#like i had to suffer through all the excuses as to why they couldn’t vote against trump

[comradekarin]

as someone that’s currently a sophomore in college that attends through federal parent plus loans and scholarships money from my school (and has family that’s on federal assistance programs)…. this is very scary guys. and super fucking illegal. i expect a bunch of lawsuits to result from this because he literally can not do this. with that said, where’s the anything but dems coalition at? are we as upset about this as we were about the tikTok ban or? 🌚

****edit**** see what people say when they don’t have a response back to you pointing out a fact that shakes their bigoted brains LMAO

[oddeyevibes]

I swear the democrats love to lose cause they simple aren’t at risk as the rest of us and they prove it everyday.

All they had to do was NOT pursue a tiktok ban…AT ALL but they did any way cause they couldn’t control the flow of information surrounding Palestine. (Mind you, one of the major reasons ppl were learning about the genocide was because z*onists think fascism is just so super cool and they proudly post themselves committing war crimes)

AND now they’ve practically cleared the way for Tr*mp to present himself as the “hero” despite him being the one that introduced the ban in the first place. It’ll be the stimulus check all over again with people forgetting that he literally had to be bullied into that.

And will the democrats learn anything from this? No. Because they didn’t learn anything in the 2016 election and they didn’t learn anything in the 2024 election. They refuse to admit they’re out of touch when most of main ones in charge are old enough to remember segregated water fountains and then you have ones like A*C whose clearly delusional enough to think she can “take it down from within by playing the game”.

They refuse to admit they don’t know what they’re talking about or know how to help the working class cause their main constituents ARENT the working class. The working class has no choice but to vote for them but the REAL demographic they care about are the corporations and billionaires. They don’t care about us and prove it DAY AFTER DAY and yet liberals will still hop online and call leftists accelerationists cause apparently running a campaign based on nothing but “What if we did the Obama campaign again and appeal o republicans at the same time?” sounded like a good idea to them. Without understanding WHY Obama worked in the first place (hint: it’s because ppl were disillusioned with the Democrats even then and thought Obama would actually bring change to the party cause he—on the surface—didn’t look like another white corporate shill and had an actual history of advocacy whereas Kamala was nothing more than a fucking cop. A proud one at that but “the evil tankies in California HAD to be making it up”.)

The Dems rode on the coattails of the Obama era and never planned on what to do afterwards cause if they did they wouldn’t have chosen Hilary and then they didn’t plan after Biden cause if they did they wouldn’t have chosen a candidate for us. You know why? Because the last time they did, we chose Bernie and they didn’t want to risk us having an actual voice. So they assumed ppl would be ok with it cause it was a black woman. And a lot of y’all did. Scarily so cause it was giving “save us Mammy, save us so we can pretend the brown ppl aren’t being bombed again”.

Then the Dems and libs have the audacity to pretend that they deserve to be graceful losers. “What can they do, they tried” if that campaign was them “trying” then we’re fucked because that sad excuse of an attempt was the equivalent of me trying to move a cardboard box by blowing on it from across the room and then saying “well I tried”.

BIPARTISON SUPPORT FOR A FUCKING CENSORSHIP FOR AN APP THESE CUNTS WERE USING FOR THEIR CAMPAIGN USED AND THESE FUCKS CONTINUE TO USE DESPITE THEM SCREAMING “national security concern”.

Tune in next time where the Dems give Tr*mp and republicans their fifth easy win by giving them disappointed finger wags when the DoE gets defunded or by supporting KOSA or by giving Americans suffering through natural disasters a mere 750 while Isr*el gets billions.

For those playing at home: the first win was 2016, the second was Row v Wade, the third was 2024, and the fourth was the Tiktok ban.

[anguishedlurker]

CHAPTER TWO COMING UP, Danny stop saying concerning things challenge.

~

Clockwork save him from this day…

“Val… Where do you think Phantom is, right now?”

“Who the hell knows, especially if he’s got your body out of this. Hey, you don’t think he’d try walking into your house if-”

“Val, give me a sec here.” Danny pleaded, distress probably obvious.

Valerie’s bewildered look pierced through worse than it should’ve.

“I get it, bad time. Just, the revelation of… yeah, I’m screwed.”

Hands over his eyes, like he was going to rub sense into himself. Conveniently hiding her pity away from him as gears turned and stalled time for a better lie.

Her conclusion was obvious; that Fenton and Phantom had swapped bodies, and not that they were one and the same.

It explained her fast turn around once he’d stopped trying to snark back at her, every inconsistent comment could be explained by it, and it left him in an even stranger position than before.

Who knew what clarifying the situation would even do? She nearly killed him behind the nasty burger, so the lethal intent towards Phantom was clear.

And he simply had no evidence to promise if such intent would be disarmed if she found out. He’d ruined her life in one fell swoop, after all.

He was absolutely taking too long to think about this.

“Look, I trust you to be more competent than anyone else, but I’m starting to think I should just wait for Sam or Jazz to be free to solve this.” He tried to excuse.

Valerie would be reasonable about being politely told to go away, right?

“And why would that be?” She asked, stiffening as the implications processed.

“Uh-hmm.”

Danny wouldn’t take criticisms towards his lying abilities.

“L-look, this is going to take Phantom's cooperation no matter what?? I-I’m sorry, but you’re very very open about how double dead you want him. Can you even say he’d trust you enough to get close??”

He would however accept critique about his planning abilities.

“You’re not wrong, but that’s still simple; The sap would never turn down helping someone else. And he probably wants his own body back.”

Danny had to lean against the wall for that one, reality working its way past his usual refusal to cave.

How exactly was he going to get rid of her now??

“Danny??”

“I-I’m good, just-!”

“Shit! I forgot you’re bleeding and- Oh my god I fucking shot you!”

Oh, this one was easy at least.

“I have suffered so much worse on total accident Valerie. You think an ectoblast is going to slow me down?”

He was being serious, too. He hurt everywhere he could put a name to, AND really! Truly! It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever had an impromptu nap in a ditch before from one of these fights.

Thank god for accelerated healing.

Valerie’s look didn’t spell out good things though.

“Do you like, need help? In general?”

“I- nnooooo? Why would I?”

“I… think we just need to go to my place now…” Valerie ground out, grabbing him by the shirt again and not giving him a choice.

Why’s she so much stronger than him!?

“I still vote that I get Sam or Jazz about this! There’s so much going on here that-”

“Well, we can wait for them to be free at my place!” Valerie barked, still dragging him.

“How are we even going to get to your place!? We’re not exactly-”

“With a hat and a bus!”

Her confidence in that plan was unshakable.

He was totally screwed in new and improved ways. She wasn’t listening, there was no way to make her listen, and he’d already concluded that he couldn’t retry outing himself.

To boot, he was only left unattended while she went to buy a hat.

Well, he’s pretending she bought the hat. The hurried and anxious glances around with a hissed “Before they figure out I took it!” gave the game away, really.

Sam can say it’s cool and in fact ethical to shop lift all she wants, Danny would prefer not to be arrested over knickknacks.

On track though, he couldn’t even run while she was gone; he’d been shoved into a new dark and cramped hiding spot with the only way out being back onto the semi-busy street front.

The only reason he’d passed without notice to begin with was because of a hairband loan, promptly removed from him upon insertion into the hiding spot (thank god for the average attention span being so low).

If he got caught he’d be dead for good this time, and they both knew it.

“I do not especially appreciate being shunted around.” He whined, sticking his hair into the hat.

“Oh, so you got better places to be?”

“It’s not about being anywhere else, it’s about being physically dragged here.”

“Wouldn’t have to drag you if you weren’t being a bitch about it!” She snapped back. He was obviously grating nerves.

“You weren’t listening at all to anything I said, clearly. Which like, I don’t have options, I guess! Not about going somewhere else and hiding. But you’ve blown straight past that I don’t think he’s coming anywhere near you right now.”

“And you’ve blown past that he’s too heroic to say no about switching back, even if he’s out there having fun or some shit!”

He didn’t imply that Phantom was having fun, but whatever.

“Valerie, no amount of heroism erases that you want to kill him! What happens, at least in his head, the moment everything is solved? You have a gun- you have many guns- and then would have no reason not to abuse the fact that I’m in a- his body’s in a- he’s in a bad state after that!”

Valerie’s jaw clicked shut at this.

The scrunch of her face belied her realization that he was right, but she went straight back to pretending she was dead right with the same old insufferable confidence as always, clearly coming up with a retort on the spot to ‘destroy’ his argument.

“So you admit you’re not doing good right now?”

Wait, no! Wrong thing!

“Aaand we’re going to the bus!” He shouted, launching forward

“But you-”

“Bus time!”

He didn’t even know where the nearest stop was, but that wasn’t going to stop him right now.

“Sure, Danny. To bus time we go.”

“Don’t patronize me about this one! What universe do you live in where you know what to do for any of these wounds?”

It was like he’d shot her, everything after happening in near total silence, outside of clipped yeses and nos.

Danny couldn’t quite parse out which part of his jab was so insulting that he was getting thousand mile stared on the bus.

But he wasn’t allowed to let that matter, was he? Just allowed to be dragged off the bus and into her borderline dilapidated apartment.

“Sit.” Valerie huffed, pointing to a couch with an already suspicious amount of red stains.

“As you command.” He replied, the edge of sarcasm obvious in his voice.

She didn’t reply or wait as she vanished down a hall.

His collapse onto the couch was unceremonious, only punctuated by the vile reminder that he really was covering a metric ton of pain behind his current panic and anger. Had he ever mentioned that his ribs hurt? That was relevant.

“Okay. We’ve got me at your place, on your couch. With no other plan for what’s next.”

He was mostly whining into thin air, he knew.

Still, Valerie coming back into view with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a washcloth was not an expected outcome.

The memories of Sam chasing him down with those in the early days were strong with this one.

“No.”

“Yes. If this lasts long enough to-”

“No, like, that is actually useless right now. Ectoplasm doesn’t react with human skin, but on a microbe level anything near the wound is dead. If something gets infected it wasn’t caused by anything that’d be cleaned out by alcohol anyways.”

Her face twisted in response, expression unreadable to him otherwise.

“But don’t worry, maybe the acidity will bleach out some of the bloodstains.”

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, kind of. I’m not amused by this situation right now. Look, it’s surgical thread and needle or bust right now, so-”

“I’ve got that.”

“- I don’t really- wait what? Seriously?”

Her lips pressed flat as her face relaxed some.

“Hospitals are expensive.”

“Okay, but… so is ordering those things online.”

“And how would you know?”

“Get the thread and let’s stop talking about my injuries for five minutes as we get a better plan.”

The silence was even worse after he’d taken the needle himself, not wasting time on any back and forth. If she wanted this done then it’d get done, but he was pissed enough to make sure it was on his terms only.

“So.” He rasped, pulling the thread through as Valeie watched from a separate chair. 

“I am injured in your apartment, getting as fixed up as a ghost can get in such a place. My only hopes are my own basement, bothering Technus and Skulker to fix it themselves, or going to some very polite ghosts I know and asking them to pretty please see what they can do, and all are locked behind my parents stripping down Technus’s mess for parts. Not to mention that in any of these we probably need Phantom in tow.”

“Literally how are you talking through this. How often do you-”

None of it had the tone of a question, accusation and worry lacing through at the same time.

“Valerie, while it’s super cool and all to be concerned for me right now, so help us both because it doesn’t matter!”

“Okay, fine, what the fuck do you mean polite ghosts?”

Her glare could kill lesser beings right now. Luckily, he was just so magnificent as to be immune.

“I don’t think any of them have been outside of the zone, and they pride themselves on being really good doctors. At worst in this, I get better care, since that’s such a sticking point. Plus, I’m willing to bet that a body swap is something they’ve seen at least once before. So at best? They just solve the problem.”

Valerie’s attitude didn’t lighten up at his words, her eyes tracking the needle and thread still.

“Ignoring how you would’ve met them, you seriously trust them?”

“Look, I… Don’t want to have this kind of conversation, alright? Jazz has a field day any time I- They’re like, the only reason I’m still alive in a couple of different ways. Okay? Is this enough?”

She only twitched slightly, clearly schooling her expression into something neutral.

“I’ll accept that. For now. So then, fine, yeah, your parents are a problem. Ideas?”

“Wait for Sam to be available to give a false positive lead to them.”

“There’s that trust again! How-”

“We live in Amity. This is new, but do you think this is the first time I’ve needed to distract my parents? Or dealt with something weird?”

Valerie seemed to focus even more on the needle.

“Clearly not, though I would’ve hoped otherwise.”

“Glad you care that much.”

Her expression promptly unschooled itself.

“Of course I do you- Ugh. Look, I wasn’t going to ask how come you trust her. How long are you expecting to wait out of this? How long CAN you even wait? Clearly you know something more than me, so do we have a timer?”

Ah yes, finally; Easy questions.

“At least until she’s out of the weird afternoon party her parents threw, until Monday probably, and yeah. No timer. Probably. Don’t quote that last one”

“If we don’t know if there’s a timer then what’s stopping Jasmine from-”

Her frustration was clearly rising.

“Tutoring and that she did it last time. Even if she didn’t take on multiple people sometimes it can only be her doing it so many times before they catch on that it’s either on purpose or she’s unreliable.”

Danny could see that Valerie was resisting grinding her teeth, now.

“Danny, I swear I will get to the bottom of this one if it’s the last thing I do. But fine, fuck you and fuck me. When’s the party end?”

“Soon enough that she’ll call me back eventually and late enough that once I’m done with the needle I am taking a nap.”

An even harder glare at him.

“Are you sure you should-”

“Please, Val. Just this one thing. Today is constantly throwing new ways to be awful at me- just a nap while we’re stuck doing nothing anyways.”

The raw hostility he’d been provoking melted away as she finally looked at him and not the wound.

“A nap probably won’t kill you, yeah.” She allowed, voice soft.

The shift was sudden but not unwelcome, Danny finally allowed to finish closing the wound in peace.

He was eventually left to shift around on the stained but otherwise fine couch, quickly shoving the hat onto one of his belt pockets before he forgot.

“If it becomes tomorrow, let me keep sleeping.” He hummed, putting his head to the arm and trying to wiggle the throw pillow into place.

“Or suffocate you.”

“Or suffocate me.” He agreed readily.

Now, see, when he said nap, he meant close his eyes for long enough to get a real plan in the works.

But man, was he genuinely tired.

Don't Shoot; It's me! No, the other guy! (#38, fake body swap)

HI Y'ALL welcome to my ecto-imposion fic! I'm the writer of course and my wonderful artist was @astravis , and @thesilentbard plus @dragonsdomain he;ped me out with betaing! Check them all out! Buckle up, because this is just the first chapter! And maybe look at the ao3 posting

Of things Danny should have predicted, Skulker and Technus teaming up one day was going to land pretty high on the list.

It all started so normal, too! Getting multiple ghosts at once wasn’t uncommon anymore, and Skulker appearing? Must be a day that ends with Y.

Technus, though...

“I’ll pelt you yet, whelp!” Skulker bellowed, having been ineffectually brained with the remains of a lamppost.

Technus was thusly absorbing the lamppost's remains into his suit, adding yet another object that would qualify as a taser in the right circumstances.

“AND I, TECHNUS, WILL USE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO-”

“No, really, do you ever shut up?!” Danny cut him off, meanwhile diving behind the remains of- ooohhh this was that vegan place Sam liked. He was going to hear about this one for weeks.

“Your disrespect remains immeasurable, child.” Skulker growled, not wasting time in obliterating what was left of the building.

“YEAH, WHAT IS HE? CHOPPED LIVER?”

Danny didn’t pay this mind, throwing some potshots at the both of them as he skittered away for new cover.

“He’s a mecha pain in my- AAA”

We interrupt this smart comment for debris! Debris; A mark of your failure to protect.

Debris wasn’t a new threat, but regardless? That was going to bruise.

Danny was ready to punch them to paste barehanded if it’d get this fight to stop. Skulker already had a weapon making shield borderline painful to maintain against blasts, and with Technus in tow couldn’t be trusted to not get a random power-boost.

Meaning this needed to end, now!

However, “now” would have to be sometime after Technus’s blasts stopped slapping him down like an especially annoying kitten.

“Ah, finally showing cowardice whelp?” Skulker taunted, lazily aiming one of his guns as Danny darted somewhere over an alleyway.

“I prefer to call it intelligence!”

“RUNNING WILL NOT HELP YOU HERE, PEST!” Technus borderline giggled.

Clearly, Danny thought as a piece of roof exploded behind him.

… That one might’ve been that weirdo occult shop that was trying to set up without him noticing. Couldn’t say he’d miss it, if nothing else.

It was really starting to look like “damage control” meant doing some damage himself to cut this short.

He was absolutely going to hear it from Sam once he was done here, as it wasn’t like ecto-ice was easy to clean up. (God knows what's IN that Danny!)

Somewhere in the distance the Fenton GAV wailed, a bad sign for all participants.

So… one shot to do this, maybe two… Eh. He’s had worse odds before!

One last sacrificial rubble pile to buy a second, aaand-

“I DO BELIEVE WE MUST CUT THIS ONE SHORT! SKULKER, IF YOU WOULD?”

“It's a pleasure to use this new toy.”

Danny didn’t even get time to throw an icicle at them.

The rubble exploded, and then Danny exploded, flung across the street like a sack of potatoes and making several things give an upsetting crack on landing.

Screw bruising at this point, he’d be lucky if all of this managed to heal before Monday.

Note to self: Never ever let Technus Skulker pair up ever again.

“FASCINATING RESULTS!” Technus beamed as Danny groaned his way onto his feet.

“Your move, whelp.” Skulker growled, gun pointed at Danny.

“That little toy? Ha, it barely even-!”

And see, there’s many things about Danny’s powers that would never be properly explained to his friends. How intrinsic they all were by now, above all else.

A running start and pathetic hop into the air didn’t actually mean much for flying; by all accounts Danny could go from zero to sixty in a standing position.

So, the raw humiliation of that pathetic hop- intended to be a full assault launch- landing him in a kneeling position took a second to process.

It was just so impossible.

The metal on Skulkers helm twisted to a smile as the gun gave a shrill whine.

Technus giggled as he absorbed a car into his already overburdened monstrosity of a mech, clearly thinking this fight was done.

The GAV siren had never been so loud.

There was really only one choice: Run. Run for his life.

The street lit up behind him, adrenaline carrying him much faster than he had any right to be on foot.

“RUNNING AGAIN, WHELP?” Technus shouted, much too close for Danny’s liking.

“That’s Skulker’s thing!” He shouted back, at a total loss for anything witty.

“I’ve done no such thing as run, child!”

“I THINK HE MEANS THE TERM WHELP.”

Oh good, yes! Get distracted!

“Your thievery of my vocabulary will not go unpunished; yet, for now, we have our prey-”

“UNPUNISHED? WE ARE ALLIES! TO RAISE YOUR HAND IN VIOLENCE AGAINST ME NOW WOULD-”

“Not right now you imbecilic-”

The blasts behind him were slowing down immensely already, buying him a slide around a corner with enough lead to shove himself between buildings.

Still, even with this he wasn’t exactly well hidden.

His options, in this fine back alley, were… A broken mirror, two cardboard boxes, and a dumpster.

…

The dumpster was uncomfortably moist as he shoved himself in and closed the top, and the smell- is this the nasty burger dumpster??

Slowly the town map in his head adjusted. Eugh… Desperation carried him farther than he thought.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE’VE LOST HIM!?”

“The shot must have suppressed his signature. The tracker will be borderline worthless unless we are on top of him.”

Oh, good! Truly, a fair trade for his powers! And once he was done being sarcastic, probably the single blessing he’d get out of this.

“I WOULD CALL THAT EVEN LESS THAN BORDERLINE.”

“Your worthless insistence on semantics is duly noted.”

The bickering continued into the distance, followed shortly by the GAV wailing and his father pointedly screaming.

“Rotten ghosts, molecule by molecule would be too good for you!”

“Phantoms not re-appearing on the radar, but keep an eye out regardless. Who knows what cloaking tactics it’s come up with this time. To the right!” His mom warned, getting fainter and fainter (in the wrong direction) as the GAV sped after Technus and Skulker. Or wherever the altered signal was leading them.

One would think it’d only work the once...

Danny was left to contemplate the situation in silence. Nothing would get done in the dumpster, sure, but hey, uncomfortably moist? More like comfortably hidden.

But beyond that being cowards talk, he reeaallly couldn’t sit there and trust that his parents or even Valerie would pull through on this one.

Okay, well, first task; Phase out of the dumpster.

An action that should be on the same level as ‘flex your jaw’, and yet, Danny was no less uncomfortably moist in sauce juice by the end of his attempt.

The whole thing was unpleasantly reminiscent of the Fenton crammer, minus the shrinking. Powers suffocated to the vaguest wisps in the back of his skull, borderline hallucinations to his futile attempts to use them.

Still stuck in the dumpster, Danny mentally conceded to plan B; Phone a friend.

Tucker was, unfortunately, out at a tech event for the weekend. Which meant it needed to be Sam.

Sam, who was stuck appeasing her parents today in exchange for the stunt with Ms. Hoffman last week.

Somewhere in the distance shots sounded off, indicating that someone had found his two enemies.

Danny didn’t have high hopes as he popped open the dumpster lid and shakily dialed. First of all it’d require Sam to already be out of the dreaded social situation, and secondly it’d mean he got a stroke of good luck if she picked up either way.

His anxiety collapsed to resignation as the ring tone meandered on, leaving him to ignore the layers of irony and humor in his ringtone having been changed to Mystery Skulls’ Ghost.

Pink blasts flashed in the sky from somewhere distant, meaning either Vlad got involved or Valerie had shown up- one more likely than the other.

“Hi! If you don’t know who this is, you shouldn’t have called anyways, and if you do and I didn’t pick up then I’m ignoring you specifically and your voicemail better give me a good reason to call back. And Tucker, if that’s you, I’m not paying for that. You know I’m not. Stop asking. Leave a message after the-”

Danny didn’t wait any longer to hang up. No voicemail would ever be secure enough to risk actually leaving one, and leaving one wouldn’t even speed up the response time.

An especially bright pink and green flash washed over what was probably half the town, and a large crash sounded from several different points in the area.

Now down the phone a friend option, Danny elected to revisit and modify plan A by throwing his leg over the side of the dumpster instead.

You know, the lame way to exit.

None of his bones liked him as he hit the ground, the wind in his metaphorical sails really not keeping up with what he needed to be doing.

Even with the self deprecation heavily suppressed, the situation didn’t really brighten outside of the dumpster. How, precisely, would boxes aide him here? Box Ghost was still pretty peeved over the whole cardboard-boxes-dissolve-in-water solution...

A thoughtless attempt to transition between forms left a suspiciously glass-like popping noise to ring in his ears and leave him fallen face-first onto the ground.

The most intact piece of mirror sat across him, dimly processing as unsafe for workers to be near as the gerbil controlling intelligent thought in his head took a smoke break.

… Seriously, why not have just tossed the thing into the dumpster itself? It’s right there!

The gerbil returned from its smoke break as Danny took in his reflection somewhat, the wheel powering his thoughts creaking back to life.

The crammer had slowly stripped him of every Phantom attribute until only Fenton remained, while right now the present cause to all his woes seemed to have merged his clothes straight down to his hoodie and left every other feature untouched.

It was… weird.

And deeply irrelevant, actually. He needed to either try calling Jazz (ugh) or haul himself home to see if he can’t glue a solution together (different ugh).

Time to shove himself back up to kneeling and pick the gravel out of his teeth (hrng).

While he was at it, it might be a good idea to start a list of cameras that’d need their footage wiped. Even if Fenton’s clothes weren’t incriminating he just didn’t need-

There was an ecto gun by his head, the safety giving a click as it was turned off.

“Would you like to beg?”

He knew that voice- by god did he know that voice. Valerie had to be on that hoverboard just out of his field of view.

He had to have missed some sort of movement while slumped forward by the mirror- it’s not like he wasn’t in enough pain for reality to start blurring.

But that didn’t help, did it? Because he was readily identifiable as Phantom to a girl who wanted half of him dead(er), with zero powers or wit to throw at the situation that wouldn’t just get him shot faster.

But what would help!? She didn’t have any interest in listening to Phantom, barely had any in listening to Fenton, though her lethal intent would at least be lower!

Somehow, someway, the gerbil in his head clipped through the wheel's geometry and resolved to never return.

“Don’t shoot, Val, it’s me! Danny!”

The gun got MUCH louder in response

“Well, Danny Phantom, I think knowing my name-”

“N-No! Fenton!”

He could hear the dial-up noises in Valerie's head, he himself stuck on trying to process how royally he just screwed himself over.

“Let’s suppose, for just one second here, that I don’t believe that.”

“L-look Val, belief doesn’t have much to do with the fact that I’m like, super harmless right now. Literally what would I gain by telling you that?”

He could feel her eyes stare even harder, dissecting his identity in this new light.

“Time.”

Well, he had a good run…

The alleyway promptly exploded, leaving Valerie to skitter off to who knows where as she swore worse than any adult Danny had had the displeasure of listening to.

Danny himself was left hyperventilating in the dust, promptly hopping back into the dumpster and burying himself in the worst effort towards hiding he’s probably ever managed.

“I TOLD YOU IT WOULD BE HIGHLY UNLIKELY FOR HIM TO HAVE HIDDEN HERE.”

“Disappointing, and unexpected. The chase is far more important, but what distracted her?”

“I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS TO MATTER. YOU MAY HAVE SAID PRACTICALLY ON TOP, BUT I THINK AT THIS POINT IN THE ALLEY IT’S SAFE TO SAY HE’S NOT-”

“Move it or lose it, socket-licker. One of our high value targets is running.”

“YOU ARE ONE TO TALK, SHORTSTOCK. INSULTS ASIDE, I WAS GETTING THERE.”

Skulker’s “No, you weren’t. And you’re lucky we’re working together you-” got fainter as the two continued to completely miss his idiot self hidden just under the surface of two tonnes of food slime.

This was now the second time Danny was in the same dumpster, and honestly? He STILL didn’t want to leave!

He couldn’t cave to the desire this time either- trying to out his identity to Valerie in a last ditch effort to save his hide was officially going to go down as one of his dumbest decisions ever.

He couldn’t even think of anything funny his friends would mock him with this time. It was stupid all the way down.

Feet to the ground, eyes peeled for enemies- gone for now.

Time to unbend his pride and beat his mile run record while trying to call Jazz. Hey, multitasking!

He was going to lose his mind over this one. Even without his personal missteps this was bad.

“Hi, this is Jasmine Fenton! Hopefully I can get back to you soon, but for now, please leave a message after the-”

Click.

Two options, he pondered as he did a running slide past the corner grocery store.

One: Jazz was doing tutoring and had her phone off.

Or, possibly, two: Their parents loaded her onto the GAV and didn’t take no for an answer.

He didn’t hear her earlier trying to scream advice in an attempt to circumvent the danger their parents posed to everyone, but was it even a Tuesday for her to be busy with tutoring? Or maybe she does tutoring on Thursdays…

None of it mattered obviously. He had to get to Fenton Works ASAP.

