#this women hasn’t let me sleep more than 4 hours the entire time I’ve been here bc she’s manic and not sleeping

[slythernnn]

Me staring at all the homework I have to do in the next two days

[entertainment]

Entertainment Spotlight: Bethany Antonia, Get Even

British actress Bethany Antonia plays Margot Rivers in Get Even, a new thriller series adapted from Gretchen McNeil’s Don’t Get Mad books. The show follows a group of girls who come together as DGM (Don’t Get Mad) to expose school bullies; when they realize they’re being framed for the murder of one of their targets, they set out to uncover the truth. Bethany spent her formative years in rural France, before returning to her hometown of Birmingham, UK, as a teen, and landing her first role in a short film of The Tempest for The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust. She went on to land roles on TV in BBC’s Doctors and Channel 4’s Stath Lets Flats, and in the film Pin Cushion, which premiered at the 74th Venice International Film Festival. Bethany is an advocate for social justice issues such as the Black Lives Matter movement, LGBTQIA+ rights, veganism, wildlife conservation, and sustainable living practices. 

What kind of research did you do for the role of Margot? Had you read the books before taking the role?

I read both of the books! I read them once after my first callback for the show, and then again while we were filming. I absolutely love the books. There’s something so special about doing a series that’s based on a book and flying through trying to find out what’s going to happen to your character. Margot is also the only American in a British school, so I spent a lot of time thinking about her background and trying to piece together what her story was before we meet her as part of DGM.

Margot is described as shy, but she’s also the brains behind a group that seeks to stop bullying. What drew you to the role?

I got attached to Margot right off the back of reading the audition sides. Her character is everything I wished I’d gotten to see more of when I was younger. A young black girl who is shy, into gaming, and isn’t sassy or argumentative in a lead role? Sign me UP. I just adored the concept for the entire show. I loved the idea of these four teenage girls setting up a secret society in their school because straight away, I saw the bigger picture of what they were doing. It’s telling young girls to stand up for what they believe in and not to be afraid to take matters into their own hands despite living in a world that repeatedly tells them to do otherwise. It felt so empowering, and I was just so determined to be a part of it.

When you hear Black Excellence, what or who comes to mind?

Black Excellence for me is confidence. It’s power and resilience. It’s excelling in your particular area of the industry and leading by an example that others can follow. When I think of black excellence, I think of Michaela Coel, a woman who is completely changing the game in the industry right now. I have been a massive fan of hers since watching her first show, Chewing Gum, but I am so glad she is getting the global recognition she deserves off the back of I May Destroy You. It was one of the best pieces of television I have ever seen.

What role do you think film/tv/radio should have regarding social realities in Britain? What needs to change?

I think that every single form of media should be an accurate depiction of the world we live in. Any individual should be able to tune in at any given time and see themselves represented in some way, shape, or form. Anything less than that, and we have failed. We have been failing for a really long time in Britain. Tuning into the media has felt like an artist painting a blank canvas paint with little droplets of colour for effect for too long. We need to move away from the idea that the stories of white, straight, slim, able-bodied people are the only stories that need to be told, and start reflecting the realities of our country, which is so beautifully diverse.

How do you deal with a bad day, and how do you like to celebrate the good ones?

If I’m having a bad day, I like to do a complete reset: switch off from social media for a few hours, take a hot bath with a face mask or two, pamper myself, listen to a podcast or read a really good book, eat some of my favourite foods, and just take care of myself. Finding time to practice self-care for yourself is something I think is really important. So I do a complete brain reset and remind myself that tomorrow is a brand new day, and none of the day’s bad-day energy has to carry itself onto the next. I like to celebrate the good ones with my family and friends around me, making sure I’m really present and enjoying the moment, being grateful for whatever it is we’re celebrating.

Do you have any advice for young Black women looking to get into acting?

I’d love to get a whole room full of young Black women together and just tell them over and over again that they’re enough. This industry can feel impossible to break into for most up and coming actors, but for Black women, that’s especially true. It’s hard to envision yourself in a career that hasn’t been visible for you. Breaking down the door is only half of the battle. Once you’re in, there’s a million and one more challenges that come as a direct result of being a Black woman. I’d tell them to find confidence in themselves and their abilities, the kind of confidence that comes from within that nobody can take away from them, even if they have to fake it at first. I’d tell them to be proactive and take their careers into their own hands, to look into what they’re doing now and consider if it’s truly benefitting them for the kind of work they want to be doing. And finally, I would tell them to cling onto their love of acting with everything they have. Even if it feels like you’re not hitting the kind of goals you want to be hitting yet. Nobody can take your love of this craft away from you.

If you could choose any book that you’ve read to be adapted into film or tv, which book would you choose, and who would you play?

I read an amazing book recently called While I Was Sleeping by Dani Atkins, and I’ve not stopped thinking about it for weeks. It’s about this young girl named Maddie who wakes up from a coma thinking a few minutes have passed, but actually, six YEARS have passed. She was due to be married and have a baby, and she wakes up to find that her whole life has essentially happened without her while she’s been asleep. In my head, the whole book has already played out as a film over and over, with me as Maddie, ha! It could be so beautifully adapted.

Which song always manages to get you up in the morning?

“You Can Get It If You Really Want” by Desmond Decker. Every single time.

Thanks for taking the time, Bethany! Get Even is now streaming on Netflix.

Photo: Michael Shelford

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 2 (Nessian)

Damnation Series

Parts 1 / 3 / 4 / 5 

_____________________________________________________

~Nesta~

The day after meeting my fiancé, I drop Alexei off at the plane, tell him goodbye, and drive further down the tarmac to where Cassian’s waiting in a completely different private plane.

Very environmentally conscious, our lifestyle

The stairs are unfolded, so after making sure my luggage is transferred over, I head inside.

Cassian’s waiting, sipping bourbon despite the fact that it’s nine in the morning.

He’s dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a black long sleeve t-shirt that makes the tattoos on his hands and knuckles seem even more pronounced. He seems more comfortable now than yesterday.

Like he’s not trying to fit into the mold of a respectable gentleman in a suit.

He looks over as my heels click against the floor, eyes dragging up my legs, pausing at my chest, and scanning my face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t know what else to say.

My lips twitch as I slide into the seat across from him, staying silent for now to throw him off.

As expected, he shifts in his seat, looking mildly uncomfortable.

Then, like he realizes what I’m doing, he narrows his eyes. “You realize that a woman who just sits there, looks pretty, and doesn’t argue is pretty much a man’s dream, right?”

A smile tugs at my lips, but I sigh like I’m not the least bit amused. “Good morning, Cassian.”

His mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to determine the proper response for such a ground-breaking conversation opener.

He finally decides on: “You don’t have an accent.”

“Not when I speak English.”

Alexei, the hypocritical bastard, said English should sound like English and Russian should sound like Russian.

“Do you speak any other languages?” he asks, apparently not having looked in my file. He’s probably trying to figure out if his secret conversations with his fellow countrymen are safe.

“I speak Italian, since that’s what you really want to know.”

He grins, playful light in his eyes. “I think I’d like to hear that.”

An amused laugh escapes me at that, but I give him what he wants as I murmur, “Sono sicuro che lo faresti.” I’m sure you would.

His eyes seem to darken, and I roll my eyes. Men.

“I speak a little Russian, but not much,” he tells me. Considering I, unlike him, I did my homework, I already knew that.

Done with this conversation, I close my eyes and attempt to sleep. A plan that goes out the window when Cassian says confidently, “I usually only speak Italian when I fuck.”

I know he’s trying to feel me out, get a rise out of me, so I keep my voice completely deadpan as I reply, “Interesting. I tend to choose French.”

He laughs, face splitting into a humongous, goofy-looking grin. “Now that, I can’t wait to hear.”

Ah, yes. Because the idea I won’t sleep with him is unthinkable.

To me, too, but at least I’m not an asshole about it. Time to humble him a bit.

I feign like I’m not attracted to him in the slightest as I make a show of looking him over. “I never said you would, tupitsa.”

Before he can respond to me calling him a dumbass, I close my eyes and go to sleep.

~Cassian~

My fiancé passes out in a matter of seconds. It’s a little impressive, honestly. One second she’s teasing me with the thought of French whispers under silk sheets, the next she’s dead to the world.

I, unfortunately, am stuck on the first part.

Fuck, she’s hot.

It’s an effortless sort of beauty, considering she isn’t wearing makeup and her hair appears to be naturally blonde and straight.

Regardless, she looks like she just stepped off a runway.

Delicate bone structure, fierce eyes, full lips that sounded so good saying my name it took me a moment to formulate a response.

Distracting curves, sweeping hips, long legs that are currently crossed and allowing the slightest hint of lace at the top of her stocking to show.

My dick takes notice of that site, and I remind the greedy bastard she’s a Russian--an enemy--but he doesn’t seem to care. Nope, he wants me to peel those stockings down. With my teeth.

What’s somehow hotter than even her choice of legwear is the fact that she isn’t doing it on purpose. She’s completely relaxed, asleep for God’s sake, not trying to seduce me.

I grit my teeth and look out the window.

Like every other time I fly, I get restless after about ten minutes. I pull out my phone and make sure everything’s ready for when we land, work on my laptop for a bit, stare at Nesta sleeping for a longer bit, and pace the aisle like a caged lion when I start to feel like a creep.

Because I’ve been dealing with administrative shit like getting engaged, it’s been a while since I’ve done something to quell the rush in my blood.

Business, surprisingly, is boring when an army of hateful Russians isn’t trying to kill you all the time. I haven’t fought in days, haven’t shot my gun in longer.

I send Ricardo a text and have him set up a fight for tonight, but even the thought of the coming violence does nothing to help me calm down.

By the time we land, I’m more than ready to get the hell out of this plane.

Nesta wakes up when the wheels touch down, stretching and looking annoyingly well rested.

As the plane taxis, I tell her, “I have to work tonight.”

It’s a lie, and she cocks her eyebrow like she knows it. But she doesn’t call me on it, doesn’t even seem that interested. “I already requested a separate car.”

My brows furrow because I hate being predictable, but I keep my mouth shut.

Nesta stands as the stairs drop open, straightening her dress and pulling it down over the lacey top of her stockings that are now right in front of my face.

Before I even realize what she’s about, there’s a sharp smack to the bottom of my chin that forces my head up. She tsks, shaking her head teasingly.

“What was that for?” I ask, even though I already know.

She grabs her bag, and I follow as she walks down to the tarmac. “Somnophilia.”

I take a second to look up what the hell that is, laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes when I find the definition. Nesta shakes her head, small smile on those distracting lips, and walks to her waiting driver.

“I’ll see you at home, wife,” I call, not able to resist.

She just flips me the bird over her shoulder, making me laugh again.

Like I said, not what I was expecting.

~Nesta~

Things with Cassian are going... well, I guess.

He has the emotional maturity of a seventeen year old boy, but he isn’t terrible. As long as he stays out of my way, I dare say this marriage might work.

He’ll go about his business, I’ll go about mine, and we’ll avoid each other for happily ever after just like the fairytales say.

I shake my head as Maxim, one of the first New York transplants, navigates us through the city and to Sera. I’ve visited all my clubs at least once, and I have to admit, this one is by far my favorite.

As it should be.

The other three I run in New York were all my father’s originally. Built by a man, for the entertainment of men, I have to say they aren’t places I’d visit myself.

But I built Sera from the ground up, and while it’s designed to appeal to both men and women, men are--for the first time in history--not the priority.

The building it’s located in is a skyscraper, one I rent out to different businesses that don’t need an entire place to themselves. The ground floor is a bank, one that discretely cleans Russian money and makes us more through interest.

All in all, an unremarkable location to the public eye.

But every night, after normal banking hours have long passed, a select number of guests are invited to Sera--a speakeasy-type burlesque club with a hidden entrance in the secondary vault of the bank.

It’s secret, exclusive, and private as hell.

When we get to the bank, I enter the passcode on the side door--changed nightly--and walk through the silent lobby to the back room where the bouncer sits on a wooden stool.

“Privet, boss,” the burly man greets, sweeping the door open and ushering me through with a meaty hand. “Man in the back is asking for the owner.”

I nod and step inside, the door immediately closing behind me.

It’s the perfect level of crowded; enough people that no one stands out but not packed to the point of misery. By design, of course.

Everything seems to be the same as when I visited a few months ago except for the changed flooring I had installed last week. The tables and booths in the back are full of people captivated by the jazz singer on stage, a woman I discovered while walking to a business meeting in Paris.

Her cigarette-roughened voice had pulled me in, much like it does the audience now, and I’d offered her a job on the spot.

One of the bartenders, an ex-con who was locked up for stealing insulin for his diabetic daughter, smiles at me and slides me a tumblr of vodka as I make my way over.

“Good to see you,” Dima greets warmly. “How long are you here for?”

“Permanently.”

His eyebrows shoot up, which makes sense, considering the engagement hasn’t been announced properly. We’re apparently having a party of some kind in two weeks to celebrate the big news.

“I’ll explain later,” I tell him, noticing a group of people approaching the bar.

He nods, and I slip away towards the back corner where a roped-off set of stairs lead down to the basement below.

Like usual, there’s a private poker game happening in the main room of the bottom floor, and I stop to make say a few hellos but eventually move on to the hallway containing offices for some of the management.

The soldier stationed at the door to mine nods in acknowledgement, then tells me a whale’s inside.

My brows raise at the idea of a big-time investor coming to see me at this hour, but I shrug and walk in, shoulders back and face blank. I learned a long time ago to never let my emotions play out on my face.

The man waiting inside looks to be in his forties, richer than sin, and cold. Mafia, undoubtedly. His dark eyes rake over me, and he asks in a tone I don’t appreciate, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Nesta Orlov. You requested to speak to me?”

His bushy brows pinch together. “No, I want to speak to the owner.”

“One and the same.”

“I was told Cassian Azara is the owner.”

My jaw clenches at the thought that we’ve been engaged for less than two days and people already assume my shit is his. “By who?” I ask, remembering our upcoming nuptials aren’t even public news yet.

“My Capo.”

That gets my attention.

Rhysand’s telling people my club is Cassian’s? Why?

Something isn’t right.

I might not know the Italian boss, but I’ve heard he’s straightforward. Ruthless but honest. So why would he lie?

A little voice inside my head whispers, What if he isn’t?

Mind whirling, I turn to the man and smile politely even though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. “Would you mind giving me a moment? If you go upstairs, our bartender will get you anything you want, on the house.”

He shrugs and leaves, and as soon as the door clicks shut, I go to my desk and pull up the electronic copy of our marriage contract.

Like I thought, nothing’s amiss.

I read this shit thoroughly enough to know exactly what I was getting into, and in case I missed anything, I had my private lawyer scan over it.

But that little voice, that gut feeling, refuses to go away. So I grab my bag and look through the physical copy, dread unfurling when I notice an extra page tucked in the middle.

It’s a prenup.

One I’ve never seen.

And there, smack dab in the middle, is a line declaring the deed to Sera the property of Cassian Azara.

A rough breath forces its way out of me, and for a second, I’m so angry, so blind with rage, I can’t hardly think. What the hell is going on?

I force myself to think through this, to rationalize what I’m seeing.

Replaying the moment in the Capo’s office, I realize the switch between the original and this version of the contract must’ve happened prior. I was only in there a few minutes and had the papers in my hand the whole time.

Which means...

Alexei picks up on the first ring, like he was waiting for the call. “Da.”

“What the hell have you done?”

He sighs. “What needed doing.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. I wasn’t the one who started a goddamn war with the Italians, and yet I’m the one who’s paying all the prices. I’m marrying the bastard, for fuck’s sake. Give him one of your clubs.”

His tone hardens. “He didn’t want anything else.”

“I don’t give a shit! This place is my property. It isn’t yours to give away.” I take a deep breath and try to quiet the rushing in my veins. “That idiot will run it into the ground.”

There’s a long moment, and I swear he sounds a little guilty as he says calmly, “He has more than a few businesses of his own, Nesta. It will be fine.”

I pinch my lips together to keep from cursing the man who raised me.

“If you read the document,” he says, a strange note to his voice. “You’ll notice there are a number of clauses.”

My eyes scan to the bottom of the page, and I read as Alexei continues. “He is permitted from selling, unless to you. The investors have the option to vote him out at any time. And if he is unfaithful to you or ends the engagement for whatever reason, Sera is returned to you in full.”

All the violence, all the rage, seems to dim. Just a little.

This is so like Alexei; in fact, it was one of his first lessons to me.

Give someone the illusion of winning, and they’ll sign anything you want them to.

I read through the clauses again, lips twitching. “Let me get this straight. If I can prove Cassian Azara--notorious playboy of New York--is cheating on me, the club is mine? And if the board at Sera votes him out, he can’t fight it?”

I can practically hear my father’s smile. “Da.”

“Or if I drive him crazy and he ends the engagement?”

“Da.”

Sounds easy enough. I drive Alexei absolutely insane and have never had a long-term relationship. I’ll have him running for the hills in no time.

One thing doesn’t make sense, though. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t sign. It’s still a risk, even with the clauses” He takes a deep breath. “I never told you, but we were losing the war in New York. We would’ve lasted another year, and then we would’ve lost the city.”

“Alexei-”

“I need this alliance to hold, Volchonok,” he says. “And either of you calling off the engagement or divorcing the other is grounds for the war to start back up.”

“So you’re saying I still need to marry him.”

He gruffs a confirmation, and my brain whirls as it thinks of a new plan.

My options are down to three: have him sell to me, prove he’s cheating, or get the board to vote him out.

“One more thing. You only have until the wedding. Once you’re married, the only way to get your property back is if he signs the deed to you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, moving my timeline up by a factor of a hundred. Checking the calendar proves what I already know: I have less than thirty days to somehow convince one of the most notoriously stubborn men in the world to give me a multi-million dollar company.

Easy.

“I’m... sorry. For lying.”

I’m so shocked he just apologized--something he’s never done in my twenty-five years of life--it takes me a moment to respond and tell him he’s forgiven. “Ty proshchen, otets.”

I disconnect the call and swivel around in the chair, a smile pulling on my lips.

I’m going to drive him fucking crazy. All while I make him fall in love with me.

Oh, Cassian. I almost feel sorry for you.

_______________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

[sambergscott]

i've been down here before and i know the way out

Summary: Leo Peralta is named after all the greats - the Ninja Turtle, da Vinci, DiCaprio and McGarry. 

(someone asked me to write about the name leo for jake and amy’s baby paying homage to leo mcgarry from the west wing and since i've officially joined Team Leo, i figured i'd do this)

(the title has nothing to do with the fic, it’s just my favourite leo/josh quote and i *had* to use it) 

It’s a weird feeling, leaving his son for the first time. Sure, he’s only going down the hall to get some much-needed coffee and snacks and he’s in Amy’s more-than-capable hands, but he already feels like he’s missing out on so much. What if he opens his eyes? What if he latches for the first time? What if he says his first word? No, that would be crazy. 5 hour old babies can’t talk, not even when they inherit super smart Santiago genes. 

The point is: Leo is the coolest person he’s ever met, named after Leonardo from the Ninja Turtles (or if you ask Amy, some painter from the olden days), and leaving him, even if only for a few minutes, sucks.

He didn’t understand how any of the other Peralta dads could walk out on their sons before and he certainly doesn’t understand it now.

He could never abandon Leo.

Speaking of Peralta dads who abandoned their sons, he instantly recognizes the white hair and crumpled pilot uniform of the man at the coffee machine as his own father and braces himself for the least fun conversation of the day (even worse than a laboring Amy threatening to kill him if he tells her how to breathe one more time).

“Hey, grandpa,” he says, patting Roger on the back.

“Jakey!” He exclaims. “Congratulations, son.”

He’s received a lot of congratulations in the last few hours. From his mom, Amy’s parents, Amy’s brothers, the Nine-Nine, their extended families. Every time he picks up his phone to take a picture of the baby or Amy and the baby or a selfie of all three of them, there’s another 5 comments on his Instagram post about their new recruit. It’s all kind of overwhelming and he hasn’t got back to everyone yet (he knows Amy will want to send handwritten thank you cards anyway), but he has read the comments out loud to Amy and told Leo how loved he already is.

(It’s something Jake didn’t really know as a kid and he vows to raise his son differently, to tell him everyday that his mom and dad love him so much).

Captain Holt’s congratulations in particular brought tears to Jake, Amy and Leo’s eyes. To be fair, Leo was crying because he needed a diaper change, but still. It’s like he knew.

Ray Holt (Received 22:07):

Dear Amy, Jake and Leo (who Gina informs me is named after the ‘smokeshow’ actor Leonardo DiCaprio? According to the Internet Movie Database, he was in something called The Wolf of Wall Street and Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, although I have only seen the stage productions of the latter so cannot comment on his suitability as a name sake for your child),

Kevin, Cheddar and I would like to offer our congratulations on the birth of your first son. As newborns go, yours is very cute. We hope the labor went smoothly and that you are all enjoying this precious time as a family.

We understand it is customary to buy a stuffed animal for a newborn baby and since we could not agree on a lion (as his name is Leo) or a Corgi (as we have a Corgi called Cheddar), we decided to buy both. We hope you will have sufficient room to store both in your apartment. If not, we have kept the receipts on our person and will return your least favourite to the store.

We look forward to meeting the newest member of our Nine-Nine family and giving him his gifts. Please provide us with an appropriate time slot for visitation.  

I am very proud of you both. I know you will make excellent parents.

Sincerely,

Raymond Holt, Kevin Cozner PhD and Cheddar the Dog.

His dad’s two word congratulations pales in comparison to his Work Dad’s, but maybe that’s OK. They just have different styles. The more people who love Leo, the better, as far as Jake’s concerned.

He inserts his money into the vending machine and punches in the code for Sour Candies, then repeats the process for chocolate for Amy, while Roger makes them two coffees - strong. Parenthood is already exhausting; caffeine and sugar are the only thing stopping him from straight up passing out on the hospital floor and sleeping for an entire day. Well, that and the fact that he just had a baby who screams bloody murder when he’s not in his mom or dad’s arms.

“I’m going to need help carrying all this back to the room,” Jake says nonchalantly. “Want to come visit him?”

“Absolutely I do.”

“OK.” Nerves bubble inside of him as they get closer to Room 458 and he stops Roger just outside the door. “You have to promise me that if you go in there, you will be part of his life forever.” His eyes are dark, protective. He’s never been more serious about anything. “I will not let you treat him the way you treated me. He’s too good for that. If you’re in, you have to be all in. Are you all in?”

“I am,” he promises. “I know you’d probably find a way to throw me in jail if I let him down. And I won’t. I know I’ve been a selfish jerk but I really have changed - I want to be a good husband to your mom, a good father to you and your sisters and a good grandpa to your son.”

“His name is Leo,” Jake reveals, opening the door and smiling at the sight of Amy holding him. The tight feeling in his chest dissipates, replaced by a familiar warmth. He strides forward and kisses Amy, then Leo. “How were my two favourite people when I was gone? Missing me loads?”

“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “But other than that he just slept.”

“It’s tough being a baby, huh?” He whispers, stroking his son’s dark head of hair. “Maybe you can open your eyes for daddy now though?”

Nope. Nothing.

Damn it. He opened his eyes for Amy while he was in the bathroom earlier, which is totally not fair. She’s already turned him into a mommy’s boy before he had a chance.

(Not that he blames him. Leo does have a very awesome mom. The awesom-est).

“We brought you coffee,” Roger announces, stepping forward. “And congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Amy responds, gratefully accepting the to-go cup and taking a sip, despite it still being too hot. Not drinking coffee for 9 months was worse than all the worse bits of pregnancy combined. She complained about it constantly, but he’s pretty sure it was worth it all now.

“You look beautiful,” Roger says. “Considering you just had a baby.”

“Oh.” She grimaces at the back-handed, misogynistic comment and Jake hands his dad the precious cargo before he can dig himself an even deeper hole.

He hovers next to him, his super sharp detective instincts ready to catch Leo if anything happens.

Surprisingly - or maybe unsurprisingly, considering how he has at least 4 kids that Jake knows of (and maybe more that Roger himself doesn’t even know about, since he’s slept with so many women) - he holds Leo perfectly, supports his head, bounces him gently when he starts to shift like he knows he’s no longer with mom.

Jake takes a picture before he starts full on crying and then Amy takes a picture of 3 generations of Peralta men that, when framed, will make a perfect Christmas present for Karen.

“Leo’s a great name, by the way. I once knew a Leo. Leo McGarry. One of my teachers at flight school.” He pauses and Jake thinks he might start crying before the baby. “Great pilot, even better man. He was strict, but he believed in me, even when I screwed up my landings over and over. He had a heart attack and died a month before I graduated.”

“I’m sorry, dad,” he murmurs. He sounds like his version of Captain Holt and Jake would be similarly devastated if anything happened to him. Although losing his flight school mentor does explain a lot about why his landings are still bumpy as hell.

Roger smiles to himself. “He could’ve flown Air Force 1 if he wanted, the offer was there. But for some reason he decided to stick around and help idiots like me. He was the best of the best. Your Leo seems pretty great, too. You did good, kid. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” He exchanges a meaningful look with Amy. “We did good.”

“Peralta and Santiago. Always been a great team,” she grins.

As if hearing their names reminds him that he’s not being held by a) mom or b) dad, Leo wakes up and suddenly screams for them.

“Here, dad, I’ll take him.”

Roger transfers him back to Jake and like some kind of magic spell from Harry Potter has been cast, he calms back down, content in Jake’s arms.

“So dramatic,” Amy teases, taking another sip of coffee. “Maybe we should’ve named him after DiCaprio.”

[crystaljins]

Take a chance. | 05

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 6.5K

Synopsis:   You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

Hanahaki!au

Notes: @trumpettay asked that they be tagged when this fic is released! First time receiving a request like that, but I’m happy to!

And I suppose.... I should give you guys some warning.... the fluff gets a little bit... thin from this point on...

Warnings: Angst. Graphic depictions of vomiting. Mentions of illness and death.

Masterlist

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Seri has been working here for a few months now. It isn’t a long amount of time by any means. Yet even as new as she is this event-planning firm, she knows that when Kim Seokjin walks in with bounce in his step, whistling a cheerful tune, that her day is going to be very, very long. He’s not a nasty man by any means- no, he’s well-meaning, kind, patient, amiable. So it’s not like he’s trying to make things difficult for her. He just manages to, somehow.

His expression lights up when he sees that she is huddled in the kitchenette, hugging a cup of coffee to her chest like it is her first-born child. Don’t come over to me, don’t come over to me, don’t come over to me, is what Seri chants repeatedly to herself but alas, Jin has never before heeded her silent pleas for peace and quiet. He strides over to her with the confidence and cheerfulness of a man who has been handed the entire world on a silver platter.

“Good morning, dear Seri!” He cries. He never wears a business jacket into work on warm days- he prefers to sling it artfully over his shoulders like he’s a model. Seri knows it’s only so that he can roll up the sleeves of his button up to expose his forearms because he likes catching women staring. He shoves his right hand into his pant pocket and leans against the counter Seri is standing by. Seri offers a weak smile and avoids his gaze- perhaps if she doesn’t acknowledge his presence, he’ll leave her be.

He does not.

“Isn’t today such a fine, warm morning? Did you notice the birds chirping just outside our office building? Why, even the homeless man on the train this morning didn’t smell as much like feet as he normally does.” Jin recounts cheerfully. If he were an anime character, his eyes would be sparkling and there would be a soft pink background and hearts floating behind him.

“I suppose it’s an ok morning.” She says. It’s not. Her toilet was clogged, her sister’s baby couldn’t sleep the entire night and was howling because of a cold and she has a ladder in her stockings. But she also doesn’t want to ruin his good mood- it feels kind of like kicking a puppy if she does. Jin stares at Seri expectantly, but she merely sips at her coffee. She hopes eventually the work he has to get done and the meeting with clients she knows he has in 20 minutes will draw him away. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy talking to Jin. It’s just that he’s always so full of energy and on mornings like these she just wants quiet.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m in such a good mood?” He prods.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.” She mutters under her breath. He doesn’t seem to hear.

“Because haven’t you noticed how close our boss and resident space cadet have gotten over the past few weeks? All thanks to me.” He cries. He glances from side to side before leaning in close enough that Seri can feel his breath puffing against her cheek. “And yesterday they came into work together. And late.”

“They own this place. They can come in at any hour they please.” Seri points out placidly. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

Jin nods his agreement, folding his arms across his chest.

“Hm… You’re right.” Jin admits. “They’ve been making some great progress, but nothing solid so far.”

He goes silent, and Seri takes that as her chance to try and edge way from him. But suddenly he pushes off the counter, straightening and clapping one fist into an open palm.

“I have an idea!” He cries, with enough volume that she flinches and nearly spills her coffee all over herself. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top if she did? “Last night I was watching this drama- great drama, by the way, 100% would recommend. I’ll text you the name later. Anyway, in it, the female lead ends up being tricked into thinking the male lead likes her and because of that she starts to notice all his charms and whatnot, and in the end she falls for him. That’s what we need to do for Jungkook! And it wouldn’t even be lying, considering that (Y/N) really does have feelings for him! It’d just be… not telling the whole truth.”

“I really think that this isn’t-” Seri protests hastily, hoping she can stop Jin before he tries yet another one of his stupid plans that puts her boss at risk.

“Oh, Seri, Seri, Seri. What Jungkook needs to realise his feelings is just a little nudge. We’ve laid some nice groundwork with our plans so far-” Jin explains.

“I’ve had no part in these plans, Jin, they’ve all been you-”

“But now he needs something harsher. Something more definite. We need to drop a bomb, if he’s going to take that last step to returning (Y/N)’s feelings and curing her Hanahaki.” He says aloud, and Seri has a feeling he wouldn’t even notice if she stepped out of the room this instant. He really has a one-track kind of mind. “You’re brilliant, Seri. Finally, the last step to Operation “Cure-(Y/N)”!”

Seri rolls her eyes as Jin cheers and prances out of the kitchenette, oblivious to the world around him. Playing with peoples’ feelings, especially when the stakes are so high, is a terrible idea. And Jin means well, he really does, but she can’t shake the feeling that the best way to deal with this is to convince you to get the treatment you apparently need. She can only hope that both you and Jungkook manage to survive this latest plan unscathed.

++

Jungkook has kind of been hoping for a chance to speak alone with Jin, ever since the weird clubbing experience. He hasn’t really had the time or emotional space to process the things Jin said that night, what with stuff for the wedding starting to pile up and his days steadily becoming busier the closer the dreaded date gets. But Jin’s words have been buzzing in the back of Jungkook’s mind like storm clouds on the horizon. Why had Jin warned Jungkook that things won’t last like this forever? At the time, when Jin warned him, the thought of you not being a constant had been a bit sad but it hadn’t been something Jungkook felt he should worry about. But after that day in your apartment, after crying in your arms, Jungkook is suddenly scared by Jin’s warning- what will he do, if you aren’t there? As corny and ridiculous and selfish as it is… Jungkook needs you. And he needs you for more than just your help- he needs that feeling you give him- that warm, safe, comfortable feeling. He needs you, and your gentle smile and the sound of your humming as you work and the passion in your eyes when you plan a wedding. But, even knowing all of that, he can’t think why Jin said the things that he did. Why can’t things stay like this? Why can’t he continue to rely on you and trust you like he’s learnt he can? Why would you finding someone else come in between that? The more that he thinks about it, the more questions he has and so when Jin offers to treat him to lunch, Jungkook jumps at the chance.

“I’m feeling something soup-y.” Jin announces, as he leads Jungkook through the crowded street. In the lunch hour, the streets are often packed around their office building, but there’s enough places to go to that it’s always easy to eat out. Jungkook nods.

