#she was supposed to come to the ward to give a final decision on some patients. THREE HOURS AGO

[kirishwima]

(: i am being Left On Read by my own senior doc

[normal-internet-user]

Sooooooooooooo~~~ I've got more DC brainworms. I have come to share. 🤲🏼

Picture this, wildflower. *throws arm around your shoulder, gestures to the empty space in front of us, envisioning* A young (eventual) bat!sibbie reader who has a very similar essence to Jason.

and I mean....... literally. a mini Jason. lmaooo listenlistenlisten — yn is a scrappy, free-spirited orphan who comes from the slums of Gotham; they've been here a while, only giving a noncommittal shrug and wry smile when inquired about any of it. same story for a lot of us 'round here.

—and wouldn't it just be hilarious if they came into the Batfam the same way Jase did? By STEALING 👏🏼 HUBCAPS. 👏🏼

except it don't gotta be hubcaps, yn is a ✨professional✨ and a 🔥savage🔥 and just straight up carjacked the Batmobile LMALAOAOAOO (they earn Jason's utmost respect right off the bat [BAT PUN 🦇]; Steph, Dick, and Duke are the runner-ups). Bruce probably gains a new neck vein but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued!

thennnnn you muck up when you give the slightest inclination that you know his secret identity bcz it'd be significantly more terrifying (read: hilarious) than if you were to fall victim to the cliche 'i saw something i wasn't supposed to and now I'm being taken hostage by these randos in masks and oh holy smokes it's actually multi-billionaire airhead himbo Bruce Wayne!? and his KIDS!!??'

time skip because seamless transition, bing bada boom, they're Bruce's newest ward and filling the tabloids. while it may be a hot story that the entirety of the paparazzi froth at the mouths at, it's a different story behind the scenes.

reader has a sweet, dear personality at the core, but they put up a detached front; if anything, their crude humor and witty deadpan sarcasm attests to their harsh emotional walls put up.

it's nothing personal to these guys, they're just... constantly in self-perservation mode. they ain't never had nobody like this before, 'cept for their fellow street rat friends who're like family.....

I imagine those walls get worn down by Jason the most.

I also imagine Jason would be.... angry?? not at you!! never at you — if anything he'd probably steal you away from Bruce every chance he gets because he's scared you'll be readily thrusted into an unwitting role as a cowl-donner — but at Bruce's initial and seemingly impulsive decision to take you in- because of just how fast everything moved. he was a bit withdrawn at first, but he became undeniably protective over you as time went on.

you appreciate this earnestly; one day on your outings with Jason, he passes by the streets where you usually hung out with your friends. sure enough, they're all there, looking horrendously forlorn. you give out the group whistle- one you all made up and agreed on a longgggg time ago- and they all look at you like you're a ghost before you're being yanked into a group hug.

some of 'em are mad tho; they all caught wind, ever since you were printed in black and white on the newspapers lil' jimmy still brought to them fresh every morning. thought you ditched us for daddy warbucks. and some of 'em are genuinely happy, not only to see you, but had been for you. thought you managed to finally get outta this hellhole. we knew you wouldn't forget us, tho.

you're smart, yvette - your bestest friend ever since elementary - murmured as she hugged you so tight you could barely breathe. you're smart and warm and so kind... i'mma miss your candy apple self not being around me 24/7 any more, but heavens above, you made it, ynnie any foster parent would be blessed to have you as a kid, y'hear? anybody and everybody. she pulls you back and rests her forehead on yours, staring into your eyes with her tear-filled ones. don't forget 'bout us, yeah? we still got your back. stay safe and take care of yourself.

and if you silently cried on the way back to the manor, Jason didn't say much about it. just wrapped an arm around your shoulders and took you for burgers.

—i feel that incident would settle you deeper into Jason's heart. he just sees so much of himself in you. in this scrappy kid who puts up such a carefree front, but is actually made of honey and caramel at their center. who has such a strong emotional intelligence at that age that Jason's sure is the only difference between him and you. in this child, who has a pure heart full of love with so much to give and just wants to be loved in return.

reader's softest with Cass and Alfred, as in they feel no need to put up pretenses with them. it's how they both find out that you're perpetually jaded and reminiscent of a long-suffering lamb: soft, tolerant, brokenhearted, shreds of innocence swirling about their heart still, maybe a little lost......

SPEAKING OF THE GRANDLER HIMSELF 🌹🎉: you get roped into baking with Alfred one day, and because Alfred is the actual MVP, you fall into his affections too.

it's when you're kneading at dough when a crestfallen expression suddenly overtakes your expression.

"mr. alfred," you drawl, inner city accent thickening with the melting of your posture. there's a heaviness to your tone that wasn't there before. it catches the elderly man's attention immediately. "you remind me a lot of my old man. not my father, but there was this elderly gentleman who took care of us street urchins. old man peaches. cuz every time we saw him, he sold us fresh peaches from his little milk carton in trade for some colorful bottle caps. dunno where he got 'em, said he grew them out the cracks in the concrete, the geezer. he was always talkin' like that — like there was some deeper meaning to everythin'. we groaned all the time, made all in good fun of him right to his face, but we all really loved it.

"one day, me 'n yvette were scouting 73rd and maryanne avenue; it's the curve that has all those connectin' alleyways that hide the abandoned warehouses, y'know? it's also where we hid out with peaches. had a small space heater and brought anything we needed from the foster care buildin'. sometimes we'd get dragged back but you keep doing something enough times, them folks who don't get paid enough for it just stop givin' a hoot... so long s'we made it back for inspections and didn't pilfer the good stuff, y'know?

"anyway. we went in there hollerin' for mr. peaches... he was usually napping by the space heater or stringing bottle cap jewelry for us, but he wasn't there. searched the whole warehouse, whole perimeter, nothing.

"then, vettie found him... " you pause, a smile that didn't reach your eyes spreading your cheeks. "right by the compost bin outside the back door of that same warehouse, chest not movin' and lips stained with blueberries."

alfred feels his stomach drop, beside himself. you looked up from the dough in your hands and simply regarded the old man, an uncharacteristic nonchalance marring your features.

"he was the only one that really understood and looked out for us the way he did. i ain't been able to eat peaches or anything of the like since then, but vettie is the one who couldn't sleep for the weeks after."

Alfie had long stopped chopping the onions for the dish at this point and all he could think was what has this poor child gone through?

TRAUMA TRAUMA TRAUMA TRAUMA TR

anywaaaaayzzzuh, I'm exhausted BUT yeah I just want to infect you lovingly with the brainworms of Jason bonding with a bat sibling reader who's a lot like him, and how he'd prevent a lot of pain that they ain't gotta go through because he went through the same.

And the things that he CAN'T prevent, because everyone deals with trauma differently, he's always gonna be there for you. And he wants you to know that.

reader is a bit wary of Dick because of his pure bubbliness and aura of flowers 🌸🌺🌻🌹🌷🌼💐and shooting stars — in Gotham?? — but Dick has an affinity to troubled kids and also . he's Dick Grayson, everybody loves him .

so he works together with Jason and soon enough, you're practically his respective child akshdjdhd

you and dami take a bit to come along BUTTTTT I hc that you come into their lives when Dami's a little older and therefore more matured.

I love Damian, I feel he'd be a pretty solid older brother figure.

the more time you spend there, the more you begin to trust your newfound family. (well, your pseudo siblings at least); the more you let your walls down, the more they get a peek into your true self- not just the distant exterior you put up.

you're thoughtful and generous; you like books and animals and know how to make ice cream from scratch with ice and plastic bags; you're resourceful and crafty - you learned how to hot wire cars and pick locks from the older kids down at the foster care home - but you don't try to give anyone headaches for it out of respect for Alfred, you claim solemnly.

you're a good kid.

it just takes a bit more for people to say that, and even more for you to let others see it.

I'LL BE BACK WITH MORE BUT PLEASE NOTE THAT I WROTE THIS THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT, CONTINUALLY PASSED OUT, AND IT'S THE FRICKIN MORNING ALREADY LMAOAOAOAOAOOO

OH MY GOD.

OH.

MY.

GOD.

ZEEP.

ZEEP WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME-

I just- Can I just-

If Brucie EVER tried to but reader in a cape Jason would lose his MIND.

How DARE you even THINK about putting the baby at risk? How dare you?

Totally just takes reader and brings them to his apartment until Bruce apologizes for even suggesting such a proposterous thing.

He's eventually forgiven but he's on thin ice okay?

Sleepovers at Jason's are also a very common thing.

Since he lives in the Narrows, it gives you the chance to roam your old stomping grounds and see your friends.

Poor reader has to go to all kinds of fancy dinner parties now.

Public appearences.

Such a drag.

Uncomfy clothes, and uncomfy people.

So, being the feral little street raised shit they are, reader says the most out of pocket freaky crap ever.

"Yeah, living in the Narrows as a kid was hard. Especially after the accident."

"Oh, yeah. I love my new home. The velociraptor in the backyard is a sweetheart."

"What do you mean Jason's supposed to be dead? He obviously got better. I've done it more than once. Yes I've died before. They said I can't tell you what comes after. Who's they? Don't worry about it."

And literally no one can say anything because their new dad is one of the richest men on Earth.

Also their first fancy gala something definitly went wrong.

Like lets says it gets targeted for some kind of robbery 'cus, ya know Gotham. And it's full of rich people.

Reader is literally like, "Fuck no. Get the hell out."

Grabs a bottle of champagne and breaks it over the ring leaders head with a loud shout of "ANARCHY!"

ALFIE AND OLD MAN PEACHES-

OH MY GOD I'M CRYING. I HOPE YOU KNOW I'M IN TEARS-

Also, the little punk stealing the CAR is hilarious. So much potential there.

Dick *interrupting Bruce for the upteenth time*: "Hey, B?"

Bruce *Severly annoyed*: "Yes, Nightwing? What is it?"

Dick: "Who's driving the car?"

*Que Jason wheezing over the comms*.

Dickie gives all kinds of nicknames.

Little wing, hoodlum, baby bird-

Him and Jason compete for your time.

Like there is an underground betting pool for who can get you to spend more time with whom.

Jason shows you all hid hidey places around the manor if you ever need a place to just- be

Tim helps with homework when Jason's not around (which isn't very often, Jason makes a point of visitiing often just to see you)

It makes for wonderful bonding with your busiest brother.

Damian, (though he will never admit it out loud), enjoys it when you join him in taking care of his animals.

Batcow and Jerry love you, and Alfred the cat has taken to sleeping in your room.

The two of you take Titus and Ace for walks, and Damian very smugly rubs it in Jason's face when a tabloid photo pops up of the two of you in matching sweaters and sunglasses.

"Clearly I am the superior brother, Todd. Even the media agrees."

"Well then I know it's bullshit because the media says it's true."

"Tt."

I HAVEN'T EVEN GOTTEN INTO STEPH AND DUKE AND CASS AND BABS UGGHHH

THERE'S OTHER STUFF I wanna ADD BUT I'VE MADE YOU WAIT LONG ENOUGH I'M SO SORRY-

[nyxlaufeyson]

Gift from the Sky

Loki Oneshot Masterlist - Main Masterlist

POV: Third

Ship: Loki x Darcy Lewis

Type: Fluff... maybe a little crack as well? But that's just bc it's literally impossible to write this ship without just a bit of fun.

Warning: Lil bit of suggestive referencing but that's it

Wordcount: 1,769

Synopsis: It's not every day an angel ends up bleeding in your yard. But it did happen to Darcy Lewis.

A/N: This was originally part of my AU-gust shit last year, and well, yeah it just got finished. Slowly trying to crack my writers block. Tasertricks is so fun tho!!!

“What the shitballs?” Darcy said, hearing a loud crash outside. Having some sort of self-survival skills, she grabbed her taser and headed outside, where she found a man laying on the ground. 

Darcy stared at the man for a second, who made no move to get up. “Uh, sir?” She called, but the man didn’t answer.

She contemplated calling the cops, as the man looked pretty beat up. He had several cuts and bruises adorning his face, and seemed to have taken a pretty big fall. Where he had fallen from, however, was not something Darcy knew.

“Are you ok?” She asked, and this time the man groaned in response. Baby steps, baby steps. “Do you want me to call the police?” She asked, and that seemed to get the man's attention. 

“No.” He responded, slowly sitting up. “No need for police. I apologize for the intrusion. I’m assuming I’m on Midg- Earth?” He asked, and Darcy stared at him. 

Maybe he she would need her taser after all. It was becoming increasingly clear that this man was either on drugs, or just batshit crazy. Darcy wasn’t taking any chances on either. “Yes, you are on Earth. New Mexico, to be exact.”

The man stood up, wiping some dirt off of his outfit. He was rather tall, and his black hair was loose around his face. He was dressed in some sort of white robe that faded to black at the bottom. 

Then it hit Darcy. There was a mental facility not too far from where she lived, and there was a chance that this man had somehow escaped.

“Look dude.” She said, still gripping her taser in the pocket of her jacket. “I don’t know where you’re from, or how you ended up here, but I don’t care. As long as you get off my property, I won’t snitch. There’s a gas station down the road you can go to if you want.”

He seemed to nod, and then he tried to rub his back with his hands. Darcy had no clue what he was doing, so she just stood there. “Got an itch or something?” 

He shook his head, frowning, before turning around so Darcy could see his back. “Is there anything there? Any pair of, perhaps, big objects on my back?” 

Darcy opened her mouth a little bit, confused as frick, before shaking her head. “Nope, just your back.” She said, before squinting a bit further. “Wait. You're bleeding.”

Darcy walked up closer to the man, still well aware of the heavy weight of her taser in her pocket, to get a closer look. “Holy guacamole, dude! What did you do to your back?” 

Blood was quickly seeping through the fabric of the man’s robes, and Darcy became increasingly concerned. “Ah.” He said, seemingly coming to a realization. “So that’s where the pain was coming from.”

Darcy contemplated her choices of actions before making a decision. Chances were, this guy wasn’t going to want to call an ambulance, for whatever reasons that might be. But, because Darcy was a decent human being, she didn’t want to send the man off to bleed out either. 

“Look, I’ve got some stuff I can bandage you up with inside, but you’ve gotta at least tell me who you are.” She finally said, and the man nodded. 

“I am Loki, angel of Alfheim.” He introduced, before tilting his head. “Well, was an angel of Alfheim. I suppose now I’d be considered fallen.”

“Right.” Darcy said, sighing. So this man was from the mental ward. Fantastic, really, since she had just offered to patch him up. 

She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, not letting her guard down, and helped him inside. She had him sit on a chair while she grabbed some antiseptics and bandages. “I’m going to need you to take the robe off your back, but please leave the bottom half on.” She said, and she heard the man laugh from the other room.

“So, how’d you get your black to bleed like that?” Darcy asked, taking in the two oddly shaped wounds. It was almost like… She chuckled to herself. “Let me guess, your wings fell off or something?”

Loki grimaced as Darcy began to wipe away some of the blood. “Something like that.” He replied, and Darcy silently shook her head as she applied some of the antiseptic to his skin. He hissed, but she continued her movements.

“I appreciate your hospitality…” Loki trailed off, and Darcy smiled. 

“Darcy.” She said, cutting off some of her bandage wrap to use. She had to walk around Loki, wrapping him up like a present. Luckily, the bandages managed to stop most of the bleeding, so that was good.

He grunted as the bandage rubbed up on his wound, but managed to pull off a tight smile. “Nice to meet you, Darcy.”

Darcy finished with the bandages and zipped them up in a first aid kit and put it up in the closet before tossing Loki a water bottle. “Drink this.”

Loki did as he was told, gulping down the water as Darcy checked the pantry. “You hungry?” She asked, digging around to find something she could offer him.

“Yes, actually.” Loki said, and Darcy pulled out a can of chicken noodle soup. 

“I have this.” She said, holding the can up. “I probably need to go grocery shopping, because I don’t have a whole lot.” 

Loki nodded, waving his hand in the air. “Yes, that will suffice, thank you.” He said, and Darcy threw the soup in the microwave, because she didn’t feel like waiting to heat it up in a pot.

Once it was done, she poured it into a bowl and grabbed a spoon, handing it to Loki. “Thank you.” He said, and Darcy grabbed a bag of chips for herself.

Once they were both done eating, they wallowed in silence for a few minutes before either of them said anything. Finally, Darcy broke the silence. “So who are you really?” She asked, catching Loki a bit off guard. 

“I am who I said I am. Loki, angel-fallen-of Alfheim.” He replied, but Darcy just raised her eyebrows.

“Right, so I’ve heard, but why have you fallen, or whatever you call it, to Earth?” She inquired, still convinced that this was probably an escaped patient. He didn’t seem to mean her any harm, though, so she figured it would be alright. She didn’t completely relax, since she wasn’t that stupid.

The man/angel shrugged. “I grew bored of such familiar scenes. After so long, there was nothing left for me there. Unfortunately, I could not leave without some,” he glanced at his bandages, “retaliation.”

Darcy nodded. She wasn’t believing his story one bit, but to humor herself, she popped a question to see what his response would be. “If you are who you say you are, can’t you prove it?”

Loki didn’t seem off put by her question. “How would you like me to prove it to you?”

This caused Darcy to stop and think about it. If he was really a fallen angel, what would she have him do? Then, she had it. “Summon me a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top.”

This caused him to raise an eyebrow. “That’s how you ask me to prove my angelicness to you? A milkshake?” 

Darcy frowned. “Something wrong with that?”

Loki shook his head and held out his hand. Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure that his magic would work now that he was on Earth and his wings were gone. If he couldn’t summon anything, he would look like a major fool. Which, granted, wouldn’t be the worst problem he’d encountered, but still.

Low and behold, a chocolate milkshake appeared in his right hand, and he handed it to Darcy, who was dumbstruck.

“What the hell?!” She yelled, eyes wide. Maybe this guy wasn’t from the crackhouse. “How the hell?”

Loki chuckled. “From my realm, if you said that, they’d banish you.” 

Darcy, who had now grabbed the milkshake, rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, this is the United States. First amendment, buddy.” 

That did nothing but confuse Loki, but Darcy didn’t even notice that he was confused. She was still focused on the fact that she had a frickin’ angel in her house. An angel! Her friend Jane would be all over this right now.

Loki shrugged. “I did try to tell you, in all fairness.” 

“Yeah, well, forgive me for not believing you! It’s not everyday that a bleeding fallen angel appears on your doorstep.” Darcy said with a roll of her eyes. “What are you even planning on doing here on Earth? It’s not a great place, I’ll tell you straight up. Especially America. We’ve got a lot of shit going on right now.” 

He scratched his neck. “I didn’t formulate much of a plan past getting out of there.” 

Darcy took a long sip of the milkshake. “Yeah, I get that.” She realized that the poor angel/guy was still halfway dressed in a weird, blood-stained gown. “Hey, do you want some clothes? I probably have something that will fit.”

Loki nodded. “That would be excellent, thank you, Darcy.” 

Okay, she could not have been getting butterflies from someone who literally fell from the sky. But she definitely was. Since when had her body ever listened to her?

She looked through her drawers and found one of her super-oversized shirts and a pair of sweatpants that one of her exes had left at some point. 

She went back into the living room and handed him the clothes. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. Uhm, look, do you need a place to spend the night? I mean, it’s getting kinda late and I don’t want you to be wandering the streets. Especially if you’re not from… around here.” Darcy said. Great, go and offer him your home. That won’t be weird at all. Cohabitation with an angel.

He smiled. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I do not wish to be a burden on you. Surely such a beautiful woman has perhaps a… housemate? I do not wish to disrupt anyone else's realities more than I have here today.”

Housemate? And, hold on, did he just call her beautiful? “Ha! Nope, just me here.”

Loki tilted his head. “Well then, we must find a way for me to repay your hospitality…” 

She smirked. “Well, there is one thing I can think of, if you’re up for it.”

And that was the story of how Darcy Lewis fucked a fallen angel.

