#only very broadly but warning anyhow

[purpleyin]

"chemfrost-domestic" or "aro ace yelena" for the WIP list?

aro ace yelena - I've had this on my list of moodboards to do since I saw Black Widow and Hawkeye in quick succession and then came across the discourse about Yelena Belova's sexuality when looking up stuff for the fandom. I know that the MCU version of Yelena hasn't had confirmation that's she's ace (and probably also aro) like the comics character but it sucks when ace rep is ignored, so I decided to headcanon her MCU version as both ace and aro too and I wanted to make a little something for that. It's very, very close to being done now, but I have a few fixes to do for it where Canva didn't quite do borders correctly.

chemfrost-domestic - I started this for the simplysnowbarry Spring event using the line “So... is this like a thing now?” With how chemfrost is as a pairing, usually it's all about the heists and other criminal jobs, one upmanship and banter. With this I was trying to do something a little unexpected and wanted to write about them reluctantly being soft with each other, though there's still banter and an element of competition. I got stuck on some technical issues, because I was fixated on getting CSI type stuff correct, but I probably just need to bang this out and not look back since it was only meant to be something short and semi-sweet.

WIP titles tag game

[one-boring-person]

You forced this upon yourself😂 you forced this rambo simp.(and i dont mind)

Okay this may not be as good! But! Im giving you the liberty to take it where you want!(because i love your little details and how you express the feeling in your writing i- AH! Its great. I cant say it enough, it’s great. I mean it.)

How about Rambo finally getting enough courage to show The rancher around the tunnels, in a date sort of way!(they don’t know thats actually where he lives. Aka that photo i showed you before.) i really saw how the rancher was so happy to have him at their house, I’d love to see rambos side of scheduling a house tour and date type deal!! Maybe him even sitting and showing the rancher through all his old photos, and them just in awe because wow. He’s so much cooler than they even thought! He just so nervous and surprised seeing them so interested in him after all this time alone, and them just- in awe of him.

( i also really think it would be funny seeing rambo go through his friends house and seeing-“why the hell you have so many plants???” And just. Adorable assassin living with a wholesome and loving hardworking s/o)

Ah! Im sorry if that’s not as good!! But hey, you feel free to describe their antics and relationship as you will!!

I think I may have run a bit with this, but I hope you like it regardless!😊💛

I've Got Your Back, You've Got Mine.

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x reader

Warnings: mention of death, mention of war, mention of injury, mention of PTSD, mention of violence, (possible flash warning for gif?)

Masterlist

The heavy knock on the door surprises me where I'm sitting, the sharp sound snapping me from my thoughts. Looking over at it from my position at the table, I frown and set down my spoon, standing to go answer, unsure of who it is: I'm not expecting anyone today. Colt looks up from his place on the floor, the dog just as curious as I am as to whom it may be, though he doesn't bark, so it must be someone we know. He watches me as I cross the room, going straight to the door.

Opening it, I'm somewhat surprised to see my neighbour, John, standing there, a tentative smile on his face as he looks me over appreciatively, his gaze drawing a blush to my face. 

"Mornin' (Y/n)." He greets, rough voice friendly as he waits for me to let him in.

"Morning John." I smile back, delighted to see him, "What can I do for you?"

I step back, waiting for him to enter, which he does so with a nod of thanks.

"Since when have I needed a reason to see you?" The veteran chuckles, the sound reverberating within me, my brain subconsciously storing the action away for later recall. Gently, John moves into my space, one hand coming to lightly rest on my hips as the other cups my face, drawing me in for a slow kiss. 

Kissing back, I feel a glow of happiness flare up in me at this contact: he's never really one to initiate touch like this, so it's a whole lot more intimate when he does. Relaxed, I loosely wrap my arms around his neck, languidly caressing his dark hair as our lips move together. 

Being the killjoy he often loves to be, Colt pushes in between us, nosing at John's leg, tail wagging enthusiastically as he recognises the familiar man, the dog as fond of his company as I am. Chuckling, John and I pull apart, looking down at the large canine between us, the dark eyes staring up at us imploring us to pay attention to him. Still smiling, John lowers a hand to scratch Colt's head, ruffling his floppy ears a little as the dog instantly allows his mouth to hang open, tongue lolling in content.

"Hey, Colt." The veteran greets, biting back a laugh as the dog pushes me out of the way, nudging at John's stomach.

"He never gets that excited to see me." I complain jokingly, standing back to watch the two interact, a smile playing at my lips.

"Sure he does." John replies, eyes fixing on mine with an expression of fondness, one that had me weak at the knees.

"He really doesn't, he just sits in the corner and whines at me until I feed him. Isn't that right?" I address the dog himself, giving him a light slap on the rear, his ridiculous height meaning I can quite easily reach it, "Anyhow, did you need something? Or did you just come here to kiss me? I can't say I'll complain if that's the case."

Cheekily, I wink at the veteran, leaning back against a nearby counter.

"As nice as that sounds, it's not the reason I came by." He chuckles, blushing lightly, "Though that does sound good."

Grinning, I nod my agreement, only now taking in his body language: he's nervous. His hands fidget, rubbing his fingers over scars and lines on his palms, and he shifts from foot to foot every now and then, small tells he's never quite managed to hide from me.

"Is something up?" I ask him, slightly more serious this time, unnerved by his discomfort.

"No, no, not at all. I, err, well, I just wanted to ask you something." He rubs the back of his neck, head tilted to the side as he regards me, dark eyes fixed on mine.

"Ok, go for it." I prompt him, curiosity sparking my interest.

"Well, do you wanna come to mine? I mean properly, like in the house." John cocks his head to the side, lowering his arm again.

Blinking, I feel shock flood my system, before it turns to unbelievable happiness that he's trusting me enough to come into his private space. Initially, I can't find the right words, somehow struggling to respond, until I find my tongue again.

"I would love to, John." I agree, features lighting up as my mood brightens, "There's nothing I've really got to do today except train up one of the younger horses, so I've got as long as you want after that."

"Great. Is four o'clock alright?" The veteran smiles broadly, though he still looks somewhat nervous.

"Yeah, should be. I'll be there." I promise him, taking up my Stetson from the table as I briefly turn away to put away the plate I was using, having lost my appetite in my sudden excitement.

"I'll get it tidy." He says, looking around the room again, "I'll never understand why you have so many plants in your house. It's like a damn jungle."

At his comment, I laugh loudly, glancing around at the variety of different houseplants I have placed on various shelves, the greenery practically covering every available surface. 

"Because it's way too dry to grow anything like this outside all the time. Anyway, they look nice." I shrug, calling Colt to my side as I follow John from the house, grabbing my jacket from the hook as I pass.

"But why so many?" 

Once again, I shrug, following him over to a nearby post, where he's hitched Bandit, the horse I gave him a few months ago. The buckskin stallion paws at the ground, his pale coat looking as clean as ever even as he noses at the dust, the dark colouring around his eyes (the reason for his name) and legs standing out much more in the bright sun. As we approach, he looks up, snorting in greeting.

"He's looking good." I acknowledge, admiring the strong stallion appreciatively - I had reared Bandit from a foal, before I had given him to the veteran as a gift four months ago, hoping it will help him to grow his own ranch. My plan had worked, and John now has four horses, including Bandit, as well as a couple of other animals, such as a cow, a pig and five chickens. I'd sold him a couple of goats as well, but we soon found out that John and goats just didn't get along. At all.

"Yeah, he's doing well, too. Takes the training very well, too." John runs a hand through the stallion's dark mane, untying the reins.

"That's good. Reckon he'll be ready for a competition soon?" 

"Should be." 

Snorting again, Bandit pulls at the reins, clearly eager to get going, especially as Colt moves up to sniff at the horse's back legs. I quickly whistle him over, knowing Bandit has always been shifty around the dog.

"I'll see you at four then." I finally say, unwilling to say goodbye, even if it is only for a few hours.

"Yeah, see you then." John smiles, leaning in to kiss me again, keeping it brief this time, leaving me wishing for more, as he always does.

"See ya." I grin, watching him climb into the saddle, still somehow fluid in doing so despite his age. 

Gathering the reins in hand, John adjusts himself in the saddle, before he smiles down at me again as he gently urges Bandit into motion. Obediently, the stallion moves into a swift trot, which turns into a faster canter as the two move off down the driveway, heading towards the split in the fence separating our land. I watch as they go, still finding myself enraptured by the sight of the muscular man sat astride the horse, Colt eventually snapping me from my mind as he barks at me. Shaking my head, I follow him towards the stable.

Hours later, having showered and cleaned up, I feel a sense of relief go through me as I hoist myself into the saddle secured into place on Leo's back. It's relaxing, the stallion beneath me more relaxed than the youngster I've been trying to train all day: she never gave me a break. Seemingly sensing this, as he always does, Leo flicks his ears back and nickers softly, very lightly pawing the ground as I give him a pat on the neck, glad to have a more reliable horse taking me where I need to be.

Tilting back my Stetson, I take the reins in hand and ease the stallion into a trot, intending to let him pick up his own pace, my trust in this horse far greater than in the mare from before. Obediently, Leo moves into the correct gait, the two of us moving as if as one, years of riding together having made it easy for us to become in tune with each other. Together, we start off down the road towards John's ranch, the new path we've created beaten and well-used, allowing for relatively easy riding. Leo's hooves pound the dry ground rhythmically, my hips moving in time with his every stride, the relaxing movement helping to calm the nerves that have sprung up inside me.

A part of me is still unconvinced about going into John's home. Yes, I had helped him rebuild it and had seen very little of the inside rooms, but it still feels as if I'm intruding upon the veteran's safe space, his reprieve from the cruelty of the world he lives in. Something about that doesn't sit right with me, but I tell myself it's John's decision to make, not mine, so I should trust him, which I do, wholeheartedly. 

I'm still torn by the time I reach the main house, where John is already sat waiting for me in his rocking chair, dark eyes fixed on me as I approach. Lifting a hand to him, I smile and slow Leo to a halt, praising the horse as I climb down, the gray stallion nosing affectionately at me. Swiftly, I tie him to a nearby post, only to stop when John calls out to me.

"Put him in the stable for the night." He instructs me, gesturing for me to follow him as I try to fight back the sudden onslaught of racing thoughts at his implications: he wants me to stay the night?

"Sure, thanks." I smile back at him, walking after him with Leo in tow.

"Don't worry about it. It's not fair on him if he has to stay out all night." John waves me off with a short grin, "How'd training go?"

I groan.

"Not great. That horse has it in for me, I swear." I complain, rubbing at my arm, remembering the moment I got the new bruise forming there.

"Oh yeah?" He muses, looking amused.

"Yeah. She threw me off eight times!"

"Eight times? Wow, must be a new record." The veteran jokes, something that stirs up the familiar fondness inside me at his more personable behaviour.

"I reckon so. Painful one to set, though, I'll tell you." I remark, smiling broadly as we enter the stable, where I quickly house Leo next to Bandit, removing his tack and other gear.

"Must be." John watches me work, leaning against the door to the large building, muscular arms crossed over an equally muscular chest. Turning back to him, I have to stop and admire the bulging of his biceps as his hands grip his forearms, the veins I've come to love laying out a pattern on the tanned limbs. Everytime I see them, I imagine his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me safe and secure against his solid body, wishing I could feel his hands splayed against me more often.

"Like what you see?" John interrupts my thoughts, voice teasing as he lifts an eyebrow at me, almost smirking at me.

Blushing furiously, I avert my gaze, lifting a hand to gently tap the brim of my Stetson out of my vision.

"You know I do." I laugh nervously, before I look back up at him, "Anyway, since when do you use pickup lines?"

"Since I figured out they get you all flustered." His playful tone is new to me, though it's gone almost as soon as I see it, his guarded expression falling back into place as he returns within himself, probably thinking he overstepped some invisible boundary.

I still can't help stammering for a response, his gruff tone awakening something within me.

"Heh, I guess you're right." I stutter, going over to him.

Nodding, he keeps his expression straight, leading me out back to the house, where he quickly welcomes me inside.

"I tried to tidy it as much as possible, but it's still a bit messy." The veteran apologises, observing the interior of his home critically, even as I do so in awe.

The rooms, from what I can see, are mostly filled with sparse furniture, a few chairs here and there, an old sofa, a couple of vanities and dressers, with a mantlepiece in most, if not all, of them. He hasn't used much colour, but what he has used is tasteful and works well with the overall appearance. The walls, however, are what really draw me into the place.

They are littered with photographs and memorabilia, frames and objects cleaned and polished so they shine brightly in the afternoon sun, many smiling faces visible in them. Curious, I go over to one wall, looking over the array of pictures, which I now recognise to be images of John and his friends from the years he spent here. Amongst them is a creased black and white photo of a young John sat astride a horse not unlike Bandit, a broad grin on the boy's face as he stares at the camera from under a mop of thick black hair. I can feel a small smile creep onto my face at the sight of the veteran looking so happy and carefree, something I've not seen very much of at all in my time around him.

"That was my first horse, Hector. I had him until I left for the army." John says from behind me, sounding somewhat quiet, eyes softened from nostalgia as he stares at the picture along with me, "I loved him a lot, but my father always said he wasn't good enough."

His words hang in the air as I stay speechless, listening intently to what he's saying to me: it's the first I'm hearing about his life before he came here again.

"What happened to him? Hector, I mean." I ask him quietly, tearing my eyes away to look up at John.

The veteran shrugs, appearing somewhat remorseful.

"I'll never know, but I reckon my father sold him as soon as I was gone."

"Oh." I frown, glancing back at the photograph.

"The horse was getting old by that time, though. He probably wasn't much use." John chuckles wryly, moving away towards the stairs nearby, "Do you want to see upstairs?"

"Yeah, sure." I nod, following him as he ascends to the second floor, which I now see consists of three different rooms.

He takes me to the farthest, opening the door to reveal an old study, which looks as if it hasn't been used in a good few years.

"This was my father's study, where he did all his business. I was never allowed in here as a kid." John sweeps his arm around the room, staying by the threshold, as if abiding by a rule that no longer exists, "Not that I go in here that much as an adult."

I look around, finding the neat area interesting: images of a young John hovering by the door, waiting for his father to finish business entering my head.

"It's nice, I like it." I remark, turning to find him smiling very slightly at me.

"It's the only room in the house that's exactly as it used to be. I haven't had time to do up the others properly." John says, leaving the study and going back down the hall, where he opens the other two doors to reveal a bathroom and an empty room.

A dull curiosity flares up within me as I realise one thing about the top floor, but I easily find a solution to it, following John back down the stairs. As we go, however, I realise that my assumption is wrong, as the only other rooms down here are missing the one thing I'd expect in any house.

"Where do you sleep? I haven't seen a bed or anything anywhere." I ask him, cocking my head to the side as he takes me to one final door.

"I'm gonna show you." He smiles at me, before he opens the door.

I blink as I see the dark steps descending into the ground, unease biting at my throat as I flash John a hesitant look. A cool draft wafts up from the black depth, but John only chuckles and moves down into the space below, gesturing for me to follow.

"It's perfectly safe, don't worry." He calls to me, a light flickering on as he reaches the bottom of the steps, illuminating the path to me.

Swallowing, I gingerly step down the stairs, emerging into a tunnel of sorts, my curiosity piqued as I take in the chiselled walls around me, the rock cast in an odd light from the naked bulbs positioned along the length of the cavern. Struts of wood hold the ceiling steady, wiring hanging off of them in places where he's had to hastily put it all together. John watches as I take in the passage, a thoughtful look in place on his face.

"What is this place?" I wonder aloud, still taken aback by the oddity of having a tunnel beneath the house that stretches off in both directions.

"This is my safe space." The veteran informs me, urging me along with him as we go further into the tunnel, walking together for a minute before we emerge out into a larger room of sorts, which is well lit. 

My eyes widen as I realise exactly what he means.

The room acts as his bedroom and bathroom, and also has space to sit and relax, the whole area having a homely feel to it. What was missing in the rooms in the house can be found down here, including more photographs, though these ones seem different to the others. They adorn the walls, all except one, which is decorated with a variety of weapons, both guns and knives. Going over to it, I look over the rifles and shotguns hooked onto the wall, struck speechless as I then turn my attention to a machete, the blade honed but chipped from use, seemingly out of place as it hangs beside another, smaller hunting knife. 

Moving on, I regard the photographs, only now realising that they're military pictures, many of them containing images of a youthful John in fatigues and uniform. A smile creeps back onto my lips as I feel my eyes land on a particular image of a group of men, where I can see John standing amongst them, a triumphant grin on his face, long locks of dark hair held back by a strip of fabric around his head. The others also smile, though there's something bittersweet about the inscription at the corner of the photo: Baker Team, Vietnam. As I look past the other pictures, I notice that the team slowly dwindles, beaming faces becoming drawn and solemn, eventually just leaving two people behind. Beneath this image is another inscription: Baker Team Survivors.

"That was my team in 'Nam." John says suddenly, voice husky as he remembers the friends he had, "None of them made it back. Not really."

Eyes wide, I look back at him, taking in the distant look in his own eyes, the barely concealed grief still raw in his expression as he stares at the photographs. Noticing my gaze, John gestures for me to come sit on the edge of his bed with him, the veteran pulling another photograph from it's place on his bedside table. Doing so, I make sure I'm not touching him, but am close enough to reassure him, waiting patiently for him to start talking of his own accord, knowing that this is a sensitive subject for him.

After a moment, he starts, his voice low as he pulls me into his stories, taking me through suffocating jungles and blistering heats, through recon and rescue missions, through bloody gunfights and hellfire,  through hours spent in torturous situations. He puts me in his shoes as he loses every single member of his team to the gruesome fight he should never have fought, the harrowing grief and pain of letting go of a comrade, someone who's supposed to be by your side for as long as the two of you can stay alive, laid bare for me to see and experience. And even as he moves on, back to familiar territory in the States, the fight never leaves him.

Facing harassment in what should be his safety and security, I can feel every bit of betrayal, of anger and grief that he felt as he is let down by his own country time after time, used again and again by the authorities to do their dirty work, only to be cast aside when it doesn't go their way, the old catchphrase he once lived by, "I've got your back, you've got mine" completely meaningless in this hollow life. His disgust in humanity is plain to me as he outlines his most recent forays into warfare, where the rage he felt is once again transferred to me, and I experience the violent need to take out the parasites in the world that destroy anything good that he did. It's as if I'm there with him, through everything, his description and memories so vivid they chill me to the core, keeping me hooked on his every word.

After a long while, he eventually trails off, and I realise there's a tear rolling down his cheek, his body shaking a little as he holds himself back. My heart breaking, I have to fight the urge to reach out and pull him into an embrace, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. I place my hand on his shoulder instead, rubbing the tight muscles soothingly until he looks up at me with the most heart-rending gaze I've ever seen in my life. At that point, my resolve breaks.

