#they should rewrite the stand your ground laws

[vargamornight]

somebody is outside my apartment making cacophonous banging noises and i trust that a jury will find me not guilty even when presented with video evidence of me chewing through the culprit's tendons like a rat because I Have a Headache and They Are Being Loud

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Without a Trace [Ch. 11]

Vigilantes AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Graphic Descriptions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Gun Use, Knife Use, Major Character Death, Body Horror/Gore, Descriptions of Murder, Physical Assault, Implied Mental Assault Genre: Drama, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader Y/N Pronouns: Gender Neutral (They/Them) Word Count: 13.4K Summary: Vigilante work has been outlawed, thus sending nine prominent vigilantes either into retirement or into lower ground and, while some abide by the law, a few continue on. Then, one day, a greater threat forces these vigilantes to come together once again, regardless of the law.

(11/11) [First] | [Previous] [Other Groups Masterlist] | [Without a Trace Masterlist]

Notes: HOOOO BOYYYYYYY AHA I DID IT GUYS, I COMPLETED A SECOND SERIES AHAHAAHAHA stay tuned for the end for a special note from me!. Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

You felt disoriented, like your brain was doing flips and your eyes were spinning faster than merry-go-rounds. You rose a hand to your head to try to soothe the throbbing pain in it. Memories seemed to overlap or even completely rewrite, and there were even some memories that seemed fuzzy and incomplete, like they were nothing more than distant dreams.

“If we’re coming back, let’s do it the right way, no more skirting around the law, we both have common goals, right?” Mingi says. You look up, you were standing in the Warehouse now with the other members of the team. “If we cooperate, we could amend the law and get back to what we do best.”

“Plus, I wouldn’t mind a paycheck,” Wooyoung huffs.

Something’s off.

“I’m going to have to disagree with you both,” Yunho spoke up next to you. “I of all of you know how fine print contracts work, for all we know they could arrest us as soon as the Charlatan’s captured.”

“I hate to break it to you two, but some of us have lengthy records on us, not to mention warrants for arrest,” Seonghwa glances over to you and you glanced back. What was this intense feeling of deja vu you were having? “(Y/N)?”

“Uh…” you paused. This conversation just seemed too familiar. “I don’t know, I think we should discuss it more before making a concrete decision,” you finally answered. You looked around the room, something had to be up, now, you were sure. San was skeptical, Yunho was calculating, Hongjoong was waiting, Mingi was worried, Yeosang was busy, Wooyoung was confused, Seonghwa seemed decided, and Jongho… You stopped on him, both of you having made eye contact. Jongho was silent, but he tapped on his wristwatch instead before silently shushing you with a small nod.

“Professor Jung assured to me that our work would be kept under lock and key,” Hongjoong says, pulling you both out of your staring contest. But the conversation started to fall into the background for you, you were too concerned with another matter at hand, too concerned with the way the Timekeeper’s attention landed on you for a second too long.

“If I may,” Jongho, who’d been silent, speaks up now, diverting everyone’s attention to him. “I think we should work independently. We’ve been fine on our own until now, and we will continue to be fine on our own in the future.” He looks to you again. Bingo, the pieces started to connect. They connected faster than you could realize.

Then, you remembered it all. You turned to look at San, who seemed as aloof as usual, neither adding to nor moving the conversation along, and as soon as you took a step toward him, Jongho was quick to intervene.

“What do you think, Spades?” He interjects and the argument ceases. You froze in place, having been caught off guard, and Jongho senses your unease. “Well? Work with the police or not?” Your expression tensed for a moment. The police? What was the correlation there? You had to have been brought back to this moment for a reason, Jongho singled out this sole moment for a reason. Last time, you cooperated with the police, but how did that land you in that situation?

…

Mingi. You looked over to the man who had been nervously fidgeting around with the ball in his hands. Was it really the police’s fault that he got caught?

Come to think about it, maybe they were responsible for so much more.

“I vote no, we should work on our own,” you finally answered. Jongho seemed to relax.

“We were self sufficient before, I’m sure we’d be fine still,” Seonghwa adds. “Like I said, working on our own, especially for some of us, is our best option,” he says.

“Then, it’s decided, I’ll relay to the professor our choice,” Hongjoong says. “Meeting adjourned. We’ll sleep on it and discuss the plan tomorrow,” he turns away, phone in his hand already. 

“Hey, hey! Look what I found!” Wooyoung’s voice was chipper while he pried open the fridge. “How old do you think these are?” He pulls out a pack of beers.

“Well, considering I just restocked it, about three days old,” Yunho laughs, taking the box from him and opening it easily. You, meanwhile, turned to San, ready to corner him, but someone rushed past you and grabbed your arm.

“Don’t lose your cool,” Jongho says. “He doesn’t know what we know,” he tells you. You swallowed harshly, looking at San, who was speaking to Wooyoung, one more time. “Let’s talk outside,” Jongho whispers. You nodded and followed him out. The sun had already begun to set, and you never really thought of it back then, just how quick all of this played out. Getting on the Charlatan’s list, forming this group, nearly dying, and more, it was all over the course of little over a week. How quickly time passed by when you were busy with other things.

“What the hell is all of this, then?” You asked. Jongho glanced at the security camera before looking to you. You glared at him but, with a flick of your wrist, the camera was disabled with your knife embedded into it. “Talk.”

“There’s a reason why I chose the name Timekeeper,” he says before tapping his watch.

“Okay, bravo, you cracked time travel. What’s that got to do with me not sticking a knife in San’s head?”

“Let’s not be too rash, you remember that video, I know you do. He didn’t know either.”

“Why are you vouching so hard for him? You knew from the beginning why I did this vigilante shit, it was so I could kill whoever started this whole mess,” you argued. “Fuck, I just can’t believe I’m arguing with you instead of him.”

“Looked like you weren’t even going to give him the chance to explain it,” he shook his head and you took a deep breath. Unfortunately, he was right. After you saw that video you were so set on confronting him already. You left the room with that intention, and when you saw that the bars had descended you didn’t even think twice before stepping through the door he went through. And after you saw those articles strewn across the floor? You lost it. The drumming in your ears, the Charlatan’s taunting voice, and the memory of coming back to a dead body.

You really were going to kill him.

“I brought you back with me for a reason, (Y/N),” he says.

“You know something I don’t, huh?” You asked him.

“I do, but you’re going to have to trust me,” he says.

“How many times have you gone back?” You asked him.

“Enough times to realize that my old memories are becoming my new ones,” Jongho mumbles. “The last time I brought someone back with me it spelled disaster for that timeline.”

“Oh, I feel so special.”

“That’s not the point, (Y/N).”

“So, what? You want me to show him some sympathy?”

“No, not necessarily.”

“What’s so important about him anyway? The world would be better off without him.”

“(Y/N), I need you to listen to me.”

“Dammit, Jongho, what am I supposed to do?!” The argument continued forth, but Jongho kept a level expression. “I spent my whole life looking for the person that killed Eric. And he’s in there, having a drink with Wooyoung. Jongho, all of my friends have went through so much shit, it has to amount to something, all that pain we went through needs its closure,” you said steadily.

“And you don’t need to kill someone to do that,” Jongho shook his head.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’ve always cared about all of you,” he says. “You know who really killed Eric. You’re just upset that San got to him before you did.”

The senator sends his regards. San’s voice was so clear now that you knew it was him. 

“Alright, I’m listening,” you took a deep breath. “Why did you bring me back with you?”

“You remember everything that happened clearly, right?” Jongho asks.

“Sure.”

“You remember everyone’s injuries?”

“Yes…”

“You remember what everyone said?”

“Vaguely, but what does this have to do with me?”

“I need you to pull out of this,” Jongho says. “The team, I need you to go back and say you’re out.” You stared at him, processing what he’s saying.

“No, I can’t do that,” you said. “I can’t just leave them to deal with the Charlatan on their own, they’re dangerous, I can’t in good faith let my friends chase after them alone.”

“You have to, (Y/N),” Jongho insists. “It’s the only combination I haven’t done yet. Even all that shit I said in there to get the police off our backs, that timeline ended up with Hongjoong shot dead by them,” he argues. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Every time I’ve repeated that sequence it always ends in all of us dying because of this guy. We have never won against the Charlatan,” Jongho shouts. You took a step back, the suddenness of Jongho’s outburst being something you’d never have expected from him.

“How many futures have you seen?”

“A lot.”

“There has to be one where we win.”

“I thought there was, the one where I went back and convinced you not to join at all. But, in the end, the Charlatan got you. He got all of us,” Jongho shudders. “It was the longest timeline we’d went, I thought I finally found the perfect sequence. Ten years, we were all fine for ten years before that bastard came back to finish the job,” he says. You listened intently.

“Then… do you know who the Charlatan is?” You asked quietly. Jongho made a nodding motion, before shaking his head instead.

“Yes… but also no.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“I’m serious, (Y/N), the Charlatan has been different every time,” he says. You held back a remark.

“What do you mean?” You shook your head slightly.

“My first timeline the Charlatan was a man named Derek Watts. Ordinary guy, interested in hypnotism, and hated vigilantes because during Aegis’ first bank save his dad died getting caught in the line of fire.”

“Huh, textbook villain.”

“Yup.”

“And then?”

“In the next, a man named Zhang Li,” Jongho crosses his arms. “Young college graduate, girlfriend died in a botched save from Mono.”

“Another textbook.”

“Exactly. Hundreds of timelines, hundreds of Charlatans. Hell, in one of my timelines, you were the Charlatan,” Jongho said in a low voice. “Eric died, you looked everywhere for help, and got none. Your friends died too. And you were left alone. I don’t blame you.” You couldn’t answer. “But then, I thought, what if you knew. What if you had some general knowledge about what was going to happen already, and I figured I’d try it. The last time I brought someone back it went to shit, but maybe this time it’d work out.”

“Who’d you bring back the last time?” You asked. Before Jongho could answer, the door swung open and San, face tinted pink, held two beers in one hand and a half drank one in the other.

“You two making out?” San chuckles through his slurred words. “I’m joking, come join us, we’re getting caught up,” he offers the two bottles to you both and, once you take them, returns inside.

“Him, he was the last person I brought back,” Jongho said once he was out of earshot.

“Him?” You asked with disbelief.

“He’s smarter than you give him credit for,” Jongho says. “We went pretty far with his help too, eight years.”

“What did he do differently?”

“I made sure he didn’t kill Eric,” Jongho said quietly. You looked at him.

“And?”

“Eric became the Charlatan.” Your breath caught in your throat.

“Why?”

“After the ban was passed, he was furious. All that work he did, all that effort he put into everything, he was repaid with a stab to the back.” The way he spoke bothered you. He was just so nonchalant about it, like he’d seen so many of the same outcome so many times he’d become wholly desensitized to it. “I’ve been keeping tabs on everyone who’d been the Charlatan, at least. You’ll never know if a timeline decides to repeat itself, right?”

“Even me?”

“Especially you.”

“Hey! Are you two coming in or what?!” Wooyoung’s voice boomed from inside and you both laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming in,” you answered back. “We should go, before they suspect anything.”

“Sure,” Jongho held the door open for you but, before you could step in, he grabbed your arm again, “don’t make any rash decisions.”

“If I did, you’d just twist that watch of yours and go back, so why would it matter?” You shook his hand off and you both filed in. The boys were all seated, beers in the middle table and in their hands.

“About time!” Yunho grins. You popped the cap off of your bottle against the table and took a seat on one of the plastic chairs. “Ask (Y/N) next!” He says.

“Ask me what?” You drank some of your beer while Wooyoung spoke.

“Fuck, marry, kill Outro,” Wooyoung says.

“What are we, kindergartners?” You rolled your eyes, but Wooyoung’s expectant eyes said it all. "Fine, fuck Hope, marry Mono, and kill Agust,” you answered before drinking more. “Nothing against Agust, other than the fact that his inventions backfired on us a couple of times.”

“See, told you,” Yeosang nudges Wooyoung’s arm and the latter frowns.

“Is drinking before an operation a good idea?” Jongho asks, can of beer still unopened.

“Probably not,” San masks his burp with his fist, “but fuck it, right? I haven’t spoken to any of you for ages,” he shakes his head.

“I know! What have we all been up to, anyway?” Wooyoung’s voice overpowered San’s. But, even with the chatter, you couldn’t stop that nagging voice at the back of your head. You looked at all eight of them. Yunho’s shoulder was fine, he was moving around as much as usual. Yeosang was standing upright with ease. Everyone was… fine. You saw the future, or you were from it at least. According to Jongho, it should be different now without the police getting in the way, but you couldn’t help but worry. Was everyone’s safety so infringed on your involvement? Everyone’s wellbeing? You could feel the weight of their lives settling on your shoulders now, how could Jongho do this too? And how could he seem so… You looked at him now, his face stuck into one of indifference. No, you could’ve sworn that at one point he was as loud and cheery as the others.

When did he change? You wondered.

But your thoughts didn’t dwell on him for long, no, instead you looked at the boy next to him. He had discarded his jacket long ago, instead sporting his usual black tee that had some frays and faint blood splatters. His shoulders were relaxed while he laughed fully. How could he? How could he laugh like he didn’t ruin your life? It was almost funny, though, at one point you would’ve said that he saved your life. He was there after everything happened, picking up the pieces like…

Your breath caught in your throat.

He was there. Picking up the pieces like he felt obligated to. There was no doubt about it, San’s appearance in your life was due to whatever guilt surfaced when he realized what he had done. So what were you to him, then? A charity project? A way to repent besides turning himself in? All those soft smiles he showed you, the small gifts from him that you thought he wouldn’t have known about, and the days he’d walk you home thinking that he’d keep you safe, he did all of those knowing that he murdered your best friend.

And all that time you had no idea.

What was it like for him?

To take care of the person who was left behind? And to have no one to go to to talk about it?

“You alright, (Y/N)?” Yunho was next to you now, crouched in front of you while he waved a hand in front of your face. You blinked back into reality. “You good? I know when you’re thinking,” he takes the bottle from your hands and places it just out of reach. You straightened your position and took a deep breath.

“I'm backing out.”

~

And that’s how you ended up watching from afar.

Hongjoong wrote up a new plan, it took all night, but he came up with something else. Nothing he could do about you not being there with them, anyway.

Hell, you weren’t even in the general vicinity of the city.

The sunlight was surprising soft, the sea breeze rushed passed you while you adjusted your sunglasses and took a step off the train. And, directly ahead of you, was the person you’d called for a favor.

“(Y/N), over here,” Jisung rose his hand from its place in his jacket’s pocket, and you walked over to him while waving too. “Glad you called, she’s waiting for you,” he says.

“I bet, she’s been waiting for a while, huh?”

“Year and a half, give or take,” Jisung shrugged and opened the car door for you. “But, well, she was always the more hopeful one out of all of us,” he slides into the driver’s seat. Once you’d both closed your doors, he takes a deep breath. “So, what happened? They kick you out?”

“I left,” you answered while he started the car. “Call it a gut feeling,” you added, stopping yourself from remembering what you did to San before.

“Well, it’s never been wrong,” Jisung says. “You felt it before with Jeno.”

“And since then I’ve never ignored it.”

“Exactly,” he says. “But, it’s not like you to pull out of an operation so abruptly.”

“What do you know about me?”

“More than you think,” he chuckles. “We used to be close, remember?” He says with a teasing tone.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Until I see that son of a bitch on the news,” you looked out the window as Jisung turned up onto a hill.

“So… couple of days?” Jisung asks.

“Sure,” you nodded your head slightly. Hongjoong had told you to lay low and go far since you were technically the most at risk in terms of the Charlatan. Originally, you’d planned to hide out in your apartment, but it’s been compromised too much for you to stay there. Then, after moving around the city, you remembered a certain someone who’d been trying to reach out to you for a while now. A person who you knew was in a secure location.

“We’re here,” Jisung pulled into a parking space and got out of the car with you following close behind. You pulled the door to the care center open and quickly stopped while someone stepped out.

“Oh, thank you,” the older man grinned. His grip was tight over the handle on his cane, and he walked with a noticeable limp. One quick glance was enough to see how badly burnt one side of his body was, as the scars creeped up to his face. He stared at you as long as you stared at him. He looked familiar. “Oh… is that (Y/N)?” He asked, his voice unstable but recognizable.

“Mr. Lee?” You chanced your first thought and he nodded. Jeno’s dad. How fitting.

“My god, look at you,” he hobbles closer to you and looks at you with caring eyes. “And Jisung too? My, my, what are you both doing here? You’re both too young to have to be at a place like this,” he shakes his head sadly.

“Mr. Lee, let’s have a seat over there and then we can get caught up,” Jisung looks over to the bench on the side and walks next to the older man, supporting him by the shoulders as the three of you sat down. “Our friend Giselle’s been staying here too, actually, so we came to visit her,” Jisung says.

“Giselle is also here? As a patient?” He asks in a melancholy voice. “Why her, of all the people? She has such a bright future ahead of her,” he frowns.

“Just… you know,” you couldn’t tell him the truth, “things happen. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“It always was that way,” Mr. Lee shakes his head. “So tragic, what happened to all of you because of vigilantes. Eric, Giselle, and even my Jeno, oh, it still hurts to think about what happened to my little boy,” Mr. Lee rubs his face with his hands. “I don’t know why he got caught up in that business anyway,” his voice shakes. “You both give Giselle my wishes, alright? Poor girl,” he mutters.

“Wait, but, Mr. Lee, what happened to you? You’re a patient here as well?” You asked.

“Yes, I am, but I usually stay with my wife,” he says. “I was just getting groceries until I was caught up in a heist led by TNT, I think his name was, and I got caught in the blast,” he says.

“That’s horrible, Mr. Lee,” your own voice nearly got choked up. You were there. You were there and you couldn’t even do anything, what with you nearly getting caught in the blast too, and now you were hearing that your friend’s dad was there at the same time? You could defend yourself, sure, but Mr. Lee? One look at his cane told you everything you had to know.

“This thing? It’s okay, I’ve gotten used to it,” he says wistfully. “It makes me look a little cooler now, right?” He chuckles. “But, I don’t want to hold you any longer, I know your friend is waiting for you both.”

“Will you be alright on your own, Mr. Lee?” Jisung asks.

“I’m old, not crippled, boy,” he says in a teasing voice and Jisung laughs.

“Alright, alright, I get it, old man,” he says. “Who’s picking you up?”

“The wife, of course,” he grins. “Now, go on! Leave this old man to his thoughts,” he insists and, slowly, you both got up and exchanged your goodbyes again before entering the facility.

“Welcome to Jaramedica, the rehabilitation center for all those damaged by vigilante or villain exploits,” the woman at the front desk greeted you as you neared. “Mr. Han, here to see Ms. Uchinaga again?” She asks.

“Yup, I brought another guest with me though,” he nudges his head toward you. 

“Alright, full name, please,” she asks.

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

“And recorded, please enjoy your time,” she hands you and Jisung key cards and you walk through.

The inside was akin to a paradise, or at least in your terms it was. It was as grand as those resorts you used to see on commercials, and somewhere was Giselle, who’d been here for a while now. Her parents wanted her to rehabilitate in the best of facilities, after all, and no where was better than this one. The air was clean, the area spacious, and the people, god, just looking at them made you feel happier too.

“Inside here,” Jisung tugs you into one of the cottages and you locked the door behind you. “Gigi, I brought a surprise,” Jisung announced. You heard the TV’s volume lower.

“I’m in the room, Jisung, come in whenever!” That was the first time you’d heard her voice in… a while. You didn’t know what you were expecting it to sound like, maybe tired and strained, but no, instead it was the same as you’d remembered it. That made it even the more sadder, and couldn’t stop the guilt that circled your heart. You followed Jisung quietly, and when you stepped into the room, you were surprised by how bright it was in there with the window wide open and the breeze flowing through.

But it was nothing compared to her, you old best friend, who sat tucked into bed with her lunch on the table next to her, and her widened eyes that stared at you like they’d seen a ghost.

“Hey, Gigi,” you said quietly. And, immediately, her lips fell into a frown, but not the disappointed kind, no, the sad one, the one that scrunched her eyebrows together and formed tears at the corner of her eyes, the one that was the exact opposite of what you’d expected. Then, as if she’d been waiting, she opened her arms, and you melted into them, your face buried into her shoulders while she pressed her head against yours.

“I missed you so much, (Y/N),” she mumbled. “Look at you, wow,” she pulls away from you first, holding your face in one hand. Then, in a quick turn up, she whistles. “This one looks like a close call," she traces the scar under your chin.

“Too close for comfort, that’s for sure,” you answered. Then she pulled your wrist, looking at the scars that decorated your arms from the many fights you had. “Well, at least you got most of these when we were still together,” she says.

“Sure, that too,” you said while Jisung pulled up two chairs.

“Now, where did you find our littles Spades?” She asks Jisung.

“Technically, I found him,” you corrected her.

“I let you find me,” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” you shot back.

“And still with the banter, it’s almost like nothing ever changed,” Giselle laughs. You leaned back on the chair and then it caught your eye, a picture frame off to the side next to her. A closer look showed that it was a picture from before all of this, before your lives went to shit, and before vigilantes were even in the public eye. The five of you stood next to each other, arms wrapped around the person next to them and smiles brighter than ever. “I did say almost.” She catches the center of your attention.

“Yeah…” you looked away.

“So, you look like you have a lot to tell me,” she says.

“I do, I do, I don’t know where to even start,” you shook your head. 

“We ran into Jeno’s dad just now, actually, he sends his regards,” Jisung says.

“Oh, is Mr. Lee here too? Is he alright?”

“Burns from a TNT heist,” you answered. “He’s still walking, but he has a cane now,” you explained.

“Oh, god,” Giselle frowned. “Next time he comes, I hope I run into him too,” she continued. “I’ve been going outside much more now, actually, the doctors say it’s good for me, so hopefully I see him sooner than later,” she says. Then, like a switch flipped in her head, she spoke again, “actually, before we continue on and before I forget, (Y/N), Jisung and I have something for you,” she snaps her fingers and opens the drawer next to her before handing you a box inside. “Go ahead and open it,” she says. You pulled it open took the SD card from inside of it.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“A gift,” she says. “There’s a computer in the next room, you can go watch it there.”

“Is it something I should watch now?”

“Well… we have time, I think Eric would want you to see it too,” Giselle urges you. Jisung nods.

“A surprise for a surprise, fun,” you flipped the card in your hand and stood up. “It won’t take long, right?”

“Depends on you, (Y/N),” she says.

“Yeah, yeah,” you walked into the next room, Giselle’s and Jisung’s voices growing quieter with the distance, and pushed the SD card into the monitor. You clicked onto the file that appeared on the desktop and what had to be hundreds of video files opened up before you. You clicked the first one and felt your heart stop.

You knew this video.

Eric tapped on the screen of the lens.

“Man… (Y/N) is so going to kill me if they see this,” Eric adjusted the camera to better get a good range around the bedroom. “Okay…” he looks at his phone screen. “Should be fine… I’ll just turn it on when I’m out, I guess…” he continues to mumble to himself while walking around the room. Your bedroom to be exact. The camera caught everything, from the bed, the closet, to the window, it had a good vantage point. “Crap, the one in the living room’s offline again.”

It was the same as the first time you’d seen it, except this time it kept going. You watched Eric move around the whole apartment checking on these hidden cameras you didn’t even know were there and, you were sure, might still be there, just unused and offline.

“Shit… I really hope (Y/N) doesn’t find these but… dammit, I can’t have a close call like that again,” he speaks to himself. “I’ll have to make sure I’m not followed back next time, (Y/N) could…” he stops muttering and shakes his head. You moved on to the next video.

This time, Aegis tumbled in from one of the windows, but as quickly as he came in he stopped to duck behind the curtain as you walked into frame, headphones on and humming whatever song was playing through them, and soon you were out of frame and Eric ran to the bedroom, emerging again in normal clothing and running to the front door. He cleared his throat and loudly announced that he was home and, there you were again, headphones around your neck with a smile.

The next series of videos were either of an empty apartment or of you doing whatever around the area. Occasionally there was a video where he was almost caught and occasionally there was a video of him tinkering with the devices. Then, a strange difference.

Aegis once again tumbled into the apartment and, after a quick check confirming that you weren’t home, Eric removed his mask and took a huge breath, but his eyes widened in shock as soon as he heard something break behind him. He turned around quickly, shield at the ready, before dropping it altogether as someone entered the frame.

Jeno.

“I can explain,” Eric says quickly.

“Holy shit…” Jeno had an apple in his hand and his jaw was practically on the ground. “You’re…”

“Into cosplay!” Eric quickly covered. “Looks good, right? Aegis is awesome!”

“Come on, Eric, I’m not that dumb,” Jeno runs a hand through his hair. “Have you told (Y/N)?”

“Have I told (Y/N)?”

“Have you told (Y/N)?!” “Of course I haven’t told (Y/N)! Are you kidding me?! Have you seen the people after me?!” Now it was Eric’s turn to be frustrated.

“I… holy shit… my best friend is a super hero he’s… he’s the hero!” Jeno freaks out.

“No, no, definitely not a hero, just a guy with a shield,” Eric quickly corrected him. “You can’t tell anyone, Jeno.”

“I won’t!”

“Not even (Y/N).”

“But… wouldn’t… I’m surprised (Y/N) hasn’t figured it out.”

“I can be sneaky when I try. But (Y/N) can’t know. No matter what happens, (Y/N) cannot know. I can’t put them in danger like that, do you understand?” You’d never heard him so serious before. Jeno, who’s countenance was usually so cheery, had grown serious. “Even if I die, (Y/N) cannot know.”

“Christ… that’s dark, man.”

“It’s for their safety.”

“What am I… what do I do if…”

“Don’t tell them, just let the police run their investigation.”

“And if they find your gear?"

“They won’t,” Eric said this as he removed his uniform, clearly showing Jeno where he stashed it and exactly where you remembered it. “Listen, Jen, if anything ever happens to me then you take everything in here and you burn it, got it? (Y/N) can’t be connected to Aegis, god knows who’d be after them,” he says sternly. Jeno only nodded curtly. “If someone else finds these and, I dunno, takes my place, then that’s even better. It would draw attention away from all of you. I originally took this up to protect you all, so I don’t know what I’d do with myself if any of you got hurt because of it.”

It was like everything connected in that moment. Sure, Jeno was the most excited to try the vigilante thing, he showed the most promise, but he never said anything definitive until “Aegis” broke his hiatus. His motive was never ‘what happened to Aegis?’ It was always ‘what happened to Eric?’ Who, thanks to San’s interference, had been removed from Aegis’ history nearly all together.

And when Giselle’s accident happened? Jeno was the first to bring up the idea of pumping the breaks.

And then what happened to him in your next operation?

You moved on to the next video, flipping through until you once again saw Jeno and Eric talking to each other.

“Yo… (Y/N) is going to kill you if they find out about this,” Jeno taps on the camera lens.

“I know, I know!”

“Can you imagine? ‘The Great Aegis killed by angry significant other.’”

“Now that’s a headline,” Eric laughed. “But, I’m only telling you about it because if anything happens you need to take all of the cameras out and take the SD card they’ve been uploading onto. It’s connected to my desktop so just pop it out.”

“Got it, got it, I’m guessing you want me to destroy it, right?”

“Sure, do whatever, just make sure it doesn’t fall in the wrong hands. Who knows what anyone would do with these?”

Wrong hands? The Charlatan had this last time, it was the only way for them to have had the footage. So that left one question then, how did they get it? You continued flipping through videos, only stopping when you got to that one. The one that nearly made you lose your mind.

You skipped through it.

The next video was exactly what you thought it would be. As you expected, it was Jeno, just Jeno, with tears in his eyes and the tip of his nose reddened, you watched him approach each camera and removed them from their spot before you saw him walk to the closet and pull the back panel out. Then you watched his shoulders relax with relief seeing that it was empty. All traces of Aegis were gone. You wondered if Jeno ever suspected the new Aegis, but then again your apartment was privy to burglars and with every window open it would have come as no surprise that Jeno had to consider the possibility. You looked at the date on the corner and, yet another variable, it had been a month after Eric had been murdered.

You didn’t even stay in the apartment that month, no, you stayed with Yuna, who had successfully gotten the cops involved in her case and was now living on her own.

Jeno was smarter than he let on, no wonder he didn’t jump to conclusions. Not in the same way you did, at least. 

“Jen? What are you doing in my bedroom?” Your voice was clear.

“Uh… nothing,” Jeno closed the closet door quickly, but quietly, and before running back in the main room grabbed the final camera and, presumably, the SD card you now had in your possession.

“Sure, Jen, stop creeping over there,” Giselle’s voice was as loud as ever, then the video stopped.

You thought that was the last one, but there was one left, and this one was much different than the others.

This time it was in Jeno’s bedroom.

