.” I leaned in and whispered when I just couldn’t take the way people were watching like a hawk anymore and it had me curious.

Sweet Pea glanced up and around, shrugging. “ Most of the older guys think it’s impossible to be friends with a girl and won’t bring one around unless they’re involved with her. Is it bothering you?” he gazed at me, that concerned look in his eyes again.

I shook my head profusely. Taking a sip of the wild cherry pepsi that FP had brought over to us to drink earlier and wanting to kick myself for even mentioning it, because I had a feeling I’d probably just made things awkward.

And that was the very thing I was trying to avoid. 

We finally finished rolling for genetic traits and I finished up the sketch I’d been doing.

“Okay. If you laugh I swear to God.” I gazed at Sweet Pea nervously as I shoved the sketch pad across the table to him.

“Did you just do this?” he asked, staring at the sketch.

“Yeah. I’m not the best.”

I reached for the sketch pad. But not before it flipped a few pages and settled on a drawing I’d done of Sweet Pea when he hadn’t been paying attention one day while we were all hanging out in here, playing the Mortal Kombat arcade game.

Lucky for me, he saw that I’d done sketches of Toni and Cheryl sharing a Twizzler at lunch one day and Fangs working on his motorcycle in the parking lot before school one morning. When he got to the sketch I’d done of Reggie, he scowled a little.

“I wanted to burn that too but Cheryl convinced me if I ever decided to actually get off my ass and apply to art school after I’m done with Riverdale High, it’d be good for my portfolio. She literally tried to throw herself on the fire to stop me from burning all the sketches I did of Reggie.” I laughed quietly, wincing as I shook my head.

Every time I caught myself thinking about the fact that I’d been taken in by a charming smirk and flirtatious mannerisms and the charisma of one Reggie Mantle, it only reminded me how gullible I was. How soft-hearted.

You’d think that getting involved with a guy who all but stalked me and tried to spread nasty rumors and suggestive pictures of me that I never should’ve sent in the first place when I finally got smart enough to break it off with him before leaving Chicago would be enough to teach me.

Apparently, it wasn’t. Because I came here and what’d I do? I got involved with Reggie Mantle. And now, that was over and I was starting to feel things for Sweet Pea, a guy who probably only tolerated me because we shared friends in common.

That was another huge reason I was not keen on opening myself up too quickly all over again. I might not always make the best choices, but even I had the common sense to know that I needed time… I needed to bounce back. Figure things out on my own.

And all of that was another  huge reason I was determined to keep whatever I was starting to feel for Sweet Pea close to the vest. The more I could keep whatever I felt at bay, the better off I’d be. Because realistically, I just didn’t dare hope.

I was starting to realize I just couldn’t trust my own judgement when it came to emotional things. Until I got to a place where I could, I was doing the best thing I could for me.

Something tells me this is going to be so much harder than I could ever imagine though.

The door to the bar flew open and Toni barged in. Over to the table Sweet Pea and I were sitting at.

“Have you talked to Cheryl at all this afternoon?” Toni asked in a rush. 

“I tried to call her earlier but it kept going to voicemail. And we were just saying earlier that Fangs is MIA too…” I rubbed my  temples. I had the sneaking suspicion that I knew exactly what might have happened to Cheryl, because not so long ago, her mother had kind of caught wind of her relationship with Toni. And her mother was not thrilled.

I grumbled, digging in my jeans pocket for my phone.

It clicked for Toni that Sweet Pea and I had come to the Wyrm. Alone. Without her or Fangs present to act as a buffer.

“You’re here together, fuck. I’m sorry. I’m just.. I’m freaking out right now.” Toni glanced from me to Sweet Pea and then back again. “Are you two finally going to stop being snipey assholes and get along though?”

Sweet Pea shrugged, giving me a teasing smirk. “Maybe she’s not so bad… For a princess.”

“Maybe you’re not so bad either. For a giant grumpy asshole.” I teased right back. Feeling my cheeks burn hot just a little at the look in his eyes and the way he put emphasis on the word princess.

Because no, that did not help my current ongoing mental dilemma at all.

“You’re staying with me until we figure out this situation with Cheryl, right?” I asked Toni. Toni nodded, stealing a sip of my Pepsi. “I swear to God, if her mother’s hurt her…”

“If her mother’s done anything to her, she’s going to answer to both of us. I’ve got your back, Topaz.” I spoke up, giving Toni a reassuring look. I tried to call Cheryl again on my phone, but it went straight to voicemail too. I frowned at it, putting my phone away.

Toni eyed me and then glanced in Sweet Pea’s direction as if she were indicating that she wanted details later tonight when we were back at my dad’s place. Mouthing to me, “Well?”

I shook my head, shrugging. “We were just finishing that thing for Biology.” I mouthed. Glancing at my cell phone. I was not getting a good feeling at all. And the more Cheryl’s phone rang and went to voicemail, the more that bad feeling grew.

“It’s going to voice. He’s normally here already if he ditches.”  Sweet Pea swore to himself and shook his head.

“Wait.. he got called to the office right after lunch.” Toni spoke up. Swearing when she tried to call Cheryl yet again and the call went to Cheryl’s voicemail as it had just done for me. She shoved her phone into her pocket and took a few deep breaths. “Maybe she just went to sit with her Nana. They haven’t let her out of the hospital yet, I don’t think.. That has to be it.”

The door flew open again and this time, my brother and Jughead were rushing in. Stopping to talk to a few of the other Serpents we went to school with who were present. Whatever Jughead told them had them rushing out the door in a hurry. I eyed them but quickly turned my attention back to the situation at hand involving our two missing friends. Trying to retrack the events of the day. I remembered it then, Fangs had been called to the office during lunch and after that, I hadn’t seen him again.

We had the second to last class of the day together. He hadn’t been there. 

“You guys have to get out of here. Get everyone out of here and out of this side of town now. They’re about to raid the Wyrm.” Jughead and my brother rushed over to us. My brother let out a ragged breath when he caught sight of me. “Thank god. There you are. I was worried when I couldn’t find you. What the hell happened to your face, pixie?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain later.. You guys. Explain. What the fuck do you mean we have to get out of here? Archie, what’s going on? What have you let that jackass talk you into this time?”

“Nothing! It’s something I overheard, okay, look. I know you’re still pissed at me. But you guys need to get everyone together and get the hell off of this side of town, okay? Just trust me. Do it. I told Dad what was going on and he said that we could put people up until FP figured something out.”

Sweet Pea eyed my brother with a wary look. I eyed him too, wondering briefly if this were some kind of a trick that Hiram put him up to. Wondering how the hell he managed to get Jughead in on it if it were.

“What the hell is going on tonight?” I wondered aloud after a few seconds.Not even ten seconds later, one of the older bikers wandered in, getting a hold of FP, taking him to the back to talk.

“Are you makin this up, Andrews? Is this a trap? Because to me, that’s what it feels like.” Sweet Pea tensed. His fists clenched at his side and my brother shook his head. “No. This is me. Trying to make up for all of the other stuff, okay? Look. Hiram set the whole thing up this afternoon after he got done arranging to have Fangs arrested earlier.”

“He’s not lying. I just went down the the station, man. Fangs is there. They’re holding him for questioning and they won’t say a fucking word about why he’s even there. And while I was there, I heard some of the guys in the break room joking about how fun it was going to be, cracking some Serpent skulls tonight. If we leave now, they have nothing. They don’t get any evidence, they can’t make any arrests.” Jughead explained impatiently. “We have to go. We needed to be gone ten minutes ago, if you want the honest fucking truth, Pea.”

“Dad really said he’d let them hide in our house. You’re not lying.” I questioned my brother, gazing up at him. Standing taller. “Because I swear to God, Archie, if this is a trap.. If any more of my friends get arrested because you have a burning desire to be Hiram Lodge’s long lost son or whatever the fuck it is you want to accomplish.”

My brother cut me off. “I’ve been working undercover. I wasn’t supposed to tell you anything. I wasn’t supposed to say anything to anyone, actually. Getting close to Hiram is… for the greater good.”

“Uh huh.You mean like the actual greater good or the oh look, pops bought me a ferrari for christmas because I’m a good little fucking stooge greater good?” I questioned, a brow raised and my hand on my hip.

“Al, we can finish this argument once your friends have their shit and they’re heading back to our side of town. I’ll gladly finish this discussion then. Dad sent me and Jugs to get everyone away from here.”

“I don’t know..”

Sweet Pea cleared his throat. “I’m not saying I trust you, Andrews. But I’m willing to take what Jugs says with a grain of salt. He is one of us now.”

Toni and I exchanged a surprised look, but then everyone started to rush around and gather their things as quick as they could. And as soon as we were all out in the alley behind the Wyrm, the first of at least six police cars came flying by, blue lights flashing and sirens blazing.

I let out a ragged breath and glanced up at Sweet Pea. When I caught on to the fact that he was both angry and silently freaking out, I reached down, gently grabbing hold of his pinkie finger with mine. Giving him a weak smile when I glanced up at him.

He didn’t smile back, but as we rounded the corner and promptly had to find another alley to go down to hide because another cop car rushed past, I felt him squeeze my pinkie finger with his more than a time or two.

Almost the second we crossed over into the North Side, I realized just how eerie and quiet it was.

Too quiet.

Nobody was saying anything. We were all too tired from running. Hiding. 

At one point, Toni reached down and grabbed the hand of mine closest to her, giving it a squeeze as she muttered into my ear quietly, “I hope Cheryl is okay.”

“We’ll get up to my room and figure something out, okay?”  I promised in a whisper.

And on the other side of me,  I felt Sweet Pea’s hand lazily close on mine. A squeeze so light that I honestly didn’t think he even realized he’d done it.

It took a few seconds, but I dared to glance down. Eyes fixing on the way his hand engulfed mine. His fingers laced between my fingers. Before I could stop myself, I dragged my thumb knuckle lazily over his palm. Gave his hand a similar light squeeze as I glanced up at Toni to pretend I wasn’t aware I’d done it.

Once we were all in my dad’s house, FP showed up. Explaining that he was currently trying to figure out somewhere everyone could go. Letting people who’d gotten separated from family during the whole scramble to leave whether their people made it and were incoming or at another place that FP had taken the other half of South Side to keep the cops from finding everyone at once or whether they’d been caught and were going to need bail.

My dad and Archie took over the kitchen with the help of FP and Jughead, making food for everyone. Once everyone else was set up and occupied and there wasn’t anything else I could do to help my dad and my brother, I went to go find Toni and we slipped out of the chaos downstairs, retreating up to my room.

The second the door was closed behind me, Toni spoke up.

“You don’t think Penelope killed her.”

“Toni, no. But I do think that she’s keeping her somewhere. Remember Cheryl telling us that she needed to tell us something important? I think that whatever she was going to tell us is the reason we can’t find her right now. Her mother makes Joan Crawford look like a fucking saint.” I fell back across my bed and stared at the ceiling. Sitting up a few minutes later.

“Hey, that girl in my English class… her mom’s a nurse. I can ask if Cheryl’s been there to sit with her nana.”

I dug my phone out and texted the girl in question. Frowning when the girl answered that she’d been there earlier, but she’d left to go home.

“She’s not there. Okay, I do not like the way this feels.”

“Me either.”

We sat in silence on my bed for a few minutes, trying to figure out a way to find out what happened to Cheryl. As I tried to think of places she might have gone or hidden at, I texted my mom about Fangs being kept at the station.

She texted me back, asking if I knew why they were holding him and I texted her back that we were trying to figure out why and we were hoping she’d call and scare someone into giving some form of an answer.

I frowned when she called a few minutes later and explained that she hadn’t been able to get anything. She asked what the hell was going on in town tonight, telling me that while she’d been talking to the secretary at the station, she’d heard a lot of yelling and angry chanting from outside. And a lot of whispering and hushed laughing.

I told her about the raid and I told her about Midge’s body being found during the school play. I told her that people had been starting rumors for whatever reason that Fangs might have done it, because Midge and Fangs had something going on.

“You’re staying out of trouble though, right? With your brother going through whatever it is he’s going through, sweetie…”

“About that.. I kind of got into a fight. But none of the teachers know. Nobody saw it.”

My mom sighed and I frowned, tensing up a little at a possible lecture incoming. When it started, I sat there with the phone away from my ear, letting her go on for a few minutes before I explained calmly, “I’m not going to stand back and be a doormat either, mom. And since Archie is doing all this and showing his entire ass, I need to take care of my own problems. Mandy was a problem, I solved it. End of discussion.”

“First of all, don’t take that tone with me. Second of all.. Does your father know? Did you tell him any of what you just told me?”

“No. I only told you what I just did to get you off my back. Mom.. I’m.. I love you and I’m sorry. I can’t be perfect and I can’t be something I’m not.”

“I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m asking you to stay out of trouble.”

“It doesn’t feel like that though.”

We exchanged tense goodnights and goodbyes and I ended the call, tossing my phone at the top of my vanity as I flopped back against my bed.

“Ever feel like the black sheep?” I wondered aloud. Feeling bad about it after I said it, because I realized that Toni literally only had the Serpents, Cheryl and her grandfather and me. I palmed my face and shook my head, ashamed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get it. My grandpa and I argue a lot.” Toni gave me a sympathetic nod. 

I shook my head at myself. “I swear, my mom and I are constantly butting heads. It’s part of the reason I never understood why she insisted I was the one to go to Chicago with her and that Archie stay here in Riverdale with Dad.”

“Probably because trust me. There are some things that men are not equipped to deal with.”

“I mean, true, but…”

Toni laughed quietly. Stretching a little. “Maybe Cheryl just wanted some space. I haven’t found anything out from anyone else.”

“All I know is what she told me before she left practice. She was going to see her Nana Rose again.”

“Yeah, she told me that too. But she’s been jumpy all day. Like she’s scared.”

“I noticed too.” I agreed, nodding. “Maybe she’ll be at school tomorrow. If she’s not, we’ll ditch and try to find answers or something.”

“Yeah. I’m too wiped to think anymore right now and if I do, I’m going to drive myself insane. And if I do that, we both know I’m going to go off and do something fucking dumb.” Toni admitted as she pulled back the cover on the other side of my bed.

“You’re cool with sharing a bed? I mean, all things considered.”

“Please,I know you have a very specific type of red-head and it ain’t me... Besides. You’re my friend. I’m not making you sleep on the floor.” I answered, gathering my things because I figured that everyone who was planning to shower tonight had probably done so already.

I made my way down the hall, reaching for the handle to the bathroom door right as Sweet Pea pulled it open from the other side. With a towel wrapped around his waist. I spun around, immediately going red in the face. “Shit, fuck. I’m sorry, I.. I thought everyone had already gotten a shower and gone to sleep?” I called out without daring to turn around and face him.

He cleared his throat. “Nah. I told Archie to go before me. I’m the one staying in your house. Didn’t want to intrude.” he tapped my shoulder when he’d pulled on his jeans and I turned around. He took a step forward to come out the door at the same time that I took a step forward to go in the door. We wound up body to body in the hallway. I gazed up at him, licking my lips.

He grimaced as his eyes settled on the bruise on my jaw from the fight earlier in the afternoon. “Did you show your dad? That looks a lot worse now.” His voice took on a concerned tone. 

I shook my head. “Nope. I already had more than enough lecturing about it from my mom earlier when I called to get her to see if she could find out anything about why Fangs was arrested and being held.”

Sweet Pea raised a hand, dragging it through damp hair. A droplet of water trickled down his forehead. Then dropped onto his nose, rolling down it’s slope. When it dripped down and rolled down his lips, my eyes were glued to it’s movement.  He cleared his throat, repeating the question that he’d asked me I apparently hadn’t heard. “Did she find out anything?”

“Just that they’re holding him until they have to let him go. If I had to guess though, it’s because people were saying crap about him and Midge having a thing going..” I muttered quietly. Shuffling my feet against worn wooden floorboards. 

“At least you tried.” he muttered quietly, gazing down at me. His eyes darted to my bruises and scrapes from my fight with Mandy earlier and he cleared his throat. “You should go tell your dad what happened. Just in case she is dumb enough to upload anything she might have recorded and we can’t coerce her into taking it down on our own.”

“If she does, she does. Won’t be the first time something like that happened.” I blurted it out, going quiet as soon as I realized I had. Tensing a little because I really hoped that he didn’t pay it any attention. Or that he didn’t push to know what I meant.I wasn’t even sure why it slipped out. I fidgeted a little, nervous. He eyed me, but luckily, he didn’t ask for further details.

The last thing I wanted right now was for him to know exactly how stupid and pathetic I was and still am. If he knew I’d been dumb enough to sext Dave and Dave had turned and used the photos against me or any of the other shit that I got into in Chicago… I pushed the intrusive thought out of my head.

“Cherry?” Sweet Pea muttered quietly. His eyes fixing on mine. Hints of a smirk playing at his lips. As quickly as the thought came ,, he has literally no idea just how devastatingly handsome he really is, I swear to God.” I hurried to shove it out. Bury it way down deep. Try to ignore the way I felt the slightest flutter of my heart. Or the way my throat seemed to close up when I realized that we were migrating closer to each other and that his hand was brushing against my hip just barely.

“Yeah, Pea?” I finally managed to pull myself together enough to get out the words. Gazing right back up at him, falling in right over my head and virtually powerless to stop it from happening.

“Night.” he yawned as he stepped out of the doorway, making his way back downstairs. From the sound of it, my brother had dragged out one of his old gaming systems. And apparently, he and a few other Serpents were sitting up, playing some long forgotten game. I made my way away from where I’d been peering down the stairs just to make sure that things weren’t tense between everyone and I turned, slipping into the bathroom.

Turning on the hot water and leaning against the wall, letting it cascade down onto my body from above. Just… trying to process the entire craziness of the day so far.