Carefully, I lean in and wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling the veteran towards me. He goes willingly, sobs wracking his body as he wraps his own hands around me, burying his face into my neck, tears flowing freely now as he lets himself go, each pained sound agonising to hear. Tightening my grip, I lay back onto the bed, allowing him to press his body around me, holding me against his muscular form as I rub his back, whispering soothing things to him as his breathing starts to calm a little. It takes time, but eventually he starts to relax, body going limp as he lays in my arms, his larger form awkwardly wrapped around mine as he depresses his face into the crook of my neck.

I barely hear his broken voice as he whispers to me.

"Thank you." 

Breathing in his familiar scent, I just mould myself closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as he does the same to my neck.

"I'm here for you, John. I'm here, and I'll never leave. Not as long as I live, I promise."

[panharmonium]

the edge of seventeen [fic]

summary: Daegal forgets his own birthday.  Merlin has a conniption.  Daegal has a crisis.

context for newcomers: This is the next installment in an ongoing AU that @once-and-future-gay​ and I have been playing around with, wherein both Will and Daegal survived into Season 5.  The background for that AU can be found here, and the associated fics (plus one art post) are at the following links: be good / persistence / tournaments / daegal post-carpentry (art).

a/n: @once-and-future-gay​​, this was actually written for your birthday XD  I started it that Tuesday intending for it to be a very short snippet that I could post the same day, but I quickly realized that it was turning into a bigger piece, and now, a week and a half later, it’s a 10k story.  I apologize for how belated it is, but I hope you'll accept it as a birthday gift anyhow - I figured that if it were up to me, I’d rather have ‘more fic’ than ‘on-time fic,’ so - happy (belated) birthday to you, and here’s some more of this AU for you, featuring Daegal and a wide supporting cast! ✨

“Are you trying to slice that thing or just beat it to death?”

Will stared incredulously down the table at Daegal, who continued to hack at the seedpod held between his fingers even though his aggravated chopping did little more than squash the unyielding capsule down into the wood of the table.  “It’s my knife,” Daegal muttered, stabbing at his botanical nemesis.  “It’s dull.” 

“So sharpen it.”  

“I did,” Daegal replied.  “It’s old.  It doesn’t hold an edge.”

Will beckoned for the knife.  Daegal scooted it down the table to him like an innkeeper sliding drinks down the length of the bar, even in defiance of Merlin’s exasperated, “Don’t - !”  But Will caught the knife easily, handle-first, and gave it a disapproving once-over.

“Use mine,” he said, and slid one of his own blades down the table.

“Don’t - !” Merlin bit out again, then sighed and returned to the text he was copying after Daegal intercepted the blade without injury.

“Careful,” Will warned Daegal.  “It’s - ”

Pop.  Daegal startled out of his seat at the first enthusiastic slice of the knife, as the capsule burst and sent hundreds of tiny black seeds scattering in every direction, the dried granules rolling off the edge of the table and pouring onto the floor with a rain-like hiss.

Merlin sighed and rubbed his forehead.  Will picked up his own half-finished carving again and gestured at Merlin’s face.  “You’ve got a bit of ink on you, you know.”

Merlin shot him a flat look.  “Have I?”

“Yeah.  Just over your nose there.”

“Maybe it’s because you keep doing things that make me want to pull my hair out.”

Will gave Daegal a knowing grin across the table.  Daegal, doing his best to contain the spilled seeds, couldn’t help feeling pleased, even if the smile he offered to Will in return was slightly sheepish.  

“Do I?” Will asked Merlin, utterly unconcerned.  “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Stop giving him knives!” Merlin burst out, gesturing broadly at Daegal’s end of the table.

“He’s fine!” Will said.  “He’s a big lad.”

“And he’s making a big mess.”

“I’ll clean it up,” Daegal assured Merlin, scooping the runaway seeds into uncooperative piles.  “I didn’t think it would cut so well, is all.”

“You need better tools,” Will declared.  “Merlin, the man works for you.  Why haven’t you got him outfitted properly?”

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by a rap at the door.  “It’s open,” he called, frowning.  It was a bit late for visitors.

The door swung open, revealing Gwaine, who took only a single step into the physician’s chambers before pausing at the loud crunching sound under his boot.  “Hallo,” he said curiously, lifting up his foot.  “What’s all this, then?”  

“Seeds,” Daegal supplied helpfully, at the same time as Merlin grumbled, “Never mind.  Don’t come in; you’ll track it all over.”

Gwaine obliged, bowing at the waist in deference to Merlin’s directive.  “Don’t mind me,” he said.  “I only came by to see if you lot fancied an excursion.”

“What sort?”

“The lads and I are off to see the sunrise.  Thought you might like to join us.”

It was only after a moment’s confusion that Daegal realized Gwaine was talking about the tavern, in some sort of post-curfew, plausible deniability-laden way.  Daegal wiped seeds from his palms and looked hopefully between Will and Merlin, not daring to believe that they would say yes.  It wasn’t often Gwaine heard the word “no” from someone he’d propositioned, Daegal was willing to bet, but Daegal knew trying to drag Will and Merlin out of their nest two whole bells after curfew, especially when the weather had frosted all the windows, was an extremely optimistic maneuver, even for Gwaine.

Will, predictably, snorted, not even bothering to pretend he was interested.  Merlin did a better job of feigning regret, holding up the heavy text he was copying as if it explained everything.  “Can’t,” he said simply.  “Sorry.  Too much work.  Too late.  Too tired.  Too cold.”

“Any other excuses?” Gwaine asked, the corners of his mouth twitching up.  

“Pick whichever one you like best,” Merlin said, returning to scratch away at his manuscript.  “I’m comfy in here.”

Gwaine gestured amicably at Daegal.  “How about you, lad?”

Daegal’s eyes widened.  Merlin always made tavern nights with Gwaine sound legendary, and the fact that Will groaned every time they came up in conversation made them even more intriguing, but Will, in a surprisingly swift intervention, interrupted before Daegal could even open his mouth.  

“Not a chance,” he said, when Daegal tentatively started to rise from his chair.  “Sit down.”

Gwaine did not seem offended, but simply leaned against the doorframe and grinned in that careless way of his.  “Can’t the lad have a bit of fun?”

“Not with that lot.  Not at this hour.”

“I’ll look after him.”

“You?  By the time you’re done drinking you won’t know him from Bruta.”

Gwaine shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  He pointed at Daegal.  “Invitation stands, lad.  Another time, maybe.”  

Daegal nodded wistfully, and Gwaine bade them farewell, departing.  Will, shaking his head, returned to his whittling, muttering, “Not ruddy likely.”  He brushed wood shavings off his knees, adding to the mess on the floor.  “Lunatic.”

“He’s a good lunatic,” Merlin said, absorbed in his copying.

“If you say so.”

“I could still go, maybe,” Daegal said.  “I could look after myself.”

Will raised his eyebrows.  “At the Rising Sun?  After curfew?  You’d wake up with your head in a snowbank.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would,” Will said, not budging. “Don’t go courting trouble.  You’re too young for that crowd.”

Daegal scrunched up his nose.  He knew that in a contest of stubbornness, Will would win by a mile, but still - “I’m not too young.  I’m seventeen.”

Merlin’s head snapped up from his book, his copying abruptly forgotten.  “You’re sixteen.”

“No,” Daegal said, bewildered by Merlin’s sudden bizarre intensity.  “Seventeen.”

“Since when?”

“I had my birthday last month.”

“You what?”

Daegal, confused, looked between Merlin and Will, the latter of whom sighed.  “Oh, lor.”

“What?” Daegal asked.  “Have I - is that bad?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Merlin demanded, ignoring Daegal’s question.

“I don’t know,” Daegal replied, taken aback.  He hadn’t even thought of it at the time.  What was there to think about?  It was just another day.  Sometimes he didn’t even remember his birthday had happened until it was already over.  Once he hadn’t remembered until the last week in January, when he’d taken a courier job and been forced to lie about his age.

Merlin looked incensed.  Will, by contrast, looked like he was trying not to laugh.  “Right, then,” he said, getting up and tucking his carving into his pocket.  “I’m off.  You two have fun.”

Daegal had an absurd urge to beg Will to sit back down, because Merlin was starting to get a frankly loony look on his face and Daegal did not understand what was the matter.  But Will just patted Daegal on the top of the head on his way out - tap tap - and let the door swing closed behind him.  

Merlin, his hands on his hips, assessed Daegal with narrowed eyes.  

“I’m sorry?” Daegal ventured, unsure what he was apologizing for.

Merlin pressed his lips together.  “You and him,” he said, pointing to the door where Will had just exited, “you’re two of a kind, you know that?”

Daegal did not know.  He had no idea what Merlin was talking about, in fact, and he was afraid to ask.  He did not exactly want to apologize again, though, because that felt sort of like apologizing for being like Will (although why Merlin seemed to think this was the case was a mystery).

“Right,” Merlin said after a moment.  “Not to worry.  I’ll take care of it.”

Daegal hesitated.  “Take care of what?”

Merlin sighed and shook his head, but did not answer.  Daegal decided that perhaps it would be best if he did not needle Merlin with further questions right now.  His mentor was acting very strange, and Daegal could not possibly imagine what had gotten him so worked up. 

He would just have to ask Will about it later.

As it turned out, Daegal did not have a chance to ask Will about it later.

The next day, Will did not come by.  The day after that, Merlin sent Daegal out to collect more dried seedpods to replace the ones Daegal had mangled, which took all afternoon and was exhausting enough for Daegal to go straight to his little chamber in the servants’ wing and flop into bed after supper.

The morning after that, he woke to find a smiling Elyan hovering barely two inches above his face.  

Daegal stifled a gasp and only just barely stopped himself from whacking Elyan across the nose.  He scrambled upright in the bed, his back pressed against the wall.  “El - Sir Elyan!  What - ”

“Good morning,” Elyan said, as if he could not possibly have been happier to have gotten almost-smacked in the face.  “Merlin sent me down.  Said it’s your birthday.”

Daegal goggled at him.  “My what?”

“Your birthday,” Elyan repeated.  “Isn’t it?”

Daegal shook his head, certain that he was still asleep.  “No.”

“Merlin said you might say that.”  Elyan whipped the covers off Daegal’s legs.  “Up you get.  It’s time for breakfast.”

Daegal shivered violently, his sleep clothes providing little protection against the cold.  “I don’t normally - I’m supposed to go and help Gaius - ”

“Not today.  You’ve been given the day off.”

Daegal stared.  “What for?”

Elyan chuckled.  “Still asleep in there, I see,” he remarked, tossing Daegal a shirt.  “It’s your birthday.  Haven’t I just said that?”

“It’s not, though,” Daegal said, feeling as if he were speaking a different language.   “My birthday’s in November.”

“Not this year, it isn’t.”  Elyan grinned.  “Get dressed.  We’ve got all sorts of things do today.”

When Elyan had said ‘all sorts of things,’ Daegal had not expected one of those things to be a full breakfast served in the King and Queen’s personal chambers, catered by the King and Queen’s personal serving staff, and attended by the King and Queen themselves.

“I didn’t know,” Daegal whispered frantically to Merlin, as Elyan ushered him inside the room.  “Why wouldn’t you tell me?  I would have worn something else!”

“You don’t have anything else,” Merlin shot back under his breath.  “Relax.  Arthur put his undershirt on back to front this morning; he’s hardly Sir Stylish.”

Daegal gave Merlin a panicked, pleading stare, but Merlin just plunked Daegal down in a seat and left to pour the drinks.

“We’ve been meaning to do this for ages,” the Queen told him, sitting down next to Elyan.  “Merlin keeps you very busy, doesn’t he?”

Daegal’s mouth was too dry to formulate any sort of reply.  Only a few short months ago this very same woman had been standing at Morgana’s elbow, plotting Arthur’s assassination, and at the time, Daegal had not even realized there was anything wrong with her.  There was, after all, nothing hard to believe about a servant-turned-queen who’d gotten a taste for power and decided to keep climbing the ladder, and while Merlin had always been very adamant that Daegal would never have believed this of Gwen if he had ever met her previously, it was hard for Daegal to look at her and not remember how she had willingly embraced the woman who later tried to murder Merlin and threatened to do the same to Daegal, if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.

Merlin, busy setting out the ewery on a sidetable, heard Gwen’s comment and spared Daegal the necessity of replying.  “Arthur keeps me very busy,” he said, directing a pointed look at the king.  “If you’d like me to arrange your subjects’ social schedules on top of my other duties, Sire, perhaps you ought to hire someone else to look after your washing.”

Arthur waved a hand.  “Guinevere likes that funny thing you do with my socks.”

“Guinevere,” corrected the Queen , “thinks her husband is perfectly capable of rolling his own socks, thank you.”  She smiled encouragingly at Daegal.  “But enough about the laundry.  We’d been meaning to have you round for a meal, to say thank you, and Merlin mentioned that it was your birthday, so we thought now would be the perfect time.”

Daegal barely even heard the bit about his birthday, instead fixated on what had come just before it.  Thank him?  What for?  He had nearly gotten the king killed.  

“Merlin tells us you’ve been helping Gaius?” Arthur prompted.  

Daegal nodded. 

“He’s a fine physician.  If you’re pursuing a path in the healing arts, you couldn’t ask for a better teacher.”

“Is that something you’re interested in?” Guinevere asked, warm interest written across her face.

Daegal’s eyes darted helplessly to Merlin, who nodded encouragingly.  Daegal cleared his throat.  “Er - I think so.  Maybe.  Merlin says I’m picking it up quickly.”

“Well, you’ve already saved one life,” Arthur said with a grin, gesturing at himself, “so if that’s any indication of your capabilities, I expect you’ll do well.”  He offered Daegal a platter of pastries.  “Tell us about your studies.”

The meal continued on in much the same fashion, with Gwen and Arthur asking Daegal questions and Elyan occasionally putting in a comment or two of his own.  Daegal did his best to answer honestly, even as he was plied with heaps of food, most of which was comprised of dishes he had never had the chance to try before and all of which flavors he was certain he would never be able to remember later, given how worked up he was.  Arthur was gracious and charming throughout, very unlike the man who often featured in Merlin’s grumbling suppertime complaints.  Elyan talked to Merlin as much as he did to either of the royal guests, which was probably a breach of some kind of protocol, though nobody seemed to mind.  And the Queen - the Queen looked exactly the same as she had when Daegal had first met her, minus the cloak and surreptitious glances, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought nothing had changed.  

Except - 

There came one moment, towards the end of the meal, when Merlin put a goblet down in front of Gwen with a playful and very exaggerated “Your Majesty,” and Gwen jabbed his knee with a fork under the table where Arthur couldn’t see, all the while both of them keeping their eyes locked on each other as if daring the other one to laugh first, and it was then that Daegal knew with absolute certainty that this was not the same woman he had met that night in the woods.  

“I hope you’ll accept this token of the Crown’s appreciation,” Arthur said to Daegal later, when they had finally finished their meal and risen from their chairs.  “You’ve done this kingdom a tremendous service, and I’m indebted to you.”  He passed Daegal a very official-looking bit of folded parchment stamped with the royal seal, which Daegal knew it would not be appropriate to open now.  He took it and bowed the way Merlin had shown him.

“And there’s something from me, too,” said Guinevere.  “Only it would have been a bit difficult to get it up the steps - Elyan will take you to see it instead.  I think you’ll find it useful, given that you’re apprenticing to our physicians.”

Daegal could not possibly imagine what on earth could have been so unwieldy that she could not get it up the stairs, but he bowed to her as well.  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” she said, in a more solemn voice.  “For helping, when I couldn’t help myself.”

Daegal straightened, hesitant.  Her eyes - it seemed ludicrous to Daegal, now, that he had not recognized the enchanted version of her for what it was.  That hollow shell had had no soul.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he blurted out.  “I wish I could’ve done more.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Arthur said, wrapping a steady arm around his wife’s shoulders.  “For both of us.  We owe you a great deal.”

Daegal bowed to both of them again, and Elyan escorted him to the door.  “Oh, and Daegal?” Gwen added.  

Daegal stumbled over his own feet trying to turn around.  “Your Majesty?”

She smiled at him.  “Happy birthday.”

“What did Arthur give you, then?” Elyan asked, once they were out in the street.

Daegal fingered the mystery envelope.  He did not know, and honestly, his head was spinning too much for him to even think about puzzling out a jumble of words right now, especially when he was only just learning his letters to begin with.

“Can I have a look?” Elyan asked, and Daegal willingly handed him the parchment.  Elyan slipped a finger under the seal and unfolded the document, parsing it with a speed Daegal had pretty much despaired of ever achieving for himself.

“Mm,” Elyan said.  “Thought so.  Typical kingly stuff.”

“What is it?” 

“Land grant,” Elyan said, handing back the parchment, and then, as if this were nothing to worry about, he turned and ambled into the stables.

Daegal stared after him.  “What?”   

“Land grant,” Elyan repeated.  “You know, like a knight’s fee.  For services rendered to the Crown.”  He wandered deeper down the central aisle of the stable, stalled horses on either side of him lifting their heads.  “Come on.  It’s through here.”

Stunned, Daegal followed him, his fingers clutching at the incomprehensible slip of parchment.  “I can’t own land,” he protested.  “I don’t own a second pair of shoes.”

“You do now.  Or you can afford to, at least.”  Elyan glanced back at Daegal.  “Don’t worry, it’s a small plot.  Just a little square out in the Sprawl.”

Outside the city walls, then.  “I don’t - what am I supposed to do with it?”

“You could live there.”

“But - ”  Daegal stared at Elyan’s back uncomprehendingly.  “I live in the Citadel.”

“Rent it?”

Daegal’s head was going to explode.  “Will says landlords are leeches,” he said faintly.

Elyan laughed.  “Herb garden?” he suggested.  “Merlin’s always sending you off to gods know where, searching for things you could grow yourself.”

Daegal hardly knew what to say to that, but Elyan stopped walking before Daegal could think of anything coherent.  “Here we are,” Elyan announced, clapping a hand down on top of a stall door to his left.  

A wave of misgiving flooded Daegal, temporarily wiping away the lingering shock of the land grant.  “Are we riding somewhere?”  

He had not considered this, and he did not want to admit that the only way he was going to be able to ride anywhere at all was on the back of someone else’s saddle.  He had never had access to a horse himself, and had only had the opportunity to ride twice in the past - the first occasion had been extremely brief, and the second had ended in him being thrown, so he was not quite sure that it counted.

“Not today,” Elyan said.  “Unless you count the training ring.”

“Sorry?”

“Merlin says you don’t know how to ride.”

“Yeah,” Daegal said.  He could feel himself turning red.  “I mean - no, I don’t know how.  Not well.  I don’t need to.  I don’t have a horse.”

“Didn’t have a horse,” Elyan said, as if making a correction.

“What?”

Elyan gestured at the stall they were standing next to.  “Couldn’t get her up the stairs.”

Daegal’s mouth popped open.  The creature Elyan was pointing to was a dark bay with an irregular, splotchy white blaze down her muzzle, her smooth coat appearing nearly black in the dim light of the stables.  She was stout and smoothly muscled, watching them with a calm, composed energy, and even as Daegal stared, she stretched her neck over the stall door and sniffed at Elyan’s hands, perhaps searching for any remnants of his recent breakfast.

