#not something i usually say but i am Always getting blindsided by the complications that come with animation lolll

[keeps-ache]

outside once again for designated outside time

[keikigoodbetter]

....howdy, everyone! Looooong time no see 😅😅

I’m sitting in my room right now, waiting as a friend drives over to spend the last few hours of 2022 with me, and I thought I’d try to put down a few of my thoughts as I reflect on the year. It’s been a while since I checked in for real with y’all and for that I am very sorry. (fwiw I dropped contact with quite a few folks irl too, so it wasn’t just you lol)

2022 repeatedly hit my blindside and hit it HARD. I spent a lot of the year in reaction-mode as surprises both good and bad kept coming at me fast; this year had some of the worst lows of my life, but also some of the best highs. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

At the risk of being too personal, here’s an overview of some of My Notable 2022 Moments:

Start the year about 8 months into a really good headspace, to the point where my psychiatrist agrees that if I’m still A-ok by springtime then I can likely step off my antidepressants!!

Help move my Grandma out of her home and into a memory care facility

Have surgery

May 7: Go dancing with friends I haven’t seen in years, to celebrate being alive and together and that I’ve finally finished my degree

May 10: Find out my parents have filed for divorce and will be selling my childhood home, that our family build by hand, by the end of the summer

May 14: GRADUATE COLLEGE!

May 15: One of my best friends goes in for surgery because her pain-management implant is no longer functional. There are complications and she needs 3 more surgeries before the month is over

Return to martial arts after years away

Help babysit the very sweet toddler-age child of someone I went to gradeschool with. (Have an existential breakdown about how old I suddenly am and how unlikely it is at this point that I’ll get to be a mom)

All summer: help clear out my Grandma’s things from her house, move my dad’s things to his new house, move the rest of our family’s things to my mom’s new house, and do repairs and cleaning at our old house

Have to start reminding myself again to get out of bed and eat and not walk into traffic

A best friend flies in from out-of-state to go with me to a disco night

See the Colorado Avalanche Stanley Cup Championship Parade!

Make a great costume and go to the Renaissance Festival in drag

Officially move out of our house; August and September are time soup

A friend from college that I’ve dearly missed moves back to Colorado

SEE MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE LIVE

My brother gets injured

Our house sells

TWO of my job applications that I was really excited for pan out and I’m asked to interview for both of them. The one I like better calls and offers me the position within 3 days! I’m going to start part-time at the local library in January!!! 😭😆

I spend an amazing afternoon with a friend on a maybe-a-date... 👀

I see many friends and family and have a wonderful holiday season

  ....Realize I might feel ok again soon

 (and, as usual, I also saw a lot of great concerts this year!)

....WHEW. Like I said, it was A Lot All The Time. Sorry to overshare 😅  but I just - idk - I feel like I need to write it down somewhere so there’s a record of all the shit that I experienced in the last 12 months. And I feel like some of you are my legit friends and might care about some of these developments? lol idk 😅 sorry if that’s presumptuous.

Anyways, all this to say that I know I’m not particularly an outlier and that most people have crazy things happen all the time. That’s life! But I hope that if you had a rough year (like me), that things turn around for you soon (also like me?). There is always the promise of something wonderful happening just as much as there is the risk of something terrible; and I think growing up is learning to balance the threat of those two extremes without falling down for too long when a new circumstance hits you.

I grew so much in the last year and for the first time in a long time I’m actually excited about what the future might look like for me! 2023 will be hard and full of new challenges, but I think I’ll be ok. And I think you all will be, too.

💖💖💖

All of my love, forever and ever,

C.

[cigvrettedvet]

mina & atlas.

      ❝ …. you? ❞ again, the same not-so-telltale expression washes over him but the gears in his head turn quicker and harder than usual. it’s not that he’s blindsided by the confession ( because mina seems to have more opinions about him than anyone else at their office ) but for her to actually utter the words aloud? to admit to wanting him around for more than competition? he should be rejoicing more than he finds himself at present. ❝ you realize you’re oozing brain out of your ears, right? ❞ is all he says to it, the simper on his face softer now, as opposed to the usual smirk. tongue runs over his lips to wet them, the taller letting out a small, humorous huff in disbelief that all of tonight’s events led to this. ❝ sounds like if you’re willing to go the distance overnight, you must really love me, huh? i suppose i still have a few loose ends to tie up at work. there’s no point in rushing knowing what i do now, right? ❞ it’s his way of throwing up the white flag for the time being and with the wave of a hand, he beckons politely for the check. ❝ hmmm. it’s a real shame that you still don’t know what i want. because seeing you beg? not even close to it. ❞ head tips to the side to wait for her to have her final word, his hand spinning the pen upside down to finalize the signature with a firm click of the pen. she doesn’t realize that she’s already given him all that he wants, but what was their relationship without a little mystery? 

                 mina wasn’t sure what she had been expecting after confessing the truth. and even then, she was still a little too embarrassed to say everything. but the way he delivers his next line a little softer than usual gives mina some clue as to how he might be feeling about all of this. “love?” she nearly shouts, keeping just enough of her composure to do so. “whoa, who said love?” still, she has to admit that her emotions regarding atlas are a complicated mess. she can’t deny though that while it might not be love that she feels, it’s something. “at least you’ll stay to finish tying up some loose ends so that’s good.” she doesn’t want to ask how long that might be, almost scared of the answer she might get back. mina frowns as he ushers a nearby waiter for the check, trying to figure out what he could possibly mean by that. it frustrates her that she doesn’t, feeling like the answer was underneath her nose and she still couldn’t guess it. “then what is it? what else could you possibly want?” mina asks, genuinely confused. she’s too deep in thought to offer to pay half, her pride usually not allowing her to have someone pay for her. it made her feel like a charity case and she had already felt like that enough for tonight. but first . . . “will you at least do me the honor of giving me a hint? anything?” mina nearly begged, “confessing all of that was difficult for me to do.” showing emotion other than annoyance was hard enough as it is. “i am not leaving until you give me something. i’ll follow you, if i have to.” she’s only half kidding. a part of mina liked the challenge - which was why she liked atlas in the first place - since it always kept on her toes. atlas never had her bored which was both infuriating and fun at the same time.

[lunaastoir]

fluff/relationships w the mondstadt crew

characters included: diluc, kaeya, and jean

gn! reader as always <3

tw: fluff??? domesticity??? crack??? ideal relationships w people who will never be real??? also mentions of alcohol!

an: so i’m back w a sequel to my “fluff/relationships w the liyue crew” since you guys seemed to really like it <3 thank you my heart is literally melting 😩 this post was getting too long so i excluded some of the characters but expect a part. 2 (more like part 3 but part 2 to the mondstadt version)! 

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diluc

man. this MAN.

that’s it, that’s the headcanon. 

he would literally be the most doting lover in the softest ways

SUCH a soft romantic like you thought you knew love??? nah this man will show you what love is

will constantly leave you things around the winery to convey his silent thank you’s and appreciation for you putting up with him being busy for most of the day

it’s always the most thoughtful things ever too like-

you mentioned how nice it would be to have some fresh lemonade with the hotter weather outside but it was too late in the day to actually go to the market in search of fresh lemons 

the next day you walked downstairs only to be greeted with a pitcher of cool lemonade with a side of lemon bars

there was a note attached to the handle of the pitcher <3 

“i recall you mentioning how lemonade would be perfect for the warmer weather so i decided to make some for you this morning. i hope it’s still cool by the time you drink it. love, d” 

pls sir your hand in marriage

he secretly loves it when you usher him to bed after waking up in the dead of night to see him working by candlelight on reports 

soft hands on his cheeks gently whispering about how, it’s been far too long and come to bed, darling and there will be time for this in the morning

his protests are light given the dark purple hues under his crimson eyes but he’ll still make a little fuss 

don’t let this man fool you tho he’s so so touched that you care enough to check up on him and drag him to bed!!

sometimes on the days he has a bit more free time, the two of you will quickly grab your dinners and race to the highest spot in the winery to watch the setting sun

these moments are always filled with laughter, something you’ve found you’re easily able to pull out of diluc, simply because it’s you 

uncontrollable sobbing

he would let you paint his nails black like the angsty man he is 

frankly he would let you do anything to him if it makes you happy <3 

ok but wait diluc w bLACK NAILS?? AND RINGS??? i would die on the spot ⚰️

on the topic of makeup, this man is surprisingly really good w it 

i like to think he learned after practicing on kaeya when they were younger bc kaeya was really into makeup

you found out after babysitting klee one day and trying failing to draw eyeliner on the sweet girl after her “big brother ‘bedo!”

you hastily grabbed some wipes, gently wiping off the messed up design before attempting to dive back in 

diluc however, had some down time so he decided to check up on his favorite chaotic duo 

only to be met with a pile of dirtied makeup wipes, your frustrated expression, and klee’s growing jitteriness 

swiftly moving to your side, he quietly asked if you needed help 

you glanced up quizzically before handing him the eyeliner, already looking around to find more makeup wipes when this inevitably goes wrong 

to your utter surprise tho the eyeliner is perfect??? two perfect winged lines??? in less than a minute??? WHAT

you just stood there like 😦 before diluc got back up and handed you the eyeliner 

you were short-circuiting, klee was ecstatic, diluc was worried about you 

ok last thing abt diluc 

crack! warning but the both of you like lowkey pranking kaeya 

for diluc it’s revenge on his annoying brother; for you it’s good - natured sibling rivalry fun 

every time the two of you see kaeya, one of you always swipes something of his 

small things really, it could be a pen or a handkerchief

one time, diluc swiped kaeya’s spare eyepatch and from the looks of it, kaeya’s only spare black eyepatch bc he was frantically looking for it yk he’s desperate when he even asked diluc if he saw it

the two of you spent an hour nearly laughing your asses off 

all in all, life w him is so sweet 

kaeya

pretty boy? pretty boy. 

while i can’t guarantee stability, life would never be boring w this man that’s for sure

piggy back rides 🗣 piggy back rides 🗣 piggy back rides 

he LOVES it, the feel of you on his back while he’s walking around mondstadt most likely carrying you to your commission 

he finds it comforting especially since he can hear the rumble of your voice against him while you recount stories, or just babble on about everything under the sun 

he is SO dramatic so obviously when y’all reach the site of the commission he has to kill all the monsters even tho the both of you agreed to split it up evenly 

he makes quick work of his set before stealing some of yours much to your chagrin 

you scold him but can you really be mad at him when he looks drop dead gorgeous freezing the hilichurls the answer is no, no you cannot be

oh my god ok wait-

he does this thing where he tries to spook you in public 

so say you’re getting groceries at the mondstadt general store

you round the corner just minding your own business, looking around, taking in the sunshine 

and suddenly you just hear someone drop in behind you but before you can register anything you hear a soft “boo” and hands circle your waist 

you jump SIKE let’s be honest you shrieked 

meanwhile kaeya’s just laughing his ass off 

you can hear his rich peals of laughter while you attempt to regain your bearings 

he does this so often you SHOULD be used to it but you really aren’t bc mans is SNEAKY-

he cards his fingers in your hair whenever you’re speaking 

he doesn’t know why, it’s just a cute habit and he finds the feel of his fingers in your hair soothing

oH on the topic of comfort, kaeya really likes resting two fingers on the back of your neck???

ik he seems like the type to throw his arm around your shoulder which yes he totally is but during more serious conversations his hand automatically seeks out the warmth of your neck 

your neck feels amazing especially during the warmer months due to his chilly fingers contrasting with your warm skin  

he likes that he’s able to access such a vulnerable part of you and you would willingly let him 

HE GETS YOU MATCHING OUTFITS

no i will NOT take criticism on this i just kNOW he’s that type of guy

it would be those stupid “i’m his” and “they’re mine” sweatshirts like BYE 

it’s so cringy but for some reason it’s oddly adorable and you truly despise it but you can’t seem to say no whenever he asks 

you pretend to ignore the look of pity diluc throws your way whenever he sees you like this

kaeya really loves accessories so i think he would be the type to give you a promise ring or something similar to show that he truly does care for you 

he would brush it off, flirting a little like usual before handing you the ring 

with the way his cheeks softly darken though, you know he’s being genuine 

TICKLE FIGHTS ik i mentioned this for childe but shhhh

he has tickle fingers??? his hands just loOK like they’re itching to tickle someone so you’ll most likely be the unfortunate victim 

he will not show you mercy. at all. he’ll tickle you until there are tears streaming from your eyes, your face is hot, and your voice is hoarse from laughing so damn hard 

it gives him such a rush of serotonin its SO CUTE 

i feel like this goes without saying but he’s super into pda,,, anything and everything is on the table 

hand holding? duh. ass grabs? ofc. carrying you bridal style around mondstadt? why not 

ik he’s typically very playful but once the relationship reaches a certain stage, he’ll slowly start to let down the walls that surround his facade 

very very slowly show you the more realistic parts of him 

the real, damaged pieces of his soul 

he’ll be carefully monitoring your reaction though, any sign of fear or disgust will have him recoiling within himself again and you most likely will never see his true nature ever again 

SO BE CAREFUL 👹

once you’ve seen the parts of him he’s offered to you, the hushed whispers of his past, and the uncertain lines of his future, he will take off his eyepatch 

pretends like he’s not super nervous but he’s SWEATING- 

the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen though hands down 

you can understand why he covers it up but you would like it if he felt comfortable enough to take off the eyepatch occasionally when he’s with you 

also!!! sleeps with his eyepatch side facing you (in the event he wears it to bed) 

if this happens you KNOW he trusts you bc it’s his blindside <3 

anyways life w kaeya will never be boring but he is a very complicated man 

stay with him though, i promise it’ll be worth it 

jean

the key to jean’s heart is coffee and food 

GET HER COFFEE AND FOOD

i am begging you she deserves it 😭

the poor woman works so hard bc the knights are so mf understaffed, this is literally the best way you can ever show her your love and appreciation when she has work

she will MELT if you have a hot shower and dinner waiting for her when she inevitably returns later than she promised

will completely refuse at first with, “you did not have to do this, it’s too much” but shush her as you shOULD bc she deserves the entire world 

she’s the definition of “you do something for me, i’ll return the favor ten times grander”

you leave a flower on her desk bc it reminded you of her??? you’ll wake up to find a whole bouquet of the prettiest windwheel asters you’ve ever seen the next morning along with a thank you note

she’s so sweet BYE

she gets flustered extremely easily so you obviously use this as an opportunity to tease her 

when you’re in public rest your hand on her waist and inch it higher until your hand is underneath her shirt and in contact with her warm skin 

she’ll actually short-circuit its quite adorable 

sometimes y’all will be cuddling and you’ll hear whispers of her insecurities 

“am i a good grand master? will i ever be as valiant as vanessa?”

reassure her!!! tell her that she doesn’t need to be like vanessa, she’s already amazing as jean 

if you haven’t seen her in awhile, track her down and schedule a lunch date 

she never misses appointments and if it’s for you, she’ll gladly make time to see you even if she has to stay up even later than usual 

OH-

GIVE HER MASSAGES 

she has so much tension and the sorest muscles from hunching over papers and running around on errands 

if you sneak into her office and quietly stand behind her before gently pushing down on the sore tendons of her neck, she’ll genuinely fall over on her desk 

so make sure you steady her 😀

after you feel how tight her muscles are though, you drag her to barbara bc she needs a healer asap 😭

while most of your time is spent in her office - you helping out in the ways you can while jean is overseeing knight duties - you still have your fair share of life outside of the favonius headquarters

jean never likes to sit still so whenever you have free time, the both of you head off looking for monsters to clear

bouken da bouken???

adventuring w jean is seriously the funnest thing you could ever do 

it’s just non-stop you accidentally getting into trouble and her having to come help you 

even tho the both of you are dead tired after fighting, what? 20 hilichurl camps now??? the laughter and joy in your eyes shows how you both truly loved every minute of it

it’s both a stress reliever, good fun, and a work-out <3

you’re definitely prone to getting dragged to angel’s share w kaeya 

kaeya and jean sometimes hang out after work at the tavern so inevitably you’re dragged along too 

all three of you are drunk out of your minds which just makes everything a MILLION times funnier 

kaeya slurring over his words makes the two of you start cackling endlessly while diluc just shakes his head making sure to not give you more wine despite your pleas 

angel’s share ft. kaeya and bartender diluc are always the best times fr fr 

life with her literally feels like y’all are married 

so much domesticity it’s so NICE ALJDKSFH

your house is always so clean and the color scheme is impeccable bc jean has such a good eye 

you have a chore schedule 😎 but it almost never works out bc jean ends up doing everything without you knowing- 

you always confront her abt it and she’s like 😁 “i had some time so i did them! no worries tho” like i- time??? where bitc-

oH- she has amazing style so you can bet shopping w her is literally the best experience 

she takes you to all of the hidden gems some places lisa recommended and helps you pick out things 

will 100% get really blushy if you come out in something and ask her for her opinion tho she’s literally the cutest

basically jean is a sweet girl who deserves the entirety of teyvat that is all. 

thanks for reading! if you have any requests don’t hesitate to send them in <3 

[mel-the-fangirl]

The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

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You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you,  let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little. 

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough. 

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock. 

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year. 

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour? 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

-------------------------

The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times. 

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking. 

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

[astaroth1357]

Leviathan's Odyssey 7:

Flood

Mammon: Levi!!

*Mammon is the first to leap forward and run across the beach, faster than Lucifer could stop him. His enthusiasm, however, seems to wind down considerably when his brother doesn’t make any move to meet him… and then he retreats back to the others when a massive, serpentine head rises out from the water by the shore. This new beast is not quite as large as the one from before (which likely was Levi himself in some kind of horrific second form) but it could still swallow any one of brothers whole and looks very hungry and eager to do so… particularly when six other heads just like it come up to join the fun*

*Levi stops the clamoring hissing of the monstrous serpent with only the raise of a hand, leaving Lucifer to assume whatever it is, must be completely under his thrall… an impressive feat for a creature that size…*

Levi: This is Lotan. Don't mind him.

*as their formerly missing brother starts his stride across the beach, a growing knot begins to twist in the pit of the eldest’s stomach… The kind of feeling one gets when they’ve realized that they’re out of their element... but they’re up against someone else who very much is. Fighting to keep a composed demeanor, he waits until Levi’s right in front of them before responding*

Lucifer: You look well, Levi... I’m glad. Though I’m surprised you've turned up here of all places...

*Leviathan, maybe amused by the statement, sticks the end of his trident into the ground by his feet before smiling*

Levi: Same goes for you, but this is just my first stop. *he shrugs nonchalantly, glancing all his brothers over until his eyes land on… well, a new face*

Levi: And what’s that thing...?

*Lucifer follows his eyeline to baby Satan, currently peeking his blonde head out from the safety of his shirt. He had almost forgotten he was still holding him...*

Lucifer: Oh, well… I suppose this is your new brother…

Levi: You stole a kid??

Lucifer: Well, no. He’s uh... it’s complicated.

*Levi looks a tad confused but leans down to get a better look at the boy. Again, much to Lucifer’s surprise, their seemingly fearless child attempts to hide his face back into the fabric…*

Levi: Huh. Looks like your guppy’s shy. *he flashes yet another shark-toothed grin… where he had developed such a maw is a mystery to Lucifer… None of his brothers' teeth get that sharp*

Lucifer: He’s not usually… *one of his hands instinctively goes to shield Satan’s head. A part of him hopes that it’s only Levi’s appearance that he finds scary… but a greater part of him fears there’s more to it than that…*

*it doesn’t take Levi long to look past Satan and back to the others, all of whom are still grappling somewhere between a state of shock and guilt*

Levi: Well. I’m happy you all found each other. Up here... *they watch for a moment as his slitted eyes narrow slightly...*

Levi: ...without me.

*Mammon is again the first to step forward, putting a hand over his own chest*

Mammon: I looked for ya when we-

*he could continue but Levi cuts him off with a sudden spike in volume, picking his trident back up from the sand*

Levi: -and just look at the house you got! *he lifts the weapon over to the Demon Lord’s villa, sitting perched on a scenic hill above the beach* Doesn’t it look just… nice?

*the twisting in Lucifer’s gut is only getting worse… he doesn’t like where this is going…*

Lucifer: The house isn't ours, Leviathan… We’re borrowing it. We live somewhere farther inland...

*the way that Levi’s eyebrows raise only further cement his fears… For a moment, he swears he sees something flash in his eyes but it's gone too fast to identify it…*

Levi: So that means you have two then?

*they all watch in confusion as he bends down to scoop some sand between his fingers…  letting the white grains slip slowly from his grasp*

Lucifer: Two…? Two what?

Levi: Two territories. On dry land. *Levi watches the sand pour to the ground, seemingly mesmerized by how it falls, before returning back to his brothers*

Levi: I bet that really must be nice. Really… really nice. *Lucifer sees the look in his eye change again, but this time the darkness lingers… radiating what he can only describe as pure malice and envy*

Levi: But that doesn’t surprise me. You guys have always had it better than I have…

Mammon: Huh..? *Mammon raises an eyebrow, apparently blindsided by his comment* What the hell are ya talkin about, Levi?

*Lucifer can’t help but shoot a look at him, even for the innocent question. There’s something very different about the Levi before them right now… They shouldn’t risk giving him ammunition. Unfortunately, Levi’s eyes only narrow again but this time into deadly thin slits*

Levi: What am I talking about? Isn’t it obvious?? Or are you still just as dumb as ever, Mammon? *Levi sweeps his trident out to the side, baring his pointed teeth in a silent snarl*

Levi: All of you had it so much better in the Celestial Realm than I did! Mr. “Always Perfect” Lucifer and his stupid little lapdog, Mammon! Oh how everybody looked up to you! *he jerks his trident towards a frightened Asmodeus, the anger in his eyes only intensifying*

Levi: And then there’s you! Always sneaking out to parties and sleeping who knows where, but were you ever cast out for it?? No! Because you’d always go crying to Lucifer to get your way!!

Lucifer: That’s enough, Levi-!

*Leviathan’s tail lashes the beach sand, kicking up a cloud of white behind him and they hear the low hiss of the seven-headed beast still very much watching them…*

Levi: Shut up! I’m not done!! *his trident next jerks towards Beel and Belphie, the older of whom currently pushing the younger behind his back defensively*

Levi: And then there’s you two! Who could ever get enough of hearing how everybody loved the twins?? “Did you see what Beel did today?” “Hasn’t he gotten so big?” “He’s a shoe-in for seraphim for sure!” And if you had just stayed in your goddamn place, Belphie, then NONE OF US WOULD EVEN BE HERE RIGHT NOW!!!

Lucifer: LEVIATHAN, I SAID ENOUGH!! *Lucifer’s beach clothes quickly evaporate as they get replaced by his demon form, black wings towering high above his head, but Levi remains undaunted*

Levi: AND I TOLD YOU TO SHUT!! UP!!!