“I’m happy with whatever.” Jungkook informs him, adjusting his tie. In the sweltering heat, the business attire you insist on can be quite uncomfortable. Jin doesn’t look bothered- he has his suit jacked draped neatly over his forearm and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He’s probably used to formal business attire, though- being from a rich family probably meant he’d had to spend a lot of time wearing it.

Jin grins and leads Jungkook down a small alleyway between buildings. Jungkook recognises it- there’s a small, family owned restaurant at the end of the alleyway. It’s usually a quiet place, even during the lunch rush hour, which makes him feel like maybe Jin has something to say to him as well. It isn’t until after Jin has ordered, charming both the waitress and the owner of the restaurant, and the menus have been taken away, that he speaks up about what’s on his mind.

“Have you thought about what I said that night at all?” He asks Jungkook. He folds his hands neatly on the table and stares expectantly at him. Jungkook nearly chokes on his drink because in the time it had taken Jin to order far more food than was necessary, Jungkook had let his guard down.

“I have.” Jungkook coughs. “I actually wanted to talk about what you meant that night. Were you saying I’m holding her back from finding the right guy? Are you worried I’m taking her for granted? Because I promise, I really do appreciate her-”

To Jungkook’s immense surprise, Jin merely starts laughing.

“Oh, my poor, sweet, naïve Jungkook!” He exclaims fondly. “I would never think so lowly of you! Of course, you appreciate our boss, I’m sure- that’s not what I was saying.”

“Then what were you saying?” Jungkook answers, feeling a little patronised, and a little frustrated. What could have Jin meant, then? Why does he have to be afraid that things are going to change with you?

“Well, at the time, I wanted you to realise that the way things are now could change very quickly and suddenly, and I didn’t want you to realise something important after you’d lost your chance.” Jin explains. He tilts his head and peers at Jungkook like he’s having a lot of fun at Jungkook’s expense. “But now… Now I want you to work out something else. Forget what I said about not getting too comfortable. There’s something else.”

“Then say it!” Jungkook complains. “Please just come out and say it- why do I have to be worried about things changing? Why can’t things stay like they are now? Why are you being so cryptic?”

Jin ponders this.

“Well, it’s more fun if I’m cryptic. At least for me.” He admits. “But I suppose you’ve always been a bit obtuse so maybe I should come out and say it. I’ll put you out of your misery, then. You don’t have to worry about getting too comfortable but there’s a reason you might want to rethink the nature of your relationship with her.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“(Y/N) likes you.” He announces. He says it gleefully, like Jungkook should be excited or happy at the announcement. “Like… romantically.”

There is a sudden roaring in Jungkook’s ears following Jin’s announcement. His heart plummets into his stomach. He doesn’t understand the sudden panic that seizes his gut. Adrenaline floods his veins as if Jin were threatening his life.

“N-no she doesn’t.” He protests weakly. Because you don’t. No, because you can’t. If you like him… if you like him… then���

“She told me.” Jin admits with a shrug. He pauses to smile at the waitress as she sets his food down before him. When she leaves, he takes a large mouthful. “The other day,” He continues to explain, though the words are hard to decipher when Jin’s mouth is still full. “I asked her why she was putting in so much effort to Taehyung and Minah’s wedding and she said it was because she didn’t want to let you down.” He swallows and flashes Jungkook a thumbs up, unaware of the way Jungkook feels like his world is suddenly crashing down around him. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but she said it’s because she has feelings for you, and that’s why she’s trying so hard.”

The sound of a chair screeching against the floor echoes loudly in the quiet restaurant. It takes Jungkook a few moments to understand that it’s because he’s gotten abruptly to his feet. He stares, bewildered, wondering why he’s breathing like he’s just ran a marathon. It’s hard to describe what he’s feeling, short of panic. Yes, the two of you have been close of late. Yes, he feels like he can trust you perhaps even above Taehyung and Minah right now. And yes, you’re so, so important to him. He came here in the first place because you’re important enough to him that he’s scared of losing you.

But the thought of you having romantic feelings for him… it scares him in a bone deep sort of way. Because he’s still dying of Hanahaki for Minah, which must mean that your feelings aren’t returned. And the thought of you feeling even a fraction of how he feels about the Minah-Taehyung situation makes him feel sick to his stomach. And that’s not even beginning to consider what happens if those feelings progress- what if you end up with Hanahaki? He really wouldn’t be able to handle it if something horrible like that happened. The fluttery, joyful high he’s been experiencing ever since that day in your apartment vanishes- he’s left feeling like he’s suddenly plummeting towards the earth and deathly speeds. He’d ruin you, if you liked him. Your smile, your laugh, your kindness… they would be gone, and it’d be his fault. He feels a wave of self-loathing so powerful he feels it may knock him out.

“Tell me you’re lying.” Jungkook begs. “Please. Say it’s a practical joke.”

The mirth slides off Jin’s face at Jungkook’s reaction. Instead concern knots his brows and tugs his lips downwards in a frown.

“Jungkook, are you ok? You look a little pale.” Jin says, about to get to his feet.

“Say it’s not true.” Even Jungkook is surprised by the volume of his voice. Jin’s jaw drops and the silence that follows Jungkook’s shout is jarring.

“I know, I know we’ve been spending a lot of time together. But it’s just because we’re friends. She cares about me as a co-worker. As a co-worker.” Jungkook explains, his voice hoarse and choked. “But she can’t like me, she can’t.”

“Ok, ok. Jungkook, calm down.” Jin says urgently, getting to his feet and planting his hands on both of Jungkook’s shoulders. Jungkook can’t seem to slow his rapid, panicked breathing. “Hey. Look at me.” Jin’s voice has gone gentle and soothing, as he urges Jungkook to meet his gaze. “I was joking. I’m sorry- I didn’t mean it. I thought it would be funny. She doesn’t like you. I’m sorry, Jungkook.” Jin says placatingly.

But Jungkook has been working with Jin for three whole years now. Even though Jungkook has always preferred to distance himself from his coworkers, it’s hard not to get to know someone as friendly and open as Jin, after three years. And Jin has always been easy to read and easy to understand. Which means Jungkook can see it, plain as day. Jin is lying through his teeth, right now, which can only mean one thing.

You do have feelings for him.

Jungkook stares at Jin with wide, panicked eyes for one moment longer, before fleeing from the restaurant like his life depends on it.

And as Jungkook leaves, it occurs to Jin that maybe… maybe he went too far this time.

++

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Jungkook is avoiding you. After all, the two of you run a business together, and have been fairly close as of late, so it’s easy to notice the suddenly chilly way he treats you. Even messages about important things, like the scheduling software you use malfunctioning, or picking a location for Minah’s hen’s party are met with simple, one-word answers. What’s difficult to work out is why. What could you possibly have done wrong?

After that day in your apartment, the morning after the wedding dress fiasco, things had been great. He’d been weirdly emotional then, but he’d been normal at work that day, and the next- better than normal. He’d been sweet and friendly and eager to spend time with you. If you had to identify a specific starting point for things going weird, it had been after he’d abruptly taken the rest of the day off after lunch with Seokjin that day. It was rare for Jungkook to agree to any kind of social outing involving his co-workers so you had been surprised when Seri informed you that the two had gone to lunch together. So, your best guess at what could be wrong is that Seokjin said something strange. The two of them certainly have a strange dynamic- you still haven’t forgotten how weird that night the three of you went to the club was. But shouldn’t he be avoiding Seokjin, if that were the case, and not you? What could Seokjin have possibly said to trigger such baffling behaviour in your business partner?

Across from you, Minah carefully raises another forkful of cake to her mouth. She’s watching you like at any moment you are a bomb that could go off- perhaps she can sense your stormy mood.

“Um… (Y/N)…” She starts meekly. You start and shake yourself. You’re suddenly aware of the tension you had been holding in your expression and force yourself to relax into a smile. “Are you ok? You seem a little… off.”

You suppose you have been off. You’ve been weird and flu-y all week, and when coupled with how Jungkook has been treating you, it’s been a rough time.

“I’m just feeling a little under the weather.” You offer kindly. “How do you feel about this one?” You question, gesturing to the white chocolate and coconut cream cake before you. She watches you curiously for a moment longer before turning to the cake.

“Well, I really like it, but Tae is a bit picky with what he eats.” She offers with a laugh. “He doesn’t like the texture of coconut. So far I think that caramel mudcake and the red velvet are winning.” She says. She pats her stomach delicately. “But I don’t think I can handle much more cake! I never thought I’d see the day when this happens, but I think I’ve eaten enough cake to last me a lifetime.”

“Yeah- it’s why I normally avoid cake tasting with clients. I’d put on too much weight!” You tell her while patting your stomach with a laugh. She nods and smiles. There is a long drawn out silence where the two of you have run out of things to talk about unrelated to the wedding.

“You’re probably wondering why I invited you and not Jungkook.” She offers suddenly, setting down her fork and folding her fingers neatly together in front of her. You pause in the middle of trying the next sample of cake and stare at her curiously. Her smile is tight but concerned. “I’m worried about him. Especially after the other day. He’s been so distant lately, and I was wondering if he’d maybe spoken to you about it. The two of you seem so close lately, and he hasn’t been speaking to me or Taehyung.” She confesses. It makes sense, as his best friend, for her to seek you out. She’s probably desperate for answers. After all, they are life-long friends and Jungkook has been sick for over a year at this stage. Even the most obtuse people in the world would notice something strange is going on.

“It was just a spot of food poisoning.” You offer, though your smile is restrained and decidedly icy. Her frown deepens at your obvious lie.

“See, that’s the thing.” She says. “If it was just food poisoning, why did he call you? He could have asked me for help. I could have called the ambulance. He was barely conscious when you dragged him out. And I didn’t say anything because you asked me not to that day, but I can’t hold back anymore. What is wrong with Jungkook? What is he not telling me?”

You press your lips together nervously. Suddenly all the cake you’ve eaten leaves you feeling a little sick, and the nerves don’t help.

“I…” You say slowly. Your mind draws a blank- what’s a believable lie you could tell her to throw suspicion off? As it stands, she doesn’t seem to be suspecting Hanahaki. It’s not the most common disease in the world- it certainly wouldn’t be at the top of her list of what she suspects is wrong with Jungkook. “I don’t know.” You finally settle on. “He’s been acting weird towards me too.”

Her gaze softens at your confession, and you are surprised at the genuine sadness that comes out in your voice. Perhaps you have a future in acting.

“He’s been avoiding me all week, since that day in fact.” You confess. It’s a temporary fix, at best, but if you can contact Jungkook in time, perhaps the two of you can come up with an acceptable lie when you aren’t put on the spot like this. “So, if you want to know, you’ll have to talk to him.”

Minah seems to soften and relax when she realises that she is not alone in her bafflement over Jungkook. Of course, you are a little more informed of the situation than her, but he’s just as confusing to you. Even after all this time, after everything the two of you have been through together, he’s treating you like this. You can understand her confusion and hurt, at the very least.  She leans back and sighs.

“He’s been like this since he was a kid.” She confesses. “Always suffering alone. I wish… I wish just once he could rely on someone else.” The sadness in her voice makes your heart ache for her- not for the first time you are made aware of just how much she loves her friend.

“I’m sure… I’m sure he just doesn’t want to make you worry.” You offer weakly and her smile is thin and doesn’t reach her eyes.

“See, that’s the thing.” She sighs, defeated. “Friends are supposed to worry about each other. It’s in the job description. If you can’t trust your friends, who can you trust? But I suppose he wouldn’t be Jungkook if he wasn’t frustratingly closed off and difficult to read, would he?” She says with a chuckle. She straightens and smiles at you. “Thank you, though. I’m sure you have to get back to the office.”

You glance at your watch- you do. You’ve got a mountain of paperwork to go through and some new clients have just filled out a questionnaire you have to read through. You smile at her apologetically.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” You say, getting quickly to your feet. “Email me what cake you and Taehyung decide to go with, and I’ll be in contact about finalising the invites to send off next week as well.” You say as farewell.

Back at the office, the atmosphere is strange. Seri is out for the day, taking clients to see a nearby venue, so Seokjin and Jungkook are the only ones in. Jungkook, when in the office (since there are times when he prefers to work from home), is often flitting from place to place as he makes phone calls or is seated at his desk going through paperwork. But currently he is seated stiffly at his desk. He is unmoving, instead staring at the monitor of the computer that rests on his desk like it has personally wronged him. And Seokjin, who is normally the kind of worker who spends more time gossiping in the break room than actually working, types vigorously at his desk like you’ve threatened to fire him if he doesn’t meet an email quota for the day. Normally, the work environment you have set is relaxed and free. Jungkook normally tracks the in- and out-of-office tasks and he does monthly performance evaluations, but as a whole, event-planning requires flexibility, and demanding customers often ensure your workers are meeting deadlines better than you ever could. But the office you have just walked into looks grey and bleary.

You can’t help but feel the oddly chilly atmosphere is linked to Jungkook’s recent behaviour, and it only furthers you suspicions that Seokjin is at the root of it all. But you have no time to dwell on it, for you feel it is better to inform Jungkook of Minah’s concerns sooner, rather than later.

“I need to speak with you in my office.” Is what you tell him, and you can’t help the way your tone runs slightly chilly. You had thought his sudden distance didn’t bother you, but clearly it does. You swallow, and stride into your office before you can observe his reaction, and without checking if he follows.

He does though, and when the door clicks shut before you, you turn to face him. You don’t know how to hold yourself around him, suddenly. You settle on standing straight, with your arms dangling loosely by your side. He stares at you, his face impassive and difficult to read. If Seokjin were to peer in through the window to your office, perhaps he would think you were having a staring competition. You swallow deeply and clear your throat, willing the uncomfortable ticking feeling in the back of your throat to go away. You must be coming down with a cold.

“I just got back from cake-tasting with Minah.” You inform him, breaking the silence. Something flashes in Jungkook’s expression, but it is gone before you can identify it. “She… she wanted to know about that day. At the wedding dress boutique. At the time I told her you had food poisoning and managed to get her to back off by saying I would explain later, and she wants those answers now.”

Silence follows, and Jungkook drops his gaze to his shoes.

“I see.” He answers softly, and his tone is frustratingly lacking. You’d have an easier time reading a blank sheet of paper. “What did you tell her?”

You bite your lip.

“That I didn’t know.” Is your simple answer. “I figured it would buy us some time to come up with an answer-”

“Good.” Jungkook interrupts. He says the words so softly that at first you think you might have misheard them. “That’s all you have to do- I’ll handle the rest. This isn’t an “us” problem.”

“Sorry, what?” You ask. If you’d had any doubt that he had been oddly cold towards you before now, then the way he regards you when he finally raises his gaze confirms it. You’ve seen ice warmer than the chill in his eyes.

“There is no “us.”” He repeats, louder this time so that you know you didn’t mishear him. “This is my problem, and you don’t need to get involved. Thank you for your help all this time, but I’d prefer it if we kept our relationship strictly professional from this point on.”

He bows, and turns to leave the room, as if that is an acceptable point to end the conversation. As if it’s ok to suddenly drop a bomb like that and then leave. As if you have the kind of relationship that can be cut off so easily.

“I thought we were in this together?” You ask, and you can’t keep the hurt from colouring your tone. Jungkook pauses with his hand resting against the doorhandle.

“We were.” He says softly, and it almost sounds like he regrets the fact. “But after thinking it through, I think that that was a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought my boss at work into such a personal situation. We’ve crossed a lot of professional boundaries, recently. And I understand that that was because we were in very difficult circumstances. But I don’t think that this is what is best for us, and I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about our relationship. You’ve been really helpful so far with my… condition, but I can handle it just fine on my own. I’d prefer you avoid getting unnecessarily caught up.”

““Unecessarily caught up”?” You spit in anger, striding forward and wrenching his shoulder so that he’s forced to face you. “Is that what you think of all this? It’s not like I was trying to invade your privacy- I’ve only been trying to help you, this entire time! And it’s not like I asked for any of this. How could you even say such a thing? I don’t know why you’re suddenly acting like this, but Jungkook, I’m helping because I care about you. Is that a crime?”

“It is.” Jungkook shouts, forcefully throwing your hand off his shoulder and glaring at you with a wildness and pain you don’t understand. The mask he had been hiding behind has cracked but you don’t understand a single one of the agonised emotions on his face. “I don’t want you to care about me.” He says, and he’s panting with the exertion of his shout. “I need you to keep your distance.”

Something about the way he says it, weak and broken, cools your sudden bout of anger. But his word choice strikes you as odd as well. It almost sounds… it almost sounds like he feels like he has no choice in pushing you away. Which is a familiar enough scenario to you- didn’t he do exactly that to Taehyung and Minah? Under the guise of it being for their own good? For the first time, you think that maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, to keep this awful secret from them for so long.

“Jungkook,” You call softly. His shoulders hunch in a flinch like you’ve just threatened to punch him.

Whatever questions you could have asked him next or words of comfort you could have offered are cut off by Seokjin opening the door to your office. He doesn’t knock, instead swinging the door open with urgency. He looks supremely uncomfortable as he glances between the two of you.

“I… I heard shouting.” Seokjin says, and you have no idea why he looks as guilty as he does until he meets your gaze determinedly. “And… And I think you guys should know about my part in your fight….”

++

Of all the ways you could have expected Jungkook to react in the ringing silence follow Jin’s story, bursting into laughter is not one of them. But that’s exactly what he does- he laughs loudly and freely like someone has lifted a weight off of his chest.

“Oh, Jin,” Jungkook cries, almost in tears- his laughter sobers quickly but the relieved smile remains. Seokjin frowns, adjusting how his spectacles sit against his face and for the first time perhaps ever, he looks bashful. “That’s not the case at all. (Y/N) doesn’t have Hanahaki. Although thank you for trying to help her.”

Seokjin blinks a few times in bafflement, before looking to you for confirmation. You offer him a smile.

“It’s true.” You tell him. “I don’t. And if I did, as much as I appreciate your attempts to help, I would get treatment- my brother’s not a specialist for nothing.”

“But then, what about when you were randomly asking about Hanahaki?” Seokjin accuses, and you feel bad for him. Everything he’s picked up on is a half-truth. The rose petals were likely from Jungkook having an episode. And you had suspiciously asked about Hanahaki not long after. But he’s missed the whole truth, and now the two of you are going to have to lie to him to continue to keep Jungkook’s secret. You open your mouth with a lie prepared, but Jungkook beats you to the chase.

“Because I’m the one with Hanahaki.” Jungkook announces, no longer laughing. Instead he smiles kindly at Seokjin.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows such an announcement. Seokjin’s jaw actually drops.

“Not for (Y/N) though.” He continues to explain. “For Minah. My best friend, and the woman (Y/N) is currently planning the wedding for. (Y/N) has just been trying to help me all this time.”

Seokjin’s mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish before he finds his voice.

“So, you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?” Seokjin rasps.

You bite your lip, prepared to deny it, but the words don’t come out for some reason. Like they are caught in your throat. Luckily Jungkook is quick to jump in before you can force the denial out.

“Of course she doesn’t, thank goodness.” He sighs, and he looks so genuinely relieved that you should feel happy for him.

You don’t, though. You don’t feel happy at all. In fact, his words trigger something in you- your mind races as you put two and two together. Slowly the gravity of Jungkook’s behaviour occurs to you, now that you know the reasoning behind it.

“Then… Jungkook…” You wonder aloud. He turns to you curiously, patiently awaiting your question. “This past week that you’ve been acting weirdly around me…”

Jungkook grimaces and rubs nervously at the back of his neck.

“Oh… that…” He says slowly. “I’m so sorry about my behaviour, (Y/N). It’s because I was worried you had feelings for me. I was scared I would hurt you.”

His words shouldn’t hurt. They shouldn’t feel like he’s simultaneously plunged a knife into your heart and punched you in the gut. All his earlier, nastier words were because of a misunderstanding. He had been trying to push you away, maybe even for you own good, knowing Jungkook. You shouldn’t feel hurt. The feelings he was worried about don’t exist so you shouldn’t feel so heartbroken over him responding so vehemently to them.

But you do.

“Am I really that repulsive?” You ask softly. Both men in the room stiffen, perhaps picking up the undercurrent of hurt that, before this moment, hadn’t been detectable in your voice. It’s clear as day now, though. “Was the thought of me liking you so horrible that it justified you saying all those awful things to me just then? You had to go that far to push me away?”

The air changes slightly- gone is the relief and slight amusement at Seokjin’s antics. Instead your mind races as you filter through the hurt, the distress, the confusion Jungkook has put you through, all because he was terrified. Terrified of something as small and insignificant as you having a crush on him. As if your feelings are disgusting enough to justify casting you aside like a dirty rag.

“N-no.” Jungkook protests. Seokjin looks like he very much regrets being in the room in this instant. You regret being here too. “It- it wasn’t like that, (Y/N). It was for your own good.”

“‘My own good’” You repeat, and the bitter sarcasm is not lost on the two other occupants of the room. Jungkook stares despairingly at Seokjin but he has nothing helpful to offer, too subdued by his previous blunders. “You don’t have to lie, Jungkook.” You spit, as hot, angry tears begin to pool in your eyes and your throat burns. “Thank you, though, for showing me just how important I am to you. I’ll be sure to keep our relationship purely professional from now on.”

And you turn, ready to storm out of your office so that neither of your co-workers see the way your face has crumpled with hurt and the way the first of the tears begin to trickle down your cheeks.

“Wait, wait,” Jungkook cries, panicked now. He wraps his fingers around your wrist, trying to hold you in place. “No that’s not what I meant (Y/N).” He calls, and he’s almost in tears as he says it. “You’re important to me. You’re so important to me it scares me sometimes. I didn’t push you away because I don’t want you to like me or because you’re repulsive. You’re not. I’d be lucky for you to like me.” His grip on you is so tight it almost hurts, and his expression is pleading. “It’s because I couldn’t bear the thought of you feeling even a fraction of the pain that I know comes with not having your feelings returned, and because of someone like me. No way. You deserve so much better than that- than me. I... I care about you too much to be the reason for you being in pain. And what if the feelings grew? What if you ended up with Hanahaki? I thought... I thought if I pushed you away, you’d be safe. That the feelings would go away because I was such a dick and then you wouldn’t be hurt because of me.” 

You stare at him in bewilderment, trying to comprehend the slew of feelings he has basically pelted at you. You’re still angry, that’s for sure, and it was stupid of him to assume that pushing you away rather than talking with you was the best way to handle the situation. And how egotistical of him, to think that it was up to him, to deal with your emotions rather than leaving you to sort things out for yourself. But you kind of understand. Jungkook’s always been the kind of person who feels the need to take responsibility for people’s hardships- and he’d done that to Taehyung and Minah, his lifelong friends. You open your mouth to respond as much, but then the strangest feeling overcomes you. Like the words are trapped in your chest. You wince, placing your hand over your sternum. You are puzzled by the sudden pain that sits behind it. 

“(Y/N)?” Seokjin calls hesitantly. He registers more quickly than Jungkook that something is wrong. “Are you ok?” He takes an unsure step towards you from where he had been awkwardly watching the fight unfold. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Jungkook seems to register this fact as well, and one hand comes to rest lightly against your back and the other steadies your shoulder. The pain worsens as he does so, and you cough once. 

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks softly but urgently. You open your mouth, trying to reassure them but then you break into a coughing fit. It’s not a normal one though- you feel like something is caught in your throat. You swallow, trying to stop the coughs, but they just grow in intensity until you are doubled over from the force of them. 

“Maybe we should call an ambulance-” Seokjin cries urgently, and that’s when it happens.

A single white daisy petal bursts from your lips and flutters to the ground. For a moment, the three of you can only stare in horror. Slowly, the reality of the situation begins to dawn on you, and all the implications of the harmless white petal that rests lightly on the ground hit you like a tonne of bricks. 

In the next moment you flee from the room, before they can say anything. You don’t even spare a glance over your shoulder.

[nona-gay-simus-main]

Top 10 Worst Tropes in Romance - Part 2

Disclaimer: This is MY opinion, you do you.

Part 1: Here

1. The Child Partner

I’m not talking about literal children, because duh. What I mean is the a person who needs their partner to emotionally parent them.

Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like the whole point of a romantic relationship is to be with an equal. You’re supposed to be teammates, best friends, and lovers.

Of course, I'm not including cases where one partner is disabled or chronically/mentally ill and needs the other to take care of them - that’s an entirely separate thing. 

I'm referring to people (usually cishet men), who constantly need their partner to manage their moods and emotions. They always have some ~trauma~ to manipulate the partner into staying in the relationship in order to keep reassuring them, confirming their self-esteem, and even doing their cooking and cleaning, as if they aren't abled adults with two functioning hands.

That shit sucks!

Imagine doing that for someone all the time and then also trying to have a kid (or multiple kids) with that person. Not only will you be taking care of your actual child; but also - your partner-child. Stop normalizing lazy, emotionally stunted men. That shit ain't cut no matter how hard his abs are or how big his dick is.

2. “I’ve been in love with you since the first moment we met.”

I don’t know what it is about this trope, but it shows up in many romances and it always makes me uncomfortable. How the hell are you supposed to react to that? 

Oh, you’ve been in love with me since the first time we met? Yikes, my dude.

You can’t even fall in love with someone that fast anyway. You're not in love with the person, you’re in love with your idea of them!

The only acceptable version of this is the one where it’s more along the lines “I thought I might fall in love with you if I spent any more time with you.” But other than that, I really don't understand why this is a thing?

3. Lust = Love

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prude. I’m perfectly fine with couples who have loads and loads of sex. I’m also perfectly fine with casual sex and friends-with-benefits and any other consensual arrangement between adults.

I just get tripped up when pretty much all a couple does is have sex. They have little in common outside of sex, spend little time together when not having sex, and don’t share any hobbies, interests or even conversation topics. Or worse, when they aren’t having sex, they’re fighting. 

If you want your characters to get laid, that’s cool. But if you want me to believe they are also falling in love - you’re gonna have to try a little harder.

4. BDSM = Abuse

Yes, abuse happens under the pretense of BDSM, but BDSM is NOT inherently abusive. It only happens within pre-established boundaries and safe words and with explicit consent. The only people who claim it's abuse, are people who have a vested interest in controlling what women and queer people do with our bodies.

So I really, really hate it when people use “It’s just BDSM, don’t be so uptight” to justify their rapey, abusive love interest’s actions. If the submissive has not already consented, or their consent was obtained through manipulation or intoxication - it’s not meaningful consent.

BDSM is a lot more complex than some of the simplistic catchphrases we use to explain it to the vanillas, and we can discuss those complexities for hours, but at the one thing is definitely true - the Dominant only has as much power as the submissive is willing to give. If they (knowingly) cross a boundary or take power without the consent of the submissive, it’s not power exchange, it’s abuse, pure and simple.

5. "All women want him. All men want to be him"

Really? ALL women? Are you sure?

I hate to tell you this, but some women are exclusively attracted to other women. And some women aren’t attracted to anyone. Some women have low libidos, and some women just don’t prioritize sex and relationships for whatever reason. And some women are in happy, fulfilling monogamous relationships already.

And all men want to BE him? Did you know that some men are attracted to other men? They might want a piece of that too. Or perhaps, they just don’t value being some alpha douchebag and are happy to be their much better-adjusted self. That's a thing.

Can we let this cliché die already? Please?

6. Giving up your dreams for ~love~.

Oh man, this is the worst! And why is it nearly always the woman, who has to make a choice between her career and ~~~LoVe~~?

So many books/movies etc. start with this powerful career woman and then by the end reduce her to nothing but a trophy to her man. That’s not feminist, it just keeps perpetuating the same tired gender roles.

And I can’t help but think about the future of this relationship. What if it doesn’t work out? Then the partner who the dreams were given up for looks like a jerk, even if they never asked for this.

And even if it works out, the partner who gave up their dream job, or opportunity, or whatever, will always have this “what if” at the back of their mind. Over time, they may even end up resenting their SO, especially if things don’t work out for them career-wise.

Just such a bad trope all around. It’s not romantic, it’s toxic, and co-dependant and I want it to stop.

7. He treats everyone like crap ***but you***.

You know the limitus test to see if someone’s a good person? Look at how they treat people who are “beneath” them. Their servers, the cleaning lady, etc.

If this guy treats servers like crap, treats his friends and family like crap, treats everyone like crap, except for the person whose pants he wants to get in (or wants to keep getting in for the foreseeable future), why are we romanticizing him? He’s a selfish jackass.

You can have a grumpy (but ultimately caring and good-natured) character, that's fine. But if he only treats people like humans when it benefits him - that's not sexy, that's sociopathic.

8. Love Cures All

Ahhh, the worst of them all. Truly, having a character who suffers from mental illness or has a major trauma, but oh look, they got some cuddles from the love interest and now they are all good!

Just stop, please. It’s so damaging to the people who are going through this, to tell them that all they need to feel better is ~~~LoVe~~~. And if they aren’t getting better? Well, they just haven’t gotten enough ~~~LoVe~~~!

It’s also damaging to the partner - no one should have this much responsibility on their shoulders.

Obviously, the love of a partner, friends, and family can HELP with the healing process, but it’s not enough by itself. Get them some goddamn therapy, please.

9. Accidental Pregnancy

I don’t know about you, but for most people I know, myself included, accidental pregnancy would be an absolute nightmare, not something romantic.

Do you know how bad my entire generation is doing financially? And people use this as a plot device to strengthen the relationship?

Also, relationships get weaker after having a child, not stronger. Babies are cute when they are sleeping, the rest of the time they are crying, screaming messes. Yeah, why wouldn’t sleep deprivation and constantly hurting everywhere strengthen your relationship? 🙄🙄🙄

10. Violent Men

IRL, violent men are scary, not sexy. Even if the violence is never directed at the love interest, chances are that over time it will be. But even if it’s not, why would you ever want to date someone who has the emotional maturity of a pre-schooler?

Because after pre-school, kids tend to learn to solve their problems with their words. But I guess your love interest hasn’t matured past the age of 6, which coincidentally also leads back to the first trope on this list. Charming.

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 7: Ch 4

Previous 

Summary: After finding Syco, the duo finds an unsettling, new reality.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

I don’t do anything. I look into their eyes, watching them morph into someone I once knew. I- No. She looks at me with wonder in her eyes. She’s who I was before everything led to this. She’s wearing the same outfit with white and thick, black lines, but hers is a lot newer than mine. Hers isn’t faded. Hers hasn’t seen what I’ve had to go through. It’s innocent, naive, something I wish I still had. It’s as the saying goes ignorance is bliss. 

The two of us have talked about this. It felt good doing so, but it wasn’t enough. I still need to accept it. I still need to let these emotions go. 

I hadn’t noticed I was crying until I felt a warm hand rest itself on my cheek. Their thumb wiped away my tears. Raising my head, I see my younger self fading. Through my blurry vision, I see everyone I’ve come in contact with throughout this journey, everyone that I’ve lost. Ashely’s sitting upright, taking the place of my previous self. When she leans in, connecting our foreheads, I hiccup and can feel my face heat up. “I’m-”

“Okay. It’s okay,” Saamuki told me. 

