#the sibling-in-law energy these idiots have

[modern-inheritance]

Murtagh: .... I'd say 'what the feck, woman,' but we both know we're both on that ride. Arya: *cheery* Aaaay, back scar buddies! *raises hand for enthusiastic high five* Murtagh: *stares long and hard at this crazy elf he's been assigned to team up with* Murtagh: *sighs and gives her a mediocre high five* Back scar buddies, wooo....

the first law of tragedies: the end is already written and inevitable. the second law of tragedies: your actions are all your own and you can choose to get off this ride whenever you want. the third law of tragedies: we both know that you are never going to do that.

[starry-bi-sky]

Danyal Al Ghul: Incorrect Quotes and Miscellaneous Thoughts

Incorrect quotes-style snippets specifically for my danyal al ghul au here (which i really need to come up with a unique au name for atp). Because I thought it'd be funny. And also some miscellaneous headcanons thrown into the mix. Some context for the au: - Danyal is 5 years older than Damian (so 10 and 15) - Danny faked his death when he was 10. Talia knows and helped him with it. - Jazz, Sam, and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin.

-------- Snippet 1

Danny, dryly tapping his temple: I have, as the Americans say, irreparable psychological damage, right here.

Jazz, an older sibling first and foremost: well, it's good that you're self-aware.

-------- Snippet 2

Danny, aged 10, in the American foster planning to just age out of the system: *emanating Bad Vibes. Pure, Little Orphan Tom Riddle Energy*

Jazz, aged 12, coming in to adopt a new sibling with her parents: Him. This is my brother now :)

Danny: ...what

--------

Lilo and Stitch is Danny's favorite Disney movie. He watched it when he was 11 with Jazz when she was attempting to connect with him, and by this point Danny was becoming receptive to her efforts. They had a movie marathon in the living room one night.

Safe to say? It resonated with his little 11 year old heart strongly, and he related very strongly with both Nani and Stitch. He got unexpectedly emotional and hid in his room for the rest of the night. Jazz felt really bad, but it had the intended (but kinda unexpected) effect of him trying to be nicer to her afterwards.

-------- Snippet 3

Dash, aged 12, causing trouble again and getting intercepted by Danny: *scaling up a desk* AHHHHH! GET YOUR LITTLE FREAK, FOLEY!

Tucker: Hey! Danny is not a freak!

Dash: GET HIM TO BACK OFF

Tucker, was the kid Dash was messing with: ....whats in it for me

-------- Snippet 4

Danny, saying some questionably immoral shit: What. Why are you looking at me like that.

Tucker: Bro. I mean this as kindly as possible; what the fuck?

Sam: yeah, I'm with Tuck on this one.

-------- Snippet 5

Danny, ranting about Vlad: if it weren't for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered him

Sam, painting his nails black: I'm pretty sure you'd slaughter him regardless of the laws of the land -- and quit moving, you're gonna mess me up.

Tucker: we've literally seen you debate yourself about this, Dan

Danny: ...you are correct, but it is the principle of things.

-------- Snippet 6

Vlad: I have experience my child, and the money and power attained through using those powers for personal gain, you say. I could train you, teach you everything I know! And all you have to do is renounce that idiot adoptive father of yours.

Danny, was already contemplating committing a Violence: ....

Danny, internally: I'm going to stab him *turns into Phantom*

--------

Funny contrast I realized between Danyal and Vlad that iirc I haven't pointed out yet is that imo, Danyal doesn't rely on his powers nearly half as much as canon Danny does. He falls back instinctually on his League training, and thus sometimes forgets to use his powers in battle. This was prevalent especially early on when he was still getting used to the whole 'halfa' thing.

He incorporates them more often after a year, but still for the most part relies on his own physical hand-to-hand combat. He trusts those skills much more than he does his powers. I'm not sure where he is on a technical level compared to canon, but just to stay safe I'll say he's similar in power skill as canon Danny. Perhaps a little more finessed than him because his League training would probably have him trying to figure out his powers as soon as possible.

But in summary? Danny is strong in hand-to-hand combat, weak in powerset.

Meanwhile Vlad is the opposite. I can't recall if he even knows hand-to-hand in canon, but it makes total sense to me that Vlad Masters wouldn't because he's so confident in his monetary influence and ghost abilities that he sees no need for it.

And he's kinda got some merit behind it. He's very powerful and has 20 years of experience to experiment and fine tune his powers. He's got bite to follow up his bark. He's perfected long-range combat and his ability to phase through walls makes it impossible to corner him, but if you can manage it, then one good hit could probably knock him on his ass.

So in summary, Vlad is strong in powerset, weak in hand-to-hand combat.

And it casts a good contrast between the two of them in that regard. Danny, as a fellow halfa, can follow Vlad when he phases through walls and is fast enough to land a hit on him. His league training as an assassin, albeit rusty, is still deep ingrained enough in him that he can hold up as a rather veritable threat against Vlad without needing his powers.

But Vlad can force Danny to use his powers more often through use of his own. The duplication is the first thing to come to mind: Danny's fast enough to dispel them on his own without powers, and smart enough that he could figure out who the real one is if given a few minute. But that's not always efficient enough.

Good foils for each other that way. Also Vlad's Plasmius design mimics Ra's juuust enough that he looks like Ra's knockoff loser second cousin no one talks about, which only fuels Danny's hatred.

-------- Snippet 7

Danny, ranting about Vlad for the first time: --and it's only made worse by the fact that the little ingrate resembles a cheap knock-off of my grandfather!--

Sam, choking on her water: he what--

Tucker, doing a spittake: HE DOES?

[4dorks-1windmage-1shadow]

Would you be willing to do the most recent headcanon list you reblogged for each of the colors?

I already did Red but I'll do the other four here

Sexuality Headcanon:

Green - Bisexual & Polyamorous (this will be a trend)

Blue - Pansexual & Polyamorous

Vio - Bisexual & Demi-romantic/Polyamorous

Shadow - Pansexual & Polyamorous

Gender Headcanon:

Green - Cis male

Blue - Cis male

Vio - Genderfluid, sometimes trans (again, modern AUs)

Shadow - Genderfluid/nonbinary what is a gender he doesn't care to know

A ship I have with said character:

Green/Vaati i LOVE hero/villain dynamics, they are golden retriever/grumpy drama king to me, their relationship is "me + the bad bitch i pulled by being effortlessly kind/charming/funny/humble/gay" instagram captions.

Blue/Everyone. The secret to Blue is that he actually cares SO MUCH, but if anyone calls him out on it he will die on the spot. This is tragic and inevitable (he is bad at hiding it)

Vidow is my ultimate OTP, they are so fascinating to me i want to put them in a blender set it to high and then watch it go nuts. They are toxic and co dependent and would kill for each other and also kill each other too. 100/10 ship I'm a Vidow apologist and i will die on this hill

Is it cheating to say i ship all of them together? They can be one big polycule as a treat

A BROTP I have with said character:

Green and Shadow. Unstoppable force (Shadow) meets immovable object (Green). They have oldest sibling/youngest sibling energy

Blue and Green is also good, they have a bromance unlike anything the world has ever seen. They are always pushing each other to be better and also doing the dumbest stunts for the vine

Vio and Vaati would be infodump pals. They started talking about magic theory at 10 in the morning over breakfast and are still talking about it at 1 am the next day

A NOTP I have with said character:

Literally the only character i can think of is Tingle.

A random headcanon:

Green - my most consistent hc across all AUs/canon is that he has head to toe freckles.

Blue - given a modern AU, Blue joins theater as a way to deal with his anger issues. Not only does it work, but he ends up with a passion for the performing arts as a result

Vio - he has crippling anxiety and is a chronic over thinker. He needs Xanax and a nap.

Shadow - given a modern AU, Shadow is the lead guitar/singer/screamer in a rock band (Sleeping With Sirens, Pierce the Veil, AS IT IS aesthetic/sound), and he can also play almost any instrument that he picks up. He has a huge collection of instruments.

General Opinion over said character:

Green - the funniest thing I've ever seen is people saying that Green wouldn't cheat in a fight RE: my "who would win in a fight" polls and like you're all valid and all OBJECTIVELY wrong, he cheats in the fight against Vio at Death Mountain. He may have morals but he is not lawful good

Blue - I miss him. Where are the blue centric fanfics. Come back from the war please. Someone put this idiot in situations

Vio - perfect amzing beautiful showstopping spectacular always original awful awful man his veins are filled with anxiety instead of blood and i want him dissected by the fandom immediately

Shadow - scrunkly. Shaped. I want to hug him and never let go

[cathumanthing2]

Roseblings Chatfic AU Chapter 7

magic bitches

2:45 am

actual wizard: fWhip i can hear your chanting pls stop trying to summon a demon in the house

tech wizard: oh thats not me

tech wizard: sausage and joey decided our house was a good place to summon a demon for some reason

blood sheep man: It has  the perfect amount of space! Plus the negative energy will attract the demons better!

actual wizard: …what's that supposed to mean?

blood sheep man: Oh, nothing!

plant flower faerie: Anyways has anyone heard from shrub? They usually stay up this late on weekends.

glitter starboy: nope

tech wizard: me neither 

jungle bitch: nah

scary fish lady: Nope :P 

blood sheep man: No, but I have seen a demon!

short pottery man: Nah bro

buff buff farmer: Sadly, no, I have not seen the idiot/pos gnome

Father: I cannot say I have. Why do you ask, Katherine?

pathetic fish man: I don't think they're anywhere rn, really

plant flower faerie: aww, I was gonna ask them if they wanted to go watch a movie or something tommorrow

father: Finally.

buff buff farmer: shes ready to stop being an oblivious sapphic idiot

actual wizard: Now the only ones we need to get to stop being idiots are fwhip, jimmy, and scott

blood sheep man: You forgot Pix

actual wizard: Wait why pix?

father: Sausage. If you tell her, I am going to commit several acts against the law. 

plant flower faerie: What the heck are you guys talking about??

buff buff farmer: we spoke too soon

plant farmer faerie: Still tho where's shrub

fungi fungus gnome: Yall talking about me?

plant flower faerie: Oh, shrub! Wanna go tomorrow to see a movie or something?

fungi fungus gnome: oh ofc!

father: I would rejoice but you guys are still being idiotic

plant flower faerie: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN-

jungle bitch: unrelated but scott i accidentally summoned your hot sibling

glitter starboy: Joey i will fucking murder you if you kiss them

jungle bitch: too late

jungle bitch: hi this is xornoth i can confirm joey is a good kisser

glitter starboy: im going to cry

father: Everyone please go to sleep now I'm getting a headache from your guy's sleep deprivation.

Scott & Sausage

3:34 am

Sausage: scott

Scott: Hmm?

Sausage: I wanted to tell you something

Scott: what

Sausage: nevermind actually

braincell + idiot

3:45 am

idiot: Pearl i ALMOSt did it

braincell: Did what

idiot: Told scott

braincell: Woohoo!!

braincell: One step closer

braincell: But why do you keep going to me for advice im literally aroace im not gonna be able to give you anything good

idiot: exactly

idiot: I need an outside perspective, plus ur my bestie and your good at knowing what to do

braincell: ok soos now pls let me sleep

idiot: Ok I'm gonna keep summoning demons :D 

braincell: Have fun don't get hurt

magic bitches

3:58 am

father: Go to sleep or I'm going to hunt you down and murder your entire family.

tech wizard: GEEZ PIX WHAT THE FUCK

actual wizard: I dont think he's joking too-

father: Especially you Gem. Your exhaustion and burnout is easily smellable from a mile away.

actual wizard: The heck is that supposed to mean?

father: You know what I mean. Stop being an idiot and sleep.

father: That goes for the readers as well. Sleep. I can sense your sleep deprivation.

tech wizard: hold up wait who gave you the ability to break the 4th wall??

father: The author. Who also needs to sleep. I am fighting the urge to scream in their ears as we speak.

blood sheep man: Ok first what

blood sheep man: second I'm sleeping now

actual wizard: I am confused and am now going to sleep in the hopes my mind will be able to figure it out in the morning

father: Good. Now everyone else, sleep or suffer the consequences.

[the-firebird69]

There a large number of idiots here he was right there's too many idiots to do stuff with how to use I can't stand the noise it takes too long to correct them they need to leave anyway they can

Here in Charlotte county

-there are a few things that they are missing one of them is is not have fortified immune systems or digestive systems or any systems. They go around messing with everybody's diet and they get f***** up people mess with them today with 10 deaths in the neighborhood from that permanent. It's reducing the number of people in each household and it's not increasing so far out of the 140 houses left and 750 people 10 have died today of siblings leaving 740. There are several going into combat right now out of the neighborhood and their bosses and it's time for them to do so where's most of their people are gone and only several octillin infiltrate. Is a huge Force this time it's more like a million two million 3 million five million 7 million from the north and 700 octillion from the south and they are invading they said and they're going to push forwards and they have hardware it's a small special and it can delete the tanks that they're coming up against.

-there's a large number of people massing at the northern border of Florida with georgia. And a different reason they are trying to get in to claim lands of lost five people that they stay there the plans of and they are not Max and they're not allowed in and there's two other people so far. Flinch stuff in the good fired on.

-it's a matter of time before they get hit and the guards get hit and we're waiting for it and we need the people here is it going out to combat within Florida and they are seeking trouble and fights all the time and they are breaking the law and trying to plant bombs and they get shot well do it and is there completely deadly don't try and do anything with him at this time you have to forcibly remove them and they defend the bodies as they decay

-large numbers of people are trying to get into the United States right now The invasion failed they were destroyed the fleet was destroyed and they see that Australia is no picnic the ships are being destroyed and soon more people try to get into the United States and Max season there's no place to go down there if they're attacked by those things and can't stop them. We are preparing and we're sending more ammo ordinance and tanks trucks both ships and cannons and with our guys huge ones and was sending it now and we're sending others such items big trucks really big trucks and a couple huge tanks and if we have need for more we'll send it it's ridiculous in the midwest emptied and it's 20,000 octillion and we are going in and they are going to be pushed out and we've been in all day and the numbers reduced only by 2,000 octillion but they're contemplating leaving and going to the East Coast or West Coast and they are actually getting ready more or less can't stand there son and we do identify who's talking to and a missiles heading towards them. It is going to be the final Exodus we think of people who are warlock from foreign countries but it's going to be very very huge to try and get here at five points and also from overseas and maybe a 6 and 7th point because the east and west of the north would be invaded and maybe an ace because of Georgia Alabama being invaded from the south and the West to try and get to the East it's going to be horrendous here for the next couple days and we'll only get worse as court cases that his decision was not so good those things can take a hit I find the biggest and it didn't practically nothing and need energy weapons and so he's going to seek them on ships and you need a big ship probably a hundred miles and he's going to seek them now people are whispering these stupid cuz he is stupid kid would not leave alone and now he's in trouble and soon he's going to be in huge trouble because those big monsters on the island are watching the others eat up all the idiots what they're saying is we can go around and eat the ones inside they kind of laughing because they say like hand signals and stuff ever see that we can see it and the Indians can see it but they know that they have to avoid the water guys and they'll seem to notice yet that's a bigger island they say and those s*** has go there. They're moving now. The sun is wondering if there's an exodus in Australia and a few ships have left but not many but there are a ton of people getting out now they're getting up and more vessels are leaving and Max does do not allow them to come this way I've had enough of those people they went out the whole time and they're forming a line. The rest of the fleet is mobilizing and ours is too and there's several hundred thousand octillion left up north but we need those ships and Mac needs those chips and right now it would attract them from down there but it's going on so we feel we can take him and it's going to happen in a moment

-giant things are happening today and huge in Charlotte county they they discussed this morning firing all the remaining sheriff who are more locked and police and agency and more government workers in Charlotte county and so we can't handle the volume and say it's only like a million people and it said we can't do it with them and they said we have to do something and I'm messing with her heads and the stupid TV and a talk and a phone calls I can't get through traffic I've had enough of this s*** so he's ordering people to pull them off the road all day to get them out of here one by one and then three at a time four cars at a time they're pulling them out and it's going to take a while what's going on then probably a 3rd the cars out and he calculated around the 3rd too. It's a large number of vehicles and they're going at it now and we're coming in and we're pulling them out there's too many cars and we checked real quick but most cars recycled and he's right we need to recycling plant here we needed a while ago, and we can pump out those vehicles as a matter of fact that's a sell point of ours is that the recycling facility would be nearby and we would be paying some for scrap and maybe delivering it all sorts of people would be scrapping and cleaning the whole place up here and all over the place and it would be free for the county and the cities and the states and country and countries and the max are shaking their head saying no way and then they get vehicles we need to do this it's not like a question it's like we need to mobilize because of Tommy F and he's got plenty more troops let's get going on this and I'm going to put it to a meeting right now and Zeus and Hera are requesting it and our recycling facilities are big but really they're not that big look I have a mile and a half mile which is not even a 15 and he wants to start building all the components and I started to think about it and he's right it would make a lot of vehicles let's get going right now okay and we'll set a meeting in Freya is doing it. I'm going to have our way and get this done and this place is a mess and yeah let them clean it up. Tons and tons of people see what's all about. Now let's get going and they say yes and the guys are going to bring three out with locations and Mac Daddy has already allowed it and it's going to go ahead and we'll manufacture the recycled vehicles nearby too and it's so cheap we're hoping the people don't attack it but they will so we have to stop them idiots and get ready for clone attacks which might comprise the majority of it later on but they have to build them locally it takes too long to ship we're moving out and we're getting it ready it's going to be a great time these are nice motorcycles and with the new design that's going to be much much better it's kind of weird once you get used to it it's easier to drive and you can't sit there and relax too without turning it's not not hard to do that either and it's easier to turn at the same time we're moving out

-there are other items happening here in punta Gorda the cops have had it the sheriff has had it and then what it is assholes near them with a weapon and they shouldn't have a weapon they shouldn't have anything like it and they're losing all of their agency credentials and their kids I'm going to bed hungry

-we have to post this now due to the importance of the content

Thor Freya

I'm sending troops in his area they need it right now

We

Olympus are too

Us too

Hera

-

[mha-platonic-yanderes]

Opinions on platonic yandere bakugo with little sibling being a hero? (Kind of like Spider-Man type of vibe where they hid the fact that they were a hero)

I'm assuming you mean more of a vigilante, since if you were a hero, Bakugou would know.

You'd have to do your heroics while he was at school. Luckily, since he lives in the dorms and you do not (his fault, really), it's easy to don on your little costume and help out around the neighborhood.

And your neighborhood thinks it's so cute! Obviously the Bakugous live in some safe, gated community, so you mainly help get cats out of trees and help old ladies cross the street. It's a bit of an open secret on who you really are, but you aren't really breaking any laws because there have been no villains to engage.

Your parents really don't care, as long as you don't get hurt. They think it's sweet. You're jealous of your big brother, aren't you? He's saving the world, being a big and tough hero student and you're just the kid he left behind.

Well, until he incapacitated a general studies student, that is.

It was quick, simple really. All he did was injure enough to scar and bruise, hurt deep down so that they wouldn't dare speak up if they knew who did it and would want to leave absolutely immediately. Because he still finds it outrageous that you didn't get in and he's here to right that wrong.

Let's not mention that you never really wanted to go to U.A. Or be a government sanctioned hero. You just wanted to help your community any way you could while staying away from the brother that made you miserable.

But he sees you in the shitty spandex spider themed costume, saying you're webbing the community back together with a rudimentary support item he has no fucking clue how you got your hands on and instantly realizes how long you two have been apart. Because he would have never let you even attempt this shit.

And as he grabs you, wrapping his arm around your wait and holding on tight, he launches the two of you sky high. Higher and higher until the ground is nothing but a distant memory and you feel like your soaring, but not in the fun way you designed. No, this was freefalling stopped only by an explosion of energy catapulting you into another direction.

He lands onto his balcony of your parents home, mere kilometers away from where you were getting a child's cat out of a tree. And your breathing for your life. Heaving like the air could never be enough to satisfy the pit in your lungs.

"Playing pro hero, are you kiddo?" Katsuki grabs your wrist, squeezing it like a vice, "Want to save people like your big brother, don't you?"

You don't answer. You can barely process what he's saying.

"Quit it, you fucking idiot." He doesn't yell like he usually does. He's angry, but he's quiet. This is him at his most unstable, "I am not going to have some lowlife attack your ass thinking that they can get street points and only realize it's little ol' quirkless you."

Quirklessness. Katsuki's root cause for treating you like this. He's always seen himself as more, better than you and Izuku, all because he has a quirk and you two don't.

Didn't. You remind yourself. Deku's one of your brother's classmates. They were just interning at the same agency with the number one hero. Both of them, with magnificent quirks and you, trying to help the world any way you can.

"I'm taking you to U.A." Katsuki says, "We are going to talk to Nezu and you are going to reapply to U.A. Say that it was stupid of you to intentionally miss all of those questions and that all you want to do is go to school with your big brother, got it."

"How... How do you know about that?" Your breathing is rough. You're still trying to find your footing on solid ground, "Who told you that, Katsuki?"

"It's Kacchan," he says, "don't fucking forget it."

"Kacchan," you breathe, "don't do that again, please."

"I can say the same to you." He drags you into his bedroom, "C'mon. I have to make sure you don't have any injuries and help you study, since you pulled that stunt at the entrance exam."

"Alright, Kacchan." You are dragged behind him and sat carefully upon the edge of his bed, letting him do what he pleases. He always has your best interest at heart, even if you can't see it.

And besides, you'll be in two different courses. How much will you see him anyways?

[noahnopesbest]

Noah catches up with One Piece (post-time skip up to #100): a summary

This is going to be long I’m so sorry

Franky now has light-up nipples? for reasons? (they’re very useful for deep sea communication, apparently)

you know what? Zoro does have a point when he says that Sanji is annoying (I still have a soft spot for the simp cook, though)

Brook is without any doubt my favourite (it’s the bone jokes. the godsawful skeleton puns. also love me a bard, no matter their level of wackyness)

not me tearing up every single time Ace is mentioned, no siree

lots of Law (can’t complain about this), not enough Bepo (this I do complain about)

speaking of Law, the man wears a hat all the time ‘cause his hair is illegal (it looks so fluffy everyone around him would try and ruffle it at any given moment- I know I would)

the average blood-related family has a ratio of 90% blazing garbage fires 10% genuinely good people (notable exceptions: every single royal family the Strawhats have helped so far. also the Boa sisters)

Cora 😭

Doflamingo and Elias Bouchard share the same core energy and no, I won’t elaborate on this

also pls consider: a Magnus Archives/One Piece crossover

Bartolomeo is an absolute muppet. a whole idiot. he’s so cute I can’t even

Sabo ☺️ (for the love of the gods Oda please stop hurting my sunshine child)

plans? who makes plans? plans are for losers

wow. the backstories went to some dark places, uh

Marco does look like a pineapple. but pointing it out is like, rude

everybody loves Robin, and if anyone even thinks about laying a single finger on her is going to be oh so very sorry (I wholeheartedly agree)

the older Charlottes are a combination of weird? and pretty!… and it surprisingly works (for the most part, anyway)

I’m adamantly against hunting down Devil Fruit users to get their powers, but by the gods I would love to have Mont d’Or’s

please tell Brulee I’d die for her

I have a *very normal* amount of feelings for the mochi man who am I trying to fool? I’m in love with Katakuri

is anyone going to point out that Sanji’s siblings are the One Piece equivalent of the sailor senshi but evil? no? ‘cause I’m gonna

yay! we have successfully acquired another responsible adult™️ (Jinbe has no idea what he signed up for)

who is my most hated character? is it Sakazuki? is it Blackbeard? no, it’s a child shaped turd named Charlotte Flambe

fuck the Cp0. seriously

you know what? while we’re at it, fuck all the higher spheres of the World Govt.

Fujitora trolling Sakazuki over technicalities? 10/10. sir, you just got my official seal of approval

*Basil Hawkins waltzes in* he’s pretty. huh *two pages later* nevermind. he hurt Bepo, Penguin and Shachi, he has to go

X Drake will for the foreseeable future be referred to as Dino Nuggies

who among the Beast Pirates thought that ‘all leather’ was a good idea for crew outfits? ‘cause it’s really not

*Big Mom falls overboard and down a huge ass waterfall of doom* oh no! anyways, we all agree that Katakuri will be the new captain, right? (Perospero does not, in fact, agree- but not out of love for the augusta genitrix, that is)

👏 give 👏 Killer 👏 a 👏 break👏

Kid’s actual power is making everyone around him act in the most idiotic way possible

did Big Mom forge an alliance with Kaido just to try and get dicked down by King? probably

“oh, yeah, we just sent Strawhat’s 1# Marine fan to apprehend the extremely powerful woman who has a raging crush on said Strawhat. they surely won’t bond over anything at all, it’s a 100% foolproof plan”

Yamato? sir? I’m looking respectfully

everybody wants Apoo’s head on a pike and I’m here for it

Bonus

a whole decade worth of material and we saw Shanks in like, 3 pages? what the actual fuck

[silverhallow]

It was a tough decision because I could see two couples doing this, but 15. And Hyacinth & Gareth 😂

one of them being like… i’m totally getting off track here, but you’re like, really hot so i’m going to pick you up and throw you on the bed, followed by their lover smacking them on their head (gently) because they have important things to do - Hy/Gareth

All i am going to say is… do not read this in public

Hyacinth has been a bubble of energy all day. She finally had an invite to one of Lady Danbury’s parties! Finally!

All her sisters and sister’s in laws had been, even bloody Felicity… and despite her reading to Lady D weekly didn’t get her an invite. You had to be married.

Hell she’d vaguely considered accepting the idiot who offered her last season but now she was pleased she waited.

She had a man who challenged her, who encouraged her, who loved her… and she loved him as well. She had everything her sisters had, everything her brothers (bar Greg)  had found and she was ecstatic.

Gareth had laughed at her as she’d practically bounced around the house all day. She’d squealed so loudly at the invite he had been ringing Ears for a good hour afterwards and she’d only shut up about it after he’d very much distracted her…

He’d rode in the carriage with her over to his grandmothers and he’d taken the carriage over to Whites where he met with some of his school friends, who bugged him after about 30 minutes asking how his marriage was and how long before they would see him again at the Brothels, it took all his will power not to punch the moron and challenge him to a duel…

Scowling he stood and looked in disgust “I pity your wife, married to such disgraceful vile man, you’ve not even been married a month… the poor woman.” he snorted derisively, before standing up “I am perfectly satisfied and actually happen to love my wife and have no need for attention elsewhere… good eve gentlemen…” and he swilled his drink and slammed it back down on the table causing the future Earl of Cowely to flinch.