There wasn’t strictly much that could help him, but he couldn’t imagine anything going even more wrong by using the splitter to try and get some part of him functioning again.

At worst, he’d have two people to drive the Speeder so he/they could gun it to Frostbite and see what could medically be done.

This totally didn’t gloss over every logistic and science issue ever, no sir!

And even if it did, what kind of options was he supposed to come up with right now!?

One more cut through an alleyway and Danny was in the home stretch towards Fenton works.

This moment was of course the same one a massive crash and crunch of metal sounded off a block away. Maximum.

Before he’d had the saving grace of a hiding spot. Now? Not so much! All it’d take was for Skulker or Technus to remember that they could fly above buildings and-

Well there went his survival odds!

The second after, Valerie flew above their heads, shooting down at them even as they launched onto his street.

And, for as distracting as she was, he couldn’t say his odds just got any higher.

Danny nearly took the door off its hinges trying to get in faster than anything could shoot at him, barely in before the street was awash in pink and green.

Just because he knew he couldn’t get blamed for this (mostly) didn’t mean the sense that he was so dead over this stopped creeping in.

“I, TECHNUS, WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU THAT-” Technus screamed, caving the door in with a broken lamppost, Technus himself soon followed suit, seeming to have shed most of his mecha well before the door- though he was losing more in an effort to get in with ease.

“If this is about the extended car warranty-!” Danny shouted back, trying to bolt for the basement. Or literally any of the house defense buttons- screw that they’d target him too!

“I WOULD NEVER SINK TO SUCH LEVELS, PEST!” Technus cut him off, the severed mecha parts bursting into and spreading wires and metal throughout the house in seconds.

Skulker didn’t waste time squeezing through besides Technus, grinning even as he was focused solely on the street outside.

“The basement.” Was all Skulker said before the option was gone from him, tangled in too much metal and wire to ever think about it again.

Danny wasn’t going to get time to think about this one, bolting upstairs instead as the door frame exploded into pink.

“All of you-”

Valerie interrupted herself with a gunshot to Technus.

“, rat bastards! No respect for-”

Skulker, now.

“anyone or anything! This is a house!”

Danny, now. He could feel it burn through both his shirt and suit even as he passed the last few steps to the second story.

Thank god for adrenaline.

Dashing down the hall as Technus and Skulker both roared into action, he performed the best running leap he’d ever managed to grab and pull the chain for the ladder.

Of course, having leapt for this privilege in a house meant for his dad meant he kept sailing through the air as the ladder slammed down behind him.

That was fine! Valerie was still distracted, just roll and climb! So easy.

So easy to corner himself on a roof with no options except to jump if he wanted off.

The fight continued on beneath him as he stared over the side, his world totally silent otherwise.

Grasping for inane details in the hopes one would matter, he saw nothing of use.

The day was bright, and clear. The town was quiet. If he turned slightly, he could pretend the wake of destruction didn’t exist.

But then he’d be ignoring the wires spilling out his front door, a shell of a car deposited in the center of the street- seeming to host most of the mess as a battery.

Valerie swore worse than ever below.

Nothing could help him right now. He was stuck either standing or jumping.

Or well, maybe he could at least do something about the gaping wound in his side… that might be good.

Slowly and carefully he stripped his hoodie off, noting that the hole was smaller than he’d been mentally giving it credit for.

His side still dripping as he dropped it unceremoniously, he realized that this was a dumb plan and that he couldn’t do anything anyways.

His side wasn’t a spot he could tourniquet. Pressure only helped so much in ghost form, as even with bones he was notably more squishy(?) than a normal human.

The fighting paused for one brief moment, before getting ten times worse, Valerie inadvertently teaching him new slurs for ghosts.

Danny looked over the edge of the building again, reaching for his pocket with a prayer.

…

“Hi, this is Jas-”

Click.

…

“Hi! If you don’t know-”

Click.

…

…

“You have reached this 🌟Too Fine🌟 of a voice mail-”

One last click off, phone thusly tucked back into his pocket.

Danny stood alone over what was closer to a three story drop than a two story drop (stupid vaulted ceilings…), and quietly sat on the edge as the fight below went silent and stayed silent.

Hand to his side regardless of if it’d help, he watched the car-battery-wire mess power down and simply waited.

Sure, he could jump, but the adrenaline was winding back down. He was already hurt, bad, in multiple ways. Valerie could fly and right now he couldn’t. There was nowhere on the street to hide and even if there was plenty of places the street over he wouldn’t get that far.

He was dead meat any way he went.

He could hear the ladder clack behind him as Valerie hauled herself up.

“What a surprise! All nice and ready for me.” Valerie huffed, immediately standing at the ready with a gun. Danny only just copped a glance before turning back towards the view.

Odd, no suit nor hoverboard. Maybe Technus had managed to hit her just right and made it shut off.

“Yeah. They go through the portal at least?” He asked, barely looking back as he gripped his side a little tighter.

“And here I- what? Um. Yeah, to my knowledge.” Valerie stuttered slightly, the earnestness of his question seeming to trip her worse than Danny’s previous bomb drop.

“Good. Lock the portal when you go back down. My parents will probably open it up by next week, but hey! Stops everything for now.”

Her steps towards him slowed to a crawl, and he could sense the caution and the suspicion even as she continued regardless.

God, he was really doing this. It occurred that he could still just shove himself off the edge, but he couldn’t think of anything that could possibly solve. Guns can be pointed over roof edges.

“Uh. Thank. You? B-But no uh, tricks or-”

She stopped by his side, gun still pointed as her eyes tracked across the roof for the surprise that simply must be coming.

“Valerie, I’m really sorry you think I could ever hurt you, but I’m out. Injured and done. It’s you or it’s splatting on the pavement. Dunno how much bounce back I’ve got left right now.”

“Any last… uhm-”

This is a super stupid way to die. But he’s pretty sure he’ll be a grease stain if he jumps, which is even stupider.

“I guess... Tell Sam, Tucker, and Jazz not to beat themselves up over it.” He hummed, finally looking at Valerie again.

He wondered how much of this mess the town behind him was seeing.

The gun shook silently before lowering and turning away.

“You are him, aren’t you?” Valerie asked softly, gun already dropping from her hands.

The gun dropped with an uncomfortable clatter as Danny gave the least shaky and uncomfortable smile he could manage, Valerie's eyes not even seeing him as she fixated on his stained hoodie.

“Phantom was never this sweet.”

Valerie clearly hadn’t focused on the words, so lasered onto her revelation that Danny’s brief twitch was entirely missed.

He couldn’t even be insulted right now; there was a certain amount of venom their fights had always had.

Silence extended further as Valerie only barely looked back up at him, still shaken.

“Thanks, I think. But uh. What now?” Danny asked, genuinely not sure. He just had to accept that insults to his other half could be addressed later.

How a reveal would go had always haunted him slightly, and this was probably a better ending than most of the realistic ones.

But even then, those fantasies always ended when she understood.

Valerie snapped to at the question, standing straight and returning to her facade of confidence.

“Helping. How’d they even do this to you?”

“Technus made Skulker a new gun, I think. It goes downhill from there.”

Carefully, Danny slid himself back onto the roof. He was struck with the sense that sudden moves would still get him killed, somehow. This was.. Too easy, almost.

Anxiety or not, the pain was also holding him back.

“Figures that those assholes would do this. Don’t suppose there’s an obvious way to fix this?”

“Not really? I mean… there might be something in the basement to help, but outside of that it’s not like I’ve got options beyond to sit here and suffer. Maybe see if Frostbite knows anything.”

“The basement, huh… Oh, thaaat’s why Skulker growled something out about it. Maybe we can-”

The GAV started wailing again, suddenly.

The offending vehicle was only streets away, and if he focused hard enough he could almost hear his dad yelling about having fixed something or other.

Farewell pain, hello adrenaline!

He was going to be so sick after today. He could just feel it.

“Bail!” He shouted, running back towards the ladder.

“What!?”

“Do you trust my parents not to shoot on sight!?”

The look of fear was immediate.

“Oh, god! Bail!”

In total agreement it was borderline a fight for the ladder and to get down to the first floor.

The wires hadn’t disappeared, leaving them precariously stood on the mess next to the kitchen.

“What’s your plan, Danny?! It’s their house!” Valerie hissed, eyeing him and the wires cautiously.

“WINDOWS ARE ALWAYS FAIR GAME!” He screeched, launching into the kitchen.

The voice of doubt in his head pointed out that it was incredibly lame for all his best executed moves for today to be so fundamentally stupid in nature.

Regardless, lifting the stand mixer and tossing it through the back window in one single uninterrupted motion, punctuated by the shattering of glass, was probably the smoothest thing he’d do today.

“YOU COULD HAVE OPENED THE WINDOW-”

“NO WE COULDN’T HAVE!” Danny yelled back, already launching himself through the opening regardless of potential cuts.

“WHAT?” Valerie screeched back, lingering before following suit.

“The Fenton Family Home Defense System locks the windows upon activation, with or without shutter activation! Even when it turns back off they’re stuck until you do a manual unlock!”

He was already bounding through the backyard, sailing himself over the fence without a second thought.

“Danny, in what world does that make sense!?”

Valerie was close behind.

“The one where my parents designed it! And the one where you’d then be stuck in a house with more weapons than people!”

“Danny, your parents are still nuts for locking-!”

“Losing battle! Pick and choose! Keep running!”

Valerie’s laugh was clear, like bells as they continued across town.

The stress was obviously getting to her- yet it was almost infectious. This was insane!

Eventually, well after they’d gone from a residential area back to business, he was yanked into a new back alley, Valerie still grinning as she caught her breath.

“And what about the door?”

“Also locked.”

She missed a beat before speaking again.

“So, what, not even the doors work until you do a system reset? That’s stupid.”

Danny had to laugh at himself right now.

“No, I just don’t remember the passcode! That door is pretty normal.”

“But you can’t leave without a code from the inside?”

“Normal for my house!” He giggled.

They were left with wheezing laughter over a near miss that wasn’t that funny to begin with.

Eventually Valerie’s hand left his shirt collar, moving to push him back slightly. Intimacy time over.

“Okay, Danny. Your parents are nuts and we don’t trust them not to shoot. Where are we going?”

“Well I could always hide in a dumpster again, but outside of that I don’t have any ideas. Sam’s busy and Jazz… well, is it Tuesday or is it Thursday, actually?”

Valerie gave him the blankest look imaginable for his question.

“It’s Saturday.”

… Well then!

“Okay, well, Jazz is tutoring. Probably. So she’s busy.”

“And Tucker, since you seem to trust your friends with this one?”

... What?

“Uh. At a tech camp somewhere in-”

“Got it. The basement might help, you said?”

Right, back to topic.

“I cannot stress that ‘might’ part enough. We’ve got a lot of weird stuff down there that’s come in handy in really stupid ways before.”

“Okay, well, that’s not great. You got an idea on how to get your parents out of the house?”

“Not in the slightest.” He admitted, shrugging as he spoke.

“Superb. Just fantastic. Okay, maybe we could camp at my place for an hour? At least until... or. Hm.”

Valerie finally lost her focus on him, looking to the side in thought.

Danny had to give credit where it was due that they were screwed in a different way, now.

Valerie’s fast turn saved his hide so he was certainly much farther than he thought he’d get, but there wasn’t much they could throw at his parents to make them disengage with the mess of wires Technus left behind. It was now valuable research material, at best.

Delightful.

“My place is probably for the best. Christ, that’s a distance to go.” Valerie muttered.

“Not to interrupt, but yeah actually. How are we getting there? Is your suit broken, or…?”

“Broken is a strong word. It self repairs, but yes, I’m grounded right now. And though I care about you, the huntress getting seen towing Phantom would not be good.”

There it was again, slighter than before but still present. The slight dissonance in how the situation was getting viewed.

Easy to shrug and move on though, right?

He probably shouldn’t.

“So… not to-”

“Look, we need to start moving. You’ve got a hat or something?”

“Man, I wish.”

“Okay, okay… shitty question, but Phantom can fly. Obviously. What can you do right now…?”

Uh.

“Uh. Nothing? Look, the blast- I think… Sorry, but what do you think happened? I just-”

Valerie’s eyes narrowed a touch in preemptive insult.

“Calling my explanation the abridged version gives it too much credit! I just want to make sure you understand what happened, and what you’re asking??”

Best cover he could’ve used, honestly.

Valerie cringed in on herself, obviously realizing something.

“Uhm, sorry, I didn’t mean to… Look, sorry. I know being in his body is probably really weird? But my place is over in Elmerton, and it’d be really helpful if one of us could… I’m sorry.”

She’d dodged the real question, but still managed to give the answer Danny needed.

In… this body…?

Oh. Oh boy.

[beels-burger-babe]

Of Jealousy and Friendship - Pt. 1

Topic number 2 won in the vote to be written next! So without further-a-do, let’s get going!...This ended up being a two part thing. Oh Well. Here’s part one. - B GN! MC Summary: MC makes a lower demon friend who may secretly be hoping for something more than friendship. The Demon Bros are not about to let this happen. Part Two: Here, Epilogue: Here It all started in magical potions. When you first arrived, the course wasn’t so bad since you took it with Beelzebub. The two of you always partnered up; the hour would consist of you jokingly scolding Beel for trying to eat ingredients and making light hearted jokes with one another whenever the teacher turned their back.  But once the second semester started, Beel was moved out of the course as it had gotten too expensive to keep him in a class where most of the subject matter was edible.  Which left you alone and bored in the classroom as the teacher went on and on about Mandrake roots and what they can be used for. You let out a heavy sigh and plopped your forehead onto the desk.  A soft snort came from beside you. You glanced over to see a demon with his feet propped up on his desk staring right back at you out of the corner of his dark green eyes. He smiled at you with a tilt of his head.  “The lectures are a total snooze fest right? I joined this class cause I thought we’d be making potions and causing stuff to explode. Not sitting here twisting our thumbs all day.” 

You bit back a laugh as you worried glanced over at the professor, who was none-the-wiser to the little conversation the two of you were sharing. You looked back over to the demon. His dark skin caused those hauntingly green eyes of his pop out at all who met his gaze, with carefully trimmed and styled black curls sitting stylishly on the top of his head.  There was a playful and mischievous energy to him that reminded you of Belphie, Asmo and Mammon.  “Unfortunately suffering through this section of class is mandatory to be allowed to mess around with the fun stuff.”  The demon groaned and threw his head back. “Urgh, that’s so unfair. What’s the worst that can happen? The potion explodes and kills us? Newsflash teach, we’re already dead.”  You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out at that one.  “Well actually the worse that could happen, for you at least as I am a very mortal human, is that you’d suffer the consequences from one of the potions. Anything from shrinking to de-aging to charms, all kinds of things. I’ve seen the effects of a potion gone wrong a number of times during my time down here. Trust me; you don’t want to be on the receiving end.”  He looked over at you with an analytical eye as the corners of his lips tilted upwards. “So you’re the human that everyone’s talking about.” He trailed off, and glanced over at the teacher to make sure they weren’t looking before stretching out his hand towards you. “I’m Cane. You know despite being the talk of RAD, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone mention your name?”  You took his hand into your own and lightly shook it. “I’m MC.” 

Cane leaned back into his chair, “It’s a pleasure to finally put a name and face to that glowing reputation of yours, MC. I see your pretty good at this potions thing, and I hear that you’re a lot of fun. How about you meet me downtown for supper later and we can study and get to know each other a little better?”  Your initial instinct was to agree, but then you paused as you thought of the brothers. “I don’t know. I don’t think that Lucifer or the others would like it much if I went out on my own.”  The demon huffed and light heartedly rolled his eyes. “You won’t be alone, you’ll be with me. I may not be as powerful as them, but I’m still a pretty good fighter.” He teasingly placed a gentle punch onto your shoulder, “Besides, it’s not like they’re boss of you. Are you really going to let a bunch of snobby Lords keep you from making the best of your time in the Devildom?”  That last remark hit a nerve. If there was one thing that had spread quite quickly about you around RAD, it was that you were known for being a little reckless, prideful, and never being able to back down from a challenge, and boy did that statement have you itching to prove him wrong.  You smiled, a sharp dangerous smile, at Cane. “I’ll go. And we’re going to do so much more than just go to a lame restaurant and study. You want to have fun and take risks? We’ll have fun and take risks. Whatever you want to do...to a degree,” you added in quickly remembering that you were talking to a demon and if you didn’t implement any boundaries there was no telling what you’d get yourself into, “I’m in.”  Cane’s eyes sparkled as his smile widened. “Damn. I guess it’s true that you’re a bit of dare devil. Alright, you’re on. Meet me at Hell’s Kitchen a 4pm. We’ll study and hit the books as promised, but afterwards...Get ready for the night of your life.”  ***

The brothers were concerned. You had rushed into the House of Lamentation after school and sprinted to your room, changed out of your uniform and promptly shouted that you were “going out” before taking off before any of them could complain.  Mammon had tried to argue that someone should follow you, and while that wasn’t a terrible idea, Lucifer wanted to give you the question of the doubt. Worst case scenario, you come back home a little scratched up and learn your lesson about taking off into the dangers of the Devildom.  At least that’s what he had thought when you had initially left.  It was now bordering midnight, and you had yet to return home.  So yeah, the brothers were very concerned.  Mammon was pacing and ranting about how this all could’ve been avoided if they had only listened to him for once.  Leviathan was trying to distract himself with his game, but everyone could see the worried glances he kept throwing to the entrance and clock as the minutes ticked by.  Satan sat near where Mammon and would occasionally scold or correct him, and sometimes even throw in his own ideas on what could be done while he thumbed through a book on location spells.  Asmodeus was strangely quiet, sitting near the fire by himself with arms wrapped around his torso as he stared into the flames. He would occasionally move a hand to wipe at his face before it went right back to hugging himself.  Beelzebub had lost his appetite. He sat next to Belphie, taking comfort in his twin’s presence, while Belphegor pretended to be unbothered and asleep, even though his mind was racing with the many stupid situations you could’ve gotten yourself into.  And Lucifer...He just sat in a door near the entryway, his eyes fixed on the entrance as he silently waited.  Finally, just as the clock stroke midnight, they could hear your recognizable laugh from behind the door.  “Oh my god! That was incredible! I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in life!” Leviathan stiffened at the statement, his hands gripping tighter onto his game.  “What did I tell you? I promised you the night of your life, and I sure as Diavolo always make sure to deliver,” everyone froze at the sound of the teasing male voice. “Though I didn’t expect the Seven Lords’ precious human to be a complete bad ass. You were amazing out there.”  Leviathan mumbled something before getting up and leaving the room. Mammon growled lowly and looked at the others, “Anyone know who the hell that is?”  Asmo finally stood, wiping at his face as he did, and began to stride towards the door, “Why don’t we find out?”  Without waiting for a response, Asmodeus swung the door open and pulled on a bright smile as he reached out and wrapped an arm around you. “MC, darling, you didn’t tell me you were bringing over guests! Don’t tell me you’re trying to have fun without me?”  You blinked up at the Asmo before smiling softly at his tactics. “Oh, hey Asmo! I didn’t expect you to be up. Cane here was just dropping me off.”  The demon in question didn’t even so much as stiffen as Asmodeus’s dangerous stare shifted over to him. Instead Cane stood there, relaxed, with a shit-eating grin on his face. Asmodeus raised an eyebrow at him and allowed a bit of his demonic aura to exude around him. “Oh really? At this time of night? Makes a demon wonder what kind of mischief the two of you had gotten up to,” while maintaining eye contact with Cane, Asmo rested his chin against your shoulder. “You know dear, if you wanted “fun” that badly all you had to do was ask. I assure you I could’ve shown you a much better time.” He purred and softly kissed your shoulder.  You shivered, missing the way Asmo stiffened as he noticed something, and swatted at the Avatar of Lust as you moved away from him. “Down Asmo. It’s nothing like that. Cane’s in my magical potions class. We went out to study together and decided to hit a couple clubs while we were out. No biggy.”  “If it’s ‘no biggy’ then why were you out all night without giving us any kind of warning of where you were going or how long you’d be out?” Everyone whirled around as Lucifer stood in the doorway with a frown etched on his face and his arms crossed. He took a step closer to you before freezing mid-step, his nose twitching. His eyes flared red as they fell onto Cane. The lower demon tensed and curled his hands into fists, but seemed to be refusing to back down. Lucifer snarled, “What exactly was it that you said the two of you were up to tonight?”  You frowned and stepped between Lucifer and your new friend. “Hey! Stop it! He didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re implying. And I wasn’t aware that I needed permission for every single thing that I do!” You snapped poking his chest as you moved into his space. “So excuse me for wanting to go out and enjoy myself for once!”  Whatever fear Cane had been showing, quickly slipped away at seeing you stand your ground against the mighty first born. “Yeah. What they said.”  Lucifer growled and caught your hand into his own, pulling you close and leaning in, “You’d be wise to remember that you are in the Devildom and surrounded by beings that have no where near as good intentions as you’d assume. Being so reckless and naïve down here could get you killed again, I thought you had learned that.” His tone was cold and unapologetic as he practically spat the words in your face.  You glared at Lucifer as you yanked your hand out of his grasp. There was so many things you wanted to say to him, but none of them would be right to say in front of an audience. You huffed and turned to face Cane. “I am so sorry about those two. Thanks again for tonight and bringing me home. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, okay?”  Cane gave you a side smile as he scratched the back of his neck. “It’s nothing. I had a great time hanging out with you. Hopefully we can do again...under better circumstances. Goodnight MC.” He took a step towards you and pulled you into a hug.  You smiled, wondering how Lucifer and Asmo could be stirring up such a fuss about a guy who had been nothing but kind to you, and gently hugged him back.  What you couldn’t see, was Cane making direct eye contact with the two other demons, as one of his wrists gently brushed up and down you back and he very lightly nuzzled, so lightly that you could just barely feel it, his face against your neck.  “Hey, what’s takin’ everyone so- WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!” Mammon stormed forward and yanked you out of the demon’s embrace, already changing into his demon form. “Who the hell do you think you are scenting our human, huh?!” He lifted Cane off the ground by the collar of his shirt, causing the lower demon growl as he scratched at Mammon’s hands.  You yanked on Mammon’s jacket and arms and tried to get him to back off. “Woah! Mammon, relax! It was just a hug!”  “No it wasn’t,” Satan grumbled as he and the rest of the brothers (excluding Leviathan who was now sulking in his room) stood in the door way. “The fact that you don’t know that makes this even worst. But this isn’t a conversation we should be having out here.” Beel stared down at the demon with a fierce glare. “You should leave while you’re still able. And if you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay away from MC.”  “Wha- Beel! Cut that out!”  Cane took a step backwards, fear beginning to spill into his expression as he finally realizes just how out-powered and out-numbered he is. Still, he was stubborn pain in the ass; it was part of the reason he had been so drawn to you in the first place as he related to your reckless habits. He held Beelzebub’s glare and returned it with one of his own. “I think that MC can choose for themself who they do and do not hang out with, thanks. They already said they wanted to see me tomorrow so they will. We’re friends after all. And classmates,” his grin sharpened as he continued. “I do have to thank you, Lord Beelzebub, for that opening in magical potions by the way. Never would’ve got in if you hadn’t been kicked out.”  Before he could say anymore, he was met with a punch in the face. Belphegore lazily shook out his hand and his looked at Cane with an unbothered expression. “I believe we told you to leave. Now get. The. Fuck. Out.”  Cane scoffed and turned to you once more. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Dare Devil.”  You would’ve snorted at the nickname, but you were to distracted from the brother’s behavior. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get home safe, Cane.” With another nod, the demon left; leaving you alone with six of the seven brothers bubbling with jealousy, anger, and concern.

[starswornoaths]

On the Rocks

Commission for @anorptron! Thank you so much for your patronage! :D

Set during early 4.0, the Warrior of Light ventures to his home after suffering a recent defeat. In search of a balm for his wounds, he finds an opportunistic noble yielding proverbial salt instead.

Fortunate, then, that his family had thought of that.

Word count: 4,743

~*~

Despite the defeat that dogged every step traveled back to Ishgard, there was a strange, tentative sort of merriment in the air of Manor de Fortemps. The High House had been scheduled to host an event marking progress in the Houses of the Lords and Commons— to say that the Alliance’s defeat in Rhalgr’s Reach had been poorly timed would be a gross understatement. 

It didn't matter how many times Edmont and his brothers reassured him otherwise, Sage felt responsible for how thin the margin for political error had become in the span of days. Even as much as he tried to detach himself from the minutiae of the politicking that came with the day to day of government— and the Alliance’s military coordination, no less— it was impossible for him to not be acutely aware of how easily this initial loss could be used to twist the Ishgardian public against the war effort— and, by proxy, all of the progress they had bled and lost for.

A lurching churned Sage’s gut. His throat tightened in that warning sort of way that came with nausea. Before it could fully clench around his neck, he swallowed the feeling down with a drink from his glass. Though there was nothing in it to burn away the mauldin thoughts clouding his head, the sweetness of the fruit nectar was still enjoyable all the same.

Sage almost wished he was permitted to drink tonight. He didn’t even necessarily like the stuff, mind; Edmont hadn’t brought out his good stock of sweet liquor, after all. He’d known the company he’d be hosting tonight was largely unpleasant, bless the man, and instead saved what few alcoholic drinks Sage actually liked for another gathering. He instead tried to focus on the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel; whatever nonsense he might have to endure at this party would be worth it, to spend time with those he was closest to— with much better drinks in hand.

In truth, while Sage was still far from enthused about alcohol, it was hard not to look forward to those after parties, at least a little: once all but Aymeric and himself had been seen out for the night, they’d all sequester themselves in the lounge, to keep out of the staff’s hair, while they all unwound with, “the good bottles.” It had been a tradition among the Fortemps men—one Edmont had insisted kept his sanity—for years, long before Sage had met them. But Sage was promptly folded into those nightcap conversations, and Aymeric not far behind him, once Edmont had finally managed to catch him on his way out the door to last Starlight’s service in the Congregation, and would brook no refusals of his offer.

And that had been that: whenever House Fortemps was host for a formal event, regardless of scale, everyone managed to plaster on pleasant smiles and fashion themselves the very perfect picture of politicians and patriots alike, bearing the brunt of snide comments and would-be detractors attempting to smear their good names with grace and stoicism.

These days, it was one of the few pleasures Sage allowed himself, to have his newfound family all gather in the lounge to decompress. It was its own sort of happiness, expressing himself among others, who were themselves letting down their own masks.

Aymeric liked to play bartender, likely out of a need to earn his drinks, and Sage cherished seeing them all unwind and listening to them say all the impolite things that they couldn’t at the time. It solidified them as family, seeing this authentic version of themselves, and sharing it with one another.

And then they would unwind and vent about it to each other later, laughing and making merry all the while. It made moments such as these worth a damn.