A big, blue star beat down on the three of us as we headed towards the cathedral, the tallest, winding building poking up from the city resting on the other side of this massive brick wall. Its shadow would’ve covered Syco’s entire growing army easily. A handful of guards watched us from above as Syco conversed with the two standing in front of the entrance that was encased by a small, green forcefield. As he was showing them his screen, I took note of the wall. It’s stained with gunk, which attracted a swarm of flies. One of which departed from the others and buzzed towards the forcefield. Upon touching it, it was vaporized. I make a sound, which gets the attention of one of the guards above. Well, my brain tells me it does. I know it’s just a coincidence, but I’m still worried. Through his helmet, I imagine his eyes. I imagine him glaring down at me, looking past this disguise. I am a Talten now. I got my crown to do so twelve minutes ago, but my brain rationalized that he could see I was human and he was reaching for his blaster rather than his companion to tell a joke. I imagined him aiming it at me. He shoots. I flinch. 

We’re inside. I breathe out. The cobble roads surround hundreds of medieval-style homes. A few citizens walk past us. Three held candles. One of which whips his groaning horse, to pull his carriage full of whatever could’ve been in those barrels faster. A thick, grey cloud puffed out of them with each bumpy step. The unwilling creature isn’t what horses look like on Earth. It has two stubby legs and a fat, round body. It’s as big as a horse, though. So, I just label it as one. 

In this small, tight square the homes are withering. Some of the roofs and doors are molding. A few have cracked windows. One of which has completely shattered. If I had a nose right now it would’ve withered away too, vaporized like that poor fly. This area is completely unsanitary. Between two houses, in the corner of my eye, are flies circling what I hope is just a sleeping, single toothed old man with a mouth full of murky water and a single, torn, and stained page of a newspaper covering his crotch. Without it he’s naked. 

Syco seemingly ignores the scenery around us, walking with confidence, and especially without concern. The two of us follow without question, but I can’t ignore the contrast between our previous and new settings. Underneath one of the many bridges connecting the impoverished to the affluent portions of the city, is a clear, blue river. Riding through it from within a bright, red Gondola is a man proudly singing, letting the universe know of his lovely voice, as he steers his boat. Before I’m able to fall behind from the others I turn around, making sure what I saw previously was real. There it is. A line separated these two completely different worlds, one side somber and the other is the cleaner, brighter, and happier one I am suddenly engulfed by. It made my heart drop, but I didn't get to settle on the feeling for long before I needed to catch up to the others. 

Walking past a bridge that stretched above us, we entered another square. In this square, paper lanterns pointed down on us. Lined above them are flags, which had a white circle and a black dot in their centers. Two children, laughing, ran past us with a belt in their hands. Running towards them not too far behind is a guard trying to hold up his pants and shouting for the two little, young thieves to slow down. Once both parties turn a corner the ruckus dies and the onlookers besides us return to whatever they were doing. Although, the moment is forever written into everyone's mornings. Two women chuckle at each other about it. An elderly man sweeping his shop’s doorway now smiles. Another man, but this one is leaning against one of the nearby buildings, shakes his head from side to side in amusement as he plays with the golden coin between his gloved hand. 

Looking at Saamuki, I see she too is jovial, She smiles. I imagine her feeling nostalgic. Now looking at Syco, his face remains stiff, but for some reason, I feel like he’s just as nostalgic as her. 

Cold as ever, he continues towards the cathedral. Sunlight shoots through the stained glass in the center of its highest steeple, causing a familiar depiction to reflect onto us. A white, geometric figure, floating above a burning city looks down at the people below. They bow to the figure with tears in their eyes. They’re being forced to submit, and after everything that I’ve learned, I have a strong guess on who the white figure could be. 

Syco swings open its doors. The sound when they close lets out a deafening echo. Rows upon rows of pews are empty but one. The one at the very end has a hunched figure whispering to himself, praying I presume. The cathedral somehow managed to be even bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. It’s dark. Candles are clasped between the statues of elderly women dressed in long, hooded robes. They are evenly spaced across either side of the cathedral. The flickering glow from their small torches makes it look as if their lips are moving. With each flicker, their frowns deepen. If they hadn’t been sculpted with hoods their eyes would’ve looked judgingly at us, right into our souls. At the front, the very end of this red rug we’re awkwardly standing on, are four statues bowing in front of a genderless, youthful, and cloaked figure with the same symbol as the flags outside etched into the center of their chest. 

The leader of this mission strides forward solemnly towards the only other person here. We continued to follow him without question, but it’s here that I realize he never told us why we’re here. One of the few men he had on his ship came into our room, in the middle of our mourning, to alert us we landed on this planet and that Syco wanted the two of us to tag along. The two of us didn’t even look at each other. We just accepted it. 

Although, maybe it's because the two of us shared distrust for Syco, so we wanted to remain on his good side. He was our enemy for so long. He was my enemy for so long. I was angry at him for so long, yet just barely two hours ago he wants to befriend rather than be a foe. No, more like coworkers, but is it right for me to feel this way about him? There’s a reason why Mikrovos acted the way he did when Syco and my paths crossed for the first time. Now he and everyone else is in his control, being enslaved by him. Everyone says he’s mad. At one point there wasn’t any way for me to argue, no reason as well, but a mad person doesn’t cry like that. He’s troubled just like- I shake off that thought, stopping myself before I start agreeing that we’re equals. 

We’re heading towards the hunched figure, the reason why we came all the way here. Before we’re in front of them they have already started speaking, “Finally we get to meet.” When we’re in front of him, he continues, “I’ve heard a lot of things about you, but it’s only now I see your face.”

At this distance, I can see the figure is wearing the same armor as the guards outside, but it’s worn. Parts of the metal are scraped, the same insignia I’ve seen all around this place has just about faded from his torn shirt. The figure is a fungus-like alien species. His eyes are two yellow, rhombuses that look as if they’re glowing because of his dull, brown, and warty skin. 

“Same to you, Shiitakee.” 

This gets a smirk out of Shiitakee, but unlike the late Cala’s smirk, this one is friendly rather than depreciating. He leans forward and places his arms on the back of the chair in front of his pew. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

“A little late for that, but  you’ve already congratulated me the day after it happened.” 

“Yes, I did.” He rummages into his shirt and pulls out a cigarette. Shiitakee slides it between his cracked lips and slides a finger across the chair. A flame swallows the edge of the finger. This new character brings the finger to his cigarette and lights it. Blowing out the finger and blowing smoke into Syco’s face, causes Syco to step back, cough, and try to blow the smell away. “Always the straight man, Syco,” Shiitakee continued with a snicker and a cough. 

“And that’s what you get.” He coughs again, but Shiitakee continues to smoke. Syco continues to act unconcerned, but he’s clearly amused. Until a few moments ago they were strangers, but now they’re acting like they are childhood friends. Shiitakee blows a few more times, which gets a few more reactions out of Syco. Their back and forth, which turns into laughter, has Saamuki and I turn to look at each other. I shrug at her. 

Eventually, they stopped. I knew right then and there it became serious again. Shiitakee moves his head back to look at the dome that is the ceiling. “It’s been years since this place has heard voices other than my prayers. The last mass was about the time I got into contact with you, Sy.”

“I was wondering why you wanted us to meet here, the center of your city.”

“Ironically, it’s the safest place to meet.”

“I could see that now, so what was so important that we had to meet in person?”

Shiitakee lowers his head. His focus is back on Syco. “Until recently I would’ve scheduled this meeting to be like the others, but I knew this deserved for you to see in person.” Again, he goes into his shirt, but when he pulls out his hand this time he motions for Syco to move his hands towards him. Syco raises his eyebrow, but Shiitakee’s expression remains serious. So, Syco compiles without any more hesitation. Shiitakee then hands him something. Carefully, unwrapping his hands, he sees Shiitakee handed him a compass. Of course, it’s unlike any compass found on Earth. Alien symbols circle its edges and instead of a needle, there’s a purple crystal at its center. As I try to look over Syco’s shoulder, wanting to inspect it more, I can also see underneath the crystal is the same motif I’ve seen over and over again. 

There couldn’t have been anyone in here besides us, but Syco questions in a hushed voice, “Is this?”

His friend nods. 

“How did you get it?”

“I,” he coughs, but this time blood comes out, “A Watcher.”

The two of us standing behind him were hit with a shock. Saamuki’s eyes are wide and if I had mine they would be too. 

“Are you insane, Shiitakee?” Syco’s voice is still quieter than usual, but he’s clearly mad. Maybe a bit disappointed too. 

“Hah. Just like you I am.” The figure that was moments ago teasing Syco, which just winked at him, is one I finally realize is dying.  

With a grunt, and after putting the compass into his pocket, steps over the chair to get to Shiitakee who I’m also now noticing has his feet stepping on a huge pile of long-dead cigarette buds. Shiitakee tries fighting Syco’s attempt at grabbing and slinging him onto his shoulder. 

“What do you think you’re doing,” Shiitakee asked as his cigarette rested in one of the corners of his lips. 

After bringing his dying companion to his shoulder, Syco takes a moment to reply with, “I’m not going to let you die like this, Shii.” 

“Are you insane?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

Syco continues towards the doors and ignores Shiitakee’s continued thrashing. The two of us, who have been third-wheeling together, follow right behind them. Right, when Syco is about to push open the doors and Shiitakee has stopped fighting, all of the candles go out in unison. I get a bad feeling. We’re not in the dark because of my crown’s fire and Saamuki’s recently lit hands. The latter of which should be brighter than the now blown out candles, but the room is much darker now. It’s as if we were suddenly transported in the middle of a black hole. 

“You have something that belongs to me,” a voice with a mix of other, varying voices growled from where we just walked away from. 

[veorlian]

Idolatry - Concealed Carry

Note: Part 1/3 of the chapters on the Citadel DLC. Technically part of a much longer fic, but I think they stand up okay on their own! An everybody lives/nobody dies au except that I didn’t realize I could do that until 2/3 of the way through. Sorry Kaidan :(((((((

Pairing: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard

Rating: T for swearing and stabbing.

ao3 link

Excerpt:

Bullets rained down from the front of the restaurant, and Brooks let out a blood-curdling shriek. Shepard swore softly and dragged Joker down, lifting up their table as a makeshift barricade. A group of heavily armed individuals marched in, their faces masked.

“Tonight’s performance was brought to you by random acts of violence!” one of them shouted.

“Where’s Commander Shepard?” another yelled. “Find her!” They spread out through the restaurant, sending the civilians running.

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. “Two hours. I’ve been on shore leave for two hours. They couldn’t let me have an appetizer first?”

One of the mercs hauled away Brooks, kicking and screaming. Shepard grabbed the knife she had tucked away in her coat.

“Why do you have that?? We were going for dinner!” Joker hissed.

“Would you rather I didn’t have it right now? I have a few others, do you want one?” she asked, taking stock of the room.

“No???”

Full text under the cut!

...

The apartment was huge. Shepard was sure there were other, fancier words to describe it, but she sure as hell didn’t know them. An entire wall was a window, looking out into the night lights of the Citadel. There were walls wholly covered in green, verdant plants that she couldn’t identify. There was a damn waterfall. Shepard let out a low whistle, looking around. 

For the first time in weeks, she could breathe. These walls weren’t closing in on her, they were too far apart. The ceilings were vaulted like a church, reaching up into the sky. 

She wandered down to what had to be the living room (two giant couches, a fireplace, a grand piano??), and the TV flickered on.

“Shepard, good to see you,” Anderson said. There were new wrinkles creasing his forehead. She could hear distant explosions in the background of the vid.

“And you. How are you holding up?” she asked.

“We’ve had better days,” he said wearily.

“I know what you mean.” Damn, did she ever. “But why am I in this apartment?”

“I want you to have it,” he said, and Shepard’s brows reached her hairline. “I bought the place for Kahlee and I to settle down. Thing is, the longer I stay on Earth, the more I don’t want to leave. Figure someone should get some use out of it.”

“That’s...very generous. Are you sure?”

“It’s practical. We need you at your best, and you need somewhere you can take a break.”

“I-- thank you,” she said. “I’m guessing I don’t have a choice anyways?”

“Not even a little bit. Make yourself at home,” he said, smiling. “You take care, Shepard.”

“You too, Anderson,” Shepard said. He nodded and stepped out of frame. Marie replaced him. Her hair was more grey than black now, but she was smiling nonetheless.

“Good to see you in one piece, Jeanne,” she said. “I hear you killed a Reaper single handedly. Have I mentioned that you should be more careful?” Shepard grinned crookedly.

“Once or twice, maybe.”

“Apparently it bears repeating.” The affectionate exasperation was palpable, even with the light years between them.

“How are things there?” Shepard asked. Marie’s face became carefully blank, but Shepard had known her since she was a child. She couldn’t disguise the look in her deep brown eyes, or the small frown on her lips. Easy to forget, impossible to forget, that she was only 24.

“We’ll make it,” Marie said firmly. And then, “You’ll make it too. That’s an order, Commander.”

Shepard’s grin widened, and she sketched a salute. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. Marie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. That was all that mattered.

“Go and get some rest, will you? The bags under your eyes are visible from Earth.”

“Harsh, but fair,” Shepard said easily. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jeanne.” The call disconnected, and Shepard glanced around her new place. Her new place. Even the church had never truly been hers. There weren’t many things she considered truly her own, she supposed.

There were recordings littered around the apartment. Apparently Anderson had taken down voice notes for his biography. She couldn’t help the small, fond smile that flitted across her face. Her hands paused above the one labelled Shepard on the kitchen counter (she’d never had her own kitchen before). She pressed the play button, and she listened.

“Sure, I can talk about Commander Shepard. Big topic. There’s been a lot written about the Commander, but most of it isn’t true. People are quick to judge. They don’t know the whole story, I don’t even know the whole story. But I know the woman. Worked with her, fought with her, trust her with my life. Shepard’s had some rough patches, who of us hasn’t? She’s been forced to fight a lot of battles alone. God only knows how she got out of some of that. Makes your head spin.” 

Anderson’s warm voice filled the apartment, and his every word was laced with pride. Shepard realized belatedly that she was crying, hot tears painting her cheeks. Gently, she sunk to the floor and rested her head against the cupboard. She thought of Aratoht then, as she always seemed to. Makes my head spin too, she thought.

“Thing is, you never heard a complaint. Never once got ‘no sir, I can’t do that.’ She never hesitated. Few people know what Shepard’s been through. I like to think I come pretty close. And I worry sometimes she forgets: there’s a whole bunch of people who lose sleep about her getting back home. Maybe it doesn’t need to be said. Maybe we’re just to dumb to say it. Soldiers like the Commander are rare. Women like Shepard...even more rare.” Anderson’s voice drifted away.

I just...you don’t need to do everything alone anymore, you know? Garrus had said. Maybe they were right. Her heart was so full. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the warm feeling in her chest. Loved, maybe? Not a word she was used to choosing, but it fit the bill. She carefully picked herself up and dusted herself off, wiping the tears from her eyes. 

Her private message terminal was blinking, and she went to check her unread messages. There was a note from Joker asking him to meet him at a sushi restaurant. Huh. She’d never had sushi before. No time like the present, she supposed.

Shepard glanced down at herself. Perhaps, she thought, her N7 hoodie and cargo pants wouldn’t be appropriate for an upscale sushi place. She wandered upstairs and peeked into her room (there was a hot tub. She’d...well, she’d never had a bath before. No bathtubs in the Alliance). She tugged open the closet and her eyes widened. There was that dress Kasumi had insisted she keep, but next to it was something else entirely. Reverently, she ran her hands over the fabric. It was soft to the touch, velvet maybe? She pulled it out.

It was a suit. It had to be a suit, although it was unlike any she’d ever seen before. The matching pants and jacket were there, but that’s where the similarities stopped. It was a deep blue, but as the fabric shifted in her hands it looked dark burgundy. There was a matching silk black camisole to wear underneath. It felt luxurious, soft as a cloud. She’d never owned anything this expensive that didn’t fire bullets. There was a small note tucked in the pocket.

Thanks for all your help. Consider this an early birthday gift. Who knows, by the time you take a break it may be your actual birthday. I think I’ve got the measurements right, but nobody’s perfect.  - Miranda P.S., there’s a white shirt as well, but it’s much harder to get blood stains out of white silk.

Shepard smiled down at the note, and very carefully got dressed, anxious not to damage the clothes. She tugged on the heeled boots that seemed to go with it, and examined herself in the mirror. Miranda might insist that she wasn’t perfect, but she’d done a damn fine job with this. The cuffs fell to the exact right spot on her wrists, and for the first time in her life, the legs were long enough. The boots had a low heel, comfortable and well-balanced enough that she could run.

And Miranda, blessed Miranda, had included a concealed pocket for a switchblade. Shepard loosened her strict braid into something a little more casual, and she smiled at herself in the mirror one last time. Then she left for sushi.

The lineup outside the restaurant was around the block and then some. The people waiting were distinctly unhappy that Shepard had a reservation. If looks could kill, Shepard would have been pushing the daisies. She strode past the glares with practiced ease. Joker was seated at a table at the back, and he waved her over.

“Just gotta save the galaxy twice to get a place here, huh?” he said. “Hey, maybe when we do it again they’ll let us eat free!”

“That’s the spirit,” Shepard said. “How are you enjoying your vacation?”

“I feel like I should go check the Normandy for missing parts,” he griped. “I don’t trust those engineers.” Shepard chuckled and patted him on the arm.

“She’ll be fine, Joker. She’s been through the Omega 4, she can handle a few repairs. Relax, you’re on shore leave.”

“I’m gonna need a lot more drinks with umbrellas in them,” he said mournfully.

“I’m the first human Spectre. I’ll get you two umbrellas,” she said wryly.

“Awesome use of power, boss! So, what’d you ask me here to talk about? Your note said it was important.”

“Me? You invited me here,” Shepard said, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Commander Shepard, please I need to talk to you!” A young woman in an Alliance uniform pushed her way forward, with the maitre d’ shouting after her. The people in line looked positively murderous.

“Can I help you?” Shepard asked politely.

“I’m Staff Analyst Maya Brooks of Alliance Intelligence. Someone’s trying to kill you!” the woman cried. Shepard and Joker exchanged a look.

“Uh, yeah. I think she’s aware,” Joker said dryly.

“No! I don’t mean the Reapers and Cerberus. Other people,” Brooks said. “They’re hacking your accounts, your communications, and it looks like they’re targeting you personally!”

“What information do you have?” Shepard asked. She straightened up, suddenly all business.

“Well--” Brooks began.

Bullets rained down from the front of the restaurant. Brooks let out a blood-curdling shriek. Shepard swore softly and dragged Joker down, lifting up their table as a makeshift barricade. A group of heavily armed individuals marched in, their faces masked.

“Tonight’s performance was brought to you by random acts of violence!” one of them shouted.

“Where’s Commander Shepard?” another yelled. “Find her!” They spread out through the restaurant, sending the civilians running.

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. “Two hours. I’ve been on shore leave for two hours. They couldn’t let me have an appetizer first?”

One of the mercs hauled away Brooks, kicking and screaming. Shepard grabbed the knife she had tucked away in her coat.

“Why do you have that?? We were going for dinner!” Joker hissed.

“Would you rather I didn’t have it right now? I have a few others, do you want one?” she asked, taking stock of the room.

“No???”

“Joker, I need you to stay calm,” Shepard whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to take these guys out. When the coast is clear, go find the rest of the team. But I need you to stay here until it’s safe, understood?”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” he said fervently. One of the mercenaries approached to look behind the table. Shepard caught his arm and sent him sprawling to the ground, following it up with a devastating jab from her omni-tool directly to the face. She grabbed his gun and held it at the ready. She glanced around her cover and saw two more mercs coming at her. One went down with a shot to the face, the other with a thrown knife to the throat.

“Joker, now!” she hissed. Joker got up and stumbled away as best he could. Once he was out, Shepard activated her tactical cloak and booked it across the room. If there was one thing she’d learned these long years, it was that the best fight was the one you avoided. Once she’d made it to Brooks, she tried to help her to her feet. A sniper appeared from above and fired a shot, hitting Brooks. Shepard backed away and each shot landed by her, sinking into the ground.

If only the restaurant hadn’t decided to use fish tanks as their floor.

Shepard went down, glass shattering around her. She seemed to hit every bone on the way down the side of the building, banging into the wall over and over again. She slammed into the ground hard, all of her freshly-healed wounds screaming obscenities at her.

“Commander!” Brooks called over the comms. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” Shepard groaned. “Can you find me a way out of here?” Dr. Chakwas was going to have a fit. She’d been off the ship two hours and she was already broken again. Ugh. At least the clothes seemed to be in one piece. Small mercies, Shepard supposed, as she struggled to her feet.

“Uh, yes! Keep going forward, I think!” Brooks said. Shepard grit her teeth.

“Thanks,” she managed. She slid down the ladder up ahead of her and took a look around. Somewhere in the wards, she figured.

“There’s a sky-car lot up ahead of me, Brooks. Could you find me a path there?” Shepard asked.

“Ah, yes! Of course!” Brooks replied nervously. Shepard tried very hard not to roll her eyes as she wove her way through the wards. She came up on some kind of market, and she caught sight of another group of mercs barrelling towards her.

“There she is!” one of them called. Shit. This outfit really wasn’t built for stealth, huh? God, she’d kill for a rifle right about now. Instead, she slipped back into her tactical cloak and hid behind a fruit stand. What a weird fucking day.

“Shepard! Are you alright?” It was a relief to hear Garrus’ voice, even if it was only through her earpiece. Tension she didn’t realize she’d been carrying dissipated, ever so slightly.

“I’m fine, but I could use a hand,” she said ruefully, aiming an incendiary blast directly to the face of one of her attackers.

“Joker sent me your location, I’m on my way,” he said immediately.

“This is a secure channel!” Brooks cut in. “You’re putting Commander Shepard at risk!”

“I’m what? Who is this?” Garrus demanded.

“Brooks, Garrus. Garrus, this is Brooks,” Shepard said. “Now please hush, it's a little hard to kill mercenaries with people arguing in my ear.”

“Shepard, I am sending backup to your location,” EDI said.

“Sounds good, things are getting a little dicey here,” Shepard replied. She glanced over the fruit stall and had to duck quickly as a drone came barrelling towards her. It exploded directly next to her, sending pieces of watermelon and blueberries flying.

“I will attempt to register surprise,” EDI said dryly. Shepard grinned crookedly at that. She dashed forward as another round of mercs came at her. She spent the next several minutes fading in and out of invisibility, running hell for leather past the mercs. Her legs, miraculously, stayed upright. Small mercies. She pulled into the car lot and slammed the door shut behind her. A shot zipped past her, missing by inches. … “Having a bad day, Shepard?” Garrus called. He took out the merc that had shot at her, and scanned the area for any more threats. It looked like they were clear for the moment. Now to find a way out of the lot.

“You could say that,” she said, pushing flyaway hairs away from her face. “Let’s look for a control panel.” His eyes finally came to rest on her and his breath stuttered in his throat. She was wearing that thing humans called a ‘suit,’ but not like any he’d ever seen before. His mouth was suddenly too dry.

“Nice outfit,” he managed. The look she gave him was unimpressed, but he wasn’t thinking with his brain at the moment. “Ah, control panel. Right.”

Shepard strode through the lot and glanced into the darkened office. She gently tapped on the glass. Garrus hurried after her.

“Could you open the doors up?” she said politely. The doors opened a second later. “Much appreciated.”

“Please leave,” the volus inside pleaded.

Garrus motioned for Shepard to stay behind him. Only one of them was armoured, after all. She raised an eyebrow and took point.

“So...you fell through a fish tank?” he ventured.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she replied.

“Damn shame,” he said, and now he was just doing it for the reaction. Midnight blue fabric. Not thinking with his brain. “I hear it was the best on the Citadel.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said more firmly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. He gave her arm a quick squeeze, and then they both stepped onto the landing zone. That Brooks person had apparently radioed to say that a C-Sec shuttle was on the way. When it appeared though, the door opened to reveal a group of the same mercs that had been attacking Shepard. Garrus ducked down and dragged her with him. Bullets skittered across the ground around them.

“Any chance I could borrow that Widow of yours?” she asked breathlessly. He looked at her incredulously.

“I must not have heard you right,” he said. “You definitely did not just ask to borrow my favourite gun.” She opened her mouth to reply,  and then her eyes widened.

“Do you hear that?” she asked.

“Hear what?”

“Krogan coming through!” Wrex bellowed, soaring through the air. He slammed down onto the front of the shuttle, sending half of the mercenaries flying. He mowed his way through the other half, shooting, punching, and in one case, launching them off the shuttle. Shepard was grinning wildly.

“Wrex! What are you doing here?” she asked, running forward.

“Negotiating krogan expansion with the Council,” he explained. “But that AI of yours said there’d be a fight. So here I am.”

“Glad you could make it to the party," Garrus lied through his teeth.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Wrex said. He clapped Garrus on the shoulder harder than necessary. “Figured Shepard would need some help, if you’re the only backup she has.”

“Try to keep up, old man,” Garrus shot back.

“It may have escaped your notice, but we are being shot at right now, boys,” Shepard said dryly. Ah, right. Fair point. ... Once they were clear, they gathered in Shepard’s new apartment. Brooks was pacing back and forth, and Shepard put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

“Me? I got shot! Like, with an actual bullet. I took a desk job so I wouldn’t get shot! They said the medi-gel might make me jumpy, do I seem jumpy to you?” Brooks said.

“Hey, hey,” Shepard said soothingly, the voice she usually reserved for grieving families. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

“We need to stop those guys, they might hurt more innocent people! Like me! I got shot!”

“Yes. Do we have any leads?” Shepard asked. The door to the apartment opened gently and Liara stepped through.

“I may have some suggestions on that,” she said. “Are you alright, Shepard?”

“I think my ribs are bruised again, but what else is new?” Shepard said ruefully. “That C-Sec shuttle should have had officers in it. I’ll get in touch with Commander Bailey, see what happened,” Shepard said, punching in the number in her omni-tool.

“Wait!” Brooks said. Everyone turned to look at her. “Uh, wouldn’t anyone you contact also become a target?”

“She’s got a point,” Garrus said.

Shepard nodded brusquely. “You're right. We keep this between us for now.”

“Fortunately, I’ve brought a few people who can help,” Liara said cheerfully. The door was knocked on its hinges as every member of her crew -- and a few people who weren’t -- filed in. The apartment was large, but even so Shepard was going to need to figure out where to put all of these people. What, was there an event going on at the Citadel right now that had brought them all there? Well, besides her attempted assassination.

“The riff-raff have arrived. Garrus, hide the silverware.” Shepard’s voice was pitched to carry.

“Up yours, Shepard,” Jack shot back.

“What she said,” Zaeed added.

"I'll go see what I can find. Come find me when you have a moment," Liara said.

Shepard wandered around to speak with everyone, but it all just seemed to be variations on the theme of “haha Shepard ruined the sushi restaurant” or “Shepard, how could you destroy that sushi restaurant”? Evidently they’d collectively decided to forget that she hadn't exactly chosen to be shot at. What compassionate friends she had, she thought wryly. She gave up after a while and went to talk to Liara.

“What's the word?” she asked. The others slowly gathered around. There was barely enough room for them all to stand together. 

“That pistol you found, it’s not available anywhere on the market. I’ve tracked it to a weapons dealer named Elijah Khan. He owns a casino nearby. They’re holding a charity event tonight,” Liara explained.

“So we sneak in and talk to this Khan guy?” Ash asked.

“My sources tell me he’s locked himself in his panic room. We would need someone to sneak inside this vent system.” Liara pulled up a map of the casino interior. “And deactivate the lock.”

“I say we blow the place to high heaven,” Zaeed suggested.

“I’m in,” Wrex said immediately.

“I’m open to other suggestions,” Shepard said. “Any other suggestions.” Zaeed politely flipped her off.

“Bringing a large group would arouse suspicion,” Thane said thoughtfully. “A covert infiltration would be best.” Shepard nodded.

“Alright, just a small crew then. I’ll need someone to take point with me, and then someone else will crawl through that vent,” Shepard said. “Any takers for the vent?” She looked around the room for volunteers. They were not forthcoming.

“Mechs are not allowed in case they are used for cheating. Legion and I will not be able to enter,” EDI explained. Shepard’s eyes swung to Tali and she raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me!” Tali protested. “They’d uh...pick up my suit!” Shepard shrugged.

“What you need is somebody trained in zero-emissions tech. No electronics, no metal. Just undetectable polymers. We had a course back at Op-Int, disabling a bomb with these little tweezers. See, the bomb was filled with shaving cream…” Brooks trailed off as she realized everyone was looking at her. Shepard smiled at her reassuringly.

“Alright Brooks, you’re our alternate,” she said.

“What? Me? I couldn’t...what do you mean alternate?” Brooks asked. Shepard smiled ruefully.

“I wouldn’t want to put you in more danger. You’ve already been shot once. And since I’ve had two gun mods go missing since I got back, I have a sneaking suspicion that there’s someone here who can lend a helping hand. Kasumi?”

The galaxy’s best thief materialized, sitting on the kitchen counter. She had a cheeky grin under her hood.

“You’re getting very good at that,” she said cheerfully.

“Sure would’ve been awkward if I’d been wrong,” Shepard replied wryly. 

“Damn, I should’ve stayed hidden!”

“What do you say to a heist with me?” Shepard asked. Kasumi hopped down from the counter and sketched a bow.

“I’d be delighted,” she said.

“There’s just one problem,” Liara cut in.

“Current estimate: 57 problems and counting,” Mordin replied. “Additional 34 if you decide to take the krogan.” Shepard couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.

“Well, one of the problems is that it’s black-tie only,” Liara said. Shepard raised an eyebrow and glanced down at her outfit. It was still damp from crashing through a fish tank, but otherwise undamaged.

“Will this do?” she asked, motioning to the suit.

“It’ll more than do,” Garrus said huskily, and then coughed awkwardly when several sets of eyes turned to look at him. “What? I’m just answering the question.”

“Who’s going with us then?” Kasumi asked, and Shepard grinned.

Bright lights flashed in Shepard’s eyes as she and Garrus walked down the literal red carpet, arm-in-arm. Maybe one day they’d get to go somewhere nice without worrying about a nefarious plot. For now, she was on vacation and she was going to enjoy herself, attempts on her life be damned.

“You clean up well,” Shepard commented. He had on another of those intricate turian outfits, with more buckles than fabric, in a combination of black and white. He wore it well. They were, she imagined, quite a striking couple. For one, they were a good head taller than anyone else. For two, well...

“Yeah? Then it’s a damn shame that all eyes are on you,” Garrus replied.

“I did the best I could without a carapace or a crest,” she said wryly.

“Well your best has my mandible on the floor. Damn!” he said easily.

“You two are adorable,” Kasumi said from somewhere to Shepard’s left. Shepard flushed a brilliant red, and she heard Kasumi laugh brightly.

Shepard and Garrus mingled with the wealthy clientele, occasionally providing support for Kasumi as she travelled through the vents. Shepard realized, suddenly, that this was the bright and shining culture she’d seen from afar when she was younger. This was what she’d wanted to experience. As far as she was concerned, they could keep it.

Distracting the guards to disable the alarms wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but they managed it. But when they arrived in the panic room, Khan was already dead. Shit.

“It’s never that easy, huh?” Garrus asked.

“He received a call a few minutes before he died. Give them a ring and I’ll see if I can trace it,” Kasumi said. The large screen behind the desk flickered to light and a figure appeared on the screen. Their face was concealed by static, and their voice was altered.

“Elijah? Come crawling back?” they asked.

“Guess again,” Shepard said. Kasumi's hands flashed across her omni-tool.

“You. I see you’ve recovered from flopping on the floor like a fish.”

“You’ll have to do better than that. The last guy that trash-talked me was a few kilometres taller than you.” Shepard leaned back, crossing her arms.

“Brave. I thought as much, but it won’t matter. You have nothing. All you can do is wait for the hammer to fall. I’m going to take everything you have, and everything you are.” The call ended.

“Gotcha,” Kasumi said brightly.