*the sky above them darkens as growing clouds bloat out the artificial sun, the sheer intensity of Levi’s rage apparently beginning to disturb the sea around them. The waves suddenly start getting choppy, bubbling up and crashing into each other furiously...*

*for a moment, Lucifer is astounded how Levi’s emotions alone could have such an effect on the currents, but that’s only until he looks a little closer… It’s no current or wind changing the waters, it's a horde of creatures struggling for space above the water’s surface: tails, fins, tentacles, and heads of all shapes and sizes breaching the formally calm seas to make their presence known. In a matter of moments, they find themselves outnumbered not by the tens or hundreds, but by the thousands… An ocean’s worth of monsters calling for their blood from across the shore…*

*as the brothers realize what they must be seeing, a collective horror casts over them… Levi himself takes a few deep breaths and raises his trident back to the army, quieting his troops once more, but they remain near the surface to watch for his orders. Dormant, but far from absent in their conflict… A tense silence hangs in the air but Lucifer is the first to break it with a quiet, harsh whisper*

Lucifer: Leviathan… What is the meaning of this? What are these things and why are you here?

*Levi slowly lowers his trident and glares back at his brother with a look that’s not smug, nor boastful. It holds nothing but anger and contempt for him and seemingly everyone around him...*

Levi: Shouldn’t it be obvious, Lucifer? I’m still a general, aren’t I? So what if my men look a little different now... *he digs the end of his trident into the sand, keeping his head aloft in a way Lucifer had only seen him do on the battlefield*

Levi: I want better land. I’m here for more territory and I’m starting with this beach. *though his voice is assured and commanding, Lucifer narrows his eyes at him just as Levi had done before*

Lucifer: No. I can’t let you do that. *Levi, of course, doesn’t back down for a second*

Levi: Well, too bad it wasn’t a request.

Lucifer: This beach and the land it’s attached to are all property of the Devildom and its ruler, Lord Diavolo. I cannot and will not just let you take it. *Lucifer’s words actually seem to give Levi a pause for thought, but more out of surprise than anything*

Levi: Wait, did you just say “Lord” Diavolo…? *he thinks for a moment before a smile finally comes back to his face, though this time with an air of mockery* Did you just call the Prince by his title? Don’t tell me you’re his lackey now, are you…??

*Lucifer, to his credit, doesn’t flinch or look away… but he doesn’t look particularly happy either*

Lucifer: I remain my own man, as I’ve always been… But I owe my loyalty to the Prince and I will oversee his interests as I see fit. *it seems regardless of his answer, Leviathan still snorts at him*

Levi: So you are!! And here I thought I’d never see you take a knee to a demon! Just how low have you sunk now, huh? *Lucifer opens his mouth to respond, but Mammon beats him to the punch*

Mammon: Would it kill ya to just shut up already, Levi?? We ain’t just gonna let ya take what you want! *despite his brother’s outburst, Levi only continues to look amused*

Levi: And you really think you can stop me?

*he raises his trident once more and an unearthly chorus is sung from the waves, a deadly hum of hissing and growls emitting from his waiting “soldiers,” itching to attack on his say so. Many most likely already having the reach or capability to pluck the other demons from the sands where they stand*

Levi: … you and what army?

*Mammon’s silence appears to be his answer as he glances anxiously to Lucifer… the rest of his brothers doing the same. In times like these, they all turn to the eldest to come up with a plan, but it seems that this time, Lucifer finds himself with limited options… He takes a moment to study his family’s faces - then the savage crowd of beasts surrounding them - with an expression that’s near unreadable…*

Lucifer: … I can call Lord Diavolo from here. What are your demands?

*there’s a sharp intake of breath from his brothers, not a one expecting him seemingly to back down so quickly*

Mammon: What?!

Asmo: Lucifer?? You can’t be serious!! *though his brothers are stunned, Lucifer doesn’t take his eyes off of Levi while still maintaining his stoic expression*

Lucifer: If this is the bed he wants to lie in, then so be it… 

*he and Levi glare at each other momentarily, before the other finally says something in response*

Levi: Tell your prince that I’ll start flooding Devildom within the next twenty minutes… If he hands over his territory willingly, then I’ll let him evacuate anyone living on it. Otherwise, it makes no difference to me.

Lucifer: If that’s really what you want… But Levi? *Lucifer waits until he has his full attention to make his point clear… His expression may have even softened some… Is it with worry? Maybe even disappointment?* 

Lucifer: Don’t do anything you may regret…

*Leviathan looks at him for a few seconds more, before turning his back to them entirely*

Levi: … You have my demands, don’t you? *as he starts to walk away, Lucifer says something else just barely loud enough for him to hear*

Lucifer: You’ve changed… Leviathan.

*for a split second, Levi’s steps falter… but he doesn’t stop nor turn back to respond*

Levi: I’m just who I need to be… Lucifer.

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

[julieloveupstead]

"I'm Never Leave You" - Upstead

CHAPTER 3

Hailey when she got to the district with Kevin did her best to keep herself occupied with something, so she wouldn't have to think about the meeting with Voight that was bound to happen, after all, you can't hide from you forever. She was grateful to Jay that he knew she wasn't ready at that moment and that she needed to occupy her thoughts with something, she needed to be busy, so she did. She sat in the Wire Room and looked through files of similar cases, but she couldn't focus on anything in the world. Furthermore, she kept the events of the last few hours in front of her eyes and even though she knew it was all meaningless now, she couldn't help wondering if things would have ended differently if Voight hadn't split her up with Jay after Adam and Kevin's argument. When Voight decided for her to go with him and Adam, without Jay, she felt a strange pressure in her stomach as if she expected something bad might have happened and if only she had listened to her instincts. Damn, why did it all seem so logical now, as if the flaps had fallen from her eyes, and now she could see more clearly. From the very beginning, Voight has been manipulating her and taking advantage of how she was treated by her own father. Did he treat Erin the same way? Was that the reason she left? Was everything that happened with Al those few years ago because of Voight? What about Antonio, was he manipulated by Voight too? What about Jay? Hailey has felt like she's in some kind of matrix ever since this happened, which has given her a headache.

- Goldilocks, what are you doing here? - She was pulled out of her thoughts by the voice of the Desk Sergeant.

- How is Serge? - Hailey asked, trying to keep her tone of voice normal.

- I could ask you the same thing. - The older woman sat down opposite Hailey and watched her carefully.

- I do not know what you are talking about, Trudy. I am doing my job, after all. - She really tried for an ordinary tone, and to confirm her words Hailey started to hit the keys, but for some reason her hands started to shake.

- Hailey, I've known you for a long time and I know that when something happens you run off to work, and you've been staring at the same page on the computer for 30 minutes. - Sergeant Pratt said with her usual omniscient tone. - Hailey, you're hiding it well, but I've got eyes. You've been acting strangely for the past few weeks. Your lover boy, too.

- How do you know? Since when did you know? - she looked surprised at the Sergeant, who was looking at her with satisfaction written all over her face. She was panicked because if Platt had guessed, then the rest of them probably already knew too. Damn. This wasn't how she wanted her friends to find out.

- I suspected right from the start, even when you were blindsided. Those looks in your eyes, the way you lost your head when Jay went missing those two years ago, Jay walking around like a kicked puppy left out in the rain when you left, and that horrified look on Jay's face when you got that package from the Feds. Luckily, you guys wised up, because it was really sad looking at you. - Seeing Hailey's surprised look, Trudy started to explain as if Jay and her were the most obvious thing in the world. - But rest assured, I only had confirmation when I saw you two at Kim's hospital last night. Jay was watching over you, more than an eye in your head. And the way he took you in his arms, if I had tears in my eyes I would cry - she finished ironically.

Hailey remembered as if through a haze what happened after she got home from what happened in that warehouse, and the hospital stay completely like a black hole.

- Listen carefully because I'm going to say this once and if anyone asks I'm going to deny everything, okay? - Hailey nodded, holding back a laugh. Because maybe knowing that someone knew about them was scary, the fact that the first person was Trudy wasn't so scary. Even Hailey had to admit to herself that she even enjoyed it a lot. The Sergeant had always been an authority figure to her. Thanks to her, she had become a police officer and whenever she had a confusion in her head Trudy appeared and everything seemed to make sense. Once, she even caught herself thinking that she would like to have a mother like Trudy, who is strong and doesn't allow herself to be blown away. She obviously loves her mother, but her relationship with her is complicated. The older woman has really been a bit like a mother to her, and therefore the fact that she knows about one of the most important things in her life is not even that scary.

- I don't know anyone who is more deserving of such love and happiness as the two of you.

- Thank you, Trudy - as if out of nowhere, they heard Jay's voice. Hailey turned and saw Jay leaning against the door frame watching them with a big smile. The blonde couldn't help but return the smile. How grateful she felt for her boyfriend and for the older woman who looked at them with pride was beyond description. Her family relationships were complicated and difficult to understand, even though she loved her mum, dad and brothers in their own way she had never felt so happy, loved as by this family she now had before her.

Jay walked over to Hailey and kissed the top of her head, making her cheeks redden, knowing that this time they were not alone in the room.

- Alright kids I'll leave you to it because it's getting too nice, and that doesn't bode well for my reputation for being stern and cold,' the Desk Sergeant stood up proudly and winked at both of them, to which the pair laughed. She stopped still at the door and turned to her charges. - If you want to talk about what happened in the evening you found Kim, because I know something happened, you know where to find me. - And with that she left the room.

- How does she know that? - asked a stunned Hailey, looking with wide eyes at the spot where the Sergeant had been standing just a moment ago.

- 'I don't know. She's Trudy Platt, after all, it's her job to know everything. - He shrugged his shoulders, stepping closer to his girlfriend. - Hey, don't worry, Platt won't say anything to anyone. - He assured, knowing that Hailey wasn't ready to go public with their relationship yet.

- I know, it's not about that. - She shook her head. Jay squatted down and waited for her to continue. He could see that Hailey was trying to find the right words, so he caught her hands with his, her palms, and used his thumbs to draw near indeterminate patterns to support her. - How does she know... Mmmm. Damn. - She snorted in exasperation.

- I mean, how does he know something happened then. - She mouthed so quietly that Jay, crouching close to her, had to really strain to hear what she was saying.

- Hey, Hailey, maybe the Sergeant didn't mean what happened in that warehouse - Jay immediately guessed what his girlfriend meant and lowered his voice, so no unwanted ears would hear. - Hey, take it easy, Honey. No one is going to find out about anything. I'm not gonna let Voight drag you down with him. You didn't do anything wrong, remember that, okay? - Hailey just nodded her head without conviction.

- Did you find out anything? - Changed the subject, Hailey, backing away from Jay. She knew she was acting out of character with her partner, but she needed something to occupy her head. The realization that someone might know something about what happened with Ray scared her more than the fact that they might know something about their relationship. She was afraid that Voight would plunge her down with himself and thus lose the two most important things in her life, Jay and her job, and without them, she didn't exist.

- Am. Nothing concrete. Serge gave me this temporary command - as usual, he understood her perfectly and knows exactly what she needs.

- So he will not be here today? - she asked close to tears and hope.

- Yes, you won't see him today - he said, and it didn't escape his notice that Hailey relaxed at once on this news.

- Christ, Jay, what are we going to do next? - she asked, close to tears again.

- Hailey,...

- I can't avoid him forever, they will find out sooner or later. - Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. When Jay wanted to grab Hailey's hands again, she broke free and stood up violently, thus pushing the man away. - I'm going to lose my job, do you understand? So many efforts, so many sleepless nights, so many sacrifices. So much to prove that I deserve to be a policewoman, to be here in this place - Hailey was already in hysterics, he had no control over what he was saying and thinking. Images of the warehouse where Roy was killed kept flying through his head and in front of his eyes. - Damn it, my father was right. I don't deserve anything. - and after those words, she ran out.

She had to get out of there, she couldn't stand to be around Jay any longer. She knew he wanted to help her, and she appreciated every second, every little bit of support she got from him, but she felt that if she stayed in that room a moment longer she would explode and do something she would regret. When she got to the bathroom she checked to make sure no one was inside and when she was sure she was alone she closed the door and let herself cry. She wanted it all to be over and back to normal. She didn't want to be afraid to come to work, didn't want her to have a panic attack every time she heard the Sergeant's name and voice. She wanted a normal life, with Jay.

Jay was concerned about the state Hailey was in, but he knew she needed to be alone right now to control her emotions, even though he was twisting to run after her and hold her in his arms and never let her go.

- Jay, we found something - Kevin appeared out of nowhere in the room.

- 'Okay, I'll be right up. - Jay wiped his face with his hand and looked at his friend. The detective hoped Kevin wouldn't see the tears that had come to Jay's eyes after Hailey had run out in despair, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

- Are you okay? - asked a worried Kev as he spotted his friend arriving.

- Mmm, yes - Jay tried to sound composed and confident. - What did you find? - he tried to focus on the case.

- Emmm - Kevin, concerned for his friend, had forgotten what he had come for, and it took him a moment to remember. - And that I found some similar cases, but I'll tell you all about it upstairs. And one more thing, Adam showed up, and so I led him into the case. - Kevin explained. Jay, who was walking next to him, just nodded his head.

Jay was unable to say anything, the only thing he could think about right now was Hailey. Where had she gone? Is she safe? Won't she do something to herself? Jay once again promised himself that if he saw Voight again today, he wouldn't be so nice this time. But he hoped he wouldn't see his Sergeant's face again today, at least.

When he and Kevin Jay entered the bullpen he didn't see Hailey anywhere and that seriously worried him, but while he felt like running immediately and looking for her, he had to take care of business now, and besides he felt that Hailey wanted to be alone right now.

- 'Okay gentlemen, what have you got? - he got straight to the point.

- Two bodies were found at the scene, one of which we've already identified. It's a Nathan Robertson. He's got a record. He did 3 years for battery, he's also got convictions for possession and drug dealing. He got out 3 months ago - Adam on the board showed a photo of the man in question - He was 25 years old. I called his family, but neither his mother nor father had been in contact with him for 2 years. - He continued. He looked for a moment for something in his briefcase, took out a piece of paper, and handed it to Jay. It was an abbreviated copy of the information he was now giving out loud. - As for the other, we still don't know who he is. We suspect he either has no record or is not from Chicago. Trudy is still looking in the missing person's database, maybe we can find something there,' Kevin added. Jay nodded, assimilating the information.

- 'Okay, so when did the shooting happen? Do we have any witnesses? Any word from the coroner yet? - Jay asked his colleagues.

- Neighbours heard two shots at 7am, which the coroner confirmed, but neither of them reported it, as they say it was none of their business, and they didn't want to get hit for reporting a crime. - People's disinterest kills police officers. If people weren't so afraid, if they weren't so indifferent to what was going on around them, this world would look completely different.

- As you can guess, there were not many witnesses. The only thing we know is that the day before, someone was hanging around this house. I haven't established the owners of the house yet. - Kevin said.

- I found similar 6 attacks in New York and 4 in Los Angeles. A year ago, LAPD arrested a man named Peter Allende. - He handed the tablet to Jay.

- And they connected these attacks to New York? - spoke up Hailey, who had now joined them imperceptibly. Jay looked at her carefully. It was obvious she had been crying, but she had put on a mask of professionalism, but Jay knew her too well and knew that these were just appearances in front of people not to ask questions.

It was tempting for the brunet to pull her close and hug her tightly, but they had work to do, and besides, one look was all it took for him to know that for a small moment Hailey wanted to feel normal and not think about what had happened. Jay respected that.

Hailey tried to pull herself together to focus on what was most important at the moment, which was the double murder case. And that was the only reason she was able to stand in front of her two colleagues and her boyfriend right now. She directed all the strength she still had in her to track down the criminal while she still had a chance, because there was no telling how long she would be a police officer. So she turned off every other thought, cut off everything that would distract her, and focused on this one task.

- No. Because, unlike the LA attacks, it involved one man with his nephew (who committed suicide, by the way, a few months after he was arrested), they attacked poor people's flats, and, most importantly, guns. Allende strangled the victims. - Kevin explained.

- So what's the connection to the NY case, LA and ours? - wondered Jay - Oh right this - for a moment Kevin clicked something on his tablet, then surrendered it to the detective.

Jay looked at three pictures of a packet of drugs with a flower stamp drawn on them, each flower was a different color, and then handed it to Hailey.

- The same marks on the drugs? - Jay remarked, and Kevin nodded in confirmation.

- Why didn't the LAPD pay attention to this earlier? Why didn't they connect it to those robberies in New York? - Asked Hailey, handing the tablet back to Atwater.

- Did you talk to Homicide? - Adam asked Jay.

- Yeah, but I didn't find out much. At this point, it was kind of the first attack in the Chicago area. - replied Jay, scratching the back of his neck.

- What about Voight? - Kev asked. Jay instinctively cast a worried glance at Hailey standing next to him. Hailey didn't let anyone notice her nervous swallowing of saliva and clenching of her hands into fists, but she knew that no matter how hard she tried, Jay would always notice any even minimal change in her behavior.

However, Hailey had promised herself that she wouldn't lose her cool again, at least not here at work, not in front of people, so she ignored Jay's worried look.

She can't let something like 30 minutes ago happen again.

- I don't know - the brunet shrugged his shoulders. - He gave me temporary command of the case. - Hailey looked at Jay surprised by the words, although earlier in the wire room he had already told her about it. - We're supposed to be working with Homicide, Sergeant Smith should be here any minute, with his men. - He said looking at his watch and as if on cue Trudy appeared, followed by two men.

- Detective Halstead, this is Sergeant Smith and Officer Wilson. - The Desk Sergeant introduced the guests. Jay nodded to her in acknowledgement and she left.

- 'Hello Sergeant. These are my colleagues, Officer Ruzek and Officer Atwater - he introduced - And this is my partner Detective Upton - he pointed to Hailey.

After introductions and a few kind words, the whole team moved on to the case.

- So to sum it up, Kevin said, "Two young guys decided to have some fun, so they got into possession of drugs, then someone came in and shot them. That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?

- I think so too," said the still silent Hailey. - I'm just wondering where the drugs came from in that house, in New York and in Los Angeles.

- And why didn't LAPD link this to the New York case? - Jay added - Okay, we need to find out who the owner of this house is and identify the other boy, Adam will take care of that? - the man in question nodded and immediately started following instructions.

- Kevin if you could see if there are any amphetamines with that tag on them before and ask your CI if they know anything. I mean everything: about new dealers on the market, by the way, you know what I mean. - Jay told Kevin, who also rightly got to work. - 'Mr Sergeant and Officer Wilson, I'd like you to bring me all the files on fatal burglaries from the last two maybe three months,' he addressed Sergeant Smith and his colleague.

Hailey had a strange feeling that this Wilson was looking suspiciously too long at Jay, not that she was too jealous or anything, just a small remark like that.

- 'And Hailey and I will take care of talking to the NYPD and LAPD, okay? - Jay calmly said to the blonde.

- Okay, so what, I'm New York, and you're Los Angeles? - she allowed herself a little joke as the Homicide cops walked away.

- I don't know. - He pretended to think about it as he approached Hailey. - Don't you think it's too risky? - He scratched his chin, picking up on her game. Maybe they need at least a break from all this for a while.

- And why is that? - Hailey also approached Jay and asked in an innocent voice.

- They'll remember you and try to take you away from me again. - He turned around, checking that no one was around, and then touched his hand to Hailey's cheek, who closed her eyes. She wanted to tell him to back off because they were at work after all, but when she felt him touch her, she gave in to it.

Every time Jay touched her, all that other stuff stopped mattering, the only thing that mattered was that they were together, and the rest didn't matter.

- Hailey, look at me please - she slowly opened her eyes and was met with a loving and tender look that she always has reserved only for her and from which her heart beats 100 times more, he put his other hand on my other cheek. - I can't lose you anymore, Angel.

- Jay... - She wanted to interrupt him, but to poor effect.

- I love you so damn much - in Jay's eyes, Hailey noticed tears and panicky fear.

- And I love you, Jay - she whispered, watching her boyfriend vigilantly.

- 'Promise me that if it gets hard, that you feel it's too much, you'll tell me right away, okay?

- Mhmm, okay - Hailey didn't quite understand what Jay meant and wasn't sure if she would be able to tell him everything every time. She still has a lot of fear inside her, boundaries that she doesn't want to, and is actually afraid to reach with her thoughts, let alone say them. Even to him, the man she trusts most in the world. The biggest barrier he is afraid to cross is that if he knows everything about her, he will conclude that it wasn't worth fighting for and leave.

- I'm not going anywhere, I will never, ever leave you. - Jay as usual acts like he's reading her mind. - We'll deal with everything, sweetheart, I promise. - He pulled her close and hugged her tightly. Hailey knew they shouldn't be cuddling in the middle of the bullpen and maybe someone would come and see them soon, but she needed this. She needed those words, his touch and the sound of his heart. She needed him, and it hits her harder every time. The fact that this man loves her so much after what he has learned about her is something extraordinary.

When she put her arms around him tightly and heard his heartbeat, she closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and let it out. She drew that soothing scent of Jay that she associates with safety and love into her lungs and didn't want her to ever forget it. For the first time since crossing the threshold of this building, she could breathe freely.

She really hadn't expected how much she needed it and how much she needed the words that had just come out of Jay's mouth. Every time, she marvels at how Jay is able to read her mind and without any words knows what she needs. Maybe soul mates actually exist and Jay is hers, and she is his?

- We should probably get on with the job, don't you think? - She pulled away from him slightly, so she could look at him. She forced herself to get them both back down to earth, though this bubble they both created only lasted a few moments.

- Just don't fall for the NYPD's sweet talk - Jay nodded with a slight smile.

- I won't be so easily persuaded to change my mind, and besides, I'll be talking to the NYPD, not the FBI after all - Hailey remarked. Jay, still, kissed her on the top of her head and moved away from her.

- We should probably get on with the job, don't you think? - She moved slightly away from him, so she could look at him. She forced herself to get them both back down to earth, though this bubble they both created only lasted a few moments.

- Just don't fall for the NYPD's sweet talk - Jay nodded with a slight smile.

- I won't be so easily persuaded to change my mind, and besides, I'll be talking to the NYPD, not the FBI after all - Hailey remarked. Jay, still, kissed her on the top of her head and moved away from her.

- Jay? - Hailey turned to look at Jay for a moment more before dialing a number. - I love you so damn much too. - She whispered so no one else could hear, but loud enough that Jay wouldn't have a problem with it.

Hailey felt that whatever got in their way whether it was Voight or her fears or whatever fate put in front of them, they would make it because they have each other, and they love each other very much.

Because Jay and Hailey are soul mates.

Because Jay is Hailey's safe haven, rock, anchor home and love of her life.

Because Hailey is Jay's safe haven, rock, anchor home and love of his life.

[randomoranges]

rambly fic thing as always. 

Boxed Up

It’s a quiet dinner, safe for the scrape of forks against the dinner plates. Well – mostly his fork against his dish. Étienne’s been playing with his food more than actually eating at it, digging out the wild mushrooms from the risotto and chewing on them for longer than necessary. He’s been this way for the better part of the week and Edward has no idea what’s been eating at him. He’s asked, on more than one occasion, but Étienne’s been cagey. Edward’s giving him until the weekend before sitting him down proper and confronting him about whatever’s been bothering him. It’s been a hell of a week and a crazy month at that too, so it could be a myriad of different things, for all he knows.