Edmont must not have liked hardly anyone that had to attend this particular soiree; Sage recognized the bottles being carried by the servants as the same label that he himself had taken from the bottom shelf, back when he knew how to pick alcohol about as well as he knew how to ask for comfort. The former, he was abstaining from, on doctor’s orders, instead enjoying fresh fruit nectar Edmont had ensured was stocked for him, as something sweet to still sip at the gathering. The latter, he was working on, now.

As much as he felt he deserved, at least, with his most recent, catastrophic failure.

Holed up in Manor Fortemps, sheltered from the cold, Sage could almost think the loss at Rhalgr’s Reach distant. Far removed from him. In a literal sense, he supposed that tracked, though despite the malms and the days that separated him from his defeat, it was as if he could yet feel Zenos’ overwhelming presence bearing down on him.

Despite the warmth suffused throughout the manor, it felt like his limbs would never know that feeling ever again. The chirurgeons had reassured him that it would improve, as it was a result of the blood loss from his wounds. 

That was hardly anything new for Sage, mind; it wasn’t so long ago that he was so battered and bloodied, that he was bedbound not ten malms from where he stood now— and even that was but the worst of a long history of grievous wounds. It was just that, even in his most agonized recoveries— ones that were far worse than this one, admittedly, he had been able to rest, at least a little, knowing he was resting in victory. He’d broken himself upon the battlefield, and it was for something. He’d done enough.

But this...

He felt low. Uncharacteristically small, despite how he towered over the crowd, even here. If he wasn’t absolutely certain that it would bring undue stress upon his family, he would be somewhere quieter, darker, to be with his thoughts alone and stew in his defeat. Never before had he such an itch to sink into old habits, as he did standing there, feeling like his skin was pulled too tight across his bones, displaced from himself.

Alas, rather than sink into his own solitude, Sage instead had to contend with nobility, and all the demands that came with it. For instance: mingling. After so many incidents with such gatherings, he had learned to pick up on the signs that someone, not far from his vicinity, was about to interrupt his thoughts. For instance, there was someone worming their way through the crowd, removing any doubt that they were aiming directly for the Warrior of Light, for how intently they made their way over. Just as well; Sage settled on being grateful that he at least had some warning, this time.

“Warrior of Light! Why, Halone must have blessed me, personally, that I might run into you here!”

Unable to entirely stop himself from cringing, Sage managed to let it pass over his face into something more neutral before he swallowed the sip of nectar he’d pulled a moment before. His effort was nearly for naught when he locked eyes with the noble that had hailed him in question: he knew this man, in a sense, from how vocally –and frequently—he would protest declarations in the Houses of the Lords and Commons. 

“My lord,” Sage greeted, inclining his head politely. “You flatter me.”

In all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d maneuver his way through an entire conversation with the man, if that was what he was after. Gods knew his brothers were oft times formal to a fault, but even Artoirel and Aymeric hadn’t been immune from venting their vexations with the man. Sage could so clearly recall the young Lord Fortemps storming about the foyer snarling about attempts to sway votes, or demands to recall a vote on a technicality, pausing only long enough to thank whichever family member it was that refilled his wine glass for him that time.

As Aymeric once put it: “His disagreement would be far more tolerable, had he ever any alternative suggestions to accompany it.”

Already, Sage could feel his temples threaten to pulse with a migraine as he forced his face into a pleasant smile. It was faint, for all his effort, but it was there.

If naught else, he at least had excuse enough to be less than perfectly pleasant; the wounds he walked away from Rhalgr’s Reach with were only just on the mend, after all. They were at least fully closed, and had been treated; a marked improvement from how he had handled previous injuries.

But the noble lord was speaking again, pulling Sage from his thoughts.

“Why, I speak only the truth! I had been hoping to speak with you even before the conclusion of the Dragonsong War, but alas! It seems as if you’re always on the move!”

“No rest for the righteous, and all that.” He muttered, half into his flute of nectar.

“For the wicked have all the fun!” The noble said, throwing his head back and laughing at his own joke.

When he leaned back, into his laugh, he lightly tapped the backs of his knuckles to Sage’s coat. Another wince pinched the corners of his eyes; he could smell the wine off of the noble’s breath; not necessarily drunk, but certainly enough to be loose tongued.

Sage pretended to take another sip to hide his lack of enthusiasm. Already, he wanted this conversation to be done.

“Oh, but I jest, I jest.” Said the lush lord, once he’d caught his breath on a delighted sigh. “I do beg your pardon, the wine brings it out of me.”

Sage tracked the overarticulated sweep of a bejeweled hand, as it reached up to wipe away a nonexistent tear from the corner of the noble’s eye.

“You certainly seem to be in good spirits, my lord.” Sage noted, not knowing what else to say.

“I have every reason to be! The Houses of the Lords and Commons were in unison this session, for a change, and with Starlight not far off, the festivities have been plentiful!”

“I see.” Sage replied, and prayed that would be the end of the conversation.

When it was clear that the Bard wasn’t going to offer a more verbose response, the noble cut off what would have been an obviously much more judicious pull from his glass, as if the thought of being left to lapse in silence for even a moment was considered some grievous slight. Maybe it was. Sage was in no mood to care. 

“Ah, I forgot! Your reputation for stoic silence precedes you!” The noble said, hastily blotting at the corner of his mouth with a kerchief.

“It’s one of my strengths.” Sage drained his glass of juice, and turned away to set it on the tray of a passing servant with a murmur of thanks. 

“A damn shame, then, to know that such strength fled you, at the battle in Rhalgr’s Reach.”

In an instant, what warmth Sage had managed to glean from the manor’s well tended hearths guttered out. Icy dread struck him at the base of his spine, freezing him in place, hand still outstretched from handing off his glass—in the best of circumstances, he was hardly one for conversation, but this was very clearly bait for him to blunder into, a verbal trap that was doubtless intended to damage his reputation—and, by extension, that of House Fortemps. 

Perhaps even Aymeric, too: as Lord Commander, he’d been overseeing Ishgard’s involvement in the Gyr Abanian theatre of war, this excursion included, after all. If ever there was a time for an opportunistic noble to try and undo all the hard work they had all put in, here and abroad, over one loss in a larger scale conflict abroad, it was now.

“What,” Sage managed to rasp, words dragged across the sandpaper in his throat, as he turned back toward the man. “Do you mean?”

“Oh come now, there’s no sense in dancing about the subject.” Said the noble, through a toothy, cruel upturn of his lips. “This was Ishgard’s debut into the Eorzean Alliance, was it not? Were we not counting on you to lead us into victory?” 

Indignation warred with nausea-inducing dread in the pit of his ribcage. The former, for how dare this man who had known no struggle remotely like Sage’s, speak on how war and its games were played. The latter, because how dare he echo the same thoughts Sage had been so keen on ignoring tonight?

To keep his hands from fidgeting, he stood at parade rest, and half wished he still had a glass in his hand to keep himself looking less stiff and affected. He knew this man would vex him until he cracked, if this was where he was already needling.

When he managed to find his voice, Sage tried again, “I did what I could—”

“Which was, somehow, not enough.” The noble swiftly rebuked. “Not enough, despite your victory over Nidhogg. A curiosity.” The noble sneered with a haughty twitch of his nose.

The chill that had clung to Sage’s limbs crept ever closer, brushing dangerously to his heart. As if he truly were freezing over, his breathing thinned out, and he felt his hands shaking at his sides, ever so faintly.

“By all accounts, ‘twas Sage’s strength that prevented an even  greater loss for the Alliance.” Came the voice of one of his brothers.

“One of those reports was mine own—and yes, we would have lost so much more, were it not for the Warrior of Light’s presence.” Added the voice of another.

Relief flooded him hearing Aymeric, then Artoirel, speak upon their unexpected appearance, flanking Sage on both sides. A united front was the best defense from such grave offense, after all. It was all Sage could do, to keep from slouching his ramrod stiff posture, as he remembered how to breathe again. Even without either of them coming into physical contact with him, he felt their warmth seep into skin and scale, bolstering him. Squaring his shoulders as much as his wounds would allow, he tipped his chin up, to hold himself proudly. Just like their Da had encouraged him—he’d earned that pride, paid for in blood, sweat, and tears.

The offending lord seemed only momentarily cowed, flinching his glass subtly closer to his chest as he recoiled from the unexpected intrusion to his personal belligerence against the hero. When it was clear, with a furtive glance around, that none of them were interested in backing down, he pulled himself upright and cleared his throat.

“The fact remains: a loss is a loss.” He pressed.

“Spoken like one who has never written condolence letters.” Aymeric replied almost instantly, the smoothness of his voice a whetstone for his lance-sharp words, poised to cut off this conversation at the pass. “Even one less family in mourning, is a victory in itself, my lord.”

It was faint—in particular, compared to the low din of the rest of the gathering, but the group of elites that had congregated and circled around themselves not far from where Sage had been standing, began to murmur between themselves about the conversation they were overhearing. Had Sage not been so keenly aware of his surroundings, over the roaring of blood in his ears, he might not have understood why the noble’s face turned ashen, then, when those words reached his ears. Aymeric and Artoirel had, in effect, struck far truer than anticipated, redirecting the very gossip that the nefarious noble had tried to weaponize.

“We wouldn’t be sending them at all, were we not engaging in conflicts that we had no business meddling in.” The noble replied, though it was clear by the way the pads of his fingers paled against the stem of his wine glass, that he was most certainly rattled. “Business, I will remind you, that we have made ours solely on debt to a singular champion! How can we condone it, as proud Ishgardian citizens, when our creditor cannot guarantee our victory?”

Were the man not gunning to undo everything that they had fought and sacrificed for and then some, Sage might feel some semblance of sympathy for him. As it was, it was at least a little morbidly gratifying, watching him squirm when challenged.

Aymeric seemed to expect the question. In truth, he had likely had to field it many times; he seemed almost bored with it.

“We did not commit ourselves to one war on the coattails of another solely because the Warrior of Light bade we do so.” He began in a low tone. One that gave a warning he put no words to, and did not have to. “On the contrary: as with the Dragonsong War, he only opened our eyes to the truth of the matter: that we were always involved in this war. We were always going to be involved in this war, whether we willed it or not.”

“Such fatalistic talk, from such a lauded, romantic politician!” The man jeered.

“Ishgard’s best defense has always been a proactive offense,” he explained patiently, in a tone that reminded Sage of one he’d used on Alphinaud, upon their first meeting in the Falling Snows. “The winds suggest but one course upon which the Empire has been set: total conquest. We cannot afford to watch, idle and indolent, while Garlemald marches right to our gates, afore we are moved to action.” 

“This was never our affair!” Cried the exasperated nobleman, perhaps a bit more inebriated than Sage might have initially thought.

Clearly, more than, as when the man made to jab an accusatory finger in the Lord Commander’s direction, he seemingly forgot that he was still holding a half-full wine glass. It sloshed enough to splash, faintly upon the chest of the Lord Commander’s coat. 

For a blessing, the fabric was dark enough that blotting at it with a kerchief was sufficient to keep the light colored champagne from damaging it, but the impropriety of the action was far from lost on even the inebriated offender.

With a singular, prim tug on his own lapel, Aymeric tucked the folded, soiled kerchief away with a barely repressed snort of indignation. “‘Twas ever Eorzea’s affair— and we have been Eorzeans for far longer than we have not, in our history. Garlemald is committed to making this the affair of every living soul on this star, to be conquered, until someone stops them. If every nation clung to their borders and insisted that it was not our affair, then we would simply be picked off, one by one—”

“Garlemald cannot invade us through the weather, and our neighbors besides—”

“Then they would lay siege to us, and our home would become our tomb.” Said a voice from the crowd that had begun to try to not listen to the growing ruckus.

That same crowd parted, and revealed Lord Edmont, honorable father of this evening’s host, looking every bit as graceful and dignified as ever. Striding purposefully, he stopped only when he was beside his fellow noble, and took his measure with an even, steely gaze. “I know I need remind no one here of what happened to the Stone and Dusk Vigils, following the Calamity. Would you inflict that upon our families, for turning away from the plights beyond our gates?”

It was clearly a future that the noble had not considered— in fairness, a future few would want to consider. 

In war, such wants do not matter: it is a path of death, and must be walked with both eyes open, or not at all.

Seeing the noble thoroughly cowed, Edmont eased that hardened stare, and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“But come! Such logistics are not for us retired folk to fret over any longer—”

“Edmont, you have surely heard your boy on the forum floor, debating that we meddle in—”

“And what right have we to criticize our children, when they protect a tomorrow that our inaction stole from them?” Edmont asked, not unkindly.

He might as well have struck the noble, for how he recoiled at the rebuttal. If there was a deeper, personal meaning for the noble, Sage did not know it, and did not care: he knew exactly who Edmont was thinking of, when he spoke so.

Edmont’s hand on his shoulder squeezed, comfortingly, as he led him away, speaking of happier things. There seemed to be an understanding between the two that Sage could only begin to fathom, but could readily identify: it was the look of a father that had to bury their child. It wasn’t enough for the dread and ire that the man inspired in Sage to completely vanish, but it was tempered with the understanding that, as he had learned is often the case with Ishgardians, his anger came from immense, generational tragedy.

It was a distant revelation, a balm on a wound, but it was nothing to the panacea that was watching how his family had managed to pull him back from the brink of panic, to cover his blindspots, to be his shield. It was an otherwise unfamiliar feeling, this sense of protection that settled over his shoulders and calmed his tumultuous heart. 

So distracted with awe for how swiftly his family closed in ranks around him, Sage had nearly forgotten to feel the sting of his injuries, until he’d shifted his weight and bit back a curse at the sudden jolt of fire that shot up his spine. When he flinched and his legs faltered, he felt two hands at his back— one of Artiorel and Aymeric both, bracing him.

“Forgive us for leaving you to the wolves, as it were.” Aymeric spoke up, gently startling him out of his thoughts. When he’d straightened and looked over at the Lord Commander, he was given a wincing smile. “No one wanted to smother you, mind, though we all attempted to keep the worst of them occupied.”

“Wh—“ Sage stopped himself from asking the obvious; even if he didn’t believe himself worthy of it, he could no longer deny he was their family, truly and utterly.

With a fond smile and a shake of his head, he instead chose to say, “I know better than to simper in the face of family, so, put simply: thank you.” When Sage smiled, it felt less like it resembled broken glass than it had since he’d left Gyr Abania—certainly less than it had all night. “I don’t know what I would do without you all.”

“And we would say much the same of you, Sage.” Artoirel reassured, clasping a hand comfortingly on Sage’s uninjured forearm.

“Which we have, on more than one occasion,” Aymeric added brightly. “And will keep doing so.”

“Artoirel might not fess up to just how much of that effusive praise comes from him, old sport, but I would be most glad to!” Chimed in the last of their brothers, who had otherwise been shockingly scarce all evening.

Artoirel harrumphed at Emmanellain’s delighted chirping, and crossed his arms. “Given you’ve the leisure to prod me for a reaction, I take it you’ve done your job?”

“Always business, with you!” Emmanellain’s expression momentarily scrunched. “But yes. Frankly, it’s almost boring, how easy it is to redirect the rumor mill. I do hope you’re not too terribly offended that the current affair-of-the-hour among noble lady circles is more stimulating gossip than whatever that lord’s quarrel with you is; he really is an offensively boring man, as politics go.”

Sage didn’t know what to say in response, and his surprise must have been evident on his face, as Emmanellain nudged his good shoulder and winked.

“What, not expecting me to pull my weight? I might not be half the knight my brothers are,” he said around an easy smile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t still protect you, old sport.”

“I’m not sure they make shields tall enough for that.” Sage blurted before he could think better of it.

Practiced politicians they may have been, all the etiquette in the world couldn’t stop Artoirel and Aymeric from hiding their laughter behind their hands at Emmanellain’s gawping.

“Were you joking, just then? Why, Sage! I would almost think you liked me, or something!” Emmanellain gasped, a hand pressed over his heart, the very picture of mock horror.

This levity, this, this warmth, that permeated him, being surrounded by his family…it would not heal him. Sage knew that, deep down. But when he laughed, it came easily. The smile that followed, even easier. And that, that was what helped. What reminded him of his convictions.

“You’re my brother.” Sage said, his tone serious despite the smile still quirking his lips. “Stands to reason I like you.”

Emmanellain paused for a moment, his theatrics softening into something genuine. When he laughed the sort that had him holding his stomach and drying his eyes, it reminded Sage of Haurchefant.

“And you have good taste besides, don’t you forget that, old sport.” Emmanellain said, eyes crinkling for the width and breadth of his smile.

“And you discredit yourself.” Sage replied. “I see more and more of our brothers in you every day.”

It seemed Sage’s comment overwhelmed his little brother; he spun and plucked a flute of champagne from one of the wait staff passing by, and poorly tried to hide his flush behind its rim.

“Yes, well, I certainly have no shortage of examples to lead me.” Emmanellain half muttered into his drink, just before tossing his head back to tip the glass as far back as he could, and he drained it in one fluid gulp. “You included.”

He seemed not to know what to do with the quiet that came after emotional declarations, as, with a twist to set his empty glass on another tray being taken the opposite direction of the first, he used that momentum to turn back into the crowd, back into the mingling crowds that were resuming their previous low din of chatter.

Watching him fade into the crowd made Sage’s gaze wander through the faces in all the merrymaking that had resumed. On that passing glance, he caught Edmont through the crowd, having brought that offending noble into a group of other people Sage distantly recognized as some of the elder generations of the High Houses. It was only a moment, but it was enough to see exactly where the Fortemps propensity for warmth and good cheer came from, as much as their sense of duty had.

“Me included, then?” Sage asked, half to himself.

“Absolutely.” Artoirel said, with a surprising amount of conviction. “Our family has a reputation of housing the most upstanding knights in all of Ishgard. That has never been more true, than it is where you are concerned.”

Perhaps the alcohol did make Artoirel more verbose; Sage was unaccustomed to such declarations in abundance from the newest head of House Fortemps. For a certainty, it was the reason why it overwhelmed him, enough so that he was reminded of the burning shame of his most recent defeat.

“I was defeated—”

“And that should deplete you of your worth?” Aymeric countered at his other side. “Even the greatest people in history knew countless defeats— many of which were costly. Yet, they are not remembered as great because of their losses, but because they persevered despite them.” He gave a single, decisive nod. “I can think of no greater quality that could exemplify the knights of House Fortemps— you among the most exemplary.”

That overwhelmed feeling looped back around into a pleasant sort of warmth; it didn’t entirely absolve him of his guilt; none present expected it to. It weighed as it should— and no heavier. 

Grateful that his family was ever his shield, ever stopping him from pressing his burdens down harder on his own shoulders than he needed to, he could only lower his gaze, smile wider, and reply with, “I hope to be worthy of that.”

“You always were.” Artoirel and Aymeric replied automatically, voices nearly overlapping in perfect sync for their immediate timing.

With a surprised glance between the three of them, they dissolved into half-covered laughter, and that pressure on Sage’s chest settled, alongside his thoughts. It wasn’t enough to make the world okay. It wasn’t enough to make Sage strong enough to free Ala Mhigo and come home, not on its own.

But it was enough.

[flying-nightwing]

Damn Him

Hi, this is average af but I needed to post something. You’ll probably be disappointed lmao. Anyway, enjoy some Dick Grayson content!

More on my masterlist, pinned as a top post!

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Word count: 4798

Warnings: None

Summary: Dick Grayson never seems to say the right thing around you, and it’s not quite for the reason you initially thought

You looked up from your book when your cellphone vibrated on your desk beside you. You were in the midst of studying for your last exam of the semester, so you had your phone on a strict do not disturb schedule, which meant it remained on 24/7. Your notifications were blocked for any social media, text or calls you might receive, well, except for your one emergency contact: Bruce Wayne. He knew he was supposed to contact you only if he had no other choice but ask for your help, and never had he even used that card ever since you knew him. Reluctantly, you put down you book and marker to switch them for your phone. Turning on the screen, you ignored the various hidden notifications, focusing only on the single line that stared back at you.

Call me when you can - B.

Sighing, you unlocked your phone and pressed the contact name, then the phone icon next to it. It rang twice before Bruce picked up.

"(Y/N), how are you?"

"A bit stressed out, but it could be worse" You replied truthfully. "What's up?"

"I hope you know I wouldn't do this if I had any other solution" He began. "But I need your help on a recon mission, almost all my effective got busted last night"

"Oh my, are they okay?" You frowned with concern, even if he couldn't see you.

"Yes, don't worry" He said, "I'll explain in person, that is if you agree to come. I'd understand if you refused, though"

You rubbed the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes for a second. You owed a lot to Bruce, and since it was a simple recon stakeout, you could take one or two nights off to help him out. You were already ahead of schedule in your studying and confident in your knowledge of the material.

"Yeah, sure, I'll be there" You finally answered. "What time do you want me over?"

"As soon as you can"

"Aight, see ya"

You hung up the phone and put it back on your desk, observing it for a second. It had been gifted to you by Bruce after you began going on missions more regularly with the batlings, he said that way he knew for sure all communications would be secure and sheltered from hacking or government surveillance. You had to admit, having an encrypted phone was pretty neat, as it ran entirely on Wayne Enterprises servers and networks. The simple thought of not having to suffer through youtube ads was satisfactory enough on its own to justify the need for it, even if you didn't join missions as much as you used to.

You finally stood up and went to change from your yoga pants and loose tank top to black jeans and a sweater, then jumped in your car and drove to the manor. You punched in your code at the gate and took the right to the garages, where you entered a second code to open the doors. Your car was several notches under those parked there, but you had to have something less flashy as not to attract too much attention. Still, it was more than a majority of college students even had. You had to thank Bruce for that too. He wasn't your adopted father per say, since he found you a few days before your eighteenth birthday, but he still acted like a guardian and mentor for you.

You jogged down to the batcave, where you instantly spotted a chatty blonde sprawled in a seat, making wild gesture. She sprung up straight at the sound of you coming in and her face split in a wide grin. She jumped on her feet and skipped toward you.

"Hey giiiiirl" She drawled out excitedly. "Long time no see!"

"Hey Steph" You chuckled, going for the hug. "Sorry I didn't call, I have no excuses"

"Don't worry about it" She waved off with an airy laugh. She knew how busy school kept you, and how you kind of wanted to separate yourself fromthe vigilante life. "I'm just glad you're here"

"So am I" Bruce called from the computers. He gave you a subtle smile, and you nodded back to him. "It seems like we're in a bit of an impasse here"

You didn't miss the quick glare he sent to Tim and Steph, who sheepishly avoided looking back at him. It didn't seem too serious though, or the air would have drastically changed.

"Before he says anything, know it wasn't our fault" Steph hurried to say.

"We were totally ambushed by Vicky Vale" Tim nodded along."No idea what she did there, but she was, and she saw right through our disguises.We had to bolt before she exposed us"

You frowned in confusion. "Okay can someone tell me what is going on here?"

"Tim and Steph were supposed to go undercover and cozy up with the high leaders of what I have suspicions on good authority are transiting premium grade opium into the US and Europe, and are close partners to Count Vertigo" Bruce began, already exhausted. "But as they said, Vicky Vale was somehow invited to the banquet and singled them out immediately before they could get even near the big guys"

"My magnificent blond mane attracts way too much attention, I'm afraid" Steph sighed sadly, making you chuckle. "It's a curse, babes. I tell ya"

"Keep telling yourself that, Stephi" A new voice came from the top of the stairs. You both wanted suddenly to go back to your books as a big part of why you barely tag along on missions anymore skipped down the stairs. Damn Dick Grayson, damn him. "We all know covert missions are not your strong point"

"I'm gonna kill you in your sleep, Grayson" She smiled sweetly at him.

"No, because you suck at being subtle" He returned the grin, just as sweetly if not more. He ruffled her hair as he passed by. "What's up Timbo"

He hummed something unintelligible, flipping his brother off. Dick laughed, then almost added something when he finally noticed you. His laughter died down and his eyes widened, and suddenly he looked uncomfortable. "Oh, you're here"

"So it seems" You replied as flatly as he spoke. It wasn't new, you had never known how to act around each other. Did you hate him? Of course not, you had absolutely no reason to. Did you consider him your friend? Hard to say. All you knew was that any and every encounter you had with Dick Grayson was awkward. You got along with Tim just fine, and even Jason when he was still around. You loved Cass and Duke, and you even managed to get on Dami's good side, or most of the time anyway. But Dick remained a mystery to you, one that had eluded you for years now. You didn't understand a single thing about that boy, and you doubted you ever would. You've had conversations before, loads of them, and you had no doubt he would make an amazing friend, but you couldn't seem to get past the stage of acquaintances.

Which was frankly disappointing, because you had been instantly attracted by his charms and easygoing nature when you first met. You had been drawn to him, and you couldn't try and pretend you hadn't pinned after him for the longest time. But you hit a wall when his behaviour began changing wildly around you, right around the time you slipped flirts every now and then to let him know that you were into him. Right now, you were just really over his poor attempts at pretending he never noticed it happen.

"So" Bruce spoke up, breaking the tension that had suddenly arisen in the cave. "Tomorrow night we'll have a new opening to try and get to them, hopefully without interruption this time. I've taken a look at the list, and no reporter was on it. We should be good"

"But Tim and Steph already got busted" You pointed out. "They'll know something is up if they show up again"

"That's why they will be seen at the Gotham Charity Auction at the museum" He explained, meeting your eyes. "That's why I called you up. You'll be going undercover with Dick as husband and wife"

"What?" Dick coughed almost immediately. "We're not–" He laughed nervously. "Us? As a married couple? This is ridiculous"

Your head turned sharply toward him, your eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Wow, thanks a lot for the vote of confidence" You snapped. "I didn't know being my fake husband was such a terrible perspective"

"No– Wait– That's not–" He stuttered, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean it that way"

"Sure" You rolled your eyes, before turning to Bruce again. He had an unreadable expression on his face, more unreadable than usually anyway. Tim and Steph stood there in stunned silence, not daring to speak up. "What's the briefing?"

Bruce glanced in between you and Dick, before looking back at you again. "Félix Lachance and Stella Gustavsson, they're the one you need to befriend. Since you're not known to the public, it'll be easier for Dick to pass under the radar and not cause an incident like last time"

"We get it, B" Tim muttered under his breath as Bruce passed you the files with the pictures.

"I need you to retrieve any information you can" He continued, ignoring Tim's comment. "Names of business partners, location of transactions, dates, anything, you know the gig. Your occupation and alias if you want one will be at your discretion, I trust you can deal with that. As always you need to be extremely careful as not to alert them, because this is our last chance to get the critical Intel we need to take this down. So I'll need you at your A game, both of you"

This was a warning and you knew it. He let you know more or less subtly to put aside whatever was happening between you and behave like adults. You straightened your back and took a deep breath, getting your head in the right mindset.

"Alright, I'll be ready for tomorrow night" You nodded as you gathered the files. "Can I stay over tonight? There is no point in trying to study now"

"You don't need to ask, (Y/N), you're always welcome here" Bruce said, a hint of fondness in his voice. He always liked having you around, he said your presence tamed the boys. You nodded and made your way upstairs, finding the room you claimed as your own for about a year, and the same you always came back to when you stayed the night.