“Shepard, someone’s wiped the drive. Bit of a messy job though, there might be something left,” Garrus said.

“Between EDI, Legion, and Tali, I’m sure we’ll be able to find something. Let’s go.”

They were once more gathered around the pool table, now with even less room than before. They were discussing the information they’d been able to find on Khan’s drive, mostly information about the guns that Shepard’s attackers had bought. Glyph flew over and hovered above the table, flashing red.

“Commander, I have found your Spectre code being used at the Citadel Archives,” he said.

“What would they want there?” Shepard asked.

“Shall we go find out?” Liara said.

“But who? We can’t bring everyone,” Brooks piped up. Shepard grinned.

“Why not?” she asked. “All hands on deck for this one.”

“Very well, but who will take point with you?” Liara asked. Wrex coughed pointedly. And then Javik coughed even more pointedly. Tali coughed politely, but also pointedly.

“Garrus and Jack, you’re with me. Everyone else, divide up into three teams of whoever is least likely to want to kill each other.”

“What happens if I want to kill bird-brain?” Jack asked.

“Think happy thoughts,” Shepard suggested.

“Those are my happy thoughts,” Jack replied snarkily. Ah. Some things never changed.

They’d barely made it into the archives when they walked into a trap. The others were up on the catwalks above, and every door in the room slammed shut. A figure appeared behind Brooks and pressed a gun to her temple. They were shadowed, and even Shepard’s excellent vision couldn’t quite make them out.

“Don’t move, or she dies,” they said.

“Who are you?” Shepard demanded. The figure chuckled darkly.

Why do I know that voice? Shepard wondered. The figure tossed Brooks aside, and strode forward into the light. She wore the same uniform as the mercs, but her face…Shepard stared back at her own Roman nose and burning red hair. Only not quite. This nose had never been broken, and there wasn’t the familiar patchwork quilt of scar tissue across her face and neck. 

“I’m you, but better,” the other Shepard said. “Without all the doubts and the wear and tear.”

“Huh. This officially takes the cake for the weirdest thing that’s happened to me,” Shepard said. “Let me rephrase: what the fuck is going on?”

“Cerberus spared no expense when it came to bringing you back. Me, they made for spare parts, in case you needed an arm, or a lung, or a kidney. When they had you, they discarded me,” her clone snapped. Shepard’s brows knit together.

“Well if you’re me, then we should be working together,” she said. The clone scoffed.

“Why would I bother helping you? Why should I care? You took everything from me, and now I’m going to take everything from you. But there was no way I’d fool your friends, so I needed to get rid of them as well. All the people that turned their backs of their responsibilities to join the cult of Shepard,” the clone spat. The cult of Shepard…?

“No one will ever believe you’re me,” Shepard said, trying a different tactic.

“Sure they will, when I’m flying your ship,” the clone replied. Shepard froze and then immediately started keying into her omni-tool.

“Traynor, I need you to lock down the ship, understood? Here are the command codes,” she said quickly. Her clone smirked and waved a hand in front of her.

“Good idea, if only that message had been sent,” she said. She keyed up her own omni-tool and raised her voice slightly. “Traynor, this is Shepard. Prepare for departure. Here are the command codes.”

Shepard’s hands balled up into fists. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before someone steals my ship.”

The clone shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll see about that.” She turned to leave.

“Tell me,” Shepard called after her. “Do you know your own name?”

“It’s Joan,” the clone replied smugly. Shepard grinned, baring her teeth. 

“Guess again,” she said, and she activated her tactical cloak.

They fought their way through the archives, the other teams racing on the catwalks above. Liara’s information drone, Glyph, scouted ahead. Occasionally he returned, saying that he mistook the clone for Shepard. Shepard tried very hard not to roll her eyes, and she mostly succeeded.

“The other Shepard’s still alive!” one of the mercs yelled.

“The next person who says that is a dead man!” the clone snapped over the comms.

“An accurate observation,” Legion said.

“What do I do??” Brooks cried. “They’re firing at me!”

“Just follow Shepard's lead and let us do all the heavy lifting!” Liara called.

“Touché, T'Soni!” Garrus shot back.

“Think you comedians could actually hit something?” Shepard shouted, ducking to avoid oncoming enemy fire. 

They forged on through the archives, passing by clips of history. One by one, the teams stopped responding. Shepard pushed on faster, concern creeping up on her. And so she rushed headlong directly into a trap that she should’ve seen coming. Shepard set foot onto a platform and a forcefield appeared around her, Jack, and Garrus

The clone stepped forward, smiling smugly. Shepard tried to shoot her, but the force-field stopped the bullets dead. Shit. Shepard felt light-headed. She was locked in a small space. A very small space. Oh god, such a small space. Her heart hammered in her chest and she fought to control her breathing. She reached for her familiar, cold veneer. Like hell she was going to show weakness in front of the enemy. 

“Well well, the great Commander Shepard. But not for very much longer.”

“Where are my friends?” Shepard spat.

“Locked up in iridium vaults forever. And it’s all your fault,” her clone taunted.

“The Alliance will stop you--” Shepard began.

“Will they?” Her clone cut her off. “What do you think, Staff Analyst Brooks?” Brooks sauntered forward from the shadows.

“I wouldn’t know.” Her voice had shifted, becoming deeper, more assured. “I don’t actually work for them.”

“You bitch,” Jack spat.

“I’m with Jack on this one,” Garrus said. Shepard arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t her own.

“This feels like the time when the villain explains their grand plan,” she said. “So what the hell?”

“Really we just wanted your Spectre codes,” Brooks explained. “But then you had to insist on surviving. So, I had to improvise.”

“Then I must say, I'm impressed,” Shepard said.

“Oh?”

“Your optimism is impressive,” Shepard clarified. “You threw, what, fifty mercs at me and you thought that would finish me off? For such a smart woman, that's remarkably short-sighted of you.”

“I think I've made up for it now. Let's see you get out of a locked box.”

“What, this? No, I've been in far worse situations than this. Last week I was trapped at the bottom of an ocean in a mech. This is nothing.”

“You seem remarkably calm for a dead woman,” Shepard’s clone said. Shepard’s eyes flicked to her and she sneered.

“I could say the same of you. You can change the records, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. You know the name on my file, but you don’t know the first thing about me. How are you going to convince Anderson or Hackett or--”

“Or General Shepard?” Brooks cut her off. “We’ll deal with her.”

Shepard stilled. Her erratic heartbeat settled. Her words, when they came, were soft. “If you threaten her again, I will make you wish that I’d only killed you.”

“That's quite a threat. I might even be afraid, if Commander Shepard had said it. But you're nobody,” Brooks said.

“And you're on borrowed time,” Shepard replied. Brooks' expression faltered, just a tiny bit, at whatever she saw in Shepard’s eyes. Shepard’s clone scoffed loudly, breaking through the tense silence.

“You know the one thing about us that they can’t replace? Our handprint. It changes based on life experiences,” the clone said. Shepard thought of the scars that used to twist across her palms. “But now I’m going to replace yours.” The clone pulled up a terminal and pressed her hand down.

“Hello, Commander Shepard,” the computer said. The clone grinned smugly.

“Goodbye,” Brooks murmured. “I guess this is where legends go to die.” She and the clone waltzed away, seemingly without a care in the world. The platform jerked beneath Shepard and walls slowly closed around her.

“I’m going to strangle them,” Shepard vowed.

“I’m all for that, but we’re still trapped in this fucking box,” Jack pointed out.

“With limited air,” Garrus added. Shepard hummed noncommittally. 

“Hey Glyph, you still out there?” she called.

“Yes Commander.”

“Get us out of this thing, and then go find the others. Nobody steals my ship, not even me.”

Joker pulled up in a sky car just as the last stragglers pulled themselves up onto the roof.

“I’ve got room for Shepard and two more, and you better decide fast because those assholes are stealing my baby,” he snapped. 

“I could drive--” Shepard said.

“NO!” The sound of the entire crew shouting the word echoed across the rooftop.

“Fine,” Shepard muttered. “Garrus and EDI, with me.”

“I wanted to go,” Wrex grumbled.

“You should have thought of that before you insulted my driving,” Shepard said. “Joker will be back for you soon.”

Joker hit the pedal to the floor as soon as everyone was in the car. A moment later, there was a whirring sound from the back seat. 

“They’re trying to take control of the ship--” EDI said. Her eyes spun around, and sparks flew off of her. She shut down.

“Crap,” Garrus said. EDI powered back up, her eyes still askew.

“Are you...okay?” Joker ventured.

“I am functional, but I have no control of the Normandy. I feel...lost,” EDI said brokenly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have you back in no time. You have my word,” Shepard said.

“Thank you.”

They arrived on the Normandy just as it was starting to pull away. Traynor was in the entryway, sputtering various unflattering things about Shepard. She caught sight of Shepard and she held her toothbrush threateningly in front of her.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “You were...you were back there! I was minding my own business, and then you marched in and fired me! I barely had time to grab my toothbrush!”

Shepard held up her hands. “That’s a Cision Pro Mark IV. It uses tiny mass effect fields to break up plaque and massage the gums. I know that because you told me, because I’m the real Shepard. The one you saw earlier was a clone.”

“I--”

“I wish I had time to explain, but we need to get on the ship. No one knows it better than you do, Traynor,” Shepard said quickly. Traynor thought for a second. Apparently she decided to go along with it, because she leaned down to examine the ground.

“There should be a ventilation shaft around...here.” She pulled up a piece of the floor. EDI shook her head.

“You would need something that could precisely manipulate mass effect fields,” she explained. Shepard met Traynor’s eyes, and Traynor determinedly turned on her toothbrush.

 Crawling through a shaft wasn’t exactly ideal for Shepard’s over six-foot frame, but she just about managed it.

“If you’d told me this morning that a toothbrush was going to save the Normandy, I’d have been very skeptical,” she whispered. “Remind me to reimburse Traynor, I think it broke.”

“Shepard, you--” EDI began.

“Later. Remind me later.”

They opened the grate into the CIC with guns blazing. The mercenaries were no match for them. EDI looked like she was running on sheer, unadulterated rage. She grabbed hold of a dying mercenary. Her voice was like ice. “Where are they?”

“Cargo bay,” the merc managed.

“Thank you for your assistance,” EDI said, and shot him in the face. Shepard met Garrus’ eyes and shrugged helplessly. They made their way to the elevator, and Shepard’s heart dropped to the floor. Mako’s cage, along with her carefully assembled collection of model ships, was resting in a garbage bin. There was a note on top with handwriting that was almost (but not quite) the same as Shepard’s.

“Please get rid of this, a ship is no place for…oh that is so not okay. They messed with my hamster guys. Now it’s personal,” Shepard hissed.

“Was it not personal before?” Garrus asked.

“I-- well, yeah. But Mako’s defenceless. What was a little hamster going to do to them--”

“I suggest we keep moving,” EDI cut in.

“Right, right. Of course.” Shepard hit the button on the elevator.

[letterstotheone-whomilovemost]

12/31/2020 (14 months after the event)

Happy New Years!

It has been a rather weird year, hasn’t it? While some days from this year feel like they were only yesterday, others feel like half a decade ago. To be quite frank, the same applies to the last time I saw you. I’m sure if you saw this you would go “blah blah, you say the same thing every time you write.” While this is true, I can’t help it. I started taking new medication, as of 14 days ago. My psychiatrist, I have one of those now-- along with a therapist haha, recommended me getting put on escitalopram for my severe anxiety. It’s always been pretty bad, but over the course of the past 14 months, it has skyrocketed pretty high. Isn’t it strange how our minds develop as we get older? Survival of the fittest? Or is it just adaptation? The human body is pretty neat, let alone our brain. 

I was going through my photos the other day, and got the sudden urge to delete all of them. Of course, I’m not as crazy as just upright deleting them-- so I uploaded all of them onto a drive, and then deleted them from my phone. All of them. Decided it was time for a fresh start, why not start with the one thing I open every day, right? I decided earlier today, about a week after I deleted all of my photos, that I would go into my drive to try and find a photo from September that I downloaded from a manga I was reading. Of course I got sidetracked, I scrolled to 2014 and was going through all of my old photos with my brother and my family, and then suddenly I got to 2017 and there it was. The black and white photo of you and I at the parking deck, both of us laughing as hard as we possibly could. I smiled softly of course, as the beautiful memory came rushing over me. But then something hit me. For some reason, this isn’t how I remember you. My brain forgot what you looked like, or at least started trying to. It’s been about a year since I last saw a photo of you. While the brain is so incredibly amazing, it has a bad habit of memories starting to fade, especially when it’s a person attached to bad memories as well. It works in some cases, where people are trying to forget-- but even still it does the opposite and leaves the person going “Why can’t I forget you!?”. Strange, right? The human mind is so beautiful. I can still hear you talking to me sometimes, if I try hard enough. Lately, I haven’t been so hard on myself. I’m trying to figure myself out still, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it is okay that I still love you. I know I more than likely always will. That’s what love is, right? Being able to love and never losing that love, no matter what happens. 

All of this being said, I figured I would kind of recap everything that has happened in the wonderful year of 2020. It has been one hell of a ride.

January, the month of my brother’s 15th birthday. He was so happy and we all celebrated his birthday with him the following weekend. We also went hiking the same month, while it was cold; my mother, brother, and I had a blast. This month was mostly just working and being lazy on my off days. I had a fall out with my best friend.

February, I had a love hate relationship with this month. I tried dating someone new, I saw that you had gotten in a relationship two months prior and figured it was time for me to try and move on as well. Needless to say, dude was a douchebag and was a very violent individual. I left him within 3 weeks. My birth father, his newlywed wife, my cousin from my favorite uncle, whom I had never met until then, and I all went to Ruby Falls. It was quite a beautiful journey. Whilst I fought with my father, it turned out to be an okay experience. Later in the month, I ended up getting into a fight with my landlord, who was demanding that I pay extra, even though I was not behind on any payments. I ended up cooperating with them, so that I didn’t lose my home. I celebrated my little sister’s fifth birthday.

March, I lost my job. Millions and millions of other people did as well. Covid-19 struck the world. I took it lightly and just assumed that yet again, the media was blowing things out of proportion. My landlord wasn’t understanding of the fact I was put out of work, along with millions of others. They ended up being generous for the month after I showed them statistics. I ended up being lazy, doing nothing but watching Netflix and Disney plus for the entire month.

April, Corona Virus was boring at this point. We had all been told, “Oh! We’ll all be open for business again in the next two weeks!”. That was the first week of March, and it was now April. The government didn’t give us any kind of help until the last week, so that kind of fucked me. I spent most days laying in bed on TikTok. I also got super into streaming in the beginning of this month, and my platform was finally starting to take off.

May, unemployed for two months. I debated taking a job at a warehouse. Unfortunately, the media deterred me from doing so. There was a spike of cases in my state; it was terrifying. I didn’t leave my house much. I got my dog, for the first time in 4 years. It was beautiful, I cried. He was so happy to be back home. I started a routine of watching anime every morning at 7 am and then going for a walk. I wanted to get back into a daily routine, regardless if I had a job or not. I was falling behind on bills, and I really needed to distract myself. I started getting into digital art, rather than traditional, for the first time ever. I stopped making my music.

June, I reconnected with a lot of old online friends from 2013. It was strange and I didn’t really know how to feel about it. It was nostalgic in a way, spending late nights on discord calls. I didn’t really enjoy it all too much, I felt like it all needed to stay in the past. I started anti-depressants, again. This time it was Prozac. It made me feel extremely drowsy, and made me feel out of body most of the time. I tried to date, again. An old friend that I had from 2013, we reconnected and even though they were out of state, I decided-- “Hey, maybe this will be good for me. I don’t have to worry about them getting aggressive with me, we can take things slow, and we can pace ourselves.” Oh man, if only I knew. He flew down to my state, met the family, was extremely respectful and even stayed in a hotel the first trip. Everything seemed to be going okay.

July, my 21st birthday. Did I drink? No. Sounds crazy, right? I had about half a drink, and decided I just didn’t want any. I had stopped taking my antidepressants, the new boyfriend had said that I wasn’t acting right. It fed into my suspicion, that the meds weren’t doing a whole lot for me. They were just making me really sleepy and on edge all the time. The new boyfriend had come down again for my birthday and mother’s birthday, since we share the same birth week. Celebrated with my mom, her best friend, and I. July was pretty hectic, since I had decided I would be moving to West Virginia on August 5, 2020.

August, I moved to West Virginia. I packed up all of my belongings, uprooted everything I had ever known, hugged my family goodbye, and got into the back of a truck with a u-haul attached to it. I rode in the back of the vehicle for 14 hours, fell asleep in Kentucky, woke up in Ohio. It was daylight by the time we approached West Virginia. It was so beautiful, all of the mountains. I was moving into the house in which he lived in, which his sister was next door on one side, and his parents on the other side. We had the nice river breeze, since Ohio river was within eyesight. I lived in the Tri-state area so it was Pennsylvania on one side, Ohio on the other, and us-- five minutes to each state. It was a good first couple of days. Then we got into our first fight. I was unable to work, since I left my car behind. Luckily, I had saved up a bunch of money for me to be able to buy one. He hit me with really low blows, saying I didn’t need to work-- since women weren’t good for that kind of thing. It hurt, to be honest. I had never seen him like this before, in the eight years I had known of his existence. He had been with me in my hometown for three weeks and not once acted like this. I walked on eggshells, bought a car with my hard earned money, then got a management job at the Domino’s that was ten minutes from my town I was living in. Towards the end of the month, he got aggressive with me. He stopped working the same week I had moved in, he had no car. He had no ambition, he decided to just give up. Maybe that’s what I tried to see, maybe-- just maybe I could help him find some ambition. I wanted to save him, in a way? We got into a severe fight, I couldn’t take it anymore-- I fought back, and he ended up swinging on me.

September, I packed all of my belongings that I could into my tiny little Toyota, and left in the middle of the night. I had one thing on my mind, and that was to go to my mom’s house. My mother had known how bad he had gotten, since he acted such a way with my mother on the phone, unknowingly. I drove for 15 hours, well 13 but with rest stops to nap for a bit since I was running off of no sleep, but I finally ended up back home. I ended up staying with my mom for a bit. Later had to relocate, so I moved in with an old friend. Started streaming again.

October, Worked. Literally worked the entire month, my entire existence fell into dread. I became overly aware of how much time had passed. I felt like I had been doing nothing. I dreaded the last day of the month, every day just gave me more and more sadness.  I didn’t want the day to come. I started dreaming of you more and more and more. Halloween came, I decided to look at it differently, I started to thank you-- rather than try to hate you. I came to the conclusion that I would never hate you.

November, Thanksgiving! I started to become grateful, moved back into my mom’s house. It was a bumpy ride, but I managed to get back into the habit of doing healthy things. Started going to the gym again, drinking more water. I told my father he was dead to me, haven’t spoken to him since. I got to spend Thanksgiving with my real family, my mother and her best friend’s family. They watched me grow up since the day I was born. It was so much better than any other holiday I had ever had up to this date.

December, I started a new form of medicine. This time it was for anxiety, since that’s the main factor of my illness-- or so we think so far. I am on escitalopram, and I started it the week before Christmas. I got to see my real family again. It was nice, but this time I got to reunite with my childhood best friend for the first time in fifteen years. It was so lovely. I have become almost bedridden again, but it won’t last long-- since it’s just a side effect of my medicine. I also got to see some friends from high school, but then I realized-- they’re the exact same way they’ve been since the beginning. They wanted nothing but to talk about drama. It just isn’t my thing, I don’t like dealing with people much anymore, because of the constant drama. I’ve learned a lot about people changing, and the lack thereof.

I think this year has been a year full of lessons for me, and it has been tough. As they say, there’s no pleasure without pain, no pain no gain, right? This year has taught me a lot about myself and the people around me, and I am extremely grateful for the things I have experienced. I’ve learned so much about who I am as a person. I’ve grown a lot, while this year has kicked my ass. I have high hopes for the next year. For the first time, since 2016, I finally see a future in myself, by myself. 

To New Beginnings, Lovebug.

I love you, always.

22:27

[alonely-dreamer]

Dangerous Creatures | Chapter 23: The Holy Forest - Part 2: Heidi Beauregard

Summary: Mackenzie Alemaund is an unlucky 18 year old teenager whose life changes drastically after she gets kidnapped by two vampires and learns, in the same day, that she is not human.

Pairing: Elijah x OC

Words: 1723

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there, besides I couldn’t have it edited! I hope you’ll like it!

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23: Part 1

The weather inside the Forest was identical to the one of the open world. As cold and as humid, as grey and as depressing.

Heidi was sitting on the passenger seat of Alex’ black Mercedes, her partner at her side, his hands on the wheel, an original vampire behind him and an ultimate behind her. The witch’s eyes fell on the mirror outside her window and she caught a glimpse of her goddaughter. The elemental was half asleep, her head resting on the vampire’s shoulder. The silence and the steady road had allowed her to fall asleep as her unexpected fear of flying had kept her wide awake on the plane. No one would dare wake her now.

As they drove past the black iron gates, the red brick wall appeared in the mirror and Heidi knew she was home. The city had an old aura, she recognized it easily. She watched the old houses and the old buildings as Alex drove past them slowly. The street was narrow and there was just enough space for the car to drive through it.

Elijah watched the houses too, with a sad nostalgia, thinking back to the time of black houses and buildings made of wood, back when he was still by Niklaus’ side. He recognized the different architecture styles, the oldest one from five centuries ago. The city was a mixed of old and new, but even the old didn’t seem affected by time. The wood and the bricks seemed new, as if it had just been built. The vampire caught a glimpse of what was inside the businesses: a coffee shop, a restaurant, a library… What he saw inside surprised him. It wasn’t what one would expect when they saw the buildings from outside. It wasn’t any different from any coffee shops in cities like Berlin, Paris or even New-York. It was the same with the people walking the streets. Dressed in different fashions, like Heidi and Alexander, some obviously had preferred to keep the clothes from their century, but their corsets didn’t stop the women to use smartphones, nor did their top hats stop the men from doing the same. It was a sight to behold, and Elijah knew he still had a lot to discover.

Heidi knew the Forest perfectly well. She knew every secret it held, every person it hosted, everything and anything, just like Margo did, just like Alex would if he paid attention to this sort of things. She knew that Margo would make them wait before she received the four of them in the throne room. She knew she would judge their clothes, the way they stood on their feet, their every word. She knew the questions she was going to ask. And Heidi was arrogant enough to think she already knew the answers.

She had spent the last four hundred years there, with Margo. The last two with Alexander. She had made herself one of the most powerful witches on Earth. Not more powerful than Margo, certainly not stronger than Pandora or Ambrosia, though she doubted anyone was more powerful than the two sisters. They were older than the Mikaelsons. Probably the eldest people alive. Former slaves in Athens, back when democracy was the norm but slavery, ironically, was too, they had been rescued by witches and had been empowered by their rage and their want for revenge. But now, over two thousand years later, maybe they were tired of people, maybe they were simply tired of life, as they always retreated in a secret place, disappeared for years, even centuries, only to be summoned by people they trusted, people powerful enough to summon them, when they had no other solution to their problems. Heidi was one of those people. As was Margo.

Heidi had gotten strong the same way. Empowered by rage and the want for revenge, after her village burnt her mother alive for being a witch. Marguerite, her mother, accused of using witchcraft to seduce Jean, the lawyer’s son, Heidi’s father, didn’t even get any chance to defend herself as the villagers got the rope and the pitchforks and the torches and through her in the pyre, way too happy to kill a witch, to kill the woman that had been a sister to them, a midwife to their wives, a doctor to their children. So Heidi did the same thing to them. She burnt them all alive as well, one night, exactly a month after her mother’s death. She burnt their houses while they were sleeping, burnt her “friends”, their parents and their children. The lawyer’s son and his entire family. Every single one of them. Even the church and the school and the house where they kept the sick and injured. She ignited the flames with a smile and witnessed them die with a laugh.

She didn’t flee France like Margo fled Spain. She left it behind, left everything behind, knowing if she crossed the path of other superstitious little bastards she would do the same thing to them. She got to Germany, found the Forest, found Margo, and she had stayed there, where no one would even think about burning a witch, where she wouldn’t cross the path of superstitious little bastards.

Two centuries in the Forest, a life of her own, settled comfortably in the castle, with more power than she needed, she met Alexander, who too had left everything behind and found the Forest. He was a little bastard but at least he wasn’t superstitious. And he made her smile. And he made her laugh. And she was in love with him, so in love in fact that after only a year later, she asked herself how, how did she ever live without him?

The car stopped in front of the castle, two guards posted on each side of the huge opened front door, a page ready to open the car doors and another ready to take their luggage from the trunk. The page bowed to her as she exited the vehicle and he was almost hit by Mackenzie’s door as she opened it. Elijah was by her side in a flash, helping her out of the car. She looked awful, obviously exhausted, and maybe a little hungry. If not starving.

“Lady Beauregard,” the page greeted. “Welcome back. Her Majesty will see you in an hour.”

Heidi didn’t bother with a reply and it’s Alexander who thanked the servant and dismissed him. She looked up to the sky, her eyes slowly travelling on the castle’s façade. The white stones looked like marble and she knew it would be cold inside. She shivered already at the thought of entering her home. She followed Alexander inside, walked between two columns with Mackenzie and Elijah by her side before stepping in the hall.

Nothing had changed. The carpet was still red, covering the white marble floor that they had renovated a century earlier. The guards were still wearing the same uniform, posted at the same place, holding the same weapons. The servants walked around silently, stopped to bow to them before resuming their task.

“I’m going to change,” she informed them, without looking at any of her travelling companions before walking away.

Mackenzie and Elijah watched her leave, and their attention was called away from the witch’s back as their heard Alexander chuckle.

“I think she hates this place, but she’ll never admit it. Probably because she doesn’t know it.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” he nodded. “She’s impatient, she hasn’t talked to Margo in months.”

“Are they close?” Elijah asked.

“They’re best friends.”

“You are nobility here?”

“If you can call us that,” he shrugged. “Sure, I guess. So are you, by the way,” he winked at Mackenzie.

The elemental, who just wanted to find a bed and slid under the covers, didn’t realize he was being serious and chuckled at his joke.

“Don’t laugh, Lady Alemaund,” he mocked. “You might just be the most powerful creature here.”

“Don’t remind me,” she sighed, which made Elijah smile.

“I don’t think anyone is going to let you forget it.”

“Sir Davidson,” a page interrupted them. “The rooms are ready. A package is waiting for Lady Alemaund in her chambers.”

“Is it as we asked?”

“Yes, sir, they are in neighboring rooms. In the main wing.”

“Then I’ll show them myself, thank you.”

The page bowed again before walking away without saying another word.

“We were afraid they’d send you off to the guest wing,” the heretic told the original vampire, “we made sure you weren’t too far away from each other.”

“I appreciate that,” Elijah nodded.

“We just got here. Who sent me a package?”

Alexander chuckled. “The queen, silly. It’s probably a dress, or a crown… or both,” he grinned mischievously.

“I… Am I… expected to wear a crown?” she stuttered.

“I’m kidding,” he laughed. “A crown is given in a coronation. You haven’t had one of those… yet.”

“Stop it!” she told him as she slapped his arm, making him step back with a laugh.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Let’s go then. We can’t be late.”

“What should we expect from…” Elijah paused, looking for the right word, “Her Majesty?”

“Margo’s not a tyrant. You can expect her to be as friendly as Heidi,” he shrugged. “She’ll be asking you questions, and she’ll be expecting answers. Don’t lie to her, she’ll know. Be respectful, of course, she’s a queen, she expects to be treated like one. But why don’t you just see for yourself, uh?”

“I’ve met less reasonable queens,” Elijah told him. “But none as powerful as her, I expect.”

“You’re right about that, friend,” Alex said as he put his hand on Elijah’s shoulder.

The original vampire let the heretic tap his shoulder in silence, then watched him walk away from them, following Heidi’s footsteps. He looked down at the elemental who was repressing an amused smile. He raised an eyebrow at her, which made her laugh.

“Look at you,” she said. “You made a new friend.”

“Did I?”

“You two are going to get plenty of time alone later,” Alex called from the hallway, “come on!”

“Come on,” she repeated with a grin.

He smiled back at her as he stepped forward, took her hand in his and let her drag him to her godfather.

**********

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!!

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @captainam-erika-trash @silver424 @monetfatalia @vaniileiinkeks @valeria-winchester @favimag @colie87 @hamiltonmadesomemistakes @s0nh4dorasblog @poemfreak306 @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @thegingerthatwaited @therealwatermelon @dark-night-sky-99@aubri1313 @jardinsecos @gymnastgal1997-blog @thearaviagrace77blog @caelst13​ @casedoina

[kayteewritessteve]

Love and War - 4/16

Description: In a harsh medieval world, you set out on a perilous quest that will lead you onto a forbidden land. A land ruled and controlled by a ruthless Warlord King, one who does not look favourably upon trespassers of any kind, and punishes all with an iron fist. You may not know exactly where this quest will end, but what you do know is you will forever be altered by it. And that knowledge alone is what truly terrifies you the most.

Catch up HERE.

Word Count: 5,690 ish.

Pairing: Medieval!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG for now. May become 18+ later.

Warnings: Violence. Curse words. Mentions of fears and potentially brutal medieval tactics. Most likely more to come down the road. Please don’t let these warnings scare you too much, give the story a try before you judge it.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

“I refuse to marry him!” You bellowed as you stormed around your room, throwing various robes and silks around while you searched for nothing in particular. “Athos can not make me!”

“My Lady,” Aalin sighed, “you know, just as well as us, that it is already set. The King's hands were tied, the only way he could get the Queen back, was to give your hand in marriage. The contract is already drawn up and signed.”

“I do not care!” You halted your steps to glare at the three women who stood in your room. “I do not love him!”

“Hepha may not be the most caring or—enjoyable man,” Edden cringed slightly, her green eyes locking on yours, “but he will protect you,” she tried to reason. “Plus he is truly infatuated with you, so I’m sure he will get better with time.”

“So I’ve heard,” you scoffed, crossing your arms.

“And just because you are married to him, doesn’t mean you can’t lie with another,” Tyarra added with a wicked smirk upon her red lips, which accented her caramel skin beautifully, then she wiggled her eyebrows at you, “say a certain tall, handsome one.”

You felt your cheeks flush at the mention of Alarick, but then your reality quickly came crashing back, “Hepha will never allow that. If he were to ever catch us in such a—compromising position, he’d lose it. He’d ruin me,” you paused then your eyes widen as you exclaimed, “no, worse! He’d banish me!”

“He doesn’t hold that much power,” Aalin scoffed, “and you know that.”

You sighed as you flopped down on your giant bed, staring up at the purple, pink and blue sky above your room, the kaleidoscope of bright pastel colours normally calming all your worries. But not this time, these worries were far too great, far too life altering to be quelled by a mere glance at the beautiful sky, alone.

“Does Alarick know yet?” Edden quietly asked.

You rolled onto your side, facing the three women, “he does not. The King sent him and Harlin away until everything is finalized. He didn’t want either of them interfering with the wedding.”

They all exchanged a few glances at each other then Aalin spoke up, shaking her head, “he is going to be so angered by all of this.”

You sighed deeply again, turning to glance back up at the sky. “Maybe he will banish Hepha, himself,” you mumbled hopefully, hearing the women giggle quietly at your words. But their mirth didn’t cheer you up this time, this whole situation was a nightmare, this was not how things were supposed to be. How this was supposed to play out. “Do I have to attend dinner?”

“You do, My Lady,” Edden replied.