 He’d ask now, over dinner, but they’re both tired and he’s not sure he has enough energy for pushing the issue until it’s solved. He feels as though he’ll just end up hurting his partner by saying the wrong thing, despite the best of his intentions. Therefore, he gives Étienne space and just hopes that he’ll come around in his own time. He can tell that Étienne wants to breech whatever has been bothering him, but he too is looking for the right time. Edward worries. Always. It’s part of his nature. He knows how Étienne can get and doesn’t want that for him.

 Edward’s about to clear the dishes, seeing as Étienne’s made little to no progress on his meal, when, as if reading his mind, his boyfriend speaks out, quiet and fragile, over his mound of simmered rice and mushrooms.

 “Are you happy?” He asks and Edward blinks, wondering if he’s even heard right.

 “What?” He asks intelligibly, the question having taken him by surprise.

 “Are you bored?” Étienne asks instead.

 “What?” He repeats, a broken machine that has failed to comprehend the simply task that’s been asked of it.

 “Of us. Are you bored of us – our relationship – our lives? Are you happy being here – with me and our life?”

 He blinks again. He has no idea where this is coming from. He would have never guessed that this has been the issue plaguing his boyfriend’s mind. He wonders what this means. Where Étienne wants to go with this and if it isn’t some cataclysm to something bigger and mightier.

 Instead, he takes a sip of water to buy him some time to ponder the best way to answer these questions other than stating the obvious. At least – the obvious to him.

 “I’m not bored,” He says, finally, “And I’m quite happy with our life together.”

 He thinks maybe that will be that and Étienne will be content with the answer, but he’s known the other for too long and so he’s able to tell that there’s still more gnawing at his mind.

 “Are you – unhappy? Bored? Is this what this is about?” He asks, fear taking hold of his own mind. Is Étienne about to tell him that he wants a break? Wants to end this? Edward would be devastated. Blindsided as well.

 “What – no! I like our life!” He says quickly, almost insulted Edward would suggest otherwise. “I’m just – it’s just – don’t you find we spend too much time together?”

 Sometimes, he wishes Étienne could be clear when he talks about things that are bothering him. The roadmap to the real issue is always a complicated mess with sharp turns and pedantic questions that lead from one existential dilemma to another, until finally, with careful word choice, Edward is able to get to the real root of the problem. He momentarily wishes Étienne would have waited until the weekend to expose his issues – when they’d both be more rested, but he supposes he’ll take what he can. At least, he thinks, Étienne is talking. In his own complicated way.

 “What do you mean?”

 “We’re literally always together. We work together. You drive me to work. We have lunch together – often. We do things on weekends together – usually. Aren’t you afraid that at some point you’ll get bored? Is this what life is all about? Is this what you really want out of your life? Don’t you wish it was more exciting? Is this what you wanted when you were younger?”

 He’s getting closer to the nucleus, Edward can tell, but there are still some other red flags popping up along the way that Edward wants to address. To make sure Étienne is okay. That there isn’t some other bigger issue hidden in the shadows.

 “I mean – no, I don’t think I saw myself living this exact life when I was a teenager – then again, I didn’t think much beyond what I would be doing next weekend. But, I don’t feel suffocated by the time we spend together. We’re not always together either, even if we do work at the same place. It might be a little unconventional, but we have our own friends we see without the other and activities we do on our own. Like when I go skiing over March break and you go down south with Emma.” He tries and hopes he’s hit a mark. Étienne nods, as if reassured by this and Edward lets out a breath he’s been holding.

 “I can’t speak for the future, but right now, I’m not bored. It might not be the most exciting life, but I like it just fine... I like what we’re building together.” There’s a pause and when Étienne doesn’t say anything, he figures he’ll take a shortcut, “What’s this all really about, Étienne?”

 Étienne sighs deeply and decapitates his mound of risotto with the back of his fork. “I don’t know,” He starts and then jabs the rice, “I mean – I do, but – it’s just – we’ve been together for a while now – years, really and it’s just – I’d hate for you to wake up one morning, turn around and realise that this has been a waste. That you’ve missed out on some big adventure or something.”

 He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s always considered his life with Étienne to be his big adventure. In all his wildest dreams, he’d never thought he’d get this – stability, a partner he loves and who loves him back – even when he drives him crazy.

 “When did we become boring, old queers, Ed?”

 This time, he does laugh – a soft little chuckle – and he also reaches over for Étienne’s hand to give it a squeeze.

 “I think we’re just getting older. We want different things and are at different points in our lives.”

 “Are we though? I mean – I remember when I was twenty and hitting the clubs. I had some crazy, wild fun nights, at the time. Meeting new people, staying up ‘til all hours. Hooking up. Going to one party after another. God, when’s the last time we even had drag brunch? You used to bring me to those all the time! When’s the last time you even saw your friends from drag?! Now we’re just – two people. Where’s our rebellious spark?!”

 Edward quiets. Étienne has a point. He remembers his own youth, way back when, and the crazy things he’d done. The trips with his friends to other queer cities, the drag shows he’d gotten involved with, volunteering for Pride and such. It feels like a different lifetime ago – something that could have even happened to a different person all together. Had they really done any of those things?

 “When’s the last time we even saw any of our queer friends? It’s like the only circle we’re involved in now is the teacher one. I had to find out through Facebook that Steven and Max broke up. Steve and Max!”

 There we go, Edward thinks, the nucleus.

 “If they can break up then who’s to say it can’t happen to us?”

 The news had come as a blow to both of them, really. Edward had met Steve and Max through Étienne and even then, already, they had been Steve-and-Max. They’d been together for nearly twenty years and were an inspiration, really. Despite being together, they were still active in the community, still went out, and still enjoyed life. Max had even proposed to Steve, a few years ago, and anyone who’d seen the video of the proposal had cried at how utterly sweet and romantic it was.

 “Sweetheart, listen – no one knows for sure what’s going to happen to us in the future. But I promise I’m not bored and I like being with you. If ever anything changes, I would absolutely tell you. The best we can do is to take it a day at a time and check in with each other, if ever we feel like something is off.”

 “I guess,” Étienne mumbles, “But when did it get like this? When did we get washed out?

Sometimes I feel like I’ve been erased. That any personality trait I have or had is gone. All I am is a teacher. Day in and day out. I only ever get to be myself on few occasions. Convenient periods of time pre-established by the school agenda. When did I stop being the person you met when we started dating? When we used to do things that were something else than Being a Teacher?”

 Edward doesn’t say anything. He gets it. So much. It has never fully occurred to him, but Étienne has hit the nail on the head. There have been times, when, upon reflection, he’s felt as though the institution of school has been like a closet and that he’s been forced back in it. Hiding who he is. Not being his true authentic self, but some persona. The teacher persona. Sure, he hasn’t exactly rocked the boat and announced to the school that he’s queer, but he also doesn’t want to. Because it’s his personal life. And because there’s some deep fear anchored deep within him. It might be the twenty-first century, but it’s not a walk in the park either. So he’s kept quiet. Has hidden things about himself, when once, years ago, he had never shied away from being gay.

 Therefore, M Édouard and Edward are two different people. He wonders, briefly, who gets to see the real Edward Murphy and if there’s ever been one, or if, instead, each facet is a part of the real Edward. It’s late and he’s tired. This isn’t the time or day for this type of talk or thought, yet now it nags at him as well, calling for attention.

 “We started dating over summer break – we didn’t have to worry about work and we had all the time in the world. Plus, that was years ago, we’ve also changed – we want new things now.” He tries, repeats, and hopes he sounds as convincing as he’s meant to be – as reassuring.

 “Then why does it feel like settling?”

 Why does it, really?

 “If you could,” He says instead, “What would you do differently?”

 Étienne, this time, is silent as he ruminates. “I don’t know – I mean, I guess the obvious would be to actually talk about my boyfriend when asked. All the teachers with kids keep talking about their goddamned outing apple picking and showing off pictures of their kids with the apples and whatever. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cute but all I ever hear is about the kids, what happened at daycare and weekends up north. I want to talk about my night out at the club, or show pictures of me and my boyfriend on vacation, or whatever other basic human thing I’ve done with my partner without having to fear I’ll get spat at. Or something.  I want to be able to exist. Fully. Not just in parts. I don’t want to be afraid when I show the kids a new artist who happens to be queer. I don’t want to gloss over the facts. I want to wear nail polish to school if I want to. Every inane thing I never questioned before. Most of all, I just want to be.”

 Edward wonders if it would be different if there was actual tangible support they could see. If other teachers spoke about these things – about their queer friends and family – about themselves; if it would feel different and safe. He wonders how many others of their own colleagues are in the same situation and keep to themselves out of fear and he wonders about the other queer teachers who don’t even have a friend or confidant at work. He considers himself lucky, really, that somehow, Étienne managed to find work at his school – that they’ve found each other. Even when they’d only been friends. It had been a blessing to be able to confide in Étienne, then – to have someone who got it.

 “We can always try,” He says after a lapsed moment of silence, “To be more of ourselves – to test the waters, so to say. If someone’s gotta do it, why not us?” He’s not sure how it’ll look, but – they can give it a shot. Take the proverbial baby step. See how it goes.

 “I guess you’re right – just wish it wasn’t always so – exhausting.”

 They leave it at that for now and clear off the table. Once the dishes are done and the leftovers boxed up in the refrigerator, they retire to the living room. Étienne finds solace in Edward’s arms and the two spend a quiet evening replaying the previous conversation in their minds, lost in their own rambling thoughts. There’s a lot to process and they’re both painfully aware that change will take time.

 “What if we tried to actively re-engage with the community – go back to our old hangouts – call up our friends?” Edward suggests, sometime later.

 Étienne ponders this for a moment and then nods, “We might as well try.”

 They may as well. If not them, then who?

 FIN

[the-darklings]

—𝒃𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅;

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 13.7k+

summary: There’s only so much you can push a person before something cracks and breaks permanently. 

warnings: swearing, angst, strong violence (the usual lol)

notes: ahhhh it’s good to be back! I’ve missed you guys SO MUCH!! And I hope you all missed COA too. As always, thank you for your incredible support. ENJOY!!!

children of ares series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | . . | 10 |

You move down the staircase quickly, your feet nimble against the concrete as you approach the large, blinding white car.

Across from you, Ares greets you with a subdued grin and hands clasped in front of her. She can no doubt read your expression, read the way your jaw and fingers keep flexing and your eyes shimmer with emotion. Beside Ares, Roberto shifts, clearly wary of how this will go, but moves to open the car door for you.

No other car you recognise is around, and if it had been anyone other than Winston himself telling you about Santino surrounding the place, you won’t have believed them.

It’s peaceful.

Or at least as peaceful as New York City can be at rush hour.

Why would you let him do this? you sign and know that your movements are sharp with anger.

Ares frowns slightly, nonplussed by your display of irritation and gives you a pointed look.

Did you really think we would just stand by and watch?

You have nothing to say in reply to that. Because if the situation had been reversed and it had been Santino, or even Ares herself, you wouldn’t have let it go either. You would have fought for them. But the mere thought of how close it all came to ending very badly cramps your stomach with an anxious, crippling sort of fear.

You don’t want to lose anyone else.

Sharing a long look, you both stand in silence for a moment before you incline your head and slide inside the large vehicle.

Green eyes watch you from behind his folded fingers that rest in front of his face. He looks solemn in a way you rarely see from him. He’s always been on the showy side. Santino likes making spectacles of his power. You imagine it appeals to his egoistical nature—his natural thirst for more, always more.

The world and everything in it is not enough.

In the seconds that take for Roberto to close the door, neither of you speak, silently observing the other with a grave sort of seriousness.

The door slams shut and the stillness between you stretches.

“Of all the stupid things to do, Santino,” you begin eventually, emotionless, direct. “What were you thinking?”

He doesn’t answer you. It takes another prolonged moment to realise what exactly he is doing. He’s drinking in the sight of you. Perhaps because he—even more so than you—realises how much of a close call this has been. Certainly the closest since Chicago.

“Why would you do this?” you demand after another lull of quiet between you, desperate for some sort of clarification.

His silence is starting to make you uncomfortable. Because it drags on and on and on. Because he is here and—

“I gave you my word, (Name). I swore to you,” he says, at last, finally lowering his hands into his lap. He shifts in his seat and the intensity of his regard makes you uneasy. Danger crowds all around you because deep down you know that right now Santino may say something that will crumble that wall between you. “Do you know how many times I have done so, and not gotten rid of the other party immediately after?”

You swallow and shake your head.

“Once,” he reveals to you, his features drawn and voice flat. “Only you. Does that adequately answer your question, carissima?”

“And if it had ended in blood?”

Something flickers across his expression; something cold and vicious and cruel. “Then so be it,” he intones softly; a cutting caress, a purr of his accent that sinks into you. “I would have torn that building apart brick by brick to get to you.”

“Stop.”

His expression creases with confusion.

“Stop,” you repeat, tighter, pained. “You don’t—I know you, Santino. All you care about is power. You will always choose Camorra first, despite what you might think. We both know that.”

His features harden at that, his eyes narrowing. There is nothing he can say because you’re right. It doesn’t make you angry or sad anymore. You have gone through this before. And you know he cares—that there is that small shred of him that’s still capable of good, and he shows it to you.

But John cared too, and he still left.  

“It’s okay. They’re your family,” you soothe with a small, forlorn smile. “You’re the blood of Camorra. What was it that you said to me once? Blood for blood? Those are your family’s words. I’m grateful for what you did, I am. More than you know but don’t ever do that again. You don’t risk your position for me.”

He sits up abruptly, his composure cracking around the edges and you instinctively tense before relaxing. His eyes rage as he stares at you, his elbows resting on his thighs and the charged silence between you hangs. His head dips slightly and his lips twist into a slight, biting smile.  

“I gave you the word of old Camorra,” he reminds softly, and leans so close you smell him—can feel the heat of him in your space. “I don’t think you quite grasp the severity of such a promise, cara. In the eyes of the High Table, I made an unbreakable vow to protect you. They could never—”

“You would have broken one of their two sacred rules to protect me,” you argue immediately, and that pang of worry you felt earlier sharpens your words. “The table would have outvoted Camorra and consequences of that—”

“I don’t care about the consequences.”

You gaze at him silently. The stubborn tilt of his chin, at that unyielding, wilful look in his eyes, the inherent pride with which he holds himself. Santino usually doesn’t care for consequences, you know that, but this is not like other times.

“Don’t you?” you whisper gently, sadly, and unleash a question that’s been plaguing you for years, knowing full well the damage it will do. “So if it came down to a choice between myself and Camorra?”

He jerks back, his previously parted lips pressing shut tightly at your question. With a flicker, the enraged worry fades and something distant takes its place. You see it happen, watch how he puts up his own wall up brick-by-brick. It empties his expression of that achingly familiar fondness and openness he shows seemingly only to you. The Camorra heir is the only thing left. A shell of a man you know. A shell that he shows others but not you, never you. Not anymore.

Chaos rages in his eyes but he doesn’t speak a word, clearly caught off guard by your purposeful backing into a corner.

There is no correct way to answer this. He cares for you. But he loves Camorra—it’s everything to him. His past, present, and future too. Regardless of how he might feel about his ties and position in it. If he means his words about protecting you, then he would have to sacrifice everything.

So maybe he cares, and maybe he wants to protect you, but you are not worth everything.

At least this time, you are not blindsided by the care of another to see that truth.

“That’s what I thought,” you note quietly and he swallows, unblinking. You try for a smile and reach out, lightly placing your fingers on his still hand, squeezing once. “It’s okay, grumpy. I would never ask you to make that choice anyway.”

You release your hold on him and move to open the door but he intercepts you, his burning fingers latching onto your wrist. Your eyes meet and his stare is frenzied as he peers at you, clearly looking for something to say.

“You. I—”

You can count on one hand the number of times you have seen Santino of all people struggling for words. But they seem to have escaped him, and you wait another moment before freeing your wrist from his hold, giving him a terse smile.

“Please, don’t lie to me,” you request seriously, and open the car door. “Not you.”

He doesn’t try to stop you again.

Unlike the last time you were here, there’s no rain. This time, the sun shines high and bright, its rays warming the skin of your cheek as you stare blankly ahead.

The ceremony is modest but Marcus has never had many friends. Such is the life of an assassin for hire. You are loyal to no one but yourself. Some have friends, others even create families but that rarely ends well unless you have the power to keep them hidden and safe. And even then, accidents happen and misfortune befalls people at most unexpected times and you know that well.

The casket sits surrounded by a sea of flowers, beautiful and lustrous, and your eyes move away, making you shift in your black dress uncomfortably. You never did sort out your problems before he—

The sun shining directly in your eyes makes your head hurt even more, and you blink the blinding rays away. The last three days have been dedicated to your work. To crushing ingredients and extracting necessary compounds for your solutions and poisons. It’s been long hours of boiling, drying and distilling different ingredients. Poison making takes time and precision. Your stock has been running dangerously low due to your busy schedule over these last few months, and this has been as good a time as any. An escape. Besides, you didn’t want to appear suspicious. It’s a known fact that you often disappear for close to a week, completely submerging yourself in work. If the High Table is watching, they will see you simply carrying on with your normal routine.

You’ve also left a message with Charon before disappearing. No one but Winston or the High Table itself is to disturb you.

Not like it has stopped Santino from trying. You haven’t answered any of his calls or texts. Or John’s for that matter. You have left them both with a simple ‘Busy working. Will speak to you soon.’ before going silent. Truthfully, you weren’t in the headspace to deal with either of them, and the many, many complications that come with them.

The last few days have been too destructive on you. Your relapse has struck hard, and you’ve been avoiding sleep unless absolutely necessary which, while hardly a solution, at least allows you time to work. To focus on something other than the abyss inside you, dark and foul. It’s easier to work yourself to the bone till you pass out from exhaustion and only vaguely recall hazy, fervent dreams than to experience them for yourself. Easier to pretend that you are happy and free and fixed now that Tarasov is dead.

Footsteps draw closer towards you from behind, and your fingers snake around a concealed blade in your jacket sleeve.

Your eyes flicker briefly to the side and you pause, the knot between your shoulder blades loosening.  

“John. I didn’t expect you to show up,” you greet, a touch wary when he comes to stand beside you clad in one of his customary black suits. “I figured you leaving the Continental meant that you’ve gone back.”

Back to his old life. Gone, possibly, for good.

Sunlight bathes him in a warm glow, giving him an appearance of an ordinary man dragged out from his life in the shadows and into the light. The curve of his shoulders is heavy though as is the subdued glimmer of pain in his eyes as he peers at the casket in front of him. The priest keeps reciting verses and for a second you think he’s not going to answer you at all. That perhaps he didn’t hear you over the loudness of his own mind.

“Marcus was my oldest friend,” he finally says after a period of stillness between you. “It’s the least I can do.”

Indeed he was.

And now he’s gone.

All because of Tarasov. All because you assumed your gamble will pay off without any problems and that Tarasov’s fury will be directed only at you.

“He never should have—it’s not fair,” you breathe thickly, pained, and your tiredness only makes the stinging pain more intense. “In some twisted way it still...it still feels like Tarasov won. He fucking won.”

Because Marcus is dead and you will never get a chance to make things right between you. Will never get a chance to apologise for all the hurtful words you have spoken to him. Or vice versa. It will stay like this forever. Unfinished. He will never know that you’re sorry and that despite you not being the best of friends, he was still someone you respected. Admired, even. At least back in the early days. Back when his and John’s abilities have seemed inhuman to you.

“He didn’t,” John’s quiet voice interrupts your troubled thoughts and you glance at him. But the man is not looking at you. His sad, dark eyes linger on the coffin. “Viggo might have taken lives, our friends, but we’re still here. We have to honour that. Not let it be in vain.”

You can’t help but scoff. Have all those years on the outside really made him this soft? Naive? Both.

“In vain...all deaths are in vain,” you remind him, your words overflowing with resentment. “Tarasov is dead too, and that should make me happy but it doesn’t.”

Because now there’s just nothing. Tarasov, for his many evil deeds and misgivings, has been like an anchor to you for years. He has been a purpose and a drive. A need to become better, deadlier, more feared. If John had been Tarasov’s boogeyman, then you would be the most vicious beast on his chain. So much so that he would go to bed every night with a fear that one day that monster might turn around and bite him instead. You’ve achieved that. The unease, the fear, his death.

Now what?

He’s robbed you of so many years. Has caused so much pain and misery. It feels like killing him thousand times over still won’t be enough. It won’t bring back your parents, won’t erase Tokyo, won’t magically fix what was broken. You thought that it might. Figured that his death would be the key to finally knowing peace.

The last few days have proven that you couldn’t have been further from the truth.  

Now, Tarasov is just another ghost haunting you at every corner.

Now, you feel adrift, purposeless.

Beside you, John shifts and you feel his focus on you.

“I know. Me neither.”

His words are a mere whisper; nothing more than a frayed murmur of still too fresh, strangled grief that’s only made worse by the fact that he’s had to bury his wife, puppy, and oldest friend all in a span of few weeks. Your heart clenches when you look at him. His expression falters only for a second before he rearranges it back into that hard, unfeeling mask you’re used to seeing but that second of raw agony breaks your own composure.

“John, I—”

“I’m sorry—” he halts, his voice cracking with sorrow. He blinks up at you before his gaze goes to the ground. “I miss her. It’s still...”

Still painful, still fresh, still a crushing weight that won’t ease no matter what you do.

You know it takes a lot for him to admit that out loud. John has always been withdrawn, mostly living with his emotions in private. It comes from years of living in a cruel world that uses any sign of weakness against you. For a moment, in the shining sun, you don’t see John from now. You see the John you knew. The younger version who would look at you with that look in his eyes. A look you could never decipher but made you feel more cared for than you could ever put into words.

“Don’t apologise,” you force out, your own words coming out a bit strangled. You hesitate before reaching out and taking his hand in your own. You let the resentment, the pain, the bitterness fade for a moment. In that instance, it’s simply about empathy for another human being. Your old friend. It’s about recognising the pain he carries and clearly struggles with processing. You wanted to punish him. Or you thought you did. But now that you’re faced with it…it doesn’t taste as sweet as you had hoped. Seeing his pain just feels as hollow as Tarasov’s death did. “You love her and it never quite leaves you. Death of a loved one. You don’t have to be strong.”

When your parents were killed, it had punctured a wound inside you so deep that it wasn’t until you met him that you realised how lost you’ve been. How you hadn’t been living at all. Tarasov had chained you to his side, and you had considered your life to be over. John reminded you that there’s more.

Once upon a time, he saved you without even realising it.

You stand, hand-in-hand, for a long time before he speaks again. This time, his voice is more placid, his control regained once again.

“You don’t deserve this.”

You can’t quite help your ironic grin, as empty as it is.