“Hey… (Y/N). Or, at least, I hope it’s you, (Y/N), so if it’s not you just, uh, do me a favor and don’t watch this, or do… I guess,” Jeno rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. This was a different Jeno than the one you’d seen in the earlier videos, he was older, tireder, and maybe a little more jaded, and when you looked at the date on the corner you knew exactly why, it was recorded the day before the altercation with Absolute Zero. “Uh… if you’re watching this then, uh… I guess I’m gone.” You felt your throat choke up and you took a deep breath. “Look, I just had a bad feeling about tomorrow so I wanted to leave this here for my own conscious, ya know? Maybe it’s a little selfish, but you deserve to know everything, (Y/N).”

~

Jeno rubbed his face tiredly again, feeling the bags under his eyes weigh heavily. He looks over his shoulder and picks up the camera, one that was hidden in the stuffed bear he remembered Eric giving to you a while ago.

“Uh, just to be transparent and everything, here you are,” he shows you asleep on his bed, you’d both agreed to meet up the night before to prepare, then he set the bear down again. “You’re really knocked out there, (Y/N),” he laughs. “But, uh… back to the message and all, this should be the last video on the card, so I’m assuming you watched everything else. Don’t worry, I didn’t watch anything at all aside from the ones I was in, I’m not a creep like that, but I just wanted to tell you that Eric cared so much about you. He really…” Jeno trailed off when he heard you stir.

“Actually, let me move to the kitchen,” he picked up the bear and left the bedroom, closing the door as quietly as he could before placing the bear down on the counter and sitting in front of it. “Eric only wanted the best for you, he wanted you to see him at his best, so I don’t want you to beat yourself up about what happened anymore. I’m sure you have questions, and I’m sure at least one of them is why I didn’t tell you and just…” Jeno trails again, “I’m sorry, this was all kind of spontaneous, I wasn’t planning on recording anything, but there’s just this gut feeling I have and it’s bothering me, you know? But, well… I told Jisung to take the SD card if anything happened so, yeah, he may have abandoned us but at least he agreed to do that,” he chuckles. But, as it died out, he zoned out for a moment.

“Just… just to toss things out there, I never said anything to the new Aegis,” he says. “I'm not sure if he was the one who killed Eric or if he just looted your place after it happened, but I never said anything. But, you know what, (Y/N)? He cares about you too. I hung out with San a couple of times, actually, just guy stuff, you wouldn’t care. Gym, garage, and golf, the three Gs we called it,” he laughs again. “I don’t think he killed Eric, though. And if he did, he didn’t do it from his own personal vendetta, there’s no way. But, I’ve seen the way he treats you, maybe you could hear him out one day, lend him a talking ear or something, I don’t know. The guy just seems lonely. At least we have each other, you know? I don’t know who he has,” Jeno shakes his head.

“Actually, I take it back,” Jeno backtracks. “San did say something weird to me once when we went drinking, but I never really thought too much about it. He kept saying that he “wronged you” or something like that, he kept talking about how nothing he’d ever do would make up for what he did, and after that I had a feeling. I had a feeling but while I was watching him I couldn’t be mad at him. I know, hate me all you want, curse me or whatever I’m probably dead anyway, but (Y/N), you have to understand, if he killed Eric in cold blood why did he try so hard to help you get back on your feet? Why would he have put so much effort into supporting you if he wanted to hurt him so much? I wish I had the chance to ask and, well, if you’re seeing this then I never made it to that bar hang out we agreed on,” he shakes his head. He was rambling, he knew he was, and in some strange way it comforted him. Saying everything out loud and breaking down everything he learned and observed had this strange cathartic feeling to it that he couldn’t describe. He couldn’t look at the camera, for some reason, it felt as if he was looking at you. But, for this last part, he forced himself over that fear.

“(Y/N), I’ll be so honest with you, I don’t want to die,” his voice was strained and he held back tears. “When I agreed to become a vigilante with you all, I think I was just excited. I wanted to be like Eric too, and I thought that I could, but…” he swallowed harshly. “After what happened to Gigi I… I don’t know anymore. Eric told me he chose to do this to keep all of us safe, and I wanted to honor that legacy of his, and then I failed,” he said this slowly now, taking deep breaths when he could.

“I guess, what I’m trying to tell you is… no matter what happens to me tomorrow, don’t hold it against yourself. Everything I do tomorrow and everything that happens is on me, alright? Just, uh… remember to take a couple of steps back. Don’t lose yourself to the hype like I did, take a page from Eric’s book and remember your place. We’re not heroes, and we’re not villains, we’re just people who decided they like to beat things up,” he laughs pathetically. “And don’t rush into things head on! We won’t be here to back you up this time and I don’t know if you would have anyone after us to do it either! If you do, then by all means, beat the shit out of whoever stands in your way, but otherwise take your time and figure things out before making decisions, yeah?” He points to the camera every now and then before sighing and shaking his head.

“You are one of the closest friends I think I’ll ever have, (Y/N). I’ll keep Eric busy for you, so I’d better not see you again for another 100 years, or whatever,” he says quietly. He’s silent for a while, the sound of the clock ticking behind him being the only sound in the video before he shake his head again. “Take care, (Y/N), and good luck on everything, yeah? You can do it if you put your mind to it, I know you know right and wrong, and I know you know how to choose your friends carefully. No matter what it is you’re doing now, we’re always backing you up,” he says. “Good bye, (Y/N),” he smiles at the camera before leaning over and turning it off, and only then did he take the time to wipe the tears that cascaded down his face.

~

You sat in silence, the restart button staring at you while you waited. What were you waiting for? Some surprise character to enter this story? You wiped your tears away while you sniffled and you tried to regain your composure.

God, that Jeno, he always knew how to get you in the end.

“I… um…” Jisung started behind you, you turned your head just enough to barely see him. “Jeno said he had a bad feeling about Absolute Zero, and if I saw his name on the news to go to his apartment and grab it.”

“You couldn’t have given this to me earlier?” You asked him.

“We weren’t exactly on speaking terms until recently, you know,” he deadpans.

“Right…” In the end it was your fault. What an ironic connection. “I’m guessing you and Gigi watched it.”

“Just the beginning, and that last video too,” Jisung says. You pulled the SD card out and stared at it, it was just ordinary, no one would have known what was on it and no one would have suspected anything. You placed it in your pocket and pushed past Jisung to go back to Giselle.

“That was fast,” she comments.

“I didn’t want to dwell too much on it.”

“I understand,” she smoothened out her sheets. “(Y/N), Jisung’s been keeping me updated with everything,” she says while reaching for your hand and holding it between hers. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I know.”

“Now that you have your answer, what will you do?” You were silent. “Maybe you should take it easy now, I don’t think Eric would have wanted you to go on this rampage for him.”

“You’re right,” you nodded your head slightly.

“You’re not going to fight me on it?”

“Why would I?” You sighed and Jisung entered the room.

“Not to be that person, (Y/N), but we’re worried about you,” he says. “Every time the Ace of Spades came up on the news they were further and further from you. Maybe it’s time to drop the knives, (Y/N),” he says. “You know as well as I do, the Charlatan is out of our league. Just leave them to those eight idiots.”

“God, they’re gonna get themselves killed,” you brought your hand to your head.

“Good faith, (Y/N), they’re not that hopeless,” Giselle laughs. “Gosh, look at us, the reunion of Aces.”

“Minus one.”

“Not to be sentimental, but Jeno’s always with us,” Giselle squeezes your hand. Jisung leans against the wall and crosses his arms.

“I should’ve been there,” he says.

“Hey, too late for sympathies,” you cut him off.

“(Y/N), really, you should think about retiring,” Giselle says suddenly. “After everything that’s happened to you, you should put yourself first. You have your answer now, you know what happened, it’s time to give it a rest,” she insists.

“I guess I could…” you looked up and then you hesitated.

Something’s wrong.

That gut feeling of yours was kicking in again. You looked around and your two friends, who’d known you long enough, easily caught on to your unease. Jisung, though, was the one to really take initiative, standing up from his spot and playing around with something hidden in his sleeves.

Then, you looked up, specifically at the window.

You couldn’t get a good look at who it was, you only caught the shadow of them moving away. Shit, did the Charlatan find you? How? Why? This place was supposed to be secure! But a quick shared look with Jisung made all the pieces fit together.

Two targets in one place. Vulnerable. The Charlatan wouldn’t have missed an opportunity like that.

“I’ll be right back,” you stood up slowly and, before you could take a step to the door, someone grabbed onto your wrist. You followed it and looked to Giselle. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I just have a hunch,” you told her.

“I’m not stopping you, I just want to tell you to be careful,” she says.

“I will, I always am,” you reassured her. Jisung looked out the window.

“I’ll stay here with Gi,” he says.

“Yeah, no telling what can happen now. I know security is air tight here but…”

“You know what you’re up against better than we do,” Jisung fills in the blanks for you.

“Yeah, stay safe, hopefully I’ll be back soon,” you approached the door.

“See you later, (Y/N),” Giselle’s voice was distant as you left the small home.

The outdoors was bright and the cheery voices around you contradicted the intense feeling at the back of your head. You knew you were being watched, but you couldn’t tell who was watching you. There was no sight of anyone suspicious from earlier and the crowd made it hard to pinpoint where he could have gone, until a sudden movement caught your eye, a door shutting a little too quickly and a little too suddenly, so you moved toward it without hesitation.

The layout was near identical to Giselle’s home, save for the fact that it was littered with unopened boxes with a noticeable layer of dust on them. They were still sealed shut with tape and they were stacked amongst each other in various places throughout the room. The windows, likewise, were blocked by various pieces of cardboard that were held together by even more tape and even more boxes. Despite those, the room was empty, you were pretty sure. In fact, to the untrained eye, it looked like you were alone.

You knew that the Charlatan’s lackey was in here somewhere, you could feel it. You thought this as you walked further in, looking behind boxes and peeking into the rooms.

Where?

Where did they go?

There was only one way in and out of the cottages, even the windows couldn’t be opened that far by design. You stood in the middle of the room now, how could you miss them?

Clang!

You hit the floor with a loud thud, the metal cane dropping next to you being the last thing you saw before blacking out.

~

Jongho was right. Everything was going perfectly. Everyone was in relatively good shape, too. He saw this as everyone regrouped in the warehouse that Yeosang had finally traced the signals from the broken Charlatan mask to, they found everything they needed and more than enough evidence to break down the Charlatan’s modus operandi. They found the missing vigilante weapons, they found many of the missing people, all of which were somewhat familiar to them, and they found the source that supplied the Charlatan with all the information to begin with: a simple flash drive. God, did Yeosang yell, a simple flash drive was what brought so many people to their demise? The hacker almost laughed out loud at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

But, the strangest part of that flash drive? The chicken scrawl behind it that simply said ‘Loveholic.’

The legend themself, the unknown variable, and, arguably, the reason why the vigilante ban was passed in the first place. But Hongjoong was skeptical, the coincidental intersectionality between the Charlatan and Loveholic just seemed too convenient, like it was set up just perfectly like a trap made for an animal. Call it anxiety, instinct, or experience, Hongjoong knew something was up.

It was just too easy. Everything was laid out already and all they needed now was the person themself. The Charlatan. Whoever they were, they did well in covering their tracks, but with everything they found it was easy to breakdown the main details.

“How much longer do we have to stick around here?” San groans. "We’ve basically checked everywhere already, I don’t think the Charlatan’s here,” San says.

“I agree, I think we’ve exhausted this warehouse,” Yunho says.

“But we have to find them, if they’re not here then we look everywhere else,” Jongho says.

“Shit… maybe we should’ve agreed to let the police help us,” Mingi huffed, stuck in his own thoughts. “This isn’t even finding a needle in a haystack, it’s more like finding a strand of hair in the ocean,” he shakes his head.

“It should be possible with Cypher’s help, right?” Seonghwa asks.

“Maybe, but don’t rely on me only,” Yeosang said worriedly.

“We haven’t checked that one room yet, the one that was locked earlier,” Jongho interjects. “The one of the first floor,” he reminds them all. In the last timeline it was the room where he and Hongjoong found Mingi in but, with Mingi in front of him very not brainwashed, who knew what was in there?

The Charlatan, hopefully.

“What can we do, though? It’s locked,” Mingi says. Everyone stared at him. “What?”

“I’ll handle it,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Let’s just head over there,” he leaves first and everyone follows. On the way, Wooyoung pulled out some kind of multi-tool from his belt and rifled through it until he tugged off a bent and a straight pick just in time for them to reach the room. Carefully, he pressed his ear to the door and pushed both picks in, listening carefully to hear the barrels click into place.

“Do you think he’ll get it?” San asks.

“Shh,” Wooyoung shushes him with a glare. 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself if you can’t get it,” Yeosang teases.

“Quiet, I can’t hear the mechanism,” Wooyoung grumbles.

“Maybe I should’ve asked if he knew what he was doing,” San corrects himself.

“Can you all be quiet for two minutes?!” Wooyoung straightens himself suddenly and grabbed onto the handle to balance himself, the knob pushing down and the door swinging open.

“Well would you look at that, it wasn’t even locked anymore,” Yunho deadpans.

“No wonder we couldn’t hear anything either,” Seonghwa sighs.

“It was locked earlier!” Wooyoung argues.

“You didn’t think to maybe check the door knob?” Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Be for real, if I did check it you all still would have made fun of me,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes.

“Can we go into the room already?” San cuts in.

“Actually, that’s a great idea! Let’s finish investigating the creepy-ass place so we can go home and find the Charlatan tomorrow!” Wooyoung enters the room first and turns the light on, immediately gasping after.

“What?! What happened?!” Mingi runs in after him and nearly bumps into Wooyoung while everyone else filtered in, the air around them going still as all of them realized who was in the room.

The sound of chains dropping to the ground echoed in the room as the figure who was once chained to the chair stood up. The Charlatan’s mask seemed to reflect the scene in front of them with blood dripping down either side of it and trailing along the curves of the mask’s artificial smile. Behind them was an older man who stood tall while clutching onto his cane that sported a noticeably fresh coating of blood. 

“How nice of you all to join us, finally,” the old man says. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he says. “My name is Lee Muyeol,” he taps on the handle and, with a short chuckle, he grins. “And I am the Charlatan,” he looked confident. Like he had just won.

But none of them were paying attention to him.

No.

Just the last lackey next to him. The one who, instead of wearing the usual white jumpsuits, sported a black uniform with an encircled A on their right shoulder.

“No…” Jongho’s face fell into despair, something that everyone caught onto. Jongho was clutching onto his wristwatch now, the face of the clock cracking from the pressure he was putting on it alone.

“The Ace of Spades, who knew they were so much closer than I thought? It was a bit hard to break this one in, but they always come around eventually,” Muyeol says. In that moment, Spades pulled out their signature knives, the steel glinting under the light. “Now, the Ace of Clubs was a problem, it was better for me to have just knocked him out and, well, Hearts is already debilitated. Diamonds, though, may he rest in peace,” Muyeol shook his head. “Deal with them for me, Ace of Spades.” Spades readjusted their grip on the knives before flinging both toward the group.

“Disperse!” Hongjoong shouted before everyone ran out of the room. At the flick of their wrists, the knives returned to their owner.

“Twine, god, (Y/N) is a genius!” Yunho marvels.

“Not the time, Yunho!” Everyone shouts.

“Huntsman, focus on the Charlatan,” Hongjoong says.

“Got it,” Seonghwa made distance and loaded his rifle.

“Everyone else, try to hold back,” Hongjoong finishes. Next to him, Jongho adjusts his watch.

“Cheshire! Go!” Jongho shouts. Wooyoung, though confused, nodded his head.

“(Y/N)? Hey, friend!” Wooyoung runs up to Spades first. “Wake the fuck up!” He grips onto his knuckles and right hooks them.

“I said to hold back!” Hongjoong shouts.

“They’ll live, they’re hard headed like that,” San pulls the shield off of his arm and flings it toward the Ace of Spades, Wooyoung catching it with a slight clang as he bashed the front side of it against them. Spades grabbed a hold of the shield and flung it to the side while grabbing onto Wooyoung’s collar. Seonghwa, meanwhile, released the breath he’d been holding and pulled the trigger.

“Spades,” Muyeol’s voice was commanding and Spades released Wooyoung, running toward Muyeol instead. Jongho adjusted his wristwatch.

“Don’t shoot!” He shouts, but he was a second too late.

“No!” Wooyoung lurched forward but he wasn’t fast enough. Instead, he watched Spades take the bullet instead. With a steadying step back, Spades gripped onto their shoulder before steeling themselves.

“Shit…” Hongjoong grit his teeth.

“Some friends you have, Ace of Spades,” Muyeol says. “They just keep hurting you. Beating you. Shooting you. Drowning you,” he looks to Hongjoong. “Abandoning you. Dying on you. You really should get your priorities in check,” he shakes his head.

“Shut the fuck up, old man!” Wooyoung shouts. Behind him, Jongho adjusts his wristwatch. 

“Cheshire, on your left!” Jongho shouts. Then, as knives lodged in the ground next to him, Wooyoung bounced back in time for San to grab ahold of his shield again.

“Sorry, (Y/N),” Mingi approached from behind, turning the pistol in his hand to hold onto the barrel while he slammed it down on their mask. Spades pivoted on their heel, bent down low, and swept their leg behind Mingi before pulling their knife out but, before they could throw it, a bullet knocked it out of their hand and Spades’ head whipped to the side, spotting Seonghwa gripping onto his rifle tighter than before. Spades rolled their shoulder out and made their way toward the rest of the group, knives at the ready.

“I guess we kind of are shitty friends,” Yunho says.

“Yunho!” Everyone shouts.

“What? Yeosang said that all the lackeys are still somewhat conscious, it’s like some hypnosis shit,” Yunho argues. Jongho adjusts his wristwatch.

“Hypnosis, right,” Jongho runs a hand through his hair. “Shadow! Keep Spades busy,” Jongho takes a step back and holds his head with his hand and Hongjoong speaks up.

“Jongho, you know something, don’t you?” Hongjoong asks. Jongho looks at him with an expression Hongjoong had never seen on him before, desperation. In front of him, Mingi grabs onto the Ace of Spades and drags them back, gripping onto their arm and slamming them onto the ground.

“(Y/N) is going hate us,” Yeosang cries.

“(Y/N) is going to kill us!” San corrects him.

“Oh, this is so fucked, this is so fucked!” Wooyoung panics. Once again, the knives just barely miss their mark but before Spades could recall them Mingi grabbed onto one of the twines and snapped it in half, all while the second one returned and lodged itself in his back. Spades pushed off of the ground grabbing onto Mingi’s shoulder with one hand and using the momentum to grab onto the knife in his back and pull it out. Jongho, meanwhile, adjusts his watch.

“Huntsman, aim for the second twine,” Jongho says. Hongjoong grabs his shoulder.

“Explain, Timekeeper,” he says firmly. Jongho is shocked into silence and, instead, he adjusts his wristwatch.

“I can’t,” he shakes his head. Then, the sound of a sharp break caught everyone’s attention as Mingi slid to a stop in front of them, clutching onto his arm tightly. San stepped up next, tossing the shield aside and cracking his knuckles.

“Alright, my turn,” he cracks his neck and charges.

“Blackguard, stop!” Jongho shouts.

“Nope, make me,” he catches Spades’ arm and twists it behind their back before kicking them down, but Spades recovers quickly.

“Look at him, he’s just watching,” Yeosang looks at Muyeol.

“We can’t target him, (Y/N) will just take the blows instead,” Seonghwa says.

“I know,” Yeosang mutters. The sound of material breaking caught their attention. The fissures in Spades’ mask were obvious even from their position. Yeosang, helps Mingi up from the floor and supports his weight. Then, something strange, Spades and San are caught at what was like a neck-and-neck finish.

“Shit, when’d you get this strong?” San breaks a sweat but keeps his force steady.

“San, listen to me,” your voice was muffled by the mask.

“Huh?”

“Don’t break concentration, dumbass,” you spoke. “You all came just in time, any longer I think I would have lost it,” you said.

“So, what, you acting?”

“Keep your voice down. If Muyeol suspects one thing the whole place goes down,” you say.

“So why’d you break Mingi’s arm then?”

“I didn’t, you idiot.”

“Then what did we hear?”

“Look at the knife over there, the second one I lost,” San glanced over quickly but, it was obvious, the handle had been crushed. “I’m not so evil I’d break your bones to prove a point, but I need you to make this believable,” you pushed against him and you both stumbled back. San only nodded and shook out his wrists. You pulled out two more knives and spun them in your hands, running toward him and plunging one into a non-vital area of his arm.

“Ouch.”

“Shut up. When you give the signal we all charge Muyeol,” you explained.

“Me?”

“Yup. Break the mask and those other two run. I told them not to tell the others,” San pushed your arm out of the way and you plunged the second knife into his other arm.

“Ouch.”

“Be serious, San,” you said curtly. “As soon as this mask falls off, Seonghwa will take the shot and you and those other two will grab onto Muyeol. He’s confident, but not invincible,” you explained.

“Got it, I trust you, who else knows?” He pushed away from you and picked up his shield.

“The obvious, of course,” he could hear your grin as you grabbed onto the shield and pulled it toward you. San kept his grip strong and he leaned in, other hand readying to uppercut. “Only one of us is crazy enough to come up with this stunt.”

“Jongho, calm down,” Hongjoong grabs Jongho’s hand before he could reach for his watch.

"I can’t,” he says.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Jongho shakes his head slowly at first.

“It is,” Hongjoong said firmer. “Jongho, we’re winning.” Jongho blinks once and, finally, the sound of the mask breaking in half and falling on the floor, followed quickly by a bullet loading into place, followed by Mingi and Wooyoung running forward, and finished by the sound of San’s shield slamming into Muyeol.

~

“So, basically, I told (Y/N) as soon as they backed out of the plan about it, I’ll admit, the plan was rough around the edges, but I knew it’d work out,” Hongjoong explains.

Now, a few hours and a couple of ex-vigilantes freed from mind control later, everyone sat in your still decimated apartment around the only thing still standing, your dining table. You had turned your TV on for some background noise, but the earlier fight had left visible breaks in the video on the monitor, but it was still largely watchable. And, of course, along the table were boxes of pizza well deserved.

“That’s… insane. And you agreed to do it?” Mingi asks.

“Sure, anything to catch the bad guy,” you jut your thumb to the side, Muyeol sat next to you with a large piece of duct tape sealing his mouth shut, the words ‘Bad Guy’ scrawled messily along the tape. “When I first heard the plan, I was kind of impressed so I wanted to see how it’d go. Plus, I knew there would be insurance if it really backfired,” you glanced at Jongho quickly before looking away.

“Wait, wait, let me get it straight just in case though,” San says. “So, (Y/N) backs out of the plan first?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong answers.

“Then, in front of us, you tell (Y/N) to go somewhere far away and secure?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong repeats.

“But, after we all passed out, you woke (Y/N) up and told them the actual plan?”

“Yes.”

“Which was basically that (Y/N) would walk right into the Charlatan’s trap, get captured, endure hours of torture, become the last resort, get beat up, and then catch the Charlatan?”

“Well, yes, but it was a little more complicated than that.”

“And what if it didn’t work?”

“Like (Y/N) said, we had insurance,” Hongjoong says.

“And what if the Charlatan actually broke them?”

“Did he?” Hongjoong asks while he looks at you.

“I still feel like me,” you shrugged.

“Reckless, that whole plan was just… reckless,” Mingi sounded stressed. “How’s your arm, (Y/N)?”

“Not bad, I just wish I had the brains to not let the bullet hit my dominant arm,” you rolled your eyes.

“The whole plan was dependent on two things, one is that (Y/N) had the mental fortitude to hold out, and the other is that we needed to ensure the Charlatan thought he won, both of which were satisfied,” Hongjoong says. 

“And now all that’s left is to turn the sucker in,” Wooyoung claps his hands. “Vigilantes will be loved again!” He says hopefully.

“Well… not exactly,” Yunho shakes his head. He points toward the TV.

“This just in, the reward for turning in rogue vigilantes has been significantly increased to garner more incentive among the general public. Please check the police department’s website to see the updated reward amounts,” the newscaster said. 

“Aww, man, what the hell?!” Wooyoung cries.

“We’ll just never be in a good light for them, huh?!” San laments.

“After all the shit we went through? Are they serious?” Mingi’s voice was dejected.

“They really just hate us, huh?” Yeosang mutters.

“Wait, I thought we had a deal with the police?” Seonghwa asks.

“There wasn’t a deal, I told professor Jung that we weren’t interested, so we never got any protection from the police force,” Hongjoong explained. “Which, in hindsight, maybe it would have been nice so we wouldn’t have had to deal with this headache, but I digress.”

“But maybe they’ll be kind when we hand over the serial killer!” Yunho bargains.

“No, we will definitely be arrested on the spot,” Seonghwa shakes his head. “Property damage, reckless endangerment, probably manslaughter, and who knows what else? We’re felons, Yunho.”

“Way to take the fun out of our victory,” Yunho frowns.

“It’s so shitty that this is how the city still treats us,” San grumbles.

“Again, if I may direct your attention to the TV,” Yunho cuts in.

“… but despite the increased rewards, many citizens were seen voicing their support for the vigilantes and even showing excitement in regards to the newest team-up of vigilantes we’d recently seen. Could this be the stepping stone to a new era?”

“Oh, I take it back,” San whistles. “I guess we did good, huh?” He grins.

“It’ll be slow, but I can see vigilantes being accepted once again,” Jongho says.

“Wait, but I still have a couple questions,” Mingi says. “About the new plan, I mean.”

“Fire away,” Hongjoong invites him to continue.

“Wait, yeah!” Wooyoung cuts in. “Why didn’t you tell any of us? I had to hear the details while (Y/N) beat the shit out of me.”

“Beat the shit out of you? Did you see me?!” Mingi points at himself.

“Wait, breaking the knife handle was so clever,” Seonghwa says.

“I know, right?” Mingi smiles. “(Y/N) was like ‘I’ll break the handle on this so pretend I broke you arm’ and I was like ‘metal, okay.’”

“I can’t believe I had no idea,” Jongho shakes his head.

“(Y/N) and I decided to keep it on a need to know basis to ensure that everything went smoothly. Like I said, we had to be certain that the Charlatan thought he won,” Hongjoong explains. 

“I didn’t even have a clue until Hongjoong told me right after I fired the first shot,” Seonghwa shook his head.

“Shit… now that’s saying something,” Yunho crosses his arms.

“Any other questions before we bury this hatchet?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah,” Yeosang rose his hand. “What is this insurance you keep talking about? Vigilante insurance? What does it cover?”

“It’s not literal insurance, I meant Jongho,” Hongjoong nods his head toward the youngest member.

“Oh, why?” Yeosang asks.

“I’m a time traveller,” Jongho says absently.

“Oh, fun,” Yeosang grabs a slice of pizza. “Wait… what the hell did you just say?!”

“I’m a time traveller,” Jongho points at his wristwatch. “With this device I can go back to any point in my timeline that I had it.”

“Yeah? Prove it then,” San insists. Jongho adjusts his wristwatch.

“On your left, Mingi,” he says without looking. Mingi moves to the right just in time for the overhead light to fall and just barely graze Mingi’s right arm.

“… whoa,” Mingi gasps. “You’re a time traveller.”

“Yes. Although I had no idea of the plan either.”

“Need to know basis,” Hongjoong repeats. “(Y/N) said that if all went wrong, then you’d fix it,” Hongjoong looks to Jongho.

“They’re right, I would have. I’ve been trying since forever now, actually, but this time I have a good feeling,” Jongho nods.

“Wait, forever? How long have you known how to time travel?!” Yeosang asks.

“A while.”

“How long is a while?” San asks.

“Who knows?”

“You know!” Yunho shouts.

“But do I really?”

“Yes!” Mingi’s turn. “Wait, now I need like a rundown on how time travel works.”

“Sure, I guess,” Jongho takes a deep breath and starts to explain all the details, maybe too many details, and after the first hour of the explanation, it was clear the others had had enough. “Then, using this specific metal, I was able to avoid the radar of the Sectors, long story, took forever to escape that prison, so—”

“Breaking news! The Charlatan has been turned in as of right now!” The newscaster’s voice was loud and, suddenly, everyone turned to the head of the table, seeing two chairs empty, and soon they were in front of the TV. “Just moment’s ago, the Ace of Spades came to the precinct with Lee Muyeol, father of the late Ace of Diamonds Lee Jeno, in hand and explained to the officers the situation. Despite earlier sightings, the Ace of Spades insisted that they found the Charlatan on their own and they turned him in even knowing that there were orders to have them arrested as soon as they were found. Now that’s vigilante justice! The Ace of Spades, identity still kept a secret, is now on their way to a highly secured prison made especially for vigilantes. More on this story as it is updated.”

“That crafty little…” Yunho trails off.

“(Y/N) took the fall for us…” Mingi says in awe.

“(Y/N) took the credit from us!” San corrects him.

“(Y/N) is in jail for us!” Yeosang gasps.