“Will that insufferable oaf be there?” You asked, furrowing your brows at the thought of that wretched man.

“He will not, it is customary that the,” Aalin started but then paused, a frown taking over her features before she mumbled out the next few words, “bride and groom do not see one another the night before the ceremony.”

You almost didn’t hear her. Gods, you wish you hadn’t, but you had. And now you almost didn’t want to attend dinner, as you wanted to anger Athos as best you could, while you still could. But you knew that wouldn’t accomplish anything, except to only weaken you more. Plus going to bed on an empty stomach was never enjoyable. You sighed deeply, defeatedly, “when is dinner to begin?”

“In an hour,” Tyarra replied, sounding disheartened by your impending forced Fate.

“Then I guess I should ready myself,” you groaned as you reluctantly pulled yourself up off your bed. “After all, I have a forced wedding to attend in the morning, and this will be my last meal as a free woman.”

The three women each gave you sad, forlorn looks but then quickly corrected them into neutral expressions as they all started to get to work. Each having a separate job to do, one doing your hair, another your makeup and the last entering your closet to find an appropriate dress for you to wear.

“Where is Premala, I haven’t seen her since last night?” You asked as you sat there, being yanked in multiple directions, all at once.

Edden giggled from her place fixing your hair, “that’s because she is going by Dabria today.”

You giggled as well, thinking of your fiery attendant who picks which name to go by every morning, based entirely on how she feels that day. She goes by many names, Premala was her loving, regular, every day one. Where as Dabria was her more fiercer side. “Good. In that case, I rather hope she stabs Hepha in his bad leg.”

“Oh, I am sure she will,” Tyarra laughed, “though sadly that won’t kill him. But regardless of that, his slight discomfort will bring a smile to my lips for sure.”

“Mine as well,” you replied as you grinned at the image of that, but then your thoughts drifted back to what was currently happening. To what was about to happen, come morning.

Tomorrow would be the day you married a man you didn’t love. A man you could barely even tolerate. Pushed to marry him by the father of the only man you did love. Forced to forever be tied in a loveless, unhappy union.

Tomorrow would stand to be the worst day of your life, and it hadn’t even come yet. You’d be destined to an eternity of misery and hardship. You just knew it. You could just feel it.

You groan as your lids slowly attempt to open, but a bright light stinging your eyes, causes you to squeeze them shut again, in any attempt to block out the harsh rays of the sun. You slowly become aware that you are laying on something soft, wrapped in something warm. And your mind instantly tries to tell you that you’re home, safe and sound in your own bed. So you just continue to lay there, content and carefree as you slowly work your way out of your wonderful slumber. Unmoving as your mind slowly attempts to drag itself out of your sleepy daze, and back into the land of the living.

The vivid dream you had continuing on a loop in your mind, most likely meaning that this one was to, hopefully, be saved forever. Kept as if it were an actual memory, instead of just a strange conjuring of your imagination. As most of your dreams are normally, fully forgotten before your toes even hit the cold wood floor. You always had strange and lucid dreams, some would stick around as if they were memories, but most would vanish almost instantly. There was no making sense of any of it, some of the dreams would seem so realistic, as if they’d actually happened. Where as others were clearly just figments of your vivid imagination.

Though this one appeared to lean towards the former, it seemed so real, too real, that you wondered if those 3 women in your dream were actual people. Possibly friends of yours from your life before. Maybe you had actually been forced to marry a man you didn’t love, while the one you did was off somewhere, oblivious to all of it. But then if that were the case, why hasn't anyone come for you yet?

Not your potential husband, nor the man you claimed to love—the one who you so strongly believed truly loved you in return. Neither of them had come for you, clearly. Maybe they hadn’t even searched for you. Maybe you meant less to both of them than you had originally believed back then. Or maybe they both just didn’t love you at all, and you were just too young, naive and foolish to believe they actually had. But who really knows which it could be, because you surely do not.

You sigh deeply, raising your right arm up to your face and laying it over your eyes, in an attempt to block out the piercing sunlight.

“Glad to see you are finally awake,” a female’s voice cuts through the silent room like a knife to butter.

The voice startles you and you shoot up into a sitting position, eyes wide and heart galloping in your chest like a horse on the run. Your eyes quickly scan the room until they land on the source of the voice. A beautiful redhead sits, leaned back, in a large armchair, looking rather intimidating, and yet, casual. It was odd, you weren’t sure whether to cower away from her, or ask if she wanted to go and get a pint, down at the local tavern.

You clench your eyes shut, just now realizing the immense pounding in your head, that is accompanied by an intense foggy haze. You groan again and raise a hand up to message your temple, hoping that, that will help quell the throbbing ache. It doesn’t work, but after a few moments the pain starts to subside and you open your eyes once again, focusing them as best you can on the redhead, who still sits just mere feet away from you.

After a long tense, silent moment, of just studying each other, you decide that sitting there gawking at her isn’t especially polite, so you flick your eyes away from her to take in the room around you. It was a grand room, much, much larger than your own. The ornate four-poster bed with which you currently sit upon, is so large you’re sure it could sleep an entire family comfortably, between it’s soft sheets. There are thick velvety royal blue drapes tied to each post of the bed, so should the rester want, or need, darkness and seclusion, all they had to do was untie the drapes.

There was a grand stone fireplace along the wall, lined up with the foot of the bed. Then there was a large window to your right, with the curtains drawn back allowing the morning sun to enter the room and happily glisten across the bed. Which explains the piercing light that danced across your lids just moments ago. And sat directly in front of the window was a vanity and stool, then on the opposite wall, near the door, was a large armoire. And lastly there was a nightstand on either side of the bed. Well, actually, the last thing was the large—currently occupied—arm chair, off to your left in the corner of the room.

“Where am I?” You turn your eyes back to the redhead, pulling the blankets further up your body, as if to hide behind them. “And who are you?”

“I am Natasha, the King’s Gam—third in command,” she answers, quickly correcting her words as she pointedly ignores your first question. Or at least you assume she is pointedly ignoring it.

“A woman is his third in command?” You whisper, astonished by what you are hearing. She raises an eyebrow at you and you instantly realize what you’d just said out loud. Your eyes widen, “oh, I apologize, that was rather impolite, I didn’t mean to insult you. I just have never heard of a woman holding such a high title. I’m rather impressed, actually, to say the least.”

She scoffs, “we are not as primitive and archaic as the other kingdoms are. We do not follow the same ridiculous rules that they do,” she smirks, smugly, “we make our own.”

You nod. “And where exactly is ‘here,’ if I may be so bold as to ask?” Your voice surprisingly steady as you question your current location, once more.

“You should know that already,” she raises her brow at you again, “you are the one who entered his land, uninvited.”

“I’m in Winterbourne still?” You gasp and look around the room again, “in-in his castle?”

She hums while nodding, confirming your questions, but doesn’t elaborate any further.

“But why?” You ask softly, “why am I here?”

“Those answers will come, all in good time,” she says as she stands abruptly. “But for now you must ready yourself,” she turns to head towards the door.

“Ready myself for what, exactly?” You quickly ask, confused.

“You sure do ask a lot of questions,” she mumbles, then glances over her shoulder at you. “We can’t exactly have you touring the castle in just your shift,” she smirks, “now can we?”

And then with that she leaves the room, shutting the door softly as she goes. Barely giving you a chance to comprehend her words, let alone respond to them.

You furrow your brows and then glance down, pulling the sheets away from your body, only to gasp at your attire—or lack thereof. Gods! Where did your kirtle and cloak go! They—they stripped you down? Oh Gods, how very embarrassing this all is. Your cheeks heat up as you say a silent prayer, begging that it was at least a woman who’d removed your outer layers, and not one of the men you’d been with when you’d fainted.

But before you could worry too heavily over those thoughts, the door to your room opens once again, and in glides three beautiful women. You quickly pull the sheets back towards your body, not interested in any more people seeing you in just your shift.

“Oh, My Lady,” the first one starts, smiling as she waves her hand around dismissively, “you needn’t worry with hiding yourself. It’s nothing any of us haven’t seen time, and time again.” The other two nodding in agreement. Then the first one motions for you to stand, “now up, up! There is much to do.”

One of the ladies grabs the sheet and flips it off you, while the last one takes your hand and pulls you up and out of bed. Leaving you standing on bare feet atop a chilly wooden floor, in just your shift, with 3 strangers now sizing you up. The cold air sends a shiver shooting up your body, starting from your now cold toes and ending in your still hazy head.

“She has a wonderful figure, does she not?” the third woman comments, as the first one walks around you, giving you a full once over. While the second just stands there, silently assessing you.

The first one comes to a stop in front of you, glancing towards the third, “that she does,” she nods then looks back at you. “We can work with this, to be sure.”

The second finally speaks up, “though her wild hair needs a rigorous brushing.”

The other two glance up at your hair, and nod, then the first speaks again, “yes, that it does. But that’s an easy fix,” she smiles at you then motions towards the vanity off on the far wall, near the large window.

You go to step but then halt the action, “I don’t mean to be rude, but,” you glance between all three women, “who exactly are you three?”

“Oh!” The first gasps, and slaps a hand to her forehead, “I knew we were forgetting something. I’m sorry, My Lady,” she curtsies, “I’m Pepper.”

The second curtsies as well, “I’m Hilde.”

Then the third mimics the first two, “and I’m Hope.”

The first—Pepper, speaks again, a smile on her beautiful face, “we are your ladies in waiting now.”

“I’m sorry?” You furrow your brows, “I um, I don’t mean to come off crass, but I don’t plan on staying here long enough to warrant needing ladies in waiting.” You glance between the three again, “once I get dressed, I just need one of you to point me in the direction of the King, and then I plan to politely ask that I be released.”

The women look at you for a moment, then they all giggle before Pepper pulls herself together and playfully swats the others, to shut them up. They stop giggling, but a few snorts play throughout the quiet room, the women clearly having a hard time taking you seriously.

“Of course you do,” Hilde snorts, “please inform us of how that goes for you.”

You frown, “what does that mean?”

Pepper swats Hilde’s arm, then turns to you, another smile on her face, this one sweet. “Ignore her, My Lady, she enjoys speaking out of turn,” she shoots Hilde a pointed glare.

The aforementioned just shrugs it off and then walks over to the large armoire. While Hope ushers you over towards the wall near the chair, and as you follow obediently you realize it’s a divider wall. One you hadn’t noticed originally. It sits about 4 feet from the actual wall, and is open on the right, allowing passage into a smaller room that is hidden behind. This room has a large tub in the middle, and you gather instantly that it’s a full bath room.

Rooms like these aren’t common in bedrooms, one household normally has to share a very simple, and small, bath room between the whole family. But then again, you are in a castle, so the room having its own bathing room didn’t overly shock you.

“Alright, My Lady, let’s get you fully undressed so you may bathe,” Hope says gently, as if worried you may bolt at any second.

“I um,” you start, not overly used to others helping you with washing. “I would feel more comfortable if I could do this on my own, maybe?”

She smiles and bows her head, “of course, My Lady. We will wait on you in the room. There is cloths for drying on the stool, next to the tub, for when you are finished.” And then with that she exits the bath room.

You strip off your shift and test the water with your hand, before climbing into the tub and relaxing back into the hot water. You just sit there for a while, enjoying the warmth and the smell of the flowers floating on the surface. But after a little while the water begins to cool, so you quickly clean yourself and then climb out. Once you are all dried off, you find a new shift has also been put on the stool, and pull it on then exit back into the bedroom. Finding the three ladies meandering about, waiting on you to return.

Once they notice you they all make their way to you, Pepper speaking up once they reach you, “you look very refreshed, My Lady.”

“Yes, turns out I was in desperate need of a washing,” you smile sheepishly, “I feel much more myself now.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Hope smiles at you, then hesitantly adds, “if it’s alright with you, we can help you into your dress?”

You nod, and then Hilde presents the olive green dress to you, and you almost gasp. It’s lovely, far more beautiful than anything you’ve ever worn, let alone owned.

Hilde helps you into the dress and then Pepper leads you to the vanity where you sit on the stool. The three ladies spend the next few minutes taming your unruly wet hair, pinching your cheeks and then Pepper rubs a cut lemon across your lips. Causing them to redden a bit, and tingle a lot.

After a moment they all take a step back, admiring their work, then they all share a look and nod. “Alright, I think you’re ready,” Pepper smiles at you.

You glance in the mirror, admiring your reflection then turn to look at the three ladies, “thank you for your help.”

They each nod and bow, “we shall be off, enjoy your tour,” Hope says, and then the three ladies exit your room. Leaving you alone in the silence for the first time since you awoke. You sigh and glance around the room, wondering how you even ended up here. How you managed to evade being sent back to the cells, below the castle. And just how you were going to get home.

Your mind drifted to Wanda and Pietro, wondering where they are, if they’d made it home, or if they were currently in a room elsewhere in the castle. Was it normal for trespassers to be treated so well here? You’d assume not, as when you’d originally been caught, you’d been forced into a dark and dingy cell alongside Wanda. And Pietro, you’d later learned.

You stand from the stool and make your way over to the door, not entirely sure if you’re supposed to wait for someone to come get you. Or leave the room and search them out. Your hand raises to the doorknob, unsure what you will find on the other side, you take a deep breath then open the door. Exiting hesitantly out into a long stone corridor, torches attached every few feet along the wall to illuminate the majority of the hallway. There is a window at the very end, but the sunlight doesn’t reach far enough in, to make a huge difference.

You see a flash of red to your left and your head snaps towards it, seeing the woman from earlier. Natasha, she’d said her name was.

“Hello again, My Lady,” she bows her head, respectfully, and it just doesn’t feel right to you.

“Please, just Y/N is fine.”

“Just Y/N, it is then,” she shoots you a playful smirk before turning on her heels and going to walk down the hall, waving you to follow, “now, come along Just Y/N, there is much to see.” You laugh and shake your head, already knowing you are going to like Natasha.

You hurry to catch up to her, falling into step beside her as a bunch of questions bounce around in your skull. So many that you don’t even know where to begin—that’s a lie, one question stands out in the front, the most important question. One that desperately needs an answer. “May I ask you something, Natasha?”

“You may,” she nods, “but I may not be authorized to answer.”

You furrow your brows, whispering, “not authorized by who?”

She side eyes you, giving you a curious look, as if you were a few loaves short of a baker’s dozen. “The King,” is all she replies with, as a silences falls over you both like a blanket.

You clear your throat, you still need to ask your question, “are Wanda and Pietro here somewhere, as well?”

“Who and who?” She asks as she starts down a large set of stairs, you following closely behind.

“My family,” you clarify, “I was with them in the cells. They both escaped with me, but I lost track of them in the woods, before I was caught.”

She halts her steps halfway down the stairs and turns to face you, “as far as I’m aware, you are the only outsider currently in the castle.”

“In the castle,” you repeat, “so that means they could be below it, in the cells?”

“Let me rephrase that,” she sighs, “you were the only trespasser recaptured. Once we had you, the search for the other two was called off,” she finishes and then turns to continue on down the stairs.

You furrow your brows, and hastily catch up to her, “so they both escaped?”

She just nods and you sigh in relief. But her words have now left you with even more questions.

“Why?” You shake your head, realizing that was too broad of a question, so you quickly clarify, “I mean, why did they call off the search once they had me? Why am I here?”

You both reach the bottom of the grant staircase, and she heads to the right down another long corridor. And as she does, she shrugs, “those I can’t answer.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it really matter which one it is?” She side eyes you, raising a questioning brow, “either way, you’ll still have to ask the King those questions. Because I can’t answer them.”

“Okay,” you nod, “then can you at least inform me as to when I will be able to return home?”

“That is also a question you will need to ask the King.”

You pause your steps for a moment, falling slightly behind as you process this all. She clearly notices your hesitation and halts as well, turning to look at you again. You glance around the large corridor, seeing a few different doors here and there, scattered randomly along both walls. You then look over your shoulder, from where you’d just come from, not really looking for anything in particular, but also trying to get your bearings. Maybe looking for some sort of escape route, maybe looking for somewhere to hide.

Honestly, this whole thing seems so strange to you. What does this King want with you? Why are you truly here? And why did they stop looking for Wanda and Pietro, once they had you? Not that you wanted them to catch either of your siblings, heck, you didn’t even want to be caught yourself. But yet here you are, staying in the warlord Kings castle, being treated like some Noble Lady guest. Having ladies waiting on you, and touring you around the castle. It’s just all so odd.

And furthermore, why do you need to know where anything in the castle? You don’t plan on staying here long, if it’s up to you. So why do you need a tour at all. Especially from the King’s third in command, at that. She must have far more important things to attend to, besides showing a passing ‘guest’ how to find the damned library or dining hall.

You look back to Natasha and lock eyes with her, feeling a bit like a caged animal now, “where can I find this King of yours? I have yet to meet him, and I now have a few rather pressing questions that I need answers to.”

She raises an eyebrow, probably at your sudden commanding voice and slight hostility. Though before she speaks, she relaxes her brow back to it’s normal place and then it’s almost like she has pulled on a mask. One that is both unfriendly and cold, and you assume this is the face of the King’s third in command. “His Majesty is tied up at the moment. I will inform him that you seek an audience with him, however I can not offer a timeframe as to when exactly that may happen. He is usually always very busy, what with protecting and overseeing an entire kingdom, and all.”

Her condescending tone at the end angers you more, but then she smirks and the mask is lifted as she continues on, “with that said, I like your fire. I respect it. But I would caution that you choose your words more wisely when you are speaking to the King. He does not appreciate, nor stand for being spoken down to, or commanded. By anyone. And as I do rather like you, I wouldn’t want to see any harm befalling you. Now, shall we continue on?”

And you aren’t foolish, you know that last part isn’t a question, it’s a command. You nod once, then she turns and starts walking again, you following dutifully a few steps behind.

The rest of the tour is quiet, extremely quiet. The only talking now is when Nat voices which room you are in, or which one you are passing. You don’t ask her anymore questions, as you gather that she won’t be able to tell you much. If anything. So there is no point in even wasting your breath. And she thankfully seems to sense that you aren’t in a talkative mood, so she keeps her comments to a minimum.

But at least the silence helps you to focus on remembering as much of the castles layout, as you can. You are hopeful that the King will allow you to return to your home, but once again, you aren’t stupid. If he should refuse to grant you your freedom, then you will take it back by escaping. So you have to know exactly how to get out of this place, as you will most likely only have one shot to get away. And you can’t mess it up, you have to be victorious in that one endeavour or it could mean your life.

“What is he doing here,” Nat mumbles through a sigh, but you can hear the fondness in her voice.

You are instantly curious who she is talking about, so you glance up and around. Noticing first that you are in the hallway back to your room, then seeing that right outside your door stands a large man. You instantly recognize him as the second man from the woods, the one who arrived after the golden wolf had caught you. The quiet one who brought the wolf man his clothes.

You whisper to Nat, “who is that?”

She glances at you, a smirk on her face, “Sir James. The Kings Bet—second in command. Though best to call him Bucky, he doesn’t like anyone using his first name.”

You nod, though this time you can’t ignore her near slip up, not like the last one. She keeps going to use a different title, but then changes it at the last second. You’d ask her about that, but what would even be the point? If she won’t say the original word now, what makes you think she will explain what she was about to say later.

You are learning that asking questions here gets you absolutely nowhere. But listening intently, now that gets you a little more to work with. Though everything seems like mismatched pieces at the moment. You are unable to make heads or tails of any of it, but you will store it all, and return to it when you have a little more to go on.

You both arrive at your door, and Bucky bows his head to you. Making you acutely aware that you aren’t exactly sure how to greet a second in command, so you decide to stay quiet and curtsy to him instead. Better to be safe than sorry.

But just as you are lowering down you hear both Nat and Bucky snickering, and you glance up from your lowered position to look at them both. Seeing them trying to mask their chuckles but with clear amusement in their eyes. You quickly right yourself, looking down to pretend to straighten out your skirts. Though really it’s to hide the blush that has clearly risen in your face. If the current heat you now feel in it, is anything to go off.

Nat leans towards you and whispers, “you don’t need to bow to him. Just to the King.”

You nod, continuing to look down and hoping the blush will be gone soon. Though, one good thing to arise from this awkward moment, is that now you are a little less naive as to how you’re supposed to act here. You are not a Noble Lady, you weren’t raised in this lifestyle. Or at least you don’t think you were. But what you do know is that right now, you really aren’t used to any of this, this pageantry etiquette. But you are slowly learning, bit by bit.

Bucky clears his throat and you finally look up at him. He bows his head to you, “My Lady.” Then turns to bow his head to Nat, “My Wife.”

“My Mate,” Nat says back with a nod, and a massive smile on her lips. She leans closer to him to whisper the next part, but you hear her, “and she prefers if we call her Just Y/N, instead of My Lady.”

You would politely thank her for informing him of your name, or laugh at her still referring to you as Just Y/N, but your mind is too hung up on what they just called each other, you furrow your brows. Though you aren’t sure what ‘Mate’ means, you assume it’s a nickname of some sort. “You both,” you mumble then glance between the two, before your eyes settle on Nat. “You’re married?” You whisper.

She looks at you and just nods, not offering you anything else, and turns back to Bucky, “what brings you here, Barnes?”

He grins at her, “I just came to check on, Y/N,” his eyes flick to you. “See how you are feeling after your fainting spell last night.”

“Um, much better. Thank you.”

Bucky goes silent for a moment, his body is present but his eyes seem far away. You tip your head in confusion for his ‘out of it’ state, then look towards Nat. Half expecting her to be worried about his sudden dazed expression. But yet, she doesn’t seem phased at all, instead she is thoroughly examining her nails.

“Is he,” you start then look at Bucky again, “is he alright?”

“Hmm?” She looks up at you, then him, “oh, yes. He does that sometimes. We all do. It doesn’t last long, you’ll get used to it.”

And just as she finishes saying the last word he appears to snap out of it. As if being flung back into the here and now, he clears his throat again then speaks, “the King has just asked that I invite you to dine with us tonight.”

Just asked? As in right now? You glance around the hall and don’t see a soul, besides the three of you. How could he have just asked? “Just now?”

Bucky furrows his brows now, and looks at Nat, who attempts to subtly shake her head. But you catch the movement. He snaps his eyes back to you, “uh, no. Not just now. Earlier. So, uh, will you attend or?”

His words don’t leave you convinced, at all. He is clearly lying, and that irks you. Why will no one tell you anything? If they won’t, then you’ll just have to figure it out on your own. However, you just can’t let them know that. You nod, “of course. I’d be honoured to.” Hopefully you will meet this King of theirs at dinner, and maybe, just maybe, you will finally get some answers.

He smiles, “wonderful. Someone will come retrieve you before dinner.”

You nod again, and then with that, they usher you into your room, both bowing and saying their goodbyes before they head back down the hall. You close your door and then lean against it, sighing deeply.

This has been such a strange 24 hours, you aren’t sure of anything, besides that you desperately want to go home. That you miss your siblings. And that something very odd is going on in this castle, and you want to find out exactly what that is, before you leave.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

FYI, I am travelling all day today, so I will respond to any comments whenever I can. But if I don’t get to them today, then I will tomorrow, for sure!! ♥️♥️♥️

@hopefulmoonobject @caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tessvillegas @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @imdiegohargreeves @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @marvel13princess @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original

[thenoammonster]

“A Fresh Start” Part II

BACK WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER! This one has actually been mostly done for a while, but I didn’t want to cut it off at the knees and life got busy before I could finish it. I’m hoping I’ll be able to start updating more regularly now that I have a little more spare time.

Part I

Part II

Kagome awoke to the sunlight streaming in across her face from the living room windows. Groaning, she shifted around a bit, trying to get comfortable again, but it was too bright in the apartment for her to have any hope of getting back to sleep. Finally admitting defeat, she gingerly sat up, realizing how sweaty she had become through the night. Her t-shirt clung to her like a second skin, and a hesitant sniff to her armpit revealed she was in desperate need of a shower. A quick check to her phone revealed that it was still well before 9am. She was appalled to note how hot the apartment had already become this early in the day. 

‘Damn east facing windows,’ she noted, dragged herself off the couch and lumbering over to the pile of boxes she’d left by the bathroom door the night before. She snatched the little toiletry bag she had prepared off the top box before forcing a hand between the taped up flaps of cardboard, trying to pry the box open without having to bother with digging up her pocket knife. After a few minutes of fumbling and wriggling, she successfully yanked her hand free of the box with a fluffy yellow towel gripped in her fist. “Success!” Grinning lightly, she spun into the bathroom, humming to herself as she got into the shower and began getting ready for the day. 

It was Saturday so the clinic wouldn’t be open. She and Sango had a plan to meet downstairs at 10:30 so she could familiarize herself with the space and start learning how it was run. The clinic was already staffed by Sango, Kaede, and two others to run the office who Kagome had yet to meet. 

Sango was a physical therapist and certified nurse. She and Kagome had met when she was in medical school and Sango was doing her nursing training. The two had been very close for years, even through Sango’s meeting and eventual marriage to Miroku, and Kagome’s residency at a big hospital back in the city. 

After Kagome had officially finished her training and received her medical license a month ago, she was thrilled to learn that the little clinic where Sango worked had an opening. Sango had been at the Shikon Clinic since a few months into their marriage, she and her husband decided to move back to his home town a few hours from the city so he could inherit his Uncle Mushin’s old bar. Kagome had instantly fallen in love with the quiet neighborhood and adorable work space when she had first visited Sango after the initial move two years ago. 

When the opening came up she jumped at the chance of getting out of the noisy, crowded city she had inhabited for her entire life in favor of a more peaceful existence. Choosing to become a doctor had always been about helping people for her, but her residency had changed her definition of the job. Working in the city was all short visits with too many patients for too many hours a day. She always felt stressed and exhausted at the end of her days, like she hadn’t had the time necessary with her patients to really make an impact. Working in a small town meant she would get the chance to really know her patients, to make sure she could spend the time necessary to give them the best care she could. It was an ideal setup, since thanks to public transport she was still only a two hour train ride away from her family.

By the time she was ready to meet up with Sango, Kagome was practically buzzing with excitement. She couldn’t wait to start working as part of her very own practice. When her phone vibrated with a message announcing Sango’s arrival, Kagome burst from her front door, nearly bowling over Kaede as she was watering the plants beside her front door. She waved cheerily at the older woman, grinning widely, “Good morning, Kaede!”

“That it is, child. I hope you were comfortable enough in there last night.”

Kagome waved her hand idly to dismiss the other doctor’s concerns, “Oh it was just fine. The rest of my stuff should be delivered sometime today anyway, then I’ll be all set, I think. If not, I’ll just pick up some stuff at one of the great antique shops around here.”

“Oh good, good. Let me know if you do need any furniture, the boy from –” Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from down below.”

“Get a move on Kagome! Your coffee is getting cold!”

With a quick apology goodbye to Kaede, Kagome ambled down the stairs of her porch to meet Sango in the gravel lot behind the clinic. She grinned at the sight of her friend, leaning against the hood of her sedan with two to-go cups and a little brown bag clutched in her hands.

“Hiya girly! How’s your morning going?” Kagome asked, reaching to take the cup Sango offered. “Yes, coffee! Thank you!” Inhaling the warm, bitter scent, Kagome quirked a brow at her friend, “What, no treats for dear Doctor Tenaka?” 

“Kaede hasn’t touched coffee since last century,” Sango replied, waving up at the older woman in question before Kaede disappeared back into her flat.  “You’re chipper this morning. Glad to see sleeping on the couch didn’t stop you from resting up last night!” She pushed the paper bag at Kagome as well, “Here, it’s a muffin from Jinenji’s, you remember the little cafe I took you to last time you visited?”

“Ooh, the one run by the big guy who grows fruit and makes his own jam? Score!” 

As Kagome tore into her breakfast, moaning appreciatively at the still warm and scrumptious snack,  she and Sango proceeded into the clinic from the back entrance. They walked down a narrow hall, one of the two that ran through the building, until it met with the waiting room at the front. Pausing at the door that led to the little atrium and the very front door of the clinic, Sango began her tour, taking Kagome through the building in much greater detail than she had during her friend’s previous visits. She showed her the little office to the right of the front door, where the clinic’s two assistants did their administrative work, the larger exercise room where physical therapy patients did their exercises, and beyond that into the little office that they would be sharing. She demonstrated how to use the practice’s digital filing system, explained the intricacies of their medical supply storage and the quirks of some of the older exam equipment. 

Kagome eagerly took it all in, laughing as Sango explained how to get the older-than-god copier to work and which of their assisting staff made the best cup of coffee. All the while she took diligent notes in a tiny green journal she’d shoved in her pocket before leaving the apartment. She wanted to make sure she knew everything she needed to come Monday, so she wouldn’t have to constantly ask Kaede and Sango for guidance and slow things down. She could hardly wait to start seeing patients. By the time Sango was finished going over the entire practice from top to bottom, golden late afternoon sunlight was filtering through every window in the front of the building. 

“So, do you think you can remember all that?” Sango asked as the two women wandered out of the tiny staff kitchen towards the back exit. “We don’t typically get busy until mid-afternoon. That’s when a lot of patients are able to get off work to come in, so you’ll have most of the morning to get your bearings.”

“Oh sure. I’ve constantly had to change around my focus during residency rotations the last few years, I’m used to having to adjust to new working environments quickly. I think I’ll be alright.” Kagome assured her, preceding her friend out the door so she could lock up. 

“Good, good,” Sango muttered as she secured the door. “Oh, that reminds me. I need to get a set of keys made for you! Meant to do it last week, damn pregnancy brain has me all over the place!”

“Speaking of, I can’t believe you managed to lecture me for almost 4 hours with pausing for a snack break. Want to go grab something to eat at the diner or something?

“Ooh, better idea! Let’s go see if Kaede has any goodies upstairs,” Sango suggested, already heading back towards the stairs to get up to the second level of the building. “I spend most of my lunch breaks with her now, and she always has something special hidden in that kitchen of hers.”

As Sango predicted, Kaede was only too happy to welcome the girls into her cramped, but homey little apartment, ushering them into the kitchen nook to sit at a window seat while she fussed about, making herbal tea, and setting out a little tray of sandwiches she had handy, as if expecting them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was well past noon when a pair of bleary, deep gray eyes opened to stare accusingly at the loudly beeping device screaming from the nightstand. A big hand darted over to the cellphone to silence the infernal sound, but only managed to knock the stupid thing to the floor. Growling in frustration, Inuyasha flopped his lower half over the side of the bed, patting around in search of the still blaring device. Just as his fingers found its cold surface, the disgruntled mass on the bed lost his battle with gravity, toppling to the ground himself. 

“God fucking dammit,” he roared, then immediately regretted the volume of his outburst when his head pounded violently in protest. Gliding his thumb over the screen to end the racket coming from his phone, Inuyasha pressed it to his ear, snarling into the receiver, “What?”

“Watch that tone with me, young man,” a familiar brittle voice replied, “I’m calling to confirm our plans for tomorrow.”

Inuyasha heaved himself into a sitting position on the floor, leaning heavily against the bed frame at his back while he racked his addled brain to remember what the old bat was talking about. His prolonged silence pulled a sigh from the old woman on the line.

“The painting, Inuyasha. We agreed tomorrow you would come to paint my kitchen. Remember?”

“Right! Right, sorry Kaede. Must have slipped my mind,” a yawn split his mouth as he answered her.

“Boy, I better have not woken you up by calling. It is after 3 in the afternoon!” Her admonishing tone had him rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. He could hear her outrage being echoed in the background. “Inuyasha, you bum! Come on!” he could hear Sango yelling.

“Uh no, no. I was just… napping. Needed a break.” That seemed to appease Kaede, as she wished him a good rest of his day, and they made a plan to meet at her place at 9am sharp tomorrow morning. 

