#never let them know your next move - Sun Tzu Art of War

[the-dormant-ocean]

MC, jokingly: Do you have a thing for Zayne or something?

Sylus: Yeah.

MC: No need to deny it I ca- wait what?

[nufflesdoodles]

“Never let them know your next move”

- Sun Tzu, Art of War

[remakethestars]

Being Batman’s Daughter Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Listen, Robin. At their core, people are cowardly and self-serving. Trust no one until you know them. And even then, never completely.❞

— Bruce Wayne, “The Lesson Plan”

TRIGGER WARNING: Plant murder. Mentions of drugs/tranqs (stopping dealers), violence/physical harm, broken bones (knee cap), limb dislocation (shoulder), (Jason’s) death, smoke, waterboarding/drowning?

Headcanon masterlist.

You know how every teenager has that paradigm shift because as much as they love the people around them, they’ll never know the inner workings of your psyche? And they realize they’ll never truly be known? And it makes them feel really lonely?

Yeah, you never come to feel like that because you know Bruce digs so far into everyone around him he probably knows you better than you do.

Honestly, he probably reads your diary. At least, he reads the fake one you hide under your mattress. And the second decoy in the A.C. vent above your dresser.

If you’re as paranoid as Bruce, you probably don’t have a diary, and the aforementioned “decoys” are just to mess with him.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was practically your Bible growing up.

You’re torn between giving yourself the tactical advantage of being underestimated & being non-reactive, which — besides giving you the lioness role in the lion–gazelle dynamic — gives you the advantage of having time to think carefully on the repercussions before speaking.

Because, as Sun Tzu said in chapter seven, verse twenty-one, “Ponder and deliberate before you make a move.”

Seeing as Bruce and Damian both have eidetic memories, I’m guessing you do too. 

Which means you totally read the dictionary when you were young and whip our big words nobody’s heard of.

Bruce always assured you it’s okay to be scared. As a matter of fact, like he told Dick (seen in flashbacks in “The Lesson Plan”), he taught you to “Let terror embrace you. The better you know fear, the better you can use it against others.”

And we all know Bruce is the paragon of using fear against people.

Take that, Scarecrow!

(See, I chose that gif because earlier in that move, he displays a fear of bats, & in that scene, he summons them to use as a distraction and walks through them completely unperturbed. No? Okay, I’ll see myself out.)

You started into the vigilante business young, a little bulge under the back of Batman’s cape that made the rest of the Justice League in the meeting think Bruce was host to an alien parasite until your little mask-covered eyes poked up over his shoulder.

The League’s known you since you were young, so they kind of all see you as their niece. That just quadruples the amount of people who are overprotective of you.

Eventually, in your tweens, you think enough’s enough and start out on your own — being underestimated may be an advantage, but it’s getting ridiculous — and you tackle unsolved cases.

You set up various safe houses around the world for your own disposal (using the zeta tubes) and anyone who sees the inside of one in an emergency is always surprised. You don’t really understand why; what serious vigilante doesn’t have secure, state-of-the-art safe locations scattered across the planet?

Sometimes, it gets you into danger, but you always get yourself out of it. If there ever comes a time you can’t, well, you’ve got a direct link to Batman, and if communications fail, you can always yell for your Uncle Clark at the top of your lungs.

If the latter ever comes to fruition, you ask Bruce if he’s disappointed you had to call for back-up or that you called Superman instead of Batman, and he says, “It takes a strong person to admit when they’re weak, [Y/N]; if anything, I’m proud of you. Besides … you’re not the only one who yells for Uncle Clark when they get in over their head.”

Your training entailed hacking and mechanics, so you like to fix computers and sell them on the internet Hugh Jeffreys style. It started out with Macs from the dumpster behind Gotham Academy and turned into a surprising side hustle. Large portions of your profits go into either savings or funding your extracurricular activities. 

You’re using a MacBook that’s running Linux and an iPhone 4 that’s running your own program. 

At some point, your phone falls into the wrong hands, and someone asks why it has such high security. You deadpan and say, “I have three older brothers.” No further explanation required.

One such solo case led you to a ring of drug dealers working in a small town outside of Gotham. You made some tranquillizers and heavy-duty smoke bombs and busted out your shinobi-iri training.