“My sister,” Elyan said proudly, scratching the horse’s cheek, “is aces at presents.”

“She’s not for me,” Daegal croaked disbelievingly.

“Of course she is,” Elyan assured him.  “She’s the same stock as Merlin’s.  Steady temperament, friendly, not likely to spook.  Not like Arthur’s beasts.”

A horse, Daegal thought numbly.  A horse. 

“I can’t take this,” he mumbled.  “It’s too much.”

“Of course it’s not too much.  You saved the king’s life.”

I almost killed him! Daegal wanted to shout, but Elyan would not understand.  

“And you’ll need transportation, anyhow,” Elyan continued.  “You can’t be jogging along behind Merlin on foot.  Apprentices in the royal household have mounts, or they can’t do their work.”

Daegal bit the inside of his cheek.  “I don’t even know how to ride her.”

The horse cocked her ears in Daegal’s direction and swung her blocky head around to inspect him, her dark brown eyes sedate and trusting.  “What do you think we’re here to practice?” Elyan asked cheerfully, retrieving a halter and lead rope from a hook on the wall.  “Go on, say hello to her.”

Daegal’s hand came up of its own accord, hovering in the air below his new mount’s nose.  She lipped at his fingers curiously.  “Hello,” Daegal breathed.

He didn’t deserve her.  He knew he didn’t.  

But he was falling in love with her anyway.

It was a very windswept and breathless Daegal who climbed off his horse later that day and ran to greet Merlin at the fence.  

Evening was coming on, and the temperature had sunk as quickly as the sun, but Daegal did not even notice the stiffness in his fingers or the tightness in his cheeks.  He was too carried away with the elation of riding, and the dizzying knowledge that he now had the means to go anywhere he wanted, anytime, without begging for rides in the back of strangers’ wagons.  Months ago he would have killed for this kind of ability to roam.  

It was strange, now that he finally had the freedom to run away whenever he pleased, that he no longer felt he had anything to run away from.

“Having fun?” Merlin asked, elbows resting on the fence.

Daegal did not think fun was the right word.  There was just no good way to explain that he felt like a menagerie bear whose shackles had slipped, or a noblewoman’s bird escaping out a cracked window.  “It’s brilliant,” he said, settling for a completely inadequate adjective.  “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“And he’s good at it!” Elyan put in, walking Daegal’s horse over to the gate.  “We’ve only been out here one day and he’s got her cantering already - I think this beast is talking to him.”

If Daegal’s cheeks had not been whipped rosy by the wind already, they were certainly turning pink now.  “No,” he said to Merlin, “not - talking to me.  Obviously not.  Just - I sort of feel like I understand her, is all.”

Merlin did not seem to think this was strange at all, and produced a chunk of some sort of winter root vegetable from his coat, offering it to the horse.  She snapped it up eagerly.  “Animals talk,” Merlin said, shrugging.  “It’s people as don’t know how to listen that get kicked in the nethers.”  

He untied the gate for Elyan, who led the horse through it and started up the path back to the stables proper.  “How was your day?” Merlin asked Daegal, as the three of them walked, Elyan leading the horse on one side, and Merlin and Daegal on the other.

Daegal had to think before answering.  It had been, by a wide margin, the strangest day he had ever experienced in Camelot, starting with Elyan’s surprise appearance that morning and punctuated by a number of other unexpected visitors.  Leon had arrived in the stables not long after Elyan and Daegal, bringing with him a collection of exquisitely embroidered tack (“Part of Her Majesty’s gift,” he’d explained), and then he’d spent the next hour walking Daegal through the various bits and pieces, guiding him through the process of putting them on his mount and taking them off again.  Percival had dropped by with his own mount and accompanied Daegal on a slow ride outside the ring, along the edge of the woods - Elyan had ridden in the saddle behind Daegal, just to be safe, but he had not had to take the reins from Daegal once, and they had gone on a nice plodding walk around the frostbitten perimeter of what would be fairgrounds, come summer.  Even Mordred had made a brief appearance, in his oddly intense way - apparently out for a ride of his own, watching Elyan and Daegal lungeing Daegal’s mount for a few minutes, before nodding to the both of them and continuing on his way, his own horse cresting the hill so smoothly that it appeared as if it were not touching the ground.

“It was strange,” Daegal decided.

Merlin walked along beside him, his boots crunching on the frostbitten grass.  “Why?”

“I don’t know.  All these people - ”  Daegal paused, brushing a hand against his horse’s flank.  “I don’t see why they’re taking an interest.”

“It’s your birthday,” Merlin replied.  “People are supposed to make a fuss.”

Daegal was not sure about that.  It had not ever been his experience in the past, at least.  “It’s not really my birthday, though.”

“Only because I didn’t know about it.”

They continued walking, Daegal worrying at his lip.  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said abruptly, after a minute.

“You’re not enjoying yourself?”

Daegal shook his head quickly.  “I am.”  Too much, he thought.  His exhilaration at being taught how to ride had driven it from his mind for a while, but now - 

Elyan waved to someone up ahead, interrupting Daegal’s thoughts.  There in the stableyard was Gwaine, lounging against the edge of the open doors, dressed not in his crimson surcoat but in plain clothes, and tossing a small pouch from hand to hand.  

“You’re early,” Merlin called to him.  “We’ve still got to groom and water this creature.”

“I thought I was supposed to be in charge of the watering,” Gwaine replied, which seemed like a very odd thing to say.  “Wasn’t that the plan?”

“I’m talking about the horse.”

Gwaine pushed himself off the wall, joining the little group as they entered the yard.  “Our guest of honor,” he said, indicating Daegal.  “This fellow’s been doing our job for us, Elyan.  Saving the king is knight’s work, isn’t it?”

Elyan led the horse past Gwaine with a smirk.  “How would you know?  You’ve never done a bit of it.”

Gwaine shook his head, glancing at Daegal in a comradely way.  “Why does everybody think I only took this job for the food?” 

Daegal, who had only rarely interacted with Gwaine before, did not know what to answer, but Merlin saved him the trouble.  “Because we know you,” he said, and then smiled when Gwaine gave him a crooked grin.

That was utter nonsense.  Even Daegal knew that Gwaine had nearly died during Morgana’s occupation, specifically while fighting to keep a number of his fellow prisoners from starving - but Merlin and Gwaine were a bit like Merlin and Will in that way, at least to Daegal’s limited experience, wherein Gwaine did not always want people to see him for what he truly was, and Merlin always chose to see him anyway, if only from behind a mutually agreed-upon smokescreen of affectionate teasing.

“Well, let’s hurry it up,” Gwaine said, tossing his little bag in the air.  “I’d like to get on with my bit.”

His bit?  

Gwaine paused in front of the empty stall while Elyan gathered what they would need for a post-ride grooming.  “I hear it’s your birthday,” Gwaine said to Daegal, and then before Daegal could explain that it wasn’t, exactly, Gwaine handed Daegal the little leather bag.  “There’s for you, then.”

Daegal, surprised, loosened the cinched string at the top of the pouch and tipped the contents into his other hand.  Out tumbled four dice, the smoothly-carved cubes clacking against one another as they fell into Daegal’s palm.  

Daegal looked up at Gwaine, confused.

“I thought you could use them,” Gwaine said.  

“For what?”

Gwaine grinned and exchanged a knowing look with Merlin.  “My bit.”

Daegal stared at at the dice in his hand, then snapped his gaze up to Merlin, suddenly seized by a burst of excitement.  “Are we - ”

Merlin held up a finger.  “On three conditions,” he declared, obviously trying not to smile.  

Daegal closed his fingers tightly around the dice, trying not to appear too eager.

“One: you’re going to untack and groom your mount.  The stablehands will do that for you, when you ride out with our party, but she’s your responsibility.  You have to know how to take care of her.”

Daegal had no objections to that.  He already loved this horse better than anything he’d ever owned.

“Two: weak drinks only.”

We’ll see, Gwaine mouthed behind Merlin.

“Three - ”  Merlin held up a third finger.  “You leave when I leave.  Will’s right about the after-curfew crowd.  That’s a sort of trouble you don’t need.”  He looked expectantly at Daegal.  “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”  Daegal nodded fervently.  “Is it - who’s coming?”  

“Everybody!” Elyan supplied happily, uncinching the horse’s girth.  “You saved our king.  We owe you a night out.”   

Merlin, who had perhaps understood Daegal’s question better, said, “Everybody who likes drinks and dicing and general uproar.” 

This statement prompted appreciative, anticipatory grins from Gwaine and Elyan, and Daegal refrained from asking any follow-up questions, having understood the answer perfectly well.  He had been working with Merlin long enough to know that if there were one thing Will avoided more assiduously than King Arthur, it was large groups of loud people losing their heads over absolutely nothing.

“Let’s get started, then,” Gwaine said.  “D’you think you can untack this beast and learn the rules to Hazard at the same time?”

Daegal stuffed the dice into his pocket and grasped the bridle’s noseband buckle.  “I can try.”

Gwaine grinned wolfishly.  “That’s just what I like to hear.”

They ended up staying a bit later than they’d intended. 

By the time Merlin finally had the sense to bring the evening to a close, Daegal had turned the single half-penny he had started with into several silver pieces (“Alchemy!” Gwaine had proclaimed triumphantly, knocking his cup into Daegal’s so that some of the drink had sloshed over), and Daegal had become very popular with some of the tavern regulars, who were beyond tickled to see a seventeen year-old boy flatten strangers’ smug expectations of victory.  Daegal had not won every time, of course, but he had gotten extremely lucky at several critical moments and had at the very end miraculously thrown his chance number twice, after the odds had already been declared heavily against him (and thus after the other players had upped their contribution to Daegal’s stake with the expectation that he would lose).

Merlin had pulled Daegal from the game after that, sitting him back down at the knights’ table, which was piled high with food and drink.  “First lesson,” he’d said, offering Daegal a very watered-down ale, “and one you won’t learn from Gwaine - quit while you’re ahead.” 

They had stayed for a long time after that, socializing and eating their fill, until Merlin had finally seemed to take notice of the time (or perhaps of the slightly seedy-looking characters who had started to wander in through the back entrance).  Merlin, at that point, had prompted Daegal to gather his winnings, say his goodbyes, and make his exit, pursued by a chorus of enthusiastic farewells from the knights, none of whom showed any sign of abandoning their seats anytime soon.

Stepping out into the night air was like diving into a frozen moat.  Daegal drew his cloak tighter around his torso as he and Merlin wound their way through the town.  The Rising Sun’s interior had been as stiflingly hot as its namesake, overflowing with a press of bodies and thrumming with a constant cacophony of conversation, and even from the outside its closed shutters leaked driblets of light and noise, as if the building were bursting at the seams.  The town, by contrast, was stone-silent and frigid, everybody shut up in their homes waiting for the weak light of morning. 

“You did well,” Merlin said, as they approached the citadel.  “You’re sure you’ve never played Hazard before?”

Daegal shook his head.  His mother would never have let him, before, and after - 

He pushed that thought away, watching his breath mist in front of his face.  He’d never had enough money to gamble with after that, that was all.

“You weren’t helping me, were you?” Daegal asked Merlin.

“No, you got lucky.”  Merlin chuckled.  “The look on that fellow’s face...”

Daegal smiled faintly, remembering.  Daegal had taken rather a lot of money from a beefy, belligerent fellow who had been bothering everybody all night, which had resulted in a vastly improved tavern experience for all when the man had stormed out in a rage, and which had also earned a round of free drinks for Daegal’s table.  “He wasn’t too pleased, was he?”

“No, he wasn’t.  Not quite the sort of evening he was expecting to have, I don’t think.”

They walked on, approaching the retracted drawbridge, and detoured to the parallel pedestrian crossing instead, passing through the smaller door to the bridge’s left and entering the courtyard, Merlin offering a hello to the familiar guards as they went.

“How does it feel to be older?” Merlin asked, as they crossed the darkened square.

Daegal shrugged.  “I don’t know.  The same, I suppose.”

But that wasn’t exactly true, Daegal thought, as they entered the base of the North Tower.  Last year, things had been very different.  A few months ago, he could never have dreamed of the sort of day he’d been having today.  And now - 

He hesitated at the bottom of the stair leading to the physician’s chambers.  Merlin, oblivious to the fact that Daegal was not right behind him, kept climbing.  

“Why are you doing all this?” Daegal asked.  His voice sounded strange in his own ears, or maybe that was just a function of the echo in the hollow space, his words bouncing off the stone shell on either side of him.

Merlin turned around, surprised to see Daegal still standing at the bottom of the stairs.  “All what?”

Daegal made an uncertain gesture.  “This.  All these things today...I don’t understand.”

“It’s your birthday,” Merlin said, as if that made any sense at all.

“It’s not, though,” Daegal said.  “Even if it were, I don’t see - I mean, it doesn’t matter.”  He shrugged uncomfortably.  “Who cares?”

Merlin stared levelly at Daegal.  “I do,” he said.

A long silence ensued.  Daegal could not possibly have formulated a reply to this even if he’d known what to say, but Merlin did not ask him to respond, instead descending a few steps and putting a hand on Daegal’s elbow, nudging him up the staircase.  “Come on,” he said quietly.  “It’s late.”

Daegal followed him without a word, stunned and silent, seven stories straight up.

“Isn’t it a bit past your bedtime, old man?” Merlin said, immediately upon opening the doors to the physician’s chambers.  

Daegal, trailing behind, thought this was a very unusual way for Merlin to address Gaius, but as he peered around Merlin’s shoulder, he realized it was not Gaius to whom Merlin was speaking, but Will, who was sitting by the little hearthfire at the left of the room with his feet propped up on a stool.  

“No,” Will replied, though he did look like he was ready to doze off.  “It might be a bit past Arthur’s, though.”

Merlin swore and stopped dead in the doorway.  “He sent somebody up?”

“Several somebodies.”

“What did you tell them?

Will waved an unconcerned hand.  “I don’t remember.”   

“Will - ”

“Isn’t he waiting for you to turn down his sheets or something?”

“Did you tell them I was at the tavern?”

Will smirked.  

Merlin, cursing under his breath, took Daegal by the upper arms and maneuvered him into the room.  “Drink some water.  Kip on the patient cot - you’re up early collecting pots with Gaius tomorrow; you might as well sleep here.”  He tore off his outerwear and dumped it on a table.  “You,” he said to Will, “on the other hand, can go home, you ass.”

Will tipped his chair back, cupping a hand to his ear.  “What’s that?  ‘Have my bed, William’?  All right, if you say so.”

Merlin flashed Will a rude gesture before tearing out of the room.  Daegal caught the door before it could slam and closed it carefully, so as not to disturb Gaius, who was sleeping behind the screens that had been drawn around his corner.

Will rose from his seat with a yawn, stretching.  “So you had your evening out at last.”

Daegal did not answer him, his mind still trapped back there in the stairwell with Merlin.  I do, he heard again, as he struggled to untie his cloak.  I do.  

“Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Daegal managed to undo the knot, his fingers clumsy with cold.  He pulled his cloak from his shoulders and folded it slowly, first in half, then in fours, and then laid it aside before doing the same with Merlin’s rumpled jacket, single-mindedly focused on his task.

“I hope you at least took something off Gwaine.  Fellow’s too cocky for his own good.”

Daegal, out of things to fold, stared at his hands.  Will came closer, scrutinizing Daegal in the low light.  “How much did you have to drink?” 

Daegal stuck his hands into his pockets, avoiding Will’s gaze.  Not much, was the true answer, but he couldn’t find the words.  

He fingered the coins in his pocket, the silver pieces cold and clinking against one another.  

“Oi,” Will said, frowning.  He tipped Daegal’s chin up to see his eyes.  “You all right in there?”

Morgana had given Daegal a sack of coins just like this, once.

Daegal yanked his hands out of his pockets as if he had been burned, jerking back from Will’s fingers.  

“This is wrong,” he blurted out.

Will blinked at him.  “Sorry?”

“I can’t do this.  It’s - I can’t.  It’s not right.”

“What isn’t?”

“Everything!  The birthday, the money, the tavern, the riding - ”  Daegal's voice was rising, but he could not rein himself in.  He had been trying to tell this to someone all day.  “The horse, the land, breakfast - ”

Will stared at him, confounded.  “Breakfast?”

Daegal struggled mightily not to holler in frustration.  Will, of all people, ought to have understood, but it appeared he was committed to being just as obtuse as everyone else.  “Yes!  I don’t deserve it; it isn’t right - ”

Will’s eyebrows shot up.  He did not give Daegal another chance to wake Gaius, but planted a hand on Daegal’s shoulder and spun him around, muttering, “Go,” in a low voice, pushing Daegal away from Gaius’s sleeping area in the direction of Merlin’s chambers.  Daegal allowed himself to be marched up the little staircase, Will following, until they were both in Merlin’s room, the small chamber chilly and cloaked with shadows, lit only by a single hanging candle.  

Closing the door, Will turned back to Daegal.  “Start over,” he commanded.

Daegal whipped out Arthur’s envelope.  “The King - he gave me a land grant.”

Will snatched the piece of parchment out of Daegal’s hand, scanning it briefly.  “So?” he said, discarding the envelope onto Merlin’s desk.  “He can afford it.”

“But it’s - ”

“Nothing he’ll miss.”

“But - ”

“But what?”

“The Queen - ”

“What about her?”

“She gave me a horse.”

Will shrugged.  “And?”

“It’s too much!  I can’t - ”

“Are you planning to thank her for it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to take care of it?”

“Of course!”

“Then what’s the trouble?  She wanted you to have it.”

“She gave it to me for the wrong reasons!” Daegal exclaimed frustratedly.  “She kept saying I helped her, but I didn’t do anything.  I didn’t even know she needed help.  I thought she wanted the throne for herself - ”

“You stopped her killing her husband,” Will said, interrupting.  “You saved his life.”

“I didn’t save him.  I almost killed him.  I’m the reason he needed help in the first place.  But all of them are acting like - ”  Daegal thought back to earlier that night, to Elyan, who had shown Daegal how to calculate Hazard odds in his head; to Leon, who had spoken to Daegal like one of the adults; to Percival, who had taught Daegal the less savory lyrics to the tavern’s favorite drinking songs; and to Gwaine, who had murmured advice in Daegal’s ear while Daegal cast his dice.  “They kept saying I’d done their job for them.  They - ”  

A horrible, hollow feeling bloomed in Daegal’s chest, strangling his voice.  He pulled the coins out of his pocket and dumped them onto Merlin’s desk, not wanting to carry that cold weight for another moment.  “They don’t know me.  They don’t know what I’m like.”

Will watched him closely, his eyes narrowing.  “What are you like?”  

Daegal shook his head and sank down onto Merlin’s bed, staring at the floor.  He didn’t want to say it.  He shouldn’t need to say it.  Will already knew the whole story; Daegal shouldn’t have needed to retread all the ugly details.  

