#so you cant exactly rebute them

[rt-closetcryptic]

It's difficult to face reality when circumstances suddenly change....

[Next part]

[puhpandas]

For the writing prompt, I really just want to know how Gregory would handle anyone that bullies Evan. I can't imagine anyone getting out of that with unharmed shins.

(Either they're best friends or adopted brothers, maybe also Dad!Glamrock Freddy and/or Bonnie to reprimand and praise Gregory for the beatdown)

Don't Mess With The Chicken

(2,312 words)

(Gregory sacrifices his spicy food to attack a bully that was bothering Evan. A food fight and feels ensue)

Evan should have known that he cant hide the way he's feeling from Gregory. He knows him to well to not notice. So when Gregory sits down next to him at their lunch table and notices Evan's demeanor, of course he comments on it.

"Just the usual." Evan replies, picking half-heartedly at his food with his fork. "You know how it is."

Gregory nods while unpacking his own lunch, already glancing across the cafeteria with pointed eyes. "Who was it this time?"

"Terrance and his friends." Evan tells him over the roar of the cafeteria, sighing miserably. "For some reason, he suddenly decided he hates me this week."

Evan doesnt need to look to know Gregorys making that face he makes when he has intention to get revenge. But when Evan does end up looking over at his friend, he finds himself being correct.

"You want me to teach him a lesson?" Gregory asks, already grinning at the idea. "He wouldn't bother you again for a long time."

Evan glances over at the table that Terrance and his goons sit at subtly. "No, I dont. I dont need him to hate me even more." He hisses.

Gregory deflates, shimmying in his seat to fully face Evan and lunch left on the table. "Oh, come on!" He tries to meet Evan's eyes. "I swear you wont have anything to do with it! He wont even know you told me."

Evan scoffs. "Why do you want to mess with him so badly? You didnt get your enrichment for the week?"

Gregory rolls his eyes. "Its nothing like that. I just hate not doing anything if I'm able. I want to help you out."

Evan tries to ignore the warmth that blooms in his stomach when Gregory says something kind, and that he really means. "What would you even do, anyway?"

Gregory smiles slyly. "I'm not telling you or you wont let me do it."

Evan groans. "Exactly!" He yells, probably too loudly. "You're gonna do something crazy, and hes gonna take that as a challenge, or something, and them he'll bother us even more--"

"What are you two talking about over here?"

Evan shuts his mouth with a dry click when Terrance is suddenly standing at the head of their table, chest puffed out and goons lined up behind him. "What, arent gonna tell me? I bet you were talking about how scared of me you are, huh?"

Evan says silent, because that's exactly what he was doing. Shame coats his stomach when he cant rebut, but his eyes widen when Gregory does it for him.

"We were talking about your mother." Gregory shouts over the noise of the cafeteria. "And how good she is in bed."

Terrance almost looks insulted, and glances behind him at his friends, suprised smiles on their faces. Terrance doesn't share the same sentiment, if the pinch in his brow is any indication. "You wanna play like that, huh?" He sneers. "Its not a good idea to get involved with us, kid."

Terrances words scare Evan, but unlike himself, Gregory stares the bully down, face carefully neutral and uninterested. "If you say so. You know, you're not that much older than me. Not old enough to be calling me kid."

Terrances frowns, as and when theres a twist in his lip, Evan feels a quick bolt of fear shoot through his stomach.

"I'm bigger, though." Terrance points out, stalking around the side of the table, their side like a predator hunting prey. "What do you say you come over here and we settle this?"

Gregory clicks his tongue, looking back towards his lunch and unwrapping his chicken and sauce. "What, arent confident you're smart enough to match me in words?"

Evan's eyes blow wide when Terrances face turns a mean shade of red. He jumps when Terrance slams a hand on their table, eyes glinting in anger. "You have a death wish or something?! I'll beat the shit out of you!"

Gregory cackles, still not looking over, just unwrapping a plastic spoon and unwrapping his sauce for his lunch. "Then come over here and do it."

Evan goes rigid, trying to catch Gregory's eyes with his own wide ones as if to ask what are you doing?! But he doesnt get the chance to when Terrance snarls like a rabid animal, and lunges at them.

But apparently Gregory was expecting this, because when Terrance reaches out, a straight shot from the head of the table to their seat, Gregory scoops up a spoonful of his sauce for his chicken, lifts it up, pulls the spoon back, and launches the sauce like a tasty projectile.

Evan gapes, his mouth shaped as a wide O, because he knows Gregory likes spicy sauce with his chicken.

Another thing Evan knows is how dead on Gregory's aim can be. How he always hits a bullseye. How he almost never misses.

It's clear Gregory hit his mark when Terrance flinches as the sauce thwaps into his eyes, and he just stands there, confused with twisted lips.

Terrance doesnt even have time to lift his hand up to inspect the projectile. It only takes seconds for it to kick in.

Evan flinches when Terrance begins to shriek, an angry, pained one, and he flails around, eyes squeezed shut as the hot looking red sauce undoubtedly set his eyes on fire.

His goons startle, looking alarmed when their leader runs around screaming and flailing, almost like a chicken with its head cut off, and Evan thinks it fits almost too well.

"You--!" Is all Terrance can manage, reaching out his arms to grab Gregory like a violent version of Marco Polo, but hes way far off. He slams into the table, pounding a fist into it as the pain undoubtedly overwhelms him. He yells in pain, before, "I'll kill you! You bastard! I'll end you!"

Gregory stands up on the table next to Evan, and he only has a moment to look over before Gregory bellows "Food fight!"

To Evan's immense suprise, Gregory's call actually works. Kids all around them begin to yell, grabbing their own food by the fistfuls and tossing it at their friends. Evan can see food soaring across tables, and he yelps when a banana peel almost hits him right in the face.

"Gregory!" He yells over the commotion. Gregory himself is cackling, packaging up his chicken for safekeeping. Evan uses his arms to protect his head from any flying food. "Duck and cover Gregory! Duck and cover!"

"Screw that!" Gregory yells, and Evan yelps when an angry yelp is heard next to him. He only has a moment to look at Terrance jumping at them before a hand grabs his wrist, and Evan is dragged away from the table, only just managing to grab his Fredbear lunchbox.

"Run!" Gregory yells, as if he didn't just grab Evan's hand with no warning and drag him into the trenches. The cafeteria is a war zone; food is flying everywhere and kids are flipping tables, using them as shields. Evan's ears hurt from all the voices yelling and laughing, and he's almost slipping on wrappers as he bolts behind Gregory.

All Evan can do is follow behind Gregory as they dash for the doors. Evan doesn't dare look behind him, lest he see Terrance or his friends chasing after them. Evan raises his other arm to protect his head from flying chip bags, and he can see an apple core nail Gregory in the side of the head.

Finally, they break through the cafeteria doors, and the rush of silence when they shut behind them is so jarring Evan almost believes someone threw their thermal water bottle at him and knocked him out.

Gregory still has that adrenaline spawned smile on his face, but despite Evan's insistence on staying out of the spotlight, staying invisible, so you dont get targeted, he has to admit that he has that rush thats undoubtedly in Gregorys chest in his chest, too.

"Never do that again." Is all Evan says when they finally catch their breaths. Gregory bursts into laughter, and in the empty halls of the school, Evan joins him.

"You're not mad that I burned the living daylights out of Terrances eyes?" Gregory giggles. "Hey, if that doesnt stop him from bothering you anymore, I dont know what will."

Evan sputters a laugh. "I wont be suprised if he has to stay home from school because of that." Then he takes a deep breath, his smile lessening to a small, content one. "...I'm not mad. Terrance attacked us and you helped us get away. And you only wanted to help me when he made me upset."

Evan only mulls it over for a moment; they've only been friends for a couple months so far, after all, but then he shoots forward, wrapping his arms tight around Gregory.

Gregory startles, but doesnt pull away. He adjusts his arms, squeezing Evan back.

Evan smiles, his cheek pressed up against Gregory's shoulder and his hair tickling his face. "I really appreciate it, you know?" He tells him, then hesitates in what he wants to say next. "Um... nobodys been willing to fight like this for me."

Evan can't help but feel scared when Gregory doesn't reply at first. Did he say something wrong? Did he go too far? Weird Gregory out? Cross a boundary? Is Gregory gonna exit the hug and then the school and never talk to him again? But Gregory just squeezes him tighter, and his voice is loud in Evan's ear.

"Of course, Evan." Gregory replies, patting Evan's back. "You deserve to be fought for, you know. Not like anything your dumb family says."

Evan laughs at that, wobbly and warm. His stomach blooms at the sincerity, and because Evan knows Gregory means it. He doesn't want Gregory to think hes weird, or weak, or a crybaby, but he hadn't been able to stop Gregory from hearing his family's comments one day over the phone.

But of course, Gregory probably took that as a challenge, or something. If Evan knows Gregory, he probably decided in that moment to spite his family by trying to make Evan believe he isnt weak, or worthless, and he doesnt need to change.

Evan huffs a chuckle, a short breathy one, when he probably hit the nail right on the head. His first thought is that Gregory is easy to read, but he dares to believe that maybe, he and Gregory are getting close enough to where Evan just knows Gregory, and Gregory just knows him.

"Maybe one day I'll work my way up the ranks to defeat your family." Gregory says against him. "If I beat enough bullies, maybe I'll be able to give Michael a piece of my mind, too. Hes obviously missing a slice of his."

Evan giggles, a grin on his face, and surprisingly, Evan doesn't feel dread at what Terrance will do next, or what his returning plan of torment will be, because running through a storm of flying lunch was pretty fun, and if hes got Gregory to help him out, who really wants to beat some sense into his idiot brother, he'll be okay.

-🐻-

"Gregory Angel Fazbear!"

Gregory groans next to Evan on the sidewalk, slumping while standing up. "Oh no..."

Gregory's Dad storms out of the front door of Gregory's house, hands on his hips and an angry expression on his face. "What have I said about attacking your peers?!"

Evan himself shrinks, because Freddy has a really intense stern voice, but Gregory doesn't seem as phased. "Dad, I was just--"

"Hear him out, Fred." Gregory's other dad steps outside as well, putting a hand on his husband's shoulder. "What happened?"

Gregory frowns at being interrupted, but continues. "It was epic. A bully was abou to attack us, but I projectile shot spicy chicken into his eyes and started a cafeteria wide food fight!"

Freddys eyes blow wide, but Bonnie just chuckles. Freddy turns to his husband in shock when he doesnt match his stern expression. "Bonnie."

Bonnie covers his mouth with his hand when the chuckles dont stop. "He was just defending himself, Fredbear. And his friend, too. Would you of rather him let himself get hurt?"

Gregory nods, crossing his arms. "Yeah, Dad. You always told me to use my surroundings to my advantage if it's to protect myself from someone will ill intentions."

Freddy just hums, deflating. "...Okay, Superstar. You win." But he points a stern finger at Gregory, saying, "But I dont want to get any more calls from the school claiming a child has hospital grade injuries coming from you, okay?"

Gregory rolls his eyes subtly, but nods. "Okay. I'll try."

"There is nothing wrong with running away, Superstar." Freddy points out.

Evan watches Gregory's face closely, because this whole conversation hes been stoic and annoyed, but Freddy just threw the words that Gregory's been preaching at him for weeks back into his own face.

Gregory looks caught off guard, but sighs, conceding. "Fine. You're right. I'll do that next time."

"Good. I am proud of you for defending your friend, Superstar. You did it for a very noble reason." He smiles warmly, and pulls his son into a hug. "I am glad you're growing up to be such a kind and considerate boy."

Evan laughs, because he imagines if his family ever had anything like that to say about him in front of a friend, he'd be embarrassed.

But right now, all he finds is that hes pretty glad, too.

Chica, Gregory's aunt, suddenly peeks through the front door. "Hey everyone! Pizzas done!"

The family begins to disperse off the porch, filing into the house with roars of anticipation, and Evan tries not to tear up when Gregory grabs his arm and drags him inside with them.

ao3 link

[studiopinsarchive]

I‘m researching and writing for a gyaru specifically kogyaru post

but I‘m thinking

why limit it to one post and cram as much as I can in there when I can make it a series

about different substyles and their defining optics

if I get better at japanese I can do a linguistic perspective too especially texting and the online realm inspire me a lot

I have a question too

I know gal is a makeup subculture

„the crazier the eyelook the lesser important the clothes become and the tamer the eyelook the more specific the clothes have to be“

slay

but my angle has been to contrast gal with punk, goth, chicanx and other small subcultures like the dirty girls in the us. I always start out with the optics because ultimately thats what these movements are recognizable by

but saying punk is a spikey-hair-subculture or chicanx is a dark-lipliner-subculture is plain wrong or shallow and rough at least

cant the same be argued about gyaru though?

I ask because the discourse I observe is on tiktok mostly (my mistake) where gal is mind is rebutted against

my take is that the movements that were mentioned above are still very real today but that globalization has caused them to be watered down

my roommate once asked me if punk wasn’t all nazis / neolibs / fashists. already during times where I‘d been more active in alt scenes there was an issue with fuck ass people (men) and I can imagine it always having been like that. conservatives hiding under the music and boomboom and fun of an alt scene but rejecting prevalent ideas. capitalism killed subculture. you can change an approach to physical style but you cant kill an idea

and a conclusion I often see drawn is

„punk is kind“

„kindness is subversion“

also straight edge being the most effective form of resistance

to me „gal is mind“ as a sentiment is can be grouped exactly into this

because at the heart these terms have resistance at their core

and not „shein alt“ „alt bophouse“ „big titty goth girlfriend“ „you cant be got/gyaru/punk/alt if you wear x“

I heard in a live by a gyaru that „gal is mind“ is not a good approach bc of child exploitation

I do see a concerning amount of „chibi gyaru“ online (little girls that are expressing gyaru substyle)

and I hate seeing kids posted online, if its not absolutely necessary

and maybe gyaru is mind is the perfect marketing because it doesnt adhere to substyle nor age and it sounds cute to put on product

people have an issue that a subculture associated with a lifestyle is marketing via kids towards more kids

so now gal is not just a makeup subculture

and the lifestyle associated with gal is rambunctious and filled with the nightlife lifestyle or working a minimum wage job at a tanning salon or nail studio (while keeping a positive outlook and being glad you‘re at the very least expressing your soul and carrying it outwardly)

but ultimately a look that is associated with a lifestyle means that the look is only accepted in that lifestyle. its exclusion and not „if you‘re gyaru you have to party and wear crazy looks and be a hostess“

[madricat]

I wish I would have seen you in the bakery…

summary: Carlos has had a crush on y/n for a while and hopes to see them throughout his days, but will he?

authors note: reuploading since last one got deleted. dont worry nothing bad has happened to y/n btw

Carlos pov:

Ay, I cant believe mama dragged me into going to the bakery with her this time. Something about “going out” and “see people”, whatever that means. Honestly, why would I? There is no one here that I care about except for y/n.

“You know Carlos, you really need to get out into town more. Without causing mischief” she added.

“I’m perfectly fine without doing so”

“Ay Carlos”

With that we enter the bakery. The smell of fresh pan entered my nose. I smell pretty good actually, I may just come next time. As long as I get to smell this heaven while ma’ deals with the people part of coming here. 

*ding*

I hear the front bell ring but could honestly care less. Wait, are they cutting the line? Of hell no. who in the world would have the nerve- y/n?

“Hello Mx. l/n! Here is your order”

“Thank you” they said. Something's off. Wait…they didn’t smile for once. That’s weird, they usually always smile at others. Anddd they’re gone. 

“Carlos!” she snapped in my face. “Come on, it’s time to go!”

Did I really zone out? Damn it.

We started walking back to Casita, which was our last stop. Why can't I stop thinking of them? I wish you would've smiled in the bakery. Or sat on a tatty settee at least. All they did was just pick up their order and leave!

It’s been a week since then and now I'm At some mutual friend's gathering.  Technically it is one of mine and Milo's childhood friend, but i’m not as good a friend with him as Camilo. Almost everyone around our age is here. Can’t believe I got dragged here. The only reason I agreed to come is to see them. 

Camilo is busy talking to others, maybe now is my chance to slip away to look. Maybe they are-nope. Where could they possibly be? I thought he told me they would be here. And the more I keep on looking, the more it's hard to take the thought that maybe they didn’t show up. Maybe Love, we're in stalemate. Perhaps To never meet is surely where we're bound to be forever. I mean, There's one in every town. They are Just there to grind you down. Make you feel like love is hopeless and everything. Why us tho?

“Carlos!!! Ven aquí!!” papi yells out to me from downstairs. 

Now I have to get out of my room, stop what I was doing and see what he wants.

“que pasa?”

“You're coming to the post office with me. Now come on” 

“Did mama tell you to do this?”

“Haha, no. I thought we could go out together, that’s all”

“Okay then…”

We started walking there. He started talking a lot. Telling me a bunch of things. Wait. he never told me why we are going?