Gareth strode away from the table, dropping a coin on the Waiters tray he stalked out of Whites, fists balled and breathing deeply so as not to go back and deck the bastards. How on earth had he ever been friends with such baboons.

He would be too early to pick up Hyacinth from his grandmothers but he did know where she kept the good brandy and decided to just head over, he could loiter in his old room and wait for his wife.

The journey from whites to his grandmother’s home was not a long one. There were no balls tonight, there was a musicale at someone’s home but all the married ladies of the ton worth half their salt would be at his grandmothers’. It had always amused him to realise that the women of the ton were just as prolick in gambling as the men. He rather suspected that his wife would be doing rather well this eve… after all, she never placed a bet if she didn’t think she could win.

As his carriage pulled up the butler looked confused to see him “We were not expecting you back so early Mr St-Clair…” he said “your wife and grandmother are still busy at the party”

“The company at White’s was lacking… I shall entertain myself in my grandfather's study… I expect my grandmother still leaves Brandy in there?” he asked the butler, who nodded with a smile.

“Very well. You can inform them I am here but I do not need to be attended to” he said as he strode off in the direction of the study. The room hadn’t been used in years. His cousin who had taken over the title after the passing of his grandfather cared not for the home and let his mother tend it… he and his wife lived out in the country and rarely came to town.

If not for the Bridgerton’s Gareth rather wondered if most families weren’t close but in the few months he had been Hyacinth’s husband… he had felt a closer bond to her family than he ever had his own. He had learned, through Hyacinth of course, the entire stories of all her siblings’ marriages, right down to the scandal of the first 5 marriages.

He has snorted, clearly Francesca was the only sane one who had a normal courtship… even if she had then snuck off to Scotland and married again… he did rather wonder what would be of Gregory’s when he came about…

He was lost in his thoughts and enjoying his Brandy when the door to the study opened. Hyacinth popped her head in  “Gareth?” she said looking around

“Over here” he smiled at his wife who skipped into the room, her cheeks red from the wine and clearly the happiness she had at her evening.

“What are you doing here so early! I rather worried something had happened to you” she said as she made her way to him.

“Oh nothing is wrong my dear, the company at White’s was dreadful and my grandfather’s Brandy was better than what was on offer so I just thought I’d come back here rather than heading home” he smiled as he pulled Hyacinth on his lap and gave her a chaste kiss.

“Oh okay. I worried you had gotten into a fight or something awful had happened when the Keates came and told us you had arrived. I had to excuse myself for a moment to ensure you were alright… but I rather think the other ladies will be pleased…” She beamed brightly at him.

She truly was breathtaking he thought as he watched her lips moving as she talked. He felt his own passions stirring as she sat on his lap talking happily.

He stood up and took her hand and led her out of the room, Hyacinth followed him still talking away “Did you know that Kitty Langham’s husband had THREE mistresses when he was away… the things you find out at these parties is amazing” Hyacinth rambled on

“Did he now” he said distractedly as he walked through the corridors of the grand London home “how dreadful for Mrs Langham”

“Oh she wasn’t too bothered. She said her husband was rather a boar… but he kept her in lots of money, which she promptly lost to me… I’ve won nearly £200 tonight!” she beamed excitedly. It was a lot of money and she was bloody proud of herself

“Have you? That’s nice” he said again, somewhat distractedly.

“Are you even listening to me properly… where… where are we going?” she asked looking around, not recognising this part of the house, though she was sure given the layout this was towards the private chambers…

“Do you know you talk too much” he said laughing as he stopped by a door and pulled her close to him

“You do tell me that rather a lot… but i should still like to know… I should be getting back to the party…” she said, her breath robbed her as she looked up at her husband’s eyes and felt her stomach flop.

“You can go back to the party shortly… you’re very excited and it’s hot so…” he bent down and scooped her into his arms and pushed the door open into what used to be his room when he stopped with Grandmother Danbury “if you’ll excuse me… I have some pressing business to attend to” he smirked.

He lowered Hyacinth onto the bed, which weirdly, still seemed to be made up, and Hyacinth giggled and slapped him softly on the back of the head “you… are going to get me into trouble” she giggled.

Gareth smirked and let his hands trail up her legs, pushing her skirts up… his brows raised in a smirk as he pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss “Gareth… we should… we should stop” she said, though she didn’t really believe it.

“We won’t be interrupted… this is my old room” he smirked “and besides… you don’t mean that” he teased

“No,” she sighed happily, “not really”

He smirked devilishly “good” and he unclipped her garters and rolled down her stockings and unmentionables.

“Gareth…” she whined at the feel of his hands on her legs, teasing and torturing her… so close to where she needed him to touch her.

“Oh, Gareth, No Gareth or More Gareth?” he murmured into her ear, his voice husky with desire, almost delirious with want and need

“Oh god… More…” she moaned arching her hips upwards “please” she begged

“Good girl” he smirked, pushing her hands up to the top of the bed “hold onto the bed posts and do not move your hands unless I tell you… move them and I stop… do you understand” he said as her fingers wrapped around the poles of the headboard

“But…”

“Do you understand” he said his hands hovering, precariously close to where she could feel herself throbbing, she could feel just how wet she was, desperate for him

“Fine… but I will get my own back when we get home if you tease and torment me too much”

“Oh I fucking hope so” he smirked and without so much as a warning, he pludged two fingers into her depths, causing her hips to buck and her to scream.

He loved how vocal she was, he loved that she didn’t care that there were about 100 women of the ton two floors below them, that there was staff everywhere… her head was thrown back on the pillows as she breathed erratically, her lips parted and her eyes were glazed as he worked his fingers in and out

“More… please… More Gareth” she moaned.

God he loved this woman. He loved that she begged, she wasn’t ashamed to beg, to demand more. “More what my love” he drawled, he wanted her to ask for it… to beg…

“More… I need you” she panted her hands almost white as she clung onto the poles

“You need to tell me, Hy… tell me what you want and I will give you it… you know… you just have to ask” he teased, licking her neck, nippling and causing her to gasp.

“Mouth! Use you mouth!” she begged “please!”

“Yes mi’lady” and with a swiftness that caused Hyacinth’s vision to blur Gareth’s tongue was added to the action,

“Fuckkkkkkkk” she screamed as he ground his mouth and tongue against her clit. It took less than a day to teach Hyacinth to swear during sex.

Gareth was impressed, she could put a sailor to shame when she got going and it surprised him how much he loved being the one to make her swear and completely lose control.

“Yes Gareth… Yes” panted, her knuckles startling white as she fought to hold on to the bed, her hips raising to meet each thrust of his fingers, each lick of his tongue and it was heaven.

Hyacinth was so close, she felt every fibre of her being pulled tightly and she was going to snap but she knew… she knew she had to wait… “Gareth please…” she gasped “I'm going… i’m so…” she panted as she rocked her hips

“Just a little longer… just… wait…” he said, slowing down. Teasing and tormenting Hyacinth like this was one of his favourite things to do… to control his wife like this… to have her submissive and holding on, to own each and everyone of her highs… it made them both drunk on life… on each other.

He added a third finger and Hyacinth screamed “Please Gareth!!” she gasped, her hips bucking wildling, he was sure if he let it go on any longer, she would actually break the bed.

“Cum for me Hy… loudly” he commanded as he bore down on her clit with his tongue.

She did just that… she screamed, her hips lifting with such force that Gareth, to stay pressed against her, had to lift himself up… his name ripped through the night air, rattling down the corridors and throughout the room. Anyone on this floor would have heard and it made him feel so smug, that he could make his wife scream like that… but right now…

He needed his wife with a rather matter of urgency, so whilst Hyacinth was coming from her high, he made quick work of his breeches, dropping them just far enough and pulling her down the bed “God you’re so beautiful” he grunted as he pulled her to the edge of the bed “I need you so much” he said, his eyes searching hers, just to make sure she was okay

“Yes Gareth… I need you” she panted, still coming down from her high, as he swore and pushed himself home, seating himself deep within her and both groaning. His hands roamed her body, over her dress, he would have her again when they got home but right now, he needed her, it wasn’t making love, this was rough and filled with a desperate passionate need, that fire that consumed them both, burning brightly as he thrusted into her…

Both grunting and moaning the other’s name, the air filled with moans of “Hy…” and “Gareth”

His breathing came in harsh little bursts as he moved forward, each thrust filling her, hitting different angles as the friction whipped Hyacinth into insensibility.

She clawed at the bed, pulling the sheets from the bed as she reached the tipping point.

“Cum for me Hy…. Cum with me” he grunted, sweat beading on his dark skin, his thrusts growing frenzied and wild as he lifted her from the bed so he stood there with her, her legs wrapped around his waist as he buried his face into her neck as he let out a primal shout, as she screamed, her eyes rolling back in her head, as he poured himself into her.

It took all his strength not to drop her onto the bed as they caught their breath. Hyacinth let out a giggle as she caught her reflection in the mirror on the vanity table.

“Can we go home… please” he whispered into her ear “I am not sure I can wait a few more hours to go again…” he said as he put her down on the bed.

Hyacinth noticed that he was still hard. She giggled “very well… but you can send your grandmother flowers tomorrow and explain our early departure”

Gareth grabbed her stockings and other items and shoved them into his pocket and took her hand and all but dragged her from the bedroom… “Oh I am sure she’ll understand…” he grinned as he ran through the house dragging her with him both rather desperate to get home for round two…

Though Round Two did end up being in the carriage on their way home… much to their footmen’s dismay...

[rosethornewrites]

Fics I read this week!

I started this right after posting the last one, so I’ll hopefully keep it up. A lot of the multichapter fics are ones I subscribed to that finished. A lot of the one-shots are under 5k words, with some being 100-word ficlets.

Finished:

Not Rated:

Wei Changze's weird day, by Weiyingbestboy

Wei Changze was minding his own business, when four potential time travellers dropped out of the sky. Literally.

Serenity Cave, by Anonymous

The travel home had been mostly silent. Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian competing for who could say the least amount of words.

Then, as they’d been walking along the mountain path, just a little past the gates of Cloud Recesses, a hole suddenly opened up in the ground beneath them and they fell into a small rock cave. Then the hole shrunk until it was barely big enough to poke a sword through. Just enough of a gap that they had a bit of light and wouldn’t suffocate, but definitely too small to escape through.

The earth had swallowed them.

…

In the middle of an argument, Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian get trapped in a cave.

In Which Lan Xichen Returns to the World, by AshurbanipalJones

Lan Xichen ends his isolation after the death of Jin Guangyao.

In Which Lan Qiren Requests an Audience, by AshurbanipalJones

Lan Qiren wants to discuss Important Matters with his nephew. His nephew is kinda not having it.

Mercy Meet Vengeance, by ShanaStoryteller (7th in a series)

The first time Wen Qing meets Wei Wuxian, she has a white sash around her waist.

Rated E:

Thirty-three Lashes, by Winglesss (20 chapters)

Yiling Laozu is dead. He's been dead for over a thousand years. For over a thousand years Lan Wangji has been wandering the world alone, helping where he's needed.

It's when he meets a mysterious cultivator and a strange curse starts to torment his body that the past and the present start to mingle, igniting emotions Lan Wangji almost forgot he was able to feel.

curiosity is the beginning, by everyearning (noctiphany)

He's just curious. Wangi's brother always said he had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. He also said it was going to get him in trouble one day.

Rated M:

devil from heaven, by incendir (3 chapters)

He would like to think that he knows what Lan Wangji could enjoy, if he’d let himself do so.

(or, wei wuxian's road to discovering lan wangji's yiling patriarch kink)

in this lifetime, by hauntedotamatone

Lan Wangji must reach him. There is still time. All he has to do is reach him. They’ll take A-Yuan and whoever remains and they’ll go as far and fast as they can. The world is vast, there must be a place for them somewhere, and if there is not, then he will carve one out from nothing if that is what it will take.

“Wei Ying!” he calls out to him over the roar of the flames and the familiar and terrible sounds of battle. At first, he thinks that Wei Ying is ignoring him or otherwise does not hear him. Then, his fingers still over his flute. He looks up with those empty eyes, unseeing. There is no hatred in them, but there is no affection or recognition either. There is nothing at all.

Lan Wangji has a terrible nightmare for the first time in years. For the first time in years, he does not wake up alone.

We Are Family, by Duochanfan (13 chapters)

Jiang Yanli heard the words spewing from Jin Zixun's mouth and said enough. After putting the man in his place she leaves the Hunt with her brother and Lan Wangji. The three come across Wen Qing, and with that simple meeting, they change what could have happened to something else entirely.

until it's time to see the light, I'll make my own with you each night, by backbones

His husband would never go back to sleep if he sensed something was wrong, and he always did. He knew him better than he knew himself, sometimes, and maybe that was why that feeling was so foreign it was horrifying. He wanted to keep that part of himself close, a well-kept secret, and now, deep down, he knew it was too late for that.

Or: After having a nightmare in a deep sleep, Wei Wuxian has a surprise visit from an old childhood habit.

Rated T:

Wei Wuxian Discovers Bisexuality, by arcaladiwoompa

AU where WWX decides he quite enjoys being passionately kissed against a tree by an unknown assailant and acts on it instead of just sitting there going herp derp I wonder who this very strong cultivator could possibly be.

Rescue, by WithBroomBefore (6 chapters)

Post-Sunshot fix-it AU featuring Jiang siblings taking care of each other, among other things.

Over the Rotted Bridge, by vailkagami (41 chapters)

Lan Wangji saves the Wen remants from execution but is killed in the process. The Yiling Patriarch loses himself in grief and rage and the determination to bring him back no matter what.

The world is not on his side in this. It is not on either of their sides when he succeeds. But The World is not all of its people, and some things can always be salvaged from the ruins.

Across, by vailkagami

An epilogue to the story "Over the Rotted Bridge", set in the far future. Cannot stand alone.

Centuries after the fall of the cultivation world, Wei Wuxian and Wangji return to the burial mounds for the last time.

Completion, by youjezebel

Lan Wangji misses raising A-Yuan. Wei Wuxian wants to be a father. In the end, everything works out perfectly.

Second Nephew, by vividneonmanias

"You need to stop talking to Wàngjī," Lan Xīchén told him, in the uncannily stern tones of a Sect Leader and not a nephew; "and preferably stop talking about him, if you cannot control yourself."

In the years following Wèi Wúxiàn's death, Lán Qǐrén learns to hold his tongue. But he still wants to know his second nephew. Some things need to be said; some questions need to be asked.

oceans, drowned in starfire, by stiltonbasket (10 chapters)

Lan Wangji breathes.

There is a tattered red ribbon trailing through the water beside him, and below him, a crooning, echoing song that clears his mind and stops him from struggling against the waves.

Lan Wangji breathes, and sleeps, and wakes again.

When he opens his eyes on the beach to find Huan-ge and Shufu crying over his body, he hears a lifeguard say that he was underwater for almost half an hour. ___

Tired of life in the business world, Lan Wangji returns to his mother’s old house to pursue a career as a novelist and search for the mysterious fisherman who rescued him after he nearly drowned on a whale-watching trip twenty years ago.

He wasn’t expecting much more than a quiet refuge to serve as inspiration for his work, and restore his spirits after half a lifetime spent in the city. But when a lost merbaby washes up on the beach in Caiyi, Lan Wangji realizes that his childhood savior might be closer than he thinks.

adding shadows to the walls of the cave, by Fleetling

It didn’t take Wei Wuxian long to see what he was pointing at, and as soon as he did, the smaller man turned back to face their juniors. “Cave!” he shouted across the thunder of the raindrops hitting the muddy path. “Hanguang-Jun found us a cave! We’ll stop to dry off, and head out again once the rain has stopped!” Beside him, Lan Wangji inclined his head in silent agreement. The bickering of the juniors cut out as they focused on making it the remaining short distance on the slippery ground.

They all huddled into the entrance of the cave, taking refuge from the rain, but waiting for directions before heading in.

Ouyang Zizhen ran his hand over the wall, feeling slight bumps and indents below his fingers. He brushed off the dirt, reading the characters revealed. “The lovers’ cave,” he read, shaking his head with a smile. Probably a local pair who came here occasionally. It was a bit romantic, when one thought of it. It also probably meant that the cave was safe - no lovers would hide away in a cave that contained resentful energy or other dangers.

Say It Until I Hear You, by DrowningByDegrees

Lan Zhan does not say what has him rattled, but neither does he retreat. He concedes by fractions, an embrace he does not shake off, a shaky sigh when his forehead comes to rest against Wei Wuxian’s collarbone, a wordless surrender when Wei Wuxian gathers him closer. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know precisely which ones, but there are ghosts in bed with them tonight, sorrow and regret and all the might have beens they cast aside so long ago.

Dull Comforts, by Just_Another_Mystery

Five times Làn Sīzhuī pondered the existence of a parent he does not remember having.

Downpour, by milesofheart

The way Wei Ying had looked at him…warily, expecting a fight, steeling himself for Lan Wangji to denounce him. Waiting for the worst from Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji’s heart cracked down the middle and his whole body shook as he wept now in the rain, the mud of Qiongqi Path seeping into his once-pristine robes.

on the importance of home (and all it implies), by nixtothou

The Burial Mounds are empty.

Wei Wuxian had expected this, yet for some reason it still hurt to see.

The Best Place to Study, by adrian_kres

Lan Zhan decides to study in the law library this time. He leaves with a boyfriend.

Rated G:

cadillac converter, by mdzsed

lan zhan's car starts making weird noises so he takes it to get it repaired. the new mechanic does not look like he knows what he's doing. good thing lan zhan is no fool.

or: lan zhan makes a complete idiot out of himself but hey, it scored him a date with a handsome mechanic so it's all good.

a small spark, by sebfish

It had started, as many things did, because Wen Qing was worried, and Wei Wuxian had learned early on that she wouldn’t budge until she’d gotten her way.

Winter in Cloud Recesses, by Sarehz

Winter in Cloud Recesses was cold. Really cold. It was a chill that penetrated Wei Wuxian's bones and reminded him of that period after his parents died when he shivered alone in the streets.

His Face, by AshayaTReldai

Among Su She's possessions was found a qiankun pouch containing a sheaf of sketches of Hanguang Jun, inspiring a lifetime's exchange between Wei Wuxian and his husband Lan Wangji, studies of his face.

anger, by theninjacat

Beloved Old Lines, by Preludian_Staves

A quiet Wuxian was a creature Qiren had learned to never trust in mixed company.

I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight, by Sarehz

Wei Wuxian was sitting on the roof. Again. It had become his go to place recently when he had to attend these sort of boring meetings where all the Sect Leader's met up and congratulated each other on defeating Wen Ruohan and blah blah blah.

Unexpected, by WithBroomBefore

It is not, from Lan Wangji’s perspective, an unpleasant kiss. He has no particular objection to kissing people, though admittedly he has only ever done so as a prelude to activities that involve various other bits of the body. And it is Wei Wuxian; nothing involving Wei Wuxian is awful. The kiss is...fine.

Modern AU, just some aroace/aro queerplatonic roommates finding the words.

An Accidental Clothes Thief, by Preludian_Staves

He should have probably realized what he'd accidentally done before starting work on a new talisman.

Groupie, by Speechless_since_1998

Being the manager of a band was hard work, but someone had to do it. And Lan Xichen was the only one able to keep members of his brother's band in line.

A Silver Thread, by DizziDreams

Lan Wangji is brushing Wei Ying's Hair before bed, when he sees it, glinting like a fish through the dark glassy waters of a deep pool:

A single, silver hair.

The sky is overcast and I'm sorry, by hamlets_ghost (8th part of a series)

Wangji's brother is gone once again.

A-niang explains.

Follow the sound of pipe, follow this song, by fairyprincess2

He took the last steps needed to reach the opening and there he was, black and red clothes flying with the wind, hair bound up in a ponytail with a red hair band. He was standing with his back facing Lan Wangji but it was him, he knew it was.

(In)Hindsight, it's obvious, by Potatoes_Radishes 

Lan Qiren woke up undisturbed, calm and refreshed, that was enough for him to immediately know something was odd, mainly due to the lack of noises during the night that made him suspect it, he grumbled away his frustrations regarding what he assumed would have been another prank as he got up to get dressed.

When he left the bathroom and moved outside, a very different set of robes awaited him, one he hadn’t worn in years. He finally took a notice of his surrounding, the room was different resembling the one from before their rebuilding, not caring about his state of undress as he open the door almost on the verge of panic, the first thing that rang out in the morning was a loud yell of “WEI WUXIAN!!!”

Unfinished:

Rated E:

taking over you, by sassybluee (3rd in a series)

Before, he’d once fantasized about giving in—shutting Wei Ying up with his lips, stilling his limbs with his own forehead ribbon. He imagined himself making demands. And then Wei Ying went missing. Wei Ying was presumed dead. And Wei Ying returned from the Burial Mounds. By then, Lan Wangji’s desires had long since cooled, and all that remained was longing. Longing to ease Wei Ying’s suffering. Longing to help him know he was not as alone as he seemed to feel. He would have gladly given him everything back then, if he knew how to ask for it. Would have surrendered his body to show him he cared.

And now?

_____

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian explore married life, and all that entails.

Rated M:

Keep Holding On, by abCEE

As they reached an inn and Wei Wuxian got them a room with three beds, the world seemed to have frozen for Jiang Yanli when her brother suddenly fainted and Jiang Wanyin was just fast enough to catch him before his body could hit the floor.

"A-Xian!"

"Wei Wuxian!"

In which after the Lotus Pier Massacre: Wei Wuxian was greatly injured by Zidian, Jiang Yanli left the inn to buy the medicines and food, and Jiang Wanyin distracted the Wens.

(With a bonus of Wei Wuxian knowing the title of the song and more things ensued inside the Xuanwu Cave that may or may have not involved Lan Wangji's forehead ribbon)

Canon diverged from there.

Sacrifices Made with Blood, by NocturnalFriend

Lan Wangji knew it was too late, there was too much blood on Wei Ying's hands already. Still, if he asked his brother for help, surely. There was a way to rescue the man who held his heart?

Or: Trust is not easily given and all to easily shattered. Lan Wangji learns this in the worst way, when Lan Xichen gives into the demands of the cultivation world. Although nobody could have predicted the whims of fate, giving them another chance at righting things.

lan jingyi vs. the laws of time itself, by agloeian (2nd in a series)

His kick has dislodged some stray fragments of Guanyin Temple's destroyed ceiling beams. Jingyi stares at them as he kneads his toes through his boot. They’re as red as the blood that stains the floor beneath him, sharp and splintering. Wind whistles through the wood and stone, though there’s a flickering too - the sound of paper fluttering in the breeze.

A talisman written in blood.

---

Lan Jingyi finds a way home.

Dream a little dream of me, by Moominmammashandbag

Lan WangJi braced himself.

“Wei Ying.” he said.

“You are not dreaming. This is real. You have been rescued.”

“The kissing bit comes first!” said Wei Wuxian impatiently.

“But…I cannot kiss you if you think you are dreaming!"

“I don’t see the logic in that.” said Wei Wuxian. “I obviously want you to kiss me or I wouldn’t be dreaming about it!

Rated T:

Love Song In Reverse, by timetoboldlygo

Wei Wuxian gasps back into life without a single memory left. His friends, his siblings, his home — all lost to the fog in his head, nothing more than a mystery slipping through his fingers. What else was there to do but carry himself around in bits and parts, trying to become whole, a letter waiting to be written? He is – he is Mo Xuanyu, isn’t he? In this body, with these people. This family. He has to be Mo Xuanyu, he didn’t know anything else, even if the name sounded wrong. That was all he had.

Well, that and Hanguang-jun.

Lan Wangji, for his part, has had his taste of love and lost it. In all his grieving and searching, he didn’t expect to find another.

-

Wei Wuxian gets resurrected, loses his memories, and falls in love.

Here We Go Again, by Alliandra

He looked over to where the swordswoman was still fighting, but her focus seemed entirely locked onto that fight so it was unlikely that she could have had anything to do with the energy drain. He was still wracking his brain for something else to do to assist, so this thing didn’t kill them both, but now he was feeling weak, dizzy and currently not far from helpless.

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been several months since the events at the Guanyin temple and Wei Wuxian is wandering around on his own. After he helps a stranger kill a very dangerous beast he uncovers what seems to be a conspiracy aimed at ending his life. He heads back to Cloud Recesses with his new companion in tow, looking to get Lan Wanji's help in working out what is involved.

Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling made a surprising discovery under Koi Tower that may well be linked to the threat against Wei Wuxian's life.

Can they all work together to find out what is going on and put a stop to it, before something disastrous occurs?

A Teacher’s Oath, by MaelStromm

Deep down, only one thing really matters.

It is not being a good Lan, despite what the entire cultivation world may think, nor is it "sucking the fun out of life" as some disciple had once said.

More than anything, Lan Qiren is a good teacher.

Despite too many to count prejudices and the boy's chaotic behavior, he'll burn his ribbon before he lets this genius be wasted.

Or :

An AU where LQR gets along with WWX and somehow ends up having to deal with far too much drama.

I've Heard of Second Chances, but This Is Ridiculous, by velvet_green

One of Wei Wuxian’s experimental talisman arrays sends himself, his husband and his brother to that mythical land of long ago – the Gusu Lan lectures of their youth.

Wei Wuxian is amused. Lan Wangji is silent. Jiang Cheng is angry.

And their younger versions are mostly just very, very confused.

[toraodwaterlaw]

Heart to Heart

Part 1; Part 2 of a four part AU fic set just after Marineford.

1161 words, angst with eventual happy ending

-

“If there’s something you want to say, just come out with it.”

Law would have very much liked to nap but it was hard to do anything with Jinbe’s eyes painted on the side of his head for the past twenty minutes.

“It’s clear that Luffy-kun would not have survived if you hadn’t been here to care for him. Nor would I.”

Law raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s not what’s been on your mind this whole time. What are you getting at?”

Jinbe got up from his seat at Straw Hat’s bedside. There was none of the shakiness of his earlier movements. He stood tall and strong, with his broad shoulders held wide. He was healing well. Law was pleased to see it, even as that returned vitality was being angled against him.

“I want to know what Doflamingo wants with us,” the Fishman said.