“I’m more concerned of when they slipped out,” Jongho mumbles as he removes his wrist watch. “I never thought that they’d do that for us,”

“But… we’re definitely breaking them out, right?” Seonghwa asks.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Hongjoong nods.

“What's the plan, boss?” Wooyoung smiles.

“Operation 2 of the…” Hongjoong waits for someone to finish his sentence.

“Team name! Time to brainstorm a team name! (Y/N) is just going to have to deal with whatever name we choose since they’re not here to add input!” Wooyoung says.

“Any ideas?” Hongjoong asks. Everyone’s silent.

“How about…” Jongho hums. “ATEEZ?” He offers. He is met with silence.

“What does that even mean?” San shakes his head in confusion.

“I was trying to incorporate the A’s on our uniform.”

“To be fair and transparent with you guys, the A is actually there because I wanted the discount, if I added a letter then I saved like 40% on the group order,” Yunho says.

“Really?” Seonghwa grimaces.

“I’m the Broker, I need to make a profit somehow,” Yunho scoffs, lighting the fuse for another entirely tangential debate.

“We still need a name, guys,” Hongjoong refocuses the topic and, as everyone begun to brainstorm possible ideas, the news continued on.

“Meanwhile, any vigilante still active or newly active are to be considered outlaws. As accordance to the vigilante ban, you must report anything and anyone related to vigilante justice,” the newscaster says.

And it was like a lightbulb had turned on.

~

Sitting inside your prison cell shouldn’t have been this peaceful. It was cold, bleak, the walls were white and the wall in front of you a perfect clear. Bulletproof, powerproof, lifeproof, nothing was getting through that glass. The only way in and out was the door to the side, highly secured, padded, locked, probably trapped. You didn’t want to try it. Ironically enough, this was the most relaxed you’d ever been. Your conscious had never felt more clear and a weight had been removed from your shoulders. Even if you’d never go back to your vigilante life, you did the right thing in the end. You turned in the monster that had been killing your friends and hurting much others. Maybe this would be a good way to start your retirement? Twenty years of reflection. You looked up at the ceiling. At least you had a safe place to stay, guaranteed three meals a day, and even a somewhat comfortable bed.

You didn’t know what to do next, you didn’t know much actually, but what you did know was that you owed so much to those eight boys. You couldn’t, in good faith, let them get arrested after that whole ordeal. If anyone was going to turn this whole Vigilante Ban around, it was them. And if so many timelines had been doomed because of you interference then maybe that was some kind of sign for you that it was time to hang up the costume for good. After your sentence maybe you’d move to a new country and start a new life, or something romantic like that. Your future was in your hands now and you couldn’t wait to see what those eight will do in the future, you were definitely going to keep tabs on them anyway.

“Stay in your place, inmate, don’t make any sudden movements or we will sedate you,” the guard suddenly orders. You looked at him without moving.

“Sure,” you responded. The door behind him opened and the last person you’d ever expected to see walked in. The guard excused himself and exited the room, locking the door behind him.

Professor Jung, meanwhile, sat across from you, with nothing but the glass wall separating you two.

“Well, well, so you’re the fantastic Ace of Spades,” he says. You rose an eyebrow.

“Expecting someone else, Professor? Someone more remarkable, no doubt,” you nodded.

“Oh, no, you’re perfect,” he smiles. 

“How’d you figure it out? I could’ve been anyone.”

“I’ve always known. Who do you think appealed the courts to keep your identity a secret?” He asks, not expecting an answer. He looks up at the camera. Within moments, it sparks and dies. You sat up now, more alert than before. “Don’t worry, that wasn’t me,” he says. “Friend of mine, though, I’m afraid I’m very limited in time, so I’ll make this quick,” he stands up and approaches the door, easily pushing it open at the swipe of his key card. You stand up now too, taking steadying steps back. “Relax, relax, I’m not here to hurt you, rather, I want to make you an offer,” he says.

“I’m listening.”

“Your little team up, I’m impressed, you’re a very good team player, but really, you’re always on the sidelines, aren’t you, (Y/N)?” He makes sure to emphasize your name. “The Aces and this new team of vigilantes, why do you allow your talents to go hidden for so long?” He asks.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, sir,” you reply.

“I want to hire you, (Y/N),” he says. “I want to have you lead an elite team I’m putting together, and I think you’ll be rather fond of your position,” he says. “You’ll have funding, of course. Provided by me through a third party to ensure both of our safeties,” he adds.

“Why me, sir?”

“Why you? I told you already. You’re perfect,” he repeats. “I should specify that these jobs you’ll be taking on, they’re not exactly stellar, they won’t be as clean as the Charlatan mission was,” he says.

“Ah, so it’s not that I’m perfect, I’m replaceable,” you corrected him.

“You could put it that way,” Jaehyun hums. “I’d say that you’re just good at your work. I’ve followed your movements for a while now, and after observing you in this operation, I had to give you this offer.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then you stay here, serve the rest of your twenty year sentence,” he shrugs. “Or, you come work for me.”

“What kind of jobs will I be doing?”

“Anything, but you’d mainly be working on assassinations,” he answers almost too casually. You narrowed your glance.

“I refuse your offer,” you answered quickly. “I do many things, but I don’t kill,” you say. Jaehyun lowers his glance.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, (Y/N). You’ve killed, many people, you just don’t want to accept it,” he says. You didn’t answer. “Plus, I think you’ll be interested in who your first target is. Don’t you want your closure?” He asks. You pressed your lips together. “Blackguard. He needs to be removed from the picture,” Jaehyun says. You remain silent. “Don’t play dumb, (Y/N), I know you know. Choi San killed Eric, don’t you want some justice for that?” He asks.

“I do,” you answer. “But not this way.”

“Hm, maybe I read you wrong then,” Jaehyun sighs.

“It’s too early to make any moves anyway,” you muttered. “Why do you want him gone?”

“Lets just say he didn’t just kill one person, (Y/N),” Jaehyun says with an elusive smile. “Of course, if Blackguard is off the table, I have a list of others instead. If you agree to work with me, I’m sure we’ll be a wonderful team,” he offers once again. You looked around your cell. “If you really think about it, it’s not as different as what you were doing before, only now you get a salary,” he says.

“Ah… what the hell, beats spending twenty years in here,” you sighed. “When do I start?”

“Immediately,” he says. “Any questions?” He asks.

“You still haven’t answered mine,” you say. “Why me?” Jaehyun looks to the ground for a moment.

“Have you heard of that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” He asks. You nodded your head. He walks up to you and holds his hand out for a handshake. “I know you have me completely figured out, and I can’t afford to have you loose while I know this,” he says. You stared at his hand, thinking back to everything you’d learned over the course of the last few weeks. You did have him figured out. “So, what do you say, Spades? Do you actually accept my offer?” He asks. So, he knew you were lying. To be fair, you were planning on making a break as soon as you stepped foot out of this facility, but if your hunch was right then you knew better than to chance that.

“If I refuse… you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” You ask. Jaehyun smiles. “Well then… I accept your offer, Loveholic.” Without another word, you shook his hand.

The Outlaws and the Ace of Spades will return in ‘Out of Sight.’

Ending Author's Note:

Hello, hi, hey, everyone! Holy shit, I finished this bad boy. After, drum roll please, 352 pages, and a grand total of 98,500 words (holy shit!) Without a Trace is officially finished!! I cannot believe that I actually finished it lmao but here we are with a completed fic! My second completed fic altogether (minus Covalence, which was released originally as a oneshot).

I started this fic like, what, two years ago? I know she's an oldie, this one, not old enough to be on the old blog but definitely old enough. So to those who stuck around, thank you! And to those who just joined, thank you again! I couldn't have finished this fic without you all and for that I'm thankful! I can't wait to tap into another ATEEZ fic soon, though, y'all know I love writing content for them!

But, regardless, thank you to all of you who supported this series! I am so thankful for all of you for taking time to read this little fic of mine. Who knows what I'll work on now lol, but I don't think Out of Sight will be released in a while, or at least until I complete another series, but y'all will see once it's out!

Until then, thank you. I hope you're all having a wonderful day, a safe night, and a fun summer!

Love Always, Crys

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms @sadcoffeecritic 

Without a Trace: @naiify @sunsethw4 @leesalts @toxic-babexe 

If you want to be added to either tag list or removed just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

[aces-and-angels]

Title- Prelude: Martin's Rise

edit by: @saibug1022

A/N: hello friends! the winds have carried me to a hyperfixation revolving around laws of attraction (and how to fix the mess that was book 2). ik the loa fanbase has a population of like... 4 lol, but i'm still excited to share this newest passion with yall- please enjoy the prelude for into the wind-verse: a loa book 2 rewrite 🖤🖤🖤 @choicesficwriterscreations

Characters: Eli Byrne, Sadie McGraw, Reggie Whitman, Linda Phillips, Gabe Ricci, Martin Vanderweil, Wind Velez (OC by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd)

Pairing(s): Martin x Wind

Summary: bonus scene set sometime during book 1, ch 16; Martin calls for an emergency meeting with the partners of McGraw Byrne.

Word Count: 1.3K

read below the cut or...

AO3 LINK

---

McGraw Byrne, 10:34 PM

The stillness of the firm gave Martin pause. It was a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle seen during normal office hours. Only silence met the incessant clicking from his fingers flying over the keyboard as he drafted up the last few contracts needed for his presentation. His eyes flicked over to the clock resting on his desk. Less than half an hour before the partners were set to arrive. 

Standing over the office printer, the machine whirred as it spewed out pages upon pages of his manic, caffeine-fueled work. This moment, brief as it was, was the first time he could take a breath all day. Even so, his mind couldn’t stop replaying the events that transpired- an unsettling feeling in his chest that he couldn’t shake since the senior partner meeting took place. Torturously heavy, sinking down to the deepest pit in his gut. He should be celebrating- drinking to the countless billable hours he put in to get appointed as McGraw Byrne’s newest junior partner. But instead, he was here, fixated on the tiny display screen atop the printer. 

Printing Page 45 of 194…

Coupled with the heaviness, a fire. Roaring flames that burned fiercely through him, ignited at the sight of his colleagues foolishly celebrating their ‘win’ over the infamous Sadie McGraw. Spilt liquor and joyous cheers for a job only half done. It made him sick. 

Then, there was Wind. They were the first to notice his escape from the booth- much to his surprise. Though, he’d be remiss not to acknowledge their uncanny levels of perceptiveness. Why they directed it at him at all was a marvel in its own right- something that inexplicably stirred something inside him.

His excuse for leaving was flimsy at best, but Wind met it with kind hazel eyes, crinkling ever so slightly with pure elation. It kept his feet rooted to the ground for one, fleeting moment before his mind took over once more, giving way to the inferno coursing through his veins. Wind was naïve. And he had a job to do.

Pulling the last of the pages from the printer, he started for the conference room, relieved to see that it was still empty. He made quick work setting up the room, laying out copies of his proposal at each seat. A faint echo of footsteps barreled through the halls, signaling the partners’ arrival. Martin had just enough time to fix his tie before the doors flew open. 

“Vanderweil, do you have any idea what time it is?” Eli addressed him first, his domineering tone straightening his back. 

“I’m aware, Mr. Byrne. But this was too important to leave for tomorrow morning.” 

Eli’s eyes narrowed, looking for a reason to chew him out further. Finding none, he gave a curt nod and motioned for Linda and Reggie to take their seats. “Well, on with it boy.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Byrne. Ms. Phillips, Mr. Whitman, thank you for being here as well,” he greeted, his voice steady and sure. “I’m sure it’s safe to say that we’re all shocked by how this morning’s senior partner meeting went.”

Reggie let out a brief chuckle. “Now, that’s an understatement. I had no idea Gabe would be capable of orchestrating something like that.” 

“I’m assuming there’s a correlation between that and Mr. Ricci’s absence at this meeting,” Linda added.

“Astute as ever, Ms. Phillips. Yes, Gabe’s conduct was… unconventional. It’s fitting that the nature of this meeting be that as well. I’ll get right to it- the firm’s vulnerable. Left to bleed out from a gaping wound at its side courtesy of Ricci and Velez.”

“Spare us from the theatrics, Mr. Vanderweil. My colleagues and I are well aware of our position. There better be more to this presentation,” Linda chastised. 

“There is,” he answered confidently.

“Then I’ll ask you again. Why did you summon us all here?” 

“We’re here so I can stop the bleeding.” Martin threw the manila folder he’d been clinging to since the start of the meeting onto the table, spreading out the files for everyone to see. “A signed NDA, amendments to the firm’s bylaws securing McGraw Byrne’s ownership of Sadie’s clients, and updated contracts for everyone in attendance at the senior partner meeting.” 

Reggie let out a low whistle. “You did all this in one evening?” 

Martin tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I get paid to be the best. And this is only a fraction of what I’m capable of, Mr. Whitman.” 

Eli skimmed through a copy of Sadie’s NDA, eyes widening as he reached the end of the document. “Sadie really agreed to sign this?”

“She agreed to my terms, with one contingency.”

“And what’s that?” 

Martin slid the phone over to Eli. “That you be the one to wire the money for her buyout directly. If you check the footnotes at the bottom, her agreement to this exchange is only good until midnight.” 

Eli sputtered. “Do you have any idea how money transfer works, Vanderweil? There’s no way I-”

“I’m aware, Mr. Byrne. Which is why I offered a compromise- your verbal confirmation that you’ll uphold the deal for her cooperation.” 

“She’s strong-arming us,” Reggie shook his head in disapproval.

“She’s using the last remaining card left in her hand,” Linda countered, glancing at the time displayed overhead. “You better start dialing, Eli. Our time is running out.” 

The call was brief. No exchanged pleasantries. No warm bid farewell. Only the bare essentials to secure Martin’s deal. The room fell silent after Eli hung up the phone with a tired sigh. 

“Well, at least that’s one less fire for us to put out. If that’s everything, Martin-” 

“There is one more thing- if I may, Mr. Byrne. I motion to put this meeting to a vote for my immediate appointment as senior partner of McGraw Byrne.”

“Mr. Vanderweil, you know very well we can’t-”

“I’ll stop you right there, Ms. Phillips. Section 7B, sub clause a. Any vote to appoint a new partner may be held if the lump sum of the present members hold the majority of the firm’s shares. This room alone makes up for 58% of McGraw Byrne’s stocks, making this motion valid.”

“We’re grateful for your efforts, Martin..." Reggie paused, searching for the right words to say. "But it’s just not in good faith for us to move to a vote without Gabe present. Like it or not, he is a current senior partner.”

“With all due respect Mr. Whitman, I disagree. Mr. Ricci simply set the precedent after he operated on his own accord without notifying any other senior partner of his plans to oust Ms. McGraw. I’m only returning the favor.” 

“He’s got you there, Reggie,” Linda commented with a look somewhat akin to approval. “You have my vote, Mr. Vanderweil.”

“Thank you, Ms. Phillips.”

Reggie looked to Eli, who has been noticeably silent since his motion. Martin turned to him as well with baited breath. Finally, he spoke. “Tell me why I should vote in your favor.”

“Because I did what no other associate thought to do. Protect the firm. And even if they did manage to get that far, none of them could do what I’ve done with the same level of quality. But if that’s not enough-” Martin pulled out another stack of papers from his file. “A cost analysis of the money saved by securing Sadie’s old clients, a draft of her announcing her retirement set to be released next morning, and a proposal for media outreach to mitigate the damages.” 

Eli huffed out a soft laugh. “Alright, Martin. You win. I vote yes.”

“Mr. Whitman?”

“Well, there’s no use playing devil’s advocate now. I vote yes.” 

“Welcome to the fold, Mr. Vanderweil," Eli said, stretching out his hand in congratulations. 

“I won’t disappoint you, sir,” Martin promised, giving him a firm, resolute handshake. “Can I make one final request?” 

“Name it.” 

Martin’s lips spread into an enigmatic grin. “Give me the honor of announcing it to our fellow colleagues.”

[echoequinox]

I'm thinking about making a video essay on this topic already - or something similar to it - but here's my rewrite of the Starfield factions so that they're less Fucking Dogshit (no spoilers until the big red spoilers tag)

The main foundational crux of the game is the United Colonies vs the Freestar Collective, essentially the idea of Big Government vs Small Government. Within UC systems, the UC is pervasive and present at all levels of security and government, while in Freestar space, you've got planets like Neon that have self-governing security forces while the Rangers only actually go after like, interplanetary criminals and stuff that affects the whole of Freestar space.

And if that's the way you want to play it, fine, but I feel like this is fiction, and worse, this is SCI FI, so these tropes should be MORE polarizing and different.

The United Colonies should be a fascist near-police state. The ever-present panopticon argument that is "should we sacrifice freedom for safety". HEAVY citizenship laws, even more focus on what is essentially the drafting into Sysdef they do to gain legal citizenship. Slates could be designed by Sysdef - or maybe run their updates and core processes through the MAST on New Atlantis - so nearly all communications within UC space (and, hell, even from outside UC space) is monitored by the government.

The Well on New Atlantis should be worse. Treatment of their citizens should be noticeably worse, raids into the Well to sniff out outliers and insurgents. It could lead to a fun hard leftist group in the Well that's like, kind of a parody of leftist infighting, you've got the people fighting to demolish the UC and install something more just and citizen-focused in its place rather than security-focused, and then you've got the people who think we need to burn it all down and get rid of any and all governmental structures, and having them tear at each others throats until the Spacefarer comes along and gives their two cents.

The Freestar Collective, on the other hand, would be closer to a Southern American's dream. This idea of manifest destiny made absolute and concrete, this idea of carving out a place for yourself and Standing Your Ground. I like the idea of Freestar citizens being less critical of their government than the UC, but more critical about the fact that they just... don't show up as much. Hell, maybe certain sectors are just being paid off by gangs. Taking that idea of "we don't interfere in local affairs" and conflating it to a large degree, the idea that they don't protect anything that isn't a Freestar interest.

Maybe in direct opposition to that is a force of like... legitimate bounty hunters. A sort of rising vigilante force that is slowly gaining favor amongst the people for coming to help far before the Ranger kicks their stupid asses into gear. A grinding conflict between the two, where the Rangers are trying to put bounties up on the hunters because they're making the Rangers look bad and helping to add to anti-Freestar sentiment, and they're worried that their hold on the people of the Collective will loosen if they don't rely on them for their security.

The League of Independent Settlers could've been something more than a bullshit Minuteman side-quest provider too. One of the things I read on the wiki described them as a "service provider" and I think that's a fascinating read on them, comparing them to the modern day service provider. This idea of like, investing in settlements to eventually make back their profit, requiring a fee and upkeep instead of an upfront cost for the resources required to kick it in the black.

Maybe they've got repomen who go out and collect, should the settlements they fund not return to them. It could lead to more interesting side quests: finding settlements torn apart by Terrormorphs, facing the barrel of a gun by a farmer whose land isn't turning the profit they promised due to shoddy LIST tech, ending up in land disputes between several colonists because LIST overlapped the properties on the demarcation, etc etc etc. It could've been a neat bounty system and a possible moral quandary later on as well.

The Va'ruun are, obviously, underutilized. My assumption is that Shattered Stars (the first Starfield DLC) is going to be about them, but I know what going into a Bethesda game with assumptions is like. Even if that was the case, they could have seeded the Va'ruun a bit more heavily through the main game. Va'ruun outposts (abandoned or not), space stations, more defectors like Andreja.

I think that with the UC and Freestar being reflections of America's current (broken) political climate, the Va'ruun would provide a much needed reflection of its (broken) religious climate. This idea of an evangelical force that literally believes in a space worm who will kill all life eventually is very close the Christian version of Hell. "Don't commit sins or the Great Serpent will devour you". It could provide interesting context for both the Enlightened and the Universals - the Enlightened could be initially founded by disenfranchised Va'ruun and the Universals could be moving toward the same "God" that the Va'ruun worship, albeit not in a way either side understands.

I think that people should've been more disenfranchised about the Colony War. I think that it should've sparked a lot of revolution and a lot of disharmony amongst the people. The idea that out of the HUNDRED star systems, each government can only possess 3 is... insanity. And not only that, but the entire war and thousands of lives lost hinging on a LAND DISPUTE between two sides of the same fascist government is insane. I'm amazed more people aren't up in arms about it. (Also, I haven't checked, is there not even a fucking colony in Vesta?? Are you telling me that the Collective didn't continue working there anyway? Nobody from LIST set up there? That's fucking insane to me)

Anyway SPOILERS below

The last faction is obviously the Starborn, and while I do like their individualistic nature, I think that it would make more sense - especially as time went on - if the Emissary and Hunter had more Starborn falling in under their wing. The Emissary being a member of Constellation means that they're always going to be a good person and some Starborn have to fall under that category, and the Hunter seems like he genuinely wants to side with you and cares about your well-being when you're traveling with him (albeit in a jaded way) and also he was a priest, for god's sake, people aren't FLOCKING to hear what he has to say about Unity?

I personally would have each loop grow their status. The Emissary and Hunter are, initially, alone in the universe. Just like you. But as time goes on, as they iterate over and over, they find like-minded individuals. Some Starborn who are also on their 6th or 7th loop see them and say "Fuck it, why not team up? It's easier together and I vibe with what you want." By the Spacefarer's 5th loop the Emissary/Hunter have fully staffed ships. By the 7th they've got a small flotilla.

By the 10th loop, they'd truly be political powers in their own right. Existing on the far reaches of space, ready to wage a war against one another for control over the Unity. THAT would be a worthy way to play them.

[save-the-spiral]

Wiztober Day Six: God-Like

I have now realized how this may have fit better in yesterday’s prompt. welp. Welcome (back) to Malistaire & Sylvia Swap AU, I may have jumped forward in the timeline a bit (skipped like 99% of arc 1). I’ll fill in the gaps if asked.

Content warning for ghosts, death, existential conversation, implied child abuse, implied unethical (magic) experimentation, grief, arguing.

(buy me coffee?) (Maliswap AU Masterpost) (Prompt List)

Malistaire's ghostly form looked so real. Perhaps it was his mastery of necromancy, perhaps it was simply because even as a spirit he had such purpose it made him almost opaque. 

Almost alive, yet undead. 

"My love-" he started to speak.

"Mali!" Sylvia fell to her knees, the skirt of her robe splaying out, the only thing keeping her upright being Malistaire's own staff, with its rearing dragon surrounding an orb of magical energy, roiling at the presence of its original master.

"Sylvia," Malistaire spoke in a breathy, reverent whisper, "is this truly what you've become?"

Sylvia's grip tightened on the staff and she used it to pull herself up, shoulders back and face set in a grim mask of discipline. "I've done what I must."

"What you must do is live, dearest wife." Malistaire's desperation caused his spirit to waver, smokey gray vapor trailing from his swinging braids as he walked forward, hands out in supplication.

"I cannot." Sylvia said, tendons in her neck jumping as she tensed her jaw, magic shifting around her. Autumnal foliage shed from her coppery hair, burnt orange and red leaves falling behind her in a trail. "I refuse to live without you, beloved husband."

"Please, Sylvia. You are perverting the magic I dedicated my life to, bastardizing your own. You’ve harmed far more than yourself in this venture. You can't-" Malistaire begged, he walked forward a step more, reaching out, the draping sleeves of his robes blurring, hands splayed, his wedding ring glinting in the firelight of Dragonspyre while the rest of his jewelry remained dulled in death.

"Nobody tells me what I can and cannot do- not anymore! I won't be restrained by anyone, not Ambrose, not you, and certainly not by the magic I control! I'm in charge here! I'm the wizard, this is my magic, and I shall use it as I see fit! No longer shall I stand aside and stay silent! No longer shall I be put in my place! I will not be the widow wallowing in grief and accepting condolences when I can do something about it! There is nothing in the Spiral that will keep me from you my love! No wizard, and certainly no law of magic! I am the one who sings the Song, it will not use me as an instrument!" Sylvia was frantic, chest heaving inside her gilded armor, hair rising and her magic crackling like freshly stepped upon leaves, deep green magic snaking around her fingers, up the staff she borrowed from her husband in his death. 

"My time is over, Sylvia. I lived well. Far longer than I should have." Malistaire's voice quaked as he finally placed a ghostly hand on his widow's face, cupping her jaw.

She leaned into it unconsciously. "You deserve longer." 

"Debatable." Malistaire drawled.

Sylvia snorted wetly, tears falling in earnest. "I missed you." was all she could say, raising one hand to cover Malistaire's on her face. He was cold, and she could delude herself into thinking it was just his bad circulation if she closed her eyes.

Malistaire looked at her sadly. "Sylvia…"

"I'll miss you every day of my life, Mali. I can't… It tears me apart, every moment. I know I could've saved you, we just needed a bit more time…" 

"Nothing can save mortals from the inevitable, dear." Malistaire chided.

Sylvia clenched his ephemeral hand in her own, bringing it down and grasping it with her other hand, letting Malistaire's staff fall to the ground with a clatter. "I am the best theurgist of our age, Mali." She stared into his eyes, intense and unflinching, "I will sing the Song, and- and I can rewrite fate! We will have forever, just like we wanted! Us, together, as it should be!"

Malistaire looked so pained, face crumpling, black tears falling from his spectral face. "No, Sylvia."

"Mali?"

"No. We can't live like that. That is not living!" ” Malistaire’s voice echoed and cracked, warping into the telltale death rattle of the undead. 

Sylvia's grip tightened on Malistaire's barely corporeal hand as it wavered, as if holding on long enough would solidify his presence. 

Malistaire took a useless breath, rattling as he did so before he calmed marginally. "Theurgy and Necromancy are opposing schools for a reason, Sylvia… what is life without death?"

"Yet we do not force a wizard to choose their secondary in their rival school to balance their magics. One can exist without the other, Mali. I know it, Life can exist alone."

"That’s the body, Sylvia! The body, without the mind or spirit! Life, without its fellow spiritual schools, is just- meat! Meat without a soul or a conscience, it’s nothing! You may refuse to live without me, but I refuse to live like that! I refuse to live at all- not just because of how horrific the thought of violating the deepest laws of the Spiral for such a thing- but because my time is over, Sylvia!” Malistaire’s voice cracked with emotion as he stumbled forward, hands bracing on Sylvia’s armored shoulders, phasing through the gold pauldrons and sinking to clutch at her skin. 

“I’m dead, Sylvia.” Malistaire said quietly, head bowed. “There are living people who need you far more than I, who deserve the goodness I know is still within you. I belong here, on the other side. Death is as beautiful as Life. One is the journey, the other the destination. Don’t- don’t do this to me. Don’t toy with my spirit.”

“I won’t!” Sylvia reassured him, desperation like a summer rainstorm descending upon her. “I won’t tamper with your spirit- or your body, or your mind, even- I will recreate the Spiral in my own image and you won’t have died in the first place!” Sylvia’s joy bordering mania was clear in her blooming magic, but the green tendrils clutched too readily, strangler vines made to choke out competing plants, to slowly sap them of everything until they are but a husk.

“Sylvia!” Malistaire shook and faded into full transparency for but a moment due to shock. “You can’t-!”

“I am sick of being told what to do, Malistaire! I thought you of all people would understand- to bar me from using my own magic without a good reason why-!”

“Sylvia...” Malistaire’s voice warped and echoed, his face obscured by the black smoke of his own specter as he stepped further back away, afraid.

“No- no I’m sorry Malistaire- I don’t mean it! I’m sorry, I can’t lose you again, don’t leave me- I won’t hurt you, I swear it! I won’t touch your soul-”

“And what of the child, Sylvia.”

“Our child needs both of their parents! They will understand in time why I’ve done what I must! I needed to test the bounds of the worlds and their magic! They assisted me as much as they could, to bring back their father!”

Malistaire’s entire form nearly dissipated into smoke, now little more than an incorporeal wraith, cloaked in black with just his braids as a defining feature. “Sylvia... I could tolerate...” His voice descended into rasps, barely audible as he wheezed. “Harming me... but my child... I will never forgive you. Do not call upon me again lest I force you to join me in Death’s embrace, my love.” 

Malistaire disappeared, nothing but a cold breeze in his wake.

Sylvia collapsed in full, unable to muster the emotion that had seized her just moments before, none of that desperation and mania and fear. Simple impulse and need were all that could break past the overwhelming fog of emptiness.

The heat of Dragonspyre and constant low roar of flames and lavafalls filter into Sylvia’s hearing.

Her resolve returned to her in this moment. She refused to have gone so far and stop now. She cannot have done all of this for nothing.

The child she and Malistaire had borne, had raised, was now dead or missing (or worse, her mind whispered insidiously), and she would not have their suffering be in vain.

Even if that suffering had partially been from her own hands.

[samwisethewitch]

Witchcraft and Activism

The word “witch” is a politically charged label. If we look at how the word was used historically, it referred to someone who existed outside of the normal social order. The people accused of witchcraft in the European and American witch trials were mostly — experts say between 75% and 80% — women. They were also overwhelmingly poor, single, or members of a minority ethnicity and/or religion. In other words, they were people who did not follow their society’s accepted model of womanhood (or, in the case of accused men, manhood).