“Why do we need to go in the first place?” I interrupted him.

“ oh! Your abuela had some letters she needed to be posted out to someone. She was busy today, and you know how she is. She isn’t exactly young. To far for her”

“I see”

“Speaking of the post office, we made it. I have to go and wait in line to hand this in. You can either stay with me, or go look around”

“I think i’ll just go look around”

I start walking away, maybe I can go look at those postcards over there. I’ve heard they are really beautiful.  

I started looking at the cards. They weren’t that bad I thought to myself, whoever did them clearly had a talent. That’s when I heard the front door bell ring, but I paid no attention to it though.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the Madrigal himself” I heard an all to stupid voice from behind me.

“ No sabía que dejaban entrar animales aquí” I quickly rebutted

“¿Tú eres el que habla?” 

“ Listen here you little-” all the sudden I was cut off with my name being called.

I saw mi papa start walking over to me and quickly grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of there. He didn’t say anything to me, because technically I hadn’t done anything wrong yet. Instead, we just kept walking to our next stops. But man I wish I would've seen you in the post office. Well maybe I did and I missed it. Afterall, too busy with the mind on clever lines. Great! Alone with my thoughts again, the most wonderful thing.

Well today is Sunday now. Time for Luisa’s weekly rounder's pitch game. Usually I get to sleep in and stay home, but I had other plans. Today was the day of the big match in the town, surely they had to be here?

Throughout  the whole game I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering round and round in search for that familiar face. But nothing. I guess I was so out of it that I missed Luisa’s team won.

“ Let us go to la señora’s new canteen place to celebrate this wonderful victory.” abuela announced to the family. 

Everyone was excited, we’ve heard good things about there, but never had the chance to go.

…

Everyone was eating, faces lighting up with joy (although I believe it was cause they were so hungry). But once again, I kept searching the window in hopes to see a glance of them.

…

It had been a few days since then. I had nothing to do, so I layed in my bed, faced the ceiling, and thought to myself. My mind was blank for a while, until I started realizing all the places I hadn’t seen them. Why not the rounder's pitch or the canteen this weekend? Surely they’re always out on the weekend. You're slacking love, where have you been? I haven't seen you for a while after all. Maybe I Just had to go and wait until tonight. Camilo had invited a bunch of kids to go to the arcade. Luckily it was a friday night so they sure had to be there, AND it was half price day! How could they say no?

Me and Milo arrived a bit late, something about “making his hair look presentable” whatever that means. But then again, it did look like a bird’s nest this morning. 

Everyone kinda split a bit off and went to go and play games with each other. I played a few skill games, but I kept losing right at the end. I swear it’s rigged!!

“Hey Carlos! Wanna go grab some lemonade with me?” Camilo came up to me, after I just lost another game.

“Why? To scared to go alone”

“NO!!! If anything, you looked like the lonely one!!”

“I do better working alone thank you” rolling my eyes at him.

“Just come on” he said as he started walking off, leaving me no choice but to drag myself behind him.

“Two lemonade señor” he said while leaning against the counter.

“Coming right up” the dude said as turned around and poured some into the cups.

“Soooo how’s it been so far?” ‘milo pipped up.

“Not the worst,” I hesitantly replied.

“ Is something wrong? If there is I can fix it and-” 

“Camilo!” I interrupted him. “Nothings wrong, okay? Just getting tired of losing, that’s all”

“Are you sureee? Oh!” his face lighting up with joy “is it a certain someone then?” he said with the widest ass grin on his face.

“Cálmate!”

“Geez okay” he said while throwing his hands up in the air. “ I'll let you be! Clearly someone gets a bit touch after loosing”

That’s it! I’ve never wanted to punch his stupid face more until now-

“Well I challenged armando to a game of hoops, you can watch if you want” he stated while picking up his lemonade in one hand and using the other to point backwards. 

I just stood there. Watching the other. I wish I would've seen you down in the arcade. Maybe sipping on a lemonade In the paper cup they served it in, and chewing on the straw. A habit I noticed they had.

But once again, the world was unfair to him…

New day, new task. Today I was given the simple task of going to the bakery for some sweets. I only agreed though because I was told if I did I would get to choose whatever I want (obvi not something huge). And I wish I'd seen you in the bakery this time. 

But if I'd seen you in the bakery by chance, knowing my luck You probably wouldn't have seen me…

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby. 

Day 2: That’s Not Exactly Folgers In Your Cup

Warnings: Smut (Oral) and Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N- Hello! I hope y’all are as excited about this holiday special collaboration made with @what-is-your-plan-today​ and @jennmurawski13​ as I am. It all blossomed from early morning (for me) ramblings and we decided to do it. 2020 has been a hell of a year and we all needed a little something to smile about. And come on, whats funnier then imagining Ransom Drysdale trying to be domestic? Plus it gives some feels. There will be smut written in occasionally, so please heed the warnings to each individual fic. 

Also, we are alternating, but will reblog on our accounts, if you don’t want to miss any, send a message and we will get you added to the tag list. Happy Reading. 

Series Masterlist

Ransom woke before you, the early morning light streaming through the window cut right across his face and he swore into the pillow while rolling to his back to sling his arm over his eyes to cut off the annoyance. He was almost there, back in that blissful state of unconsciousness when his body took over and insisted he get up. Any further attempt to return to sleep was now disrupted when natural morning urges overtook him and he sighed while lifting his arm to let the light return, blinking rapidly to adjust to the the most inconvenient thing to plague him at this hour. 

Next to him you were still asleep, soundly, peacefully which made him scowl at you for being so blissfully unconscious. He envied you in this moment as he rolled up from bed and trudged into the bathroom to take care of himself. Afterwards once he came back out, he grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and slipped them on. You would be waking up soon, and there was one thing you always wanted before anything else, even before you were pregnant, it was a must have or else. Now you valued this all that much more since his child seemed to just suck all the energy from you, savored it more then he savored his biscoff cookies. 

Your coffee. And hell be damned if you didn't get your coffee. 

Now typically you make it, liking a certain amount of scoops to get you through the morning, touch of cream and a little sprinkle of sugar just to take the bite out of it. Ransom has seen you make it countless times in the morning, your over sized tee hanging around your thighs and hair piled atop your head. Your eyes would be closed while you measured, you just knew it down to the action how you wanted it. He never tried to mess with your perfection. In fact he learned early on to stay out of your way the first twenty minutes in the morning unless he was taking care of you between the sheets. That was the only equivalent you were accepting of in the morning. 

This morning Ransom felt a twinge of affection now that he was awake, seeing you shift into the middle of the bed and pull his pillow into your chest like you were hugging it. Gently he leaned over and brushed the flyaway hair from your forehead and pressed a kiss there before leaving the bedroom to head downstairs. 

Typically you just made Ransom a coffee too, it became almost a habit for him to want it, although he didn't need it, not like you did. But yea, he craved it and decided that this morning, since he was already up, he would just do it himself. Regardless of the fact that you had forbidden him to touch the coffee maker for some reason. Which fuck it was in his kitchen, if he wanted to use it he was going to. 

“Can't be that hard, dump some grounds in, put in the fucking water.” He flipped off the top of the coffee maker to see if you pre-filled it the night before, sometimes you did. Last night was not the case though. Reached into the cupboard for the precious Starbucks coffee and opened the bag to breathe in the strong coffee bean aroma. Okay, he had to admit it was a pleasant smell, and already he could feel himself feel a bit more upbeat. He ended up setting it aside and searched everywhere for the measuring spoon, leaving a slight kitchen destruction in his path of open drawers and stuff piled on top of the kitchen counter, he just eyeballed dumping the coffee in. Completely forgetting the filter in the process. 

Impatiently he waited, fingers tapping on the counter as the drip drip drip started. “It would be faster just to have someone deliver.” He muttered to himself, contemplating how much you would protest possibly hiring a housekeeper. Fran was decent… enough. He thought to himself. Aside from her being the most annoying woman his grandfather had hired. Of course she could be useful when the occasion called for it. Like now, how fucking easy would it be if someone was just delivering you two the coffee in bed.  

Already he knew you probably weren't going to go for it, it was fine for Harlan according to you because he needed the help. In fact when he brought it up, your eyes rolled and you scoffed at him. “You are kidding right Ransom? You are a grown ass man, do it yourself.” 

 When the coffee maker finally gave the last spurt, and sounded exhausted, Ransom shook his head from the memory and turned to pull down two mugs and proceeded to pour into each. It was black, blacker than usual. He sniffed it, and needless to say it was STRONG. 

Ransom just kept going, grabbing your half and half, as well as the small bit of sugar you like, he stirred it all together and brought it back up the stairs. 

You were just waking up when he reentered the bedroom. Your arms lifting up to hit lightly against the headboard and your wiggling fingers while giving a yawn, you inhaled the strong scent of coffee and immediately pushed to sit. 

“What is that? Is that what I think it is?” Your eyes widened as Ransom set the mug down on your nightstand with a roll of his eyes. 

“Well good morning to you to Princess.” he stated as you grinned at him, reaching over for the mug while he sat on the end of the bed. You didn't dare take a sniff as if to check, not with the way Ransom was watching you intently and you just took a sip. 

It hit your mouth with a ferocity that brought tears to brim to your eyes, and your taste buds screamed in protest at the gritty black death you were forcing yourself to swallow, doing everything you could to keep from spitting it out. You were just thankful that this morning you were dealing with morning sickness, yet. Somehow you forced the bitter liquid down your throat and tried to keep a straight face, as you were touched with Ransom’s act of kindness, something he was still working on. But there was no hiding your expression, as hard as you tried to keep it from Ransom.

His head dropped when he saw your face. “Fucking terrible isn’t it? See this is why you should let me hire a housekeeper.” 

“Ransom, it tastes just fine. And we don’t need a housekeeper. This house isn't all that big.” You rolled your eyes as you showed him you were right by taking another sip of his coffee, forcing a smile on your face. 

“I always had a housekeeper, and I turned out fine.” Ransom rebutted while moving to a stand. “Put that cup down. You can make some later.” He instructed and you were quick to set it aside, relieved not to have to pretend anymore. Ransom yanked the blankets away, making you tumble a bit in bed with a yelp. 

“Ransom! What are you doing?” You looked down at him as he grasped your ankles, sliding you down the bed while he moved to kneel at the end of the bed, smirking at you. 

“Cant make coffee worth shit. But I can do this, and I know you like this just as much.” 

He was right, the man had a mouth on him that you had a hard time resisting, even when he was pissing you off. 

Fingers delved under the band of your sleep shorts and slipped them off before draping your legs over his shoulders and pressing hungry kisses along the inside of your thigh. “Okay, you have me there, maybe I do. I'm a little scared to see what you did down in the kitchen now.” 

“Nothing that can't be cleaned up.” He looked up at you, and you opened your mouth to say something about how you were going to have to clean it when he let his mouth press against your cunt and his tongue bury between the folds. 

That effectively distracted you, making your words stutter from the tip of your tongue into a moan while he lapped at you, shifting between quick flicks to flattening his tongue and dragging through your folds to suck at that bundle of nerves that made you gasp his name in a needy way. Your hands shoot down to twist into his hair, holding onto his scalp while he takes you apart with his mouth. Toes curled into his upper back when he teased you further, your hips starting to rock to meet the darts of his tongue in your clenching channel. You let yourself fall back into the pillows and quit trying to reason with him or make him feel better. You just let yourself experience this new attempt at treating you.

“Please Ransom, I want to come now.” You whined out while his fingers flexed on your hips, keeping you mostly pinned in place although your body was rippling to arch and grind into him. Your heels firmly pressing into his back in an attempt to lever yourself although he was firm in his hold. Unwilling to let you move just yet. Ransom sucked folds of flesh into his mouth, the lower part of his face slick when he lifted to smirk at you, and shifted a heavy forearm across your hips, careful not to press against your stomach. 

“How badly do you want to come, Princess?” He licked at his lips, brighter pink with use then normal and you glared at him down your body. 

“Considering I am growing you spawn in me, you think you would treat me better.” Trying your hand at using guilt to get him into giving you your orgasm, he let his fingers stretch your open, pressing into your warmth. 

“You know I love you, and only treat you fucking good.” His fingers curled to stroke your fluttering walls, enticing you to come for him with every stroke against your sweet spot. “Come on Beautiful, come undone for me so we can start our day.” 

You pressed to arch but he was sure to keep you held down. You started to see stars peppering your eyesight and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as you came for him, that rush enveloped you to send tingles all along your nerves, and your voice finally broke out in a soft cry of his name while your toes dug into his flexing back, and fingers twisted in the sheets in a weak attempt to stay grounded. 

It didn't stop him, he kept lapping at your sensitive bud, sucking and driving you to another with steady strokes of his finger. “That was just one... you know we are not stopping Princess until you have had a couple more.”  

Ransom couldn't make coffee to save his life, but he certainly knew how to make you come more than just the one time.

[ilyasterisk]

The aftermath of the kiss scene in Lucio’s Book 7. ghost!Lucio version under the cut.

First fan art and fan fiction of him with my apprentice Celio! Poor boy got a lot more than he was expecting, clearly eyes aren’t the only thing Lucio can turn red. I’ve rewritten/transcribed the entire scene for my MC under the cut, you can find the alternate art at the end!

Ignoring the flip his heart gave at the suggestion, Celio mirrored Lucio’s own cheeky expression and proceeded to taunt him with a roll of his eyes. “Well, then. What are you you waiting for-”

Out of the corner of his vision there was a blur of white, red, and blonde. He had no time to finish his sentence or process what had happened. Suddenly he felt the unmistakable warmth that had been upon his cheek, now colliding with his lips.

He was still adjusting to the feeling of being lifted by the waist and spun excitedly by the now much more corporeal Count. There wasn’t much human contact he knew, other than sleeping beside Asra and coincidentally waking up in a tangle of limbs. This was alright, though, nothing he couldn’t get used to if Lucio was going to keep reveling in his new form by smothering Celio with it.

Unfortunately for the magician’s stoic facade, Lucio was a much more uninhibited current of joy and proceeded to crowd his lips onto Celio’s cheek. Stunned into place as he was let back down onto the snow, the dull rush of blood in his ears rose in volume and his eyes widened. Taking a step back, a smile of disbelief grew on his face. His eyes rose to meet Lucio’s own red stained ones, squinting to try and clarify the situation in his own mind.

It wasn’t long before he breathed out a chuckle. “Did you just-?” Tentatively raising his hand to feel the warmth still on his cheek, his gaze was fixed on the other man in front of him. “Kiss me?”

Lucio already seemed perfectly aware of what the question would be, hip cocked to one side and grin plastered on his countenance. He assumed an air of thought regardless. “Hmm. Pretty sure I did.” The answer was topped off with a salacious wink.

Celio dropped his hand and huffed out a breath at the forwardness that came next.

“Do I have to work harder to get kisses in return? I can do that.” There was a shameless flirty lilt to the Count’s voice now, sauntering towards Celio and gesturing with both arms as he continued. “I’ll just say it, Celio. You’re a lot of fun.” First time he had heard that one. He blinked and shut the jaw he only now realized was hanging open. “We haven’t known each other long, but you’re a smart, cute, hotshot magician. What’s not to like?” Lucio was no more than two feet in front in him now, each word dripping with sensual intent, yet sincere in attitude as his lips quirked.

The game of harmless flirtation was something Celio prided himself on recognizing at an instant’s notice. It was a trick learned from Asra to barter his way around the market, commonly engaging in it as practice at home. Straightening his posture, he raised his eyebrows and prompted Lucio to continue, prepared to rebut anything he would say by one-upping him.

“So… how about I kiss you properly this time?” Lucio ducked his head and a smirk graced his face again, hand resting on his hip.

Ignoring the flip his heart gave at the suggestion, Celio mirrored Lucio’s own cheeky expression and proceeded to taunt him with a roll of his eyes. “Well, then. What are you you waiting for-”

Out of the corner of his vision there was a blur of white, red, and blonde. He had no time to finish his sentence or process what had happened. Suddenly he felt the unmistakable warmth that had been upon his cheek, now colliding with his lips. Instinctively bracing his hands on the other’s arms and doubling back, Celio’s lips part in a gasp against Lucio’s own. Taking this as incentive, Lucio presses his body closer into Celio and wraps a cool golden hand into his blonde nape, his warmer right arm reaching around his narrow waist as his tongue slips onto the other man’s bottom lip and past it to meet tongue. Celio’s eyelids drift shut at the new sensation.

The stutter his heart had given before was now a full-blown riot in his chest, feeling every inch of Lucio’s front pressed into him. A cold breeze rushes past them both, making Celio grow aware of the burn in his cheeks and ears. He savors another ravenous swipe of Lucio’s tongue and finally shifts his face to the side for breath.