By the time I slipped into my side of the bed, Toni was already asleep, wearing my black velvet eye mask over her eyes. I found one of my other ones and slipped it down over my eyes.

And it seemed like in literally no time, I was out like a light. Exhausted from everything that had gone down in one day.

[wondereads]

Personal Recommendation (3/14/21)

Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo

Why am I recommending this book?

I’ve already read Bardugo’s Six of Crows series, but I wanted to read Shadow and Bone before the tv series came out. I’d heard it wasn’t very good, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Want something short and sweet? Check out my tiktok

Plot 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

Set in a eastern European-influenced kingdom known as Ravka, Alina Starkov, a mapmaker, awakens a legendary power within herself. After a failed attempt at crossing the Shadow Fold, a rift of shadow and monsters that cuts Ravka in two, it is revealed that Alina has the power to summon light. She is then taken by the Darkling, the mysterious commander of the Grisha, magic-using soldiers, in an attempt to train her to use her power to destroy the Shadow Fold once and for all. Unfortunately, spies from Shu Han and assassins from Fjerda aren’t the only things that stand in the way.

This is a good, classic YA book. An unwilling savior of the world must step up despite her insecurities. It really isn’t anything original. However, despite the cookie cutter plot, it’s executed very well. The pacing is good, and the characters really help to flesh it all out. All in all, there isn’t much to say about the plot. Most of what I noticed had to do with the characters.

(Spoiler) The best thing about the plot was that at the end Alina and Mal didn’t decide to take a stand and fight for what’s right. They’re teenagers, so they made the decision scared teenagers would make. They ran. And I loved it. (End Spoiler)

Characters 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

Despite the tropey writing, Alina stood out to me. Most YA main characters in these sorts of books are sort of bland in an effort to appeal to a wide audience, but I didn’t get that from Alina. I wouldn’t say she had a clearly defined personality, but I think that’s because she hasn’t decided who she is yet. Is she an unassuming mapmaker? Is she an insecure new Grisha? Or is she the powerful, confident Sun Summoner? She cares for those close to her, and she works hard at everything she does, but I don’t think Alina has become her own person yet. Most of her decisions throughout the book are influenced by other people like Mal, Genya, and the Darkling. She bases her choices on what will help them or save them or defeat them, not what she wants or strives for. There’s a flash of it at the end there, when she decides she wants Mal and her alive and free despite what it could mean for everyone else. I can’t wait to see her develop in the later books.

The Darkling. There’s a lot to unpack there. I, as an avid YA reader, was always wary of the brooding, handsome, older, and much more powerful character. I know his and Alina’s relationship is very popular, but I have to admit that every time they had a romantic interaction I felt sick. The Darkling is a good character because I’m horribly curious about him and his past. However, I can’t bring myself to genuinely like him. To put it simply, his interactions with the other characters and the way his actions drive the plot forward, it’s all very compelling, but I would never read a Darkling-focused book.

I can’t say much about Mal at this point in time because he’s only there for about a quarter of the book. I think he’s very sweet, and I love his devotion to Alina, but I don’t really know much about him as a person. However, I do have my suspicions about his unnaturally good tracking...

Finally, Genya is the best character in terms of writing. She’s interesting, and I have no problems sympathizing with her. Her treatment at the Little Palace actually infuriated me, her power and status are unusual and intriguing, and totally get why she took the side she did. I only hope that in the later books she’ll change her mind. I get the feeling she will, based on her explanation to Alina, so I look forward to how that will come about.

Writing Style 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

There aren’t a whole lot of distinct qualities in the writing style. In comparison to Six of Crows, I would say it feels a bit more inexperienced, which makes sense. I do wish that there had been some POV changes at certain points, but that may just be because I love reading from multiple perspectives. I did really like the beginning and ending chapters where it’s told from third person with no names used. I haven’t quite figured out if it means something or if it’s just a stylistic choice.

Overall 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

Shadow and Bone is a wonderfully average YA book. The plot is absolutely predictable, but the characters are well-written and very interesting. Alina, despite seeming like the usual blank slate YA protagonist, has a unique sort of character development, and I found her much more compelling than I expected. I am happily reading the next book now; it caught my attention enough for me to continue. Keep in mind, you must read all three books for this one as there are no pretty wrap-ups at the end of the books. I would recommend this book to people who like fantasy, chosen one stories, and mildly technologically advanced settings.

The Author

Leigh Bardugo: 45, American, also wrote Six of Crows, King of Scars, and Ninth House

The Reviewer

My name is Wonderose; I try to post a review every two weeks, and I take recommendations. Check out my about me post for more!

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

The Trials of Emi

Pairing: A little Minho. A sprinkle of Frypan. Gally x Emi(OC)

Summary: Emi, her twin brother Thomas, and a small group of gladers had been rescued and taken to a safe haven. Or so it seemed. It doesn't take long for Thomas to realize something is wrong. What happens next is a true trial for all of them but Emi's trials began the moment she was ripped away from a dying Gally. Watching someone you love die right before your eyes truly takes a toll.

Finally meeting the right arm could have been the end but betrayal leads to even more chaos and loss. A new mission to rescue those taken from them leads them to a city. The last city. After Emi finally comes to terms with everything that's happened something unfolds that changes everything again. She will have to not only deal with helping her brother take down WCKD and save their friend but also deal with all the new problems in her head and her heart.

Rating: As of right now it’s at most PG13. Some strong language that’s about it but it could change.

(This is the 2nd part/book to my other story "The Maze trials: A Gally Fanfiction". This will cover the events of the scorch trails and the death cure.)

Chapter Thirteen

Newt and I worked together to torch the door to the compartment open. Thomas was the first to push threw the door. Newt and I were quick to follow behind him. Harriet was close behind me.

"Aris" Thomas whispered then moved to a seat near the front.

"Hey, you guys okay?" Thomas questioned.

I stepped up behind Newt so I could see both Aris and Sonya sitting there chained to their seats.

"We're fine" Sonya nodded.

Thomas slowly continued towards that back. We all looked around at each of the faces hoping to find one in particular.

"It's okay, you guys are safe. Just hang on some more." Thomas said softly as he walked towards the back of the compartment.

"We need the bolt cutters." I heard Harriet say behind me.

Thomas stopped when he reached the back wall then slowly turned to face me and Newt.

"He's not here," Thomas said in disbelief.

"Shit" I whispered.

Newt and Thomas made their way out of the compartment while I stayed inside to help Harriet cut open all the chains. Once the kids were all free Harriet and two others led them outside to meet with Vince. I caught up with Thomas.

"What now?" I asked him quietly as we both watched the kids pass us by.

"I have no idea." He sighed.

"We'll figure something out," I whispered.

"Come on in you guys!" I heard Vince shout from around the corner.

Thomas and I stepped to the corner of the building so we could watch Vince speak to the new arrivals.

"Alright guys, listen up. I know you've all been threw hell. I wish I could say our troubles are over. We're not threw this yet. WCKD is still out there. They're not giving up. You got something they want. They took you because you're immune to a plague that's wiping out the human race. They think you're worth sacrificing to find a cure. Well, I don't." Vince spoke like the true leader he was.

The kids in front of him cheered and applauded.

"So in two days when we get this tub of rust seaworthy, we're gonna go to a place where WCKD will never find you. A place you can start over. A place you can call home." Vince continued.

Thomas turned away to head back up the path. I took one last look at Vince then quickly followed behind my brother. We walked between two of the old buildings. Thomas slowed for a moment as he caught sight of Brenda and Jorge then continued on. We walked into a room where Newt, Harriet, Aris, And Sonya were sitting. Sonya was attempting to clean the dry blood from Aris' face.

"Here drink this" Harriet said handing two cups to Sonya and Aris.

Thomas and I joined Newt to sit across from the two we'd just rescued. Fry was standing behind me. Aris took a slow sip of his drink then turned to look at Thomas.

"Took you guys long enough to rescue us," Aris said with a smile.

"It's good to see you too bud." Thomas chuckled.

"So what happened?" Thomas asked gesturing to Aris' face.

"I fought back. Tried to anyway." Aris shrugged.

"You're lucky you found us at all. They had us on the move a lot. I feel like something big was happening." Sonya said.

"Any idea where they were heading?" Newt asked them.

"All I know is they kept talking about a city," Aris said.

"I didn't think there were any cities left," Harriet said glancing at me.

"That's because there aren't. Not still standing anyway." Brenda said from behind us.

I hadn't even realized she followed us in here.

"Okay, wait, what about Minho? Why wasn't he on the train?" Thomas asked Aris.

Aris and Sonya shared a look of sadness and fear before turning back to us.

"I'm sorry Thomas. He was." Aris said slowly.

Thomas was immediately in a hurried frenzy as he dug threw some of the boxes of our supplies. He had gathered a small group of us in one of the makeshift storerooms. I stood between Newt and Fry as we watched Thomas searching for something. Vince, Jorge, and Brenda stood on the other side of the table watching Thomas as well. A few minutes passed when Thomas finally pulled something out of a box. He turned around slamming it down on the table. We all stepped closer to see an old discolored map. One area on it was circled. Thomas pointed to the circle.

"There that's it," Thomas said.

He smoothed out the map so we could all see it better.

"It's a few hundred miles. Based on the railways and everything that Aris told us that's gotta be where they're heading. That's where they're taking Minho. We take everyone that can fight. Follow the roads where we can. We can make it back in around a week." Thomas explained.

"A week? It took us six months to get here. We've got over a hundred kids here now. We can't just hang out here forever. After what we just pulled? You wanna wander off to some random point on the map? You don't even know what's there." Vince said sternly.

"I do," Jorge spoke up.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him.

"It's been a few years but I've been there. The last city. That's what WCKD called it." Jorge continued as he walked closer to the table.

"It was their home base of operations. If that city is still standing that's the last place you wanna go Hermano. That's the lion's den." Jorge said pointing at the map.

"It's nothing we haven't done before," Thomas said simply.

"Yea, with months of planning, reliable information, and the element of surprise. None of which we have now." Vince informed Thomas.

"Vince, I've thought this threw can you just hear me out?" Thomas asked quickly.

Vince raised his voice finally losing his cool with Thomas.

"Hey! The last time we went off half-cocked I lost everything! You remember that?" Vince shouted in Thomas' face.

Vince sighed then took a deep breath before continuing.

"Look, I know it's Minho. Alright? But you can't ask me to put those kids on the line for one man. I won't do it." Vince said in a calmer voice but he was still stern.

Vince and Thomas stared at each other. I glanced back at Fry who had been silently standing behind me. He gave me a knowing look. I had a feeling he knew what Thomas was going to do just like I did. The radio sitting against the wall started to crackle as distorted voices tried to speak threw it. The words were chopped here and there but we all knew what it meant.

"Shit. Get the lights." Thomas said quickly.

Every one of us scrambled to get where we needed to be. Jorge was quick to pull the lever and cut the power. Fry and I ran to the other side of the building to check everything had went out. Our whole base was now dark as the sound of aircrafts could be heard in the distance.

"They can't be that close," I whispered as Fry and I listened to the distant sounds.

I walked away from him to go outside where I found Thomas standing alone. I went over to him then turned to look in the direction he was. The aircrafts were searching the mountains in the distance. They really were getting close to us.

"You alright?" I asked Thomas.

"Fine," he said simply then walked away from me.

I knew immediately that he wasn't fine. I knew he was going to try to run off to that city even if he had to do it alone but he wasn't going to go alone. I wouldn't let that happen. I ran back inside to find Newt and Fry. They were both trying to gather things up in the dark.

"Boys, you know what we gotta do right?" I asked them.

Both boys stopped to look at me. They both held up a bag as they smiled.

"Already on it love," Newt said.

After we packed everything we needed into the bags the three of us silently went off to where the jeeps were parked.

"You two go ahead and get in. I'll wait for Tommy." Newt said as he went to lean against a table.

Fry and I climbed into the jeep. Fry took the driver seat while I climbed into the passenger seat. We sat in darkness waiting for my brother to try to sneak off by himself.

“You really up for this?” Fry asked me quietly.

“Of course I am. He’s my brother. I’m not gonna let him do anything this stupid by himself.” I chuckled softly.

“Not gonna lie I’m a little terrified but you’re right. I can’t let him, you, or Newt do this without me.” He said softly.

He grabbed the wheel then tightened his hands around it until his knuckles were white. I reached over then pulled one of his hands off the wheel. He looked at me as I wrapped both my hands around his. He gave me a small smile then seemed to relax in his seat. It wasn't long until we heard the footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Where do you think you're going then?" Newt asked through the darkness.

Thomas stopped in his tracks. Newt turned on the lamp that was on the table next to him.

"Newt" Thomas said quietly.

"Don't be a twat about it. I'm already in. Come on." Newt said as he took the bag from Thomas.

Newt walked over to the jeep then opened the back door to toss in the bags.

"No, no, not this time. Look, even if we find Minho there's no guarantee we'll make it back from this." Thomas told Newt.

Newt chuckled softly as he leaned against the jeep.

"Right, then you need all the help you can get," Newt said.

He turned then pulled open the front driver door. Fry leaned forward against the steering wheel as I leaned over his back so Thomas could see me. Thomas smiled but scoffed.

"Well, we started this together. May as well end it that way too." Newt told him.

"Okay, let's go get him back," Thomas said with a small smile.

I jumped into the back seat with Newt as Thomas took my spot. Fry pulled out slowly trying to make as little noise as he could.

—

[fallenfurther]

A drop into silence - Part 2

I’m lucky I had an idea on how I could fix Scott’s arm because apparently I can’t leave him pierced, broken and attached to a walkway with the possibility of losing his and and never flying again over his head. I’m also hoping this sticks to my current plan as I don’t need another multi-chapter WIP on my conscious. (I still have two others from @gumnut-logic‘s previous challenge to finish)  Part 1. Enjoy 

**********

Virgil clambered along the path following the point on his pad. The little robot beeped behind him as it towed the hoverstretcher. He'd had to wait for John to confirm the risk of another explosion was minimal. Scott had managed to cut off major areas of the site, so the debris was limited to building vicinity. His brother had saved countless lives by putting his own in harm’s way. John hadn't sounded too concerned about Scott, though the lack of any verbal response was worrying. It made Virgil more determined to get to his brother fast. The twisted metal of the building wasn't helping though. Virgil carefully cut through it. He was above the tank Scott was in. Shining his high beam through the gap, he quickly spotted the blue of his brother’s uniform. Virgil's heart stilled. Scott rarely sat still, let alone lie down to wait. Various medical conditions started flying through his head as he tried to assess the situation. He sidestepped, trying to get a better view. The gangway was torn and bent but it still looked sturdy. There was a larger hole of twisted metal behind him and Virgil cut some of the sharp edges away, leaving behind a crude ladder-like shape. Carefully he climbed onto the gangway, pushing his foot against it first to test its strength. The metal groaned as it took his weight. With gentle steps Virgil headed closer to the form of his brother. A glance reassured Virgil only for that reassurance to be shattered when Scott's left arm came into view.

"V-Virgil?

Scott's voice was a gasp and Virgil could hear the pain he was fighting. The fact that the stubborn man was conscious with such an injury was impressive. The rest of Scott's body appeared unharmed. He'd come remarkably close to being crushed, and Virgil noted that it was still a risk, but the reason Scott couldn't move was his arm. Virgil crouched as best he could next to his brother.

"I'm going to give you some pain relief."

A nod was all Virgil got in response. The laser cutter made light work of the material covering Scott's right arm, and his own nimble fingers had a cannula inserted safely into his brother's arm. Virgil had the strongest painkiller in his hand and carefully measured out the right dose for his brother. It helped that he had only done Scott's last physical examination last week. Gently pushing the drugs into Scott's system, it didn't take long for Scott to sag and release a sigh as it took effect. How much pain Scott had been tolerating, Virgil would never know.

With the painkillers getting to work, Virgil moved closer to Scott's left arm. The sad look in Scott's eyes gave away how he felt. Virgil could give no comfort or reassurances, knowing for Scott it was worse to lie. The arm had been impaled at multiple points, some spikes protruding all the way through, others going in an unknown depth. At least one closed fracture which Virgil needed to stabilise. He was going to have to be inventive.

"I'm going to cut you off the metal, then try get this as straight as possible. It might still hurt something awful."

"Just do what has to be done."

The grim response came with an air of resignation. Scott understood there might be a need to tourniquet the arm which would almost definitely lead to amputation. Virgil slipped the small cutting laser from his baldric and started cutting the metal prongs. They cut with ease, though supporting the arm was difficult from his current position. Once freed from the metal, Virgil held the arm to Scott's side, hoping his suit could withstand any sharp edges.

"I'm going to roll you in Three...Two...One."

With a swift sure movement and Scott was on his back. There was a small risk of spinal injury, so a spinal board was slipped under Scott and a brace secured around his neck. The lack of protest from the older man was unsettling. A cooperative Scott didn't bode well. Now on the board, Virgil slid Scott along the gangway to where it was more stable, and he could have easy access to Scott's arm. The sooner it was stabilised the better. There was no way a traditional splint was going to fit, but tight bindings would help stem the bleeding and help the arm stiff and reduce further damage.

"Scott, I'm going to manipulate your arm. This will hurt."

The blank expression and numb look in Scott's eyes as he nodded sent a chill down Virgil's spine. Turning his head to the task in hand, he took a deep breath and wrapped his gloves fingers around the arm. Another steady breath and Virgil manipulated the limb until the bones were as close to their original alignment as he could make them. Scott gasped but that was his only response. The pain medication was working. Some of the wounds were bleeding more readily now, and Virgil worked quickly to wrap bandages around them, stemming the bleeding and securing the metal for the journey. Placed the arm by Scott's side and strategically placed the strap to stop the arm from moving in transit. Virgil beckoned to Mini-MAX as he stepped back, allowing the robot to move the hoverstretcher to beside Scott's spinal board. With MAX at the other end, Scott was quickly moved and secured to the stretcher. Mini-MAX quickly grabbed it and started pulling it from the tank back the way they had come. Virgil was quick to follow, clambering up his rudimentary staircase, not wanting to lose sight of his older brother.