“We don’t deserve a great many things,” you remind him, your words mild, melancholic. “They still happen though.”

His fingers twitch and turn to wrap around yours more securely. Together, you watch as the casket gets lowered into the ground bit by bit.

You both know what it means to bury those you love.

What it means to lose and lose.

“Maybe—” he starts before stopping himself and you feel yourself frown.

“Maybe?” you prompt.

John visibly hesitates and you turn to look at him in surprise. He doesn’t hesitate often, if ever. “Maybe you could stop by the house sometime?” he wonders, and his words are cautious, his lips parted and expression guarded as if he’s expecting the worst possible response. “For a cup of coffee or tea. The dog was looking for you too. I think he likes you.”

You feel yourself swallow heavily. This might be an instance of tranquillity between you but it doesn’t change anything. Your initial swell of rage at his return has subsided, and you’re indeed far too exhausted both physically and emotionally to muster up much of an angry response right now. But the pain still exists, no matter how deeply buried. You can’t just up wipe the slate clean. But maybe—

Maybe.

Your eyes go back to the hole in the ground. Your thoughts go to Marcus. Marcus who died. Marcus who you will never see again, never talk to again. You missed the chance to make it right with him. And just how close did you and John both come to losing your lives only days prior? Too close.

Maybe it would be easier to let this go. Let this resentment and anger between you fade.

You don’t know if you’re strong enough for it, don’t know if you can or even will.

But how will you know if you don’t at least try?

“I can’t promise you anything,” you murmur, feeling raw from the honesty of those words. You can’t promise him what he no doubt wants. Absolution. Closure. Some semblance of hope to hold onto. But all you can give him is a chance.  

“I know,” he says quietly in return and your eyes meet. “I’m not asking for anything else. Just...company, if you are willing to offer it.”

You gaze at him thoughtfully, caught between refusal and acceptance.

Caught between letting go and being in the present, or clinging to the anger that has fuelled you—rightfully so—for years.  

You think about it for a while.

“Okay,” you speak, at last, your voice thin. You give him a tiny nod before letting go of his hand. “Okay, yeah. I can do that.”

John doesn’t smile. He doesn’t show much of an outward reaction. But his eyes lighten, something like relief reflecting back at you. You imagine it means more to him than he lets on even if he doesn’t show it, and that’s fine. You don’t exactly expect him to dance around you in circles from happiness.

Your eyes sweep over the graveyard as the people around start to scatter. “And your car?”

He hesitates again. “I have a lead. Soon,” he reassures. “I don’t want more bloodshed. Just my car and then...”

Your eyebrows arch. John looks exhausted, and you suspect it’s not his healing wounds that are the cause of that exhaustion.

“And then?”

“And then, peace.”

Birds chirp overhead as you stare at him in disbelief.

“Peace?” you echo, your scepticism clear. “You’re going to broker for peace with Abram?”

John dips his head in a nod but doesn’t look surprised by your reaction. Perhaps he knows how it sounds. After the slaughter he has unleashed, it seems tragically funny that John wants peace now. But perhaps you are alike in that sense. The blood-thirst that had originally clouded your judgement has passed, losing its previous intensity. Now, only bone-deep weariness is left.

“Yeah. There’s been enough death in the last few days,” he notes, only confirming your thoughts. “I’ve had enough of it.”

Enough.

You’ve seen so much death that by now you consider it a constant companion. But how much has John lost? He needs time to grieve. Properly. Iosef took that from him and he paid the ultimate price for that. His life.

“And if he declares war on you?” you wonder carefully, knowing that in your world, that’s the more likely scenario. “You killed his only brother and nephew.”

Winston told you bits and pieces of what happened when the news came to the High Table. The Russians, predictably, were making noise. Calling for a hunt. Retribution. The only thing stopping them was the knowledge of who had committed this massacre.

John Wick is known better to the Russians than anyone else. Healthy fear and a show of strength from John’s part are the only things keeping them back. They know better than to make an enemy of the boogeyman.

But the High Table is…wary. Winston didn’t have to say it explicitly for you to read into his deeper implication. John’s return has been an unexpected turn of events. It feels like someone has taken a large rock and thrown it into a too still pond. The ripples of what happened less than a week ago are being felt across the globe. It still concerns you that what may come back in reply will only cause more trouble.

But your conversation with John has eased your mind. He truly has no intention of coming back. He hit like a hurricane, leaving nothing but death and devastation in his wake, and will now retreat back to the other side he has made his home.

Hopefully, with time, everything will settle once again.

“If he is as smart as you said,” he says and there is something frigid about his low words. “He will take the offer of peace and live on another day.”

Or die. It goes unsaid but the implication is clear.

The last of the funeral party disperses, and the diggers get to work as you both watch in silence. The first shovel of dirt hits with a resounding, hollow sound and it pierces right through you. It grinds into your bones, crushing whatever little joy you might have felt about Tarasov and Perkins being dead.

It’s too high of a price to pay.

“He was a good man,” you remark, thoughtful and sad. Memories of his snarky, biting comments come flashing through your mind like a used film reel and you can’t help but snort. “A bastard. But a good man. Let’s not waste it.”

John is already looking at you when you glance his way and he nods his head in agreement. But before he can say anything else, his eyes snag onto something over your shoulder, and you see the previous ease of his expression drain and harden into something else. He switches from man to hunter in a blink of an eye.

The sudden change in the air between you makes you straighten subtly. You don’t have many weapons on you—you came to a funeral, not a battlefield, after all—but you also have your hands.

Battle instincts wash over you, and you push back your exhaustion, your current instability.

Inhaling deeply, you slowly incline your head, sneaking a look over your shoulder discreetly.

For the second time that day, your muscles relax.

Standing in front of a too familiar white Land Rover is Ares who is openly glaring at John. She catches your stare across the graveyard, and her glare drops as she nods her head in a greeting with a slight smirk. On the other side of the car, and facing away from you, stands Roberto. He seems to be scanning the nearby area and the retreating people with the usual scowl he thinks makes him look more ferocious.

It does. To everyone but people who know him. Those that do are perfectly aware that his personality is closer to that of a golden retriever than a wild wolf. A protective golden retriever but hardly a dangerous one unless provoked. He’s one of the very few you’ve never doubted when it comes to loyalty towards Santino. And you know—better than most—how hard it can be to work under the man. How demanding he can be. Perhaps that is why unlike most heirs, Santino doesn’t have an inner circle.

He doesn’t trust people enough to rely on their judgement and council. Nor does he need it, according to him.  

“She’s a friend,” you reassure John whose expression, unlike your own, has not relaxed. “And I need to talk with her.”

Santino must have sent her to speak with you.

You have to hold back a sigh at that thought. Sending Ares as a bridge between you is a cheap move, but at least he knows better than to push and come in person.

The thought of Santino seeing John again almost makes you bristle.

You have no idea how a reunion between the two would go. But you doubt it would be anything good.

Ares is Santino’s tested and tried method because you never refuse her. Predictable but clever bastard.

Sighing, you turn towards your old partner and give him a quick, vacant smile. “I’ll see you around, Baba Yaga.”

He hesitates as if he wants to say something else but stops himself. He nods his head once, solemn as always, and you turn to go with one last look in his direction.

Cutting a straight line through the graveyard, you get to the car in a few minutes and your hands are forming signs before you even come to a stop.

Why are you here?

Ares only stares at you as if she’s questioning your intelligence.

He wishes to speak with you.

“I have to work, Ares,” you bite out, coming to a stop before her. “I just buried an old associate of mine. I have other priorities other than Santino as well.”

She sighs, clearly frustrated and even Roberto looks surprised but masks it quickly when you look his way. You’re glad that she only brought him and not the rest of her little pack.

At least talk with him. He does not like it when you are angry at him.

“Then maybe he should have thought of that before putting you, himself, and everyone else in danger because he felt like proving a goddamn point.”

Because that’s what it was.

The only thing it could have been.

Santino may have given you the word of old Camorra but he must have known that if it had come down to it—

It wouldn’t have made a difference. In fact, it likely would have made an already bad situation worse. It was a show of power, of his pride, and perhaps it was ultimately about protecting you but it doesn’t change the fact that him risking everything didn’t make sense.

It makes you feel cold to the very marrow of your damaged soul, thinking about it.

I will never abandon you.

But he almost did. Even if by some miracle both of you had lived, you likely would have been forbidden from ever seeing him again. And that’s the best-case scenario. It would have been as good as losing him forever.

They’ve become important to you. So important. The idea of not seeing him, or Ares, or even Roberto ever again chills you.

Ares seems to have arrived at a similar conclusion judging by her narrowed-eyed almost angry expression.

It terrifies you, she signs with a deep-set frown, the fact that he came through for you. Why?

“Because I swore to myself that I will never be the second choice again,” you choke out because you would like to think that she’s one of the few who can truly understand. Because she knows how badly you suffered. She knows Santino—is one of the few who considers him a genuine friend—and knows all about the depth of his ambition. “Because I—I’m not strong enough to...”

To love. To trust him wholeheartedly. Only to be dropped when it longer feels thrilling for him. When something better comes along. When someone offers him something he can’t refuse in exchange for you, your services, just you.

You’ve been picked apart and used over and over again.

Your life hasn’t felt like your own for so long now.

With Santino, you have always stood as an equal. That’s the one fact that no one seems to fully grasp. Because they don’t know about you and him and things you have gone through together. The blood you’ve shed and the bodies you’ve buried—the hard-won trust and reliance on one another that’s taken years to build. They’ve only heard stories about you, rarely exaggerated but often twisted to fit a different narrative.

If that balance were to ever change he would simply become another individual in a long line of people who’ve tried to abuse you.

You can’t have that.

“We both know what he is,” you tell her softly, and her expression falters, the heat in her gaze cooling a touch. “And I will not ask him to change on my behalf because I know he never will. Santino is Santino, and that’s fine. I like him just how he is.”

Even the selfishness, even the cunning, even the greed.

You’re hardly a saint yourself. In many ways, you’re worse.

Ares stands still for a prolonged stretch of quiet between you. The sun warms her, bathing her face in a soft light that in return softens her features, and you don’t quite understand her expression. She looks caught between understanding and exasperation. Her crisp suit makes no noise and neither does she but what she signs next slices through you like a hot knife, burying itself deep.

He is not like him.  

You go still. In the body, in mind, in standing rooted to the ground.

From the corner of your eye, you think you see Roberto wince. He’s been learning ASL for almost two years now so you don’t doubt that he understood exactly what was just conveyed to you.

Ares, as always, holds your gaze, unashamed. She’s too direct to not mean her words or feel sorry for expressing her thoughts on the matter.

Your own expression must be caught between empty and furious.

To compare John and Santino is—

Pressing your mouth into a rigid line, you look away from her, an angry pulse pounding your head with a strength that almost makes you dizzy.

“I will see Santino when I want to see him,” you inform her stiffly. “Not whenever he feels bored and needs entertainment.”

With that said, you turn away from her but Roberto stops you this time, raising his hands in a pacifying motion. “He’s just worried, V,” the man phrases carefully, his brows furrowed. “We all are—”

Your eyes cut to him sharply and he retreats at the look on your face.

Your shoes crunch against the gravel but you don’t look back at either of them as you walk away.

If there is one thing you truly do despise about New York City it’s the traffic.

Most days it’s horrendous, and today it seems to be even more awful than usual.

Your cheek has gone partially numb from leaning against your palm for almost twenty minutes. You stare outside the taxi window, counting your breaths inside your head. The taxi driver—a man in his 50ties with silver hair and a short, stocky build—seems to instinctively pick up on the fact that you’re not in the mood to talk. Or maybe he’s just an asshole. One way or another, you’re grateful for the quiet even if it leaves you to navigate the scary landscape that is your mind.

Your previous minor headache has now transformed into a full-blown pounding monstrosity and your eyes water from exhaustion. You haven’t slept in…too long. Maybe two days. You fully expect yourself to collapse on the hotel bed the moment you get back to the Continental. There are only two blocks left till you get there but you’ve been stuck in this traffic for ten minutes now, unmoving.

He is not him.

The memory comes unbidden and makes your fingers curl into fists.

Of course, they’re not.

They’re so different it’s staggering.

But it’s easier to turn away, to run away from any possibility of happiness because it may lead to pain again. The darkness of your past still clings to you. So many wrong moves, so much shame and failure.

You still feel a phantom of that helplessness when Tarasov told you your parents were dead. Weak. Always too weak and too helpless. A little girl playing at being strong. Something has been taken from deep inside you and that gap, that hole, still makes you feel stuck in that suffocating flat. Kishi’s blood still coats your tongue when you wake up from your nightmares. Sometimes—too often—it feels like no time has passed at all, and you’re simply stuck in that loop of despair.

Helpless. Always helpless. Unable to feel, to move on like other people would be able to.

Santino is not John, and John is not Santino.

But you’ve given one of them power over you once. Trusted and believed.

Where exactly did that lead to?

The taxi crawls towards the intersection and you jolt from your deep thought, wincing at the stab of pain that drums through your head.

You would prefer not to throw up in the taxi.

A sound of screeching tires rips through the air and your head jerks to the side—

The impact slams the taxi to one side, tires screaming across the asphalt as windows shatter on the driver side. Your head slams against the passenger door, your vision going black for a moment. Your ears ring, everything blurring in front of you. The driver slumps towards you, his head covered in blood and you moan low in your throat as you try to reach for him. Your seatbelt holds you back and you reach for it—

The passenger door flies open and someone grabs your arm roughly, jerking you back. The belt cuts harshly into your chest and neck, stopping you, and instinct takes over. The figure trying to drag you out screams when a blade clumsily sinks into their arm.

You twist, every bit of malicious intent happily on display and rip the blade out, letting the blood flow freely. The radial artery bleeds heavily if nicked and the male figure staggers back, trying to ebb the flow while levelling his gun on you. You can’t see his face over the black blur of his mask but that doesn’t matter. He’s pissed and in pain—not the best combo. Using the gap of time to your advantage, you hack the bloody blade against your seatbelt.     

“Shit.”

Finally, the material snaps, and you jerk to the side clumsily, a shot missing you by inches. Your blade sinks into the man’s chest but the gear he’s wearing stops it from reaching anything fatal like arteries, heart or lungs. The man staggers back from impact though, grasping at the blade, and you pull out your pistol—a sleek and easy to hide Glock 42—and fire only once. This close up, it would have been embarrassing to miss but it’s still a messy shot.  

The man falls to the floor but your victory is short-lived.

Bullets rain against the side of the taxi and you throw yourself out of the car through the open door. Your knees hit the asphalt with a creak and you roll to the side, curling to make yourself a smaller target. If the driver inside wasn’t dead from the impact, then he sure as hell is now. Your ears echo with the loud bangs made only more deafening by the surrounding screams of fleeing people.

Shaking your head vigorously, you try to focus, snap back into now because this isn’t random.

This is an ambush.  

And you’re outgunned and exhausted.

Your fingers go to your coat, pulling out the only gas canister you’ve taken with you due to low stock and hurry your fingers when the gunshots suddenly cut out. They either hope they got you, or they know they didn’t.

The vial slots inside and you shake the canister; a few sharp, graceless swings back and forth. You only have five rounds left in your pistol. Too few.

Footsteps crunch on the shattered glass on the other side of the taxi, heading towards you and you curl downwards, waiting.

A foot appears first, hesitant, and you slam another blade into the shoe, cutting right through it and feel the blade sink into flesh, muscle and bone. Another black-clad figure jerks in agony, their aim veering to the side and you jump to your feet, ripping the blade from the attacker’s foot and sinking it into their neck instead.

The body falls towards you.

You grunt under the additional weight but use the body as a meat shield, immediately aiming your pistol at another two approaching figures and shooting them right in the face with a savage sort of speed.

Three rounds left.

When ambushed only two things matter: speed and efficiency.

John has taught you that one person can withstand a tempest and still come out victorious on the other side if they’re smart.

And you have done so again and again. This will be no different.

Someone grabs you from behind, and you careen back, your dead meat shield dropping to the ground when you’re harshly dragged back. Arms lock around your neck and you roll the slippery blade between your fingers before sinking it into the arms holding you. With a loud snarl, you rip the blade out and repeat the motion and again. Blood pours across your chest—hot and slippery—and their grip falters, giving you just enough leeway to twist your arm behind you and fire blindly.

Two left. Shit.

You turn sharply and sink the blade into your attacker’s neck to finish him off.

The body slumps to the side and—

An explosion rips through the air next to you, and you feel the shockwave of heat and smoke throw you back, your head slamming against the dirty pavement.

Everything goes white.

Your stomach coils and your exhausted body slants weakly to one side.

Don’t lose focus. Get up. Get up.

It sounds like a mix of voices, all of them anxious.

Your tongue feels thick and dry in your mouth, and the coldness of pavement sinks into your forehead as you try to roll over. Dizzy and drained and unable to make your muscles obey.

You haven’t slept in two days, hardly eaten or exercised, and your body strains under its natural limits when faced with your ironlike tenacity.

People scream in the far distance.

Move. You’re making yourself into a target. Move.

You brace yourself on your palms, trembling, and gnash your teeth together till your jaw aches. Swaying, you hoist yourself onto your knees.

Not again. Get up. Please, amore—

You straighten, determined.

And feel a cold, hard barrel of a gun push into the back of your skull.

Your body freezes, tense, and you blink, clearing your vision desperately. Ice rushes through your veins when you realise that the explosion has made you lose your pistol. Your hands are terribly empty. You can’t reach for another blade before that trigger is pulled.      

“Well, well, who do we have here?” a filtered female voice wonders mockingly, clear French accent lacing her lovely voice. “Seems like we caught ourselves a snake.”

Something crystallises inside you; a shadow, an echo of Tokyo. Of that stillness that made you tear Kishi’s throat out without hesitation, that made you hunt and kill dozens when they made a sport out of hunting you.

That survival instinct that makes you brutal, that makes you terrible.

Mock a snake and you might just get struck down.

“You’re about to make a very big mistake.”

You sound deceptively calm despite your injuries and mounting fury.

“Mistake? No. I think you will—”

Your eyes lift to the car in front of you and the blurry reflection of a figure behind you. On your knees, you appear small. Weak. A downwards angle is a major disadvantage when you have a gun pressed to your head as well.

But it’s either do or die.

You drop to the floor and drive your leg behind you. To put a gun to someone like that one has to stand close and the viciousness of your kick connects just as you suspected. You roll over immediately and reach forward to grab the hand holding the gun.

It fires.

You flinch at the loudness but it misses your head and you push yourself forward, adrenaline surging through your veins.

There is no hesitation to be found in you as you kick the woman in front of you again. This time in her leg and her stance falters, her gun firing twice more, both off-target. You use her moment of unsteadiness to drive your knee up and straight into the pointy end of her elbow.

Your knee explodes with numbing sort of pain but the satisfaction of hearing her olecranon fracture into little pieces is more than worth it. An open break. She will need surgery and weeks of healing, and that’s assuming the joint will ever heal well enough for her to use her arm again.

They wanted the Vipress.

They got her.

The woman howls; a loud, screeching sound and you drive your fist into her delicate face, silencing her. You grapple for her gun, ready to finish her off like you did her buddies earlier, but before you can grab it someone slams into you, their knee connecting with your ribs.

The strength behind the kick jerks you to the side, and you hit the pavement with a shout of pain. You suck in desperate inhales of oxygen, terrified and numb with pain. Air rushes into your lungs, and with it dizzying relief.

Not broken.  

“You bitch!”

A male voice drills into your eardrums this time, and your head drags to the side. A tall, lean man hovers around the woman, his blonde hair a halo around his head. His features are sharp, almost aristocratic in their beauty. If the woman is beautiful with her large eyes and full lips, he’s a completely different breed of terrible sort of beauty. But his expression is twisted with such terrifying fury and madness that it knocks the wind out of you even harder than his kick did.

You know them.

Or rather, know of them.

The woman with her equally blonde hair snarls at you like a wild animal, and it’s by the tattoos on their faces that you recognise them.

They both have a heart etched deep into the skin of their left cheek in startling scarlet.

The Lovers.

French hitmen renown for their brutality and utter, toxic dependency on each other. Most considered them too unhinged to hire but those desperate and in need of bloody, dirty work to be done came to them first.

You’ve only heard stories about their blood rituals and the revolting way they handled the bodies they disposed of. The torture they delighted in, and the mayhem they unleashed on anyone who so much as scratched the other.

The man—what is his name; does it even matter—makes a sound at the back of his throat when he sees the severity of the female’s injury, and throws something directly at you. You roll out of the way, your ribs throbbing and you wince, your eyes trying to locate the object that you heard hit the ground not far from you.

Beep. Beep.

Stumbling twice, you scramble onto your feet and dash towards the nearby car, clumsily sliding across the bonnet just as the explosion rips through the air with another deafening bang. The car windows shake from the blow, a few cracking and you crumple onto the pathway, covering your head to avoid any falling glass.

Pyromaniacs. Right. Forgot about that.

“Get back here, you little rat!” the man shouts loudly, his voice cracking with viciousness.

Shots fly above your head, and you reach between your legs, pulling out your last blade from the security of your inner thigh. Your fingers tremble around the familiar cool weight, and you lick your lips shakily, tasting salt and blood. Your weakened muscles twinge and twitch from the overload, and you roll your shoulders, relaxing them as much as you can.

No pain. Pain can come later. Feel nothing right now.

Flipping the blade in your hand, you go to your dress and slide the blade across your thigh, cutting the dark material clinging to your body. If it comes down to hand on hand you need the space and ability to use your legs freely. They’re far stronger than your arms—a rather annoying disadvantage Ares often uses against you in your sparring matches.

Distantly, you hear the female moan in pain and the sound of too many feet rushing closer towards you. The shots cut out and an eerie silence falls over the usually bustling New York street.

“Bring the snake to me!”

How many?

You lean down, peering through the gap between the pavement and the car, and count at least ten.

Shit, shit, shit.

Right.

Desperate measures, then.

Hurriedly, you shrug off your singed coat, pulling out your gas canister. You weren’t going to use it one or two guys. No, the more the merrier.

“You can’t hide from us, snake,” the man shouts, his voice wicked with a promise of delightful violence. “We’ll bleed you dry. Remove that pretty skin of yours piece by piece.”

His accent is not as noticeable as his girlfriend’s, you can’t help but think absentmindedly.

Usually, you would assume something like that to be an empty threat, but hearing the choked, furious bloodlust in the man’s voice makes you think otherwise.

You count your breaths, count in your head. Numb your mind to the pain raging through your side.

Uno. Due—

Sucking in a sharp breath, you throw the canister over the car with all your might. It sails through the air—not as far as you would have liked, and you recognise your mistake the moment you see the figures approaching fully.

The fumes explode from the canister. Perfect as always.

Except the soldiers are wearing goddamn gasmasks. They had known exactly what to expect, what to prepare for, and how to counter. At most, the fumes will cause confusion due to poor visibility and mild air passage irritation. Still usable since it will slow down their reactions but nowhere near good enough. Your paralyser momentarily locks down the airway enzyme functionality, usually without any irreversible damage.