It wasn’t a question. Law only wished he could be so sure of his own motives as others were.

He crossed his arms and shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “He doesn’t want anything.”

“I am thankful for what you’ve done but I know who you work for, Corazon. If he has anything planned—”

Something inside of Law snapped at the use of the title. He was used to it by now. It was how most of the world knew him. However, this action— this act of idiotic, shortsighted heroism— was his. If he was going to pay the price for it, he was damned well going to claim the credit.

He stood so suddenly that it made Jinbe slip into a defensive stance. Law ignored it. “He doesn’t want anything,” he repeated with a growl. “I’m not one of Doflamingo’s mindless puppets.”

Law’s fists were clenched tightly enough that his knuckles whitened beneath the brand of death on the base of his fingers. He could rip the Fishman apart with a gesture. If he wanted, he could even make it hurt.

Jinbe wasn’t cowed. “Then what do you want? I won’t allow Luffy-kun to be used and you’ll have to fight me if you have any ill intent.”

Law barked out a laugh, all the fight draining away. He was so tired. How many times would he have to answer this same question? He leaned back against the edge of Straw Hat’s bed. “If I wanted anything, I would have brought you both back to Dressrosa with me. I told you before, it was just a whim.”

Jinbe considered him with narrowed eyes. Law was ready to fight if he had to, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Injured or not, Jinbe had been a Warlord. More than that, he was still Law’s patient for the moment. At his heart, he was a doctor. He didn’t like to kill, no matter what he might have been forced to do with that accursed title hung around his neck.

A sudden change in Straw Hat’s heart monitor instantly drew his attention away. At first it seemed the teenager was simply suffering through a particularly bad nightmare but then his eyes flew wide and he let out an ear piercing cry. He tore the monitors off himself with his blind thrashing. Law threw himself on top of the raging teen before he did more damage, either to himself or the valuable medical equipment. 

“Ace!”

“Stay still,” Law said with a grunt. Weeks later and his energy still felt low from the intense operation. His size advantage was holding out for the moment but Straw Hat was really thrashing. “If you open up your wounds, you will die.”

It was about as useful as talking with a wall for all that Straw Hat listened. He continued to struggle and call out for his brother. Law got a couple of fists to his jaw for his efforts. His teeth clacked together and he tasted blood. Straw Hat wasn’t messing around. Thankfully, neither was Jinbe. He lent his own hands to the effort and held down the teen’s kicking legs.

“Ace! Where are you? Ace!”

There was an unseeing, feral madness to Straw Hat’s gaze. Law knew the look all too well, as he was certain he’d worn it himself a few times in his life. It was enough to awaken a twinge of sympathy. He knew the pain of losing a sibling, of seeing the life you knew go up in flames before you. Unfortunately, he hadn’t exactly coped with that loss and so couldn’t imagine what to say to ease the pain.

Even if he did, he didn’t have the chance. Despite both his and Jinbe’s best efforts, they were trying to contain an unruly mess of rubber limbs. Feet stretched and dented the metal walls. Arms were extended and wound around Law to flip him off and away. Law slammed first into the floor, knocking the air from his lungs, and then through the equipment set up around the room. He was vaguely aware of injuries blooming across his skin, of bloody gashes and bruised bones, but he was more focused on glass breaking and metal bending. At this rate, his medbay would be ruined.

Law summoned up a Room, let it grow until it extended well beyond the bounds of the sub, and dumped the three of them unceremoniously on the grass outside. As soon as they landed, Straw Hat retracted his limbs and launched himself through the barrier that had been set up around the bay. Law sat up and brushed grass off himself as he watched the raging teen disappear into the jungle. 

For his part, Jinbe hesitated before running to give chase. Law nodded him on.

“Go on,” he said. “If Straw Hat-ya reopens those wounds, he will die. It’s as simple as that.”

“And you?”

“I’ve done everything I can for both of you. Any psychological damage is beyond my ability to fix. As for everything else, Straw Hat-ya just needs time and rest. He doesn’t need me here for that and I’m due back in Dressrosa. Overdue.”

Jinbe stared a moment longer as Straw Hat continued to rage in the distance. Law couldn’t begin to fathom what the former Warlord was thinking but then he nodded and hurried off toward the jungle. As soon as he was gone, Law started to check himself over for injuries. There was a gash along one of his arms and some broken glass digging into a shoulder. The blow to his jaw was going to result in a pretty monumental bruise but nothing too serious. He performed a scan just to be sure he wasn’t overlooking a concussion. The worst he found were a few bruised ribs. There was nothing to stop him from travelling back to Dressrosa.

Law sighed, whether from exhaustion or relief, even he couldn’t have said. His overwhelming thought at the moment was over. It was over and he could go back home. Not to the palace, but to Cora.

[buglife]

Terra Lumina

A hollow knight au guide that I keep writing in. You can read all my writings and art stuff in the #terra-lumina tag. Mostly so I can just point to this post when explaining things awee. :3 Post subject to edits and changes.

Terra Lumina is an au where both Ghost (the little knight) and Quirrel are together and are the new rulers of Hallownest. So it's a royalty au! Pretty much it's slice of life where they do their best to be a better ruler than the Pale King ever was, ruling with kindness and intelligence. Seriously, like, the Pale King could have just talked to the Radiance instead of letting things snowball like they did. They both live in the new palace which is pretty much like the White House in that it's mostly dedicated to government with an apartment for the rulers to live in. It's where the old palace used to be, but now it's much greener and 100% less buzzsaws. It is post embrace the void ending and an everyone lives/nobody dies au where the only characters that are dead are those that were found so at the start of the game. Takes place about 5-7 years after the end of the game.

The two romantic rulers.

Ghost:Now taller than Quirrel and is the Shade Lord, god of void and dreams. Sovereign of Hallownest and rightful ruler due to king's brand. Can use telepathy but only does so with family/friends, as they are nervous about scaring people so uses sign language with them. Is very happy to have family/friends and overall liked by most folks. Is still scary to some and is sad about that. Married Quirrel. Considers Mato their adoptive father and calls them such. Still enjoys fighting (but for fun now). Since dreams are now their aspect, they gather up nightmares to help the population (and gives to their adopted grimmchild, Allegro, and Grimm themselves.)

Quirrel: Now called the Scholar King, rules alongside Ghost. He still has trouble believing that this is his life. Chaotic Good. Mostly deals with the logistics in running the kingdom. Adoptive mother is Monomon who found him when he was teeny tiny. Did not attempt to drown themselves, instead isolated himself when he thought Monomon was dead so Ghost had to find him. Still fights and can practically teleport. Spends free time in the palace library where a copy of all the surviving books were moved to and is free to the public to check out and read.

Family/Friends

Hornet: Still the Princess of Deepnest and was happy to have her mother Herrah rule again. Is officially Deepnest's ambassador and works closely with her sibling to be sure things that need to get done, get done. She won't admit it but she loves spending time with her siblings. Also randomly jumps Ghost to keep them on their toes and make sure they don't lose their skill. This can happen at anytime, anyplace. Is a close ally with the Hive and is helping the new Queen get used to her role. Also demands spars with Quirrel all the time because she does like her brother and law and the fact she doesn't kill him is proof enough in her eyes.

Mato: Dadmaster. Pretty much raised Ghost in between the end of the game to present day (and did a damn good job). Still lives in the Howling Cliffs and teaches students still, especially knight candidates. Is always on hand to cause trouble if needed. Is so proud you guys can't even. Keeps his home open in case Ghost and Quirrel need to hide for a bit. Officiated Ghost and Quirrel's wedding because of course.

Hollow: Part of the new great knights of Hallownest and is known as Hollow the Kind. Still likes to help people, and after having lots of care and therapy, is now more expressive and open. Is pretty much free to do what they please, and they choose to mostly patrol the kingdom and help when needed. Is constantly sneaking frogs into the palace because Hollow loves them. Can only use telepathy with other void beings and uses sign language to communicate otherwise. Is still missing an arm but had a magical prosthetic built. Loves to be in cuddle piles.

Tiso:Big brother figure and part of the new great knights of Hallownest. He is known as Tiso the Daring. Is actually a badass Captain America type fighter, just couldn't dodge a house sized mawlek and nearly died back then. Taught Ghost all the swears and often invokes 'Big Brother Rights'. Is also Captain of the Guard and has matured a lot since the end of the game. In a relationship with Myla and Cloth.

Cloth:Part of the new great knights of Hallownest and is known as Cloth the Strong. Makes sure people behave. Has healed from her near suicidal want to join her late lover, and now has a more positive outlook on life. Tends to organize tournaments that aren't fucked up and fatal like the Coliseum. In a relationship with Tiso and Myla.

Myla:Was saved from the infection, but it left her prone to sickness and a little weaker than most bugs. Compensates for still being cherry and wonderful to be around. Actually wicked smart and has helped Ghost restart the mining industry. Enjoys going to musicals/plays in her free time. Still loves being a geologist and provided most of the geological samples in the Capital's museum. Is in a relationship with Cloth and Tiso.

Ogrim: The only surviving great knight of old Hallownest. Is part of the new knights as Ogrim the Defender. Is the leader of the new knights and is a brilliant tactician. Has moved up from the Waterways to a new home and no longer lives in exile. Likes to plan parties and is generally doing better. He deserves it.

God Tamer: Real name is Xena (I seen it used around and I like it.) Part of the new great knights of Hallownest and is known as Xena the Tamer. Still works alongside her beast, ‘Pickles’. Has an uncanny ability to befriend dangerous beasts and pacifies them. Now has a small zoo’s worth of ‘friends’ that come and go for pats and treats. Dunks on Tiso a lot. Is surprisingly a conservationist. Will beat the shit out of people without hesitation if needed. Often fights new recruits to judge areas needing improvement. Has no tolerance for idiots. Was saved from the infection, but was not infected long enough to cause long term damage.

Allegro: The Grimmchild. Has chosen female pronouns. She is now past the grub stage and has left the kingdom to travel with her father, Grimm, to learn how to take over the Troupe. Still keeps in contact with Ghost through dreams and loves Ghost very much as their ‘Ren’. Was and still is, a little shit. Ghost misses them a lot but is comforted by her visits. Ghost saves nightmares to give to her so she can get big and strong!

Grimm: Considered a friend at this point, and taught Ghost about the dream realm. Visits through dreams. Ghost saves nightmares to give to him. Often has advice when needed.

Sheo/Nailsmith: Uncles. They both run an art school with Sheo teaching fine arts and Nail(Smith) teaching forging. They also run an art gallery. Are up to cause trouble whenever needed.

Oro: Uncle. The real sour one. Teaches new recruits and tends to weed out those that can make it from ones that can’t. Pretty much a drill Sargent. Ghost pays him not only in geo, but candy. Special, custom made candy just for Oro. It’s the only way they could get him to do this job. Oro won’t admit it’s also because he loves his former pupil no sir.

Monomon: Quirrel’s adoptive mother and currently is the royal researcher. Teaches classes as well. Ghost pretty much told her to do whatever as long as it will improve the lives of bugkind and she loves them for it. Is always down to cause trouble. Chaotic Neutral. Has some type of explosive with them at any given time. Tends to ‘vanish’ people who have wrong her or her son. Embodies chaos. Craves gossip. Former Dreamer and woke up when Ghost took the pantheon approach to defeating the Radiance.

Herrah: Queen of Hallownest and considers Ghost one of her children. Is happy to be Queen of her own people and is making up for lost time with her daughter. Likes to meet with the Hallownest rulers for a good shit-talking session. Is made of sass. Former Dreamer and woke up when Ghost took the pantheon approach to defeating the Radiance.

Lurien: Watcher of the Capital. Disaster. Will stay up for days on end working on things to accidentally invent new things in the process in sleep deprived delirium. Often gets drunk or high and contemplates the universe. Has the best edibles around I tell you. Is actually good at his job, which is finding suspicious things and investigating them. Former Dreamer and woke up when Ghost took the pantheon approach to defeating the Radiance.

Lemm: Runs the Hallownest museum and works in the back where he catalogs and studies findings and doesn’t have to talk to anyone and is the happiest he could ever be.

Seer: Holy shit she is old. Still lives in the resting grounds. Ghost visits often and brings tea and snacks. Grandma energy. Is currently working with Quirrel to recount as much as she can about moth legends and society so it can be preserved forever. It’s slow going because she is old, but it’s going.

The siblings: Are now at rest.

Everything else

White Lady: Is still alive and has left the gardens. She resides in a little hidden cottage outside the palace where she grows flowers. Is often called in to overlook agriculture efforts. Has long since revoked her crown and is content with a quiet life. Is not considered a mother by Ghost, and Ghost will not forgive her for her role in things. She is okay with this and hopes to atone someday for what she did.

The Pale King: Still fucking dead. Rest in Pieces you shit.

Eternal Emilitia: Is a member of the new noble class and takes her job seriously. She mostly keeps the other nobles in line when she can and helps delegate orders to places where they need to go. It’s like herding cats but she’s getting better with it the longer she’s around. Is respected by Ghost since she knows what it’s like to hit rock bottom and is quite sensitive to the needs to the people.

Radiance: Dead. Was going mad and in pain by the time Ghost got to her. Is now at rest.

Greenpath/Queen’s Gardens:Given back to the moss-kin and Unn. Unn has started to awaken more now that the infection is over and her children are freed from it’s influence. Is considered it’s own ‘kingdom’. Is in good relations with Hallownest.

Fungal Wastes: Still thriving. A hivemind made up of everything from microscopic spores to the entire fungal waste itself. The mushroom tribe trades with Hallownest and is in good relations with them. Still considered weird to most but they are good and peaceful people.

Mantis Tribe: Is in a good relationship with Ghost, Hornet and Quirrel, and not much else. Has complete independence but was asked nicely if they could help train the most dedicated of new guards/knights. Did not pass up the opportunity to be allowed to beat the shit out of willing Hallownest citizens who wanted to train.

Deepnest: Ruled by Queen Herrah and Princess Hornet. Good relationship with Hallownest and enjoys full independence. The beasts that reside are no longer hassled by Hallownest encroachment and thus does not push back into it. Exports silk products and is now a very prosperous nation.

Dirtmouth/Crystal Peaks: Still the same, but with now more people. All our favorite Dirtmouth folks are doing well. Elderbug is delighted to have a full town to be a mayor over.

City of Tears: Now called the 'Capital'. Plants are now on the ceiling to redirect water and stop the constant rain. It's much more pleasant now.

Colosseum of Fools: Left alone mostly. Ghost cannot stop people for wanting to go there if they are of sound mind to make the decision.

The Hive: Is now ruled by the new Queen Apis. Is fully independent and enjoys a cushy trade agreement with Hallownest and the rest of the various nations. She wonders if she will ever live up to her mother, Queen Vespa, but has many friends to help her grow into the role. Hive Knight is her loyal friend.

[official-weasley]

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: curse words, angst

Chapter 11

Charlie

I woke up the next morning wishing I was dreaming. I felt like not getting out of bed at all but I will not allow my feelings to interfere with my job. It was the only good thing I had going for me now that I lost all hope of ever being more than friends with Rhylee.

I got up and thanked Merlin when I saw that it was cloudy. If I would go to watch the sunrise and she would be there, I don’t know what I would do. I was so upset last night that I forgot to check my team’s schedule for the next month.

I was still determined to fix my relationship with Bill. I simply have to. It’s time to return to my roots. Being grateful for my job and being the best sibling I can be. That’s what I was all about before I met Rhylee and my world turned upside down.

I sighed and got out of bed. I sat down at the kitchen table, the timetable in front of me. Theo has two days off this week and so does Evan. John and Andrew are free the week after that. And then I could take time off when Rhylee comes back. It was hard to be two people short at once during mating season so we had to plan accordingly.

It’s settled then, I will go and visit Bill at work in three weeks. Hopefully, he won’t slam the door in my face. I still can’t believe what an idiot I am. I really messed up.

I decided to go to the nearby village and check out their library for books I could give Rhylee for her case. I didn’t want to be a part of it anymore but I didn’t want to show her how much she hurt me either. The sooner it’s over the better. And I wanted to help the dragon. I don’t want a single one to be executed if there is anything I can do to prevent it.

I could apparate to the library but I decided to walk instead. It’s supposed to be my day off anyway and why not take it for once. I don’t remember the last time I had a day off and if last night isn’t good enough of a reason for me to take a little break then I don’t know what is.

My mind was completely blank walking there. I didn’t have the energy to think about anything. Every time Rhylee or last night came to mind I tried to shake it off. I can’t think about it because it breaks my heart all over again and I can’t keep doing this to myself.

I only had a broken heart once before. It was when Emma and I broke up the summer after we graduated from Hogwarts. We started dating a month before our sixth year and we were very happy together. She was my first love and I wouldn’t change a thing. When I found out I got a job at the Sanctuary we started to talk about our future. She applied for a position to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Ilvermony and when she got her letter we knew it will be very difficult for us to see each other.

We both started right after graduation and we barely had the time to write to each other during summer. I was busy learning, getting acquainted with all the dragons, and getting assimilated to the working schedule and she had to train all summer and prepare to start the semester in September. When we finally had a chance to see each other in August, we both knew it’s not going to work out no matter how much we would like to try long-distance.

We agreed that it’s better if we go our separate ways and broke up. The only time we communicate now is when we send each other a birthday card.

It hurt, letting her go, but at least I had a choice. At least I knew what I was doing and I had a clean slate. This was nothing like it and it terrified me that I was still so attracted to Rhylee even though I don’t know what she was playing at. It’s like I just can’t let her go.

I spend a few hours in the library, going through books, making notes, trying to think of anything that might provide evidence of the dragon’s innocence. I was glad I decided to go. It was a good distraction and I forgot just how much I love reading, checking facts, and learning something new, especially if it had to do with dragons and other creatures.

I found a book on creature trials and one called Dragons and the Law. I decided to give them to Rhylee so she could see if they could be of any help. I dreaded not knowing when the trial is going to happen because it meant I didn’t know for how long I will have to pretend that I am okay with us being friends. I was planning on distancing myself from her as soon as everything is over.

Besides those two books, I took a few for myself. If I wanted to find myself again, I have to start reading as I used to. It made me happy and I think I will need a lot of those moments if I’ll be working alongside Rhylee for what can be the rest of my life.

I went for a run when I came back and paid Ernie a visit. His positivity and cheerfulness were something I needed to surround myself with. I don’t think I ever spent so much time in his office but damn he made me laugh. He gave me a letter from my mum and Ron and a package from Fred and George. At this point, I wasn’t even expecting anything from Bill.

I am glad that I’ve opened mum’s letter first as she warned me that the twins might send me something from their newly opened shop. They did it! They finally did it! They told me about it in one of their letters and made me swear I wouldn’t tell mum. I wanted to give them some money as I supported their dream but they said they are well taken care of.

I have no idea where they got the money from but I just wanted to be there for them. It made me feel good to be a good older brother to at least 2 of my siblings.

Because I was so ecstatic for them I decided to open the gift they sent me anyway. I carefully unwrapped it and slowly removed the cover with my eyes narrowed and my head leaned back just in case something would jump out. I have learned through the years that with them, you have to be prepared for anything.

It looked like candy. They were joking, right? I took it out of the box and found a little note at the bottom.

Something to prank your mates with.

Thank you for being on our side, Charlie.

Love, Fred and George

I felt like crying. I know to them it was a simple gesture but this meant so much to me. It was right what I needed. At least I did something right. It warmed my heart that they felt supported by me and I couldn’t wait to visit their shop.

Something to prank my mates with, huh?

I picked up one of the wrappers. It looked like regular candy. I squinted my eyes to read the label.

Ton-Tongue Toffee.

That didn’t sound so bad. If it wasn’t their invention I would dare trying it but I knew better. Perhaps I will give one to Theo. He always liked to talk too much, maybe these could fix that.

I spent the rest of the day reading on the sofa. Merlin’s beard did I miss it. How could I not have an entire wall of books in my home? I need to write to Hagrid if he still has that one book about dragons he used to lend me when I was still in school. I would love to reread it and I loved the illustrations in it.

When I finally tore my eyes off the book to check the time, I couldn’t believe it was time for dinner already. I decided to put on some clothes.

Yes, I was reading naked.

I live alone and I felt like it and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

It was the new Charlie!

I tucked the books for Rhylee under my arm and exited my hut.

I knocked on her door and the second I did I heard movement inside.

“Charlie, hi.” She looked even more upset than she did yesterday.

The dark circles under her eyes indicated that she slept almost as little as I did.

“I don’t want to bother you.” I started. I saw something shift in her eyes. “I was in the library this morning and found these two books that I reckon could help you with the case.” I explained.

I couldn’t believe how calm I was. I don’t know if it was because I was still mad at her or I simply didn’t have the energy to care anymore. My heart was still bumping against my rib cage but it was easier to ignore it this time.

“Thank you.” She carefully took the books from my hands, her eyes on mine.

I hated the way she was looking at me. As if she was sorry. As if she felt bad for what happened last night. I hated that I could read her like a book and I hated how much I wanted to ask her what’s wrong and why is she so upset as it was clear, something was going on in her life.

We might be friends but I can’t be there for her right now. I have to get my life in order first. I have to take care of myself and my family. As much as I wanted to, I can’t make her a priority again because I know the second I do, I will fall right back in and I can’t trust myself with getting out.

And she has Nick for that, right?

“Want to come in?” She said as she went to put the books on her coffee table.

“No. I’m going to go have dinner with the guys.” My voice was completely emotionless.

“Oh. Okay.”

Don’t sound so disappointed, Rhylee. You don’t get to sound like that. I can’t feel sorry for you.

“Look, about last night…”

“Don’t.” I shook my head.

I don’t want to talk about it ever again. Especially not with her.

“It’s okay. I understand.” I smiled awkwardly as I didn’t know what else to do.

“It’s just…” She bit her lip and bowed her head. “I…”

“Look, Rhylee. It’s really not a big deal.”

It was but okay.

“I have to go, they are waiting for me.” Without waiting another second I turned around and walked away.

Fuck, why was it so hard! I just left her standing there in the doorway. It was killing me but I knew it was the right thing to do…for me at least.

I sat next to Andrew and started eating my dinner. I just remembered that I haven’t eaten at all today. They were all waiting for me to say something but I pretended I was too busy eating to notice.

“Charlie, we’re sorry about yesterday.” Evan was the first to speak.

“Yeah, it wasn’t our business and we shouldn’t have told you to go and see her.” John followed.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you did it.” I mumbled with my mouth full.

“You are?” Theo looked puzzled.

“Yeah.” I finally swallowed the food. “If you didn’t I don’t know when I would make a move and it already took too long for me to find out she was dating someone.”

“I still can't believe it.” Andrew shook his head. “I know she’s very private but one might think you would mention your partner at least once.” They all nodded in agreement.

“Or at least that she would tell you.” Peter spoke for the first time.

“Why me?” I looked up at him.

“Well, you’re better friends with her than we are. You went running together and you trained her and…you have history.” The lot nodded their heads again.

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” I tried not to sound too disappointed.

“We’re sorry, Charlie.” Evan said gently.

“We promise, we won't mention it again.” Andrew put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it.

“Thanks.” I really appreciated that they understood and didn’t press the matter further.

I couldn’t be angry with them. They only wanted me to be happy and they couldn’t know it would turn out so bad. I definitely didn’t expect it.

“What are you going to do now?�� Theo asked after a brief pause.

“I’m going to talk to Bill.” I put my fork down. “Rhylee told him that we slept together so that confirms why he hasn’t been writing to me for so long. I haven’t seen him in two years and I can’t believe I let this happen.” I pressed my fingers to my temples.

“Charlie, everybody makes mistakes. You’re only human.” Peter said slowly.

“Do you think he’ll be able to forgive me after such a long time?” I lifted my head.

“Get off it, Charlie!” Theo slammed the table with his fist. “He’s your brother. Of course, he will!”

I wish I had Theodore’s confidence in that. Bill is the nicest, sweetest guy I know and he didn’t hold a grudge against anybody.

But two years!

I would kick my arse if I was him. And then I would heal myself and do it again.

“Peter, I will take two days off in three weeks to go and see him.” I remembered that I have to tell him if I leave the Sanctuary.

We could take a day or two off if we scheduled it in advance without saying anything like I did today. But if you plan on being outside of the Reserve we had to tell Peter so that he knew that if anything goes wrong or if he would need another pair of hands that he can’t come and knock on your door for you to help.

“Charlie, if you want we can switch days and you can go in two days.” Theo offered.

“That’s very nice of you, mate.” I smiled.

That meant a lot to me.

“But I have to figure out what to say to him anyways and I need to find a way to ask one of my siblings to tell me where to find him. I don’t want mum to know that we aren’t talking. It’s a miracle I was able to keep it a secret for such a long time anyway.”

“In three weeks it is.” Peter made a mental note.

“You’re going to be fine, Charlie.” John said. “Just give it time.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sighed.

First I get my brother back and then I’ll focus on mending my heart.

[yellowocaballero]

Continuation of Human Relations (Oh My God, They Were Roommates)

This is a 16k story that’s a bit too short for AO3 but a bit too long for Tumblr that acts as a continuation of my Archivist!Sasha and Immortal!Jon fic Human Relations. I recommend that you read that before this. This story takes place between S2 and S3, and is about Sasha and Georgie’s roommate adventures. I’m uncertain if I’ll continue this and post it on AO3, post it on AO3 as it is, or what, but for the time being I’ll at least post it here. 

Serious content warnings for discussion of abusive friendships, gaslighting, discussion of 19th century racism, implied transphobia, and discussion of police brutality. Nothing more serious than what we saw in Human Relations, but it does have a much more explicit investigation of Jon and Elias’ relationship. Rest under the cut. Happy Birthday, @magickko. 

EDIT: HAHA READMORE DIDN’T WORK, YIKES. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Georgie Barker wasn’t a mystery, and she’d be the first to tell you.

Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, honey! I always love having Jonah owe me a favor. Don’t worry about the cops and the law, nobody will ever find you here. Seriously, the entire department’s in my pocket. It’s no hassle having you here, it’s a big flat! It’s been years since I’ve had a roommate, this’ll be fun!

The one thing she hadn’t understood was Sasha begging her not to let Jon in to see her. He knows exactly where you are, Georgie pointed out. He knows you’re not actually a murderer, Georgie said. He might be able to help explain some of what’s going on, Georgie hinted. Jon would respect my wishes, but if Jonah really wants him to talk to you, he’ll definitely do it...