If you choose to identify with the witch label, you are choosing to identify with subversion of gender norms, resistance to the dominant social order, and “outsider” status. If that makes you uncomfortable or uneasy, then you may want to use another label for your magical practice. Witchcraft always has been and always will be inherently political.

In her book Witches, Sluts, Feminists, Kristen J. Sollee argues that the “slut” label is in many ways a modern equivalent to the “witch” label. In both cases, the label is used to devalue people, most often women, and to enforce a patriarchal and misogynist social order.

Superstitions around witchcraft are connected to the modern stigma around abortion (and, to a lesser extent, contraception). Midwifery and abortion were directly linked to witchcraft in the European witch hunts. Today, women who seek abortions are condemned as sluts, whores, and murderers. The fight for reproductive freedom remains inextricably linked with the witch label.

During the women’s liberation movement of the 1960s, the socialist feminist group Women’s International Terrorist Conspiracy from Hell (W.I.T.C.H.) used the image of the witch to campaign for women’s rights and other social issues. They were some of the first advocates for intersectional feminism (feminist activism that addresses other social issues that overlap with gendered issues). They performed acts such as hexing Wall Street capitalists and wearing black veils to protest bridal fairs. The W.I.T.C.H. Manifesto calls witches the “original guerrillas and resistance fighters against oppression.”

In her book Revolutionary Witchcraft, Sarah Lyons points out that both witchcraft and politics are about raising and directing power in the world. In a postmodern society, most of our reality is socially constructed — it works because we collectively believe it does. Money only has value because we believe it does. Politicians only have power because we believe they do. Our laws are only just because we believe they are. Like in magic, everything in society is a product of belief and a whole lot of willpower — and that makes witches the ideal social activists.

Lyons argues that witchcraft is inseparable from politics, because witches have always opposed dominant political power. She makes a connection between the witch trials and the rise of capitalism and classism. She connects the basic concepts of magic to historic activist groups like the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP), who used ritual as an act of protest.

Not every witch is a hardcore activist, but every witch should have a basic awareness of political and social issues and be willing to do what they can to make a difference.

Ways to Combine Witchcraft and Activism

Perform a ritual to feel connected to the earth and her people. Activism should come from a place of love, not a place of hate. Make sure you’re fighting for the right reasons by frequently taking time to reconnect with the planet and the people who live here. This can be as simple as laying down on the ground outside and meditating on all the ways you are connected to other people, as well as to the ecosystem, animals, and the earth herself. If getting up close and personal with the grass and dirt isn’t your thing, try to find a beautiful place in nature where you can sit and journal about the interconnected nature of all things.

Unlearn your social programming. This is the most difficult and most important part of any activism. Before you can change the world outside yourself, you have to change your own psyche. Think about how you have been socialized to contribute to (or at least turn a blind eye to) the issues you want to fight against. For example, if you want to fight for racial justice, you need to understand how you have contributed to a racist system. You can do this in a variety of ways: through meditation, journaling, or divination, to name a few. Note that whatever method you choose, this will probably take weeks or months of repeated work. Rewriting your thought and behavior patterns is hard, and it can’t be done in a single day. Also note that if you are a victim of systemic oppression or prejudice, this work may bring up a lot of emotional baggage — you may want to involve a professional therapist or counselor.

Go to protests. Sending energy and doing healing rituals is great, but someone has to get out there and visibly fight for change. If you are able to do so, start going to protests and rallies for causes you care about. Don’t just show up, but be an active participant — make signs, yell and chant, and stand your ground if cops show up. Be safe and responsible, but be loud and assertive, too. If you want to go all out, you can don the black robes, pointed hats, and veils of W.I.T.C.H.es past, which has the added bonus of concealing your identity.

Turn your donations into a spell for change. When you donate to a cause you care about, charge your donation with a spell for positive change. You can do this by holding your cash, check, or debit card in both hands and focusing on your desire for change. Feel this desire flowing into the money, filling it with your determination. From here, make your donation, knowing that you’ll be sending an energy boost along with it.

Organize an activist coven. Do you have a handful of friends who are interested in witchcraft, passionate about activism, or both? Start a coven! Go to protests together, hold monthly rituals to raise energy for change, and collect money for donations. Being part of a group also means having a support system, which can help prevent burnout. Make a plan to check on each other regularly. You may even choose to do monthly group rituals for self care, which may be actual magic rituals or might be as simple as ordering takeout and watching a movie. Activism can be intensely draining work, so it’s important to take breaks when you need them!

Hold public rituals with an activist slant. Nothing gets people’s attention like a bunch of folks standing in a circle and chanting. Holding public rituals is one of the best ways to raise awareness for a cause. You might hold a vigil for victims of police brutality, a healing circle for the environment, or some other ritual that is relevant to the issue at hand. These rituals serve a double purpose, as they both bring people’s attention to the issue and give them an opportunity to work for change on a spiritual level. Use prayers, chants, and symbolism that is appropriate to the theme, and ask participants to make a small donation to a charity related to your cause.

Begin your public rituals with a territory acknowledgement. If you live in the United States, chances are you live on land that was taken from the native people by force. If you seek to have a relationship with the land, you need to first acknowledge the original inhabitants and the suffering they endured so you can be there. Use a website like native-land.ca to find out what your land was originally called and what indigenous groups originally lived there. Publicly acknowledge this legacy at your ritual, and publicly state your intention to support indigenous peoples. (Revolutionary Witchcraft has an excellent territory acknowledgement that you can customize for your area.)

Make an altar to your activist ancestors. If activism or membership in a marginalized group is a big part of your life, you may want to create a space for it in your home. Like an ancestor altar, this is a space to remember influential members of the community who have died. Choose a flat surface like a tabletop or shelf and decorate it with photos of your “ancestors,” as well as other appropriate items like flags, pins, stickers, etc. As a queer person, my altar to my LGBTQ+ ancestors might include images of figures like Sappho, Marsha P. Johnson, and Freddie Mercury, as well as items like a pink triangle patch, a small rainbow pride flag, and dried violets and green carnations. You may also choose to include a candle, an incense burner, and/or a small dish for offerings. Just remember to never place images of living people on an altar honoring the dead!

Do your research. Staying educated is an important part of activism — not only do your actions need to be informed, but you need to be able to speak intelligently about your issues. Read the news (on actual news websites, not just social media). Read lots of books; some I personally recommend are Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson, Love and Rage by Lama Rod Owens, and (as previously mentioned) Revolutionary Witchcraft by Sarah Lyons. If you can get access to them, read scholarly articles about theories that are influential among activists, like the Gaia Hypothesis or Deep Ecology. Read everything you can get your hands on.

VOTE! And I don’t just mean voting for the presidential candidate you like (or, as is often the case, voting against the one you don’t like). Vote for your representatives. Vote for city council. Vote for the county sheriff. Voting gives you a chance to make sure the people in office will be susceptible to your activism. Yes, your side might lose or your electoral college representative might choose to go against the popular vote. Even so, voting is a way to clearly communicate the will of the people, and it puts a lot of pressure on the people in charge. It’s important — don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

In my experience, combining activism with my witchcraft is a deeply fulfilling spiritual experience. It strengthens my connection to the world around me, with helps grow both empathy and magical power. I truly can’t imagine my practice without the activist element.

Resources:

Witches, Sluts, Feminists by Kristen J. Sollee

Revolutionary Witchcraft by Sarah Lyons

The Study of Witchcraft by Deborah Lipp

The Way of Fire and Ice by Ryan Smith

[littlemisspascal]

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 3

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,320

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: I don’t know much about starship mechanics so probably nothing in this is accurate but it’s fanfiction people so cut me some slack please, reader gets a nickname 🥳, plot plot plot, discussion of loss of loved ones, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, this is a slow burn but it’s also ridiculously self-indulgent so I’m including as many cute getting-to-know-you scenes as I can, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: Thank you anyone and everyone who has read even a sentence of this story! Special thanks and love to @dindja for creating this stunning, fantastic, amazing piece of fanart for me 💖💖💖 I still can’t believe how perfect it is. I mean, I’m such a sucker for pinky promises it’s not even funny and this is just beautiful 😍😍😍

Part 2

Cross-posted on AO3

For as grand and wide-reaching as the Galactic Empire has become in its ten years of existence, it had relatively small beginnings. A group of radical Force-wielders banded together under the leadership of an old, beady-eyed man named Sheev Palpatine who believed it was his divine destiny to seize control of the entire galaxy, rewriting the ancient laws to match his own beliefs. His cult, the Sith Order, gained attention by attacking Jedi temples, capital cities, places with large populations until every corner of the galaxy had heard of them. Most regarded them with fear, but over time they began garnering a startling amount of followers who were discontent with the status quo and willingly drafted themselves as soldiers in Palpatine’s fight for control.

At first everyone in your village thought Palpatine and his cult of followers weren’t worth worrying about—after all, Shili was a peaceful planet that never drew much attention to itself. But within the first year of its inception, the Sith Order captured Ryloth and the similar peaceful characteristics between the Twi’lek planet and Shili were too glaring to overlook. A seed of anxiety took root in every Togruta’s mind after that, and continued to grow with every planet seized as the years progressed.

The Decimation of Alderaan didn’t start as a tragedy, believe it or not. The Mandalorians, Jedi, and Alderaanians combined their numbers in an all-out fight against the Sith Order. It was the largest battle ever fought in the history of the galaxy, thousands of souls willing to die to defeat Palpatine’s followers. For the first three days of warfare, the fight seemed to be in favor of the allies with many noteworthy Sith members reportedly killed in the fray, such as Palpatine’s second-in-command Dooku and lethal Zabrak assassin Maul. You remember there was a sense of hope felt within your village as everyone listened to the news reports blaring across the Holonet. A belief that things were finally, finally going to return to normal after so much chaos.

But on the fourth day, the Sith Order brought their own ally onto the battlefield.

At the time there wasn’t a name for the droids that slaughtered every opponent they faced. They were described as indestructible, unharmed by blasters and the intense heat of Mandalorian flamethrowers. Not even lightsabers could damage them. The allies didn’t stand a chance, brutally murdered one by one, their dying screams echoing across the Holonet, forever haunting listeners far and wide.

The Dark Troopers were unleashed upon Mandalore afterwards and out of the ashes rose the Galactic Empire, except, in a twist nobody—not even the Sith Order—saw coming: Palpatine died before taking on the title of emperor, passing away in his sleep. A mediocre ending for the monster who permanently altered the foundations of the universe. One of his loyal followers from the cult’s early beginnings took control in his place, a vile man with a penchant for spilling blood and a deceptively bland name: Gideon.

Only seven years-old then, you didn’t understand the unbalance in the Force your aunt kept referencing. You didn’t understand the meaning of the word genocide either. But you did understand the galaxy would never be the same ever again, and the lesson was only further established as truth when the Imperials seized your village. 

There is no normalcy to return to anymore.

And as long as Emperor Gideon remains in control, there is no future to hope for either.

__

Silence reigns in the aftermath of Maar’s explanation as the long list of tragedies hangs heavy over the four occupants. There is tension in the air as you await the Mandalorian’s response to the extinction of his people, whether that be an outburst of anger or tears, and each passing minute only intensifies the nervous energy thrumming through your veins. Your leg starts to bounce restlessly, a bad habit you have had since childhood.

The Mandalorian stands eerily motionless. Your eyes keep flicking from your lap to his visor though you know it is rude to stare. His helmet hides his expression, but you don’t need to see it to know he is floundering right now, mind scrambling to piece together all the details thrown at him. From personal experience, you know the loss of a loved one hits like a tidal wave, hitting you over and over again until you must decide if you are going to stand up or surrender to drowning. Grieving the loss of your parents is the hardest experience of your lifetime to date.

But this...this is vastly different. The Mandalorian didn’t just lose his loved ones. He has lost his friends, neighbors, comrades, acquaintances, everyone all at once. This loss isn’t a tidal wave. It is a kriffing avalanche, burying him ten feet under in total darkness, and there is no one he can count on to save him. 

Finally, after the longest five minutes of your life, he shifts, resting his hands upon his belt with an unexpected air of seriousness. “I need to go.”

You frown, head tilting. That is his reaction?

“Go?” Ahsoka echoes, sounding as incredulous as you feel. “Go where?”

“To look for survivors,” he answers, blunt and harsh, the words forced through clenched teeth. 

Ahsoka is struck silent, and you feel your heart break on his behalf. Your mother’s stories about the Mandalorians had always included, one way or another, their lifelong bonds with each other. You had felt those ties when you had connected with the Mandalorian, believed for a moment as strongly as he did that his fellow warriors would come search for him, that his absence would be noticed and missed amongst them. And here he is now, still desperately clutching to them, unable—or, perhaps unwilling is more apt—to believe a stranger telling him those bonds have been cruelly severed. 

“What you need is to rest,” Maar says, gentle yet firm, letting her authority as the eldest in the room seep into her tone.

He shakes his head, not backing down. “I’ve been asleep for ten years. I don’t need any more rest.”

“Your ship, it, uh,” your shoulders hike up defensively when his visor snaps in your direction, pinning you with its blank stare. Clearing your throat, you continue with a slight grimace, “It’s going to need some repairs before it can take off. I can help you fix it.”

Ahsoka looks over at you in surprise, and then in worry. You don’t blame her, especially since the offer had slipped out without you consciously meaning it to. Once again, the Force is calling the shots and you are just along for the ride, a passenger in your own body.

He considers you for a long moment, then asks, “What do you know about the mechanics of a gunship?” 

If anyone else had asked you that same exact question, you would have bristled at their condescension and retracted your offer in the next breath. But with the Mandalorian, there isn’t even the slightest hint of patronizing courtesy. It is a serious question prompted from genuine curiosity.

You sit up straighter, smiling at him now. “Enough to confidently say I’m your best shot at getting off the ground.”

__

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Ahsoka asks you, braced against the wall with one eye on you and one on the Mandalorian across the garage, patiently waiting for you to finish assembling your tool kit. 

“Huh?” You reply distractedly, trying to decide if you should bring your carbon chisel or not. 

“You don’t have one, do you?”

Not. There are bigger concerns than a bit of carbon scoring. You move to grab your favorite screwdriver with a tapered socket, only for Ahsoka to snatch it away, holding the tool hostage.

“Hey!”

“Have you thought about what you’re doing?” Ahsoka asks slowly, staring you directly in the eyes. “Once you fix his ship, he’s gone. And he’s taking our best chance at escaping Shili with him.”

A quick glance over your shoulder shows the Mandalorian studying the scattered BB unit parts on your workbench. You are missing a few vital components needed in order to bring the little droid back to life after a stormtrooper shot a plasma bolt through it for accidentally bumping into his leg, and haven’t had any luck convincing the village traders to track them down for you when they went to the capital. 

“We can’t keep him here against his will,” you manage at last, turning back to your sister. “Otherwise we’re no better than the Imps.”

When Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, you shrug a shoulder, adding, “Besides, I think I’m supposed to fix it for him. The Force seems pretty insistent about it.”

She makes a face at that. “I liked you better when you ignored your Force instincts. You didn’t make me worry as much.”

A laugh escapes you, embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet space, and your cheeks immediately start burning. Ahsoka’s lip twitches like she wants to smile, but instead she schools her features into a blank expression when the Mandalorian’s head turns at the sound. Only once he diverts his attention elsewhere again does her stare lose some of its intensity, looking less like she wants to dissect him beneath a microscope. You can practically see her protective-older-sister-instincts buzzing, reacting to the warrior’s presence. 

As much as he is a chance at providing an escape, he is also first and foremost a complete and total stranger. Even worse, he is a complete and total stranger who knows how to handle weapons. 

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You squeeze her arm reassuringly. “Shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours. You’ll be so busy smoothing the Elders’ ruffled feathers you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Ahsoka finally relinquishes the tool, exhaling a quiet sigh. “You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.”

__

Walking side by side with the Mandalorian in silence isn’t awkward, per se, but it definitely isn’t comfortable either. He is close enough your arm keeps accidentally grazing against his, the cold brush of metal against your skin startling you each time. You would have considered his nearness strange if you hadn’t heard Ahsoka threaten to castrate him if you wound up hurt before she sent him flying at the juni tree branch outside your window with an unnecessarily strong push of Force. 

To his credit, the warrior handled her rough treatment with the same ease he has handled everything else thrown at him. You are beginning to think Mandalorians don’t just wear beskar—they are made of it too. Other than the few glimpses of frustration earlier in Maar’s office, he keeps his cards close to his chest, impossible to read. 

He watches everything though, reacting to the slightest of movements and sounds. Constantly alert. You are certain he is watching you right now, despite the fact his helmet is facing forward, your nerves prickling in response to the sensation of eyes upon you.

To your surprise, he is the one to break the silence first. “You sneak out often.”

It is a statement, not a question. 

You suppose the dots are easy enough to connect to reach that conclusion. Still, the certainty in his voice has your heart skipping a nervous beat. He hasn’t even known you a day and yet he is privy to secrets no one outside your community is aware of. “Yeah,” you nod your head after a brief lapse of silence, “Ahsoka can’t train in the village. Not with the stormtroopers around.”

“Has your village tried to run them out? Fight back?”

It is only because you know he is just trying to understand your village’s predicament with the little bits of information he has that you don’t snap at him for being so insensitive. He has no idea what these past five years have been like for you all. No idea the amount of losses and sacrifices the community has suffered. 

Your grip on your tool kit tightens. “I was twelve when they came. The community is mostly traders and hunters, not trained fighters. The few weapons we had were nothing compared to their blaster rifles, but some of the adults tried to defend the village, including our parents. They...” You swallow, or try to, at least, your throat suddenly dry as sand. “Our aunt looked after us until last year we woke up one morning to find a note she’d left to join the rebellion. We haven’t had any contact with her since.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand brushes against your knuckles. This time you think it might have been on purpose.

“I lost my parents as a child, too. There was a riot and they died protecting me,” he offers his own private details with the same reluctance as one volunteering to have their teeth pulled out. “The Mandalorians took me in, raised me as one of their own.”

You say nothing about the way his breath slightly hitches when he says Mandalorians, appreciating his openness as it puts you both on somewhat equal footing with each other. 

“I owe it to them to look for survivors,” he tells you, and your montrals detect the quietest hint of a plea in his voice. 

“I understand,” you answer, keeping your tone light to preserve the fragility of this moment. This kind of situation doesn’t happen often—two strangers on the same wavelength, exposing their vulnerable underbellies, desperate to be heard and yet skittish at the same time—and it is oddly therapeutic. 

A decision is made right then and there in the span of a heartbeat. And even more significantly, it is 100% your own choice without any intervention or manipulation from the Force. 

You stop walking, causing the Mandalorian to halt as well. He scans the area for a threat, then visibly jerks when he turns back to find you have your hand held out towards him, pinky raised high, reacting as if you are pointing a weapon at him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, blunt and almost suspicious sounding. Are you just imagining it or can you actually hear him frowning? “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever made a pinky promise with someone before?”

“...A what?”

You snort, ducking your head to hide your smile, and then reach for his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest your touch.

“A pinky promise,” you repeat as you make his hand form a fist, curling his fingers towards his palm, and then adjust his pinky so you can wrap yours around it. He watches the whole process wordlessly. “It’s a sacred vow shared between two people. The Elders say once it’s sworn, the promise can never be broken.”

He cocks his head, skeptical. “Never?”

“Never,” you reaffirm with a nod. Licking your lips, you look at his visor, right where you instinctively know his eyes are staring back. “I promise I’m going to help you. No matter the odds.”

And something leaks into your voice then, something resolute and binding and otherworldly. A tremor shoots down your spine, too quick for you to make sense of it.

Your sister’s words echo in the back of your mind, ‘You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.’ 

You try to pull away, self-doubt gnawing a hole in your stomach, only for the Mandalorian to wrap his pinky tighter around yours, holding you still. A gasp escapes your lips, muffled by the bleeding sincerity in his voice as he swears:

“I promise I will be there when you need me. No matter the odds.”

And although your sister could undoubtedly provide you with a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t, you believe his promise to be true.

__

The Mandalorian heaves a heavy sigh at the sight of his crashed ship. 

“I can’t do much about the landing gear,” you inform him, believing honesty to be the best policy for cases like this. “And I brought some foam-jet for the cockpit viewport, but it’s not a permanent fix. You’re going to have to find someone offworld to replace them.”

“Right,” he agrees absently without turning his eyes away. It occurs to you then that this ship is the closest thing to a home he has now. One of the few precious relics from his past he can still physically cling to. 

“Does your ship have a name?” you ask.

He looks at you, as if coming back to self-awareness, and answers, “Razor Crest.”

A good name, you think. Strong. A bit mysterious. Just like its owner.

You nod decisively. “I like it.”

His modulator crackles faintly, a quiet noise produced from a sudden exhale of air. You blink at the unexpected sound, surprised to realize you recognize it. A laugh. The Mandalorian just laughed at something you said. What is next in store for you? Are akul going to sprout wings and start flying?

He steps around you, heading for the side entry door still open from yesterday with its ramp laying on the ground, pebbles shifting noisily beneath his boots with each step. You don’t realize you are staring, oddly entranced by the swish of his cape and his purposeful strides, until he calls out your name to ask if you are coming.

You nearly drop your tool kit in your haste to follow after him into the Crest’s interior, ignoring the flaring heat radiating from your cheeks. 

For the next few hours, you and the Mandalorian work in companionable silence, engrossed in rerouting wires and welding damaged components with your trusty hand torch. The gunship is older than you initially assumed, perhaps even as old as yourself, and you idly wonder if the Mandalorian found it in a scrapyard somewhere or maybe inherited it from another Mandalorian. You notice the way he handles each piece with an experienced and respectful touch; the same kind of care someone reserves for their most cherished possessions. Anyone with eyes can see how much he loves the Crest just by watching him.

Once you have finished sealing the numerous cracks dissecting the cockpit’s viewport like a spiderweb with foam, you approach the Mandalorian to see his progress on returning power to the dashboard. He is on his back beneath the steering controls, rearranging a mess of wires, and barely acknowledges your presence when you squeeze yourself into the tight space next to him.

“The red wire goes before the white one,” you point out, noticing the mistake immediately. “Fire hazard.”

He pauses, looks at where you have gestured, and corrects his error without criticizing your intervention. You bite back a smile, pleased to be heard. Within your community, even though you have proven your skills time and time again, some of the villagers, usually men, don’t always adhere to your advice, thinking you are too young and too female to know about technology, until they inevitably make their problems worse for themselves and come back to you with their metaphorical tail between their legs. 

You help him reattach the cover plating once he has finished, screwing the bolts back into their corners, and then watch, fingers crossed, as he attempts the ignition sequence, flipping a series of switches.

None of them light up with even the faintest flicker of life.

“Dank farrik,” he growls under his breath, slamming a fist upon the console.

You take a tiny step forward, hesitant to direct his frustration your way. “Can I try?” 

He tilts his head, probably thinking he knows this ship better than anyone and if it doesn’t work for him then you aren’t going to have any luck either.

Eventually he steps back with a shrug, uttering a simple, “Sure.” 

Although you can’t remember the last time you were on a ship, it doesn’t take long to refamiliarize yourself with the various controls and screens once you take a seat in the pilot chair. When your hobby for fixing broken machines changed into a passion you wanted to pursue as a future career, you started memorizing any reading material you could find on the Holonet, including the flight manuals for different classes of starships. You flip through the stored information in your mind about gunships as you press a few buttons on the panel overhead, trying out different sequences for a response.

When your third attempt fails, you bite your lip, racking your brain for a solution. You think about Huno’s kitchen droid and how you had been on the verge of ripping off one of your head-tails trying to repair it after one of its fuses blew, causing it to malfunction. Your tools and knowledge hadn’t been able to fix it in the end. It had required a special remedy to bring it back to life.

You lay your palms flat on the console, just as you had held onto the droid’s square torso. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Mandalorian fidget, as if he wants to come closer but is hesitant to crowd you. You ignore him, pressing your fingertips harder against the metal, visualizing in your mind the unseen gears, cables, and components stiff and powerless. You imagine the parts working properly, a current of electricity running through each wire, life ultimately returning to the entire ship, and whisper under your breath a request to the Force.

“Please work, please work, please work…”

An invisible pulse of energy burns down the length of your arms and discharges through your fingertips, strong enough you jerk backwards against the seat. Every button and screen on the dashboard lights up all at once, beeping with alarm at being so rudely resurrected.

You sit there helplessly, stunned and breathless, hands twitching in your lap. The kitchen droid hadn’t required even half as much energy to restart, barely a pinch. Now your body feels like you have been thrown against the electric fence a dozen times. Wordlessly, the Mandalorian comes to your side to help, punching buttons and turning knobs until the alarms quit blaring. A distant part of your brain thinks the Razor Crest as a whole seems strangely soothed by his presence, not quite as cold and dark, but it is hard to follow that train of thought due to the distracting pain throbbing along your temples.

“That’s quite a spark you’ve got,” he says, not unkindly or accusingly, just a statement of the obvious. He looks down at you, not outright asking for an explanation, but giving you the opportunity to open up if you wanted to.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply, forcing a cheerful smile, praying it doesn’t resemble a grimace. “Sparks Tano at your service.”

He chuckles again, oblivious to how your heart stutters at its raspiness. “Thank you, Sparks. I appreciate it.”

“Well, we’re not done yet.” You rub at your temples under the guise of adjusting your headband. “I need to take a closer look at the engines before we attempt flying out of here. I—”

“I’ll do it,” he cuts in, already heading for the ladder. “You stay here, see if you can update the navicomputer settings.”

You know he knows that updating the navicomputer is child’s play for you. Clearly you aren’t as great at concealing your pain as you thought you were and this is his way of giving you a break. A small part of you is irritated at being treated like a porcelain doll, but you push those negative feelings aside as quickly as they develop. Your aunt always used to remind you and Ahsoka it was okay to accept help when it was offered, that needing support didn’t in any way make you weak. 

“Hey, wait a second,” you call out as you spin around in your seat, freezing him right before he disappears from view into the hull. He holds onto the ladder, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Back at Maar’s place you didn’t introduce yourself and it’s weird just calling you Mandalorian in my head,” you say, awkwardly drumming your fingers on top of the armrests. He doesn’t answer, eliciting a sigh from your mouth after a drawn-out beat of silence. “What’s your name? You do have one, right?”

“I do, but I can’t tell you it,” he admits at last. “By Mandalorian Creed, only other Mandalorians or my riduur—my spouse,” he corrects, seeing your confusion, “are allowed to know my name and see my face. This is the Way.”

He doesn’t linger to hear your response, dropping down into the hull with a resounding thud. You slowly turn back around, staring absently out the glass. Every culture is unique, including your own, but you think there is something especially interesting about the Mandalorians’. It sounds like a lonely existence, only able to show your face while in select company. What would have happened if he had been unconscious and you had slipped the helmet off his head? What consequence would he have faced? 

And if there truly aren’t any Mandalorians left besides him, his spouse will be the only one to ever know him completely. It almost sounds like a love story, if not a little bit heart-wrenching. 

Two high-pitched dings from the console jerk you out of your thoughts with a wince. You look for the source, finding the radar lit up and actively scanning the area, and bristle when you see a pair of red dots moving across the screen. 

Not even a minute later you are sprinting out of the cave, ignoring the Mandalorian’s alarmed shout from the roof of the Razor Crest. They’re early, you think with panic, looking towards the sky where two starships with Imperial logos are heading straight for your village. Why have they come back so soon?

You push your legs to run faster, your surroundings a blur beyond the trail in front of you, but the effort is meaningless. You won’t make it back home before they land.

And when your absence is noted, bloodshed is not a possibility. 

It is a guarantee.

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[anxiousstark]

S3 14 | Illuminated Silver-Riddled

BIG MASTERLIST | TW REWRITE | KO-FI

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 6603

Warnings: Mentions of  injuries, blood, dementia, death, swearing (always), etc.

A/N: Three chapter together as the first two are fillers (however, necessary). KISS SCENE AT THE PARTY DIDN’T HAPPEN.

↪ PLEASE RESPECT MY WORK. DON’T COPY, TRANSLATE OR CLAIM THEM AS YOURS. NOT ON THIS WEBSITE OR ANOTHER. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

I remained between Stiles and my brother while Kira and Lydia were sitting close to us. Rafe McCall was in front of us, not looking quite happy with us. "So when did you get there?"

Stiles sighed. "At the same time."

"At the same time as who?"

It was my brother's turn to speak. "At the same time as me."

"By coincidence?"

"What do you mean coincidence?" I intervened, simply because I wanted him to get mad. It was fun.

"That's what I'm asking you. The three of you arrived at the same time. Was that a coincidence?" I discerned how he was growing madder.

"Are you asking me?" Scott asked, resting his back against the couch.

"I think he's asking me." Stiles glanced at his best friend.

"He was looking at me when he asked." I interrupted again, receiving a glare for the older man.  