You went to the drawers, fishing out old training clothes you had left behind. You weren't sure all those were yours, they were probably mixed with pieces you stole from Steph and Cass. In return, they probably did also steal from your drawer occasionally, balancing it all out. You were about to change into something comfy for bed when a soft knock at your door caught your attention. You walked to it and tentatively opening the door, your expression flattening when you saw how it was.

"Yes?"

"Hey um" Dick scratched the back of his neck. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry it came out that way. I just meant that it would be, you know, weird"

You stared at him blankly. "You're not helping your case here, Dick"

"Shit, that's not what I mean either!" He hurried to say, realizing his mistake. But you were already closing the door. "Please (Y/N)–"

"Get some rest Dick" You said as you pushed the door closed. You sighed and shook your head before adding in a whisper, "God knows we'll need it"

------

You had done covert missions before, but this was the first time you were operating in such conditions. You finished retouching your hair, staring at yourself in the mirror, wondering whether or not it was more expensive than your total life income. The floor length champagne coloured dress was stunning, tailored to your form and just sparkly enough to let you shine through the design. You suspected the shoes were made especially to fit with the dress, as they resembled its lace and belt colour. You were sporting on top of that a heavy diamond necklace with matching earrings, proving the general high cost of the outfit. Your comm was carefully tucked in your ear, functional and well hidden.

"Oh my my" Steph whistled lowly. "If I wasn't dating Timbers I would date you"

You laughed. "This is the outfit talking. You haven't seen me tired and puffy in sweatpants just yet"

"Grump, just take the damn compliment" She playfully poked your exposed shoulder.

"Alright alright, thanks" You rolled your eyes. "Since it's gonna be the only one coming from this household anyway"

Steph wiggled her eyebrows. "Wouldn't be so sure about that" She said in a sing-song voice. "Your fake boyfriend may have some thoughts too"

"Ha" You snorted, walking out of your room with her following at your side. "It's good, that you're wishful thinking. The boy can't seem to talk to me without insulting me lately"

"Trust me, he won't be able to resist to this bombshell" She gestured at your form. "Dick's a people pleaser, and looking like a whole five course meal like that, you sure are easy to please if you want my opinion"

You shook your head, a small grin on your face. Steph had always been your favourite for a reason. She knew how you felt about Dick, but she never meddled. Well, not more than she typically would anyway, and not enough to cross your boundaries. And even then, she had no explanation either for his behaviour. You finally reached the foyer, where Bruce was dressed casually, sleeves rolled up and without a tie, talking to an all dressed up Dick, his hair now dark red and with almost black contact lenses. Your heels clicking on the stairs was what snapped their attention to you; Bruce nodding at his choice of dress for you, and Dick, his mouth slightly agape. You felt Steph gently but excitedly elbowing your ribs.

"Ah, (Y/N), there you are" Bruce said. "I'm glad to see the dress fits well"

"Yeah" Dick tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "You look okay"

You blinked in disbelief as you heard Steph's facepalm behind you. You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose, while Bruce shook his head slightly at his son.

"Yikes" Tim made his presence known. You shared this one word mood immensely right about now. "Way to go D"

Dick cleared his throat, trying to push back the embarrassment blush creeping up his cheeks. "Uh, shall we go?"

"That would be preferable, yes" Bruce replied, making Steph choke and cover he laughter with a cough. The way he said it was clearly meant to be a jab to his son's tactless attitude. "Be careful"

"Of course" You smiled tightly and all but dragged Dick outside. You'd take one of Bruce's luxury car to get there, and it was already waiting in the driveway. Dick pressed the door button and slowly, they lifted up to let you in. You slid in the passenger seat without waiting for Dick's help and you kept your eyes on the windshield in from of you as he began to drive. The ride was silent until he decided to speak again, tentatively.

"It's nice to see you all dressed up, for once" He said, still clearly not thinking of his choice of words more carefully. "It's different. A good different!"

For once? Was he serious?

You audibly sighed. "I'm begging you to just stop talking"

"What?" He objected, confused. "What did I say wrong this time– Oh"

"Yeah" You replied, your tone clipped and dry.

"I'm an idiot" He mumbled under his breath. That you could agree on, but you didn't voice it out loud.

He couldn't pull into the driveway fast enough. You slipped on your fake engagement ring as Dick stopped in front of the awaiting valet, doing himself the same thing. You both had a recording device slipped in your clothes, and the ring allowed you to turn it on and off at will, as well as the comm in your ear. You turned both off for the awaiting scan at the entrance, as not to emit detectable frequencies.

"Ready?" He asked, and you gave him a firm nod. He got out first and rounded the car, opening your door for you as he would be expected to by this particular crowd. You took his offered hand to climb out and linked your arm to his as he gave the keys to the valet in exchange for a ticket. He left a tip before you walked inside, registering to the guest list. You passed the security checkpoint without a hassle and found yourself in the hall where the auction was held. You turned on your comm and recording device again.

"Recon first, then regroup?" You suggested in a mutter as you were both visually scanning the room.

"Yep" He replied shortly. "B, copy?"

"Crystal clear" 

"Good. Let's go"

While Dick headed to the bar, you opted for the art collection on display, pretending to scout for potential pieces to bid on. But your eyes weren't on the expensive paintings and statues, but moved around the room to spot some VIP lounge or area where the big shots might hang out at. There was a room where attendees came and went, but you shrugged it off as there wasn't enough security for the profile you were searching for. You paused your recon for small talk here and there, and you were in the middle of a casual chat about painted landscapes with an older gentleman when Dick rejoined your side, handing you a drink.

"There you are honey" He smiled sweetly, his unusually dark brown eyes reflecting the light from the chandelier.

"Joey, my love, allow me to introduce you to Sir Fernand Bretworth of Essex" His alias flew out of your mouth naturally, then you took a small sip of your drink. Non alcoholic, nice thinking. "We were discussing impressionism and its influence on modern art"

You wanted to smirk at the clueless look Dick gave you. He was a prodigy in a lot of things, but art wasn't one. It was more Damian's thing, or Tim's if he tried hard enough, but definitely not Dick's. Take that now. 

"Ah, yes..." He replied slowly. "Fascinating indeed"

"Alright" You let out a small, cover up laugh as your hand rested on his bicep. "My husband has little interest in art, my apologies"

"No offence taken" He chuckled. "I'll leave you two, my wife must be looking for me. An old fool like me gets easily distracted!"

You laughed along with him until he was out of earshot. Then you dropped your hand and turned to him. "Noticed anything?"

"Yeah, there is a guarded room with special access" He said as you walked deeper into the crowd not to look suspicious. "Only owned of a special pass can go in, and the guards are very thorough"

"Great" You breathed. "Now let's hope out lovebirds will come out to mingle"

"As it turns out..." He trailed off, and instinctively, you began turning your head toward where his gaze lead. He immediately redirected your head back to him with a firm, but gentle touch on your cheek. His hand remained there for about three seconds longer than necessary, until he realized what he did and retracted his arm. You could have almost enjoyed it if he didn't look like he was touched by literal fire. "Don't look"

"Sorry" You mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"... They got out, they're talking to people" He informed you, ignoring what just went down. "You go for Stella, I'll take Felix. Remember, friendly but not suspicious. Sweet talk your way into spilling the beans"

"I know" You bit back, your voice low. "Not my first mission, remember? I know what to do"

"I was just reminding you"

"Yeah, I got that" You scoffed. "If you don't trust me, just say so, it'll save you trouble of babying me"

"Come on, that's not–"

He began arguing, but you walked away before you could slip up and say his real name. It would give him one more reason to come down on you like you were a beginner in need of guidance. You were rusty, not stupid. You didn't need him insulting your undercover talents as well. You stopped in front of a beautiful emerald necklace that had a start bid of ten millions dollars and took a long sip of your drink, now kind of bummed it was non alcoholic. But that very detail was probably why you felt a presence approaching you from behind, giving you a few seconds to compose yourself and sweep your frustration under the rug.

"Trouble in paradise?"

You turned around, surprised. It looked like the voice made you jump, when it was in fact the nature of the question that threw you off, as well as the person who had spoken. Before you could ask, the Stella Gustavsson smiled warmly and nodded to where Dick had been seconds earlier.

"I saw what happened" She began, and your heart skipped a beat, hoping she hadn't overheard. "Those frustrated hands gesture are all too familiar. What did he do?"

You relaxed slightly, for now. "We've been having trouble lately, well, more than usually" You explained with a little complicit cock of your head. She seemed to get it. You, on the other hand, knew Dick was hearing everything on his comm, so you decided to go for it. "He's acting... Weird. Can't seem to talk to me without irritating me, whether on purpose or not. I'm sorry, I'm venting to a stranger, I can't imagine how it must look look like.

"Don't worry about it dear, I asked" She winked, extending her hand. "I'm Stella"

"Aleka" You shook her hand.

"Your dress is stunning, by the way!" She exclaimed. "Which designer?”

You froze for a second before shrugging. "No idea, my designer got it for me" You brushed off. "As long as it looks good, I don't care where it comes from"

"Amen" She said, taking a sip of her champagne. "Although, I need to know the name of your designer. They have amazing taste, and I'm looking for a new one for myself"

Oh shit.

"It's B" You replied instantly.

"Bee?"

"Yeah" You nodded, and she looked at you incredulously. "I mean, that's what we all call him. I'm sure he has a name, but I pay him to dress me, not to know his personal life"

"Harsh, (Y/N)" Bruce said in your ear, and you remembered he had been listening to everything. "But nice save"

She laughed, unaware of the comments from Batman himself. "That is very true. How have I not met you before? I feel we have a lot in common"

"I sincerely have no idea" You replied, adding a little gasp of disbelief.

"You're different from this crowd, I can feel it" She kept going on as you started walking side by side in the exposition room. "Everyone here only cares about petty, trivial things. You have a head on your shoulders, you're smart. Too bad your man can't seem to see what's in front of him"

You sighed in agreement to hide the fist pump of victory that threatened to come up. Just like that, you had won Stella over. "I don't know what to do about it. I've tried to talk to him, but it just makes it worse"

"But have you tried to make him jealous?" She suggested with a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised. "There are plenty of young men around, or older bachelors if you're into that. Flirt with them, make sure he sees you, he'll come running, take my word"

"It won't work, he's not–" Even my boyfriend, you were about to say, but you saved your fall just on time. Still, you could practically see Dick's glare in the back of your head at the almost slip up. "Jealous. He's not a jealous man, he's very confident and secure"

"What a shame" She drawled out, going for her champagne again. "Here's what you can do then. Go to him, take him by the neck and french kiss him like there is no tomorrow”

You choked on your saliva as she watched you with a mischievous grin. "Excuse me?"

"It's guaranteed to work, darling" She lifted her shoulder in an elegant shrug. "Then you hold him off. You'll thank me later tonight when you're back at home, just wait and see"

You were about to argue some more, but her insisting stare told you she wasn't just going to let it go. So you scanned the crowd for Dick, spotting him casually excusing himself from a conversation group, going for a refill at the bar. You reached him and grabbed him by the elbow, bringing him face to face with you. You made sure your back was to Stella before beginning to explain the situation.

"I heard" He told you in a mutter, making sure his lips were unreadable under Stella's stare from the distance.

"Then you know what she expects" You sighed, slipping your hands behind his neck. "It doesn't have to be deep, just convincing. Can you do this without grimacing?"

You thought he would stumble into some weak apology, or say something clever. He did neither, instead dived straight for your lips so quickly it was you who was taken by surprise. Naturally, all you could do is kiss him back and try to keep up with him. At some point you thought he would break off, but you weren't prepared for him to actually deepen the kiss. He wasn't letting you go, and it made you dizzy in all the best ways. Let's say you were thankful for his arm around your waist right about now. Finally, you still had to breathe, so you parted reluctantly.

"What was that for?" You asked, your eyes still dazed.

"An apology for irritating you unintentionally" He grinned boyishly, for probably the first time ever directed at you. "I'm an idiot"

"Can confirm" You replied, bringing him down on your lips again. This time, it was a bit shorter, but the spark was still very much present. "You should have done this a long time ago"

"I know" He nodded, his head slightly down and his puppy dog eyes shining even underneath the dark contact lenses. "You're a bit intimidating, I didn't know how to act"

You let out a loud laugh at his confession. "You're kidding"

He pouted.

"Me?" You repeated. "But you're– You're you!"

"Well, duh" He chuckled. "You've got me all tangled in here," He pointed at his chest. "Made me nervous all the time"

You melted just a little bit at his little display, before remembering doing this was a specialty of his. You were just not used to be on the receiving end of it. "You're lucky you're cute, and that I'm already sold on you"

The bright grin returned.

"As heartwarming as this moment is, please focus on the task at hand" Bruce's stern voice echoed in your head, and you were suddenly reminded your conversation had been integrally transmitted to him.

"Right, sorry" Dick apologized sheepishly.

"See, I told you"

This time, you were taken by surprise by Stella walking on you. Even Bruce's intervention hadn't quite brought you back to reality. Damn Dick Grayson, damn him. You turned around, trying to hide your flustered state and instead focusing on the tall gentleman at her side. Must be Felix Lachance, you thought.

"It works every time" She added, sipping from a new glass of champagne.

"You were right" You let out an airy laugh. "Stella, this is my husband Joey Moore. Joey, this is my new friend Stella"

They shook hands before she introduced her husband to the both of you. You already knew his name, but you both pretended you didn't for the sake of your covers.

"Nice to meet you two" Félix smiled politely.

"Hey, would you like to go for a drink after this?" Stella asked. "I sure would like to get to know you two better"

Dick and you exchanged a glance, knowing you had locked the target. Acquiring intel from now on would only be a piece of cake, the base was laid for further actions. You smiled, returning your glance to Stella.

"That would be absolutely lovely"

[nazyalenskyism]

Let’s Get Married 3

Let’s Get Married Part 3 (Let’s Get Married)

Summary: Guess who got married! A/N: PLEASE READ: From this point on, anything labeled as "THEN,"/"18 months ago" refers to the week during which Chapter 2 (I've Been So Far Gone Lately) is set during. Anything labeled as "NOW" or "18 months later" is set in the present day. Sorry for any confusion!

Ao3: Let's Get Married Part 3

18 months later (NOW):

David Kostyk came back from his break like always, with a mug of tea from his wife in one hand and a stack of files from Nikolai in the other, ready to dive into the documents for the day. The first few files were standard, he was signing off on others’ work, making sure everything was up to date and properly formatted but it was when he hit the fifth document that he found something amiss. He pushed his glasses up his nose, bending down to make sure that he read the file correctly. No, that couldn’t be. That would mean that--Oh no.

David picked up his receiver, punching in numbers he knew by heart, this was going to be anything but a quiet morning like he’d hoped. “Genya, you need to see this.”

                                                            ***

“Nikolai Lantsov!” he glanced up at the mention of his name, surprised at the sight before him. Genya marched into the room with Tolya and Tamar walking determinedly behind her while David trailed behind them, clutching a stack of papers in his hands. Nikolai glanced at his watch, it was only 11 AM, they didn’t have their daily meeting until 2 PM, that was odd.

He raised a brow, easing back in his chair, “can I help you?”

“What’s this?” Genya exclaimed without any preamble, grabbing a paper off the top of the stack in David’s hands and slapping it onto his desk.

“Paper, I assume, darling Genya.”

“I mean what’s on the paper,” she snapped, “it says you’re married.”

Nikolai paused, drawing the paper towards him, “you were at the wedding,” he glanced around, “you all were. In fact, you were the only people there.”

“You were supposed to get divorced,” Tolya interjected, “that was the plan.”

“Plans change.”

“Nikolai, you were supposed to be married for six months, a year at most.” Tamar frowned.

“It’s just been more beneficial than we’d originally thought.”

“What?” Genya asked, scowling at him.

“Well, we realized it would be better for our taxes, for one.” he ticked off a finger with each additional reason he gave. “People don’t ask for our numbers when we go out anymore and my parents and brother hate both of us so they leave us alone. One glare from Zoya and deals are signed in record time, I don’t have to suffer through terrible parties alone anymore, and Zoya has to be nice to me,” he furrowed his brow, “well sometimes. Actually not nicer but--”

“What are you going to do now?” David interrupted.

“What do you mean?”

Tamar spoke up, “you can’t keep this lie up forever, someone is going to find out, it’s amazing they haven’t already.”

“Yes,” Genya nodded, “what if you meet someone, and want to get married? What are you going to do then? Or what if someone asks you why you don’t live together or why your prenup with Zoya is basically giving her 50% anyways?”

“We’ve been too busy,” Nikolai said dismissively.

“Busy? She spends half her evenings hanging out at your apartment or with us. Even if that wasn’t the case, Nikolai, you always make time for important things.”

“It’s not important at the moment.” He understood their confusion, he had been surprised at first too when Zoya hadn’t asked him to call things off three seconds after they had officially gotten married and secured the company as his. In fact, she hadn’t brought it up at all. Not once in a year and a half and neither had he. It felt like they’d struck some sort of perfect balance, and the last thing he wanted was to destroy their peace. No, when Zoya wants to end this, I’ll agree, but until then I won't be the one to ruin this.

“It is important!” Genya looked as if she wanted to shake some sense into him, which was odd, usually only Zoya had that look on her face. Speaking of Zoya, it had been a minute since he’d spoken to her, not since he’d brought her coffee to her office this morning, all the way on the other side of the floor. He should send her a text about dinner tonight, he had found a fantastic restaurant whose specialty was her favourite dish and wanted to take her. He pulled his phone out of his waistcoat pocket, smiling as he typed a message he knew would make her roll her eyes, chuckling at her response.

“Hey!” Genya snapped her fingers in front of his face, startling him from his texting. “Nikolai, if you don’t think this is an important thing to do at the moment, what do you think it means that you like spending time with her, that you trust her with all your secrets? How you don’t care about what anyone else has to say about you, everyone but Zoya? The rare time she compliments you, you light up like a Christmas tree! Not only that but…” Genya trailed off, twisting her wedding band around her finger, glancing around at her friends for a reprieve, but they were all avoiding her imploring gaze.

“But?” Nikolai prompted. He could feel his ears burning, but he wouldn’t allow his friends to see how Genya’s words had impacted him.

“You know what,” she sighed. “Nikolai, you know why you don’t want to change things and it’s the same reason she doesn’t want to change things either. Both of you want this and there’s a reason why, a reason that would make you both a lot happier than you are now.”

Nikolai stood abruptly, he’d had enough. “As always, your advice is appreciated but unneeded. Now if you’ll excuse me I have an appointment and before that, as per the request of my friends,” he gestured to them, “I need to start filing for divorce.”

                                                               ***

18 months ago (THEN):

“I found something,” Nikolai whispered, sliding up behind Zoya and gently touching her arm before slipping a drink into her hand. In the ballroom behind them the party was in full swing but out here on the terrace overlooking the gardens there was barely a buzz. They’d moved outside because they hadn’t wanted their conversation to be overheard by someone at the party. If anyone found out what they were planning on doing they would be in big trouble, to say the least. She arched a brow, and took a sip of her drink and he took it as an indication to speak. “There’s a clause in the bylaws that states that someone other than the intended heir of the company can inherit it if they challenge the intended heir, get a majority of votes from the board, and are over thirty.”

“Nikolai, you’re nowhere near thirty, there’s no way you’re going to be able to stop Vasily from getting his greasy hands all over your company.”

He shot her a bemused look, “my company?”

“You know what I mean,” she snapped. “That can’t be all you found, keep talking.”

“Well,” he began slowly, “the only way we get around that is, there’s a clause that says you have to be thirty or married.” A deafening silence stretched out between them, both trying to gauge the others’ reaction. Zoya spoke first, surprisingly.

“So, when’s the wedding? What should I get you, cash or something off the registry?”

“Nazyalensky, I didn’t say that I was going to get married.”

“Come on,” she said, looking up at him, “this is your life’s goal. If you don’t secure the company now, then your brother or that old creep Aleksander will take what’s rightfully yours.” Her finger jabbed at his chest, her eyes alight with passion. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that she believed in him. “You are the only person who can and should be running it. It’s yours Lantsov, it always has been.”

Nikolai felt a kernel of warmth unfurling in his chest as Zoya whipped away from him and back towards the skyline, the faintest blush colouring the tops of her cheeks. Open admissions of friendship always made her ill. Nikolai drew in a breath, preparing to be eviscerated for what he was going to say next. “Would you?”

She squinted at him, “would I what?”

“Would you marry me? Hypothetically. If you were an eligible bachelorette in the city?” Zoya cut him a quick glare, “hypothetically, yes. Anyone would be stupid not to.”

“And do you consider yourself smart?” he said.

“Nikolai…” she faltered, “don’t.”

“Don’t what? It makes sense, doesn’t it? We already know each other, we don’t have to draw up an extravagant prenup, I’ll gladly give you half of what I have, we can get divorced a week after we get the company, and go on with life as usual.”

Zoya shook her head at him, “and what will people say when you and your ex-wife are working side by side every day, with no bad blood? And getting divorced a week later, that makes it so obvious that you only did it for the company.”

“Fine,” he said simply. “If you can tolerate me for a couple of months, we can stage some big fight and break things off. We’ll say that we were young and in love and made a stupid decision.”

Her hand went to the chain around her neck, rubbing the locket absently. “I don’t think this is a good idea Nikolai.”

“Nazyalensky,” he stepped closer to her, “we’re running out of time and I don’t think I have any other options. I wish there was another way but if this is the only way, I will do it, but I would rather it be with someone I trust. And hey, it’s only six months, then we’ll be back to how we always were.”

Nikolai waited for a minute, then two, then what felt like forever before she finally spoke. “Okay.” She turned towards him, “okay, but no big wedding. Just us, the officiant, Genya, David, Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, and my family. Just the ten of us.”

He took her hand, “what about all my friends?”

“What friends,” she scoffed.

Nikolai pouted, “harsh.”

“Honest.”

He laughed at that, pulling out the small box that had been sitting against his chest all night. He popped it open before flipping it towards her, cherishing the faint flicker of disbelief on her face as he slipped the ring onto her finger. He knew what she was thinking; it was huge and sparkly, the two things she liked most.

“You idiot,” she slapped his chest, “you knew about this already, why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“I wanted to have the ring ready,” he protested, admiring the excitement painted onto her exquisite features as she admired the glimmering ring in the moonlight. “I didn’t think you’d agree unless I had it.”

“You’re right, I was just feeling extreme amounts of pity towards you tonight, otherwise, even your desperation wouldn’t have been enough. ”

“Ruthless,” Nikolai smiled, “now, shall we tell the others?”

Zoya took his outstretched arm, “let’s.”

“Ah, ah.” Nikolai chided, “it would be a little obvious if we stepped out of the party to get engaged, no?”

“Ugh, fine,” she groaned, slipping the ring off her finger, and reluctantly placing it back in the box. “You’re right, it clashes with my outfit tonight anyways. But I’d like it back as soon as possible.”

“Let me finish putting a little something together. We should at least be able to have a little fun with it.”

“Alright,” she sighed, “but no public proposal.”

“No public proposal,” he agreed, “just us. Like always.”

                                                        ***

18 months later (NOW):

“What is it, Genya?” Zoya sighed, stepping around a tourist glued to the center of the sidewalk, her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she gripped the box of baklava against her chest. Nikolai always got peckish in the afternoon and the sweet was his favourite snack and if she’d learned anything in life it was that a well-fed Nikolai was a more productive Nikolai.

“Care to tell me why you’re still married?”

“Hm?” She eyed the window display of the boutique behind her, while waiting for the streetlight. Nikolai would love that sweater and the blue would bring out the gold in his eyes.

“Hey!” Genya snapped at her, “why didn’t you tell us that you’re still married?”

“Should I have?”

“Yes? Obviously yes!”

“Okay,” Zoya said, not seeing the issue, “so now you know.”

“You were supposed to get divorced a year ago, why are you still married?”

She sighed, it was so simple, how did no one else get it? “It was better for our taxes, people don’t ask for our numbers when we go out anymore, Nikolai’s family leaves us alone. It makes it easier to deal with all the stuff from when Liliyana--” she broke off, clearing her throat, “it makes business deals go smoother, we can bail each other out of stuff. It just makes things easier.”

“What if you meet someone and want to get married, or even date them? Or what if Nikolai does?” Zoya frowned, turning away from the boutique door she’d been about to open, crossing the street instead. She hadn’t thought about that before. Nikolai was a romantic, she’d seen it in action, and while he’d never been in a long-term relationship in the time she’d known him, he had been on dates where he’d gone all out. What if he was even slightly interested in someone and pushed aside the prospect of a relationship with them because he felt that he owed her something? She didn’t want that.

“I know. It’s just-- we’ve been busy.”

“That’s exactly what he said.”

“We’ll get around to it, we will.”

Genya seemed to pick up the weariness of her voice and simply said, “I know you will,” before hanging up.

Zoya slumped into her car, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. When did things get so complicated? He’d asked Zoya to help him because it was supposed to be uncomplicated when it was her. When had she let herself fall into this so badly that she genuinely questioned her ability to extract herself from it?

Her phone chimed and she saw that her last conversation with Nikolai had been deleted from their message history, the one where they’d been making dinner plans. Instead she saw a new message under their conversation from last night simply reading, “we need to talk. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Zoya exhaled through her nose, punching out, “Okay.” in response before tossing her phone into the backseat. It was ridiculous to think that anything about this arrangement had ever been easy. The night that Nikolai’s parents had thrown them an engagement party had been proof enough of that.

[ohshcscenerios]

Neighbors

Chapter Thirty

Poll Result: Yes

Haruhi reluctantly opened her eyes against dimmed sunlight grazing her face. She nuzzled her nose into her soft pillow and squirmed deeper beneath her bed sheets, not wanting to wake up just yet.

Through her groggy sight she could make out a cloudy sky beyond her window. No wonder she still felt tired, the weather coerced her to stay in bed. She heard the faint whistle of wind slap against her window, making her groan and turn over beneath her sheets. She could probably squeeze in another hour of sleep if it wasn’t too late in the morning. She reached for her nightstand to get her phone but instead found it laying beside her pillow.

Crap, I slept with my phone again. I need to charge it before my first class.

Hikaru’s text message was still illuminated on her screen. She reread his message with more awareness than last night and realized she never responded to him.

Crap.

Underneath she found more unread messages he had sent throughout the night.

Hikaru Hitachiin 12:06am Haruuhiii… what do you say?

Hikaru Hitachiin 1:29am

Did you fall asleep? If you don’t answer in an hour I’ll take that as a yes.

Hikaru Hitachiin 4:19am

We’ll pick you up at 6 on Friday :P

Haruhi groaned and turned on her back to stare at the ceiling. Why do they do this to her? Of course she’d be asleep, there’s no logical sense in taking her silence as a yes. She was tempted to text back a piece of her mind but her groggy mind wasn’t awake enough to deal with their whines. She could talk to them after she’s had her coffee.