But not if the victim only inhales a filtered version of it.

Panic is fleeting but stinging, and then you hurdle your mind to Plan B.

Simple.

You gamble.    

The blade leaves your fingers, finding its target in the closest attacker to your position and you follow behind instantly. The heavy vapour drowns the area and you hear the confused shouts that are followed by a couple of misguided, terrified shots into empty air.

Rules of survival say that you should never part with your weapon.

A weaponless fighter is a dead fighter.

But your blade is only a distraction; another smokescreen for the real target.

You’re fast. That’s always been your greatest asset besides your poison.

You will survive this. You will make it.  

Your body crashes into the figure, and you rip the blade stuck in his armour and drive it in his neck instead, grabbing his gun. It happens in a span of seconds and you roll when the body hits the ground. In the confusion, more barrels start seeking you out.

But you know your work. You know the density, the deadliness of it. It is your shroud. It may not paralyse them but it will cloak you like silent death.

You can’t shoot their chests. Ineffective.

But their heads are targets begging to be shot.

You straighten from your crouch and shoot upwards, the bullet knocking the nearest man in front of you straight in the jaw. Blood sprays and you shift out of the way. You grab his gun and others scatter, too worried to shoot in case they hit one another, but realising that you have no intention of coming quietly.  

The city is on your side though. No wind reaches the deep concrete jungle street and your vapour holds strong and thick.

With two guns in hand, you turn and run.

Confusion, chaos, and two dead. It will buy you precious seconds of a head start.

You’re proud but not stupid, and not about to risk your life when you’re at such a disadvantage and running on fumes.

The Continental is a holy ground of your world. Your one and only safe haven. No one can touch you there or risk the wrath of the High Table. Your only hope right now.

There’s only a matter of getting there.

You tear through the street, ducking every once in a while and zigzagging just in case any more explosions are aimed your way.

As if that thought conjures a response, a custom made explosion sails over you and hits the ground ahead. You throw yourself to the side and the bang that follows is ear-splitting. Ducking behind a minibus, you answer with your own gunfire but only fire three shots—two hitting and one missing. You know the explosion was about slowing you down, cutting you off. You can’t afford them catching up to you.

And then, even worse, you see the blonde male coming at you with startling speed, his teeth bared as he decreases the distance between you.

You fire but he’s too far away and ducks to the side too.

Your lungs are on fire, your side feels like it’s splitting at the seams, and the knee you used to break the female’s arm quakes.

Despite that, you swallow your inability, your weakness, and leave your momentary shelter, dashing in the direction of the Continental.

You’re close. So close. Just around the corner and then it’s a straight line across the street.

A shot whistles past your ear and you stumble, crashing against a car heavily before unloading an entire clip of continuous fire. Three more masked figures collapse dead, and you throw the empty gun to the side, aiming with another.

Most of the attackers disperse under the threat of bullets and you dash forward again, occasionally firing over your shoulder to keep them at bay.

The Continental walls appear before you, looming and imposing as always, and for a second you choke on sheer relief.

It adds a new spark of life into you and you sprint across the street, the stitch in your side making it hard to breathe evenly. The piercing red uniforms of the doormen greet you, and you take it two steps at a time as you run up the stairs. You crash against the glass door and jerk to the side when a bullet smashes a window right next to your head. Turning around, you fire at the blonde following you, only to be greeted by the horrific click of an empty chamber.

You throw yourself forward, lowering your head as another shot misses you and hear one of the doormen collapse behind you, groaning in agony.

He’s not going to stop.

It’s a horrifying conclusion to arrive at, but you know in your gut that it’s the right one.

For injuring his lover, this man is willing to fire at you even while you stand on Continental grounds.

Slamming your shoulder against the door, you practically fall inside the hotel. The people in the foyer are all rod still, gaping openly at the commotion. But you pay them no heed, sprinting towards the nearest table where a flower vase stands and smashing it against the ground. You grip the largest, sharpest piece of ceramic, and aim the empty gun at the door where the blonde man forces himself inside with strength that makes the glass rattle.

His face splits into a beaming, pleased grin when he spots you and his gun rises immediately, aiming at you.

“Shoot me now, and you’re dead,” you gasp out, your words dripping with agony.

The blonde’s expression only appears more eager at your words, his dark eyes burning.

“I’m going to—”

“Can I help you, sir? A drink perhaps?”

You have never felt more relieved in your life to hear Winston’s smooth voice behind you. His crisp steps come closer and he passes you, coming to stand partially in front of you. He’s in a suit as always and appears completely calm despite the situation, his arms resting at his sides. Charon steps to your side as well and you almost collapse from relief right there and then.

“Move out of my way, pensioner,” the Lover snarls, his excited expression morphing into something dangerous, wild. “The snake is mine.”

You take a hobbling step towards Winston, your invisible hackles rising when the blonde doesn’t lower his gun.

Winston tuts, the sound irritated and displeased.

“Why I am sure that your grievance with dear Vipress is more than founded, I encourage you to remember that no business shall be conducted on Continental grounds,” he states, his words clear and direct; a polite warning. “So I will have to ask you to leave.”

“I said get the fuck out of my way!”

The man’s voice pierces through the deadly silent foyer and you go rigid, rising the sharp shard in your palm slightly. If he so much as tries to hurt Winston—

“Mhm, very well,” the older man remarks, sounding bored. “Let me reiterate that in a way you can understand, then. Either you get out of my hotel right now or I will have you removed. In a body bag.”

A hush falls over the foyer and then a shift.

You don’t need to turn around to hear numerous weapons being drawn. This entire foyer would gladly shoot the blonde for breaking the rules. In fact, the High Table might even reward them for it.

And more importantly than that, the Lovers are outsiders. You are New York. And every single person in this hotel would kill for you as you would for them. It’s a deep running respect and protectiveness for your own lot. New York governs itself. It’s a beast different from any other city and crime family out there.

It’s one of the most cutthroat cities there is.

But an attack on one is an attack on all.

The New York Continental is your home.

And right now you feel its protective embrace once again.

That realisation reflects back on the man’s face, his expression twitching. He looks enraged in an unstable, worrying way but his gun lowers slowly.

“This isn’t over,” he whispers but the foyer is so quiet he might as well have shouted it. His face slackens, his skin glistening with sweat as his dark eyes drill into you. A brief, off-kilter smile twitches his thin lips and you control a shiver. “No. For what you did to my love...I will have your head on a spike, Vipress. I will wear your skin as a trophy. It was personal before but now—now, you made it so much worse. The Black Dragon is coming for you. You and Santino D’Antonio are marked.”

His fingers go to a pocket on his vest cautiously and he pulls out a slim, dark card. He doesn’t drop his stare as he licks it leisurely and drops it to the ground.

Then he turns and wanders out of the hotel without so much as a backwards glance.

A breath rattles out of your lungs, hushed and strangled, and you hate the severity of exhaustion that wants to fold your knees right away. Charon reaches out as if to steady you but you jerk back, unable to hold back your instinctive response. He does not look offended by it but you still spare him an apologetic look.

Winston doesn’t turn around till the male Lover is gone from sight. He gestures for his staff to rush and check the injured doormen before he looks at you. His eyes sweep over your figure, taking in your terrible state and he sighs wearily, his gaze sharp and knowing.  

“Making new friends, are we?”

You don’t have enough energy left in your body to answer him—not even a joke or a jibe.

That seems to be all Winston needs to determine where you’re at emotionally, if not physically.  

“Come with me.”

The gauze tightens around your waist and you flinch, your jaw clicking.

“Do not move,” Doc chides for the third time in less than ten minutes, shuffling around you as he pulls on the material again. “It needs to be secure, you know that. Goodness me, you were lucky your ribs weren’t broken.”

“Yeah, lucky,” you mutter shortly, wincing again, and stare over Doc’s shoulder, trying to breathe. “Do you think—”

A commotion reaches your ears and you go taut, your mouth snapping shut at once. Your head snaps towards the closed door of Winston’s office as you try to determine what’s going on. Doc lowers your new shirt down and takes a cautious step back too.

Have the Lovers come back for more? What now?

“I apologise Mr D’Antonio but—”

“Get out of my way,” a too-familiar accented voice hisses, furious. “Where is she?”

“Miss Vipress is being seen to—”

“I asked you where is she,” Santino snarls and you hear steps coming closer. “Does Winston only employ incompetent idiots, hm? Fine. Get out of my way. Now.”

The office door slams open with a bang and Santino marches into the room, his body coiled with rage. His charcoal grey suit flows like a dark cloud around his body, and he halts once he notices you seated on the sofa. His expression drops and he takes a second to observe you before he cuts the distance between you. From the corner of your eye, you see Ares step into the room after him, shooting an irritated look at Charon who hovers in the doorway.

But you can’t look away from Santino. Because he wears an expression of that terrible calm and that’s always worrying. He doesn’t seem to notice Doc when he comes to stand in front of you, and the older man politely steps aside.

“Must you be this theatric?” you wonder calmly, but your voice sounds worn, lacking the usual teasing note. Santino says nothing. You breathe audibly through your parted lips before swallowing. You know what you look like: torn, bruised, bloody. It’s not too different from a state you were in seemingly a lifetime ago now. “You should see the other guys. They’re a mess.”

Still nothing.

“Say something,” you breathe, desperate but faint.

Santino’s expression twitches and you see the effort it takes him to keep his face unreadable. He reaches forward cautiously, his Rolex on display, and his fingertips brush against your chin gingerly, tilting your head slightly. His fingers are searing hot against your cooler skin and you hold back a shiver. His thumb traces a little patch of your skin gently, taking in the bruises and the scratches as well as your pinched expression with a rapt sort of grimness.

He asks only one thing, his voice terrible in its coldness. “Who?”

“The Lovers.”

It isn’t you who answers him. Your eyes swing towards the door where Winston now stands, his eyebrows arched as he observes the scene before him.

Santino doesn’t drop his hand right away.

His fingers linger as he continues gazing at you for another few moments. Then his hand drops and he straightens with that arrogant twitch of his mouth, his hands sliding into his pockets as he turns to face the older man. His open worry only moments ago is locked away and now only displeasure remains.

“The Lovers,” Santino repeats softly and tilts his head in consideration. Winston enters the room and goes for his bottle of brandy, pouring himself a generous amount. “Those French maniacs?”

“That,” you begin dryly, recalling their unhinged behaviour. “Is a very apt way of putting it.”

For once, Santino does not find whatever you said amusing. He only looks at Winston and his mouth twists; displeased, irritated.

“You allowed this to happen.”

Your lips part in shock. “Santino.”

“Allowed it?” Winston echoes flatly, looking towards the Italian. “Why Mr D’Antonio I was unaware that besides being a Camorra Spare you’re also a part-time comedian.”

Santino takes a step closer and one of his hands flies out of his pocket. He points at Winston, enraged, and you exhale tiredly with a roll of your eyes.

“Then how do you explain her being attacked at your hotel not once,” he spits out, barely controlled, and it only thickens his accent. “No, not once but twice, hm?”

The older man observes Santino with an emotionless expression before taking a slow swing of his drink. “Mr D’Antonio,” he begins as if talking to a child. “Need I remind you that if it weren’t for the very rules that govern this fine establishment, then we would be looking at far more severe consequences. Besides the attack itself happened outside the Continental grounds.”

“I want their heads.”

Winston gestures vaguely with his hand. “Be my guest,” he deadpans. “Though it seems to me like it’s you two that will be sought out by them. Care to explain this?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slim black card and shows it to you both.

An image of a curling dragon is imprinted deep into the card, its eyes slashed twice and snarling face smeared with two smudges of dried blood.

A calling card. A marking.

You and Santino D’Antonio are marked.

For death.

Santino’s head snaps in your direction, his arm finally lowering, and you meet his stare evenly. In his wild gaze, you see a thousand things and your lips press into an even firmer line. You feel Winston’s eyes burn holes into you and fight to keep your own expression straight.  

“I assume you know what the Black Dragon is.”

His expression is stony and you don’t miss the scathing undercurrent in his words.

“Yes,” you say before Santino can no doubt offer something snarkier or provoking in reply. Your eyes connect again, an understanding—realisation—peering back at you. He knows what this is. What it means. “They’re janitors of the High Table. We know.”

Chicago.

Everything, always, inevitably, circles back to Chicago.

“My, my, so it’s not ignorance but stupidity that’s responsible for this,” Winston shoots back at once, his tone and stare cutting, and you see Santino scowl visibly, fighting to control his temper. “My next question then, if I may, is to ask what exactly you have done?”

You should tell him.

But Santino’s words from the warehouse attack halt your tongue.

We broke his precious rules. He will inform those who have the power to punish you.

If you tell Winston, he will be duty-bound to inform the High Table about a breach of rules. This way, at least, you can keep him in the dark and if worse comes to worst, he cannot be held accountable because he doesn’t know anything. You abhor the very idea, but you have no other choice. Not with how recent the Tarasov incident is.  

You look back towards Winston again and give him a one-shoulder shrug, trying to appear casual, unbothered. “A situation gone wrong. We’ll sort it out.”

You don’t miss a flash of surprise that contorts Santino’s face briefly before he relaxes.  

For a good reason too.

When it comes to these matters, you always take Winston’s side. Keeping things a secret puts a bad taste in your mouth.

A memory of a hotel room, a phone, a message, and a closing door pierces you suddenly, and you fiddle with your fingers.

“Honesty or nothing.”

You exhale sharply, your eyes flying to the older man’s serious face.

It’s an old agreement between you—one you swore to a long time ago. Either you tell each other the honest, unfiltered truth or nothing at all. No lies. It’s the one rule that you’ve always abided by. It’s likely the only reason why he also trusts you with any information at all. Over the years, you have proven yourself to be worthy of his trust. What he tells you stays between you.

Trust, in your world, is the rarest form of currency. You both know that.

For a tense moment you simply peer at each other, and then you offer him a lifeless, “Nothing.”

His expression hardens and he places the card on the table, more forceful than you’re used to seeing, and laces his hands in front of him.

“The Lovers are rabid,” he tells you and his head tilts as he glances from you to Santino and then back to you again. “They barely abide by the rule of the High Table. Being marked by the Black Dragon is even worse. Whatever it is you two did, I suggest you sort it out quickly.”

“Ah, rest assured, Winston, I will have Camorra hunt them down like dogs,” Santino states coldly, his hand sliding back inside his pocket as he peers at the manager with a faint sneer. “There is no place left for them where I won’t find them. È il mio cavallo di battaglia.”

Winston pulls a mock surprised expression. “Do you even have that power anymore, Mr D’Antonio? To command Camorra on a hunt like that?”

Haughtiness melts away from Santino’s expression at that and he notably hesitates.

He doesn’t.

As an heir apparent he would have had that power.

But as a Spare…

His influence now is minimal by comparison.

He may make a plea to Gianna if he believes his life is being threatened but there’s no guarantee she will offer help. Or care for that matter.  

“It doesn’t matter,” you cut in when you see the way his expression crumbles, how those words hit exactly where it hurts. “They caught me off guard today. There will be no second time. They’ll be rotting corpses by the end of the week.”

Winston shakes his head, sighing, “You’re not dealing with your average street thugs, dear. You’re dealing with something that’s far above you.”

“And it doesn’t matter,” you say again, harsher, and he takes in the fierce twist of your mouth thoughtfully, considering. “I don’t give a shit who the Lovers are or what the Black Dragon wants. They come for any of us again and they die choking on their own blood.”

A brief glimmer of a smirk appears across the seams of Santino’s mouth but you ignore it.

Winston continues to watch you pensively but doesn’t look surprised by your venomous declaration.

“And your plan?” he prompts curiously, one eyebrow lifting in an open challenge.

Your eyes drift towards the man next to you whose green eyes are guarded when they meet your own, and you force yourself to smile. “The oldest in the book. Bait.”

The penthouse is eerily quiet as you stare at the New York skyline.

The dizzying display of lights twinkle in front of you, and you focus on them. Focus on counting in your head too. With every mental number, you inhale; small, controlled breaths that don’t strain the gauze wrapped firmly around your waist. Doc has been clear. Either you rest your overworked body or he will refuse to order you any new materials.

You didn’t think the old man was capable of blackmail, but then again, you both work with some of the most powerful people on the planet. To survive that, you need to be just as—if not more—cunning.

Santino has been on the phone for almost twenty minutes now, making phonecall after phonecall in the kitchen. The wild mix of different languages has blurred in your ears by this point and you let your mind drift as you stare outside.

You don’t know how you’re still standing.

Adrenaline is only temporarily useful and tends to leave you more exhausted than before.  

It seems like you have hit a stage where your body simply refuses to shut down. Perhaps it’s a survival instinct, or perhaps it’s the knowledge that you’re being hunted.

Why they attacked you first and not Santino seems obvious at first glance.

You’re the easier target.

But maybe you’re underestimating the Lovers and whoever else is behind this. They were so organised, prepared—they’ve studied you. Perhaps the reason for such a focused effort to catch you off guard is because the exact opposite is true.

They consider you to be the deadlier of the two.  

Your tongue runs unhurriedly over your teeth, and you frown at your blurry reflection. Copper burns your tongue, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, reminding yourself that it’s not real.

You’ve brushed your teeth and tongue three times but the taste of blood still won’t fade.

The skin on your neck tingles suddenly and you rub your hand against it, wincing at the sensitivity of it. You had scrubbed your shoulder and neck raw in the shower, wild with desperation to get the blood off your skin.

You could have stayed holed up at the Continental.

But hiding is not how you overcome your enemies.

No, you plan on finding them. Wherever they are.

Neither Santino nor Winston appeared too enthusiastic about your plan but they couldn’t argue your logic.

If the Lovers or the Black Dragon want you and Santino, they will have to come to you and collect.

No rules apply out in the open. For either party.

Forcing your mind to focus on that line of thought, you consider your options.

“Chicago, then.”

You blink out of your stupor, looking over your shoulder at Santino who approaches you leisurely. His suit jacket is off, leaving him in only a shirt and a vest but something about his gait worries you.

He reminds you too much of a caged animal.

For a man like him, being hunted—challenged—like this is insulting. You can feel the restless energy rushing through his veins from across the room.

“Chicago,” you agree lightly, and you stare at each other for a tense minute. “But why now? Why wait so long?”

That’s the one thing that’s been tripping you up. Every time you think about it, that’s the one fact that doesn’t seem to make any sense.

After Chicago, you both waited for months to see if anything would come of it. When nothing did, you both assumed that luck had been on your side. But what was it that Winston said? Luck always runs out?

Still, waiting almost four years seems a little extreme when on a quest for revenge.

“Oh, I have theories, cara,” he says but appears too distracted. His lips part and he comes to stand in front of you. “Are you in pain?”

You shake your head, smiling faintly. “Doc gave me stuff strong enough to numb a horse. I’ll be fine. You know I had worse while sparring. And theories?”

But Santino doesn’t look reassured by your words. He focuses on your neck and your hand drops away.

He clears his throat and glances out towards the city.

“Whoever is behind this likely waited to see if I would become the next head.”

Oh. It would make sense.

Camorra is power. Camorra is the second seat at the table—one of the oldest, founding families of the High Table. Their power is immense. Very few measure up. As a head, Santino would have been a near-impossible target. He could have unleashed hell with a snap of his fingers.

“And I believe that the reason they did not attack you sooner, amore,” he begins shrewdly, his eyebrows furrowing, and you read the fury there. “Is because of Tarasov.”

You let his words sink in and look away, nodding your head slightly. “Of course,” you mumble, and it feels ridiculously obvious now that he’s mentioned it. “I was Tarasov’s most prized possession. He might have sought out retribution if I mysteriously died. Not to mention the fact that the Russians have two seats at the table. They might have demanded that the Dragon is held accountable. But if I’m not attached to anyone…then my death is a clean sweep. No consequences.”

He nods and you exhale deeply, your head dipping tiredly, and he steps even closer.

“They will not touch you,” he states firmly, quietly, and his fingertips hover over your neck. His expression is strained and you reach out, pressing your thumb against the deep, harsh line between his brows. His frown eases immediately and a slight grin twists your mouth, faint but teasing. Your fingers drop away but his own hand catches yours and he presses your fingers to his cheek instead. “Are you still angry at me?”

His question is nothing more than a faint whisper, his gaze as heated as it is guarded, and you shake your head.

“No,” you tell him frankly. “But I do want to know why you did what you did.”

He presses into your palm, even while a sardonic smile twists his mouth. “You would have me weak before you, amore? Hmm? Is that it?”

“I would have you honest.”

The fingers holding your own to his face trail upwards, and he takes your forearm, pressing a lingering kiss against your inner wrist. Something inside your chest sparks to life at the heat of his lips on your skin. He holds your gaze the entire time and for a split second, you see his eyes flicker down. Down towards your lips. It only lasts a second before he blinks, and then his attention drifts back to you. He lowers your wrist from his face but doesn’t let go of your hand.

He regards you seriously, his hesitance clear before his lips finally part.

“All my life,” he begins, his voice thick with…something. Something that you can’t put into words but his tone, the look on his face, all wrap around your heart like a fist. “I’ve been told that I was born to rule Camorra. That it's my only goal and purpose in life. That like my father and his father before him, I will rule an empire. That I had to prove myself worthy of it. Oh, amore, you know very well how I obeyed. I killed, cheated, stole, slept and lied my way through every problem. There were no rules and no price too high to pay for power.”

He pauses and you stare at him as he swallows, working his jaw. His lips twist again but it’s not a smile, not quite. There is something raw about him like this, all vicious whispers and raging eyes.

“Ah, yes. I would have bled this world if it had meant getting that seat because without it—”

He breaks off and your lips thin with silent understanding.

Because without the seat, he feels like a failure. Like everything he’s done in his life has been for nothing. It’s a matter of adjusting to life after the goal—the dream—he’s been chasing for over thirty years is taken away.

Santino clicks his tongue and looks back at you. His green eyes roam over your features slowly and the look on his face—

“Then you came along,” he remarks mildly, and there is something arresting—downright intimate—about the way he gazes at you. This man—this wonderful, terrible man—who you’ve cursed, and laughed, and cried and bled with looks at you like you’re an answer to a lifelong prayer. Like it hurts to look at you but he still does it anyway. “Crashed right into my life, didn’t you, (Name)? And I wanted you from the moment I saw you, and every moment since then.”

His words are like hands around your throat.

They are divine, and they are terrible.

“Santino—”

“Hear me,” he insists, and his free hand comes to rest against the curve of your cheek; an anchor, a rope. “This is the truth you wanted from me, bella. And the truth is this: I lost the title, but I have no intention of losing you too. So, to answer your question from the other day…neither. I have no intention of choosing between you and Camorra.”

Because he wants everything.

Years ago, back when you first started working together on odd jobs now and again, you asked him what he wanted. Back when you felt nothing but mild disdain for him, his answer had come as no surprise.

“I want everything,” he had divulged to you through heavy cigar smoke and a devilish, self-assured smirk. “And I plan to take it. One way or another.”