TAGS: (Comment or inbox me to be added/removed; along with what to be tagged for): @michief-dream @iceeericeee

[scentedchildnacho]

He told me he feels his homelessness is a right wing issue they just try to kill American citizens for immigrant cost of living.....so I said the energy executives like Eichmann no one they don't educate and order them to or anything yea those behaviours problems are random not orders from technocrats or anything

There is no conflict the job is just a bitch sure?....no one has to apologize to women for calling their personality disorders the emperor of the study that actually engineered it

No one has to apologize to women for incriminating them for survival decisions or anything

I don't like a nation that feels it can incriminate its own people well over what it's people actually did and Africans were brought and that program finally gone now Russians and the job program finally gone....they act like they don't want illegal immigration and just peace conflict kept stalking people out of 9/11 reconstruction settlements

John wayne gacy.....they wouldn't stop coming around our homes and stalking me to work with men as repulsive aids....it won't take care of itself

Russians are proverbial Tex....obama and trump wouldnt do it.....but Russians with fuck you to Biden would finally humiliate its structure into constant incompetence felonnies

There was like over 200 heart attacks a day to have spring break around those job fucks

That's the golden gate bridge earthquake the traffick is such a constant annoying repulsive rApeist fucker that eventually they will mass slaughter car and driver for stalking poverty and it's culture out of gainful employment possibility

I wanted to go to the city and stay awhile and that's my apology I at least won't show up and territorialize it out for my country convenience

Although we thought about being that permissive it's I couldn't do that though I couldn't beat them

But now if they want to let out any revenge tendency they want someone let's them go do it for research purposes and I think that's Tex.....

I thought about letting people be punitive about alcoholism and price it out of consumption but I was like I couldn't do that though take away a compulsive act if I couldn't replace it compensationally......these though these will take the money and go live their fantasy nightmare

He didn't want me to buy alcohol so I didn't he just gave me a hard tea because they felt a little bad....

I think it's just how huge the population was here and not enough restrooms and please fast because it's all refusing to leave

I asked someone if Mexicans were refusing to host their spring break and they said no

But I think Mexico told them zappatistas are never forcibly controlled if their people is around so they have to stay here contain it and get it over with

Well I have to consider working for communists to instill strict regulations so it all is suppose to find police structure and improve it

Peace is immoral zappatistas were giving people constant heart attacks and no one started forcing people to go to reform ward seclusions until their health stabilized no one will process people for earth birth control

I have to know myself and try to make responsible decisions

A clockwork orange I was told jails are wrong and to be better to people then jail hobbesian philosophy life is misery then you die

No it doesn't care if veterans had to serve their country no it must be made to care about poverty yes poverty had to serve for its country

I told him some people don't feel a nation exists they feel metropolization does and to my friends they in high school if they thought about a culture produced knew to make logical decisions the states is just a geriatric fantasy and they were called Tokyo ites and emigrated and that I think is immigration here they to themselves were called American military and so serve for the states

Or to she she by high school and family was called latin american so she went to Costa Rica all on her own instead of try to make light terrorists understand why we don't do more then what we do

I do for some reason I was sent away to Europe awhile and they would be kind to me but I was raised in the states and so that's what I'm like to emigration even if I'm bullied battered raped and attempted murder on its how could I just go somewhere I wasn't raised and start selling the water....I'm not really right wing it's more how can you sleep with a lot of people you don't love

I'm not a right wing person though it's more about social control displacement exists and if social programs are stolen then you didn't like your dinner did you

Its probably if I look at what happened to me in high school it's your l.a.

[silverflame2724]

WWX decides to kill two birds with one stone and with the help of WQ reforges the Stygian Tiger Seal into a artificial golden core replacement which she implants into WWX.

WWXs eyes are now permanently red and he has the full power of the seal at his fingertips at all times because its part of him now.

Another side effect of this Stygian Core is discovered when WWX misses JZXs ambush and is instead attacked and disembowled in Carp Tower in full view of the cultivation world but then immediately regenerates without a scratch and blood ruined robes.

Watching WWX be more annoyed at the bloody robes than being disembowled because the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation has apparently cultivated to immortality USING RESENTMENT shakes a lot of people.

“Huh.” Wen Qing says as she observes yet another failure of Wei Wuxian’s inventions quite literally blow up in his face. “So this Seal of yours protects you?”

Wei Wuxian coughs from the smoke of his busted invention, “Well, yeah. What about it?”

“It’s sentient, correct?”

“Yeah....?”

“Hmm.” Wen Qing observed the Seal slowly bobbing up and down. “Can you circulate resentful energy through the Seal for a moment? Don’t make it do anything. Just channel resentful energy through it like you would if you channeled spiritual energy normally.”

“Okayyy??” Wei Wuxian was perplexed but nevertheless obeyed and watched as Wen Qing’s eyes brightened. “What? What is it? Wen Qing, tell meeeeee! Don’t leave me out!!!!!”

“Brat, I’m trying to concentrate.” She scolded him, but her tone was fond.

Wei Wuxian waited a few more moments before it seemed like Wen Qing had seen enough.

“I want you to calm down when I say this, but I think you can reforge the Seal into a core which I can transfer into you.”

Wei Wuxian was silent......for about two seconds. “............What?”

Wen Qing sighed. “Wei Wuxian, when you channeled resentful energy through the Seal, the Seal acted much like how it would if someone were to channel spiritual energy through their core. The Seal can be made into an artificial core is what I’m saying.”

“I.....you are sure?” Wei Wuxian asked. He knew Wen Qing wouldn’t joke about this.

“Yes. I’m about eighty percent sure this will go well. I can even knock you out when I cut you open this time.”

“I.....okay.” Wei Wuxian was at a loss for words.

“So I’ve rendered you speechless.” Wen Qing smiled. “That kinda feels good.”

Wei Wuxian pouted.

...........

It took a few days to reform the Seal into a form that would resemble a core but Wei Wuxian was a genius and having Wen Qing there to bounce ideas off of helped in giving him a clue as to how a core should look and feel like.

“Are you ready?” Wen Qing asked.

Wei Wuxian, who was one hundred percent not ready, said, “Yes.”

Wen Qing saw through this. “It will be alright.” She squeezed his hand. “This time, it will be alright.”

That was the last thing he heard before he was knocked out.

.

.

.

When he awoke, his eyes had burned for a little before the pain dissipated.

Wen Qing had been in the midst of declaring the operation successful when she suddenly paused, “Huh.”

“What is it?” He asked nervously. Did something go wrong?

“Oh.....it’s, hmm. A’ Ning, get me some water, will you?”

Wen Ning returned not long later and locked eyes with Wei Wuxian. He seemed quite startled and that made Wei Wuxian even more curious. Based on Wen Qing’s reaction, it wasn’t anything bad, but still.....

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Yes?”

“Look at your reflection and you’ll understand why A’ Ning and I looked startled.”

Wei Wuxian did.

And he was shocked to see that his eyes have now become a brilliant shade of red. “What the hell?”

“Mmhm.” 

“Why are my eyes red???”

“Well, Wei Wuxian, I’m not sure if anyone’s told you, but you’re aware your eyes turn red everytime you use demonic cultivation, right?”

“Umm, no??”

“Well, they do. And considering what your core is, well. I’m not entirely surprised this happened. It was certainly unexpected though.” She finished cleaning up and left Wei Wuxian to just sit and admire his reflection.

...................

A week and some carefully supervised experiments later, Wei Wuxian had full control over his core. It was really just the same thing as how one would normally use a golden core, so it didn’t take long for him to get the hang of it. However, considering his core is the Seal, he also had the ability to control thousands of corpses and this time without any of the side effects.

He also spent time trying to get Suibian to respond to him using resentful energy. Considering that the sword was a spiritual sword, he was unsure of the compatibility but Suibian seemed to adapt well enough and Wei Wuxian was so glad he didn’t have to give up ever using his beloved sword again.

The next step on his agenda was to update the wards. Using the power of the Seal to strengthen it was a walk in the park and Wei Wuxian finally felt like despite how the cultivation world was always on the verge of killing him and the Wens, they’d be safe. The wards would hold out.

He then started absorbing all the deep-seated resentment in the soil to make it more fertile as well as trying to clear the Burial Mounds resentment by listening to the stories of the dead and helping them pass on. He also painstakingly dug up all the strewn about corpses, burned them and held proper funeral rites for them.

The crops flourished, the Wens and him were well-fed, and the Burial Mounds started to lighten up. Wei Wuxian no longer looked to be on the verge of death and he was able to cultivate without any problem.

Like this, time passed peacefully.

..........................

He was invited to his nephew’s one month celebration not long later and Wei Wuxian decided that this would be a good time to show the cultivation world that he truly is the grandmaster of demonic cultivation they all claim him to be. (In truth, he never considered himself to be any sort of grandmaster considering how little he knew of demonic cultivation, but it was different now.)

He told Wen Ning and the other corpses - of the resentful spirits that stayed behind saying they wanted to help him - to watch for any Jins since he trusted they’d take this chance to attack the Burial Mounds.

After he put on a concealing talisman for his eyes - since he knew that his different eye color would make a huge uproar -, he took to the skies with Suibian and nearly teared up. He’d missed flying. He’d missed this feeling. Laughing happily, he circulated the resentful energy in his core and sped up, becoming a black blur as he flew straight over Qiongqi Path.

When he landed at the foot of Koi Tower, invitation in hand, the Jin guards seemed surprised to see him there but had to let him in, not wanting to offend him. 

Jiang Yanli-- no, it was Jin Yanli saw him and waved excitedly, beckoning him over. Out of his sight, Jin Guangyao and Jin Guangshan seemed surprised to see him there.

“A’ Xian!”

“Shijie!” The form of address slipped out.

Her face softened. “You made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

The whispers of the people around him, wondering why he was there, surrounded him, but he ignored it. “Shijie, here’s my present!”

She looked at the bell with a little bit of wonder. “What does it do?”

“It’ll ensure that high level resentful beings and below won’t be able to move!”

“Oh, A’ Xian! This is perfect.”

“Thank you.” Jin Zixuan said, awkwardly. Wei Wuxian had forgotten he was there.

“No need! If it’s for Shijie’s son, I’d do anything!”

“He’s my son, too.”

Wei Wuxian made a face at that. “Well, yeah.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng called and then stopped. “You have your sword?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, “Yep!” He twirled around. “I started picking Suibian up again! But let’s not focus on that, Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng seemed hesitant but dropped it readily enough as they started bickering like they used to.

Suddenly--

“Wei Wuxian!” Someone yelled.

Wei Wuxian groaned. Can one day go on without someone yelling my name with hatred??? Like, please??

“Yeeeeeees?” He drawled tiredly.

And some Jin guy that vaguely looked like Jin Zixuan stomped in, looking murderous. “You, remove the curse that you put on me!!”

Murmurs started up all around them.

“Curse?” Wei Wuxian looked confused. “What curse? And who are you anyway? Am I supposed to know you from somewhere??” 

“You know who I am!!”

“No, I don’t actually.” Wei Wuxian scratched his head as he walked forward to get a better look. He really didn’t know!

“That’s Jin Zixun.” His shijie said, coming up to him. “From the Phoenix Mountain hunt?” Before Wei Wuxian could say anything, she continued. “The one that was supposed to apologize to you.”

“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian thought really hard. “Oh! I remember you now!” He said to a rather red-faced Jin Zixun. “Sorry about that buddy, but uhh I didn’t curse you! I didn’t even remember you until now!”

“It must be you! It has to be you!!” He screamed and it was really grating on his nerves. “See! Look at this!” He ripped his robes open and everyone gasped at the evidence of the Hundred Holes curse on his torso. 

Wei Wuxian whistled. “Well, that’s quite some curse. But I still didn’t do it.” Jin Zixun looked ready to refute so he continued, “Why would I curse you secretly when I usually make a big production of those I kill?”

People had to admit he had a point.

Jin Zixun continued to scream expletives until he finally rushed forward and in a rather bold move, drew his sword, plunging forward. However, in his anger, he completely missed his target and the direction of the blade pointed towards Jin Yanli.

“A’ Jie!!” Jiang Cheng screamed

Wei Wuxian was the closest to her and pushed her back, stepping in front of her taking the sword to his gut.

“A’ XIAN!!!” “WEI WUXIAN!!” “WEI YING!!” Jin Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji, who was actually there, all screamed.

And Wei Wuxian who had just been disemboweled, grit his teeth and pulled out the sword. Which, in hindsight, was a horrible decision since blood got everywhere. Though not so much when his stomach stitched itself back together. “................Huh.” I knew I regenerated quickly considering how often I got hurt plowing the fields and digging up the corpses to put them to rest, but damn that was quick. Though..... “My robes!” He fake-cried, turning his attention to a stunned Jin Zixun. “You ruined my robes! I just managed to scrounge up enough money to buy this new pair and you ruined them!!!!” He fretted over the large rip over his abdomen. “What am I going to tell Wen Qing? She just told me not to stain them!”

The entire cultivation just stared at him in silent shock, making Wei Wuxian feel a little self-conscious. 

“Uhh, what are all of you staring at me for?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said with all the patience of an exasperated brother. “Is that the only thing you can ask?!” He glared, signaling for two Jiang disciples to restrain Jin Zixun from anymore stupid ideas he’d like to enact. “When did you cultivate to immortality?”

“I didn’t??? What do you mean??”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said, checking him over. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm? I’m a little dizzy considering all the blood I’ve lost, but it’s nothing big!” He grinned. It felt nice to have Lan Zhan care for him rather than fight with him.

“Wei Wuxian, stop flirting with Hanguang-Jun and answer the damn question.”

Wei Wuxian turned his attention back to his brother and pouted at him, missing Lan Wangji’s red ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A’ Xian.” Shijie said and Wei Wuxian abruptly realized her robes had his blood on them. 

“Shijie, I’m sorry I got your robes dirty!”

“It’s fine.” She patted him. “But A’ Xian, I know you didn’t pay attention to those lectures, but only immortals can heal from wounds like that that quickly.”

“Really?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan confirmed.

“Huh. So I’m immortal?”

“Yes.” Jiang Cheng deadpanned. “And you didn’t even notice it. In true Wei Wuxian fashion.”

Lan Zhan frowned then. He had still been checking Wei Wuxian’s pulse. “Wei Ying, what happened to your core?”

“Hmm? .........Oh shit.”

“Why is it covered in resentment?”

“Oh. Umm.” Wei Wuxian really was at a loss for words now. “We can discuss that later?”

“Wei Ying.”

“Aiya, how do you make my name sound like reprimand?”

“Don’t try to deflect the conversation.” Jiang Cheng said, now paying attention.

Wei Wuxian groaned. “Okay. Well, everyone would have found out sooner or later but umm. I might have cultivated to immortality accidentally via demonic cultivation? Haha, ha......”

No one laughed with him. They all looked pretty shaken and Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh at their reaction. He felt pretty detached from it all, to be honest.

“Can we all just forget about this and continue celebrating Jin Ling’s one month celebration?”

And everyone collectively said, “No.”

“Aww.”

___________________

To this day, I’m still unsure of whether it’s Carp Tower or Koi Tower.

[hartigays]

big brain thot: wheezie being the one to get rafebarry together👀👀

“wheeze, you can’t just show up here like this.”

she hasn’t even gotten off her bicycle yet, helmet still in place and everything. she looks up at rafe with big eyes, rolling them as slowly and dramatically as humanly possible.

“i just did,” wheezie points out, unclipping her helmet and setting it in the front basket of her bike.

rafe eyes her warily, then relaxes a bit. his eyes flicker back towards the trailer. “how’d you even know i’d be here?”

“topper,” she tells him simply, shrugging.

“topper?”

another overly-dramatic eye roll. “yes, topper. he came by looking for sarah and i asked him if he knew where you were. i need help with something.”

“and topper told you i’d be here?” rafe asks, brows raised.

topper is a lot of things, but is he the type of person to send a kid to a coke dealer’s trailer? no, absolutely not.

“i encouraged him,” wheezie replies, a little too vague for rafe’s liking. he narrows his eyes and she sighs. “fine, i kicked him in the crotch until he gave it up. happy?”

rafe snorts at the mental image.

wheezie finally climbs off her bike, standing in front of rafe with her arms crossed. “so, are you going to help me or not?”

he really doesn’t want to say yes. but he’s sort of always had a soft spot for wheezie - she’s one of two people who don’t make him feel completely homicidal.

(the other is sitting back in the trailer, smoking a joint and watching some boxing match on his old as shit tv. the thing has antennas, for fuck’s sake.)

rafe glances back at the trailer again, then turns back to wheezie, scrubbing a hand over his face. “fine. but you can’t come inside, wheeze, i’m serious.”

“why, because of drugs?” wheezie snorts, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “please. i’m pretty sure you smoked weed in my room when i was like, five.”

“that’s not the point,” rafe huffs, his fuse shortening ever-so-slightly. “just tell me what you want.”

for the first time since her arrival, wheezie looks mildly uncomfortable. she bites her lip, looking towards the treeline.

“i want to learn how to fight,” she says, and her voice sounds so small that rafe sort of feels… bad.

which is like a new milestone or whatever, so this is sort of a big moment for him.

“why do you need to learn how to fight?”

wheezie doesn’t say anything for a long stretch. then, her cheeks get red, and the words burst out of her. “i’m getting picked on at school, alright? this girl keeps saying she’s going to beat me up after class and i can only hide from her for so long, you know?”

rafe is mildly taken aback, never figuring wheezie for the type to get bullied. she always seemed self-assured and well adjusted, with a sizable group of friends and an active social life. for a middle schooler, anyway.

“what’s her name?” rafe asks, indignant on his sister’s behalf.

if he had to choose a sister to be the target of bullying, it’d definitely be sarah. wheezie, on the other hand, is just a kid. and if someone is threatening to kick her ass, rafe sure as hell is going to find out who.

“i’m not telling you her name, rafe,” wheezie says. “i don’t want you going and knocking her door down to threaten her or whatever. i want you to teach me how to fight so i can hold my own.”

rafe would probably just kill the kid, not threaten her, whoever she is. but he doesn’t tell this to wheezie, biting his tongue for once.

he rocks back on his heels, then sighs, and beckons for wheezie to follow him into the trailer.

wheezie throws her arms up as if to say fucking finally, following rafe inside.

barry is still smoking on the couch, but when he sees wheezie trailing after rafe, he has the presence of mind to put the joint out with an awkward cough.

“you gonna tell me who your little friend is, country club?”

“i’m his sister, wheezie,” she says before rafe can speak, rolling her shoulders back and holding barry’s gaze steadily.

“wheezie?” barry repeats, then laughs, wagging his finger in her direction. “you funny, kid.”

wheezie gives rafe a look, clearly judging him for his choice of company.

“jury’s still out on you,” wheezie tells barry, eyeing him.

barry actually throws his head back when he laughs this time, and rafe can’t help but eye the line of his throat, his mouth going a little dry.

the worst part is, wheezie notices him staring. she raises a brow at rafe. he just coughs and looks away, regretting every decision he’s made in the last ten minutes.

“look, she wants to learn how to fight,” rafe tells barry. “i figured two heads would be better than one?”

“or you just a pussy and know you can’t beat nobody’s ass, rafe,” barry says, reclining back on the sofa, staring at him through heavily-lidded eyes.

“neither can you,” rafe reminds him.

always reminding him. where rafe has failed, barry has too. rather consistently, as a matter of fact.

“fair ‘nough,” barry says after a stretch, leaning forward again. “two heads, then.”

wheezie coughs, and they both turn to look at her. she gives them a bored look. “are you two done having a moment? or do you still need a minute? because i can step outside if- ”

“shut up, wheeze,” rafe groans, pushing her towards the couch.

they spend the next hour and a half discussing fighting techniques, and the cardinal rules of fighting. the ones rafe and barry abide by, anyway.

there aren’t many. they spend the majority of the time discussing technique.

when wheezie gets sick of listening to them yammer on about the different types of headlocks, she starts to get restless.

“oh my god, i didn’t come for the rules of fight club, alright? will one of you just show me how to punch this bitch in the face?”

both barry and rafe shut up immediately, barry’s mouth dropping open in mild surprise.

rafe just snorts, mumbling fair enough under his breath.

and that’s how rafe ends up watching barry do some sort of shadow boxing with wheezie in the living room. rafe re-lights the joint, watching the scene before him in amusement.

“no, kid, you ain’t gotta do all that fancy shit with your legs,” barry is saying at one point, then demonstrates some sort of kick for her.

rafe forgets sometimes that barry has military training, and despite the fact that he gets his ass beat on a regular basis, he’s a pretty damn good teacher.

the joint is long gone by the time wheezie looks at her watch, cursing.