.

As it turned out, arguing with the twins was a losing battle, especially when they refuse to be convinced otherwise. They were two stubborn bulls with an itch to rampage a fine china shop. Haruhi should have known her protests would fall upon deaf ears.

“Come on Haruhi, it’ll be fun!” Hikaru pleaded. He walked beside her along a cobblestone path to their first class.

“No way,” Haruhi grumbled, “I’m not interested in college parties.”

Kaoru walked along her other side, leaning forward to catch her frown with a smirk, “This is Ouran University, our parties aren’t like other universities’ parties.”

“We have more class than other universities.” Hikaru added smuggly.

Haruhi sulked her shoulders and sighed. There were some battles that couldn’t be won; Tamaki’s puppy eyes and the twins’ mischievous plans.

Hikaru clapped her on the back, “That’s our girl, don’t worry it’ll be a good time.”

“If it helps you feel better, you can always bring Mori-senpai with you.” Kaoru teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

Haruhi elbowed him in the side, “Quit it. I’ll go but I don’t want to stay all night. We have to leave before ten.”

Hikaru groaned, “Oh come on, that’s when the party starts to pick up.”

Kaoru tsked, “You really don’t know how to have fun, huh Haruhi? Sometimes I pity you.”

“You’re always pitying me,” Haruhi muttered, picking up her pace, “Come on we’re going to be late.”

The twins smiled at each other before catching up to her.

.

Haruhi slunked out of the bed Friday morning after pulling another all-nighter with her studies again. She could blame her communications professor announcing a last-minute exam for Monday. After groggily preparing her coffee and slinking her bag over her shoulder, she was ready to endure the day. She reminded herself she could sleep in tomorrow morning and that helped her smile a little.

In between classes she had to listen to the twins excitedly rave about the party tonight. They continually promised her a good time and that she wouldn’t regret her coming, which she highly doubted, but it was too late to back down now. They already dropped off a dress for her to wear tonight. She left it hanging on her bathroom door.

They reached the last building they’d need to attend for the day when Hikaru said off-handedly, “Oh by the way, I invited the others.”

“You did?” Haruhi asked, looking at him confused.

Hikaru shrugged, “Yeah, I thought it’d be fun to have the whole gang there.”

“It might feel like old times, when we’d throw those balls.” Kaoru added.

Haruhi wondered if that was a good idea but admittedly it did help her feel better. At least she wouldn’t be the only one suffering tonight. She could chat with her senpais if the party proved too much and if anything were to go wrong she could rely on any one of her friends for help. For the first time that week she began to feel better about going.

.

“Haruhi hurry up!” Hikaru called from outside the bathroom door. He knocked again, emphasizing his lack of patience.

“Shut up and let me get ready!” Haruhi yelled from inside the bathroom. She fumbled with the earrings Kaoru gave her, trying to slip the rubber backs on.

“Do you need help?” Kaoru asked.

“No, I’m almost done.” She answered back.

Hikaru irritability moaned loudly, “That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago. Everyone is waiting in the hallway. Let’s go!”

“Haru-chan take your time, we’re not in a rush!” Mitsukuni’s muffled voice called from the hallway. It made her smile.

“Yes we are Hunny-senpai.” Hikaru attested, “If we’re too late there won’t be any beer left.”

“Ah so that’s what this is about.” Haruhi teased, “You want an excuse to drink.”

Hikaru thumped his fist against the bathroom door, “I just don’t want to bring my own. I’d rather be hands free tonight, thank you.”

Haruhi swung open the bathroom door, nearly making Hikaru lose his balance, and stormed past the twins to get her shoes. She refused to wear the heels they brought her, claiming her feet would be on fire the whole night.

“Finally.” Hikaru sighed as he threw up his hands, “Meet us in the hallway and don’t forget your cell phone.”

Kaoru smiled as he looked her up and down, “You look really nice Haruhi.” He prided before joining his brother.

Haruhi sighed and slipped on a pair of padded flats. She was about to leave when a little box caught the corner of her eye, the ring box that still rested on her nightstand.

Should she wear the ring to the party? - Vote Here (poll will close by 6:00pm ETS)

The next chapter update should be up by 8:00pm (ETS).

I'm in a particular writing mood today so hopefully I can post two more chapters before bed. That might mean posting late in the night but that might be good for my readers in a different time zone.

[dadsbongos]

Hargreeves Kids in Order of Their Problems (and do i have a problem?)

No secret that the Hargreeves children are all fucked up, but as I was re-watching I was like damn - what if we ranked them? So here we go, I’m ranking all the Hargreeves’ spawn by their pain; taking into account their trauma with and without Reginald (mostly for Five/Klaus) and how bad it messed them up. I’ll be sticking mostly to the first season because that’s where a lot of the meat is, but I might include a tiny peek into season two.

Also, I will be directly addressing the frequent question I ask myself “Am I attracted to trauma when it comes to characters?” by looking at my favorites and if they’re all deeply scarred.

S Tier Pain - Five Hargreeves:

Not only was he forced to endure Reginald’s abusive training regime (at least until the haha moment), but he also got stuck in the future after a miscalculated time jump. You’d think that’d be bad enough, what with no longer being able to see your family, but no. Well, technically he did see them when he found their dead bodies but that’s just more to Five’s suffering. He also got jammed into a post-Apocalyptic life where he was the sole survivor and had to live all on his own (though he had Dolores, which is a whole can of sad, loneliness worms we don’t have time for). Then to make matters worse he was taken into the Commission where he was turned into as assassin for years, to which he quit early to save his family from the Apocalypse. After the first one - yes, the first - and arriving in the 60s, Five got to see a glimpse of his siblings dying to the second one. All he ever does is for his family’s survival, even if it means his misery. In season one (and two) he makes a deal with the Handler, who he can’t stand, just to

maybe

 ensure she’ll protect his loved ones from the end of the world. He willingly works with a woman he hates and likely doesn’t trust so his family would be safe. And who could forget that redheaded lady in the bowling alley, like gosh, she really ruined his life by assuming his age like that... poor guy.

A Tier Pain - Klaus Hargreeves:

Unlike Five, he got to stick around for the entirety of Reggie’s cuck ways of abusing his kids physically/emotionally/mentally. From a young age (if that episode two lunch scene is anything), Klaus has been using drugs as a way to cope with his family life and his power. His addiction has led to a rather sad life, as evident from the first episode and some of his own dialogue - he’s not used to staying in one place, if anything his visits to rehab centers are the longest homes he really has. He’s not expected to stay sober long by the counter employee, indicating he’s been there before multiple times. When talking to Five outside of the prosthetic department, he outright admits he hasn’t been with someone for longer than about two weeks. He’s never shown to even hold down a job unless you count supplying local pawn shops - or, you know, the army. He served in war, straight up war, he likely has PTSD and to make things better, note the sarcasm, he lost his boyfriend in that war. Dave, the one person he’s described as loving more than he does himself. Klaus is constantly brushed under the rug as this crazy, attention-seeking junkie for most of season one by his family, but he’s more likely just calling for the help he clearly needs. Speaking of his family, I just wanna throw in that Klaus was kidnapped and tortured and not one person seemed to notice or even care.

B Tier Pain - Vanya Hargreeves:

Neglected by her adoptive father and siblings her entire life, Vanya was left out of the loop of even her own powers until she discovered them fucking decades later. She wrote a book trying to air out her father’s awful deeds and rather than finding solidarity with their shared agony at least a little, her siblings pushed her even further away. Quick mention, during the argument on whether or not to turn off Grace, she was immediately shut down on an opinion until she was shown to agree with Diego. Her vote didn’t matter until she sided with another sibling. Vanya grew up so starved for attention and love that when she got into her first relationship with Leonard (that bitchy murderer) she mistook it for a real love. Stayed with an abusive, gaslighting killer against all her sister’s warnings. She was betrayed by her own brother (fuck Luther, me and the homies hate Luther) after coming home, sobbing and pleading forgiveness, just wanting to help into being locked back in that vault Reginald used to keep her in. Vanya snapped, felt there was no other outlet and truly there possibly wasn’t for her, and ended the world. She was in so much pain, so angry with her life and how it was ruined by her own family that she blew up the moon. And honestly? I’m not even mad at her for it.

C Tier Pain - Diego Hargreeves:

Dude found his ex-girlfriend’s - and probably his potential love interest’s - corpse. He’s aching inside at least a bit. His spot as Number Two fueled a deep need to prove himself, whether he admits it or not, it’s why he’s a vigilante. Diego functions off of stopping crime and it’s only different from his childhood because he does it alone. He feels the need to validate what he went through, as if his suffering needs to be explained in some way. Speaking of childhoods, who gives them to us? Moms. Grace is his robo-Mom with no real sentience (well, before Cha-Cha and Hazel raided the place anyway, reboot Grace has some weird independence complex going on). She read to him, put him to bed, and fed his Mama’s Boy fixation - even going as far as to help Diego with his stutter. He put her down, in the robot sense. Diego was the first person to speak against shutting Grace down and yet he did so himself - knowing it’s what had to happen.

D Tier Pain - Ben Hargreeves:

He’s dead, so I’m not sure what he’s gone through other than having “The Horror” in his stomach and Reginald as a dad. So there’s not much to say about his trauma other than having to sit through watching people die horribly by his power’s hand. But again, he’s dead, and dying is one of the most traumatic things I can think of. That’s why he’s higher than the others but still lower than the previous four Hargreeves’ kids.

E Tier Pain - Allison Hargreeves:

She’s known as a “Daddy’s Girl” how that’s possible with Reginald, I’m not sure, but she is. Not to excuse any of the torment she got as a child or give the abuse a pass, at all. It’s just an inference that as Number Three and someone who easily got what she wanted with her power, she probably didn’t feel out-casted like Vanya. Nor was she left to survive on her own and then kill to live like Five. Allison, in all fairness, was viciously attacked by her sister after revealing she “Rumored” her memory away. Unlike Ben, she survived and went on to be the peaceful one of the family and her power didn’t directly kill, especially in ways that “The Horror” did. So I must rank her pain lower with a sad bob in my throat, nervous that all the Allison lovers will scream at/cancel me for putting her at E.

F Tier Pain - Luther Hargreeves:

Fuck Luther, me and the homies hate Luther. This little fuck found something out of proving himself to his father. So far up his dad’s ass that he was cool with being a monkey space boy for years until he realized Reginald didn’t give a shit about him. And honestly? Same. No but really, he did become a monkey man purely out of Reginald’s need for a hero to do what he said - and Luther couldn’t fill that if he was dead. I do recognize that his life was essentially wasted by his years spent on the moon, blindly following Dad’s orders but to be honest, he’s too in the background. He had nothing other than his father and therefore lost nothing other than his family, it’s hard to feel bad when you know he had no intention of doing anything other than be by Reginald. No plans unlike Klaus who had his life decimated by his drugs dependency or fuck, Five! Five had absolutely no life other than living through the Apocalypse for decades. Overall, I hate Luther but even though I can’t stand his gorilla guts, I do recognize that he has trauma.

~~~Do I Have A Problem?~~~ Considering that Five and Klaus are my favorite characters and they are the most traumatized? Yes, I am unnecessarily in love with characters in pain. I didn’t want to be a mannequin before I knew about Five, and now I crave to morph into Dolores (or at least combine with her like a Power Ranger)

[ashleyswrittenwords]

The Bitterness of Almost Making It (II)

Premise: Zelda’s carriage has been ambush and she rushes through the night to escape certain death. (TP ZeLink)

Small Note:  I wrote this on a whim because I can’t leave things sad.

Part One

Word Count: 1915

——-

Blackness.

A deepness she had never felt pulling her into a state of nothingness.

It didn’t push, it didn’t claw or spark fear in what little consciousness she had left. Rather, it enveloped her senses and cradled her being. Zelda didn’t wonder; she didn’t think; she didn’t understand the intense feeling of loss in her breast.

Sometimes the darkness shifted – like seeing the sun with closed eyes. If a chill overtook her, it didn’t last. Whispers of safety silently reached her and despite the tugging call that pricked the absence of her thoughts, that carefully woven blackness was quick to quell the worry and coax her back into the comfort of nothing.

There was a contentedness in her soul; a rightness she couldn’t place. The cognition to identify it didn’t manifest itself to her, leaving without anything to dwell on for the first time in a long time. Her mind was used to continuous churning with endless conflicts needed to be dealt with. If she wasn’t writing her thoughts in bulleted notes, her thoughts did it for her in her sleep and slowly stifled any room for personal enjoyment. There had even been a time when she preferred that state of mind.

It had taken a man dressed in an obnoxious green with a head as stubborn as hers to convince her that life wasn’t all about solutions. Some problems weren’t meant to be solved. Sometimes merely coping was enough. In doing that, at some point she saw him as one. His presence was a thrill she never knew. He pushed her in more positive ways, showing her new places and people beyond marble walls. In turn, her curiosity pushed him to travel more as she couldn’t be out for long.

Link’s adventuring didn’t quiet that curiosity either. In the dead of night, she would find him on her balcony with a rucksack of artifacts that spanned to the far reaches of her kingdom and beyond. A common excuse was how she needed to decipher a long-dead language for him or solve an elaborate riddle. That excuse later melted into simply wanting her to see the world from her room.

The man’s absence, really, was the issue. It bothered Zelda to the point of near madness. In the short silences with her advisors, a sheer remembrance of his form would leave her carefully plotted thoughts to come tumbling down. The Hyrulean queen didn’t forget. She was methodic and scientific, with all her actions having a purpose. For nearly a month, she worried she had developed an early onset of Alzheimer’s. How else was she to explain the recurring blanking of her mind?

Eventually, it dawned on her. It happened in the early hours of the morning when the sun had not yet risen. Link had gathered his belongings and was scoping out the ground from the railing – trying to decide if the guard rotations had changed. They hadn’t, she knew, despite his incessant nagging.

As she watched him take account and drum his fingers against the metal, she came to the acute realization that she didn’t want him to leave. It spread to her cheeks and further when he asked her what was wrong. Like everything she told him, she spoke the truth. Except then it was in a series of flustered words that shocked him as much as it shocked her.

“I do not know what it means,” she had said about the hole he left between visits, barely meeting his eyes. “You make me happy.”

Without attempting to hide his southern drawl, he wore a toothy grin and a slight flush.

“You make me happy, too.”

The memory was cut abruptly short as a cold stiffness crawled over her. Blindly, she shifted towards the unknown warmth.

Then, without warning, a searing pain tore through her side. With a choked gasp, Zelda’s eyes shot open only to be foiled by a blinding light. The brightness faded quickly to a dull glow and that glow revealed her surroundings. The softness under her was a twin bed and the warmth wide cobalt eyes lined with dark circles. A familiar touch gently, but with a certain sternness, pulled her back down.

“Don’t move,” his voice reached her ear. The warmth left her as he moved out from the place he held her.

Blond hair shone messy in the light that filtered in from the window. Zelda was wearing a shirt she didn’t recognize and he bunched the fabric up below her breasts. The delicate manner in which he did it hadn’t insinuated sensuality, in Link’s eyes were a calculating focus that swept down the bandages that wrapped her middle. He mumbled something under his breath and as if he forgot she was there, his gaze blinked up to hers.

The frustration in his face melted into relief and then tenderness. The man lifted himself from the ground to sit on the bed. There was a slight tremor in Zelda’s hands as she felt the smoothness of his face and he leaned down. His callous fingers lightly grasped her forearms and traced light circles on her soft skin. When their foreheads touched, words couldn’t suffice to express hushed alleviation in their hearts.

“I have been gravely injured, imprisoned against my will, and suffered grief so great I thought I would die,” Link said, opening his eyes to look into hers. “But nothing has scared me so immensely than facing a reality without you.”

His hands folded over her trembling ones and brought them to his mouth for a long kiss. Zelda watched him with knitted brows. For a long moment, she relished in the fact that he was merely existing here with her.

“Thank you,” she croaked out. The dryness of her throat made her cough, which made her wince painfully.

It made him frown, “You need water.”

He kept a light grasp on her wrist. “It’s been two days.”

Two days? That was what she wanted to ask, but she feared the pain that would come with speaking. Thankfully, he read her astonishment.

“I thought you wouldn’t wake up,” he shook his head, raking a hand through his hair and went to rummage through a bag across the room. From the distance he mused about where he had put his skein.

When he returned he helped her to a partial seat, mindful of her injury.

“Slow,” he quietly goaded her when she went to take in more water than she could reasonably bear. “Or you’ll start coughing again.”

“Have,” Zelda tested. Her throat hurt, but not as scraping as before. “Have you told anyone where I am?”

“Only a couple people in Ordon,” he mumbled, capping the water skein again. “I sent notice to the castle without including a location. Not when I don’t know why this happened.”

“I doubt there is a keenness to replace me so quickly.”

A ghost of a smile graced his hardened features. “No, I doubt there is.”

They settled into a comfortable silence as his gaze was split between her and the bandages. Then, Link somberly drew a feather-like touch over her skin, “It’s going to scar. I’m afraid I’m not used to stitching up other people.”

Zelda nodded, not remotely as worried about her appearance as he feared. If she had to guess, she was in a state of disrepair as it was. Her hair was completely free to be as unruly as it wished and the long shirt she wore wasn’t even her own. Though, she did notice Link had tried to wipe the dirt off her skin the best he could. Her fingers lazily found his, interlocking into a seamless hold. Affection bloomed in her chest when he squeezed his hand around hers.

“You told me about the council’s vote,” he said.

In truth, she thought that had been a dream. Zelda bit the inside of her lip, watching for his reaction and when he displayed none, her chest tightened.

Zelda shook her head, “Link, you don’t have to accept. I went behind your back and it was not fair of me.”

She was grasping for straws now, trying to find the right words in her lap. Link’s entire life was in the outdoors. For her to wrought him of that enjoyment…

Link breathed in and held it. “A month ago I proposed to you and you broke down.”

His eyes were critically examining her digits, turning over her hand as if it were foreign. His voice was indifferent, “You were distraught about something. I couldn’t figure out whether it was the ring or the man that was wrong. Then, I heard you say ‘the kingdom’.” He looked up at the ceiling, “And I thought ‘I can deal with being accused of treason if she let me steal her away’. But that wasn’t it because you wouldn’t abandon a lost dog, much less Hyrule.

“I like to think I’m an observant man, so when you went on about royal marriages and the rules for it I figured it was your way of letting me down. Gods, it hurt, but I could get through that if it made you happy,” he met her with a quizzical brow. “How would requesting my candidacy for marriage be considered going behind my back?”

“Because,” she faltered, “Because I don’t want to trap you into a life you don’t want. It’s not easy and I care about you more than that.”

He squeezed her hand again and searched her eyes. “Zelda, I’ve been romantically involved with the queen for years. I have read virtually every book about the constitutions of being your husband since I realized how horribly and irrevocably in love with you I am.”

Her face fell. “But Link-”

“Do you want me?” There was a desperation in his tone. His fingers twitched nervously. His words were thick, “I don’t come from much. If that’s your concern, I understand, and I’ll do everything I can to learn the right etiquette.”

“I want you more than anything,” Zelda said quickly. “I want you. Not the pleasantries and the etiquette and the manners. Your presence would be enough.”

The tension in his grip slipped and suddenly he left her side. She grew afraid that she had said something wrong until he came back with a small trinket in his hand. In the same manner as he did a month ago, he got down on one knee.

He cleared his voice and smiled, “I did this once and I’ll do it a million more times until I get an answer. Will you marry me?”

Queen Zelda had always told herself and her constituents that she didn’t need protecting. She was a master in the art of archery and could hold her own in a fair fight. For so long, she was convinced that if she could hold her own nothing could reach her. Especially not the hero she hardly knew that stuck around to rebuild after the disaster.

The petite ruby ring in his hand sparkled in the morning light, but all she saw was the hope in his eyes. It was then that she found that she wanted to wake up to that every morning, no matter the obstacles she had to overcome – because now he would by her side to help. The pain in her side subsided further with the realization.

Watery eyes clouded her vision as it did then. Her answer first came in a nod and then a weak, “Yes.”

[baekchelor]

ａｓｈｏｒｅ[ix]

pairing: bodevan cash x reader genre: Doctor! AU, Romance, Angst, A tiny bit of Smut summary: After a fall out with your fianceé, and an opportunity to chase your dreams, you embark into a medical mission trip to Namibia where you run into self-taught doctor Bodevan Cash. Love ensues. word count: 4.7k a/n: I think you will love this. I loved writing this so, so much. This is the final chapert, BUT we still have the Epilogue to come. I’m opening a vote for my new story, if you want a Ned Kelly AU pls comment a 🥵below and if you want a George Mackay GossipGirl AU comment a 🤭.

❝the  sea,  the  majestic  sea,  breaks  everything,  crushes  everything,  cleans everything,  takes  everything...from  me.❞                                                                                             ― corinne  bailey  rae

THREE ｅｉｇｈｔｅｅｎ ｄａｙｓ

◄ ｐｒｅｖ

Being completely, utterly honest, you were one of those doctors who suffered the hidden pleasure of actually enjoying Grey's Anatomy. Guilty as charged. Not ony our life, you've understood the guilt some of the characters experienced —Meredith, per se—when a phone buzzed loudly, the name of the person they were supposed to be committed to flashing on the screen, while they were trapped in dreamland and in the arms of someone else.

Empathy crawled over you, though, the thirteenth morning in Namibia. Over the bedside table, your phone spun over the fake wood as the ringtone chosen and reserved for Ethan and only Ethan, sneaked into your dream, grabbed you by the toes, and its claws were so sharp that on their attempt to drag you out, you jolted awake.

However, you weren't able to sit up all sweaty and scared. You tried to, but you were unable. The limbs in your body felt extremely stiff, heavy, and the source triggered the alarm system inside you. Someone's strong, perfect arms were resting tightly around your waist. Said someone, muffled and whined when you carefully freed your body and sat up, every inch of skin flushed red.

As things go, conveniently enough, it was almost midday, and you've slept curled up against Bodevan's frame. With the head buried on his chest, his arms encircling your waist, your legs mingled together... the entire flipping night.

Great. Just great.

The worst thing is —and it is shameful to admit, you must confess— the reason why you decided to answer Ethan's call that morning, was the fact that the longer your phone rang, the most possible it would wake Bo up. And firstly, you enjoyed the view too much to give it up. Secondly, the last thing you wanted was Bodevan to realise your fiancée had called.

By mere instinct, while you murmured a groggy Hello! to the speaker, your eyes travelled their usual route towards the exquisite engagement ring residing on your index finger. Then, right then, hell broke loose. Because there, right there, was none ring to be found.

Your eyes went wide, wild, and almost jumped out of your face when frantically, you introspected between the covers, underneath the carpet, across the floor only to be met with no sign of it.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

"Hey baby," Ethan's voice was sleepy, deep, and the obliviousness on it made your eyes water. "Did I wake you up, sleepyhead?"

Yes, he did, and your head is killing you.

How many drinks did you share with Bodevan last night?

How many bottles?

How on earth did you lose your engagement ring?!

"Yeah... It was a long night".

"Hospital emergency?" He pressed on, "You forgot to call me. I waited."

"Sorry, E," The apology means so much more, it quivers as you speak. "I was at the birthday party I mentioned before."

Bo rustled in the sheets beside you. Your voice must have woken him up.

The laughter at the other side of the phone, robbed back your attention, "Completely zoom out on that. How was it?".

"Fun, I guess..."

"So it was crap?"

"Yeah," you lied. More so, you didn't lie entirely. It was crap that you lost your ring, and it was crap that you snuggled all night with a boy who is not the one you're going to marry —and it was crap that if you're completely honest with yourself, you didn't give a shit about it. Because you were certain, almost certain, you have fallen in love with another man.

As in, with the man in front of you with wild pillow hair and piercing blue eyes.

With Bodevan Cash.

This was madness. Africa induced madness! Surely, this infatuation was a result of the miles-away syndrome. You haven't seen your fiancée in two weeks, and you have spent the majority of your days in the company of the uniquely weird boy.

But what if... what if the loss of your ring was destiny talking? Perhaps it was written in the stars that the sapphire engraved item wasn't supposed to be wrapped around your finger.

Fate or not, you needed to find it. You couldn't just give up on it and on Ethan. It wasn't fair, and you weren't that kind of girl.

In such wise, you cut the conversation short and hurriedly hung up the phone. Ethan believed your excuse: you slept in, and you needed to rush to the hospital for your rounds.

After you were enchanted by the fact that under a morning sky, Bo's eyes really did match, and you giggled and blushed over breakfast with him —you didn't share pancakes, you wouldn't do that to Ethan. The meal of choice was waffles and sweet but dark coffee—you two embarked on the exhausting search for the ring.

The starting point was the clinic, under the patient's cot. Then you searched across the beach, digging in the sand as if you were looking for seashells. You searched all over your cabin, in between the sheets, under the bed, inside the drawers...On day fourteen, you and Peera turned the teepee upside down, pushing furniture to the corners, emptying the shelves, to no avail. On day fifteen, you asked the hotel plumber to dismantle your sink, in  case in your drunken state you'd washed your hands and didn't notice it going down the drain. On day sixteen, you gave up the pursuit. On day seventeen, you came to terms with it and gathered enough courage to break the news to Ethan.

Today, on day eighteen, you are ready. Or at least, you think you are. Bodevan will be here soon, like every day around 9pm to strum some chords on his acoustic guitar and then play that silly game you invented a week ago where either of you would close their eyes, while the other wrote medical terms onto your skin. Whoever wins, gets to choose dinner —and breakfast, because weirdly enough, Bo has been staying the nights. And he always wins.

Holding yourself, in seek of steadiness, you dial Ethan's number. The rain has increased, and you wish upon the stars it delays Bodevan's arrival.

Ethan picks up almost immediately, "Hello, you. I'm on my lunch break, so you're on luck today."

Here it comes. No filter.

"I lost the ring."

"What ring?" He's chewing something, an apple you presume. Ethan loves apples.

"The engagement ring."

"You did what?" He is not screaming, but his voice is sharp, and it cuts right through you.

"I-I lost it. It fell off the night of Danny's birthday party."

"I see." You know what it's about to come, you recognise the tone on his voice as the one he employs when he's aiming to hurt. "You lost your engagement ring the day you got wasted while partying with that excuse of a doctor you're working for."

"I was not-", you hurry, "I mean I didn't..."

"Of course, you did. I know you. I know your hangover voice, and I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Ethan, I-"

"Will you cut the bullshit?" he intervenes, "This is your revenge from what happened with Harper. I understand."

Your mouth falls open, at a loss for words, "Are you implying that I lost your ring on purpose, to get back at you?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Rage curls in your stomach, "Wow. Real nice, Ethan. You really don't know me at all."

Ethan laughs. He fucking laughs. "I'm saying this because I know you." None of you talks for a minute, and then he breaks the silence, "I'll change your flight for tonight."

"No," calmly, you answer. "I'm not leaving until I find that stupid ring."

"Come on, you're never going to find it." Ethan sighs, evidently done dealing with your stupidity. "I will just buy you a new one."

"I don't want a new one," you say, still calm. You've been pacing back and forth concerning the decision you're about to make. Finally, you've made up your mind, and it's clearly the right choice. "I don't want an engagement ring, Ethan." The rest of the sentence goes quietly, "I-I don't want this marriage."

He sighs again, and you can picture him resting his fingertips between his eyebrows, tired of dealing with you and your feelings. Ethan has always been a cold man, and for a while, you thought the only person he was warm to was you. Such a fool. "Is this your way of saying you're still upset over my previous marriage?" asks Ethan. "Because you said you were fine, but I knew this would happen—"

"It's not just that," you confess, in part, you haven't get over it yet and eighteen days in Namibia haven't bought you enough time to do it.

"What are you saying?"

Your heart grows heavy. You hate this. But you have to do it.

"I can't marry you, E. I'm sorry. But I-I can't promise away my entire life with someone when I'm not even sure how I want to live it," you confess, voice breaking.

"Fallen out of love with me already, huh?" he questions, the pain sewed to his words, further breaking your heart.

"I love you. I'm just—It's been hard, this whole thing... we being liers, you being married, me being here..." You don't dare to say his name, but you think it. Bodevan. "I don't know what I'm supposed to know, but at least at this exact moment, I'm sure I can't marry you."

"Alright," comes the response, always calm, always composed. "Let's take a break. We'll talk when you're back."

"Ethan—"

"I'm hanging up now."

Before you could retort, he hangs up. You feel a strange sense of relief, even though something inside you broke with the knowledge of what you'd just done.

It isn't entirely over, you're aware. You still have to go back, and you have to face him, and return gifts, and send apology letters to the guests. But the confession is off your chest. You didn't want to lie to him anymore.

As you let out a deep, heavy sigh, you glance back and notice that right at the doorframe, stands your very own sun. Now you understand why it's raining and cloudy; sunlight is trapped in your cabin. Bodavan witnessed everything, and he is watching you, warily.

Plastering a smile on your face, you greet, "Hi."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I would ask if everything is okay, but clearly…"

Shaking your head, you explain, "It had to be done. I can't do this anymore. Pretend as if I love him like he loves me and spend the rest of my life with him. It's not fair to him, or to me."

Bodevan says nothing. For the first time in days, he looks incredibly flustered, ocean eyes avoiding any sort of contact with you. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but then he steals the words away.

"I apologise," he blurts. "It was inappropriate for me to spend so much time with you, and even worse t-to fall asleep with you in the same bed."

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, shame. More so, hurt. "What are you saying? All of that was my choice, you didn't force me into anything. Wh-why are you apologising?"

"Because I have this... feeling that whatever just happened," Bo hurries his gaze away from you. "H-Happened because of me."

If there was a hole in the middle of your room, you would crawl inside and dig your way back to New York.

"It had nothing to do with you," you half-lie. "Nothing even happened between us," you snap, coming off rougher than you'd expected.

"Right," he murmurs, looking away. You can't fathom why the look on his face manages to break your heart more than cancelling your engagement had. "Let's play something then. W-Whats your favourite song?"

"Sweet Child O' Mine."

He smiles, "That's my mother's as well."

Bodevan shrugs off his wet jacket. He clears his throat and sits on the edge of your mattress, guitar resting on his lap. You hear the soft sound of his voice singing a much slower version of the song, and suddenly, you feel at peace. Absent-mindedly, you pick up Bo's signature mustard jacket, draping it over a loveseat so it can dry. Right off the bat, something silver and sparkling drops to the ground.

You gape. Lying there, on the floor, is your engagement ring. Looking undamaged and pristine. A smile would have curved your lips if it hadn't unmistakably fallen from Bodevans's jacket.

When you crouch down to pick it up, your mind begins to spin. Since when does Bo have it? Had he had it all along? Or had he found it and not told you?

The mere train of thoughts makes you sick to the stomach. You clutch the ring in your fist.

When Bo strums the last chords of the song, and his soft voice comes undone in a whisper, he looks up to find you standing there, features betraying the long lost smile.

You stare out at the bay, avoiding the gaze he refuses to haul away from you. His eyes are deep blue, as wild as the waves crashing the shoreline. Confusion is evident on his face, brows curved in the sense of bewilderment. Right now, Bodevan is a doctor, trying to diagnose your symptoms, and figure out what shifted inside you that has you bracing yourself against the biting gale off the water. And him.

You tug the yellow montgomery closer, but it is no use. Only one thing could warm you tonight, and he is out of reach. You miss the way he fills the circle of his arms with your body, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head —it should be an Anatomy case of interest, it seems to be customed as the perfect resting spot for his lips. But it is a good thing Ethan isn't here now. What he'd find out would leave a bruise on Bodevan's face, and it would be the last hit to turn you into pieces.

Bo's eyes drop to his jacket, your fist clenched around the fabric, and his face falls. Dr Cash found the disease, and it pains him, of course, it pains him. He just figured out, the source of your lack of well-being, is him.

"You know," he states, careful. The astonishment in his voice doesn't surprise you, yet you can't explain to yourself why it stings so much. You’re trying your hardest to stay calm. But a lump has formed in your throat, your stomach has turned into a thousand knots, and you can feel the tears building up inside your eyes.

"Why?" It is pathetic, really, how your voice breaks amidst a one-word sentence. The tears are free now, streaming down your cheeks. "I know it wasn't for the money. Unless you've fooled me on your Maoist shit as well."

"A fighter for the rights of poor farmers and landless labourers, seeking to overthrow the state and usher in a classless society? I am."

"Then, why did you do this?"

Bodevan looks away, clearly weighing his options. It takes him a second, and then he is down on his knees, staring up at you with big ocean eyes, and your legs turn to jelly.

"I know what you think, but I didn't do this to hurt you," he grabs your hand, and you feel his fingerpads as though they were burning through my skin. He takes your palm in his own, urging to open up your fist. "You have broadened my mind, you've helped me grow. The way you've opened me up —you've penetrated deep inside me. Like if you had cut me open in the operating table and filled my insides with you. And I know I penetrated deep, deep inside of you—" he stutters, with eyes still wide. If you weren't as mad at him, you would find the pink streak across his cheeks adorable, and you would find inside you the box of tenderness reserved just for Bo and his peculiar self. But Bodevan made sure to close that box, cover it in tape, and carry it all the way down to the basement in your heart. "Not, not like that. I-I would love to... o-one d..."

"Bodevan..."

"I did it because I am an idiot," he blurts out. "I'm an idiot for you. I-If you'll have me." Right on cue, you watch him suck in his breath, wishing to take back his confession. Clear as water, you can see the progression of his emotions settle in the crease between his eyes. Bo feels impetuous, then bewildered, then ashamed by his own forwardness. He always does this, too many times before.

"No," you whisper, remembering...always remembering... Ethan. Bodevan's lies. "I don't want to talk to you, and if you care for me at all, you won't say another word."

His ocean eyes drill into you. Bo steps back and crosses his arms over his broad chest —God, you'll miss watching his yoga routine in the morning. But this is his fault.

For a few seconds, he looks at you strangely, wondering whether to concede. You stand for a moment, gathering energy, it's stupid, but it is taking all of you to walk away from this misunderstood unique boy. But is time to let your feet drag you out of this air-consuming cabin, away from Bodevan Cash and his perfect long hair. Back ashore.

The moment you storm out, rain drains all over you. It soaks you in a matter of seconds, but you don't care, you really don't care at all. You're angry and upset and feel as if you're adrift in the middle of the ocean, with thunders in the horizon and strong winds moving your ship from side to side, without giving you a rest.

Bodevan chases after you. Ever so careful, he clasps his big calloused hand, around your waist and guides you to meet his eyes. It's puzzling, he has never done such thing, on the contrary, his gaze is always playing hide and seek with you.

"I didn't tell you because every time your anatomy appears in from of me, I run out of methodology," he says frustratedly. "Because this love no longer understand of reasons or advice and it feeds on pretexts, and it lacks pants."

With shaking hands, almost without noticing, you let the ring fall to the sand. "T-This love?" you ask quietly.

Bodevan doesn't let go of your wrist. His lids are squeezed shut. "I'm sorry. You have every right to never talk to me again."

"You didn't answer the question. Do you love me?" you ask again, heart hammering in your chest.

"By all means," he confesses, chest rising and falling. "I-I'm an idiot who somehow fell in love with you without realising it."

Dizziness overwhelms you. You share the same suffering than Bo. This love doesn't allow you to stand, it has broken your heels. Even if you get up, you'll fall again into it. Even if he hid the ring, you're still in love with him. Even if Ethan returns, you would still be in love with Bodevan.

You've transformed into a thing that does nothing but love him —fool, blind, deaf, brute. Bodevan Cash rules your thoughts day and night, withal how many times you've tried to bury him in your memory, you haven't figure out a way to forget him.

If you could exorcise yourself from his voice.

If you could escape his name.

If you could rip your heart out and hide, so you don't feel ever again.

Maybe then, you would be able to stop loving him.

"I'm stupid, you know? I always want the things I can't have" Bodevan stutters. "And now I've ruined everything."

Your thumb brushes against his cheek, "You haven't ruin anything."

Taking him by surprise, you untangle his grip from your waist and bring his hand to your waistline. His figure grows very still as you pierce through his blue gaze, his pupils nervous. "I gift you my waist," you whisper softly, pink mouth close to his bruised one. "And my lips, for whenever you want to kiss."

Both of you, nervous as hell, can't believe the promises that are rolling off your tongue.

"I give you my delusion," you giggle. "And the few neurons I have left."

Bo doesn't react and says nothing for a bit. It frightens you, but you find comfort in the fact he hasn't pull away from you. And then, he hums, "I gift you my silence."

You want to cry, of pure and golden happiness. Bodevan leans closer, resting the damaged skin of his perfect lips at the tip of your nose. And you say, "I gift you my nose too."

"I give you my bones, even," Bo interjects, voice deeper, rough. He is breathing heavily, forehead pressed to yours, and your mind flashes back to the first day you met him, and how you have been like this, near the sea. "But don't run away from me anymore."

Bodevan lands his lips into yours. Responsive, you entangle your hands in his damp locks, luring him closer to your body. His lips are igniting fire down your spine, and you discern now why he is your sun, and why his eyes are like the morning sky.

Dramatically out of character, he doesn't hesitate when you reach down to pull his shirt up and off his body, your small, cold hands resting on his toned, flipping fantastic chest. The rain continues, yet, neither doubts to turn your clothes into a wet pile dangerously close to the seaside. Bo lowers you onto the sand, kissing patterns into every inch of skin he encounters, tracing the entire shape of your body. Never in your life, have you felt this alive. Every part of you burns under his touch and his eyes, and you don't fear to be consumed by the fire.

Eyelids screw shut when you hear yourself gasp. Your bodies have entwined, and you hold him close, closer as you ever embraced someone, his minty breath misting your ears as he whispers your name.

"Bo..." lazily, you flutter open your eyelashes and watch him in adoration.  His jaw is clenched in concentration; his hard muscles contract and pull on top of you. Bodevan brushes your cheekbone with his fingers and kisses you twice before burying his head in the crook of your neck. His breath is staggering, hot and wild.

Bringing his face to yours, he opens his eyes, "You once asked what I loved most in the world..." You did. He answered, his siblings. "I lied. It's you."

As you smile, you recognise you're equally a liar. When he asked the question back, your answer was medicine. But it is him. It really is him.

The following morning, you wake up tangled in the sheets, a beam painting your face with pink shades as you remember why. Peacefully asleep and ever-so ethereal, Bodevan lies next to you.

Bo matches your smile as you kiss his cheek, your fingertips tracing the words you couldn't find yesterday, but the ones you're certain you feel. He's always been an expert, he always beats your ass, and you can tell he understands what you're writing with invisible ink across his back when he smiles, lids still closed. You love him, and although you can't vociferate it, you want him to know it.

Bo pulls you into his arms, "I'll wait for you. You have my words" he rustles. "But you need to go back to Manhattan. You need to go sort out if you really want a life in the middle of nowhere, with me.

"I do."

"You don't," he intervenes. "You have been here too many days, now everything is blurry. My dad, he—He never asked my mom if she still wanted the life she was living. And she killed herself." Tears run down both your faces, no matter how hard you're trying to stop them. "I would never do that to you."

You nod, "Alright."

Bo wipes your tears away with his thumb, "I will miss you."

"I will miss you too," you choke. "So much."

With one last look back at the boy with morning-sky coloured eyes, you step into the departures gate, taking a shaky breath as Bodevan waves goodbye. An ocean will be between you, and your heart drowns the entire flight home.

ｎｅｘｔ►

[waxwingsfail]

I read you absolutely heartbreaking Andy’s suffering post and had to just express my bitterness abit.

Yes Booker’s trauma at loosing his children is desperately sad. But we don’t get any of the other’s in-depth stories of why they have the right to hurt others. His is the only story we’re explicitly told to induce a reaction of sympathy. We are told a glancing story of Andy’s Millenia of loneliness, of Quynh’s awful fate, of Joe and Nicky’s beginning, but there is so much left unsaid.

Andy was in her mid 40’s (if we go by actors age), Joe was 33 and Nicky was 30. Chances are they lost a lot of family too. Andy is from a time where women were often mothers in their teens early 20’s, and even if not she still had a mother and sisters who she can barely remember. Joe could have been married with children and the trauma of deciding the best for them was to not go back is added onto the trauma of what happened in Jerusalem. Nicky likely had friends amongst the crusaders, people who were good and kind but still committed the war crimes that they did and now he has to try and register the two in his mind along with his own guilt and horror at the actions perpetuated by his people.

And Andy. Think about the Martian movie with Matt Damon. They expressed the concerns about a man being isolated and alone for a year and what effect that would have. A year. Andy was alone for Millenia, being surrounded by mortals who she couldn’t trust or love because they would disappear just as fast

Each of them has very obviously gone through trauma, it’s not possible after 1000+ years not to have. But we are not shown their trauma, to strengthen our sympathy for Booker and his trauma and it’s excuse for why he betrayed all of the other people we have grown to love over the movies timeline.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t have sympathy for a man’s suffering after loosing his own children. But we shouldn’t put his suffering over that of others to justify why he hurts others.

The narrative does a disservice to the people Booker hurt by denying them an depth show of their trauma in an attempt to excuse his. And ignores how his betrayal has ADDED to their trauma with a flippant “Nile voted for just an apology” during the time when we should be considering what would be a fair punishment for his actions.

Tbh I forgot about this and rn I'm not going to comment on it

[animetrashlord-007]

LTAS;; Cliché Lovers

Word Count;; 2.6k

Genre;; Fluff!

Pairing;; Hinata x Kageyama

Side Pairing;; Oikawa x Iwaizumi, Matsukawa x Hanamaki

Summary;;

That chapter in which the boys go shopping, Oikawa continues to antagonise Kageyama, and some heart-to-heart conversations are held.

Published;; 4.14.17

Notes;;

My Masterlist

Lemme Take A Selfie Masterlist

   “Shrimpy-chan! We don't have all day for you to talk to your boyfriend,” Oikawa grumbled, tapping his foot with raised brows as he pointed to the entrance of an extravagant boutique, “We need to buy some clothes for you so we can really get this vacation started!”

   “He's on the phone, Crappykawa, leave him alone!”

   “Oh really, Iwa-chan? I didn't notice!”

   “It’s truly amazing,” Makki rubbed his temples, black rings evident around his tired eyes, “how you manage to become even more annoying with every passing day, Oikawa.”

   Downing the rest of his coffee with a pointed glare at his companions, Mattsun snarled, “Why did we have to come along? It's way too early for this. You're thinking what I'm thinking, right, cutie?”