His hands had twined themselves into Lucio’s white lapels in the frenzy, and he stares at the Count’s smooth bare chest, drags of breath slowly returning to normal. Loosening his grip and dropping his shoulders, he finally raises his eyes again to gauge if he was the only frazzled member of the kiss. A first kiss for him, as far as his faulty memory was concerned.

Lucio’s eyes twinkled minutely before flashing the brightest smile he had since the two had met. “I’m terrible at waiting…” There was that incorrigible wink again. Celio found he was already used to it, leaning into Lucio’s gentle touch upon his reddened cheek. In both of their eyes was a yearning that had felt momentarily settled.

Touch.

It seemed the blonde had more to say, however, as he smoothed his golden hand down Celio’s shoulder, “and I love instant gratification,” down his flexed arm, “and I’ve been told that I move fast,” sweeping over his chest to rest on his fluttering heart, “but I like to think of it as seizing every opportunity for some good fun.” His lips flitted upwards at the corners as he stepped backwards from the other man, leaning against a tree they had somehow managed to miss in their fall through the realms.

The pose he assumes is utterly conspicuous, elbow resting to support his entire weight as he hooks one leg in front of the other. His chest becomes the main point of attention, gauntlet hooking into his lapel and drawing it out of the way. Celio’s face only continues to divulge his flustered thoughts, lit up in a crimson haze. As his eyes wander over Lucio’s form, he notices snowflakes landing and melting on the pale skin. Something spurs in him, competitive nature still not appeased from the checkmate he had been played.

Lucio’s next words flow like melted butter, playful nature bouncing off of each syllable. “You know, Celio, I’m also a generous kind of guy.” He quirks an eyebrow, rouge eyes opening and smirk ceaseless. “So… would you like more? I’d totally understand if you did. Just look at what a glorious specimen I am!” Underneath Lucio’s confidence, there’s a silent plea to have his own wish for more granted.

He had unknowingly given the brunette the perfect opportunity to play the best hand at his own game. Celio had already felt his entire body on him, mouth merging with his. There was nothing wrong with making him wait to be indulged with the touch he craved once again. Celio slowly lifts one foot in front of the other as he stares Lucio down. “Hmm… I’m not sure. That’s a tricky question.” Another step and a husky voice escapes his lips. “What exactly do you mean by more?”

With Celio’s eyes locked on him, Lucio’s smirk melds into a genuine and eager smile as he awaits his approach. “More of me, of course! The Count of Vesuvia, beloved ruler and valiant warrior.” As he speaks, his smile becomes toothy and proud, as if a little boy was bragging about winning against his friends. The stance he commands sells the concept, chest puffed out with fists resting on his hips. Celio’s predatory gaze falters as he takes the sight in, a silent huff of laughter escaping through his nose.

“You know, you look a little chilly for a valiant warrior.” Finally meeting Lucio at the tree, his hands drift upwards and begin to lace up the front of his white shirt, eyes trained on his deft work, carefully sliding his nails every so often over the skin.

Lucio’s smile falls and his eyebrows quirk into a nervous furrow, a breathless voice trying not to waver. “Hey, you’re not playing fair.” Celio keeps his head ducked and he eyes him through his eyelashes.

“What are you talking about? I’m making sure you don’t catch a cold.” There’s faux-innocence in the gentle smile he gives him, very aware of how soon Lucio will crack. Each shudder pulled out of him from Celio’s feather-light fingertips matches the growing intensity of Lucio’s gaze on him. He’s about to latch the final cord of the shirt onto the button when his wrist is grasped forcefully. Hand now splayed onto the chest he’d been avoiding, he watches as Lucio’s skin raises goosebumps from the contrast of human warmth to melted cold snow.

Celio straightens his neck, and Lucio’s promiscuous expression throws him off his own kilter, a mild blush tinting the Count’s face. “Oh, you’re so mean.” A tight-lipped smirk appears, and Lucio cants his face forward, a breath’s width away from Celio’s own as he purrs out, “and I’m alright with that.” He remains in his space, daring Celio to defy him as he focuses on the mouth in front of him.

The magician finally cracks as well, forgetting the game entirely as a grin spreads across his face and he leans in to meet his lips again. As he presses Lucio against the tree, he allows himself to savor the wet warmth he’d been too shocked to truly appreciate. Taking the initiative Lucio had before, he slides his own tongue onto Lucio’s and slips out a groan from deep in the other’s throat. Their arms tangle into each other’s clothing, covering every inch of surface they can manage, Lucio beginning to hike his leg up Celio’s thigh when another forceful breeze interrupts their session.

Lucio rips their mouths apart to scowl, and catch his breath. “I hate the cold.” He presses his face into the juncture of Celio’s neck and shoulder and smiles against the skin there. “Though it’s not so bad with you here.” Leaning back to reach for Celio’s hands, he coaxes them together in the space between their chests. A smile reaches his eyes as he blows on both pairs of hands in an attempt to warm them.

Celio takes a moment to marvel at the intricacy of the golden gauntlet, now that he’s become so intimate with it. The pulsing white veins call to him and he wonders if perhaps he could influence the magic there to act as a temporary heat pack. He opens his mouth to inform Lucio of the idea, when another harsh wind flies through the trees and rustles the resting snow on the branches above. Celio barely has time to react as Lucio twists away and shields himself, front remaining untouched but back entirely covered in the powdered ice.

“Ack! Pbbth! Rude, tree!” Lucio practically growls upwards at nothing as he shakes himself off like a wet hound. “Interrupting our fun…” He swipes at his cape, movements futile as the snow melts into his body heat. Celio manages a chuckle before stepping behind Lucio and leaning over his shoulder to propose a solution.

“Let me help. You’re going to get both of us all wet.” Lucio turns back towards him, and his demeanor placates as their eyes meet, waving an arm in invitation. Celio waggles his fingers, recalling the thought of heat magic to begin to skillfully evaporate the snow off of Lucio’s clothes. Reaching around his collar, the blonde presses his lips to Celio’s hands as he works, peppering fleeting kisses of gratitude and infatuation. As the magician lifts his hands to dry Lucio’s hair, he catches one of Celio’s wrists in an open mouthed kiss, laving his tongue over the heated skin. Celio startles and his magic fades, one hand tangled in Lucio’s hair and the other at the mercy of his teeth.

Lucio’s gaze is the very definition of coquetry as he drawls out a response to the bemused look in the magician’s eyes. “Don’t mind me. Just showing my appreciation.”

Celio sighs out the breath that had caught in his throat, eyes scanning the snowy expanse around them. “Riiiight. Of course.” Once Lucio releases him, he takes note of the flush that had spread to the Count’s chest as he steps away from the tree. He realizes that although they showed their dazed states differently, one seeking it out unrepentant and the other making effort to quell it; they were still very much both flustered at how entranced with each other they had become.

Through all of Lucio’s unpredictability, the promise of wanting more, regardless of how, seemed to hold. Celio’s eyes drift over the impossibly tall tree, and he locks away the thought that he wouldn’t mind sharing those promises if Lucio was safely returned back to the realm of the living.

His mind refocuses on the task at hand, magic overwhelms his senses and he’s happy to put away the thought of ever having kissed the Count as a meaningless moment in meaningless time.

Here’s the promised ghost version. If you took the time to read my first Arcana fic and made it this far, I can’t thank you enough and I hope you like it. <3

[cheekytrevelyan]

Title: Reunion

Request: Reunion with Avengers (either Tony or Steve) during Infinity War before the snap. Maybe where reader is dating one or the other and both parties have unresolved feelings and emotions for each other.

A/N: I loved this request so much that I actually did both versions of it! Hope you like it and if its shit – I don’t want to know! ;P

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: None… err maybe Language. maybe little big baby amounts of angst.

Word Count:  1,387

Summary: Before the fight with Thanos in Wakanda – you are reunited with the rest of the Avengers – whom you’d not seen or spoken to since the signing of the Sokovia Accords in which you sided with Tony over your then-boyfriend and fellow leader of the Avengers Steve Rogers. 

Whenever you visited the tower – Pepper would always give Tony a stern look and he’d promise her that this was, “the last time.” You weren’t exactly on her list of favorite superheroes. It’d been two years since the Sokovia Accords and the ill-timed disbanding of the Avengers.

The reason she disliked you having more to do with your siding with her boyfriend – rather than your own. Steve’s huge proclamation and urging suspicion that there was something between yourself and Tony certainly didn’t help either. No matter how many times you tried to explain to her your reasoning behind siding with Tony – she believed what she wanted. Tony couldn’t convince her – and you finally gave up trying. Still – you were relieved when she called you for help when it was needed.

“Tony Stark is missing.”

The news story flashed across every network while you, Rhodey and Pepper tried to manically figure out where he could have possibly gone.  It wasn’t until you heard a familiar voice and followed it to a more than familiar figure – several at that – that you knew this was big.

At first you kept your eyes on Rhodey as he filled Steve and the rest of them in on what he knows. Bruce coming from another entrance warning of Thanos. Your eyes went wide having not known he was there in the tower either.

“Hi Bruce.” You surveyed the soft voice to Nat and couldn’t help but glance up at Steve who was standing in front of her. The both of you exchanged a glance before Bruce said hello to Nat. The awkwardness of it all building up in the pit of your stomach. You should have said hello to them, but the moment was already passed.

They discussed a plan of action in regards to Vision, his stone and where they can remove it. All the while you continued to shoot death glares at Rhodey. “You could have warned me.” You whispered to him while everyone dispersed towards the door giving you, Bruce and Rhodey time to grab what you needed.

“There was no time,” Rhodey answered before giving you a soft fist tap on your shoulder while his attention went to the man behind you,  “Captain.”

“Y/N.” His tone was soft and the way he spoke your name deliberate. You slowly spun around to face him. The moment your eyes met – your heart jumping deep into your throat.

“Cap.” It was hard not to think of your past with the super soldier, harder not to forget what had happened at the airport. Steve knew you’d never use your mutant abilities against him and used that to his advantage in the battle. The same battle he nearly killed you in because you refused to fight him.

“You haven’t been here for two years Cap,” Now that you’d opened the seal of memories past – you couldn’t get them out of your head. Your anger catching up to you quicker than you were used to. “I hope our working together won’t be a problem. You’re also not in charge here. Will that be a problem?”

Your words caught him off guard. Rhodey was more than happy to see him, as was Bruce. Sure Bruce wasn’t there for the accords, but still. “Jesus you sound just like him Y/N.” Like Tony, you thought to yourself with a huff – you walked right past him to the jet. “And you still sound like a jealous boyfriend.” You shot back before you were given a look from Nat – which caused you to recoil in your seat.

Once you all arrived to Wakanda you were once again briefed on what would be transpiring should Thanos come for the mind stone. “Y/N, you should stay here with Wanda.” Nat suggested and you shook your head immediately looking at Steve.

“Not a chance,” You rebutted. “I need to be down there with you guys.”

“Rhodey told us you can’t control your powers anymore. You’re a liability down there.” Cant was a strong word. The wrong choice of words on Nat’s part. Your mutant ability had evolved since Sokovia, and  not having someone there to help you focus all your energy caused a lot of problems. “Hey,” Nat called out when everyone had left Shuri, Vision and Wanda. “What happened to you anyway? Rhodey said you had disappeared completely up until about three months ago.”

“Now you care?” With an eye roll – you followed alongside Nat. You were born with the gift of controlling the weather. You weren’t nearly as strong as Thor and his lightning, but you could definitely hold your own in a fight. Being brought in to SHIELD early on really made your transition to the Avengers easy.

“You’re right. I don’t care,” Nat retorted with her nose turned up. “But he does… hey Steve.” With that you were once again left alone with Steve and before you could protest – he was pulling you into the armory.

“Rhodes just informed me that you went missing after Sokovia. You left me for Tony and you didn’t even stay with him? Y/N. You could have come with me.” His voice was urgent and there was a softness to him that reminded you of times past.  “I could have helped you! Why didn’t you come with me?”

“No, I couldn’t have. I’m a mutant Steve. I hurt people… I’ve hurt.” You quickly corrected yourself. “I didn’t agree with Tony, but I understood that I needed to sign.”

“Oh bullshit Y/N.” The language caught you off guard and you had to collect your next words carefully.  “So what’d he do? Because the YOU I knew wouldn’t have left me, or the Avengers.”

“I didn’t leave the Avengers.” Your voice was soft and you couldn’t help but gasp a little when he put his hand on your arm. You hadn’t experienced his touch – no matter how innocent – for years. “And I didn’t leave you. You couldn’t see that you both were wrong. I’m not with Tony. I never was.”

Steve’s jaw clenched at the mention of Tony. “You weren’t here. Tony couldn’t help me so I went to find someone who could.” You chose not to go into your nearly two year absence; you weren’t sure he deserved to know. “I can’t control it Steve… “

“I can help you.” Not being able to resist it any longer, and not really sure what was going to happen if Thanos showed up for Vision – Steve leaned down and gently pressed his lips against yours.  You moaned slowly against his lips before pulling away. “When this is over I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” You whispered before turning to leave so you can join the team in battle.

The battle had left you broken, bruised and unsure of what was instore for you next. Your defenses were up when you’d finally found Steve. The two of you exchanged a knowing glance before you heard Bucky behind you calling. “Steve…” your eyes went wide when he just turned to dust. You tried to move but couldn’t. Your feet all of a sudden feeling too heavy to lift from the ground.

“Steve,” You call out towards him and he looks over at you from where Bucky once stood. “ I love you. I can’t imagine a day that I don’t.” The confession came at both of your expense and you could see the words hit him and how quickly his mind processes them across his face before you turned to dust.

[imagine-hamilfluff]

If I Had My Choice: Part 12

Alexander x Female Reader

Part One

Previous Part | Next Part

Masterlist

Word Count: 7179

Tags:  @yehummno @robotic-space @isntthisenoughwhatwouldbeenough @unprofessional-inhumanbeing @sorryimacrapwriter @a-meme-you-cant-sweat-out@justanotherhamiltrash@marquiis-de-la-baguette @akarihamada @voldecrux@whowrotetheother51@bruuuhhhh-here-i-am

A/N: I don’t really have anything to say here besides I’m so sorry this took so long.

“This isn’t-”

You clenched your eyes shut as your throat closed up, panicking to think of anything to say. With a deep breath, you looked back up at your friends desperately asking them to understand the incomprehensible. But instead all you received were looks of disdain and disappointment. You stood up shakily.

“I think we’ve seen enough,” Theodosia commented softly, lowering her eyes and turning to gently grab Philip’s forearm. A slight tug signaled her desire to leave, but her fiance held his ground. “Philip,” she spoke to him softly. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

His eyes still alight with anger, Philip relented and began to walk out the door. But as he went, he spoke loud enough for you to hear, “Maybe by then they’ll be better prepared to continue lying to us.”

A hot flash coursed through your body at your best friend’s words, and without thinking, you screamed. “How dare you!” Alexander quietly begged you to calm down, but you couldn’t hear him through the blood rushing through your head as you marched over to your friend to confront him.

Almost as if he were expecting such a response, Philip turned to meet you, Theodosia desperately holding him back. A moment later, you felt Alexander’s hands gently rest on your waist, ready to pull you back at a moment’s notice.

Philip’s face held an almost satirical smile as he indignantly shook his head at you. “How dare I?” he asked incredulously. “Look at you, Y/N. Do you even recognize yourself anymore? Or have you always been the kind of person who looked to do the one thing that could destroy everything she ever worked for?”

You lunged without thinking about it and felt strong arms wrap tightly around your waist and swing you away from Philip before you could make contact. Your face was wet from tears you didn’t remember shedding as Alexander turned back to Philip angrily.

“If you want someone to blame, you can blame me, but don’t-”

“Oh I plan to,” Philip cut in before he could finish, and before either you or Theodosia could see it coming, his fist connected with Alexander’s face.

Theodosia was pulling Philip back in an instant and yelling at him to calm down. Alexander reeled back from the punch, but was quick enough to regain his bearings to have enough sense to hold you back from attacking Philip.

“Is this really the side you want to be on in this fight, Y/N?” Philip demanded, his eyes narrowing at yours. “You really want to defend your actions?” He studied you some more as he watched you grit your teeth in anger and taking slow and deliberate breaths in Alexander’s arms. It was almost like he was waiting for you to break, but you remained exactly as you were. Upon realizing you wouldn’t budge, he clenched his teeth and spat, “Bethany Chose him, Y/N!”

As if yelling at you would make you realize it. As if that wasn’t something you thought about every day. As if that had ever been enough to keep you from Alexander.

Your body stilled the comment in the eerie way that made everyone in the room hold their breath as to what your next move would be. Slowly, your hands clenched Alexander’s arms to unwrap yourself. He resisted briefly, but eventually released you when he saw you were insistent.

You took a step towards Philip who was trying not to seem like he was terrified of your demeanor. “You’re right,” you stated cooly, taking another step. “Bethany Chose Alexander.” Anger began filling your voice as you took another step. “My mother Chose my father.” Your fists clenched with another step. “And I Chose John.”