After sliding on a mask covering the bottom half of your face that filtered out smoke, you set all of the bombs off at once in the ventilation system, filling the building and using the infrared in your domino mask to sedate everyone before the cops arrived so no one got hurt (because there would inevitably be a firefight if the cops got involved).

You never go into a situation expecting to go hand-to-hand with someone; you always have a plan to take our your targets quickly an efficiently.

One night, when you’re working on a cold case in Gotham, you stumble across some intel that Poison Ivy’s been stockpiling chemicals and is going to wipe out all human life on Earth.

Luckily for you, Bruce’s paranoia is hereditary; you just happen to carry some white kryptonite in your belt, so you won’t have to go all the way back to the cave to obtain some.

You type out a quick debrief on your wrist computer in case you end up needing to send out an S.O.S., pop on your bottom mask to filter out spores or pheromones she might send in your direction, and bust out your shinobi-iri training again.

Of course, you try the peaceful approach, explaining to Ivy that you agree with her on the tree-hugger front to build rapport (T.B.F., who doesn’t?), but it comes to physical confrontation. You kill every vine that comes your way with a quick punch from your kryptonite ring, toss an expanding polyurethane foam bomb (see Batgirl #38) at her feet, and manage to get an inhibitor collar on her.

Gordon takes her away, and by the next morning, it’s on the news.

“You took down Ivy by yourself?” Bruce asks when you come down for breakfast.

“… Yeah,” you say after a moment, expecting a tongue-lashing.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. She didn’t get a hit in. And before you ask, I had a contingency set up in case things went sideways.”

“… Good job.”

Your dad has the article framed in the batcave, which is the bat-equivalent of having your drawing on the fridge or getting a sticker back on a test.

You’re fighting a grin for the rest of the day.

It bugs you you can’t tell anyone why you’re so happy, so you visit Dick in Blüdhaven while he’s on patrol and give him a play-by-play. You even get a hair-ruffle!

Deathstroke targets you at some point. One of Batman and Nightwing’s worst villains, and he targets you because he knows they love you. You’re the smallest bat at the time, the weakest; he thinks you’ll be the easiest to take.

Boy, was he wrong.

He was trained by the League of Assassins, so you know dropping a smoke bomb’s not going to give you cover (and his mask probably has infrared). His brain processes faster than yours, so tricking him is improbable. He’s probably done enough research on you to know you favor foam bombs and has fast enough reflexes to dodge before they go off.

And he’s jammed your comms so you can’t call for backup. You’re worried he’s got kryptonite on him and will hurt Superman if you call for help.

It’s just you and him.

He has enhanced stamina, so he tries to wear you out. You maintain distance to avoid taking damage and wearing faster.

You always admired Tim for his ability to plan ahead (see, like, the entirety of the Red Robin comics). He doesn’t know how he does it; he just does. He can’t really teach you, so you just watch and learn.

You realize your fight with Slade is just a matter of managing the distance and immobilizing him, so you strike. You duck behind a pillar or grab onto a railing or something and shoot him through the thigh with your grappling gun, reeling him in. He, of course, draws his sword or a knife to cut the line, but you’re already throwing high-density expanding polyurethane bombs.

And, just like that, you’ve single-handedly taken Deathstroke.

It sends a clear message to the rest of the Gotham villains, Blüdhaven’s villains, the League of Assassins — don’t mess with the bat’s little girl. She can hold her own.

Now it’s time for you to come up with another plan to take him down; you doubt the same method will work twice, and you’ve just made a very powerful enemy.

As Wonder Woman’s said, “Do not mistake a desire to avoid violence for an inability to deal with it.” You might go into most situations with a plan to take down your opponent already in motion, but when it comes to an all-out brawl, you’re perfectly capable and don’t pull your punches.

You’re working on an unsolved case in Blüdhaven (Dick’s got enough on his plate) when you get an S.O.S. from the aforementioned along with the feed and recording from his mask. You listen to the mission briefing while you ride back to the cave and then the audio from the Young Justice mission. They got jumped by the League of Shadows in an abandoned factory, and Talia’s trying to coerce Damian into joining the League or whatever.

The usual dropping some smoke bombs and tranqing everyone isn’t going to work on thirty armed League assassins who were trained to fight blind, so you load up on polyurethane foam bombs and call Jason and Cassandra.

The three of you take out the guards outside before splitting up and taking either end of the building (Cass stays with you). You meet in the middle, in the room the team’s being held in.