“shit. rose is gonna kill me,” wheezie mutters, fumbling for her phone.

“just tell her you’re staying at a friend’s,” rafe suggests. “it’s too dark for you to bike back anyway.”

“you could always drive me, you know,” wheezie reminds him. then, her eyes flicker down to what’s left of the joint (basically, the filter) and backtracks. “well, he could.”

she’s pointing at barry, and barry shrugs.

rafe, however, finds himself wanting wheezie to stay. dare he say it, he might’ve actually missed his sister.

he’s pretty sure he’ll regret it later, but regardless he says, “we’ll get you something to eat and you can crash here if you’re too tired to go home after.”

something to eat ends up being freezer-burnt pizza rolls, but wheezie doesn’t complain. she eats her food while scrolling through her phone, glancing up at rafe and barry every now and then.

they’re conversing quietly about a drug deal they have set up later, a big one. rafe doesn’t think wheezie is listening, but he also doesn’t notice the way she keeps glancing up at them, her eyes flickering between them with an unreadable look on her face.

and then, out of nowhere, “are you guys dating?”

rafe looks at her sharply and he sees barry do the same out of the corner of his eye. barry’s mouth had shut so quickly that his teeth clacked together, and rafe can see him rubbing at his jaw.

“what the hell, wheeze?”

wheezie raises her hands in mock-surrender, but still rolls her eyes. “it’s just a question, geez. but thanks for the answer.”

“the fuck is she talkin’ about?” barry asks, his gaze flickering between rafe and wheezie.

“you two,” wheezie explains slowly, looking almost bored. again. rafe is starting to think he’s had a bad influence on her. “you’re dating, right? like that’s why you’re always here, right?”

the latter question is directed towards rafe, and he feels his stupid cheeks betray him, burning red.

“oh, right. you’re men, of course you haven’t talked about it,” wheezie sighs, then stands up and brushes invisible crumbs off her shorts. “well, i conveniently have to use the bathroom, so. use this time wisely, i guess?”

then wheezie disappears from the small kitchen, leaving rafe and barry sitting in thick, palpable silence.

“so… what the fuck just happened?” rafe asks when he can’t take the uncomfortable silence any longer, pointedly not looking at barry.

when barry shifts in his seat, rafe can feel it, and he realizes all at once just how close they’re sitting.

“she thinks… “ barry trails off, shifting in his seat again.

“that we’re dating,” rafe finishes, swallowing around the golf ball-sized lump that has mysteriously appeared in his throat.

rafe can feel barry looking at him. he can feel the heat of his gaze, and wow, wheezie is taking a really long time in the bathroom.

“that what we been doing, country club?” barry asks, and rafe looks over at him so quickly that his neck pops.

rafe searches barry’s face for any trace of humor, but comes up empty.

they’ve been practically living together for months, ever since rafe gave up trying to please ward and joined barry’s little side business. and if he really thinks about it, they have lapsed into something almost nauseatingly domestic.

it’s like. like rafe’s been in this weird, fucked up relationship this whole time, and he’s just now realizing it. and realizing, at the same time, that he doesn’t want it to end now that wheezie has gutted them both and laid everything out in the open, where neither of them can hide.

jesus fucking christ, is he in love with barry? barry the drug dealer?

well, rafe supposes that’s what he would call himself now, too, so. maybe it makes some sort of sense after all.

“i don’t think so, but i think we should now,” rafe finally says. he doesn’t know why he says that last bit, it just sort of slips out before he realizes what he’s saying.

but he doesn’t take it back either.

barry is too quiet next to him. the silence goes on for far too long, and rafe is starting to debate internally whether or not he should dump wheezie’s body in the swamp or somewhere off shore.

finally, barry speaks. “startin’ to think you may be onto somethin’, rafe cameron.”

“so is that a yes?” rafe huffs, already feeling exposed enough as it is. he doesn’t need barry speaking in shades of gray.

suddenly, there are fingers wrapping around his jaw, gentler than rafe would’ve anticipated, and then barry is turning rafe’s head and kissing him.

like, really kissing him. rafe feels like he’s being turned inside out, his insides shifting and adjusting, rearranging and adapting to make room for barry.

it’s not a particularly long kiss, but it’s sure as hell the best one rafe has experienced in his life.

“they teach you that in the army?” rafe asks when barry pulls away, aiming for nonchalant but failing due to the heavy rise and fall of his chest. and the fact that he can’t stop staring at barry’s mouth.

barry just smacks the back of rafe’s head, shoving him lightly. “get the fuck out my kitchen, country club.”

rafe is about to respond when the bathroom door opens, and wheezie pokes her head out.

“ugh, thank god you’re finally done. you should invest in a bathroom fan, you know,” wheezie tells barry, “i could literally hear everything.”

she shudders and gags, barry laughs, and rafe vaults himself out the nearest window.

well, he tries to. barry catches him by the waist easily, dragging him back into his seat. wheezie just rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“okay, well, since you’re done being a drama queen, i think i’d like that ride home now.”

[asharinhun]

DWC Day 7 - Peace/Unforgiven

Peace and quiet. Sharyssa almost couldn't believe it. It's been already three months since she moved from Suramar to Dalaran, and the difference was striking. She never felt so much more at home in the estate, not like this.

Being alone didn't bother her, though she occasionally missed the way her sister or one of her guards -her friends, really- interrupted her work with a question or reminder. Good thing they were always welcome to visit, an offer Alyth'Rea acted upon every two weeks.

Speaking of her little sister, her next visit was supposed to be on the following day, so she'd better start cleaning up a bit.

"What the..." Shar muttered as she felt a 'knock' on her wards. The only one who visited her unannounced was her uncle Eoloran, but he always used his distinct arcane signature to mark his arrival. This was someone else.

Sharyssa quickly checked her outfit in a mirror, a simple pair of burgundy trousers and a violet vest. The only missing piece was the enchanted ruby of her right eye, but she was in the middle of upgrading some of the enchantments on it, so she simply arranged her hair to better cover the right side of her face.

The visitor's identity made her pause once she opened the door.

"What are you doing here?" The arcanist hissed incredulously as she stared at the newcomer with a wide eye.

"Is that how you greet your mother?" Emmara Sourse asked back with a tilted head, her face a blank mask.

"I have made it clear you are not welcome without any prior arrangements, sometimes not even then, yet here you are." The younger elf crossed her arms, her whole body rigid. She slowly exhaled before finally adding "Come in."

Her mother didn't reply, just nodded at ther eventual permission and followed her inside.

Sharyssa leaned against the dining table, she didn't intend to take her mother any further into her home. "Out with it, what do you want? If you wish to persuade me to go back to Suramar, forget about it."

Emmara's expression finally broke and the old elf sighed. "Look Sharyssa, you are still the eldest of House Soursea, it means your position is still important even if Alyth'Rea took over the duties of the heir. As such-"

"Stop that right now. I couldn't care less about any 'duty' you think I still have. Rea is more capable than you give her credit for, not that you would notice anyway. As for myself, I'm done. I have nothing to do with House Soursea anymore. My name is Sharyssa Dustshade, and I'll never be happier that I get to keep Ann'da's name a little longer."

"Sharyssa, I-"

"I don't want to hear anyother word." Shar growled, clenching her fists. "I don't care what pathetic excuse you have for being a terrible mother, for making spiteful comments on every decision I made, or for letting your husband suffer a fate worse than death. I hope you are at least aware it's your fault he's gone. It was you who did nothing when Elisande made an example of his House, after all. As the official partner of the head of a more influental House supporting her rule, he would have been spared if you just said a word... Yet you were so taken with Elisande's vision that you were willing to doom him for it, and I will never forgive you for that!" Tears ran down Shar's cheek, but her eye was sparkling with arcane in her anger.

Her mother winced as the words hit home, her ears drooping. She couldn't deny the truth of the barbs. "I don't expect you to." She finally whispered, unable to meet her eldest daughter's gaze. "Maybe I should go..."

"Yes, you should. And if you you show up here again without prior arrangement and my permission, my wards will make you stay a safe distance away." Sharyssa's voice was cold as ice, but kept her tone even with effort.

Emmara just nodded, unwilling to trust her voice and left without making any more fuss. Her receding figure looked pitiful and utterly defeated.

Closing the door and recasting her wards, Sharyssa collapsed on her sofa and sighed. She should have felt horrible talking to her mother like that, but the woman purposefully made her life unbearable, especially in the last decade. A short time for an elf, but full with events the young arcanist couldn't forget or forgive.

Hopefully her mother would learn this lesson and stay away. Shar might be willing to talk to her again eventually, but it would be on her own terms, not her mother's.

_

@daily-writing-challenge

[robininthelabyrinth]

Targets - ao3

- Chapter 4 -

Jiang Yanli wasn’t sure her parents had ever agreed on anything, ever, in her life, but they were in complete accord now that Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were missing.

Admittedly, that was the only thing they agreed on – that they were missing, not dead, not dead – but it was a good start.

It had all started when that strange woman with the very ordinary face had arrived, she thought. It’d been late when she first arrived, after Jiang Yanli’s parents had stopped receiving audiences; they’d asked her to wait until morning and then got busy and didn’t receive her until nearly midday, even though the woman had been pacing around anxiously in the waiting hall. And then there was a whole lot of arguing before finally they sent out some disciples to go check –

The disciples returned, pale-faced, and reported on what they’d found: a pool with signs of swimming, a spilled but empty lunchbox, and the bodies of seven men, covered in cloaks to suggest an identity as rogue cultivators but wearing Wen sect insignia underneath.

No sign of Wei Wuxian or Jiang Cheng.

Everything had very quickly gone to shouting after that.

Jiang Yanli was worried, too, of course, but she was only thirteen and a poor cultivator besides, average in every respect – looks, skills, power – and no one ever listened to her; she knew she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t give orders to go search with a solemn expression that she’d never before seen on her father’s face, eyes filled with panic and shoulders bowed with premature grief, the worst result already expected even as he denied the possibility of it; she couldn’t stalk around with so much rage that it felt like the onset of a thunderstorm like her mother, making sure that everyone was doing everything they could. She could only wait patiently by the gate to see if anyone came back.

Maybe it was her patience paying off, or maybe it was just luck, but she was the first one to see the cultivator arrive, late into the night. It wasn’t very ceremonious – he didn’t announce himself or anything, just swooped down with his saber until it was close to the ground, released the bundles he was holding in his arms, took a step forward and then collapsed onto his knees, face pale.

“Da-ge!” four voices shouted, distressed, and two of them were extremely familiar.

Jiang Yanli jumped to her feet and rushed forward, still disbelieving but overwhelmingly joyous. “A-Cheng! A-Xian!”

“Jiejie!” “Shijie!” they shouted, and she was so happy to see them, so happy, but they didn’t seem anywhere near as worried as she’d been; instead, they started talking at the same time. “You have to get someone, he’s used up too much spiritual energy –” “I can’t believe he carried us that far, and back, and after such a long trip, too –” “And a fight! Maybe he got injured?” “Impossible! But we should get a doctor just in case –” “Yes, and soup – shijie, can you make some –”

“Enough,” the cultivator rasped, lifting his hands to his face and rubbing it. He looked exhausted. “Thank you for your concern, all of you. I will see Sect Leader Jiang first.”

“It won’t make for much of a talk if you fall over!” one of the children she didn’t recognize said – the younger one, about her brothers’ ages, face full of baby fat. “Meng-gege, you’re older, tell him –”

The remaining child was about her age, if she had to guess, although he was short and looked gentle.

“Nie-gongzi is right,” he murmured – his accent sounded more Yunmeng than Qinghe, even if the oversized outer layer he was wearing looked more like Qinghe Nie than anything else. It probably belonged to the cultivator that had brought him, judging from the size. “You will not be able to make your case if you are unconscious.”

“I’m fine,” the cultivator insisted, and staggered up to his feet. “There’s no time, there’s still Lanling –”

There was no way this cultivator was flying all the way to Lanling.

“My parents will see you,” she interrupted. “They’ll be very happy to see A-Cheng and A-Xian are all right.”

They were, too, and Jiang Yanli assumed that only pride kept them from running over to grab them into an embrace – Jiang Cheng did run to their mother, and Wei Wuxian followed close behind to go beam at her father – but they were very puzzled to see the cultivator.

“Sect Leader Nie?” Jiang Yanli’s father said, and Jiang Yanli blinked: was that who her brothers’ savior was? “What are you doing here?”

“I received information,” he said. “Regarding the Wen sect –”

“We heard something similar,” Jiang Yanli’s mother said shortly, and glared at her husband.

“Unfortunately, we initially disregarded the warning of our spy,” he admitted. “And then we found the Wen sect cultivators’ bodies…your doing, I take it?”

Sect Leader Nie looked embarrassed for a moment, but then squared his shoulders. “Yes,” he said. “I was flying in to speak with you when I saw the attack taking place, and intervened.”

“They were coming at us with their swords!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “There was one right in front of my face, and then da-ge dropped down from the sky with his saber and – bam! Woosh! Urk!”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Yanli’s mother snapped, though not as harshly as usual. It was almost long-suffering rather than cross. “Have some respect for Sect Leader Nie!”

“It’s fine,” Sect Leader Nie said. “I don’t mind. Are you prepared for invasion?”

“Invasion?” Jiang Yanli’s father said, frowning. “You think –”

“Wen Ruohan had given orders that the sect heirs of all the Great Sects be kidnapped or killed, not to mention your ward here and a few sundry others,” Sect Leader Nie said. “What is that if not a declaration of outright war? Surely he’d know that such a move, if successful, would lead to us all declaring war on him – he must have a next move planned out already.”

Jiang Yanli’s parents exchanged looks.

Sect Leader Nie pretended (badly) not to see it. “I’ve activated defenses in the Unclean Realm,” he said stiffly. “As you know, I’ve always thought…well. At any rate, we’ve made plenty of preparations, and they’re being put into action now. If it would be convenient, I was thinking of sheltering some of the targets there – I’ve already invited the Lan boys – and it would be no difficulty to have yours as well.”

He’d already assumed that they wouldn’t be prepared, Jiang Yanli thought, and saw her parents hear that unspoken message as well. He’d known they wouldn’t take the threat seriously and acted accordingly, and it was only due to his decisiveness that her brothers were still alive.

Her parents looked at each other again, gazes full of meaning.

“Very well,” Jiang Yanli’s father said after a long moment, voice heavy. “I will have to prevail upon your kindness, Sect Leader Nie.”

“Think nothing of it,” Sect Leader Nie said, and then frowned. “My concern is in regard to Lanling Jin...they have closer ties to Qishan Wen than either of us, and may discount the information, especially if it comes from me –”

“I’ll go,” Jiang Yanli’s mother said at once. “Madame Jin is my childhood friend. She will listen to me, provided it’s not already too late.”

Sect Leader Nie’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded. “He may as well come to the Unclean Realm as well,” he said. “Lanling City is large and Jinlin Tower spacious and luxurious, but there are many holes through which a snake might burrow.”

“I’ll bring him,” Jiang Yanli’s mother said. “Yanli can come with me.”

Jiang Yanli looked up, surprised. “Me?”

“You’re an heir, too,” her mother said. “You might not have been on the list, but you’re still at risk, especially if there’s going to be a war – greater risk, even. Anyway, Madame Jin will be more inclined to send her son to a safe place if she thought it was a way to build ties.”

The Jin sect heir was Jiang Yanli’s future fiancé. She supposed it was a good idea to meet him – and at least this way, she’d be going to the Unclean Realm with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, rather than staying behind.

“You should get something warm to wear,” Wei Wuxian advised her. “It’s cold when you fly!”

Jiang Yanli had developed her golden core just this year, right on schedule, so she doubted it, but she appreciated his consideration.

“Really cold,” the child in Nie sect colors said – the smaller one, since the older child, the Yunmeng one, was doing his best impression of a transparent plane of glass. “And we’ve been flying forever – we flew all night to get here from home, you know, and that was before da-ge fought seven Wen sect cultivators. And then we had to fly even more! Someone said something about soup. I want soup!”

“You should rest,” Jiang Yanli’s father said to Sect Leader Nie, abruptly sounding concerned. “Do you or any of yours require a doctor..?”

“Something to eat and some rest will be sufficient,” Sect Leader Nie said, which was probably a lie. “I’ll want to head out first thing in the morning, traveling by flight – I know it’s uncomfortable for the young ones, but I want to be back at my sect as soon as possible. You can send any additional luggage after us by horse.”

There was more talking then - mostly about how crazy Sect Leader Nie was to think he could make such a long flight with so many children, and, when he insisted, making him promise he’d take many breaks along the way - but luckily not much, and then there was saluting and Jiang Yanli was being swept away by her mother to go to Lanling City.

She knew it was wrong to be excited by the prospect of war, but she couldn’t help it. What an adventure!

[justcourttee]

New idea!!! Could you write a story where Mari and Tim are full-blooded siblings except Mari was taken away from the Drakes. Mari would be Dick's age in this. The Drake's finally pass away so Bruce goes to adopt Tim but he's having trouble because Marinette is doing the same. It's a custody battle. Tim is confused because he doesn't know Mari (she was taken away before she was born and CPS wasn't dealing with that family again) but Mari knows about him. Maybe Dick/Mari?

I have a feeling I took this in a different direction than you meant for it to be, but I hope you still like it :) @elements1999

Tim’s Decision

There were two things that Timothy Jackson Drake was sure of.

One, that he had never seen Dick so flustered before in his life. The poor guy was tripping over his own feet, stumbling into the court hallway as if he had been drinking all morning, his face resembling something close to the apple Bruce forced him to eat for breakfast.

And the second, well, he was sure he had never met someone as persistently, annoyingly, upbeat as Dick Grayson until seconds ago when she reached out her hand to introduce herself.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, Timothy. This isn’t my first time reaching out, but it certainly is my first time getting through. Maybe after this, we can grab a bite to eat, get to know each other?”

Tim slightly withdrew his hand, reaching out to steady a swaying Dick. He wanted to ask him what could’ve warranted this behavior from him, but he wasn’t sure he was prepared to hear the answer.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng-”

“Please, call me Marinette! I’m not married, nor am I a middle-aged woman. I’m only 21 after all. You’re 14, right Timothy?”

“If I call you by your name, call me Tim. Timothy sounds like a rich brat.”

Marinette’s giggle earned a small smile from the boy. He had no idea who she was, but her presence was soothing and he didn’t feel any immediate danger. Besides, she wasn’t the first person to approach him in the past week. News of his parent’s death traveled very quickly and many people attempted to adopt him in hopes that his fortune would be theirs.

Bruce was quick to wave them off, offering to adopt Tim himself, but before Tim could even think about accepting, CPS contacted Bruce with the proposal from one Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“I hadn’t realized that Bruce Wayne had caught your attention. I really want to make sure that you are able to have a regular childhood or at least some resemblance of a few normal years. If you think Bruce is a better option for you, I promise I’ll pull out right now, but if you have any doubts at all, I want to let you know that I want to fight for you, Tim.”

“I haven’t made any decisions yet and considering Bruce let me meet with you, I have to assume you’re not after my parent’s fortune.”

Marinette’s smile tightened at the mention of the fortune or was it his parents? He couldn’t tell. She was definitely holding something back, but they had just met and he wasn’t in any position to be pressuring her for some answers. What he was in the position to do was knock some sense into a now drooling Dick Grayson.

“Knock it off will you, you’re heavy and gross. You’re making a fool of the Wayne name and aren’t you supposed to be my guardian today?”

Dick muttered out something that sounded like an okay, but if Tim was honest, he wasn’t sure it was anything more than a few syllables to lower his guard.

“This is what Bruce considers a capable guardian? I’m not sure I trust him as far as I could throw him. What can it do?”

Marinette reached forward, poking Dick’s cheek, enough force to snap him out of whatever daze he had been in the past hour.

“Dick Grayson-Wayne ma’am, a pleasure to meet you.” Instantly he bowed, his hand extended as if he were waiting for something that wouldn’t come.

“Mhmm, so you are Bruce’s ward? You look like you could be his blood child. Does he have a thing for dark hair and light eyes? Creepy.”