Philip’s surprise betrayed him in his eyes as his body went limp and you took the final step to place yourself right in front of him. You were silent for a second swallowing your fury and relinquishing yourself to a steady self-hatred.

“So I guess we’re just a family full of Choices that never meant anything.”

Philip opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance, you pushed past him and out the door.

By your estimate, it was a few hours before the door to the roof opened as you expected it to.

You sat stoically at the edge of the roof, staring off into the forest, wondering not for the first time if it had been a mistake to let Alexander convince you to come back. And the more you thought about it, the more you began to feel that everything was a mistake when it came to Alexander. Most of which, to your despair, you realized you didn’t regret.

When the door creaked open, your muscles involuntarily stiffened, but you remained in the position you were in, wondering who they had sent up. Alexander was the easy choice, but you knew your friends wouldn’t allow him to take care of this. This involved John now; it had to be one of the original four. Theodosia would have a light touch to the situation. She would know exactly what to say to manipulate you into whatever feelings they deemed necessary for the intervention. And after the show Philip put on, she would be the most favorable choice.

A sob of relief almost escaped your lips as the person you wanted to talk to most at that moment sat down beside you. Slowly, your eyes drifted over to Philip, who had assumed your position of staring out through the trees. You were lost, and scared, and ashamed, and just like every time you’d been in this state before, your best friend came to your rescue. Gently, you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you remember that time John convinced Theodosia to climb all the way up in that tree?” Philip asked quietly, point to a tall tree on the edge of the forest. Your head bobbed on his shoulder. “They got all the way up to the top, and then John got terrified, and it was Theodosia who had to climb down to get me and you up there to coax him down.”

You sniffed, smiling slightly as the memory. “Are you saying I’m stranded up in a tree I was too willing to climb and you’re here to coax me down?”

The vibrations from his chuckle hit your cheek as he shook his head. “No, but that does make me sound better than I am. I was just genuinely bringing up a memory.”

You let out a laugh at this and playfully punched his arm, and he began laughing along with you. The two of you sat there silently, buzzing with amusement for a few moments, before you heard Philip take a sharp intake of air.

“Do you feel like you’re stranded up in a tree you were too willing to climb, Y/N?” he suddenly asked seriously. He glanced down at you with concern in his eyes, and you pretended to not see it. Instead you just stared ahead, and let him come to his own conclusions. “Alexander explained a little. About how you two became each other’s support system after the abduction. Y/N, there’s no way you could have known Bethany was going to Choose him when you fell in love with him.”

Removing your head from his shoulder, you sat up and began pointedly looking the opposite direction of him. “Of course I knew she was going to Choose him. She told me she was going to Choose him. And then he disappeared and she was desperate to magically bring him back, so she did exactly what I did.”

“I don’t-” Philip started, and then he swallowed thickly, knowing his next words weren’t going to be easy for you to hear. “I don’t think this is comparable to you and John.” You gritted your teeth as he tried to gently wade himself through his point. “Bethany was fifteen and had a crush on a boy she saw every time she went to the market and was kidnapped one day; you were seventeen and desperately in love with a boy you had been your entire life who was drafted to the war. I don’t think those two things are comparable; I don’t think you could have known Bethany was going to Choose him when you fell in love. In fact, I’m very certain of that.”

Your jaw began going stiff from how hard you were clenching them, hoping it would somehow hold your tears at bay. “Well, it doesn’t matter does it? Bethany Chose him, and I still engaged him in a relationship. It doesn’t really matter when what happened besides the fact that I am in a relationship with my sister’s Chosen right now,” you rebutted, taking in a shaky breath and finally finding the courage to face Philip again.

“Of course it matters when what happened. Once you have feelings for someone, you can’t just stop. Even if your sister does cut in and Choose him,” Philip argued calmly.

“Stop trying to defend me!” you suddenly burst out, taking Philip by surprise. “I thought you were the one against me defending myself! Just say I’m an awful person, we both know it,” you challenged, staring him down. But he didn’t relent.

“I’m not trying to defend you; I’m trying to understand you. Yes, dating your sister’s Choice behind her back is a terrible thing to do. And I am judging you for it. And I am angry at you for it. But I’m not angry at you for falling in love,” Philip reasoned sincerely. You clenched your teeth again and stared out to the forest.

After a beat of silence, you finally found you could talk without breaking down. “Stop saying I love him,” you whispered. Of course you had thought it, but you had never voiced it outloud. Hearing it outloud, in the open, where other people could hear it too made it too real. It made it too tangible.

“Don’t you?” Philip inquired, a knowing look on his face. He had seen you through all the years you were with John. He had plenty of time to memorize what you looked like in love. You knew he knew. But you still couldn’t confirm it.

Instead, you answered steadily, “That’s irrelevant, isn’t it?”

Philip studied you for a long time, and eventually sighed and wrapped his arm around you, pulling back in to lean on him. “Not at all, Y/N,” he chided, but he seemed to be comfortable with dropping the subject.

After several minutes of silence, you needed to briefly take your mind off things. “How’d your trip to Dmere go?” you asked quietly. Philip chuckled slightly against you.

“That’s actually what we came here to tell you when we got distracted,” he informed you, and you bit your cheek to keep a soft smile from appearing, though no one could see it at the moment. “I don’t know how, but it was a success. They’ve agreed to give us a year and a half of ceasefire in exchange for a new ruler.”

A loud sigh of relief swept through your body as you squeezed Philip in thankfulness. You were one step closer of ending your sector’s pain of a useless fight.

“Y/N?” Philip suddenly asked curiously. You hummed in response, which he took as his cue to continue. “Do you have a plan of how to replace your mother?”

You swallowed thickly and tried not to stiffen at the question. “Yes,” you finally answered, after a beat of silence.

Philip looked down at you, the question in his eyes. “What is it?” he asked, a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Sighing you sat up slowly and looked at him warily. And then with a shuddering breath, you told him the plan you had been meticulously working out for the past five weeks, going over and re-going over every detail. Not that it was an incredibly extravagant plan. Quite the opposite actually. But you couldn’t help continuing to fret over the “what-ifs”.

When you were finished detailing it out, Philip looked at you, trying to control the anger he surely had towards it.

“I don’t like it,” he said. You grimaced and trained your eyes on your hands fiddling in your lap. “At all, Y/N. It’s- you shouldn’t do it. CP-”

“Will be fine,” you assured him, looking up at him sincerely. “You know it will so don’t try to use that against me. And don’t get all angry on me, you know this is the best shot we have, and deep down, you’re kind of impressed I thought of it.” You tried to pass him a little smile at your last remark, but he didn’t seem amused and you quickly wiped the smile off your face.

“Alexander will never forgive you,” he asserted. He watched you carefully as you breathed slowly and bit your lip.

“I know,” you finally admitted, once again returning your eyes to your fingers. “I’m counting on it.”

“I will never forgive you,” he challenged, and you looked up wide-eyed at the insinuation you knew was coming.

Sighing, you shook your head. “You will. When the war ends and you see all the boys coming home to their family’s alive and our sector finally meets peace for the first time in our lifetimes, you will forgive me,” you explained softly, needing to remind him of everything riding on your plan. “A sacrifice from myself is the least I can offer, and you will understand that. Alexander won’t, and that’s okay because he has to be there for Bethany. So it’s okay if he hates me, i-it’s okay if-”

Philip cut you off by shushing you and softly rubbing your back as your rambling tried to convince yourself of your words. “Y/N, you don’t have to do this. We can think of something else. You’re in love with Alexander, and that scares you, I get it, but-”

“I told you it was irrelevant,” you stopped him, tears threatening the corners of your eyes, as you looked up at your best friend desperately for help. “There is no other option. Please, just drop it.”

Gritting his teeth, Philip gave you a short nod, and the conversation was dropped. Sitting and staring out at the now sunset for several more minutes in silence, the two of you eventually decided it was time to head back inside. Before you reached the door, however, Philip stopped you, as he was still trying to come up with the right words to say.

“For what it’s worth,” Philip started slowly, “and I know it’s not worth much, but for what it’s worth, Alexander is much better for you than John was.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I know he died, and you Chose him, and he was one of our best friends, and we have to honor his memory and everything, but you and John were falling apart. And I think there’s a part of you that forgot about that when he was drafted. Because I think if John were still alive and still with us, you two would no longer be together, and you would have still fallen in love with Alexander, and John would have been happy for you. He would have liked Alexander. I don’t think he would like what you’re about to do to him, but he would like him.”

You stared stunned at Philip, trying to think of anything to say. “I- I loved John. I wouldn’t have Chosen him if I didn’t love him. He was everything to me.”

Philip smiled at you sadly. “I know that. And I’m not trying to say that that wasn’t true. But you never Chose him before he was drafted. I know you were scared of your mother, but you do so much behind her back, I don’t think Choosing John would have been any different. But you didn’t. You never Chose John when he was here because you were never afraid of losing him as a lover. But the moment you were afraid to lose him as a friend? You did everything in your power to bring him back.”

With a soft comforting kiss to your forehead and without another word, Philip opened the door back inside and left you standing on the roof, feeling as if you’d been punched in the gut.

After some insistence from Alexander, it was decided that Philip and Theodosia would join your household dinner that evening. Most of the regular staff that made an appearance were already in the grand dining hall mingling by the time your friends and you made it down. Philip and Theodosia had been confused at first by the concept of the dinner, not noticing in all the chaos throughout the day that the household was lacking its usual workers. You knew Alexander was just trying to ease over the situation more before they left, and you were grateful, but you were worried your friends would see the dismissal of your staff behind your mother’s back as reckless, given the other news they had recently discovered.

But to your surprise, your friends had just raised their eyebrows at Alexander’s explanation, and gestured for him to lead the way to the dining room, purposely remaining silent on the matter, which you couldn’t decide if it was better or worse reaction than you were expecting.

As you opened the dining room doors, the loud roar of hundreds of people turned suddenly to cheers at the sight of you. A light blush crept into your cheeks, even though you knew they were all playfully cheering for the fact they could finally begin their meal now that you had arrived. Gertrude had really outdone herself this week; you could tell just from the aromas that greeted you as you entered the hall.

Everyone quieted down a bit to allow you to say your speech you gave before every one of the feasts. Your palms became clammy as you realized you hadn’t prepared anything for today’s celebration, as you had planned on doing it in the afternoon after your time with Alexander and the piano came to a close.

Alexander seemed to sense this too, noticing your strained smile as you quickly racked your brain for ideas. His hand softly nudged your own in support, and you took a deep breathe to begin.

“It’s so great to see you all back here again,” you started, a genuine smile beginning to replace your stressed one. “I have to be quite frank with you, I haven’t prepared much to say to you tonight. What I will say is if that’s chicken dumplings I smell, I will challenge anyone to their dying breath for the first helping.” A small relief swept through you as this got a chorus of laughter from the people you were beginning to think of as friends.

“You think I don’t know you well enough, Y/N, to keep back a whole pot just for you!” Gertrude cried out from the middle of the crowd, which led to another round of laughter, yourself included.

With a playful smirk, you shook your head, and continued your speech. “I hope you all don’t mind me extending an invitation to my close friends Philip and Theodosia for the evening. They’ve just returned from a long trip, and-”

“Wherever are we going to find food for them, ma’am?” a stable hand named Trevor heckled you from the first row, causing the whole crowd to once again dissolve into chuckles.

You scrunched your nose at Trevor and stuck out your tongue. It was a well established fact by this point that you may have underestimated how much food the staff goes through in a week, as most families were able to eat several helpings and bring home leftovers after every feast. You were grateful to be able to give your staff this well deserved treat, however. Partially with the food, but also in the ability to relax and joke around with their boss. It must have been an invaluable experience for people who’ve worked their entire lives under Aremine.

You knew it was for you.

“Nevertheless, I thank you all once again for your service, and I see little Connor over there is going to have my head if I don’t release you to eat soon, so please go ahead and enjoy the meal,” you finished, smiling broadly at the three year old in your maid Senna’s arms who kept eyeing the food set out impatiently.

The crowd dispersed in a flurry of motion and conversation to find a seat in the hall. You gestured at Philip and Theodosia to join the crowd and find a seat, unable to catch their expressions before you felt two thumps against your legs.

Looking down in surprise, you found companions you had grown quite fond of over the past several weeks. Two sets of big green eyes stared up at you widely as their dark tan arms clutched around your legs. With a soft smile, your hands patted the twins’ heads: Dinah and Sonya, one of the kitchen help’s daughters.

They shot you huge grins, as they loosened their grips on your legs just enough so you could crouch down to their level. Instinctively you pulled them into a bear hug, which caused them to start giggling.

“Hey, troubles,” you teased them. “How are you?”

Sonya popped back from the hug first, wanting to beat her sister at updating you. “Dinah lost a tooth!” she screamed gleefully. You held back a snicker at Dinah’s expression that see didn’t get to tell you, and feigned amazement at the news.

“Dinah, is that true?” you asked incredulously. “How are you going to eat tonight if you don’t have any teeth?”

She giggled at your response, which made your heart warm a little. “No, I only lost one tooth!” the three year old tried to explain to you through her amusement.

“They really like you,” Theodosia observed from behind you, a soft look of shock on her face.

You looked back up to your friend, opening your mouth to respond, but once again, Sonya beat everyone to the punch.

“Of course we like her! She’s a princess!” she explained as if it were obvious. This you did let out a small laugh at.

“I’ve tried explaining to them the difference between a monarchy and a sectorcy, but all they really got from it was that I’m a modified princess,” you shrugged at Theodosia, with a glint of mirth in your eyes. Theodosia merely raised her eyebrows at your response and remained silently.

At the feeling of a tapping on your shoulder, you turned back to an impatient Dinah who was still waiting to give you a bit of news. “Momma told a story about a princess the other day from the Old Times and how she tracked down all the bad witches,” she explained calmly.

“I wanna be a princess like you Y/N, when I grow up!” announced Sonya, effectively cutting Dinah off from what you were sure was going to be a long explanation of the story she heard. Your smile broadened. It didn’t take long for Dinah to take her sister’s train of thought.

“Yeah, I want to be a princess and not a bad witch,” confirmed Dinah, solemnly. You considered them for a second and then asked a question you knew was going to throw them.

With the mischievous grin you needed to pull this off, you wrinkled your nose at the girls. “And what would you guys think of a princess who was also witch?”

You felt all three of your friends stiffen behind you, at a question that was so blatantly obvious about your secret. But you knew they were all worried for no reason. Kids always had the best answers to the world’s problems, and they wouldn’t think twice on why you were asking beyond you wanted to engage them in a thoughtful grown up conversation.

Both girls considered it for a moment before Dinah finally decided. “Well, then she must be a good witch, because princesses are good people like you. And we only dislike bad people, right?” she asked you for a confirmation.

You nodded and she beamed. “That’s absolutely right, Dinah,” you confirmed. Your mouth opened to elaborate more, but at that moment, their parents walked over to collect.

“Sorry about that again, Miss,” their mother Vera apologized, as she took the two girls by their hands and gently tugged them away from you. “We tried to hold them off as long as possible.”

With a smile you brushed her off. “I keep telling you Vera, I’m always happy to see the two princesses.” Both of the girls’ faces lit up at that, and Vera mouthed a genuine thank you as she led them away.

Unable to meet your friends’ eyes after what they just witnessed for some reason, you instead shakily gestured towards an empty table to settle in and begin eating. Thankfully, the trio seemed content in eating in silence and contemplation. Philip and Theodosia you understood; they had a lot to take in from the day. But Alexander kept shooting you glances unconsciously, and you weren’t sure why, as he had been by your side with your interactions with all your staff and their families for weeks now.

The food tasted better than it smelled, truly a feat only Gertrude could ever obtain on a regular basis. And before you knew it, the dinner had passed without a word between your table. Everyone began cleaning up and boxing up the as per usual extra amounts of food.

It didn’t take long, however, for the children to catch on to what always came after the boxing of the food. Soon parents and siblings were being tugged to the empty end of the room. You smiled fondly at the continuation of what had started as an impromptu dance at the first feast. Alexander was quickly snatched by one of the adults, needed for his piano expertise to start the first song.

As Alexander’s fingers began to float of the keys and lift the introduction melody into the air, adults and children alike began pairing off, eager for the time on the dance floor they never were able to experience properly before. Usually you would find a child to pair off with and join in; however, tonight you weren’t sure if you could handle listening to Alexander play for hours. The memories of the day along with its constant reminder of the lie you were living tainted the usually wonderful taste of Alexander’s music.

“You two should dance,” you suggested to your friends beside you, a strained smile tugging against your face. They seemed almost startled to hear your voice, and quirked their eyebrows at you in response. Theodosia opened her mouth as if to ask what you would be doing, but you cut her off, widening your smile. “Gertrude probably needs help cleaning up, and I haven’t had a chance to thank her personally yet today, so I’m just going to go do that,” you explained simply, your lip beginning to wobble, but you kept it steady enough to finish. “Please, go enjoy yourselves!” you insisted, and before they could respond, you swiftly made your way through the crowd to the connecting hall to the kitchen.