"Gordon, prepare Thunderbird Two for immediate launch. Radio the nearest trauma centre, Scott needs specialist attention."

"FAB."

The response was short and formal and to untrained ears would have sounded quite normal. But Virgil knew Gordon. He'd heard the short pause, heard the snap of his brothers back straightening as he slipped into his serious mode. Gordon's military training meant he was could put his emotions to one side and do what needed to be done under pressure. Soon the green Thunderbird was in view and Scott was secured in the pod in record time. As Virgil ran the medical scanner over Scott, knowing Grandma would be studying them on Tracy Island, he heard the familiar click of the pod reconnecting with the main body, followed by the rumble of igniting VTOL engines. Virgil took a seat and held Scott's undamaged hand. His brother strained his eyes to meet Virgil's gaze.

"It's bad, Virgil."

Scott's voice was sure and fatalist in a way that Virgil didn't think was possible for his brother. Scott never gave up. The sinking feeling in his stomach made him squeeze the hand he held. Virgil couldn't promise his brother anything. He wasn't even certain they could save the arm.  

"We'll get through this, Scott."

Scott eyes returned to continue staring at the ceiling, leaving Virgil to sit in silence for the whole journey to the hospital, though his eyes constantly checked the bandages. The thud of Thunderbird Two landing was a welcome sound and set Virgil into a flurry of activity. Virgil was standing at the pod hatch, stretcher at his side, ready to rush his brother into the Accident and Emergency department the second the metal touched the ground. The sight of medical staff waiting was a relief. They ran beside him and Virgil handed over his brother to their care, listing off every injury he knew about, the drugs in his system and when they were given. Virgil was held to the side by a nurse and watched as Scott was transferred to a hospital bed. The hoverstretcher was returned to him. His brother's blood spotted one side.

"Come this way, I'll show you to the room where you can wait in peace. We'll keep you updated, but your brother is in expert hands."

Virgil let her lead him, dragging the stretcher. She opened the door and he thanked her. She left but Virgil didn't step inside. Instead he returned to Thunderbird Two and cleaned the stretcher as a worried Gordon and Alan appeared. When he was finished, he walked towards them and wrapped an arm around each.

"Let's go sit inside and wait."

The pod closed behind him, Thunderbird Two safe where she was. Virgil led them to the room, and they sat their together, Alan leaning into Virgil. A nurse came in to inform them they were taking Scott to theatre to try to remove the spines and set the bones. They would try to save the arm, but there was a chance it could still die after surgery. That started their wait. John, Grandma and Kayo joined them promptly, bringing coffee. Grandma shoved them out the room after that to go get showered and changed in Thunderbird Two. Apparently, they couldn't stay in their sweaty, dirty uniforms. Returning via the canteen with cheese and ham sandwiches for all, the silent wait continued. Another hour passed before a doctor entered the room.

"The surgery went well, but there is significant damage to the arm. It's highly likely he will lose the hand and forearm or have no feeling in it. He's lost a considerable amount of blood but is doing well. He's unconscious in recovery, though we have to restrict it to one visitor until he's got his own room."

Everyone glanced around the room. Only one of them could go to Scott. They all wanted to see him, all wanted to be reassured that he would pull through. Grandma stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You go, Virgil."

No complaints came.

"Thank you."

Virgil followed the doctor, scrubbing his hands when asked, into the recovery area. There were multiple people lying in beds attached to beeping monitors, but Virgil's eye found Scott easily. He went straight to the bed, noting the blood transfusion still underway, the pale tone of his skin and his closed eyes.

"The anaesthetic still hasn't worn off yet."

Virgil nodded and sat in the chair next to his brother’s bed. There was a plastic cast strapped around his arm instead of plaster. They mustn’t want to cover us the various wounds just yet. There was only a fraction of the arm that wasn't covered in bandages. It was only the ends of Scott’s fingers that were uncovered. Virgil gently brushed his own fingers along them. They were warm and flushed, which meant there was blood flow, but what the doctor had said about nerve damage resonated inside Virgil. Was that why Scott was so resigned? Is that what he had suspected? Would those fingers ever move again? The what ifs fell over Virgil, weighing down his heart. Was Scott strong enough to survive this?

Part 3

[violetsmoak]

Philtatos [13/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #fatal flaw #secrets #riddle #fate #revenge #oracle #betrayal #prophecy #jealousy

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Tim feels a little bad about using Jason’s skin hunger against him but only for a moment. Any concern about that vanishes when he peeks back at Jason as they walk, and observes the color returning to the other man’s cheeks. The hand clasped in his own stops shaking the longer they touch.

Tim has never been one to enjoy holding hands—often he’s felt uncomfortable or self-conscious, worrying about sweaty fingers or whether the other person might consider it lame—but this doesn’t feel like that.

This feels right.

It’s actually concerning how right it feels, especially in light of his recent discussion with Steph.

Stop it. This isn’t about you. It’s about putting Jason at ease.

They return to the containment unit to find Barbara facing down Eros—an impressive feat considering she’s in a wheelchair and he’s the one looking down on her. Her face is drawn in irritation, and he’s gratified to see that Eros seems put-out about something.

“Took you long enough. Cherry here says she’s got a bonafide prophecy from the Oracle of Delphi and wouldn’t share it until you got back.” He eyes their entwined hands and leers. “I take it the domestics are going well?”

“Get bent,” Tim snaps in irritation as Jason tugs his hand back so fast he might as well have been burned.

“Only if you do the honors, pretty boy.”

Jason growls and makes a move for his gun, but Tim reaches out to stop him.

“Can you not tease him?” he demands of Eros. “Especially when the only reason he’s like this is because of you.”

“Oh, if only you knew…”

Before Tim can comment on that, Jason interrupts.

“What’s the feathered freak talkin’ about?” he snaps, radiating tension. “What prophecy?”

“The one Signal was able to recover from the girl that was killed,” Barbara says coolly. “He transcribed it and sent it along. Do you want to hear it, or do you want to keep acting like a child?”

This she directs at Eros, who actually does look chastised a beat, before gracing her with a cool smile.

“I guess it is apropos if you do the honors, darlin’,” Eros says with a cool smile. “Is it ironic or coincidental if someone who stole the title of oracle interprets a prophecy from the actual Oracle of Delphi?”

“Who cares? This whole situation is making me hate both irony and coincidence,” Tim says.

“It’s making me wonder if there are any coincidences,” Jason mutters, eyes fixed on Eros in intense dislike.

Barbara offers him an identical look, before thumbing the screen of her phone and opening her incoming messages.

Then she begins to read:

“The Unseen darkness cannot keep its captive thrice for mortal masks the divine that seeks its reward in the city where dark nights conceal the greatest of secrets.

“Crossed beneath the stars when the Rager’s Moon is full, eternal freedom is neigh upon the eleventh moment of the small hour.The sacrifice of the virgin gifts triumph to the prisoner and that which drowned in Lethe’s tears is reborn.

“But take heed, for the winged scion of Cythera, willingly blinded by the veil of vengeance revealed by Discord’s most cursed boon, awakens the warrior guided by the Physicians heir.

“Fury dooms the fair, heralding the return of magnificent Alexandros and one whose name is painted in blood and stone.

“Greatest of loves, damned by the gleam of a golden barb, torn asunder by jealousy and parted by cruel death, they will stand against Strife.

“Titans will rise and one who Death names hero, betrayed yet shielded by love, will sunder the chains of Aidoneus and avenge the victim of grievance. One will be born anew, the other bound eternally to Stygian Darkness.”

There is silence as she puts the phone down, eyebrows drawn together in thought.  

“What?” Tim says.

“I see your ‘what’ and raise you a ‘the fuck’,” Jason adds. “Does any of that make sense to anyone else? Because it don't make sense to me.”

“Blame my uncle,” Eros says, apparently annoyed.

“What? Why?” Tim wants to know. “Which one’s he?”

“Apollo,” Barbara says, still considering the puzzling words on the screen. “Aside from being a sun god, he was also the god of prophecy.”

“Talking in riddles is his favorite pastime,” Eros agrees. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

“I’ll bet,” Tim agrees. “We’ve got someone like that here in Gotham.”

“Yeah, and he’s a frequent guest of Arkham, so what’s that tell you?” Jason grumbles.

“That people who come up with riddles have too much time on their hands.”

“There’s a reason the Oracles of Delphi didn’t put their predictions into simple words,” Barbara points out. ”If you give people information about what’s coming, how do you know you’re not ensuring it will or won’t come to pass? It was important for them to be seen as the medium of the message and not an agent.

“By keeping information vague, it would seem like they were allowing a querant the chance to defy fate, while at the same time allowing fate to take its natural course, whatever that might be,” Eros agrees. “Ans it was good insurance. Even Oracles needed to cover their asses. You were less likely to get your head lopped off by a visiting king that received news he didn’t want to hear. And whatever the outcome, they could still say, ‘we told you so’.” He considers Barbara. “You know, I don’t usually find brainy sexy, but you might just turn me.”

“I’m thrilled,” she deadpans.

“So what’s all this supposed to mean, anyway?” Tim asks, trying to bring the discussion back to the matter at hand.

“It could mean anything. Though to start with, that bit about ‘unseen darkness’, that’s an epithet for the Underworld in old Hellenic documents.”

“We called it that in the old days,” Eros confirms.

“And then there’s the part about someone captive in Hades.”

“I thought Hades was a person?” Tim says.

“It is. But it’s also a place.” Jason tells him.

“It depends on what story and what source you’re drawing from,” Barbara elaborates. “And what translation.”

“What about the next bit? About mortal maskin' the divine?”

“Could that mean whoever’s possessing Carrie Cutter?” Tim suggests. “We’ve already established she’s got help from a god, and if they’re inhabiting her body even for short amounts of time, it’s a pretty effective mask.”

“No doubt,” Eros agrees. “Not so sure about that part with dark nights, but I guess it’s referring to this cesspool you people call a city.”

Tim, Jason and Barbara exchange glances, knowing exactly how dark nights and secrets relate to their city.

Maybe Duke misheard. It might not be dark ‘nights’ so much as dark ‘knights’. Which makes sense, considering Bruce and Dick both have that title depending on the day.

“Safe to say it’s Gotham,” Tim confirms. “So all that begs the question, do you have any idea who’s locked in the Underworld trying to get out?”

Eros snorts. “The better question is who isn’t locked in the Underworld.”

Jason is glaring furiously at Eros, clearly growing tired of his evasive and snarky answers. The way his fists clench, Tim suspects he’s close to throwing a punch at the glass in frustration. Not something Tim wants to see, especially given Jason’s injuries from their altercation with Carrie Cutter and Dick haven’t even been seen to yet.

God, it feels like it was days ago but it was only hours. He probably came right here to confront Eros without even looking after himself.

He has to put that out of his mind for now. Deciphering any clues in the prophecy takes momentary precedence.

“…. A lot of myths end with someone displeasing a god and getting sent to Tartarus, so he has a point,” Barbara is saying, her thumbs busily texting something on her phone.

“So that’s not going to tell us anything,” Tim decides. “What about the ‘crossed beneath the stars’ part?”

“More of the same in terms of pinpointing when everything is supposed to happen,” Eros says.

“Which is when?”

“November twenty-third,” Barbara says, frowning at the small screen in her hand.

Jason looks askance. “How d’you know?”

“'Moon’ equates to month, and another name for Zeus was the Rager,” she replies. “So, Zeus’s month. According to the Athenian calendars we still have access to, Zeus’s month was Maimakterion—which in modern times would fall somewhere between November and December. And the next full moon—” She holds up her phone, showing a lunar calendar for the month, “—falls on November twenty-third. It’s the only full moon that falls during Maimakterion.”

Eros nods along in approval. “What she said.”

“And the small hour?”

“Midnight.”

“So, whatever’s supposed to happen is going to happen eleven minutes after midnight…assuming that’s what moment means,” Tim muses, glancing at his own phone calendar. “That’s this Friday.”

“Five days from now,” Jason agrees, and side-eyes Tim. “We’ve all had shorter deadlines.”

“That’s not necessarily referring to your deadline, sweet cheeks,” Eros reminds him. “I figure you have about half that.”

“No thanks to you.”

“You know, the last Jason I knew wasn’t this whiny.”

“Children,” Barbara says sharply. “Let’s stay focused, shall we? I’m concerned about this virgin sacrifice part—specifically the part where it ensures success for someone we probably don’t want to succeed.”

“Cutter did kill that girl,” Tim reminds them. “Maybe it was some kind of offering, so she’d be successful at whatever she’s trying to do.”

“It’s a good an explanation as anything else,” Eros agrees, examining his nails. “We always did love our human sacrifices. And a virgin does increase the likelihood of something working out to your advantage.”

“You’re a piece of shit,” Jason growls. “That’s a kid you’re talking about!”

“And as an Oracle of Delphi she’s entitled to an eternity of bliss once she enters the Underworld,” Eros dismisses. “It’s a better end than some people are entitled to.”

Jason’s eyes blaze as if that’s a personal insult. Tim can certainly empathize.

“What about the second part?” he prompts. “What’s Lethe?”

“The Lethe was the river the souls drank from to forget their previous lives before being reincarnated,” Barbara explains.

 “The Ancient Greeks believed in reincarnation? But I thought that was something from the Far East?”

“Many ancient cultures had a concept of reincarnation beyond the Hindu and Buddhist mythos,” Barbara explains. “Just look at the belief systems of the indigenous peoples of North America and you’ll see countless examples. And they didn’t have any contact with the civilizations of Asia during the time when those faiths were evolving.”

Beside Tim, Jason is as stiff as a board and appears to be having trouble breathing. Automatically, Tim edges closer to him, and though he doesn’t outright take his hand—he leans into him, nudging him with his shoulder.

Jason’s eyes dart to him for a moment, and he relaxes incrementally.

“How does that relate here though?” Barbara wants to know.

“Maybe the prisoner forgot something,” Eros suggests, not sounding very interested.

“Or maybe whoever’s tryin' to escape Hades as made to forget something,” Jason counters darkly.

“Only mortals can be made to forget by drinking from the Lethe,” Barbara says. “The prisoner could have been human. Salmoneus or Tantalus or one of the Dainads.”

Tim doesn’t even get a chance to question who they are before Eros interrupts. “Actually, it’s a little broader than just mortals. More like mortals, demigods that haven’t consumed ambrosia, giants, hybrids—”

“So again, we’re back to a broad spectrum of people it could be talkin' about,” Jason complains. “Great. Is there anyone or anything in this stupid prophecy that isn’t doublespeak?”

“Well, the next verse is pretty self-explanatory. Obviously, we’re talking about yours truly,” Eros says, pointing at himself. “What other 'winged son' do you know from mythology?”

“A case could be made for Pegasus.”

“No, it’s Eros,” Tim says. “Cythera’s another name for Aphrodite.” Everyone looks at him in surprise.

“How do you know that?” Jason asks, but where the emphasis ought to suggest incredulity, he sounds impressed.

Tim tries not to bask in that.

“My parents used to visit the island of Cythera a lot when they weren’t on business trips, especially before I was born. It was their favorite vacation destination. Full of history, not touristy—they didn’t like having to socialize with people when they were on vacation.”

Tim falls silent then, remembering sitting in his living room with his parents, pouring over their vacation photos of the Mediterranean island while they told stories. They’d always promised to take him one day…

He glances up and notices the others are watching him now—Eros with a sharp, calculating gaze while Jason appears concerned. As for Barbara, she seems to sense his discomfort, because she navigates them past the lull. “Okay, so if it’s Eros, what are you wanting revenge for? It’s not exactly your M-O.”

“I can think of a few people who have it coming,” Eros answers. “Starting with my mother.”

“What’d she do?” Tim asks.

“Do you have a few centuries worth of couch time?”

“Isn’t she the reason your wife died?” Barbara wants to know. “In the myth, she survived, but Tim told me that's not what happened in reality.”

Eros expression goes cold.

“That’s right,” Tim remembers; he and Eros had this conversation a few days ago, didn’t they? “Aphrodite is the one who sent Psyche to the underworld.”

Eros bares his teeth. “One of her many sins, but not the only one.”

“Then couldn’t the prophecy maybe be referring to her? Psyche, I mean? Maybe she’s the prisoner.”

“Are you implying my wife is the one behind your Cupid’s actions?” Eros growls. “Because that’s impossible.”

“How would you know? It could be—”

“Because she died a mortal! Her soul is mortal and wouldn’t have the power to escape the Underworld in any capacity! Furthermore, Psyche would never kill or arrange the death of anyone! She was good and pure of soul and that’s why I fell in love with her.”

“That’s not what I read,” Barbra says. “Didn’t you prick yourself on one of your golden arrows while watching her?”

“I pricked myself because I fell in love with her,” he snaps. “I’ve already told Jason here that the arrows only work to magnify emotions that are already there.”

“That makes no sense. You liked her before you made yourself fall in love with her?”

“Look, you know the story: Psyche was beautiful. So much so, that the idiots in her kingdom started treating her like a living goddess, bringing the gifts meant for my mother to this human princess. You can guess how well that went over.”

“Right. She sent you to make her fall in love with a horrible beast.”

“Yeah, one of Diomedes mares. Gorgeous animals—people would stop and stare at them for hours. Also, vicious, flesh-eating beasts. Just getting to close to one of those and it would have ripped her to shreds—and she would have stood there and let it.” Eros’ expression becomes soft, eyes faraway at the memory. “If she had been some arrogant, selfish royal I would have let it happen. But I watched her for days while I tried to put her in the path of that thing. And everything she did was just good and kind. I had never seen as pure a soul like hers.” He shakes his head. “The idea of a girl like that being sent to her death just because a bunch of idiot humans had the audacity to praise her alongside my mother didn’t seem fair.”