“Please,” Sasha had croaked, the uncomfortable morning after she had stumbled into Georgie’s flat. The Admiral wove around her legs, purring up a storm, and Georgie was munching on avocado toast and sipping pomegranate juice. “I just - I just need some space.”

“Why?” Georgie asked obliviously. That was something that Sasha was rapidly learning about Georgie - she didn’t hold back with impolite questions, or her opinion. She seemed to be regarding Sasha’s life as her own personal Youtuber Drama, which Sasha really didn’t know how she felt about. Her life wasn’t a spectacle, but she guessed even the warfare and tragedy of ants were of obscure and strange interest to humanity. “He’s feeling, like, totally bad about framing you for murder. I can tell he super wants to apologize to you about everything.”

Martin’s words echoed through her mind, from what felt like a decade ago: Jon had ruined Martin’s life, but to him it was as simple as a momentary inconvenience. “I don’t want his apology,” Sasha croaked. “I want not to be on the run from the police. I want to go back to my flat. Unless he’s going to make me human again I don’t want any stupid apologies. They’re useless.”

“Hm. Well, you’re free to stay here as long as you need to, of course.” Georgie sipped at her tea. They were sitting around the breakfast table, Sasha desolately shoving eggs into her mouth as Georgie drank her tea that Sasha was reasonably sure was spiked with brandy. Rich people were literally never sober. “It’ll be so much fun, like a sleepover. We can do each other’s nails and talk about boys!”

“My boyfriend thought I was a monster for the past month and now thinks I’m a murderer,” Sasha said flatly. 

“Oh, I see.” Georgie tapped her lips thoughtfully. “We have to get you laid, huh?”

“I am literally on the run from the cops.”

“That’s very sexy to some people,” Georgie assured her. 

After that, Georgie waved goodbye and swanned out of the house, either going to her studio to work on her podcast or doing some work for her real estate empire or writing a best-selling book or schmoozing with celebrities or attending parties at exclusive nightclubs or working part-time as a bartender just for gossip or devouring souls. Just from Sasha’s one day at Georgie’s flat, she knew that she did all of these things and then some. It was a stunning contrast to Jon’s laziness, or Elias (Jonah’s) single-mindedness. 

Maybe you lost the energy to be so productive after your two hundredth year. Sasha didn’t fucking know. Hopefully she would never know. Or maybe Jon just appeared to be lazy, and every moment that he was complaining about being bored he was secretly manipulating world leaders. Maybe Jonah’s dedication to spreadsheets and dress code was a front, and he was secretly pulling the puppet strings of her entire life…

In the empty spaces of Georgie’s spacious flat, it was easy to be paranoid. Sasha lay on her luxurious couch, hands folded across her chest like a corpse, trying not to think of anything, thinking of everything. Thinking of Tim: of his smile, of his scowl, of his cold looks given to someone he had thought was a stranger. Thinking of Martin: his warm smile, his sharp looks. 

She struggled to think of other friends, other family members who gave her comfort, but drew up a blank. Her parent’s faces were blurred after ten years of no contact, not so much forgotten as repressed, and her baby siblings were likely unrecognizable to her now. Almost as unrecognizable as she was to them, probably. Tim, her boyfriend who hated her, and Martin, her subordinate who she had almost never had a conversation with that wasn’t about work or Jon...that was it. All the friends she had in the world. She was sleeping in the guest room of a podcast host/Grim Reaper whom she had met once, and that was all she had.

Loneliness was Sasha’s constant companion. In a crowd, in her family, in the world - no matter how many people she had been surrounded by, she had always been alone. She had never had anybody in the world to rely on besides herself, and for the first time in a long time she was achingly aware of it. Nobody who loved her was going to help her. She was alone now.

After an hour of lying on the couch and crying, Sasha desolately watched Netflix cooking shows on Georgie’s gigantic flat-screen TV, trying very hard to think of absolutely nothing at all. She only moved to pet Georgie’s silky long-haired cat whose name she had already forgotten, and even he left quickly once she lost the energy to give him attention.

That was how Georgie found Sasha when she came home: lying on the couch, still dressed in borrowed silk pyjamas, watching idiots on television fuck up cakes. Georgie’s arms were laden with shopping bags, with names of exclusive London boutiques sprawled along the side, her deep black pits of eyes hidden by designer sunglasses. She burst through the door happily, her cat running up to her and winding through her laps as he purred, and easily kicked off her red pumps. She stopped in the doorway of the living room, looking strangely excited. 

“Sorry I’m back to late! Utterly bogged up at work, there was a plane crash and I was processing corpses for hours. I had to do some serious retail therapy just to deal with the tedium - darling, have you moved?”

Sasha grunted. 

“You look like Mikey Crew threw you off the Shard,” Georgie said sympathetically. “Utterly disastrous. Don’t worry, Aunt Georgie’s here to make you feel better.” She lifted her bag triumphantly. “I bought you new outfits!”

Sasha eyed her warily. 

“You get no say in this,” Georgie said kindly. “Chop chop, we’re doing face masks too.”

That’s how, somehow, Sasha found herself playing an unwilling dress-up doll for the Grim Reaper. Georgie had taken Sasha’s casual mention that she had no clothing besides her work pantsuit to heart, and had hit up her favorite boutiques for ‘cute outfits that accentuated her figure and made her eyes pop!’. Or something. Sasha wasn’t much one for fashion. 

As it turned out, Georgie Barker had a walk-in closet. Because of course she did. 

The looks ranged from Sasha’s usual, as Georgie put it, ‘sexy librarian’ look, to ballgowns, to tennis outfits, to moddish, to vintage, to wintery. It was February, the seasons lingering in British chill, and according to Georgie the perfect solution to this was a mink coat that was probably worth a month’s rent on her flat. 

Strangely, all of the outfits fit perfectly - and Sasha knew that her measurements were difficult to find. Georgie took it in stride, clapping enthusiastically each time and suggesting accessories and how to mix and match the outfits. 

She would have thought that she was too dead inside to actually enjoy it, but so far as distractions went it actually worked pretty well. Georgie chatted about everything but their actual problems, and Sasha had absolutely no input or choice in what Georgie decided to dress her in, and by the time they had transitioned from nail painting to watching Legally Blonde and eating ice cream from the carton Sasha was actually feeling a little relaxed. 

“The musical’s better,” Georgie informed Sasha imperiously as Sasha dug around in her carton for chunks of cookie dough. Georgie was clutching a glass of wine in one hand, while Sasha was contenting herself with ice cream. Best not to drink when she was this sad. “Reese is such a doll, though. Allergic to shellfish, poor dear, but I told her not to let Leo pick the restaurant.”

“What I’m wondering,” Sasha said carefully, teeth cracking into the frozen chunk of cookie dough, “is that half the time when I see you, you’re dressed like a 2008 goth in jeans and t-shirts.”

“Oh, honey,” Georgie said pityingly, patting her hand. “I used to spend two hours getting dressed each morning. I’m never doing that to myself again. You, however, clearly have never had nice clothing in your life. It’s written all over your face. People’ll walk all over you if you always look like you’re straight from a charity shop. We gotta buy you some self-confidence.”

“Thanks. I think.” On screen, Elle flourished and achieved her dreams. Sasha tried not to feel jealous. “It’s not really as if I had a lot of girly sleepovers as a kid…”

“Word,” Georgie said sympathetically. She patted Sasha’s hand again. “Jon was the same way, you know. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to renovate that boy’s wardrobe. He has no idea how to dress to impress.”

“Do we have to talk about Jon right now,” Sasha groused. “He’s the last person I want to think about.”

“He means well,” Georgie soothed, as Elle Woods proudly proclaimed on television how she, yes, she, was a strong independent woman - who didn’t need a man! “It’s not his fault he’s stupid. He’s just so helpless on his own, you know, he needs girls like you and me to make sure he’s not wasting a decade fixating on obscure Bolivian religious practices or whatever.”

“Helpless? He’s a two hundred year old man.” Sasha spitefully grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table, pouring it into a spare glass and drinking it quickly. It probably cost thousands of pounds, but it just tasted like wine to her. “It’s not my job to make sure his little feelings aren’t hurt.”

“Of course not,” Georgie said, but Sasha had the sense she was being calmed instead of listened to. “But Jon’s...you know.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Georgie made an interpretive hand gesture. Sasha stared at her blankly. 

“...I still don’t.”

Georgie sighed. “He’s delicate. Jonah babies him, honestly.” She patted Sasha’s hand for the third time, making her skin crawl. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him see you until you’re ready to forgive him. Every woman has the right to some time to herself after a guy fucks her over. You two’ll patch things up, right as rain.”

There was nothing Sasha wanted to say to that, nothing she wanted to think about, and she kept drinking her wine and watching the movie, out of lack of any other options.

That night, she drunkenly tipped into bed, so blasted that she slid immediately into sleep and did not dream. It was the first relief she’d had in what felt like a very long time. 

It wasn’t Sasha’s job to fix Jonathan Sims. 

It really, really wasn’t. It wasn’t her job to make him feel better, or forgive him, or save him from himself. If Martin wanted to waste his time and energy doing that, then god fucking speed, but Sasha had other priorities. She had been profoundly fucked over and had her trust abused by three different men lately, and she wasn’t going to be the one to patch things up.

Two of them she had no desire to patch things up with at all. Two of them she’d be perfectly happy if she never saw again. The last one...Sasha didn’t know what she felt. But that was nothing new. 

That being said, as Sasha chewed her way through hangover medication and an acai bowl the next morning, Georgie’s inane chattering about tricking some celebrity or another into taking her to Hungary for authentic Hungarian food didn’t register nearly as loudly in Sasha’s mind as her words about Jonah and Jon. 

Jonah babies Jon. That was what she had said. It...it was accurate, right? It had to be. Georgie had known Jonah and Jon for a hundred years, and Sasha had barely heard one authentic conversation between them. She’d known them for a year, and known Jonah’s true nature for maybe a few days. There was no way Sasha understood their relationship better than Georgie did. It just didn’t make sense. 

Finally, she put her spoon down, cutting Georgie off in the middle of her ramble about the majesty of Hungarian food made by genuine Hungarian grandma hands. “What did you mean, ‘Jonah babies Jon’?”

Georgie blinked at her, clearly barely remembering the conversation, before recognition dawned. Then she shrugged, sipping her protein smoothie. Which may or may not be spiked. It seemed as if her solution to hangovers was to just not stop being drunk. “Oh, you know how those two are. Jon swans around the world doing whatever he wants, Jonah holds the fort down at home. That’s why Jon’s fun, you know.” She sighed nostalgically. “Romantic cruises to the Bahamas for two months, we tear up the Bahaman government and start a minor military coup, then we take a tour of the beaches. You haven’t lived until you’ve dug your toes into Bahaman sand.” 

That was something Georgie said frequently: you haven’t lived until you’ve done X, Y, or Z. It seemed as if Georgie was very intent on living, and very intent on defining it in discretionary ways. To Sasha, living was simply the act of not being dead, but Georgie was almost fanatical about experiencing life. 

“If he’s so much fun, then why did you break up?” Sasha asked, before she realized what she said. “I mean, it’s really none of my business, feel free not to answer that -”

But Georgie just laughed lightly. “That’s just how Jon and I work. We spend a few weeks together in bliss, and then we go our separate ways for six months or a year or whatever. Work’s always taking us different places, and seeing each other all day would make us hate each other. Some people work best when they’re not in each other’s pocket.” She took a long drag of the smoothie before speaking again. “Besides, he’ll always be second in my life to having fun. And I’ll always be second in his life to Jonah. It’s just how we work. It works for us!”

It seemed to. Last Sasha checked, Georgie and Jon seemed to be very amicable despite being exes. Lackadaisical, on-and-off, passionate yet going years without seeing each other - it was a relationship uniquely in the providence of workaholic immortals. 

It wasn’t until Georgie had already waved goodbye, making Sasha promise not to spend all day on the couch again, that she realized that Georgie hadn’t quite answered her question. 

An image flashed through Sasha’s mind - Jon’s face, as he dared to disagree with Jonah, and was utterly ground into the dust for it. 

There was something more to this. Something that wasn’t obvious on the surface, something that was so well hidden maybe nobody even knew it was going on. Or maybe it was deeper than that, more insidious: maybe whatever was going on was so well-known and pervasive that it simply wasn’t spoken about. Not polite, not the kind of thing you say about your friends, not normal. Not in polite company. Not vocalized. Utterly taken for granted. 

Sasha walked into the guest room, pulling out her phone from her bag and staring at its blank screen. Holding her breath, she hesitantly turned it on, staring at it blankly as it slowly booted up. 

She shouldn’t be turning it on. She was perfectly aware of how, given a warrant, the police could track cell phone location, texts sent and received, everything. She could do it herself. The crushing weight of surveillance, the fear of being found and seen and rooted out, settled over her shoulders like an old, familiar friend. A comforting blanket to wrap herself up in at night: where, even if the fear was terrible and awful, at least it was familiar. 

You could get used to anything, Sasha thought. Any behavior, any fears, any horrors or tragedies - anything could become normal, given enough time. A year. A hundred years. After two hundred years, maybe you wouldn’t even recognize it as happening at all.

Like a flood, the text messages poured in. Notifications chimed in a cacophony, as text after text after text popped up on her phone. Missed calls. Emails popped up, notifications from the doorbell camera, reminders from her fucking Duolingo...

Dizzily, Sasha scrolled through the texts. Lots from Tim, as expected, and a few from Martin, as expected. Some texts from her mother, which - which wasn’t expected. At all. Sasha hadn’t even known that she knew her number. 

Sasha’s brain stuttered over the Spanish, having been years since she spoke it. Her brain also stuttered over the gratuitous misgendering, which was also blissfully novel yet just as uncomfortable and upsetting as ever. Translated, it was a slightly accusatory question about why the police had been calling them about her whereabouts. What had she done? Had she gotten in trouble?

No matter what you did, the text read, God will forgive you. Just call them back. 

Sasha stared at the texts, brain buzzing. She felt sick. Forgive her? They’d forgive her? They thought she’d done it? They thought she was capable of -

Horribly, awfully, tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe you never really grew accustomed to pain, even if it was felt a thousand times. Maybe some pain you never acclimated to, never scarred over or calloused. Maybe sometimes the more you were hurt, the worse it hurt. The pain her parents gave her - how they cut off contact, the misgendering, the coldness - hurt just as badly at thirty six as it had at twenty six, at twenty, at fifteen, at nine. It had always hurt. 

So stupid. Sasha deleted the text messages. She didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t a child. She was thirty six goddamn years old, that was way too old to still care about your parents. To still need them.

She clicked on Martin’s texts next. The first one had a timestamp before the murder, the rest afterwards.

Martin: where are you?? I found Tim (he tried to kill me w/an axe but we’re ok now) and were trying to get out of here. I explained everything to him. We’ll meet you in the archives. 

Martin: Police are looking for you. I know you didn’t do it so call me back. Tim’s worried. Jon doesn’t seem that worried...

Martin: Shouldn’t text you anymore. Please be safe & careful. 

Jesus. Jesus, she had been terrible to Martin. She was a rotten friend. Sasha hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes. She needed to get him a gift basket. Five. He was a freak, but he was her freak. Maybe. 

Finally, almost holding her breath, she pressed on Tim’s messages. There were a lot of them - more than was safe, Sasha distantly registered. The first five were from the same time Martin had sent the second text. She guessed it was right after the police finished talking to them. He had called her slightly before - likely when they found the body - but there were also two texts from two am last night. 

Tim: pick up your phone

Tim: pick up your phone are you okay im so sorry

Tim: baby please please pick up

Tim: we need to talk & im sorry & i hope ur safe

Tim: dont text me back 

Then two texts from two am:

Tim: to warn you im drunk but im sorry (AND DRUNK) but in my defense im a shitty boyfriend. If you want to break up its fine but id like to make it work but i get if you cant because cops i guess. Bitch tonner wont stop bothering me make her stoppp

Tim: I love you and I wish that was enough. 

Sasha rubbed at her eyes, exhausted. She wished it was enough too. She knew it wasn’t. Strongly, like burning, Sasha wished so desperately that she had never met Jonathan Sims. Maybe, in that world, things were okay. She and Tim were happy. 

She scrolled through the rest of the notifications. Strangely, she even had two texts from Melanie. 

Melanie: Hey, I heard what’s going on. I know you couldn’t have done it. A LOT of cops are bothering me - Hussein and Tonner have called like five times. I think you know them? For legal purposes I’ll say that you should turn yourself in or whatever. 

Melanie: oh and Martin said to tell you that Mr. Bouchard’s been asking me a lot of questions about what im doing and my job situation - dunno y tho

That….probably wasn’t good. 

No texts from Jon. She wouldn’t know what to do if he had. She doubted he knew her number, or how to work a phone. The last thing she could deal with emotionally right now was an apology. She didn’t know what to do about Tonner or Hussein or Melanie. Those were all problems she couldn’t fix right now. 

Really, there was only one problem she could fix right now. She walked over to the door to the balcony, carefully stepping out onto the 20th story balcony. She carefully ejected her SIM card, snapped it in half, looked underneath her to make sure there were no passerby in the exclusive London neighborhood, and forced her fingers to release from the phone so she could watch it fall twenty stories onto the concrete. 

She imagined a smash, a crack, but it didn’t make any sound at all. Sasha forced herself to step back inside, leaving the past behind her. 

There was a lot Sasha had to force herself to do that day. Georgie owned a few laptops, but she hadn’t given Sasha permission to use any of them yet, and she didn’t want to intrude. Despite Sasha’s own...reservations about her personality, she really was being incredibly kind by letting her stay and trying to cheer her up. She did, however, have a great deal of antique books, and Sasha eagerly cracked open the first edition copies of fiction novels from the 19th century. Was that a first edition Pride & Prejudice? Oh, score!

She wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to eat. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, but that always happened whenever she was upset. She forced herself to take a shower, impossibly intimidated by Georgie’s small army of hair care and hygiene products, and even cautiously let herself take a bubble bath with a bath bomb. It was...weirdly luxurious, but maybe not surprisingly. Georgie’s bathroom was like the Queen’s, and you could practically swim in the bathtub. It was intimidating and weird and uncomfortable, but Sasha forced herself to appreciate it. How many people got to take a shower in a stall with five different showerheads?

Halfway through the day the housekeeper came in, terrifying Sasha deeply, and she retreated to her guest bedroom to let the woman work. She inspected her newly painted toenails glumly, halfway through Pride & Prejudice, forcing herself not to think about how Jon could have been a background character in the novel. Wasn’t he in his twenties in this time period? Wasn’t that when he and Jonah Magnus had -

Sasha drank more wine, and put on another cooking program. She hadn’t watched telly all day, so technically she could tell Georgie that. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anything productive to do. No work, which sucked when she was a workaholic. No computer to waste time on. No friends she could talk to without the police investigating her. She couldn’t go outside, again due to the aforementioned cop situation. Her life was her work, and her bosses had just framed her for murder. 

Somewhat buzzed, Sasha stole several pieces of intricate stationary and wrote down everything Leitner had told her before he was murdered. It wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted, yet far more than she knew what to do with. Halfway through her notes deteriorated into a bizarre sort of mind map, lists of cases connected together and obscure monsters and figures pointing to each other. Salasea and his endless array of dangerous trinkets, mysterious yet lonely ship captains, Michael and his gently twisting deceit, Gerry Keay and his bizarre heroism, Leitner and his ruinous imprints, Agnes and her desolate fate, and the oft-mentioned yet barely understood man, whose name was whispered by shadowy figures entrenched in  the supernatural world, Jonathan Sims…

Did he know? How often his shadow stained her statements? Did he care? Did he know how thoroughly he had ruined her life? 

She scoured her memory for hints, writing down everything she could remember of his cameos in random statements. Of Leitner’s testimony, the immortal figure who so easily attained what Leitner and Mary Keay had spent their entire lives grasping for. Was there a hint to his true nature, his true allegiance? 

In the corners of the cute stationary, Sasha doodled a small eye. She stared at it, and couldn’t help but fight the notion that it was staring back. 

She scratched it out, feeling paranoid, not feeling paranoid enough. 

A few hours later, Georgie came home, and Sasha fought the pathetically hopeful trepidation. When she heard the front door rattle she left her room, intending on welcoming Georgie back and proving that she hadn’t been watching telly all day, but she stopped short in the hallway when she heard the loud sound of voices. Specifically, the loud sound of Georgie’s still slightly unfamiliar voice, and the quieter tones of a voice that was far too familiar to her.  

“ - if you’ll just let me talk to her, she’ll understand.”

“And she said that she’s not seeing you,” Georgie said firmly. Sasha held her breath, pressing herself up against the hallway wall. Next to her was a doorway that led to the living room, that led to a foyer. If she craned her head she could just barely see Georgie standing in the foyer, arguing with a figure holding a leather briefcase that made Sasha’s heart leap into her throat. “You really did screw her over, you know.”

“I know,” Jonathan Sims whined. “I want to apologize. It’s not my fault. Jonah got pushy again, you know how he is.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Georgie scoffed. “Did something happen between you two? Sasha was asking all sorts of weird questions.”

“Just Jonah being his usual insufferable self,” Jon said, so carelessly and casually that if Sasha hadn’t known better she would have believed him. “It probably alarmed her, seeing how that man really is. I’m sure she’s feeling very overwhelmed right now.”

“She really is, the poor dear,” Georgie said sympathetically. Sasha’s hands clenched into fists. “But you aren’t getting past this foyer, honey. I’m sure she’ll want to be friends again once Jonah gets the cops off her case.”

“Martin’s giving me a hard time,” Jon sulked. “Says this is all my fault that the dreadful little wolf girl is sniffing around. It’s not my fault. If my Archivist just let me explain, she’d see that it’s not my fault.”

“That Blackwood boy’s always giving you a hard time,” Georgie sniffed. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him. He’s overly moralistic and doesn’t know how to have fun. You spend too much time with him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Georgina Barker,” Jon teased. He stepped forward a little closer, and although Sasah couldn’t see his face she had the feeling he was smiling. “It’s a bad look on you.”

“Idiot,” Georgie said fondly, “everything’s a good look on me.” She stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Ditch him and come party with me, darling, I’ll show you a wonderful time. Maybe after all of this nonsense blows over.”

“Judging from what I can make out of Jonah’s monologuing, we ought to get our parties in while we still can,” Jon said glumly. He opened his briefcase, passing a manila folder to Georgie. “Give her these. She’ll be getting hungry. Tell her that the top one is from work, and the second is from me.” He hesitated for a second. “You really think she’ll forgive me?”

“If it’s not your fault, then why do you need to be forgiven?”

Jon was silent for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I’ll talk to you later, Georgie. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie said easily, casually, as if she had said it a thousand times, a million times. “Take care of yourself.”

She stood in the foyer after he left, arms folded, one delicately manicured finger tapping against her arm. She eventually turned around, poking her head into the living room. 

“You can come out, darling, I don’t bite.”

Sasha guiltily stepped into the living room, crossing her arms defensively. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

But Georgie just rolled her eyes. “Please. My best friends are Jonathan Sims and Jonah Magnus.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Well. My oldest friends. Anyway, if you’re in the same house as one of those Beholding types you aren’t getting a private conversation. I’m super used to it.” She held out the manila folder, and Sasha cautiously stepped forward and took it from her. 

“Beholding types?” 

“Oh, you know, you and your lot,” Georgie said dismissively. “Can’t do anything about that annoying little megalomania the Eye gives you. Have fun with lunch, I have to freshen up. It takes ages to get the scent of Jon’s musty old books off me.”

But Sasha was already tuning her out, because in the manilla envelope there were two Statements. They thrummed under her fingers, charged with energy and power and fear, and Sasha could feel herself gripping them. The first one was a classic Magnus Institute Statement, just like she would have read at work, but the second was what looked like a photocopy of a piece of paper. Judging from the ornate script, it was old, and when Sasha’s eyes wandered to the date her eyes widened. July 21st, 1823. 

She looked up, already frantically searching for a tape recorder, and immediately saw one sitting on the coffee table. She didn’t think twice about it, already sitting on the plush white couch and setting the papers out. Which one first - oh man, they were both so exciting - her fingers drifted to the one Jon gave her, and she picked it up. That one, then. 

Sasha James pressed play on the tape deck, feeling a familiar thrill go through her at the gentle whirring. She cleared her throat. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, regarding a letter sent by Barnabas Bennet to Jonah Magnus. Statement begins.”

And, as Sasha’s blood ran cold, she began to read. 

My dearest Jonah,

I hope you are well. It was an absolute pleasure to vacation at your estate this summer. I’ve never had such interesting conversations with a like-minded individual, and since returning to my own estate I have been sorely missing your company. You have introduced a great deal of brightness and acute interest to my life, and without you the luminescence of Heaven does not thrill me. How I wish you were around to thrill me again!

Do not concern yourself - I have maintained my studies. The library you loaned me is of great interest, and I have been spending many a quiet night bent over one of your occult tomes. I have never felt so enlightened. A world is opening up before us, Jonah, one of richness and wonder, and for the first time in many years I find myself excited to rise each morning. I thank our Heavenly Father each day that I was so fortunate as to cross your path. You must remind me to discuss with you the report by Smirke in detail - fascinating! Theoretical, of course, all theoretical - but the concept of classifying the devils that so bewitch man into fourteen unique taxonomies fascinates me. We must discuss it. 

Jonah, I trust that this letter reaches you in private, and that you shall not betray my confidence by discussing it with anyone. I have a private grievance I wish to address with you. It is regarding your boy, the one kept so close in your confidence and trust. 

I would never hasten to question any of your decisions, for I trust they are made with great deliberation and forethought. But I must question why you keep that boy so close to you. His air is strange and fey. While summering at your estate, I would frequently see him awake at late hours, pouring over some tome or report or another (I would swear that he reads better than I!). I know he’s somewhat of a project of yours, bringing him into Christianity and your charity, which will surely be rewarded etc etc, but I cannot shake my strange trepidation. 

If I were to be quite honest, my fear of him. 