Will folded his arms, leaning back against the top of Merlin’s desk.  The single candle did very little to illuminate his set expression, but the moonlight in the window behind him threaded his silhouette with silver.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about my birthday,” Daegal murmured, his voice thick.  “I should have just kept it quiet.  That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

Will frowned.  “Who said that?”

“Merlin.  When I didn’t mention my birthday - he said you were - well, he said we were two of a kind.”

Will shook his head.  “I don’t hide my birthday.”

“I think you must,” Daegal said stubbornly, returning to his intense inspection of the floorboards.  “Because I don’t even know when it is.”

“Neither do I.”

Daegal looked up, surprised.  “What?”

“I don’t know when my birthday is.”

“Why - ”

Will lifted a finger repressively, and Daegal realized he was not going to be getting that part of the story tonight, or maybe ever.  “It doesn’t matter,” Will said.  “I don’t care.  I don’t fancy it much, anyhow.  It’s nothing to me.  Merlin, though - ”  He gestured at the room around them, at the mussed bedclothes and the stacked manuscripts and the sketched diagrams pasted to the walls.  “He doesn’t like it when I say things like that.  It bothers him.  He’s got ideas about how these things are supposed to be done, and he thinks it’s wrong, not telling me happy birthday, even if I’d rather he just left it alone.”

Daegal had no trouble believing it, if Merlin’s reaction to Daegal’s skipped birthday were anything to go by.  “But then - ”  Daegal frowned.  “He mustn’t know when your birthday is, either.”

“My birthday,” Will said, in a long-suffering way, “is whenever Merlin decides he wants it to be.  He comes crawling into my cott at some godsforsaken hour of the morning on whatever personally convenient day he’s picked that year, and then he yanks me out of bed and feeds me too much food and drags me all over creation doing the sort of things he thinks I’ll like doing.  I’ve been telling him to drop it for more years than you’ve been alive, but he never listens.  It doesn’t matter how much I whinge about it.  He never forgets.  He can’t help himself.  He thinks it’s important, telling people he’s happy they were born, even if they don’t think being born was such a fantastic thing themselves.”  

Will gestured at Daegal.  “If you’re going to be one of his people now, you’re going to have to get used to that.  You don’t have to like it, but you’ve got to understand it.  That’s who he is.  That’s how he treats people.  He won’t give you a pass on birthday fuss just because you don’t think you’re worth fussing over.  He’s not built that way.”

Daegal heard Merlin’s words again, echoing against the frozen stones of the stairwell.  Who cares? Daegal had asked.  

I do.

He twisted his fingers together.  Out in the physician’s chamber proper, Gaius was snoring.  

“It’s not just Merlin, though,” Daegal said finally, in a soft voice.  “Everybody - all of them are doing too much.”

“Too much how?”

“They keep thanking me.  But the gifts are - I didn’t earn them.  I don’t deserve them.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t need anyone to tell me; I know.”  Daegal stared at Will, helpless to explain why Will’s inability to accept this simple truth made him feel so utterly lost at sea.  “I don’t understand this.  You’re the one who kept saying I did something wrong.”

“You did do something wrong,” Will replied, as if this entire line of discussion were so obvious that it did not need to be examined.  “But you did something right, too.”

“I - ”

Will held up a hand.  “Who was it nearly got themselves killed saving Pendragon’s gleaming hide?  Who was it betrayed Morgana?”

“Me, but - ”

“Who was it came back to save Merlin’s life?”

“From something I did to him in the first place.”

“From something Morgana did to him,” Will corrected.

“I helped,” Daegal retorted.  “You’re always saying - you said I need to take responsibility.”

“You do,” Will said.  “For all your choices.  Not just the shyte ones.”  He gestured at the door, back towards the rest of the castle.  “You saved two lives.  You nearly got yourself killed doing it.  That’s what they’re all thanking you for.  It’s not about what you did for yourself; it’s what you did for everyone else, when you didn’t have to.  You didn’t have to come back for Merlin.  You didn’t have to follow him to Camelot.  You could have just taken Morgana’s money and run.”

“I tried,” Daegal confessed, his mouth very dry.  “I tried.  I couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?” Will said, as if he already knew the answer.

“I just - couldn’t.”  Daegal remembered it with a nightmarish clarity, hesitating in the thickness of the undergrowth as the encroaching night muddled his vision, knowing that Merlin was suffocating at the bottom of a muddy ravine where no one would ever find his body.  “I felt like something was going to swallow me.  I would’ve rather died than felt like that all the time.”

“That’s because you know what’s right and what’s wrong,” Will said, as if he had been waiting for Daegal to say this all along.  “And you chose right.”

“I chose wrong first.”

Will shook his head.  “Lots of people choose wrong first.  Doesn’t mean that what you choose next doesn’t matter.”

Daegal played with the hem of his sleeve, wrapping a fraying thread around his finger.  Will pushed himself up from the desk and dragged Merlin’s chair over to a spot across from Daegal, then sat down.  “Listen here,” he said.  “I can’t say I’d be too pleased to get a load of gifts that I didn’t think I ought to have, either.  But you can’t give them back, and you can’t convince people that you don’t deserve them, either.”  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “You’ve got to just smile, and say thank you, and do your best to be worthy of everyone’s gifts.”

Daegal absorbed this, nodding slowly.  “I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Will said.  “And so does everyone else.”  Will met Daegal’s gaze unflinchingly, his outline illuminated at the edges by the moon at his back.  “Don’t you ever tell me that lot doesn’t know what you’re like.  They know it better than you do.”

Daegal swallowed, not trusting himself to speak.  

“Now then,” Will said, linking his hands behind the back of his chair and stretching out his arms.  “This is rubbish timing, but you’ve got to start practicing sometime, so let’s just get it over with.”  He withdrew a thin, utensil-sized package from his pocket, extending it to Daegal.  “Don’t have a crisis, now.”

“Oh - no - ” Daegal moaned.

“Oi,” Will warned.  “What’ve we just talked about?”

Daegal took the parcel.

“Smile and say thank you,” Will prompted, when Daegal did not say anything right away.

Daegal managed a wobbly smile, and an even wobblier thank you, which Will, to Daegal’s very great relief, chose not to comment upon.

Daegal untied the parcel.  The cloth casing fell away, revealing a short and sturdy pocketknife encased in a plain leather sheath.  Daegal picked it up and turned it over in his hands, knowing immediately that Will had carved the handle himself.  It fit into Daegal’s hand as if it had been moulded from a plaster cast, and it was the only part of the knife sporting any decoration, inscribed as it was with an angular script that Daegal could not read in this light.  Daegal removed the sheath and found that the blade had been sharpened to a dangerous edge, the point glinting in the moonlight.

“Elyan did that bit,” Will said.  “It ought to hold an edge better than what you have now.”

“No more mashing seed pods,” Daegal murmured.

“Exactly.”

Daegal ran a finger over the symbols carved into the handle.  He hadn’t learned all his letters yet, but he thought he ought to have been able to recognize a few of them, at least.  “What’s this writing?”

“Oh, that,” Will said, as if he had almost forgotten.  “It’s spelled.”

“Spelled?”

“Magicked.  Against slips.  To spare your fingers.”  Will waggled his own fingers in the air, and Daegal had to laugh a little.

“Merlin?”

Will’s face took on a thoughtful look.  “No, actually.”  He pointed at the unfamiliar runes, his tone becoming more serious.  “Mordred says that if you’re going to exploit his people for personal gain, then you’re going to learn something about the culture.”

Daegal froze.  A chill ran through him.  He had never even considered - 

He gripped the inscribed handle with sweaty fingers, mortified.  “He’s angry with me.”

“No,” Will said.  “I don’t think so, at least.  It’s hard to tell with that fellow.”

At Daegal’s dismayed look, Will added, “He offered to spell the thing himself, at least, so I can’t imagine he’s too upset with you.  But he has every right to be, you realize that?”

Daegal nodded quickly.     

“You’re going to go and see him,” Will said, his voice calm, but his tone brooking no argument.  “And you’re going to apologize, and you’re going to listen to whatever it is he wants to tell you.  You understand?”

“Yes,” Daegal said quickly.  “I’ll do it.”  He glanced at the door.

“Not now,” Will clarified.  “Tomorrow.  He might not be angry just yet, but he will be if you yank him out of bed a few hours before he’s supposed to be on patrol.”

Daegal’s shoulders sagged.  Will was right, but Daegal could not stand the thought of waiting.  Yet another guilt-monster was chewing a hole in his stomach, and he was starting to think those gnawing teeth would never let him sleep.  He recalled, suddenly, with a fresh wave of horror, the outrage on Merlin’s face when Daegal’s falsified triskele had smeared away, how tightly Merlin’s fingers had dug into Daegal’s wrist.  

Here was one more stupid thing Daegal had done.  One more person he’d injured.  One more wrongheaded decision.  

His eyes drifted longingly towards the door again.  

“No,” Will said, shaking his head.  “You made that bed, now you lie in it for one night.”  

Daegal sighed, and Will’s tone softened.  “You’ll make it right in the morning,” he said.

Daegal traced one of the Druidic runes with a finger.  He supposed that was the best he could do.

Will stood up and beckoned for Daegal to join him.  “Listen,” he said, pushing Merlin’s chair back under the desk.  “It’s late.  I don’t want you up all night brooding over this, all right?”

“All right,” Daegal said, but he had a feeling he was in for yet another night of lying awake under a blanket of guilt he had woven for himself.

“And - not that this needs to be said, but let’s not tell anyone you’ve got a magic pocketknife, all right?  Pendragon will think I’ve been messing about with enchantments behind his back, and he’ll have me booted out of this kingdom faster than you can say insufferable bastard.”

“But you don’t have - ”

“Yes, I do,” Will reminded Daegal, giving him a significant look.  “And that’s exactly what you’re going to tell people, if anybody starts asking questions.”  He opened Merlin’s door, ushering Daegal through it.  “But let’s not give folk a reason to ask, all right?  Otherwise the next person trying to kill the king might be me, because if Pendragon wants me out of this place he’s going to have to execute me and exile my corpse, no matter if I did sign a stupid promise ‘renouncing the practice of magic in all its forms,’ or whatever other rubbish that idiot asked me to agree to.”

Daegal followed Will across the main chamber, watching while Will pulled on his outerwear.  “I’m guessing he never gave you a land grant, then?”

Will burst into laughter, leaning heavily on the door handle.  He only remembered to clap a hand over his mouth when a slumbering Gaius snorted and rolled over.  “Oh, lor,” he wheezed, trying to recover himself.  “Don’t do that to me.”  

Daegal smiled sheepishly.  Will straightened up, his eyes creased with pure, undisciplined mirth.  “You won’t let all those fancy presents go to your head, now, will you?”

“I won’t,” Daegal promised.   “But - about Arthur’s gift, though.  I don’t actually know what to do with a plot of land.”

“Neither does Arthur,” Will said, rolling his eyes.  “But I do, and so does Merlin.  We’ll work it out together, all right?”

“All right,” Daegal said, as Will unlatched the door.  “Erm.  Will - ”

“Yeah.”

Smile and say thank you.  “Thank you,” Daegal said, trying on a smile for size, hoping it did not falter too much at the corners.  “For the knife, and - everything else.”

Will regarded him in that way of his that was very off-putting when you did not want to be read like a book but somehow oddly useful when you were trying to communicate something unspoken.  “You’re welcome,” Will said finally, surprising Daegal by reaching out and mussing his hair.  “See?  You’ve got the hang of things already.”

Will turned to go, but when he reached the top of the staircase he paused, glancing back.  “And, listen - ” he said, his voice low enough not to wake Gaius, but somehow warm enough to push back the December chill.  “Whether you like it or not - happy birthday, lad.”

Daegal sat tucked away in one of the window nooks, his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket and the glass casement leaching heat away from his side.  Merlin was long since abed, and Gaius’s muffled snores filled the main chamber, a soft drone of sound behind the screens.  Outside, the moon hung chubby and ovoid in the sky, like a pale seed on a black field of soil, like the bulbs Daegal would plant in his new garden, which was out there somewhere, nestled in the farming fields of the Sprawl.

He rubbed his thumb over the unfamiliar runes carved into the handle of his birthday blade.  His sixteen year-old self would have thrown that knife away, just to be safe.  There would have been no reason for him to believe that someone he’d injured would ever magick a gift for him just to be helpful, and sixteen year-old Daegal would have assumed that the spell “to spare his fingers” was in fact a curse to make sure they all fell off.  

But seventeen year-old Daegal was determined not to think like that anymore.  He was not going to think the worst of everyone who tried to help him, and he was not going to throw away gifts, whether he thought he deserved them or not.  He was going to smile, and say thank you, and do his best to be worthy of what he’d been given.

He leaned his forehead against the cold glass, looking down at the flickering lights on the city walls and the dark countryside beyond.  The Sprawl’s rolling jumble of cottages and fields melted into a shadowy sea of forest, and far away, the looming bulk of the White Mountains towered over the skyline, the peaks’ black silhouettes only distinguishable at this hour by an absence of stars.  

It was a very big world, Daegal thought, following the craggy outline of the range with his eyes.  And he had made plenty of bad decisions blundering around within its borders, that was certain.  But there was something beautiful about it still, even in the dead of winter.  

And it was not nearly as bleak as it had appeared to be, this time last year.  

Seventeen was going to be different, Daegal told himself.  Like Merlin always said.  It won’t always be like this.  Things will be better.  Daegal could make them better.  He had chosen wrong first, but he could choose right next.  He could choose right from now on.  He had made a mistake, but he could make it right in the morning.  

And tonight - tonight, it was still his birthday.

It isn’t, his sixteen year-old self snapped.  

“It is,” Daegal said.  “It’s my birthday.”

Who cares, the voice scoffed.

Daegal wrapped his fingers around his unearned mark of forgiveness, the grooves of the rune-etched handle imprinting themselves into his skin.  “I do,”  he said firmly, putting every ounce of conviction he had behind the words.  “I do.”

His younger self shut its mouth.

Daegal smiled slightly.  “Happy birthday to me,” he murmured, and was surprised to find that for the first time in a long time, he actually meant it.  

Curled up against the window, he tucked his knife against his side and fixed his eyes on the horizon, settling in to wait for the sun.

[ineffable0husbands]

"Here, let me help you with that" + Nanny!Crowley & Warlock + lasagna

@adoratato @iamdevilantlysatan @bri-cas @that-gender-bender@scum-of-the-earth @pieces-of-annedrew@scampycatty4999 @elrilsf @my-emo-child @always-reading2@larrklopp @l-garnxtt @halbarryislife@ninjacatinsanitycrazy@impossiblynervouscycle @audder17@theratatethekingsclothes@boredafsposts @i-really-dig-the-purple@mycrappylife01@lostwolf-fandomlover @hamiltrashphannerd@she-who-must-not-be-named @sundry-whovengerslocked @deceitfullyanxiousprince e @booklover223@twdlover03 @drunkinfandomstuff @nimsy1920 @catsarebestest @sonic-spade @reprehensibleghost @to-dance-among-stars-in-dreams @afternoon-sunlight @danifandxm@bananabreadbabiii @rise-abxve @shipping--hell​

A/N: I feel like the lasagna is a poke at how I forgot the lasagna in chapter five XD Also, I’ll be using she/her pronouns for Crowley

Warnings: Food mention and crying

Ship(s): Platonic Crowley and Warlock

Crowley gave a start when she heard a crash and a loud wail as she passed by the kitchen. Hurrying in, she saw Warlock crying over a broken bowl and ricotta cheese spilled all over the floor. He’d only been crying for a moment, but his face was red and puffy and his sobbed as he rubbed his eyes with his small fists. He saw Crowley and immediately reached out to her, making grabby hands.  

“N-Nanny!” Warlock sobbed, running up to Crowley and burying his face in her skirt. Crowley gently wrapped her arms around the young boy, picking him and holding him as he cried into her shoulder.

“Oh, my poor darling, what happened? Are you hurt?” Crowley cooed, trying to keep her voice calm but secretly very worried as he inspected to boy’s small hands for any cuts. Warlock shook his head and sniffled, rubbing his eyes again.

“I w-wanted to make somethin’ special for mommy but I c-can’t do it!” Warlock started sobbing harder and pointed at the bowl smeared across the floor.

“What were you trying to make dear?” Crowley asked gently, getting out her handkerchief and dabbing at Warlock’s tears. She sat down at the chair by the table and held him in her lap, bouncing him on her knee. Warlock slowly began to calm down at the repeated bouncing. He leaned against his nanny, sniffling.

“M-Mommy’s favorite, it’s...it’s called lasagna,” Warlock replied. Crowley finished wiping away the young boy’s tears and she smiled gently.

“It’s your mummy’s birthday tomorrow, yes? Is that why you wanted to make it?” Crowley asked. Warlock’s face flushed pink and he nodded, looking down at his hands. Crowley’s heart welled up with pride; Warlock really was such a sweet young thing. She kissed his forehead and got him down off her lap. “Here, let me help you with that. We’ll clean up the mess and then we can finish the lasagna for mummy, yes?” Crowley suggested. Warlock’s eyes lit up and he nodded vigorously, running to the sinks to grab some wash clothes to clean the mess up with. Besides the broken bowl, young Warlock had been doing a surprisingly marvelous job on his own. He’d sometimes snuck into the kitchen and helped the cooks prepare food before, so Crowley shouldn’t have been too surprised, but the bubbling meat sauce and pasta on the stove took her by surprise anyhow. After making a new cheese filling, the nanny and her boy stacked the layers of the lasagna and put it in the fridge so that it would be ready for dinner the next day.

“Thank you, nanny!” Warlock said happily, leaning up to peck her on the cheek. Crowley smiled broadly, her face lighting up at the young boy’s actions.

“You’re welcome, dearest. Why don’t we go play in the garden, hm? It’s such a lovely day outside.” Warlock cheered and ran off to put on his shoes, a proud and happy Nanny following close behind.

[javathewildone]

Ty Chronicles - A Walk to Remember (Pt. 13)

Summary: Meghan Donovan is a girl no one pays attention to until the day Ty Borden discovers something about her that so closely relates to his own life he finds himself becoming attached to her. But the closer he gets, the worse things become. And no one makes it through unscathed. The first installment of the Ty Chronicles saga. Set pre-Heartland/pre-juvie/pre-group home. Told in first-person through Ty’s point of view. Rating: M for adult themes Author’s Notes: Hey, look! It was exactly one year since I posted a chater for this one. *facepalm* I’ve changed direction with it so many times it amazes me I still remember wtf I was doing. Trigger Warning: adult content including prostitution Parts: P | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8  | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

"You're really not going to tell me how you got Maisie to trust you enough to open up about Meghan?" I asked, discarding a useless three of clubs down on the bench between us. It had been over an hour since we ran into the mysterious Maisie. After a while of me sitting and fidgeting and looking suspiciously like I was jonesing, Seth dug out a deck of cards from his grocery bag and we were now three games into a Gin tournament.