Once they had hung up, Inuyasha heaved a big sigh, taking in the state of his bedroom. The place was a mess, his clothing from last night left forgotten on the floor, his pants caught in the door jam. The usually neat dresser had all of its drawers thrown open, the contents on the floor, and there were a few photo albums tossed here and there, one with a stark white cover laying open amongst his bedding. There were two bottles of whiskey lying forgotten by his bed, one completely drained of the amber liquid, and the other open and half gone. The sight made him wince. It had been almost a year since he last lost it like this. He’d finally broken his good streak. Smacking his lips against the stale flavor left in his mouth from his little bender, Inuyasha rose to his feet, snatching the two liquor bottles up as he went. He froze as they clinked together obnoxiously, frowning, and then proceeded out of his room and down the hall into the kitchen. 

First he carefully set the empty bottle into the recycling, then he stretched up high to place the other above the cabinets and well out of easy reach. Next he pulled open the cabinet by the fridge, rummaging around until he produced a bottle of tylenol and quickly dry swallowed two red pills before filling a glass of water at the sink to wash away the bitter taste. He leaned back against the counter next to the sink, refilling his glass and downing its contents twice more before sagging a bit in relief. That ought to help with the headache at least.

Looking around his little kitchen, Inuyasha was relieved to find that it and the living room beyond, visible through the open space between the island and overhanging cabinets, had been spared his bender. It was still as it had been when he’d first arrived home last night, a few dishes in the sink in need of washing but otherwise fairly clean. One less thing from him to worry about setting to rights. Wiping a hand down his face, he debated between tackling the mess he’d left in his bedroom, or having a shower first. ‘Might as well get the place clean before I clean up myself.’ 

He pushed off the counter, filled his glass one more time and proceeded back into the bedroom to start putting things away. He started by stuffing all the clothing back into his drawers, sniffing them as he went to avoid mixing his dirty laundry with his yet unworn stuff. As he went around the room, heaving furniture upright, replacing items strewn across the floor to their hiding places, he berated himself, so ashamed that he had ended up back here again. Admittedly it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it had been over three years. What could have caused him to lose it like this after so long? 

Brown eyes in a face so foreign yet familiar flashed before his mind, turning his fingers slack around the book he’d just picked up. Her. Kagome. Sango’s friend who’d just moved in from the city. Could she possibly be the source of his turmoil?

Sure there was a resemblance, one strong enough to momentarily reduce him to a terrified, stuttering moron when he’d first leaned down to knock on her car window when he’d found her last night. But they were still different people. He knew that, even having only spent a few minutes. The similarities were more like seeing two vastly different images superimposed over one another than genuinely mirroring. She was shorter, softer, her hair wavy where another’s had been straight, her eyes light where another’s had been onyx pools. 

He turned over a picture frame resting face down on the floor, the glass long destroyed during one of his past episodes. His thumb came up to caress the sweet face staring out of he photo within, swallowing past the pained lump the image produced in his throat.  ‘I need to get a grip. This can’t keep happening. I-I have to let you go, Kikyo.’ 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After hanging up the phone, Kaede turned back to the two young women seated in her breakfast nook, merrily munching on the sandwiches she had prepared in anticipation of Sango’s midafternoon cravings. 

“So, Inuyasah is helping you redo the kitchen Kaede?” Sango asked, as she came to sit across from them at the table, picking up her abandoned cup of tea. 

“Just adding a new coat of paint to the walls and cabinets. I think the place could use a little sprucing up, don’t you?” Kaede confirmed, taking a sip of tea and reaching for the bowl of candied orange peels resting beside her well-loved teapot. 

“That’s so nice of him. What colors are you thinking about going with?” Kagome interjected. She was intrigued to learn that the beautiful, taciturn man from yesterday seemed to have a soft spot for the old doctor. 

“Yes, Inuyasha is a sweet boy. Rough around the edges, but sweet. I’m honestly not sure what to do. I painted the cabinets this blue a few years ago on a whim, and as you can see I didn’t do the best job,” Kaede replied, gesturing to a few spots where the paint was too thin and the old wood varnish was visible beneath. “I didn’t even bother to sand them first. Inuyasha was not pleased. He says he’ll have to take all the cabinet faces off to sand them down and paint properly.”

“Wow, that’s a big job for one person! Are you sure you guys won’t need any help?” Kagome asked, “I’m pretty handy and right next door! I really wouldn’t mind helping out tomorrow. I need to be around anyway, for the movers. They’re supposed to be coming between 1 and 5 tomorrow. This will give me something to do besides waiting around!”

“Well, if you’re sure dear…” Kaede was a touch hesitant about the idea. She wasn’t certain Inuyasha would be receptive to Kagome’s involvement in their little project. The eager look on the girl’s face, along with Sango’s expectant expression, made her finally relent. “Alright. Inuyasha and I are leaving for the paint store at –”

“9am sharp! So I heard,” Kagome interjected with a grin.

“Wait, Kagome. I thought your stuff was supposed to be coming today,” Sango asked, swiping another fish salad sandwich off the plate. They’d been her favorite pregnancy snack since she’d first hunted the smell down in Kaede’s office a month ago. The good natured old woman had been making them for her almost daily since.

“Yeah, so did I,” Kagome shrugged. “There was some issue with an earlier delivery. They called like an hour ago and said they had to delay. It’s no biggy.” 

“Flakey moving bastards,” Sango groused, slamming her tea down a little too hard, splashing the table in amber liquid.

“Down girl!” Kagome laughed, sopping up the mess with her napkin. “I don’t mind. Really!”

“Ooh, Sorry Kaede. Same old Kagome. You’re such a softy.” Sango grabbed her phone to wipe it off as well, startled when the screen illuminated to show the time. “Ooh, crap. Kagome! It’s almost 4. I have to get going. I have some errands I still need to run before dinner. Wanna come with?”

“Sure, but I don’t want to stick Kaede with the clean up,” Kagome said, downing the rest of her tea but hesitating to rise from the table as she eyed the mess their lunch had made of Kaede’s little kitchen.

“No trouble, my child. Go with Sango, I can take care of it,” Kaede replied, smiling as Sango struggled to get out of the dining nook with her massive baby belly. 

“Are you sure?” Kagome asked, slowly beginning to stand, her hands hovering around the tabletop covered in plates and tea cups. Kaede waved her off, shooing her towards the door.

“Kaede, would you like to come have dinner with us tonight? We’re meeting Miroku later,” Sango asked, finally pulling free of the cramped sitting area. 

“Thank you dear, but not tonight. I think I’d like to relax here. Read, feed my cats,” Kaede declined, taking the dirty dishes to the sink herself. 

“Alrighty then. Well, I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening, Kaede!” Sango said, pulling the door open.

“Bye! And thanks again for lunch!” Kagome called over her shoulder, hurrying to help Sango down the deck stairs. Kaede smiled quietly at the girls’ exuberance, watching their slow descent from the threshold. ‘Maybe spending some time around such a bright soul will be good for Inuyasha.’ Breaking from her musings, she turned back to setting her kitchen to rights, leaving her door open to let in the summer breeze.

As Kagome supported Sango on her way down to the car, since the latter woman couldn’t see much of her feet around her baby bump, she asked, “Wait, Kaede has cats? I didn’t see anyone around the apartment.”

“She feeds the local strays. They come flocking at sunset, especially at this time of year,” Sango puffed. She paused as they reached the bottom of the steps to stretch a little. “So,” she began, sliding a sly look Kagome’s way,  “You jumped at the chance to pal around with Inuyasha tomorrow.”

“What? I did not! I just wanted something to do, since I’ll be bored anyway!” she protested.

“Kagome, you and I both know how much unpacking you still need to do,” this had said girl blushing, “And I saw how you looked at him last night before he left! I get it, he’s cute!”

“Cute doesn’t begin to cover it,” Kagome sighed, “But that is NOT why I volunteered to help. It’s a nice thing he’s doing for Kaede and he really saved me last night. I want to return the favor!”

“And then some,” Sango teased back.

“You’ve been living with Miroku too long,” Kagome deadpanned, “And why haven’t I met Inuyasha before anyway. He clearly knows you, and Miroku AND Kaede! Where have you been hiding this hunk?”

That made Sango wince, because she knew Kagome was kind of right. It was a little ridiculous that even though her old roommate had visited almost a dozen times since she had moved to this town, Sango had never introduced her to Miroku’s best friend. She sighed, waddling over to her car and pulling open her car door, slipping in and waiting for Kagome to do the same. Her sudden shift in attitude had Kagome looking at her in bewilderment.

“The truth is, you’re right. You should have met Inuyasha before.  I’ve known him since the first time Miroku brought me here. He was actually supposed to be the best man in our wedding,” Sango confessed, fiddling with her keys before finally putting them in the ignition. 

This revelation confused Kagome even more, “Wait, he’s the best man that needed to be replaced last minute? Miroku’s childhood best friend?” Sango nodded.

“So what happened? All you ever said was something terrible happened and he needed to pull out. Then you moved and never brought him up again.”

“Yeah,” Sango agreed, “because it wasn’t my business to tell. Inuyasha, he’s been through a lot in the last few years. It’s not really for me to say. He wasn’t the most social person to begin with, but now… He doesn’t really see anyone. Just Miroku and Kaede and me.” Sango shook herself, finally getting the car into gear to head out of the gravel parking lot. Before she started to back up, she turned to back Kagome, a serious look on her face. “ Tomorrow, go easy. He’s not exactly an easy person to get to know.”

“O-Okay. I promise. No attempts to make plans for a slumber party and hair braiding,” Kagome teased, trying to lighten the somber mood. But Sango didn’t laugh, just proceeded to get the car moving. Kagome pulled on her seatbelt with a frown, feeling more puzzled than she had been at the start of this conversation. Sango spoke about Inuyasha like he was delicate, unstable even. But the person she’d met yesterday, though admitted quiet, had seemed normal enough. ‘Guess I’ll just have to see what happens tomorrow.’

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks it for Part II! I hope you guys like it! Feel free to let me know if anyone else would like to be tagged on updates.

@itzatakahashi

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Twenty-Two

Table of Content or Chapter Twenty-One

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Words: 3K

Warning(s): LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE

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———————————————————————

"...It's, um..." I shimmy on a plum purple long sleeved mini-dress, and head to put my heels on as Tansy rambles, glancing around the apartment that only contains one bed and no refrigerator.

"Shitty." I blatantly finish for her and she glares at me.

"I was going to say, 'humble'." She states. "It's not as bad as what you guys lived in when you first started dating."

"He'd rather have a brand new corvette instead of a decent apartment so this is what we got because his buddy Robbin is nice enough to let us move in."

"There's not a couch. Or another bed. Where are you guys gonna sleep?" She asks, like np a concerned mother.

"He told us he'll crash on the floor and let us have the bed and he wouldn't let me or Nikki argue with him about it." I explain to her, deciding to keep unpacking while I wait for Nikki, cutting open another box of our things. "Where's Sparkles?" I ask her, getting joy from the unamused look on her face at the mispronunciation of his name.

"New Jersey. He had to go to a shoot." She tells me.

"Ah." I nod, setting my picture frames on the table.

"Speaking of shoots, I got a call last night and got some really great news." She starts, piquing my interest, and I look at her. "You are currently looking at 'Playmate of the Month: Miss December 1984'."

"Tansy, are you serious?!" I nearly drop my picture frame.

"I have my photos taken for it in the end of August." She adds, excitedly.

"Oh, my goodness, Tans." I pull her to me, hugging her tightly. "That's amazing."

"I'm kinda nervous about it." She tells me when I pull away and I furrow my brows. "Do you know how big a centerfold is? People are gonna be able to see every little detail, Viv."

"That's the point of a centerfold poster, Tansy. It's big enough to see clearly from anywhere in the room."

"I know but I'm not like a lot of the other women, ya know? I don't have perfect..." She motions her hands in the general direction of her breasts and between her legs.

"I've seen you naked up close and personal plenty of times. You are absolutely stunning. And if you're uncomfortable being naked you can tell them, 'no'."

"And be complicated and hard to work with, are you kidding me?!" She squeaks and I breathe out.

"You gotta speak up for yourself." I politely break it to her.

"Well, ya know, it's not that big of a deal, Viv." She brushes it off in a soft tone and I give her a pointed look.

"Tansy, you're more modest than I am." I state, crossing my arms.

"Well, modeling is different." She tries to convince me and I just shake my head a little.

"Okay. But just know your hands aren't tied, here. You've got to put your foot down if you're too uncomfortable with something."

"I am." She assures me. "But as of now, I'm not uncomfortable. Just nervous. And I'll be fine."

"Whatever you say." I reply, rolling my eyes as the lock in the door flips and the door opens to reveal Nikki and Robbin.

My dearly beloved is waving a pair of unfamiliar car-keys with a look on his face that mimics the satisfied look he gets when he cums.

"Hey, Tans, what're you doing here?" Nikki enthusiastically brightens up even more at the sight of her and she steps to him and is engulfed in a hug.

"I'm helping you guys move in." She replies as if it's obvious.

Robbin stays quiet until he's clearing his throat like an eager puppy, his eyes fixated on the blonde he towers an entire foot and three inches over.

"Oh, yeah. Tansy." He explains, motioning to her. "And Robbin." He tells her and hold back a chuckle at the way Robbin clumsily behaves towards her.

He goes to say, "hey", but the words are caught in his throat and he's just got this dopey smile on. His eyes might as well turn in to cartoon hearts because his expression is a dead give away that he's either about to cream his pants, about to fall in love with her, or about to fall to his knees and worship the ground she walks on.

Tansy had that affect on people.

I've always thought of her as a hybrid of Sharon Tate and Marilyn Monroe.

Beautiful, smart, funny, charmingly clumsy at times, while still managing to get exactly what she wanted, but also, an incredibly troubled individual.

She was riddled with daddy issues, beginning to develop drastic mommy issues, and was truthfully tired. But she wouldn't let anyone know she was tired.

No, out and about she was always glamorous, even if it took a few hours to get her to look it. By 1986, there was a system that had been perfected for her by her mother and management team, written down and given to Doc for when Tansy came on tour with us or visited L.A.:

1. Shower with expensive body washes to get rid of the smell of death lingering on her, and thick conditioner to get tangles out of rat-nested blonde hair

2. Apply heavy duty makeup over track marks and under eye circles, adding lots of warm toned foundation and rouge to make her skin appear healthy and glowing.

3. Comb leave in conditioner and de-tangler through her hair to ensure all naps are out of it, then style it however way is needed.

4. Pick out an outfit that covers most of her tracks, or pair a revealing outfit with big, sparkly earrings to draw attention away from them.

5. If she's wearing a skirt or shorts, she needs to wear thigh-high boots to really cover the marks on her feet and legs.

6. Finish off with expensive perfume for good measure.

Nikki thought it was weird how she could go from being in the closet with him, freebasing and shooting up, to looking completely healthy and sober in a matter of hours.

Tansy couldn't fool Nikki, not even a little bit, because they were living the same exact lie.

She once told me Nikki was the only one who'd really seen her, and she'd really seen him.

I didn't want to know what exactly it was that they saw in each other. I knew it would have broken my heart more than it already was at that time.

"It's nice to meet you." She tells Robbin, trying not to smile at the fact that he's got her hand in a strong grip and hasn't let up for twenty seconds.

"You too." He finally pulls himself out of hypnosis and lets go of her hand.

"Right, well, me and Viv got a double date with Vince and Beth, so..." Nikki cuts through the silence that falls over everyone.

"You're leaving us?" Robbin whispers to Nikki as Tansy tells me about something I can't quite hear her say because I'm not paying attention.

Nikki gives a shit-eating grin and nudges him.

"Yeah, man, use your time wisely." He replies in the same hushed tone.

"I'll kill you both." I threaten quietly, giving them a death look as Tansy finishes what she was saying.

"Viv, c'mon." Nikki insists, grasping my hand.

I grab my purse, reassuring Tansy I'll see her later if she's not here when we get home.

"We'll be back in a couple hours." He says as we step out.

"What the hell was that?" I ask him, hitting him a little and he rolls his eyes.

"It was a joke, Viv. Just chill out." He puts his arm around me. I cut my eyes but make myself relax nonetheless.

Just as we get downstairs, he's stopping me and putting his hands over my eyes.

"Nikki, I know what your corvette looks like. Black is a pretty common color scheme for you." I giggle, my fingers holding over his as he chuckles behind me and leads me out to the parking lot.

"I know, but..." He elongates the "But" for emphasis and stops us. "...do you know what your corvette looks like?"

He uncovers my eyes and I'm met with the sight of a brand new Black corvette, and a light-blue metallic corvette.

"The dude at the dealership digs our music so I got a 'buy one get one $5,000 off'." He explains and I don't know whether to hit him for spending money we really couldn't afford to spend, or say "screw dinner", take him upstairs, kick Tansy and Robbin out, and give him the best sex of his life for buying me a car.

Either way, I'm rendered speechless.

"Well?" He asks me, his hands rubbing up and down the sleeves of my arms, anxiously awaiting my answer.

I turn to face him, my hand pushing his bangs, that nearly cover his eyes, up so I can see them clearly.

I love you, I think in my mind, but my mouth speaks:

"You didn't have to do this for me." I tell him as guilt settles in my gut, knowing he blew a majority of the money he got from tour, and he takes my face between his hands, smushing it a little, before replying:

“Happy anniversary.”

I smile, and he leans down and presses his lips to mine for a second.

“Alright, I’m starving.” He says when he pulls away, putting his hand on my back to guide me to the passenger side of the car.

He opens my door for me and I’m tempted to ask who he is and what he’s done with Nikki Sixx, but decide to enjoy the out of character swoon-fishing.

It’s more Vince’s style.

We get to the out of budget restaurant that Vince has a table reserved at, and by the time we get inside, we see the blonde singer on his second glass of wine and Beth wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“Don’t you look nice?” He asks me with a smirk as we get closer.

“You do, too.” I offer back.

“Got you a water and you a wine.” He tells us.

“Where’s MacBitch?” Nikki asks as we sit across the table from him and he rolls his eyes.

“She’s getting something out of the car.” He replies. “Happy Anniversary.” He adds.

“Thanks, dude.” Nikki smiles and the waiter sits the glass of white wine in front of him and a glass of water in front of me.

“Thank you.” I tell the waiter and he steps away for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m glad you guys are still goin’ strong.” Vince continues. “I hope you can last longer than me and Beth.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask, taking my glass to take a sip of water.

“Oh, I’m telling her I want a divorce, tonight.” He casually explains and I nearly spit my water out.

“Woah.” Nikki laughs, obviously amused by this while I am horrified.

“Y-you want a divorce—how?! You haven’t even been married more than two years?” I whisper yell.

“The two year itch, Viv.” He defends himself.

“It’s seven. It’s the seven year itch, Vince, and after everything of your’s she’s put up with, you repay her with a divorce she doesn’t even see coming?”

“Hey, I thought long and hard about this and it’s what’s best for the both of us. I’m just bored and unhappy and she’s unhappy so it just makes sense.”

“Vince, this is our anniversary dinner.” I motion to Nikki. “If you announce your divorce to your wife at our anniversary dinner, so help me, God, I will kick your as—”

“Hey, baby.” Vince greets Beth as she steps to the table and she smiles.

“Sorry it took me so long, I couldn’t get my ring from between the seat and the console.” Beth explains in reference to her shining wedding ring. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

Nikki looks at me and I look at him and we both look at Vince, who’s got a smug expression on.

By the time we order our food—Salmon for me, steak for Nikki—Nikki’s telling Vince about possible concept art for the cover of the new album.

“I’m thinkin’ ‘Entertainment Death’.” Nikki explains. “Ya know, kinda have a play on light and dark elements.”

“Right, right, because entertainment is fun and lively and death isn’t.” Vince pretends to have any idea what’s going on in Nikki’s mind.

The gears are always turning.

“Exactly, man. Good shit and bad shit.” Nikki replies. “I’m already on some new songs, though, so if you have any suggestions let me know and we’ll work something up.”

“Cool, man.” Vince nods.

We get our food and eat, hearing Beth go on and on about the new apartment they just got and how she can’t wait to have kids.

My heart breaks for her. I wish I could tell her what Vince does when she’s not around, but my loyalties are with Vince, Mick, Tommy, Nikki and Tansy, and even when they’re wrong, I won’t tell anybody.

I’ll just tell them they’re wrong in private.

Just as Vince wipes his mouth with his napkin, Beth emphasizes the need for a nursery as soon as possible—which causes my own anxiety because I have yet to tell Nikki I’m nine weeks pregnant—and Vince just nods and waits for her to hush so he can talk.

I nearly fall out of my seat when Vince and Beth simultaneously reveal:

“I’m pregnant.”

“I want a divorce.”

The look of absolute horror on the both of their faces is astonishing.

“I want another glass of wine.” Nikki blatantly spews out, feeling as burdened as I do at the fact that we have to witness this.

“A divorce?!” Beth exclaims. “I tell you I’m carrying your child and you tell me you want a fucking divorce?!”

“We’re gonna head out.” Nikki tells me and I couldn’t agree more.

Just as we’re standing, though, Beth darts her venom fueled eyes my way.

“This is your fault!” She accuses and I raise my brows in confusion.

“What?” I ask.

“Will you stop being so loud?” Vince asks her, seeing people staring at us.

“You and Tansy have never liked me and have always tried to turn him against me.” She throws at me.

“I’ve never once have mentioned a divorce to him, Beth.” I argue and she rolls her jaw.

“I’ve heard everything you’ve said about me, Vivian, don’t act innocent in this.” She hisses.

“Hey! Back the fuck off.” Nikki snaps at her as I put my purse back down.

“I sure as hell hope you’ve heard everything I’ve said about you because I said it to your face, and only to your face.” I shoot back. “However, If you need a refresher on why I don’t like you: you’re uppity, bitchy, accusatory, conclusion-jumping, money-wallowing, selfish, and the only thing you’re full of, more than diet supplements, is shit. I don’t have to talk to Vince into getting tired of you and leaving because you’re perfectly capable of running him off all by yourself!”

I don’t waste another minute of my time and grab my purse just as the manager is stepping towards us to ask us to leave, before stomping out.

Nikki pays our part of the bill and meets me at the car.

“You made her cry.” He tells me, grabbing the keys and I keep my arms crossed.

“I’ll care in a couple of hours when God convicts me and forces me to call and apologize. But as of now I could give a fuck.”

“I like you like this.” He admits, grinning as we get in to the car. “You’re more...” he tries to find the words to say.

“Rabid bitch?” I ask and he thinks about it and nods.

“Yeah, kinda. It’s hot when I’m not on the receiving end.” He shrugs and I roll my eyes. “Which I like Dirty Stripper Viv, too. Hey, since it’s our anniversary, can she make an appearance?”

“She made an appearance earlier today.” I remind him, remembering how I reacted waking up to him eating me for breakfast.

“And? I like her, she’s double-jointed and lets me put it anywhere.” He winks and I rub my lips together.

“I’m really not in the mood tonight, Nikki.” I say in an over exaggerated tone and he looks at me like I’m serious.

“But, it’s our anniversary!” He’s practically pleading and I smile a little and unbuckle, leaning closer to him.

The tip of my nose brushes against his jaw as my lips ghost across his skin, my hand resting high on his thigh, causing his hands to grip the wheel until his knuckles are white.

But it’s a tease, and I’m going back to my seat within a moment, buckling back up and he glares at me.

“Just wait ‘till we get home.” He tells me and I giggle, taking a deep breath.

Once we get back to the apartment complex, he parks the car and the both of us get out.

Just as I shut the door, he’s throwing me over his shoulder, and I laugh the entire walk up the stairs to our door.

He unlocks the door and sets me down, shutting the door behind him before pushing me against it, locking his lips with mine.

His tongue collides with mine and I let out a low moan at the feeling of his hands grabbing aggressively at my hips, about to pull the fabric of my dress over my head.

“Ahh!” A sex fueled squeal flutters through the air, but it’s not coming from me.

We pull away from each other in confusion, getting quiet.

“Was that...?”

“Oh, fuck me!” Tansy cries out and I furrow my brows, now hearing skin slapping together.

“I thought she said Sparkie wasn’t here?” I ask him in a whisper and he looks at me like he hates to break something to me.

“Babe, I don’t think that’s Sparkie.” He tells me and I remember Robbin.

“Oh, hell, Tansy. No, no, no.” I say to myself, rubbing my forehead.

“At least someone’s gettin’ laid.” Nikki mumbles, quickly realizing he probably won’t be tonight after this.

[shitheadkk]

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Revolution

Chapter Two

The following morning came far too quickly for the likes of Jotaro and Josuke. The earliest flight out to Seattle came in at four, and the last time that Jotaro remembers looking at his phone was well after midnight. He is awoken by a terrible headache and a stiff neck.

The things I’m willing to do. He thinks as he takes his seat on the plane. At least the old man isn’t here. Maybe we’ll make it out alive.

“So, Jotaro.” Josuke begins, haphazardly fixing his pompadour. “Fill your old uncle

Good grief.

“We’re going to meet up with my old friend Polnareff. There’s some sort of scientist out there that is apparently been bringing the dead back to life. Polnareff is convinced that they may be able to bring back the old man.”

“What do you think?” Josuke asks, puzzled.

“Even if this guy is able to bring people back from the dead, the old man has been dead for years now. He’s worm food by now.”

“Then why are you even fucking with it?”

I’d really like to believe that it's true. My grandfather might have been an absolute pain in my ass, but he sure as hell knew how to keep the mood lively.

“I’ve been meaning to get out there and see Polnareff anyway. I’m already in America, so why not?”

“Excuse me?” A voice calls from beside them. They look over to see a man in a suit staring them down.

“Can we help you?” Jotaro asks, rolling his eyes.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about a scientist that could bring someone back to life?” The man replies.

“What about it?”

“Zeppeli. I’ve been reading the stories about them for weeks now. Its weird, nobody has been talking about this on the news. It seems that the Speedwagon foundation is trying to keep this under wraps.”

“Has he really been able to bring people back from the dead?” Josuke blurts, much to Jotaro’s annoyance.

“It seems so.” He chuckles a bit and pulls up an article on some off the wall website on his laptop.

Speedwagon Foundation Revives Man Dead After Two Weeks

‘A true miracle’- says man saved by Speedwagon Scientist

Who is Zeppeli and how are they saving the world

Whoever this guy is, he’s certainly secretive about it.

Later that Night, Broken Heart’s Gentlemen’s Club

Their taxi leaves the duo in lower Seattle, in a district known by the locals as Socialite’s Pleasure. The air is much clearer than it was by the airport. The night’s sky is lit up marvelously by the distant skyline, and the men are able to see the clear, full moon in the distance. Around them, they are surrounded by lush restaurants and coffee shops, as well as chic clothing stores.

Josuke takes his phone from his pocket as they are walking down the street, snapping pictures with each passing.

“We aren’t in Morioh anymore, Josuke.” Jotaro chuckles, wrapping himself in his jacket as they continue towards the address that Polnareff provided them. “Its really fucking cold.” He mutters.

“Seattle is one hell of a sight.” He replies.

The duo continues their short trek in silence, and are stunned at the end of the road to see a large building, adorned with neon hearts and much to their embarrassment, Silver Chariots with overly accentuated breasts.

Good God, Polnareff. What happened to you?

Jotaro can feel his cheeks turning beet red as he approaches the bouncer.

“Evening, Gentlemen.” The bouncer smiles, taking out a clipboard. “This is a private club tonight, boys. I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you in.”

“We were told to come here for a meeting.” Jotaro assures the man.

The man stares at the clipboard, puzzled. “Let me see. What are the names?”

“Josuke Higashikata.”

“Jotaro Kujo.”

The man reads over his guestbook for a moment, and then looks to the duo, astonished. “My great apologies, gents. It looks like you two have been invited here by the owner.”

“That is correct.” Jotaro grumbles, clenching his jaw in disgust.

“Right this way, I will take you to Jean myself.”

The Broken Heart’s Gentlemen’s Club is just as horrific as Jotaro had envisioned. Velvet walls, sleazy dancers, the smell of cigarettes and marijuana reeking the air. Even so, there are even more scantily clad Silver Chariots decorating the club. The club, despite the man’s aura, is full of patrons. Men and women alike stuffing twenties into the g-string of their respected dancers.

“I’m finally in a strip club!” Josuke whispers excitedly, nudging his nephew with his elbow as they walk to the back of the club. “You can tell everyone at Christmas this year that your favorite uncle took you to a strip club!”

Good grief. “We may as well take a picture with the bitch with the blue hair. It could be our Christmas card.” Jotaro laughs. “If my marriage wasn’t over before, it definitely is now.”

Jotaro looks up, tilting his hat back a little. Polnareff is standing at the bar, ordering himself a drink. He hasn’t aged much in the decade since they’d last seen each other. His hair is trimmed back, he’s still got those terrible earrings, and he wears a nice suit.

“Monsieur Polnareff, your guests are here.”

Polnareff cheekily turns around and opens his arms to his friends. “Jojo!” He yells, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Jotaro in a hug.

Jotaro laughs, trying to shake his friend off without hurting his ego. “Good to see you too, Polnareff.”

“What do you think of the place? Biggest strip club in all of Washington.”

“As far as strip clubs go, it's pretty nice. Glad to see you’re making a decent living here.” Jotaro replies, taking a seat at the bar.

“Could I interest you guys in a drink?” The blonde waitress asks politely. Jotaro looks up at the woman and feels himself blush. She is probably the most modest looking woman in here. Her long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders. She is strikingly tall, she has to be towering at at least six feet. She’s athletic build, curvy in all the right places. Her entire torso is covered in tattoos, as well as her arms. She wears a tight black dress, leaving some imagination but not much.

“Josephine, why don’t you make them one of your special teas? The pink one, with the Sake in it.”

The woman, Josephine is her name. She scurries off with a curt nod into the back of the bar.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Polnareff chuckles, acknowledging Jotaro’s blush. “She doesn’t like to dance much, but she is one hell of a bartender.”

Josephine quickly returns, placing two fuschia cocktails in front of Jotaro and Josuke.

Polnareff smiles and hands her a bill. “She’s smart, too. She’s working on her doctorate right now, finishing her dissertation. What was it on, again?”

In a soft voice, she blushes and replies. “It's on what happens to our bodies when we die, for short.”

“That’s very interesting.” Josuke oogles. “Why are you here, then?”

Josephine laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “This is just part time. I’m doing an internship during the day, I do this a couple of nights a week.”

“That’s so cool!” Josuke grins. “Jotaro here is a doctor too!”

She turns her attention to Jotaro, who is quite obviously floored. “I’m not really a doctor, I’m just a marine biologist.”

“Science of any form is quite interesting.” She chuckles. “It isn’t something to be taken lightly, Dr. Kujo. Besides, I double majored in Marine Biology and Human Sciences.”

“I told you guys that she was smart.”

Josephine looks at Polnareff intently. “There are no limits to the human brain, if one believes that there aren’t.”

“Thank you again for the drinks, Josephine.” Polnareff motions to the duo to follow him. “We will meet in the private party room. Shall I hire a dancer?”

You could have Josephine come in. Something about that woman has sparked Jotaro’s interest. He wasn’t sure what, but there was definitely something different about the woman.

“I’d rather we speak in private.”

“So this scientist, do you know them?” Jotaro asks, taking a draw off of the hookah.

“Nobody does. The only thing I know about them is what I’ve read, and whatever they have been doing definitely works. I called the Speedwagon foundation and they were hesitant to say the least, but they said we could come by in the morning to meet with this guy.”