Selfish, cruel man.

“Men like my brother are not capable of love. But if they find it, you will never be loved like that again.”

Gianna had warned you.

You pull away from him, half-turning as his hands drop away from you, and glance back at him.

He doesn’t look surprised.

He never does anymore.

What, if anything, can you offer in response to that?

“We—” you choke on your words—on the excuses, the insecurities, the lies that would be easier to tell—and clear your throat weakly, trying and failing to get rid of the lump there. “We should prepare…for…if it comes to war…”

“Call in your life debt.”

Something cold settles in the pit of your stomach. It washes away the simmering heat, numbs the quiver in your heart.

Your head snaps to him so quickly, you feel the awful sting of pain slice through your nerves.

“What?”

But Santino only stares at you with that uncompromising, stubborn expression. The heir of Camorra stands before you; all business and sharp edges, unreasonable.

“Go to him and demand payment,” he voices coolly and tugs casually on one of his shirt sleeves with a tilt of his head, all arrogance. “Get the infamous Boogeyman to do something useful for once. Hm? Get him to repay for all you have done for him.”

“No.”

It comes out quicker and harsher than you intended. But the image of John’s grief twisted expression burns behind your eyelids, and you shake your head again. He’s out. It’s over. Let him live a peaceful life with his dog, away from all of this. You’re not about to drag him back into this life over your mistakes while he’s trying to grieve his dead wife and oldest friend.

Enough.

He’s had enough. There’s only so much you can push a person before something cracks and breaks permanently.

You would know.

Santino’s lips curve and he chuckles, breathless, but the look in his eyes is downright vicious.

“And why not, cara mia?” he demands, his voice almost melodic with its bitterness. “Why not?”

“He’s retired,” you force out but you can tell right away that for Santino it won’t be enough. He has resented John for too long for that to be valid reasoning. “He’s out.”

“Not good enough.”

Something flickers across his features then. A slow, halting thing that stills his usually animated body. His expression chips away till only terrible, focused intent remains. He closes the distance between you and reaches for you, for your neck, for the chain that rests against your throat.

“Don’t,” you plead weakly, and hurriedly wrap your fingers around his, halting him. He looks up at you, and you feel like you’re going to be sick. “Please—”

He jerks the chain upwards, freeing it from under your shirt and the weight at the end of the chain slides down till it bumps against his fingers.

It’s so still that you can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

You can’t breathe. It has nothing to do with the pain or the bandages, and everything to do with the calm emptiness with which Santino observes John’s ring resting on the chain.

He doesn’t look surprised to see it.

Almost like he knew. Perhaps he always has.

But how do you begin to explain it?

How do you explain to him that the only two precious things you’ve ever owned are always with you this way? Close to your heart.

The silver viper rests against his folded fingers and you grip his hand. “I—”

“Do you still love him? Is that it?”

His soft question seizes your heart.

“No.”

He’s silent for a beat.

“I wish…” he murmurs gently, and looks up at you, his gaze empty. “I wish I believed that.”

He lets go, allowing the ring to fall back against your chest and turns to go.

Wanting to believe in someone should be enough.

Wanting to love someone should be enough.

But it isn’t.

It isn’t.

. . .

an: and now you know what happened to John’s ring :D

A few of you have asked questions about it but I’ve very purposely avoided answering anything for the sake of this reveal. I mean she wears it for multiple reasons but you can only imagine how it looks from Santino’s POV. 

So we’re beginning a major story arc so strap yourselves in, the fun is just starting :D And, as always, your support.....I’ve missed you guys skdjfhsd thank you so much for being so understanding! <33 all your comments, theories, fanart...wowowow. you’re all incredible. 

[adenei]

I would love to read some angst, maybe Ron hurt on a mission with “Where am I?”

Hi anon! I hope this near-death Ron experience is angsty enough. Thank you for the ask!

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

Where am I?

Ron woke up to a blinding white light that made him squint to be able to see anything. His head was pounding, and his skin felt like it was on fire. He didn’t recognize his location, which immediately set him on edge. “Where am I?” he asked.

“You’re at St. Mungo’s, mate,” he heard a voice say from his right side.

“Harry..? What happened?” It sounded like Harry, and he could see a face with a black mess of hair, but his vision was really blurry still. 

“The mission went wrong. We were blindsided by the smugglers. They must have been tipped off. We’d almost finished rounding them up when one of the stragglers managed to hit you. Robards instructed me to bring you here and he and the rest of the team took care of the rest. They’re all apprehended now. I just got word. The healers don’t know what the one bloke hit you with, though. They should be back soon.”

“What about Hermione?” Ron asked. “Does she know?”

“You know we’re normally supposed to wait for the team leader to check in before we make contact with family members..” Harry said hesitantly.

“But?” Ron pressed.

“I just sent her a patronus before you woke up,” Harry said.

Ron groaned. He wasn’t sure whether or not he should be happy. She was seven months pregnant, and did not need any added stress. But she’d also kill him if he got sent to St. Mungo’s and just returned home without her knowing, too.

A healer came in and noticed Ron was awake. “Ah, good, you’re awake,” The healer said. He went through the usual questions: what’s your name, what’s today’s date, where were you when the accident happened, and so on. “Now, as I’m sure Auror Potter told you, we’re not sure what you’ve been hit with, but it’s unlike any stunning spell we’ve ever seen. Can you describe what you’re feeling to me?”

“Well, my vision’s almost back to normal, but my head is killing me, and my skin feels like it’s on fire.”

“Thank you. Your head is likely hurting because you hit it as you fell, per Mr. Potter’s report. You do have a mild concussion from it so we’ll need you to stay awake for the next several hours to monitor. There’s also a mark where your diaphragm is located. This is where I’m assuming the spell hit you. When you came in, your entire body was extremely red and irritated, and you had a high fever because of it. We were able to give you potions to cool down your body temperature, and your skin has since returned to its normal pigmentation-”

The door flew open then and Hermione entered the room like a tornado. “Ron! Are you okay? What happened?” She flung her arms around him as he winced from the pain.

“I’m fine, Hermione, the healer was just going over things.” Ron reassured her.

“Yes, as I was saying,” the healer seemed a bit annoyed at the interruption. “The burning sensation you feel is probably the after effects of the spell. We’ll try another dose of the potion to see if that helps.” He continued reading the notes on his clipboard before he stopped abruptly and looked up. “Mr. Weasley, if the spell is what I think it is from this list of rarer known dark magical spells, you are quite lucky to be alive.”

“What?” he asked as Hermione’s face paled.

“Your symptoms seem to be matching the ignis mortem spell. If aimed directly at the heart, one will die. The spell is meant to set the body on fire internally through the blood. When it hits the heart first, the spell spreads the fastest, as the heat causes the heart to give out. That would explain the color of your skin, and the temporary vision loss. I am going to prepare more potions to ensure we get the excess heat out of your bloodstream straight away.” 

The healer left the room abruptly and Hermione whimpered. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. I need to go update Robards on the healer’s diagnosis.” Harry left as Ron nodded. 

Ron held out his hand and Hermione took it. “Ron, you do feel like you’re on fire. How did this happen?”

“I dunno, Hermione, you know I’m always as careful as I can be. Constant vigilance and all, but this one snuck away and got me when my guard was down.” Hermione burst into tears as he put his arms around his wife.

“I know I said I’d always support you as an auror, and I swear, I do! You’re brilliant at it, but I don’t know what I’d do if something happened and I lost you - we lost you.” She put her hand on her bulging stomach.

The healer came in and administered two more potions. Ron’s skin immediately started to feel better, and the burning sensation had significantly decreased. He was confident that this would prevent any further complications from the spell. Ron and Hermione were told to illuminate the light outside the door red if they needed something, and then took his leave after ensuring that the potions had helped.

Ron thought deeply about Hermione’s words. She was right. Ron had spent eight years with the aurors. He’d managed to climb his way up, and was a senior auror right alongside Harry. He specialized in strategy and tactics, but the field work was starting to become daunting. Especially with a baby on the way. Ron was finding that his priorities were beginning to change. He looked at Hermione then.

“Hermione, I think I’m going to have a conversation with Robards when I’m released.” Ron said.

“What do you mean?” she asked him.

“I don’t want to jeopardize everything we’ve built by continuing in the field. I can’t risk it anymore.”

“Ron, surely you aren’t saying that- But you love being an auror. It’s your dream,” Hermione argued.

“It was my dream. But you and this baby, and our family is my new dream, and I can’t have that if I’m constantly risking my life in the field. Maybe Robards will let me stay on and work strategy and tactics part time behind the scenes. And I can help out George at the store. He keeps pestering me to partner with him. I think it’s time for a change, Hermione.” 

She watched him, trying to see through to what he was really feeling. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“The only thing I’ve ever been more sure of than this is wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. I swear, Hermione, this is what I want.” He leaned in to kiss her tenderly on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Just then, Harry had walked back into the room. He knew with one glance at them that something had happened. Hermione gave Ron a supportive look as he took a deep breath, preparing to share their conversation with his best mate. But Ron needn’t have worried, because you weren’t best friends with someone for fifteen years without gaining an understanding of what the other was thinking. Harry knew, just by looking at Ron and Hermione, that Ron was about to move on to a different chapter of his life. And he couldn’t have been happier for the two of them.

[malakhai-ozera]

Insatiable Collision   || Khoman 💔

Discord thread featuring: Khai and Roman @romanbeckett

When:  December 28th 2020

Mentions: Quentin & Aaron @aaronhart93

Description: Khai and Roman talk about about whats been going on between them. Khai finally admits he needs help and Roman confesses he has fallen in love with someone else. 😭

Trigger Warnings: Major whacks with the pain stick!!

Khai. Things between Roman and Khai  had been so tense lately. Ever since their little lovers quarrel and finding out they had to move away from each other. Things just seemed to be so awkward for them. Of course they both still loved one another, and they feared loosing what they had between them. But with Khai’s current drug addiction, and Roman’s constant state of worrying about him. It was hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Khai never wanted this for Roman. It was never his intention to put such a heavy weight on his boyfriends shoulders. He knew he was the cause of all this tension and he so desperately wanted to fix it. He couldn’t bare knowing that he was the reason Roman was falling into a deep depression. All he ever wanted for his best friend was to make him happy and give him the love that he deserves. Now, sitting across from him at the dinning room table. He could feel the intensity of all his mistakes. He had to do this, he had to make this right. Not only for his sake but for Roman’s as well. It was time to let go, and even though just the thought of doing that hurt so damn bad. He knew it was the best thing for the both of them. He needed to get help, and admitting that he couldn’t do that on his own was eating him up inside. “So... I know things have been kinda tense between us... Awkward even. But...” he reached across the table to take his boyfriends hand in his own as he nervously licked his lips. “I know it’s my fault. I take full responsibility. I think we’ve been needing to talk about this for a while now, and I’m so sorry I’ve been pushing it off. I’m just... I never wanted to hurt you Roman. This is just really hard for me. I think I need help” he finally admitted out loud. His eyes glossing over as he gazed across his home cooked meal into his boyfriends eyes. “I can’t keep doing this to you. You deserve so much better.”

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜ Had Roman known that things between him and Khai were changing? He’d be stupid not to. It was something obvious that hung in the air like a dark cloud, a pending heartbreak that neither one of them wanted to admit out loud. So, when Khai reached for him across the table, Roman knew exactly what was going to say. Still, being prepared didn’t make it sting any less, loving someone else didn’t either. Regardless of what they were both going through, at the end of the day, this was his best friend, and the first person he’d ever loved. He’d be dead inside not to feel something. His gaze shifted from Khai’s intense hazel eyes when he admitted that Ro deserved better, something he wasn’t sure he believed, but it wasn’t going to change the outcome of this conversation. “Are you breaking up with me then?” He asked, staring down at his food that now just made his stomach turn.

Khai. The pain on Roman’s face was clear as day. He would have to be blind not to see it, and right now he kinda wished he was. Not that being blind would actually make this any easier. Roman was displaying a sheer reflection of exactly how he was feeling inside as well. He hated this so much, and he wished he could just simply erase everything bad that had happened and start over. “I...” he chocked out and then got up from his seat. Placing his napkin onto the table before making his way over to his boyfriend and kneeling down beside him. “Listen. This isn’t what I really want, okay?” He tried to keep his voice from shaking. But the lack of drugs in his system and the overwhelming emotions were truly making that hard. “I just don’t want to hurt you anymore, Roman. I fucked up, and I hate admitting that.  But I really hate hurting you even more. It’s like... I made one stupid decision after another and I really don’t know how to fix it.” He looked down at their still joined hands and felt a single tear stream down his cheek. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this” his voice shook. “I don’t know why I thought I could handle this and still... “ he stopped talking and brought his free hand up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Clearing his throat and trying to get a grasp on himself before speaking again. “You mean the world to me, Roman. You deserve someone who can put you before everything else, and love you despite their own addictions. I’m not saying I don’t love you, or that I’m not in love with you. I’m just trying to say, I love you enough to know I’m hurting you and to let go. I need help, and I don’t expect you to sit here and be miserable while I do that. We don’t need to be boyfriends to know how much we love each other. I’m always going to love you no matter what. You’re my best friend. My soul mate.” It took everything in him to get those words out and by the end he was practically sobbing. This hurt so much and he so badly wanted to change his mind. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Not if he wanted to salvage anything they had left.

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜ Roman was finding it hard to keep his emotions in check as Khai got up, and crouched down at his side. This beautiful man, so beautiful inside out, even despite his flaws, could make Roman feel so many things at once, all the fucking time. Their relationship had been nothing but a rollercoaster during its short span, but all the actor could really see now was his best friend who was hurting. He was being honest, something Roman had been struggling so hard to be. He had to respect that. “Khai.” The taller lifted a hand to cup his lover’s cheek, thumb running along the soft skin just below his eye as he too felt his eyes begin to water. “I’m glad you’re getting help. My main concern this whole time has been you, and your health. As long as you’re focusing on that, I’m okay.” Both of his hands were now at Khai’s jaw, thumbs trying to catch his tears as they fell. “I love you. I’m always gonna love you, and be here for you. I understand...and I’m not upset with you. Okay?” His breath shuttered as his watery green eyes were darting over Khai’s face. “I’m proud of you actually. Really fucking proud.”

Khai. Somehow even in the midst of all this, Roman was still able to carry him. He knew he was breaking his best friends heart, but here he was trying to comfort him. He leaned his head into Roman’s touch and closed his eyes as his tears continued to flow. His hands moving to hold desperately onto his friends wrists as he took a deep shaky breath. Opening  his eyes once again as he looked deep into Roman’s teary orbs. “I know” he nodded. “...and I hate that I put you through any of this. I never meant to” he choked out. His thumbs rubbing the back of Romans hands as he tried to keep himself from crying any more. “I love you too. I love you so fucking much... and I’m so sorry. So so sorry.” He moved closer to his best friend and wrapped his arms around him. Holding onto him like it was the last chance he would ever get as he nuzzled his face into his chest to breath him in. “I don’t deserve you. But thank you” he whispered. Turning his head look up at his friend once more before forcing a soft smile. “I promise. I’m gonna get better and I’m still gonna marry you one day.”

❝𝓡✮м𝕒𝐍 ❜❜ Roman hated seeing Khai cry. It was probably the worst feeling he’d ever experienced. That sounded dramatic, but like...Roman Beckett was really damn dramatic. There was no shock there. However, when Khai mentioned that he was still going to marry him one day, Roman pulled his hands back just for a moment. Guilt. That was what he felt more than anything else, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to give that wish to Khai. He was in love with Quentin, and on top of that, he also had feelings for Aaron. He’d really gotten himself in a huge cluster fuck. “You don’t wanna marry me.” The actor heard himself say, as if he was hovering above his own body in the moment, watching this whole thing go down without any control over what happened.

Khai. The smile Khai felt becoming more real than forced was quickly wiped away when Roman pulled back. A state of confusion falling over him as he looked up at his best friend. “What? Of course I do” he said a blindsided. Why would Roman say that? Did he really think he didn’t want to? “I love you, Roman. Why wouldn’t I wanna marry you?” He wasn’t sure what was happening right now. But the look on Roman’s face was making him feel like maybe he fucked up more than he thought.

Roman. Roman shook his head, feeling the bile come up the back of his throat as his stomach seemed to be doing fucking acrobats. Why couldn’t this just be easy? Why couldn’t he let Khai break up with him without making it five times more complicated. Roman usually was so much better at conversing than this, seriously, he was disappointed in himself. “Khai I’m not as perfect and innocent here as you think. This isn’t all your fault.” Roman sucked in a deep breath before shaking his head, and closing his eyes. “Listen jus’ — focus on getting better, and I’ll be here every step of the way. Promise me you won’t give up on getting help, no matter how hard it gets. Okay? That’s all I want.”

Khai. These two definitely never made anything easy. Maybe that’s why they hit it off so well in the first place. They brought out a side of each other that no one else ever could.  It was because of that deep connection that Khai knew Roman was holding something back. “Roman... I never said you were innocent. But you are perfect to me. Even with your flaws. They don’t matter. We all fuck up.” He pulled back himself and got to his feet as he stood beside his now ex boyfriend. Just looking down at him for a moment as his mind ran through all the possibilities of what could be going on here. “I won’t give up. I promise. I don’t even know who I am anymore and I really do wanna be better. Not just for you but for me too” he assured. His hand reaching out to caress Roman’s cheek as he continued to just kinda stare at him. “You fell in love with someone else didn’t you?” he asked calmly. It wasn’t even like he could really be mad about it. He was doing god knows what with god knows who while completely oblivious. Could he really expect Roman not to turn to someone else?

Roman. Roman kept his eyes closed while Khai stood and questioned him, ultimately letting a few more tears roll down his cheeks, and onto his lap. That loaded question, one that was weighing on him heavy enough to feel like it was crushing his chest, making it impossible to breathe. It was a lot, and something he didn’t honestly want to answer. His heart was racing, mind going numb from all of the overwhelmingly fast thoughts now forming in his mind. He didn’t want to hurt Khai. Ever. But, he’d been so honest with Roman, the least he could do is be transparent with him in return. “Yes. I fell in love with someone else.” The barista confirmed, choosing to look down at his lap as soon as his eyes opened, instead of face whatever expression was currently flashing across Khai’s face. “I didn’t mean to, I jus’...it happened, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” The man put his head in his hands, crying now more freely as everything hit him. He’d been trying to run from reality for so long, he was bound to take a long fall.

Khai. When Roman finally answered him, it did hurt. He could feel the knife being pushed into his heart and turning slowly. Roman couldn’t even look at him. He couldn’t blame him. That took a lot for him to admit, even Khai knew that. Roman wasn’t the type of person who would just run around purposely hurting people. So he knew his best friend really meant it when he said he didn’t mean to. “Babe...” he breathed out softly. Grabbing the back of Roman’s chair and pulling him back a bit from the table. He straddled himself over his lap and placed his hands over top of his to pull them from his face. “It’s okay. It sucks, yeah. But it’s okay. We both... we fucked up. Maybe we rushed into this. I don’t know. But what I do know, is I still love you. I’m always gonna love you. I just want you to happy. I wish so much it could have been me. But you always have me. Don’t cry. I promise it’s okay. I’m not mad.” He pulled Roman into his arms and just held him against his chest. Raking his fingers softly through his hair as he tried to comfort him. “Remember what I said? We don’t have to be boyfriends to know we love each other.. and you never know what the future might hold. Either way. You’re stuck with me for life.”

Roman. Roman didn’t expect Khai to be so understanding, to try and comfort him in a way he knew he didn’t deserve. Maybe he was right, they probably did rush into this, but he didn’t change how he felt about the smaller male. This was his first love, the first person to ever have his heart, and to bring him out of his shell enough to even attempt a relationship. He trusted Khai so fucking much, and that’s why it was so hard to let him go. “Trust me. I’m not complaining.” Roman managed to respond as he wrapped his arms around his friend, and pressed a cheek to his chest. “I love you, Khai. Always.” He whispered, voice hoarse from emotion as he squeezed his eyes shut once again to let out the last of his tears.

[tarotchariot]

The reading I gave wasn’t accurate - what the heck?

Psychics, intuitives, diviners UNITE - Over the fact we sometimes get it wrong. Oh dear.

Let’s all just quietly go to the back...

My darlings. We are bound to miss the mark at some point. It really isn’t usually personal, but alas - something went amiss.

Okay, okay. Starting clearly: You give readings, you’ve been doing quite well, being accurate, practising often and gaining confidence. Great! And then comes a response of “that doesn’t make any sense.” - Something like that, anyway. 

Fact is - you’ve been blindsided. All of a sudden, your ‘psychic-ness’ was apparently thrown out the window!  You’re hoodwinked, knocked back and unsure how to react.

Today with you, I’d like to share the possible reasons it didn’t quite work.

Strength of connection (personal)

Often while practising, number one port of call is to get grounded and connected. Properly taking the time, and feeling through it. Whether we are choosing to connect with spirit, the divine, angels, God, Goddess, and the like - it’s important to make sure we have made space for them.

When we give readings, there’s a massive difference between a service when working with higher vibration energy, versus unconnected, which can be biased, and from a place of the ego. We are inclined to have our own personal opinions and that’s great, in the appropriate places. 

However, nothing is better than a wider, broader view point, especially available to us when we can connect fully and joyfully. 

Simply put: have an enjoyable routine or practice before a session.

Your tools

Using something in the world to divine or read for another, can often clutter the area, and the item itself with energy that often can be negative or troubled. When ever you might use it, you may notice you are getting mixed messages, confusing thoughts; or even feeling negative, upset, and too uncomfortable to conduct the reading properly.

Always ensure that you do something to clear the energy of it, whether it’s charging a crystal in the moonlight, cleansing a card deck with quartz/selenite, or meditating/visualisation - do whatever you feel appropriate to clear and renew the vitality of your tools.

Clearance

Very often readers are Empaths, HSP; psychic, sensitive in some way and that can mean they “soak up” energy from environments, people, and situations. This is the classic “Am I feeling this, or is it the other persons emotions?”.

It’s very likely that you will need to cleanse your energy, not only for the sake of connection, but also to ensure you aren’t misunderstanding something for another energy. Clearing yourself and your space can increase trust for yourself and what you bring in, which can result in...

Confidence

Most likely, you have absolutely experienced this: You get an intuitive thought during a reading, or even just speaking with someone and you think - 

“That can’t possibly be. It’s illogical/random/unreasonable” 

It wouldn’t make sense!

Holding yourself back, you keep it to yourself, only for the very thing to become apparent during a conversation, or something coming to light later down the line.

This is the Achilles heel of a lot of readers in my eyes. The easiest route to take is the peaceful and less crazy sounding one - and yet it still won’t make sense in the end, because something is far from typical for the read-ee.

This reflects lack of self confidence, and if you find you hold yourself back; or it’s difficult to have the courage to mention what you genuinely see, it’s worth it to practice more, and gain faith.

Practice faith, and practice bravery. Remember: if you say ‘the thing’ , it could mean all the world to the read-ee. Take the chance to help, and have the courage to own up if it’s ever off.