Seth took a moment to move his cards around. "Your tender virginal ears couldn't bear the sensual details." He discarded a six of hearts.

My brow rose. "You used sex in exchange for information?" I almost couldn't believe it.

"See? The very idea makes your head spin, my prudish little friend."

I scowled. "I'm not a prude, Seth. Virgin, maybe, but I've been around the block a time or two. What surprises me is that you're not."

Seth leaned back, aghast. "Beg your pardon, fella; I happen to be very popular with the ladies. Cougars, particularly, like Miss Maisie back there. They just devour my boyish charm." He smiled broadly as if to flaunt said charms.

I snorted. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume the other night wasn't your first time hanging around here."

"And you would be correct," Seth said, lowering his gaze back to his hand. "You gonna make a move, or what?"

I picked up his card, arranging it in my hand. "Well…?"

"Well, what?"

"You and Maisie. What's going on there?"

Seth shrugged, picking up my discarded two of spades. "I'm a refreshing break from the skeevy old men who leave the money on the nightstand on their way out the door."

Never, in a million years, would I ever think to discover this startling revelation about one of my good friends. Then again, we didn't often talk about such things. Meaning relationships. Which, I suppose this would fall into that category. My fraternization with Meghan seemed to be the catalyst to jar that particular topic of interest. Their desire to know the dirty details of our interactions only made their own love interests fair game. Already startling truths were being revealed.

"So, you've actually… with her?"

"Done the dirty? Sure." Seth admitted it so casually, like it was no big deal for a 15-year-old kid to have sex with a lady of the night. Like it wasn't illegal, forget about immoral. But, when put it into the perspective of where we were and why we were there, I really shouldn't be as stunned as I was.

Still, I fell into contemplative silence, mulling over this idea of my friend – who was younger than me – having done more with a grown woman than some guys older than us have done. Than I've done. And I thought I was hot shit for hitting the sexual milestones I had. But my contemplation over Seth's sexual escapades took a dark turn when I considered Meghan being the one subject to those things with the skeevy old men Maisie dealt with. The thought of them touching her in places I never dared sent an explosion of rage through my veins. I couldn't bear being inside my own head anymore with this knowledge of Meghan working this very street. With what little I knew of the situation, I was able to conjure up every filthy scenario of her being groped, abused, assaulted, molested, and even raped. It scared me to death while at the same time fueling my protective instinct that used to be solely reserved for my mother. That uninhibited need to prevent the bad things from happening or to go head to head with them when just stealing her away wasn't an option. I felt that familiar tension building in my shoulders now.

"Ty. Hey, man." Seth nudged my hand. "Your go."

"I'm done playing." I said, my tone implying I didn't just mean our card game.

"Look. I know it's not right, but we're two consenting people and I don't appreciate you judging me for it." Seth said, his voice clipped as he gathered up the cards.

I realized then that he thought my abrupt change in demeanor was because I didn't approve of his lifestyle. "I'm not. It's none of my business. I appreciate you looking into Meghan for me, but now that I know… I just can't stop thinking up all of these terrible things happening to her. She's not like you, or Maisie. I can guarantee her consent is not given freely."

Seth visibly relaxed, his defensive expression softening. "I just hope we can do something to actually help her. "

"Me too." I ran a hand anxiously through my hair. I wasn't sure how much longer I could wait before succumbing to my own imagination and losing it completely.

"Hey, watch this." Shuffling through the cards, Seth selected three then set the rest aside. Settling himself on the edge of the sidewalk he laid the cards out before him. Lifting each in turn he showed them to me. Queen of hearts, five of diamonds, and ten of spades. "Follow the lady." With the dexterity of a casino dealer he shuffled the cards around and around until satisfied then gestured for me to choose.

Huffing a sigh, I humored him and pointed to the center. His mouth quirked as he lifted the card to reveal the ten of spades. "I made two hundred bucks one afternoon playing this game downtown. You'd be amazed how flustered people get when they think they are being clever. They just kept throwing money at me to best themselves." He revealed the Queen then set her back down to shuffle again.

I didn't bother to wager any actual currency, knowing full well I was not in any state of mind to follow a fake lady when my thoughts were reaching toward a real one. My attention wandered to every vehicle and person that came our way. It didn't take Seth long to get bored of my half-hearted guesses.

"You gotta stop looking so suspicious," he commented, picking up the rest of the cards and giving them a hard shuffle.

"Aren't we suspicious enough loitering on this bench at this time of night?" I was waiting for the cops to pull up and ask just that. What answer could we even give them?

Seth shrugged. "No one really asks questions this part of town. But you looking around like that will for sure draw some unwanted attention."

"I can't help it." I leaned back to stare down at my shoes.

"There you go; that's better. Down on our luck and despondent is what we're going for."

I shot my friend a glance in the form of an eye roll. The click of heels drew our attention then as Maisie sauntered up with another young woman – not Meghan, to my dismay. She brushed Seth aside to sit between us, gesturing to her companion. "This is Clara. She's another novitiate." I hoped she meant to use that particular term ironically.

Clara smiled softly at me, not sparing Seth a glance. I smiled back to be polite, but my attention wandered to Maisie. "Have you seen Meghan?"

"You're Ty." It was Clara that spoke, commandeering my focus. I assumed she learned that from Seth, or from Maisie who learned it from Seth.

"Yeah." I curbed the rest of that sentence. They all knew why I was there; it seemed like a waste of breathe to ask again about Meghan. If I took away anything from that evening it was to be as discreet and cryptic as possible. Anyhow, my impatient expression was sure to speak for me well enough.

Clara's smile only widened at the affirmation. "Come with me." She stood, grabbing my hand as she did to pull me up with her.

I threw a confused glance over my shoulder to Seth, allowing myself to be pulled to my feet but no further. My friend only nodded in encouragement and tossed me his deck of cards that I caught against my side. "Follow the lady."

Unsure what to make of his double entendre, I figured I trusted Seth this far, I might as well go all the way. Pocketing the cards, I let Clara pull me down the street.

"Put your arm around me," she insisted when we paused at the corner to cross.

"What?" Startled, I tried to pull my hand from her grasp but she tightened her grip.

She finagled my arm to drape across her shoulders, tugging me closer into her side. She wrapped her arm around my waist as we crossed the street, ducking her head against my chest as she laughed. "Look like you mean to be here. We're going to meet your lady friend, but we can't look conspicuous. Pretend we're headed some place for a good time." Despite the giggle in her voice, her words were firm. Understanding, I let my rigid posture melt, leaning into her a bit and even fabricating a stumble to feign intoxication. This made Clara laugh for real. "That'll do, Pig."

I let her guide me, trying to pry what bit of information I could through slurred murmurs into her ear. But she was hesitant to divulge the plan in open space where anyone could be lurking. The most I got was that we were going to a motel. The sight of it made my stomach clench. I'd been in motels like this one before where nefarious activities were being conducted right beneath the nose of the greasy-palmed night managers.

I watched, eyes wide, as Clara dug into her cleavage to extract a key and unlock one of the rooms. She didn't explain. I didn't ask.

Immediately, I scanned the room hoping the door would open to Meghan sitting on the bed waiting for me but the room was empty. Clara tugged me in, roughly shoving me down on the bed with a giggle and nudged the door closed with her foot. Utterly stunned, I caught her at arm's length before she could dive on top of me. If this was Seth's way of trying to make me get over Meghan, I was going to be sincerely pissed off. But Clara was pulling out of my grasp to approach a door within the room I initially assumed was the closet. She knocked twice with her ear pressed to it before there was a click and it opened a crack. I jumped up, craning to see who she was speaking to in hushed tones when the door opened wider and she stepped through. My heart jumped into my throat when Meghan came from the other side, her back to me as she eased the door quietly shut and locked it.

I stood frozen, staring at her back. I refused to allow my eyes to trail away from the bare skin of her shoulders. She was wearing a halter top and a skirt so short I was frantically trying to erase the slight curves of her ass cheeks peeking through the bottom of my vision. That same male part of me I was loath to admit reacted to such atrocities came to life as it had before. I swallowed hard, wishing for once I wasn't such a hormonal teenager and willing it away before Meghan could turn around.

Too late.

I stood straighter, clasping my hands in front of me to try and hide my shame as not to make her feel any worse about herself than she surely did. My eyes widened at the sight of her. I'd never seen her in make up before, except for concealer. But even that couldn't cover the black and blue painting the side of her jaw.

"What do you want?" Her voice shook and just like that I had nothing left to hide as I let my hands fall to my sides.

"You look…" I wasn't sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like an asshole. She didn't look like the Meghan I remember. Not just the skimpy attire but her hair so tightly curled and half knotted onto her head while the rest brushed her bare shoulders. Gold hoops hung from her ears, but it was the purple smoky eye shadow that drew my attention to her light eyes. I had to choke down the word "hot" pretty hard when Meghan's expression steeled.

"Like a floozy," she finished.

I blinked. "Um. I was going to say older."

"Same difference." She crossed her arms, waiting for me to answer her initial question.

I moved closer, pausing when she stiffened. My heart sank. Were we back to that now? "I was worried about you. I came to make sure you were okay."

Meghan's jaw popped. "Does it look like I'm okay?" She snapped, making me wince. Of course she wasn't okay. I knew even before seeing her she wasn't going to be okay. Nothing about this was okay.

"I needed to see you," I continued, desperate to find some bit of the relationship we tried so hard to hold together. "I was scared when I hadn't heard from you for so long and I knew better than to try to make direct contact after what happened last time."

"Okay. You've seen me. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a client." She turned to go and in a burst of panic I lunged for her arm to prevent her from doing so. Unfortunately, I hadn't thought about what I was doing until it was too late and Meghan was wrenching herself from my grasp, reeling away from me in utter fear.

I let her go, throwing my hands in the air. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. Just, please, don't leave."

Folding her hands around her arms, Meghan closed in around herself, breathing heavily and not meeting my eye. "Please. I-If you're afraid of losing money I'll pay for your time."

Once again I realized my error too late as Meghan flashed me a scathing look. "Fuck you, Ty."

I didn't think my heart could sink lower, but was still insulted she would even consider I thought that way. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

She breathed out a sigh. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just if I don't leave this motel with payment this time Daddy will turn my whole face purple."

"Daddy?" I asked, assuming she meant her stepfather but still finding the new title for him rather disturbing.

Meghan's face reddened as she dropped her gaze and shifted uncomfortably. "That's what he demanded I call him when I'm... working."

I tried not to let my nausea show too plainly as I reached for my wallet, pulling it out along with the deck of cards. Digging through the folds I took out all the cash I had, counting it quickly. "I've got thirty-six dollars." I glanced up cautiously to meet her dismayed expression.

"That won't be enough." She shook her head, glancing toward the door where clearly a bigger pay day awaited her. Or rather Daddy.

Suddenly, Seth's parting "follow the lady" popped back into my head as I fingered the deck of cards. Flipping open the top I pulled them out to find two hundred dollar bills next to the Queen of hearts.

I held up the cash, silently thanking Seth for his master planning. "How about two hundred and thirty-six dollars?"

Slowly, a small, dare I say relieved, smile crept across Meghan's blood red lips.

[thefearofcod]

hi hi!! forgive me if you've answered this before, but i wanted to ask how you got into library sciences & archiving? i've been eyeballing my school's masters of library sciences program. not sure if archiving will be the concentration for me, but i'm curious! it's probably too private to ask which program you attended, but can you share a little bit about what it was like? how'd you choose it? were you involved with libraries much before you applied? and what did you study as an undergrad? 💖

ohh! and for context: i saw one of your posts about archiving circulating in studyblr, that's how i found you! it was the one about how archiving is just as specialized and tough as STEM professions. good post good post two thumbs up

heyyyyy anon what’s good, thanks for coming to morg dot org, which is not an academic or study blog. sometimes i’m just cross about things. I have no idea on earth or in heaven how or why that post took so far off.

Anyhow, I got into libraries and archives because I Love Old Shit and books. Straight up, that’s it. For clarity’s sake, I’m not strictly archives either, I’m actually doing more of a cultural heritage program: mostly this will equip me to work with non-textual objects as well as books, photos, and documents, but it’s still library science for sure. I’ve always liked primary sources, and I believe that there’s a certain element of concreteness that comes from interacting with an object contemporary to an event that no number of later written or recreated accounts can match. 

I THINK LIBRARY SCIENCE IS DOPE, and there’s so much of it outside of archives! There’s reference, which is INSANELY cool and which I could never do; there’s children’s librarianship, there’s law and medical libraries, corporate libraries, community libraries... so many libraries! So many data management things! If you’re thinking about doing an MLIS, you should do it bc it’s cool as all hell.

I’m actually still in school, and as I said I’m doing a cultural heritage track, because my interest is in historical objects and special collections, as well as art, artifacts, and buildings. This can also extend to oral histories and linguistic preservation, which is not my area. I’m in it for the pre-1840s history, but I also enjoy other sections of history such as 1920s social undergrounds and folk histories. 

Library school is REALLY COOL. You learn broadly about a lot of areas; for instance everyone is required to take a Reference class. Am I going to be a reference librarian? Not if I can help it! I don’t have the patience or people skills, but eventually we are all asked to carry out some kind of information-finding for patrons, which is what reference really is. But you can also dig WAY deep into specific areas of library science; I’m taking several classes about the history of books as objects, some of my classmates are taking several in data architecture, others are studying how and why people read and how information moves. 

Because librarians tend to be introverts, I do warn you that all of the programs I’ve seen (only attended one, but uhhhhh u know) stress collaborative work and group projects. So if you hate that then like. Prepare for it? Deal with it? Library students are good at doing their work and tackling projects tho so it’s unlikely for one person or another to shoulder all the work in a group situation. 

Everyone is autistic or gay or both.

I did work in libraries between undergrad and grad school for a few years; I started off volunteering in the special collections department of my local library while trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and it was my boss there who really encouraged me to consider library science as a career. He also recommended the school I currently attend, because their special collections program is very very rigorous and good. I later worked in a different special collections department identifying rare books (also unpaid) because nobody there could read ancient Greek or Latin, and a good deal of their rare books had been purchased from a closing seminary and were in either Latin or Greek.

And the reason I read Greek is because I went to a Small Liberal Arts College(tm) where I studied philosophy and history of mathematics, which is not perhaps the most immediately applicable degree in today’s job market, but WHO CARES because now I have a BIG leg up for old books because guess what! I can read them and don’t need to scramble for language classes because I studied them in undergrad! 

ANYWAY THAT’S A LONG POST ABOUT LIBRARIES, hope u love it, i always wanna talk about libraries and library school

[rfsak2]

Cactus, Part IV

I hope you like it!

Cactus, Part IV Summary: Damn if he didn’t know what he was doing. Harry/Jamie Warnings: Talking about past tramas. Hopefully nothing too triggering though.

Mitch sipped his cocktail and hit her thigh with the back of his hand. She jumped a bit, pleasantly buzzed on a mixture of whiskey and Harry, and said man grumbled from where he leaned against her, prickly cheek against her forehead.

“What about you, Jamie-Wamie? Any great stories from your extensive tenure in the music industry?”

“You get verbose when you’re drunk, Mitchy-moo.” She grinned, one hand idly carding through the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck.

Jeff grinned. “Oooh… verbose. Big word.”

“Thanks. Took a lotta doin’ to educate the white trash outta me.”

Harry chuckled against her hair. “I think yeh sound very educated, love.”

“Thanks, Haz.”

Mitch smiled against his glass. “No, but I’m serious. You’ve been doin’ this for a while now..”

“Now you’re callin’ me old?”

Harry snorted. “Yer like twenty-two. Tell a story, girl!”

“Okay.. Okay.” She sighed. “Lessee… One time, I walked in on the drummer from a band I was working with doing lines of coke off a prostitute’s breasts.”

Harry stiffened beside her and Mitch breathed out a shocked ‘fuck’.

Jeff nodded with a small smile, sitting across the table. “I remember you telling me about that. You were what…. Eighteen?”

“Sixteen.” She let out a breathless little chuckle.

Harry straightened suddenly. “Wha? Sixteen? Wha’ happened?”

She shrugged. “He’s just casually doin’ lines, the prostitute was moaning like.. Well, she was moaning and I just say ‘hi’.” She paused and rub soothingly at Harry’s shoulder. “He grins, but then if the number of little, plastic bags on the floor are to be taken at face value, he’d probably done 200 bucks in blow so I’m not sure he really knew what was goin’ on anyhow. I’m just frozen. I had no idea what to do. He grins and waves me over. ‘Ya want some?’ I stutter out, ‘No, sir’ and grab my guitar and run.”

Jeff huffed. “This business, man.”

“It gets better… or worse. I had a supervisor, I guess he’d be called… He was the one I ‘reported’ to with the label as far as the government was concerned. I went to him to tell him that this happened. I mean it’s illegal, right? And dangerous, he could’ve OD’d or… Like fifteen different scenarios had run through my mind by that point. Anyway, he just laughs, calls me a prude and then quirks my chin like I’m just some silly, little girl. Tells me to toughen up.”

She smiled. “Then he sends me back to the studio, because if I’m so worried then I should go check up on him. Make sure he don’t OD.” Harry made a noise deep in his chest and gathered her against his side.

“I hesitate as one would expect and he asks me if ‘it was going to be a problem?’” She smiled at Mitch. “I say ‘no’ and go and check up on him, because I really was worried. He’s passed out and the lady is gone. I call my boss and he says to just turn him on his side so he doesn’t choke.” She sneered. “‘We’ll cancel work today. See you tomorrow. Go get a pedicure or whatever it is broads like you do.’ I just stood there and stared down at him for a solid hour, trying to figure out if I should call the cops.”

“But you didn’t.” Jeff wet his lips. “Call the cops I mean.”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. How could I? And flush every dream I had ever had down the toilet? Get myself in some deep shit with a label that literally owns me and my music?  I could only imagine what they’d do to keep that shit quiet.” She sipped her whiskey. “Anyways, I’m apparently maudlin when I’ve had too much to drink. Sorry for being a buzzkill. Jeff probably has better...funnier stories than I do.”

The conversation took a turn and she quieted, relaxing back against the couch. Harry sighed. “Tha’s mad, monster.”

She smiled and settled against his chest. “I definitely was. But then you’ve probably seen as much as me. This industry doesn’t let people stay young for very long.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He sighed and favored her with a crooked smile. “The album is done…”

She smiled. “And now, the end is near…”

He grinned. “And so I face the final curtain.” He chuckled. “Yeh have a lovely singing voice, love.”

She shrugged.

“Yeh should tour wi’ us.” She breathed deep and Harry booped her nose. “Yeh thought I’d forget, didn’t yeh, love?”

She smiled. “I was hopin’ so, yeah? Don’t like disappointin’ people.”

“Then don’t.” He pulled back and caught her eye. “Look… I don’t want this to be the end of this-” He motioned between them “-I know it doesn’t have to be and ‘course, I have no intention of ending it because yeh say no, please know tha’. But it will get harder when I tour. I just want t’spend time wi’ yeh and I wanna keep makin’ music wi’ yeh.”