You highjacked the speakers, so they’re blasting AC/DC’s “Shoot to Thrill” upon Jason’s insistence. You wanted Zayde Wølf or Alice Cooper’s “Hey, Stoopid,” but big brothers will be big brothers.

Jason pops them with rubber bullets from above to slow them down for you while Cass demolishes them and you drop foam bombs, slinging your signature custom shuriken, bonk them over the head with Tim’s staff you picked up along the way, dislocate their arms, or shatter their kneecaps. 

You and Jason get a couple slices from swords that got a little too close, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ve had before. 

When the fighting’s done and the building’s quiet, the team’s, like, “Who the heck are you guys?” 

And Dick’s, like, 😏 “They’re our siblings.” 

Speaking of siblings, you’re older than Damian, and as such, you take upon yourself the honor of teaching him all things pop-culture.

“I have a lot of amazing older siblings. I want to be a good big sister.”

First things first, you give him one of your refurbished e-waste phones and take him to Target to pick out an OtterBox or a LifeProof case or something that’ll keep it safe in the pocket of a vigilante.

Vigilantes are always coming to you when their phone’s broken anyway; you’ve got a stack of spares you’ve repaired.

Then you help him set up a Spotify account (follow me at @remakethestars 😉) and try to help him find his rhythm.

Poor child’s never had Oreos before, so you drag a pack of Double Stuffs out of the cabinet and a glass of milk and show him the best milk-dunking method you know.

You think about handing him a cookie and telling him to waterboard it until the bubbles stop coming up, but cookie-dunking is something every kid does; it’s sacred, and you don’t want him to associate it with violence.

You show him how you and Alfred feed the bats in the batcave.

And you show him Vine compilations and your favorite shows and movies and as many classics as you can, and you put up with him pointing out the inaccuracies and calling them stupid.

Every time he doesn’t get a reference, you write it down so you know what to show him later.

If anything ever happens to you, Damian finds your list and makes it his personal mission to watch/read everything on it. It makes him feel close to you.

You build a relationship with him that’s similar to his and Dick’s, and he comes to you with things he might not be able to come to anyone else with.

Plus, since you live in the manor still and he doesn’t want Bruce to think less of him, it’s you he comes to after a nightmare.

If you know Alfred has pictures of him curled up in your side, you ask him to send them to you. Not for blackmail purposes; just to have.

You’d never use the need of comfort or the sharing of emotions against him because (A) it’s perpetuating toxic masculinity and (B) you don’t want him to think it’s wrong or confirm any of the stupid “strength” things the League of Shadows taught him.

You gave him a stuffed cat that looks like Alfred (the cat, not the butler) with some of your perfume spritzed on it. He verbalized his revulsion when you gave it to him, but on nights he has a bad dream and you’re not home, it brings him comfort.

Titus comes to get you when Damian’s upset. 

Even when he’s not with Damian, he seems to know. Pets are like that.

You’ve learned to trust Titus’s instincts. Damian thinks it’s suspicious when he’s feeling down and you just happen to call.

You never realized it until a long time later, but Ace was acting weird the day Jason came back from the dead.

And he was acting weird the day Jason came back to Gotham too. He ran to the door and began barking. Alfred swept security, but nothing seemed to be off. The whole family was on edge that day.

You were the reason Jason knew he wasn’t completely forgotten; he spotted you through a café window, and you were wearing his jacket.

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

[kingofthenorth49]

Made in China

I don’t know about you, but it sure feels like we are living through the start of World War III.  

Now before you scroll past and think my tin foil hat is on too tight this morning, hear me out. It’s not like this doesn’t make sense or anything, if you connect the dots it would appear that the next global conflict will look much different than the previous two.  

Think about it. China has been posturing for years to become the next world superpower, and if you can see through the medias bullshit you can read the overtures that are being made in the Asia region along with the saber rattling in the Middle East, you can see that it didn’t take long for Biden to unravel almost 50 years of progress towards peace.

War is inevitable and necessary to the state, and if you ever read Sun Tzu “Art of War”, a Chinese war treatise from the 6th dynasty you would understand the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. He also said that the outcome of war is pre-decided and gave solid advice on the best way to conduct campaigns to conquer foreign powers.