Dick’s hand clutched his chest as if he had been struck directly in his core. Marinette turned her attention from him and back to where Tim stood.

“Anyways, I believe we mentioned lunch earlier. I’ve already submitted my application to CPS and after this formal meeting, you’re free to meet up with me whenever you would like as long as a third party comes with us. Can you think of anyone you want to come with us?”

Tim glanced to the side where he could feel Dick’s puppy eyes boring into him. He wouldn’t be his first choice but if it came down to him of Jaime, he was pretty sure he had a better chance of reigning in Dick.

“Do you mind if Dick comes with us?”

Marinette’s smile was shaken with uncertainty as if she was thinking of protesting but didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. Tim felt terrible putting her in the position but he was sure that Dick was her best chance given his options. “Of course not, where would you like to go?”

The lunch moved smoothly with Tim learning so much about her. She was originally from the Gotham foster system herself, but a young couple who couldn’t have kids adopted her at a younger age, moving her to Paris with them. She attended the equivalent of middle and high school over there where she met many lifelong friends. Starting late in her middle school years, she upstarted a fashion business where she had several big-name clients months into her start-up. Now she made personal designs, but many were taken care of by her team. She only stitched a very few commissions for close personal friends.

She was remarkable, someone who truly started from nothing. His parents did something similar as did Bruce’s. It was something he wanted for himself, something he wasn’t sure he could ever achieve with either his or Bruce’s fortune.

The custody battle was put on hold at Tim’s request. He was really intrigued by Marinette and Bruce pressuring him to take his time and really think over his choices finally led him to that decision. However, no matter how much Bruce tried to be a neutral party in the matter, Tim could feel the strain it put on their work relationship.

The more he saw Marinette, the more mess-ups occurred on patrol. Bruce would constantly tread into Tim’s area, always dropping in on his battles. It was as if he lost all trust in Tim as if he was trying to rely less on him, trying to go back to doing things on his own.

It was so frustrating. No matter how many times he told Bruce that he could still be Robin no matter who he chose, it seemed to mean nothing to him. He continually waved him off, claiming to have no idea what he was talking about.

A month after he met Marinette, Tim snuck out for the first time, begging her to meet him at a coffee shop near her hotel.

“Tim, this is dangerous. If CPS finds out we meet behind Bruce’s back, it could nullify my application.”

“I know, I know.” His head dropped to the table, buried in his arms trying to suffocate his frustration. “I just needed to get away from all of them. I think the fact that I consider you a serious option really upsets Bruce. It’s not that I don’t consider him a serious option as well, it’s just-he’s just-”

Tim let out a sigh, slowly sitting back up unsure where his thoughts were taking him.

“Tim,” Marinette reached across the table, laying her hand on his arm. “if this is too stressful for you, I can pull out of this.”

Her touch was so gentle, so soothing. It felt like the mother he never had, the kind of mother he yearned for but never realized. He really didn’t want her to leave his life just because he couldn’t give up being Robin.

“I just feel so selfish,” his vision started to blur, Marinette’s figure coming in and out of focus. “I want to keep the life I’ve made for myself here, but I also don’t feel like I can grow the way I want to under Bruce’s supervision.”

Marinette didn’t say anything for a moment, she just allowed him to cry, her thumb moving in small circles on his arm. Tim reveled in the feeling, reveled in the silence. He hadn’t had this in a while, he hadn’t had comfort for as long as he could remember. Even at his parent’s funeral, people just commented on how strong he was and how smart he was and told him he would be just fine. Not once did anyone try to hug him or ask if he was okay. They just assumed.

Everyone always just assumed.

“Tim, I haven’t been 100% honest with you since I met you. I didn’t want it to mess with your decision, but I think it’s time you knew.”

“I already know.” Tim moved his arms from her touch, his heart throbbing from the loss of touch. “I did my research on you, especially considering how Bruce let me meet you so quickly. You’ve done a lot of work to bury it, but the Will mentioned you, or at least your old name.”

Marinette’s smile was tight, her eyes as watery as his.

“Is that what’s holding you back from making the decision you want to make?”

Tim wanted to deny that he had no clear choice, but that was a lie he had been feeding himself. He wanted to stay with Bruce, in Gotham. His life was here, his friends were here, his passions were here. The only thing that wasn’t, was her.

“I want Bruce to be my official guardian. I want to be Tim Drake-Wayne.” Marinette nodded, understanding pouring from her and crashing into him. He felt like all the stress from the past month had been pushed out and replaced with relief. “But I really did want to get to know you, I didn’t want to make a decision because you would be out of my life for good. I’ve already lost you once, CPS took you didn’t they?”

“Right before mom became pregnant with you. I’m sure it happened to you too, but I was only six. They left me alone, not even a butler or maid to watch after me. They tried to argue with CPS that I was a competent child who could handle groceries and looking after myself but they didn’t buy it. My existence hadn’t even been released to the public so they didn’t take it too hard, losing me that is. But you, they immediately brought you into the limelight, almost like a challenge to CPS, I’m assuming that’s why they didn’t get involved for you no matter how many times my parent’s called and reported them.”

Tim couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out. It seemed to have shocked Marinette too as she gave way to her own giggle threatening to spill.

“Marinette, can I ask you something selfish?”

“Of course, mon frère.” Her hand reached back across the table, gripping his tightly as if pressing him to ask the question he dreaded most.

“Will you still be apart of my life? I’m not asking you to move to Gotham, but maybe a monthly trip? A weekly dinner? Something? I just don’t want to lose you again.”

The tears that had been pooling in her eyes finally slipped free, her smile blinding.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Bruce, Marinette is coming over for game night tonight!”

“Marinette?” Dick’s head popped around the corner, the red plastered by the mere mention of her name. It sickened Tim. “But I have patrol tonight! Bruce can’t the police do their jobs for one night!”

Bruce chuckled as he set up the table, a stack of every board game imaginable piled in the middle.

“I suppose you can push it back from 11 to 5 to 2 to 5. After all, I’m not heartless.”

Tim let out an involuntary groan as he slipped into the couch, wishing it would swallow him whole.

“Whose side are you on here Bruce? She’s already your honorable daughter. Do you really need her to be part of your legal family that bad?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean.” His smirk only made Tim want to fold in on himself even more.

“Bruce, if you’re gonna set me up, can it at least be with Tim’s more attractive siblings? Like what about that Jason guy? Or Barbara Gordan?” Tim popped up in his seat, a smile beaming from ear to ear.

“Marinette’s here!” He waved her over to the seat beside him before a certain older lovebird could intervene.

“I am attractive! Why won’t you accept me Marinette?” Dick wiped away fake tears as he fell dramatically to the floor by her feet.

Tim could feel his heart overflowing for the first time in years. His life felt so fulfilled, like all of the missing pieces finally found a place. As the night continued on, only one thought stayed prominent in his mind.

He couldn’t be happier with his decision.

Permanent Tag List:

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[helnjk]

In a Crowd of Thousands - Part 1 // F.W.

Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: You never really forget your childhood love. For Princess Y/N of Diagon, hers came in the form of a boy whose dream it was to start a business and support his family. As it goes, life–and her duty to her kingdom–had gotten in the way. She longed to see him again, to see the success she was sure he had achieved. Luckily, fate was on her side.

Warnings: food mention

A/N: yay she’s finally here ! i hope you enjoy part 1, i’d love to hear what you think ! xx 

Prologue

At seven years old, Princess Y/N of Diagon loved how limitless the castle seemed to be. In fact, most of what she knew about the world she lived in came from the different parts of the castle. 

Flowing dresses and shining jewels belonged in the ballrooms, where many adults often mingled to the soft music of a four piece orchestra. Table manners were strictly followed in the grand dining hall, where the difference of a utensil came in the form of its placement beside the plate. Lessons on etiquette and too many sweets from Minnie were taken in the library, where afternoons were spent basking in the sunlight that filtered through the high windows and highlighted the dust that floated around the room. 

But what Y/N loved most about the place she lived and grew up in was that it was limitless in its hiding places. 

Today, she had taken a trip to the lower floors of the castle and was immediately taken by the hustle and bustle going on around her. What garnered her interest the most, though, was the tantalizing smell wafting through the hallways. Stumbling through the many bodies that littered the busy space, Y/N made her way towards where she assumed the smell was coming from. 

She could feel the curious–and somewhat concerned–gaze of the servants she passed, but there were more important things keeping her attention. 

“Bill, love, I’m going to need you to go out and chop some wood for the fires, the stock is cutting a little bit low today. Charlie, you need to go gather some more eggs from the chickens today,” a strong voice called out from one of the rooms. 

Y/N’s head peeked through the doorframe to see the organized chaos that she assumed was the kitchens. At the center of it all was a woman with fiercely red hair all tied up on top of her head and an apron wrapped around her waist, giving out orders left and right. 

The princess nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized that the woman had stopped talking and was looking in her direction with a raised eyebrow. 

“Hello there, darling,” she smiled softly, “You’ve wandered a little far from your afternoon lessons, haven’t you?” 

Y/N felt the tips of her ears heat up at being caught, but nonetheless she stepped into the kitchen and said, “I’m sorry. It just smells so good in here, I couldn’t help it.” 

The lady beamed with pride at the compliment and beckoned the princess over, “Come, you can help me cook this afternoon. I have reason to believe that I’m making the princess’ favorite meal today.” 

Throughout her stay at the kitchens, Princess Y/N learned quite a few things. One, Molly Weasley was quite possibly the best cook in the whole kingdom. Two, she knew that the red hair and pale skin seemed so familiar, and now she could finally put a face to the name whenever Fred would mention his mother. And three, the kitchens would always be a sanctuary for the young princess if she so desired to skip her lessons with Minerva. 

Speaking of Y/N’s lovely governess, she appeared at the lower floors of the castle just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. 

“Y/N!” Minerva chastised as she crossed the threshold into the kitchens. 

Her young ward froze up at the sound of her voice and she slowly turned around to face the older woman, “Oh, hello Minnie!” 

Molly looked on at the interaction with amusement shining in her eyes, but did not interfere. Instead, she continued on with plating the dishes she and Y/N had made, humming a soft tune under her breath. 

“Dear child, you have no idea what has been going on in your absence,” Minnie sighed, pulling the young princess into her arms and Y/N thought she heard a tinge of relief in her voice, “The Queen almost sent out a search party for you!” 

“Well that would’ve been awfully silly of them to do,” Y/N mused, “Why would I ever leave the castle if it’s full of nice people and good food?” 

“Yes, well, that’s exactly what I told her.” 

An amused sound escaped Molly’s otherwise unbothered facade and both the princess and her governess turned to look at her. 

“I can see now why my dear Freddie’s taken quite a liking to you, princess,” the cook explained, a small smile gracing her gentle face. 

“Yes, she is quite a character, isn’t she?” Minnie rolled her eyes playfully. 

–

At nine years old, Princess Y/N thought she had a good grasp on the inner workings of her home. 

With the help of her best friend and favorite redhead, she discovered secrets and passages in the royal grounds that she never dreamt of finding. Because of her unlikely friendship with him, she knew her way around most of the places she wasn’t really supposed to be making her rounds in.

The morning she was up before her chambermaid arrived, she had the crack in the curtains to thank. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Y/N went to shut the drapes closed just so that she could get some more sleep in, but the sight of outside her window gave her pause. The misty fog that shrouded the grounds and the slowly rising sun peeking through the clouds created such a beautiful sight that the young princess couldn’t help but want to be a part of the beauty. 

Making a snap decision, Y/N threw on one of her coats over her nightgown and donned a pair of her sturdier boots before slipping out of her room. 

If the palace grounds looked stunning from her bedroom window two floors up, it was even more magical up close. As she trudged through the perfectly trimmed grass and moved between the manicured flower bushes, she admired how the fog seemed to glide with her. 

Eventually, she found herself unconsciously walking towards the stables. Ever since her friendship with Fred Weasley began there, it had held a special place in her heart. That morning was no different. 

“Hello gorgeous,” she whispered to one of the chestnut haired mares, stroking her nose gently. The creature gave a soft huff as if in reply and the young girl grinned widely. 

Some shuffling towards the end of the stables caught her attention and she made her way down the stalls. A smile immediately made its way onto Y/N’s face when she spotted the familiar head of red hair. Fred’s back faced her as he worked on stacking the piles of hay. 

“Freddie!” she exclaimed, her feet rushing up to meet him, “I can’t believe you’re up this early! Well, I can’t believe I’m up this early but–”

At the sound of her voice, Fred had spun around quickly to face her. His expression was that of someone who had just been caught misbehaving and it confused the princess. Fred’s eyes looked her up and down and he visibly gulped. 

“P-princess!” he stammered. He bent down into a low bow–something Y/N had never seen him do before–and said, “To what do I owe the honor of speaking with you this morning?”

“The honor?” Y/N laughed, “Freddie are you alright? You’re acting weird. You’ve never bowed to me before, you don’t need to! It’s just me.” 

“Mother always said to bow in the presence of royalty,” he shrugged. 

Before Y/N could reply, Fred simply went back to methodically stacking the bales of hay. She could see the tension in his shoulders as he did so, though, and she was left absolutely puzzled. She tried to think of anything she had done recently for him to be this frigid around her, but her mind came up blank. 

“Fred?” she asked tentatively, stepping toward him slowly, “Are you alright? Did I do something?” 

“Everything is alright, princess.” He sent a tentative smile over his shoulder. 

With a huff, Y/N turned on her heel and made the decision to just spend some more time with the horses. At least they had the courtesy of acting like they enjoyed her company. Granted, she gave them carrots to snack on and they naturally drifted towards food, but that wasn’t the point. 

By the time the sun was fully up in the sky and leaking through the small cracks in the walls, Y/N knew it was time to trudge back up into the castle. They were surely looking for her by now. Sighing, she clutched her coat tighter around herself and made one last glance at the redheaded boy who was supposed to be her best friend. 

“I’m going now, Freddie,” she called out, hoping to get some sort of reaction from him, “Minnie’ll be looking for me soon and I can’t miss this morning’s lessons.” 

“Leaving so soon? When I just got here?” 

The shriek that left the princess’ mouth when she saw Fred standing right behind her, by the entrance and simultaneously near the stacks of hay, made him jump. Her head whipped back and forth between the identical redheads at either ends of the stables. 

“What in the world is going on?” she demanded. 

“Well, it looks like you just met my twin,” Fred shrugged nonchalantly, “His name’s George and I don’t think he’s quite used to being in the presence of a royal.” 

“And it never crossed your mind to tell me that you had an identical twin?” Y/N asked, exasperated, “Here I thought you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.” 

The cheeky grin Fred sent her nearly made her roll her eyes, but he draped an arm around her shoulders, squeezed lightly and said, “Maybe I just wanted to be your favorite redhead in the whole kingdom. Didn’t know if I could take sharing you with my less-handsome twin.” 

With a playful shove, Y/N replied, “Well too bad for you because Molly is definitely my favorite redhead in the whole kingdom.” 

That reply got a reaction from George, who snorted while trying to keep the piles from falling down on him and the princess grinned. She knew he was of a good sort and she would crack his shell eventually. 

–

At 11 years old, Princess Y/N had never been so nervous in her life. 

She felt as if her feet were physically glued to her place in the middle of the grand hallway as she stared at the doors that led to the library. 

There wasn’t anything particularly terrifying about the library. No, the library was a place for her lessons with Minnie and for spending afternoons getting lost in a good book. However, what the princess was about to do was definitely something that sparked a little fear and trepidation in her. 

Still, she was going to be late for her morning lessons if she wasted anymore time dawdling in the hallway. With a deep breath, she pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped inside. 

Minnie was already seated at one of the center tables, a few pieces of paper spread out in front of her. Her eyes met with Y/N’s and she gave a nod of acknowledgement. 

“Good morning, Princess,” she said. 

“Morning Minnie.” 

Lessons went about as usual, if not slightly tense from the younger girl’s perspective. By the time they had finished for the morning, Y/N was practically shaking in her seat. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s been keeping you preoccupied this morning?” Minerva quirked an eyebrow at her. 

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” the princess admitted. 

“Now dear, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. I think I can tell when something’s on your mind.” 

Y/N thought of the way she and Fred had planned everything out meticulously, how decided on exactly what to say to Minnie so that she would say yes. Still, her mind ended up blanking and she silently cursed herself. 

“Oh, out with it, Y/N.” 

“Please could I go horseback riding with Fred this afternoon,” she said in one breath. Before Minerva could open her mouth to reply, the princess continued, “I’ve been really good with my lessons this week and Fred’s already checked that no one’s riding the horses this afternoon and he said he was going to teach me how to ride without being on side-saddle!” 

“Okay dear, take a breath,” her governess chuckled, “As long as you finish your coursework before the sun sets, I’m sure you could go riding with Mr. Weasley.” 

At her statement, Minerva was rewarded with a beaming smile and a multitude of ‘thank yous’. 

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Y/N was a bundle of excited nerves. Being a princess, she had been taught how to ride horses on side saddle, as it was the proper thing to do, but that meant she couldn’t go any faster than a trot. The idea of being able to go racing, feeling the cool breeze on her face and her hair whipping around her, it brought about a giddiness she couldn’t explain. 

Fred was already at the stables by the time she arrived, panting and resting her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. 

“Well don’t you look excited,” he teased as he fiddled with the saddle of one of the smaller horses. 

“Came here as fast as I could, the moment Minnie said I was free to go,” she said breathily. 

He replied with a grin and patted the horse after he was finished saddling up, “Well you’re in luck because Poseidon here is all geared up for you. Whenever you’re ready, Princess.” 

It took a few tries, but when Y/N was successfully on the horse, she beamed. 

Fred stepped back for a moment and she could see his arms were far from relaxed, almost as if he was anticipating an accident. He raised an eyebrow, “Are you alright there or do you need me to stay nearby in case you fall?”

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” she rolled her eyes, “Just get on your own horse.” 

The redhead sent her a mock salute and skillfully mounted his own horse– a chestnut brown stallion that stood tall and proud. The pair of them began a slow trot around the paddock just so that the princess could get used to things before Fred sent her a wink then nudged his horse to pick up the speed.

Fred often sent her words of encouragement and advice, making sure that she was comfortable with the speed that they were going and that her horse was alright. It warmed her heart to see him so careful and protective. It didn’t take long for her to get the hang of things and convince him that she was fine. 

Soon, Y/N was letting out laughs of delight, adrenaline pumping through her veins as Poseidon galloped gracefully through the vast expanse of the estate. Fred let out whoops out joy every once in a while beside her and she felt as if she was on top of the world. 

Time passed by in the blink of an eye and soon the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The orange hue that it left in its wake was stunning and it highlighted the gorgeous curves and dips of the landscape.

They spent a moment appreciating the view, horses side by side. It was the cherry on top of a perfect day, Y/N thought. 

–

At 13 years old, Princess Y/N of Diagon truly felt like her world was crashing down around her. 

Her hands shook as she sat on the front steps of the palace, elbows pressed against her knees. Eyes locked ahead, she tried to take steadying breaths but all she could focus on was the small dot on the horizon that became increasingly larger as it approached. 

A pair of carriages were coming to pick up the Weasleys. Arthur had been offered a baronship–a feat that would provide the family enough funds to live comfortably for the rest of their lives–and today was the day they chose to make the move. The entire family stood at the bottom of the stairs, a line of fiery red hair and excited energy, complete all except for one. 

Fred Weasley sat beside his princess, silent and contemplative. 

They both knew this moment was coming, and Fred had tried his best to spend the remaining time he had with her. They had spent hours upon hours doing things that they loved to do together. 

Afternoons were spent out riding, feeling the sun warm their skin and the breeze cool them again. Late nights were for nicking food from the kitchens and right under Molly’s nose. Minnie had even lessened the amount of time she and the princess had with their lessons, knowing fully well that Y/N needed it. 

Still, knowing something was going to happen and actually experiencing it are two separate things. The knowledge that Fred was going to leave her all alone didn’t quell the tightness in Y/N’s chest when the day finally came. 

The moment the carriages passed through the gates to the castle, her lip trembled and her breaths shortened. 

“Y/N,” Fred mumbled, turning his entire body to face her. 

A choked sob escaped the princess and she shook her head. 

Before she could reply, the young girl felt the familiar arms of her best friend wrap around her. His scent enveloped her and suddenly her tears were freely falling. 