“I don’t want this to end, either.” She smiled and shifted so she was sort of half in his lap, one hand coming up to run a thumb over his chin. “But, Harry, I really… I shouldn’t.”

“Why?” He shrugged. “I know yer probably too talented for it-”

She shot him a look. “That’d be a real bitchy thing for me to think.”

He winced. “I don’t mean it like that...Obviously.”

“Why do you think it is that I don’t tour?”

“I assume it’s because yeh only tour when it’s something ye’re proud of.”

She smiled and grabbed his face, staring him down. “I don’t tour for a reason.. A reason I may one day tell you, but I’ve been a bit too much of a downer today as it is, so not tonight. I can tell you that it has nothing to do with being proud or not being proud. I love what we’ve done here. I really do. Aside from having more fun then I have had in years, I am immensely pleased with how your album turned out and I’m proud to have worked on it.”

He nodded, eyes on hers. “Okay… I have an idea.” He grinned. “Do th’promo performances wi’ us. Be there for tha’ and we’ll shelve the tour shite for a later conversation.”

She sighed around a smile.

He smiled broadly, dimple appearing. “Please, love. Yer such a fantastic guitarist and I want te share it wi’ yeh.”

“Alright. Fine.” She pressed a pert kiss to his cheek. “That dimple can get you whatever you want, honestly.”

**

“No I dig it, babe.” She traced one of the big black buttons on his romper with the tip of her finger. “It...it works for me. It really does.”

Almost absentmindedly, she licked her lips and Harry sucked in a breath. “Tha’s no’ fair, love.”

“Hmm?” She didn’t look up and he really didn’t think she was aware that she was doing it. “What was that, Haz?”

He leaned into her space, fingering the gold lace of her skirt. “Yeh shouldn’t lick yer lips like that when yeh look so pretty. ‘S no’ fair, love.”

She blushed, hand flattening against his ribcage. “Oh!... Sorry.”

“Yeh haven’t put lippy on yeah?”

She frowned. “What the fuck is lippy?”

He grinned and decided to test for himself.

She hadn’t.

She gasped into his mouth and he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her into the kiss. “Pretty little thing, aren’yeh?”

“Shit.” She laughed against his mouth. “Who’s not being fair now?”

He chuckled and leaned in for another kiss. Someone knocked on the door and he just managed to stifle the groan.

They stepped away from each other and she coughed. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Jeffrey popped his head in. He glanced between the two of them. “Really?”

Harry flicked him off. “Can we assist yeh?”

Jeffrey stuck his tongue out. “No, I don’t need yeh. I need your girl. Jamie-Wamie, you or Mitch for solo?”

“It’s Mitch.”

“Okay we’ll set Mitch closer to center and then you next to him, yeah?”

“Base in the back?” She nodded. “That should work. What do their sound guys say the acoustics are like?”

“That’s how they said they preferred to do it.”

“Sounds good to me.” He left, closing the door behind him, and she chuckled. “I pretty sure he just wanted to interrupt. He didn’t me to answer any of those questions.”

Harry nodded and leaned in to kiss her again. “It’s probably for the best. Can’t get to worked up just yet.”

She smiled. “I need to put lippy on.”

“Not yet.” He kissed her once more and then set his hands on her shoulder. “There now.”

He was phenomenal.

It was silly to feel so damn proud of someone who’d been doing this and doing it well for seven years, but she was so bloody proud.

There was so much joy in every bounce and pace. He was energetic and charismatic and the crowd was feeling him and he was feeling the crowd.

She was feeling him and his damn romper. He just looked so good.

Every time he turned her way, his smile was wide and contagious and she just couldn’t help returning it.

She had to admit, he knew what he was doing when he asked for her to do this with him. She honestly couldn’t see herself doing anything else right now.

She couldn’t miss this and have to live with the regret for the rest of her life.

**

He held the door for her and motioned her into the restaurant. “M’lady.”

She stuck her tongue out.

“Not very lady-like.” He winked at her and she rolled her eyes as she indicated to the hostess that they needed a table for two.

The girl gaped, but nodded. “Yeah, course.”

She led them to a table, glancing back at Harry every once and awhile on their way through the crowded restaurant. Harry, for his part, pretended to not notice that everyone’s eyes were on him, his hand firm in the small of her back.

When the girl had left, Jamie smiled. “Everyone is so aware of you. Are you sure that you don’t want to go somewhere quieter?”

He shook his head, looking down at the menu. “Yeh said this place reminded you of home. ‘My favorite restaurant in LA, Haz,’ yeh said.”

She nodded and did the same. “Right then.”

“It’ll be the same no matter where we go. This is just how it is.” He glanced up. “Does it bother yeh?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think so. If it doesn’t bother you-”

He snorted. “It does bother me, of course it does, but I’m not going to hide away and I’m not going to act like I’m ashamed of myself or of yeh.” He looked up and she was smiling at him. “Wha’?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He grinned, blushing. “Wha’ do yeh ge’ here, monster?”

“Fajitas usually. That’s true Tex-Mex there.”

“Wanna share, then?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Wanna share a coronarita?” He grimaced. “That sounds...interestin’.”

She made a face. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear you say that.”

He laughed. “Why?”

“Corona? Really, baby? If we gonna go Mexican beer, it can’t be that. It tastes like piss.”

“Can I get you two some drinks?”

The waiter smiled a bit too broadly. He’d obviously been sent out to avoid the inevitable catfight over who would wait on Harry fucking Styles.

She smiled. “D’ya have Victoria on draft?” The waiter nodded. “Two of those, please and some water.”

“Sure. I’ll be back with those and some chips and salsa for you.”

“Thanks, mate.” Harry grinned at her. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffed. “I didn’t even bother to put my contacts in today and my hair is stiff with hairspray from last night.”

He shrugged. “Big hair, don’t care and I like you in your specs. You’re cute, plus you have a hickey just there.” He poked at her collarbone.

She started and attempted to pull at her shirt. “Harry! You didn’t tell me!”

“How did yeh miss it, love? It’s dark.” He grinned. “It’s alright. I like my marks on yeh.”

She blushed, but didn’t say anything, waiting for their approaching waiter to set down their drinks and take their order. “You’re oddly okay with this. Shouldn’t you be more worried about the media gettin’ wind of all this?”

“What? Of us?” He shook his head. “If they do, they do. As long as they don’t run yeh off, I’m not sure I care anymore. They’re gonna do it anyway, right? Normally with women I’ve never even bloody met. If they’re gonna do it, I’d prefer for it to be real. I’d prefer it to be with someone I am fond of, someone I want to be in a relationship with.”

She beamed. “I don’t think they could beat me off with a stick.”

He threw his head back against the booth. “They shouldn’t do tha’ either, love.”

She sipped her beer. “So is this…” She winced. “I don’t know how to say it.”

He grinned, munching on a chip. “I want yeh. I’ve wanted yeh since I met you last year, love. Committed Relationship or Secret Lovers. As long as I have yeh, I don’t care. Whatever yeh want.”

“You can have whatever you like.”

He laughed. “What d’yeh say, monster? What is this?”

“I say Committed Relationship. You?”

“You can have whatever you like.” He smiled. “Yeh’ve always been m’girl, y’know tha’, yeah? Up here,” he tapped his temple, “whenever I thought about yeh, yeh were my girl.”

She blushed. “Same here, pretty boy. I was all in from day one.”

“Good.” He leaned over the table and kissed her, aware that someone was likely taking a photo.

Their food came and she grinned at Harry as he gaped, watching her throw a couple jalapenos onto her fajita. “That’s intense.”

She snorted. “No what’s intense is that that girl over there is definitely snapchatting this. If we’re lucky her friends aren’t saving it.”

He sighed. “Are yeh okay?”

She shrugged. “I’m okay with you. I don’t particularly like feeling like I’m being watched, but I’ll deal with it for you, because I’m okay with you.”

“Is that why you don’t tour?” He winced. “I mean because you don’t like being watched?”

She froze, fajita half-way in her mouth, before forcing herself to relax. “No. I mean I like performing as much as anyone else.”

“Wha’ happened?” He stilled, almost as if he was forgetting to breathe. “Yeh don’t have to say if yeh don’t wan’ te. Sorry. Dun mean t’make yeh feel uncomfortable, love.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I wanted to tell you anyways really.” She smiled. “But first I want you to know that I had so much fun doing the promo stuff. I’m glad you convinced me to do it and if the offer is still available, I’d love to tour with you.”

He sighed in relief, hand over his heart. “Thank God. Of course it is.” He reached for her hand. “Now what happened, love? I have a feeling that it wasn’t pleasant.”

She sighed. “My parents weren’t comfortable with me going on tour until I had turned eighteen for obvious reasons and even then they still weren’t really comfortable, but when the band that I had been working with that summer asked me to tour with them, I jumped at the chance. I was going to be a background guitarist, nothing flashy, for the opening act, but I was so excited. I was going to be going on my first tour, I’d be getting some great experience and I really thought that I was going to have fun.”

She sipped her beer and Harry felt a pit in his stomach.

“The first ten shows, we’ll say, they were fine. I was having fun, I clicked with the band, and I got to have all these little jam sessions with the guitarists from both bands. I was learning so much. I learned to play Voodoo Child on that tour, in fact. Then one day, the tour was in Austin and my family came up to see me. I had gone out to dinner with my family and I returned to the hotel we were in late. I…” She smiled and took a deep breath, Harry squeezed her hand.

“I had to walk past the pool.. spa thing to get to the stairs. The lead singer of the main band must have seen me. He...uh… he grabbed and he tried to drag me into the changing rooms, but he didn’t know that my brother, Ryan and my father were following me in. I was running up to grab something from my room for them to take back home with them. Ryan saw me get pulled into the door and he has...had anger issues back then, he’s a lot better now. You can imagine. I had just managed to jump away from him when Ryan bursted through the door. If he had still had his hands on me when Ryan got there, Ryan’d probably be in prison.”

“Fuck.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her hand. “I… Shit I wish I hadn’t asked, baby. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I wanted to tell you.” She covered his hand with her free hand. “I stayed on the tour. My parents didn’t want me to obviously and Ryan was livid that I would even consider it but I wanted it so bad and I was so stubborn. I just I couldn’t let it go, but then the rest of the tour was miserable. I chose to keep it quiet. I think the singer thought I didn’t say anything because I was ashamed.. or afraid. I managed to convince myself that I just didn’t want him to be able to take it away from me. Anyways, he kept trying to corner me. The drummer from the opener started to notice. He’s a nice guy. I’d say four shows after the pool incident, he pinned the lead singer to a wall and threatened him.”

“Good.”

“‘She’s barely eighteen, ya disgustin’ old fuck. Ya-’ He’s from Boston, I think- ‘Ya touch her again, I kick ya dentures down ya throat and make you beg for her forgiveness. If she don’t want ta forgive ya, Imma bury you in so much litigation you’ll owe ever’thin’ to ya lawyers.’” She smiled. “At the end of that tour, I was pretty happy to never have to tour ever again. I tour with my band, because they’re my brothers, literally and figuratively and I trust them.”

He nodded. “Yeh don’t have to tour with us, I promise. Yeh can say no.”

“I know.” She kissed his knuckle. “I know. That’s why I want to do it. I trust y’all. I trust you and I want to share this with you. Besides I can’t afford to miss the possibility of you wearing that romper again.”

“You liked it then?” He grinned slow around his glass.

“You don’t even know.”

Part III Up Next: Part V

[marauder--harder]

Fate, Misunderstood- A Remus Lupin Imagine (Part 1)

A/N: Sorry this wasn’t up sooner. I don’t know if I really like it all that much, so I’m sorry for that too. Hope you enjoy, lovelies. 

Request from Anon: would you please write some remus x reader where sirius meets reader in one of his classes and starts talking to her because he knows remus has a crush on her and he wants to help them but remus thinks that the girl has a crush on sirius so its all a big misunderstanding

Remus didn’t believe in fate.

He thought it to be too cruel of a concept for people. If fate existed, that means that it was set for him to be cursed as a monster. It was set that there would be a war. It was set that life was harsh and filled with pain. No, Remus refused to believe in fate. Bad things happen to good people, and people make wrong choices. He had convinced himself of this at a very young age; and with the war approaching quickly, it was not difficult to support his claims.

Until he saw you.

You were an enigma. Constantly showing up in Remus’ life, just on the outskirts. He didn’t know your name, your year, or really anything about you-- except that you were beautiful. Every time he found himself doubting the good things in life, you appeared. The two of you had never spoken, but it didn’t stop Remus from feeling a bit lighter as he watched you float around with a happiness he didn’t know was humanly possible.

Remus had fallen for you, hard; and he hated it.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” James asked, as Remus sat down in the Great Hall with a huff.

“Nothing,” he snapped back and quickly began digging into his food without another word.

The three boys looked to their werewolf friend, and then exchanged glances. Peter counted the number of days before the full moon, then mouthed ‘four’ to the others. They nodded in understanding and let the boy be. If he was in a mood, trying to cheer him up would not be a good thing for any of them. Nothing seemed to shake Remus from his aggressiveness in the days leading up to his transformations.

Breakfast was eaten in silence, the only conversation held when James asked Lily out for the third time this week and she rejected him, for the third time. After they ate, the four marauders made their way to the first class of the day: Potions.

This seemed to put Remus in an even more foul mood as he didn’t want to go anywhere near the class. Sure, he was paired with Lily, who was rather great at the subject; but it was cold, dark, and damp in the dungeons. He briefly wondered if he should just skip class for the day, but decided against it for the fact that he would be missing his classes within the next couple of days anyhow. 

Upon arrival, he immediately regretted this decision when Lily turned to him.

“Do you mind if we aren’t partners for today, Remus? Sev wanted to talk to me about something and I figured this would be the easiest way in doing so.”

Taking in a deep breath, Remus sighed and tried his best to not snap at the young girl. “Go ahead. I’ll find someone else for today.”

With a smile and a quick hug, Lily was off to sit next to her Slytherin friend. This left Remus alone and fidgety, as he didn’t want a different partner and surely wouldn’t go up to ask someone. He’d wait until someone came to him, probably whomever came in late to today’s lesson.

What Remus did not expect was a soft touch on his shoulder, and a warm voice to fill his ears.

“Um, your Remus Lupin, right?”

Looking up, he saw his enigma staring right at him. The tension placed in his shoulders melted away as he held your gentle gaze. “Yeah, I am.”

Your face brightened slightly and smiled, an expression that Remus now knew was his favorite. He found himself mirroring you slightly as you continued. “Great! I was wondering if you had a partner for today’s lesson? Alice is out sick and I am left partnerless.”

Remus shook his head and you sat down next to the young boy.

“Perfect. I’m Y/N, by the way. And I have to warn you, I’m kind of rubbish at Potions.”

Still smiling, his headache that was forming just moments prior suddenly vanished, and he laughed softly. “No worries, I think I can carry us through today’s lesson.”

You nodded, and put your hand over your heart in a false dramatic sense. “My knight in shining armor.”

Before he could think it through, the words were tumbling out of his mouth with a wink. “Anything for a fair maiden such as yourself.”

At this, you both flushed a shade of pink and seemed to lose your nerve at flirting any more. The rest of class went by without incident; and even though it was slightly awkward at times, Remus found himself feeling better. He guided you through the potion you made and with his help, you seemed to pick it up better than when Slughorn explained it.

“See? You aren’t abysmal like you had said. You only almost caused a fire once.” He joked, and you playfully smacked his arm.

“Hey, not fair! That was your fault anyhow. You told me to stir counter-clockwise, not clockwise!”

The two of you laughed as you packed away your things, and you smiled up at the young boy.

“Even if I did almost start a fire, I’m glad I partnered with you today. You helped better than Slughorn ever could, so thank you.”

Remus nodded, and smiled back at you gently. “It’s no problem at all. Lily ditched me for the day anyhow, so I was partnerless too.”

As the two of you said your goodbyes, neither of you saw the young boy watching from a distance. Sirius Black saw the smile on his friend’s face, and was surprised that he had not bit your head off once. If you brightened his mood on a day leading up to the full moon, you must be pretty special. Grinning broadly, he decided that tomorrow he would see how special you were for himself.

When Remus walked into Potions class the next day, he frowned. Lily was back sitting in her old seat next to his. Slightly disappointed that he couldn’t share his time with you again, he made his way over and sat next to the red-headed girl.

“Morning, Remus.”

However, the young boy did not reply, as he was watching two students chat happily with one another across the room. His heart fell into his stomach. You were sitting in your usual seat, and in Alice’s was none other than Gryffindor’s Casanova, Sirius Black. He was leaning against the desk cooly, flashing his signature smirk and talking about something Remus could only imagine was an infamous pick up line.

However, much to his dismay you smiled shyly and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you looked down. The more he concentrated on the scene in front of him, the more he realized that your cheeks were also dusted an adorable shade of pink. You were blushing at whatever Sirius had said, which made him laugh and wink at you.

“Hello? Earth to Moony?” Lily asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

This seemed to snap Remus from his trance and looked back to his friend. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was apologizing for ditching you yesterday. I didn’t realize it was this close to, you know, and shouldn’t have left you to some random partner who probably made things worse for you. But, it seems like you are more mad than I thought.”

He winced slightly at the guilt in her voice and reached out to bring his hand over hers. “I’m sorry, Lily. I’m not mad about yesterday. Y/N partnered up with me, and it really wasn’t so bad.”

At the mention of your name, Lily scanned the room to find you. “Y/N... Y/N Y/L/N? She’s terrible at potions! I’m so sorry, if I had known I really wouldn’t have left you with-”

Remus seemed to forget about what he just saw and actually laughed at his riled up friend. “Lily, stop. It really wasn’t all that bad. I helped her with the potion and we made it through. I actually had fun yesterday.”

Lily paused, her eyes flicking back over to Remus’. As she stared at him, she finally understood why he didn’t mind her ditching him the day prior. “Ohh, well I’m glad then. She seems like a really nice girl, Remus. Have you asked her out yet?”

Suddenly, he tall boy deflated. “Don’t go there, Lily. She clearly isn’t interested.”

He nodded his head over to your seat and she peered over his shoulder to see you and Sirius still talking happily. Yet, you weren’t looking at Sirius. You were staring across the room, over at Lily’s table. When the two of you made eye contact, you flushed a deeper shade of red and quickly turned your attention back to Sirius. Confused, Lily did the same to Remus, who was now twirling his quill in his hand dejectedly.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Remus. You could always give it a shot?”

Shaking his head, he sighed and opened up his textbook. “No, I know not to get in the way of heart-throb Sirius Black’s missions. I wouldn’t stand a chance anyways.”

A pang went through Lily’s heart at the defeated tone in her friend’s voice. Opening up her own book, she dropped the subject and decided not to press him any further.