You glanced over at Alexander as he was playing, and his eyes met yours in concern. He could tell you were upset. Furrowing his eyebrows, he silently asked you from across the room if you were okay without missing a single note. With a small smile, you waved him off, averted your eyes, and quickened your steps until you were out of sight.

As soon as you were hidden in the hallway, your back slammed into the wall and your hands braced themselves against the sobs that now racked through your body. Your breathing became labored as you tried your hardest to stay quiet, now pressing a hand over your mouth as if to silence your pain.

All day. You had made it through the entire day without breaking down, and all it took was Alexander playing some chords on the piano for your staff to completely undo you.

“Hey,” you heard a kind voice comforting you, drawing out the word. You looked up in alarm at Theodosia who was about to gently wrap her arms around you.

Instead of allowing her, though, you quickly jumped away and wiped the tears off your face.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, quickly trying to take around her and return to the dance. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you continued, about to leave the hallway as you felt a firm hand grip your forearm. With a defeated sigh, you stopped, but refused to face her.

Slowly, she reeled you in and pulled you into a hug. Resisting for a brief moment, you gritted your teeth and held your breath. Your eyes stared blankly ahead as you tried to keep your body numb from your friends warmth. But when her arms squeezed slightly around your middle, your dam broke all a once.

Quickly wrapping your arms around Theodosia to hold you up, you buried your head in her neck, sobs resuming. She patiently hummed to calm you and gently stroked your back to soothe you. You aren’t sure how long she allowed you to stand there like that.

Pulling back with a red blotchy face she immediately began wiping the tears from with a handkerchief, hiccups began overtaking your body. “I’m sorry, I--hic--disappointed you so much today,” you mumbled, unable to meet her eye. You hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to her all day, and honestly, you had probably been avoiding her, because while you could handle Philip’s anger, Theodosia’s disappointment always had a way of hurting you more.

You felt her hand push a strand of off of your tear-stained cheek, and your eyes flicked up to hers. She just stared at you so sadly, and eventually opened her mouth to speak, but you couldn’t bear to hear it. Not yet.

“God, Theo, I’m so sorry. I--hic--First the Alexander thing, and then the reckless dismissal of the staff. I know you must be so-”

“Y/N,” she stopped you gently, but there was a subtle look of surprise in her eyes. “You think I’m disappointed about the dismissal of your staff?”

This made you pause. It wasn’t so much that you thought that, but more so you guessed with everything else going on, this would be an easy addition to your mistakes. But after seeing you taken aback by the question for so long, Theodosia was able to come to right conclusion.

With a loud breath, she said, “Y/N, have you seen those people out there? I haven’t seen any of them smile in this household in my entire life. Was it a little impulsive? Sure, but you always are--don’t argue me on that, you are,” she settled, seeing your look of indignation on your face at the slight jab. You opened your mouth to speak, but she waved you off. “Listen, Philip told me about your plan and-”

“You can’t change my mind,” you immediately defended yourself, your body tensing. Theodosia considered you for a moment before continuing.

“I’m not going to try to change your mind. I know Philip wants me to, but I respect your plan. I don’t like it, but I can’t think of an alternative, and you seem rather adamant,” she explained softly. Your body relaxed at her words, and eyes turned down to look at your fingers fiddling with your dress. “What I am going to do is ask you to consider what you’ve already done for these people, and how they might benefit from you, if you would let them,” she continued softly, and your eyes met hers desperately.

“I haven’t done-”

“You have, Y/N. You have done so much for these people in just two months. They look up to you now; they now trust the succession of power. You have given them hope,” Theodosia insisted.

Your eyes stared blankly as your mouth dried, trying to form a response. Then clenching your eyes, you let out a shaky sigh. “It doesn’t matter,” you stated simply, and before she could protest, you cut her off. “It doesn’t. I owe them so much more than hope. I owe them change,” you confessed, and when your eyes met Theodosia’s, you could tell she wanted to fight you on the matter, but couldn’t find it in her.

After several beats of silence, Theodosia finally sighed. “Fine,” she relented. “But then you have to take my last piece of advice.” Bobbing your head curtly, you stiffened unsure of what your friend would tell you. “Break up with Alexander.”

You felt like you had been punched in the gut. It was a winded feeling, where you tried to catch you breath to form words, and as you searched for them wildly, Theodosia continued.

“Tonight, Y/N. Now, if you have to. The first chance you get. Break up with him. Because whether or not you’re still together, he’s never going to forgive you for this, so save yourself a little. Give yourself time. Tell him it’s over.”

You stared at her, still dumbfounded, but was balanced enough to realize fighting her on this would make everything worse. Every bone in your body wanted to tell Theodosia to mind her own business, and let you handle Alexander. Let you deal with the way you treated your relationship. Let you decide when it was appropriate to end things.

But saying those things would imply you were in too deep. That you had fallen too hard. And you hadn’t done that. You kept saying you would be able to break it off when the time came; well, the time just slapped you in the face.

Gritting your teeth, you kept all your arguments in your head. If they never surfaced, they never existed, you reasoned. But still, you couldn’t trust yourself to open your mouth to say anything because Alexander--the man who gave you his mother’s original transcripts, the man who saved you from yourself in captivity, the man who adored you even without a Choice, the man who was out in the ballroom behind you at that exact moment playing waltzes on the piano so your servants who never got a day off in their lives could have one good thing for the night, the man you very well might be in love with--was a lot for you to willing give up when you still had time to be together.

You felt your head nodding shortly.

The relief in Theodosia’s face made you feel warm, although it wasn’t as relaxing as you’d hoped it’d be. You knew you passed her test by not arguing with her. So why did it feel like you cheated?

She pulled you in for another, more friendly, more proud hug, and you reluctantly reciprocated. Sighing, you rested your chin on her shoulder, and asked, “What am I going to do without you, Theo?”

Her head pulled back at this, and you didn’t realize tears had begun falling from her eyes. “You’re going to not be such an idiot,” she responded lightheartedly through her strained voice, and then she quickly squeezed you back into a hug. “I know your plan is set for the ball, and so I likely won’t see you again, but-”

“What?” you pulled back in surprise. Oh. You always took Philip to the ball. Theodosia never got an invitation. She thought this was her goodbye to you. “No,” you stated simply, frantically reasoning through the logistics. “No, you’re invited to the ball. Come with Philip.” She opened her mouth to fight you, but you wouldn’t hear it. “Theodosia, me not having a guest at the ball will fit the narrative. You’re coming.”

The two of you were at a standoff for a moment before she quickly collapsed in relief and pulled you in for a final hug. “I’m so glad I don’t have to say goodbye yet,” she mumbled, and a lump filled the back of your throat as you gritted your teeth to hold back your tears.

When she pulled back, you both flashed each other smiles, and she acknowledged you would need a little alone time now. And so she left you in the hallway to process everything that just happened.

Sinking to the floor holding your head in your hands, you slowly thought through everything. All this time you had been so worried about your plan, you barely had time to think over the goodbyes.

You weren’t sure they were something you were going to be able to do.

“I’m serious, she’s going to be better than me by next year,” Alexander called out from your closet, where he had taken to storing some clothes and nightwear.

You were curled up in your window seat, going through and annotating Immortal for your third time, making sure there wasn’t anything to miss. Some pages were so heavily annotated by this point, you had taken to creating a numbered system and adding your thoughts to blank pages in the back.

Smiling amusedly, as Alexander walked out from the closet, you ignored the feeling of your throat closing in as you remembered Theodosia’s words from earlier in the night. “Well, it’s not like she has that much to catch up to,” you teased him, and he rolled his eyes as he quickly made his way over to you and ripped the manuscript from your hands. You tried to protest, but he didn’t listen, as he placed it out of your reach on a side table, and climbed up across from you in the window.

A pout crossed your face as you crossed your arms, to which he merely shrugged at. “That’s for implying my piano skills suck,” he answered unapologetically, flashing you his dopey smile. You couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled out of you. “But I’m serious, Sania is really gifted, and I know she’s going to become a maid here like her mother, but I was thinking I could give her lessons when Aremine’s out or in meetings or something. At least until your plan is enacted, which I assume will be happening within the next year. And then after that, we’re free to kick her out and send her to an academy somewhere, where she can become the next great concert pianist.”

Your breath caught at his words, because they were so innocent. He knew nothing, suspected nothing of your plans. He didn’t know he had a month to prepare. And he didn’t know there would be no “we” doing anything after it happened.

But you put on a brave face, and smiled softly at him. “Yeah, that sounds good. You should do that,” you confirmed quietly. If he noticed the change from “we” to “you”, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he smiled proudly at the prospect of his piano prodigy he picked up at the first feast utilizing her full potential. It took him a beat to catch on to your somber expression.

“Y/N?” he inquired, and you looked up, not quite able to get a pleasant expression on your face fast enough. “I-I know how hard today must have been for you. And I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that. I… I realized how fast we had been going without ever looking behind us, and I think most of that is on me. And I had decided that I would take a step back, from you. And really just… not do so much of this at once,” he confessed. You sat there stunned, but before you could say anything, he continued. “But then Dinah and Sonya came up to you, and you treated them with so much respect and wisdom, and I realized how right they were to want to talk to you every time they saw you. And how right it was that I felt so much for you all at once.”

This wasn’t the first time today you felt your lungs constricting and the tears brimming your eyes. But it was by far the worst time.

“I still know we got ahead of ourselves a bit,” he went on, “but I’m willing to try to take a step back with you if you are, and just take this one day at a time.”

The tears broke free, and you buried your head in your knees for a moment. Then, pointedly not answering his question, you crawled over to his side of the window seat, and buried your head in his chest. You knew he was taking this as your answer, but you truly didn’t have enough energy in you after his speech to break his heart or lie to him.

After you both stopped crying, however, a calm silence settled over the two of you as he gestured it was time to retire for the night. He crawled into bed first, and you hesitated, knowing you shouldn’t be indulging yourself by curling up to him one last time. But he noticed you stalling and you panicked and crawled in with him.

He naturally gravitated towards you and pulled you in, and you buried your head in his chest as you had every night for the past two months. But this wasn’t right. You knew it wasn’t right because Theodosia’s words kept spinning on a loop in your head.

“Break up with him,” the voice demanded. And you couldn’t find it in yourself to relax or ignore it. You had told Theodosia you would, and she had seemed so proud of you for it. And you remembered Philip’s words about how John wouldn’t like how you were hurting him. And you knew you owed it to Alexander to not fall asleep right now, but to rather give him time to cope and adjust. It was selfish not to, you told yourself. You had to do this.

“Alexander,” you breathed, your body stiffening at the preparation of the words about to leave your mouth. “Alexander, we need to talk.” You held your breath in anticipation, but the only sound that greeted you were the soft breaths you knew by heart.

He was asleep.

Clenching your eyes shut and burying your head into his chest again, you let out a shaky sigh. Your thoughts began slowly coming to a calm reasoning. There was no harm in waiting; there would be if you were in too deep, but you weren’t. Tomorrow was the deadline you knew was coming. Tomorrow you would tell him. Tomorrow was a promise to yourself.

Tomorrow.

And then you snuggled in closer to him, and with a sigh and his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, you were out in a minute.

[ncislaficexchange]

Blackmail is Such an Ugly Word

A/N: Dear reader, I hope you enjoy this fic. Please know that a lot of love, frustration and often confusion went into this story. Based on your preferences I focused on Densi (and Deeks), but also the team as friends to both Kensi and Deeks. I hope you won’t mind my creative interpretation of your preferences. It was done with the very best of intentions.

This story occurs about six months from the season eight finale. Happy reading!

***

Kensi raises an eyebrow, catching Deeks’ gaze as he sidles into the mission, once again just a few minutes short of being late. His lips twitch in what she supposes is meant to be a smile, but it turns into more of a grimace. The twisted feeling in her stomach amps up another notch with each step he takes.

“Cutting it a little short, aren’t we, Deeks?” Callen observes mildly though his gaze is just as focused on the detective. She makes an effort to look away which is difficult given Deeks’ exhausted appearance, his posture slumped in a way that spells defeat. If not for the presence of Sam and Callen she’d be pulling him into her arms as she does every night when he returns home.

“Yeah, my mom is, uh, having some issues with her landlord and asked me for some advice,” Deeks says distractedly. Technically it’s true, though that particular call had come three days ago at 10pm rather than this morning.

“I didn’t know your license was current,” Sam comments, as though he has an actual interest in discussing Deeks’ former career. Kensi wonders just how much they know since neither he nor Callen has called them on the strange schedule Deeks is keeping of late or the guilt she knows is lurking in the back of their eyes.  

“I’m afraid Deeks’ extracurricular activities will have to wait,” Eric announces, arriving at the top of the stairs and cutting Deeks’ reply short. He hooks a thumb behind him, pulling a face. “You’re needed in OPS.”

As the others make their way upstairs, Kensi pulls Deeks to the side, giving him a concerned look.

“What happened? You were gone all night again,” she hisses. The chance that Hetty might materialize behind them at any moment has her glancing around nervously. If she doesn’t end up with an ulcer by the end of this whole mess, she it will be a miracle.

Deeks heaves a sigh, closing his eyes briefly as he shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs, his voice just as low as Kensi’s though it appears to be due to exhaustion rather than fear of discovery. Kensi cants her head, questioning his decision to be silent; he’s been pretty good about filling her in and she really doesn’t want him to start hiding things again. “It’s not that,” Deeks adds quickly, seeing her look. “It’s just getting a lot more complicated than I thought it would, which is saying something, and I don’t have the time to explain it now.”

“Is there a problem, Miss Blye?” They both school their expressions as Hetty’s voice drifts down from above though Kensi’s certain that the older woman isn’t fooled in the least.

“No, we’re coming,” Deeks answers for both of them. “I just wanted to tell Kensi about Monty’s vet appointment.” As far as excuses go, it’s fairly believable; Monty has had his share of ill health in the last few months. At the very least it’s better than chronic plumbing problems. Hetty merely accepts it with a slight nod of her head, waiting for them to start up the steps.

***

“We can’t keep this up,” Kensi says in a low voice an hour later. Feeling ridiculously covert, she checks over her shoulder once more before following Deeks into the burn room. Deeks comes to rest against the nearest available surface, his posture slumping again as he brings both hands to his eyes and lets out an unsteady breath. In an instant Kensi’s irritation is gone with the obvious distress she sees in every fiber of his body.

“Baby,” she murmurs and closes the small distance between them to wrap her arms around his broader frame. After a moment’s hesitation she feels his arms lift and settle on her back, his head lowering until his nose is burrowed in her neck. Keeping a soothing rhythm Kensi gently runs her fingers over his muscles, feeling a collection of knots that are courtesy of the ridiculous amount of tension he’s been under recently. His ribs are slightly more prominent as she slides her hands up his sides and along with the loser fit of his clothes, it’s just another item on her list of worries.

“I’m sorry about this,” he says into her neck. “I know I keep saying it, but I never wanted you to have to deal with this crap.” Placing a hand on his jaw, she lifts his head and makes sure she has his full attention before she speaks.

“I want you to stop apologizing because this is not your fault,” she says firmly, punctuating the statement with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t told Whiting–” he begins miserably. It’s an argument that Kensi has heard far too many times to count in the last few months and she treats it with the same level of import as always.

“Deeks, it’s not your fault that Whiting is an opportunistic, blackmailing hag.” Deeks blows out a shaky breath that might just have a hint of a laugh at her unbiased summation. “The point is that you saved her life and told her the truth. And if she can’t see that you’re an honorable man who was just trying to protect a vulnerable girl, then there’s something wrong with her.” Deeks nods, looking even more overwhelmed by her unfailing support.

“Now, I’m not saying that things wouldn’t be a lot easier if you hadn’t told her…” she continues, eliciting the closest thing she’s seen to a grin from him in a long time.

“Yeah, next time I’ll have to remember that,” he says almost playfully. “I love you,” he adds. Lifting a hand, he mirrors her own position, carefully cradling Kensi’s jaw as he brings their lips together.

“I love you too,” Kensi breathes against his lips, slipping a hand up his neck and into the hair curling around the edge of his collar. He’s never let it get this long since she’s known him and though she doesn’t exactly hate it, she can’t help but associate it with his current predicament.

Abandoning all pretense, Kensi tugs at Deeks’ arm, leading them farther into the room until her back hits an unknown piece of equipment. Deeks presses his body tight against hers, his weight welcome after the uncertainty of the night apart. She moans slightly as Deeks angles his head to deepen the kiss and drops a hand to her hip.

The creak of the door opening stills Deeks’ hand which had been slowly creeping towards the edge of her bra.