He always asks questions. Disturbing and distressing questions. And when I deign to answer them, he acts as if he truly understands. Moreover, that he understands more than me - that he possesses some secret knowledge that only he has obtained. I catch him listening at doorways and around corners frequently, and no matter how many times I box him about the ears for it he will not cease. You encourage it, allowing this behavior. Even after I reported to you the pagan rituals which I am confident he is performing, you brush me off. You two are strangely close. I’m simply concerned for you, Jonah. Please heed my advice: that boy is trouble. I fear that he will bring you into trouble also. Do not allow this paganism to steer you away from the light of our heavenly Father. I understand that the occult is of great interest to all of us, discovering the secrets of the world and its many mysteries, but it is only an academic interest. I would never go so far as to partake of these devilish rituals myself, and you ought to dissuade yourself of such a notion also. Do not allow that John to lead you astray. 

I wish you most well. I am encountering some trouble of my own - debts and such - but do not concern yourself with them. The situation is well-handled. I hope to write to you again soon.

Yours, faithfully,

Barnabas

...supplemental.

Jon. Why did you show me this?

Is this your definition of vulnerability? Of honesty? What, are you trying to justify your decisions to me? I get it, it’s disgusting. These people were disgusting to you. I can’t know how you feel, but I think I - my parents -

What I mean is, I can’t understand. I can’t imagine how hard this must have been. I understand how Jonah was the only one to… ‘get’ you or whatever. How he was the only person to see how brilliant you are, how much you have to give. 

But, Jon - I don’t think Jonah thought any better of you than Barnabas did. He was just better at hiding it. I don’t know, I didn’t know him and I still don’t know him - but you get that the way he talked to you back then wasn’t right, right? You get that it was fucked up, right?

I don’t know. I don’t think you get that. I don’t think anybody does. Georgie’s too close to it, too used to you and Jonah’s ‘quirks’ or whatever. I...don’t know anything Martin thinks, but I feel as if you’d be pretty invested in keeping this from him. But I’m close enough to you to see it, and I’m far enough away from this that I understand. Something’s really fucked up about this situation. I’m worried I’m the only person who sees it. I hate being that person, the person who Sees it all, who knows it all, but is powerless to do anything about it. You understand, right? You understand how much this is hurting me?

I’m not sure you do. If you’re showing me this, trying to show me how hard you had it, how misunderstood you were, just so I forgive you...I don’t. And it’s manipulative, so cut it out. I’m not sure if you’re consciously doing that, I really don’t think you’re emotionally intelligent enough.

But you aren’t dumb, Jon. I know it’s a defence mechanism or whatever to pretend that you are, to act childish, but you aren’t. 

Ugh, listen to me. I sound like Martin. Disgusting. I don’t give a shit about this, I’m not your therapist. But you keep on making your problems my problems, and I’m not tolerating that. We’ll talk when I’m not fucking wanted for murder for something you were complicit in. 

Get your act together. I don’t forgive you. Statement fucking ends. 

As if Sasha’s life wasn’t hard enough, Georgie wanted to go dancing. 

“I am literally wanted by the police.”

“The nightclub’s so dark, nobody’ll even see your face,” Georgie promised. 

“Shouldn’t I be spending my time working on my conspiracy theory board?”

“Honey, no offence, that thing is so tacky.”

“I hate clubbing.”

“You’ll like the way I do it!”

“I really don’t want to -”

“Tough nuts.”

So, of course, that’s how Sasha ended up shoved into a tight dress, heels, and makeup, pushed into a taxi, and quickly deposited in front of a warehouse looking building. There was a long line out the door, of women with straightened hair dressed somehow identically, yet way worse, than Sasha, all looking very cold. Georgie looped her arm through Sasha’s, white teeth flashing as she grinned widely, and escorted them both straight through the doors and past security. 

She, it seemed, was a known quantity. Sasha, who had spent the last year working in a mill to feed evil psychic vampires and the ten years before that locked in academia, which was basically the same thing, was not a known quantity to any nightclub. She had not been clubbing since uni, which was approximately five lifetimes ago.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Sasha said into Georgie’s ear as they transitioned from the furiously cold February air into the swelteringly hot club. It was dim and smoky, the noise overwhelmingly grating at her ears. After so long in a quiet office, in a silent flat, she could barely handle it. 

Georgie said something to her. 

“What?” Sasha yelled. “Georgie, I don’t want to be here!”

Georgie frowned at her, and unlinked their arms so she could reach up on her tiptoes and clasp Sasha on the shoulders. “You have been accused of murder! You just split with your boyfriend because of clown trauma! You haven’t had fun in years! You deserve this, queen!”

You know...maybe she did. 

Georgie pressed a drink into her hands, mysteriously procured from somewhere, and without thinking too hard about it Sasha downed it in one gulp. Georgie whooped, clapping her on the back, and directed her towards the bar. She flashed her platinum credit card at the bartender, and suddenly Sasha was MVP of the night. 

You know, Sasha thought dizzily as she was given a toxic blue drink and pushed onto the dance floor, maybe she did deserve this. Didn’t she deserve to have fun? After the way things ended with Tim, couldn’t she just act like a normal girl and go clubbing with her friends to dance away the pain? She was almost forty, way too old for this, but maybe she could forget for a little bit. She had never had the opportunity as a teenager, not even as a young adult. Couldn’t she do this, before she died?

Maybe women closer to forty than thirty dealt with this with - with book clubs, with sisterhood, whatever. Maybe women closer to forty than thirty were married, had kids of their own. But Sasha was just Sasha, stuck in a literal dead-end job, going nowhere good, and this was all she would ever have. 

Maybe Georgie was right. Why not live, before she died? Everybody on earth died - everybody, that is, except for a small group of people who were willing to sell their soul for the privilege.  At least maybe this way she could have whatever joy she could fit into her life before all opportunity was lost, and she was lost. 

A man sidled up to her, asking for a dance, and she evaded him. But then there was another one, and another one, and Sasha found herself fleeing back to the bar and ordering another drink. Too soon. Way too soon. She found herself digging in her borrowed purse, searching for her phone, wanting to call Tim or talk to him or ask him if they really were broken up so she could have rebound sex with random dudes in bars, but the purse was empty of both a phone and a wallet. That’s right - she had destroyed it. Because the cops were after her. 

Next to her, out of the corner of her eye, a man sat down at a barstool. He said something to the bartender and leaned towards her, mouth spilling something obscured by the crush and heat and sound of the club. He seemed to be asking if he could buy her a drink. Sasha shook her head dizzily, confused and lost. Then he leaned in closer, and Sasha could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Are you sure? I’d like to dance with you!”

Sasha shook her head no again, frantically. 

“Aw, come on -”

Then, as if by magic, Georgie was at her elbow. Unintimidating, not more than one hundred and seventy centimeters, with teased hair and sharp black lipstick and eyeliner, she raised an eyebrow at the guy. But there must have been something in her eyes, or a lack of something, because the guy rapidly slipped off the barstool and melted into the crowd, leaving the drink the bartender slid onto the counter behind. 

As if she had planned it, Georgie easily stole the drink and knocked it back. She tugged Sasha down, yelling into her ear. “Come with me, darling, let’s check out where the real party is.”

Without taking no for an answer, Georgie grabbed Sasha’s hand and tugged her through the outskirts of the crowd, ducking and weaving between small clusters of people and women dancing the night away. Sasha’s vision swam, details and faces lost in the endless ripple of flashing lights and sound, until all she felt was Georgie’s cool hand in hers, and it wasn’t until they emerged from the choppy sea of people into a small hallway off the main room that she felt like she could breathe. Sasha’s head swam with movement and smoke, and she was barely cognizant that they were in a hallway for a bathroom or something. 

But Georgie walked confidently past the bathrooms, into what appeared to be a storage closet. She confidently opened it, halting at the door frame to glance backwards at Sasha. A smile quirked at her bow lips. 

“You coming?”

Sasha, slightly intoxicated though she was, couldn’t fight the skepticism. “This is where the real party is? A supply closet?”

“Oh, my dear Archivist,” Georgie said, smirking slightly. “The world is full of far more delights than you could understand. Follow me, and stay close.”

Then Georgie stepped forward, disappearing into the closet, and as little as Sasha wanted to step inside more dubiously supernatural hallways she wanted to be left alone in this club even less, and she ducked after Georgie into the unknown. 

The unknown, as it turned out, was another club. 

Or, more accurately, a pub. It was a nice pub too, all smoky yellow lights and burnished wood booths. The booths were upholstered in soft and cushy looking brown leather, and the sound where nowhere above a quiet murmur. It didn’t seem to be abandoned, the shadows at some booths deeper than others, but for the life of her Sasha couldn’t puzzle out the faces or figures of anybody at these shadowy corners. There was a single bartender, wiping a grimy glass over and over. He nodded at Georgie when he walked in, and Sasha was forced to wonder how many dubiously physical supernatural bars and hang-outs existed in random back rooms of mundane stores. Were these things just everywhere? Or were there only a few, and so long as you had the right key any door could be an entrance? It was just Sasha’s intuition, but she felt as if it was the latter. 

What would, could Georgie open up for her? What power, what majesty? What world of power and control could Jon give her, that Jon was trying to hard to give her that she kept refusing? Nobody was telling her the cost. Nobody was letting her make a decision. She was being swept up in the wake of giants, and Sasha was just trying to keep her head above water. 

Georgie was still walking confidently down the aisles, and Sasha stumbled trying to keep up. Finally, she came to a stop in a back corner, utterly secluded with a booth that stretched the entire corner, large enough for seven or more people. Georgie turned to Sasha, smiling broadly, and Sasha tried not to feel intimidated. 

“Honey, these are my friends. Girls, this is my new roommate, Sasha James!”

With a flourish, she made a little tah-dah motion, and the smoky yellow lamp above the table flickered on. 

The table was crowded with women, or women appearing people. Absolutely none of them were familiar. No - in the corner, there was one person who was familiar. Michael, blonde hair hurting her eyes in curly ringlets, hands in his coat pockets. He smiled crookedly at her, jarring her adrift. 

“Uh,” Sasha said, confused. Who were these people? “Hello?”

A short East Asian woman in a white tank top and black jeans scowled from where she was slouching in her seat. “One of those Beholding patsies? Please, Georgie, they’re so insufferable.”

“I like this one,” Georgie said cheerfully. She slid into an empty seat, and Sasha cautiously sat next to her. “Play nice, everyone.”

“You’re such a grouch, Jude,” a woman said, leaning forward and looking interestedly at Sasha. Her eyes were dark and big, her head cocked, giving her an almost insectoid air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person finally, Archivist. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re really making waves in our little community.”

“Patsy Archivist,” a tall and burly white woman with cascading brown hair said shortly, taking long gulps of a pint. “What’s impressive about that?”

“I’m impressed with anyone who puts up with Sims and Magnus long enough,” the insectish woman said. “No offence, Georgie.”

“Oh, they’re insufferable,” Georgie said cheerfully. “Have you heard how those two like to socialize? They go to galas. With those awful little Fairchilds and Lukases and whatever. It’s just tragic.”

“Word,” the insect woman said, raising her glass. The rim seemed to be coated in cobwebs, making Sasha feel vaguely ill. “Much rather have a pint at a nice little pub with friends. But we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? My name’s Annabelle Cane. I’m sure you’ve heard of me in all those little stories you like.”

Anabelle Cane. Sasha swallowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“A proxy Archivist she may be,” Michael said serenely, “but perhaps our most successful yet. She’s already coming along so much further than Gertrude ever did.” He winked bizarrely at Sasha. “Michael, but you already know that. They and them, if you please.”

Oh. Sasha blinked at them. “Thanks for...saving my life back there. And Tim’s and Martin’s.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said affably. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in awhile. Always nice to have the Eye owe me a favor.”

“They’re just mad they didn’t get to kill Gertrude,” the brunette said evenly. “Julia Montauk. You should know me too, I think. Is it true you killed someone?”

“I definitely didn’t,” Sasha said heatedly. “It was a set-up.”

“Relax, we’re all killers here,” the woman in a tank top said. She scowled at Sasha. “Jude Perry. What the fuck do those old money ponces think they’re doing, installing another patsy Archivist this late in the game? I would have thought that they learned their lesson after that bitch Gertrude.”

“Archivists are quite slow learners,” a woman piped up. She sat in the corner, strangely oddly. Her skin was shiny and strange in the dim light, almost plasticish, and her dark eyes hadn’t moved from Sasha’s face since she walked in. “Nikola. A pleasure, Archivist.”

“Are you guys all…” Sasha trailed off uncomfortably. “You know?”

“Serial killers?” Julia Mauntauk asked flatly. 

“Inhuman monstrosities of plastic and flesh?” Nikola inquired. 

“Daughters of fear entities that control our every action?” Annabelle said. 

“Embodiments of unknown concepts made sentient, forced into a shape that cannot suit them, locked in flesh and fractal prisons, always screaming in endless turmoil, unable to understand the horrors of the concepts of ourselves, always searching for the sweet release of death that can never quite be obtained, because that which does not live can never die?” Michael said serenely. 

“Assholes?” Jude Perry said flatly. 

“The sexiest Avatars around?” Georgie asked. 

How did Sasha’s life devolve to this point. 

“...yeah,” Sasha said. “Hey, where can I get more drinks?”

Unsurprisingly enough, the drinks came very fast. Service was excellent when you hung out with eldritch women, Sasha supposed. 

The conversion flew thick and fast after that. In Sasha’s experience, joining a new group of established friends meant being ignored for favor of pre-existing dynamics. It was always uncomfortable, and no small part of why she just didn’t join new groups. Tim had never had that problem - he had a loud and persistent personality, the kind that made you pay attention to him. He dominated any room he entered, by force if necessary. It always seemed exhausting to Sasha, but Tim didn’t really seem to have anymore real friends than she did lately. His personality was like an ocean, overwhelming and everywhere, but when his mood turned sour it was just as intense. Gulfs of pleasure, intense pain - it seemed exhausting, to feel so deeply. God knows Sasha didn’t. 

But today, in this group, she seemed to be novel. Maybe new fear avatars were a rare enough thing, or at least ones with Georgie’s seal of approval. They aimed a barrage of questions at her, and Sasha did her best to keep up with each one.

How did Sasha know Georgie? Mostly through a mutual enemy. Oh, fuckin’ Sims, right - you guys friends? No, I hate him. You guys fucking? Ew. Right, right, Sims is a giant prude - actually I heard that he doesn’t really - no, Jon decided a while back he doesn’t do that, and we all respect his decision - ew, though, nobody wants to imagine that. So why are you two friends? We’re roommates, mostly, I’m kinda on the run from the cops. Who’d you kill? Nobody. Who’d that old fucker Bouchard kill? Jurgen Leitner, mostly. 

“Cheers to that!” Julia said abruptly, raising her glass. “Hate that fucker.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Annabelle said, downing her own drink and what seemed like an improbable quantity of spiders. She leaned over the table to where Sasha had hastily been stuffed in, beetle-black eyes gleaming. “But really. What are you doing here?”

“As I said,” Sasha said uncomfortably, “I got framed for murder -”

But Annabelle just waved her hand. “No, no, we know that. I’m asking what are you doing here? With people like us, in a place like us? You’re just a sexy librarian. Your highest goal in life was owning your own cottage house one day. How’d you get wrapped up in the tangled web of our world?”

Sasha’s mouth ran dry, her head spinning in a way that didn’t really seem to have anything to do with the alcohol. How had she ended up like this? Who was to blame?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha said dizzily. “He -”

“Didn’t know you Beholding types were in the process of lying to yourselves,” Annabelle said, casually yet brutally. “No, really.”

Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she said, “I guess I just asked all the wrong questions.”

It was a pretty way of dressing up the real answer: that Sasha didn’t know. 

Maybe her thoughts were obvious, because Georgie cooed sympathetically and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, honey, it’s not so bad. Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s just your own rotten luck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jude called, lifting her glass. “I love my fucking life. It’s hookers, coke, and blow from here to Scotland. The life of a woman with power’s a thousand times better than the life of a woman without, James.”

“What is with you people and hedonism,” Sasha muttered. 

“Why not?” Nikola asked, tilting her head strangely. “Life’s so short when it’s this long. It’s just bread and circuses, Archivist. We all need...entertainment.”

“Humans are always trying to make sense of it all,” Michael said arily. They were digging their fingers into the table, scoring long grooves in it. “When you know there’s no meaning, no purpose, then everything else just...falls away.”

Sasha didn’t know if she believed that, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she said, “What about those Avatars like Magnus or Raynor? They seem really...driven.”

Georgie giggled, light and airy, and leaned in. “That’s because they don’t know.”

She shouldn’t even ask. She shouldn’t - “Know what?”

Georgie smiled, sharp and wicked. “That there’s no point.”

And that was all she would say on that for the night: conversation after that devolved into parties, restaurants, drugs, and conquests. Maybe the women were right, in their own clearly demented way: that without death there was no meaning, when when there was no meaning only pleasure held any significance. If there was no afterlife, no reward or punishment - which Sasha didn’t believe, but they seemed to - then there was no reason not to do what you wanted. To have fun. To take revenge. 

If all Georgie wanted was to have fun, and if all Jon wanted was revenge, then what did Jonah Magnus want? Sasha didn’t know. She had the feeling that if she didn’t figure it out, she wasn’t going to live much longer. 

Why had Jonah Magnus done this to her? What was the point of framing her for murder? She couldn’t do her job like this. What’s the point? 

Half-drunk, head spinning, she found herself vocalizing this. Somehow, Annabelle Cane had ended up sitting next to her, letting spiders run along her slightly too long and too jointed fingers. Annabelle Cane just smiled at her, jaw slightly slacking open to expose teeth. 

“Maybe it’s just to fuck with you,” Annabelle posited. “Why not? Do you think he has another reason?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha groaned. “I don’t know anything. Everything’s confusing and terrible. I could never understand those psychopaths.”

“You won’t make it very far in this line of work if you never ask why,” Annabelle scolded. She paused a second, spider running thoughtfully across her eyeball. “But too many questions damns you just as effectively, I suppose. Hm. Jonah’s quite good, isn’t he.”

“Why me,” Sasha groaned. “Everyone’s trying to keep shit from me, it fuckin’ - it fuckin’ sucks, man. It sucks. Nobody would tell me what’s going on, but I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on. Not even Jonah, or Jon, or - or anyone. Nobody but me.”

Annabelle blinked at her, somewhat curiously, before leaning in. Her perfume lingered in the air, a heavy rosy scent. “Do you know something that Jonah doesn’t?”

“Yeah,” Sasha slurred, world fading in and out. “Jonah doesn’t know that Jon -”

Then the world faded into black, and Sasha fell asleep. 

If she had felt too old for this at the nightclub, she definitely felt too old for this hangover. Sasha spent twenty minutes crouched over a toilet bowl, reluctantly shoved the Eggs Benedict in her mouth that Georgie insisted was a hangover cure, somehow, and refused the Bloody Mary that Georgie also insisted was a hangover cure that her Mum used to feed her. The thought of Georgie’s Mum filled Sasha with a deep fear, incapable of imagining somebody who was both likely born in the 1800s and who had raised a hellion like Georgie. 

When Sasha mumbled this to Georgie, she didn’t look offended. She just smiled, strangely fond. “Oh, none of this is my Mum’s fault. She was a darling, her and my Da. My childhood was positively idyllic. All things considered, you know.”

Yes, Sasha thought, struggling to imagine 1910s London in her mind, idyllic. She took another look at Georgie, squinting slightly as her head throbbed. She definitely seemed younger physically than Jon, but Jon had a particular way of carrying age about him that had nothing to do with his appearance. “When did you stop aging?”

“I forget, honestly,” Georgie said airly, sipping her own bloody mary. For some reason, Sasha didn’t believe her. “It always takes a while to notice, you know. I suppose, logically, it would be about when I died the first time.”

That, more than anything, alarmed Sasha. “I thought you couldn’t die.”

“Not permanently,” Georgie said, as if this was somehow obvious. “Eat your eggs, they’ll get cold.” Sasha frantically shoved eggs in her mouth, desperate for the story. But Georgie just sighed and propped her chin on her hand, eyes distant. “You know how it is. Small town girl, grew up in North Birmingham, Alabama - back when it was just a tiny little thing, you know. I wanted to be a star. I always did. Scared of dyin’ in the dirt. If I was gonna die young, I wanted to do it where everybody knew my name. So long as they remember you, it’s no kind of death at all, really.” She sighed, lost in memory. “I could sing so good...so I went to Harlem, ‘cause all my friends and I always had dreams of going to Harlem and making it big singing in the jazz clubs. They didn’t get so far, staying at home with their babies, but I did. Wasn’t really made for babies and such, I think.” Something strange emerged in her words, the last vestiges of a Southern accent. “I was pretty, and I could sing, and I took to the spotlight like a duck to water. It was tough, but man - if it ain’t tough, it ain’t worth it. I worked so hard. Like I was working myself to death, almost.”

She trailed off, birds softly trilling outside, and Sasha was silent. 

Quietly, Georgie began speaking again. “Got into some trouble. You know how it is. I spent dozens of years wondering if it was my fault, if there was something I coulda done differently, zig instead of zag...but now, I don’t think so. Just my own rotten luck, you know. Put my trust in the wrong people. Had the wrong sentence whispered into my ear.” She shrugged listlessly. “Couldn’t handle the truth. Just another girl who couldn’t handle the limelight, that was what they said. But I was set up to fail. All those jazz clubs were ganger run, you couldn’t avoid it. Every girl in that golden age fell prey to those men, same as I did. I just wanted to feel again. Tried everything once, just to feel something.” She sighed, taking another drink. “Got shot. Got back up. I remember it, clear as day. Must have been 1923. I scrubbed the blood out of my show dress and went back on stage that night, cuz you can’t get a rep as a flake. They said, that day...that day was my best performance.”

She trailed off, Sasha finally alert. She wanted more details, almost desperately, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to risk putting the whammy on her host, even if she wasn’t sure that she could. If Georgie was being purposefully vague...well, Sasha wasn’t entitled to her pain. 

Instead, she said, “I bet you were good.”

Georgie smiled at her wanly, eyes far away. “I was the best.”

They sat in silence for a little while, eating their food, Sasha’s head ringing and mind buzzing. What about this picture was she not understanding? What was so important that she was missing?

Finally, Sasha carefully floated, “I bet you must have met Jon soon after.”

Georgie looked up from her bloody mary, surprised. “Oh, yes. Just a few months after. He must have caught the word on the wind, you know, of that singing girl who got back up after getting shot in the lungs.” She sighed, propping her chin on her hand again. “Saw him in the front row of my club. He was so handsome, and so finely dressed. But there had been something strange in his eyes, you know? Like little marbles, reflecting the lamps. He caught up to me afterwards, and I figured he was just another fan to squeeze dry, but he told me in his funny little accent I’d never heard before that he could help me.” She swallowed, looking away. “That he could help me understand what was happening to me. Why I was having those strange dreams, seeing those strange tendrils. I guess he was right. After I met him, I understood it all. Things moved fast after that.” She smiled weakly at Sasha. “I suppose you know the rest.”

She really didn’t, but Sasha understood the dismissal for what it was. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me all of that.”

“It’s no secret,” Georgie said dismissively. She smiled cunningly. “A hundred years later almost exactly, and what I did to those gangsters was still my finest work. They say that if you pass by an old building on St. Nicholas Avenue, you can still hear the screams. Anyway, I have a meeting with my land development company in an hour, must run, ta!”

On that distressing note Georgie swanned out the door, and Sasha was left alone with nothing but a stack of conspiracy theories, an opulent flat, and bad memories. 

Time seemed to move quickly, yet sluggishly, after that. After another day of writing down literally every Statement she could remember off the top of her head and trying to fit them into the weird and seemingly kind of arbitrary categories that Leitner had given her, she had hit a roadblock. She couldn’t remember any more Statements, she didn’t have access to them, and the ones she did remember she either already sorted or couldn’t dredge up enough memory of them to sort them in a satisfactory way. Either that, or the Statement itself was just incomprehensible - Sasha still didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Tessa’s problem. She tended to have a better memory of the ones that seemingly mentioned the Avatars in the background, just because it had been so startling to actually meet them - and a few even mentioned Jon, usually in context of Salasea or any Eye Statement. 

When Georgie came home that night, they watched another movie and they both studiously avoided mentioning anything supernatural. Best not to take work home with you, even if Sasha had never quite been good at that. 

The next day Sasha did what she should have done in the first place, and hacked into the Magnus Institute server. 

It was seriously, comically easy. Sasha had installed a backdoor connection to the desktop of her work computer from her laptop ages ago, and all she had to do was borrow one of Georgie’s laptops and redownload the program. With an easy virtual desktop she was already in. It was somehow satisfying to see all of her work programs pop up on the borrowed laptop, and it was almost a relief to access the Archive drive that connected all of their computers. More importantly, where they all put their research follow-ups and the spreadsheet that documented the debunked, uncertain, and verified statements. It had gotten to the point where if the statement refused to record on the computer they automatically put it on verified, but what Sasha really wanted from that spreadsheet was the one sentence description they had all put for each Statement. 

From there, it was much easier. Sasha, sick of the disorganized conspiracy theorist aesthetic, made her own spreadsheet and began categorizing the verified Statements that way. Much more reliable than working from memory. 

If only she could actually access the Statements...Sasha’s life would be so much easier if everything could be digitized. The debunked ones were typed up, filed, and recorded, but the verified ones only existed on paper. Couldn’t be typed up, couldn’t be recorded. It was so stupid. 

Sasha checked the clock. Eleven am on a Wednesday. They were definitely all still working. Maybe…

It was an invasion of privacy. Did she actually care about that? No. Was she worried about apparently being locked into an employment contract with an...entity of some sort that preyed on invasions of privacy? No, although she felt like she should. Was she concerned that Jon and Jonah were trying to turn into her a conduit of this entity’s power into the world, probably gradually turning her, if not evil, at least into a giant dick? Somewhat. 

Words echoed through her mind, and Sasha’s fingers halted over the keyboard. Her powers manifesting differently than Jon’s...her unique skill with hacking…

Well, that was just kind of offensive. Sasha had worked hard for her skills. They weren’t given to her by Jon’s weird god. Also - seriously, a god? It was just a malevolent eldritch entity living in a separate dimension that encroached tendrils into Sasha’s life. There was nothing divine about it. That was just offensive. Sasha was a good feminist, transgender Catholic on the run from the law and didn’t worship false idols. 

It was only then that Sasha noticed a folder on the drive that she hadn’t created. It was labelled ‘For the Archivist’. Despite herself, she clicked on it. 