“Bringing people back from the dead, you’d think would be something that would be talked about more.” Josuke scoffs, typing away at his laptop. “I’m reading some of the cases here. Turns out, 4 out of the 5 articles that I’ve read, it seems that most of the ressurections have been linked to either a murder or some sort of gang violence.”

“That’s strange. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Hang on.” Josuke mumbles as he reads the articles. “Listen here. ‘In the case of 22 year old Darius McDonnel, linked to the Southside Halo Gang, it seems that after he was released from the hospital, the rival gang members were also shortly released, their injuries healed completely and they were placed into police custody.’”

“So what are you saying?” Polnareff asks.

“It seems that after the resurrection, at least in the gang violence, the injured rivals are also being healed.”

“By the way, Polnareff.” Jotaro inquires, taking another draw from the hookah. “How do you know that it works?”

“Because they healed me. I was in Italy some time ago, encountered a pretty vicious stand user, and was killed. The Speedwagon foundation found out, brought me here, and I was healed. The guy was in and out, I never even heard their name.”

“You don’t think it could be a stand user, this scientist, do you?”

Josuke quickly shuts his laptop and knocks back his drink. “There’s only one way to find out. Even if this guy is a stand user, there's three of us and one of them.”

You idiot.

“Yeah.” Jotaro scoffs. “But this guy is bringing people back to life left and right. Who knows what else his stand is able to do.”

Polnareff looks his smartwatch and sighs. “I guess we’ll have to find out in the morning. This guy’s office just sent me an email. He wants to meet us at five, before office hours.”

“I’m getting real fucking sick of not sleeping.” Jotaro grumbles, peeling himself off of the floor. He and Josuke bid their farewell to Polnareff, promising that they will meet at the hotel in the morning. The duo make their way out of the club, swearing off the subzero temperatures as Josuke hails an uber.

“Do you guys need a ride?” They hear a voice call from behind them. They turn around, met by deep emerald eyes and ruffled blonde curls. Its Josephine.

“We just called an Uber, but thank you.” Jotaro responds, calm.

“I hope to see you around then, Dr. Kujo.” She smiles, before climbing into a jet black Mercedes G-Wagon. Their ride follows quickly behind.

For a student, she’s got some money.

Jotaro buckles himself in and rests his head on the window of the Camry. Josuke tries to make some small talk with their driver, but all Jotaro wants to do is catch a few extra moments of sleep. Then it hits him, what was so weird about Josephine. He never told her his last name, they always referred to him as Jotaro. How did she know so much about him? She was a marine biologist herself, maybe she had read one of his papers. Regardless, Jotaro knew that this blonde beauty would be what kept him awake that night.

So here’s part 2 of this story arc! I’m so excited of what I’ve been writing!

Also, I’m looking for ideas for original stands and users! Send them to me if you want to be featured ❤️

[galli-writes]

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

(Click here to listen to the podfic!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21….and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like…a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he’ll ever need.

a/n: I am super excited to finally be able to post the next chapter of this crazy project. This chapter was a bit long which was why it took me a while to polish it up. Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Unpacking ( words: 11,112)

Nicholas Galtry’s profile picture wasn’t any more convincing the second time Beast Boy saw it. Or the third, fourth, or fifth. But the letter that had sat next to his keyboard for the past two days kept him from closing the tab.  

As far as Beast Boy could tell, the note had been written by hand. The elegant, varying curves of the letters suggested as much. Handwriting that someone had clearly put time and effort into perfecting.

Beast Boy glanced back up at the screen in front of him, biting his lip. He scrolled up and down the barren profile page, reminding himself that the lack of pictures was probably just because the guy didn’t understand social media. When he finally clicked ‘accept,’ and no new information appeared on the page, his confidence in his conclusion began to waver. The only thing he had seemed to unlock was a single group picture of about a dozen men and women in lab coats. There wasn’t even a description attached to it.

Beast Boy squinted at the picture for a moment. Galtry was easy enough to pick out--his black hair stood out in the center of the back row, where he towered over the other individuals with a toothless smile. Like he had a secret he couldn’t wait to share with them as soon as the photographer lowered the lens.

Beast Boy scanned the other faces in the small crowd, not knowing what he was looking for, if anything. For a moment, his eyes came to rest on a man and woman standing in the row in front of Nicholas Galtry. His heart rate quickened for a moment as he blinked hard. He looked again at the two individuals. And with that, the sensation faded just as quickly as it had come.

With a sigh, Beast Boy fell back into his chair, rubbing his face. For the past ten minutes he’d been repeating this pointless exercise. But you could only scroll through the same five pictures so many times. With a final cursory reread, he carefully folded up the letter and slid it into the desk drawer.

After throwing some proper clothes on, Beast Boy headed out the door. If he couldn’t tell anyone about the letter, he could at least put some distance between himself and the piece of paper for a few hours.

The moment he entered the hallway outside his room, his thoughts began to automatically reroute themselves. His stomach growled furiously, and he started toward the kitchen on autopilot. He could smell... something cooking. And while his brain hadn’t quite decided whether or not it was actually something appetizing, his stomach wasn’t being choosy.

Half expecting to catch Starfire whipping up some obscure Tamaranean delicacy, Beast Boy immediately stopped short when he realized it was anything but.

Raven stood at the stove, her  back turned to him as she shuffled something in a pan. She was the only one in the room--and maybe that made sense, seeing as the sun was just now beginning to shine through the windows on the opposite end of the room.

Beast Boy glanced at the clock on the wall next to him. There was no universe where it made sense for him to be awake right now. But before he had the chance to reconsider his life choices, they were cemented in place for him.  

“You’re up...early,” Raven said, catching his eye. She had turned slightly to look at him, a hint of surprise--almost suspicion--in her eyes and her voice. As if his presence at this ungodly hour automatically meant that he was up to no good.

Beast Boy shrugged, squinting past the bright yellow light. “Yeah. I’ve kinda been having trouble sleeping the past few nights,” he said, forcing a laugh. For some reason, the words felt more like a confession than a simple explanation, and it took him a moment to realize why. He wasn’t talking about the letter anymore.

Raven didn’t seem to notice his discomfort though and just rolled her eyes, turning back to the stovetop.

Beast Boy bit his lip. He could shove a letter into the back of his drawer and walk away as many times as he wanted. But it was much harder to ignore conversations that you shared a kitchen with.  

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to...talk to you about,” he said suddenly, surprised at hearing the sound of his own voice.

The awkward pause that followed was predictable. But the emptiness of it wasn’t. Beast Boy leaned uncomfortably against the door frame, unable to take his eyes off his friend. The silence may as well have been a tangible wall between them.

After a moment, Raven turned around again, giving him the same look of doubt and confusion. Except this time there was a hint of something a little more defensive mixed in.

“Oh really?” she said, the word slightly curling into a question at the very end. As if everything he’d said had been absolute gibberish and she was only speaking for the sake of doing so. The spatula in her hand remained poised in the air, mid-flip, like she couldn’t continue cooking until he gave her a response.

Beast Boy didn’t know what that response was going to be. He began scratching his arm absentmindedly.

“About...you know...the other night?” he said, looking off to the side. “That was kinda shitty of me.” His heart rate began to pick up again. Hopefully she wouldn’t need any more clarification to know what he was referring to. Hopefully she wouldn’t make him have to say it out loud.

But when Beast Boy finally worked up the courage to glance back at her a moment later, he noticed that Raven’s expression hadn’t changed. If anything, she only seemed more confused. She glanced around the kitchen randomly, as if doing so might give her some clue as to what the hell he was talking about.

“At the warehouse,” he blurted out, his voice embarrassingly frantic. Now the words came easier, but not because he was any more confident in what he had to say. Maybe it came from the realization that it was too late to turn back now.

“When I...you know, pretended I was--” he caught himself, the word stopping clear in his throat. “When I pretended I was--passed out,” he said, knowing that that was the most generous way of putting it. “That was so crazy and stupid and I have no idea why I did it. I’m sorry I made you mad. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t hurt me.”

For a moment, Raven just continued to stare at him, their eyes locked in some kind of inexplicably powerful gaze. Like there was something else being exchanged between them that couldn’t be expressed with words. Beast Boy felt his stomach drop, but it wasn’t for any of the reasons he’d expected it might. A wave of something strange washed over Raven’s features. Something that seemed to smooth out the harsh lines in her brow and at the corners of her mouth. The shift was so subtle and fleeting that Beast Boy wasn’t entirely sure if he’d imagined it or not.

“...Okay...” she said, once more sounding like he was speaking absolute nonsense. And maybe he was. She turned back around, continuing to shuffle whatever was in the pan without so much as batting an eye.

At this, Beast Boy let out a small sigh of relief. But the pit in his stomach remained. He stood in the doorway uncomfortably, unable to relax. There was no way it was going to be that easy.

“You mean...you’re not mad at me?” he hesitated. The short burst of relief he’d felt quickly turned to dread. He felt stupid just asking the question.

But on the other end of the room, Raven merely shrugged. “Not any more than usual,” she said, flipping her concoction in the pan. “I mean, it was pretty obvious you were faking it.”

At this, Beast Boy paused. The same incredulous confusion he had seen in Raven’s face a moment earlier now reflected itself in his own. He began to open his mouth to contest her, but he didn’t know why. He closed it just as quickly.

Raven wasn’t the type of person who wore her heart on her sleeve. She was the type who kept everything locked away inside a box no one had the key to. A box that was buried ten feet deep at the edge of a cliff at the top of a mountain that sat in the center of a swirling lake of lava. And while it made deciphering her mood on a day to day basis nearly impossible, there was one advantage to it. Whatever she kept locked up in there was so unlike everything else about her that whenever it did get loose, you knew it.  

He also knew that pressing Raven about her emotions was skating on paper thin ice. Luckily, she cut him off just before he fell through.

“Save your breath,” she said, her back still turned. She slid the last contents of the pan onto a plate. “I already know you feel bad about it.”

“You do?” Beast Boy said.

Raven turned around now, a plate of...something in her hand. She looked disappointed somehow, but not surprised. “The emotional roller coaster you’ve been on for the past seventy two hours hasn’t exactly been a solo ride.”

Beast Boy stood there for a moment, confused. Then his face started to feel the slightest bit warm. Of course she knew. That was Raven 101: Intro to Raven. Raven for Dummies. Raven’s whole schtick. Her entire brand.

“Oh. Right,” he fumbled, a wave of child-like embarrassment washing over him. “Yeah, I guess that would...make sense.”

Raven didn’t do or say anything in particular in response. And on the one hand, Beast Boy knew that should have been a good sign--or at least a comforting sign of normalcy. But there was something about the entire interaction that felt off. Like for once Raven’s avoidance stemmed from somewhere other than mere disinterest. Regardless of the bored expression on her face, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d merely slapped a bandaid over a bullethole.

“Well, I guess since you already know I’m sorry...I’m just gonna...go,” he said, awkwardly shooting two finger guns toward the hallway behind him. He held the position for a moment, waiting for some sort of signal that their conversation had officially ended. The one he got was not the one he had been expecting.

“If you’re going, can you do me a favor?” Raven said suddenly.

Beast Boy froze just as he was beginning to turn around. Coming from Raven, a question like that usually went one general direction--the most popular being something along the lines of ‘ Never speak to me again.’

“Yeah?”

“Can you take these to Cyborg for me?” she said, half turning around with a plate stacked with...something in her hand.

Beast Boy made his way toward her cautiously.

“What...is it?” he said, raising an eyebrow at the plate extended before him.            

“What does it look like?” Raven said curtly.

“It looks like that one time Starfire tried to make pancakes.” Beast Boy took the plate from her and picked up one of the layers of the concoction, prodding it with his finger. The pale, muddy mess just barely held its shape.

Raven didn’t reply. She just stared at him with an increasingly displeased expression.

“Aren’t you more of a...waffle person?” he said, laughing a little.

Raven sighed, arms crossed against her chest.

“Cyborg told me that I should try and get out of my comfort zone more,” she said at last. “So today I made pancakes.”

Beast Boy let the so called ‘pancakes’ fall sloppily back onto the plate below, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Maybe you should scoot back into the zone,” he said, eyeing the plate one more time.

“Fine,” Raven said, swiping it back from him in an instant. “I’ll take them to him myself. Jackass.”

Plate in hand, she made her way toward the doorway at the opposite end of the room. The doorway Beast Boy had made a point not to walk through since last night...ever since he had set up--

Shit.

“Wait! Don’t go under the--!”

He started to extend a hand toward her, knowing she was already too far away for it to matter. Raven passed over the threshold without a care in the world—that is until she tripped the switch on the lower left side of it.

In a moment of pure, paralyzing terror, Beast Boy watched as a gallon of slime fell from the ceiling above her, completely drenching her from head to toe.

He flinched, shrinking into himself as Raven held up her arms to examine whatever terrible substance she was now coated in. When she slowly turned to look at him, the shadowy sense of calm on her face was far more disturbing than any display of outright anger could have possibly been.

“I’m sorry—I—I didn’t mean...That was meant for--” Beast Boy stammered, knowing that it was already too late.

Raven’s eyes narrowed into vicious slits, glinting like those of a python ready to strike.

For a split second, Beast Boy could have sworn they had started to change color.

But the image quickly vanished as Raven closed her eyes, taking a deep but impatient breath. When she opened them again he felt only slightly less terrified.

“It was...an accident?” Beast Boy offered with a sheepish shrug and a nervous smile. But you didn’t have to be an empath to see that underneath it he was gritting his teeth.

Raven let a single beat pass before she opened her mouth to give him her reply.

“ You were an accident,” she said with a cold confidence.

An oblong dark shadow appeared behind her, and with a single step over its threshold she was gone.

Beast Boy was completely alone. Again. Which was why he nearly jumped when he turned to see Robin in the doorway behind him.

“Oh my God, you almost gave me a heart attack,” he panted, catching himself on the counter beside him.

“Sorry?” Robin said, his voice tinted with regret, but even more so with confusion. “I was just--” he looked around the now desolate kitchen, then glanced back at Beast Boy expectantly. ”Have you seen Raven? I thought I just heard her in here a second ago.”            

Beast Boy began to rub at the back of his neck, making a point of looking anywhere but at the site of Raven’s recent departure. “Maybe she’s...in her room?”

“Maybe,” Robin said, though he didn’t seem particularly pleased with Beast Boy’s answer. He sighed. “I was hoping to catch the two of you together. There are some things I want to--” He paused, looking over in the direction of where Raven had disappeared. “What is that ?”

“What’s what?” Beast Boy said, refusing to follow his gaze. Refusing to acknowledge the green slime covering the kitchen floor behind him.

Robin looked downward, his hand raised to his temples. “Okay. Just...whatever it is, clean it up. Please? And when you’re done go find Raven and meet me outside by the picnic tables.” He glanced between Beast Boy and the mess one last time with a sigh. “Ten minutes.” And then he was gone.

It took nearly an entirely roll of paper towels to soak up the remaining goo. To Beast Boy’s satisfaction, there was only a very minimal green stain left on the tile by the time he was done. But that was the least of his problems.

Robin rarely wanted to ‘talk’ just for the sake of making conversation. The last time he had asked to ‘talk’ to any of them, it had resulted in mandatory after hours training sessions for the entire group. But that still hadn’t been as bad as the time he’d changed the wifi password for a week after Cyborg’s online gaming obsession had gotten out of hand.

But at the very least, whatever conversation awaited him with Robin was still ten minutes away. Unlike Robin’s request to find the girl he’d just dumped a bucket of slime on. Which, regrettably, required his immediate attention.

The walk to Raven’s room wasn’t long, but it felt infinite. Infinite in the way Beast Boy imagined walking death row must feel. When he finally turned the corner that brought her door into view, he was unsurprised to find it firmly shut. When he raised his hand to knock, he stopped himself. Or rather, the terrifying sounds on the other side of the door did. He could hear Raven cursing something under her breath, and for a moment he figured it might be best to just turn around and abandon the idea altogether. But there was one thing that scared him even more than Raven’s temperament, and it was waiting patiently for the two of them outside.

“Uh...Raven?”

The hissing profanities came to an abrupt halt as an eerie silence filled the air.

“I know you’re probably busy but--”

“What do you want ?”

“Uh...Robin wants to...talk to us,” Beast Boy replied, speaking as carefully as possible. “Outside. Right now.”

“God bless,” Raven said under her breath, her voice muted by steel door between them.

Beast Boy heard another door within slam shut, followed by what could only be described as the sounds of frantic redecorating.

Suddenly the door flew open--and so did Beast Boy’s mouth. He grit his teeth, but it wasn’t enough to stop the snort-like laughter that escaped from behind his wavering smile. He took a deep breath and tried to think of every sad dog movie he’d ever seen.

Instead of hanging as straight as the daggers in her eyes, the strands of Raven’s hair curled around her face in frizzy purple waves.

“Wow,” Beast Boy said, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Your hair looks--”

“Choose your next words wisely ,” she growled.

Beast Boy swallowed hard, devouring his smile along with his words.

“...Different?”

Raven shot him a look, flipping up the hood of a jacket she had thrown on.

“What does Robin want to talk about?” she said, pushing past him and taking the lead.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Beast Boy said, letting her do so silently.

Raven didn’t respond.

For the rest of the trip, Beast Boy made sure to keep a few feet between them as they walked.

A cool gust of wind swept through his hair as he followed Raven out the front door. It was just cold enough that he began to wish he’d had a reason to grab a jacket as well. Some of the leaves were already starting to change color, a steady breeze testing their hold to the branches. In the distance, under one of the many shifting trees he spotted Robin, waiting with his back to them.

Beast Boy risked a glance at Raven, who, surprisingly enough, returned the favor. A heavy silence hung between them as they shared a single moment of comradery. It was obvious to Beast Boy, and by the looks of it Raven too, that whatever they’d been arguing about moments before had been nothing. Nothing compared to what awaited them at that table.  

It was a long, silent walk down the hill. Robin didn’t so much as look up or say hello as they sat down opposite their leader. Beast Boy was too afraid to say anything and, well, Raven’s silence was a given.  

Robin sighed, his hands clasped together before him on the table.

“Do either of you have any idea why I wanted to speak to--”

But as he lifted his eyes to look at them, he paused. The serious, angular lines in his face melting away as his eyes widened and his mouth parted slightly.

“Raven...what happened to your hair?”

Raven turned to look at Beast Boy and then back at Robin, eyebrow raised. “Take a wild guess.”

“It was an accident,” Beast Boy said hastily, a hint of impatience in his voice. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Being born?” Raven scoffed, crossing her arms.

Just like that, the moment of comradery came and went.

Robin didn’t say a word--but his silence spoke louder than the two of them combined.

Beast Boy and Raven both fell quiet again, the unspoken truce momentarily reinstated.

Robin let out a long sigh before finally opening his mouth to speak.

“This. This is what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. His voice was calm, his words calculated. He raised his clasped hands to his mouth, as if carefully considering how he wanted to phrase his next words. “Look,” he said solemnly. “I know you two don’t always see eye to eye. That sometimes you have...different ways of approaching a situation.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Raven mumbled.

Beast Boy started to open his mouth before their leader cut in again.

“...And that’s fine ,” Robin continued. “It’s important to consider different points of view in a fight--having a greater perspective opens up more options and opportunities for success. But it doesn’t really work out so well when fighting over who’s idea is better takes priority over the target in front of you.” Here he paused, lowering his hands and slouching his shoulders. “I know I can’t stop you two from arguing over who gets the remote when we’re watching TV. And quite frankly I don’t care. But on the battlefield that kind of stuff can have very real consequences. Not just for our team, but for the people we’re trying to protect.” Here he paused again. “I know I wasn’t there for most of it, but I think I have a pretty good idea of what the fatal flaw was in our last battle. And I think you do too.”

This time Raven started to open her mouth to say something.

“Both of you,” Robin cut her off.

Raven closed her mouth, looking off to the side.

“All I’m saying,” Robin continued, “Is that the next time we’re in a fight—please—can you two try and put your differences aside? For everyone’s sake.”

Beast Boy didn’t say anything. But that was only because Robin seemed to take the expression on his face as enough of an answer.

“Was there something you wanted to add to that, Raven?” Robin said, looking over at Raven now, who was still staring off into the distance, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“No.”

Robin turned back to Beast Boy with a shrug. “Alright then,” he said, sighing one last time. “Just one more thing and I’ll let you two go. I want both of you to start thinking about how you could use your differences to an advantage—rather than the opposite. Beast Boy--”

Beast Boy sat upright. “Yeah?”

“I want you to tell Raven something she did well in that fight.”                        

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Raven groaned, her back still turned to the two of them.

“Raven, would you like to go first instead?” Robin questioned.

Raven remained silent, crossing her arms even tighter over her chest in response.

“Take as long as you need,” Robin said, leaning back for the first time since they’d sat down. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Raven muttered something unintelligible under her breath. She looked up at the sky as if it would provide her with some sort of inspiration. Then she begrudgingly turned to look at Beast Boy.

He automatically tensed up the moment they made eye contact.

Raven immediately looked away. “Your bumbling idiocy actually makes a pretty good distraction if the timing’s right,”

Robin raised an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms again.

“What?” Raven said defensively.

“Try again,” Robin said, his tone slightly more serious this time.

Raven paused for a moment. This time when she spoke she didn’t bother to address Beast Boy directly. Instead she just looked off into the distance beyond the yard. “Well...people are generally scared of tigers. So you have that going for you I guess.”

Robin sighed, but didn’t push her further. “Beast Boy, your turn.”

“Oh come on,” Beast Boy protested. “Are you seriously gonna give her that one? That’s such a cop out.”

“Well what am I supposed to do? Lie?” Raven said sharply, turning to face him.

“ Alright, ” Robin said, situating himself to physically push them apart if necessary. “That’s enough. Beast Boy, it’s your turn,” he repeated.

Raven glared at him, inviting him to the challenge.

“Well you sure are good at scaring the shit out of people,” Beast Boy said, wrinkling his nose. “And you don’t even have to turn into anything to do it.”

Robin was silent for a long moment before he spoke next. “We’ll work on it,” he said, his tone slightly disappointed, but too exasperated to keep trying. He pushed himself up from the table in one swift movement and stood before them. “I have to go set up for our ten o’clock training regimen,” he announced, looking them both sternly in the eye. “Just...think about it, okay?” Robin didn’t wait for either of them to respond before taking his leave.

When Robin was finally out of earshot, Beast Boy caught him rubbing his temples, muttering something to himself under his breath. At the top of the hill, he caught a glimpse of two more figures peeking through one of the tower windows. He immediately recognized Starfire and Cyborg peering through the glass pane. In the same moment he turned to look at them however, they flinched and ducked out of sight.

Beast Boy turned back to the table, head in his hands. “Thank God that’s over with,” he said aloud, not sure if he was really expecting Raven to reply.

“For now,” she said, getting to her feet. “At least until you do something stupid again.”

“Me?” Beast Boy narrowed his eyes. “You know that conversation was about both of us, right?”

Raven shook her head. “I don’t care what Robin said. My behavior toward you is strictly reactive.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s simple. You do something stupid, I react to it,” she said, matter-of-factly. “My actions are just a symptom of the disease.”

Beast Boy looked at her, one eyebrow cocked in questioning.

“ You’re the disease,” she clarified curtly.

He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. “That doesn’t make any sense. Even for you.”

Raven sighed. “You’re inherently self-sabotaging. No matter what it is you’re doing you always find a way to mess it up,” she said with a wave of her hand. “And that’s not my problem.”

“That’s not even--fuck!” Beast Boy exclaimed, his words cut short as a rush of air passed over his face and his right leg buckled under a small rut in the ground. He caught himself with his hands extended, now covered in mud.  

“I rest my case,” Raven said dismissively as she continued walking up the hill.

Beast Boy quickly got to his feet, wiping his hands on his shirt.

“Thanks for the hand,” he said, throwing Raven a taste of her own sarcasm.

Raven paused and turned around to look at him, a familiar look of apathy on her face. But suddenly her eyes widened and then narrowed again as her line of sight shifted to something just behind him.

Beast Boy turned around to follow her gaze.

He didn’t see the truck at first, but the thrumming of the engine was enough to announce its approach. Without a clear driveway to follow, Beast Boy watched as the large brown vehicle pulled up next to the curb at the bottom of the hill. A lanky man hopped out of the driver’s seat, clipboard in hand.

Raven was already halfway down the hill again. As she passed by him, Beast Boy felt the inexplicable urge to follow her. She stopped right before the strange man, who was already at the back of the truck, beginning to lift the hatch on the wide back door.

“Can I help you?” she asked, towering over him as he leaned down to undo the lock.

The man looked up at the two of them, standing up straight. Now it was him who towered over them like a skyscraper. But it didn’t seem to change the dynamic.

“Yeah,” he said, clearly taken aback by Raven’s tone. He scanned over the clipboard in his hand. “I’m lookin’ for a Mr….” His words faded as he looked back up at the two of them once more. Really looked at them. “Logan. Mr. Logan.” His eyes narrowed. “You know, Halloween’s still a month away.”

Beast Boy sighed. For as much as they did for the city, this was sometimes all the recognition they got.

“What do you want?” Raven repeated, this time with a little more bite to the words.

The man shot her an annoyed but cautious look.

“I’m looking for a Mr. Logan,” he said, turning now to Beast Boy. “Do you kids know--”            

“No,” Raven interjected.

He looked down at the clipboard again with a frown, lifting up the first page to closer inspect the one beneath it.

“You delivered a letter to him here the other day,” Raven continued. “You’ve got the wrong address.”

The man’s frown grew slightly more prominent at her words. “Look kid, I didn’t deliver any letter here. But this is the address I have. If he’s not here now, he must’ve been a...past resident,” the man said, looking suspiciously at the large T-shaped building before him. He shook his head. “And that’s not my department.” He let the papers fall back down on his clipboard, then extended it out into the space between the two of them.

Raven snatched it from his hand.

“If you have a complaint you can call the number on the bottom of the slip,” the man said, pulling a pen out of his pocket, which Beast Boy automatically took.

Before either of them could say anything more, there were two large boxes sitting at their feet.

The man didn’t wait for Raven to return the clipboard--he didn’t so much as look down to see if she’d bothered to fill anything out. She hadn’t.

When she tried to shove it back into his hands, the man pulled away. “Keep it,” he said, muttering something afterwards that was muffled by the deafening sound of the truck door slamming shut. “It’s your problem now.”

The engine revved, the truck disappearing twice as quickly as it had come. Almost as if the driver were abandoning a ticking time bomb.

For a reason he couldn’t quite place, the man’s hurried retreat sent a shiver down Beast Boy’s spine. Whatever was inside those boxes was clearly enough of a burden that this man was willing to cut corners to get rid of them. Knowing who they were addressed to only heightened his uneasiness.

“Great,” Raven said aloud, looking down at the boxes. But she only looked at them before letting out another sigh and turning on her heel again.

“Where are you going?” Beast Boy asked, knowing the answer already.

“Uh...inside?” Raven said, clipboard in hand.

“We can’t just leave this stuff out here,” Beast Boy protested, gesturing to the boxes at his feet. But as he said it, he realized it would be hard to explain why they probably shouldn’t abandon them. “I mean...we don’t know what’s inside. Maybe it’s something really important,” he added hastily, not sure how that would make a difference to Raven.

“Important to someone else,” she said, her disinterest in the matter unsurprising.

“If we leave this shit out here we’re just gonna hear about it from Robin later,” Beast Boy offered, hoping to convince her from a different angle.

Raven sighed once more, this time in begrudging acceptance of the fact that he knew that she knew that he was right.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to deal with it once it's on the doorstep.” One of the larger boxes in front of her floated into the air, shrouded in shadow. “That's ‘not my department,’” she said, air quotes included.

Beast Boy looked down at the remaining box sitting at his own feet. He kicked it gently with his sneaker. It was definitely as heavy as it looked. For a moment he just stared at it in bewilderment, trying to think of any animal that would make the job of carrying it any easier. But it wasn’t so simple when you realized how few of them had opposable thumbs.  

“You okay?” Raven said suddenly, knocking him from his daze.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine.”

“Here, I can just—“

“No, I got it,” he said, waving her off as he bent down and prepared the lift the package up from its bottom. He took a deep breath and lurched it into the air, barely catching it against his chest as it settled in his arms. “See? It’s no problem—“ he choked, instantly feeling his arms wobble as the cardboard slid under his fingers.  Just as the last bit of his grip started to give, he felt the weight instantly disappear altogether as the box ascended several inches in the air.

Beast Boy tried to catch his breath without gulping in the air he knew he needed. When he looked up, he caught Raven looking at him again, a box now floating on either side of her.

“You know, Robin literally just lectured us about working together,” she said, unfaltering. “If you need help you can just ask..”

Beast Boy paused for a moment. The way she had phrased it, he couldn’t decide if her offer came from a place of genuine kindness or merely from a lack of faith in him. Maybe both.

He wiped his burning fingertips on his pant legs absentmindedly. “It wasn’t that heavy,” he muttered.

“Off to a good start then,” Raven said, the facade of kindness evaporating as quickly as it had come. She turned on her heel and started back up to the tower, the two boxes, along with a pouting Beast Boy lagging behind her.

But the closer they got to the entrance of the towering building, the more Beast Boy’s feet began to drag. And this time it had nothing to do with the physical effort of the incline. As he trudged behind Raven, he found himself staring at the two boxes again. What exactly could be in them that made them so heavy? Just like the letter, they had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Just like the letter, there wasn’t any return address on them. But he knew there was only one person they could be from. A pit began forming in his stomach again. And again he couldn’t give any one reason why. He tried desperately to twist the facts into a shape that made sense.

Well, he thought to himself, at least it had only been two boxes and not an entire truckload.

` ***

With every passing hour, the doorbell rang on cue like a grandfather clock. Trucks of all shapes and sizes passed by their door, toting mysterious packages just as diverse. The onslaught of deliveries brought all training to a standstill after Robin gave up trying to simultaneously run drills and answer the door every three minutes. When they began to run out of space in the entryway, moving boxes into the living room became a full time job.

As the chaos grew, so did the pit in Beast Boy’s stomach. While Robin directed traffic, Raven begrudgingly moved the stacks of boxes about the room. Meanwhile, Cyborg and Starfire continuously traversed the labyrinth of cardboard like two kids on Christmas morning. Every box they carried in received a hearty shake, just enough for them to throw out a guess as to what could be inside. Their guesses were as absurd as the game itself, seeing how Starfire continued to insist upon the criminality of opening ‘someone else’s mail’. Each time she made this announcement, she met eyes with Beast Boy, giving him a not so subtle wink that made him tense up all the more. Luckily no one else seemed to notice.  

He didn’t know what was more unnerving--the great unknown of the packages’ contents or the sheer number of them. The common room was beginning to look more like a small warehouse, waist deep in packing supplies on every side.

Just after they finished hauling three more crates inside, the doorbell rang again, this time presenting the first unwrapped delivery—a brand new, shiny red moped.

“Beast Boy, look! It is what you have always wanted!” Starfire said, excitedly pointing at the scooter, complete with a large red ribbon wrapped around the handles.

“Well I guess now we know who Garfield is,” Raven said with a wry smile and a glance in his direction.

Beast Boy froze for a moment. But when he met Raven’s gaze and saw the smirk on her face, he allowed himself a cautious sigh of relief. Raven’s sarcasm and seriousness were sometimes barely distinguishable—but this time she’d been joking. Some joke.

Unfortunately, not everyone in the room understood the intricacies of Raven’s humor.

Like a gunshot going off, Starfire suddenly burst out crying. Everyone naturally turned to face her in alarm, including Beast Boy.