For the rest of the week Sirius sat with you in Potions. Remus had gone through a whole array of emotions at the thought of it. At first, he was disappointed, automatically assuming that he had lost any chance with you. Yet, the next day he was confused as he noticed you staring at him often. Although, every time he’d look in your direction, you would turn away quickly and go back to talking with Sirius. On Friday, the day before the full moon, Remus was angry. He was mad at Sirius for trying to get with the one girl whom he cared about. Sirius seemed to be able to have any girl in Hogwarts, except Lily maybe. Yet, he chose his beautiful enigma. In Remus’ mind, this was just another reason that there was no such thing as fate.

Throughout the week, Lily had tried to cheer her friend up. It even got to the point that she told him she’d go out with James if he would just think about asking you out. He laughed hollowly and told her that there was no point in going out with someone if their heart wasn’t in it. Worst of all, she didn’t know if he was talking about her going out with James, or you with him.

Come Saturday, Remus had become irrationally upset. He didn’t know if it was due to the constant flirting between you and Sirius, the fact that today was the day of the full moon, or if it were because he was very close to accepting defeat. You and Sirius had extended your chats in class to knowing glances in the Great Hall and the common room. Remus bitterly thought that the two of you even stole his one place of solitude from him, the library.

Every time Sirius would look over at you, smirking but not saying anything more, you would blush and look down. It was obvious that you were shying away from whatever the boy was insinuating, and even though his stomach sank at the thought of it not being because of him, he couldn’t help but smile at your demureness.

It was a couple of hours before he would need to leave for the Shrieking Shack when Sirius came up to check on his friend. It was common place that one of the boys would assure that he was set for the night, ensuring that he had everything he needed before his transformation.

“Hey mate, you all set?” He asked as he leaned on the post of his bed casually.

“I think I would know what I need, Sirius. I have been doing this long enough by now.” The tone in Remus’ voice made Sirius wince, and he assumed that this would be a rough night for all of them.

Pushing off the bedpost, he made his way over to his friend carefully. “I know, I just wanted to know if you needed anything.”

“Not from you, no thanks.”

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows at his response. He was used to the boy being agitated before the full moon, but never directly at him.

“What do you mean?”

Remus sighed, not having enough energy to deal with his problem with Sirius right now. He felt as if he didn’t deal with it, it didn’t hurt as badly. “Nothing. Just, let’s get going.” He closed his bag and made his way over to the door, ready to get this night over with.

As the two boys reached the bottom of the stairs, they ran into the one person Remus did not want to see.

“Oh, hey Remus! Where you boys off to?” Your eyes were shining brightly, seemingly always light enough to soothe his mood. Yet, as he looked back to Sirius to see him smirking slightly, he shook his head and looked down. Muttering some excuse, Remus breezed past you, not stopping long enough to see the hurt flash across your face. You looked to Sirius, and shrugged slightly.

“See, told you.”

Sirius’ smirk fell instantly and he sighed gently. “Now’s just not a good time, Y/N. Trust me, he does like you. I can see it.”

You laughed sadly and shook your head, trying to appear lighthearted. “It’s okay, Sirius. You saw it for yourself. He doesn’t want really anything to do with me, and that’s okay. Now please, just drop it.” The playfulness in your words were forced and you both could tell. Shaking his head slightly, he put his arm on your shoulder comfortingly.

“I’ve known Moony for years, and he has never looked at someone like he looks at you. Just try again tomorrow. I promise, it’ll be different.”

Looking into his eyes, you felt yourself nod before you could think it through. The thought of Remus rejecting you again left a knot in your stomach, yet you couldn’t help but think about the possibility that he might like you. You didn’t see it, but Sirius spoke with such a conviction that you had to believe him. Standing up on your tiptoes, you hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Sirius.”

He smiled down at you, relieved to know that you’d give Moony a second chance. After he said his goodbyes, he turned to catch up with the rest of the group to find that Remus was nowhere in sight. He sighed and made his way down with James and Peter, thinking that now all he needed to do was get through tonight.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Cover You in Oil, Pt18

Word Count: 5698 Tags: @outside-the-government, @yourtropegirl @to-pick-ourselves-up-7, @ghostssss, @rampant-salamander, @saysay125, @sistasarah-sallysaidso @shewhorunswithfandoms, @flirtswithdanger @supermoonpanda @rayleyanns 

Sally took a photo through her bedroom window, hoping there would be enough contrast to show how much snow had fallen, and sent it to Tony.

“Learning to snowboard today!”

“Jesus, Sal. How are you going to get to the ski hill?”

“Victor has a helicopter!”

“Well, have fun, let me know how it went tonight.”

“Love you!”

“Love you too. Be safe, princess.”

Sally looked across the hill at all the various runs. The lodge had been empty when they arrived, and as she was fitted for gear, the employee told her that the hill wasn’t actually open yet, except for today, at the emperor’s request. Sally was flattered, as she knew the only reason they were there is because she’d been talking non-stop about snowboarding since the snow started. She wanted to start with the steepest, scariest one, but the instructor had already shut that down. He directed her, instead, to the bunny hill, where he went over edges and turning and a bunch of other things that made her realize that snowboarding was nothing like surfing while still basically being surfing. When she passed his bunny hill test, she caught up with Victor at the top of the hill leading to the more challenging runs.

“You should start with the easier slopes before you move onto the ones that clearly excite you,” Victor warned her. Sally nodded.

“Yeah, the instructor dude said the same thing. So I’m going to cycle through all the easy runs, and all the moderate runs a couple times. Then I’m going head first, screaming down that scary looking one,” Sally laughed, pointing to a particularly steep slope.

“Very well,” he smiled and swooshed away on his skis.

Sally proceeded down the easiest run, gaining confidence in the feel of the snowboard. She took on a moderate run and wiped out, laughing her head off the whole time. A patrol was immediately with her to check her over. “No, no, I’m fine,” she protested with a laugh. The soldier helped her to her feet and she continued down the hill. After a couple of hours, she was tired and hungry, and found Victor waiting for her at the top of the hill. They headed to the lodge and ate, Sally bubbling over with excitement about how much fun she was having.

“How long does winter last here? It’s not even October yet. I guess there are some advantages to the ridiculously cold weather,” Sally babbled as she ate her sandwich.

“We usually have snow until late April,” Victor replied, an amused look spreading across his face. He seemed more relaxed than usual. Self-satisfied, maybe.

“Oh, yeah. No. That’s too long. I don’t think I could love snowboarding for that long. I’d miss the sun too much,” Sally laughed.

“There are other winter pursuits, when the outdoors lose their appeal,” Victor smiled. Sally bit back the saucy answer that sprung to her mind, and finished her sandwich.

“Back at it?” She asked, dusting off her hands and picking up her ski gloves. Victor nodded, dismissing her. She jumped up from the table and headed back to the hill, determined to conquer some more difficult runs.

She didn’t notice time passing until twilight started to fall and she headed back to the lodge to find Victor waiting. He held out a mug of what turned out to be hot chocolate to her. “We should head back.” Sally took a tentative sip from the cup and found it the perfect temperature to warm her core without burning her lips and tongue. She continued sipping from the cup as they waited for the helicopter to retrieve them from the lodge.

“There will be a light snack in the dining room a half hour after we land,” Victor offered as they settled into their seats and buckled in.

“I’ll have a quick shower before I meet you, then?” Sally asked.

“You’ll be more comfortable once you’ve changed into warm clothes,” he nodded, noticing her shiver. “And you may find yourself a little sore in the morning.”

“That should make my run interesting,” Sally laughed. Victor smirked.

“I’ll have someone warn Vurdalakovich that you may not be up for it.”

Victor wasn’t wrong; the hot shower warmed her up considerably, as did the application of warm fuzzy clothing. She noticed her room was warmer than usual, and assumed that the castle staff had set it higher in anticipation of her chilled core. She padded down to the dining room in her socked feet, completely disregarding the usual unspoken dress code of the castle. She was still just a bit too cold to be proper. She was pleased to see Victor similarly clothed, in what appeared to be warm fleece pants and a thick sweater. She plunked herself down at her spot and smiled broadly.

“Thank you for today, Victor,” she started. “I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun learning something new.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Sally. I’m afraid next weekend the hills will be more crowded, as they are opening for all of Latveria to enjoy. But you are free to go every weekend, should you want to,” Victor replied. Sally’s smiled grew bigger. A servant placed a large bowl of soup in front of both her and Victor.

“That would be awesome –“

“Provided your guard accompanies you,” he interrupted. “I am in the midst of a very time-consuming project and can’t spare much time right now. And it is not right for an emperor to be so easily accessible anyhow.”

“If you don’t mind me commenting, Victor, I find it very interesting that you enforce such strict work hours when you yourself work through evenings and weekends so frequently,” Sally commented, taking a spoonful of what turned out to be goulash. She wanted to rave about how much she’d loved it the last time, but wasn’t sure Victor would approve of her having been in the mess hall.

“I want my subjects to be happy and content. So a strictly enforced 35-hour workweek is appropriate for that. They are well compensated for their time in employ, and they have enough time for leisure pursuits so that they might be able to let go of their workday burdens,” Victor commented. “But as I have said before, the work of a leader is never done. If I am not busy in the robotics lab, there is diplomatic work to be done.”

“Can I ask what kind?” Sally asked in confusion.

“What kind of what?” Victor looked equally confused.

“Well, you’ve said diplomatic work, but Latveria has closed borders. What kind of diplomatic work is required when you don’t have allies and trading partners?” Sally asked. Victor scowled. “I’m sorry if the question was inappropriate. You don’t need to answer.”

“Not at all, Sally. Latveria does have some trading partners, and ensuring relations stay civil can be a daunting task. And there is a certain amount of diplomacy required to ensure closed borders stay closed.” He masked his displeasure quickly. Sally nodded, finishing her soup.

“Seems like a lot of work. You almost need someone you can palm off half the work onto,” Sally laughed. Victor’s smile relaxed into a more genuine one.

“Something like a co-regent?” He chuckled. Sally nodded. “Perhaps I need an empress?”

Sally laughed in surprise. “I guess that is what you need.”

“Pity I haven’t Tony Stark’s luck in finding a soulmate,” he commented. Sally flushed and shook her head, not quite masking a yawn before it escaped. “You are already exhausted from your day, Sally. I will reschedule our morning to a brunch just before noon and make sure Vurdalakovich knows not to expect you for your run. Go and get some well-deserved rest.”

Sally flushed as she rose. “Thank you, Victor. I appreciate how patient you are with my questions. I’m sure they would be considered beyond rude by others.”

“As I’ve said before, I want you to feel comfortable here. Your questions are welcome,” he dismissed.

“Goodnight, Victor.”

“Oh my god,” Sally groaned as she rolled over. Every muscle in her body ached. Muscles she didn’t even know she had screamed in protest as she tried to push herself to sitting. “Why are my fucking toes sore?” She scowled out the window at the fluffy snowflakes that were falling. She could hear a soft chime from her laptop that told her someone was trying to place a video call. It took all of her strength to shove herself to sitting and she moaned in agony as she put her weight on her feet. She assumed it must be Tony calling, based on how long the chiming was going on. She dropped into the chair slowly and answered the call.

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been trying to call since seven your time!” Tony looked worried.

“Asleep?” Sally rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, flinching as her arms protested against the movement.

“You didn’t check in with me last night. I thought you were dead at the bottom of a ski hill,” Tony complained.

“Except you knew I wasn’t because your mark wasn’t hurting or vanishing,” Sally snapped.

“As a matter of fact, it started hurting in the night –“

“Yeah, well, I fucking ache all over, so I win,” Sally interrupted. Tony looked chagrined.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” His tone immediately changed from impatient annoyance to concern. Sally glared at the camera to make her continued annoyance clear.

“I spent over eight hours on a ski hill yesterday. I’ve never been around that much snow before. No one warned me that you even use your goddamn toe muscles snowboarding,” she complained. “Christ, even my fucking jaw hurts, Tony.”

Tony smirked and quickly covered it with a cough. “Don’t you fucking laugh at me, Anthony Stark!” Sally growled. Tony burst out laughing and soon his cackles were high-pitched and out of control. Sally couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m sorry, princess, but that shit is funny,” he giggled.

“You’re an asshole. Let me talk to Steve. Steve loves me,” Sally complained. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Only because he sees you as a granddaughter,” Tony teased.

“I hate you,” she complained.

“I miss you,” he shot back. “Talk to me about the car. How did this week go?”

“It was hard. I think I might have to fabricate an entire alternator, there’s just no such part available anywhere, and this one is completely dead. The robotics lab is fabricating me about a half dozen pistons right now. And Victor said there’s no word on the missing hood ornament yet,” she explained.

“Missing hood ornament?”

“Yeah, there’s this little divot in the grille at the front where there was obviously a hood ornament, and I thought if it could be found, maybe we would know what kind of vehicle it is. It’s some kind of Mercedes hybrid, obviously. German, World War II era cars tend to be. But I can’t figure out who made it.” She yawned as she spoke, rubbing her eyes.

“And you said it was too long to get into a single frame photo?” He asked.

“Yeah, and some asshole took away my iPhone and replaced it with a StarkPhone that doesn’t have a panorama feature on the camera,” Sally commented, her tone dry. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Have you tried the magic of Google yet? Maybe if you put the specs in, something will come up. That’s a one-of-a-kind car, Sally. Some historian knows something about it,” he shot back.

“You know, that’s not a half bad idea,” Sally admitted. “You might not be just another pretty face, Tony.”

“I keep telling people; billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and genius,” he laughed. “No one ever wants to believe me though.”

“I hate to cut this short, but my bladder is screaming at me, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to take me an hour to hobble to the bathroom. I gotta go, honey.” Sally stuck out her lip in a pout.

“Call me tonight when you’ve recovered a little more,” Tony nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” When the screen went black, Sally pushed herself to her feet and slowly made her way across the room, cruising the furniture like a toddler. There were real tears in her eyes as she lowered herself to the toilet.

The long, deep bathtub beckoned to Sally from across the room, and she filled it as full as she could with steaming hot water, thinking about the hot springs in the village square with a pang of regret. It would be perfect, but it would also be impossible to get there. Just before she dropped herself into the bathtub, she heard a knock at her door, and sighed. She moved slowly from the bathroom across her bedroom, wrapping herself in a plush towel along the way. She cracked the door open just a hair, and when she saw it was Sasha instead of Victor, allowed the door to open a little further.

“You look like hell,” he offered.

“Thanks?”

“Put some clothes on, we’ll take the rover down to the hot springs,” he ordered.

“Can you read minds? I was just thinking about them,” Sally laughed.

“No, but I do know when someone has overdone something, and don’t think I didn’t see you snowboarding all day,” he commented.

“You were there?”

“I am your guard, Sally. Of course I was there.” He shook his head in irritation. “Now, are you gonna put some clothes on, or am I dragging you down to the village in that towel?”

“Shut up, Sasha.” Sally shut the door and pulled on her yoga pants and a sweatshirt slowly. She grabbed her coat and boots, deciding Sasha could help her get those on. When the door swung open again, she thrust the items at him.

“How exactly are you going to get into the hot springs, if I have to help you get dressed?” Sasha demanded “Or am I stripping you down and tossing you in in the buff?” Sally huffed and pulled her coat on. She grabbed his arm to stabilize herself to put on her boots. He shuffled her over to his opposite side and helped her pull them on her feet.

“What time is it?” Sally asked as she followed him down the hallway.

“Just about nine?” Sasha replied.

“Will we have time to get there and back by 11:30?” Sally asked. “Victor has scheduled us for brunch this morning.”

“Let me talk to him. Wait for me at the doors to the garden,” Sasha directed. Sally continued down the hall as Sasha headed down the stairs toward the robotics lab. He was back to her before she made it to the doors. “We’re good. He wanted to bump brunch to lunch anyhow. We don’t need to be back until one.”

“You’re a bloody miracle worker,” Sally murmured. Sasha laughed.

Once they were outside, he helped her onto the rover before climbing on in front of her. “This is going to be painful until you get numb. Just a warning.”

Sally gritted her teeth as the rover tracks dug into the snow, propelling them down the mountain.

“Oh my god, so good,” Sally groaned as she stretched out in the water. Sasha smirked from a bench on the far side of the room. He was refusing to come in the water because he was deeply engrossed in a book, he’d claimed when they arrived. That and his burn was still weepy and gross. He’d particularly enjoyed using horrifyingly disgusting words to describe the state of his burn. Sally had needed to submerge completely in the water before he stopped.

“I’ll bring you some Epsom salts later,” he offered. “You can toss them in the bathtub tonight and have another soak. And then tomorrow morning, yoga instead of running, just to get the last of that lactic acid stretched out. Because you’re going to be more sore tomorrow than you currently are.”

“That’s not possible,” Sally argued. Sasha laughed.

“We’ll see what you have to say tomorrow,” he warned.

“You know for someone so damn excited about his book you sure talk a lot,” Sally complained. Sasha laughed again, but fell silent for long enough that Sally’s thoughts began to drift. She was worried about the car. There was something so completely bizarre about it. But Tony was right. Someone out there knew more about the car than she realized. Maybe even Victor himself.

“Sasha?” Sally asked. He looked up. “There’s a hood ornament missing off the car. Do you know anything about it at all?”

“Yeah, I saw it once. It wasn’t for a manufacturer though,” Sasha started.

“No?”

“Nah, it was a symbol. You know the car was custom made, Sally. There was no need for a maker’s mark on it because it was only intended to be owned by one person,” he explained.

“Do you know who owned it before Victor?” She asked. Sasha looked back down at his book and shook his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, pretty sure,” he mumbled.

“Pretty sure you don’t know, or pretty sure you do?” Sally pressed. Sasha shot her a dirty look and went back to his book. “Oh. Was it a swastika? Oh my god, was it Hitler’s car?” Sally shot up in the spring and immediately regretted it, her muscles screaming in protest.

“It wasn’t Hitler’s car,” Sasha compromised. But Sally could tell he wasn’t telling her something.

“Tony figures there’s historians out there that probably know about the car. Do you think I should send out some inquiries?” She changed the focus of her questions slightly. Sasha shook his head again.

“Sally, it’s a German made war machine. Does it matter? It belonged to the bad guys,” he said. “I think that’s probably more than enough detail, don’t you?”

“But if I could figure out whose it was, maybe I could find some more information on what I’m dealing with in that engine.” She lay back again in the water, floating on her back.

“You should really be doing some stretching while you’re in there and your muscles are loose,” Sasha commented.

“Do you really figure I’ll be more sore tomorrow?” She asked, distracted by his direction. She dropped her feet to the floor of the spring and started running through her stretching routine.

“I can pretty much guarantee you’ll feel worse,” Sasha said. “Now shut up, I’m right at the part where Darcy admits he’s in love with Elizabeth.” Sally fell off balance and came up from under the water sputtering.

“You’re reading Pride and Prejudice?”

“Mariya has very few books in English,” Sasha shrugged.

“English isn’t your first language, so why does it matter?” Sally shot.

“Maybe I want to improve my English. You keep commenting on how old fashioned I sound,” Sasha shot back.

“19th Century English is hardly going to help you learn modern English, Sasha,” Sally laughed.

“Go back to stretching, kid.”