They stayed in that position for a long moment; the princess sniffling and attempting to gather herself while Fred held her. Strong and steady. 

“You know how much this means to my family and me,” he whispered, his hands rubbing up and down her back, “I’ll be able to go to school, to finally do what I’ve always dreamed of doing.” 

“You’re not allowed to forget about me, alright?” she choked out as her palms went to swipe at the wetness on her cheeks, “When you’re a successful businessman and you’ve travelled the world, you have to remember little old me.” 

With a slightly skeptical shake of the head, Fred cracked a small smile and said, “How could I ever forget my favorite princess?” 

“Just making sure,” she whispered. 

“Now, you have to promise me that you’re going to make your dreams come true too,” he said, looking into her eyes. 

“I promise.” 

Y/N took a deep breath, eyes closed. She savored the last few moments she had with her best friend, and she squeezed him tightly before moving out of his grasp. 

“I love you loads, Freddie,” she said. 

“You know I love you too, Princess,” he grinned back at her. 

It wasn’t long before Molly was calling for Fred. 

With one last squeeze of the hand, Fred stood. “We’ll find each other again, Y/N. I’ll make sure of it.” 

All the Weasleys turned to face their Princess, some sending radiant smiles and others waving enthusiastically at her. She couldn’t help but smile and wave back, her eyes drifting towards her favorite redhead as he descended the steps. 

As the family began to sort themselves into the carriages, Fred looked back at his best friend one last time and sent her his signature charming smile. She gave him a small wave and then he was out of her sight. 

Y/N’s eyes stayed locked on the pair of carriages until they disappeared past the horizon. She remained seated on the steps of the palace until the sun had set and someone had come to tell her that supper was ready. 

That night, Y/N fell asleep with the feeling of dried tears on her skin and Minnie’s hands brushing through her hair. 

Series Taglist: @prismarts​ @snoopydoop1​ @the-romanian-is-bae​ @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @manuosorioh​​

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[cheesyficwriter]

I loved your last Rarry brotp fic! Can you please write one about Ron getting himself hurt during an Auror mission because he wanted to safe Harry? And Harry getting mad at him for saving him and getting himself in danger instead? I hope you understand what I mean 🤪 Thank you!

Hi there! Thanks so much for the request. I absolutely loved writing that drabble, and was overwhelmed by the pleasant response to it! Hope you enjoy this follow-up 😊💜

We Live - Rarry brotp drabble #1

CW: Talk of violence, injury, mild language

A True Partnership

In some ways, Harry believed that he and Ron had trained to become Aurors since they were 11 years old. Together, they were held accountable for any decisions made under extreme duress year after year at Hogwarts and beyond — quite frankly, they both, along with Hermione, should have been killed several times over by now.

For many years, Harry had an instinctual fight-or-flight response to the dire circumstances that presented themselves. He knew that every move he made affected his future, and the future of those around him in the wizarding world that he tried desperately to protect. 

Fast forward to the fall of 1998 when Harry and Ron underwent basic training together. During that time, they learned advanced tactics they would utilize in order to suppress any enemies, and were taught magical jurisprudence, ensuring that they apprehended criminals on legally valid grounds. For two men who consistently broke school rule after school rule at Hogwarts, this particular aspect of training was harped upon more than others.  

The Auror Academy was very stringent, and not for the faint of heart — Aurors needed a certain level of mental alertness and physical strength to engage in conflict. They had to have a willingness to act in high-stake situations. Split-second decisions would be made, with no certifiable way in those moments to determine whether or not those decisions would be the right ones. Training is meant to prepare Aurors for crises that may arise, but real missions out in the field often present the unexpected — what many don’t see coming. 

That’s what partners were for. A true partnership was built upon the following principles: trust, commitment, and shared meaning. 

Trust: Ensure that your partner unequivocally has your back in any situation, from a Dementor attack to preventing further mutiny, and will be there to cover up your blind spots. 

There was no one in the world that Harry trusted more than Ron Weasley, so his best mate was the obvious choice to be his partner out in the field. It took Harry a long time after the defeat of Voldemort for him to grasp that he no longer needed to be so guarded. In the event that Harry ever let down his defenses, he had full confidence that Ron would be there ready to assist. 

So, it shouldn’t have surprised Harry that there would come a time when he wouldn’t be quick enough, or stealthy enough, and Ron would be there to respond. 

It all happened so fast. One minute they were joking about pranking each other with puking pastilles, and the next moment they were surrounded by Death Eaters.  

“Harry, watch out!” 

A split-second decision. 

That single decision made by Ron to warn Harry of the danger distracted the ginger-haired man from his own, and a flash of red light shot straight through his abdomen. Harry watched in horror as Ron’s injured body crumpled to the ground. 

“No!” Harry shouted, and the fight to stay alive was a blur from there. All he knew was that he had to survive the battle — he had to survive and get his best friend, his partner, to safety. 

Commitment: The act of sharing a mutual appreciation. Both partners should be on board to protect each other for the long haul. 

Several agonizing hours later, Harry found himself pacing the floors of the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s. 

A Healer finally came out to give an update on Ron. Although pretty bruised up, and drowsy from the pain potion, he was okay and conscious. 

Beside him, Harry heard Hermione let out a strangled cry of relief. 

They allowed two visitors in at a time, so Harry and Hermione rushed down the busy corridor and practically threw themselves through the door to get to Ron. 

He was sitting up in his bed, a large, white bandage wrapped around his stomach, and his leg was propped up by a levitating sling. Ron's face, although initially contorted in pain, visibly brightened once he saw both of them. 

Hermione wasted no time running into Ron's arms, who responded by giving her a weak pat on the back that was no doubt meant to be comforting. "Hi, love."

Hermione sniffled as she kissed his cheek and pulled away, stepping back to allow Harry a moment to greet his best friend. 

When Ron's eyes shifted towards Harry expectantly, he laughed, "I dodged a bludger there, didn't I?" His face fell as he spotted the furious expression on Harry's face. 

"You," Harry glared at Ron, pointing a menacing finger in his direction. "I need to have a chat with you." 

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry didn't give him the chance. 

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy left armpit were you thinking out there?"

"You could have gotten yourself killed!" Hermione piggy-backed off Harry's interrogation, a flurry of words streaming out through her mouth. "I mean, really Ron, out of all of the noble things you had to do, you think that—"

"Oi, knock it off, Hermione!" With a frustrated growl, Ron snatched his wand from the side table and whooshed closed the drapes around his bed, hiding Hermione from view. He then muttered a silencing charm for added effect.  

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Do you even realize what you’ve just done?” He didn’t want to be there to witness the aftermath of Ron’s decision to shut out Hermione. 

"I've already got you yelling at me, I don't need my girlfriend screaming in my ear, too, thank you very much,” Ron grumbled, letting his head fall back onto his pillow with a heavy sigh. 

Harry crossed his arms. "Well you wouldn't need us to chatter on as such if you hadn't very nearly kicked the bucket."

"Well, o'course not," Ron snapped. "I just saved your life, and all, but I'm the one who was in the wrong."

"I wouldn't have needed saving if you'd had just followed protocol and attacked those gits right away instead of worrying about me." 

"One of those fuckers had a wand aimed at the back of your head, what was I supposed to do?" Ron fought back. 

It was then that Harry realized Ron saw what he couldn't. His blind spot. A wave of guilt washed over him, and Harry knew he had no right to argue further.  

Ron looked down at his lap, his voice quiet. "When are you going to get it through your head that you can't always do it all by yourself, mate?"

The impact of Ron's words made Harry take a step back. The harsh silence that followed indicated to Ron that he was free to continue,

“We are a team. Partners. I know you’re so bloody proud, Potter, but you can’t expect to make the right decision every time. I am here to back you up. Always.”

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes, overwhelmed by the love he felt for his best friend, his partner in crime, his brother. 

Shared meaning: An understanding or appreciation for your partner, and what values they stand for. 

Harry and Ron had managed their fair share of conflict over the years, finding the ability to compromise, solve problems, and take on the world together. They turned towards each other on a daily basis, whether it's to share a laugh over the strangest topics or provide emotional support. 

Their relationship went beyond a simple partnership. They were family. A unit. 

Harry choked out a laugh, "Okay, then. But it's my turn to be the hero next time, you hear?" 

A wide grin split across Ron's face. "Not if I beat you to it."

The drapes whooshed open again, revealing a very put out Hermione. "You two aren't honestly fighting over who gets to risk their life next, are you?" 

Harry and Ron share sheepish smiles, and a mutual understanding passes through them. 

Friendship is forever, and they will never stop finding ways to prove that. 

[sunjaesol]

the smile you gave me (it’s magic)

juke | meet-cute au | tw: alcohol + annoying men in bars | written for @alexjulies as we have the same headcanons about luke

What Julie Molina was about to do was horribly unfeminist and Flynn would hate her forever, but really, it was all the man’s fault - as usual.

She rejected his advances three times now in the last hour. The bartender gave her a drink on the man’s tab and she sent it back, the man brought it himself (introduced himself as Levi) and she politely declined once more. The third time he asked her to dance and then she fled to the bathroom. Julie wasn’t the biggest partygoer, occasionally joining Flynn for happy hour - like today. Her friend was late however, due to an emergency meeting at a magazine she worked at and Julie had to endure the bar alone. Grave mistake. She should’ve just waited at a McDonalds or something; even if she’d look out of place in her cocktail dress.

im there in 15!! hang in there <3 <3

Julie groaned. Great. Fifteen more minutes in a smelly bathroom stall as women outside were drunkenly crying in front of the mirrors and babbled about their own grievances regarding men. For such a universal problem, she had hoped all men would’ve taken the hint by now.

No, she didn’t want to dance. No, she didn’t want a drink. No, she wouldn’t give her number to someone that kept pushing and coming into her personal space. Levi could fuck off. It was bad enough how he had given her a suggestive once-over like he was deciding whether he wanted brunette or blonde tonight.  

The reminder angered her, pushed her out of the stall with a scowl. Was she really going to let a dumb man (nay: boy) ruin her night before it even started? Her songwriting session with Hayley Williams had gone really well and she deserved to celebrate that! She deserved to end her day on a high note! A quick look in the mirror to assure her make-up hadn’t smudged, she marched out the bathroom back into the dimly lit bar.

Her eyes scanned the room, relieved to not catch Levi close-by. Did he give up and leave? Was he cornering another girl? Whatever. As long as he wasn’t bothering her, she’d be able to breathe and maybe forget about the altercation.

If he did bother her again, she’d use her privilege as a girl and yell at the top of her lungs that he was harassing her. Surely then security would kick him out, right?

Over by the bartop was clamour, two men pulling each other into a laughing embrace as one hauled their backpack over their shoulder as the other dropped it. Changing shifts, Julie noted, halting on the man that had arrived. Well then. The theory that bars only hired attractive people seemed to be correct, the guy straight from a CW show. Mussed up brown hair, sharp features, big eyes, cute smile. A ten out of ten.  

He shrugged his red shacket off, fully black outfit beneath and began washing off discarded glasses. His muscular arms made her throat dry up; he wasn’t attractive, he was hot.

(Oh God. Was she just as bad as Levi, gawking over a stranger? But wasn’t part of his job that girls were supposed to gawk over him? More tips and all that? Julie decided she shouldn’t feel too guilty.)

Her feet moved on their own accord towards the bar, sliding into a leather high stool and wondering what she’d order as she waited for any of the bartenders (him?) to approach her.

Luck was on her side, the new bartender pressing his hands into the counter, brows raised expectantly. “What can I get you?”

Her lips tutted, debating between a margarita and a strawberry mojito. Both were appealing and at a marginally low price. “What’s better?”, she asked. “Margarita or mojito? Honestly.”

He grinned. “Honestly?”

“Yeah.” She crossed her arms atop the counter, a brush away from his hands. “I’ve bartended before. I know you have to lie a little.”

His muscle tee shifted around as he chuckled, slivers of tattoos peeking through on his chest. Her eyes averted, hoping she was a bit more subtle than she felt, and kept them trained on the stacks of whiskey in the glass rack.

His fingers drummed on the wood. “The mojito, then.” Leaning in as if imparting a secret, he added: “We’ve been buying the cheaper tequila. Gotta pay those bills.”

Satisfied at his reply, she gave him a pleased nod. “Okay. A mojito, please.”

He pushed himself off with a click of the tongue, as if he auctioned her something, and turned to grab the ingredients. As he poured the rum into a tall glass, he fell into casual conversation she was all too familiar with.

“You here alone?”

“Waiting on a friend.” Eager to distract herself from the reason why she waiting, and what caused her to wait in a fucking bathroom, she asked: “What’s the tattoo?”

The bartender paused for a beat, as if momentarily forgetting he was inked up, and then tugged his shirt out the way to showcase more skin. Had she not been so curious, she’d focus on the fact that he was defined as hell. The tattoo was a detailed sun with an ocean wave drawn inside. More uncovered: a play and pause button, ‘now or never’, a stick and poke tattoo of a lightning bolt. It was as if she herself doodled onto her skin and then left it there, but it somehow worked. It was personal. Maybe she was also a bit intrigued since he seemed especially interested by music. Granted, it was LA. Everyone was some type of artist with varying degrees of success. Still - she was curious.

“They’re cool,” she complimented, him going back to making her drink with an appreciative grin.

“Thanks.”

“Was the lightning bolt a drunk decision?”, she teased. The only instance someone got a stick and poke tattoo was when they felt chaotic or impulsive.

His grin widened, throwing crushed ice in the glass. “That obvious? Yeah, me and my boys all got one. This whole idea of-” He waved his hands around, trying to find the right words. “-bonding us together for life, I guess.”

Warmth thudded in her chest at his story, endeared by the way his voice became lighter when he talked about his friends. They must be like brothers to him.

As he placed the completed drink in front of her, she contemplated her answer. She’d rather keep talking to him than wait for Flynn in silence. “That’s nice. Having friends like that, it’s special.” Twisting her wrist, she showed her own tattoo. “I got this one when I turned eighteen.”      

They were two, small butterflies dancing on the inside of her forearm. When her mother passed away, she always knew she’d get something to commemorate her. Doodles of butterflies marked her skin in high school, finally becoming permanent when she was allowed to. Knowing everyone inevitably asked about the why, she continued talking.  

“It’s, you know, it’s about metamorphosis and beauty and transcendence and I just-” She caught herself before blabbing her sob story to a stranger. With a chuckle, she muttered: “It’s a reminder that change is good.”

When Julie looked up at him, she was struck by the wonder on his face. He didn’t look as confident as he did before, probably taken aback by her sudden spiritual spiel about butterflies - or by her, in general. The thought let a quiet thrill course through her.  

He snapped out of it, a smirk falling on his lips as his nail chimed against the glass. “It’s on me.”

“Is that a move?” Her head tilted, amused.

“You want me to lie or be honest?” The man leaned across the counter again, much closer this time. “Cool tattoo, by the way.”

She laughed, biting back a silly grin from blooming. This was his job, she reminded herself. Act all cute and get her to buy more drinks so that eventually, her tab would be enormous. It was like winning once at a game of poker and then becoming cocky.

Coy, she ripped her gaze from his and sipped on her drink. She’d let him simmer for a bit.

That was when it happened. Her unfeminist deed that would make Gloria Steinem shudder. Levi, the devil reincarnated, shot her a smug look from the other side of the bar. Swerving past people to the beat of the music, he tried approaching her again.

Julie groaned behind her glass, her good mood instantly shattered once more. Why couldn’t this idiot take a fucking hint?!

“Damn,” bartender mused, “I thought my mojito skills were good.”

The brash words tumbled out at a rapid pace, her need for a solution trumping her pride. “There’s a guy coming onto me right now and you need to help me ward him off. Please.”

He grimaced. “Yeesh. Ex-boyfriend?”

“Worse,” she bit. “A fool.”

A stressed smile pinned itself on her cheeks as Levi sidled beside her, one arm bracketing her left. Her back tensed as she shot a quick, pleading look at the bartender. He zeroed in on Levi, mouth curled downwards.    

“There you are,” Levi grinned. “Thought you left.”

Julie didn’t entertain him anymore. “I’ve told you. I’m not interested.”

He dismissed her. “I see you got yourself a drink? What is it?”

“I’m not interested,” she snapped, eyes flickering once more to the bartender. Was he really not going to help her?

It spurred him into action, his arm reaching over to create a barrier between Levi and her. “Dude, you heard her. Back off.”

Levi snarled. “Can you not? This is between me and her.”

“No, actually,” he exclaimed, blunt. “I’m her boyfriend.”

Her vigilance got her acting swiftly, shifting her expression into a believable nod and placing a hand on his outstretched arm.  

“He is?” Levi was gobsmacked, a hint of anger lacing his voice.

“Yeah,” Julie bit, silently thanking him when he played along and enveloped her hand with his. Her final strike spit his venom right back in his face. “So can you just leave us alone?”

The man rolled his eyes with a scoff, kicking one of the stools and mumbling a string of curses. “Bullshit…”

When he was out of sight again, having stormed off like a petulant child to a shadowy corner, Julie let out breath of relief. “Finally!” Shooting the bartender a bright smile, she kept babbling. “You have no idea how annoying that is. And smart idea - the boyfriend card always works!”

He squeezed her hand, worried. “You sure you’re okay? That was fucked up.”

“Yeah…” She trailed off, the soft touch reminding her of his words from before. Squeezing back, she watched as the pinch between his brows vanished. “I’m okay.”

They kept their stare for a beat, the revolving pop music and excited chatter merely background noise. Neither have let go of their hold on each other. She didn’t want to either; his hand was warm and gentle and a calloused thumb absentmindedly caressed her skin. Levi should learn from this.

Sometimes, a connection just happened.

He let go first, collecting himself into a casual stance that was far more amusing than it should be. Ducking beneath the bar and grabbing a beer, he tapped it against her glass with a cocky nod. “My name’s Luke.”

Julie matched his expression. Luke. Luke, the bartender. It fit him perfectly. “I’m Julie. Are you supposed to be drinking on the clock?”

“I work in a bar,” Luke deadpanned. “It’s expected. And I’m sure Jack can handle it.”

“Why would he have to serve alone?” she inquired teasingly, eyes glimmering with challenge. If there was one thing she loved, it was getting the upper hand in a fun game of flirting.  

He lifted his bottle with a wink. “I’m drinking with you.” A pause, his gaze matching her intensity. Damn. He was a good opponent. “Unless you want me to go?”

She shook her head, took a sip from the mojito and wiggled her brows. “Cheers to warding off annoying men, fake boyfriend.”

“I better get some good karma from this,” he joked. “Cheers!”

(Later that night, she’d realise Flynn never came by. When she asked what happened, Flynn told her she had walked in and saw Julie completely wrapped up in a conversation ‘with that cute bartender’ and left. The joyous announcement that Julie got his number made her friend screech over the phone.

Julie went back to the bar many times. Drinking and talking bled until deep in the night, once till closing time and then he walked her to her apartment. He didn’t resist when she kissed him, his lips kissing back with hunger.

It didn’t take long for the ‘fake’ to be scrapped from that label.)  

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

@blush-and-books @willexx @bluefirewrites @ourstarscollided

[novelconcepts]

fic: walking with the lady

Every movie, every book, every story about the horrors of letting in the ghosts has prepared Dani for the constant state of alarm. The panic. The discomfort of the situation.

Not a single goddamn one told her how stupid it would be.

***

The first time Viola Lloyd rears her spectral head outside of a dream, Dani is doing her best to enjoy an incredibly pleasant spring morning. She’s been having strange thoughts--strange echoes of night terrors that have been escalating, images weaving as though shot from the depths of some great ocean--for a few months now. Has been trying her very best to take Jamie’s advice and not worry about it. One day at a time. Stop gazing into every reflective surface in the county and just...live. 

And she’s been doing that, she thinks, with a decent amount of peaceful abandon for a woman carrying an unknown beast in the depths of her psyche. She’s traveled. She’s seen much of America, and more of Jamie. She’s learned she’ll never get any better at tea, that she’s honestly not terrible at pasta, that she can talk the ear off old women who just want to stop and smell the flowers. It’s been a serene six, seven, eight years, if she lays them all end to end, and she’s glad of it. 