“And you’re all about fair, aren’t you?” Jason sneers.

Tim has to agree; if Eros cared about fair, he would have been a lot more helpful about curing Jason and wouldn’t have demanded they find his diviners beforehand.

“I was young and stupid, and I didn’t realize the world didn’t work that way,” Eros dismisses. “Even for gods. I thought my mother would never want to harm me—and so if I put Psyche under my protection, she couldn’t hurt her. And if I could show my mother what a good wife Psyche was, even if she was unable to see me, it would prove the point.” He snorts. “It didn’t exactly go my way.”

“And there’s no way her soul could have somehow been corrupted when she died?”

“The Underworld is stagnant. There’s no such thing as change or time there. Everything occurs both in one moment and in all moments there.”

“So you’re saying a soul going in would remain in the same state as it was when it died,” Barbara posits.

“Exactly. How else do you expect the judges to judge souls if they kept changing after death? It’d be a headache.

“Then if it’s not Psyche, who else can you think of that it might be?”

“It might be more than one person,” Tim suggests. “That line about 'greatest of loves'—what if that’s why Carrie’s been targeting couples? She hears the prophecy—or whoever’s riding along inside her hears the prophecy—and thinks there’s a couple out there that’s going to stand against her. She could be trying to eliminate potential threats to her end goal.”

“If so, we need to decipher her criteria for choosing her victims. You already said it didn’t seem like they had anything in common.”

“We’ll have to check again. Maybe now that we’ve got this prophecy, something new will jump out.”

“We skipped a whole verse,” Jason points out. “The ‘warrior guided by the physician’s heir’. Any ideas?”

Eros shrugs. “Since the rest of the prophecy involves me, I’d say it’s me.”

“How do you figure?”

“The Physician is another name for Apollo.”

“So?”

“So, who do you think taught me archery? Next to him, I’m the greatest archer among the Olympians.”

“Or it could be Jason,” Tim ponders.

Jason seems to go pale, almost panicked. “What?”

“I mean, assuming you’re interpreting ‘awaken’ by activating the way you do with a sleeper agent. You infected him with your blood however accidentally and then pressed him into doing your dirty work.”

“I resent your tone, boy,” Eros grumbles, but Jason interjects, “And the other bit?”

“The other bit is just really literal,” Barbara catches on. “Jason, you were trained by Batman. Who was the heir to an actual physician. The M.D. kind.”

Thomas Wayne.

Jason looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information. “Shit.”

Eros watches Jason, inscrutable eyes considering; Jason glares back at him as if waiting for him to make a comment.

“But if it’s Jason, the next bit wouldn’t make sense,” Barbara says after a moment. “‘Magnificent Alexandros’. The only Alexandros I can think of off the top of my head if Alexander of Macedon. But that doesn’t really track with the rest of the verse. He was a historical figure, not mythological.”

“That’s offensive, you know,” Eros drawls. “All those stories you call mythology actually happened.”

“Then why don’t we have an archaeological record for them?”

“Because screw you, that’s why.”

“If it is talking about Alexander the Great, Robin will be happy,” Tim says with a rueful smirk.

Jason is perplexed. “Why?”

“Apparently he was on the list of the kid’s League-approved childhood heroes. Mother-son bonding time seems to have included traveling in his footsteps as preparation for world domination.”

Jason looks surprised and amused. “Really?”

“Is it that surprising?”

“No, it’s just…” Jason shakes his head. “Never mind.” He clears his throat. “So, back to the prophecy. It talks about the Titans—are we talkin' the creatures the Olympian gods overthrew?”

“Well, whenever one of us mention the Titans, it is usually those bottom feeders rotting in Tartarus, yes,” Eros says dryly, inscrutable focussed on Jason. “Them going free is never a good thing. Don’t believe me, read the Titanomachy. Hesiod got it pretty close to right.”

“Could be the goal, could be the result,” Tim suggests.

“Which brings us back to possibly being on the lookout for more than one prisoner escaping Hades,” Barbara says.

“And all of that leads us to the typical ‘one shall live and one shall die’ device,” Eros concludes.

“Only we don’t know who either of those is.”

“I can tell you now if it’s a prophecy involving me, I have no intention of dying."

“If it’s even about you. It’s not really an exact science, interpreting this sort of thing,” Barbara warns. “Even an Olympian like you can misunderstand—there’s evidence of that in the myths. In fact, I’m sure we’re missing more than is good for us. It will take some time to decipher it and we need more information.”

“At least we have something,” Tim maintains. “The exact date when it’s going to happen and where. We can begin preparing for that.”

“It’s a whole hell of a lot to think about,” Jason agrees.

“Which you can do back at the Cave. We only came here to see if Eros could shed some light on the prophecy or see the arrows.”

“What arrows?”

“Wonder Girl told us that to reverse what’s been done to Nightwing is to remove the arrow that Carrie stabbed him with.”

“Uh, there is no arrow,” Jason says. “Cupid took it with her, remember?”

“I guess that answers that question,” Barbara sighs. “You can’t see them.”

“Of course he can’t,” Eros says. “I’m the only one that can see the wounds caused by my arrows. Even this pseudo-Cupid wouldn’t be able to see them.”

“After she stabbed Jason she seemed to be looking for something, so I’m not sure about that,” Tim argues.

“She can’t see them. Though it may be possible her divine passenger might. I don't know. Never had another god take my diviners before."

“Speaking of being stabbed,” Tim goes on, nodding at the bruises coming out on his face. There are likely more hidden by the leather jacket and gear. “You should get those looked at.”

“I didn’t physically get stabbed, you know. Magic wounds don’t need to be looked at.”

“You went toe-to-toe with an enhanced fighter and Batman. You could have internal bleeding for all we know.”

“If you think a little tussle with that dick is going to do lastin' damage—”

Tim cuts off his indignation. “I don’t, but you haven’t been eating or sleeping properly, and your system is already compromised, so how do you know what damage was or wasn’t done? You didn’t stay to get treated at the Cave.”

Their eyes meet, remembering exactly why that is, and Tim’s cheeks darken. Jason is the first to look away, though.

“It’s nothin'. I can patch myself up whenever.”

“I can help—”

“I’m good.”

“Jason—”

“I’m an adult and I’ve been treatin' myself without help for years now,” Jason interrupts tensely. When Tim can’t stop himself from flinching, Jason’s eyes flash with dismay. “I mean…” He flounders like he’s trying to take it back, and instead changes the subject. “Didn’t you say somethin' about a list? Maybe get started on that and I’ll do an injury check myself.”

It’s a clear cop-out, and if they were alone, Tim would be calling him on it.

“I’ll ask for help if I need any,” he adds, awkwardly, like it’s been a long time since anyone actually cared about his injuries being treated. 

Barbara glances between the two of them, obviously sensing the undertone, but not commenting on it. Instead, she says, “I don’t mind helping Jason. Besides, Red Robin needs to contact the Family and let them know what we know.”

“And I need food,” Eros says. “I haven’t eaten since before you went on your little reconnaissance mission. Can’t you see? I’m wasting away.”

 “If only,” Jason mutters.

Tim is torn, wanting to argue that he can help Jason, but at the same time trying to respect the other man’s obvious need for distance.

At last, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, feeling a little defeated. “Let’s take a break. I’ll make a food run…you get yourself fixed up.”

“Whatever you say, babybird.”

⁂

Once Tim vanishes, Barbie indicates with a jerk of her head that Jason should follow her upstairs to the Nest medbay. He knows better than to think it’s just her wanting to take a look at his injuries—like him, she’s probably looking for some privacy.

They take the elevator up in silence, and Jason wonders vaguely when the last time was, he was this close to Barbara Gordon.

I don’t think I have been, actually. We both avoid the manor unless there’s no choice. And we both have good reasons for it. And when we are there together, there’s usually about six to ten feet of distance between us.

They were never what he would call close before she was paralyzed and he died. Barbie was Dick’s girl and Jason’s occasional babysitter until the Joker ruined her life. And then she wasn’t around at all. Jason wasn’t alive to watch her painstakingly drag herself up and pull it together again, so he never got the chance to interact with the Barbara Gordon that became Oracle.

Since returning to Gotham he’s kept her at a distance as much as he did the rest of the Family, so it’s somewhat surprising to him that she’s here now and working to help him.

Probably it’s on account of Tim.

Still silent, they enter the surgically pristine room of the Nest’s medical wing—and Jason is a little jealous of the supplies here. It makes the kits he has in his safehouses about as sophisticated as a needle and threat.

Barbie watches him, framed in the doorway.

“Well? Spit it out,” he grunts, deciding to get whatever reprimands are forthcoming out of the way.

Her look turns sharp before she reaches into her jacket pocket for something; Jason can’t help tensing up, even though she knows the likelihood of her pulling a weapon on him are slim to none.

That suspicion is confirmed when she instead draws out a device and turns it on; there’s a high-pitched background whir that Jason recognizes as a listening device scrambler.

Clearly we’re both aware of what a paranoid freak Timbers can be.

“Okay, Jason, what’s going on?” she asks without preamble. “You know Tim only wants to help you.”

“Yeah, at his own expense,” he retorts sourly.

Barbies raises an eyebrow as if waiting for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, she presses, “You’re being cagey. And it’s more than just worrying about losing control around Tim, I can tell.”

“Oh you can, can you?” he challenges.

“I’ve known you since you were still desperately trying to live up to Dick while pretending like you didn’t care. I know when you’re hiding something,” she folds her arms. “Believe it or not, Jason, you’re a terrible liar when it comes to things that matter.”

It’s reflex to want to say something caustic to that, but he stops himself in time. He needs Barbara’s help and pissing her off isn’t going to make his life any easier.

“I need a favor,” he admits after a beat.

“Another one?” she repeats, sounding like she doesn’t believe him. “You’re going to owe me a lot.”

“Yeah, well, now would be the time to collect on those debts while I still can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means everyone else is tiptoein' around the subject, but at some point, I’m gonna need to be put under,” he says, erring on the side of just enough truth to keep her from questioning him further. “We both know what I’m talkin' about here.”

As expected, Barbara only just keeps herself from visibly recoiling; she’s already ready with an argument. “You don’t know we won’t find something before that happens.”

“I’m already feelin' like I’m livin' in someone else’s skin—” Literally, in a way. “—I’m not gonna get any better than I am right now. We’ve already seen what it looks like when I dip toward worse. So while I’m still lucid, let me make my decisions. And my decision is, I’d rather go under while I’m still me instead of violent, mindless…reaver.”

Barbara does a minor double-take. “Did you just make a Firefly reference?”

“It’s the last series I was watching before I died,” Jason says, a little defensive.

“I’m not judging, just surprised. Dick and Tim are usually the ones making pop-culture references to deflect. I’m not used to it from you.”

“And I’m not used to you stallin',” he counters. “You’re different from the other Bats, O. You know how to cut your losses, and you know how to make decisions when no one else wants to think about it. You get makin' the hard calls. So, I’m gonna ask you: when it comes down to a choice between me and Tim—and I mean when, not if—who do you save?”

Something like pain passes over her face, and then resolve hardens her face. “Tim.”

“Exactly,” he approves. “Because unlike me, he’s good. And smart.”

“You’re both of those things, even if you pretend like you’re not,” she protests.

“And he hasn’t committed multiple murders,” Jason continues, acting like he didn’t hear her. “Not that what I’ve done wasn’t justified. It wasn’t good, but I don’t regret it because I will go to my grave believin' sometimes that line needs to be crossed. Again. But it’s still a line Tim’s been lucky enough not to have to cross.”

She doesn’t argue with him, instead inclines her head.

“More people will miss him if he were gone then they would me,” Jason concludes. “I’m not supposed to be here anyway.”

There’s a long beat of measuring silence. Then, Barbara sighs. “What is it you need, Jason?”

He tilts his chin in gratitude.

“I didn’t just come here to yell at Eros,” he admits. “If Wonder Woman doesn’t show up, he’s the only one I know who has access to the stuff I need.”

“The Stygian Sleep.”

“Yeah. But it’s probably in GCPD lock-up.” He gives her a quick run-down of events, minus anything about Eros’ intentional plan to infect him. Babs listens, jaw set and eyes narrowed; given what she just said about him, she likely knows he’s not being completely truthful, but his explanation clearly holds enough water that she doesn’t call him on it.

“I’ll get someone to look into it,” she decides at last.

Which, even though he’s relieved about, he’s also suspicious.

“And by ‘look into’ you mean grab hold of and perform a million tests on it before handin' it over,” he posits.

“Just because you’re hellbent on using something that’s effectively going to kill you doesn’t mean I don’t want to know everything about it first,” she says, unapologetic. “Like the prophecy, it might have clues about how to circumvent it.”

“Yeah, because we’re having so much luck with that.”

“Also, when Bruce comes to me later in a righteous fury for letting his son die a second time, I’ll be able to assure him we knew everything we did about it before making an informed decision.”

Jason doesn’t pretend to believe that’s the end of it. Barbara might be willing to humor Jason a little more than Bruce, or even Dick when he’s not compromised—she might even be a little more objective in considering things, but she’s not going to trust Jason’s plan to be the only plan. She’ll have her own contingencies, the same as any Bat.

The only difference with Babs is that once it’s over and done with, and it becomes clear there’s no saving him, she’ll have an easier time getting over it than Bruce will. And she won’t let it compromise her work.

Tim’s told Jason what Bruce and Dick were like after he died the first time, and if it happens again, Gotham needs someone competent in keeping things in check.

And Tim…

Jason’s heart thuds with guilt.

This time, Tim won’t just be sweeping in to pick up the broken pieces of Batman and Nightwing as he did as a kid. He won’t be watching it from the sidelines.

The memory hits him then. To his surprise, it’s not from Achilleus or Alexandros.

Jason hates Wayne Charity galas.

People are always staring at him, murmuring through pasted-on smiles that even if he couldn’t read lips, he would be able to hear the judgment dripping from their words. These people are so achingly dry and genteel, their teeth don’t even unclench around their vowels.

Bruce doesn’t make him come to all that many of these shindigs, thankfully; only the ones involving children’s advocacy and the like. Jason doesn’t mind those too much, considering their purpose. He just hates that even at those—like the one tonight—he’s the only kid that has to parade around in the straitjacket Alfred calls a tux.

He gets it, of course; he’s the poster-boy, the success story, a means of showing the rich snobs how well a dirty Crime Alley orphan can clean up so that they’ll open their checkbooks.

It doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Except for tonight, for the first time, he noticed another kid that’s been dragged along. A tiny boy whose meticulously fitted tux still manages to look too big for him.

A man and woman who must be his parents are chatting with another couple, seemingly oblivious to the way their son is staring into the distance, a neutrally polite expression fixed on his face. He might as well be sleeping standing up, and Jason has the odd suspicion that’s by design.

That makes his mouth twitch; maybe rich kids get bored with this kind of thing too.

Jason keeps staring across the manor ballroom until the strange kid senses his gaze and looks up. He grins when the boy’s eyes widen—their color is startling, even from across the room, and they take up practically his whole face—and wonders at the sudden flood of color in his cheeks.

He’s about to motion the boy over to the edge of the reception area—hanging out with another kid, even a little one, will definitely break up the monotony of the evening—when Bruce’s hand falls hard on his shoulder.

“Time to make an exit, son,” he says, voice quiet and intense and incongruent with the false smile he’s still beaming at everyone within a ten-foot radius. From the distracted note in his words, Jason doesn’t even need to look out the window to see the signal lighting up the sky. 

They meet Felipe Garzonas that night, and he doesn’t think of the boy again.

Jason shudders as the technicolor recollection fades out, his stomach twisting angrily.

He’s never made the connection between Tim and the boy at the fundraiser before. It occurs to him how stupid that was—at the same time it occurs to him that if not for that case that night, he might not have been on the outs with Bruce. He might have endured more Wayne event galas instead of limiting whatever time he was with Bruce to being Robin by night. He might have gotten to know Tim in this life, instead of dying.

He might not be in this damned predicament right now.

“Jason?”

He looks up, realizes that Barbie is watching him with concern. He is quick to revisit their conversation and mutters, “Yeah, fine. Just make sure the stuff actually makes it to me before my brain dribbles out of my head, okay?”

“Stop being so dramatic,” she replies, reaching out to turn off the scrambler device, though she continues to exude suspicion.

“All Bats are dramatic, or have you forgotten?” he quips back, offering an irreverent smirk to cover up.

“Hard to forget something you live with every day,” she returns dryly. “Now get over here and let me check you over.”

“You don’t need to,” he points out. “I’ve had worse than this, you know.”

“Yes, yes, we’re all aware you’ve died and come back, who hasn’t these days?” she returns. “Now, shirt off, or I’m telling Tim you didn’t do what you said you would.”

Jason glares. “This is going to become a thing, isn’t it? You people using Tim to make me do things.”

“Things that are for your own good, yes. Now strip, Todd.”

“Yes, mother…”

“You wish your mother was as cool as me.”

Which Jason can’t argue with, because she’s right; he’s had a total of three mother figures in his life (two of which he’s not sure even qualify because of how messed up they were), and none of them have been as capable or decent as Barbara Gordon.

Once he’s shrugged his top half out of the body armor and leather, she reaches for him.

Jason experiences a nauseous swoop in his stomach at the idea of anyone but Tim putting hands on him. Instantly, his hand snaps up and knocks hers back.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls.

Barbara pulls away, watching him with a raised eyebrow and instantly Jason is overwhelmed with shame.

“Sorry,” he bites out. “I didn’t mean…”

“We can wait for Tim to get back,” she suggests, instantly understanding.