It held a few pdfs. Sasha clicked on one curiously, and saw that they were photocopies of statements. No - of Statements. She was already recognizing this one as one of those spider ones. She quickly printed them all out, conscientious of how easily supernatural files corrupted, and quickly exited the drive and the virtual desktop.

It wasn’t until Sasha was already in the kitchen and pulling down a bottle of Jack that she realized what she was doing. She sighed, replaced it, and fetched herself some sparkling water instead. She drank it slowly as she returned to her laptop and logged remotely into the police database, which she already had a backdoor into. 

It occurred to Sasha, perhaps belatedly, that if the police found her laptop and the incredible variety of highly illegal programs meant explicitly for accessing secure servers she was probably triple going to jail. This time, for something she had actually did. 

All of the hacking had never felt illegal. It had just felt...well, fun and necessary. It had never been about whether or not she should, it had been about if she could. 

Was that how it had started for Jon? Collecting household secrets because he had to, so secure the money and influence he desperately needed, because he could, because it was fun? 

Whatever. Sasha shook herself. She could have her moral crisis after she was no longer on the run from the cops for murder. This wasn’t the time to be squeamish about something that wasn’t hurting anybody. She knew, as Jon probably did, that just because something was illegal didn’t make it wrong. 

It was easy to log onto the police database and check out her own open case. She frequently checked out open homicide cases for fun, but it somehow hit a little different when it was her they were talking about. Incident, Senior Citizen, Offence: First Degree Murder, Location of Arrest: N/A, yeah, yeah, yeah…

One victim, a John Doe. Foul play was suspected...yes that’d be the gunshot wound. No witnesses. Reporting officer’s narrative...Elias Bouchard and Jonathan Sims the Fifth had walked into Head Archivist Sasha James’ office to discuss work with her when they found the body. Both were shocked and called the police...gun found at the scene had her fingerprints and the ballistics matched...suspect still at large. Friends and family had been contacted, everyone denied knowledge of where she was. Suspect had a noted history of mental illness...great…

The officers dispatched had been Alice Tonner and Basira Hussein. Sasha found that strange: Basira had history with one of the witnesses and the suspect, wouldn’t it be unprofessional to send her out? 

There couldn’t be that many sectioned officers, Sasha reasoned. Even if the incident hadn’t officially been sectioned, because the police report still existed, as a general rule if something happened at the Magnus Institute it was sectioned until proven otherwise. Even if the murder itself was seemingly mundane. 

Out of curiosity, she searched up Detective Tonner’s records. Been on the force for a long time, worked her way up the ranks. Very, very few cases and incident reports for a detective who had been on the force as long as she had. Sectioned, obviously, but even Basira had more official cases than she did. When Sasha clicked on the incident reports, they were extremely spotty and strange. Obvious details were omitted or censored. 

Something cold began to creep down Sasha’s spine. She found the arrest records of the latest four people with official records of Detective Tonner arresting them. 

Almost all of them had entered custody with bruises, cuts, and in one case a broken limb. They all had records down as ‘resisting arrest’. Sasha felt sick. 

There was one case that stopped strangely short. A clear perp, a rapist but one with little evidence, who Tonner had quickly caught. That was where the case ended: the report that Tonner had found his hiding spot, but no arrest, no trial, no prison sentence. When Sasha investigated the perp, she found that he had unceremoniously vanished shortly after Tonner had reported that she had found his hiding spot. A month later, a death certificate had been filed. 

Sasha stared at the death certificate, nauseated. This was who she was dealing with. A vigilante, some batshit pig who had obviously decided that the law was best taken into her own hands. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, but...if anybody looked at Sasha’s case on paper, they’d say the same thing. 

And that was just the cases on record. It was the only obvious instance Sasha could see of Tonner having offed someone just because she felt like it, but cops were good at covering shit like that up. How many other arrest records had fallen in the cracks? How many other dead perps that nobody gave a shit about? How many sectioned cases? 

God, Sasha was fucked. 

She begged off hanging out with Georgie that night, instead staying in bed with the covers pulled tight over her head as if that could ever protect her. Why was Jonah doing this to her? What did he have to gain? If he wanted her to die a mysterious death in the bottom of a ditch, why wasn’t he man enough to do it himself?

Tonner was going to murder her, Sasha thought hysterically, and she was going to pat herself on the back for keeping another monster off the streets. 

And Jon knew. The fucking hypocrite. He wasn’t going to help her. Nobody was. But, god, she was so alone…

The next morning, as if she knew, Georgie slipped Sasha a burner phone over the breakfast table as they both robotically ate quiches. 

“It should be untraceable, but just know that anybody you call you’re putting at serious risk,” Georgie warned, before her expression softened. “This’ll all be over soon, honey. I promise.”

“Did Jonah tell you that?” Sasha asked bitterly. 

“Nah. I just know those two.” Georgie delicately ate a forkful of quiche. “They get bored of terrorizing humans pretty quickly. Now, Michael’s a different story. They’ll terrorize someone for decades. I’ve seen them do it!”

“Great,” Sasha said. 

It seemed to be at this point that Georgie realized she was actually making Sasha feel much worse, because a slightly panicked expression crossed her face and she quickly reached out to pat Sasha on the hand. “But I’m sure they won’t do that to you,” Georgie said quickly. “They love you! Jon especially. Jonah’s just on another of his little power trips right now, he’ll get over it. And Jon, like, feels really bad about this whole thing. He’s been super annoying about it, actually -”

“See,” Sasha said, standing up to clear away her dishes, “I would rather handle an enemy who obviously wants to kill me than a friend whose good side I always have to be careful to stay on, who I can’t afford to ever make mad. I guess that’s the only difference left between me and you people.”

She angrily put her dishes in the sink, where the housekeeper would do them, and stalked to what was rapidly becoming her room, slamming the door. 

Flopping down on the bed, she stared at the burner phone. Tim wouldn’t be at work yet. They could talk. They could - 

Do what? Get back together? Split up? Could he explain, beg for her forgiveness? Did she have to apologize too? Sasha didn’t understand. 

That was rare for her. She understood a lot of things, or at least she thought she did. Maybe she had been lying to herself, about everything: that her and Tim were a good idea, that Martin was sketchy,  that Jon was evil, that Jon was kind, that Georgie just wanted to help her, that there was nothing that Jonah Magnus would do to her, that she was safe and human and a good person. 

God, her capacity for self-delusion was ridiculous. But maybe people needed a little bit of self-delusion to survive. Nobody could live in complete honesty, in full sight of their flaws and shortcomings. You could burn away, living like that. 

No. No time or space for fear. Sasha wasn’t afraid of anything. If she kept telling herself that, maybe it would be true. She desperately punched in a number that she didn’t remember memorizing, holding the phone desperately to her ear, her one connection to humanity. 

It rung, and rung, and one, and Sasha’s heart thumped in her chest. 

Finally, the ringing stopped, and a slightly sleepy voice punctuated the dead air. “Hello?”

“Tim, it’s me,” Sasha burst out, everything she wanted to say to him rushing through her throat and choking her, and she burst into tears. 

Distantly, through the sound of her crying, she could hear Tim on the other side losing his shit, and eventually wrangling himself to calmness. 

It was almost funny, how they could work each other up like that. Eventually, by the time Sasha had managed to wrangle her own crying, Tim had calmed himself down enough that he was able to clumsily try to cheer her up. 

“We’re all fine. Everyone’s perfectly safe. Martin’s gotten, uh, even more annoying since you left, and we’ve technically hired Melanie, which is - not good but it’s funny? Are you still crying? Please don’t still be crying.”

“I’m fine,” Sasha hiccuped. She rubbed at her red eyes. God, she’d missed him. “Tim, what happened?”

The line was silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Is this line secure?”

“Uh - probably? I mean -” Sasha quickly checked herself. She didn’t want to mention Georgie. The less he knew the better. “ - it’s a burner, if that’s what you’re asking, and I’m not the one who bought it.”

“Where are you living?” Tim asked harshly. “Are you homeless? You have to come stay with me, I can -”

“You mean the first place Tonner will look?” Sasha shot back. “No. I’m safe, I’m dry, things are fine. That’s all you need to know.” She softened her voice. “I promise, if it was safe I’d tell you more. I want to see you again. Tim, I - I’m really sorry.”

Tim laughed hoarsely, without humor. “Shouldn’t it be me saying that? I’m the one who thought you were a monster.”

“...yeah, that one’s on you.” Sasha sighed miserably, lying down on her bed, wishing Tim was next to her. “I am, though. A monster, I mean. Tim, I - I’m definitely not entirely human anymore.”

“God, Sash, that’s the least of our problems right now,” Tim said, laughing slightly again. “Can you just tell me what happened? I know you didn’t fucking do it. That dick Bouchard keeps playing dumb and his shitlead lackey keeps on avoiding the Archives. I bet Sims killed that old man, right? He totally did. Martin keeps on saying that his precious Jon wouldn’t let you take the fall for something he did, but I’m not so sure.”

“I...it’s more complicated than that.”

Sasha explained in short order. For once, Tim was totally silent the entire time, letting Sasha dispassionately recite the entire sad story. She finished it at Michael helping her escape, not detailing where she had been dropped off. 

Finally, after a long silence, Tim said, “So this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sasha said harshly. “You were manipulated, same as I was.”

“I’m the idiot who -”

“Yes, you were being an idiot. You should have talked to me, talked to anyone. You should have done anything other than your homicidal partner in crime. You definitely shouldn’t have been buying a fucking black market gun when I know for a fact you have no idea how to shoot. But you tried playing hero and you played straight into Magnus’ hands. You fucked up. Okay? Now let’s try to do better.”

More silence, until Tim sighed. “Can’t believe the Douche’s Jonah Magnus. Explains why Sims is always playing lackey for him. Can’t wait to spill to Martin how his boyfriend framed his boss for murder.”

Sasha chewed her lip, uncertain. She hadn’t shared the details of Jonah and Jon’s conversation too closely - it had seemed private. “See, I’m not sure this is...entirely Jon’s fault.”

Tim groaned. “Not you too! Why is everyone but me and Melanie a fucking Sims apologist?”

“Jon and Jonah are...they’re weird, okay?” Sasha moved to chewing her hair, uncertain of how to describe it. If it should even be described. It seemed so private, so unsuitable to name...but maybe everybody thinking that was how these things stayed perpetuated for so long. “I think Jonah’s kind of, you know, abusive?”

The line went silent again. 

“Wow,” Tim said finally, “Martin’s going to be so disappointed his boyfriend’s taken.”

“They’re just friends! I think. I’m like, ninety percent sure. But you didn’t hear them, Tim. They’re really...it’s messed up. Trust me.”

“Jesus, Sash, why are you defending someone who fucked all of us over like this? Sims is a big boy, he’s responsible for his own shitty decisions and the shitty company he keeps.” Tim snorted. “I’ve heard them talk, anyway. If anything, Magnus is the one always giving into Sims and his little tantrums. Jesus, I just want to throttle the both of them.”

“Maybe you need to get over your anger issues and focus on actually solving the problem for once,” Sasha snapped. “Nobody has time for your revenge fantasy, Tim! We need to fix all of this.”

“Which one is it, Sash?” Tim asked coldly. “Was I manipulated, or was it my anger issues and hero complex? Are you going to decide if this is my fault or not?”

Sasha’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t know how to explain to him what she knew - that it was everything, that it was all of the above, that he was manipulated through his anger issues and hero complex, that Tim had been pushed in a direction but he had taken the steps all by himself. But she couldn’t blame him entirely, because Sasha had been manipulated the same way, and so had Jon and Martin and Georgie, and if she started thinking like that then she would have to start hating the whole damn world. 

“Tim, are we going to stay together?” Sasha whispered, broken-hearted. “Can we even still be together? I love you. I want you here with me. But there’s so much ugliness that’s growing between us. I don’t know if this can be fixed.”

A long silence again. Sasha wanted to be there with him, to read his face, to see what he was thinking. She had always understood him so well, or at least she thought that he did. 

“I love you too,” Tim said finally. “I want to fix this too. I - I don’t know, Sasha. I love you. The thought of you alone, in danger, and not even knowing where you are, is fucking me up. It’s like Danny all over again, Sasha, I can’t handle this. Can we have this conversation again when I know you’re safe?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, and she knew that this was probably the best both of them could do right now. “Are we staying together?”

“...I don’t know.”

“...are we breaking up?”

“...still don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sasha repeated again, and sighed. “I won’t call you from this phone twice. I’m doing the best I can here. I’m safe, I think. Things will be okay, Tim.”

“Sash,” Tim said, “I don’t remember the last time things were okay.”

And neither did she, and they both knew it, and she hung up on him without saying anything further. She lay on the bed, listening faintly to the sound of the housekeeper vacuuming, staring up at the fan as it beat in a steady rhythm on the ceiling. 

Was Tim right? Was she reading too much into Jon and Jonah? It wasn’t her job to fix Jon, to puzzle out his weird psychology. Maybe he was just an asshole without a spine,and there wasn’t anything more to that.

No. Sasha didn’t believe that. This was a puzzle that she hadn’t solved yet, and she had the feeling that at the heart of this puzzle was the key to finally keeping herself and Tim safe. She couldn’t abide a mystery, couldn’t trick herself into thinking that the truth wasn’t important. The truth was all Sasha had. She couldn’t close her eyes to it, that awful and ugly reality. 

Tim...he had been such a bad idea. But he had always been her favorite one: the way he could always cheer her up, his bright and bold smile, his courage and heart and sensitivity and vulnerability. He had loved her, truly and wholly, for who she was. He knew the ugly corners of her and loved them as much as he loved her best attributes. 

Was that still true? Was Sasha turning into a person that Tim just couldn’t love? Was Tim turning into someone that Sasha couldn’t love? 

People changed. Sometimes they changed apart. And for some strange reason, Sasha just couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

Lying on the bed of a grim reaper, crying like a broken-hearted teenager, Sasha didn’t notice that the housekeeper’s vacuum had stopped running. She didn’t notice the knock on the door, or the creak of the door opening, or the gentle rise and fall of voices. She only heard it when there was a soft knock at her own door, and she was forced to roll off the bed to open her bedroom door. 

Standing in front of her, looking nervous, was the housekeeper. Standing behind her was Jonathan Sims. 

He looked pretty bad, Sasha noted clinically. Eye bags, even more pronounced than usual, stood starkly under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as cropped short and styled as it usually was. It had grown out a little, making Jon look more like a tired modern guy walking the streets of London than a centuries old immortal psychic vampire. He was still dressed in a suit, as he always was, but the suit jacket was off and his dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow.

He stared at Sasha, probably registering every minute change in her appearance as she did his, before glancing down at the housekeeper. “You’re excused for the day. Thank you for your time.”

He passed her something - probably neatly folded bills - and nodded at her as she shakily nodded back and escaped the flat as quickly as possible. Jon stepped backwards in the hallway, gesturing for her to come out, and walked back into the living room. Because Sasha was just slightly too prideful to barricade herself in the bedroom, and partly because she wasn’t sure that Jon wouldn’t break into a woman’s bedroom, she stepped out into the grandiose yet cluttered living room with him. He stood in the center, hands in his pockets, looking over the flat with a clinical eye. 

“Georgie’s sense of interior decoration is as immaculate as ever,” Jon noted clinically. “She used to spend months getting every house we ever lived in just right. Said it was her job as lady of the household. She had never been a lady of any household, of course, not in the way that Jonah and I had once known - but her fun’s important to her, and it doesn’t hurt anybody important.” He sniffed slightly. “You coming to stay here was for the best after all. She’s been lonely, I think.” 

“I’m staying here because I’m homeless,” Sasha said flatly. For the first time, she noticed a small manila envelope under his arm, tucked slightly into his back pocket. “Because of you.”

“I’ve kept your flat for you,” Jon said eagerly, stepping forward, and letting his cold mask fall. In him now was something eager, something almost pleading. Sasha forced herself not to step away. “All of your possessions are intact, and I can get your bank accounts unfrozen easily enough. Once all of this blows over, your life can be right back to normal.”

“Wow,” Sasha drawled, crossing her arms, “how kind. Were you so busy being this nice to me that you forgot that Georgie barred you from this flat because I don’t want to fucking look at you?”

“She’ll get over it,” Jon said dismissively. “She’s been wanting us to make up, anyhow.” He stepped closer again, fluorescent green eyes fixed on her large and warm brown ones, and Sasha fought the tingle crawling up her spine. “Sasha, I really am sorry. Jonah was out of line in what he did. But - but you know, he really does know best. Even if it doesn’t seem so. What we’re doing now, it’s for the best for your development. I promise this will all blow over soon, and things will be better. For all of us.”

“For a subject of a truth god,” Sasha said, voice dripping sarcasm, “you have a unique ability to lie to yourself.”

Jon puffed up, scowling down at her. “That’s ridiculous. I -”

“Does Jonah Magnus respect you?” Sasha pressed. 

Jon...hesitated, and they both saw it. Jon frantically tried to cover, quickly saying, “Of course he does. I’m his partner, and we’ve been partners for two hundred years. There’s nobody on earth he respects more than me. There’s nobody he respects but me.”

“Then why does he talk to you like you’re an idiot?”

“He talks to everyone like that.”

“Because he doesn’t respect anyone but you. You just said that. But if he respects you, then wouldn’t he talk to you differently?”

There it is - Jon’s shoulders hunched slightly, unconsciously on the defensive. “Does he give you equal input on decisions?”

“I always give my -”

“Does he listen to them?”

Jon was silent. Finally, slowly, he said, “Jonah was right. He said you’d get like this.”

Fuck. Sasha’s heart sank, even as her jaw dropped in incredulity. She had lost him. “You must be kidding.”

“He said you’d get jealous.” Jon crossed his arms, turning slightly away from her, but what he clearly meant to be a closed-off stance just seemed defensive. “He said that you’d get upset that I’m more loyal to him than to you. What we’re doing now is for your own good, Miss James. You’ll see one day that this - this unpleasantness is helping you grow.”

Unpleasantness? Unpleasantness?! Putting her life at risk was an inconvenience? “I’ll see, huh?” Sasha said bitterly. “Just like you saw? Just like how you changed your mind from this being cruel and traumatic to it being a momentary unpleasantness?” She barked a short laugh, not very humorous at all. “I was there. He called you stupid, he said that you couldn’t trust anybody but him, and he called you an idiot. Are those the words of someone who respects you? Of someone who even likes you?”

Jon stiffened, mouth tightening, and he broke eye contact and looked away. “Don’t concern yourself with the private business between Jonah and I.”

“When you’re having the conversation over a cooling corpse that you framed me for then you’re making it my business, you absolute shitheel!” Sasha yelled, finally losing her temper. “Your bullshit is ruining my life! Your complete inability to stand up to that sack of shit is ruining my life!”

“Shut up!” Jon yelled, seemingly having taken her losing her temper as permission to lose his. Distantly, Sasha was aware of his stupid this must have looked: two fully grown adults, yelling in a living room like children. “You’re a spoiled child who doesn’t know anything! All I’ve ever done is try to help you, and you spit in my face! You’re no better than Martin!”

Abruptly, strangely, Jon stopped short. He seemed almost embarrassed, almost in pain. 

And just like that, Sasha knew. “He’s not letting you see Martin, is he.”

For just a split second, Jon’s expression crumpled, but he forced it back into his haughty mask. “I decided that it was best I didn’t waste my time with manipulative traitors.”

“Was that your idea?” Sasha asked flatly, abruptly extremely tired. “Or was it Jonah’s?”

Jon was silent. They both knew the answer. 

“If you walked up to Jonah now and told him that you wanted to start dating Martin, do you think that you’d leave that conversation still wanting to do it? Or would you somehow decide, all by yourself, that you’ll end up doing what Jonah wants anyway?”

Jon didn’t say anything.

A strange mix of emotions swirled in Sasha’s stomach. Anger and disgust mixed with pity and sadness. What had Jon been like, before he met Jonah Magnus? Had he been a good person?

But maybe that wasn’t so important. Maybe the question that had to be asked was - what kind of person would Jonathan Sims be without Jonah Magnus in his life?

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Jon. His shoulders sagged, and he abruptly deflated. He looked down at the ground, ashamed and aware of it. He had always been aware of it. He had just been lying to himself. Maybe it was impossible to live without it. 

“I don’t know what to do without him,” Jon said quietly. “I’ve never - I need him.”

“You don’t,” Sasha said, abruptly exhausted. “You want to help me, Jon? You want to protect me and Martin? You can’t do that while staying friends with Jonah Magnus. You have to choose. So long as you stay close to him, you are going to stay within his complete control. That’s what he does. He controls everybody and everything. And you’re letting him. You’re justifying it. You’re doing his work for him. Everybody around him is - even Georgie. There are two people in your life who are trying to get you away from him, and he’s trying to convince you to cut them out of your life. You think that’s a coincidence?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. Weakly, he said, “You’re wrong.”

“I need your help, Jon,” Sasha whispered, and to her shame found her voice cracking. “I need someone on my side. I can do it alone, but - but I’m scared. And I don’t want to. I need help. I’m scared.”

But she knew, even as she said it, that Jon was scared too. He couldn’t reach out a hand to her - not now, not here. Jon had carried around his fear for hundreds of years, pushing it down and pretending it wasn’t there, and it informed everything he’d ever done. Scrambling for power, exerting that power, desperately dominating even as he was dominated - it stemmed from that fear, all of it. And Jonah Magnus kept those flames fanned, because a Jon who was afraid was a Jon who could be controlled. 

A Sasha who was afraid, who was isolated, who was trapped, was one who could be controlled. 

The realization was dizzying. Somehow, the thought that kept running through her mind was - who’d do that? Who was such a terrible person that they’d go through all that trouble, all of that plotting, just to make someone suffer? Not because they disliked them, not in revenge, not because of any human emotion - but just because it was convenient? Useful?

Because you could?

So this was what power did to a person, Sasha realized. So this was what power and immortality and money and supernatural gifts did to you. It made you someone who Sasha could never hope to understand, whose depths of depravity she could never truly rationalize. To Sasha, who prided herself on knowing people and being able to understand them and their motives - it was almost a relief, almost a blessing, that she couldn’t possibly understand the motives of Jonah Magnus at all. 

Jon stared at her, fluorescent green eyes wide, and for just a minute she could see the fear that she knew was there written all over his face. For just a minute, Sasha and Jon were scared together, both trapped in tumultuous waters that they couldn’t control. For the first time Sasha empathized with Jon. 

Jonah Magnus was somebody that Sasha could never understand. But Jon was, and for the first time Sasha knew what Martin meant when he said that he felt as if Jon had been a good person, a long time ago. 

You can’t understand someone and hate them. Not really. You could be angry, upset, betrayed...but if you really understood someone, backwards and forwards, true hate was difficult to find. 

“I have to go,” Jon said, almost dizzily. He shoved the manila folder at her, both of them having forgotten that it was even there in the first place. He glanced at it, frightened and guilty. “Be - be careful when meeting Jude Perry. Don’t take her at her word. I have to go.”

He fled, as if the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at his heels, and Sasha was left standing in an opulent hallway, clutching a manila folder as if it was a time bomb, completely certain that it was meant to hurt her and cause her pain and damage her, completely certain that she was going to read it anyway. 

Like Jon - what choice did she have? 

But as she stumbled back to her room, as she sat down on the comfortable chair and thumbed on the tape recorder that sat at the desk, the words of Jonathan Sims ran through her mind. His warning. A clumsy attempt at protection. At the very least, a signifier of desire. 

Sasha knew, as she sometimes knew things, that Jon had started out somebody who deeply desired to protect others like him. To take revenge, to grab power, yes, but also to spread that precious knowledge and resources around. He had never stopped thinking of himself as one of those vulnerable people, people who society had stepped on and ground into the dirt. Deep down he had just wanted things to be fair, wanted some justice in the world. Jon, at one point, had only wanted to help. 

Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist…”

[realrollypratt]

❀ Dasey Fic Rec Friday #4

Hello, people. I’ve been busy/feeling low on energy for the last couple of weeks so we’re a bit behind on schedule. But these amazing writers have been keeping me company. We’re including a couple of older classics this week. Here’s the week-end’s homework, kiddies!

Leave kudos & comments on these works if you read and enjoy them!  <3

1. we love without reason by illicitaffair | Words: 4,212 | Chapters: 1/1

Derek narrows his eyes while George and Nora exchange wary glances. Casey takes a sip of her champagne and smiles at Derek, lifting her glass slightly as she swallows. Let the games begin. alternatively; being a celebrity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Fresh from this week, this gorgeous work has had me screaming in the comments. It’s an amazing AU concept with a flawless execution. Small moments depicted so simply but layered with so much significance. I strongly recommend reading this work, as well as all others by this author.

2. Unattainable Passion by dasey2020 | Words: 4,906 | Chapters: 1/?

Casey McDonald graduated with top honours from Queens, and has an interview working with Venturi Firm, the best law company in the country. Casey meets the CEO, Derek Venturi, a rich and powerful man who inherited his father's business. At first she is charmed by his dark eyes, and easy smile. Until he opened his mouth. Derek seems unimpressed by her credentials or her glowing recommendations. He begrudgingly hires her, but soon enough she realizes working for Derek Venturi would come with constant put downs, constant sarcasm, and he seemed to take delight in making her flustered. Despite all that, she cannot seem to leave. She needed to prove Derek Venturi wrong, and becomes obsessed with figuring out why Derek was so guarded and and unattainable. Fighting turns to burning desire, and soon realizes proximity to Derek could be the most dangerous place to be.

Another work fresh out of the oven. Non-siblings/step-siblings AU but with all the important ingredients for an amazing Dasey fic. Incredible set-up, On Point dynamic and dialogue. This is a trope I don’t remember seeing in this fandom, which I didn’t know I needed until now. If like me you were a fan of romance novels in your teenage years, this author has a knack for bringing this feeling of nostalgia for the Grand Romance we used to read in books.

3. Ground Rules by Born2read | Words: 4,638 | Chapters: 2/2

Casey lays out the ground rules for when they go to Queens, oddly enough Derek follows them. Why, then, is Casey so pissed at him?

One of those college Dasey fics you read with a knowing smile turned grin on your face.

4. The Coffee Shop by Enx2103 | Words: 30,003 | Chapters: 9/9

The much needed Dasey Coffee Shop AU where Casey (who's still the overachieving Keener) works at the Coffee Shop on campus in Queens. Thats where she meets Derek (who's still a hockey god with a superiority complex.) Awesomeness ensured.