But the dreams are coming faster now. With more regularity. Long stretches of night fade into black and white, into memories she can feel with her whole body, but knows aren’t her own. Corsets and sweeping skirts, a sister she never had, a husband. A child. None of this belongs to Dani, so it must be her, mustn’t it? 

It scares her. She talks about it to Jamie when she wakes--sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the middle of the night; whether she’s truly awake or not, Jamie always listens. They always hunker back down, holding tight to one another, Jamie whispering into her hair that you’re still here, you’re still you, it’s all okay, Poppins. It helps, as much as anything’s going to. 

What doesn’t help is sitting here on this park bench, a list of shopping plans open in her lap, and hearing--hearing isn’t even the right word for it, it’s like a ringing voice coming up from the very back of her head--someone say, “And what on earth is that?”

Dani sits straight upright, every line of her body rigid with fear. “What...is what?”

She’s said the words out loud, she realizes when an elderly man with a basket of stale bread turns slowly to look at her. Her mouth twists itself into a rictus grin of apology, and he shuffles off, looking very much like a man prepared for his own murder at the hands of a lunatic schoolteacher. 

“Well,” the voice says, coolly amused. “That was embarrassing for us both.”

What, Dani thinks, the fuck is going on?

“What’s going on,” Viola Lloyd’s deep, accented voice says, “is truly beyond my knowledge. Do you know the last time I had this many thoughts of my own? Must have been...oh, three hundred years, now...”

Why, Dani thinks furiously, are you having them now?

“I certainly couldn't say.” Viola sounds astonished. “The last I recall, I was trying to reclaim my child--”

Flora, Dani interrupts with a rush of anger, was not your child. 

She imagines she can feel Viola’s hand flip to and fro, carelessly. “It’s all apples in the end, isn’t it?”

She’s clenching her fists in her lap, she realizes, as if there’s anything to fight. As if she could ward Viola off from inside her own body. 

“Oh,” Viola says coolly, “I wouldn’t worry just yet. I couldn’t say for sure--it’s all rather new, you must understand--but I don’t think I could do anything to you. Not yet. Look, here, I’ll try...”

Dani’s muscles strain against an invisible force that never comes. Viola chuckles. 

“See? Nothing. The lights are on, my dear, but none but you is really home.”

Then why are you awake? Dani demands. 

“Not a clue, darling. It’s nice, though, isn’t it? You really take it for granted in life.”

Take what for--

“Seeing,” Viola breathes. “I haven’t seen anything properly in centuries. I’d forgotten how bright the world was. How full of...color.”

Is it Dani’s imagination, or does Viola’s tone hold an edge of disgust on that final word?

“So, again, I find myself asking. What on earth do you call that?”

Dani allows instinct to turn her head, somehow sensing the direction Viola wishes for her to look. She finds herself staring at a young child playing at her mother’s feet. 

I--it’s... And it’s here, in this moment, faced with the nearly impossible task of explaining to the 400-year-old ghost woman who shares her body what a Slinky is for that Dani Clayton decides this whole cohabitation thing might have been a mistake. 

***

“Hang on,” Jamie says. “Hang on, she’s awake in there?”

Dani, folded nearly double on their couch with her face in her hands, nods. Her head is pounding. Viola has been, ah, what’s the polite way to put it? Running her mouth. For nearly four hours. 

“She’s got some...opinions,” Dani mumbles into her cupped hands. Jamie stops rubbing light circles into her back, curious. 

“About what?”

“Might be a shorter list, to ask what she doesn’t have an opinion about,” Dani says. At the back of her head, she feels Viola cross her arms. 

“This sounds like you are on the path to impudence, Miss Clayton.”

“But hang on, I thought--” Jamie seems to be choosing her words carefully. “I thought she was just sort of...in there. Tucked away, like the kids said. What do you mean she can see?”

Dani blows out a long breath, wishing dearly for a cigarette. “I don’t know, Jamie, I’m not the authority on carrying Victorian women around in my skull.”

“Bit nearer to it than me, Poppins.” Jamie’s smiling, plainly trying to make her feel better. Dani turns to glower at her. 

“I love you very much. Please don’t test me right now. She hasn’t stopped talking for more than twenty minutes all afternoon.”

Jamie raises her hands in surrender. “Can she...can she see me now?”

“Tell her,” Viola says. “Tell her I can see her, and her mannishly-inappropriate hairstyle.”

“I will not be saying that,” Dani mutters. Jamie raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you having a conversation now? What’s she saying?”

“Please let her know I find her insistence upon men’s trousers silly at best, her blouses are entirely too loose, and I am bewildered by the wealth of ankle she seems to find appropriate in mixed company--”

“She says you have a nice smile,” Dani says. Jamie’s eyebrows raise to her hairline. Viola makes a horrible little noise of revulsion.

“How dare you place words in my mouth!”

“You are absolutely not telling me the truth, are you?” Jamie says in the same moment. Dani groans.

“Aspirin. I am going to need so much aspirin.”

***

It’s not all the time, thankfully; Dani thinks she’d go mad if Viola were truly there at all hours, yammering away about silks and petticoats and the good old days when a person could just drop dead of the plague with no notice. Sometimes, Viola even goes days at a stretch without saying a word, as though she’s sunk back to sleep in whatever little corner of Dani’s mind she calls a bedroom. 

And then, like a thunderstorm, she emerges once more. Usually with something snappy and irritating to share with Dani.

“Are we really wearing that?”

“There is no we, Viola,” Dani grumbles. She’s in the process of trying to choose between a flower-patterned dress and a denim vest, unable to gauge what kind of day it’s going to be when she steps out of the closet and into the chaos. Business has been booming down at The Leafling, which is wonderful, but more than a little overwhelming. And Jamie, god love her, has taken to watching Dani when she thinks Dani won’t notice, always with this worried little crease between her eyes. 

It’s making her crazy, if she’s honest about it. Jamie isn’t the worrier in the relationship, and watching her slip into the role is making Dani feel worse about the whole situation. She needs Jamie to tell her it’s all fine, it’s all perfectly all right, they’re going to make it through this new weirdness together no problem. 

“My dear, we became a we the night you said the magic words,” Viola says, a bit pettily. “Or have you forgotten me already?”

“How,” Dani grits out, “on earth am I supposed to forget you? Feel like I spend every day just...waiting for you to spring up and ask some idiotic question about cars or airplanes or deodorant--”

“For a schoolteacher, you surely lack for patience, Miss Clayton.”

Dani closes her eyes, searching for strength. Her hands grope, landing on dress and vest and yanking them free. “You know what? Both. We’re doing both today.”

“We most certainly are not! Not even a glove to be found? And again with the florals! We’ve been over how tacky the florals are, Miss Clayton. Miss Clayton, are you listening?”

“No,” Dani says decisively, wriggling into the layers and looking around for her chunkiest pair of earrings. 

“You are the scandal of the town, Miss Clayton,” Viola sniffs.

***

“Does she, ah...watch when we do this?”

Dani groans. They’d been having such a nice evening--an old movie fading slowly into wandering hands, Jamie’s mouth making its way down her neck, Jamie’s fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and tickling her ribs. She’d just flipped Jamie onto her back, was just looking to remove the deeply inconvenient articles of cloth between them, when Jamie pressed a palm lightly against her chest. 

“Not trying to be weird about it,” Jamie says, breathless. Her eyes are dark and heavy; though she’s stopped Dani moving closer, one of her legs has wound around Dani’s hip, easing her in. It’s giving Dani the worst kind of mixed message, to say the least. 

“Would you like us to put this sort of thing on hold until I find a way to exorcise the demon from my head, Jamie?”

“I did not say that. I decidedly said nothing of the kind.”

Dani lets her head fall forward, covering Jamie’s face in a fall of blonde. “Sorry. That was snippy. I just...I don’t know the answer. She’s...” She tilts her head, eyes shut, searching. “Quiet. For now.”

Jamie brushes her hair back, cups the side of her face, thumb moving in a slow arc across her cheekbone. “S’all right then. Can’t blame me being curious, can you? I mean, it’s not every day you find a third party sneaks into your bed.”

Dani leans into the soft stroke of her hand, sighing. “I don’t like it, either, you know. She’s so...judgey. I hadn’t realized ghosts could be judgey.”

“What’s she judging?” The hand on her chest slides, gripping a fistful of her shirt, pulling her toward Jamie. Dani sighs again, letting Jamie kiss her with the soft determination of someone apologizing for stopping this train in the first place. 

“Me,” she murmurs against Jamie’s lips. “You.”

“Me?” Jamie sounds affronted. “What’s there to judge about me, I’m a bloody peach.”

Dani laughs, bites her lower lip until Jamie groans. “It’s not anything personal. It’s just...the whole world is so different from what she remembers. There’s TV, jean shorts, women out there having jobs and lives without consent of their husbands...for her, it must be the Wild West.”

“Judges what she doesn’t understand, is that it?” Jamie is doing an admirable job of pretending to still be invested in this conversation, even as her hands are making short work of Dani’s sweatpants. Dani sucks in a breath. 

“I guess. Yeah. Can’t blame her for that, really.”

Jamie mulls this over, fingers tracing hipbone. Her nails bite gently into soft skin. “Does she judge us for this, I wonder?”

“Do you care?”

“Not,” Jamie says, twisting her hand and bringing their mouths together hard, “in the least.”

***

“Put it out the window.”

“I am not putting it out the window, Viola.”

“Down a flight of stairs, then! What in all cosmic reaches of hell is this for, if not throwing it somewhere it can never harm another soul again!”

Dani exhales through her nose, slowly, embracing every meditative memory of dealing with errant children. “I am not,” she says slowly to the empty apartment, “going to throw my television anywhere. And I'd really appreciate it if you’d stop making that suggestion every time I turn it on.”

“You are letting your soul rot from the inside out with this filth!” Viola is all but shrieking. Dani imagines her pacing back and forth, back and forth, her hands wild. “Your moral fiber, Miss Clayton. What of your moral fiber?”

“If MTV rots away one’s moral fiber,” Dani says, as calmly as she knows how, “then I suspect we’re all lost causes, anyway.”

Viola is silent for such a long time, Dani thinks she’s done the trick. She turns her attention back to the laundry she’s been folding to the tune of Janet Jackson. Her head bobs gently in time as the videos shuffle past--Madonna, Michael, Paula, George. Then, with the hour change, newer fare. She’s still getting around to some of these artists, still trying to work out how she feels about them. 

"Did you hear that?” Viola seethes. “What was that about an anaconda? Is this man suggesting we feed a woman to snakes? What barbarism do your people accept in this age?”

Dani folds a pair of Jamie’s socks with such deliberate care, she nearly forgets to breathe while doing it. 

“Moral fiber,” Viola hisses. “Moral fiber is wasted on this age of nudity and...and...hammertime.”

Dani finds herself desperately invested in ironing the wrinkles out of a pair of jeans with her hand until Viola goes quiet again.

***

“You could have such nice hair,” Viola croons. “Such nice hair, if you would only put them away...”

“They’re convenient,” Dani says, scraping her hair back into a pink scrunchie. Viola makes a noise of disgust. 

“They’re abhorrent. Honestly, your time and its...fashions. What do you call this?”

She’s gesturing toward the bathroom counter, to the little basket that holds all the hair supplies. Dani sighs. 

“It’s a headband, Viola. We like headbands. They keep the hair out of our eyes.”

“There are other ways. Fine hats. Lovely veils. Why don’t you own any lovely veils, Dani, do you want the common folk seeing your every decision in your eyes?”

Dani reaches for the hairspray. Behind her, Jamie bustles in with shirt half-buttoned, suspenders swinging around her thighs. Viola makes another catty little noise. 

“Any news?” Jamie asks, reaching around for a hairbrush and kissing Dani’s cheek. 

“She doesn’t like scrunchies,” Dani reports. “And she’s started calling me Dani.”

Jamie frowns. “Good sign or bad?”

“Impossible to guess.”

“Tell her you want some veils,” Viola says sweetly. “And for her to learn the value of a fine skirt.”

Dani, ignoring this, reaches around the back of Jamie’s neck and pulls her into a searing kiss. Jamie drops the hairbrush with a clatter, leaning Dani back against the counter and gripping the small of her back like she’s suddenly forgotten they’re both late for work. 

When they break apart, they’re both flushed, Dani giggling into the underside of Jamie’s jaw, Jamie’s eyes glazed. In the back of her mind, she hears Viola sigh. 

“That is truly childish, you know.”

***

It’s kind of an accidental habit, punishing her inner ghost for bad behavior by channeling her frustrations into sex. She couldn’t explain it if she tried, except to say Viola does tend to shut up when Dani’s properly distracted. Maybe it’s just the way the connection works, thinner when Dani isn’t willing to give it energy. Maybe Viola’s embarrassed. Either way, a year after Viola first speaks, her life with Jamie burns hotter than it ever has. 

It’s best when Viola is trying to run her mouth over Jamie’s fashion sense, she’s noticed. It is, in fact, the only way to shut Viola up about the aforementioned fashion sense. Which Dani intellectually understands; coming up from a world 400 years away, where women dressed in endless layers and a person’s value was often found in the shine of her jewels and the rich fabric of her skirts, slamming face-first into the 1990s must have been a trip. Truly, Viola is lucky Dani didn’t cart her out of that lake earlier. If she thinks scrunchies are bad, she should have seen the heyday of shoulder pads. 

Honestly, though, the worst thing is listening to Viola trill on about how much better Jamie could look if she’d only bow to the whims of femininity. Jamie, whose primary word on fashion has always been “can I dig a hole in this?” is perfect just the way she is. In fact, as the years go on and her jeans grow cuffs, her shorts grow shorter, her tops crop midway up her stomach, Dani thinks the world is finally suiting Jamie instead of the other way around. 

“She’s prancing around for the world to see--”

“It’s ninety-six degrees out,” Dani says in a low voice. She understands these conversations with Viola can be internalized, but she tends to wind up wearing this distant expression every time, and Jamie can spot it a mile off. Best to just mutter aloud in the sanctity of their own home. 

“She’s walking her wares up and down the block,” Viola rages on. “Not a shawl to be seen!”

“Jamie,” Dani calls from the kitchen, “have you ever in your life worn a shawl?”

“That’s, uh, one of those blankets with the fringy bits, yeah?” Jamie calls back. She’s bent over the air conditioning unit, trying to coax life into the old girl. The cropped line of her black t-shirt rides up her back, revealing glistening skin. Dani tips her head to enjoy the view. “I’ll pass on account of any blanket in this heat being like to kill me.”

“Best not to test it,” Dani agrees. Viola heaves the longest-suffering sigh Dani’s ever heard. 

“It doesn’t bother you in the least, your woman out there, where anyone could see her...her bare stomach!”

“One,” Dani says coolly, “she’s my girlfriend, not my woman. Two, I’ve never once tried to dictate her clothing, and I’m not stopping because a dead woman insists. Three, I happen to like it.”

“Like what?” Jamie strolls back to her, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead with a sigh. She stops a few inches away, rocking back and forth on her heels like she wants nothing more than to close the distance despite the mind-numbing heat. 

“Viola is commenting upon your more risqué clothing choices.”

“What? This?” Jamie grasps the exceedingly high-cut hem of her shirt and tugs it gently upward, teasing. “What’s her problem with all this?”

“It’s on display, evidently.”

“As it should be,” Jamie says almost primly. “I’m a fine specimen to behold. Learn to enjoy it, love, it’ll be faster than trying to change the view.”

This last, she says in a slightly louder voice, as though speaking to the shadow behind Dani’s eyes. She’s grinning, and Dani has time to think how strange it is, how quickly they’ve learned to accommodate Viola’s appearances into their conversations--Jamie has taken to leaving beats between her sentences, allowing for Dani to process two people speaking at once--before Jamie is wrapping both arms around her and lifting her off the floor. She squeals in surprise, delight turning to desire as Jamie licks a bead of sweat from her neck. 

“Not again,” Viola sighs. “You’ll wake the whole village.”

“Apartment,” Dani corrects, catching Jamie by the jaw and kissing her hungrily. It’s too hot for this, probably, but she can’t quite remember how to care when Jamie pulls free of her grasp and slides to her knees, taking Dani’s skirt with her. 

“It’s a nightmare, regardless.”

***

Eventually, Viola proves herself capable of learning a thing or two. Namely, that she is welcome to run commentary on anyone in the world except for Jamie. 

Even old ghosts can learn new tricks, apparently, although it takes a number of months, a great deal of sex, and one memorable weekend in which--upon Viola raging over every article in Jamie’s side of the closet for half an hour--Dani simply removed the option of clothing from Viola’s sight altogether. 

“This,” Jamie panted, both of them on the floor with a sheet draped over their tangled limbs, “is working for me in the weirdest way, Poppins.”

“I think she’s really starting to hate me,” Dani said conversationally, even as her fingers slipped between Jamie’s legs yet again. Jamie’s hips rose to meet her, one hand burying itself in her hair. 

“Well, that makes one of us, doesn’t it?”

***

Not commenting on Jamie, naturally, does nothing to stop Viola talking about every other goddamn thing in the world. 

“We’re going to have to have a long talk about not shaming women for their bodies, you know,” Dani tells her one afternoon. Viola has been tearing a young woman to pieces over her short skirt, furious that someone so pristine could soil herself with such impunity. Dani must be getting used to this in the weirdest way possible, because this kind of floral language is starting to feel second-nature. 

“I would never shame anyone,” Viola protests. “I am simply stating fact. Men do not value women as it is, and while we may win their games, we get nowhere at all if we do not play them.”

“This isn’t a game, Viola, it’s her life. Her body. She can do whatever she likes with it.”

“But I want her to succeed,” Viola insists. There’s an almost disconcerting eagerness to the words. She really truly believes what she’s saying. “A woman viewed as nothing more than a strumpet will have an even more difficult time securing a dowry, and then where will she be?”

“In college?” Dani suggests blithely. “Traveling? Living isn’t just for men, Viola, I know you know this. You refused the oath of obedience on your wedding day.”

“Of course it’s not for men’s sake alone, but when the law--”

“The law is different here,” Dani says, almost gently. “Has been for a long time. Or haven’t you noticed how well Jamie and I get along without a man to be found?”

Viola’s silence stretches so long, Dani’s sure she’s either gone back to sleep or is finally choosing this moment to let the ugly banner of homophobia unfurl. She’s been waiting for this moment for years, it seems, waiting for the ghost in her head to mimic her mother on the one and only occasion she attempted to send home a letter. 

“You’re different,” Viola says at last, very softly. Dani blinks. 

“Pardon?”

“You’re different,” Viola repeats. “Jamie is your forever. Does that young girl have her forever, Miss Clayton?”

“Well--I don't know, I don’t suppose it’s my business--”

“Perhaps she will find it in one like our Jamie,” Viola says impatiently. “But perhaps she will find instead the stones of men who have not, over four centuries, really changed all that much. Is it so wrong of me, to have a mother’s care for that?”

Dani doesn’t know how to answer. Doesn’t have the first idea, when faced with a Viola who is not simply catty for cattiness’ sake, but genuine. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, unable to find argument. 

“We just. We just don’t pick on girls for what they do with their bodies, all right? It’s...it’s cruel, and it isn’t necessary.”

Viola sighs. “Fine. But we still ought to discuss the pattern choices. Those polka dots are not flattering in the least.”

It’s only later, watching Jamie chop carrots for dinner, that Dani realizes Viola had said our. Our Jamie. 

“Oh sweet Christ,” she mumbles.

***

The change is slow. Subtle. If not for the fact of carrying this woman in her head, Dani’s not sure she even would have noticed. 

“She what?” Jamie looks up from the plant she’s tending, fingernails grimed with soil, wedding ring carefully strung upon a thick chain around her neck until she can clean up again. “She...sorry, what?”

“I can’t be sure,” Dani muses. “It sounds...crazy. But I think she’s starting to like you.”

“Well, sure,” Jamie laughs. “I’m a deeply likable human being. But this is the Lady, yeah? Same one who dragged Peter fucking Quint to his death? Same one who thinks I show too much skin?”

“I’m...not convinced she thinks that anymore.” It’s really hard to say for sure. On the one hand, it’s possible Viola has shut up about Jamie’s shorn sleeves and shorts because every time she mentioned either, Dani made it her personal life’s mission to make sure Jamie never wore anything else around the house. On the other...