   The two nodded at one another before offering a small smile to Hinata who was stuck in between the now-arguing setter and ace. Ignoring his pleading eyes and grasping the opportune moment granted by their quarrelling teammates, they didn't hesitate to slink away into the bustling crowd. While Hinata didn't blame them for escaping, spending too much time with the Grand King and his Iwa-chan would take a toll on even the best of people, he was rather envious of their freedom. Matsukawa and Hanamaki had known the other two for so long, they knew to always have a strategy for a hasty retreat prepared and understood how to read the ever-changing atmosphere provided by the rapid-onset disagreements. Now that they had left to enjoy a certain peace and quiet, Hinata would have to navigate the minefield of this rocky relationship he was sandwiched between on his own - something he wasn't confident he would survive, not after dealing with it for so long already that morning. While he enjoyed their company and found the duo to be equal parts sweet as they were perplexing, he didn't understand how they could fight over any (and every) little thing.

   “Are you listening, Shouyou? You should come home already, I wouldn't put it past that jerk just to leave you in Tokyo!” Kageyama’s voice rumbled into his ear, his tone deepening with every word. With all the bickering and whining, he had forgotten that his close friend was on the line still. It wasn't his first time calling that morning, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. The steady barrage of texts and calls from his personal setter was a testament of how deep their friendship had progressed. He found comfort in his concern, though in all honesty, he found comfort in everything Tobio did.

   “I am! I was just dis-”

   “Give me the phone,” Oikawa didn't wait for consent as he snatched the phone from the dumbfounded redhead, an amiable facade teasing his features, “Hey, Tobio-chan!”

   “Oi-Oikawa!” Hinata’s shocked voice called out in unison with the vexed grunting on the other side of the call. The taller setter couldn't hold back his laughter at the simultaneous sounds and their stark contrast, only stopping to stick his tongue out at Iwaizumi who had begun to mutter indecipherable insults under his breath and looked mere seconds from blowing a fuse. While green-eyed man didn't make a move to return the phone to its rightful owner, he did crack his knuckles and his glower alone was enough to make Hinata evade his line of sight.

   “Doesn't Shou-chan look so cute in our selfies, Tobio-chan?” He didn’t pause for a response as patience wasn’t an attribute he retained when it came to his kouhai, “No time to chat, I’m afraid! I'd hate to waste any more of my vacation on you. Don't worry, I'll take very good care of your little lover boy! Buh-bye!”

   “Li-Little lover boy?!” Hinata shrieked, crimson flooding his cheeks as he raised his hands in protest. Sidestepping around Iwaizumi, Oikawa powered off the phone and handed it back to the immobilized orange. With a skip in his step as he proceeded to grab the embarrassed male by the collar, he pulled him toward the store he had pointed out earlier.

   “Where the hell are Makki and Mattsun?” Iwaizumi groaned as he scoured the surrounding area, the lack of snarky comments during such an event uncharacteristic of the two, “They bolted without me? They were the ones that picked this store! Inconceivable!”

   “That's so cute, Iwa-chan! You're short like that fellow from Princess Bride too! You should make that your new catchphrase,” Oikawa hollered from within the doorway, using his pointer finger to beckon him forward. The only response he received was a middle finger accompanied by the ace’s signature scowl.

   “I think they needed more coffee, they'll be back!” Hinata lied, trying to cut off any further altercations between the two. He picked up several pieces of clothing at random, not bothering to even look at what he had chosen, “How about these ones, Oikawa-senpai? We can just buy them and go!”

   “I'm taller than that dude, just so you know,” Iwaizumi muttered as he stomped into the store, avoiding the cashier’s intrigued gaze, “and don’t think I'll be watching any of your films again, Shittykawa!”

   Oikawa chuckled, waving his hands in dismissal as the trio made their way to the changing rooms in the back. The store was larger than it appeared from the outside, with many different styles and trends showcased throughout. Some of the designs looked questionable, but Makki insisted they visit at least once during their trip. According to the diva, it was a pioneer in the fashion industry and the future started within these very walls. Anything that Hanamaki suggested would receive an automatic positive vote from Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi tended to agree with any idea that Oikawa didn't like. Outnumbered but unwilling to give in quite that easily, the captain dragged the group out at seven in the morning with the excuse that Hinata needed clothes and he needed them yesterday. If he had to suffer through shopping in a store as pretentious as this, he wasn't going to let anyone else have a good time either.

   Oikawa began to frown as he observed the mess the underclassmen had thrown together. There were two pairs of slacks, some purple snow pants, a leopard-print turtleneck, and three different sizes of the same leather jacket. Of all the items he had chosen, the only one that would have fit was a black dress with silver decals. Facepalming, the brunette tossed the clothes into the returns bin, “Don't be stupid, Shrimpy-chan, those suck! While that dress would have been fun and made an amazing selfie, I'm not spending that much money on so little fabric! I'll find you some decent outfits, and I'll actually pick the right size for you.”

   With a skip in his step, the enthusiastic setter bounded forth toward the daunting selection of endless racks. Hinata’s relieved sigh was overshadowed by the much louder one emitted from the spiky-haired male left next to him. His eyes widened as he watched the ace fall into a chair, exhaustion painted as clear as day across his entire face. With hesitation, he took a step closer.

   “Great Ace of Seijoh!” The orange ball of sunshine chimed, intensity radiating off his tiny frame. Upon hearing a grunt of acknowledgement, he raised his voice, “Are you okay?”

   “I'm fine,” Iwaizumi raised his eyes to meet Hinata’s, and he couldn't help but feel even smaller against his gaze, “and don't call me that.”

   “Sorry, Iwaizumi-senpai!”

   “It's fine, I just didn't get much sleep last night. Trashykawa kept me awake all night. Let's sit here quietly,” he closed his eyes once more, assuming the conversation had ended. A minute crawled by and while he was content with the silence, Hinata was bouncing on his feet, fingers tapping against his hips. A million questions polluted his thoughts and though his curiosity would surely destroy him, he couldn't stop himself. The Grand King and his Iwa-chan had such a bizarre relationship, he couldn't fathom how it lasted. With how absurd the two acted around each other, he could draw some parallels between theirs and his own friendship with Kageyama. Neither seemed like the type that would allow their personal lives to be analyzed, but that had never stopped Hinata before.

   “I probably shouldn't ask, but... why do spend so much time with the Grand King if he annoys you so much?”

   Instant regret clawed through Hinata as he felt the temperature drop ten degrees. An aura more threatening than any Kageyama could ever produce engulfed the seated man. Eyes snapping open, a scowl settled on the ace’s face as he pat the seat next to him. With trembling legs and a shaky smile, the future ace of Karasuno accepted the invitation. Deciding to avoid eye contact, his focus landed on the floor. Shivers shot down his spine as he felt an intense glare baring a hole right through him. It wasn't until he heard his intimidating senpai clear his throat that he looked up, the air void of all the previous animosity.

   “Sorry, it’s just people always assume things. He doesn't annoy me. Sometimes he can be a handful, sure, but… we understand each other. I love all of his flaws. Being with him is as easy as breathing, and sometimes it feels just as necessary. With me, he's different than the person he shows to everyone else. He's given me his true self, and I don't know how I got so lucky. You'll understand one day, little one,” Iwaizumi smiled and it was genuine and pure. His heartfelt confession left an overwhelming bubble of joy within Hinata. Feeling uplifted, he pulled his dark-haired friend into a rough hug. To his surprise, the embrace was returned with a small laugh. Breaking the hug, the ace stated his intention of finding Makki and Mattsun, who were without a doubt pouting about missing the store of their choosing. He ruffled the exuberant youth’s hair as he stood, flashing him one last smile before turning forward. Oikawa’s approach was marked by humming and the occasional whistle, and Iwaizumi’s eyes glistened as he intercepted his beloved.

   “Aww, Iwa-chan! You're glow-”

   “I love you, Tooru. I know I don't tell you nearly enough,” he murmured, cutting his boyfriend off with a quick kiss. His fingers lingered on his cheeks and within his chocolate locks, a thousand words exchanged within a passionate yet fleeting moment. With a nod, he took his leave to begin his quest to track down their comrades.

   Breathless, Oikawa stared after him, lost within his own thoughts. His heart pounded against his chest and he could feel his blood pulsing through his veins. The setter spun around on his heels to face Hinata, whose mouth had fallen ajar, while his fingertips traced across his lips where that chaste but intimate kiss had electrified his entire existence. His cheeks and ears were dusted rose-pink and his eyes twinkled as he swooned, “Wow, what did you say to make him so happy? He never kisses me in public, not that I'm complaining!”

   “Gra-Grand King Oikawa-Senpai! You two- you two are dating?!”

   “You really are dense, Shrimpy-chan!” Oikawa chided, shaking his head in disapproval as he threw some outfits at the younger male. Taking a moment to collect himself, he brushed some imaginary dirt off his clothes and coughed. His eyes betrayed his inner feelings, however, as they gleamed brighter than a diamond, “That's what love looks like, Shouyou.”

   Emboldened by the display of affection shared between such contrasting personalities, Hinata decided to push his luck, “Can I ask you something personal?”

   “No, we will not swing with you and Tobio-chan!”

   “What? No! I just, uh, wanted to know how you two get along so well. You two always fight, and, I-” He averted his gaze when he noticed Oikawa’s confused look, “Nevermind!”

   “As your favourite senpai, I am more than willing to give you relationship advice, Shrimpy-chan! Are you having a hard time with Tobio-chan? I bet he's a tough nut to crack, pun only slightly intended,” the setter smirked at the blush that covered the majority of Hinata’s visible skin.

   “I don't know what you mean, and we're not dating!” His face fell at the admittance, repeating the statement softly, “We’ve had... moments, but we're not dating.”

   “Why do you refuse him if you obviously want him so much? Stop pining and accept his affections already, silly!” Oikawa grinned as he nudged the distressed ball of emotions in front of him. Grabbing his wrists, he dragged him out of his chair and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “Don't tell me you're that blind that you don't see how much he likes you? It's clear as day to everyone else.”

   “How can you tell, Oikawa-senpai? Please share your wisdom with me!” He beamed up at the setter, revitalised once more by the prospect of his feelings being reciprocated.

   “Hajime and I are brilliant and perfect in every aspect, whereas you and Tobio-chan are both thicker than concrete, so it makes sense that you two idiots haven't realised how in love you are with each other. The easiest way to tell is how he treats you. See, Iwa-chan always treated me differently than he would anyone else. When we’re alone, he's the sweetest person I could ever wish for. You think we fight, but that's just our thing. That's just what we do. That's what we've always done,” Oikawa grinned once more, staring off into the distance as he placed a hand on his lips again, “He's more than I deserve.”

   “So… because Kageyama calls me names... he loves me?”

   “No, idiot, it's because he's the happiest when he's around you! It's in the way he calls you every few hours because he thinks I'm the Devil and he’s worried about you. It's in the small things, like how he'll drop everything to spend time with you. It's in the conversations where he opens up to you and bares his soul to you,” he started picking up the clothes that had fallen onto the floor when Hinata had stood, folding each before placing them back within the other’s arms, “You said you've had moments. I don't know what you mean, and I don't really care, but if you care about him you need to man up and confess. Stop dancing around each other, and get to the good stuff. Making out on the beach, touching in the theatre, screwing in the-”

   “Thank you, Grand King Oikawa-senpai! I, uh, think I got the gist of it. I'll call him and tell him my feelings tonight!” Hinata hugged the clothes to his chest as he bowed. He was flushed and grinning like an idiot as he scrambled into a room. After the initial shock of being cut off in the middle of his advice, Oikawa stalked after the redhead with a pout.

   “Don't interrupt me when I'm offering you advice out of the goodness of my heart, it's rude!” His shrill voice resonated throughout the entire store, earning irritated gasps from the other patrons. Pacing outside the changing room, he waved to his old teammates when they strolled back into the store before turning back to the door. Makki and Mattsun shrugged in an attempt to hide their smiles but to no avail. Not only had Iwaizumi been in an elated mood, but Oikawa had a playful lilt as he lectured their kouhai through the door; nothing made them happier than seeing their friends with authentic smiles.

   “You can't confess over the phone, by the way! But don't worry, we have all week to plan the perfect date for you. Just trust your senpais!” Oikawa ceased his pacing as his three friends lined up next to him. A mischievous grin crossed his features as he turned to face the group, “You know who is amazing at that romantic crap?”

   “Uh, you, Oi-” Hinata jumped as he opened the door, a small squeal escaping his lips at the unanimous shouts of ‘Mattsun’.

   “Mattsun is a hopeless romantic. He'll definitely help you get laid, Shorty-chan!”

[aswithasunbeam]

A long overdue new chapter!

July 1813

Hamilton exhaled slowly through his nose as he set aside the latest Federalist newspaper in the stack waiting for Madison’s perusal. “The little occupant in the White House with his crippled army,” proclaimed the most prominent headline. Though clearly aimed primarily at Madison, the slight against Hamilton stung. He braced his hand against the wheels of his chair, lost in thought.

“General Hamilton?”

Looking up, saw a gentleman approaching from the direction of the President’s office. His wild hair, bushy brows, and piercing eyes gave him an almost menacing quality. The man thrust out a hand and waited, expressionless. Hamilton met his gaze steadily as he gave the hand a quick shake.

“Daniel Webster, sir. A great honor to meet you.”

Considering the name, Hamilton recalled, “The representative from New Hampshire?” One of the few Federalist victories in the last election. Considering how disastrous their campaigns had gone thus far, he couldn’t believe they hadn’t made more gains.

“That’s right, sir.”

“I appreciated your level-headedness over all the nonsense regarding secession in the North.” Webster inclined his head. “Though I must say your position on wartime taxes leaves something to be desired.”

“I don’t see why the Northerners should be forced to pay for a war that’s already bankrupting them.”

“Bankrupting the country as a whole will surely do little to redress their suffering,” Hamilton said.  

“Respectfully, I disagree. I was sent to represent my constituents, and they expect me to stand up against this shameful excuse for a war. I won’t vote to force them to serve in the army; I won’t vote to raise their taxes; and I won’t vote to impose embargoes that will further injure their businesses. That’s the promise I made to them.” Webster glanced back over his shoulder towards the President’s office. “As I told the President, he’ll find no relief from my prescriptions.”1

Hamilton sighed even as he forced a smile to end the meeting. “Well, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Webster.”

As Webster started down the hall, Hamilton pushed himself towards Madison’s now open office door. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, however, Mrs. Madison stepped in front of his path. She looked harried and exhausted, her hair lank and her fine gown a touch looser than usual.

“I’m sorry, General Hamilton, but he’s in no state to see anyone else,” she said.

“Let him in, Dolley,” Jemmy croaked from within the office.

Mrs. Madison turned her hard stare back to the interior of the office. Hamilton craned his neck slightly to see Jemmy lying listless on a settee, still dressed in his nightclothes, complete with his cap despite the blazing temperature outside. The raging bilious fever had taken a stark toll on Jemmy’s already feeble frame.

“It’s bad enough that awful man demanding to see you, James. I can’t—”

“Let him in.” Jemmy’s hand twitched in invitation.

Mrs. Madison reluctantly stepped aside and tapped the door closed when Hamilton had entered, though he noted that she’d remained in the office with them.

“You’re looking better, Jemmy,” Hamilton said as he stopped before the settee.

“Liar.” Jemmy smiled slightly. “What’s happened now? Not good news from Montreal, I suppose?”

“No. Last I heard, Hampton and Burr are both refusing to follow orders from Wilkinson. I can’t say that I blame them.”

“Wilkinson outranks them both.”

“Burr ought to be in charge. He turned a rout at Queenstown Heights into a near victory. He’s the best suited for command.”

“He’d barely made any progress after Queenstown,” Jemmy said dismissively.

“You know, Congress tried to remove Washington several times because he wasn’t making enough progress, in their view.”

“Are you trying to compare Burr with Washington?”

“I’m saying political timetables and effective military command don’t often mix well. And I don’t trust Wilkinson an inch.”

“He warned us about Burr’s treachery,” Jemmy argued, adjusting slightly to sit up more against the pillows piled behind him, his arm moving to guard his stomach.

“You don’t find that suspicious? That Wilkinson had so much information?”

“You’re the one who said Burr was innocent.”

“A court of law said that,” Hamilton corrected. Jemmy snorted derisively. “And Burr’s innocence doesn’t clear Wilkinson.”

Jemmy looked at him steadily, unmoved.

Shaking his head slightly, Hamilton said, “Wilkinson isn’t what I’m here to talk to you about, anyways. I’ve been getting more intelligence about Admiral Cockburn’s movements in the Chesapeake.”

“Is he still attempting to capture me and send me to London as a war prize?” Jemmy leaned his head back against his pillows as he clutched his belly through what appeared to be a cramp. “I’d make a sorry prize for them as I am now, I’m afraid.”

“You shouldn’t be so dismissive. Almost the entirety of our army is in Canada. If the British invade in the mid-Atlantic, they’d have their run of New York, Baltimore, even Washington.”

“What do you want to do about it?”

“Bring Burr or Hampton down with at least two battalions. Fortify the capital.”

“No.”

Hamilton sat back, stunned at the immediate and vehement refusal. “No?”

“We need to take Montreal. The Canadians will ally with us if we just make a strong enough showing against the British.”

“I very much doubt that, Mr. President.”

Jemmy’s eyes flashed. “We’re fighting for their freedom as much as ours. They’ll see that. They’ll join us.”

“I imagine it doesn’t feel much like fighting for their freedom when they’re being compelled to join us as gunpoint, Jemmy.”

“We’re not moving troops away from Montreal.”

Pausing a moment, Hamilton suggested, “I did have another idea.”

“What?”

“Cockburn is freeing enslaved men and women along the coast and arming them against us. If we were to remove the enticement by offering a similar arrangement with our army, we could build our numbers in the mid-Atlantic and the South without requiring any of our troops be moved from the Northern theater.”

Jemmy sat up fully, jaw gaping. “You can’t be serious.”

The astonishment was expected. Jack’s plan during the Revolution to give Black men the chance to fight for their freedom had been met with much the same reaction. The moment he’d heard about Cockburn’s strategy to free and arm enslaved men against the American army, Hamilton had known what the best solution to counter the British would be. He’d also known that the South would rather surrender to British rule than risk their despicable institution.

“I’m perfectly serious,” Hamilton said calmly.

“You want to arm slaves?”

“They’re going to fight either way. I’d rather they fight with us than against us.”

“The South would revolt! This is no time for your radical Northern…abolitionism.” The final word was uttered as if it were a curse, though Hamilton would consider his proposal neither radical, nor truly abolitionism.  

“So, you would let prejudice and private interest outweigh the common good? Outweigh the safety of our capital city, even?”

“It’s not an option, Hamilton.”

He felt his pulse speeding up, even having known Madison would never entertain the suggestion. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Avarice has fitted our Southern brethren for the chain, so long as that chain be a golden one.”2

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Hamilton huffed an unamused laugh. “It may not seem so dramatic when British troops are marching down Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Washington surely won’t be a target. There are far more attractive cities. And besides, we’re sending emissaries to initiate peace talks. We may see an end to the war before any such drastic measures would even need to be contemplated.”

“If you say so, Mr. President.”

“Was there anything else?” Jemmy’s voice had gone faint, and he was breathing hard as he sank back deep into his pillows.

Mrs. Madison stepped forward, placing herself between Hamilton and Jemmy. “I think that’s quite enough for today. General.”

Hamilton nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Madison.”

Before he left the office, Mrs. Madison called out after him, “Give my love to Mrs. Hamilton, General, if you will?”

“Of course,” he agreed.

As he made his way down the hall, he found himself wishing desperately for Jack in a way he hadn’t in years. Jack had been young and idealistic, a Southern gentleman capable of making his plan a reality despite all that stood against him. Even when Jack had been alive, Hamilton didn’t have the same stubborn belief in America’s better angels necessary to see such a plan to fruition.

As he was assisted into the coach to head home, he felt utterly defeated.

**

The report he needed had been pushed accidentally to the far end of the desk. A quick glance told him his chair couldn’t be maneuvered into the tight space at the edges to allow him to reach. He could call for an aid, of course, or Betsey, but the sting of Jemmy’s immediate rejections, of his inability to sway his own party, of the mocking headlines, were all far too fresh.

His arms trembled as he pushed himself up from his chair, all his weight on the table. Sweat beaded on his brow. His legs were limp beneath him. Transferring his weight onto one hand, he reached out towards the report, muscles shaking.

“Alexander!”

He nearly fell, only just catching himself, his hip banging into the side of the table as he re-adjusted his weight onto both hands.

Betsey was at his side in a moment, her hands sliding around his waist to brace him. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting a report,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll get it. Sit back down,” she urged.

“I’m not helpless!”

She didn’t recoil at his shouting. Her expression was soft as she soothed a hand down his spine. “I know that, sweetheart. I know.”

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his temper.

He felt her lean closer, her nose brushing his cheek tenderly.

“I’d nearly forgotten how tall you are,” she whispered. He opened his eyes and looked down at her face. His trembling arms gave way, and he fell back hard into his chair with a soft curse.

“Which report did you need?” Eliza asked. She looked away as he adjusted himself, allowing him to preserve at least some of his dignity.

“The Quartermaster’s report, please,” he asked, forcing his legs back into place. He rubbed a hand over his temple, a headache banging against his temples.

The sound of a chair dragging across the wooden floor drew his attention. Eliza settled in beside him, the report he’d requested now resting on the tabletop before him. Her hand rested on his forearm, her face open.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Hamilton admitted softly.

“Do you ever?”

He laughed. “Perhaps not.”

She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Madison won’t listen to me. Not about who to trust in command. Not about where to put our troops. And then, like a glutton for punishment, I raised the idea of offering freedom to the enslaved population to help defend the capitol and the Southern states.”

“Like Jack tried to do.”

It wasn’t a question, but he nodded. “Like Jack. Madison didn’t even consider it. He’s convinced the British won’t attack Washington.”

“It’s the capital,” she said, skepticism written in her expression. “Why wouldn’t it be a target?”

Hamilton shrugged. “He’s obsessed with the Northern theater. I just, I don’t know why I’m even here. What good am I doing? Giving endless advice that no one follows?”

“What do you want to be doing?”

“Something…meaningful.”

“You want to go north.” Again, she didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Not to the front. But…yes. I want to be on the field. I want to try to help in a way that will matter more than pushing paper around on my desk.” He waved to his overburdened table in disgust. “I need to feel like it matters that I’m here.”

She sighed. “Then we’ll go north.”

[takadasaiko]

Love Me Twice: Chapter Five

FFN II AO3

Summary: Liz works with Katarina, Red gives the Task Force a new Blacklister, and Jacob tries to figure out who Maddie Tolliver is and what her connection might be to Elizabeth Keen.

Chapter Five

"So," she mused, reaching for and flipping through another file, "the Sikorsky Archive is a blackmail file put together on powerful people."

She sat surrounded by research that fanned out from her in every direction. Names, dates, and faces stared up and Elizabeth Keen stared back at them, working her way through any connection she could find. It had been a little over a week since Katarina had won her loyalty and helped pull her out of what had felt like a never ending tug-of-war game between her mother and Reddington, both sides violently opposed to each other…. until they weren't. Katarina had proved that, unlike Reddington, she could set the war aside for Liz. She'd helped to save Reddington's life even after Reddington had refused to help save hers and had chosen to tell Liz the truth. There were no half-truths and or hidden agendas between them. What Katarina knew, Liz knew, and it felt like a breath of fresh air for the first time in seven years. She could get used to this.

"One that those that bought into the Townsend Directive are willing to kill me for, yes," Katarina answered from her own place at the desk she had set up in the small hotel room.

"And these people….?"

"The ones I've uncovered that have bought in."

"They're the ones being blackmailed?"

A soft sound drew Liz's attention and her mother looked tired. Years of running, years of looking over her shoulder, she couldn't blame her. Especially since it was Ressler's and her own questions that had shone a light on the possibility of her being alive. "Perhaps. I don't believe the list is complete yet or, perhaps, even if those are the end buyers."

"Fronts?" Liz confirmed and flipped the page to find a particularly gruesome image. "It could make sense why we haven't found a connection yet. My team—"

"Is beholden to Reddington. You cannot tell them about this. Elizabeth." She waited until Liz looked up, meeting those steely blue eyes of hers. "You can not tell them."

"I know." Her phone buzzed and she reached for it. Nick's Pizza flashed across the caller ID. "Speak of the devil."

"Your team?"

Liz blinked, confused for a moment by the association the other woman drew, but brushed it off. "Reddington." Liz waited until Katarina nodded her acknowledgement before she tapped the accept button. "How are you feeling?"

"Fit as a fiddle," came the cheery response from the other end of the line. "Amazing what rest and adjustments in medication can do."

"Any chance you'll tell me why you need the medication in the first place?" Liz asked, unfolding herself from the hotel room floor and standing. She looked down at her watch. She'd need to leave for the office soon.

"There are more pressing matters. How soon can you make it to Franklin Square? There's a lovely little bakery down here with exquisite passion fruit croissants. They are simply to die for."

Liz quirked an eyebrow, shooting Katarina a long-suffering look even though she couldn't hear the conversation on the other end. "Unless there's more than fancy croissants, it's going to have to wait."

"The croissants are a bonus. I have a new Blacklister for you."

That was interesting. "Really? I thought you were on bed rest. Or is that why you're giving the case to us? Having us do all your legwork to track down my mother?"

"Not everything is so devious, Elizabeth. Our deal includes me providing Blacklisters and that's exactly what I'm doing."

He wasn't going to give anything else up over the phone, that much was obvious. Liz loosed a long breath. "I'll be there in twenty."

"Splendid! We'll save you a croissant."

The line went dead and Liz shoved it in her pocket before reaching for her purse.

"Leaving so soon?" Katarina asked, though it was hardly strange. Since she wanted Liz to keep their alliance to herself their meetings had to be short. A quick drop in after sending Agnes off to school or a brief chat in the car. They were making it work.

"Reddington has a Blacklister for us."

"And you think it has to do with finding me?"

Liz grabbed her purse. "He's always got an agenda, and I won't know if this one has to do with you until I talk with him. I'll let you know."

She started past, but Katarina's hand snapped out and caught her by the wrist. The hold was firm but gentle. "This will end, Elizabeth," she promised. "When we find who really has the archive and prove to the people hunting me that I didn't take it, this will all be over."

Liz tried for a smile. "I know."

She slipped carefully and silently out of the room, down the hall, and to the back stairs that would let her out into the alley behind the building. As Liz stepped out into the sun, she couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched. She turned, carefully and discreetly, but found no one. No familiar faces, no cars with people loitering in them. Nothing that should have sparked the feeling other than a healthy sense of paranoia that has clung to her the last several weeks. She felt like she was always being watched these days. For her safety. That was the running excuse. It was wearing a little thin.

She brushed it off as best as she could as she slipped into her car. The first step was to meet with Reddington and see exactly what wild goose chase he was about to send them on, then she could deal with whatever tail her mother had stuck her with.

                                                        --------

The deeper a client's pockets, the more secretive they tended to be. That had been Jacob's experience, and even though Brigitte Tremblay had provided a wealth of information on Agent Keen to get started with, there had been more than one hole to fill. Very little on family outside of her daughter and no real details on certain connections. Raymond Reddington was listed as her CI, and while Jacob couldn't say he knew the man, he did know enough about him to confidently say he wouldn't have turned snitch for just anyone. There was a connection to Keen or someone else on the team, but if his research the last couple of weeks had shown him anything, he would have put his money on Keen.

Then there was Maddie Tolliver. A woman that didn't seem to belong in the dossier at first glance, but the more Jacob dug the more things didn't add up. The name appeared to be an alias - a burned one at that - with no obvious ties to Keen. None until trailing the fed led him to a hotel with Maddie Tolliver - under yet a different name - inside. He didn't have eyes or ears on the room itself, but he needed to get them.

One thing deep pocket clients could afford to provide was support. Sometimes Jacob brought his own in the form of a new graduate or a promising student that needed field experience, but Brigitte had insisted she provide her own people. They were alright. Not nearly as intuitive as a St Regis operative, but that's what he'd been hired for. So far they'd proven capable of following Keen when he couldn't and she hadn't seemed to notice. One had given him the room number and caught a glimpse of Tolliver as Keen had entered the room, but Jacob wouldn't dare send him in. He didn't trust them that far.

He set the low level tail to follow her while he made his way from the roof of the building he'd been perched on and down to the street level, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket as he rounded his way into the back alley to find a growing crowd of workers taking their smoke break not too far from the back exit. "Anybody got a light?" was all it took and he chatted with them like he belonged, a subtle hint to being new on the job dropped here and there, and by the time everyone was finished no one blinked twice that he followed them in.

Jacob shrugged his own jacket off to replace it with a uniform jacket that he'd snatched before working his way around to the front desk. He didn't quite make it there before he caught a break he hadn't expected: the elevator dinged, opening to reveal Tolliver and a bodyguard exiting. Jacob redirected and brushed past her, taking the limited opportunity and she didn't offer him a second glance.

The doors to the elevator slid closed and rocketed him up to the tenth floor. It was time to figure out exactly what this Maddie Tolliver's connection was to Elizabeth Keen.

                                                       --------

She'd caught sight of her tail finally, but it wasn't one that Katarina typically used. He was young and thought he was being more discrete than he was, but she'd seen him in the hallway of the hotel when she'd left. It would have been one hell of a coincidence that he decided to go for a morning stroll in the same park that Reddington and she walked through as he divulged the details he knew about the case he was handing her.

He called the Blacklister The Collector. A secret keeper of sorts, and Liz perked at the phrasing. He'd called her mother a secret keeper once, but when she pointed that out Reddington had brushed it off immediately. Instead he focused in on The Collector himself.

"Reddington believes he got his start in the Cold War in the intelligence community. He targets individuals with significant secrets and uses those secrets to gain one favour and a lead on another secret. Sometimes he keeps the intel for years before exploiting it," Liz explained to her gathered team and as she spoke. "Reddington says that seemingly autonomous decisions - a Congresswoman stepping down right as her bill comes up for a vote, a businessman testifying against his corrupt business partner a day before their big product was set to launch, or a judge recusing himself from a high profile case - are all the work of this Collector using something that they've done or something that they've been apart of in secret against them."

"He's a blackmailer," Ressler said, his voice low and tight.

"Essentially, and Reddington says that for every public incident, there are at least three that never see the light of day."

Park shifted in her place. "Does he have a lead on who the new target is?"

"He believes that the Collector's next target is Bruno Krause, a German attache." Liz waited until Aram brought the little intel that they had up on the screen. "Thirty-eight, single, and he's been on the ambassador's staff for years. Doesn't look like there's a mark against him, but Reddington says that he's responsible for the death of this woman." A pretty blonde woman appeared on the screen. She was young, all bright smiles and a future stretched out ahead of her. "Amanda Clemmons. Twenty-three. Her body was found trapped in a car that had been driven into a lake. The driver was never found."

"He's using the information to blackmail them, right? What's he hoping to get from Krause?" Ressler asked.

Liz sighed. "Believe me, I asked him. He fixated on his croissant." She couldn't help the snort of a laugh that escaped at the looks she received. Yeah. She knew it was absurd. They all did by this point. Welcome to another day in the life of the Reddington Task Force.

Cooper's gaze remained fixed on the sparse intel, and Liz could see the subtle tells of emotion playing just below his stony mask. He set his jaw and turned to the team. "Keen, Ressler, I want you on Krause. Talk to him. See if you can find out why this Collector might be targeting him. Park, you and Agent Mojtabai keep digging. Deep. Maybe we can follow the trail back and find where our Blacklister is getting his intel."

Liz gave a terse nod and fell into step with her partner towards the lift that would take them to the garage. The yellow doors rattled closed before she felt Ressler's gaze turn on her. "You think this has to do with your mother?"

"You and I both know Reddington always has an agenda, and right now he's focused."

"He told Cooper he wouldn't hurt your mother."

"He lies. That's what he does."

She watched his lips twitch just a little. "Does he?"

The doors opened and she turned a disbelieving look on him. "This is Reddington we're talking about. Every time I think he's capable of an honest moment with me, I find out whatever it is I believed was wrong. He's not my father, he's Ilya."

"But did he ever say he was either one? Actually say it?" He held his hands up in mock surrender at the look the question got him. "Hey, I'm not defending him. The guy's a prick and he'll let us think whatever benefits him, but even you have to admit we haven't caught him in an out-and-out lie. It's about listening to exactly what he's saying and figuring out what he's leaving out."

"That's been my life for the last seven years. It's exhausting."

"Hey, I already said the guy's a prick."

She shook her head as she circled around to the passenger side door. As she opened it she met and held his gaze. "Do you still think he cares? About me, I mean."

Ressler stood there for half a beat as if he were considering it, but then he broke that stare to hop into the SUV. Liz followed suit, assuming he'd move past it without another word. He revved the engine and she saw him check the mirrors before loosing a long breath. "That's the only thing about him I know for sure," he said at last and put the vehicle into reverse.