"Okay, let me answer the questions." He noticed that he had said it wrong. "Let me ask the questions." Stiles pointed at him, offering a wink, which made me chuckle. Noah Stilinski was behind Rafe, trying to hold his laugh. "Just, so I have this absolutely clear. Barrow was hiding in the chemistry closet at the school. Someone left him a coded message on the blackboard telling him to kill Kira. Then, Barrow took Kira to a power substation and tied her up with the intent of electrocuting her, which blacked out the entire town."

"Sounds about right." My boyfriend's raspy voice was the first one to sound.

"How did you know he'd take her to a power station?"

"Well, because he was an electrical engineer. So where else would he take her?" I nodded my head along.

Rafe made a gesture with his mouth. "That's one hell of a deduction there, Stiles."

"Yeah, what can I say? I take after my pops. He's in law enforcement." He peeped at his dad, pointing at him and winking. I snickered aloud, and Noah wanted to do the same but tried to hide it while coughing.

"Stiles, just, uh...Just answer the man."

He listened to his father. "We made a good guess."

Rafe McCall decided that receiving a concrete answer from Stiles would be complicated. Therefore, his gaze shifted towards Kira and Scott. "What were the two of you doing?"

"Eating pizza," Scott said while Kira said sushi. Then, they exchanged words until they agreed that they had eaten both.

"You believe this?" McCall sighed while glancing at Mr. Stilinski.

"To be honest, I haven't believed a word Stiles has said since he learned how to speak." The younger Stilinski nodded his head, agreeing. "But I think these kids found themselves in the right place at the right time, and that girl sitting there is very lucky for it."

Agent McCall turned around. "Kira, is that how you remember it?"

We all shifted in our seats, staring at the girl and expecting her to say yes. Thankfully, she did, and after the interrogation, Rafe halted Scott and me.

I bid goodbye to my boyfriend, kissing him softly on the lips before walking to my brother. "I don't know why you guys are lying. Or why Stilinski is content to listen to this crap. But try and remember something. If half this story about Barrow is true, then not only did someone help set him loose, but he was a pawn in their little game. A mass murderer is bad enough. A mass murderer being controlled, by someone? Far worse."

"We know."

"All right, go home. It's a school night." Acting as a father now, uh.

"Class starts in five minutes." I groaned as I leant against one of the lockers. "Just because there's no power don't expect there to be no school."

"That was a triple-negative. Very impressive, Coach." I sarcastically winked at him.

Coach wandered closer to where I was standing next to Stiles. "You are starting to sound like Stilinski right here!" He used his megaphone, making me whine as his voice was louder than usual.

Stiles pointed at me with a foolish smile decorating his features. "She's my girlfriend." Proudly opening his locker, a key fell to the ground. "Hello. Where did you come from?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Another mystery to discover," I added.

A couple of seconds later, my brother appeared next to us. His eyes were looking into the distance, meeting Kira's ones. He attempted to walk to her, but Stiles and I stopped him. "No. No. Stop. Stop."

"What?" He grumbled. "I need to talk to her."

"No, you need to remember someone left a coded message telling Barrow to kill her." I nodded my head, agreeing with my boyfriend.

"Which is why I need to talk to her."

"Scott, no way." I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "I love you, and until we figure out if she's just another psychotic monster that's going to start murdering everybody, I vote against any and all interaction," I whined. "I do love Kira for you. But not after what happened. I need to know you are safe."

"What if she's like me?"

"That girl walked through 1.21 jigawatts of electricity. She's not like you."

Of course, Scott McCall was someone who needed to experience everything for himself. You could tell him not to enter a cave as a bear awaits inside, and he would ignore you and go in to witness for himself. Hence, Stiles and I knew that he wasn't going to listen to us.

After a horrible day of classes, Stiles and I had decided to spend the rest of the day at his house. We wanted to have a date, even if it was inside the confines of his bedroom.

However, Scott had interrupted our time. He argued that Kira needed to get her phone back as she had some pictures she didn't want anyone to see.

We were meeting them in the parking lot of the police station.

I sighed as my boyfriend parked the jeep, seeing Kira and Scott getting off his bike.  "Okay, this one will get you into all of the perimeter doors, this one into the evidence room, and this one it is for my father's office." He started handing the key cards while I glared at my brother.

"You didn't steal these, did you?" His gaze shifted from his best friend as he saw my expression. "Why are you-."

"Date night, Scott." He offered me an apologizing look. I loved my brother. I truly do. But our date nights were always interrupted by the supernatural. We never had time for ourselves.

"No. I cloned them using the RFID emulator." I giggled.

"Is that worse than stealing?"

"It's smarter," I added, grasping Stiles's hand.

"Okay. So, now almost everybody's out dealing with the blackout. But there's always somebody at the front desk. There's Dispatch and usually a night shifter or two. You guys are gonna use the service door entrance by the dumpster. All right? Nobody uses it. Now, I'll text you if anyone comes out. But, Scott, if you get caught, I can't help you. My dad's under investigation for an impeachment because of your dad, so, if anything happens I will run and leave you both for dead." I tried to contain my chuckle as Kira breathed deeply. She seemed to think that it was just a joke.

"Got it. Thanks. Seriously, dude." He stared at me. "I'm sorry, baby sis." He pouted. I nodded my head, offering him a smile.

"I'd ask my dad, but you know..."

"No, I know. I get it."

"All right, just, uh, hurry up." As we saw both of them leaving, we sighed. "Should we make-out while they-." I slapped his arm playfully. "What? They are the ones in danger, not us."

A light blinded us. I attempted to push Stiles back as his lips were moving against mine, his tongue lapping my lower lip. "Swiles-." I shoved his chest, and he quickly departed from me, asking with his eyes if everything was okay. "Look."

We had been blinded, by Rafe McCall's car. "Fuck." We quickly opened the doors of the jeep. "Let's go, let's go!" Running as hard as we could, we were able to stop my sperm-donor from entering his office. "Hey, hey. Wow! Thank God you are here. Oh, boy! Thank the lord."

The man glanced at the two of us. "What do you want, Stiles?"

I gulped, squeezing Stiles's hand. "I was just...I was thinking on the case. I was thinking I should clue you in on my thinking. Here's my thinking." He swallowed. Both of us were hoping for Scott to notice that our father was here. "I was thinking this...I was thinking that Barrow, right? I was thinking that Barrow received the information about who to kill at the school, right, you know that? So I was thinking maybe the person who gave him that information, check this out, might actually be someone at the school. And that's, uh, my thinking." His free hand gently tapped Rafe's chest.

"You're right." He nodded his head.

"He is?" I asked, surprised.

"Yep. We, uh...We started looking for links between Barrow, faculty and students last night."

"So you already, then, know that stuff?" Stiles smiled nervously. "You already thought of that."

"Your dad did."

"Oh."

"His one useful suggestion." He spat as he used his car key to unlock the door of his office.

"You know," My boyfriend moved to stand in front of him, dragging me with him as our hands were intertwined. "This attitude that you have toward my dad? You can dress it up to all the professional disapproval that you want. But I know the real reason why you don't like him.

Rafe smirked. It was my time to calm my breathing, not wanting my eyes to flash. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Because he knows something that you don't want him to know. And guess what." I was intrigued by Stiles's words. "I know it, too."

His face visibly paled. "Go home, Stiles. T-There's a curfew." He peered at me. "You and I need to a talk." His finger was too close to my face.

Before I could bite his finger off, my boyfriend had taken me away from there. Promptly, we were in a club, and everything was due to the key Stiles had found in his locker. But why here?

The four of us had gotten separated, and I ended up finding Lydia. "Hey," I screamed a little, hoping she would hear me. "What are you doing here?"

She made a gesture with her head, and I saw Aiden not too far from us, dancing with two other girls. "You?"

"Came with Stiles, Scott and Kira." I rested my hand on top of the bar. "But I lost them." I offered her a smile. "And to be honest, I don't feel good. I feel like I can't breathe." She furrowed her eyebrows. "You are going to think I'm crazy but," I glanced around. "I think someone is looking at me all the time. It's not a good sensation. It's bad, really bad." I saw a shadow, which disappeared as quickly as I noticed it. "Uhm, I need to get out of here." My hands were clutching the collar of my shirt, attempting to separate it from my throat as I felt my breath getting cut.

I was sweating, making my way through other sweaty bodies. The difference between us was that my sweating was out of fear.

I ignored Lydia's calls, exiting the party after finding a balcony. I slammed the doors behind me, taking a deep breath. My shaky legs brought me closer to the rail of the balcony, clutching it.

Hearing a strange noise, I twisted around. There was a black mist on the floor, and I gulped as I saw a hand coming out of it. Until the same shadow that I had seen back at the party, appeared again. It was completely black, except for its face. It seemed like it was wearing a mask.

I shifted, thinking of running to the other side. But I was only met by that adumbration again. Scream. They will hear you. But as soon as I did, the hand of the dark figure ended up in front of my mouth, shutting me up completely, muting me.

Its other hand rested on my cheek, and his yellow eyes seemed to turn green.

When I opened my eyes, Lydia was lying on the floor beside me, unconscious. Danny and Aiden were talking to us, asking what was going on. Lydia was grabbed by Aiden while Danny held me, getting both of us inside the club as we were freezing.

That's everything I remembered.

Stiles had been quite worried as soon as he knew I was attacked by something that Mr. Argent had described as absolute darkness. He spent the entire party in search of me, almost having a heart attack when he saw me being held by Danny.

"Okay, so this girl at the party starts talking about phosphors and the key having chemicals on it, right?" We followed Stiles to the classroom where we discovered about Kira being the target. "And so that made me think of the chemistry closet and the fact that someone had to let Barrow in..." He stopped in front of the blackboard. "It's gone. Okay, it doesn't matter though. It doesn't matter. I've still got the key." He glanced down at his keys, searching for the one he wanted. "What the hell? I had it. I had it here. I had it here this morning, I swear to God, I had it this morning."

"The key you were talking about last night?" My brother asked.

"Yeah, I showed it to you, right? Didn't I show it to you?"

"No, you just told me about it. I never actually saw it."

"But I did saw it," I added. "I was there when the key fell from your locker."

"I was here a couple of hours ago. And the message left to Barrow spelling Kira's name was right there on the board in my handwriting, and I had the key to the chemistry closet." His breathing was shaky.

"So you unlocked the chemistry closet, so Barrow could hide in it from the cops and then you wrote him a message to kill Kira?"

Stiles shook his head, attempting to calm his breath. "I know how it sounds. But look at this. This is the news report that came out about Barrow when they caught him, okay?" He showed us a piece of paper. "About the shrapnel bomb that he used. See this? See what he did? He put nuts, bolts and screws. And then he hid the bomb and the detonator in a box that he wrapped as a birthday present. What does that sound like to you?"

"Coach." We realized. "The joke we played on Coach."

"That was my idea. You remember?" My boyfriend glimpsed between both of us. "That was my idea. That's no coincidence. It can't be."

"I don't want to sound like I'm trying to tell you that you're wrong." My brother started to answer his friend, but I quickly interrupted him.

"I don't think you're trying to kill people." I knew Stiles. I knew everything that went through his mind.

"It was here." He squeezed the paper between his hands while his eyes were focused on the blackboard. "It was all here."

My brother and I glanced at each other. "Stiles baby, are you feeling okay? You're looking really tired."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping really."

"Why don't we go home?" I pleaded. "Take a sick day or something."

The next day was a mess. Stiles was more anxious than the habitual, looking around all the time as if he was waiting for something or someone. Scott seemed to be hiding something from us. But as soon as I asked him, he argued that 'I shouldn't worry'.

I was biting my lower lip while one of my hands rubbed the palm of one of Stiles's hands. We were in the hospital, his entire body shaking violently. "Blackouts. But not for that long. And sleepwalking, which I used to do a lot as a kid." Melissa was taking notes of everything the boy was telling. "Um. Also having some really bad anxiety."

"Panic attacks?"

"Yeah, a couple. Oh, and I temporarily lost the ability to read. But that might have had more to do with this giant magic tree and a whole human sacrifice thing." Melissa smirked while shaking her head. The Stilinski boy squeezed my hand.

"I recall something vaguely about that, yes." I sat down next to the boy. My chin resting on his shoulder while my free hand rubbed his entire back in serene patterns. "How many hours of sleep are you getting?"

"Eight."

"A night?"

"In the last three days," I reckoned, knowing he was having trouble to sleep.

"Been feeling irritable?"

"Yeah. Possibly to the point of homicide." Stiles looked quite sick. His skin paler than ever, and the dark circles under his eyes were starting to become scary.

"Inability to focus?"

"No. The Adderall's not working."

"Impulsive behaviour?"

"More than my usual? Hard to tell."

"Vivid dreams during the day?"

"Okay, basically all of the above. Do you know what this is?"

"I think so." Melissa came closer, holding a needle. "Do you trust me?"

"When you're not holding a needle."

"It's Midazolam." She rolled up his t-shirt, rubbing some alcohol with a pad. Then, she injected him. "A sedative."

"Why'd you give me a sedative?"

"Because you, Stiles, are one profoundly sleep-deprived young man." I got up from the bed as Mama McCall made a gesture with her head. "You need rest, and you need it now. Lie down." Her hands softly pushed Stiles to lie down on the bed.

"Okay, how long does it take to-." His eyes became droopy. "Oh. Not long at all."

She placed the blanket over the sleep-deprived boy as his eyes seemed to fight to stay open. "Get some rest." She whispered while my hand caressed his hair.

Both of us got surprised when the hazel-eyed boy gripped Melissa's hand, squeezing it. "Thanks, Mom." We looked at each other, aching for the boy that was now lying on the bed with his eyes closed.

"He is alright?" I gulped, fingers gently caressing his hair and forehead.

"You can stay in the room, okay?" She kissed my cheek. "He just needs to rest. Nothing to worry about." I thanked her, hugging her and loving the feeling of her arms around me. "If you need anything, let me know."

I must have fallen asleep, sitting on the chair because when I woke up, Stiles wasn't on the hospital bed. I ran out of the room, looking everywhere until I found him in a dark empty room.

"Stiles?" His back was turned to me. But as soon as he heard my voice, he swung around. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." His eyes had seemed darker than before. However, it must have been the light of the room as they quickly went back to their usual colour. "Let's get out of here, sweetcheeks. I'm tired."

Sweetcheeks? What was that?

My sweet dreams were interrupted as my body was shaken forcefully. I shifted, changing positions in my bed, attempting to ignore whoever had dared to try and wake me up.

"Wake up." The voice was quite familiar. "Please, wake up." I groaned when I recognized the voice of my brother, trying to move away from me. "Baby sister, please."

"Scott, let me-."

"Stiles is missing." That was it. I immediately sat down on my bed, eyes wide open as I scrutinised my brother's features in the dark. "He called me. He was crying. He made me promise not to tell Noah or you, but I had to inform you." My eyes were moving around his face, feeling dizzy. "He doesn't know where he is, but he said it looks like a basement and-." His hands squeezed my arms. "There might be someone with him."

I got dressed while shaking. We had decided to go to Stiles's house, break into it.

"How did you know? Did he call you too?" Scott asked as we entered my boyfriend's bedroom, finding Lydia and Aiden.

She shook her head, explaining that she had heard it while Aiden added not to ask how, as we would get even more confused. "Not as confusing as this." The strawberry blonde girl made a gesture with her face.

"He uses red for unsolved cases." I gulped, seeing the red threat punctured in his bed. It looked like someone had made that on purpose. Maybe Stiles Stilinski wasn't just sleepwalking.

"Maybe he thinks he's part of an unsolved case?"

"Or is an unsolved case." Isaac added. Scott had asked him to come with us. He seemed as worried as us.

"Hold on." Lydia turned around to glance at us. "Is he still out there? You don't know where he is?"

My brother glanced at me, noticing the state I was in. "He said he was in an industrial basement somewhere. We came here to get a better scent." His fingers reached out for mine. "Something's wrong with his leg. It's bleeding. And he's freezing." I felt my eyes getting teary.

"Tonight's the coldest night of the year. It's going to drop into the 20s." Aiden replied, receiving a glare from me.

"What did his dad say?"

My brother shook his head. "He made me promise not to. We can find him by scent. If he was sleepwalking, he couldn't have gotten far, right?"

"H-His Jeep is gone," I mumbled, deciding to speak for the first time. "And he is hurt and freezing." My hands went to my hair, tugging on it. "And this is my fault because I was going to stay with him, but he said he didn't want to keep me awake and I just went home, and I should have stayed and-."

"Breathe." Lydia had grabbed my cheeks, wiping my tears. "He is Stiles. He is going to be alright. We are going to find him."

"You guys remember she gets these feelings when someone's about to die, right?"

I glared at Aiden. "Can I fucking kill him myself?" I asked while trying to get closer. Isaac was quick enough to stop me. "No, let me fucking kill him right now. Maybe Lydia felt me killing this ass-."

"Okay okay." My brother tried to calm everyone down. "Let's find Noah."

And we did.

Noah was trying to control his breathing, and I felt stupid as I couldn't control my feelings. Tears, running down my cheeks. "Come on. If his Jeep is gone, that's where we start." He glanced at another officer that was sitting behind his desk. "Parrish, let's get an APB out on a blue 1980 CJ-5 Jeep." Another officer. "Cordova, I want a list of any kind of industrial basement or sub-level of any building that he could've gotten into while sleepwalking. It's the coldest night of the year so far. So If he's out their barefoot in just a T-shirt, he could already be hypothermic. Let's move fast. Let's think fast. The three of you, come with me." We went inside the office as he closed the door behind himself. "Okay. Is there anything you need to tell me that I can't tell anyone out there?" He made a gesture with his arm, asking me to walk closer. As soon as I did, we hugged each other tightly. "We are going to find my son. We are going to find him." I nodded my head against his chest.

"Lydia knew he was missing."

"Can she help find him?" His hand rubbed my back. Noah Stilinski's son was missing, and here I was being comforted by him when we should be comforting him.

"Well, she's working on it."

"Anything else?"

"I called Derek and Allison for help."

Before Noah could speak again, the door of his office was opened by another officer. They had found Roscoe. They had found Stiles's jeep. However, there was no trace of Stiles at the hospital. Derek had offered to go to high school, in case he was there. Scott had gone with Isaac, Lydia, and Noah in search of Stiles as Lydia seemed to believe that she knew where he was.

However, they didn't let me go as my body wouldn't stop shaking fiercely. But they wouldn't keep me away from the case as I wandered with Melissa to the station.

"What are you two doing here?" Rafe McCall asked as he eyed the two of us. His arm was in a cast as he had been hurt.

"My shift was over. I just wanted to see if I could help."

"And you?" He pointed at me.

"The missing person is my boyfriend." I swallowed. It burned to say those words. But it hurt, even more, experiencing them.

"That's why you shouldn't be here." He shook his head. "You are weak right now," His gaze was fixed on me. "Like Noah is. You both shouldn't be involved in a case like this one." He coughed. "It can affect the procedure of the investigation."

"Yeah, nice ted-talk." I nodded my head. "When are we leaving to go find Stiles?"

"You are staying here." He replied.

"You don't order me." Melissa tried to calm us down, but the fierce stare between us was burning.

"Didn't your father teach you to respect elders?" He spat. "Oh, you said he left, right? Did you give him the same attitude you give everyone? That false confident of yours won't bring you far." His gaze was firm. "Life won't treat you right if you behave like that."

"I don't know about my father." I spat back. "He is a coward and an asshole." I stepped closer to him. "You both seem to have things in common."

"It's not my job to teach you what respect is." He glared. "Your father did a terrible job with you."

My eyes were teary, not because of pain or being hurt. They were teary because my boyfriend was out there, hurt and freezing. And I was crying out of rage and disgust for the man that was my father. "You are going to talk about being a father?" I scoffed. "Didn't you leave Scott? You fled from here as soon as you could."

"You don't know anything about me being a father."

"I do," I added, shaking violently. Melissa clutched my arm, trying to stop me from getting closer to the man in front of us. "I know you are an excuse of a father." I nodded my head. "Yes, you are. Leaving as soon as you have an opportunity. Not only did you leave ONE pregnant woman." I spat. "You decided to move to another city and leave another unstable woman pregnant. And what did you do with Scott?"

"Y/N, please." The sweet voice of Melissa almost snapped me back from my rage.

"No!" I shouted. "He wants to know. Let's tell him." I shifted my gaze towards the man all over again. "For how many years were you there for Scott? Did you teach him things about man? Were you there the first time he felt changes on his body? Or when he had to shave for the first time? Where you there?"

"Listen here, you little-."

"Where you there for Alice?" He glanced at me, confused. "Alice O'Sullivan." His eyes shone as her name rolled out of my mouth. "Yeah, you know her. Of course, you do. She was an unstable woman with trust issues. Drugs and alcohol were her only friends. Then, you came along, a married man with a pregnant wife and you decided to convince her that you would leave your wife for her." Tears ran down my cheeks. "And you would travel from family to family, destroying both of them. And your daughter, you completely left her. She was only three years old."

"What are you-."

"You had the little girl's custody. You asked for it, but you were never there for her. And you know what? Her mother wasn't either." Melissa was caressing my back. "At the age of 5, she said her first word because her development was slower due to the situation at home. There was glass all over the floors because she had this funny game of drinking lots of alcohol and throwing the bottles at a wall." I nodded my head. "Yeah, it was funny for Alice. Especially when she made the little girl clean it while disgusting men that she didn't know went to the bedroom with her mom. And she heard these noises, and she didn't know what they were until she grew up."

"Y/N."

"Did you know she would put out her cigarettes on her skin? She would burn her." I glanced at the floor, biting my lip. "Did you know she grew up without anyone? And there was no one to answer her curiosities. She had to learn how to shave with a youtube video, and she had to educate herself in every aspect of life." I gulped. "And when she grew up a little more and understood that her father was nowhere to be seen, she was informed that he had disappeared even though he had her custody." I finally stared at him. "And she had to move from house to house until she started living with a friend of her mom's. Thankfully, that woman was clean." I sniffed. "However, she had to go to Beacon Hills and live with his father's other family. She had to step into a family that wasn't her own. A family that had suffered because of the same man. Because Alice and her daughter were the second family."

"What are you talking about?"

"Yeah. Scott, at first, didn't want anything to do with her. And even though Melissa accepted taking care of the girl, she was hesitant, and when she looked at the girl, she saw her husband cheating and having a child with another woman." His eyes opened wide. "For if you are interested, that girl had to go live with Melissa because YOU had the custody and Miriam, her mother's friend was sick and couldn't take care of you daughter anymore." I never talked about the real reason that bought me to Beacon Hills. "And Miriam was desperate because you weren't answering your phone and she found Melissa and explained the situation." I smiled. "And she was sweet enough to take care of her ex-husband's other child."

"You..."

I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'm that little girl. Y/N McCall." I swallowed. "So yeah, I know how you are as a father and yes, my father," I pointed at him. "Didn't show me respect because he taught me nothing." I wiped my eyes. "Now, if you don't mind. My boyfriend is out there, and we need to fucking find him." I spat, walking towards the door. "Aren't you coming, dad?"

The ride car was filled, with a conversation between Melissa and Rafe, but I decided not to pay attention as my body was still shaking due to the worry I was handling.

.

STILES’S POV

An awful noise made me furrow my eyebrows as my eyes were set on the figure in front of me. "You don't understand, do you?" Its voice sounded distorted, and I wasn't sure if it was my mind playing tricks on me or if it was real. My body was shaking as I was freezing, and my eyes were teary. "It's a riddle. Do you know any riddles, Stiles?"

"A few." A mere whisper came out of my mouth, not having any strength.

"What gets bigger the more you take away?" It asked. Its back still facing me.

"A hole." I replied.

"What gets wetter the more it dries?"

"A towel." I wanted to cry. I wanted to get out of here and be at home. I wanted to be with my dad and my friends and Y/N.

"When is a door not a door?"

I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. "When it's ajar."

"Everyone has it, but no one can lose it." He whispered. "What is it?"

"I don't-."

The monster in front of me exhaled. And as he slowly turned around, I quivered even more. "Everyone has it, but no one can lose it." He shuffled closer. "What is it, Stiles?"

"I don't-. I don't know." I forced my eyes shut.

"Everyone has it, but no one can lose it." Its walk was strange, and I tried to avoid glancing at it. My eyes fixed on the floor, squeezed shut.

It started speaking in a language I couldn't understand at first until I noticed that it was Japanese. I continued shaking while crying, biting my knuckles not to cry loudly.

"I don't know." I met its face. It was full of bandages. The only feature I could observe was his mouth. It was dark with sharp teeth. Was this just a nightmare? This couldn't be a nightmare. This had to be real.

"No, no." He grabbed the chain that had my leg in a trap, dragging me from my injured leg while I scream as loud as I could. I was going to die. I would never thank my dad for everything he did to me and apologize for how troublesome I had always been. I will never be able to thank Scott for being my best friend, even if he had never watched Star Wars. I would never see my other friends. I would never thank Melissa for being a mother figure and talking to me as if she was the woman who birthed me. I would never be able to thank Y/N McCall for appearing in our lives.

Y/N McCall.

I would never be able to do all the things that I wanted to experience with her. I would never be able to kiss her again. I would never be able to hear her voice. In this instant, I was forgetting the sound of her voice.

.

Y/N’S POV

I was shaking, tears falling down my cheeks, not knowing what to do. I was just standing there, observing how Melissa hugged Stiles from the back, trying to calm him down as he screamed. Oh god, it sounded as if someone was torturing him.

After shouting for a couple of minutes, he noticed that Melissa was the one embracing him. It seemed like relief invaded his body as he acknowledged Melissa, falling unconscious in her arms.

She glanced at me. "He is okay, sweetheart. He is okay." Rafe glimpsed at me as he saw me trembling. "He is okay, Y/N." Next thing, I was in Rafe's arms as he had grabbed me from falling to the ground. Exhaustion and relieve invading me in welcoming darkness.

"Hey, hey." A voice whispered. I slowly opened my eyelids, seeing a white light on top of my face. I rapidly closed my eyes until they adjusted to the blinding light. "Hello there." Scott?

"Hi," I replied, rubbing my eyes and slowly sitting down on the bed. I was in a hospital room. "What am I doing h-." I interrupted my own words as I remembered everything that had happened. "Stiles?" I glanced around the room. "Is Stiles okay? Is he-."

"Ssh," My brother's fingers caressed my head. "He is okay. I'm here to bring you with me." The light entering the room made me guess that I had slept through the entire night and part of the early morning. "They are going to do some tests on him."

My heart stopped. "Why?"

"Just in case," He sighed. "His mother had some problems, you know." He nodded his head while licking his lower lip. "They just want to make sure everything is alright."

Following my brother through the corridors of the hospital, I ignored the looks I was receiving as I was wearing one of the pyjamas. Entering a room, I saw my boyfriend sitting down while ready to go on with the tests they wanted to perform on him.

When his gaze met mine, we quickly walked to each other. "You are okay," I affirmed, trying to hear the same thing coming out of his mouth. "Fuck, Stiles. Are you okay?"

His nose was on my neck, breathing me in and embracing me as tight as he could. " I am now." His voice was a little shaky.

"Stiles, just to warn you," The doctor turned around to glance at the boy. My boyfriend sat down while I offered Melissa and Noah a tiny smile. "You're going to hear a lot of noise during the MRI. It's due to pulses of electricity going through metal coils inside the machine. Uh, if you want we can get you earplugs or headphones."

"Oh, no, no," He shook his head. "I don't need anything."

"Hey, we're just on the other side of that window. Okay?"

"Okay." He hugged his dad as the three adults left the room. "You know what they're looking for, right?" He stared at my brother. Then, he moved his gaze to me, asking for me to get closer. I sat down on his lap. "It's called frontotemporal dementia." My brother and I were silent as tears invaded our eyes. "Areas of your brain start to shrink. It's what my mother had. It's the only form of dementia that can hit teenagers. And there's no cure."

My brother and I continued being silent until he wiped his tears. "Stiles, if you have it, we'll do something. I'll do something."

I saw both boys, deeply looking into each other's eyes, and I remembered what Noah told me the night at the school. Boys also needed time to talk and express their feelings. Therefore, I got up from Stiles's lap, kissing his lips softly. It was hard to depart from him, especially when he continued keeping closer and whispering that he was terrified.

When we were strong enough to depart, I let him know that I would be behind the window too. When I walked to the other room, both Noah and Melissa kept me between them. Mama McCall rubbing my back while my head rested on Noah's shoulder. "He will be alright," I whispered.

Our eyes filled with more tears as the two boys hugged each other. Stiles sobbed, and for the first time in my life, I prayed. I prayed for Stiles to be alright.

"I'm going to go to have something to drink." My brother informed, keeping his eyes on the window that separated us from Stiles. "Anyone wants something?" The three of us shook our heads. Scott walked closer to me, kissing my forehead. "Derek is outside," He whispered.