Alarms blare in his head at the thought; he shakes his head. “No. No, I’m…I’m good. Now that I’m expectin' it.”

She considers him several beats longer and then makes the next attempt to check his injuries. This time he concentrates on forcing the sick feeling away and tries to ignore how it feels like someone is rubbing sandpaper across his skin.

That’s a new symptom. Great. Because it wasn’t enough that I’ve been trying to claw my skin of myself, now other people get to do it too…

Barbara checks him over with quiet efficiency, evaluating the shallow slash between his arm and shoulder which his armor didn’t cover, as well the bruising along his hips, elbows and lower back.

“It could be worse,” she decides eventually, considering the mottled purpling across his chest. “Ribs are bruised, not broken.”

“I could've told you that…”

“And were you going to tell me about that?” she points at his shoulder and the spiderweb of gold leeching out around the long-healed-over bullet wound. From the way he’s been itching at it this past day, he doesn’t need a mirror to know it’s beginning to creep up his neck as well. “How long has it been growing like that?”

“Pretty much since I got it,” he replies.

She reaches up, brow furrowed and reaches toward one of the raised lines winding toward his chest. Again, he braces himself for the pain of the touch his body doesn’t want.

Thankfully, she barely grazes that. “You haven’t been keeping better track, have you? It might give us a more specific idea of how much time you have.”

“How so?”

“The same as any poison, I would guess. The closer it gets to your heart, the less time you have.”

He frowns. “At this point, I don’t think it even matters.”

Movement outside of the med bay window draws his attention, and he across the floor to see Tim climbing the stairs from the ground floor.

Jason is quick to grab his shirt and tug it on; it’s not something he wants to discuss with Tim just yet.

Barbara watches him, lips pursed in worry and disapproval, but he could care less about the latter. She knows his thoughts on this, and she’ll respect them.

Tim strides in and then slows like he’s wondering if he’s supposed to knock or not.  

“How are you doing?” he asks, hesitant like he’s afraid expressing concern will set Jason off like a bomb.

Guilt hits him at that, but he forces himself to remain calm and blank-faced. “Fine.”

“I have to go,” Barbie announces, maneuvering her chair toward the door. “I need to go back to the Cave and check on Dick’s condition. I don’t know how long it will be before he tries to escape or pull something to keep from going nuts.”

“Also, it’d be nice if this month was one of the ones where Alfred doesn’t get knocked out,” Tim suggests with false levity.

“Or lose a hand,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Exactly. And whether he knows it or not, Feathers downstairs gave me some ideas about how to remove the arrow,” Barbie says as they leave the med bay.

“I should come with you.”

“No.” Both Barbara and Tim speak at the same time, but she’s the one that keeps talking. “You should stay here.”

“Not sure that’s the best idea.”

“I think it is,” Tim counters. “It will keep us out of everyone’s hair and they’ll know where we are.” His tone is reasonable—too reasonable; clearly Timmy has some ulterior motives.

Whether those motives are to circumvent Bruce or Jason’s plans, he doesn’t care. But one thing is for sure. “They can know where we are if we’re at the manor.”

And isn’t that a reversal—Jason being the one to insist on that?

I need to have people around because I don’t trust myself right now.

The mutinous expression is back on Tim’s face, before he visibly switches tactics.

“Okay, how about this,” he suggests, tone only a shade off exasperated. “Why don’t you go lie down somewhere and try to catch a few hours' sleep? If you’re sleeping, you’re not doing anything else, right? And then we’ll either go back to the Cave or see if anyone can be spared to chaperone here.”

“There’s no need for that,” a voice says, and they all look up to see Damian stride in still in full Robin-gear.

Tim scowls. “How did you get in here?”

“It was fairly simple,” the kid snorts. “A fish tank, Drake? Really?”

Tim looks like he wants to protest, but Jason chuckles. “It was kind of obvious, babybird.”

“You can barely take care of yourself, and you expect someone with a brain to believe you have the patience to care for fish?” the boy continues. “Exactly who do you think has been feeding them when you forget?”

Tim gapes. “You…break into my apartment…to feed my fish?”

Jason can’t help the loud guffaw that escapes at that, earning two equally unimpressed glares in return. He doesn’t care—that might be the funniest thing he’s heard in days.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Barbara says and wheels out of the room. “Try not to kill each other, boys. Alfred would be unhappy about it.”

“Luckily, we are standing in a well-stocked room with several methods for resuscitating a dead body,” Damian replies easily.

“Don’t you have school?” Tim grumbles.

“It’s Sunday, Drake.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I have been sent to babysit you two and put Todd down with extreme prejudice should he try anything.

Which Tim gapes and, while Jason is…kind of relieved about.

“Aw, Dami, I knew you cared,” he teases.

“Don’t address me with that infantile drivel!”

Tim sighs.

“Just don’t set anything on fire while you’re here…”

  ⁂⁂⁂

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Next Chapter

[jemelle]

these are ties that bind (3/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: t

(chapter) word count: 2,861

masterlist

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

three.

On Monday, Emily took Carrie to her first day of school. Hotch had wanted to come, but he had to take Jack to nursery. Secretly, Emily was pleased to have this moment alone with Carrie. She remembered all too well the feeling of starting a new school, getting used to a whole new set of customs and rituals.

She had called the principal yesterday and received her express assurances that Carrie would be able to start school mid-year. Her credits would transfer over, but Emily knew that wasn’t the difficult part. It was starting classes when everyone else knew each other’s names, when they had silently picked a seating chart and knew who they’d partner with for group projects.

Carrie had insisted on finding the school office by herself, although Emily had offered to come with her. She had suggested (facetiously, knowing Hotch would never tolerate it) that her FBI badge might help smooth things over, which had drawn a much-needed laugh. She had also suggested that Carrie should think about taking some honors classes, but decided to shelve the conversation when she saw the obvious flashbacks her request had caused.

They pulled up in front of the school, an imposing brick building that reminded Emily of the quintessential high school from every teen movie. Students were already streaming into the building, chattering as they went along. 

Emily searched for the right words to assure Carrie that she was capable of doing this. She was sure Hotch would have made an eloquent speech, but heartfelt sentiments were never her forte. She settled for flashing Carrie a smile and a thumbs-up.

Carrie smiled back and reached across the console to hug Emily, who reciprocated with only a moment’s hesitation. Two hugs in almost as many days was new territory for Emily, who tended to receive them more on a bimonthly basis, but she had a feeling it might become the new normal.

Emily watched Carrie walk towards the school until she had disappeared through the front doors. The honks of cars behind her informed her that she was holding up the carpool line, but Emily didn’t feel even a little sorry.

~

By Wednesday, Emily knew the jig was up. JJ had been shooting her and Hotch strange glances all day, looking as if she was trying to resist blurting something out in front of the entire bullpen. As Emily passed by JJ’s office, she felt a hand dart out and grab her wrist. Before she could respond, Emily was pulled into the darkened office.

“What do you want?” She knew, of course, but it was better to let it play out. There was a chance, albeit minuscule, that JJ simply wanted Emily’s help in planning a surprise party for Rossi. 

“Is this true?” JJ thrust the paper into Emily’s face. It was the address change form that she had just submitted. Damn. She and Hotch had been hoping the paperwork would pass to Strauss unnoticed, but they should have known JJ was never anything less than thorough.

“Yeah, it is.” She’d answered the question, technically, but they both knew that wasn’t what JJ was really asking.

“But you’re not attracted to men.” Emily had come out to JJ during one of their “girls’ nights,” while Garcia was fetching another round of drinks. JJ had been talking about some guy at the bar who she thought was cute, and Emily had felt something snap in her. She didn’t want to have to hide anymore: she knew JJ would be accepting even if she didn’t fully understand. And so Emily had blurted it out before she really knew what she was doing. JJ, to her credit, had blinked once before asking Emily if there were any girls at the bar she thought were good-looking. 

“Thanks, I know.” She hadn’t meant to sound so peeved, and regretted it immediately when she saw a look of hurt flash on JJ’s face.

“I’m just looking out for you.” Some days it felt as though that was JJ’s real job, caring for the team and trying to remind them not to lose sight of the mundane life they were fighting to protect. It was mostly futile, and they all knew it.

“I know,” said Emily, smiling at JJ and reaching out to squeeze one of her hands. 

JJ looked horrified as a thought came to her. “Hotch didn’t make you do this, did he?” At that, Emily nearly doubled over with laughter.

“God, no. If anything I forced his hand.” JJ looked confused, and Emily didn’t blame her. Present situation included, there were very few worlds in which Emily would voluntarily ask Hotch to move in with her.

“So, remember when you said you could see me with kids?” JJ nodded, realization beginning to dawn on her face. “Well, Hotch is currently helping me take care of Carrie and neither of our apartments was suitable for two adults, a teenager, and a very energetic toddler.”

“Does he know about…” JJ gestured vaguely at Emily. “...you?” This time, Emily didn’t bother pretending innocence.

“No,” she said. “And I don’t plan on telling him. There’s no reason for me to do so. Even if our marriage is a sham, that doesn’t mean I’m going to cheat on him.” Emily had been firm in that belief since she had hatched this scheme. Hotch was a man who took fidelity seriously, and she couldn’t do that to him, especially after Haley.

JJ clasped her other hand around Emily’s and squeezed. “Don’t get hurt, okay? And if you do, tell me so I can kick his ass into next week.”

Emily grinned. The fierceness of JJ’s love reminded her of how lucky she was to have found her place at the BAU. “Just, please, keep this between us,” she entreated JJ, before walking to Hotch’s office to inform him that they had been made.

~

Apparently, two year olds don’t usually attend school full-time. Emily had, but Hotch’s horrified look when she told him conveyed to her that this was yet another example of Elizabeth Prentiss’s less than superb parenting. Jack went to preschool three days a week, but the rest of them he spent with either Hotch or Haley.

On Thursday, Hotch was called away to an early morning meeting. The higher-ups were making budget cuts again, and Emily knew he and Strauss would have to fight tooth and nail just to avoid losing a member of the team. Carrie had already decided that she would prefer to take the bus to school, which left just Jack and Emily. She had the day off, courtesy of Hotch, providing no urgent cases arrived. At noon, she was supposed to drive Jack to Haley’s house, but right now they were enjoying a quiet morning together. 

As she finished up her paperwork, Emily kept one eye on Jack, who was playing with his extensive dinosaur collection. She sighed when she signed the last form, relieved to be done so early. There was a new sci-fi anthology that she had been meaning to read. Emily shut her eyes, intending on resting them for a brief moment before starting her book, but opened them again when she heard movement beside her. Jack had clambered up on the couch next to her and was staring at her intently. 

“Read?” he asked, gesturing at a picture book on the side table. Emily picked it up.

“I don’t know if I’ll be very good at it.” She was still getting used to living with a toddler. So far, she had managed to avert any world-ending cataclysms, but being alone with Jack was an entirely different situation. This time, there was no backup.

“Read,” he insisted, so Emily did. Jack wasn’t shy about informing Emily when she did things wrong. Apparently she read too fast and she didn’t do the voices like his Mommy did. When Emily completed the first book, saying “The End” in what she hoped was an appropriately dramatic tone of voice, Jack pointed to another one. Before she knew it, it was time to take Jack to Haley’s.

She had only met Haley a few times, but Emily harbored an intense dislike for anyone who would hurt Aaron Hotchner. They may not be the best of friends, but watching Hotch’s face fall every time Haley informed him that he would arrive in DC too late to see Jack would make any sane person sympathize. This was only compounded upon actually meeting Jack; he would stay up as late as possible if it meant he could see his father.

Emily strapped Jack into his car seat, struggling briefly with the buckles. She didn’t understand how Hotch could make it look so effortless. As soon as they left the neighborhood, she began blasting Melissa Etheridge, not caring what other people could hear. Her day off, her music. 

She turned the music down as they arrived in Haley’s neighborhood. The cookie-cutter houses reminded Emily of her and Hotch’s neighborhood, but this area was much more affluent. Even with a lawyer’s salary, she would bet Hotch and Haley had taken out a large loan to afford to live here.

Haley was already standing on the front porch when they arrived. Emily checked her watch: five minutes early. Good. She looked surprised to see Emily clamber out of the car, though Hotch had already cleared it with her. Emily sent a silent prayer to whatever god was listening as the straps to Jack’s car seat came undone easily. The last thing Hotch needed was to have Emily look incompetent. 

Jack refused to walk the two hundred or so feet to Haley, so Emily scooped him up and headed towards the house. When she reached the porch, Emily set him down, and he toddled over to give Haley a hug. She beamed at him, and the wrath clutching Emily’s heart loosened slightly.

“Thank you,” Haley said. Emily smiled thinly at her. 

“Hotch will be by to pick him up tomorrow.” Safer to stick to business. It lessened the chance Emily would say something she’d immediately regret. She waved at Jack. “Bye, kiddo. See you soon.”

“Bye, Auntie Emily!” he chirped in response. That was new. She had just been Emily so far, or ‘mily if Jack was especially sleepy. She’d have to check with Hotch that the nickname could stay, but Emily found she quite liked it.

Jack walked through the open door, and though Haley turned to watch him, she didn’t go inside. Emily loitered on the porch, sensing their conversation wasn’t finished. She was right.

“Does he make you happy?” Haley’s voice lacked malice. Emily supposed she was curious; it must have been a long time since Hotch had made Haley happy.

She considered the question. Obviously, there was a right answer, given the pretend nature of their relationship. But as Emily thought about Hotch’s kindness towards her and Carrie, the way he was willing to risk Jack, the best thing in his life, so that Emily could have a chance to care for a child the way he did, she realized it was also the true answer.

“Yes.” Haley headed inside without a response, and Emily couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or irritated. It didn’t bother her either way.

~

When Emily poked her head into the living room, she saw Carrie sitting calmly on the couch. It was late and she had assumed that Carrie had already gone to bed, but apparently this was not the case. When Carrie noticed her staring, she motioned Emily to sit with her. Emily settled on the ottoman facing Carrie.

“What’s up?” she asked, feeling strangely as though she were the child in this situation, as if Carrie were the one summoning her for an intervention.

“Where’s Hotch?” A neat sidestep, and one that only served to further intrigue Emily.

“Getting ready for bed, I suspect.” Although Emily’s experience living with men was somewhat limited, Hotch took more time in the bathroom than any other man she’d met, although she respected that it meant she didn’t have to see him change.

As if summoned, Hotch emerged, freshly showered and wearing pajamas. He smelled like shaving cream, Emily reflected as he sat down next to her, and something else she couldn’t place. Although she made no move to initiate contact, Emily nevertheless felt more solid with him next to her. Whatever Carrie had to say, they could deal with it, together.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Carrie started. “For taking me in when no one else would.” 

Emily reached out to clasp Carrie’s hands, squeezing them tightly, but it was Hotch who spoke, his voice clear and words familiar. “Carrie, there’s no need to thank us--”

“But you don’t need to pretend anymore.” Emily and Hotch exchanged a look, but it was not a glance between friends (or whatever they were). It was the same look they exchanged when an unsub revealed crucial information during an interrogation. What did Carrie know?

“What?” Emily had learned early how to feign innocence. It had saved her more times than she could count, from escaping the wrath of Elizabeth Prentiss to baiting a suspect to pretending to not be so fucked up when pretty girls hit on her in bars.

Carrie, however, was having none of Emily’s act. “You know what I mean. You expect me to believe that you’re married to a man who you don’t even call by his first name?” 

Emily felt again like a chastened child, called out with one hand in the cookie jar. She looked to Hotch for moral support, but he looked as blindsided as she felt. When he turned to face her, she could see mounting rage in the way his body tensed, although his face remained impassive as ever. Then Emily remembered their one rule: don’t lie to Carrie. 

“You got us there,” said Hotch. Emily marveled at the way he could switch from angry to personable in a moment, although the glare he first shot Emily made clear that they were going to talk later. “Was it just the names that gave us away?”

Gathering information on their tells, that was smart. 

“The names were definitely a giveaway.” Carrie considered them for a moment. Mostly, though, it was the lack of touching. I can see no kissing --maybe you’re just very private people-- but you don’t even hold hands and I’ve only seen you hug once.” She gestured at them. “Even now, you’re sitting with a couple inches between you.”

Right now, Hotch would probably prefer they sat even farther away, Emily thought bitterly. 

“But I’m not going to say anything, if that’s what you’re upset about.” With that level of perception and intuition, Carrie would make a grade-A profiler. Not that Emily would wish their lives on anyone.

Emily still didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded as Hotch spoke again. “Thank you for trusting us.” He checked his watch. “It’s late. Are you going to bed now?”

Callie responded affirmatively and slipped out of the room, leaving Emily and Hotch in stony silence. When Hotch spoke again, his voice contained undisguised anger. “Prentiss, what the hell was that?”

The use of her last name only stoked in her a desire to fight back. Emily might break down crying, but Prentiss wouldn’t. Prentiss wasn’t vulnerable, wouldn’t apologize.

“Don’t yell at me,” she hissed. Hotch stiffened, then softened at the look on Emily’s face.

“I’m sorry. It was out of line for me to speak like that, but what you did was also out of line. We agreed no lying to Carrie.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. Self-loathing welled inside her. How could she have ever thought she was good enough to be a parent when she couldn’t even keep a basic promise?

“Emily?” If she lifted her head there would be no denying the tears in her eyes.

“I tried to. It just… I just…” failed, she finished mentally. Couldn’t deal with the idea that what was maybe my only chance at motherhood could disappear. Although she wasn’t willing to verbalize those thoughts, she still felt she owed it to Hotch to try and explain. “I got scared. And I know you’ve heard this a lot recently, but I’m sorry.”

Hotch didn’t tell her she shouldn’t be sorry. She had messed up, and they both knew it. Now the only question was what he would do. Never trust her again, Emily supposed. Their partnership had seemed so promising, but of course she had ruined it. Outside of work, she could never do anything right.