“I bet they’re in here.” Callen’s voice says, his head popping around the door. “Ha, told you they wouldn’t be in the showers,” he adds to whoever is on the other side of the door before taking in the still embracing couple in front of him.

“I thought you guys had a rule,” he says with vague interest as he and Sam, closely followed by Nell and Eric trail through the door.

“Didn’t really work out for us,” Deeks explains as Kensi gives him one last squeeze and steps back slightly. She keeps one arm low on his back, silently supporting him.

“Right. So you want to tell us what’s going on? Cause I gotta tell you, Sam’s not taking all the secrecy too well.”

“I wasn’t the one who wanted to show up at their house at 12:30 AM when and I quote ‘their guard will be down’ and demand answers,” Sam says irritably. Rolling her eyes, Nell cuts in before either of the older agents can continue their bickering.

“What they’re trying to say, and doing a really bad job of it, I might say, is that we’re worried and we want to know what’s going on. So, who wants to start before Hetty actually comes looking for us?”

“It’s personal and doesn’t need to affect anyone else here,” Deeks answers shortly. Withholding a sigh of exasperation, because she knows he’s just doing what he thinks is best, Kensi squeezes Deeks’ hand briefly until he looks down at her.

“We should tell them,” she says, ignoring the four pairs of curious eyes watching them with various levels of suspicion and interest.

“Kens, you know they can’t get involved in this.” Deeks nods his head in the rest of the team’s direction as he speaks. “No offense, but subtlety isn’t really NCIS’ strong point. And I really don’t need you guys rushing in with guns blazing.”

“Ok, first of all, I personally am very offended,” Callen says, earning another eye roll, this time from Sam. “Second, when has going solo ever worked for any of us?” There is an overabundance of agreement to Callen’s comment, particularly from Sam who seems to have forgotten his own forays into rogueness. Even if we can’t be directly involved, at least will know why you look like you’ve gone one-on-one with a character from The Walking Dead.”

“I do not look that bad,” Deeks mutters, as though it’s the relevant part of the conversation.

“Your eyes have been bloodshot for a week,” Callen rebuts remorselessly. Behind him, Sam makes an irritated noise, pushing past the others so he’s standing directly in front of Kensi and Deeks.

“Deeks, we all know you can counter-argue in your sleep, but why don’t you just make it easy on everyone and spill? Callen’s right, you are exhausted. Maybe it’s not effecting you yet, but the way you’ve been overextending yourself is gonna get you hurt. So just tell us what’s going on with LAPD.” Nell makes a harsh hissing sound.

“You weren’t supposed to mention that,” she murmurs as though she won’t be heard from three feet away.

“You’ve been spying on Deeks,” Kensi says flatly. She shares a glance with her partner who looks equally ticked off at the prospect. No matter their good intentions, they should have known that following Deeks would not go down well. Nell merely shrugs her minute shoulders. As if to say, ‘what did you expect?’

“Well, both of you really,” Eric adds helpfully. “You see, we didn’t know if both you were involved or just Deeks.”

“Awesome,” Deeks mutters under his breath. Kensi gently squeezes his hand again, reminding him that he’s not alone in this. She knows how much he wanted to keep his dealings with Whiting a secret and fears the repercussions if any one of them knows too much or became involved.

“If you still don’t feel like telling us,” Callen begins in an offhand tone, “we can always go to Bates and ask him what’s going on,” Kensi glares at Callen, angry that he would threaten Deeks, when he’s feeling so cornered and overwhelmed.

“Yeah, and I’ll let slip who really knocked over that rare plant Hetty has in her office,” Deeks says after a moment, not to be outdone in the blackmail department. Grabbing Deeks’ shoulder, Kensi turns him so their bodies are facing away from the others, giving the illusion of privacy.

“Deeks, we need to tell them something or they’re not going to give up,” she murmurs. Deeks instantly tenses up as expected, giving her a look of betrayal. “We knew it might come to this. And imagine the trouble they could cause if they think their helping somehow, but only end up making it worse?”  

He sighs, the sound short and exhaustive, running a hand through his hair and turns back to glance at the four people openly watching their every move. Kensi catches Sam’s eye, hoping he’ll have some sense of the added pressure this is putting on Deeks. He nods discreetly and casts a brief glance at his cohorts before clapping his hands together like a coach gathering his wayward players.

“Alright guys, why don’t we give these two a little time to sort things out?” he suggests. Eric and Nell both take a look at his will-not-budge expression and easily agree, scurrying from the room while Callen is less cooperative. Sam places a large hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly steering his partner towards the doorway, he turns the knob, pausing briefly after Callen exits.

“We’ll be looking into Lieutenant Madison’s acquaintances when you get things figured out,” he informs them, clearly insinuating that while he’s giving them a moment to talk without an audience, copping out isn’t an option.

“I’d like to go on record as saying this is a terrible idea,” Deeks says the moment Sam leaves the room. The comment is Deeks through and through, but his tone lacks any of his usual humor and his face is decidedly grim. What she wouldn’t do to make it disappear and have him home again without this miserable worry and threat hanging over both their heads.

“Baby,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms back around him and pulling his head into the crook of her neck. “You know we can’t keep this up. They’re going to find out one way or another and like you said, we won’t be able to control what they decide to do.” Deeks shudders into her neck, the motion working its way straight up his spine and into Kensi. Comfortingly, she runs her fingers through his hair.

“If I tell them what I’m doing for Whiting then I’ll also have to explain what she has on me,” he says, bringing up a point that has been discussed multiple times in the past few weeks and caused quite a bit of dissension.

“Deeks, you told me you thought Sam and Callen already knew, chances are they do. And even if this is a revelation for them, you’ve stood by them without question when their actions have been less than by-the-book,” Kensi reminds him. He has a terrible habit of believing that he’s better off alienating people and having them think the worse than know the truth. There’s good reason for his secrecy she knows, but she also knows their team and whole heartedly believes they will stand behind Deeks.

“What if it changes how they treat me?” he asks, finally voicing his main fear, the same one he later admitted to Kensi after confessing about killing Boyle. “You know how long it took everyone to accept me…” shaking his head as though he can’t quite voice such thoughts, he ducks his head and presses his forehead against Kensi’s shoulder. “I don’t think I could take that,” he finally murmurs in a creaking voice. He sounds so unsure and vulnerable, terrified of losing what he considers his family.

“I know you’re scared,” she whispers into his ear. “I am too. But you can’t keep this up, you know you can’t. You’ve barely slept in three weeks, you’re not eating and you’re so tense I’m worried you’re going to have an aneurysm at any moment. And I don’t care how many times you tell me, I know that what Whiting has you doing is dangerous.”

“Going on the run is sounding better and better,” he mutters into her neck. “We don’t even need to have ice cream.”

“I will buy you an entire gallon of that expensive organic stuff with the free-range milk,” Kensi offers as though she’s compromising a visit to the doctor with a reluctant child rather than the reveal of Deeks’ deepest secret.

“I thought they only sold it in pints,” he points out, his words still muffled by her skin. Kensi snorts but doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to make his decision and silently holding him as tightly as she can. No matter how much it hurts her to see him in this situation, she knows that the decision to tell the others is fully his to make.

“Ok,” Deeks says a few minutes later, lifting his head from Kensi’s shoulder. It takes a bit of restraint not to pull him back to the safety of her embrace. He sniffs loudly and blows out a short breath. “Let’s do this,” he says in a determined voice.

“I am so proud of you,” Kensi tells him, overcome by a sudden wave of emotion. “Don’t think for a minute that I don’t realize how hard this is for you or the possible implications. I just want you to be able to live without anything hanging over your head.” Deeks nods, now reassuring her.

“I know,” he says simply. His gaze is filled with love as he leans down to kiss Kensi, his hand pressing hard against the back of her head for a moment before he lets go.

***

The rest of the team waits by their desks as promised with a collection of files open before them which seem to be mostly for appearance sake. Eric and Nell have commandeered Kensi and Deeks spots momentarily and appear to be in the middle of a somewhat heated conversation when they arrive, fingers linked.

“You know, it’s rude to talk about people when they’re still in the building,” Deeks interrupts, bringing an abrupt halt to the bickering. Callen turns with an expectant expression, not bothering to comment while Sam’s gaze flicks between Kensi and Deeks linked hands and up to their faces. He nods once in admiration as he notes the resolve in Deeks’ posture. Despite the snarkiness it’s obvious that he’s made a decision.

Deeks turns his head slightly, glancing at Kensi out of the corner of his eye. She may have pushed him to be open with the team, but she knows that ultimately what he tells them and how much is his decision. With that thought in mind she squeezes Deeks’ hand and waits.

He clears his throat once, not to gain attention because everyone is already completely focused on him, but rather to gain some sort of control in this less than desirable situation.

“Ok, I know I owe you all the truth, but before I tell you anything I need you to promise me that you won’t try to interfere. Even if you think it’s the right thing to do,” Deeks says, earning a few looks of surprise that the confession hasn’t begun though Sam nods once more with a mixture of approval and understanding. “Things are already terrible and bringing NCIS into it will only make it ten times worse.” When he receives four various signs of assent, he blows out a short breath and continues,

“About six months ago, Detective Whiting contacted me asking if I wanted to get coffee and talk.”

“Ok, I didn’t see that coming,” Nell comments. “She’s the last person I expected you to be having a tete-a-tete with.”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly my first choice either,” Deeks says dryly, his dislike of Whiting momentarily overcoming his worry and allowing a hint of sarcasm through. He sucks in a long breath, immediately releasing it and rolls his shoulders as though psyching himself up for a difficult pitch. “Beverages aside, Whiting also had another request.”

“What did she want, Deeks?” Sam asks gently.

“To help her investigate Bates without him knowing. She thinks he’s dirty,” he responds in one rushed breath as though getting it out before he can stop himself. A little bit of tension eases from his shoulders with that first hurdle behind him.

“How does she think you can help?” Nell asks, her brows furrowed. “I mean, you haven’t really worked any LAPD cases in like, what, 4 or 5 years.”

“Whiting thinks Bates likes and at the very least, trusts me, which means he’ll be less suspicious if I’m snooping.”

“Like that worked so well last time,” Nell says under her breath.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing for the last 2 months,” Callen surmises. “Spying on Bates.” He pauses to share a look with his partner that clearly says, ‘I told you so’ but Sam just shakes his head, pointing his chin in Deeks’ direction.

“I do what I can when I’m not needed here, although Whiting’s been pushing for me to spend more time at the station,” Deeks allows. He follows the statement up with a deep sigh, likely thinking of the arguments this particular point has brought on. The first time he’d come home after a full 48 hours without contact Kensi had been sick with worry which quickly morphed into anger when Deeks had shrugged off her concern with an exhausted and evasive shake of his head. It feels good that someone else knows, even if there’s nothing they can do about it.

“For my cover, Whiting spun this story that I’m actually investigating two other questionable cops in the precinct. Bates things Hetty agreed to let me help out in a show of interagency cooperation,” he adds. Eric snorts, speaking for the first time since they entered the room.

“Seriously?” At the teams’ questioning looks he clarifies. “If Bates actually believes that then he doesn’t know Hetty very well. Plus Deeks has a clause in his NCIS contract that says she has to sign off on any LAPD run operations. There’s no way Hetty would just ok an op like this without talking to Bates at all.” Eric’s voice holds a note of irritation and perhaps worry at what he clearly feels is a poorly thought out cover story.

Deeks shrugs. “Bates has so much going on right now with demands for more cops, increased accountability, not to mention the constant threat of budget cuts that I doubt he can remember what he had for breakfast let alone whether or not he signed a paper with my name at the top,” he explains, a touch of defensiveness leaking through on behalf a man he has grown to respect.

“Well, that answers the ‘what’, now how about the ‘why’?” Nell prompts, ever the pragmatic. “Clearly Detective Whiting is blackmailing you for something.” Deeks flinches as though Nell’s words have physically hurt him. Making a soothing noise, Kensi smooths her hand down his back, past the point of caring what anyone thinks of her hands-on approach.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” she says, instantly jumping to his defense. It earns five varied looks of surprise and interest, but again, she finds she doesn’t care what they think.

“Nell didn’t say he did, Kensi,” Sam reminds her softly. Only slightly mollified, Kensi sends a sweeping glare around the room. She had promised Deeks that the team would be supportive and while they’re not exactly accusing him of anything, the leading questions have her on edge. Just as she’s taking a step forward, readying another barb, Deeks interrupts.

“Before you offer any more help or implicate yourselves in this gigantic mess, you should know that Whiting is blackmailing me and her charges against me were legitimate. I did kill Francis Boyle. I could go into all kinds of explanation and excuses, but I’ll just stick with: Boyle hurt Tiffany and I stopped him from ever having that opportunity again,” Deeks says in a purposeful, even and unapologetic tone. He doesn’t pause once in his explanation. There’s a rather disappointing lack of response when he finishes; no one gasps or looks horrified, confirming their theory that at least certain members know. Kensi is perhaps the most surprised by Deeks’ sudden reveal.

“Feel better?” Callen asks simply.

“That’s a lot of weight to carry for a lotta years, it’s good to have it out in the open,” Sam says gravely, but sounding once again oddly proud at the same time.

“You don’t care?” Deeks asks, his voice caught between disbelief, perhaps a little anger and definitely a lot of shock.

“Babe, don’t push it,” Kensi instructs quietly. Although she says it somewhat jokingly, there’s absolutely no reason so invite trouble. She’s feeling a little light-headed herself and is struggling not to pepper their team with questions.

Callen takes one look at Deeks’ slightly pale complexion and bewildered expression and hooks a foot around a spare chair, sliding it towards the other man.

“You look like you could use this,” he says with a smirk. Deeks wordlessly sinks into it, looking immensely grateful for the support before Sam starts speaking again.

“I think we all understand the kind of secret you’ve been keeping, we’ve all had them,” Sam explains, gesturing at each person in turn. Somehow Kensi sincerely doubts that any of them have felt the pressure of knowing they actually killed someone, but she accepts the pardon without question. “We know the kind of man you are and the kind of man Francis Boyle was. That’s enough. You protected an innocent person, I would hope the rest of us would do the same given the situation.”

Beside her, Kensi sees Deeks’ lip caught between his teeth as he attempts to deal with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. She know that the five people currently staring at him with varying levels of fondness and exasperation aren’t helping any so she leans down to wrap her arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of his head.

“And you all feel the same way?” she feels the need to ask. Eric and Nell have both been fairly silent and she wants to be completely certain there’s no hesitation on their part. Nell appears slightly hurt by the implication but it’s Eric who speaks up, his voice quiet and as serious as she’s ever heard it.

“I had a chance to see Steadman’s work firsthand and I trolled through so many reports against him and Boyle that…Tiffany was lucky you were there for her,” he concludes.

Deeks shakes his head. “I don’t…I don’t even know what to say,” he stutters, his voice horse. He presses his hand tight against his mouth, as though he can keep the overwhelming emotion inside by sheer force.

“That’s a first,” Callen chimes in, drawing a derisive snort from his partner. They give Deeks a few minutes to compose himself, the chatter starting back up while Kensi rubs his shoulders. While she greatly appreciates their support, she can’t help but wish for another minute alone.

“So what have you found out?” Nell asks “Is Bates guilty or is he the most unlucky man when it comes to IA investigations? Second to you, of course.”

“I don��t know. All I can tell is that Bates has been running a lot of undercover operations and working to weed out some bad apples. It means he doesn’t particularly care that I’m working on Whiting’s little project. But in order to back up my cover story, I actually have to spend time around these guys, which also means the occasional shift as back up. It’s not exactly easy to hang out with an LAPD lieutenant as it is, seems kind of suspicious and all, but now my time is just about cut in half.”

“You said you were making progress,” Kensi admonishes quietly.

“I didn’t want you to worry and compared to how things were going the first couple weeks, I am making progress,” he explains.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Callen points out, catching on to his obvious reluctance to implicate his superior. “Come on Deeks. You’ve never had a problem saying it like it is before this. If you think Bates might be involved in something, then spill.”

“Look, all I can tell is that there’s been a lot of compromised covers and operations in the last few years, but whether or not Bates is involved in some way, I don’t know. I got a chance to look over some paperwork from a botched job and it seems like Bates did everything by the book,” Deeks explains tiredly.

“You said Whiting mentioned something about finding evidence while investigating you,” Kensi reminds him suddenly, bringing up a bit of information that had obviously slipped through Deeks’ already overcrowded mind. “Do you know what that evidence was?” He shakes his head, dispelling Kensi’s momentary excitement.

“No clue…I’d need to see the files but I have restricted access to all files from my case. But the only way I can think Bates could possibly be involved is if Whiting found out he helped me bust out of LAPD and that’s not something to start this kind of investigation over,”

“Maybe he enacted a little…social justice himself,” Nell suggests slowly, her voice rising higher as she speaks. Perhaps she’s worried that Deeks’ will lash out or react in some other negative way, but he merely shakes his head.