Seeing my brother leaving the room, I just sighed.

"See this? The tissue here and there." The doctor pointed to his computer screen. There was a part of Stiles's head that seemed a little more orange than the rest. "Both those spots are showing signs of atrophy."

No.

"Atrophy." Noah gulped.

No.

"I'm sorry."

No.

The lights went out. But as soon as they did, they also came back. "What was that?" Melissa asked as we all glanced at the ceiling.

"It sounded like a power surge."

"Where's my son?"

I wandered closer to the glass, my hands resting on it. Stiles was nowhere to be found again.

.

.

TAGLIST: @og-baby-ob14 - @savemypostcards - @cas-loves-pizza - @used-avocado - @mvrylee - @bilesxbilinskixlahey - @honeydoll-stark - @arieltheworldisamess - @softpeteparker - @kit-kat-katie99 - @thatsuperherosidekick - @bexbetterxthanxwords - @big-galaxy-chaos - @littlemiss-forgotten - @enchantedcruelsummer - @coldfreakeggsexpert - @merla123 - @sammypotato67 - @weirdowithnobeardo - @maggiesblogsblog - @itskindyl - @bobo-bush - @moongoddesskiana - @multifandxm353 - @irwxnhugsx - @xoprincessmel - @iclosetgeek - @andreagf956 - @niawoods - @anerroroccurrrrred - @perrytheplatypus11 - @trustfundparker - @nmriia - @steve-harringtonnn - @trustfundparker - @brithedemonspawn - @weirdowithnobeardo - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @azayamari - @poguestyle17 - @bibliophilewednesday - @10minutesofscreentime - @momentitodebruh - @drikawinchester - @perrytheplatypus11 - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @linkpk88 - @royalreadery - @sweetest-serpent01 - @teenwaywardasgardian - @sadcupofcoffee - @maliyamay - @seninjakitey​ - @tairisceana​ - @thegirlwhoimagined​ - @mackingjj​  -

People in bold means it doesn’t let me tag them.

[captainmarvels]

wicked games [25]

Summary: Time is frozen in place as shit hits the fan. Can this be undone? Or is it too late?

Pairing: CEO!Tom Holland x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1837

Warnings: Swearing and infidelity; blackmail

Author’s Note: A NEW UPDATE!!!!! Sorry for the long wait but I hope this chapter is worth it! This chapter is also mainly from Harrison’s POV so I hope you enjoy! also: @rocketman-s​ is the alpha in this bitch

wicked games masterlist

The setting sun showered the living room in orange and pink hues. An empty wine glass sat alone on the coffee table, condensation dripping down the sides.

“What is taking them so long?” 

You were pacing back and forth in front of the TV, your footfalls thudding quietly against the hardwood floors. Mary was sitting on the couch, face in her hands.

“It does not take this long to get back from-”

“Patience, love. We’ll hear the elevator any second now, I’m sure-”

As if she had manifested the sound herself, the elevator bell announcing an arrival rang out through the silent apartment. 

You ran to the foyer, where you greeted with an all-too familiar smile.

“Darling,” Tom whispered as you ran into his arms, tears already streaming down your cheeks.

“I… It wasn’t me, I swear.” You managed to get out between the sobs racking your body. Your knees gave out as your emotions rolled over you, and Tom held onto you tightly as you both fell to the ground. 

“Shh, I know, love, I know…” His hands ran up and down your back, his touch drawing you back as you tried to control your breathing.

“Tom…” Harrison’s trembling voice echoed around you. 

Tom helped you to your feet, his hands never leaving you as he turned to look at his best friend.

The look they shared sent a shiver down your spine.

“You said you had some explaining to do. Well?” Tom’s grip was tight on your waist, the grimace on his face showing no remorse.

“Why don’t we make ourselves more comfortable before Haz’s confession, hm?” Mary was leaning against the wall, her gaze never straying from Tom as the three of you made your way to the living room. Tom let go as he paused in front of Mary. You could barely make what he said to her.

“Thank you. For being here when I couldn’t.” Mary simply shook her head, giving him a pat on the arm before she passed the threshold.

“Ready to confess to your sins, Osterfield?”

You followed her as she sat down on the couch, but Tom maintained his distance, opting to stand behind you as he glared at Harrison.

“Haz,” You said. “What’s going on?” 

Harrison wringed his hands, his gaze falling from Tom to the floor as he steadied his breathing. 

“I want… to preface this by saying, I didn’t think anything would come of it, I really didn’t.”

“Spit it out, already.” Tom said, venom lacing his words.

“Dom knows about you two. I… it slipped out a few weeks ago, but I never meant for anything to happen because of it, you have to believe me. I was convinced he had already figured it somehow and if he already knew, what was the harm in confirming it, right?” Sweat was beading up across Harrison’s forehead, his lips quivering as he met your gaze. 

You didn’t know what to think.

But you knew how he’d react. 

“Tom,” You whipped your head back, your hands grabbing his before he could move. The fury clouding his eyes was not a good sign. 

“Tom…” You whispered, your eyes threatening to well up. “Look at me.”

“Fucking…” He took a deep breath, his eyes falling to meet yours as his jaw clenched. “How could… how could you do this? You…” 

“Please,” Harrison whined. “You know me, mate. You know I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t…”

“That doesn’t make this hurt any less, Harrison. We promised him. Promised.”

Mary’s voice did not waver as she stared at her friend. But doubt clouded her gaze as she spoke.

“Nothing trumps that. And you know that better than anyone.”

“I know, Mary. But I can…” Harrison dropped his gaze to the floor once more, his hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket.

Tom’s hands were still in yours, and you refused to let him go, even when you heard Harrison walk away without another word.

“Don’t. Tom, please…” You cupped his face, his gaze protesting yours as you both heard the elevator doors open.

“I can’t... “ Tom whispered, a tear gracing his eyelashes. 

I can’t do this.

-------

Harrison’s fingers thrummed against the steering wheel, his breathing shallow as he drove past the painstakingly familiar iron-wrought gates. His phone screen was lit up, texts from you and Mary filling up his notifications as he made his way down the winding driveway. Once he pulled up to the main door, he turned the engine off and ran an anxious hand through his hair.

I can fix this.

That’s what Harrison had wanted to say to Tom. But he couldn’t get the damn words off his tongue. 

I can fix this.

He would regret betraying Tom like this forever, but he knew he had to do this. It was long overdue.

The front door swung open as Harrison made his way up the stone steps, his hands growing clamier with every second. 

“Such an odd time for a visit. Didn’t think to call ahead, Osterfield?” Dom’s voice made Harrison wince as the door shut behind him. 

“Figured you would try and avoid me if I did. Best to be prepared,” He retorted, his voice wavering under pressure.

“And to what do I owe… the pleasure of your company?” Dom sneered, chuckling under his breath as Harrison began to fidget with his hands.

“You can’t keep doing this.” 

Dom’s gaze flitted up, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“Keep doing what, exactly? Use your words, Harrison.” 

“You can’t keep fucking with Tom. You’ve done more than enough damage, as it is.”

“And who do you think you are to tell me what to do, hm? You think you can come into MY home and tell me-”

Pulling out his phone, Harrison stopped Dom right in his tracks as he flashed the screen at him.

“You seem to forget who receives all the company emails, and can see every staff member’s activity. These look familiar to you, sir?”

Harrison swiped through his email screenshots, a look of horror crossing over Dom’s features as he realized what he was looking at.

“How did-”

“It seems this… woman forgot to send these emails to your personal account, sir. There are quite a few… inappropriate messages and, well… certainly some not safe for work photographs attached as well, it appears.” Harrison pulled the phone out of Dom’s grasp as he met the man’s aggressive stare. “I wonder what Nikki would have to say about this…”

Dom was seething, and Harrison had never felt as powerful as he did in that moment.

“Very clever, Osterfield. Looks like you have picked up a thing or two from your time working with me.”

Listen to me, Dom. You and I both know what this will do to your marriage if Nikki finds out. But I can make it all disappear… if you do as I say.”

Dom moved to speak, but Harrison glared at him.

“I am still speaking. Tom is more than worthy of this company, and that shouldn’t even be something up for debate because he has proved himself over and over again, only for you to be a complete arse who took advantage of his emotionally unstable son with addiction issues. You could’ve helped him, but instead you used him, as if he were nothing more than a pawn in your game.” Harrison could feel the pent up anger starting to spill over as he continued.

“The boy needed to learn a lesson, Harrison. You’re not a father - you don’t know it’s like to see your child amount to nothing when you have given them everything! I needed to know he would take the situation seriously -”

“You are no father to him, Dom. You have been abusing and using Tom for years, and you want to claim that as parenting? All that you have put him through made him the way he is, but he is better now. Better than I’ve ever fucking seen him.”

“Don’t talk to me about my children-”

“Shut up, for Christ’s sake. I don’t need to hear your pathetic excuses. You already know what I have on you. Make sure the case is dropped and your ‘testimony’ is wiped from the record. And while we’re at it, I’m going to need you to rewrite the terms of Tom’s trust.”

Dom paled at Harrison’s words; sweat slowly rolling down his forehead as he stammered on his words.

“What about Tom’s trust?”

“Write yourself out of the terms. Terminate all conditions of the trust, and remove the company from the living trust’s properties. Tom wants the trust commandeered under his name. He is not a child, Dominic. And I will not allow you to continue ruining his life. You are done controlling him.”

“Those conditions are a fail-safe, and you know it just as well as I that Tom is not fit for CEO.”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get there. But, I believe in him. Besides - Tom has the full support of the board behind him,”

“The board knows?” Dom’s eyes widened at the news. “I haven’t spoken to them-”

Harrison smiled. “They were briefed on the situation this afternoon, behind closed doors. It’s in the by-laws, Dom. Should an interim CEO be declared without board approval, the board can deliberate and either support the interim, or have the replaced individual return, under their own conditions. You have no say on that. The twins were removed from company premises just after I arrived here, I believe” Harrison checked his watch, noting the hour before meeting Dom’s gaze of disbelief.

“You son of a-”

“Save the pleasantries for later. The board wants to meet with you first thing tomorrow morning; they are concerned about the actions taken behind their backs. I would be more careful, if I were you.”

Harrison began to head for the door.

“And if I don’t follow through?”

Harrison paused, a shadow crossing over his features as he turned.

“If the trust’s attorneys do not hear from you in 24 hours, they are prepared to have you served and due in court before the end of the week. I wouldn’t want to delay any of your ventures for… personal reasons. Besides,” Harrison continued as he grasped the front door’s handle. 

“I have some mail for Nikki that’s scheduled to arrive in the morning if I don’t receive confirmation from the attorneys and police.”

“She knew this was coming.”

Harrison paused. “Who?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“The girl. I tried to convince her into signing the document herself… for his sake. She refused, but I knew she wouldn’t breathe a word of what happened to either of you. Don’t forget; Tom isn’t the only one involved in this, boy. You can’t protect them both.” Harrison’s grip on the door handle tightened, his knuckles turning stark white as he shook his head. A small, dark chuckle escaped him.

“I look forward to hearing from you. Have a nice night, Dominic.”

-----

tags: 

@cherrynat​​ @anytimebitches​​  @jobean12-blog​​ @emotchalla​​ @illletitgrow​​ @cloverrover​​ @justaveryobsessedfangirl​​ @ssweet-empowerment​​ @killmongerdreams​​ @spideytrxsh​​ @eyestheyseeyou​​ @aussie-mantle​​ @spidergirlwanab​​ @i-think-i-am-adorable​​ @amanda51015-blog​​​ @princessskylarsblog​​​ @whoneedsalifeanyhowxx​​​ @chinalois​​​ @darkerthanspace​​​ @slighttinsomniac​​​ @curlytomholland​​​ @wanderlustomaha​​​ @hollandazing​​​ @mendes-marvel​​​ @wowspideyholland​​​ @shelivesin-daydreams​ @tellurfriends​

[rosesmith18]

(PnF)Headcanon #22 CAU: Evolution

Hey, sorry it's been awhile, anyway; CAU: Evolution. I wanna just share some jotted down ideas about the Candace Against the Universe movie and how it helped to main characters, Candace Flynn & Vanessa Doofenshmirtz, evolve in my headcanon; 

First, Candace Flynn, I wanna talk about how she changes after the events of the movie starting with giving up busting her brothers! I know she canonically does this in 'Quantum Boogaloo' but, that episode is a bit outdated from the shows suggested new canon, so I'm ignoring the original and rewriting it for my headcanon. So instead of that being the 'giving up busting' moment for adult Candace, I'm having CAU be when teen Candace gives up, and decides to start enjoying her brothers inventions more openly. This is also when she starts to gain more self confidence, and showing more of an enthusiastic, less stressed interest in her boyfriend and school life. She's still a young girl, so she'll still have moments of stress concerning everything, even wanting to bust her brothers but, this is the time for new problems; like trying to get into college, hearing more on her friends lives and helping her brothers into middle school! Now, Vanessa Doofenshmirtz, she didn't get a lot of time in the movie considering it was Candace focused but, I think there were plenty of hints that it should be a big part of her life too. She survived a strange alien planet all on her own, trained a dragon and started this movie approaching Candace about Candace's problems. I think by the end of the events of this movie, Vanessa would also have a lot more self-confidence in her own way, and since we didn't get to see it, I wrote the following fanfic draft concepts;

"That's it!" Vanessa shouted as she came to a gradual stand still. She was so done with running today, honestly she was done with running her entire life. From her dad's weird habits, her parent's divorce, from her laughing classmates, from her feelings, and most of all from EVERY SINGLE THING on this gosh forsaken planet. She didn't care if running from a deadly, carnivorous, alien dragon wasn't the time to be having a breakthrough. She was having one gosh damn it! Standing her ground, Vanessa turned on her heel to face the mighty beast, and with a shout; "SIT!" Halted the beast in it's tracks. Looking deep into the monsters eyes, Vanessa let out a much needed sigh of relief. It had worked. Her mother's sage advice had worked.

Charlene's sage advice to thirteen year old Vanessa; 'Vanessa, one day your going to have to stop letting life pull you every which way, and decide once and for all what matters to YOU. And, when that day comes I want you to look life straight on with everything you've got, and say it like you mean it. Cause that's the only way you get anything in this world. By taking it.' "Vlorkal." The dragon replied with interest. "Your right, I would look like a lunatic riding around the streets of Danville on an alien dragon. But, you know what? I've decided I don't care. Not just about the riding a dragon thing, but everything. Thanks to you, Vlorkal. I've decided. I'm going home riding a dragon. I'm going home and telling mom I will take cooking classes with her. I will invite Lacey over to meet Norm." Vanessa said with a new sense of vigor. "Vlorkal?" the dragon added, with curiosity. Vanessa shrugged, feeling she owed her new sense of self that much. "Ah, what the heck, I might even let dad teach me some evil science...Wow, maybe I should ask Candace what's going on more often?"

P.S I headcanon this movie takes place in the summer of 2009 after the original series in summer 2008, so several things have happened before this movie, especially for Vanessa;

- Vanessa got into the O.W.C.A intern program

- Vanessa broke up with Monty(who started dating Carl)

- And, Vanessa father finally moved back into his own place after the events of MML(Milo Murphy's Law)

----

This extra section I just want to spend some time detailing some tweaks to the girls outfits to emphasize their new found confidence/laid back-ness. Not a complete clothing change since they still have growing to do but, a few small changes.

Candace: I'm imaging a hair cut about to the end of her neck instead of at her shoulders with a more intense curl up from the back-maybe she curls the bottom of her hair now. A new skirt that goes up to her waist and reaches her knees with buttons in the front. Keep the iconic red shirt but, give it extended, slightly hanging sleeves. Her white flats can stay but her red socks can have some black polka dots and be folded at the top. She can also start painting her nails baby blue to match her eyes, and wearing a light bit of blush.

Vanessa: I think she would look good and a bit older if her hair was up in a ponytail more often-just a casual mid-ponytail with some strands free in the front. Give her some small gold colored button stud earrings, and some darker eyeliner at the top of her eye. Get rid of the leather top in exchange for a red blouse with transparent, short sleeves and a black collar. A black leather skirt with gold colored buttons that's just a few inches above the knee but, accompanied with black leggings. Keeping the iconic leather, high-heel boots.

   -Vanessa's outfit change likely appears more drastic since her original outfit kind of looks like one cohesive piece of clothing but, I tried to keep in the spirt, cause I love her style.

----

Anyway, that's all I have for now! If you have any questions about my thoughts or suggestions about storylines or clothing let me know.

*Vanessa & Candace belong to Dan Povenmire & Jeff 'Swampy' Marsh

[mirismuffins-ovo]

Plant palace pt 7🌿

[background: the plant based girls John has age twice as fast as a human,John ran off to go raise them at an abnormal camp his mother leads. He’s been gone two years and working as part of the abnormal rebellion and rights activist.] [this is also where I’ve decided I’d rewrite some stuff in the future,but I’ll let you guys read the first part of this before I work through it again] [first part is kinda narrative]

John's heart hurt to leave the man he loved,he wanted to raise these small little babies with Eddie but things went sideways. John and Henry stopped by the house grabbing supplies and raising the babies there for a while,until they were tracked down by the government. Escaping to a hideaway,a camp where abnormals were safe and rebelled trying to fix the outrageous laws of America. As time went on the rights of Abnormals had gotten better,after riots and protests. John raises his little girls alongside his mom. She’d become an important person in his life more than ever,helping with the babies. The little ones blooming with gorgeous pink petals and hair,John letting his own flower like features grow too. John had freed and protected abnormals with his mother, learning more control over his abilities and discovering new things he never knew he could do. Abnormals had finally gained some rights in some more progressive states,no longer needing to hide in some states. The girls were (2) 4 years old now,he’d kept up with Eddie's online following and career, proud of him for taking off. John would listen to Eddie's album Greenhouse,he recognized the song Eddie sang when they first found out about the babies,it was the most popular one. John would always tell his little girls about their dad,showing them photos of him performing. He missed him and to the point it hurt. John's family could recognize that,and John discussed that he should finally go back. It was time for John to come back home.

Now Eddie.

2 years. It has been 2 years since John has left. In the beginning, he was questioned by the government but he gave half truth answers. Yes he was with John. No he didn’t know he was an Abnormal, thinking his boyfriend was able to have kids. No the kids weren’t his, John was already pregnant when they really got official. But because they weren’t giving him the answer, he was held for 6 months for harboring an Abnormal before being let go.

After that, he explained everything to his band and how this album was going to be it. He didn’t want to make music after. They supported his decision but helped him finish the album. He had songs named after the girls, after his time at Plant Palace, the short months he was with John. Be saved the best for last. The last song on the album, which he named “Greenhouse” was called “Eden.” It was an Ode to John, thinking that no one would even get to the end of the album.

But instead people found out and it reached #1 on the charts for a solid year. He was able to go to concerts which sparked his love for music again, but he couldn’t listen to the album himself. He refused to. He would play other music in his earbuds when he was in public in case Eden came on.

He ended up moving further into the city now that he made good money off his record sales and a couple of EPs. Bitty came along with him, the cat too sweet to part with and he had a feeling John would want him to watch her. The anger he first felt after discovering John ran had faded away and he accepted it. The younger man did talk about trying to find his people to help raise the girls, but Eddie wanted to do that. He wanted to be the cool dad.

Life moved on. Eddie moved on, but still held a special spot for John, if he ever got to see him again. He even picked up a new kitty who he named Leafy. Bitty was happy to get a cute little brother and it kept her occupied. Eddie was happy.

*****

Eddie yawned as he started to make his way home from another band practice. He and his band got the idea to write themselves each a song that they could relate to in the future. They might not make sense now, but they should when they’re older and split apart. It was late and all he wanted to do was hop in the shower, order some take out and pass out with the kitties on his lap.

While on his way home, he felt a tingle down his spine. Although it was night time, and he was walking alone, it was odd that someone might jump him, or it was local paparazzi following him to see if he had a special someone since his female fans were dying to know. So he stopped and waited for the heavy footsteps to stop.

“I’ll give you 5 seconds to turn around before I face you and deck you. I’m not in the mood for interviews or dealing with your shit.” He grumbled. He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky young band member anymore, he was a man with heartache.

There wasn’t a sound behind him, signaling the person to walk off or speak up. Eddie turned around, preparing for a recorder shoved into his face when his entire world stopped.

John stood there,he hadn’t heard Eddie's voice in a long time,at least when he wasn’t singing. His voice sounded tired and moody but it didn’t change how he felt when Eddie turned around. John had his hood up but he took it off when Eddie turned to face him. A shy half smile on the smaller man's face as he stood a few feet back from the singer. “Hey Eds…” John's hair was a little longer than before,not by much but it was longer;John looked pale,tired like an overworked parent but the energy about him was slightly different.He slowly approached Eddie hesitantly taking a step forward,he didn’t know what he should say. There was so much to apologize for,him running off with the babies not even a thing as a text and gone for two years. “It’s been a while...but since when did you cuss?” John tried to clear the air with teasing as he combed his fingers through his hair. His gaze flicking between staring at Eddie and at the ground attempting to hide the tears that glazed his eyes. Johns soft voice trembled the entire time.

Eddie felt like he died when he saw John.The anger he thought that went away was back. He clenched his fist and just looked at the younger man in front of him. He wanted to shout, scream, and yell, but instead he just turned around, continuing to walk to his house. He could hear the footsteps follow him as he got closer to his house only for him to stop again.

“I promised I’d be there…” He spoke, his voice getting ready to break. “But you went and broke that promise for me.” He turned to face John, tears falling, and screaming, letting his emotions loose. “You took my fucking kids! You ran from me instead of facing this together!”

John had expected something like this but it still made his insides shake. John couldn’t help but erupt with tears and watched the man in front of him go off.

“You think I wanted to leave you?...WATCH YOU FROM A DISTANCE?!?” His voice had turned into a yell,John never raised his voice.

“What do you think would’ve happened if I stayed there waiting, Eddie? The hospital called the government on me,they would’ve taken our girls! Would you rather me and the girls in a facility being experimented on?! Getting tortured?” He sighed frustrated still crying “I’ve counted the days..you don’t think I talk about you to them,do you think I haven’t listened to your album about our kids every day??”

He wiped his face shaking and turned to look away. “I get it..okay...I’m so sorry I left,but I warned you Eddie. I told you that it was dangerous and when I tried to contact you I found out you were detained for ‘harboring an abnormal’.” John took out a photo,it was a Polaroid. It showed the babies who’d begun to bloom their flowers.John was holding them in his lap,they were toddlers now and all dressed up,his mother was standing next to him holding one of the toddlers. He held it to Eddie “here..”

“I told you I would fight tooth and nail for them! I was so ready to take your place in a facility for your freedom.” Eddie was crying too.

Eddie wanted to argue more, but John silenced him by handing over the picture. It was a photo of John holding all three of the girls, and a larger woman behind them. He laughed quietly, so happy to see them and how big they had gotten.

“Why now? Why did you come back. When I saw that you left, I figured you’d be gone forever.”

John sighed staring at the cement “the governor passed a law here that abnormals living in human city’s are no longer illegal. That and...I missed you.” He glimpsed at Eddie,John's eyes looked tired. “They’d caught up to me last year and I was held in a facility for two months,my mom and Henry took care of the little ones... I broke out with the help of some other abnormals.” He crossed his arms and wiped away some more tears. John felt bad he’d not been there for Eddie. “I would’ve come back sooner if I could Eds,and I know you're mad but you have to know I didn’t leave willingly.The girls ask all the time when they can see they can see their-…you” John sighed fearing Eddie wouldn’t want to rekindle their relationship. He dreaded he wouldn’t want to see their daughters.

Eddie was surprised at all the new information, but also wasn’t. He heard about Abnormals allowed to live among humans, but there was still no law about living with them or loving them. He kind of rolled his eyes at that.

“So you’re a fugitive?”

John stayed silent.

Eddie sighed. “Look, as much as I would love to see our daughters, I can’t just easily accept you into my life again. You broke my heart and how will I know if you won’t do it again? Maybe the world was right that we, Abbies and Humans, aren’t meant to cohabitate with each other.” Eddie sniffled, taking his jacket and rubbing his eyes.

John looked like he was about to say something but Eddie held up a hand.

“Not tonight… I need time…” He turned to continue walking to his apartment.

Once inside, Bitty and Leafy greeted him with happy meows, but Bitty knew. She knew that her cat dad was near Eddie. He closed the door, set his guitar aside and leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor. He held his head in his hands and let the tears fall.

[zordonmlw7]

Plaguetober Day 1 - Magic✨

“I’m never going to pass.” 

Aerithea was staring blankly into her conjuration textbook. The mechanical clocks that all the wizards used over digital because it was ~aesthetic~ said it was 11:15 PM. Less than 10 hours until the exam.  And she still didn’t know any of the material.

She conjured herself some scotch.

She may not be able to understand the metaphysical properties that allowed her to rewrite the laws of thermodynamics and convert mana into physical matter but she definitely DID know how to drink her problems away. And drink she did! In one go.

She stepped out of her dorm room to find the halls strangely empty.  Midterms, she supposed.  Stepping out of the building, Aerithea was greeted by the full moon.  Great, that means the werefolk are transforming.  The werefolk fraternities tended to throw wild parties during full moons that made parking anywhere in a 2 mile radius impossible. Today, however, the streets seemed eerily empty.  She supposed even frat guys worry about midterms.  

She sat on the steps and stared up at the vast and starry night sky. Aerithea had always been a natural conjurer. Her parents said the first spell she ever cast was one that conjured snow because she had wanted to build a snowman during the summer.  All she wound up with was a puddle and wet clothes that her parents had to change her out of, but still. Her junior year of high school, she even made the school conjuration team and helped them reach second at the State competition, the highest her school had ever placed.  

So when it came time to apply for colleges, it made sense to apply as a conjuration major.  She just never expected it to be so boring.  It was magic, for the gods’ sakes! She can’t even remember the last time she actually conjured something for class.  It was all theory.  How mana gets converted into matter and energy. WHATEVER! She just wanted to shoot fireballs and magically make stuff so she didn’t have to buy it herself.  Why did she need to learn about the metaphysical properties of the universe?

A shiver suddenly ran up Aerithea’s spine. She searched her pockets for magic dispeling pepper spray but realized she left it in her room. A voice rang in her head. “I sense you are troubled. Perhaps you are in need of… assistance?”

Aerithea quickly caught on to what was happening.  “Okay, just show yourself,” she said.

A misty figure appeared before her.  Shrouded in black, and too ephemeral to have a precise form, the only details she could make out were glowing yellow eyes and a black-lipped grin revealing pearly white fangs. “Greetings,” the figure said.

“You want to make a pact with me, don’t you?” Aerithea asked while rolling her eyes.

The figure did not respond and just awkwardly maintained its attempt at a menacing face.

“...Well, yes,” it finally said. “I can grant you the power you need to pass your conjuration test,” it stated with a bit more confidence.  

“Yeah, I…” As Aerithea spoke, she conjured an ice sculpture of a cherub with the figure’s same expression. “...got the conjuration part down.”

The figure continued to grin awkwardly. “...Oh.”

“What kind of divination did you even use to find me?” Aerithea asked.

“Well, I figured there would be plenty of students who would need help with their midterms so I used a tracking spell that was attuned to stress levels and thoughts of the word ‘test’. And then when I found you, I just did a surface level mind scan to see what words you had associated with ‘test’ and I found ‘conjuration’ so I figured…” the figure said.

“That sounds like something we had to do for Professor Dowty’s introductory divination course.” Aerithea said.

“That’s who I’m taking!” the figure responded.

“Yeah! She’s nice.  Watch out for her midterms though, they sneak up on you.” Aerithea said.

“Wait what?” The figure’s face went from a bad attempt at menacing to concerned. “But she said we covered everything that would be on the test during her review session.”

“Yeah, she always says that, but then the actual exam has a bunch of questions from the textbook that she never brings up during lecture.”

“What??? Why would she do that?���

Aerithea gave an apathetic shrug. “I remember her saying something about how it's explained in the syllabus that you’re ‘supposed’ to use divination to learn the questions ahead of time and study for them accordingly.”

“What? She can’t do that! Why would she put something in the syllabus and not mention it during class.  Especially with something like that! We haven’t even learned future telling yet!”

“You’re gonna have to ask her yourself. The one time I went to her office hours she pretty much spent the whole time ranting about how divination is about “knowing what you don’t know” or something.  All it did was make me glad I’m not a divination major, heh.”

“...Well shoot, I have her midterm tomorrow.”

“Well at least I won’t be the only one failing a midterm tomorrow!”

“Wait, why are you even stressed if you can make that?” The figure vaguely pointed to the ice sculpture that was already beginning to have its features melt away.

“Because… okay, could you stop being all… misty? It’s weird talking to someone like that.”

“Oh… right.” The mist dissipated, revealing the figure Aerithea had been talking to this entire time was a dark skinned fiend with black horns and a tail with an arrowhead shaped end.  