“Next time, Emily, I just need you to tell me.” After years spent under the thumb of the Catholic Church, finding someone with a true capacity for forgiveness always surprised Emily. Hotch had surprised her again and again. 

“I will, Aaron,” she said, trying out the unfamiliar name on her tongue. It still felt a little too strange, not natural enough for casual conversation, but she could work on it. “I won’t let you down.”

It was a tall order to live up to, but Emily had to try.

[always5hineee]

Hell and Back- Chapter 18: Dashboard (Trial 24)

Word count: 1382

Chapter warnings: Mild language and Dangerous actions

[Please do not replicate any of the behaviors read in this book.]

-----

       "Kyungsoo, you're next." Suho said curtly, pulling out his phone.

       "W-what? Why me?"

       "Why are all of you so hesitant? The earlier you go, the easier they are, right?" He said, anger hinting in his voice. Everyone was staring at him, a bit shocked. Obviously the car incident had put everyone on edge, but Suho was apparently not taking it as well as they'd expected. The man continued going off,

       "And the restricted power Chanyeol, and he's one of the only other people who needs to take a second turn. So just go." Kyungsoo looked to the other members, and then to Y/N, but all of them were strangely silent. No one wanted to cross him, especially not like this. His eyes begged to get out of it, but Y/N wasn't really the strongest when it came to things like this. She gave him an apologetic glance before pressing his name on her screen. Suho had turned back away from them, arms crossed in a quiet stupor. Kyungsoo looked a bit overwhelmed, but he was hiding it well enough. Not like any one else was paying attention, anyway.

       "Um, you're meant to crash a car." She said with a swallow.

       "I... what?"

       "Crash a car. That's what it says."

       "That sounds dangerous." Xiumin said, rather obviously.

       "Where are we even going to get a car to crash?" Kyungsoo asked, already overthinking it. "We've been using Kris's this whole time, but-"

       "We are not crashing my fucking car." The man in question cut in abruptly. They had expected this, but he just wanted to be absolutely sure.

       "Yeah, but we still need to find a car."

       "Our best bet is some sort of junkyard or... stealing one." Kai posed. "We don't want to crash one of our own cars."

       "Or we could buy a really cheap one?" Chanyeol offered. "That would be better than-"

       "We don't have time to go through all that, and why would we buy a car just to crash it?" Kai argued. "Stealing one is the most effective option."

       "I can hotwire a car. We just need to pick one." Kris said.

       "Why do you know how to hotwire a car?" Lay asked suspiciously.

       "You know the answer to that."

       "Touché."

       "Hey, can we focus?" Chen asked. "Where are we getting a car?"

       "There's a nice blue corvette that always parks down the street from the studio." Kris suggested.

       "We're not stealing someone's real car." Suho said, the first time he'd spoken up since Kyungsoo was offered his challenge. "We'll go to the tow yard. I'm sure someone's beat up, totaled car is just sitting around in there. Kris, you're driving."

       "Yessir, chief." He muttered under his breath as they prepared to go.

       Suho, using his GPS, directed them to a trucking yard not far from most of their apartments. Y/N had noticed it in passing, but she had never been inside. It was becoming late dusk as they pulled up to the gate, the last red whips of the sun fading over the horizon. The facility was closed. That was probably better for them, though.

       Walking up to the gate, the crew looked at the padlock. Kyungsoo immediately began looking around for cameras, terrified getting caught. While experiencing interference from the law was an automatic loss for the trials, Y/N guessed that the true reason didn't lie in that fact.

       "Does anyone have bolt cutters?" Kris asked in a low voice.

       "Why would we have those?" Baekhyun asked.

       "I mean, you would if anyone. Generally I'd have a pair in the car, but-"

       "Why would you have those?" Tao asked incredulously.

       "Calm down!" Kris put his hands up. "Just for changing the tires and stuff- they're multi purpose! Anyway, I'd rather not have all of us jump the fence, so..."

       "Oh! Try this-" Y/N offered, pulling the Swiss Army knife she had been carrying around out of your pocket.

       "That's perfect!" Sehun cut in before Kris could even grab it, swiping it out of her hand. Flipping open one of the thinner implements, he jammed it into the bolt, twisting it around a bit. Within seconds, the upper piece flipped open, leaving the chain to fall and the gate to swing open.

       "How did you do that?" Baekhyun asked, eyes wide.

       "You're one to ask, you're always unlocking the doors."

       "Yeah, the easy ones, I need to know how to do that!"

       "Maybe some other time-" Sehun said with a grin. "Let's go find a car."

       As they traversed the lot, there were far more options than they expected. Some were parked their for fines, tows, totals, and everything in between. Kyungsoo was rambling about finding a safe car, while Kris was just looking for the easiest one to steal. The man ended up walking over and popping the hood on a 2012 Kia Forte. Not an attractive car by a long shot, but no one would miss it. It had a big gash down the side, likely totaled, but other than that, it was in working condition, proved by the roar of the engine as Kris fiddled under the hood.    

       "Oh, score!" He said with a smile, "They haven't pumped the gas out yet, half a tank- plenty to crash a car."

       "Where are we going to crash it, though?" Kyungsoo asked, picking at his thumb and looking to the side. "It needs to be away from people so no one gets hurt, and not in sight of a camera or a patrol or-"

       "Man, chill out." Lay groaned. "Let's just do it here."

       "What?! We-"

       "Actually, that's not a bad idea." Chen pondered. "If we go somewhere else, we have to take both cars, and then they'll see the stolen car on the traffic cameras and all that. Plus, it's a waste of time and gasoline to drag both cars along, especially since none of us wanna be in the car with you when you crash."

       "Good point," Suho said. "Just run it into the cinderblock wall on the end of the lot. You'll be fine."

       "This is ridiculous!" Kyungsoo said, nearly stuttering. "I can't even build up enough speed to adequately 'crash' the car in-"

       "It'll be fine," Tao said. "Keep your foot on the brake and rev the engine up a bit before you let go, then drive into the wall. The airbags should get you and the front will take most of the damage. Wear the seatbelt."

       "I..." He didn't really have much of a choice. Tao consoling him as he got in the car, he pulled it into reverse, the brakes jerking a bit. The car was obviously not in top condition, but it would do for this little event. Everyone backed up, not exactly sure how things were going to turn out. They heard the engine rev, just as he had suggested. They all watched in anticipation, barely breathing as the car fell backwards, then rocketed towards the wall.

       It happened in a matter of seconds. Slamming into the wall, she screeching of metal caused Y/N to cover her ears, scrunching up and leaning over into a half-ball. The boys didn't react much better. As soon as the vehicle had come to a stop, they rushed over, looking at the wreckage. The entire front of the car was completely smashed, with the forward hand slightly scrunchy all the way down. Pulling on the doorhandle, Xiumin tried to open the door, jerking on the handle. Seeing that it was jammed, Chanyeol pulled as well, causing it to finally crack loose. Grabbing his arm, Kai tried to help him out of the vehicle as the man covered his face with slightly watering eyes.

       "Are you okay?" Lay asked.

       "Airbag caught my nose-" Kyungsoo said, air hissing through his teeth.

       "Oh, let me see-" He said, pulling his hands away to reveal a clearly broken nose, blood slowly dripping down his face. "Ouch, hold on." As Lay put his fingers over Kyungsoo's nose, Suho looked to Y/N.

       "Was that good enough for the trial?"

       "Yep, moving on. Who's next?"

       "I'll go." Xiumin said. "I haven't gone since the tabasco sauce."

       "Alright, that's settled." Suho said, gesturing to her. "No time to waste, it's getting dark. Let's go."

Go to Chapter 19

[nightofthewerehunty]

So I’ve forgotten how to use tumblr on my iPad and I can’t do the cut for a read more. Sorry, guys. But here’s my Peaky Blinders fanfiction on the relationship between Thomas and Ada. I’ve given the link to AO3 above so use that if you’d like to comment. Cheers!

Rot

When she’s feeling unkind towards herself, she thinks there’s a rot somewhere hidden, festering and spreading through her veins. Soon it’ll reach her heart. Or maybe that’s where it was hidden. Where it started, her black heart. Ada would know if she ever payed attention to that particular organ. Kidneys? Sure, have a look. Liver? Yes please, she needs it to drink. But her heart? Well, does it matter where the rot came from once it gets there? Ada doesn’t think so. And she feels it, burning and burning and burning away inside her chest until its all she can do not to cut out the charred organ herself. She thinks of Freddie, not out of love which may seem cruel, but out of curiosity. Would the infection have spread if he was alive? If she was a romantic, which she’s not, she’d have said that she doesn’t have a heart to infect. Buried it long ago with her husband, and then again with her morals, and then again with Grace so maybe Freddie’s death started something but it was something that would have happened even if he lived. Taken a little longer, maybe, but happened all the same. When she’s feeling kind towards herself, she gives the rot a name; she calls it Thomas.

Ada spends her life reading the moods of Thomas Michael Shelby and she’s perfected it after the war. She’s learned to hear the unspoken in his words. The threats behind his whims. It’s business, Ada. That’s what she tells herself and that’s what he says. It’s all just business. Legal. Illegal. On the books or off. It doesn’t matter. It’s just business. But that was before Grace, before the Russians. Tom’s different now and all her hard work of understanding him is thrown to fucking shit. How can she hear his unspoken words if he doesn’t fucking talk anymore? It’s all just lists now. Pieces of paper she has to burn when she’s through and it takes everything inside her not to chuck Tommy into the flames with his small written words. Did you get my list, Ada? Did you make your list, Ada? Have Arthur and John got their fucking lists, Ada? And Pol says he’s grieving, to give him time and he’ll be back. Back with the family where he belongs and Ada thinks while Polly drinks that Tom’s never belonged anywhere. At least, not after France. Not after the mud and the blood and the fucking bleak midwinter that the brothers always reference as if she doesn’t know what it means. As if it was something far removed from her. As if she wouldn’t be losing her entire fucking family if the bleak midwinter where to rear its bloodied, muddied head.

Ada knows about grief. She’s studied it her whole life. First with her mother and then with her father. Then Freddie and that took more than she cares to remember to make it out the other side. But she had Karl and that was important. Tommy has Charles and that’s good, but what Tommy needed was Grace. Ada won’t speak to love on another’s behalf, but if she was forced to, she’d say that Tommy belonged with Grace. And if she was drunk, like proper drunk and asked, she may even say it was Grace who lifted Tom out of the mud and the tunnels and the blood. Then Polly would roll her eyes while sipping her whiskey and Ada would remind her that she’d already said she didn’t want to talk about love while she fills her glass back to the top again. Back to the top, Ada thinks and swirls the contents of her glass. Tommy’s always trying to get back to the top. Top of the business. Top of the family. Top of the earth and tunnels and mud and fucking everything else he was before he was buried in France.

“What if you don’t get back?” She finds herself asking him one evening after too much wine and too many cigarettes and then a few more whiskeys to remind herself why the wine was too much.

“Back where?” He says after a pause to light his cigarette and he stares. His eyes catch the light of his flame and the gold of his whiskey, and for one moment, for one short, tiny, little fucking moment, he appears as a man. Just a man with his vices.

“I don’t know, Tommy. Wherever it is you need to get back to.”

Thomas puts out his cigarette with force; it’s his favorite thing to do when he doesn’t like the direction of a conversation. When it feels out of his control. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Thorne,” he says and his contempt rolls off his tongue into her ears. She’s not Ada tonight. She’s a stranger sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. And if she wasn’t so angry at being shut out, she might revel in the idea that she understands him again. That he’s back to speaking words and not writing them.

“What I mean is, Mr. Shelby,” she spits, “will it be worth it? All this? All you’ve done?” Ada watches the questions roll off Tommy’s face as he reaches for his cigarettes again. He slips one between his lips with an upward tilt of his mouth; it’s the sorta expression he wears when he finds things funny.

“I don’t know, Ms. Shelby.” So she’s back to being a Shelby now. Tommy always did like it when she fought back. That’s our Ada, he’d say when she’d come home with her bloody lips from her scraps by the cut. What poor soul crossed you today, he’d joke as if he didn’t know the reason for her bruises. As if they could pretend in that one childish moment that they weren’t scum. The lowest of the low. Poor and Gypsy and fatherless and motherless. Our Ada, he’d say as if they didn’t all spend every fucking second of their lives outside their home fighting because the world picked the fight first. “Is it worth it?” Tommy muses while he lights the tip of his smoke and stands. “You tell me,” he says and walks to the cabinet to pour himself another drink. “Those furs, that wine, your home in London. Is it worth it, Ada?”

“I’m not talking about me, Thomas,” she says angrily while sloshing some whiskey from her glass. She wasn’t expecting him to ease back into his gentle threats as soon as he began speaking again. But that’s her fault. Tommy’s a cornered beast. She knows that. Grief can make an animal still but it’ll never defang it.

“And what are you talking about, eh?” He asks louder than her outburst without turning away from his liquor cabinet. “You talking about business?”

“Fuck the business, Tom! For fucks sake!” She yells. “When was the last time you saw Charlie? You spend ten minutes with him every morning and night, that’s it,” Ada takes a pause to sigh and sip her drink. Tommy won’t look at her. He sinks his head down to rest by his glass. “He asks for you, Tom. And that’s so important right now, that he’s asking for you.” He raises his head to down his whiskey. She’s pissed him off; she can tell by the slam of his glass and the jerky motion of him refilling it. She’s too close to saying what Tommy won’t allow to be said. Grace may be dead, but God help you if you acknowledge it.

“And what does it matter to you? Eh?” He stalks towards her and points, his full glass held in front of him as if it were a bayonet at the end of his loaded words. “What is it you fucking want, Ada?” The hardness of his face makes her tense more than his volume. And then she understands his words and they pierce her skin like little needles all over. The words travel up her veins and through her blood. There it is, she thinks. The fucking rot. That he really believes this to be a transaction. That Ada would ever use his pain like that. “Please fucking tell me,” he continues, “so’s I can give it to you and you can get out of my FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m here because you asked me to watch your son while you were away, you fucking asshole!” She’s had too much whiskey to handle Tommy unhinged. She’ll just make it worse, she knows that. She should stop talking, go to bed, but she’s so angry and it’s that fucking infection. That rot spreading out through her heart. Tommy’s a curse, she thinks. “I tell you there’s a child up there asking for his father and the first thing you think is ‘what’s my angle?’ It’s love, Tommy. And children need it.”

“Don’t fucking tell me how to raise my son, Ada.” He lowers himself down with his words and she finds herself inches from Tommy’s wide-eyed rage. “I love him,” he says, “And I would do fucking anything for him so don’t fuckin’ talk to me about love.”

Now she needs to be quiet. Tom’s one of those wire-trapped rooms he talks about from France. And right now, in this exact moment, he’s handed her the wire cutters. Ada knows to stay still in these situations but the whiskey, or maybe it’s the wine, makes her clumsy.

“She’d want you to spend time with him,” she says and she can see the explosion in his eyes before he turns and throws his glass at the wall. She found the fucking grenade alright. Tripped right over it. He grabs her chin with his now free hand and Ada thinks about the days when he just wrote fucking lists. How could she be so naive as to think talking with him was better?

“She’d want a lot of things, Ada, so many fucking things. And the first thing she’d want would be to not be fuckin’ dead.” She’s aware of the pressure from Tom’s fingers but it doesn’t bother her as much as the difference between Tommy’s face and his voice. He’s so pale and still with his wet and red-rimmed eyes. He barely moves his lips while speaking and he looks hollow. Looks dead. But his voice shakes over every word, every syllable. She can feel the grief and anger settle between the centimeters that separate their faces. He’s losing to it. Or maybe he lost long ago and she never wanted to admit it. Tommy tightens his grip on her. “So don’t sit in my fuckin’ house, drinking my fuckin’ whiskey and tell me what Grace would want.” The second he spits out the words, he pushes her face back and lets go of her chin, but it takes days for Ada to forgot the feeling of his fingers digging into her jaw.

There’s so much to do in London and Ada needs to feel alive. Being surround by death her whole life, she thinks she deserves it. And todays version of life is in a pub with a man and lots and lots of gin. He’s a foreigner, an American, which is better for her since he doesn’t know what her last name means.

“Your drink, Ms. Shelby,” the barkeep says while setting her gin and tonic in front of her. He spares the American a nod and moves on.

“He didn’t ask you to pay,” notes the yet unnamed man.

“Got a tab,” Ada shrugs. “But more importantly, have you got a room?” The American returns her flirtatious smile.

“Of course,” he says,”Would you like to see it?”

The act is enjoyable enough and the American, named Frank she’d learned, is a generous lover, but once it’s done, she just wants to be home. Take a bath, have some tea, maybe read a little and then go to bed. She tells herself it’s late, and it is, but she knows that’s not why she wants to go. Poor Ada, she thinks. Wants so bad to feel alive but gets tired of it after only four hours.

“I’m here until Thursday,” says Frank. “Will I see you again?”

“Doubt it,” Ada says while fixing her stockings, “But you’re a good man. You’ll be alright.”

She turns the key to her door and steps into her home already warmed by a fire. She hadn’t done that. Cautious now and wishing she’d let Arthur give her that gun Monday, she sets her purse on the table near the door. For’s protection, he’d tried to tell her. Just in case, but ya don’t need to worry, Ada. We got men out there, he’d said, we’ll keep ya safe. Safe, she thinks now as she creeps down her hallway. She’ll never be fucking safe, not with family like hers. Not with her last name - either of them.

“Whose there?” She calls out before she gets closer to the drawing room.

“Hello to you too, Ada,” comes Tom’s reply. He stands by the fireplace, a glass of Ada’s whiskey already in his hands and a smoke hanging from his stern-set lips.