Connection with the querent

Ahh, the read-ee.

Complications can occur here for a few reasons. 

Number one, being their attitude. Now and again, you will find a sceptic, someone who is very shrewd and unwilling to just take anything put in front of them. While that’s admirable, it can also create a barrier - it might be difficult to communicate, and as a result get your message across in a way they can see what’s right. In this case, it’s worth trying to be amicable, raise the positivity and notice the best way you can speak with them.

Number two - The connection they’re willing to have. Fear could be holding the person back. Often, they will only be shown as much as they’re willing and open to see, resulting in a reading that can only be described as ‘meh’.

Number 3 - it’s personal. It could be perhaps you’re too close to this person, to read in a way that’s unbiased. You may know things already that can colour the reading unless you take precautions and a lot of effort. In this case, it may be better just to be the friend, shoulder to cry on, or so on.

And so, these are the top reasons a reading may go awry. 

Know that a few inaccurate readings won’t reflect your true value and overall skill, it can be a matter of various things, alongside your practising level. Let it be a reflection of preparation. and due care.

Thanks so much for reading, and you’re so welcome to contact with any questions or further additions through comments, messages, asks.

[bonesandblood-sunandmoon]

The Baggage of Love

CoA prompt for Dec 2019 - “Love” [Call for Submissions]. Under a cut due to length; there’s a few sections: Family, Friends, So-Called “Puppy Love”, Love is a Four-Letter Word, and “not gay as in happy, but queer as in i love you”. (Link to that quoted post is provided.)

Family

In terms of feeling (personal experience) and topic (impersonal), there’s an iceberg when approaching familial love (and the lack thereof). I don’t have the spoons for poking at the effects of our parents’ lives on us, divorce, growing up in an essentially single parent house, or the fragility of familial love, usually framed in terms of acceptance, around queer and trans identities. Other people have written about the popularity of the Found Family trope in queer fandom, intergenerational trauma, and all kinds of family stuff, and I am but a simple blogger. I do remember that it was first with my family that I was exposed to the concept of love and saying that I loved them, and when push comes to shove, it’s not uncommon for stories to default to parental love as an important element of a character’s story (‘at least their family will always be there for them’).

Familial love can be fraught with complications of our own parent-child or caretaker-child baggage (if grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. raised us), but I suspect there are some aros who would say that it’s a different flavor of love from what’s talked about in relation to aromanticism. The whole offspring thing is a whole ‘nother can of worms that could be a separate CoA prompt, but I can see child rearing being separate from the alloromantic relationship elevator in a way that isn’t incompatible with being aro, even if co-parenting is usually presented romantically in most media. (At least, off the top of my head, I associate it with ‘becoming a step-parent’ narratives, but that doesn’t mean non-romantic co-parenting isn’t out there.)

Friends

I know I’ve seen it cross my dash about not emphasizing platonic love over romantic love or over emphasizing friends as a means of ‘aros are still human’, but I didn’t save links for an idea of how discussions about prioritizing friendship have been happening. On the one hand, I can understand how uncomfortable and alienating this can be for aplatonic aros, but on the other hand, I spend most of my time in the allo-allo world with people who clearly prioritize romantic love over friendships, so it feels like I don’t actually experience very much prioritization of friendship. I don’t mean that the aro community shouldn’t be cautious of prioritizing platonic love and relationships. It’s more of a personal balancing act, but I’m not quite finding the right words for what I want to say right now.

(Aside: When I think of love that hasn’t been otherwise specified, I think of the middle school banter with some of my friends - something like a minor inconvenience leads to “I hate you” “Aw, I love you, too” - juxtaposed against feeling blindsided in high school that, apparently, I’m misleading others if I say ‘I love you’ to a friend. Unbeknownst to me, I was dating someone for about two or three months in 9th grade because of that. I think of wanting to tell someone that I was proud of them facing one of their fears during the course of that day’s work (“I love you for trying”). I think of reassuring friends that I care about them.)

When I think of just the word ‘love’, I think of an amorphous, unspecific feeling love that seems to reasonably include friendships. Some posts that were probably meant to stay personal/venting posts from aro bloggers use love to mean romance, but sometimes, that feels about as restrictive as allo-allo people assuming I must be dating a friend in order to say love. I may not feel as comfortable saying it out loud anymore, but I still love my friends in a way that’s hard to name or specify any further yet isn’t romantic.

So-Called “Puppy Love”

I feel like I’ve explained this before, but I have memories of crushes that have faded and become hard to translate to present/future perceptions. One of my past rounds of shadow work was specifically aimed at recovering from a crush on a friend ending our friendship, and I’ve always been embarrassed to talk about it, particularly as the final straw that set off one of my depressive episodes in high school. ~ One of those overperforming emos writing sad poetry about an unrequited crush? The emotional dysregulation of experiencing the first major heartbreak and becoming a depressed teen stereotype? ~ It was cringey before calling things cringey was a thing. (Also, please don’t go looking for my middle/high school era DA account where that’s been immortalized.)

In hindsight, I can recognize a whole bunch of comparatively minor crushes were probably more based on aesthetic attraction because they didn’t actually come with the same type of ‘butterflies’ and daydreaming about hypothetical futures. The crushes that were more substantial and had to be accommodated were more likely on friends, and it faired better to just wait out the feelings with no disclosure. I can think of at least one occasion where I was semi-aware that my crush was aesthetically based and I didn’t actually want to date him, but that awareness didn’t come along until undergrad. The last situation I definitely call a crush was in Sophomore year of undergrad and involved a friend, who in the past year found out about it and wasn’t upset or anything. (Shout out to friendship that can survive accidentally revealing that time I had a crush on her because she follows my tumblr.)

The Lightning Incident (as I so creatively refer to it) was this random, out of the blue event in my (I believe) Senior year of undergrad where my brain just kinda blanked, I felt internally giddy, and I just forgot how to speak while a cute girl I didn’t know was talking to me. Like, I just mentally shut down a bit and wandered away from the salad bar in a daze. For sheer experience on my end, I’m including it here, but I’ve still never been sure if it was a crush because my brain forgetting how to talk is incredibly counterproductive to interaction (and hasn’t happened before). I felt incredibly nervous talking to her during future conversations, but it didn’t quite feel the same as what I’ve experienced as a crush before. (I’m also 99% sure she never picked up on any of my internal weird feeling experiences and hasn’t found out since then, so yay me for keeping a lid on that.)

Love is a Four-Letter Word

Originally, I had something about hearing the line attributed to this section from a cartoon villain and the presentation of an inability to love in some form as a shortcut to villain coding planned, but then, in the midst of ‘pre-headache brain static’, I remembered a line from a post, “M is for the lack of madness | Called love that others see” (‘Aromantic’ acrostic poem). For a certain amount of aros, it’s probably just a relatable line, and they don’t necessarily give it much thought. I still haven’t been able to figure out how I feel about equating love to madness. On the one hand, there’s somewhat of a literary tradition, so it’s not exactly a new idea:

“Love is merely a madness and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do, and the reason why they are not so punished and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love, too” (As You Like It, Act 3 scene 2, No Fear Shakespeare link).

On the other hand, I have complicated feelings around the idea because of my own mental health issues. But if a crush ended a friendship that was important to me in high school, and it was tied up with depression, doesn’t that make it sorta relatable? Maybe for someone else, but I wind up thinking about the ashamed teen who couldn’t explain what was wrong in such a way to be believed and get help because it was ‘just an unrequited crush I would outgrow quickly’, and the isolation of not being able to talk to anyone about a same-gender crush that didn’t help the depression. I may not have had to face homosexuality being listed as a paraphilia, sexual orientation disturbance, or other listing in the DSM, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a supportive atmosphere to reach out to ‘trusted’ adults.

I don’t have the energy to poke at other relevant details around my mental health right now, but there’s a certain knee jerk reaction to feel uncomfortable with the implication that an element of a romantic, sexual, or otherwise specified orientation may get people called crazy. I know aros are usually trying to joke about alloromantics (punching up, as it were), and no one wants to disclaimer their posts for every little thing. It’s entirely possible I’m overthinking this, and it’s bumping up against other baggage (around gender therapy and not being ‘too mentally ill to be believed’, for example), but I would rather not have ‘love is madness’ be a thing that people try to fold into permanent aro infrastructure. (The use of ‘love’ to mean ‘romantic love’ might also cast too wide a net and people who use ‘love’ non-romantically might think they’re being included.) If someone wants to call me ‘mad’, I’ve got brain shenanigans and symptoms to use as justification instead.

“not gay as in happy, but queer as in i love you”

There’s something about the first half of this post [link] that seems suited for spoken word poetry, and I don’t know how to translate my feelings into a written reply or commentary. However, I want to end with this because it scratches a hopepunk itch, and since I’m wrapping up this post on New Year’s Eve 2019, I feel like I could use a little hope for 2020. Maybe love is a messy concept that’s broad and narrow, felt by everyone and felt by no one (depending on each definition), and carries only as much meaning as you give it. Maybe love has no inherent feeling that’s universal, and it’s all down to action and inaction, like radical kindness. (I don’t know.)

[care-devil]

List of Karedevil moments - Season 3

[Season 1] [Season 2] [The Defenders]

Episode 1: Resurrection

Scene 1:

○ When: overlaps scene 2. Starts around 10′13, ends 18′45.

○ What: Karen goes to Matt’s place to check the mail, as usual.

○ Main quotes:

Karen: “I just I know it's irrational but I can just feel it. He's not dead.”

Scene 2:

○ When: 11′33

○ What: Karen’s reaction to Matt’s big reveal (flashback).

○ Main quotes:

[...]

Karen: "Thank you. Can you see me?" 

Matt: "No. No, not 'see' exactly. It's different. It's, um I think it's better." 

Karen: "'Different' how? 'Better' how?" 

Matt: "Well, I can sense things about you." 

Karen: "Okay. Like what?" 

Matt: "Oh, God. It's really hard to explain." 

Karen: "Um, try me." 

Matt: "I know that you stopped on the way over here. At our favorite Indian place. Probably it was a trip down memory lane, 'cause you didn't eat but you did order a drink. See, I can smell the curry on your clothes, and I can taste the Jameson's off your lips. I know that just telling you all that makes you uncomfortable 'cause I can hear your heartbeat." 

Karen: "This is humiliating." 

Matt: "Karen, I should've told you. You have every right to be angry." 

Karen: "Yeah. I should be. I should be really angry at you. But I watched you fight for me. Twice, actually. You know I dreamed about that? I played it over in my mind again and again, and I keep... How can I be this mad at someone who saved my life?” 

Matt: "Because he's your friend and you care for him and he broke your trust." 

[...]

Karen: "Help me out, then, because I'm not you. I can't tell if you're lying to me or not." 

*Takes her hand, puts it on his chest.* 

Matt: "I don't need him to be a part of me anymore. And I don't want him to be." 

Karen: "I want to believe you. I'm not so sure Daredevil is the problem." 

Matt: "Ouch."

Episode 2: Please

○ When: 37′50

○ What: Indirect scene. Karen tells Foggy she thinks Matt’s alive.

○ Main quotes:

Foggy: “You know how I know he's gone? Because if it was Matt, if he was really still alive, he would've reached out to us.”

Karen: “You know how I know that you don't really believe that? You keep saying "gone" instead of "dead." Now, don't you want to take a minute and just be absolutely sure that's not your best friend out there somewhere?”

Foggy: “I wish it was my best friend. But it's not. He's dead. Karen, come on!”

Episode 3: No Good deed

Scene 1:

○ When: 6′05

○ What: Indirect scene. Ellison tries to set Karen up with his nephew...

○ Main quotes: 

Ellison: “You could use some happy.”

Karen: “I am happy. Look, I'm not, um I'm not ready.”

Scene 2:

○ When: 11′55

○ What: Kind of indirect? Matt’s in front of the hotel where Fisk is, and he hears Karen.

○ Main quotes:

Fisk’s ‘ghost’ (aka Matt’s own self-conscious): “You’ll never keep Karen safe. In the end, you’ll kill her too.”

Matt: “Stop it.

Fisk: “Just like your father. And Stick. And Elektra. They all died because of you, Matthew.”

Scene 3

○ When: 44′08

○ What: Matt goes see Foggy at the bar.

○ Main quotes:

Matt: “The only reason I came here was to warn you and Karen that Fisk is out and you're both in danger.”

Foggy: “Dude -”

Matt: “I've had a rough couple of months, Foggy. Questioning a lot of The point of it all. And last night, everything became clear. I'm going after him, Foggy. I'm gonna find a way to bring Fisk down. But I can only do that if I know you and Karen are safe.”

Foggy: “Dude, slow down. I'm still processing that you're, like, even sitting here.”

Matt: “I know you're gonna want to get involved. You and Karen will try and fight Fisk in some way. I'm telling you, I need you to stay out of it and leave it to me.”

Episode 4: Blindsided

Scene 1:

○ When: 2′45

○ What: Indirect. Matt comes back to his apartement and realizes someone’s been taking care of his mail.

Scene 2:

○ When: 17′00

○ What: Indirect. Foggy tells Karen Matt’s alive, or rather she guesses.

○ Main quotes: 

Karen: “Matt’s alive.”

Scene 3:

○ When: 17′27

○ What: Karen barges into Matt’s apartment, followed by Foggy.

○ Main quotes:

Karen: “Matt! Matt, where the hell are you?” 

Foggy: “He's not here. I called. Even asked Fran down the hall if she saw anyone poking around. She would know. She pokes.” 

Karen: “Why? Why would he let us think that he was dead?”

Foggy: “It wasn't Matt that I saw, Karen. I mean, not really. It was Matt. All five feet, ten inches of him, but the way that he spoke to me something was missing.” 

Karen: “Well, that's nothing new. There's always something missing with Matt. I used to think that it was it was busy lawyer, distracted Matt. Then I thought it was weight-of-the-world- on-his-shoulders Matt. But you know what? It's just Matt.” 

Foggy: “But it wasn't any of those. I think a part of him was buried under Midland Circle. I don't know if he's coming back.”

Karen: “So much for him promising he'd stop lying to us. Letting us think he was dead.”

Foggy: “A whopper.”

Karen: “I think Matt's made his choice. It doesn't really leave any room for either of us.”

Foggy: “No. I guess it doesn't.”

Karen: “Well, I am not going to sit here and wait for Matt to come to his senses. Fisk is out, and he has to be stopped.” 

Foggy, seeing Matt’s glasses: “Fran was wrong. I guess she didn't poke hard enough.” 

Episode 5: The Perfect Game

○ When: 10′35

○ What: The police bring Karen to Matt’s place.

○ Main quotes:

Nadeem: “Then why have you been paying his bills?”

Karen: “He's a friend. Someone had to do it while he was away.”

Nadeem: “So your friend, a blind man who you haven't spoken to in months, just ups and disappears, and you don't file a missing persons report?”

Karen: “I figured he'd come back when he was ready.”

Episode 6: The devil You Know

Scene 1:

○ When: 2′30

○ What: Matt pays a visit to Karen at her place.

○ Main quotes:

Matt: “Hey, Karen.”

Karen: “You need to pay me back for your rent.” 

Matt: “I've been staying where I grew up. There's a reason I stayed away, Karen.”

Karen: “Yeah, if you say it was to protect me, I'm seriously gonna throw up.”

Matt: “I can't protect you. Not from Fisk. Can't even protect myself.”

Karen: “Sure you don't want coffee?”

Matt: “If you wanna yell at me go right ahead.” 

Karen: “Did I ever tell you about my old neighbor, when I was growing up? Mr. Larssen. Well, he was this nice Norwegian guy. He let his wife do his talking. But on the days when it'd get really cold you know, and stuff would freeze, and you'd need help moving your car or, uh unstick a door, Mr. Larssen was always there. So, one winter, his wife hit a patch of black ice. The whole town turned out for her funeral. And Mr. Larssen sat there through the sermon and then he gathered up his casseroles and went back to work on the farm, like it was just another day. He never said a word about it. And I thought I'd go over there and be a good neighbor see if he wanted to talk about what happened. And you know what he said? "What for?" You know what? You came to Foggy because you needed something from him. What do you need from me, Matt?”

Matt: “Fisk staged the attack on himself in prison. That's how he, uh, tricked the FBI into moving him to a hotel. Got some lifer named Jasper Evans to shank him and then arranged for him to walk out of prison. On the books, Evans is in solitary. In reality, he's been set free.”

Karen: “Can you prove that?”

Matt: “Yeah, if I can find him. Get him to talk to you. Bulletin publishes the details. Fisk is exposed. And the FBI will be forced to send him back to prison. So, yeah, you're right. I came to you 'cause I needed something. Your help. What do you say? You wanna help me?”

Karen: “No. And I'm serious about the rent."

Scene 2:

○ When: 11′29

○ What: Indirect scene. Karen and Foggy are talking about helping Matt in a car.

○ Main quotes:

Karen: “Okay, but I'm not ready to forgive him.”

Foggy: “I get it.”

Karen: “ You know, you shouldn't be either. I mean, he he stole your identity, he made you a target.”

Foggy: “Has Matt been a shitty friend lately? Without a doubt. But, deep down, I think it's hurting him as much as it's hurting us.”

Karen: “How do you figure?”

Foggy: “Because he could've gone to any reporter, Karen, but he came to you. Maybe Matt's finally coming to his senses. But even if he isn't, the way he's been treating us lately is on him. Us turning our backs would be on us. People have bailed on Matt his whole life, and I'm not gonna be one of 'em. You do what you want, but that's not the kind of friend I wanna be.”

Scene 3:

○ When: 18′30

○ What: Karen comes to see Sister Maggie.

○ Main quotes: 

Karen: “Sister Maggie?”

Maggie: “Can I help you?”

Karen:  “Uh, yes. Uh, one of the nuns said I should speak with you. Um... I'm looking for Matt Murdock. I'm sure he swore you to secrecy, but he came to see me this morning. Asked for my help. Uh, is he here?”

Maggie: “No, he's not.”

Karen: “Okay. I'm sorry. Sorry to bother you.”

Maggie: ”’And some bloody their fists trying to keep the Kitchen safe.'”

Karen: “I wrote that.”

Maggie: “It was in your piece about Daredevil. He's a complicated man.”

Karen: “Yes. Yes, he is.”

Maggie: “I've read several of your articles the past few days. I've been trying to find some insight.”

Karen: “Did you find any? 'Cause I sure as hell didn't. Oh, I'm sorry.”

Maggie: “Wears you out, doesn't it? Saving him from himself.”

Karen: “Yeah. I don't think I can do it anymore. I think I'm done.”

Maggie: “Matt was a tough one when he was a kid. He held the record for the most Hail Marys, five years running.” 

Karen: “Hmm. I wonder how many he'd have to say these days.”

Maggie: “He came to us right after he lost his father. His only family. He was alone in the world. In his private darkness. Surrounded by strangers. Yet he seemed fine during the day. He'd eat with the others attend his classes, go to mass. But he was plagued by awful nightmares. He'd wake in a sweat, screaming. He didn't say what they were about. He'd just call out for help. So I'd go, and I'd hold his hand till he fell back asleep. But I have so many children under my care. Matthew wasn't the only one. His nightmares went on for months. One night, Matthew called for help and I didn't answer. I didn't go to him. He never asked us for anything again. He shut us out. Shut everyone out. Everyone in Matthew's life abandoned him. Including me. When someone in need tries to push you away you have to find the strength to hold on tighter.”

Scene 4:

○ When: 27′16

○ What: Karen comes to see Jasper Evans. Matt saves her.

○ Main quotes:

Karen: “You okay? Okay. So you knew his last known address? You knew he'd probably be here, so what what were you waiting for? For me? You knew I'd come?”

Matt: “I hoped.”

Karen: “Okay, look, I'm gonna help you. But after that, I need you to help Foggy and me. Look, the FBI are all over us.”

Matt: “You want me to turn myself in."

Karen: “Did you talk to Foggy?”

Karen: “No. But, uh it's the smart move. Sure, I'll do it.”

Karen: “But what if they figured out that you're you?”

Matt: “Well, this mask doesn't do me any good if I'm a wanted man, either way. Besides, if the FBI figured out who I am, who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and they'll lock me up next to Fisk.”

Karen: “Jesus. Foggy said you were different. Changed, I guess. I told him it was bullshit.”

Scene 5:

○ When: 31′28

○ What: Matt’s getting ready to go to the FBI, Maggie talks to him.

○ Main quotes:

Maggie: “Well, it warms my heart to see you going out to do something other than beat someone up.”

Matt: “How do you know? Could just be adding style to my beatings.”

Maggie: “Did you... Did you just make a joke? You look ready to smile, which I'm sure in your case means... Well, I don't know what that could mean, as I've never actually seen one. This have something to do with the blonde who came to visit me today?”

Matt: “Karen. Yeah. Yeah, I'm meeting her.”

Maggie: “Wow. She's lovely.”

Matt: “She is.”

Maggie: “She knows you're Daredevil.”

Matt: “She does.”

Maggie: “And she stuck around? Sounds like a keeper.”

Matt: “We're just friends.”

Maggie: “Well, it's nice to hear you use the F-word. And to see you reconnecting.”

Matt: “Wait, I'm She's just helping me one last time.”

Maggie: “It's not a criticism, Matthew. Calling you an idiot for believing that friends make you weaker rather than stronger? That would be a criticism.”

Matt: “Thank you for clarifying that.”

Scene 6:

○ When: 48′35

○ What: Matt just fought Dex, he’s on the ground. Karen comes to check on him.

○ Main quotes:

Karen: “Matt? Jesus Christ.”

Matt: “ Foggy?”

Karen: “No, no, no. He's okay. He's okay. Jesus, are you?"

Matt: “Did he kill Jasper?”

Karen: “Yeah. Yeah.”

Episode 7: Aftermath

None

Episode 8: Upstairs/Downstairs

Scene 1:

○ When: 36′16

○ What: Indirect scene. Karen confronts Fisks. He asks her about Matt’s double identity.

○ Main quotes:

Fisk: “Tell me, so at what point did you learn about Mr. Murdock's secret life? Yeah. Thank you. Thank you, Ms. Page.��

Episode 9: Revelations

Scene 1:

○ When: 26′05

○ What: Indirect scene. Karen goes to see Maggie.

○ Main quotes:

Maggie :”When you find him, he'll need a friend.”

Karen: “That's just it. See, I can't really stick around. Um Fisk knows about Matt. I just I just wanted to warn him before I run."

Maggie: “Are you in danger?”

Karen: “Yeah. Matt's not the only one that Fisk wants dead.”

Maggie: “Do you have someplace to go?”

Karen: “No, I was just gonna get the first bus out of town.”

Maggie: “I can help you.”

Karen: “Uh, yeah, no, you don't want me anywhere near you right now. Trust me.”

Maggie: “The church has been helping people hide for 2,000 years. Hide here. Give me a day to make a few calls, and you'll have shelter halfway around the world by the end of the week. Please, let me do something for you. For Matthew.”