Aerithea responded, “Thanks.  Okay, anyways, it’s not that I can’t conjure, its that its a conjuration theory class so its all explaining how conjuration works.  The lectures are pointless to go to since the professor is basically just reading out of the textbook and drawing the diagrams straight from the textbook on the chalkboard. Then I don’t understand what the textbook is even saying half the time.  And when I ask the professor about it, he just repeats the same thing over and over again without actually explaining any of it.  It’s like we’re just supposed to memorize the book and write our answers word-for-word to get any credit for it.  I hate it.” 

“Yeah… that really sounds like it sucks. Makes me glad I’m majoring in patronage! We barely have to do any theory. We do have to take a bunch of practical classes, but they’re kinda fun sometimes, you know?”

“Yes!!! If I had known that majoring in conjuring would mean reading about conjuring all the time instead of actually doing it, I’d have majored in something else. It’s so frustrating.”

“Yeah, it sure sounds like it.”

The two just stood there, milling over their words.  It became uncomfortably silent.  Their conversation was clearly over, and the fiend was still there just awkwardly staring at the ground.

“... Anyways…” Aerithea finally broke the silence.  “I should probably go back to studying for the test so I can hopefully at least still do well enough to pass the class. Good luck with your midterm too!”

“Thanks!” the fiend responded.

Though she had expected the fiend to finally leave, it kept standing there, making Aerithea uncomfortable.  Deciding that ultimately, her studying was more important than awkwardly letting the fiend know where she lived, Aerithea broke and started heading back inside.

“Okay bye!” Aerithea said as she waved.

“Bye!” The fiend turned around and took a few steps before standing still again.  Aerithea had had enough and just walked in. 

Aerithea returned to her dorm to see her roommate, Lucille, had already gone to sleep.  Lucky bastard.  Figuring she shouldn’t ruin her sleep, especially since Lucille was a dreamwalker and would lecture Aerithea about it once she tried to sleep if she did, Aerithea picked up her books and went to study in the dorm common area. 

It was going to be a long night. 

[palukoo]

first line meme! tagged by @quolant

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories. see if there are any patterns. then tag your favorite authors.

this is not gonna be my “last 20 stories” but my favorites i guess?

published works (that I still like lol):

1. of spots and ridges:

The thing was that it should make her mad.

2. rewrite a memory:

“You know, Hera,” Maxwell said casually, though there was a certain tension in her words that put Hera a bit on edge, “you can call me Alana.”

3. it takes a village:

Deanna looked around her quarters, finding herself at a loss.

4. when I looked to myself I was somebody else:

The door chimed, interrupting the log Sisko was making.

5. my own half of this mess

Bea makes an honest to god effort to not call Brenda.

6. elphie isn’t dead

So. Truck driving. Yeah.

7. fuck it. untitled amy&toby fic

amy and toby meet on some doomed campaign that he's running, and she's fundraising for, and they both know it's doomed but that doesn't stop them from trying.

which means I need… 13 unpublished ones? oof.

tww:

8. hard to be soft (part 1 of the Amy fic)

Amelia Gardner is raised with the name of a father she’s never met, but her mom says she’s got his eyes, and when she’s old enough for it, his wit, his career.

9. tough to be tender (part 2 of the Amy fic) (which yep, you guessed it, is the post canon part)

They hit the ground running, starting January 21st.

10. we’ll stumble together until we learn to dance (the cj/andy spin-off)

CJ doesn’t actually hate fundraisers, they’re just long and boring and there’s so many of them, and so many people who expect her to remember their names when they don’t know hers.

11. missing scene from amy fic (wrong perspective)

There’s a hand in hers and it hurts and there’s a hand on her other forearm and there’s a hand on her back and none of them are Amy’s.

12. fuck it andy gets a childhood too

Sharon is two years older than Andy, and two inches shorter than her by the time Andy starts high school.

13. magic-ish au

“So, what’s yours?” Donna says softly, the hint of a smile on her lips until it’s not, because she feels a shift.

14. the cj/amy one

Amy’s four years out of law school, climbing the ladder of NOW, when she meets CJ Cregg at a fundraiser.

15. 2nd person law school au trans josh feat amy

It’s awkward to sit across the table from a woman you barely know but who’s constantly in your apartment, as she sips on burnt coffee and reads the newspaper and you try to study.

other:

16. be the raft in the eye of this storm (w359):

It’s finally all over, they’re back, they’re home, they’re on Earth and everything should be okay and everything is so so wrong.

17. take me through the darkness (the martian):

Shockingly enough, the guilt and grief of a dead crew member— not to mention friend— under her command made it hard for Lewis to sleep.

18. i could fix the witches of eastwick

At the end of it all, there’s them, the three of them, and, god help them, ten children, a very large house.

19. some sort of b7 (voy)

She’s not entirely sure why she says it, because nine times out of ten, she can barely stand working with Seven.

20. one of many attempts to write gay big little lies fanfiction

Jane had to relieve her babysitter and so did Madeline, who also had to make sure a very drunk Ed got home alright, and Bonnie was shaking almost as badly as Celeste, repeatedly reaching for her neck. 

there’s definitely like some patterns but im having trouble articulating them. i think this also just kind of highlights that i like to drop into a scene without exposition usually. usually. i’m really really awful at tagging or remembering who writes or anything like that so if you wanna do it, consider yourself tagged!!

[talietikasero]

Stability

Random prompt from 8/11 [finished 8/16]: rewrite the Strive ending / create an alternate epilogue [to line up with my story project]. I may or may not rewrite the whole thing for fun lmao.

[Main story preview here (contains 6 scenes)] // [Chapter 1 now on AO3]

"I guess... that's what they meant..." She let out between huffs. Both the voice in her head and the former Sanctus Maximus Populi said the same thing regarding her potential ability.

“When the time comes, with your seed, you hold the power to save or destroy the world.”

“You can prevent the end of it all.”

Energy drained, she fought off the sluggish pace her body was moving. Looking over to her partner, she noticed he was barely hanging on to his life, staying incredibly still, and trying to regulate his breathing while facing down. While her body contained the [Scales of Juno], he had the [Flame of Corruption] ripped out from his, reverting him to a human. "On second thought, don't move." Once she closed the distance between them, she knelt and put her arms around him. Face against the scuffed leather sleeve, and she struggled to hold her emotions in. "H-hey..." Voice cracking, she lowly muttered between sniffles, "please, don't go..."

"..."

"You... you stayed true to... your word about... a-about..."

"..."

"Fighting to... s-save the world..."

"If the world was going to disappear tomorrow... What would you do today?"

"What kind of a question is that? Stop whatever's ending the world or die trying."

Her embrace tightened as tears ran down her face. "Human, Gear, or neither. The world still needs you."

With drooped ears and saddened eyes, the wolf spirit whined. Its host and companion soothed it by scratching behind its ears and reassuring the worst had come to pass. "(It's okay, Rei. We're still alive.)." She whispered to the spirit in her native tongue. Another whine followed by a lick to the side of her face, Giovanna patted Rei's forehead. "What? Are you worried about me? I'm okay, I swear." She winced as another sharp pain ran through her body. "Ouch..." Her superior, the President, placed a hand on her shoulder. Half-expecting him to say she's no longer needed, she began, "I'm sorry-..."

"None of that." Vernon's voice was firm; however, it sounded... fatherly. He may have his doubts about the agent, but he knew she was more than capable of the job. Facing off against an unstoppable force, she did prove she's worth giving a higher position. "I can tell what you were thinking, but you're not being let go. You take as much time as you need off, Gio. Goldlewis, Erica, and I will await your return."

Saddened at the loss of someone he could consider a friend, the time traveler meekly looked down at the minty green and white guitar he held in his hands. This entire time he was unaware of her true identity. If he had to lose someone like her, it didn't have to be this way. Regardless of if she recalled who he was and why he was important to her in the first place, false memory or not. He threw away his chance to return home a while ago, and now he felt that it would've been for nothing had he gone through with it. "It shouldn't have ended like this... Megumi." Axl softly said under his breath.

After regaining control over his body and revealing the wicked goddess's weak point, the vampiric samurai pierced the ground a few centimeters with his sword. He kneeled to show his appreciation for defeating the evil force that used him as a puppet. Now, he could see why his master was fascinated by the will of a single person. This same person was stripped of his powers and still faced death head-on. "May you rest for now. The next time we meet, it won't be as enemies, but acquaintances." Drawing his blade from the ground, Nagoriyuki sheathed it and took his leave.

The King of Illyria – his lifelong rival and their son-in-law – made his way over to them, stopping a few feet short to maintain distance. "It's finally over. They're gone. We can... we can go home now." Part of him wanted to hold a hand out to help him stand, yet he held back and deemed that action unnecessary. Ky's spirits rose once he noticed the man in front of him was taking steady deep breaths -- body slowly moving to show signs of life.

Right hand maintaining its grip on the Outrage's handle, his free hand lightly grasped one of hers. Face still downward, a weak smile formed. "...You think so?"

She couldn't believe it. He's hanging by a thread and using what energy he should be saving to answer her with a question of his own.

"I know so."

The past three weeks were a blur. From the day she woke up and adjusted to this new world to the present, where she aided in bringing down a god. She never would've guessed that any of these events could've transpired. In the days leading up to September 2016, she was a terminally ill scientist who refused any life-saving alternative to live past what little time she had left, insisting she spent it with her significant other. Fast forward to December 2187, and she was brought back to life and became the partner of humanity's savior -- the very same person, albeit for the last time.

_____

The next day, another patient was checked into the hospital. This time there wasn’t a commotion caused by bringing his unconscious form bursting through the front doors. She wasn’t strong enough to carry him in her arms like he held her – that’s what the gurney from the airship’s infirmary wing was for.

“I have a request. May I stay here until he recovers? I… I don’t want to leave him.”

Three days later, word had reached his family that he's – miraculously and defying all odds – alive. His refusal to follow the light after what had happened was attributed to his stubborn nature. The Grim Reaper knocked at his door, and he slammed it shut in their face. Occupying the same bed, in the same patient room as her around a month ago, the now de-powered hero lay hooked up to the vitals system.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Hard to say, but he'll pull through. He did wake up this morning, so there's something, yeah?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen my mother? About my height, short red hair with white underneath, and wearing a blue leather jacket? She hasn't been seen since everyone returned."

"She's in the room and hasn't left at all. I had someone stop by the house and bring her spare clothes since she spent the last four days here."

"Oh, thank god." The queen was relieved to know her mother's whereabouts. She respected her parents' privacy by not asking if she was able to go in.

---

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring-ring.

Sighing in aggravation, she answered her phone. There was only one person she kept in contact with these past few days. "What do you want now? He's still not up, so stop cal-..."

"I was going to ask something else. I'm going to regret this, but are you still angry?"

"You're a smart man to keep your distance from me, but a dumbass to ask that. Of course, I am! You ruined our lives with your 'self-righteousness' and nearly brought another apocalypse."

"...Aria, I understand your rage. If only I could rewind time and prevent your illness. I shouldn't have forcibly converted him and disappeared with your sleep capsule. It wasn't my intention to have our research weaponized, but I was figuratively and literally held at gunpoint to hand it over to the US Government. I should've known better and anticipated that Chaos -- erm, the Original's creation would sabotage your activation. Your screams still haunt me... and... I'm... I'm sorry."

"Asuka."

"I can't fix this by excessively apologizing and listing off my crimes, but I hope everything goes well for you and Frederick."

"Whatever. Enjoy the moon, or don't." She ended the call before her former friend could reply. "Asshole." Aria slumped back in the chair and opened her book to the page she left off. "We should've launched you into the sun."

"Oh my. And I thought 'Sol' was a hothead. You're pretty harsh, you know that? It's more frightening than I-No on a good day." Jack-O's voice rang through. Capable of feeling and expressing emotions herself, the Valentine was taken aback at what she heard during their calls. "If possible, can we listen to his show sometime? Please?"

"...Okay."

"Thank you. ~"

---

Forty minutes after the heated conversation, a groggy voice broke the silence.

"Is the... afterlife a sterile... hospital room?" Frederick's eyes were half-open, staring directly at the ceiling.

Aria closed what she was reading and placed it on the counter. Ignoring the monitors that once kept track of her, she looked over his body to see minimal damage sustained. "Looks like you've still got some of that healing factor. Or you're just too hardheaded to die."

He slightly turned his head to face her. "Heh. Probably both."

Running a hand through his now short hair, her lips curved into an unsure smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living?"

"This doesn't look like heaven. If you're my welcome guide, then I'll stay." His body was still sore, but he extended his arm out for her to hold his hand. The warmth from the fire magic still dwelling within them made their contact feel safer.

"I should've worn that jumpsuit and halo." Her inner voice's reaction was an exaggerated throat clear. "But if I did," she held a finger to her temple, "I don't think she would've appreciated that."

"I would've been mildly annoyed at best. Mildly annoyed yet honored that you'd wear it because of what you did."

"You're really pissed off at Asuka, aren't you?"

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it. Didn't know you were capable of that."

"I felt like you after the second day." He took that as a friendly poke at his history. "Since you've saved the world for the last time, are you still up for that 'alternate life' you mentioned the other night? We don't have to stay at Ky and Dizzy's. They can arrange something for us."

His ears perked up at the suggestion. Did she remind him about his statement regarding them settling down? Having survived an act of God, living a quiet life together a few minutes out from the capital didn't sound like a terrible idea. "What did you have in mind?"

"A fair-sized home, nothing too big or small, probably just down the way from their place. I don't want to throw everything away and live in seclusion. We're way out of our own time, but we finally have a family, people who care about us, and we care about them in return. Unless you have a better idea?"

"I'm fine with anything. Can't imagine I'd be able to go out much or at all because I'm officially a dead man."

"Not too long ago, I was a dead woman walking. Besides, the world thinks that Sol Badguy is dead, not Frederick Bulsara."

"Point there. You know, now that I think about it, this situation is just like a month ago."

"With you in my place, but I didn't have to be dragged in? This is the same room where I spent my time recovering. It was also -..."

"Where you got your new start."

"Y-yeah. That's exactly it. This is where I woke up to my new life! Not as Justice, or Jack-O, but as myself. That same day, I met our daughter and her husband, and then I saw you again. Just this time... I've been here since you were checked in. Everyone tried to get me to leave, but I refused."

He noticed the duffel bag placed near the door. There was a pant leg hanging over one side of the unzipped bag, and next to it were two pairs of footwear. "Way to tug at the old heartstrings. Stubborn as always, aren't you?" If he were honest with himself, he wanted to do the same when she was still unconscious. He had the feeling that the IRMC staff wouldn't have thought about asking him to leave the premises, even though he almost kicked the doors clean off the first time.

"One of my best qualities." She winked at him, giggling at her remark.

"Hey, Aria."

"Hm?"

He slowly sat up despite the mild pain, leaning over to bring her in for a hug. "Thank you."

Aria returned the motion, both holding onto each other, not wanting to let go. She had felt incomplete up until this moment. Preventing the end was a combined effort, and she couldn’t be any happier to have been a part of that team.

A sense of déjà vu, the song playing on the radio had neared its end.

You are all I long for All I worship and adore In other words, please be true In other words...

"I love you."

[anubislover]

Not So Easily Replaced

(Ikkaku is pissed at how idiotic her crew has been while on Amazon Lily, so she does what she's always done - vents about it to Law to let off some steam. Unfortunately, when an argument breaks out between them, she's left to wonder if she's really appreciated by her nakama)

“Ugh!” Ikkaku growled, stomping into Law’s office with his second afternoon coffee and a selection of onigiri on a tray. Normally lunch delivery wasn’t her job, but since all the men had been “too busy” fawning over the women of Amazon Lily outside, the menial task had fallen to her; otherwise their workaholic captain wouldn’t eat. “I swear, Boss, if we don’t set sail soon, I’m going to strangle every guy on board!”

“Hmmm,” Law grunted absently as he poured over his notes. Ikkaku didn’t hold his monosyllabic response against him—he’d spent the past few days fixing up that Straw Hat kid and the Fishman. On top of that, the extensive treatments had basically depleted their medical supplies, Straw Hat’s freak-out upon waking up had wrecked more than half the operatory, and the Kuja had been pretty stingy with letting them replenish their food and water from the island, so she was sure he had plenty on his mind. The dark bags under his eyes attested to that.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to vent, though. Honestly, if she didn’t, she’d probably snap and end up going on a killing spree or something. Only Bepo and Law would be spared; the Mink had no interest in human women and thus hadn’t been an obnoxious Neanderthal, and Law had been too focused on keeping his patients and crew alive to drool over Boa Hancock.

Hell, when her captain was like this, Ikkaku could literally say anything and he wouldn’t even register it. It took a lot to snap Law out of his thoughts, and he’d never really seemed to mind when she ranted at him to let off steam. Mainly because once she was done, she was usually calm enough to take care of the situation herself, leaving Law in peace and with a non-murdered crew. A happy engineer made for a happy submarine, after all.

Setting the coffee and onigiri down onto the desk, Ikkaku continued, “They act like they’ve never seen a hot chick in their lives. I mean, what am I, chopped liver? They should be thanking the gods that they get to look at my gorgeous face every damn day!” The statement was accompanied by a dramatic toss of her curly hair. When Ikkaku felt strongly about something, she tended to gesticulate a lot, and this was no exception.

“Uh huh.”

She leaned against the edge of Law’s desk, hands waving about as she ranted. “Not that I want them to start lusting after me, but it hurts a girl’s pride, ya know? They could at least acknowledge what a hot piece of ass I am instead of acting like I’m some ugly hag.” She clenched her fist as she recalled how, just that morning, Shachi and Clione had basically given a lecture to the whole crew over breakfast about the superior physique the Kuja displayed compared to the average woman. There had been charts and everything, and to her dismay the silhouette for the “average” woman looked suspiciously like her.

“And that’s not the end of it!” she rambled on, smacking her hand against the desk for emphasis. “When I’m not ignored or insulted, they try to convince me to go out into the jungle to talk to the Kuja for them! I mean, I’m probably the one least likely to be killed outright, but it’s not guaranteed! They might fill me with arrows just for being affiliated with men! Are they really willing to risk my life like that?”

Her question didn’t get an answer—not because Law wasn’t paying attention, but because at that moment, her emotive gesticulating accidentally smacked her wrist into his coffee mug, knocking it over.

“Mother fucker!” Law shouted, scalding coffee spilling all over his crotch and papers.

“Oh my god, Law, I’m so sorry—”

“Will you shut up?!” he snapped, grabbing his nearby lab coat to frantically soak up the scalding coffee that had spilled across his crotch. “Don’t just stand there—get some towels!”

Nodding mutely, she ran to the en-suite bathroom and snatched up every towel she could find in the cupboard. “Here,” she said, trying to hand them to him so he could clean himself up.

“My desk, damn it! Save my notes!”

Immediately she swept the pile furthest from the spill to the floor and began patting down the desk, but she knew it was already too late; the coffee had completely soaked through several of the papers that had been strewn across the stainless steel surface.

“Law, really, I’m so sorry!” she apologized hoarsely, flinching as he turned the full force of his sleep-deprived glare upon her.

“Maybe if you’d fucking been watching what you were doing instead of ranting on and on, none of this would have happened!” he shouted, well and truly pissed. Not that she blamed him—a week’s worth of important medical and inventory notes was now a brown, sopping mess. On top of that, first-degree crotch burns would sour anyone’s mood, especially when they were only running on an average of three hours of sleep.

“It’ll be ok,” she assured, assessing the damage. To an average person, the mess was a disaster, but while the charts and notes that had been in the immediate spill zone were soaked through and ruined, many of the others could be salvaged thanks to Law’s powers. “Just Room the coffee out of the papers—”

“Do you have any idea how much time and effort you just flushed down the toilet?” he snapped, even as the familiar blue bubble filled the office. Drops of coffee were pulled from the sheets of paper like magic, but to Ikkaku’s dismay, much of the ink left behind was still smudged beyond recognition. “You’re lucky that wasn’t Mugiwara-ya’s medical file you just destroyed!”

“Law, really, I’m sorry,” she said, trying to calm him down. Her usually chill captain was far more volatile when stressed and sleep-deprived. “It was a stupid accident on my part. I’ll help you rewrite all of this.”

“Hell no,” he growled, gold eyes narrowing furiously, the tendons in his thin neck tightening as he ground his teeth together. “The last thing I need is you going on another stupid rant and ruining my notes again. Get the fuck out—I’ve got more important things to do than listen to you bitch and moan about how the guys aren’t paying attention to you.”

“Tha—that’s not what I’m angry about at all!” she snapped.

“Then what is your fucking problem?!”

“My problem is that the guys were being jackasses and I’m not appreciated around here!”

“Well if you don’t like it, leave!”

Ikkaku’s back stiffened, each syllable cutting into her heart like Law’s sharpest scalpel. Those words…it was the exact same thing her old boss would say whenever she complained about her asshole coworkers’ creepy leers or “accidental” groping. The greasy old mechanic was a sexist pig, but still the only one in that shit port that had been willing to take her on as an apprentice. It had always been an unspoken threat—if she left, no one else would hire her, so she could kiss her dreams of becoming a world-class engineer good-bye.

Trafalgar Law had changed that with his offer to join the Heart Pirates.

And now he was telling her to leave, too. To give up her dream, her nakama, and her home because she wasn’t willing to put up with a little sexism.

As if he could replace her in a heartbeat.

The thought hurt more than expected. She’d worked her ass off aboard the Polar Tang. For five years she’d toiled in the heart of the engine room, maintaining every little piece. She kept the gears turning, the motors humming, and the propellers running. Just from sound and the slightest vibrations through the ship, she knew exactly what was wrong with the engine at any given time.

Ikkaku had never asked for praise or recognition for her hard work—it was just her job. But she was as knowledgeable about the mechanisms of the submarine as Law was of the human body. She had always assumed he’d quietly acknowledged this fact and respected her for it.

Clearly, she’d been wrong.

She nearly screamed all this at him, but before she could open her mouth, the blue light of Law’s Room encased her, and in a blink, she was out in the hall, the cabin door slamming shut in her face.

Knowing better than to try and force her way back into his quarters, Ikkaku instead stormed down the steel hallway, fists clenched and muttering furiously to herself. Maybe she would leave. March right up to Boa Hancock and ask to join the Kuja. That would show them! She didn’t need Law, or the Tang, or men at all! She’d get along just fine without those jerks! Sure, Amazon Lily didn’t have any of the high-tech machinery she was used to, and working for a shichibukai wasn’t exactly something she was thrilled about, but at least they’d appreciate her, right? She had other skills—she was a hell of a tattoo artist, and was a damn fine shot, and could kickbox, and…

Her pace slowed as her heart forced her brain to accept the truth—she didn’t want to leave. She’d go crazy without machines and engines to work on. And sure, she was no slouch in a fight, but the Kuja were warrior women trained from birth. Ikkaku would look like a total weakling next to them.

And no matter how much the crew pissed her off, she wouldn’t trade her nakama for anything. Sure, they could be thoughtless jerks sometimes, but they could also be really sweet. Bepo may not have been much for girl talk, but he was always willing to lend an ear if she needed companionship. Her fellow engineers, Malamute and Skua, were dependable and shared her love of machines. Shachi was always down to help her pull a prank, and when he wasn’t drooling over the Kuja, Penguin could be counted on to talk her through her problems.

As for Law…by this point, he was more like her big brother than her actual brothers had been. They shared a similar devious sense of humor, was discreet about any feminine issues she might have that, as the ship’s doctor, he was forced to deal with, and he’d even played wingman for her a few times at the taverns they’d stopped in.

Had she just ruined all of that? Was Law just angry, or had this been coming for a long time? Law had threatened to fire her plenty of times in the past, usually in response to her back sassing him, but he’d never been serious about it. This time had been different—he’d been legitimately pissed at her. Maybe those teasing threats hadn’t been jokes, but subtle warnings, and her ruining all those papers had simply been the straw to break the camel’s back?

Ikkaku was deep in thought, mentally going over every encounter she’d had with Law with a fine-toothed comb, searching for any clue whether he seriously thought she should leave, when she quite literally bumped into Bepo.

The Mink took in her flushed, angry expression and asked, “Are you ok, Ikkaku?”

Oddly enough, it was that simple, gentle question that shattered her composure like a bullet through a bone, and without even thinking she buried her face in his soft fur and just broke down crying. “He told me to leave, Bepo,” she sobbed, scared and hurt and frustrated. For all the grief her crewmates had given her and all the dangerous positions being a pirate had put her in, Ikkaku loved being a Heart. Where would she go? She’d never find another ship like the Polar Tang. Another crew like the Heart Pirates. Another captain like Trafalgar Law.

Bepo, though shocked that the normally fiery and confident engineer was using his fur as a tissue, didn’t say anything—he just carefully rubbed her back and hoped that letting her treat him like a massive teddy bear would calm her down enough to explain what had happened.

XXX

“Ok, real talk—has anyone noticed anything…different about Ikkaku lately?” Penguin asked as he sat down to lunch.

“You’d have to actually see her to notice something,” Shachi replied, brow furrowing. He glanced over at Uni, raising an eyebrow behind his sunglasses. “You been giving her stealth lessons or something?”

Uni frowned behind his bandana. “No, but she’s definitely avoiding us. It’s been a week since we left Amazon Lily, and I can count the number of times I’ve seen her on one hand.”

“Same,” Ermine said as they finished molding Law’s onigiri into the perfect triangles the captain liked. “I actually thought we left her behind for a minute—nearly asked Jean Bart to turn the ship around to get her.”

Malamute rubbed his chin, mouth twisting in concern. “Nah, she’s here, but she’s mad at us about something—barely leaves the engine room most days, and she basically refuses to talk to me and Skua.”

His fellow engineer nodded. “We thought it might just be her time of the month, but that ended over a week ago according to the calendar.”

“You guys keep track of her menstrual cycles?” Clione asked, weirded out. The rest of the crew wore similar expressions of disbelief and disapproval.

“Out of self-preservation!” Skua shouted defensively. “We’re in a hot, confined space where she has easy access to heavy tools—of course we wanna know when we should have emergency placating chocolate on-hand!”

“We tried the chocolate anyway, though,” Malamute added. “She just…waved it away and kept working.”

The cook’s frown deepened at that bit of information. “Ikkaku never turns down chocolate,” Ermine said, “and she hasn’t shown up to lunch, dinner, or breakfast all week.”

“She’s been eating, though, right?” Penguin asked, concerned. He didn’t care how mad she was; it was no excuse to skip out on meals. It was bad enough Law was an insomniac that got most of his nutrients through coffee and onigiri. It would be a cold day in hell before he would stand for an anorexic engineer.

A large, white paw shyly raised in the air as Bepo interjected, “I’ve been bringing her meals so she doesn’t have to come by the galley. She’s…wanted some time to herself.” He dropped his head gloomily. “Sorry.”

“But she’s talked to you?”

“Ummm, a little bit,” he muttered, twiddling his claws. After she’d stopped crying, Ikkaku had spilled her guts about everything—her issues with the crew, her argument with Law, and why his words had affected her so badly. Though sympathetic, Bepo was certain Law hadn’t meant his thoughtless words—underneath his casual persona, he cared deeply about his crew and would never let any of them go for such a silly reason.

At first, Bepo’d tried to get her to go back and talk to the captain, but she’d shot that down quickly—with the mood Law had been in, it would do nothing but start another argument. The Mink had hoped that, now that they were sailing away from Amazon Lily and Law wouldn’t have to worry about Straw Hat’s injuries anymore, they’d both cool down and the whole thing would blow over.

Unfortunately, the past week had proven otherwise. Ikkaku had taken to hiding deep in the bowels of the ship, and Law had been so focused on redoing all those notes and charts that he hadn’t left his quarters in days. Bepo wasn’t a Mink who liked confrontation, and he certainly didn’t want to choose sides between his oldest friend and his favorite engineer, so he’d relegated himself to supplying food to both parties, hoping one of them would finally get tired of the oppressive silence and breach the topic.

As the crew frantically gathered around him, hoping to finally have an answer to the Mystery of the Missing Engineer, Bepo began to wonder if he should have just locked both humans in an empty room and made them talk it out.

Not that such a plan would have been very effective with Law’s powers, but it was better than nothing.

“Talk, Bepo,” Shachi growled, pulling a flashlight out of his pocket and shining it directly into the bear’s black eyes like he was in an interrogation room. “What’s up with Ikkaku?”

“Why’s she hiding from us?” Clione interjected.

“Why are you the only one she’s talking to?” added Jude.

“Is she pregnant and going through weird mood swings or something?” Skua asked loudly.

Bepo blanched at that last one. “No, she…she’s just kind of upset about…how you all acted on Amazon Lily.”

Exasperated, Ermine rolled their eyes. “What, was she jealous about all the attention we gave Hancock’s crew?”

“No, but…you guys were really insensitive. Like, that presentation—”

“It was a joke!” Shachi defended, though a guilty blush rose to his cheeks.