“Bates has way too much control for that.”

“So what’s your plan moving forward?” Callen asks.

“I don’t know, man. What I do know is that I can’t let it interfere with my work with NCIS or Hetty will decide to intervene, but I also can’t put Whiting off any more than I have,” Deeks says and Kensi is disappointed to notice that any positive effects of the last half hour have completely disappeared, leaving his mood as despondent as ever.

“I might be able to help with that,” Nell slips a hand into the pocket of her cardigan and removes a familiar looking object. “It’s not exactly the cavalry, but it should help if you get into trouble,” she says, extending the earwig in Deeks’ direction. He stands and silently takes it, his expression unreadable.

“Nell, I appreciate this but…”

“I set it to its own private frequency so no one else should be able to access it unless they’re already linked in and an agent-in-distress alert will be sent to all of our phones if you have it turned on and use the distress word three times in a row,” she continues, talking over Deeks’ protest and then again at his reluctant expression. “This is more important than anything Hetty can do if and when she inevitably finds out. I am not going to let you play Whiting’s fall guy.” Her expression is so fierce and determined that Deeks would be stupid to attempt further protest.

“Alright then,” he murmurs with a very faint smirk.

“And um, if Hetty mentions something about a two week long LAPD training seminar, just go along with it?” Eric adds, looking just as fierce as Nell and somewhat pleased with himself. “That should give you a little more time to investigate without taking a graveyard shift.”

“Do I even want to know how you generated that memo?” Deeks asks, looking overwhelmed by the generosity of their friends.

“Nope,” Eric answers immediately and definitively. “Suffice it to say that the course coordination office had a little snafu with their database.”

“Guys, we really don’t want you to get in any trouble,” Kensi reiterates. “This doesn’t even come close to a sanctioned operation and you’re using NCIS resources, hacking LAPD…” she trails off, letting the mounting pile of minor offenses sink in. Sparing a glance at Deeks, she worries for a moment that she’s overstepped her bounds, but he’s nodding in agreement.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate everything you guys are doing, have done, but I need you to understand that Whiting is not afraid of bringing down anyone who gets in her way. She’s already threatened to bring Kensi in for questioning which is part of the reason why I haven’t pushed back. And she’s knows it.” Deeks says, glancing at Kensi in particular. He knows that this is a sore spot with her; she hates being a weakness of any sort.

“If we don’t do anything, then she’s just gonna get her claws in deeper and deeper, Deeks,” Callen points out, sounding frustrated by the constant requests to stand down. “You need to show her that she doesn’t hold all the power.”

“Well right now she does,” he snaps back, blowing out a short breath a second later and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whiting’s smart and plays mostly by the book from what I can tell. If she’s been blackmailing other officers into helping her, there’s no evidence. Not that I haven’t been looking when I have the chance. It’d have to be pretty damning though and I’d have to be sure she had absolutely no conclusive proof I was guilty.”

“Then we have a plan: Nell and Eric, find something on Whiting that is worthy of counter-blackmail without being too obvious, Deeks will keep Whiting happy and the rest of us will make sure he doesn’t get himself arrested again or killed,” Callen sums up, wearing a self-satisfied expression.

A shrill beeping interrupts suddenly, the sound drawing everyone’s gaze to Eric’s right pocket.

“Ah, Hetty’s just left the Commissioner’s office,” he explains, silencing the alarm. “We better get to ops.”

“We’ll go with you,” Sam says, getting up from his chair.

“But there’s nothing for us to do in ops,” Callen complains, earning an eye roll from his partner.

“We’ll find something for you to do,” Sam retorts while tugging a mildly resisting Callen away from his desk. On the way past, Sam squeezes Deeks’ shoulder. “I’m sure Nell has lots of files that need to be destroyed.”

“Do you ever get the feeling we’re not in control of our lives?” Kensi asks as they watch the pair argue their way up to ops.

“Every single day since I met you,” he jokes.  

***

Later that day, well night really, Kensi is driving home, one hand on the steering wheel and the other grasping Deeks’. His body is angled away from her, forehead propped against the passenger window. She might think that he’s angry with her if it weren’t for the almost undetectable brushing of his thumb across her knuckle.

They’re driving home together for the first time in over a week and despite Deeks’ solemn mood, she can’t help but feel a touch of contentment.

“What did Whiting say when you told her you weren’t coming in tonight?” she asks, partially out of curiosity but also hoping that it will draw Deeks out of his own thoughts.

“I don’t know. Left a voicemail,” he answers in short, clipped sentences. After a few more moments of silence he slowly shifts himself around until he’s facing her, a groan or two slipping out when his legs get caught in the small space. “I thought about what Callen’s said earlier and he’s right,”

“Wow, I’m pretty sure that’s the firsts time those words have ever left your mouth,” she jokes, pleased when it earns her a brief smirk. Deeks brings her hand to his lips and presses a soft, lingering kiss there.

“Well, today’s been full of surprises, so why not?” he murmurs. “I can’t let Whiting have this kind of control over me. If I make it through this investigation with my badge, and that’s a big if, she’s still going to have Boyle to hang over my head. There’s nothing to stop her from using me as her personal mole indefinitely.”

“So what are you going to do?” Kensi asks, internally relieved that he’s being sensible. Deeks sighs, letting go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. She misses the contact immediately and once again realizes how little time they’ve had together recently.

“Figure I’ll start with any officers she’s investigated and look for evidence of misconduct…anything that will give me an edge,” He shrugs, his expression bleak as he goes back to watching the darkened blurs that represent trees and bushes.

“Well I’m down for any plan that gets Whiting off our backs for good,” Kensi says lightly although deep down she’d rather approach the IA detective in a more hands-on manner. When she’d heard that Whiting had been shot, she’d been sympathetic, putting aside her dislike. Any compassion had evaporated the second Whiting had approached Deeks with her proposition.

“I need you to do something for me,” Deeks says suddenly, still staring out the window.

“Of course,” she agrees immediately in her eagerness to help. It’s only a moment later that Kensi recognizes the guilt and hesitation in his voice for what it is. “You’re going to say something really stupid now, aren’t you,” she predicts. Deeks presses his lips together.

“You have to stay away from Whiting and LAPD this time. I don’t care what she does or says but I don’t want her to have another opportunity to threaten you or force you into testifying against me. If you think it’s bad now, it’s probably only going to get worse and you can’t play into her hands.”

“If you remember, it didn’t work last time she tried,” Kensi points out, her mouth dry at what she things Deeks is suggesting. He’s already pushed her away enough as it is and she’s terrified he’ll try something really stupid, like putting off their engagement.

Deeks makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, only because you were abducted and Whiting got shot,” he retorts. Pulling into the driveway, Kensi puts the car in park before throwing up her hands in exasperation.

“Fine, I won’t provoke her. But if I find out she’s putting you in danger or risking your career, I will not just stand by.” Deeks nods at her fierce words. “We’re partners,” she continues in a softer voice. “Here at home, at work, wherever, whatever we do, no matter how many IA Detectives come after you. I’m not going to abandon you and there is no way in hell I’m letting this force us apart. I said it earlier and I’ll say it again since you apparently are experiencing short term memory loss: “I love you and I am not going anywhere, ever.” Deeks sniffs a couple times, refusing to meet her gaze.

“This has the potential to get a lot worse,” he whispers again.

“Only if you try and go off by yourself like an idiot,” she replies stubbornly. She watches Deeks’ face in his window, waiting for him to react with his typical wit and when he doesn’t, she grabs his, kissing it in the same place he had hers. His head falls then, that guilty, miserable expression she hates so much back again. She’d give anything to see him smiling and laughing once more.

“This isn’t fair,” he whispers. Scooting over in her seat until the console impedes further movement, she places her palms on Deeks’ cheeks, ignoring his mild resistance. She gently pulls his forehead down to meet hers and relishes the moments when he finally leans into her touch.

“None of the crap we’ve been through in the last eight years has been fair,” she reminds him. “But we’ve always made it through together and this is no different.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this one,” he admits on a sigh, the sounds making Kensi’s chest throb. “Even if I find evidence against Whiting, it might not be enough or in time to be go any good.

“We will,” she assures him. “We will. And when this is all over we are going to plan out wedding and get married and go on a ridiculously expensive honeymoon in the middle of nowhere, where Hetty won’t even be able to find us.” Deeks chuckles weakly at her fierce tone and nods his head again.

“Ok,” he agrees, leaning down until his lips meet Kensi’s, his hands clasping the back of her head to pull that much closer. He is exquisitely gentle as he eases her lips apart.

“I love you so much,” he breathes into her mouth. As they stumble from the car and through the front door, Kensi knows that one night of lovemaking isn’t going to fix anything. She’s desperate for the reprieve though and as Deeks presses her against their bedroom wall, she silently vows to do whatever it takes to keep him safe.

by - @ejzah

[antimundi-blog]

Freestyle

Title: Freestyle Pairing: Nyxnoct Event/theme: Nyxnoct Fluffocalypse, Day 4: hobbies Summary: When your boyfriend is a major Assassin’s Creed geek, it was destined that you’d eventually have a date with it as the central theme. Princes and their hobbies, right?

@nyxnoctocalypse

There was a special sort of mortification that came from your friends discovering your interests, especially if they weren't shared. With Prompto, there was a lot in common. Video games, comics—of a comfortably shared variety that only best friends could have in common. With Ignis, it was a little tougher; sure, he indulged the prince with times nods, approval, listening as best he could even though the interest just didn't seem wholly there. With Gladio? Not so much. Beyond being his Shield, barriers of interest existed there, too.

Now, the ultimate level? Getting your boyfriend in on it.

Your boyfriend who happened to be a busy Glaive who didn't have the disposal income enough to haphazardly throw it into whatever hobby or video game videos that toddled along. Noctis had learned that the hard way when he'd tried coaxing Nyx into picking up World of Warcraft, only to sheepishly learn that he didn't have a rig powerful enough to run it, nor the extra funds to maintain the monthly membership fees.

Lesson learned.

That didn't mean Nyx couldn't come and spend a rainy day at his apartment, right? It was something they adored doing, traipsing between their homes and spending time in the city when princely duties weren't keeping the prince from seeing his boyfriend. That, and Glaive duties on Ulric's end.

Noctis startled from his thoughtfulness when a rapping sounded at his door, messily scampering to his feet as he slid on his socks to a halt before the door, a bit of puerile elation lighting his face before he peered through the peep hole to see who it was.

Seeing a certain Galahdian in flannel and jeans caused his heart to leap, maybe a little too excitedly. “Okay, cool—“ he murmured to himself, trying not too appear too enthusiastic.

Swinging the door open, Nyx had no time to say hello before Noctis unceremoniously grabbed Nyx by the sleeve and yanked him in with a bemused smile catching the older man's features. The inertia seemed to be enough to briefly close their bodies together, Noctis impishly winding his arms around the older man's neck and kissing him enthusiastically.

An inquisitive sound emanated throatily as Nyx took a moment to adjust and smile into the kiss, winding his arms around the small of Noctis' back and cant his head to kiss back just as deeply. “Hello to you, too,” the Glaive grinned, Noctis leaning into him with a grin just as giddy. “So, what's the grand agenda today, Highness?”

Noctis gazed at him with a brief look of pensiveness on his features, taking both of Nyx's hands and holding them with hopefulness in those sapphire blues. “Promise me you won't laugh.”

Nyx quirked a brow. “Can't make any promises if it's a joke.”

“For our date, what if we went around the shopping district, but...just not in the usual way?” Noctis hinted with a puckish smile on his face. Had Nyx been anyone else, it likely would've been waved off as ridiculous. But Nyx had this synergy about him that Noctis adored, like he could bounce off ideas and find a complementary match.

The smirk only seemed to grow on Nyx's face, mischief twinkling in those stormy blues. “I dunno, highness. That might mean you having too much fun. You sure your buddies wouldn't mind?” He folded his arms, releasing Noctis when the prince grinned again and raced down the hall into his bedroom.

“Hang on, wait here!” Noctis shouted from his room, rummaging through the contained chaos signature of it. Finding them draped on the bed, he raced back into the living room with two red-lined, white hoodies that didn't seem tremendously special to Nyx, but by the way Noctis beamed, it surely seemed to be. “I got these from Roen's stall back at the Assassin's Festival from a few months back. Can you believe it? Actual replicas of Desmond Miles' hoodie, down to the sticking. You know, the white one? From Assassin's Creed in all those modern segments.”

Nyx eyed them with an approving smile, one inevitably larger due to the Glaive's own height. Though he wasn't exactly keyed in completely with the story, but from Noctis' own happy ramblings on the saga and playthroughs when they spent rain nights in together, it garnered his interest. Didn't seem too much different from what he did as a Kingsglaive, even though assassinations weren't exactly their specialty.

“So, we going incognito tonight? Leaping from roof to roof?” Nyx replied with a growing smile, always glad to see Noctis so enthused and not feeling abashed for it. It certainly would be a little less mortifying than donning Bayek's Medjay robes in this weather, this much was certain.

“Yeah, you bet!”

It didn't take long for both men to don their new attire, Noctis bristling with jocular excitement as he dramatically pulled the hood over his head, attempting the smirk signature to the assassins in the series. He availed himself in the mirror, replete with the shoulder bag slung across his back and the baggy jeans, though Nyx was happy to remain in what he wore over his lower extremities. They both hitched the subway to the shopping district in the east side of Insomnia, a place seldom frequented, but eager to sojourn to. With their hoods drawn over their heads, there was the added advantage of concealment Nyx found advantageous, especially given how it was often for the better that Noctis be disguised from his geekier inclinations.

“There's this scene when Desmond's escaping Abstergo—it's during the second game, I think. You know, during Ezio's trilogy? When he was escaping with Lucy Stillman. Wait...no, I think that was another game. Brotherhood, maybe?” While Noctis pondered over the details, Nyx kept his eye on the LED screens that indicated their stops. Of course, he wasn't exactly zoning out from Noctis' excited chatter. He was interested in being part of his life outside of their respective duties, hobbies included.

The bell rung when their stop was reached, Noctis almost bolting through he was so excited. “Hang on, Auditore. Think we might want to plan this out a bit first.” Though most might not think it, Noctis had taken lessons in parkour to the side. Useful to navigating a cityscape when Warping was too conspicuous. The terminal wasn't too crowded with people, Nyx guiding the rambunctious prince where it wasn't too crowded. Nobody seemed to be coming down the down escalator much at all. In the grand station, Sunday nights didn't see much activity, which was advantageous to them.

“Race ya!” Noctis suddenly crowded when he took off at a low sprint, leaping on to the rail that guided the escalator down and tip-toeing up it with ease, arms barely needed to keep his balance. Nyx laughed as he set off after him, leaping on the opposite as both men crossed paths in their ascent, looking acrobatic as several people caught on and began filming with their smart phones, Noctis snickering when he realized he and his boyfriend would be trending on Wark tonight.

Once they emerged from the underground, Noctis bolted and leapt on the back of a bus that was beginning to pull away, clinging to its bike rack that was fortunately empty. “Nyx, over here!” Noctis called as it began picking up speed.

“Fucking Six—“ Nyx cursed to himself as he raced after Noctis, leaping just in the nick of time to Noctis clapping him on the back.

Deciding it was better to follow Noctis' lead, they rode on the precarious transportation before the prince nodded sharply and allowed his feet down enough to gingerly gauge an appropriate stopping point. Slowing around a bend, he ran for a few strides before letting go and dodge-rolling from the path of an oncoming car. Its horns blared, but Nyx simply smirked in a cavalier fashion before leaping back on to the car's hood with indignant shouts from the drivers, then somersaulting off and into a street corner where Noctis waited.

“Hey, you alright?” Noctis asked breathlessly as he laughed, helping Nyx to his feet, leather gloves saving him from bruised and bloodied palms.

“Yeah, think so. Where to next?” Nyx replied, smile admittedly elated as he stole a quick kiss before Noctis playfully shoved him away, laughing jubilantly. Gods, this was more fun than he'd had in awhile.

“Up there—slowpoke!” Noctis called retroactively before bounding away towards a scaffolding and hefting himself through an open gulf, scrambling to his feet again as he rounded the exterior and shimmied his way upwards.

Nyx called out something indignant before he bolting after him, more or less following suit of the energetic prince as he was already ascending a pipe that jutted from the facade of the building. It wasn't long before they met halfway on the twelve story building, almost colliding into a fire escape they'd been racing upwards on. Nyx was almost shoved off, but wormed his way out and beat Noctis to the punch.

“Not fair!” he called up after Nyx, the older man laughing at Noctis' consternation.

“Aw, come on, Highness! You've always liked my ass, so enjoy the view!” Noctis admittedly blushed at that, but furiously renewed his pace with vigor as he found another angle, racing upwards between the protruding windows that provided fantastic purchase. Smugly, he hefted himself over the ledge and hefted himself over and collapsing, breathless, on a bed of pebbles waiting. Unfortunately for him, Nyx was already waiting for him.