Now before you get your panties in a bunch, I’m not accusing China of deliberately inducing a world-wide pandemic through the use of a genetically modified pathogen after spending years devaluating the US dollar using printed money (not like we have room to talk, but we also haven’t been on a buying spree like the Chinese have in say, Canada for example.), but if I were President Xi Jinping that’s what I’d do. The best war is one where you risk no resources.

Again, not saying the Chinese are attempting to destabilize the United States, not at all. Just saying if I were going to take over the world that’s how I’d do it, from a far, using disinformation and creating confusion and chaos in the streets of my enemy. Not like it hasn’t been done before.  

See many of you see people like me as conspiracy theorists, people who are to be dismissed because we believe in things others’ think are foolish, things that seem farfetched and impossible to be going on in a frame of present reference. I just see myself as a guy who likes history and reads a lot of books that were written before Google came along and dumbed down our nations. Anyone who has ever read a book on the rise of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party in 1920’s Germany would understand completely. If you were to pick up a couple other books on how Hilter rose to power on the back of that party, you’d understand also how quickly people can be manipulated, and how the media and ideology can quickly create a firestorm of hate that makes it easy for societies to crumble. Read even further on how the German army used deceptive tactics to invade Austria and Poland so quickly they didn’t have a chance to prepare.  

That’s not a conspiracy theory, that’s history and we all know those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.  

I guess watering down history is a good thing, right? Taking down statues, changing historical accounts in the name of political correctness, and not encouraging people to critically examine all aspects of history to learn from them helps us become a better society.  

Let me give you the Cole’s notes version of how quickly things can go off the rails when the wrong ideology gains traction in a society where people intend to do evil. Again, not saying our current situation is remotely commensurate with our current situation, but it’s a good example of how quickly things can go from good to evil.

Here we go.

1933 - The Nazi Party takes power in Germany. Adolf Hitler becomes chancellor (or Prime Minister) of Germany. Nazis temporarily suspend civil liberties.

1934 - Hitler combines the positions of chancellor and president to become “Fuhrer” or leader of Germany. Jewish newspapers are no longer allowed to be sold in the streets of Germany.

1935 - The Nazis intensify the persecution of people that do not agree with their political philosophy. Jews are deprived of their citizenship and other basic rights.

1936 – Nazi's boycott Jewish owned businesses. The Olympic Games are held in Germany; Signs barring Jews are removed until the event is over. Jews no longer have the right to vote.

1938 - German troops annexed Austria. On Kristallnacht, the “night of broken glass,” Nazis terrorized Jews throughout Germany and Austria and 30,000 Jews are arrested. Jews must carry ID cards (papers!) and Jewish passports are marked with a “J”. Jews no longer had businesses, attend plays, concerts etc. (maybe they were unvaccinated??)  All Jewish children are move to Jewish schools. Jewish businesses are shut down; They must sell businesses and hand over securities and jewels. Jews must hand over drivers licenses and car registrations. Jews must be in certain places at certain times.

1939- Germany takes over Czechoslovakia and invades Poland. World War Two begins as Britain in France declared war on Germany. Hitler orders that Jews must follow curfews; Jews must turn in radios to the police; Jews must wear yellow stars of David.

Now I’ll stop there.  

Those are all non-debatable historical facts, no subjectivity in my interpretation, just the facts m’am. Look how quickly one ideology took hold in a country ripe for change. At the time of the 1930’s German’s were desperate for change as they had just came out of world war 1 and were suffering from paying reparations for their conduct during that conflict and when Hilter came along he lit a fire under the German people by blaming the Jews for the loss of WW1.  

Five years. Five years from the time a tyrant took power until he was able to start killing 6 million people.

Now if you are one of those types that believe “it can’t happen again” look no further to all the other genocides over the past 100 years, up to and including the Uighur crisis currently going on in China where they have over 1 million Uighur Muslims in concentration camps and they are mass sterilizing these people to the point it’s actually consider a genocide, as it’s reducing the Muslim population in the western provinces of China though declining birthrates. If these women don’t submit to forced intra-uterine devices or monthly pregnancy tests, they are put in prisons.  

Put in prision because they needed to take a test, shot, or device and wouldn’t?  

Say it ain’t so Joe, say it ain’t so.

Folks, some people are evil. Rotten to the core. They have no soul and are in the most desperate need of getting laid of any person on the planet. That’s reality. You can choose to stick you head in the sand and pretend the boogeyman doesn’t exist, but in truth the boogey man will always exist because humans are nasty evil creatures capable of the most horrendous conduct, and if you think ignoring them or passing laws to prevent them from doing things are going to stop them, well you are just stupid. Sorry, I can’t soften that up any because I owe it to you to be blunt in these times.