“Star, what’s wrong?” Robin asked desperately, running over to try and calm her down.

“I am so sorry,” she said through a broken sob. “I did not mean to give away your secret.”

“What...secret?” Raven said slowly.

Through stifled sniffles, Starfire opened her mouth to explain.

“It’s not--” Beast Boy tried to interject. But it was too late.

“The other morning when I was preparing for my daily blogilates, I caught Beast Boy reading the strange letter we had received in the mail,” Starfire blurted out, speaking so fast she began tripping over her own words. “At first I thought he had simply allowed curiosity to get the better of him, but then he confided in me that he was the Garfield in question, and I promised I would not reveal his true identity to anyone , but now I have done so without even realizing it and I am sorry!”

Beast Boy covered his face with both his hands, closing his eyes tight behind them. The skin beneath his palms began to feel slightly warmer in comparison. Sure, Starfire was a great friend, but definitely not the most calculating.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then, regrettably, the silence was broken with a familiar laugh.

“Oh my God ,” Raven said, suddenly sounding much more animated than she had a moment before.

If Beast Boy had suspected his face was turning red a moment ago, now he knew it without a doubt.

“Is that...true?” Robin asked, slightly concerned, but mostly just confused.

There may as well have been crickets chirping in the beat between.

“Well...it’s not... not true,” Beast Boy said with a sheepish smile.

Robin frowned, unamused. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he said, gesturing to the packages.

“I dunno,” Beast Boy blurted defensively. “I thought it had to be a mistake or something. Seriously. Nobody’s called me that in years.”

“Hold up,” Cyborg chimed in, peeking out from over a stack of boxes. “Does that mean we can finally open all of this stuff?” An excited grin spread over his face as an exacto knife sprung from his finger.

“Wait,” Robin said, lifting his hand in warning. “Everybody just slow down for a second.” He stood up straight and took a deep breath to clear the air. “Even if all of that’s true, we still don’t know who they’re from or what’s inside them.”

“Well if it was a bomb we probably would’ve figured that out by now,” Raven said grimly.

Robin shot her a quick look before clearing his throat and returning to his monologue. “More importantly, it’s not our mail to open,” he said, shifting his gaze to Beast Boy.

There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone followed Robin’s stare. Beast Boy bit his lip.

“Oh please,” Raven scoffed. “We’re talking about the same person who ripped open the Fruit Loops in the parking lot for his special ‘collectors edition’ Star Wars spoon.”

Beast Boy shot Raven a look, but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew she was right. He had no idea what making that leap would entail, but, for better or worse, the course had been set as soon as the first package had arrived. Cyborg had always told him he was a model ‘people pleaser,’ and Beast Boy was starting to understand all too well what he had meant. At least in this case it worked to his friend’s advantage.

“I...guess...we can open them,” Beast Boy said after a moment, the words stinging the back of his throat.

“Hell yeah!” Cyborg exclaimed, pointing at a package he had seemingly set aside for this very purpose. “Ooooh, open this one first!”

The package he identified was one of the few that hadn’t been delivered in a box but wrapped in rough paper and heavy twine. It had to be for how odd of a shape it was--tall and narrow with jagged edges protruding randomly on all sides. The points seemed so sharp underneath that it was a wonder the paper hadn’t ripped on its own.

“You can open it,” Beast Boy offered with an uneasy smile. “I mean--since you want to so bad. It doesn’t really matter to me.”

“You sure?” Cyborg asked, his expression shifting suddenly from excitement to hesitation.

“No, really. We already have all of them, we might as well open them. Just go for it man,” he said, his anxiety ushering him forward in the way it always did when he was about to do something he knew he would regret.

Beast Boy took a seat down on the couch as Cyborg began to cut through the paper. He tried his best to look as bored as possible--but it was hard not to stare at the hideous object that revealed itself as the paper fell away.  

A tall, humanoid figure stood before them, bent into a uniquely inhuman shape—its back hunched, arms craning over its head. The face strayed even further from any sense of proper anatomy. The nose, wide and flat, ran up to the figure’s forehead. Two large, perfectly spherical eyes adorned either side of the bridge. But the mouth was the worst. Open wider than it should have been, the lips were pulled back, frozen in a scream. In truth, it was the most human part of the visage--until you noticed the prominent canines and short fangs that jutted out along the bottom.

Beast Boy ran his tongue over his teeth—a nervous habit he’d never really been able to shake. Especially for as long as he’d had his own pseudo-fangs. He closed his mouth tight and tried not to think about it.

“Uh…” Cyborg said, mouth agape. “What...is this?”

“Racist Hollywood propaganda?” Raven offered with a disgruntled shrug.

“But why is it here?” Cyborg said, furrowing his brow as he stared at the figure.

It wasn’t long before his gaze, along with everyone else’s, shifted from the statue over to Beast Boy again.

“What?” he said, backing slightly into the couch.

“It was sent to you , Beast Boy,” Robin said, gesturing to the figure. “You don’t have any idea what it is?”

Beast Boy took a deep breath and looked at the statue again. It was painful to admit that, in some corner of his mind, the image of it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. But not in a way that gave him any solace. Rather, it was familiar in the way that bits and pieces of nightmares sometimes gnawed their way into the waking world. A bitter after-taste from a sweet drink.

“No. Not a clue.”

The room remained silent, and Beast Boy began to wonder if there was too much confidence in his voice for it to sound convincing.

“Perhaps we should open some of the other mystery gifts?” Starfire said suddenly, a bright smile on her face as she lifted another smaller box in her arms.  On the side, bold black letters warned the recipient to ‘handle with care.’ “It is possible they will reveal further context regarding the situation.”

Robin just looked at Beast Boy again, as if waiting for some sort of signal that it was fine to continue.

“Sure,” he said, figuring it was best to stick to one word answers.

Starfire grinned, gripping the box on either side. Despite it being wrapped tightly around with heavy duty packing tape, she denied Robin’s offer of scissors. “Eugh! Ahhhh!” she grunted, ripping the cardboard apart in one swift motion. Packing peanuts flew from the box like oversized confetti, as a single object clattered to the floor.

When it finally settled flat, it was Raven who was closest to lean over and pick it up.

“Oh joy,,” she said, her tone as flat as Starfire’s was elated. “More garbage.”

“I wish to see!” Starfire said, snagging the item from Raven’s grip.

As she did, she turned just enough for Beast Boy to really get a look at what had come out of the box.

It was a mask.

That was easy enough to tell. But it wasn’t anything resembling the simple, sleek adornments superheroes used to ‘protect their identities’. This mask was a work of art in and of itself. Beige matted fur that must have once been as soft as silk lined the edges of the full face covering. The chiseled features were harsh and angular, but carefully crafted. From the slope of the brow to the perfectly sculpted lips, every inch of it seemed uncomfortably lived-in. Even the eyes, which were nothing more than two narrow slits of inky darkness, seemed like they might blink back at any moment. He knew the thought was ridiculous. But it was enough to distract him from the chaos for a moment--a moment that would cost him dearly.

“Boo!”

Beast Boy jumped in his seat, unable to hold back an audible gasp. His stomach lurched as turned to meet Starfire’s eyes underneath the mask, mere inches from his face.

Starfire merely laughed, lowering it to the side.

Beast Boy quickly conjured a playful smirk as he retaliated with the nearest couch pillow.

Starfire ducked out of the way with lightning speed, throwing one right back at him in the span of a second.

Beast Boy’s reflexes were notably slower, and the cushion hit him square in the face with the force of a battering ram.

The room at once filled with a familiar light again as Cyborg--even Robin--let loose a laugh at the scene. For a split second, the mystery before them seemed of secondary importance to the battle that had been declared.

But as Beast Boy lowered the pillow from his face, the scene before him began to shift again. Something wasn’t right.

He was being watched. He could feel it in the strange stillness of the air.

Instinctively, he glanced up at the large statue Cyborg had unwrapped. Then over at the mask, now dangling in Starfire’s right hand. Neither seemed to be staring back at him now.

He turned to look in the one remaining corner of the room. And it was there that he found the undeniable source of the sensation.

Raven wasn’t laughing. Which felt ironically out of place, considering the joke had been at his expense. Her gaze was steady--at least until the moment he caught her. In an instant her eyes fell to the floor again.

Beast Boy followed her stare for only a moment, noting how it now fell on a box near her feet. Close enough that she must have intentionally pulled it aside.

���Open this one next!!” Starfire exclaimed, shoving another box into Beast Boy’s lap.

He blinked hard, looking down at the package.

The audience had swapped places. Now all eyes were on him again--except for the one pair that wasn’t.

***

With the next dozen boxes they opened, Beast Boy began to notice a pattern. The objects ranged from torn fabric scarves to chipped clay statues and long strings of beads, their colors worn to the palest hues. It all reminded him of when Robin had brought them to the Natural History museum last time they were in DC. Except these items weren’t in titanium glass cases or hanging in the souvenir shop window. He wasn’t sure that was where they belonged either. But he knew they didn’t belong in Titan’s Tower.

As Starfire and Cyborg worked together to pull another package into the living room for unboxing, Beast Boy watched as Robin stood and made his way over to him. He had no idea why, but he suddenly tensed up as their leader took a seat next to him.

“What’s up?” Beast Boy asked, trying to lean back casually.

“Look. I don’t want this to come off the wrong way...but I just want to ask you honestly,” Robin said, leaning in closer as he spoke. “Are you sure this stuff is really yours?” he asked solemnly.

Beast Boy flinched. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer.

Robin’s tone was far from threatening--if anything it only seemed like he was trying to help. But the question was more complicated than Robin knew.

Beast Boy was pretty sure it was his stuff. But then again, he was pretty sure it really wasn’t.

“I think it is,” Raven said suddenly.

The two both looked up at her, sitting quietly on the other side of the room. So quietly, Beast Boy had almost forgotten she was still there.

“What makes you say that?” Robin asked, getting to his feet again.

She nodded vaguely toward the box at her feet. The one Beast Boy had noticed her staring at earlier.

Now that the dust had settled, he was able to look at it clearly. It wasn’t anything special as far as he could tell. Just a plain cardboard box about two feet square in dimension. There was only one thing that set it apart to any degree. While it was true that all of the other packages had been sealed with generous amounts of tape or twine, this box was nearly made of the stuff. Even the tape was taped down--not just for extra security, but because there might not have been much of a box without it.

In that instant, a large crash came from down the hallway. The same hallway Cyborg and Starfire had disappeared down moments before.  

Their three remaining teammates automatically looked up in the direction of the noise to find Cyborg peeking around the doorframe.

In the distance, Starfire cursed aloud, her words audible but unintelligible.

Cyborg did a double take behind him before addressing them. “Uh...I can fix that,” he said with a smile.

Starfire appeared behind him with her hands behind her back, her face flushed with embarrassment. Her glance bounced around the room spontaneously before landing on the one unopened package that remained within it. Her eyes widened instantly at the sight, sheer excitement once more reigning supreme.

“Oh?” she said, flying over to the box in question. “Raven. I did not realize you had also picked a gift for Beast Boy to open!”

“I didn’t,” Raven said flatly.

Starfire raised an eyebrow. “Well...may I open it for him then?” she said, looking at Beast Boy expectantly.

“Sure,” he shrugged, surprised she was still bothering to ask permission.

“Excellent!” Starfire said, with a level of sincerity only she could pull off. She gripped the package on either side and lifted it into the air. After a moment of staring at the layers upon layers of tape, lips pursed in contemplation, she smiled as her eyes began to glow a wicked green.  

“Errggh....Ah!” she cried, ripping the box open with her bare hands, tape and all.

Among the copious packing peanuts, several items tumbled out like prizes from a pinata.

Suddenly, Raven sat up, eyes wide. She extended her hand toward the blur of objects. The contents began to glow, and, as if moving in slow motion, came to an abrupt halt just before clattering to the floor.

“Y’know...we have scissors,” Cyborg said flatly, raising his hand again.

“But this way is much more exciting,” Starfire smiled, cradling the cardboard carnage in her arms. A well-meaning but terrifying energy sparkled in her eyes.

Raven lowered her hand as the items slowly settled on the cushion of styrofoam peanuts below. As she did, Beast Boy rose from his seat, making his way toward the pile as if drawn by a magnetic force. He crouched down, picking something up at random. The item was instantly recognizable--and that made it all the more out of place in a room littered with mysterious statues and pottery.

The spherical object was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Inside, white flakes swirled around a simple scene. A miniature plastic lion paraded mid-stride through the globe on a backdrop sandy grasses and flat topped trees. Along the bottom rim, a few plastic letters spelled out ‘Pretoria Zoo’. After a moment, the flecks settled at the bottom, covering the ground in white. It briefly occurred to him that the savannah was a nonsensical backdrop for the souvenir.

“A...snowglobe?” Robin said aloud, his brow furrowed.

“What’s that doing in here?” Cyborg said.

“I don’t know,” was all Beast Boy could manage to say. And it was true. He had no idea what it was doing there.

The room fell silent again. And Beast Boy realized that this time the silence had centered around him--not just the thing he was holding.

“Is...something wrong, Beast Boy?” Robin asked.

“What? No,” Beast Boy said distractedly, shaking his head. “It’s just...a snowglobe...from the Pretoria Zoo.” The observation seemed innocent enough, but the sound of the name made him flinch.

“Pretoria?” Starfire repeated.

“It’s a city,” Beast Boy said curtly, as he set the snowglobe off to the side. “In the northern part of South Africa.” He reached out toward the pile in front of him and fished out a few water-stained National Geographic magazines. He propped himself up against the couch and opened one up. But it was difficult to pretend the pages in front of him demanded more attention than the looks on his friends’ faces.  

“How do you know that?” Cyborg asked suddenly, breaking the awkward silence that had immediately returned.

Beast Boy just shrugged, flipping through the magazines even faster. “Because...I’ve been there.”

“What do you mean you’ve been there?” Robin pressed.

Beast Boy looked down at the open magazine in his lap. He bit his lip, pouring all of his concentration into feigning interest in an article about submarines.

“I mean I’ve been there. When I was a kid. The zoo wasn’t that far from my house,” he said, terrified at the thought of looking up and meeting his friends’ eyes. But the fear only made the words spill out faster.

“I mean, we weren’t really there most of the time, so I only got to actually go once. My parents probably spent more time at the house when they were still teaching at the university, but after they pulled me out of school to travel we mostly just used it for storage.”

A silence more deafening than any of his words filled the room.

“Okaaaay,” Cyborg said slowly. “Is it just me, or is that a lot of information I feel like I should’ve already known? Anybody?”

As he spoke, Beast Boy noticed that Starfire had leaned down and grabbed something else out of the pile on the floor. It seemed to be a picture frame, the back stand bent horribly out of shape. “Are these the parents of which you speak?” she hesitated, turning the frame around for Beast Boy to see.

He froze. In an instant, Beast Boy recognized where the picture had been taken. The O.R. Tambo International Airport--just outside of the where the terminals split between international and domestic flights.

It took him a moment longer to recognize the three strangers who smiled back at him.

On the far left, a woman with pale skin and dull, brown hair draped her arm around the person in the middle. Leftover strands fell lazily on either side of her face, the rest of the mane  pulled up in a bun at the back of her head. Parallel to her was a man with slight shoulders and hair that must have once been dark as night. Like the woman opposite him, he looked into the camera with a warm smile as he completed the arm-link chain binding the three of them together.

The only person whose smile felt real was the person that filled the gap between them. A young boy--no more than ten or eleven--who’s grin was twice as wide, but only half as poised. His eyes were wide and bright like his mother’s, but in every other regard he was the spitting image of his father.  

“No way,” Cyborg said, grabbing the picture from Starfire. “They can’t be. ‘Cause that would mean--”

“The small human at the forefront is...Beast Boy?” Starfire said at last.

The silence that fell over the room once more had by this point become all too familiar.

Beast Boy felt his stomach drop.

“I thought you said you were born with your powers,” Robin said, bewildered.

“Did I?” Beast Boy said, unsure of where he should be looking. He wished he could just disappear.

More silence. Terrible, awful silence.

“Well that is not important!” Starfire suddenly burst out. Everyone turned to look at her now, shaken out of their stupor. “Regardless of the change in your appearance, your adorableness has stayed much the same,” she exclaimed, flying over to embrace him in a huge bear hug.

Though he knew Starfire meant well, Beast Boy couldn’t help but flinch in her arms--and not just because of his friend’s sheer strength.

“So...do you want us to call you Garfield now, or...?” Cyborg trailed off. There was a hint of teasing in his voice, but another sense of hesitation still lingered.

“Oh absolutely!” Starfire burst out in response. “It is much faster than saying Beast Boy.”

“It’s literally not,” Raven said abruptly.

Following the conversation around the room, Beast Boy glanced over his shoulder in her direction. To his surprise, Raven was now holding the picture frame, studying it intently.

“Then we can shorten it!” Starfire instantly added.

Beast Boy bit his lip, unsure of the consequences of responding.

“My parent’s only really called me Garfield when they were mad at me,” he said, half to himself. “Usually I just went by Gar.”

“Excellent!” Starfire burst out again, her energy only growing exponentially. But it seemed a bit much, even for her. “I will begin preparations for the ceremony right away!”

“Ceremony?”

“Of course! On my planet, changing one’s name is a momentous occasion,” she continued. “The event not only symbolizes a change in who you are--but who you wish to become.”

“But I’m not really changing it,” Beast Boy hazarded. “I mean, it’s always technically been my name.”

“Yes. But reclamation can also be a form of change,” starfire said, pointedly sticking in her finger in the air. “It is about discovering the version of yourself that is closest to your truth.”

There was another silence. And for the first time that night, it wasn’t in response to anything Beast Boy had said or done.

“Well on that note…” Raven said, getting to her feet. “I’m gonna go discover the version of me that’s unconscious in my bed right now.”

“Raven’s right...it’s getting late,” Robin added. “I’m sure Beast Boy’s tired too.”

“Oh,” Starfire said bashfully.  “Of course.”

“But...you are gonna tell us about all of this stuff later, right?” Cyborg said, raising an eyebrow at Beast Boy.

Beast Boy paused. Was he?

“Yeah, sure. Maybe tomorrow.”

The statement felt hollow and heavy at the same time.

As everyone exchanged ‘Goodnights,’ Raven extended the picture frame out to him.

“Here,” she said, keeping an arms length between them.

“Oh. Thanks,” Beast Boy said, though ‘thankful’ wasn’t exactly how he would describe how he felt. Regardless, he took it, hoping she couldn’t feel his reluctance on the other end of the exchange.

For as much as he wanted to let go, he held on, gripping the frame tightly all the way back to his room. Once inside, he flicked on every light in the space and shut the door behind him. He turned the lock the wrong direction on his first try—that was how infrequently he used it. But right now it seemed uncomfortably necessary.

The picture from the airport immediately took up residence at bottom of the sock drawer. As Beast Boy slid the drawer shut, he very briefly considered more permanent solutions. It wouldn’t be hard to burn the image to ashes. He knew right where they kept the matches in the kitchen. But the thought quickly came and went, nothing more than a passing fantasy.

Beast Boy lay down on his bed. He let out a long, exhausting sigh--one he’d been holding in all night. But it didn’t seem to steady the pounding in his chest as he’d hoped it might. Instead, it just made him all the more aware of how difficult the action was. It felt like there was a rubber band caught in the back of his throat holding something back. In the past few hours, breathing had become an intentional action. And he guessed it would remain that way for many more.

Sleep was difficult, if not impossible. The hours passed like minutes, the minutes like hours. Which of course explained why the knock on his door ripped Beast Boy’s next breath straight from his chest. He bolted upright, clutching the pillow he had been tossing around on for the past hour. He glimpsed his reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair before getting up to answer the call.

The sound of the lock turning felt just as deafening as the knocking, though he knew it couldn’t have made more than a small click. He pulled the door open just a crack at first, having the sudden thought that an axe murderer might be waiting on the other side.

Who he found was even more of a shock.

“Raven? What’re you doing here?” he whispered. The sliver of light that crept into the hallway illuminated her face, which was scrunched up in groggy disgust.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“Uh...right now?” Beast Boy said, still gripping the door.

Raven rolled her eyes and pushed past him into the room.

Beast Boy stood frozen in place as a million tiny alarms suddenly went off in his head.

Under normal circumstances, this would have been a direct violation of one of the many unspoken rules he’d come to establish with Raven. Section 3 Article B—entering each other’s rooms. Of course, the law mainly existed to keep Beast Boy out . He had never dreamed that he’d have to worry about Raven coming in .

She stepped inside silently, not beyond a foot or two from the threshold. Just barely enough for Beast Boy to close the door behind her.

He assumed Raven would naturally explain why she was there. But when a long moment of silence was all that followed, he realized that maybe that was too big of an assumption.

“Sooo…..” he droned on, avoiding eye contact. “What’s...up?”

Raven remained completely silent. She looked tired. And maybe angry. Silent, tired, and angry. The three worst things Raven could be--all rolled into one.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” Raven sneered.

“You haven’t really given me any reason to assume it’s not.”

“Yeah, because I definitely just came by in the middle of the night to say hi,” she retorted.

“And I’m a shapeshifter not a mindreader, Raven,” Beast Boy said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door behind him.

Raven mirrored the gesture, hunched in agitation. “Look. It’s late. I’m tired. And I’m not gonna ask you if you wanna ‘ talk about it ’ or anything like that. But if you’re gonna be all angsty can you do it...quietly?”

Beast Boy wasn’t sure exactly what expression came across his face, but Raven’s next remark was enough of a hint.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Uh...not really ,” he protested.

Raven closed her eyes tight, lifting a hand to her temple. “Okay. You’re in denial. That’s fine. The first time I was willing to let it slide, but two nights in a row is pushing it.” She opened her eyes again, looking straight at him. “It’s three in the goddamn morning, and I feel like I’m strapped to a chair watching the Titanic sink on a loop.”

“Sounds like a personal problem to me,” Beast Boy shrugged, unduly proud of himself for getting the word in when he did.

“Yeah, it is. Yours ,” Raven threw back.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Beast Boy said, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “ No one ever knows what you’re talking about.”

Raven raised an eyebrow in doubt. She looked over his shoulder into his room. “Does it have something to do with that picture? Or the snowglobe or something?”

Beast Boy felt a wave of heat rush through him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“How would I know?”

“I guess you wouldn’t,” he said curtly, surprised at the sudden shift of tone in his own voice.

“Whatever,” Raven mumbled, the frustration in her voice replaced with pure exhaustion. “Just figure it out, okay?” She stepped toward the door, taking the liberty of cracking it open to see herself out. Just before she did, she turned one more time to look at him. “Oh. And next time maybe consider the implications of lying to an empath.”  

Beast Boy bit his lip. “Maybe I will,” he said defiantly, realizing two beats too late that the response made no sense.

Raven just stared at him for one second more. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head. And with that she quietly, but firmly, closed the door behind her.

[amphtaminedreams]

We Voted for Murderers

65.2%.

That’s the percentage of people who voted for the Conservative candidate in my constituency, and I feel completely heartbroken. See, things have properly gone to shit. 

If we’re talking numbers?

Local councils estimate the number of people sleeping rough on any given night between 2010 and 2018 has risen from 1,768 to 4,677, a 165% increase. The Trussell Trust, the UK’s largest food bank charity, has reported a 5,146% increase in emergency food parcels being distributed since 2008. An 8% cut in spending per school pupil since 2009. Funding from central government to local government cut by 60% in that same period. £37 billion less spent on working-age social security compared to over a decade ago by 2020. A 90% fall in the number of social homes being built since 2010. A £7,300,000 decrease in funding for women’s shelters between 2011 and 2017. Don’t even get me started on the government’s treatment of the NHS.

I’ve heard stories of individuals applying for PIP due to mental illness being berated about suicide attempts and the likelihood of another as part of a “formal interview” process to see whether they qualify. People collapsing in job centre queues, freezing to death on the streets and the elderly in their homes, suicides whilst on never ending mental healthcare waiting lists. In fact, 17,000 sick and/or disabled individuals have died whilst waiting for PIP payments to come through, and in total, UCL researchers have linked 120,000 deaths to austerity (I’m not going to comment on the irony of my former university that’s notoriously lacklustre when it comes to giving a fuck about the wellbeing of its students publishing this unless...I just did?). 8 years of negligent homicide of the most vulnerable people in our society under the Conservative government and we voted them back in.

So I ask, are people really stupid enough to believe that the politicians responsible for this mess are the ones who are going to fix it just because they make a few characteristically empty promises on TV or does the British public at large really give even less of a fuck about other people than I thought? As in actually not give a fuck about people dying?

I have to tell myself it’s the former. The press’ treatment of Jeremy Corbyn and Labour was scathing. 

Corbyn, a man who has stood by the same principles of fairness, justice, and equality, for the entirety of his career, was criticised by the likes of The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Telegraph, for being indecisive and a threat to this country whilst Boris Johnson, a man who can barely string a sentence together when he is asked to give a straight answer to something and blocked the release of a report covering Russian interference in British politics, was held up as the one people should put their faith in. 

I know, the press are never going to be completely neutral. But shouldn’t they at least be committed to integrity? And the truth? Isn’t that the WHOLE FUCKING POINT of journalism? I’ve been hearing the phrase “post-truth world” thrown around a lot and it’s probably an indication of my privilege that it was only with this election that I properly understood what that meant; it was found by the NGO First Draft just 2 days before the election, damage way past the point of done, that 88% of the Conservative Party’s Facebook ads (compared to 0% of Labour’s ads) contained misleading information. The repercussions were non-existent. After Boris Johnson’s claim that Jeremy Corbyn wanted to raise corporation and income tax to the highest levels in Europe was publicised, only Channel 4′s Factcheck website published the actual statistics (France, Belgium, Portugal and Greece all have much higher corporation tax rates than Labour’s proposal). Similarly, in many constituencies, the Lib Dems were posting fliers where Labour candidates were, in the previous election, the runner ups to the Conservative candidate, claiming that it was instead THEIR party’s candidate who had the highest chance of unseating the latter. Days before the election, the headline of one of Britain’s most highly circulated papers claimed that a Corbyn government would plunge us into a crisis the likes of which “we haven’t seen the Second World War”, which is kind of wild considering that 130,000 preventable deaths have been linked to austerity under the Conservative government compared to 70,000 civilian deaths in said war. Not that either is good, obviously, and I can’t believe I have to point that out. But then, right-wingers did paint Jeremy Corbyn as a monster for passing up watching the Queen’s Christmas Day speech to volunteer at a homeless shelter, so I thought I’d just cover my back, y’know. 

Shouldn’t there be standards that the media is held to? You know, like not making slanderous statements about some politicians that have no actual basis in fact whilst brushing over the statements of others. Whilst the PM’s father Stanley Johnson was on nation television calling the public illiterate, and Jacob Rees-Mogg was blaming the Grenfell victims deaths on their “lack of common sense”, and Michael Gove was stating that people who needed to use food banks had brought it on themselves because they were not “best able to manage their finances”, it was Jeremy Corbyn who was being called an enemy of the people, accused of trying to plunge us into a “Marxist hell”...I mean, if Denmark and Norway and Finland with some of the highest living standards in the world are “Marxist hell”s  then sure, that’s what he’s doing. But that’s a hell I’m sure a lot of people would find much comfier than a freezing cold pavement. Before Labour had even released their (fully-costed!) manifesto, barefaced lies were being published about how much it would cost and how it would plunge us into trillions of pounds worth of debt, as if it hasn’t increased from £1 trillion to £1.8 trillion in the years since David Cameron took office. Meanwhile, when Labour did publish their manifesto and the Financial Times published a letter signed by 163 prominent economists and academics backing their spending plans? Crickets. Nothing sums it up better than the debate around Jeremy Corbyn’s alleged anti-semitism, discussed ad-nauseam whilst Boris Johnson’s actual racism, islamophobia, misogyny and classism, RIGHT OUT OF THE HORSE’S MOUTH, was completely ignored by most news outlets. 

You know what, maybe people earning £85k just DON’T want to pay an extra £3 in tax a week to make sure children get an education. Maybe everybody IS just as selfish as that one twat on Question Time who got all red in the face over the prospect of having to give up an amount less than the cost of a tub of Ben and Jerrys a week. But if that’s true, this isn’t a country I want to live in at all, or a planet I want to live on, really. I hope it’s not. I hope it’s a case of a need for some kind of collective realisation that the Sun ain’t shit. Merseyside did it. The younger generation are catching on. And look at the results there.

Labour probably couldn’t fulfil ALL of their promises. No political party is perfect. I was told again and again how unrealistic those promises were as if that was enough to make me go ”oh...I guess I’ll vote for 4 more years of people dying in the streets instead”. Yes, in an ideal world, the entire manifesto would be made a reality, but it depended on far too many rich people being good and honest. Let’s be real-the elite will always find a way to avoid paying their fare share on the premise that they “earned it”, as if anybody earns billions by sheer hard work alone and past a certain point, not off other people’s backs. As if there aren’t nurses and teachers and firemen and other public sector workers who don’t put in just as much energy and as many hours and emotional labour as CEOs and business owners and investors. But the point is that Labour under Jeremy Corbyn acknowledged this, and their manifesto aimed to give the power back to the average person, from the vulnerable to the supposedly middle class still struggling to make ends meet, and give them the quality of life they deserve. It was built on the simple premise that the people should use their government, not the other way round, and that everybody deserves the basic human rights of shelter, nutrition, safety and dignity, regardless of their fortune in life. However many of Labour’s policies would actually have been fulfilled, it would’ve been a shift in the right direction. 

Now the election’s been and gone and I’m scared. Already, the narrative is being rewritten by the billionaires in control of this country that a manifesto like the one we saw this year will never sit right with this country, when it is what so many desperately need. The people putting this information out there know the truth: that Labour’s membership trebled in size under Corbyn (more people voted for him than for any Labour leader since Tony Blair), that most of the safe labour seats were lost because of Brexit, and that if the manifesto had been represented accurately, there’s a good chance that Boris Johnson would no longer be our Prime Minister. I’m scared a person like Jeremy Corbyn will never front Labour again. 

Because I do not want a tory painted red who’s friends with Jacob Rees-Mogg behind the scenes, I do not want a war criminal who thinks that bombing innocent people is ever acceptable, I do not want a person who doesn’t see people of colour as part of the working class and indulges in the occasional bit of TERF-ism.

Already, the Conservative party are backpedaling on the few promises they made to increase NHS spending, and I am scared. I am scared for myself, in the event that I need urgent mental health care again, and I am scared for those less privileged than me who don’t have a family to support them, who don't have a roof over their head, who weren’t fortunate enough to be born in a country with relative economic and political stability, who cannot physically go out and work to earn a living. I am worried about the bigots that this election has already emboldened, the Katie Hopkins and the Tommy Robinsons of the world, who think the things that blind luck have graced them with they somehow earned, who pride themselves on ignorance and cruelty and selfishness.

So for now, what can we do? 

Join trade unions. Organise. Write to your MPs. Bring attention to those who are vulnerable. Be vocal with your criticism of the establishment. Call out those in politics for an ego-trip hiding behind “personality”. Do your research. Keep an eye on the numbers. The “it doesn’t matter who you vote for, just vote” sentiment is old, because it does. No “as a feminist, I exercise my right to vote for whoever I want”, because as a feminist, you should care about ALL women, not just the white, middle class, able-bodied ones. 

And if anyone has any more suggestions, let me know. Because I am sick and tired of living under a government who doesn’t give a fuck about the people it’s supposed to protect.

Lauren x

[DISCLAIMER: The photo is not mine. Just devastated and trying to find the words to express it.]