“Fucking Christ, Tommy,” she snaps while pulling off her gloves and tossing them onto the chair. “I locked the door. You said there weren’t anymore spare keys.”

“I lied,” he says, “Where’s Karl?”

“With Pol, but you already knew that seeing as how you know everything.” She hasn’t spoken to Tommy since she set off the bomb back at his place. That was almost three weeks ago.

“I know you wouldn’t take the gun from Arthur,” he says after a sip of his drink. Ada walks over to pour one for herself and snatches the offered cigarette from Tommy’s outstretched hand. “It makes me uneasy, Ada,” he continues, “You out there, unarmed.” He motions towards the outside with his drink.

“He says you’ve got men watching the house.” She stops to drink and smoke.

“We do,” he agrees and clears his throat, “But it still makes me uneasy.”

“Imagine that,” she scoffs, “Thomas fuckin’ Shelby, uneasy.” She turns from him to sit on the couch. She’s too tired for this. To decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Yeah,” he nods, “It makes me uneasy. You walking around unarmed, meeting with foreigners, going back to their hotels.” So that’s what this is, she thinks. He’s not uneasy. He’s mad. But Ada’s mad too. Fucking enraged, actually. The audacity of Tommy, thinking he can come into her home and wait up for her like she’s some fucking child who snuck out the house.

“Why don’t you just say what it is you want to say, Tommy,” she says. “Because if it wasn’t a foreigner, it be some man from London, or some poor soul from Birmingham. Or maybe it’s that I was out at pub? You think that improper now, is that it?”

“You usually stay out this late, Ada?” He asks without answering any of her questions.

“No,” she bites out. He nods and turns from the fireplace to sit in the chair across from her. He sets his drink on the table between them and leans back in his seat. So self assured. So fucking full of himself in her home at two in the fuckin’ morning. She hates him and with that hatred she feels the heat of that festering rot closing in around her heart, making its beats wild and bucking like a untamed stallion chained in her chest.

“That’s good,” he says. “Good it’s not a habit for you to be stepping out with American men named Frank until two in the morning.”

“Oh my god,” she sighs while she hangs her head low into her hands. “He’s not important, Tom. He’s here on holiday. He doesn’t know shit.”

“I know,” he says after a pause and sip. “I know a lot about Frank as it is. I know he arrived Sunday. He’s leaving Thursday. And he’s got a room down at the Richmond.” He stops to clear his throat and put out his cigarette. “He’s a banker,” he continues, “Works with Fryman’s Investors. Divorced. His ex-wife lives in Vienna with her bohemian lover. The bohemian’s a painter.” She can feel him watching her. Seeing if she’ll react to his words. She doesn’t want to look up. To see the smug expression he’s wearing. She’s so fucking tired, so fucking tired of this. And of him.

“I can do what I want, Tom,” she says, “I can see who I want, and I can fuck who I want.”

“Can you?”

She jerks her head up at his question. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can,” she says while staring into his cloudy blue eyes. If their not clear, his eyes that is, it means he’s drunker than he acts. Damn the Shelby men and their fucking alcohol tolerance. How long had he been drinking her whiskey waiting for her to get home? “So is that it, then? Are we done now? Can I go to bed like I wanted to when I got back to my fucking house?” She finishes her words with the last of the whiskey in her in glass. Tommy shifts in his seat to bring out his cigarette holder and lighter before he stands and grabs the whiskey off the mantle. He fills his glass, then Ada’s, and he sits back down while straightening out his jacket like a fucking king.

“No, we’re not done,” he says and lights up a smoke. “There’s some business.”

“I don’t give a fuck about business, Tom!” She snaps. “I want to go to bed.”

“There’s some business that you need to know about,” he continues as if she never spoke. “It’ll affect the family, and that includes you, no matter how much you fight it.” He points at her with his cigarette. “So from now, stay away from London pubs. Stay away from foreigners. And get back home before ten.”

“I’m not a child, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” He says sharply as he leans forward, “Then stop fuckin’ acting like one.”

She wants to cry. Not because what he says hurts; that doesn’t matter anymore. Ada wants to cry because she’s not allowed to have anything. Her home? That’s Tommy’s and the endless supply of spare keys he seems to have is proof enough of that. Her whiskey? Paid for by the Shelby Brothers Limited. Her time? Well, there’s a curfew in effect for that and watchdogs to enforce it. And now, her body. The last bit of herself she foolishly thought she owned. Tommy’ll decide who she can give it to, and if she’s being honest with herself, although honesty has always hurt Ada, she’s never really believed it belonged to her anyway. His grip on her heart tightens and tightens and tightens until the stallion bucking away inside her breaks under his slip lead. Tommy’s always had a way with horses and apparently that extends to the fucking metaphorical one she invented to justify the wild beats in her chest.

“It’s not fair,” she says, “It’s not right. You can’t control people like this, Tom. You just can’t.”

“Everyone else is following the same rules, Ada.” He breathes out smoke with his words. “And they don’t seem to have a problem following them.”

“Because who can say no to Thomas Shelby?” She shakes her head, and downs her whiskey, and reaches for another cigarette. She needs something in her hands or she’ll be tempted to lay them on Tommy. To make him feel every blow to her ego he’s ever dealt.

“No, because when I tell them to do something,” he says, “They know it’s for their own good. They know it’s for a good fucking reason.” He leans over to fill her glass again. From her bottle. Sitting in her chair and still ruling over every aspect of her small, little life.

“A good reason? Yeah, I bet you’re just fuckin’ full of them, Tommy.”

“Ada.”

“Fuck off, Tom!” She says loudly and drunkenly. If he keeps pushing her, she’ll let go. Just let the gin and the whiskey do the talking. God, how she wishes she would. Someone has too. Someone has to fucking stop him before he breaks everything. Before he breaks her. “I have to be up early,” She says, “I have to get Karl from Polly in the morning. Just let me go to bed, Tommy, please.” It’s the alcohol in her that lets slip the please. She’d never beg sober.

“Alright,” he says as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s alright, Ada. We’ll talk again. Soon.” She doesn’t follow him to the door. She just waits to her the click of the lock before she lets loose her tears.

II.

The restrictions are lifted soon enough when the business is resolved, but Ada can’t stop thinking about it; the chokehold she felt that night. She can’t stay here. She’ll go raving fuckin’ mad. She tries to remember herself. The woman who fell in love with Freddie Thorne. The woman who stood in no-man’s land between two of the stupidest groups of men she’d ever witnessed. Where’d she gone? Ada begins looking for her. In her lipsticks. In her perfumes. In her silk robes. Where could she be, the old Ada? She doesn’t allow herself to consider the worst; that the old Ada died. Succumbed to the infection called Thomas Shelby. She hears Karl waking in the other room and she stands from her kitchen table, silk flowing behind her as she walks through the cold hall towards her son. Sometimes, she feels afraid to love him. Karl’s all she has that’s rightfully hers. And if she acknowledges it, if she makes her claim, she knows Tommy’ll make his. He’s part of the family, Ada, she can already hear him saying it. Ada opens the door to Karl’s bedroom, and her son turns his beautiful, little face towards his mother.

“Good morning, my love,” she says softly and crosses the room to sit on his bed. She smoothes the soft hairs of his head and leans in to kiss his temple. Thomas will never have her son, she thinks with her lips pressed against Karl’s skin. She pulls back and smiles with wet eyes. “Let’s get you some breakfast, yeah?” she says while prodding the boy from his bed. Her son’s a Thorne, not a fucking Shelby, and if Tom ever tries to take Karl from her then God help him. She’ll take his fucking eyes. And it’s with that thought she realizes she knows where to look for the old Ada.

Of course, she still lets Karl see his cousins. It’d be cruel to deny the children like that. Kids are kept far away from the business anyway and that’s all the interaction Tommy gives Ada nowadays. So she gets confused when Tom stays sitting after she gives the name of the Bolshevik agitator. Then he mentions the position in Boston and while he describes it, she knows that he knows how fucking scared she is. And being the gracious man he is, he offers a different continent and a whole fucking ocean to protect her son from him. She knows it’s the closest she’ll ever get to a promise from Tom. Her son’s a Thorne, would say the ocean separating them from him. It’s also the closest she’ll get to acknowledgment from Tommy about his treatment towards her. It means he knows about the slip lead, the infection, and the fucking rot she’s tried so hard to keep hidden. Thomas fucking Shelby knows everything and still nothing matters to him.

She gets closer to Lizzie then she ever thought she would. Ada tries hard to not judge others, but Lizzie’s reputation had stood between them so long that she forgot. And it’s not until late one evening at the Shelby Brothers Limited almost four hours after close that Ada realizes she thinks of Lizzie as a friend. She watches the tall, dark haired beauty pour herself a drink and she sees the tired lines running through Lizzie’s face and the way her body struggles to keep her hand from shaking while she pours.

“You alright there, Lizzie?” Ada asks.

“Yeah,” Lizzie chuckles, “I’m alright.” Ada knows that line. Says it herself about five times a week.

“Is it Tom then?”

Lizzie chokes on her drink but Ada can tell it’s a laugh. “Is it that obvious?” Lizzie asks while wiping her mouth. “Of course it is,” she continues, “It’s fuckin’ stamped on my forehead.” She walks back over to where Ada sits and sinks into the chair next to her. “It’s my fault, really,” she says and takes the cigarette offered to her from Ada. “You know, I thought,” she pauses to light her smoke, “Working here, getting paid as secretary and not a whore. I thought it’d make me feel better. So it’s funny, really, how much worse I feel.”

Ada wants to tell Lizzie that she’s not a whore. Not anymore. But she can’t. The words get choked up in her throat and make her want to gag. Because they’re not true, are they? And Lizzie’s past might make it easier for the reformed street-walker to accept Tommy’s treatment. To take his words and actions as the paid wounds they are. And maybe that’s what Ada hates most about him. That he makes her, his sister, feel like a common fucking whore. Every bit of her up for sale.

“Well, you know Tom,” Ada says as she stands and pours herself another glass of whiskey. She holds the bottle out for Lizzie and the beauty leans forward to take it from her hands. “Everything has its price,” she says with a swig from her drink, “And God knows he’s got the money to pay for it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lizzie says while holding out her glass with a shake of her head. Ada clinks the glasses together and smiles.

“You’re not alone,” she says softly, “Not anymore.”

“It was simpler when he just wanted to fuck,” Lizzie muses then she looks up at Ada with a slight blush. “Sorry,” she continues, “I know he’s your brother.”

“Me? Related to Thomas Shelby?” Ada asks. “That’ll be the fuckin’ day.” She finishes the brown liquor in her glass and puts out of her smoke. Then she considers Lizzie’s words and she finds herself asking a question before she’s had time to think about asking it. “He doesn’t fuck you?”

Lizzie stops mid-sip to bring her eyes back from their distance and look to Ada. She swallows and sets her glass on the desk in front of them. “No,” she says, “Tom’s been seeking other women these days. Never the same one. Never more than once.” Ada nods as if the information fits into some sorta puzzle she didn’t know she was solving. “They all look the same though,” Lizzie continues, “And I don’t say it meanly, but they all look the fuckin’ same.”

“Like Grace?” Ada asks as she grabs another cigarette and lights it.

“No,” Lizzie says as she pours herself more whiskey. She caps the bottle and pushes it away from her. “No, Ada,” she sighs, “Not like her. None of them look like Grace.”

Ada tucks her conversation with Lizzie away into the cobwebbed corners of her mind. Then she forgets about it and it stays tucked away there for all of about three weeks until she goes to visit John and Esme. It’s a lively household. Makes makes her home feel haunted by comparison. If it’s not the children, running around and yelling at the top of their lungs, it’s Esme and John themselves screaming. And for all the yelling and noise that can be heard at their home, she knows it’s a happy one. They both have tempers, she won’t lie about that, and they both have too much pride. Ada’s been between enough fights of theirs to know that. But they love each other. And she bets Thomas didn’t see that coming when he forced them to get married. But isn’t love always Tommy’s weakness? She sits in the parlor of John’s home and listens to Esme loudly tell him that she didn’t want company tonight. That’s fine, thinks Ada. She doesn’t want to be here either. But Shelby business can’t wait, can it?

“Did you want some tea?” Esme asks with narrowed eyes as she sits herself across from Ada.

“No,” she answers as she takes off her gloves. “But I’ll have some whiskey if you’re pouring.”

“We’re always fuckin’ pourin’ round here,” Esme mutters as she grabs two glasses and a bottle off the mantle. “John’ll be down soon.”

“Okay,” Ada nods as she looks around and then she feels compelled to add, “It’s not just John, you know? Who I’m here to see.”

“Sorry for not jumpin’ for joy at seeing Tommy’s favorite lapdog,” Esme says as she takes a healthy gulp from her glass. Ada sighs and drinks her whiskey. She used to be close with Esme. She’s not really sure where the relationship went sour, but it probably has something to do with the rot. Ada’s missed a lot of things trying to fight the infection. At least the Gypsy will still drink in her presence. “So what were you doing there then?” Esme asks.

“Doing what where?” Ada says and fishes her cigarette holder out of her pocket.

“At the Ritz,” Esme continues, “My cousin says she saw you. Walkin’ arm in arm with Thomas after midnight.”

“I haven’t been to the fuckin’ Ritz,” Ada says. “Tell you cousin to get some fuckin’ glasses, yeah?”

Esme shrugs as if her earlier words didn’t mean anything. “I’m just tellin’ you,” she says, “So’s you can be more cautious in the future. Eyes out there everywhere.” Ada stops before she lights her smoke. She doesn’t understand.

“I’m not lying,” is the only thing Ada can think to say. “I wasn’t at the Ritz.” John walks into the room as she finishes her sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell, Esme,” he says as he grabs a glass from above the fireplace and walks towards the bottle on the table. “I told you it wasn’t Ada,”

“Right,” his wife agrees, “And now I asked her myself so I believe you. Both of you.” Esme stands and finishes her drink. “I trust my ‘usband to tell me whatever it is you got to say so I’ll be leavin’ now.”

“Yeah, fuck off,” John calls over his shoulder as he pours himself a whiskey. “Fuckin’ hell,’’ he mutters.

“Still in the honeymoon period, eh, John?” Ada can’t help but tease.

“Fuckin’ honeymoons,” he says while shaking his head. “You know, we haven’t taken it yet? Our fuckin’ honeymoon. And every time I ask her where she wants to go, she says she wants to go the fuckin’ pastures. Like I want a honeymoon spent in horse shit. Can stay in Small Heath for that.” He tips the contents of his glass down his throat and turns towards Ada. “So what’s he got to say then?” He slams his glass on the table and wipes his mouth. “Another fuckin’ list?” John asks as he holds out his hand.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “It’s another fucking list.” Ada shifts in her seat to bring out the folded piece of paper from her pocket for John.

“Great,” he says as he snatches it from her hand. “I was startin’ to worry, you know? Hadn’t gotten one in the last eight fuckin’ hours.”

“He’s trying his best, John,” and even Ada doesn’t believe the words she says.

“Yeah, I know,” John says as he swipes at his nose. She figures their sibling bond is the only thing that stops him from pushing the lie. He pulls a cigarette out his pocket and sits in the chair Esme left empty. “I believe you,” he offers as he lights his smoke and for one moment Ada thinks John might be stupid. “That it wasn’t you at the Ritz, that is,” he continues, “Not the other fuckin’ thing.” He motions towards Tommy’s list with his words. There it is, Ada smiles to herself. You can’t bullshit John and it’s good to know that hasn’t changed. He reaches for the bottle to pour another drink and sinks back into his chair with his full glass. He looks beyond strained. More like defeated. Not that it’s unexpected given the circumstances, but John’s usually faster to bounce back from Tommy’s callousness. But it’s been going on for nearly four months now so she can’t really blame him. His vest is crumpled under his jacket and it brings out the little boy hiding in his features. Ada knows if Arthur saw him like this, he’d slap his back. Come on now, he’d say. Things to do, Johnboy, ya know how it is. But it shouldn’t be like that, should it? It’s wrong, what Tommy asks of his family. Our Johnboy, she thinks and puts out her cigarette. Boy is right; he’s got too much youth left to let Tommy beat it out of him like this.

“But she did look like you,” he says and his words spark that tucked away memory of her conversation with Lizzie. “And it’s not the first time it’s happened.” He looks to the side as he speaks and lights the almost forgotten cigarette in his hand. “I wasn’t gonna say nothin’ but Esme.” He stops and sniffs before he gulps half the whiskey in his glass. “Well, she’s little rough, I know,” he continues, “but she’s a good woman.” John stops again with a sigh. He shifts in his seat and takes a long drag from his smoke as if he needs to consider his words carefully. As if what he’s got to say is something Ada won’t want to hear and he’s need to figure out how to frame it first. God bless him, she thinks. John may be able to see through bullshit, but he sure as hell can’t hide his. “It worries her,” he says, “that’s all,” and that he ends up on those words after all his seemingly careful deliberation bothers her. How odd. How honest. How like her Johnboy. Ada doesn’t know what to say so she drinks instead.

Regardless of her current standing with Esme, Ada respects her. The woman has intuition and the backbone to defend it. Esme reminds her of Polly sometimes and she wonders if that’s how Pol might’ve been while young. Headstrong, loud, and drunk, but full of the world’s secrets. Ada sits by Polly’s desk at the Shelby Brothers Limited late one evening and watches the older woman write in shorthand, her pen moving like wildfire across the paper.

“What?” Asks Polly.

“Nothing,” Ada shrugs. Pol stops writing and looks up at her. “Really, it’s nothing, Pol,” Ada says. The older woman stares at her a moment too long before she looks back down at her paper and begins her furious writing again.

“Sure,” Polly says, “It’s always nothing, isn’t it?” Ada rolls her eyes at Polly’s words. “This whole family is full of nothing.”