“And asking her to venture into the jungle to talk to the women for you—”

“Hey, she was the only one who they wouldn’t kill on-sight!” Jude sulked.

“And then she had to bring Law his lunch because you were all too busy staring at the Kuja.”

“Wow. Having to do that one menial task must have been such an inconvenience,” Malamute scoffed.

At the back of the grumbling crowd, Jean Bart awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. He hadn’t been on the crew long, so he didn’t really think it was his place to get involved, but he had the feeling Ikkaku had taken whatever had been said and done a little more personally than they thought. “Look, regardless of how we feel, we should all apologize to her. I mean, I don’t know her great, but does she usually give the silent treatment for this long?”

“Well, no,” Clione stated, looking a bit nervous. “Typically, she yells at us and smacks us around a bit, or maybe pulls some embarrassing prank, but she’s never quiet.”

“So, what’s this mean?”

“It means this is serious.” Penguin frowned at Bepo, who was looking around anxiously as if hoping to escape. “Ok, spill. You’re the only one she’s talked to, and you clearly have a better idea of what’s going on than we do. What’s Ikkaku really upset about?”

The Mink hung his head sorrowfully. “Sorry.”

“Damn it, don’t apologize! Just tell us!”

“It’s just…”

“Are you guys bullying Bepo again?” came a voice from the doorway. The crew turned to find Law strolling into the galley, looking thinner and more exhausted than usual, but he was at least out of his room and among the living.

Still shining his flashlight in Bepo’s face, Shachi yelled, “Captain! You gotta help us—Ikkaku’s basically been AWOL all week and won’t talk to anyone, and Bepo won’t tell us why!”

Law plopped into his chair and grabbed an onigiri, scoffing as he took a large bite. “She bitched at me for a while about how you all were being sexist pigs. Figured she would have gotten over it by now.”

“She complained to you about it?” Jean Bart asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah, and then she managed to spill hot coffee on my crotch and ruin the inventory list for the infirmary that I’d spent hours compiling.”

The crew unanimously gave a sympathy wince.

Taking another large bite of his lunch, Law continued, “We’ll be making port in a few days—she’ll come to her senses once she’s spent some time off the ship.”

“You…you want her to leave the ship?” Bepo asked, voice raising an octave in disbelief.

“Time apart will do us some good,” he replied with a shrug, activating his Room for a moment to remove the flashlight from Shachi’s hand.

“How…how much time?”

“Well, we’re not making port any longer than necessary. If she hasn’t gotten her shit together by then, that’s her problem.”

Bepo’s heart dropped into his stomach. What did Law mean “get her shit together”? Was he talking about packing her things? Was he really kicking her out over a silly argument over spilled coffee and ruined paperwork?

“Law!” the Mink shouted, jerking to his feet so quickly his knees knocked the table. “Please reconsider!”

Dark blue eyebrows rose at the normally soft-spoken navigator’s outburst. “There’s nothing to reconsider. Ikkaku’s a big girl—I agree that the sexism she faced was unacceptable, but she’s never had a problem handling that kind of shit herself.” His face twisted into a scowl. “And considering how I only just finished redoing all the work she destroyed, my tolerance for temper tantrums is at an all-time low.”

“She offered to help you rewrite it!” Bepo argued, slapping his paws down on the table. “Is some soggy paperwork worth losing your best engineer over?” Pausing, he glanced at Malamute and Skua. “Uh, no offense. Sorry.”

“None taken,” the duo said in unison, though their jaws dropped a second later as they registered the Mink’s words. “Wait, what?!”

“What do you mean ‘losing’ Ikkaku?” Penguin snapped, grabbing him by the orange collar of his boiler suit.

Shachi grabbed the flashlight again and climbed onto the table to shine it into Bepo’s face. “Talk, bear! Is Ikkaku quitting or something?”

“Because we won’t let her!” several of the crew shouted.

“Everybody calm down!” Law snapped, his deep voice silencing the rambunctious crew. “You all acted like idiots around the Kuja—I don’t blame her for being annoyed at you. But if your petty acts of sexism could drive her off that easily, she wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes at her old job. You’re blowing everything out of proportion.”

“You’re the one who told her to leave over a spilled cup of coffee!” Bepo angrily stated, only to immediately shrink back when he realized just who he’d yelled at. “Sorry.”

“Whoa, wait, Law, did you fire her?” Penguin asked, genuinely horrified as he numbly released Bepo’s collar. Of all the things that could have been bothering Ikkaku, that hadn’t even made his list. Sure, she could be tempestuous, but that had never bothered Law before—on the contrary, Penguin had always assumed his old friend liked trading snarky barbs with.

“I didn’t—why would I—I was just pissed because she spilled hot coffee all over crotch!” Law defended, even as he inwardly cringed at the way his entire crew had turned to glare at him judgmentally. Shachi had even turned the flashlight’s intense beam on him.

“But was that worth actually firing her over?”

“I didn’t fire her! Yeah, we argued, but I never said she was fired. At most, I told her to get the fuck out of my office.”

“That’s not all you said,” Bepo mumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Flinty gold eyes narrowed at the sulking Mink. It was extremely out of character for Bepo to snap at or sass anyone—least of all Law. His brow furrowed as he thought back to his fight with Ikkaku—the memory was a bit hazy due to the lack of sleep he’d gotten. “Then what exactly did I say to her? What could have possibly been so bad that it could make her think I’m firing her?”

“You said…she told me…” Bepo took a deep breath. He hated scolding his captain, but he hated the idea of Ikkaku leaving even more, especially if this really was just a big misunderstanding. “You said to her ‘if you don’t like it, leave’.”

A sour taste worse than umeboshi filled his mouth as Law realized the full implications of what he’d said and done. He clearly remembered her old boss, a scowling, greasy man who’d shouted at her when she’d argued that she deserved to be respected as the talented engineer she was and not just seen as eye-candy.

If you don’t like it, leave, he’d sneered through crooked teeth as the other mechanics sniggered. Good luck finding anyone else willing to hire an inexperienced chick, though. Law could distinctly remember the hot surge of outrage he’d felt on the woman’s behalf; in less than ten minutes, she’d managed to identify what was wrong with the Tang’s engine and exactly how to fix it. Yet because she was the sole female in the shop—because she was a little bit different—she was overlooked and scorned, with her boss refusing to check for himself.

It had reminded Law a little too much of how quickly he’d been rejected from every hospital Cora-san had taken him to, the so-called “expert” doctors refusing to believe that Amber Lead was not contagious, or even examine the white patches across his skin.

And maybe—just maybe—the way her curly hair fanned out around her shoulders and down her back reminded him just a tiny bit of a certain black, feathered jacket.

Law hadn’t even bothered to consider whether or not the woman might want to become a pirate before he’d activated his Room and cut her boss to pieces. He’d then turned to Ikkaku, whose dark eyes had been wide with shock but not fear, and told her that if she could fix his engine as easily as she claimed, she was welcome to join his crew.

Now he stood to lose her due to his own sleep-deprived stupidity.

“…fuck.”

XXX

Down in the engine room, Ikkaku lay on her back underneath the ship’s engine, tightening the bolts that secured the freshly-cleaned cooling pipes. Since her argument with Law she’d basically spent every waking hour disassembling, repairing, and reassembling every piece she could. She trusted Skua and Malamute to take good care of the sub after she was gone, but the Polar Tang deserved nothing less than a thorough inspection and tune-up as thanks for carrying her so far.

She’d give the crew their own goodbye once they reached port. She hoped they were still too blinded by the hearts in their eyes to notice she’d been avoiding them. It wasn’t out of anger anymore; instead, she was scared she’d start blubbering. Admitting that Law had decided to toss her out on her ass was humiliating and heartbreaking, and she honestly wasn’t sure how the others would react. They could just as easily stage a mutiny as shrug it off as her overreacting.

Perhaps she was freaking out over nothing—Law hadn’t even left his room since their fight. Surely if he really wanted her gone, he could have marooned her back on Amazon Lily. Then again, he was a sadistic bastard; luring her into a false sense of security, then dumping her and her belongings onto the next port they landed on wouldn’t be entirely out of character. Or maybe her years of service had earned her enough mercy that he was willing to wait until they were at an island where Ikkaku could potentially find work instead of stranding her in the Calm Belt.

Whatever it was, she had every intention of confronting him about it after dinner. If this was all just a big misunderstanding, she planned to give him a good smack upside the head. If she was really fired, she wanted at least enough time to pack her things and say her proper goodbyes.

Until then, all she could do was stay busy to pass the time and hope that the knot of anxiety that twisted in her stomach would loosen up by the time she talked to him.

She didn’t want to leave, but if Law decided she was really that expendable, there wasn’t much she could do but try to hold onto at least a shred of dignity.

Reaching over to her tool kit, Ikkaku fished out her screwdriver, silently lamenting over the sad state of her tools. She’d planned on picking up some new ones back on Sabaody, but with all the chaos that had taken place, she’d missed her chance, and she wasn’t sure she could justify the cost now that her job was in jeopardy.

The sharp click clack of heeled boots against the metal floor startled her out of her thoughts. Glancing towards the sound, she immediately knew from the spotted jeans that filled her vision that, for better or for worse, the mystery of her termination was about to be solved.

She watched as Law turned around, and she knew from the barely-audible creek of the pipes that he had chosen to lean against them. Ikkaku had yelled at him for doing that more than a few times in the past, but this time she kept her mouth shut. Most likely he’d done it to provoke such a reaction out of her, but why? To break the viscous tension that filled the room by establishing a sense of normalcy, or so he’d have another cause to fire her?

Whatever his reason, Ikkaku refused to be the first to speak. Whether he wanted to kick her out or extend the olive branch, he’d have to make the first move.

After a few minutes of silence where Law merely stood there and Ikkaku continued to tighten the bolts, he finally sighed. “Penguin tells me that you haven’t been eating dinner with the crew,” Law’s low, nonchalant voice rumbled through the pipes.

If Penguin had to tell you, that says that you haven’t been eating with them, either, she thought sourly, though opted to stay quiet. She didn’t want to turn this into an argument if he intended to apologize. And if he planned to fire her…well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of riling her up.

Noting her unusual silence, he continued, “I understand their behavior has been…upsetting as of late. They were acting like idiots, but that’s no reason to isolate yourself.”

“Haven’t been isolating myself,” she lied, fiddling with a bolt she’d tightened ten minutes ago. “I’ve just had work to do. The Tang needed some maintenance, so I thought I’d get it done now that we weren’t being chased by Marines.”

“Sure. And the fact that Bepo’s been bringing you your meals this past week?”

“Going to the galley would have wasted time. Eating in here was more efficient, and Bepo offered.”

“Why didn’t you ask Skua and Malamute to help?”

“You doubtin’ my abilities as an engineer, Trafalgar?” she asked in a clipped tone, growing sick of tiptoeing around the point. “Whether you like it or not, I know how this ship works better than anyone. If you don’t trust me, tell them to get their asses in here and do it instead!”

There was a deep sigh from above her, and Ikkaku could easily picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows that formed when he was tired and frustrated. “Bepo told me you’re thinking of leaving.”

Ah. The moment of truth. Heart in her throat, she forced her herself to take a deep breath, ready for whatever judgement he saw fit to pass. “You’re the one who said I should if I didn’t like how I was being treated.”

“Are you?”

“Leaving or enjoying how I’m treated?”

“Leaving.”

“…I don’t want to.”

“Good.” It was subtle, but there was an unspoken “I wouldn’t have let you if you’d tried” in his tone. There was another long moment of silence before he continued, “Engineers as skilled as you are hard to come by—finding a replacement would have been a bitch. Plus, the crew would have been upset; they were practically interrogating poor Bepo about why you were avoiding them.”

“And of course you stepped in and played hero, rescuing the helpless Mink from an angry mob?” she snipped, tightening another screw. It didn’t sound like she was getting fired, so it was a little easier to let her natural sass creep back into her voice.

Law let out a faint tch above her. “I wouldn’t say ‘helpless’ considering how he then yelled at me about allegedly firing you. After that, the mob was on his side.”

A proud grin curled the corner of Ikkaku’s mouth. Who would have thought that Bepo would yell at his best friend for little old her? She’d have to come up with a nice thank you gift for her favorite shipmate. With luck, Law might actually apologize for his behavior if even Bepo was calling him out.

Of course, that might take a while, so it was best to keep busy. Reaching out her hand, Ikkaku felt around blindly for her socket wrench. She jerked slightly in surprise when she felt long fingers wrap around her hand before the tool in question was placed firmly in her palm. She pulled her arm back, only to stare wordlessly at the brand-new wrench that practically gleamed in the light.

Clumsily she slid out from under the pipes, jaw dropping as she found Law crouching beside a new, expensive, top-of-the-line tool kit. “I was saving this for your birthday but given the chance that you wouldn’t be around to receive it…” he trailed off, adjusting his hat so the brim cast a shadow over his face.

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, immediately recognizing the gift for the chrome apology that it was. Plus, it was hard to stay mad at Law when he was like this—honestly, it was so dang cute how awkward he was when forced to display actual human emotions like caring and guilt. “You bribing me to stay, Boss?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

She laughed, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him in for a hug. “Then I accept, along with a twenty-percent bonus on my next paycheck.”

He grumbled slightly but didn’t refuse, nor did he pull away from her embrace, even if he stubbornly refused to return it. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t technically said “sorry”. Actions spoke a hell of a lot louder than words with him, anyway, and Law was practically groveling for her to stay.

When she finally let him go, Law stood up and cleared his throat before nonchalantly strolling towards the door. “Well then, since you’re not leaving, unless the engine room is actively on fire and no one but you can put it out, you’re eating with the crew tonight. They’ll formally apologize for their behavior, and they’re all going out of their way to show you how much you’re appreciated. Ermine’s preparing your favorite meal. Clione and Shachi have put together a presentation detailing exactly how stupid they’ve been while Penguin has one extolling your virtues. Malamute and Skua have volunteered to take on your cleaning duties for the next two weeks.”

“What are you going to do?” Ikkaku teased, though he could have said “nothing” and she’d be fine—she knew he’d never make the mistake of discarding her again.

Law stopped at the door and threw his trademark cocky smirk over his shoulder. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ll be standing by your side all night to make sure you can’t run off when you realize just how obnoxiously sentimental those idiots can be.”

Ikkaku’s grin fell a bit as she realized he was right—the Hearts were an infamous band of pirates led by a fiendishly dangerous captain, but when it came to their nakama, they could get downright sappy in extreme circumstances. Jude was probably preparing some hippy-dippy song. Cousteau would inevitably name some weird sea creature after her. Seiuchi would probably find a way to scatter confetti all over the galley and she’d be picking it out of her hair for days…

Getting up, she chased after her devious captain. “I don’t suppose there’s still time for me to quit and join the Kuja, is there?”

Gold eyes glinted sadistically at her as Law replied, “Nope. Welcome to Appreciation Hell. Population: you. Don’t try to run, either—I’ll Shambles your ass into the galley if I have to.”

Ikkaku punched his arm in retaliation, though she was careful not to hit him too hard—if she annoyed him too much, he’d go out of his way to rile the guys up even more. God, he’d probably propose they all get tattoos of her face or something just to make her suffer.

“You’re an absolute bastard,” she said, affection creeping into her voice despite her best efforts.

“Yes, but a bastard that appreciates his engineer,” Law replied, and out of the corner of her eye, Ikkaku could have sworn she saw the barest hint of a genuine smile flicker across his face.

Despite the knowledge that she’d be stuck with a crew of idiots and a captain who had the emotional range of a teaspoon and a truly frightening sense of humor, Ikkaku felt happier than she had in weeks as she playfully knocked her shoulder into his. “I guess that’s not so bad, then.”

The End

[anexplanationofunfortunateevents]

supreme dysfunction

A lot of the politics around the Supreme Court has a kind of soft-focus, sepia-toned Before Times deceptiveness about it. The obfuscation is as thick and persistent as it is because the situation is extremely simple. Several decades ago, Republicans realized they could not win fair and square, so they put a lot of institutional focus and an obscene amount of money into rigging the courts. Cheating is the secret sauce. I realize that’s not a satisfying explanation for years of political dysfunction, but it is what it is.

And yet here we are, six weeks from Election Day, facing the prospect of a Trump-brand replacement for the irreplaceable Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

What you need to do is keep your head for the next few weeks. If that means putting this out of your mind as soon as possible, fine. All you need to know is that anyone this criminal would nominate to the court will be a disaster and anyone who would accept a nomination under these circumstances is wildly unfit to judge a dog and pony show. Republicans really did tell loud and insulting lies all throughout 2016 about why they wouldn’t confirm the replacement for a Supreme Court justice who passed away nearly a year before an election, and they really are out here now mocking the idea that anyone might have had to pretend to believe them then. They will probably succeed in pushing through a sentient garbage fire before the election, but we have to try to make it hurt. All you need to do is call your senators and tell them to honor Justice Ginsburg’s wish by refusing to confirm anyone Trump nominates. Either you’ll hear that they’re trying to do the right thing, which might make you feel better, or you’ll get an opportunity to call a Republican a fascist pig, which always makes me feel better.

If you are going to be following this farce, out of interest or because you can’t block it out, let me help you prepare for some of the bullshit that’s coming at you.

One of the foundational assumptions commentators make is that Democrats don’t “care” about the courts in the way Republicans do. Whenever you hit that assumption, think of this article:

Hillary Clinton Just Delivered the Strongest Speech of Her Campaign—and the Media Barely Noticed

Madison, Wisconsin—Hillary Clinton delivered the strongest speech of her 2016 campaign in Wisconsin this week, and the media barely noticed.

At the time (March 31, 2016) this article was just one of the many passive-aggressive subtweets from responsible commentators that their colleagues were ignoring policy for spectacle. After 2016, when Clinton’s supposed failure to go to Wisconsin has been waved like a talisman against any retrospective concern about whether the presidential election was even free (questionable) and fair (definitely not), it’s the fact that the press ignored a campaign event in Wisconsin which gives it that twist of dramatic irony. But it is also relevant because Clinton’s speech was about why anyone who truly cares about a progressive agenda must prioritize the federal courts as an issue. Since then, the press – who were called out AT THE TIME for ignoring substance generally and this speech specifically – have settled on “Republicans have seized the federal courts because Democrats don’t talk about the courts” as their new just-so rationalization for Moscow Mitch’s latest crime against democracy.

It’s bad enough that influential commentators ignore the substance of Democratic campaigns in favor of airing Trump’s empty podium and then use their own failures as an excuse to lie about whether or not Democratic politicians talk about the courts or any other issue. But the reality is even worse: in 2016 the Democratic candidate gave a brutally prescient speech about the courts, and our blue-check betters collectively decided to lie about WHETHER SHE WAS EVEN PRESENT AT HER OWN SPEECH. Then they used that lie to derail any chance of accountability for the MULTIPLE CRIMINAL CONSPIRACIES her opponent’s campaign committed, or even the slightest hint that they probably shouldn’t have allowed an autocratic regime that regularly murders actual journalists to be their assignment editor at the most important moment of their careers. “I wouldn’t have spent four months helping Russian intelligence dox Clinton campaign employees if only they’d gone to Wisconsin!” is a thing you can say without losing an ounce of standing in the pundit-industrial complex; of course lying about Democratic campaign messaging on the justice system carries even less of a penalty.

I’m ranting a little because RBG deserved to live three hundred years and these gaslighting bootlickers deserved to be flayed alive, boiled in oil, and fed to rabid vampire squirrels. But I also think people should absorb my point about just how rotten the information environment is. There is every political incentive for Democrats not to bother talking about they courts. They do it anyway because they know it’s important.

That terrible information environment has the predictable consequence of misinforming people. Even if you are trying to encourage people to act on this issue because you sincerely care about it, you end up saying ridiculous things sometimes.

Senate Democrats could have stopped Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation by sacrificing a virgin basilisk under a harvest moon to summon the wrath of the Old Ones, but they didn’t even try!

This is, to put it kindly, rewriting history. Senate Democrats made a herculean effort against Kavanaugh. Even before Christine Blasey Ford’s and Deborah Ramirez’s stories came out, Democrats on the Senate Judiciary Committee made the best case possible for the Senate to reject his confirmation.* After Dr. Ford was outed against her wishes, Democrats used every tool they had to force as much of an investigation as they could get, which drew maximum blood from Republicans, who were always going to do the wrong thing no matter what. Because Democrats did the work, voters got the point in the 2018 midterms. The Kavanaugh spectacle kept Republicans from gaining too much ground in the Senate in a year they should have cleaned up, and it radicalized the educated suburban voters who gave Democrats an unprecedented victory in the House.

None of this worked because Senate Democrats are in the minority, but they did try everything they could possibly have done. It’s true that they did not invent time travel and go back to re-run the 2014 midterms or rewrite the laws of mathematics to make 48 more than 52, because those things are impossible.

When people do the thing you supposedly want them to do, and you respond by stubbornly insisting they never did it, you’re not motivating them to do a better job. You’re telling them they should ignore you because you don’t actually care what they do.

I’m using this tweet as an example of a problem I see a lot, but my point isn’t to dunk too hard on this rando. We’re all a little emotional right now and who amongst us has never responded to stress by being Wrong Online; more importantly, it’s not entirely this person’s fault that they’re misinformed. You’re not supposed to have to be a huge nerd that actually watches Senate committee hearings! You’re supposed to be able to rely on the news to give you a reliable idea of what’s happening!! That’s literally their job!!!

AAAArgh. Okay. I’m back.

So. Okay. There are pervasive failings in news coverage of the politics around the federal courts, which leads to a lot of silly misunderstandings in the public more generally. Even if you work your way through all that nonsense and get to a reasonable understanding, you will find a fairly persistent asymmetry. The Republican establishment really does put a wildly disproportionate amount of effort into building conservative movement infrastructure for right wing lawyers and judges, and until recently, Republican voters really were much more likely than Democratic voters to tell pollsters that they were highly motivated by judicial nominations. Taking these things on face value and saying “oh, well, Republicans care more about the courts” obscures some really important, though disturbing, underlying dynamics.

The professional and intellectual ecosystem behind the conservative legal establishment is one of those situations where you really have to apply the Trunchbull principle. There really are millions and millions of dollars pumped into think tanks which invent bizarre excuses for radical right-wing subversion of the public interest by judicial fiat, extravagant “retreats” where sitting judges are alternatively pampered and bombarded with the resulting propaganda, and clubs which indoctrinate young conservative law students and vet them for career advancement based on their fealty to right-wing dogma. Describing what the Republican establishment is doing sounds fevered, conspiratorial hyperbole. I wish it were! If you don’t want to take my word for it – and I really wouldn’t blame you – you can get a lot of gory details from Vox.com’s courts and justice editor Ian Millhiser and Senator Sheldon Whitehouse (D-RI).

Senator Whitehouse’s main thesis is that these radical right-wing interests understand that a hostile takeover of the federal judiciary is in their financial interests, and that’s definitely sufficient to explain it. My personal sense is that there’s a second, even more unsettling, dimension to this. Article III of the Constitution deliberately insulates the federal judiciary from political pressure as much as possible. Another way of saying that, of course, is that the federal judiciary is removed from democratic accountability. I don’t think it’s just that the economic policies they want are unpopular. I think the investment in this judicial takeover project is motivated in part by the American right wing’s dark authoritarian streak. They value the judiciary because it’s the most leverage they can get against the electorate. “Judges!” is anti-democratic and that’s why they like it. It’s not just that they want things the voters don’t want so they have to get creative; it’s that they resent the voters for even having the ability to get in their way.

It’s not just the dedication to getting judges they agree with on the courts. It’s also the degree to which they expect those judges to humiliate themselves. They’ve had ten years and roughly the GDP of a small country at their disposal to come up with a challenge to the Affordable Care Act which did not sound like unhinged gibberish. Instead, they came up with the legal equivalent of a drunk guy trying to write a sonnet in Dothraki with a yellow crayon. (Actually that might be an improvement, so NOBODY TELL THEM ABOUT DRUNK DOTHRAKI CRAYON SONNET GUY.) It’s such a stinker that you hav to wonder if it isn’t the same phenomenon as what drives Trump and other autocrats to tell such blatant and ridiculous lies: it’s a power trip that shows off how they don’t even have to care about what “is true” or “makes sense,” because fuck you, that’s why. So what if an overwhelming majority of the American people have successfully convinced their elected representatives that health care costs were too much of a driver of economic inequality and limits on that are a good thing? We can still wreck it, because [*long fart noise*].

And if you listen to what Republicans say about the Supreme Court with that in mind, it starts to make a lot more sense. Under cover of mainstream apathy or even approval, the court gives conservatives unearned victory after unearned victory. If you’re a conservative, you’ll want to avoid killing that golden goose by making the court’s bias toward you completely undeniable. But if you’re a fascist, your priority is getting the court to commit. Any concession to truth or democracy, even if it’s just lip service, seems like a crack in the wall that your enemies can exploit, because it is.** As funny as it is to watch their little Pravda knockoff cry about John Roberts, Leftist Judas, this is what they mean: sometimes he tries to preserve the fiction that he hasn’t turned the Supreme Court into an arm of the radical right, which means they don’t win 100% of what they want immediately. Even Neil Gorsuch – hack, sadist, full-time Mayor Wilkins impersonator – can actually be cajoled into doing the right thing occasionally by lawyers who can craft an argument that fits into his crimped, cherry-picked definition of logic.

Like I said. Dark. I don’t want to overwhelm and discourage you. I think their absolutism and desperation is because even they know the victories they’ve won can slip away fast. But deluding ourselves hasn’t been constructive.

For their part, rank-and-file Republicans say they care about the courts. Fine. Republicans say a lot of things. They don’t think saying true things is important; if they did, they wouldn’t be Trump voters. Years before Trump, Republican voters learned how to give reporters and pollsters certain buzzwords to make their worst views sound more palatable. People are starting to grasp this with the “pro-life” white evangelicals who say they care about abortion on religious grounds. They support Trump as strongly as ever, despite the babies in cages, forced hysterectomies, and hundreds of thousands of COVID-19 deaths proving that neither he nor his party are in any way “pro-life.” It’s because “abortion” is the way they can get away with saying they support white patriarchy. Trump isn’t their guy despite his sleaziness, it’s because “grab ‘em by the pussy” has always been their actual preferred policy. “Law and order” is their dogwhistle for anti-Black racism. “Immigration” is the world they use when they mean they want more racism generally; pre-Obama, the preferred code phrase was “national security” but we’ve all seen how much of a shit they give about that.

As code words go, “judges” is less direct. Some commentators who try to parse it say it’s really about Roe v. Wade, but as we just went over, they don’t actually give a shit about that either. For some of them, “judges” is a sufficiently abstract rationalization for supporting Republicans when they know it is morally indefensible. This was probably a more pronounced issue than usual in 2016, both because it was so much harder to defend a vote for Trump and because of his inconvenient habit of giving the game away on the usual shibboleths. For others, “judges” represents the same thing it does for Republican elites.

I don’t know how conscious any of this is. I’m sure plenty of them have convinced themselves of whatever rationalization they give. Because we’re pretty good at fooling ourselves, what people say in opinion polls doesn’t necessarily tell us more than what they do when they’re not being prompted by pollsters. When Justice Scalia died four years ago, you didn’t thousands of people coming out to grieve for days on end. Little kids don’t dress up on Halloween as Chief Justice Roberts. RBG didn’t inspire that devotion by being a warm and gracious soul, although by all accounts she was. Liberals and progressives developed our sincere admiration of her because of her work on the bench. That is to say, Democratic voters care a great deal about the court. We just have to get our act together and do something about it.

The bad news is that winning in November is going to be the easy part. The good news is, we are getting organized behind some reforms that have been needed for many years. It’s not just Extremely Online progressives who are pushing for this. Even cool-headed institutionalist Democrats are openly advocating radical action. Democratic leadership are unlikely to get too specific right now – and they probably shouldn’t – but if voters do our job in November, some big and important changes are on the table.

*Footnoted because it isn’t really relevant, but Senate Democrats flawlessly executed a precise and coordinated strategy against Kavanaugh. The first few members to question Kavanaugh each focused on a specific issue tailor-made to give one or two of their Republican colleagues a reason to do the right thing. Then, boom, sucker-punch, Cory Booker started releasing the embarrassing emails Republicans were abusing committee rules to hide. Then, bam, left hook, Kamala Harris tripped him up by making him try to deny having been asked for assurances on the Mueller investigation. They did a great job, which everyone forgot about when someone threw Dr. Ford to the wolves.

**This is also a big part of why conservatives feel so instinctively victimized by the existence of a “liberal media” no matter how hard the political press bends over backwards to pound both thumbs on the scale for them. A free press actually is necessary for the functioning of the whole post-Enlightenment idea that people should have some say in how they are governed. If you’re an authoritarian who genuinely does feel that might makes right, then a somewhat functioning news media does at least pose a hypothetical threat to your power and even your worldview.