                                                       --------

Brigitte had set him up with a tiny studio apartment. It was furnished with more than he really needed, but it didn't hurt to have a place to go back to to crash and go over what he'd found.

Maddie Tolliver's hotel room had been cleaner than Jacob had hoped for. She had taken any papers of importance with her. The bed was made, her clothes were neatly tucked away in the closet, and the towels were hung over the edge of the shower glass. He had thought that the only thing he would truly walk away with was the bug that he'd planted on the inside lip of the nightstand, but then he'd spotted the glass with the telltale sign of lipstick stains. He hadn't intended to takeanything from the room, but most people would brush it off as the cleaning staff anyway. If they did a sweep of the room he'd lose his chance at audio. At least this way he could run a DNA test and hope to find the real name behind Maddie Tolliver.

A knock at the door took Jacob to his feet, his gun in hand and his gaze hard. He adjusted his grip on his weapon, inching towards the front door carefully, his boots soft against the old wood. He reached forward to unlock the deadbolt and recoiled back, ready for anything on the other end. When nothing came he opened it to find his employer on the other side. She quirked one auburn eyebrow. "You're a bit paranoid, aren't you?"

He snorted and holstered his weapon. "You usually call."

"I didn't realize we'd known each other long enough for a usually," she mused, her tone light as she pushed her way into the apartment. Her blue gaze swept the space, falling on the dossier that Jacob had pulled apart like a puzzle he was working. "Interesting choice."

"What are you doing here?"

"Wondering what you're doing. Agent Keen is working a case."

"I have someone watching her."

"And would you trust that someone with your life?"

"He's your man."

"And you're the one I hired to protect her. Those people are there to support you, not replace you."

Jacob stooped down, grabbing for a collection of papers. "In my experience, it's never the obvious threat that gets you."

Brigitte took the offered file and frowned a little at Tolliver. If Jacob didn't know better, there was a hint of approval in those guarded eyes. "What makes you think she's the threat?"

"There's no reason for her to be in Keen's life. She may be another informant, but if you were able to tag Reddington as one, I'd guess you'd have a note about that for her if she was."

A small sound of acknowledgement left her and she looked directly at him. "So who is she?"

"I don't know yet, but I will. I have the room bugged."

"She'll find those."

"Maybe, but there's nothing she can do about the glass she left. DNA doesn't lie."

"It can if it's not a trusted source."

"It's a trusted source. You don't have to worry about that."

"Zanetakos told me she was handing over her best. Good to know my money isn't being wasted." Her gaze swept him up and down. "Tell me, you have to have a theory."

"I'd rather wait until I have the facts."

"Sure, but where's the fun in that? What's your gut say?"

Jacob pulled in a deep breath and crossed over several more piles of papers. He reached down for one that he recognized and held it out. "A few years ago Keen went on the run. Apparently she was framed by some sort of shadow organization or something like that, but while she was in the cold she publicly admitted to being Masha Rostova. I did some digging."

"Did you now?"

"She's the daughter of a KGB spy named Katarina Rostova. No known photo, no concrete details. Everything is hear-say with this woman. If she's Keen's mother, though…."

"DNA doesn't lie," Brigitte murmured softly.

"Right."

"You think that's who she is?"

"Maybe. It's worth exploring if nothing else."

"And if she is Agent Keen's mother, you don't think she'll be a threat?"

Jacob looked over to where she was standing, his guard flashing up at the tone of her question. He tilted his head a little to the side and studied her for a moment. "Just because someone's blood related doesn't mean they're not a threat."

There was a delay, but finally she huffed what he thought was a laugh at that, handing the file back.. "If anything happens to her on your watch, you won't have time to call an extraction before I get to you. Keep that in mind." Then she turned and walked for the door, leaving Jacob staring in confusion.

In the weeks since he'd taken the job she'd never come by the little apartment, but that day she had, even if only for five minutes and a threat. Whoever Elizabeth Keen was to her, whatever the fed had that Brigitte Tremblay needed, it was important to her. Clients didn't cross St Regis operatives off, not if they wanted to survive the aftermath themselves, but this woman didn't seem worried about that for an instant. She moved through the world like the one that made the rules in a game of her design. Whatever she was after, whatever she wanted, she didn't expect anyone to know until long after she'd had it. He'd worked for people like that before, but never anyone that could pull it off. This woman… she was good. She knew how to play the game, and if Jacob could manage to survive it, it'd be one hell of a ride.

                                                       --------

TBC

Notes: You know you've been followed a lot when it's more of an annoyance rather than a concern. Poor Liz has just sort of learned to live in that space.

I hope everyone's doing well and staying safe! Happy Fourth to my American readers.

Next Time: Liz and Ressler hunt a Blacklister, Cooper and Reddington have a heart to heart, and Tom lands himself in a lot of trouble.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Without You || Morgan & Deirdre

Deirdre swallowed, lifting her gaze to meet Morgan’s. There was no excuse, and so, she said it plainly: “I killed someone. A young girl. Out of boredom, I suspect. But I killed her.”

“Deirdre--” Morgan reached for her as she stood, trying to pull her back, but Deirdre was stolid and would not move from her path. Morgan pushed herself up from the couch, ready to insist, to soothe her distress away and then-- I killed someone. A young girl. I killed her. Morgan froze. “I don’t understand,” she said, brow knotted with confusion. “That’s...not something you do. It’s just…not.” 

@deathduty

There had to be something said for the encompassing nature of remorse. Or else, Deirdre wouldn’t have felt so weighted by it. And how strange, how foreign, the feeling was, and how worse it was made knowing just six months earlier she wouldn’t have felt it. But nonetheless, she moved slugged by it to her door, unlocking and turning it open as she had down countless times before. This house used to be empty, she remembered. She dreaded its silence. She dreaded opening her door to find it waiting at the other end for her, cruel, and patient. She would move straight to her bed, with no sense in lingering inside the ghost of payment for her duty. Perhaps her mother had been right, in that regard, that they were creatures unmade for love simply because they didn’t deserve it.

The home no longer greeted her with silence. She opened her door to find the mewling of cats, the promise of the woman she loved further inside or on her way. Love she found herself unmade for was suddenly overflowing. And for a moment, in this new un-silence, she had convinced herself she could be worthy of it. What a fool she was.

Deirdre held her flowers closer to her chest, the perfect bird skull laid above the bouquet. She stepped over the mewling Moira, desperate for her greeting and lingered awkwardly at the door, wondering if she could call for Morgan or if that was a privilege she needed to learn how to give up now before it would be rightfully taken from her. But there was so much to apologize for, and so little time. There were benefits to being alone, these deliberations were never her concern before. But Moira would not let her move, where she stepped, the kitten went, screaming. “M-morgan?” She called out, her hand forced by the kitten, “Moira isn’t letting me walk.”

Morgan read Deirdre’s letter as soon as she noticed it coming out of the bathroom. She pressed it to her chest, her skin crawling with nerves and relief, and read it again. Again as she nibbled on brains from the fridge, again as she paced the rooms of the house. As soon as she heard the door open she was on her feet and running. “Deirdre!” She could tell by the sound of her voice it was the real her, no mushrooms or magic frying her brain with weird stupid names or schemes to burn off their clothes or fill things with jello. “Deirdre, oh thank the stars--” She didn’t move Moira out of the way so much as she launched herself over her, landing with her arms draped around Deirdre’s neck, legs slipping clumsily for purchase around her hips. She looked heavy and worn out, as if all the nonsense of the past few days had hit her all at once. Maybe Morgan should’ve been more mindful of her fatigue, of her look, more sorrowful than usual, but her only thought was that her love was back. “It’s really you,” she said. “I mean, I knew, I read your letter, but now you’re here and it’s really you and--” Her rush of excitement was cut short by another needy wail by Moira. “I guess I’m not the only one who missed the real you around here.” She pulled back enough to give Deirdre a sheepish smile, but she was too relieved, too overcome to really mind looking foolish.

Deirdre’s lament on whether she deserved this love at all right now was lost in the relief of simply being near Morgan. For a moment, she relaxed, laughing as Morgan’s hug stumbled her backwards until her back thumped harmlessly against a wall. “You’re going to crush my apology gift,” she said softly, pulling the bouquet and bird skull away to preserve its life for a moment longer. And as Morgan pulled away, spurred by Moira’s shouts, Deirdre met her lips in a rough kiss to reel her back in. “Moira can wait.” The kitten mewled again, communicating that she couldn’t. Deirdre carefully leaned down, to pet her, quickly snapping back up to loop her free arm around Morgan’s waist and hold her close. “I’m sorry, usually the rings are not so---” well, normally no one cared if they got the real her or not. “---they’re tempting, let’s just say that.” She grimaced as guilt crept back through her. One last good moment, she begged selfishly, just one. And then she could suffer, but just once she would like to pretend she could keep something she loved. “I missed you,” she mumbled, “I didn’t give you too hard of a time, did I?”

Morgan sniffled, blinking back a tear as she saw the flowers and the bird skull, carefully preserved and complete. It was just the kind of thing Deirdre would get her, romantic and thoughtful, holding a little bit of each of them. “You missed me?” She said, laughing lightly. She pulled Deirdre into another kiss, heedless and hard. “I’m not the one who went away with Mushroom Sally.” She kissed her again and settled into the crook of her neck, squeezing their bodies tight together. “Oh, Earth, Deirdre, I missed you too. It wasn’t too bad, it wasn’t. You were pretty cute some of the time, although, well, trying to keep you from filling the pool with Jello was kind of hard, but it wasn’t awful it just...you just weren’t you.” Moira cried again, louder, rising on her haunches to paw at them both. “Okay, we get it!” she groaned, nudging her away with her foot.

Deirdre set aside the flowers on the small table beside them, picking the skull out from the center of the bouquet to lay delicately on top of the white plastic. She needed both hands to hold Morgan better, tighter, of that she was sure. “I missed you,” she repeated into the next kiss, “it’s like a fog over my mind and I couldn’t see you, not properly. I didn’t like it.” She flinched again at the mention of it, bordering on some excuse she didn’t want for a crime she had yet to admit to. In time, she assured her unsteady mind, she would get to it in time. “I missed you,” she said again, pulling Morgan back enough just so she could kiss her again, urgent and firm. But Moira wanted attention, and Deirdre could see no other options but relenting. “Come on,” she broke away to bend down and pick up the kitten, cradling her. “Why don’t we move away from the door and get comfortable somewhere better, hm?” She directed the question to Morgan and the cat, reaching for her girlfriend’s hand as they moved. “Now, jello in the pool isn’t such a bad idea. I must have really been on to something. I vote that we revisit that,” she grinned, trying to mask the sharp pain that grew inside of her with each sentence she didn’t confess. “But I didn’t...hurt you or anything, did I? I can’t remember everything, exactly. But I…” she trailed off. Fairy rings could make even the gentlest fae malicious, it was the simple nature of the magic. She liked to think she was better than that, but there was a dead girl that said otherwise. “Some fae lose themselves more than others. It’s...hard to tell. But you were okay?”

“You didn’t like it?” Morgan prodded curiously. She brought up a hand to brush back Deirdre’s hair and trace the soft lines of her face, already growing pinker and more freckled with the brightness of June. It was stupid to suppose that she felt any different, but this Deirdre, at least, knew all the little messages of care her touches translated into, when her tenderness was meant to be adoring, when her firm presses and hard grips were full of longing or urgency. And this Deirdre had the stillness and the presence of mind to hold her and touch her in turn the way she needed in order to feel. She held her gaze in that way they now had, silently speaking of the loneliness of their strange separation and how desperately glad she was to have her back. “That can wait until we’re--yeah. And we are not revisiting Jello. I bought so many packets, just to indulge you, and you hated the way they came out in the pan. I told you it wasn’t meant to be made in big batches. Besides, skinny dipping is so much better in good old fashioned swimming pool water.” She pressed in close to Deirdre as they walked into the great room and started the process of making themselves comfortable on the couch. Morgan took the kitten into her arms, scratching her around the collar the way she liked as she moved the throw pillows around. Moira, satisfied, wriggled and jumped back to the floor to supervise the proceedings, leaving Morgan free to crawl into Deirdre’s arms, legs draped over her lap. “You didn’t hurt me,” she murmured with a sigh, kissing down her face. “Not that you could, with your promise, I don’t think, but you didn’t even try.” She squeezed their bodies as tightly together as she could get them, almost getting heady with the pressure around her body, her Deirdre sober and here and loving her the way she wanted to be and not a hair different. “Actually, it was pretty easy to keep you from going back to the mushrooms for more,” she said, pulling away so she could look at her, the fantastically sober calm in her expression, the relief, even the weariness. Morgan wanted to take all of it in at once if only because it was real. “All I had to do was keep telling you I didn’t like it. And you listened. Even high out of your mind you cared about me.”

Having Morgan back in her arms, where she could feel her consciously and comprehend her words, was the greatest relief to a nightmarish week. Deirdre wanted nothing else, and the moments she spent with Morgan, high on the fairy ring, were a haze in her mind. She could remember her only in a blur, the words that she shared and the actions that she took. And of course she didn’t like it, when she treasured these moments so dearly, and wanted to hold as many memories of Morgan as she could, hold as much knowledge of her. To be denied that was worse than she ever could have imagined. “I’ll put ‘skinny dipping’ on the spreadsheet then,” she smiled softly, then couldn’t help the wince that came after. The spreadsheet was for the future, a future that wasn’t certain, and certainly wasn’t deserved. “I didn’t like it,” she repeated in a groan instead. Could she keep this moment for a while longer? She leaned into Morgan’s touches, pulling her closer, urging with her own that she wanted more--as many as Morgan wanted to give, as many as she could have. “Good,” she rasped, catching Morgan’s own relief in her eyes, and meeting her lips in another solid kiss, and then another, pressed to her jaw as she worked down to the collar of her shirt, where no more bare skin could be met. “Because I do. Care about you. And I’m glad I could remember that while...you know. I told you it’s...hard to know what’ll happen. And it’s not always what’s true to one’s character but I suppose...it’s still me. It’s still my actions.” She sighed, reluctantly shifting their bodies to pull them just far enough apart than she could ask this question before her resolve gave way to how much she desired to be close to Morgan. “I have something I need to tell you. It’s not--” she swallowed thickly, “it’s not good. Do you want---Do you want to hear that now, or should we keep..” she pressed her palm firmly against Morgan’s thigh, “doing this? Do you want to stay here for now or….?” It felt kinder, somehow, to offer the option.

Morgan followed Deirdre’s cues, working her hands through her hair, running them down to grasp at her back and sides by the handful. She answered each kiss with one of her own, growing hungrier as it settled in that they were really together again and all the awfulness, however minor, was over. She whined in the back of her throat as Deirdre pushed them apart. All she wanted was to be close again, to be known and recognized again in a way only the real Deirdre could give her. But--stars, Deirdre had been trying to tell her about ‘something bad’ since Morgan had first brought her home from the woods. It was bad enough in Deirdre’s mind for it to press through her reckless euphoria and in the clarity of coming back to herself it lingered. Morgan frowned, stomach twisting with guilt as she weighed the options. “I know you won’t feel better until you tell me,” she sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek. “That’s just how you are, and I love you for it. But can I just--give me a minute, okay? Because I didn’t like it either. I hated you being gone for so long--” And she was kissing her again, hard and desperate. “It felt like so long,” she mumbled. She cupped her face, rubbing her thumbs roughly against her cheek as she kissed her harder. At some point she had the good sense to move a hand down, pressing in hard enough to sense Deirdre’s pulse and pulled away when she felt it spike with a growing need for air. “I love you,” she said, lips tingling. “And it’s gonna be okay.” She tugged on one of Deirdre’s hands and pressed it to her lips, cradling it around her cheek for a blessed moment before letting go. “Go ahead and tell me, babe.”

“Hey,” Deirdre cooed instantly, reaching up to thumb away Morgan’s tear, pressing her hand into her cheek, just the way she knew Morgan could feel it too. “As much time as you want, my love.” She whispered against her skin, easing into another kiss. “It was long for me too,” she rasped. Even in her haze, the part of her that still had sense clawed to be freed, just enough, to love and care for Morgan in the ways she knew best. But she had to wait for the fairy ring to wear off naturally, and she hated each moment of it. They were sacred to the fae, but nothing was more sacred to Deirdre than her time with Morgan, and Morgan herself. Maybe Lydia was on to something, and it was strange of her to wish that she could be with Morgan instead of doing what fae did but-- “I love you too. So much. So very much.” So much so that she thought about pushing her down against the couch, filling in their lost time with the intimacy they were both due. Deirdre tried to catch her breath quickly, eager for another kiss, fighting every desire and pull that begged her to close the distance between them again. But she had something to confess, and at Morgan’s attempt at comfort, she laughed bitterly with the reminder of it. She didn’t imagine she would share this news while still tangled up in Morgan, and she found that she couldn’t summon the words while so close to her--she was too muddied with blood now, too evil to deserve such care. With great reluctance, with more anguish than she anticipated, she tore herself from Morgan and up away from the couch to stand and admonish herself.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I know you say that I’m a good person and I do--I’ve tried to believe that. I want to. You make me feel like I can, and I want to try, for you. Because it’s good, because it makes me feel like I’m better, like I’m the best person I can be---when I’m with you. You give me that...strength to change. To do that. To be that person. And I’m sorry, for betraying that trust you had in me and I…” she gulped. This was too much beating around the bush. She wanted no excuses, no escapes or forgivenesses from her actions. She bared the responsibility alone for all her actions, for each murder and torture and life ruined. For Emma, and for all those before her. “I cannot confess to a--” she hung her head, clutching her chest in pain. “--any--” she spoke through gritted teeth, “things I may have done in the name of my duty. I’ve sworn not to. So when I say this, understand it was senseless and unkind and unfair and so---” Deirdre swallowed, lifting her gaze to meet Morgan’s. There was no excuse, and so, she said it plainly: “I killed someone. A young girl. Out of boredom, I suspect. But I killed her.”

“Deirdre--” Morgan reached for her as she stood, trying to pull her back, but Deirdre was stolid and would not move from her path. Morgan bit on the inside of her cheek as she spoke, trying not to interrupt. Whatever her crime, it was tearing at her insides. Morgan pushed herself up from the couch, ready to insist, to soothe her distress away and then-- I killed someone. A young girl. I killed her. “I don’t understand,” she said, brow knotted with confusion. “That’s...not something you do. It’s just…not.” Deirdre wasn’t cruel. At her worst, when she wanted to hurt, she could be viscous. That day in the woods would always be a reminder of that. But there was nothing casual about it, nothing pleasurable. It wasn’t who she was since coming to White Crest, if it ever had been at all. “I--I need to know what happened. You can’t expect me to go along with the bare bones of something like that, I need to know everything. Who was she, what were you doing, what did she--why aren’t you even sure why you--” She took Deirdre’s arm. “You need to come back and tell me everything,” she said firmly.

“It sounds like an excuse if I explain it. I don’t want---I killed her. That is a fact. There is no excusing or justifying it.” Deirdre sighed, hanging her head low. She tried to be as objective in her explanation as she could, keeping her voice the apathetic way her mother taught her to. “As fairy ring customs go, you pick a human and bring them in. A fae is never completely in control of what they do inside, some might be malicious, some might simply be a higher-intensity version of themselves. I can’t remember all of the details well, and the motivation is completely lost on me but--” shit, Lydia had been there, right? Deirdre sighed again, groaning as she tried to think of a way to admit this without acknowledging her friend’s involvement. It had been her, in the end. Not Lydia. And she would gladly take any and all blame for her; for all that Lydia had done for Deirdre, she was owed that much. “I threw a knife at her. I truly don’t remember why. I knew it was bad, it felt bad even before we entered the ring. But I didn’t stop it. And it is my fault she died. Mine alone. Those actions were mine and I made them.” Humans didn’t always die in rings, but it mattered so little to the fae what their outcome was. Deirdre had never personally killed a human in a ring, as a toy, but what did it matter if she was just as involved? Or if she watched without comment? If she was too desperate to be among them that she knew better than to voice her concerns, even back then. “And it’s not exactly the first senseless death by my hand. I’ve ruined lives. I am not a good person, by any standard.” She paused, turning her head away. “Emma Mushrow. Did you know her?”

Emma. Morgan’s eyes turned wide and stung with recognition. She went still, Deirdre’s arm still in her grasp, mid tug. Emma was one of her students. Painfully lonely, closeted, and smart. She came in for so many office hours, fumbling with three different questions before finding her way to the one she really wanted to ask. She’d done the extra credit work for fun. Because it was all creative, and it made her happy, not that she ever said so, but Morgan could tell from the way she brightened with hope as she handed it in. The last time she talked, Morgan had promised to look at her first draft if she ever got the nerve to write this time-travel novel she wanted to. And Morgan had heard about what had happened to her on the University forums and the paper. Or at least, as much as any of the humans could suppose. It had just seemed like another nameless White Crest tragedy, but now… “Emma,” she said, voice thick. “Yes. You...Emma? But she’s...she’s Blanche’s age, Deirdre. Did you know that? She’s...harmless. Emma could barely raise her hand in class much less work up the nerve to ever hurt anyone. She would never have hurt any fae. She was afraid she was betraying humanity by wanting to drop out of a pre-med program!” Morgan let go of Deirdre and braced her hands on her hips. Her mind was racing too fast, she needed to focus. She breathed slowly, counting in her head, but her body was cut off from her sense of her lungs. It stayed tense. She looked around the room counting senses: she could see her bare feet, she could see the carpet, she could see the clock, the sunlight coming through the windows, and Moira under the coffee table; she could feel tension in her fingers, a pinch in her hip as she dug her nails in, a fuzzy haze under her feet, an ache in her jaw; the ticking of the clock, birds chirping, Moira pawing the carpet… “First of all, you are not going to hide behind your banshee dead-tone while we have this discussion,” she said at last. “You are going to look me in the eyes and you are going to tell me the whole truth, every detail you remember, and everything that just feels like a lucky guess and you are going to feel it. If it hurts that you--” Killed Emma. Killed Emma and didn’t know why. Morgan clenched her jaw and forced the words out stiffly, “That you don’t even know why you hurt a practical child, you have to feel it. And second of all--” She had to pause and gather herself, to remind herself that this was important and she meant it. For the first time she felt her heart struggle to accommodate its feelings for Deirdre, her anger pushing against her love pushing against her confusion being crushed against some growing principle of understanding, it was so much and nothing wanted to give. But Morgan dug her fingers harder into her side and insisted, “Second of all this is not about anything you did in Ireland. I don’t care. You can make me hear about it later, but I don’t care. I don’t care what you did before we met. This is about a girl, and whatever the hell happened, whatever in the Earth’s name possessed you and your senses to do this instead of coming home to me. Has this happened before, since we met, Deirdre?”

So Morgan did know her. Deirdre figured it was the case, she’d heard enough about Emma’s life from her mother, who sobbed unrelentingly and foolishly thanked her daughter’s own murderer for paid funeral expenses and then some. “I’m not---” she swallowed thickly, “I’m not speaking like this to---If I talk normally I’ll---” her voice cracked and in waves her body was overcome with the anguish she was fighting for the sake of getting the story out in one piece. But not asked to speak plainly, she had no means of subduing her pain. Deirdre stumbled backwards, collapsing into a seat on their coffee table. She had cried in her car too, after meeting Emma’s family, using what she’d learned from her mother to keep from breaking down with guilt in front of them. But here it was again, raw and open for Morgan to see. “I know,” she sobbed, staring at her hands. “I know she---I know.” They were shaking. For all of her mother’s teachings and torture to get them to be steady, they were shaking. And she kept staring at them, kept expecting the blood of everyone she’d killed to spill out of every pore and for their screams and pleas to play out loud for Morgan to witness too. All the promises for what their lives could have been had never ceased to weigh on her, and they weighed heavier since trying to be better. But Morgan was angry, and she could feel it, and the sensation twisted terribly inside of her--worse than how any of the guilt she carried ever did. “That is the truth,” she glanced up, forcing herself to accommodate Morgan’s assertion that she look at her. “That’s it. I felt so terrible about her being there, and then I threw a knife to prove I didn’t. It wasn’t to kill her, but she died because of it so I’m not sure if it matters if---” Taken by another bout of sobbing, she couldn’t finish her sentence and took to staring at her hands again. She had touched Morgan with them, just as she had murdered Emma, murdered Regan’s father, murdered countless others that might have been spared. She curled into herself, lost to her pain. “I killed her. I didn’t mean to but I did. And it--I-I’m sorry. I know you---I’m so---” She cried, the glass shaking around them as her control on her voice wavered. With none of her mother’s teachings left to hide behind, there was nothing stopping the wave of anguish and torment that she had tried so hard to keep for her own private repentance. At Morgan’s question, she thought of Regan’s father, and tried to confess to his death as well. But her promises would not let her, and so she heaved and stuttered and tried to be strong enough to sit and accept the anger and resentment she was due. “Not any---not anyone so young but---but---” bile worked its way up, stopping just short of her mouth, leaving a burning path down her in its wake. “I’m sorry. I know it means nothing but---” She really had tried to be good. She really had wanted to be. She just wasn’t; she never could be.

“Stop,” Morgan said, voice quiet but still firm. “I know what a promise looks like, so stop. It doesn’t count.” What did count, contrary to Deirdre’s insistence, was her remorse. Morgan did her best to be still and impassive as Deirdre fell apart in front of her, as she struggled under the weight of her shame to look her in the face. It couldn’t bring back Emma, it couldn’t re-balance the loss and anguish of grief, but it paid for something in Morgan’s heart. She moved slowly to the coffee table, trying to fit all the pieces she had been given in her head. She had been warned that the fae were unkind, she had been asked and told if she really wanted to know that world. She had assumed, foolishly, that any world that could bring Deirdre into existence had to have a heart in it somewhere. But this--this fairy ring, this, what, some pheromone magic?--this thing was cruel. What world made it a practice to cleave its people’s souls from them, to make them into giddy creatures, into the kinds of beings that could hurt a child for no reason at all. Where was the sense in that? The balance in that? No wonder old guard fae convinced themselves they were better. How else could they live with themselves? But Deirdre knew. Deirdre wept. Deirdre wanted more for herself than this lie and the cold isolation that came with it. Slowly, she put a hand on Deirdre’s head and ran her fingers down her hair. She could not bear to give her full, encompassing comfort in this moment, but she could not bear to stand by while Deirdre cried and grieved either. “It does mean something, that you’re this sorry,” she said. “It’s what makes you different.” She swallowed thickly. “Tell me how you know about her. Did you know her, before you brought her into that...that place,” she could not hide her hatred of the fairy ring itself and she didn’t bother trying. “Did you find out who she was after? How do you know who she was?”

“Stop what? Stop crying? I’ll try--I’ll stop. Do you want me to---I’ll stop if---” Deirdre raised her hands to her face, trying to stop tears that would not quell for her, even as she tried to tell herself that Morgan wanted her to stop. She could not hear the rest of Morgan’s sentence under her concentration to stop crying, convinced this was what Morgan wanted. But she couldn’t, and in her failure, she wept harder, finding each free breath to mumble her apologies. She should have been better, but she wasn’t. Morgan raised her hand and Deirdre flinched in anticipation of the hit she imagined would come, the retribution as it was due. As her mother had, just when she would sob too much. Instead, she felt her working through her hair, gentle, and in the act of kindness she was not deserving of, she quelled her tears just enough to respond. “I knew her name was Emma,” she said, “I-I could tell she was lonely, it was the only reason she came with us. But its---” the way fairy rings work. And it’s harmless, they juggle or dance or play music and then go home. It was the way the fairy rings worked. They begged for humans to be dragged into them, even the thought of them--though she could not explain it--thrummed in her head. They called, they asked for their giddy fun, they demanded their human entertainment. The desire could not be helped. It was as natural to the fae as anything else. It was them. It was their culture. And Deirdre had done nothing wrong in their terms, and yet, even then, she felt guilt course so horribly through her. “I knew she liked to read. I knew she didn’t really like her friends. I could tell she must have had a passion she was hiding but the rest I---” Her body trembled with another sob. “I went to---I--W-what does it matter? It doesn’t. I’m not different. I’m not---I’m a fae. It’s---I killed her. That’s it. I did.” And there was nothing to make that fair. And she shook, horrified by the way trying to be good intersected with the fae life she knew. She had been so lost, for so long, and when a path seemed clear...it was lost again. Where did she go? Where was there a place for her now?

“So you did,” Morgan whispered, her voice hinging. She stopped petting Deirdre’s hair, almost mid-stroke and let her hand fall to her side. “You saw her. You saw who she was and you...when all that shit was in your head, you…” Killed her. Murdered her...sort of. It hadn’t been a lethal wound, that was what made the whole story so weird. And Deirdre, as lethally trained by her mother as she had been, surely couldn’t have missed the heart or a major artery on accident. There was something there, something to think on as Morgan braced her hands on her hips again. “You weren’t you,” she muttered, more to herself than to Deirdre. “You weren’t in your right mind, you were surrounded by fae, and these...fucking mushrooms…” And she hadn’t meant to kill her, even then. And yet Deirdre had brought her in the first place, had seen her, her youth, her hurt. Because it was what fae were supposed to do. Because she thought it was expected of her, or the brain-melting magic asked her to. Morgan counted her way through the room again, breathed slowly through her teeth, but she was running out of objects, losing places to plant her focus on besides Emma and the bewildering double-edged trick that hadn’t just destroyed her life but had wrecked a piece of her and Deirdre too. “And you are different. You are so different from the people you were raised with, even from Lydia and Tasmyn. You have become different since I’ve known you, at the very least. You see people as people, and you are kind and your soul, the part of you that knows better than the things you were taught, is good and that is why this hurts for you. That’s why it feels wrong. And that counts. That weight means something. But that is also why I am so---” floored. Disappointed. Hurt. “Yeah, I’m going to need a minute,” she said stiffly. “I’m leaving the keys. I need you to still be here when I get back. I need to trust you not to hurt yourself while I’m out.” She was already heading for the door but she stopped, aching deep in her dead silent body for them all. “Is any of that going to be a problem?”

She didn't mean to. Emma was just supposed to dance and juggle but not be harmed, she didn't want that. Deirdre could barely remember her motivations or thoughts but she could remember hating the idea. Being opposed to it. But she hadn't done enough, she hadn't stopped it. She hadn't been strong enough under the fairy ring to care. She relented to the first sign of disappointment from Lydia, some need for approval being stronger than the goodness supposedly inside of her. For this, she was unimaginably sorry. But she did not explain herself further, there was no point. She killed Emma, that was that. Lydia's involvement was unimportant, and all blame was hers alone. "It was my fault. I did it," she croaked again, worsened by hearing Morgan try to explain it. To her, she had already condemned herself to the highest crime, and as she burned for some punishment to be delivered, she could accept nothing else. Yes, she was not herself. Yes, she was as far removed from her actions as she ever had been, but they were still hers, and she still accepted all responsibility for them. "But I don't—" want to be different from them. She never did. She wanted to be just like Lydia, just like she was supposed to. But if she couldn't be good like Morgan said, and if she couldn't be like the fae, then what was she? Her world slowly cracked and she rose her knees to her chest, crying into them. But one part remained at least, one last shred of—"Leaving?" She lifted her head just far enough up to catch sight of Morgan walking away. And with it, the last of the world she thought she might keep, might belong in. It shattered, and unable to respond to Morgan's question, she dropped her head and cried, shattering the glass around her. Her wails of anguish were unrestrained, muffled only as she curled into herself. "Take care of yourself," she managed, the last intelligent sentence as she dissolved into tears and sobs. The house she had watched form itself into a home, the silence she had dreaded, all of it returned to her. In some strange way to heed Morgan's words, she did not rise to harm herself as her mind begged, instead she remained curled up on the cracked coffee table, unmoving. Trying her hardest not to think of the emptiness, but unable to focus on anything else. She was alone again.

All Morgan had wanted was a simple answer. Lacking even that, something inside her burned, familiar in ways she didn’t want to welcome. “Yep, sounds great,” she muttered under her breath. She shoved her feet into her shoes, bearing down against the tangle of feeling flooding through her insides. This wasn’t how she wanted to be and she needed to get something out before she could be any different.