“Best two out of three?” Noctis offered with a breathless smile, evolving into a grin when Nyx sat himself on Noctis' back, the prince barking out strained laughs under the strain of Nyx's weight. “Get off, lard ass!”

Nyx re-positioned himself when Noctis rolled on his back, the Glaive straddling his hips with a smug grin. Before Noctis could rebut, he leaned down and snaked a deep kiss from the prince, the price of his victory. When Noctis shoved him away again, he made a face. “You're still an ass.” Feinting, he quickly capsized Nyx and rolled them over, Nyx grunting when he did. “Best two out of three, like I said.” With that, the warmth on his pelvis lifted, Noctis hopping to the ledge as he smiled with a challenge in his eye. Spanning his arms, he smirked rougishly and leaped from the roof in a free-fall, something below muffling the impact of his fall.

Determined to win another kiss, Nyx yanked his hood back over his face that had been upset in their playful scuffle.

“You can bet on it, Noct,” he murmured to himself before Warping from the roof to meet the prince in their renewed race once more.

[sachas]

LAURA.

One minute Laura’s cleaning or, rather, pretending to clean, and the next she’s being dragged down the hallway by Sacha, foul mood stinking up the entire corridor as he yanks her into a butler’s pantry. She glares at him, annoyed at being manhandled, annoyed because she knows he’s pissed ( and, really, that had been the point ), but she’s not the only one who’d accused them. Not the only one who’d doubted him. Though, of course, she’d made her remarks with purpose, looking at him with a smug smile as she uttered his name.

Her expression shifts when he speaks, quoting her back to her, eyes gleaming with the small victory of knowing she’d gotten under his skin as she leans on one of the countertops. “In case you’ve already forgotten, I’m not the only one who did, Sach.” But am I the only one who got under your skin? The only one who lingers there? Prickling at the back of your neck? Are you annoyed or are you hurt? Be hurt. Be hurt. Because that was the point of this now, wasn’t it? The point of them? Who will land the blow first, who can drive the knife deepest? Who can peel back the skin and dig into the marrow of the other, into their essence? Their game hasn’t ended yet – it couldn’t, because Laura would never be able to admit she lost. So she’ll force him to concede, or do everything in her power to make concession his only option.

“Besides, am I wrong?” Painted lips tug at the corner as she pushes off the marble countertop, drawing a slender finger across the smooth surface as she slowly walks in their direction, counting on him to move once she gets too close. She refuses to be prey, refuses to let their presence, the way the air hums between them, deter her. “You get upset when someone refuses to play by your rules, love, and if they beat you and your own game…well,” she glances at him, head canted to the side, jostling loose long locks of hair from behind her shoulder. “All bets are off.” It’s not a question. They react with vengeance, and a part of her likes the thrill of not knowing what that will always look like, his response ever changing. A part of her likes the thrill of not knowing what Sacha might do if pushed. If she crosses the line. But Laura doesn’t just yet, stopping short half a meter away from them, amusement crossing her expression. She glances down at her attire before meeting Sacha’s gaze again with a raised brow and smirk. “would it be more believable if I wore one of those little French maid uniforms?” She wouldn’t even be surprised if there was one floating around in this old manor. 

What does it say about Sacha that they let all the other votes against him from fellow members of Death fall to the wayside? There is something three-times as infuriating about listening to Laura’s perfectly aimed and weaponized speech versus all the other nervous name slips. Leaning against the counter opposite to Laura, Sacha’s eyes are steady on the floor. “You’re clearly the only one who had so much fun while doing it.” It’s no secret that everything is made into a game for Laura — perhaps even more so than things are for Sacha, a fact he’s only now learning. Eyebrows furrow together as a new realization hits them: “Maybe it was you, and your fucking speech is just a part of your cover up act.” A woman well-versed in the arts of trickery and man-swindling has perhaps gone underestimated. “I should go apologize to Jack, hm?”

You get upset when someone refuses to play by your rules, love, and if they beat you and your own game… Sacha sucks his teeth, a sound of denial, though he can’t exactly rebut the argument. They stand up straighter, no longer using forearms to lean against the marble countertops. “Upset isn’t the right word.” But what is? Sacha has always struggled to name his emotions; his mother once doted on the memories of a little Sacha naming colors for feelings instead. Seeing the world in shades of blue despair, green envy, and bright red anger, the little butler’s pantry is tinged in amber hue in Sacha’s mind. “You clearly like to make me look stupid and I won’t let that keep happening.” Lips are pressed into a thin, annoyed line as Laura approaches him, only a few feet away in this cramped little room ( an odd place out from the rest of the manor, open and expansive ). Then, the game is on, a testament of wills. They’ve always been so similar, each taking turns as predator and prey — now, Sacha struggles against losing the power of the moment.

The mental image breaks the tension, making Sacha laugh quietly. Laura in a maid’s outfit sounds so much like one of the antics she might’ve tried months ago, trying out a new way of convincing Sacha to open his wallet for her while they’re tangled in bed together, vulnerable and open to suggestion. “I don’t think that would help you dust those bannisters any better.” Laura put on cleaning crew is a joke in itself — though the little outfit would certainly make it hard for Sacha to think clearly, perhaps left to be distracted by attraction instead of rage. “Mm, maybe you should try and find one,” he murmurs, finally looking down at Laura’s smug face. “It could come in handy while you beg me not to make a fucking problem for you because of this.”

[viralhottopics]

Comey Needs To Clear The Air

Its never a dull moment in Donald Trumps White House, and this weekend was certainly no exception. Trump began the weekend early Saturday morning by tweeting out what seemed to be a conspiracy theory. This did precisely what it was intended to do, which was to divert attention from the growing questions about Russian influence in both the Trump campaign and in his administration. Trump was reportedly furious during a Friday meeting that Jeff Sessions had recused himself from the investigation, because to Trump any backing down from any previously-held position is a sign of weakness and not to be tolerated. As dawn broke on Saturday, Trump decided to distract the media by tossing another Twitter hand grenade into the political conversation, and as a result Sessions quickly dropped from the news.

Trumps accusations were breathtaking all the more so since he didnt offer the tiniest shred of evidence to back them up. According to Trump, President Barack Obama personally approved wiretapping Trump Tower at the height of the election season. He originally alluded to McCarthy, but then later was apparently counseled that the appropriate political parallel to use was Watergate. Which is more appropriate, since Richard Nixon did all sorts of nefarious things of this nature against his political opponents (see: enemies list if you dont remember the term).

Whatever historical analogy you prefer, if Trump was right it would be an abuse of power for Obama to personally order a wiretap on the opposition partys candidate for president in the midst of an election. This would be political misuse of the Justice Department of the highest order. Only problem is, there appears to be absolutely no evidence whatsoever to back up Trumps claim.

Thankfully, there is one man who can go a long way towards clearing the whole mess up, with one public statement. His name is James Comey, and he runs the Federal Bureau of Investigation. So far, however, he is refusing to do so. This is an abdication of responsibility, further degrading Comeys already-shaky public reputation. Millions of Americans lay at least part of the blame for Hillary Clintons election loss at Comeys feet, and theyve got a strong case to make in their belief. Comey interfered in politics in a fashion unseen in Washington since the death of J. Edgar Hoover, tipping the scales by speaking about an investigation into Hillary Clinton while remaining completely mum about an investigation into Russian ties to the Trump campaign. If he had publicly spoken of both investigations, he might have had a leg to stand on in making the case he was holding himself above politics. Since he didnt, that case cannot be made.

James Comey now needs to make a public statement about the veracity of Trumps tweeted accusation. He needs to either say: There is no evidence to back this claim up, or Its more complicated that that, and here are the reasons why, or Trump is right, and heres what he was referring to. The old dodge of we do not comment on ongoing investigations is no longer acceptable, at this point. Comeys got to address this controversy in some fashion, and clear the muddied waters.

To date, Comey seems to want to have it both ways. The timeline on the controversy so far started with Trumps early-morning tweets. Then, later in the day, the story broke that Comey had directed senior F.B.I. staff to refute the allegations with a statement to the public. The next morning, James Clapper former Director of National Intelligence under Obama appeared on Meet The Press and flatly denied that Obama had ordered any such wiretap, and that, furthermore, there were no wiretaps approved for Trump or the Trump campaign. Period. Since that point, the White House is pushing back against both Comey and Clapper, insisting that Trump doesnt believe any of the denials.

This is where Comey is trying to have it both ways. Although the media picked it up and ran with it, Comey has not actually publicly addressed the controversy one way or another. A leak said that he directed senior staff to address it, but then no public statement ever appeared from anyone at the F.B.I. not on Saturday, not on Sunday, and not today.

In the first place, Comey shouldnt be allowed to get away with punting this to some subordinate. He was the one to hold a press conference on Hillary Clintons investigation, after all, so he should be the one who addresses one presidents wild conspiracy claims against the previous president. Comey has worked for both men, so he should know exactly what went on before the election, after the election, and after Trump became president.

In the second place, there is assumably a list somewhere of every warrant the FISA court has ever issued (as well as the ones rejected). If, as some are now speculating, Trump just misunderstood the way that foreign intelligence is collected (presidents dont order such things, there is a process), but that Trump has at least something to base his accusations upon (if a Trump server was wiretapped, for instance), then Comey needs to clear that up as soon as possible. A quick review of all of the FISA courts actions over the past year would easily show whether there was anything to the accusation at all. It wouldnt take that long, I would think. Certainly not two or three days.

Trump drew a very clear picture with his tweets. President Obama had personally directed the wiretapping of the Trump campaign right before the election. He got turned down once at the FISA court, but then finally did get a warrant. James Clapper denied that the Trump campaign had been wiretapped at all, in unequivocal terms Sunday morning. Assumably, any such FISA warrant would have at least crossed his desk at some point, given the job he was doing at the time. Yet he denied it happened. Trump said it did.

This leaves James Comey as the only one left who could easily clear this up. Unlike Attorney General Jeff Sessions or any other senior Trump administration official, Comey did not change jobs in January. He has an uninterrupted view of what happened, in other words. If, as was reported, Comey is instructing his own senior staff to rebut the charge, then he likely already knows it is baseless and false. If the reporting is wrong and there is a basis for Trumps charge, Comey would know that, too. Either way, he should publicly say what he knows to be true. Hiding behind we cant comment is simply unacceptable at this point.

In fact, as more time goes on before Comey does address it, the more people are going to begin to wonder what sort of pressures hes facing from his two titular bosses Sessions and Trump. The White House is already publicly pushing back on the story that Comey has somehow broken with the presidents line on the issue. The White House itself has urged that an investigation be opened into the matter. No matter where the facts lead, at this point Comey is pretty much the only one who can make any sort of believable statement on the matter in the entire executive branch. One leaked story that Comey instructed his aides to refute Trumps accusations is not enough. Comey needs to get out in front of the cameras and make a statement, and shine some sort of light on the situation. No matter what hes got to say about what happened, the public needs to hear from James Comey as soon as possible.

Chris Weigant blogs at:

Follow Chris on Twitter: @ChrisWeigant

Read more: http://huff.to/2mV2wvu

from Comey Needs To Clear The Air

[mavwrekmarketing]

Its never a dull moment in Donald Trumps White House, and this weekend was certainly no exception. Trump began the weekend early Saturday morning by tweeting out what seemed to be a conspiracy theory. This did precisely what it was intended to do, which was to divert attention from the growing questions about Russian influence in both the Trump campaign and in his administration. Trump was reportedly furious during a Friday meeting that Jeff Sessions had recused himself from the investigation, because to Trump any backing down from any previously-held position is a sign of weakness and not to be tolerated. As dawn broke on Saturday, Trump decided to distract the media by tossing another Twitter hand grenade into the political conversation, and as a result Sessions quickly dropped from the news.

Trumps accusations were breathtaking all the more so since he didnt offer the tiniest shred of evidence to back them up. According to Trump, President Barack Obama personally approved wiretapping Trump Tower at the height of the election season. He originally alluded to McCarthy, but then later was apparently counseled that the appropriate political parallel to use was Watergate. Which is more appropriate, since Richard Nixon did all sorts of nefarious things of this nature against his political opponents (see: enemies list if you dont remember the term).

Whatever historical analogy you prefer, if Trump was right it would be an abuse of power for Obama to personally order a wiretap on the opposition partys candidate for president in the midst of an election. This would be political misuse of the Justice Department of the highest order. Only problem is, there appears to be absolutely no evidence whatsoever to back up Trumps claim.

Thankfully, there is one man who can go a long way towards clearing the whole mess up, with one public statement. His name is James Comey, and he runs the Federal Bureau of Investigation. So far, however, he is refusing to do so. This is an abdication of responsibility, further degrading Comeys already-shaky public reputation. Millions of Americans lay at least part of the blame for Hillary Clintons election loss at Comeys feet, and theyve got a strong case to make in their belief. Comey interfered in politics in a fashion unseen in Washington since the death of J. Edgar Hoover, tipping the scales by speaking about an investigation into Hillary Clinton while remaining completely mum about an investigation into Russian ties to the Trump campaign. If he had publicly spoken of both investigations, he might have had a leg to stand on in making the case he was holding himself above politics. Since he didnt, that case cannot be made.

James Comey now needs to make a public statement about the veracity of Trumps tweeted accusation. He needs to either say: There is no evidence to back this claim up, or Its more complicated that that, and here are the reasons why, or Trump is right, and heres what he was referring to. The old dodge of we do not comment on ongoing investigations is no longer acceptable, at this point. Comeys got to address this controversy in some fashion, and clear the muddied waters.

To date, Comey seems to want to have it both ways. The timeline on the controversy so far started with Trumps early-morning tweets. Then, later in the day, the story broke that Comey had directed senior F.B.I. staff to refute the allegations with a statement to the public. The next morning, James Clapper former Director of National Intelligence under Obama appeared on Meet The Press and flatly denied that Obama had ordered any such wiretap, and that, furthermore, there were no wiretaps approved for Trump or the Trump campaign. Period. Since that point, the White House is pushing back against both Comey and Clapper, insisting that Trump doesnt believe any of the denials.

This is where Comey is trying to have it both ways. Although the media picked it up and ran with it, Comey has not actually publicly addressed the controversy one way or another. A leak said that he directed senior staff to address it, but then no public statement ever appeared from anyone at the F.B.I. not on Saturday, not on Sunday, and not today.

In the first place, Comey shouldnt be allowed to get away with punting this to some subordinate. He was the one to hold a press conference on Hillary Clintons investigation, after all, so he should be the one who addresses one presidents wild conspiracy claims against the previous president. Comey has worked for both men, so he should know exactly what went on before the election, after the election, and after Trump became president.

In the second place, there is assumably a list somewhere of every warrant the FISA court has ever issued (as well as the ones rejected). If, as some are now speculating, Trump just misunderstood the way that foreign intelligence is collected (presidents dont order such things, there is a process), but that Trump has at least something to base his accusations upon (if a Trump server was wiretapped, for instance), then Comey needs to clear that up as soon as possible. A quick review of all of the FISA courts actions over the past year would easily show whether there was anything to the accusation at all. It wouldnt take that long, I would think. Certainly not two or three days.

Trump drew a very clear picture with his tweets. President Obama had personally directed the wiretapping of the Trump campaign right before the election. He got turned down once at the FISA court, but then finally did get a warrant. James Clapper denied that the Trump campaign had been wiretapped at all, in unequivocal terms Sunday morning. Assumably, any such FISA warrant would have at least crossed his desk at some point, given the job he was doing at the time. Yet he denied it happened. Trump said it did.

This leaves James Comey as the only one left who could easily clear this up. Unlike Attorney General Jeff Sessions or any other senior Trump administration official, Comey did not change jobs in January. He has an uninterrupted view of what happened, in other words. If, as was reported, Comey is instructing his own senior staff to rebut the charge, then he likely already knows it is baseless and false. If the reporting is wrong and there is a basis for Trumps charge, Comey would know that, too. Either way, he should publicly say what he knows to be true. Hiding behind we cant comment is simply unacceptable at this point.

In fact, as more time goes on before Comey does address it, the more people are going to begin to wonder what sort of pressures hes facing from his two titular bosses Sessions and Trump. The White House is already publicly pushing back on the story that Comey has somehow broken with the presidents line on the issue. The White House itself has urged that an investigation be opened into the matter. No matter where the facts lead, at this point Comey is pretty much the only one who can make any sort of believable statement on the matter in the entire executive branch. One leaked story that Comey instructed his aides to refute Trumps accusations is not enough. Comey needs to get out in front of the cameras and make a statement, and shine some sort of light on the situation. No matter what hes got to say about what happened, the public needs to hear from James Comey as soon as possible.

Chris Weigant blogs at:

Follow Chris on Twitter: @ChrisWeigant

Read more: http://ift.tt/2lzsa8N

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