Going along with the running theme of Alternate Universes... This. The one coffee shop AU this fandom has ever seen, and the only one it really needs. All the important elements necessary to create Dasey, with a LOT of cuteness and coffee. I know everyone already read this one, but I’m putting it out here just in case you haven’t (Do It).

5. Unhappily Ever After by unoriginal_liz | Words: 63,196 | Chapters: 20/20

"Are you RECYCLING insults for me?" she asked, insulted beyond measure.

By re-reading this fic recently, it hit me for the hundredth time just how good it is. This is an oldie from the 00′s, written by one of my favourite authors of all time, whom I think we don’t talk about enough anymore. Literally everything this author writes is gold. And THIS ONE is the diamond of the lot. Our two idiots are grown up, have more than one foot set into adulthood, and are still a mess. We get to see their dynamic being re-built from the ground up, the two of them being faithful to themselves (they are ridiculous), while trying to make their way through those grown-up situations they don’t know how to handle. A Must Read.

[violetsmoak]

The Specter at the Feast [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556579/chapters/59300599

Summary: A tragic incident as a child left Tim Drake with the ability to commune with the dead. It’s a skill he’s used to close some of the most confounding cases to come across his desk at Gotham City’s Major Crimes Unit. But when he learns of an apparent murder-suicide that could link to a very personal case he’s been working for ten years, he might need more than a connection to the afterlife to solve it. Especially when Detective Jason Todd, a man in denial about his own psychic abilities, is assigned lead on the same case.

Sparks immediately fly between the two detectives—and not necessarily in a good way—as they are forced to work together to take down a macabre serial killer before it’s too late.

Disclaimer: This story uses characters, situations and premises that are copyright DC Comics, Inc. No infringement pertaining to graphic novels, television series or films is intended by violetsmoak in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: Here’s one of the stories I’ve been working on for JayTimWeek. As I mentioned on tumblr, I got hit by a big blast of inspiration for one of my original stories and have kind of been working on that like mad for the past three weeks, so unfortunately I didn’t have time to dedicate to the prompt fills for JTW as I wanted to. As soon as I run out of steam for that, I’ll get back to filling the prompts. So, bad news I probably won’t post anything else during the event, but eventually my prompts will all crop up once I recapture my attention span :P Huge thank you to strawberyjei for taking the time to beta-read this chapter!

_______________________________________________________________

“That stuff will kill you one day.”

Tim Drake frowns and glances to his right, noticing the half-amused and half-exasperated smile playing on his best friend’s face.

“Will not,” he retorts with the instantaneity of an oft-repeated argument and leans more securely against sun-warmed stone. He takes a defiant sip from his jumbo travel mug, enjoying the bitterness of his favorite morning indulgence—slow-brewed light roast with three shots of espresso. “Besides, how else do you expect me to be awake enough to drive out here at this hour?”

He doesn’t have to see Kon to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“You don’t actually have to—you’re the one who keeps showing up; I just wait here.”

There’s something buried in the joking tone, and Tim shifts in discomfort as he detects the unspoken scolding. Choosing to ignore it, he swallows another mouthful of coffee and stares past the well-kept shrubbery, observing the gentle waves on the river.

From a distance, Gotham’s elegance is deceptive. By daylight, the riot of architectural styles jutting into the horizon appear whimsical instead of grotesque, and the layers of filth and decay suggest character as opposed to rampant corruption. Even on a Sunday, it teems with energy.

I guess that’s what still convinces people to move to the crime capital of America.

Tim knows from experience that the city’s grandeur is not as noticeable when combing her streets for the criminal element.

That knowledge doesn’t stop him from digging out his cellphone and snapping a few lazy photos. The quality won’t compare to shots taken with the Nikon he has at home, but it’s rare to perceive the city of his birth as something other than sinister; he won’t squander the opportunity.

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Tim suggests in a light tone. “I could just be out here, minding my business, taking in the scenery—”

“Hah!”

“—and you’re stalking me.”

“Stalking’s your thing.”

“Is it really stalking if you get paid for it?”

“Whatever you say, detective,” Kon sneers without true malice and crosses his arms across his chest. Despite the chilly early spring air, he’s wearing only a black t-shirt with a red Superman symbol. Tim gave it to him for his birthday a few years ago, but the sight of it these days still elicits a nostalgia-induced lump in his throat. “Either way, you’re the chump who showed up here on his first day off in forever. Sunday, remember? You’re supposed to be spending the day lounging at your fancy estate, getting ready to gorge yourself on Alfred-made dinner, not bumming around with me.”

“That’s not for hours,” Tim dismisses, “and to be honest, I’d rather skip it.”

Kon glances sideways at him. “Haven’t you missed it all month?”

“I was working the entire time. Everyone in the family has to do the occasional weekend rotation, Alfred knows that. Besides, I see them all at some point or another every week.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kon taunts. “I thought we agreed you needed to stop isolating yourself?”

The furrow in his brow is one that Tim recognizes as a prelude to concern, though, and he suspects he won’t be able to deter his friend.

“I’m not isolating myself.”

“That so? When was your last date?”

And there it is.

“I left myself wide open for that one,” Tim sighs.

“You know I’m right.”

“Here it comes…”

“I’m serious—you can’t still be carrying a torch for your ex—”

“There are no torches.”

“—hoping it’ll work out—”

“I’m not!”

“—because that ship has sailed,” Kon concludes. “She’s dating your sister for God’s sake.”

“I’m aware.”

“And it’s been two years.”

“I’ve been on dates in the last two years,” Tim protests.

“Cassie doesn’t count,” Kon replies. 

That earns a wince. “We agreed never to speak about that.”

“And I told you I was fine with it, man, it’s not like I was there.”

There’s a heavy sensation in Tim’s chest at that reminder, and he scowls at Kon for bringing it up. That usually earns a shrug or palms-up gesture of surrender, but today Kon squares his shoulders and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“I already told you it meant nothing. We were both hurting and just…needed someone,” Tim insists.

Kon ignores him. “Which I’m okay with—relieved, even. I know you guys wouldn’t have looked at each other if circumstances were different. Which brings me back to Cassie, not counting.”

“She was there for me as much as I was there for her—can we please talk about something else?”

“Depends—do you have a better example than my last girlfriend?”

“Hey, I’ve been with other people! Remember Tam?”

“Yeah, your dad’s former business manager’s daughter,” Kon deadpans, “who you only started dating because everyone thought it was convenient. And she left you because you weren’t interested enough in the relationship.”

“What are you talking about? I was interested!”

“You didn’t even get to second base with her, man.”

“Are you seriously using the baseball metaphor?”

“Then there’s Bernard Whatshisname for the occasional booty call.”

“I regret ever telling you about that.”

“And don’t even get me started on that cop from Hong Kong that you hooked up with last month.”

“Okay, that one was a mistake,” Tim admits.

“But none of those were actual relationships. You haven’t had one of those since Steph.”

“I don’t recall you being this judgy before.”

“You’re one of my only sources of entertainment,” Kon deflects. “It’s like binge-watching Netflix and yelling at the idiot hero to stop screwing up his life. Except in this case, the idiot hero can actually hear me and have to listen.”

“‘Have to’ is debatable…”

Kon pushes off the stone they are both leaning against and turns to face him. It always annoys Tim when he pulls this, given he’s three inches taller and has twice the upper body strength.

“This is what you do, Tim. You keep people at a distance and on the rare occasion where they disappoint you or hurt you, you close yourself off,” Kon sighs. “You need to relax, man.”

Tim’s phone rings, granting him a welcome distraction.

“The last time I relaxed, I got stabbed,” he reminds Kon as he glances at the device. He blinks in surprise when he recognizes his brother’s scowling face and phone number flashing up at him. “Speak of the devil.” He swipes at the screen and answers, making a face at his best friend. “Gremlin.”

“Timothy,” is the terse answer, and Tim can almost hear the scowl in the younger man’s voice.

Huh. First name today. Either something bad happened, or he wants something.

Tim ignores the tiny edge of worry blossoming at the thought; if it were a family emergency, Alfred or Dick would call him, not Damian.

It must be the second thing.

“What do you want?”

“Where are you this morning?” the younger man asks, ignoring the question.

“It’s Sunday, where do you think I am?” he shoots back, deciding two can play ‘answer-with-a-question.’

Except Damian seems to have no intention of following the usual script.

“Of course,” he says instead, sounding distracted. “Then you should be close enough.”

“…For what?”

There’s a beat of hesitation, and then Damian says, “I may have stumbled upon something you’d find…interesting.”

Because that doesn’t sound ominous…

“Define ‘interesting’.”

“I’m at work,” Damian says. “Securing a crime scene.”

That moves Tim along the spectrum from wary to defensive at once. He goes to substantial lengths to avoid working with any of his siblings in a professional capacity. It’s a necessity in a family where law enforcement is all but synonymous with the name Wayne. Even if their older brother Dick hadn’t started the tradition of downplaying that link in the professional sphere, Tim has always been diligent in establishing professional boundaries. So far, his family has respected them. Damian, in particular, has always been gleeful—almost militant—in keeping to that maxim; for him to break it, something must have upset him. 

And for him to reach out to me instead of Dick is…I don’t think it’s ever happened.

“Are you sure you should have called me then?” Tim queries in a careful tone, wanting to make sure he’s not misreading the situation. “Dick might be a better option.”

“Richard wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t view it the same way.”

“The same way,” Tim repeats, the words sparking something—a flicker of suspicion begins to take shape.

“I shouldn’t even be telling you this,” Damian continues, “so you’d better be appreciative—”

“Spit it out, Damian.” Tim doesn’t have the patience for the adult version of ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’.

“Murder-suicide. Apparently. The bodies were posed,” Damian says, voice low as if he doesn’t want someone to overhear him, “And all the victims are holding hands.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry and his entire body tenses. “All?”

“Five,” Damian tells him shortly.

That makes Tim close his eyes in dismay. “Other than the number it’s the same MO as the others?”

“The crime itself, yes. Don’t your files say the last one was five years ago?”

Tim knows it should irritate him that Damian’s been poking around his casefiles—he always considered office protocol as more guidelines than law. But the infraction pales next to the knowledge blossoming into being.

It’s happening again.

“If you want to see for yourself, get here before whoever they assign as the lead detective does,” Damian is saying.

Torn, Tim’s eyes flick to Kon, who clearly knows what is being said and whose expression is all-too knowing for Tim’s liking.

“Where is it?” Tim asks at last.

“Diamond District. Gotham Tower Apartments.”

“That’s unusual,” Tim grunts, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. Only one of the earlier cases took place in what either of them would consider an upper-class neighborhood. “Also, outside of my jurisdiction.”

“That wouldn’t stop me if I were in your position.”

There’s a click and then a dial tone.

Tim gives a slow exhale, closing his eyes.

He and Damian were never the closest, but once the early friction between them eased, they developed their own dynamic. And one specific shared understanding that they bonded over in secret, away from the prying and often unintentionally judging eyes of family.

“How is he a jerk even when he’s trying to be helpful?” Tim mutters more to himself than Kon. He’s already calculating how long it will take him to get across the bridge from Metropolis.

Half an hour, with no traffic.

It will be cutting it close, assuming Damian holds off giving his own precinct the details until the last second.

He must be serious about this if he’ll risk being called up on discipline for not following protocol.

Tim turns to Kon. “Sorry, but I need to head out.”

“Like I won’t see you again next week,” Kon dismisses with a grim smile. “After all, you’re always here.”

“You say that like you don’t want me to be,” Tim replies, suspicious.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re my best friend, I obviously want you to visit. But you need more in your life than work, checking in with me and—I dunno—chasing some white whale.”

“Really?” Tim deadpans. “You, of all people? You want me to give up trying to get justice—”

“Not what I’m saying,” Kon interrupts. “I’m just trying to tell you there’s more out there and you deserve to find it.” He pauses. “And   agrees with me.”

Tim cuts off a curse with a hiss. “That is a low blow, you two ganging up on me.”

“What can I say? You’d better listen, or he’ll do something impulsive, if he hasn’t already.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tim grumbles, keying the coordinates of the crime scene into his phone’s GPS.

“Remember,” Kon calls after him, “ ”

“Always do,” Tim replies. As he heads for the gates of the cemetery, brushing his fingers against the headstone that reads: Connor Kent, Beloved Son, Brother, Friend—Brave Fireman of the Metropolis Fire Department.

⁂

“Six days,” Jason Todd fumes, glaring down at the muddle of papers and file folders in front of him. “I’m gone for six days, and you jerks decide to turn my desk into an episode of Hoarders.”

“Relax, Todd, it’s just paper, not toxic waste,” Detective Adams drawls as she passes by, unapologetically grabbing a few of the offending folders on her way.

“This? This is not just paper, it’s a potential biohazard.”

His desk, usually the immaculate outlier in the chaotic, open concept dumping ground of the 12th Precinct, is now covered in empty coffee cups, old take-out cartons, and other detritus.

“Says the man who filled my desk drawer with a cubic foot of golf balls the last time I was on leave.”

“None of which were covered in saliva—I mean, come on!” He holds up several crumpled napkins. “It’s just common fucking courtesy!”

“Take it up with Rayner.”

“Of course it was him. Guy has it out for me…”

“You did shoot him.”

“One time! And it was a shoulder wound! If I hadn’t, both our covers would have been blown and we’d both be dead.”

“Cry me a river, Todd,” Adams snorts. “I’ve got a lead on the Kirano case and don’t have time to wipe away your tears of manly angst.”

She stalks away, totally missing how he flips her the bird. Not that his heart is in it; he’s actually fond of Onyx and would even work with her if she could stand him. But the one time they were partnered together, it ended with them running away from an exploding truck and a two-inch-thick shard of metal through her shoulder.

Still trying to figure out how I got the blame for that one…

It’s not like he goes into a situation intending to get the people next to him injured. For some reason, he just happens to be better at intuiting incoming threats, whether it be a perp taking a swing with a knife or stopping just short of being shot.

It happens, sometimes, this inexplicable intuition. Roy always called it a sixth sense, but Jason takes issue with any of that hokey paranormal crap. He gets hunches—gut feelings that have served him extremely well in his career and helped him rise quickly through the ranks.

But he doesn’t like to think of himself as psychic.

He likes thinking of the possible reason for his “hunches” even less.

Finally getting the worst of the garbage into the trashcan beneath his desk, Jason starts on the wayward papers, pleased that most of it can be shredded and won’t require a trip to the file room. There’s one folder, however, that doesn’t fit anywhere: some arson report that has nothing to do with any of his ongoing cases.

He skims through the particulars of the folder and notes the name on the CSI report—B. Allen—which suggests it isn’t even recent. He’s been friends with the new ME, Stephanie Brown, for two years now, and never met the guy that was here before her.

Maybe someone’s trying to find a pattern or something.

Jason decides to bring it to the captain; if anyone’s missing a file related to their case, she’ll have a better idea.

He skirts around uniformed officers moving to and fro, some leading handcuffed offenders to the holding cells at the back of the building, others talking over their cases with each other or on the phone. He passes the office corkboard, filled with everything from sketches of perps at large (it seems Dr. Pamela Isley is up to her usual eco-terrorism) to reminders about the Gotham General Blood Drive (anyone who donates in uniform gets the rest of the day off, as well as the next one).

By the time he reaches the captain’s office, he’s sweating. It might be crisp outside, but inside there are so many bodies moving around that it might as well be the hottest day of summer.

Raising his hand to knock, he’s surprised when the door opens inward and the captain steps out.

“Todd,” she says with a blink, then nods to herself. “Right. You’re back today. That works. Get in here—I’ve got a case for you.”

He’s too used to Artemis’ brusque manner to be bemused; instead, he ducks into her office and closes the door behind him.

“It’s not another missing kid, is it?” he asks apprehensively; the last case involved a fourteen-year-old girl. “No promises I won’t break some scumbag’s teeth again if that’s the case.”

“You’d better not break anyone’s teeth,” Artemis chides him, a warning glint in her eyes. “Especially since you just got off suspension.”

And that for using “unnecessary force” in apprehending a drug dealer selling his shit to a bunch of kids.

“But no,” she continues, sitting behind her desk and reaching for a file, “it’s not. The officers on the scene are reporting it as an apparent murder-suicide.”

“And you thought that’s how I wanted to spend my first day back at work? I’m touched. Whatever made you think of me?”

“The fact that you were conveniently in front of me when I opened the door.”

“Aw, here I was expectin’ you to say something like, ‘well, you’re a constant pain in my ass, but you’ve also got the best record for closin’ cases in this department’.”

“You don’t need the ego boost. Now either take it and be grateful, or I’m giving it to Adams as I planned—”

“Gimme,” Jason interrupts, snatching the file folder from her.

“That’s what I thought.”

He settles into one of the chairs in front of the captain’s desk and opens the folder.

“I want this one looked into and closed as soon as possible,” Artemis goes on.

“Why?”

“Because of who the victim is.”

Jason frowns, scans through the preliminary report to see that the victim—victims—have, in fact, been identified. His eyebrows shoot upward.

“J. Devlin Davenport.” He looks up at Artemis, askance. “The investment guy? The one being investigated for embezzlement?”

“Fraud Squad’s been building a case against him for six months now,” Artemis confirms. “The guy set up a fake company and defrauded his investors out of 200 million. They’re still trying to track the stuff he funneled through the Bahamas.” 

“If they find it, send it my way,” Jason says, still skimming through the papers.

“Could you sound any more cliché?”

“If I tried, maybe,” he replies, distracted as he slides the folder he brought to one side of her desk. 

“What’s that?” Artemis asks.

“Dunno. File was on my desk. Arson, I think. Figured someone left it there.”

“We don’t have any arson cases ongoing at the moment, but I’ll ask around. Maybe someone’s doing case research.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason murmurs. He taps the paper in front of him. “Listen, if they’re saying this is a murder-suicide, that’s probably what it is.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Look at the transcript from when it was called in.”

“‘Bodies of the deceased were…arranged around the dinner table’,” Jason reads. “What the… ‘lack of struggle might suggest sedation before they were removed to the dining room and posed’—posed? Like a photographer does?” He makes a face. “Kind of a lot of effort for someone who just committed suicide right after…”

“If I’m not mistaken, that would be the thing that needs investigating.”

Jason ignores the sarcasm, checking to see who called this in.

Al-Ghul. Huh. Well, at least he’ll keep the place from being overrun. Kid’s scary good at keeping the rubberneckers away.

And pissing off the MEs by lurking around while they work.

Jason knows the new officer just wants to learn, but he also tends to be a bit of an entitled know-it-all like most of his generation. It’s a trait he’ll lose the longer he walks a beat and works up through the ranks, but right now it makes most people want to punch him.

Jason might be one of those people if it weren’t for the fact Al-Ghul is meticulous about taking statements, prompt in securing crime scenes, and entirely willing to go the extra mile to help a detective close a case even when he’s off the clock. He recognizes the ambition and the need to prove himself from his own first years as a cop.

If he adjusts that attitude a bit, I might even put in a recommendation to put him on detective track…

Jason closes the folder and grins at Artemis.

“So, who’s the unlucky bastard you’re pairing me with today?”

He doesn’t work well with a partner, given his tendency to ignore rules in favor of his gut instincts. Especially since it’s never steered him wrong. Most other detectives can’t stand that, with the exception of his last partner, Roy Harper, who transferred to Star City six months ago to be closer to his daughter. Then again, Roy always considered rules arbitrary anyhow.

Since then, Jason’s been cycled through almost all the detectives at the 9th Precinct, all without finding a decent fit.

Pretty sure it’s Artemis’ way of torturing me since plenty of other guys work their cases solo.

It’s a blatant implication that he needs a babysitter.

“Rayner wrapped up most of his cases last week,” Artemis replies without even checking the duty roster on her desk.

“Hell no.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I giving you the impression you have a choice?”

“Unless you want me back on suspension, you’re not putting me with that asshole.”

“Well, Jason,” she says, finally looking up at him with an expression that suggests she’s fully ready to call his bluff, “you have this tendency to either piss off or sleep with whoever gets assigned to you. At least if you’re working with someone that pisses you off, I’m less likely to need to fill out the paperwork to reassign them afterward.”

“And if they happen to fall into both categories?” he leers at her in an exaggerated manner. She was one of his partners once, both on the job and briefly outside of it. He prods at the plaque on her desk that reads Captain A. Bana-Migdhall. In retaliation, she reaches over and raps him on the knuckles with it. “Ow!”

“You’re not helping your case right now.”

“You know, it’s not my fault Eddie decided he’d rather play Bond Babe for the scary CIA chick with the one eye. And Miguel’s the one who couldn’t keep his hands off me, so…”

“Just…go find Rayner,” Artemis sighs, waving her hand in dismissal. “I need that crime scene checked over and wrapped up quickly. The Mayor’s office wants an answer on this pronto.”

Jason sneers at that. “Of course they do. Because the Waynes and Davenports are old country club buddies, right?”

“Maybe fifty years ago. But Bruce Wayne spent more time as a cop than some rich college co-ed. He got elected based on his tough-on-crime stance, so it’s more likely he just wants to make sure the high-profile target of a class-action suit hasn’t been the victim of foul play.” Artemis pauses. “Especially since, having met the man, I’m pretty sure Wayne would have liked to beat the truth out of Davenport personally.”

“Now there’s a reality show I’d watch.”

“On your own time. Now go do your job.”

“Or Rayner.”

Artemis drops her pen and stares. “What?”

“Well, from what you said before, I figure if I fuck Rayner, it means you won’t ever make me work with him again, so—”

“Get the hell out of my office!” Artemis barks, throwing her tissue box at his head. Jason ducks and slips out of her office with a grin on his face.

There are a few good-natured laughs from his coworkers—“In trouble again, Todd?”—and he heads across the room to Kyle Rayner’s desk.

“What do you want?” the other detective demands, nose wrinkling at Jason like he’s just smelled something rank. It’s his default expression whenever they cross paths.

It’s also the expression that drives Jason to mess with him whenever he can.

Time for a bit of payback for the desk thing.

“Not me,” he says, affecting a nonchalant shrug. “Captain wanted to know if you could head down to the 7th.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Apparently her opposite number there has something she needs to be sent over and doesn’t want to wait on official channels to slow everything down.”

“What do I look like, a courier?” Rayner growls, but Jason can see from the way he smooths a hand through his hair that he’s got him.

It’s not exactly a secret that Jason’s workplace nemesis has a thing for Precinct 7’s Captain Troy, or that he’ll take any excuse to go flirt with her.

It’s unrequited, of course, and Jason’s bound to get an earful from Donna the next time they run into each other, but worth it to get Rayner out of his way.

“Whatever, man, I just work here,” he says, only half-pretending irritation. “You want to tell Captain ‘no’, it’s your balls in a vice, not mine.”

“Yeah, that’d be a switch, wouldn’t it?”

But the other man pushes back his chair and grabs his jacket.

Jason smirks at his retreating back and spins on his heel, returning to his own desk to grab his car keys.

Maybe the day’s looking up a bit.

⁂

There’s a gaggle of reporters already on the scene when Tim arrives, and he wonders not for the first time just how many of them have their own inside sources in the various police precincts of Gotham. There are also two ambulances on the scene, but thankfully someone had the foresight to park them in a way that shields the entrance of the high-rise apartment.

Officer Kelley, Damian’s partner of six months, is walking back and forth along the police tape to ensure none of the intrepid rubberneckers can get through. Head down and dark glasses firmly in place, Tim hurries past the press before they can recognize him (it thankfully doesn’t happen very often, but when it does it’s a pain in the ass) and approaches Kelly. Though they’ve met before, he flashes his badge and identifies himself. 

All of Tim’s official identification name him as Timothy Drake-Wayne and have since he was about seventeen, but he only uses the latter name if he absolutely must. With regards to work, he’s only ever used it during official meetings with the Commissioner or during obligatory police ceremonies.

Or when Bruce makes up some official sounding excuse to check up on me when he feels he hasn’t heard from me in a while.

He's endured at least one of those this past month.

Kelley barely raises an eyebrow, suggesting Damian must have warned her who he was calling and waves him through. It speaks to how much they trust each other as partners that she’s going along with what’s clearly a personal issue. Most other cops would question the need for two law enforcement officers from the same family needing to be at the same crime scene.

There are two elevators in the lobby, one of which is already open with a sign posted to warn residents from using it. Another officer Tim doesn’t recognize is waiting beside it, and Tim once again flashes his badge before heading up.

He’s subjected to a brief interlude of elevator muzak, before the doors open to the foyer outside of what has to be the victims’ apartment. Two ambulance techs are just exiting, carrying with them tools that are clearly useless here. He waits for them to pass and slips inside, taking in the stylish décor of the hall and nearby living room. Inside the latter, there’s a small woman speaking to another EMT, a blanket over her shoulders as she tries to speak through sobs.

Damian is watching the scene from across the room, mouth pulled into his habitual frown; this deepens when he sees Tim. Undeterred, Tim strides over—he was invited, after all.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m risking Cassie’s wrath this morning?” he asks as he joins the younger man. Tim's friend might not be the type of captain to fire him for the flagrant conduct unbecoming, but she can make his life miserable for the foreseeable future.

“The bodies were found this morning by the cleaning lady,” Damian says, also not bothering with such trite pleasantries as a greeting. “No signs of break-in or struggle.”

“Cleaning lady? This early on a Sunday? They must have been paying her overtime.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Pennyworth works Sundays.”

“Only because it would take the same amount of phenobarbital to stun a moose as it would to make Alfred take a day of rest.” They exchange a wry look of agreement, and Tim returns to the subject at hand. “So, she identified the bodies?”

“Yes. Joseph Devlin Davenport, his wife Lina, and the three teenaged offspring—Neil, Irene, and Roderick.”

Tim’s eyes go wide; he’s met every one of them before. “Shit.”

“Indeed.” Damian flips through his notepad, though they both know it’s for show. “All the victims were executed by two gunshots to the head, except Davenport himself; the medical examiner was here, and her preliminary findings suggest the husband shot his wife and children first, then turned the gun on himself. There are no signs of struggle, no bruising, or markings on the bodies…”

“None of that’s particularly extraordinary though.”

“And then there’s their hands.”

They share a look.

“Did you mention that when you called it in to your superiors?”

“No, when I called it in I gave them the basics. Since then I’ve noticed a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the fact a firearm was discharged several times in a residential complex and no one heard anything,” Damian says. “Yet I didn’t find a suppressor anywhere on the scene; just the weapon itself.”