“I think she looked at your butt the other day.”

Jamie raises her eyes slowly, brow furrowing. “Can she do that? Turn your eyes to something you weren’t already looking at?”

“No,” Dani says, a bit stiffly, all too aware of stepping into the trap. Jamie grins. 

“Thought not.”

“But it was different,” Dani presses on through flushing cheeks. “I mean--even if I was already looking, she was--I mean--she--”

She doesn’t know how to explain it. How the rumble in her chest, already so familiar at the sight of Jamie puttering around their home, had seemed to expand until it encompassed all of her. How it was like someone had turned the heat in the room to its breaking point. 

“I can just tell, okay?” she says, aggrieved. “She looked at your butt, and she liked it.”

Jamie makes a thoughtful face, brushing dirt off her hands with slow, deliberate motions. “So...what you’re saying is...your personal ghostie has a crush on your wife?”

Dani presses her face against the counter, letting the cool metal relieve her blush. “Shit. Yeah. I think she might.”

“This is,” Jamie says triumphantly, pressing up against Dani from behind and kissing the back of her neck, “the funniest thing that has ever happened, by a country goddamn mile.”

***

A series of events, cascading in short order, that Dani almost actually feels bad about. If one could feel guilty about putting strain on one’s personal-pan Casper. 

The Britney Spears video, for one. Viola still does not like music videos--or music, frankly, unless it involves a ridiculous number of flutes and orchestral swells--but she’s grown to tolerate them. Mostly. 

That is, until Britney sways onscreen in a plaid skirt and schoolgirl pigtails. 

“Fuck,” Dani gasps, hand coming down hard against her own breastbone. It’s like someone grabbed the dial on her blood pressure and cranked it all the way up. That someone, she suspects, being the dead woman who has been more and more present of late. 

“I--I cannot--I simply am not capable of understanding--” Viola sounds like she’s short-circuiting. “I know we are not meant to comment, but what on earth is she doing?!”

“Dancing,” Dani says sharply, trying to coax her breathing back down. Is this what a stroke feels like? Is her fucking ghost roommate giving her an actual stroke? “Viola, you’ve seen dancing.”

“She is so young! She is a child! Who is protecting this person from the world?” Viola is furious. Viola is exploding. Dani sort of wonders if her chest is going to explode, too. 

“She’s...a pop star. This is what they get paid lots and lots of money to do.” It’s a bad answer, she knows. These videos make her a little uncomfortable too, when she thinks on them too long. But Viola? Viola’s rage is a towering beast of a thing. For a minute, lungs scraping at the air, Dani is genuinely afraid this is the point where the switch flips. Where she finds herself staring at the room from the back of her own head. 

“Someone,” Viola says in a low, terrible voice, “must protect these children.”

It takes almost an hour to calm her down. Dani doesn’t turn MTV back on for a while after that. 

***

“The. The moon?” The opposite end of the emotional spectrum this time. If Viola had been nearly apoplectic over Britney’s choreography, she now sounds faint.

“You should have floated that a bit more softly,” Dani tells Jamie, who looks confused. 

“Float what, all I did was mention NASA--”

“The moon,” Viola repeats. “We have seen. The moon.”

“She’s having trouble with the moon landing,” Dani says. Jamie waves her hands helplessly.

“Poppins, I have trouble understanding the geography of Texas, we all have problems.”

“We have,” Viola breathes, “stepped foot. Upon. The moon.”

Dani pours herself another large glass of wine.

***

“How’s this, then?” Jamie gives a very small, somewhat self-conscious twirl. “Too much? Too little? Too, ah, revealing, as the ghost contingent might say?”

Dani, leaning against the bedroom wall, can’t quite find the words. Viola, too, is conspicuously silent. 

“It’s bad,” Jamie says, nodding fervently. “Yeah, y’know, I think I knew it when I picked it up. Better on the sales rack, as they say. I can just...if you wouldn’t mind popping the zip real quick...”

“Yes, Dani,” Viola says quietly. “Pop the zip.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Dani hisses. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“What’s that?”

“It’s not bad,” Dani says quickly, ignoring the little harrumph Viola utters. “It’s very not bad. Opposite of bad, really.”

Relief floods Jamie’s face. The dress is low cut in a way very little of her clean-up clothes are, with a slit running clear up the leg. Patterned in burgundy petals, the black velvet is stark against her pale skin. 

“I won’t get run out of the convention, then? Only they said there’s a bit about drinks and networking, and it was just shy of black-tie. I could do that instead. Get a black tie. Think I’d look nice in a black tie.”

“The dress,” Viola says in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Tell her it is a nice dress.”

“It’s a nice dress,” Dani repeats with comic dazedness. “Best dress I’ve ever seen, maybe.”

“And now,” Viola says soothingly, “you go to her. Walk confidently now, shoulders back, chin up--”

“Are you...wing-man-ing me toward my own wife?” 

“Seduction requires confidence, Dani.”

“What’s she saying?” Jamie’s face has gone a curious mix of apprehensive and amused. Dani swallows. 

“Seduction requires confidence, evidently.” 

A slow grin spreads across Jamie’s face. Dani raises a hand, finger extended. 

“Don’t. Don’t make that smug face.”

“What’s smug about it?” She’s moving across the room, arms already reaching. “This is my very natural expression, I’ll have you know. The most normal expression in the world for a woman whose wife is being told to undress her by the ancient rage-ghost sharing her body.”

“Our lives,” Dani says helplessly, already pressing herself flush against Jamie, “are different than other people’s lives.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees in a low voice, sliding the sweater over Dani’s head. “Can’t find it in me to complain, though, can you?”

***

It’s weird, almost. Weirder, that it’s almost not. That the beast in the jungle, the creature Dani spent nearly a decade dreading, has pounced at last and...mostly, she just seems to want to see Dani happy. 

Jamie finds it hilarious, in that pretend-callous way Jamie has of smoothing over genuine concern with soft laughter. She doesn’t like Dani sharing her mental space with someone at all hours, Viola popping up like a wack-a-mole game on high. But, if Dani must share the space with anyone, at least--

“It’s someone who thinks I'm gorgeous.”

“You are gorgeous,” Dani replies, a bit exasperated. “Gorgeous, silly, perfect person. But my inner ghost has a crush on you, that isn’t strange for you?”

“Poppins, my life has been strange since a doe-eyed American strolled into it and told me she still saw her dead fiancé when we kissed.” Jamie reclines on the bed in a sleep shirt and underwear, hands playing lightly with the pillowcase beneath her head. “Strange is my bread and butter these days, and if I had to sacrifice you to have it any other way, we both know how it would go.”

Dani makes a mulish sound under her breath. Jamie cups a hand to her ear. 

“Say again?”

“It’s weird,” she repeats, arms crossed over her chest. “She’s weird. I always thought she’d do something bad--walk me off a roof, or strangle someone to death, or try to rob a convenience store. But mostly she just wants to protect young girls from an uncaring world and look at your butt in the shower.”

“That is...very specific,” Jamie says lightly. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s so bizarre. The longer this goes on, the more she sees of the world, it’s like...like she’s getting more real. More Viola, less Lady.”

Jamie sits up, hand sliding to rest high on Dani’s thigh as if to shield her from harm. “But not more solid, right? Not taking up space you already rent?”

Dani shakes her head. “That’s the thing. She doesn't feel like she’s taking over. And it feels...like she should.”

“You want her to?” 

“No, no, of course not.” Dani raises Jamie’s knuckles to her lips, raining soft kisses up and down her hand until the tension goes out of her brow. “I just don’t understand what’s happening. This isn’t...what I expected.”

Jamie exhales, shifting her weight until she’s sitting in Dani’s lap. She takes a Dani’s face between her hands, kisses her long and slow until Dani eases back against the headboard. 

“This is good, Poppins. You’re a good influence. You were on those kids, and on me, and now on this Lady of yours. Maybe that’s all a ghost needs, deep down.”

Dani leans into her, lets the rhythm of kiss and gentle bite and hands slipping beneath her clothes carry her away for a while. Still, no Viola, and she’s grateful. She doesn’t like to think how that would feel, Viola popping up while Jamie’s curling her fingers deep, groaning soft against her shoulder. There is a time and a place for hauntings, and time with Jamie is something else entirely. 

She’s pretty sure Viola even respects that. Which is, like everything else, incredibly strange. 

***

Viola attends their second wedding. Their real wedding. It’s bizarre on a level Dani isn’t prepared to deal with, feeling her surface as the plans become reality. Jamie’s got flowers, naturally, and Owen’s catering, and Henry has the kids--who are kids no longer, but fully-formed people with lives of their own--running errands on the day. And Dani...

Dani is looking at herself in a wedding dress for the second time in her life, only this time, she can breathe. 

“You are radiant,” Viola says. Dani closes her eyes for a moment, steels herself. 

“Nothing else to say? No notes?”

“You chose wisely,” Viola says. Dani sighs. 

“I figured lace was classic, and someone told me I had nice shoulders once, so--”

“The dress is beautiful,” Viola says. “But I was not talking about your grooming for the day.”

Dani gives a shaky laugh. “I love her, you know. I really do.”

“I can tell.” A beat of silence. Then: “I did not understand at first. Her. Or you. I suppose I will never understand completely. But...I understand the depths of what you feel. It is a part of me, too, I think. That devotion, sinking into all the spaces where I had forgotten.”

“You’re in love with Jamie, too?” Dani asks, not really wanting the answer. Viola laughs. 

“Yes. And no. You and I are intertwined, Miss Clayton. What you feel, I feel, to a degree. More importantly, I have seen your life with her. The life you build with the reckless joy of two people doomed one day to die.”

“Thanks,” Dani says, a bit sharply. She senses Viola putting her hands up, a terribly-modern gesture of surrender. 

“You understand what I mean. It takes courage, to love this completely. To do so while carrying a burden neither of us can truly comprehend is...something else altogether. There is a strength there I could not have understood on my most willful of days.”

“You turned Death away at your own doorstep,” Dani points out, smiling. Viola is pleased. 

“I did, didn’t I? And I could never regret it, even now. But you. You are doing something so much more incredible. Loving, even knowing what ending love must craft.”

“This is a bit dark for my wedding day,” Dani points out. Viola nods. 

“You are radiant. And you are fortunate. And I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

It is the strangest wedding toast she’s ever heard, and something within Dani’s heart has never been more at peace.

***

“How’s our Lady doing tonight?” Jamie asks as Dani slips into bed beside her. She tips her head, thinking on it. Viola, as she usually is once Dani crosses the bedroom threshold, is nowhere to be found. 

“Good, I think. Calm.”

“And my wife?” Jamie looks at her, eyes serious. “You’ve been quieter lately. Fighting her less?”

“She’s been fighting me less,” Dani says. “She...likes it here, I think. Likes us. You know, I thought after this much time, she’d get bored or restless or...go back to her old ways, but...”

“But I’m just too gorgeous,” Jamie teases. Dani slings a leg across her body, holds tight to her with hands that never feel as though they can hold on hard enough. 

“I think sometimes...sometimes it’s just about remembering. What it’s like to be a person. What it’s like to be in love.”

“Mm,” Jamie agrees, fingertips drawing dizzying spirals on the bare back of Dani’s shoulder. “Well done, you. You’ve tamed your beast.”

Dani sighs, content. “I think it was a joint effort.”

“Yes,” Jamie agrees, kissing the top of her head. “Because I am, famously, too gorgeous to deny.”

[hartigays]

I’m laughing thinking about Ward going through the 5 stages of grief after learning Rafe has a boyfriend

ward cameron when rafe tells him he’s a raging homosexual:

fic under the cut!!

the dinner table is silent, save for the noises of forks and knives clinking against porcelain.

rafe stares down at his steak, mouth watering but refusing to eat it. he has plans later, after all, and steak is not kind to his bowels, despite how delicious it may be going down.

his bowels do not need to be in a twist for what’s in store for him later.

barry would probably murder him in the front yard of his trailer - it has been a week since they’ve been able to see each other, after all. and as barry had so eloquently put it on the phone earlier, rafe needs to be prepared to be “taken down to pound town, back around, and down again”.

not like anyone at the table needs to know this, but rafe imagines he’ll get questions soon enough about his lack of enthusiasm towards his meal.

almost as if she could read his mind, rose fixes rafe with a calculating look and asks, “rafe, why aren’t you eating? that’s a perfectly good steak, i don’t want it going to waste.”

going to waste, rafe thinks with an internal snort. everything in this house goes to waste - it’s just part of living on figure eight. everything is disposable, everything is replaceable.

“rafe, eat your steak,” ward insists with a sigh, not looking up from his plate. “i’m not in the mood tonight.”

in the mood for what, rafe has no idea. ward is acting like rafe is a fussy 4-year-old who he has to constantly battle with to eat his peas, when in reality ward couldn’t give less of a shit about what rafe does or says or eats on a daily basis, so long as it’s not making the family look bad.

the thought alone has rafe gritting his teeth, glaring across the table at his sorry excuse for a father.

“i’m not hungry,” rafe lies, folding his arms across his chest.

ward sighs again, like this 2-second conversation has pained him greatly, still not looking up. “i’m not arguing with you, rafe. eat the damn steak or leave the table. no one is in the mood for your sulking.”

rafe makes a face, then rolls his eyes. “i’m not sulking. but whatever, i have to be somewhere anyway.”

he scoots his chair back, ignoring sarah eyeing him warily from the seat adjacent to his.

“be somewhere? it’s almost nine,” rose questions. she raises her brows at rafe expectantly.

rose is looking at him like the stern stepmother she pretends to be, acting like she actually gives a shit where rafe is going, when the question was really only asked to ensure that whatever rafe is doing, it won’t reflect poorly on everyone else.

never mind that rafe is nearly 20 years old and can go wherever he pleases. he’s also gotten sick of this notion that every move he makes will somehow make them all look bad and tear the family apart. despite the fact that sarah is the one who’s openly dating a pogue, one who’s basically a walking red flag.

barry may live on the cut, but at least he doesn’t brand himself the king of pogueland.

rafe narrows his eyes at rose before making a split-second decision.

“well, my boyfriend gets off work late, so yeah. i have somewhere to be at nine,” rafe says offhandedly, like it’s no big deal, like everyone already knew he was a massive fruit who’s been on his knees for his local coke dealer for the past six months.

the sounds of silverware clattering onto plates fills the room, and rafe feels ridiculously satisfied with himself for getting a reaction. he loves to see these idiots squirm.

he’d rather see them all choke on rat poison, but barry is insistent that he won’t continue fucking rafe if he goes off and kills his whole family.

barry is lucky rafe loves him, because honestly, not being allowed to murder people who irritate him is kind of a buzzkill.

“you- who- your what?” ward sputters, the first to break the heavy silence.

“my boyfriend,” rafe repeats slowly, enunciating, treating ward like he’s the stupid, petulant child he constantly claims rafe is.

rafe watches ward’s face go from pale, to pink, to violently red. there’s a set to his jaw and rafe just knows ward would give anything to leap across the table and wring rafe’s neck right this very moment.

“no, nope, absolutely not,” ward snaps, furious in his denial. “not my son. no.”

“ward- ” rose starts, but ward cuts her off with a swift wave of his hand.

“do you realize how this will look for us if anyone finds out?” ward spits, holding his fork in a white-knuckle grip.

sarah actually speaks up on rafe’s behalf, which is probably the most shocking reaction rafe has gotten so far.

“dad, come on. it’s 2021,” she says with a sigh, shaking her head. “besides, rafe being gay is probably one of the only good things about him. or, wait, are you bi? or gay?”

sarah questions rafe casually, like this information doesn’t come as any kind of shock to her. rafe makes a mental note to revisit that later, along with her comment about it being one of his only good traits. she’s looking at him almost in earnest, and for a brief moment rafe is transported back to a time when he actually liked his sister.

“not that it’s any of your business,” rafe starts, glancing at her, “but i’m gay. thanks for asking. anyway, like i said, i have somewhere to be, so- ”

“not a big deal?” ward hisses, cutting him off, clearly still stuck on sarah’s surprising defense of rafe’s sexuality. “not a big deal? sarah, it’s- no, see? no. we aren’t talking about this.”

Despite his own declaration, Ward continues, “what about all those girls? all those girls you hung around with? the ones you brought around? you know you can still have them over from time to time. i know we talked about respect and responsibility, but i suppose a man does need to let loose every now and then, and if it’ll help- ”

this time, rafe is the one to cut ward off, not in the mood for his pathetic attempt at bargaining.

“dad. dad. i’m gay,” rafe says firmly. “forget about the girls. it wasn’t what you thought.”

ward opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to form some sort of coherent response. then, he buries his face in his hands, groaning.

“why is it always something with you, rafe?” ward mumbles through his hands, sounding defeated. “can we not just have one day? one day without your life overshadowing everything we’ve worked towards?”

rafe rolls his eyes at ward’s dramatics. “how does me liking dick ruin anything for this family?”

“rafe, wheezie is right here!” rose admonishes. wheezie just chokes on her water, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“sorry, wheeze,” rafe tells her, feeling only a little bad. “but i’m just saying. half the guys on figure eight go both ways. it’s seriously not a big deal.”

ward finally looks up at rafe, crossing his arms before staring for a long stretch. long enough that rafe starts to turn to go, itching to get away and back to the one person who doesn’t make him want to rip his hair out.

“fine,” ward finally says just as rafe turns on his heel. “fine. but don’t- don’t expect me to meet him. or like him. and for the love of god, don’t bring him to important events. whoever he is, he’s bound to draw attention.”

that’s very, very true. and rafe has every intention of dragging barry to the next auction or gala or what the fuck ever, clad in one of his stupid sleeveless t-shirts and basketball shorts and his hair in a messy, tangled bun - the whole nine yards.

he’s dying to see the look on ward’s face when he shows up to some black-tie event with barry the cocaine king slash dirty mechanic slash army vet in tow.

“so is that it?” rafe asks, sounding bored even to his own ears. “can i go now?”

ward still looks like he wants to slam his head through the nearest window, but he nods. accepting the truth that rafe has forcibly laid out before him, albeit reluctantly.

rafe nods back, turning and walking away with his hands stuffed in his pockets, whistling a tune that’s far too cheerful given the looks on everyone’s faces as he exits the dining room.

his favorite is ward’s, still looking angry and defeated and resigned to his acceptance of rafe’s preferences all at once. rafe hops onto his motorbike, yanking on his helmet with a smile.

barry will be proud of him, he thinks. not only did he finally come out to his family, but he also didn’t feed them rat poison during the process.

baby steps. he’s taking them one at a time, very carefully, and he thinks that’s something at least.

maybe barry will reward him for his efforts, rafe wonders, just before revving his bike to life and speeding off the property.

rafe deserves a reward, in his own personal opinion. and after all, his opinion is the only one that matters, really.

maybe barry’s, too, but only when it suits rafe. if that happens to be more often than rafe would care to admit, well. that’s between him and Jesus.

the night air is cool as it whips around him, and rafe looks forward to the warmth of barry and his shitty little trailer, not sparing a single thought about the mess he just left in his wake.

rafe presses harder on the gas, heading towards home.