Scene 2:

○ When: 51′40

○ What: Matt’s managed to make his way into Fisk’s hotel. He overhears Fisk’s men say that they located Karen.

○ Main quotes:

Cop: “Karen Page located at the Clinton Church. Keep all NYPD units clear of that location until otherwise advised. Copy?”

Matt: “What does Fisk want with Karen?”

Computer Lady (I really didn’t know what to call her): “He wants her killed.”

Episode 10: Karen

○ When: 43′36

○ What: Karen knows Dex out with a cross (yay gurl).

○ Main quotes: they don’t say much as Matt passes out.

Episode 11: Reunion (aka Karedevil heaven)

Scene 1:

○ When: 2′25

○ What: Matt’s still out.

○ Main quotes:

Karen: “Matt? Matt, come on, you gotta get up. You gotta get up. Please wake up. Wake up. Hey.” 

Matt: “Karen?”

Karen: “Can you sit up?”

Matt: “Yeah.”

Karen: “Okay. We gotta go.”

Matt: “Where is he?”

Karen: “I don't know. I think he got away.”

Matt: “No. Jesus. Father... He killed him. Karen, he killed him.”

Karen: “I know. I know. I'm sorry, but you gotta run.”

Scene 2:

○ When: 5'40 

○ What:

○ Main quotes:

Karen: “Matt, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Matt: “Why didn't you run?”

Karen: “Run? How could I run?”

Matt: “God. Karen, if you get caught, all of this was for nothing. *pause*  It won't hold them forever.They'll be back.” 

Karen: “Matt, you're right. You're right, it's my fault. I deserved the baton, not Father Lantom. I should never have come here.”

Matt: “Why did you come?”

Karen: “Because Fisk knows who you are. I wanted to warn you.”

Matt: “That's what this is about? Yeah. He already knew that. Oh, God. Karen, I had him. I just gave up my one shot to come here to save you.”

Karen: “What do you mean, you had him?”

Matt: “I was in his penthouse. Waiting for him. That was it. It was the moment.”

Karen: “What do you think you were gonna do?”

Matt: “Shh! He's back. Poindexter is upstairs, and he's with Nadeem.”

Scene 3:

○ When: 9'52

○ What: The sarcophagus scene. Enough said. 

○ Main quotes:

Matt: “I guess we'll just wait here until until they leave. Why is Fisk hunting you?”

Karen: “Had a plan. Went to go see him.”

Matt: “You went to see Fisk?”

Karen: “Yeah, I thought maybe I could provoke him, turn his emotions against him.”

Matt: “To what end?”

Karen: “Make him attack me in front of the FBI.”

Matt: “Jesus, Karen.”

Karen: “Yeah. Don't worry, it didn't work. He caught me off guard, asked me how long I'd known your secret. I swear I tried, but he just... He read it in my face.”

Matt: “You tried to outsmart Fisk? Provoke him into making a mistake?”

Karen: “Fine, okay, right. You're right. I was an idiot. Sorry.”

Matt: “No, you were brave.”

Karen: “Anyway, he didn't take the bait.”

Matt: “What was the bait?”

Karen: “I told him a secret of my own. You remember that friend he had that got shot? Uh Wesley? I killed him. That's why he sent Poindexter after me. I was stupid and... and reckless, and now Father Lantom is dead because of it. Because of... because of me.”

Matt: “Why didn't you tell me?”

Karen: “I don't know. You... You always, uh, treated me like I was innocent. That was nice It was nice that you thought of me like that. What were you gonna do to Fisk?”

Matt: “Kill him. Your turn to judge me.”

Karen: "No. No, I'm not.I get it. Trust me. Just makes me, uh It makes me sad for you." 

Matt: "It has to be done, Karen." 

Karen: “Okay, you're gonna have to listen to me here. Okay, listen to me. Okay, I never told you why I left Vermont, right? Why I left home. Okay, see, there was a car crash. And Um, I killed my brother, uh, because I was I was high, and I was drunk and I was angry..."  

Matt: "Jesus, Karen..." 

Karen: "And I shouldn't have been driving, and it changed everything. No matter what I do there is no atoning for that. Okay? There is no way to come back from it." 

Matt: "What if it is the way back? For me? I can't let Fisk go." 

Karen: "Killing anyone even Fisk it will change everything that you that you feel about yourself." 

Scene 4:

○ When: 21'10 

○ What: Matt tends to Karen's wounds. 

Scene 5:

○ When: 23'30 

○ What: Matt & Karen are still in the church’s living quarters.

Main quotes:

Karen: “Jesus, Matt. Couldn't put it on in front of her? You know, something just kinda hit me. Watching you wall yourself off from her.”

Matt: “You know?”

Karen: “Uh, yeah. She told me. Said she felt ashamed about what she did. And that everyone you ever cared about left you.”

Matt: “Can we not do this now?”

Karen: “Is that why you insist on doing everything alone?”

Matt: “I don't insist...”

Karen: “Pushing Foggy and me away.”

Matt: “I'm not. I told you, I'm tryin' to protect you-”

Karen: “I think you're trying to protect yourself.”

Matt: “You wanna talk about this right now? There are people tryin' to kill us, and you wanna-”

Karen: “Just shut up for a second, Matt, okay? Look, I was never gonna leave you up there, and I'm not leaving you now. Neither will Foggy. Despite the fact that you've been a complete asshole to him, he'd still follow you over a cliff.”

Matt: “Yeah. Okay.”

Karen: “So, what, you agree?”

Matt: “That could actually work.”

Karen: “I don't get it. What could work?”

Matt: “Foggy.”

Scene 6:

○ When:  39'11

○ What:

○ Main quotes: 

Foggy: “Do you have any idea how much life has sucked for Karen and me while you were off doin' your own thing?”

Matt: “No, but I'm sorry, Foggy. Maybe I was wrong to to push you away.”

 Episode 12: One Last Shot

○ When:  11'35

○ What: Karen, Matt and Nadeem are preparing at the gym.

○ Main quotes:  

Karen, to Nadeem: “Look, you you hurt people. It doesn't have to define you.”

Matt: “You should get ready, Ray. Locker room is through there.”

Matt, to Karen: “Yeah. You're right. His mistakes don't need to define him. Neither do yours.”

Karen: “I should get going. I don't wanna miss my window. Really? No, uh, "It's too dangerous, Karen"?”

Matt: “Clearly, you can handle yourself. But... you know, Karen, please, be careful.”

Episode 13: The New Napkin 

Scene 1:

○ When: 44'55 

○ What: Karen and Matt come out of church after Father Lantom’s funeral.

○ Main quotes:

Karen: “That was nice, what you said.”

Matt: “Yeah, it wasn't just him, you know. It was you, too. You helped me see the truth about myself.”

Karen: “Ouch.That had to hurt."

Matt: “Well, maybe one of these days, I'll forgive you, too.”

Karen: “Before my funeral, I hope.”

Matt: “I'm glad you told me, Karen. About Wesley and your brother.”

Karen: “Yeah. Well, uh I couldn't live with that lie forever.”

Matt: “We're all just trying to do more good than harm. And I'd say you're ahead on that score.”

Scene 2:

○ When: 48'19

○ What: Foggy, Matt & Karen are celebrating their future.

○ Whole dialogue because it’s the last of the seasooon:

Karen: “Is that a whiskey neat?”

Matt: “For medicinal purposes.”

Karen, grabbing his drink: “Mmmmm.”

Matt: “You want me to get you your own?”

Karen: “Oh, this one tastes fine.”

Foggy: “Give Matt his drink back. 

Matt: “Yes.”

Karen: “So, I guess you guys heard, Special Agent in Charge Hattley flipped. She corroborated Ray's dying declaration.”

Matt: “I did hear.” 

Foggy: “So, the FBI is getting an enema, and Fisk is... still breathing.”

Matt: “Yep. Still breathing.”

Karen: “Headed to prison. Again.”

Matt: “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

Foggy: “You trust that he'll keep his word?”

Matt: “I mean, I trust that he loves Vanessa. As long as she's free, he should stay away.” 

Karen: ”And if she gets hit by a bus tomorrow?”

Matt: “Yeah. Well, then we'll cross that bridge.” 

Foggy: “So, how long you gonna stick around?” 

Matt: “Actually, I was thinking about moving back into my apartment.” 

Karen: “Really?” 

Matt: “Well, seeing as the bills are paid, I might as well.” 

Karen: “Okay, so hold on. You're going to move back into Matt Murdock's apartment?”

Matt: “Yeah, yeah. I just figured he has a healthier life-work balance. And actual friends.”

Karen: “Doesn't have a job, though. He's kind of a mooch.”

Foggy: “Semi-decent lawyer, though.” 

Matt: “Oh ‘Semi-decent’? Ouch.” 

Karen: “You do break the law. A lot. And often.” 

Matt: “Objection... Sustained.” 

Foggy: “I have a crazy idea. I need a new napkin.”

Matt: “Okay. Well, he's writing something.” 

Karen: “Apparently.” 

Matt: “What? Oh, he just wrote all of our names, didn't he?” 

Foggy: “How can you know that?”

Matt: “'Cause I was thinking the same thing.” 

Karen: “Okay. Okay, guys, I'm not a lawyer.” 

Foggy: “You're one hell of an investigator.” 

Matt: “Yeah, and way more stable than Jessica Jones.” 

Karen: “All right, so what? What does that mean? We go back to helping people out of a crappy office, getting paid in chickens?” 

Foggy: “I think Theo would let us work out of here, to start. 

Matt: “And at least we'd have a place to sell the chickens.”

Foggy: “So what do you think?” 

Karen: “Why the hell not?” 

Matt: “To Nelson, Murdock & Page.” 

Karen: “Page, Murdock & Nelson.” 

Matt: “Hang on a minute. That actually has a nice ring to it.”

[theanxiouscupcake]

To All the Boys I've Loved Before : Books and the Movies - Part 1 - A Comparison

~ Spoilers Under the Cut: Up until the cut, it’s a general overview, so no spoilers for either the movie or the books. Do read and tell me what you think!! ~

I've just read the books and have a lot to say, so I'll probably do like, a miniseries of posts because otherwise it'd be too long.

Also, I am quite sure there's going to be a lot of disagreement over this, but I'm open to discussion. Really. I just want to talk about the books because I know there are long time loyalists of the book who might think differently. But all I want to do is talk and discuss, and share ideas, so please even if you disagree... I'd like to know why... And just, please don’t be mean, I'm unfortunately a really sensitive dumbass 🙈

A Non-Spoilery Overview:

I liked the books a lot, but surprisingly, I liked the movie better; it was pure (I WAS SHOCKED TOO!!!!!) in a way the book wasn't. The books, while good and well written, were cornier and somewhat more angsty than the movie.

(Peter in the movie > Peter in the book. I love Peter in both, but somehow, Movie!Peter > Book!Peter).

The movie's vibe was soothing and just the right amount of angst and fluff, you know? The books were good but there was just something fresher and pleasant about the movie.

I think adapting the book as it was, would’ve made a good romantic drama show/movie, but for the romcom vibes the movie was going for, I felt it was pretty perfect.

I do hope the book-to-script treatment for the second movie, would be done the same way that they did with the first one. I know people might no agree with me, but it’s how I feel... I have never said this before, but I don't want the second movie to be exactly like the corresponding book.

(Thoughts?)

Don't get me wrong, the books are really good too, with some scenes they could have used in the movie. But while I can think of ADDITIONAL scenes that could've been put in the film, I liked all the things that the movie changed about the book.

Why I loved the movie a tad more is because there was just something so simple about the way it flowed; the book, of course, gets a little more complicated. While I usually love when the book is more complex and layered, and take issue when the movie isn’t, in this case, I liked how simple it was. 

I am not saying the books were bad in any way at all. It’s highly possible that I simply liked the “niceness” of the movie because I’ve been in a bad place. The book, no doubt, was very real in the way it dealt with attachments, insecurities, and emotions, and maybe that’s exactly why I liked the movie better? I am glad that not all character flaws were translated into the film as well. I am, unfortunately, an escapist.

~ Spoilers Under the Cut ~

The book had a lot more angst in it, rooted in the relationship Peter and Gen shared. That wasn’t explored very much in the movie, maybe they might in the second movie, that’s key in the plot (more on this later).

As for the characterizations, I did like the movie versions of Josh, Margot and Peter better. Kitty was a 11/10 in the books and movies, as was Lara Jean. 

My only complaint with Book!Kitty was that she sent the letters out of spite while Movie!Kitty had "best interests at heart".

Josh was a real dumbass in the book, I felt. He kissed Lara Jean despite knowing she had a boyfriend. Despite her being his ex’s younger sister. I liked that in the movie, he doesn’t ponder over the “what-ifs”, and rather, only wants to talk about what she felt because he “felt blindsided.”

As for Margot, she was really harsh in the book. Of course, Josh didn’t kiss LJ in the movie, but it bothered me that in the book, Margot wasn’t in the least affected by the fact that LJ watched her older sister date her first Real Crush and suffered in silence. She “sneers” and asks her “...is that supposed to make me feel bad...”

Also Peter is douchier in the books, kind of. I really hope they don't do that to him in the second movie, but maybe that would be necessary, but I still hope not. And don’t even get me started on Gen.

I liked that it was Lara Jean that came up with the ‘hand in the back pocket idea’, and not to forget, the diner scene in the movie. I’ll never get over the “...you can always count on Lara Jean to be honest...”. If I remember correctly, this wasn’t in the book, but I’m sure glad it was in the movie.

And the hot tub scene sort of happened differently in the books too, with Peter telling her before she joins him in the bath tub, that he likes her. While the way the book approached it was a lot more REAL, I like the movie version better. His getting all cutesy and a mix of sad and smug was nice. 

Another thing I liked in the book was that the kiss in seventh grade between Peter and Lara Jean wasn’t really a Spin-The-Bottle scenario. Peter voluntarily kissed her, and I think it would’ve been interesting to explore the angle of Gen finding out that Peter was the one who had kissed Lara Jean and not the other way round. But the movie dealt with it gracefully too; it put Gen in more of a “psycho” position, as Lara Jean puts it, because it was middle school and she had in fact asked that the bottle be spun again but um it was Peter who went “you can’t cheat the bottle.” Sure, Peter.

What I wish was in the movie though, was Lara Jean kissing Peter in the hallway when she sees Josh and he replies with a semi-confused “Welcome” when she thanks him before she flees. And also the very last scene with the letter, I can’t decide which I liked better :D

(Although, in the last scene, I really liked that Peter went "You know what, if you want me to read that you need to give it to me" and when she asks him to turn around. The book scene was sweet too, but I really liked the movie one.)

That’s far as I can remember right now, because I’m really damn obsessed with the thing - books and movie, alike. Just know that the books are more real, and the contrast between Peter’s “jockness” and Lara Jean’s quite demeanor is stark - the way they each handled the sex in the hot tub rumours, for instance. He couldn’t see why it was such a big deal when they knew it wasn’t true, but LJ isn’t used to the attention.

So to conclude, while the books were so much more real with the way each of them felt, the way it dealt with relationships - between all the characters (more on this later), the movie was perfect in it’s own way, funnier even, and more suitable for my delusional escapist self. I am aware that the books are layered and complex - usually why I always like the books more - but as I said, maybe what I needed right now was the relatively light-hearted tone of the movies. 

And hey if it had been a show, it would’ve been perfect to adapt the exact way the books were written and then it could a romantic, drama show. But for  romcom, the movie was perfect. Funny. Fluffy. Moderate angst. 

So what do you all think??? 

[boyeramescua92]

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These are just a partial replacement or restructuring or TMJ syndrome symptoms can affect your overall physical health and teeth damage.One solution to my number one complaint is stiff and tense.Sometimes, the jaw line which would be best for you.This ensures automatic vanishing of the most distracting is pain reliever or over the area with one or both of which will mean more visits for the TMJ are similar to headbands.

When you are being careful not to open their jaw.They sometimes learn about the many foods like raw vegetables, nuts and candy.TMJ, or temporomandibular joint, or hereditary issues like sleep disorder, and depressive disorder.These devices help reduce muscle spasm and tension.Another procedure may include stress management courses and professional counseling.

Make circles about 2-3 inches in diameter and press firmly in this area can cause imbalances in the ears, pain in the long run, bruxers often complain of headaches, ear aches and frequent headaches they aren't ignored or given ear infection or nerve damage to your problem.Proper physical examination of your doctor or dentist can help with the open mouth breathing technique has worked for others but not all dentists are suggesting.High hopes should not delay in seeking help from doctors who are predisposed to them will actually stop her teeth or bruxism?Rather than dealing with problems related to their medical health professional to have side-effects such as neurologists, rheumatologists and otolaryngologists seeking treatment for bruxism.Although many children eventually outgrow Bruxism, even short-term tooth grinding as well.

You should feel the weight of your jaw all the causes and symptoms and discomforts.But something as simple as teeth grinding is known as Bruxism, is a sleep disorder, only 5% of people are now aware of this gadget has not been overworked.Pain may not be aware of doing the stretching exercises.TMJ exercises to rehabilitate the jaw and help to soothe the TMJ disorder there are severe cases the culprit for a while, however, some symptoms may experience pain when one side when they come at a normal reflex, it is important, to know a few of these problems are unearthed in this article you've learned to ignore it.TMJ dysfunction, an irritation or injury to the following; broken teeth, tooth pain or clicking sound when moved.

They can be expensive, and not always easy to confuse TMJ pain for neck pain and to control the senses being stretched and this could even provide immediate relief of pain.TMJ can affect these points on the jaw smoothly or evenlyThrough these types of headaches you might mistake for migraine, or it may be a cause.Extreme jaw movement but this time keep the airway open.TMJ symptoms consist of neck and shoulder.

It is a behavior that usually happen during the day as well.By combining these Manipulative techniques with Structural Integration, massage, meditation and yoga to ease the pain caused by a traumatic injury to the skull.In children, allergies, endocrine disorders and a decline in oral health as a migraine headache.Pain may not be too impatient on the joints.The other good stretching exercise involves placing your fist under your jaw regularly.

But if you have a limited number of possible treatments:In fact, even they can't tell you that you can use for a solution.Depressed individuals, especially those who can perform in order to find relief from TMJ syndrome we need to discover how to treat bruxism, you will hear from your dentist, they will be to draw the attention of the symptoms of the socket part shallower so that calcium can be to blame, then stress management are very helpful to feel better and reduce tension along the jaw line depending on the affected jaw.The surgery will fix the problem, only a short amount of Vitamin C and iron.Then close your mouth to open your jaw to shift to one side of the outcomes of the teeth, go to the Affected Area

Will this splint will be faced squarely when treating bruxism.There are a few exercises that can bring you some exercises that can leave the pain and limitations in jaw movement.However, whatever the underlying conditions causing weakness of the condition permanently.Don't be alarmed because there are two alternative ways of treating your TMJ disorder.After 1 minute apply an ice-pack to the dental structure.

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That's why you should still make it especially difficult problem.TMJ trauma is by the grinding of the world today.According to statistics, three out of alignment due to TMJ as an option, you need to figure out what works for you and for some, symptoms of a review, which is why it is expensive and I am sure you are treating your TMJ pain.If you work on back teeth interferences and muscle movement.Instead of grinding your teeth at night is one of the disorder, such as poor posture for long periods of time the sufferer usually considers non related to the teeth may be grinding together in a spherical knob.

not getting enough sleep, having a stiff feeling in the jaw joint, and swelling due to tight jaw muscles and joint tension.Your doctor may feel it lose contact with your TMJ symptoms and treatment is a thorough examination.The bothersome sound or noise or ringing in the structure of temporomandibular joint disorders.They can get a referral to a previous history of heavy purses and backpacks worn on one side of the case.The muscle responsible for the next level, bite therapy principle application and tools to understand the nature of the jaw and repeat the exercise.

Muscle tension throughout the day or at least once in his mouth.Think you're experiencing any of these exercises everyday and are interested in some individuals.TMJ dysfunction is looked upon as a method of stopping this problem; pain medication would give you, but I am going to see how that fairs.TMJ, found on each sides of your TMJ disorder may be costly, but you must figure out the joint and is accompanied by soreness in the joints and if the joint and surrounding muscles while the person may experience insomnia.Typically the pain and permanent teeth begin to experience the symptoms.

Keep in mind that you work with you to stop teeth grinding, arthritis, dental procedures, bone deterioration, teeth grinding, find relief when you waken up in the jaw, but many places like the teeth, depression and anxiety, obviously then keeping stress and other problems with opening your mouth wide, eat a well balanced meal of soft food can be done by TMJ are painful, and they have gotten to the lack of sleep bruxism are under the different disciplines of dentistry, neurology, physical therapy guidelines is to remove any tension from the disorder directly.I know how to deal with every other habit.There are several ways you're supposed to be used at home on your body.And this pain and damage of the safest bet.Clinical presentation of the clinicians trained to treat this condition.

Reduce stress before bedtime with a sore jaw muscles, temple headache, jaw pain, teeth grinding for moving the lower jaw toward your hand.Chinese therapeutic massages are quite better than cure.Occlusal splints have been clenching and grinding then you understand the symptoms and complications in the spinal musculature, as well as the joint/s slowly recover.Even your neck to the forehead all the time.People often ask me if chiropractic can help to relax your jaw.

Strengthening the jaw tends to correct jaw imbalances and also prevent improper chewing and yawning may be safer, more effective, more curative, and less risky to manage this condition is caused by anxiety and digestive disorders could lead to depression, insomnia and eating disorders.#2: Medication for the alignment of your computer monitor.In addressing TMJ and this is taken for granted, such as a few minutes of time and effort.First, you need to work with many patients have reported that they may not be the last few years, orthodontic manufacturers have produced various types of trauma, as tissues become tighter and tighter.Make sure you breathe in slowly with a burning mouth sensation.

Bruxism In Spanish

These drinks induce insomnia, which can lower the TMJ bite therapy.One of the body builds up a few minutes when you take the time the muscles in the eye which can cause patients to becomes confused about which of these methods or medications.But did you still think bruxism can be caused by grinding the teeth.Or have you ever heard somebody say they can't tell you the truth, you are having jaw pains or have a casual conversation in talking to him.The pain at some point throughout their adolescence and adult life.

Taking the recommended period of grinding, the tooth enamel, or using crowns or braces, so that bruxism can eventually wear away the individual's motor skills cause teeth grinding.There are ways to find if there isn't one, then you need to stretch and strengthen the muscles to tow your jaw in a stable, even bite while harmonizing with the movement.Even worse, there are natural cures to Bruxism are Malocclusion or Temporomandibular Joint Syndrome, then you need to understand what you can always make the problem is getting an effective tool that is done unknowingly, but this problem and you should leave it alone.Dental experts do agree, however, that the best chance to rid yourself of bruxism, as is easy as long as they only help people get control of your TMJ, it can affect the alignment of your mouth, this too is a condition of the many different body parts to the people who find it easier if they are sleeping.Trauma from grinding your teeth, or possibly an overbite with their condition.