“Is the penthouse soundproofed?” Tim asks.

“No. When I spoke to the downstairs residents, they told me they had even made several noise complaints to the building management in the past. Nothing ever came from it, of course—money talks—but someone should have heard something.”

“Assuming they recognized the sound of gunfire. This isn’t exactly Burnley. Which…could be a good thing. Buildings like this tend to have good security systems.”

“Obviously that was my next thought,” Damian drawls. “While Kelley was calming down the help, I went to speak with the security guards in case the camera system caught sight of anyone suspicious.”

"And did they?"

“No. They apparently had to run a routine update on their software, which knocked out the feed between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m.”

“And you think this is when the shooting took place.”

“I imagine Brown will find the time of death to be around that point,” Damian agrees with a smug upward quirk of his lips. “For Davenport to decide to kill himself at the exact time when the security feeds go offline is rather coincidental.”

Tim shakes his head. “Maybe, maybe not. Anything else?”

“What about the fact Davenport was left-handed but shot himself with his right hand?”

Tim blinks. “And how do you figure he was left-handed?”

“Please,” Damian dismisses with a snort, “I’ve been forced to attend enough fundraisers with Father in the past, and Davenport was often present. Even you would remember that ham-fisted troglodyte trying to sip from a champagne flute had you ever deigned to attend.”

Tim tilts his head in acknowledgment of both the barb and the observation. “Fair. Though so far all of this sounds pretty circumstantial—nothing really screams 'second shooter' here. And other than the hand thing—”  

“Go see for yourself. The bodies are in the dining room. I imagine your specific talents will confirm my suspicions.” Tim starts into the apartment. “By the way, if you’re still here when the lead detective gets here, I’ll deny knowing you.”

Tim snorts. “As expected.”

“And you are not to tell Richard I was involved in this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tim has to hold back a chuckle at that; Damian is even more acquainted with Dick’s mollycoddling than he is.

“Noted. Let Alfred know I might be a bit late for dinner tonight.”

“It’s not Alfred you have to worry about.”

Tim heads down the hall, accepting a pair of plastic gloves from one of the passing investigators. As he pulls them on, he takes note of the doors to the bedrooms that remain open, and the photographs and paintings hanging on the walls. Nothing is disturbed, no signs of a struggle like there would be if the victims had been dragged from their beds, and there’s no sign of blood on the floors leading from the rooms or even the hallway itself.

That means the victims either walked voluntarily—which is unlikely—or sedated and carried.

It’s looking like Damian’s instincts might be on-point here, but it’s not until Tim steps foot in the dining room that he realizes just how much that’s the case.

He freezes in place, hit with a familiar jarring of his senses at something not meant to be perceived.

Davenport was a man in his mid-forties, tall and with the look of a skinny person that’s suddenly gained a whole lot of weight, and not in a healthy manner. Tim remembers meeting him at some dinner with his parents when he was younger, and his mother disparaging the man behind his back as a social-climbing schemer.

And that was before the Ponzi scheme.

The man’s blond hair implants are now plastered with blood and brain matter that oozes down the left side of his head. His eyes roll in wild fear, tears and snot running down his face, which is immobilized in a stiff smile from regular Botox injections. That mouth is now twisted in a grotesque scream that makes Tim wince even in its silence, the unsettling sensation of nails on a chalkboard traveling up through his nervous system.

Tim is careful not to draw the attention to himself, not just because of the crime scene team still milling about the scene, but because the last thing he needs right now is a panicked ghost latching on to him. Davenport’s spirit is still in too much shock for rationality and may fixate on Tim if he discovers he can see him. Which he knows from experience is not fun.

The newly dead are like drowning victims—if they catch hold of you, they’ll drag you under with them. Best case scenario, Tim experiences a few seconds of possession and a week of dissociative identity issues; worst-case scenario, he could die from the same trauma.

Unfortunately, given the lack of control newly dead spirits have, the latter is most likely.

The ghost is luckily far enough from the dining room table that Tim can edge past him without ostensibly acknowledging its presence; instead, he studies the actual bodies and tries not to regret his coffee that morning.

The five victims have not yet been moved, but the placement of tarps over them suggests the crime scene photographers have already been by. Going from one body to the next, Tim lifts the sheets carefully, trying not to disturb anything too much in his investigation. The victims are all dressed in their nightclothes, seated around the table on wooden, cloth-back chairs. 

Damian wasn’t lying; all of them holding hands.

The dining room table is fully laden with dishes and cutlery, glasses filled with orange juice and bowls with the soggy remnants of cereal and milk. Other than the angry red entrance wounds on their foreheads—two shots each—there are no other visible injuries. Only the body of the presumed shooter, based on the position of the gun and his hand, is splayed out unnaturally across the table, ostensibly from the force of the gunshot.

Otherwise, it looks like they were all just sitting down to breakfast at the time of death.

His stomach roils a bit at the notion, not only because of the clearly depraved mind behind arranging the tableau but because the scene is familiar to him in a way he wishes it wasn’t.

Teeth clenched, Tim digs out his phone and starts to take his own pictures, not wanting to have to contact the lead detective and beg for copies. In the periphery, Davenport’s ghost continues to spasm and flail, making it hard for Tim to concentrate.

His eyes rest on the spot where the murder weapon fell and is struck by a sudden idea. Hoping he’s right, he takes a quick tour of the rest of the apartment but makes deliberate stops in the bedroom and the home office.

It’s another fifteen minutes of taking pictures and lightly rummaging through the belongings of the dead before he finds something. Striding out of the office and back toward the scene of the murder, Tim shoots a text message off to his friend Victor at the ATF.

Running gun serial numbers might be a little more complicated than on TV, but the guy owes me a favor. And if I’m right—

His thoughts cut off as he notices movement out of the corner of his eye, a movement that belongs to someone living this time.

There’s a newcomer on the scene, and from the way he flashes the badge, Tim would guess it’s the detective who’s actually supposed to be here. He’s redheaded, wearing a leather jacket and a loose tie that looks like he threw it on in a hurry. Even from this distance, Tim can make out a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his chin and the edge to his mouth that’s inherently challenging. The man’s whole esthetic reads scrapper, but his posture and carriage inarguably declare cop. Tim would know, his family is made up almost entirely of them.

Pretending like he hasn’t noticed the stranger, Tim shifts to face the scene once again, continuing to study him under his lashes as the man exchanges words with Damian.

He blames Kon entirely for the way his attention rests on the man’s muscular thighs, before the man turns toward Tim and starts forward, conversation with Damian clearly over.

Well shit…

⁂

Jason has an uneasy feeling in his stomach even before he even arrives at the Davenports’ penthouse apartment.

It’s not an anticipatory reaction to seeing the aftermath of a murder—he’s worked homicide long enough to have developed a means of distancing himself from the crimes he investigates. The feeling is more like expectation, a nagging sense that something huge is about to happen.

Never a good sign in my experience.

“Detective Todd?”

Jason pauses as he finishes putting on a pair of plastic gloves and glances up at the speaker.

“Officer Al-Ghul,” he replies, more formal than usual as he tries to shove the weird feeling to the back of his mind. “What’ve we got?”

The kid excuses himself from the small, tearful woman he’s speaking to and strides over.

“It seems to be a murder-suicide,” he says and launches into a report that’s almost word-for-word the transcript of what he called into the precinct, with a few extra additions. Jason lets the words wash over him, keeping an ear out for anything that deviates too much from what he already knows while casting his eyes about the apartment.

Geeze, you could fit three Crime Alley families in the living room alone. Who the fuck needs all this space?

His eyes fall upon someone across the room that he doesn’t recognize.

Young—maybe a bit younger than Jason—with an athletic build and good looks that, despite being clean-cut, give no clue as to whether they’re male or female. Whoever it is, they’re not dressed as a CSI or in an officer’s uniform, but they’re studying the crime scene with the eye of someone in the business. When the stranger notices Jason, he or she turns around, apparently fascinated by the photographs on the living room wall.

“Who’s that?” Jason interrupts Al-Ghul. “New CSI?”

Al-Ghul scowls in annoyance, either at the interruption or at the subject of the question, Jason isn’t sure.

“Major Crimes,” he says after a beat. 

That immediately puts Jason’s back up. “What the hell is MCU doing here?”

Al-Ghul shrugs, as if to say, ‘that’s your problem, not mine’, and returns his attention to the woman from before. Deciding this is a welcome distraction from his own unease, Jason stalks toward the stranger, ready to rip them a new one.

“Hey, buddy—wanna tell me what you think you’re doing at my crime scene?”

“Just taking a look around,” the detective replies, not turning around immediately.

Jason’s eyes flick to the photos on the wall, wondering what seems so captivating.

Most of them are glamor shots, professionally done, but some are clearly personal photos. Davenport and his wife on a golf course, the teenagers lounging around against a tropical beach backdrop, and another of Davenport sitting in a bed surrounded by his kids. Though his surroundings seem comfortable, he’s hooked up to some kind of IV stand, and despite the smile on everyone’s faces, there’s a haunted edge to it.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

A while back there was something in the news about him undergoing treatment for some kind of blood cancer. He actually tried to use that to discourage his case from being investigated. Just proves what kind of scumbag Davenport is.

Was.

Which brings him back to the present.

“I’m gonna need a bit more than that unless you want me making a call to the brass up at MCU,” Jason warns.

The detective turns to offer Jason what is clearly intended to be a disarming smile. “No need for that, I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Jason prides himself on not being susceptible to that sort of thing, but—

Holy shit, he’s hot up close.

And yes, that’s definitely a male face studying him with an air of appraisal, in spite of the deceptively delicate features. The guy is mostly clean-shaven and wearing a smart-looking peacoat that offers a compliment to his eyes, which are very blue. It’s the intense color you don’t see very often outside of newborn babies, but with a pronounced gleam of intelligence that feels almost penetrating.

There’s also a confident set to his shoulders and a stubborn bend to his lips that instantly puts Jason’s mind on the defensive (and other parts at attention).

“Detective Drake,” the guy goes on, offering a hand to Jason. His voice is warm and smooth, the kind that’s more suited for phone sex than reciting Miranda rights. “Major Crimes, as you already seem to be aware.”

Jason refrains from taking the hand. “Detective Todd. 12th Precinct. Homicide. There a reason you guys are sticking your noses into a murder-suicide?”

“There’s reason to believe this may actually be the work of a serial murderer,” Drake replies, looking unbothered by the rebuff.

“Really,” Jason says flatly. “And what are you basing that on? Because the report I got is leanin’ pretty hard on this guy killing his wife and kids, then himself. That’s probably how the city’s going to record it. This isn’t a scene that needs in-depth investigating and there’s no need for one lead detective here, let alone two—especially not a guy who’s clearly out of his jurisdiction.”

‘Detective Drake’ doesn’t appear to notice the clear marking of territory.

“Have you been in there yet?” he asks instead.

“No, because I’m wasting my time explainin’ protocol to a smart-ass out of his jurisdiction.”

Drake smirks at that, sharp and unwavering. “Well, when you get around to it, you’ll probably cotton on to the fact the murder weapon was a .32 automatic with the serial filed off.”

“So?”

“So, first of all, the neighbors would have heard the discharge if it was fired without a decent suppressor, but there’s no evidence of one at the scene of the crime.”

Which, Jason can admit, is out of the ordinary. Most people committing suicide don’t care about how loud the shot will be that takes them out, but if they did use one, it would still be attached to the gun.

“Second, Davenport was an ardent supporter of gun rights. I remember seeing a clip of him on the news, going at it with the Mayor over his proposed gun-control laws.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

“My point is that generally, gun rights activists own guns. Which Davenport did—you’ll find them in his closet and his study, next to all the relevant paperwork: 9mm Glocks. And they have serial numbers.” Drake levels a challenging stare at Jason. “What’s the point of procuring an unregistered weapon when you have your own within easy reach? And why chisel the number off if you’re just going to commit suicide? It’s not like you need to care about it being traced once you’re dead.”

“The guy was rich—rich people do weird things. Probably some convoluted insurance thing,” he suggests.

“Or it wasn’t his.”

“So maybe he was holdin’ it for a friend. It happens. Still doesn’t change the fact this tool offed his own family.”

“And what about the fact that the same model gun has been found at the scene of at least fourteen other murder-suicides in this city in the past ten years?”

“It’s Gotham. Play the probabilities game long enough, you’ll get a bunch of seemingly random crimes that resemble each other.”

“Maybe. But in the ninety-something years before that—in fact, as long as the city’s kept records on this sort of thing—there have been only two murder-suicides that could fit that pattern, and those had enough additional evidence to solve immediately. But in the past decade, we've got two particular years where a series of murder-suicides were committed using an unregistered .32, where neighbors didn’t hear any of the gunshots and yet there was no sign of a suppressor. Five years ago, and ten years ago,” Drake tells him grimly. “Both those years there were exactly seven incidents, and then they stopped. None of those have been solved.”

“That says more about the investigating cops than the crimes themselves. You don’t solve a murder-suicide—the evidence is right there,” Jason insists, though what Drake has to say is uncomfortably close to what his own gut was telling him when he walked into the apartment.

“And the fact that in each situation, the victims are found holding hands?” Drake challenges, with the air of someone presenting a winning argument.

And, yeah, that’s a bit of a weird coincidence, but still not an argument for a major investigation.

“If that’s an actual detail in all these supposed cases of yours, it would have been noted.”

“Not if no one thought it was worth noting,” Drake retorts. “Not if whoever made those reports just thought it was some kind of death pact or…cult related suicide. They weren’t looking for it.”

“But you are.”

“Clearly.”

Jason peers at him another beat and then shakes his head. “Look, I have about seven other cases of actual homicide that need my attention, so if you could just—"

“Seriously?” Drake demands, losing some of his smooth calm at last. “You don’t find any of that compelling enough to—”

“To what? Start imagining serial killers where there are none? No, I don’t,” Jason snaps. “All I see so far is some rich bastard got caught running a Ponzi scheme, so he decided to take the easy way out and dragged his poor family with him. It’s what rich people do when things get hard; because if they can’t have it, no one can.”

That earns him a cold look. “Out of the other fourteen cases, only one of them involved a couple who could be considered rich.”

“Fourteen other cases where only you seem to notice the pattern. I dunno what you want me to say, buddy. Clearly, you got an ax to grind, so do me a favor and grind it away from my scene.”

Despite his words, it’s not a suggestion, and Drake recognizes it.

Scowling at Jason in something like disgust, he straightens up. “Fine. I’m going. But when another family is slaughtered by this nutjob—and it will happen—you’ll remember this discussion. Hopefully, before you have to answer another six homicide calls.”

Drake spares Jason one final judgmental look and heads for the front door.

Jason watches him, briefly admiring the man’s ass as he walks away, and then puts the encounter out of his mind. He’s got a job to do, and Artemis said she wanted this sorted out today.

Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for another grim sight—he hates crime scenes that involve kids—he heads out of the living room toward the back of the apartment and the scene of the crime.

Crossing the threshold to the dining room, Jason’s earlier disquiet morphs, evolving from nervous apprehension to a full-blown dip towards dread. He barely catches a glimpse of the tarps draped over the bodies, when his stomach pulls tight, shoulders tensing as if waiting for a blow from the right, but there’s no one there. Something far too close to fear chokes at his throat, forcing him to pause in the doorway and put a steadying hand on the doorframe.

Spots appear across his vision, a chill winding up his spine, and—

—sobbing, hysterical tears, please don’t do this, please just let them go, heart racing, blood thundering, please no, I’ll give you anything, someone help, click, bang, agony, nothing—

Jason shudders as he comes back to himself, reeling back a step.

The sensations ebb a little but don’t completely vanish, and he has to take a few breaths to regain his control. Now that he expects it, it won’t be too hard entering the room, but the fact it hit him like that...

Jason glances back to the entrance of the apartment, mouth setting into a grimace. He’s cleaned up plenty of suicides, and they never hit him with that degree of dread before.

 He has a bad feeling that Detective Drake might have been right—whatever happened in the apartment, it wasn’t as simple as it's meant to look.

________________________________________________________________

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel! ❤️️ = I love this story!

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🤯mind blown

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😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!? 

[fortitudina]

                DETAILED CHARACTER BIO QUESTIONS.

Name: Cillian Diarmuid Brockhurst ( Kye-Lan )

Nickname(s): Ci ( Kye ), Brocky, Snipes.

Name significance/meaning: Cillian ~ This name has several known meanings, including “war,” “strife,” and “bright-headed.” The word cille also means “associated with the church,” so the name is often associated with the word “church” or “monastery.”

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Birthday: 11th November

Deathday: ~

Star Sign/Astrology Sign/Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Location: Los Angeles

Birthplace: Los Angeles

Ethnicity: Irish-American

Nationality: American

Race: Caucasian

Physical Appearance: Clean cut and well presented average height male with brunette hair and blue eyes.

Skin Tone: Sandy-Tan ( https://www.schemecolor.com/skin-pastels.php )

Complexion: fair, smooth & soft.

Eye Color: Old World Blue ( x )

Natural Hair Color: Brunette

Height: 5’10” / 1.78m

Weight: 77kg / 169 lbs / 12st 12lbs

Body Type: Mesomorph

Build: Muscular / Athletic

Posture: Healthy [ x ]

Birthmarks: Strawberry mark on his right hip.

Scars: Gunshot scar on the right side of his chest & left side of the hip region of his abdomen. Stabbing scar to his abdomen and one on the back on the right hip area. One on the back of his neck.

Left Handed/Right Handed/Ambidextrous: Right handed

Age Character Appears to Others: 32

Dyed Hair Color: undyed

Usual Hairstyle: Short

Tattoos: Army tattoo on right bicep

Piercings: none

Makeup Style: ~

Clothing Style: Smart-casual

Clothing Size:  Chest ~ 32inches / Waist ~ 26inches / Hips ~ 32inches

Shoe Style:  Steel-toed boots, sneakers, oxfords.

Shoe Size: 10

Nail Appearance: short, well kept.

Eyebrow Shape: Straight ( x )

Features: Soft features overall; perfectly symmetrical 

Face Shape: Oval

Facial Hair: Light stubble

Voice: Deep

Distinguishing Feature: Smile

Extrovert or Introvert: Ambivert

Personality Traits: Cheeky, Compassionate, Loyal

MBTI Personality: ESFJ-A

Optimist or Pessimist: Optimist

Temperament: Cheeky disposition

Mood: Cheerful

Attitude: Positive

Strengths: Caring, Kind, Giving

Flaws: Blunt, Hero Complex, Brash

Mannerisms: Smirking, quirking of eyebrow, cheeky grins

Habits: fiddling with pens or small objects

Morning Person or Night Owl: Morning person

Pet Peeves: idiots, bad lying, loud eaters, slow people ( walking etc )

Favorite Sin: Gluttony

Favorite Virtue: Patience

Weakness: Loved ones or friends & colleagues getting hurt / involved.

Strengths: Sharp-shooter, Skilled hand-to-hand combat.

Expressiveness: strong use of both facial expressions and hand movements.

Ruled by Heart or Mind: A little bit of both; more heart though.

Mindset: Positive

Philosophy:  “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit”

Motivated by: Food, Justice, Happiness.

Everyday Speech: “The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it.”

Life Motto: “Don't count the days, make the days count.”

Energy Level: High

Memory Level: Eidetic (Photographic) Memory

Disabilities: none

Phobias: Incredibly small spaces. 

Addictions: Does pizza and poptarts count?

General aptitude: Fluid Intelligence

Mental Strengths: Problem-Solving, Psychoanalysis, 

Mental Weakness: Not a Genius 

Physical Strengths: Physically fit, keen hand-eye coordination, 

Physical Weakness: weakened cervical vertebrae from an old injury during a tour in Afghanistan

Past Illnesses: Chicken pox twice as a kid

Major Surgeries: Surgery to pin his cervical spine. Surgery to remove various bullets.

Accidents: Had several bumps and scrapes whilst at work.

Stability: Very Stable

Allergies: Pollen, Shellfish

Job Title: Detective

Company: LAPD

Career Type: Police

Education: High School, Military, Police Academy

College: ~

Work Ethic: Hard-working

Job History: Sniper in the Army, Beat Cop, Detective.

Income: $74,000 per anum

Political Party/Organizations: Doesn’t do politics

Volunteer Work: Helps at the Veteran’s housing association.

Dream job: Got it

What job would s/he do poorly at: Doctor

Career satisfaction: Love the job

Diet: Coffee and any food easy to grab on the go

Favorite Foods: Poptarts, Barbecue-based, Chicago stuffed crust pizza.

Favorite Drinks: Coffee, Beer, Cranberry juice.

Favorite Movie: Top Gun

Favorite Music: doesn’t really have a favourite

Favorite Book: doesn’t have time to read

Favorite Place: Does bed count?

Favorite activities: Running, Shooting, Cooking

Favorite time of day: Morning

What makes them happy? Catching the bad guys, seeing friends & family happy.

What makes them sad? Losing someone close to them.

Hobbies: Shooting, Running, Cooking, Singing

Interests: Films, Artwork

Favorite animal: Hyena

Loves to do: Wind people up and be cheeky

Hates to do: Paperwork

Inspired by: Former Army Colleagues

Raised by: (family) Mother and Father

Parent Status: Married ~ alive

Mother’s Name: Siobhan Marie Brockhurst

Mother’s Age: 63

Mother’s Background: Irish

Father’s Name: Patrick James Brockhurst

Father’s Age: 68

Father’s Background: American

Relationship with Mother: Close

Relationship with Father: Okay..

Parenting Type: Strict

Only Child? One of Three

First Born, Middle Child, or Youngest? Middle

# of Siblings: Second of three siblings

Relationship with Siblings: Close to brother; Distant with sister

Extended Family: ~

Family Relations: ~

How has family life shaped the character? Helped to both break him and make him who he is today

What they like most about their family: They will all get together for holidays and birthdays

What they dislike most about their family: The religious side

Children: Nil

Pets: Two Dogs

Best Friend(s): Doesn’t have one.

Worst Enemy: ~

Many acquaintances or few close friends? Few close friends

Sexual Preference: Any

Orientation: Pansexual

Relationship Status: Verse Dependent 

Marital Status: Verse Dependent

First Love: Carlie Anne Vaugn 

Current Love or Aspiring Love: Verse Dependent.

Notable Ex-Lovers: Azrael Mortem

Top 3 Loved Ones: ~

Top 3 Disliked Ones: ~ 

Who knows the character best? Eoghan, his brother or Lupita, his work partner.

Childhood: Cillian had a fairly stable upbringing; his parents in a strong marriage and with an older brother to help teach him the ropes, Cillian did well during his early school years and thrived in all of his subjects.

Adolescence: As he got to high school, he joined the football and soccer teams; being rather sporty as a child meant his fitness was impeccable. When he finished High school, instead of going to college, Cillian got in with the wrong crowd and ended up being arrested for Breaking and Entering and several counts of theft.

Young Adult: Went through Military training then, Cillian’s Regiment was sent to Afghanistan where they served three tours before he was shot in the Line of Duty after going through Hell being tortured with one of his comrades.

Adult: After being medically discharged from the army, Cillian took a year out for convalescence before joining LAPD. Given his history with the army, he soon shot up through the ranks until he became a Detective. He will also play the role of Police Sniper/marksman if they have to go into particularly tough situations that require an overwatch. 

Moments/Experiences that shaped them: Getting into the wrong crowd after High school. Being sent into the Army. Being captured and tortured during his final tour in Afghanistan. 

How have they changed as a person throughout their life? He has matured a considerable amount and become regimented and organised as an adult, with a respect for the law and bringing justice.

Major regrets: Getting involved with who he did as a teenager and ending up getting arrested.

Biggest life lessons learned: Don’t get arrested.

Religious Beliefs: Catholic

Upbringing: Strict & Religious

Core Values: Dependability, Consistency, Loyalty, Reliability, Integrity.

Morals: Always tell the truth, Treat others as you want to be treated, Be dependable, Be forgiving, Have integrity, Take responsibility for your actions, Have patience, Be loyal, Have respect for yourself and others

What does s/he believe is evil? The force in nature that governs and gives rise to wickedness and sin.

What does s/he believe is good? Morally excellent; virtuous; righteous; pious

Risks Worth Taking: Those that keep both the city and loved ones safe.

Important milestones: Making Lieutenant in the army. Reaching Detective in LAPD. NOT DYING whilst in both the Army or LAPD.

Achievements: The Purple Heart as a result of his capture & suffering endured during that time.

Failures: Getting Arrested as a teenager

Lifestyle: Busy

Character Traits: Hard-working, Brave, Compassionate, Honest, Successful, Fighter, Mischievous, Thoughtful, Sassy, Humorous, Helpful, Independent, Loyal, Courageous, Responsible.

Culture: 

Main Goal: Have a long and happy life, full of hard work, fun and family.

Minor Goal: Drive the damn car at work.

Desire: There are several.

Biggest mistakes: Getting in with the wrong crowd.

Life lessons: Not everyone is going to like you.

Dream Life: The one I have now

Worst Nightmare: The Hell I endured whilst on my final tour.

Favorite Memories: Winding my brother up. Making Detective. 

Least favorite memories: Getting Tortured

Things they want in life: Family. Love. Fun.

Things they don’t want in life: Suffering. Pain. Heartache.

What obstacles are currently in their way? Work.

Any secrets: Yes, but if you think he’s going to tell anyone, you’re idiotic.

Worldview: It’s just a little bit fucked.

Personal Hero:  Former Sergeant Major. 

Internal Conflict: Questioning if he’s good enough for his job at times.

External Conflict: Seeing the scars upon his body and being reminded of each event; wishing he could get rid of them all.

What others think of them: Fun and loveable; a genuine and caring guy. 

What they think of themselves: an idiot; not good enough. 

What they wish they could change: What they did in the past.

What they wish they could have: less strict father.

What gets them fired up: Liars. Suspects who think they’re clever. 

Their definition of a good life: A steady job with a family and friends surrounding them.

Risks worth taking: Anything that keeps both family and friends safe.

Things they take for granted: Coffee. Beer. Time at times.

What inspires them: Seeing justice get served. 

What they have doubts about: being good enough.

What makes them feel alive: The thrill of the chase.

What makes them want to do better: Any case they do not solve / Criminal that doesn’t get a guilty charge.

What do they want to be remembered for? Being a good and loyal man.

How will the character change? He might become a husband or a father? Perhaps even Lieutenant or Captain of LAPD some day.