Sasha was not kidding about her hurting more in the morning. It was a trial trying to get out of bed. She hobbled to and from the bathroom, slowly getting herself ready to meet him for yoga and dreading what that might entail. A quiet knock sounded at her door, and she made her way slowly to the door to meet him.

“Figured I would need to bring you to the gym,” Sasha offered without preamble. He stepped inside and raised an eyebrow at her bare feet. “Sit. I’ll help you.”

“Just shoot me,” Sally sighed, flopping in the chair at her desk.

“You’re gonna want to shoot me when we’re done. Now gimme your foot, doll,” Sasha ordered. Sally lifted her foot with a groan and bit back a smile as Sasha slid her shoe on her foot. “You’ll need to take them off when we get on the mats, so I’m not going to tie them tight.”

“You’re the bossman,” Sally nodded. He shook his head again and pulled her to her feet.

“If you’re going to be this big of a whiner about being sore, I might not be willing to take you back out on Saturday,” Sasha threatened. Sally sighed.

“I’m trying. I figured I was in good shape,” she complained as they headed down the stairs. They turned a corner and headed down another set of stairs to the barracks under the castle.

“You are in good shape. Running shape. You aren’t in snowboarding shape. And right now, if you were to hit the waves, you wouldn’t be in great surfing shape either. But you’ll bounce back,” he turned a corner and took her past the mess hall into a large gym that was surprisingly well ventilated considering it was under the ground. He led her over to the far side of the gym where there was a series of mats on the floor. When he kicked off his shoes, Sally followed suit.

Sasha pulled his mat so he was in front of her, and led her through some slow stretches and poses. Sally bit back most of the groans she wanted to make, but a few escaped, especially during downward dog.

“When will we get to corpse pose?” She asked, only half joking.

“Just a little more. You’re doing pretty good,” he encouraged.

“I should hope so. Yoga’s not a new thing for me,” Sally shot, feeling some of her sass coming back. “I’ve probably been doing it longer than you have.”

“I somehow doubt that,” he chuckled.

“You were probably still in grade school,” Sally laughed.

“Believe whatever you want,” he said, raising one eyebrow. Without breaking eye contact with her, he dropped onto his forearms. “But I bet you can’t do this.” He kicked up into a forearm handstand, and then, slowly, lifted his forearms off the ground until he was balanced completely on his elbows, with his hands on his cheeks. And he stayed there. Sally blinked slowly and sighed.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” She asked. He dropped back down into plank and then lowered himself to the floor.

“Plenty,” he said. “But I wouldn’t want to ruin the illusion. Feeling any better?”

“Actually yeah. Thanks,” she admitted. He pulled her to her feet and nodded toward the door.

“You should head back to your room so you can get ready for breakfast. I’ll meet you after and we can head to the garage,” Sasha pulled his shoes on as he spoke.

“You aren’t going to walk me back?” Sally asked, a little surprised.

“You’re in the castle. Chances are, you’re fairly safe,” he smiled.

Victor strolled into the dining room after Sally had been served coffee. “I’m sorry to be so late, my dear. I had a breakthrough and got distracted.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Victor,” Sally smiled. As soon as he sat, the meal was served and they both sat quietly and ate. It was a familiar routine that they’d fallen into, eating quietly for the first few minutes. Right when Sally started to feel uncomfortable with the silence, every morning, Victor would begin to speak. It was like he had a sixth sense about it. This morning was no different. Just as Sally was wracking her brain for something to ask him about, he looked at her and smiled.

“The pistons you need are finished. They should be waiting in the garage this morning,” he offered. Sally gave him a confused look.

“I thought no one worked on weekends?” She asked.

“A great deal of our production is managed through the application of robotics. The fabrication shop runs through the weekend when necessary as it can be left unmanned for weeks at a time, provided all the programming is set,” Victor explained.

“Well, that will be great. I just need to figure out what I’m doing about the alternator then,” Sally smiled in response.

“Are you sure it’s completely finished?” Victor looked thoughtful, like he was puzzling through something about the part.

“No, I’ll pull it apart and do a rebuild. They’re easier to replace in most cars because they’re a bit fiddly, but it’s not difficult to take them apart and get them working again. But it does remind me about something else,” Sally explained. “Did it have a battery? When you found it? There is no battery in the housing now, and it’s a weird size.”

“The battery should be in the garage. There’s a storage cupboard on the back wall that has many things tucked away. I believe you will find the battery in there,” Victor replied. Sally nodded.

“That’s great. I’ll let you know if I’ve found it this afternoon.” She picked up her coffee and finished it. Victor surveyed her and smiled.

“You are anxious to get started this morning, now that you know about your pistons,” he observed. Sally flushed and nodded.

“I freely admit that I’m eager to get to work. I’m not used to having to strategically manage my time around someone else’s schedule and expectations. And I respect those expectations, Victor, truly. It’s helping me to make the most effective use of my time, and now I have two very important projects to keep me busy today.” Sally chose her words carefully. If she were able to be completely honest with Victor, she would have told him how stifling and ridiculous she felt his regulations about work hours were as they applied to her. She had always worked an eight to nine hour day, and on days when she was left waiting for external variables like part fabrication, she always was able to make up the hours within a few days by bumping up to a ten hour day. She was starting to feel like this particular vehicle would be easier to work on in long, uninterrupted blocks. It would certainly allow her to power through in some areas, and potentially get home a few weeks early. With Victor’s labour regulations, however, Sally was starting to fret that she might not get finished by Christmas.

“I’m glad you’re beginning to see the advantage of the Latverian way,” Victor interrupted her thoughts, and Sally found herself blushing again, hoping her thoughts weren’t written across her face. “I have a meeting with the Sokovian minister of defense this afternoon and will not be available until our evening meal.”

Sally forced herself to smile as she excused herself from the table. So Victor could skip a meal but she couldn’t? She could feel her mood drifting and forced herself to consider the project at hand. The alternator would be an easy little job that would help her feel like the project was moving forward, and having the pistons finally would allow her to begin to wrap up the engine rebuild. She needed to remind herself that the engine was huge and unfamiliar, which was why it had taken approximately three months longer than Clint’s Challenger had.

The alternator popped apart with remarkable ease, and Sally started removing the parts, carefully noting what went where while Sasha searched the storage cupboard for the battery.

“Hey, I’ve got three batteries here, and they’re all the same size, want me to check them?” He called from the back of the garage. Sally looked up and her screwdriver slipped, slicing her thumb. She let out a little shriek and stuck the digit in her mouth to lick the blood off and then pulled it out right away to look at the damage. Sasha was beside her in an instant.

“It’s nothing. Pass me a bandaid?” She shook her hand, leaving small drops of blood on the workbench. Sasha rolled his eyes and pulled out the first aid kit. He took her hand and cleaned the wound before applying a steristrip and bandage.

“Keep it clean,” he ordered. Sally cocked an eyebrow.

“Are you kidding me? In here? Right now?” She laughed. Sasha shook his head as he put the first aid kit away.

“Just try to keep it clean. I’ll check the batteries,” He picked up a voltmeter as he headed toward the cupboard again. Sally nodded and went back to disassembling the alternator. When the screwdriver had skipped across the regulator and chipped the housing, allowing a strange blue glow to escape.

“Sasha, you said you’ve seen this car before, right? Ever seen this blue light before?” Sally asked, picking up the part and squinting. “This should just be the regulator, but is that the power source for it?”

Sasha turned back, his eyes narrowed. “Put that down, Sally. Gently.”

“What is it?” Sally trusted Sasha enough to do as he said. He stepped between Sally and the part and carefully picked it up with his left hand, peering at it.

“Shit. We’ll need to fabricate that housing in here somehow,” Sasha complained.

“Why can’t I just take it to Victor to get the robots do it?” Sally asked. Sasha shook his head.

“No, no. This is very dangerous technology. I should have realized this goddamn car would be just as contaminated as everything else that dirtbag touched. Goddamn –“

“Wait! You know who owned this car? How do you know that? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Sally exclaimed interrupting. Sasha carefully put the part back on the workbench and walked Sally outside into the snow.

“I already told you, I couldn’t turn off all the monitoring in the garage because it would be too suspicious. So try to keep your voice down and act normal when we go back inside. I will tell you everything you want to know about that car later. Right now, we need to patch that housing because if Victor finds that power source, there’s no telling what he could or would do,” Sasha explained.

“And you’ll tell me the truth about what you know? You promise?” Sally demanded, shivering against the wind.

“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” Sasha asked. “Until right now?”

“No, but –“

“For over three months, I’ve guarded and protected you. And worked with you. I need you to trust me for a few hours more, and just do as I say,” he pleaded.

“You know, you’re acting a little melodramatic, Sasha. It’s a car. You’re a guard. A guard Victor assigned, no less. And now you want to protect me from the man who assigned you to me?” Sally always got irritated when secrets were kept from her. This situation was no different.

“It has always been about protecting you from Victor, Sally. Trust me. Please.”

“I’m freezing,” she snapped, brushing past him to return to the garage. “This better be worth it.”

Sally picked up the regulator and peered at the gap where the blue glow was coming from trying to worry a way to repair the damage. Sasha was digging around in the storage cupboard and let out a low and sudden curse that startled her out of her thoughts and made her follow the sound of his cursing. She peeked around the cupboard door and let out a low whistle.

“Holy fuck,” she murmured, taking in the blue glow coming out of the cell casing on the battery.

“That’s what I said,” Sasha said. “Victor must not know what he has, or he’d have been using this tech for years.”

“You still haven’t told me what it is,” Sally whispered. Sasha looked down at his watch and bit his lip.

“I promise to tell you. But not here, and not now. I want to be certain we aren’t listened to.” There was next to no sound behind his words, he spoke so quietly. “But I’ll tell you this much. We’re dealing with Hydra.”

“Hydra?” Sally’s jaw dropped. “Like, Captain America, Howling Commandos, World War II Hydra?”

“The car is from World War II, Sally,” Sasha nodded. “Yes.”

“Holy shit,” Sally breathed. Her eyes widened. “Holy shit, my pops told me about this car. This is Schmidt’s car, isn’t it? Holy shit.”

Sasha held up a small circular emblem with a skull surrounded by tentacles. The enamel was surrounded by a chrome housing that descended in a long, thin stem. “Hood ornament.”

“Am I in danger, Sasha?” Sally asked. “He obviously tried to hide the origin of this vehicle from me. Do you think I’m in danger if he finds out we know this?”

“Like I said, I don’t think he knows exactly what he’s got or he’d be using the power cells already.” Sasha capped the cell on the battery.

“You could just be saying that. You work for him.” Sally could feel a prickle of panic creeping along her spine and she backed away from Sasha and the storage cupboard slowly. Sasha shook his head, and reached out to her. “No, stay back.” She kept her voice low, hoping it wouldn’t be picked up by the monitoring equipment.

“I need you to trust me, Sally.” Sasha’s voice was as quiet as hers. He kept his distance, but continued to speak. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and that is my word. I will tell you everything you need to know. As soon as I can. Until then, you need to stay cool, and act like none of this is an issue. Usual day on the car, pistons are great, thanks for asking, Vic.”

“You were swearing in English,” Sally commented, fixing on what was probably the most minute detail of the previous hour in the garage. Sasha looked confused. “When you opened the battery, you swore in English.”

“So what?”

“So when I’m taken by surprise, I say the first thing that comes to my mind,” Sally said. “I don’t suddenly curse in German or Spanish. Because I think in English because English is my first language.” Sasha averted his gaze and clenched his jaw.

“What are you –“

“If English really is your first language, who are you? Certainly not Alexandr Vurdalakovich, soldier for Latveria,” Sally’s eyes narrowed. “Was your grandfather really a mechanic who trained you?”

“No,” Sasha shook his head. “But yours was.”

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

I came of political age during the debate over the Iraq War. The soundtrack to my sophomore year of high school was Nelly and incessant chatter about weapons of mass destruction. The fate of countries and reputations hung on facts — or the administration’s reasonable facsimiles of them, anyhow — and what counted as proof (like, for instance, whether those little ole WMDs existed). By the time I headed to college, the countries and reputations were well on their way to being destroyed. Bad policy and poor reasoning were slowly killing a presidency, so I watched as the self-serious young men of politics’ next generation tried to correct for those mistakes. They read The New Republic and joined the campus Federalist Society, where they debated abstract topics and drank whiskey out of cut-glass tumblers their mothers bought them at Bed Bath & Beyond. Bush’s failures suggested that you had to have a detailed game plan for the country if you ran for office. The triumph of Barack Obama, meticulous professor, seemed to prove this.

At least until the 2016 primaries. On the Republican side, Donald Trump’s grasp of policy details seemed limited, yet he blew his competition out of the water. His big ideas about changing trade dynamics, banning Muslims and building a wall — and the bombastic, broad-strokes style in which he delivered them — swayed Republican voters primed for action after eight years of Obama. The Democratic contest was more policy-conscious, but Bernie Sanders caught flak from Hillary Clinton and her supporters for plans they thought were implausible, like free college and single-payer healthcare.

Thus far, the politics of the 2018 midterms and the looming 2020 presidential primary are filled with some of the same big ideas. The hang-up that many Democrats had about a lack of detail — “Anytime someone tells you it’s free, read the fine print,” Clinton said of Sanders’s free college plan in 2016 — has fallen somewhat by the wayside. Sanders introduced a free college bill last year that was supported by Elizabeth Warren and Kamala Harris, two likely 2020 presidential contenders, while a federal jobs guarantee has now been embraced by Cory Booker and Kirsten Gillibrand, other likely 2020 candidates.

The universe of the politically possible seems to be expanding. The shift is happening on the right and the left, each end of the spectrum opening their windows wider, though on opposite ends of the house. Some people are waiting for a cross breeze that might never come, but there’s an unmistakable joy just to have the house aired out.

Voters’ increasing tribalism might be fueling this era of big ideas. According to Pew data from March, Americans increasingly prefer politicians who won’t compromise on their positions. In 2018, 53 percent preferred politicians who stuck to their guns, a radical change from 2017, when only 39 percent said they felt the same. Republican respondents to the Pew survey have long displayed this aversion to compromise, but 2018 seemed to mark a transition point for Democrats: In July 2017, 69 percent said they liked politicians who compromised, but in 2018, only 46 percent said the same. That data might indicate that politicians need to worry more about upholding ideological purity — promoting those big ideas — than they have in the past. That may mean that the accountability pressure has changed from the practical to the ideological, though it’s not clear how voters will feel if a lack of compromise also leads to a lack of, well, actually getting things done.

Most of the Republican Party’s shift appears to be related to what’s seen as acceptable in public life and leadership. A recent Pew survey showed that most of the president’s supporters prefer his approach to the job of the presidency over his actual policies.

Democratic voters have become a disillusioned bunch; 68 percent say that significant changes are needed to the design and structure of government itself. The party, meanwhile, has struggled to solidify its fundamental identity in the post-2016 universe. In this uncertain climate, rising Democratic stars have trafficked in the new currency of institution-shifting proposals.

First there was the Sanders single-payer health care bill of 2017, which most of the probable 2020 presidential primary contenders signed onto. It promises more generous coverage than nearly any other country with a single-payer system — Canada and the Netherlands included — but health care policy expert Sarah Kliff at left-leaning site Vox wrote that the Sanders bill “provides no information on how it would finance such a generous health care system. … This is a crucial part of any health care plan, and in the Sanders proposal, it is notably absent.” (A recent study found that the plan would cost the government $33 trillion, though Sanders said the same study showed that his proposal would actually save $2 trillion in overall health care spending.) The cost details here could be crucial to winning over Americans who are not a part of the Democratic base, but for now the push is to show a glimpse of a possible future to those already ideologically inclined to seek a change.

Perhaps the most galvanizing issue of the last few months for Democrats has been the movement to eliminate the Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency, a reaction in large part to the Trump administration’s policy of separating migrant children from their parents at the border. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the underdog winner of a Democratic congressional primary, picked up the “abolish ICE” mantle as she rocketed to political stardom. Just days after Ocasio-Cortez’s win, Gillibrand said that she too would get rid of ICE, and Warren soon hopped on the bandwagon. Harris stopped short of calling for the agency’s demise, but said, “We need to probably think about starting from scratch.”

The calls to get rid of the agency have proved compelling to many Americans horrified by the administration’s brutal approach to asylum-seekers, but the root causes of the deportations have been little addressed. Immigrants continue to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law under an executive order issued by Trump, and if the agency were dismantled, it’s unclear what would replace it, if anything, or whether redistributing its duties would result in any change in policy. Democrats like Cecilia Muñoz, who was the head of Obama’s White House Domestic Policy council, are concerned by the lack of nuance in these calls. She told Slate, “I think we need to be willing to address how do we think immigration enforcement should be conducted, what’s a way to do that, that actually values people’s lives and their civil rights. The abolish ICE argument doesn’t touch those questions, and I think that’s a mistake.”

Muñoz’s warning echoes Clinton in her post-campaign memoir, “What Happened.” “I’ve always believed that it’s dangerous to make big promises if you have no idea how you’re going to keep them. When you don’t deliver, it will make people even more cynical about government,” she wrote. Clinton was unsparing in her critique of Sanders’s primary platform — he “didn’t seem to mind if his math didn’t add up or if his plans had no prayer of passing Congress and becoming law” — and yet she seemed a little wistful that she didn’t go further in deviating from the slate of policies she thought were possible. “I have a new appreciation for the galvanizing power of big, simple ideas. I still think my health care and college plans were more achievable than Bernie’s and that his were fraught with problems, but they were easier to explain and understand, and that counts for a lot.” (When Sanders dropped out, Clinton adopted a version of a free college plan that the head of education policy at New America, a left-leaning think tank, said would be “a financial disaster.”)

Details, it turns out, are tiresome — they slow things down and draw you into the weeds, in part to discover how things might work in the realm of the actual, not the theoretical. And it’s hard to say whether the big ideas of today will eventually win over much of the country or drive a wedge deeper into it. It’s a thrilling gamble that the Democrats in particular are taking, one that has the potential to pay huge political dividends.

It’s also a rare moment in American history we’re living though. “I think that in no country in the civilized world is less attention paid to philosophy than in the United States,” Alexander de Tocqueville wrote in 1835. Perhaps that sentiment is dated, but it’s also true that we don’t have a reputation for being particularly contemplative. The historical success of the American experiment has made us ideologically complacent at times. Perhaps justifiably so, perhaps not.

But as the nation grasps onto audacious new ideas that say something is radically wrong with our present system, it makes a person wonder what the next political moment will be like, 10 or 15 years down the road. We might be hurtling towards a comedown, a wise-up or an actual paradigm shift, one that Baby Boomers, clutching at their Woodstock photos, will turn green with envy over. In the end, today’s policy details might be inconsequential compared to the real project of democratizing ideas in America. Perhaps what’s happening now proves that the direction of the country isn’t just in the hands of the boys of the Federalist Society and The New Republic. Its course might be more broadly determined.

Or we might learn that not very much has changed at all.