[schrijverr]

Surprise Hit

On a con Eliot is recognized by someone who has a hit on him and has to run.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: mentions of some mafia dealings

~~~~~~~~~~~

The con went to shit.

This happened often enough with a mark not making the expected choice, a firewall taking longer to crack than anticipated or someone showing up that was not supposed to. It was normal, however the way it went to shit this time was unique. “Nate, I got a problem,” Eliot announced.

“What is it?” Nate asked over the coms. It was an integral part of the plan that Eliot talked to their mark, John Fernsby, and convinced him to meet with Sophie. Nate would have done it, but he had already been the one to go in and convince the billionaire that thebusiness was worth investing in and Hardison was needed to help Parker into the safe. It had to be Eliot.

But Eliot said there was a problem, which was bad. However, it was about to get worse when Eliot answered: “He’s talking with a foreign dignitary, but I know he isn’t. That’s Mikhail Volkov, Russian mob. He has a hit out on me.”

“The fuck, man,” Hardison replied.

“I didn’t pick it either, okay,” Eliot hissed back. “But if he sees me, we’re fucked. Well, I’m fucked and someone has to take my part in the con.”

Hardison had pulled up the camera feed of the gala and watched how Eliot turned away from the mark and tried to leave them room without pulling any attention to himself. He almost managed too, were it not for a serenade band coming in right as he was near the exit.

It was such a stupid little thing that they couldn't have predicted and it was so incredibly ill-timed that Eliot had no room to come up with something. Mikhail turned to the band and saw Eliot, his brow furrowed and he yelled: “Stop that man!” as Eliot started to sprint, multiple people now on his trail.

He pushed over furniture behind him and swerved while a few bullets started to fly around his head, dangerously close. In his ear Hardison was giving him directions to Lucille, but he knew he could not return to the team. Not right now.

The Russian mob was not known for their leniency and if they thought he had people he worked with, then they would only target them as well. No, he had to go into hiding on his own and return to them later, when he could shake off his pursuers. In his ear he heard Hardison rant at him as he took the wrong turn, but Eliot didn’t care. He had a plan.

On the street it was easier to disappear, though he got many looks from people as they cleared the way for him while he ran like a madman. There were a few screams when the Russians appeared behind him with guns.

If it were a normal day and he was on his own, he would have stayed to fight them, but he was wearing a suit he couldn't easily fight in and Sophie and Parker had still been in the building, he couldn't risk them for something stupid he’d done in the past. And when he was outside, he didn’t have the surprise advantage or the closeness to take on that many guys with guns.

So, he ran.

His lungs were burning in his chest and his legs would be jelly were it not for the fact that he regularly ran long tracks in case he got in this exact situation.

It took a while, but the bullets stopped flying around his head and he couldn't hear any footsteps behind him anymore. He took a moment to focus on the chatter over the coms. His brain hadn’t heardany of the key words to get his attention in the background, so he assumed it was all fine.

“Eliot, Eliot, are you listening to me?” That was Nate.

“I’m here,” he grunted, checking in the alley if there was anyone still following, before starting to climb the fire escape.

“What are you doing? Hardison’s GPS says you’re nowhere near the hotel. We need to regroup and figure out our next move,” Nate said as Sophie asked: “Are you okay, Eliot?”

He replied: “I’m fine, Sophie. Just didn’t want to lead a group of armed mobster to our hotel room when their goal is to kill me and all my associates.”

“They’re coming to kill us?” Hardison’s squeaky voice came through the speaker.

“Not if they don’t know I’m with you,” Eliot assured him, “which is why I’m not at the hotel right now. I think I’ve shaken them off, but just in case I’m taking a long way round. Probably won’t come through the doors.”

Thenhe tuned them out again. It might be rude and he heard they were still asking him all sorts of questions, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer. He had other things to focus on and the last thing he wanted was to tell them why there was a hit on his head from this particular mobster.

Going through the city over the roof, he saw a few familiar stances and haircuts stationed at public places where he would hide, as well as at the hotels and he knew he had made the right decision to take this route.

Mentally he was trying to figure out why Mikhail was here of all places talking with their mark. It could be that he was laundering money and their mark having a connection with the mob could both help and be an issue. He could get into witness protection in turn for information, but it was also proof that his business wasn’t clean, even if they had wanted to get him for the stealing of company funds that screwed over his employees’ safety.

But that was not his business to think about, but Nate’s. He would wait for what the man had to say about this development, but in order to do that, he needed to get back to the hotel.

There were also “guards” at the entrance of their hotel, but the team was only on the fourth floor and while they weren’t close to the fire escape, Eliot could get up high and then go side wards over the ridge to their window.

He gave Hardison a heart attack when he got at the window. They hadn’t left it open, much to his chagrin, but were luckily there to open it for him and it was better not to have a weakness in the defense, so he couldn't blame them.

“What the hell, man,” Hardison said. “Give someone a warning before you go around showing up in front of the window. Did you even have safety or something? We’re up high. You could have fallen to your death, Eliot.”

“Yeah and if I had gone through the front door, I would have been shot,” he pointed out tiredly from where he was lying on the floor.

Parker was looking out the window and smiled: “Oeh, that’s a good climbing ridge indeed.”

“Woman!” Hardison exclaimed, while Eliot said: “We could do without the attention to our room, Parker, maybe next time.” She looked sad and glanced over one more time, before closing the window with a pout.

“Care to explain what happened?” Nate asked as he leaned over him. He did that face where he attempted innocence, but failed.

“Got recognized by someone who’s sort of actively trying to kill me,” Eliot replied with what they already knew.

“Sort of actively?” Sophie asked and Eliot was glad he could explain something not that bad to them instead of the other stuff. “Yeah, there’s a difference between saying, ‘hey if you manage to kill this person and prove it you get money,’ and ‘I am hiring you to kill this person within a time frame.’ Mikhail is the former. If I die, he would be happy, but he’s not putting extra resources in finding me and eliminating me.”

“And why would be be happy if you’re dead?” Fucking Nate always sticking his nose everywhere.

“I met him once,” Eliot wasn’t giving him shit.

“Would I be correct in assuming that the meeting ended in a loss on his end?” Nate replied.

“Maybe.” He was neither confirming or denying, not if there was no explicit reason. He hadn’t felt bad about the blow to Mikhail’s organization. It hadn’t been the worst he’d done and Mikhail had a smuggling ring of sex workers and that had been awful to find.

“Okay, so we know Fernsby has connections to the Russian mob,” Nate thought out loud. “So, he’s not only stealing money from his employees, but laundering dirty money as well. If we can tie those together then we’re set.”

“Mikhail has a weakness for brunettes,” Eliot informed him, not telling him how he got that tidbit of knowledge. “He also likes gambling.”

Nate got a glint in his eye as he looked to Sophie, who smiled back. Of course those two would have a plan without needing to communicate.

“You’re out for the rest of the con,” Nate told him. “Can’t have you risk the entire thing if you’re recognized.”

“What? No!” Eliot sat up. “I need to be there to have your back. With the Russians it’s only going to get more dangerous. I’m not leaving you to your fate with those people, they’re dangerous, Nate. This isn’t just some cushy billionaire anymore.”

“And what if he gets suspicious of Sophie because of you, what will you do then, Eliot?” Nate shot back. “I’m not saying you need to stay here, but I am saying you need to keep out of sight. You’re with Hardison in Lucille.”

Eliot wanted to protest, wanted to be closer to the danger in case it went to shit, he wanted to be there when a mistake from his past came back, but he couldn't argue with Nate’s logic and sometimes he hated that about the man.

So, he found himself watching the screens in Lucille as Sophie tried to get Mikhail to make a gamble on her company, to ditch Fernsby, because he was doing it without him and leaving him out of the profits.

He was filled with jittery energy, but so far so good.

“Hey, Eliot,” Hardison opened. “What’s it like, you know, to have a hit on your head? I mean, I’m wanted in some countries, but that’s just boring government stuff, not actual people, like persons, wanting me dead personally, you know.”

“Are you really asking me what it’s like when someone wants you killed?” Eliot asked him.

“I guess,” Hardison shrugged, trying not to look like he wanted to know the answer and failing miserably.

“It’s not that different from being wanted by the government, I suppose,” Eliot finally answered, surprising Hardison. “You just gotta watch out for different things and hope no one is desperate enough for cash to go after you. I have a good enough reputation that hardly anyone tries, but I’ve had periods where I had multiple people on my trail across a dozen countries. It was exhausting, but I get it. Kill me and you can make a lot of people with a lot of money happy.”

“Wait, hold on, reverse and repeat,” Hardison said. “A lot of people?”

“Yeah,” Eliot replied, didn’t Hardison know this? “I got more than one hit on my head. I think it’s five. Used to be six, but one of them died and the bounty fell through. Though I never knew if that one English guy put one on my head as well. And of course, the countries, but those are always lazy about it, so I don’t worrry too much about those.”

“What the fuck, man.”

Eliot didn’t see the big deal. He had done a lot to deserve it and he had learned to live with it. He hadalways kept one eye open anyway.

He focused back on the screen, despite the hiccup earlier with him, the con ran smoothly on its new course and Sophie was phenomenal as he pitted the two guys against one another, making them sell each other out in the end.

Nate was there with the police and both were arrested with illegal cash on their hands and a lot of bank records detailing their dirty schemes as well as showing the abysmal circumstances of the workers that had gone unaddressed in favor of laundering money.

Later when they were sitting in the bar, Nate turned to him and asked: “Any more of that we should be worried about?”

Before Eliot could answer, Hardison had jumped in: “Apparently between five and six more times.”

“No, between four and five,” Eliot corrected. “Mikhail is no longer on the list, but honestly we couldn't have predicted this and there are too many bad guys I’ve known, double crossed, worked for or left that are still out there. We can’t account for all of them. I’ll try to be aware of which marks could have ties to other’s I’ve known, but you don’t get to be good in my line of work without enemies.”

Nate wanted to say something else, but Sophie was quicker. “I’m not keeping track of all the people I have grifted either, Nate,” she said. “We all have a past and you’re not harping me about that or Parker on all she’s stolen. Just because Eliot’s past is a bit different, doesn’t mean we can treat it differently in our team.”

Eliot didn’t fully agree with the comparison. His enemies we’re not the same and one of them coming back would be worse than it was for others.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to disagree with her. Not right now.

He thought of all the people he killed, all the families he’d left behind with one member less. He thought of Moreau and the horrible things he’d done for that man. He thought of the US Army that had turned him into a killer and set him loose on foreign soil for the first time.

And he thought of his team. Of how glad he was he knew them and how they made him better and didn’t force him to be a person he hated. How much they meant to him and how badly he didn’t want to loose that.

So he stayed quiet and let Sophie defend him, hoping his past would not come back like that again.

~~

A/N:

Sorry that the con is kinda vague, I only had the ‘the mark/someone there has a hit on Eliot and he needs to run’ and no clear plan on running the con in the background. Hope it was still enjoyable :D

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Dr. Alchemy/Dr. Albert Desmond/Mr. Element

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Dr. Albert Desmond, also known as Dr. Alchemy and Mr. Element. Patient suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder. Session One. So, Dr. Desmond, how are you feeling? 

Dr. Alchemy: Go away. I’m reading. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond, I promise that you will be able to return to your books as soon as this session is over. But for right now, I need you to talk to me. 

Dr. Alchemy: I am not interested in conversation. Leave me alone. 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid I cannot do that, Dr. Desmond. As your psychologist, I have a responsibility to maintain your well-being. 

Dr. Alchemy: I have read countless books on the subject of psychology, Dr. Strange. There is nothing you can teach me that I do not already know. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond, this is not about knowledge. It is about helping you to live a more productive life. 

Dr. Alchemy: Dr. Desmond would likely appreciate the sentiment, but he isn’t here right now. So please, leave me to my studies. I have important work to do, and no time for idle chatter. 

Hugo Strange: I take it I am speaking to one of Dr. Desmond’s alters, then? 

Dr. Alchemy: Yes. I am Doctor Alchemy. Now kindly go away and leave me alone. 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid that I cannot do that, Dr. Alchemy. As your psychologist, it would be irresponsible of me not to hold these therapy sessions with you. 

Dr. Alchemy: You are not my psychologist; you are Dr. Desmond’s psychologist. Dr. Desmond is not here right now, so you have no responsibilities in this room. Go away. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Alchemy, you and Dr. Desmond share the same body, and are fragmented parts of the same basic personality. Medically and legally, both of you are my patients...as are any other alters that may exist. 

Dr. Alchemy: Be that as it may, I have nothing to say to you. Go away.

Hugo Strange: (Sighs) If I arrange to have some more rare books delivered to your room, will you agree to participate in the session, Dr. Alchemy? 

Dr. Alchemy: (Pleased) Yes. Thank you, Dr. Strange. (Pause) What do you want to know? 

Hugo Strange: According to your files, you are a very educated man. You have PhDs in chemistry, biochemistry, and molecular biology. You could easily earn money legitimately...and, in fact, Dr. Desmond does just that in his career at S.T.A.R. Labs. Why, then, did you choose to become a costumed criminal? 

Dr. Alchemy: Research is expensive, Dr. Strange. How else was I to fund my experiments? 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond usually asks for grant money. 

Dr. Alchemy: Only because he wastes our talents on safe, predictable work. I, on the other hand, push the boundaries of established science. That frightens the complacent and the simple-minded, and as such, they dismiss my work as lunacy and refuse to help me in my endeavors to expand humanity’s understanding of the cosmos. 

Hugo Strange: Even if that is true, Dr. Alchemy, your file indicates that you are a metahuman with the power to transmute the elements at will. Why not use that power to create gold or silver, sell it for a profit, and use that to fund your experiments? 

Dr. Alchemy: And debase my powers by using them for something as mundane as earning petty cash from the mindless multitudes? Never. 

Hugo Strange: But you’re perfectly willing to use those same powers to steal money from the same mindless multitude? 

Dr. Alchemy: Of course. I am the lord of the very elements! It is my right to take whatever I desire. 

Hugo Strange: You are stealing! Like a common thief! 

Dr. Alchemy: A common thief could not turn your blood into formaldehyde, Dr. Strange. 

Hugo Strange: Was that a threat, Dr. Alchemy? 

Dr. Alchemy: No, not a threat. Merely a reminder of your position. 

Hugo Strange: (Angry) Let me make one thing clear, Dr. Alchemy. When you were sent here, you were, effectively, declared a ward of the state. I am the head of this Asylum. I want to help you, but if you prove to be a threat to me, the other patients, or the staff, I will authorize that you be put on a regime of enough antipsychotic drugs to all but kill your conscious mind. 

Dr. Alchemy: (Quiet laugh) And break your Hippocratic Oath by sentencing poor Dr. Desmond to a living death? I don’t believe you have that in you, Dr. Strange.

Hugo Strange: (Icily) To prevent one of the most powerful metahumans in the world from laying waste to this institution? There is very little I would not do, Dr. Alchemy. Metahuman power dampeners have a very limited effect on you, and I am not enough of a fool to rely solely on your goodwill to keep you in check. 

Dr. Alchemy: (Quickly) In that case, I rescind my reminder. 

Hugo Strange: I’m glad to hear that, Dr. Alchemy. (Pause) So tell me, what is your relationship with your city’s scarlet-clad vigilante? 

Dr. Alchemy: The Flash? He’s an impediment to my research, nothing more. 

Hugo Strange: And your decision to put on a costume was in no way inspired by him? 

Dr. Alchemy: Perhaps on some level. But he means nothing to me. Dr. Desmond is the one who cares about him. 

Hugo Strange: In that case, will you permit me to speak with Dr. Desmond? 

Dr. Alchemy: Certainly not. That weak-willed fool would only interfere with my studies. 

Dr. Hugo Strange: If you cooperate, I’ll see what I can do about getting you a first-edition copy of The Grapes of Wrath. 

Dr. Alchemy: Very well. If I can find Dr. Desmond, I’ll let him know that he wishes to speak with you. 

(Long pause) 

Hugo Strange: Are you all right, Dr. Alchemy? 

Albert: (in a voice that is similar to, but distinguishable from, Dr. Alchemy’s) W-where am I? What’s going on? 

Hugo Strange: (Realizing) Is this Dr. Albert Desmond? 

Albert: Y-yes. (Pause) Who are you? What is this place? What am I doing here? 

Hugo Strange: I am Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. What is the last thing you remember, Dr. Desmond? 

Albert: I...I was at home with my wife, Rita. She was making dinner, and I felt a headache coming on, so I went outside to get some fresh air and-(Pause) Oh, no. It happened again, didn’t it? 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid so, Dr. Desmond. A week ago, Dr. Alchemy was captured by the Flash whilst attempting to turn an entire stadium’s worth of people into tungsten. Since Iron Heights Penitentiary is currently incapable of holding metahuman criminals, it was decided that he should be transferred to Arkham Asylum, pending his trial. 

Albert: Not again...not again!  It’s been three years since the last time. I thought that the nightmare was finally over. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond, the courts are aware of your… highly unusual...form of Dissociative Identity Disorder. You will almost certainly be declared not guilty by reason of insanity. 

Albert: And then they’ll lock me away in a hospital instead of a prison. Rita and I...we have a baby son! Is he going to grow up with his father shut away in a mental institution? (Pause) I should have had her divorce me. At least that way she wouldn’t be raising our son all by herself. And she wouldn’t have to worry about both her and the baby being murdered by a costumed maniac! 

Hugo Strange: Neither of your alters have ever actually murdered someone, Dr. Desmond. 

Albert: No. But from what I’ve been told, it hasn’t been from lack of trying. (Pause) I let her marry me. I knew what I was, and I let her marry a monster. 

Hugo Strange: You are not a monster, Dr. Desmond. Your family members, the police and judicial departments of Central City, and even your city’s costumed vigilante all swear as to your good moral character. 

Albert: Good moral character? Dr. Strange, both of my alters are criminals; which means that there’s a part of me...there’s a part of me that wants to do the things they do. If there wasn’t, surely I would have been able to get rid of them by now. The fact that I haven’t proves that I don’t have good morals. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond, do you ever remember the actions of your alters? 

Albert: Almost never. (Pause) I usually end up finding out about it after the fact. You have no idea how horrible it is to have someone tell you that your body went on a crime spree that you don’t remember anything about. 

Hugo Strange: In other words, you have dissociative amnesia during the periods in which your alters are dominant. (Pause) Do you make an effort to prevent your alters from emerging, Dr. Desmond? 

Albert: Of course I do! I take medication, I exercise, I ensure that I always get a full night’s rest, I go to therapy….I don’t want to be a monster. 

Hugo Strange: A monster wouldn’t battle his illness in the way that you do, Dr. Desmond. You are not a monster. You are ill, and through no fault of your own. 

Albert: I...I wish I could believe that, Dr. Strange. (Pause) But honestly? I’m starting to think that maybe I should just be locked up forever. It would...it would be better for everyone. 

(Long pause) 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond? Dr. Desmond, are you all right? 

Mr. Element: (in a voice that is similar to, but distinguishable from, Dr. Alchemy and Albert’s voices) I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong man, Doc.

Hugo Strange: Who are you? And what happened to Dr. Desmond? 

Mr. Element: Nothing. I just decided to take control. It seems that Doc Alchemy’s actions have caused him to almost give up hope completely this time, and that meant he couldn’t put up much of a fight against me. (Pause) Thanks for getting Doc Alchemy to give up control voluntarily, by the way. You have no idea how tough it is to win fights for control with that guy. 

Hugo Strange: I take it you’re Mr. Desmond’s other alter? 

Mr. Element: That’s right, Doc. You can call me Mr. Element. 

Hugo Strange: Not Dr. Element? 

Mr. Element: Nah. The other two got most of the brains, I’m afraid. It’s why I’m not as powerful as either one of ‘em. (Pause) Not that you’d know it from looking at Albert, of course. He’s got no idea how powerful he really is. He’s even more powerful than Doc Alchemy! 

Hugo Strange: I suppose that that makes a certain amount of sense. Dr. Desmond is, after all, the personality from which the two of you split off. Perhaps that allows him to mainline the power, so to speak. (Pause) So, Mr. Element, why do you commit crimes in a silly costume? 

Mr. Element: To get money and attention. Doc Alchemy could care less about that sort of thing, and Albert’s too much of a goody-good to admit that he wants either, so it’s up to me to make sure people remember us. 

Hugo Strange: And the costume, was it inspired by the Flash? 

Mr. Element: No. It was based on our fascination with elements. The mask was so that I could inhale pure oxygen; I used a carbon atom as my symbol because life has its basis in carbon-you get the idea. Albert’s the one who has an emotional connection to the Speedster. 

Hugo Strange: Yes, yes. Dr. Alchemy said the same thing. (Pause) So, are either you or Dr. Alchemy Rogues, Mr. Element? 

Mr. Element: No. Doc Alchemy and I both prefer to work solo. Besides, I think the Doc kind of freaks them out. 

Hugo Strange: Are there any particular concerns you want to talk to me about, Mr. Element? 

Mr. Element: Not really. Albert’s the one with the hang-ups. 

Hugo Strange: In that case, I am going to bring this session to a close. I need some time to reflect on your case and how to best treat it. It is noticeably abnormal, and I will need to adjust my strategies accordingly.