“Don’t take your anger out on me, Pol,” she sighs. “Whatever he’s done now, it’s not my fault.”

“Who said anything about me being angry?” The older woman snaps as she slams down her pen. “And why should I be angry? It’s doesn’t have anything to do with me. Nothing does, nowadays.” She opens her cigarette case and pulls out a long, black smoke before tapping it on the desk. Polly lights her smoke while narrowing her eyes at the flame then flicks the smoldering match to the ashtray. “So you’ve thought about Boston?”

“Yeah,” Ada says after a pause to light her own cigarette, “I think it’ll be good.”

“It’ll be a lotta work,” says Pol, “But that might be what you need right now. God knows a bored Shelby is a curse on the world.” Ada thinks about reminding Polly that she’s a Thorne now, but the words take too much effort so she lets them stay resting under her tongue. Her Aunt has her eyes closed with her head leaned back against the top of the chair. If Ada’s going to ask what she wants to, what she came here to ask, it should be now. While Pol is resting and unawares.

“Has Esme talked with you?” Ada asks.

“Oh god, why?” Asks Polly as she sits up straight in her chair and puts out her cigarette. “It’s not the count, is it?” she continues while standing and turning towards the back room containing the safe. “I swear, the women these boys bring into our home.”

“No,” Ada says before Pol can leave the room. “It wouldn’t be about business.”

Polly stops with her back facing Ada. “Should we have a drink?” She asks while turning towards the draw hiding the always present bottle. “Feels like this is a conversation where we’ll want one.” She pours two glasses of whiskey without waiting for Ada’s reply. Then the older woman walks back to her desk and holds out the glass for her niece before sitting back down. “So what would this talk with Esme be about?” Polly asks after a sip.

“Well, if you haven’t had it yet, you can’t tell me, can you?” Says Ada.

“I thought I was asking you,” says Pol as she slips out another black cigarette to sit between between her lips and then lights it. She sits quietly with her eyes focused in the distance and Ada can see her mind running through all the possibilities. “What’d John do this time?” Polly finally asks.

“Nothing,” Ada chuckles, “At least not yet, anyway.”

“Right, so it’s not about business and it’s not about John,” Polly muses and traces her fingers over her lips. Running more scenarios, Ada thinks to herself with a smile. Then her eyes shift back to Ada’s and Pol drops her hand from her face while setting her glass down on the desk. “Is it Tom?”

Just as Ada is about to nod, she sees a figure in the corner of her eye, watching them both from the doorway; an ember at the tip of his smoke illuminates the face in the dark. “Tommy! Christ!” Ada cries.

“Oh god, is it that bad?” Polly asks while seemingly unaware that the topic of their conversation stands behind her in the doorway. As if his name somehow summoned him like devil he is. He moves silently into the room like a fucking ghost.

“Hello, Pol,” he says but his eyes stay steady on Ada. Polly gasps and puts her hand to her chest.

“Oh fuck,” she sighs and moves her hand from her chest up to her temple. “Lost about five years just now and I don’t have them to lose, I’ll have you know.”

“Have I interrupted something?” He asks as he sits in the empty chair next to Polly and across from Ada. His sister drinks from her whiskey and looks away from Tom’s eyes.

“You did,” says Polly, “but when have you ever cared?” She stamps out her smoke with her words. “So what are you doing here?” She continues. “Arthur said you wouldn’t be in until noon tomorrow.”

“Arthur doesn’t know everything, Pol,” Tommy says and Ada stands to refill her glass. “I’ll have one,” he adds and clears his throat. Ada looks up at the ceiling willing God to give her the strength she needs not to throw the bottle at Tommy’s head before she grabs another glass and fills it. She sets the bottle down harder then she means to and Tom raises his eyebrow at the sound.

“Sorry,” says Ada and hands him his drink before sitting back in her seat.

Polly shifts her eyes back and forth between the two siblings. “Right,” she says, and Ada knows her aunt’s trying to read the unspoken in the room. Well good fucking luck, Ada thinks. Lately, even she doesn’t know what Tommy’s not saying.

“Well, continue your conversation then,” he says before he takes a sip of his drink and fixes his jacket. “What does Esme need to talk with you about?”

“I don’t know,” replies Polly. Ada can feel the older woman carefully measuring out her words. “We’ve only just established it’s not about business, John, or you,” she continues.

“You’ve established that, have you?” Tom asks while staring at Ada. Her pulse quickens under his eyes and she reaches for another cigarette. “I wonder what it could be then,” he continues, “Sounded important, from the way Ada said it.”

Ada’s heart leaps an entire beat and she takes a gulp of her drink. He’d heard her. He’d heard the whole fucking thing. Does he already know? Did John tell him? It doesn’t seem like something John would share with Tommy, but maybe he didn’t have to. Tom’s smart. He could figure it out on his own. Then Ada has a thought and she feels herself grow cold as she considers it. What if he hasn’t been trying to hide it? She replays John’s words now. But she did look like you, he’d said, and it’s not the first time it’s happened. Jesus Christ. The whiskey in her stomach makes a jump for her throat but Ada catches it with a small gulp of air.

“You alright, Ada?” Tommy asks and she nods as she leans forward to light her cigarette off his offered flame. She’s thankful she didn’t have to light it herself or else the shaking of her hand would have been made clear.

“It’s just women’s talk, Tom,” Ada says while avoiding his eyes and leaning back in her chair. “It wouldn’t interest you.”

“This is an equal opportunity enterprise, as you both know,” he says. “What makes you think I’m not interested?”

“She just wants to Pol to do her gypsy witchcraft,” Ada says while pointing at Polly with her smoke and she feels her aunt watching her as she speaks. “Tell her the sex of the baby and other mystical unknowns.” Please God, catch on Aunt Pol, Ada thinks. She can’t calm the beats of her heart, not with the infection so close, so hot and burning.

“Of course she does,” Polly says firmly. “Who else would she go to? Doctors?” She laughs with her words and her laughter soothes a bit of Ada’s heart. Her Aunt Polly is such a clever woman. “Those men in white coats wouldn’t recognize a woman’s body if it wasn’t stretched out beneath them.” And even Tommy cracks a smile at Polly’s words.

“I’m here for the ledgers,” he says in answer to Polly’s question asked long ago and puts out his cigarette. Polly nods and gathers the stack together. “I want to look over them before my meeting in the morning,” he says after finishing the whiskey in his glass. He stands and accepts the books that Pol holds out for him. “You leaving, Ada?” He continues while towering over his sister. “I’ll give you ride.”

“I’ll just get a cab, Tom.”

“It’s safer,” he says, “riding with me. Come on, let’s go.” He walks towards the door and holds it open without waiting for her reply. Polly watches Ada with wide eyes as her niece stuffs her cigarettes back into her purse and stands. Her clever Aunt, Ada finds herself thinking again. Of course Polly’s worried too. How could she not be when Tom doesn’t even try to disguise it?

[kar3npage]

Sewing Scissors and Throwing Knives

Chapter 3 is now up! Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading along! I will be posting a new chapter every Monday:)

If you want to read along from the beginning, you can check it out on ao3 here

Recap from last chapter:  Neil calls Kevin and accepts his offer, Neil meets (most of) the team, Kevin and Nicky decide that Neil needs a new wardrobe.

His fingers are itching for a cigarette. It’s not an addiction, since Neil doesn’t actually smoke the things, but he’s craving a tether. A comforting scent, something to ground him. It’s only an hour into his second day at the atelier and he’s already thoroughly tired of Kevin and the constant noise that permeates the floor. It’s getting annoying having to bite back the snarky comments and make everyone think he’s a pushover. But being a pushover will keep him alive, so he’ll make do. Matt and Nicky greeted Neil with the same level of enthusiasm as they had the day before, and he got a few friendly nods as the building started to fill. Fortunately being tied to Kevin made most people keep their distance. Unfortunately, being tied to Kevin meant that Andrew popped up constantly. Neil can feel his eyes tracking him even when he’s pretty sure that he isn’t even in the same area as them. “No, I need it by Thursday at the latest. I was promised it by Wednesday!” Kevin is saying into the phone in that particularly bossy voice of his. “No, you don’t understand. You’ve heard of Alli Rey, correct? Yes, everyone has. If we can’t get that shipment in by Thursday, we will no longer be working with your company.” Kevin continues in that vein, threatening to pull out of whatever deal they have. As far as Neil understands, the shipment is holding a fabric that they ‘desperately’ need for the showstopper in the quickly approaching show. Neil is a far ways away from his times running. He’s made little things out of the strangest material, purely out of necessity. He barely waits for Kevin to put down the phone before speaking to make sure that he can get a word in before Kevin starts. “Why don’t you just get a different fabric for it?” Kevin has that expression on that says that he can’t believe that he’s even wasting a second of his day for Neil. “It would never get here in time, even if we did somehow manage to find something as perfect as this.” “Okay, then use something you already have.” Neil thinks to the entire wall of bolts of fabric in every colour that sits in the cutting room. Kevins face is slowly going red. “You--no, fuck’s sake. Neil, no.” “Why not?” “Because this is the showstopper. This is going to be ending the show. You cannot leave the customers on a blah note, it has to be perfect. And the only way that’s going to happen is if it’s made out of a silk/rayon velvet that’s been hand dyed with a unique method in Amsterdam.” “Maybe your showstopper isn’t as good as you think it is if it’s going to fail just because you used a different nice fabric.” “He has a point,” a dry voice startles Neil and he whips around to face the door. Andrew stands there, wearing a very similar all black outfit to what he wore yesterday. Neil considers complaining that he has to change his look when Andrew wears the same thing every day. He keeps his mouth shut for once. Kevin splutters something from his spot behind the desk, face going a mottled purple. “Get out,” Andrew says to Neil. He hesitates, glancing at Kevin to argue. When he doesn’t, Neil makes sure to leave Andrew space as he walks past him. He closes the door behind him and pauses in the hallway to listen. The bond between Andrew and Kevin has already been mentioned countless times in the office, and Neil has read many articles about it in various gossip magazines. No matter what is written or said, no one can explain exactly why Andrew lets Kevin tag along. Neil can just barely hear Andrew through the door. “The Moriyama’s aren’t going to care which fabric the last dress is made out of as long as it makes them money. And Riko fuck-face can’t do anything without his uncles approval. Relax.” A muffled groan can be heard down the hallway. Neil leans in a bit closer to hear Kevin’s answer. His words are frantic and fast, too fast for Neil to be able to catch on. Andrew’s answer is a repeat of his earlier words. He doesn’t stay outside for much longer after that. Of course Neil had been keeping an eye on the Moriyamas to ensure that he would be able to avoid them, but he was under the impression that Kevin had split from Riko after the accident. Neil Josten was well and truly fucked.

He still had nightmares about the few weeks that he was stuck in the Nest, nightmares of the oppressive atmosphere, the pain and humiliation, the complete and utter exhaustion. It had taken him almost a month to stop losing time after the 16 hour days. He was still claustrophobic from the experience.

To make it even worse, he knows that his father works for the Moriyama's. He bitterly wonders whether he’ll even live to see the show that he is currently helping them prepare for. The smart thing would be to leave and get a new identity. Maybe check out Italy, he’d been learning Italian in his spare time while he was working as a janitor. Of course, just because that's the smart thing doesn’t mean it’s the route that he wants to choose.

The problem is the last time that Neil had felt so strongly about his surroundings was when he was in the fashion program in school. The working hum of industrials, the quiet bustle of seamstresses and cutters going about their work, the satisfying sound of sharp scissors cutting through silk. The atmosphere at Alli Rey was intoxicating and calming all at once. Neil had walked through the cutting room earlier and spent almost 20 minutes just looking at the shelves of bolts of fabric that fills one wall. He had almost filled his sketchbook last night with new ideas. He hadn’t felt this inspired by anything for years, and now that he had spent a few days as a part of the magic he wasn’t sure that he could tear himself away so soon. If he could just make it until the next fashion show, the one that Kevin wanted him to help design, then he could die in peace. That way he could have made a mark, albeit a small one. That way he could get rid of a few of his regrets in life.

Three days later and Neil is as in love with the volatile environment as he was when he decided that he would be willing to die for it. The craziness with the customer is apparently over, so Neil was finally able to meet Dan. She is a no-nonsense, hard working woman with a tight control over her team. She had Neil’s respect the minute he saw her wrangle Seth into some semblance of control, and he had no trouble saying that he trusted her completely to get everything finished. Seth is another employee that he has, unfortunately, gotten to know since the customer issues have been dealt with. He had immediately written Neil off, and he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder for any designer as long as it wasn’t Allison. Neil had met Allison a few times so far, and each time she had a different reaction to Seth being there. Their strange relationship didn’t make anyone else nearly as uncomfortable as it did Neil. “I think it’s time that you start working late like everyone else does,” Kevin announces as Neil walks into the office that he’s been ‘shadowing’ Kevin in so far. “I do work late with everyone else,” Neil says. Annoyance crosses Kevin’s face. “No, you leave with Andrew and Nicky everyday.” “So do you.” “I leave for dinner with them, but I come back after.” Neil has known that Kevin was obsessive about his work right from the get go, but he had no idea to what extent. He knows for a fact that Matt and Dan leave around the time that he does, since they keep inviting him out for drinks, and they have important roles in the company as well. Neil tries to muster up some irritation with Kevin about the demand, but all he feels is some excitement about spending more time in the studios. So far he’s just gone home to sketch, obsessively check the locks in his hotel room, and eventually fall into a restless sleep. Coming back in to help with the quickly coming up Resort show is infinitely better than anything else that Neil could be doing in his evenings. “Alright,” he tells Kevin. Kevin gives him one quick nod of approval. “Andrew will pick you up tonight at 9. Eat before then.”

As promised, Andrew’s fancy vehicle is waiting outside the hotel for Neil at exactly 9 o’clock. Kevin is waiting in the passenger seat, and neither of the men are currently speaking to one another. Kevin immediately launches into a brainstorming session with Neil when he climbs in the backseat, and as much as he is interested in what Kevin has to say, his eyes keep wandering to look at Andrew in the drivers seat. So far what he’s seen of Andrew makes him think that he’s apathetic about the whole thing. He’s always the calm in the storm when he walks through the atelier during the day (although that isn’t often. Mostly he’s holed up in the office that Neil so far hasn’t been in with a woman with rainbow dyed hair whom he hasn’t met), and whenever Kevin tries to talk with him about upcoming collections he answers with a bored glare. Neil’s fascinated with this person who obviously has incredible talent, yet doesn’t care about it. He wasn’t sure what to expect of their late night work, but it’s pretty similar to the work that they’ve been doing during the day so far. The only difference is that Kevin isn’t able to phone any of their suppliers, so he has more of the razor focus that Neil remembers from his Exy days. They’re in the beautiful, streamlined office staring at the wall behind Kevin's desk. Andrew lies on the couch near the window with a book, one that Neil hasn’t heard of before. The pages are dog eared and worn, yet the avid way Andrew focuses on the book makes it look like he’s never read it before. The wall has been transforming quickly while Neil has been here. For the most part he’s been keeping his opinions to himself (which has been more difficult than he thought it would be) since his real job will start with the next collection, but he hasn’t been able to help himself with a few of the looks. They’re planning the show, playing around with the order that the ensembles come out on the runway and which garments will be put together. Most of the wall has been taken over by the photos of each look on possible models (that will need to be decided as well, eventually). Each look has a number on it, though the numbers keep getting scratched out and changed. The only one that hasn’t changed is the showstopper, which will be going last. “I just still don’t understand what makes that one the showstopper,” Neil tells Kevin before he can control himself. He stiffens and waits for Kevin to have a conniption, or maybe a panic attack. Neil had thought that Andrew wasn’t paying attention to them, but a small huff tells him that he has. Kevin surprises all of them by looking thoughtful. It takes him a while to respond and he inspects the wall in the meantime. “I’m not really sure, actually. I had just decided in the beginning that it would be and it never occurred to me that it might not.” “Okay.” Neil says, but he’s been forgotten. A familiar frenzied look is in Kevin's eye now that Neil planted the idea, and he’s scrambling around the wall moving photos around. The rest of the evening is spent in near silence, and Neil finds that he enjoys his time with Kevin and Andrew more than he ever thought he would. He admires Kevin, and has for a long time. Seeing him working first hand isn’t always that impressive, but when he gets into this centered head space Neil can see why he’s gotten so far in the industry so quickly. Andrew is a different story. Where Kevin is an easy book to read, Neil just can’t grasp anything about Andrew. Everything he does surprises Neil. It’s unsettling.

So far Neil has managed to avoid Nicky and Kevin’s plans for getting him new clothes. By the end of the week he had quietly hoped that they had forgotten about it in the chaos of show prep. Neil Josten has never been that lucky. Nicky jumps him during lunch on Friday with far too much joy for such a task. “You’re going to love Abby, she’s great. We always go to the Garment District store just for her for the new recruits.” “We’re going to an Alli Rey store?” Neil has no idea what to expect from his day, but there’s a tight ball of dread in his stomach that’s threatening to swallow him. He counts to ten in French, and then German in the hopes that the anxiety will lessen. “Yep! Everyone tries to wear as much from the brand as possible for marketing. It was my idea,” Nicky preens as he pushes Neil out of the building. It’s just the two of them for once, something that hasn’t happened since he arrived. Neil makes a vague noise of approval. They get into Andrews car, which Neil can’t imagine the conversation that got the approval for Nicky to drive. Nicky talks nonstop the entire time they’re in the vehicle, which Neil is strangely grateful for. The empty chatter is enough to quell some of the nausea that popped up when he realized that he would need to get measured today, which also meant that it was pretty likely that he would have to take off his shirt. Unfortunately, he has already tried everything that he could think of to get out of this when Kevin first brought it up and he has no ideas left. All he knows is that Nicky absolutely can not be in the room while he gets his measurements done.