Now if you’ve made it this far I think you would agree that something is amiss these days, there’s too many conspiracy theories of the past few years that are now seeming to be true, yet no one wants to talk about where the end game is. I’m not sure what it is, but I have some theories, most involved China or George Soros, but the data indicates more towards the former versus the latter.

Trudeau loves China, he’s said so on many occasions to the point of gushing over their communist form of government. His father was a Marxist, and his mother loved communists. Literally. **bow chica bow wow**

Hunter Biden and the Big Guy are in bed with the Chinese in a different way that Margret and Fidel. We’ve seen the emails, the testimony, and the allegations. For them, it’s about money. Last week the Big Guy shut down the investigation that Trump started into the Wuhan lab. That’s now created a firestorm that will likely make 9/11 look like a traffic accident. Coincidence? I think not.

We recently had two Chinese scientists with ties to the Chinese People’s Army kicked out of our highest security epidemiology lab here in Canada after CSIS had concerns they were passing information back to the Wuhan lab (a lab so highly classified Canadian scientists have a hard time getting security clearances to access it), and Trudeau drew the ire of senior Canadian military personnel when he bullied them into allowing the Chinese to hold winter war games at CFB Petawawa. Why is Trudeau so moonstruck with China?

Dot, Dot, Dot.

Once again, I hope I’m wrong. I really, really do, but go back and walk that timeline again and ask yourself if you now understand why Netanyahu hit Hamas as hard as he did.

Never again.

Can you blame him Comrades?

Now as you sit here in North America today, especially in Canada, does it not seem eerily similar to what has happened before in history? Keep in mind that Jews were loaded onto boxcars under the premise to take them to safety from the angry German peoples.  

I really do hope my tinfoil hat is too tight and it’s cutting off the circulation to my frontal lobe, I want the Canada back I grew up in, and the America I fell in love with. I just hope this really is just a bad bug that’s part of a cyclical pattern of virology and this isn’t the start of a global war to reorganize the planet power structure and de-populate the globe.

The dots just tell a different story.

Jim Out.

[lovelylogans]

are we ever getting dee’s backstory in the wyliwf verse? or actually are we ever getting more dee logan interactions?

alliance

“all warfare is based on deception. hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” —sun tzu, the art of war

dee usually tries to subscribe to some of the life lessons in the art of war. he has no idea why, today, he has flubbed it this badly.

(or: dee accidentally spills a secret, and those sanders’ might not be as bad as he thought.)

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: deceit, snake mentions, mention of a fight, allusions to an unhappy home life, let me know if i’ve missed anything

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 4,515

notes: thank you, anon! this references this ask i answered a while ago about dee’s backstory; not super necessary to read, since i cover a lot of it in here, but it does give some general background that might be nice going into the story. takes place after the black parade. happy birthday, deceit!

patton’s not usually home when logan gets back from school.

if paton did see logan right after a school day, it was usually because patton went to virgil’s for a mid-afternoon hot cocoa/coffee, or if logan walked from the bus stop to the inn. they don’t meet at home right after school.

today was different, though. because today, logan was bringing home his partner to do a project for the gsa.

logan had been kicking himself for not getting more involved as soon as he’d set foot at chilton. so, in the aftermath of the “I AM NOT DOING ENOUGH TO GET INTO COLLEGE” frantic list-making session of winter break, logan had joined a slew of clubs and activities; the cross-country team, with the intent of joining the track team in the fall, as long as it didn’t interfere with the newspaper, chilton’s book club, chilton’s quiz bowl team, the science club, photographing for the newspaper, when mel needed him to, backstage crew for the spring play, the debate team, and, of course, chilton’s gay/straight alliance.

that hadn’t been around, when patton went to chilton. patton likes to think that means that things are way better now—well, he knows things are a better now, there’s been so much progress since patton was a teenager—but, well. to patton, chilton’s always going to have that memory, to him. of being excised and bullied because he was trans.

but. anyway. logan’s part of the gsa now. logan’s bringing home a designated partner from the gsa, to help make some posters to put up around the school. so patton has some ulterior motives for being home right now. 

because, well, patton knows that logan’s mostly signed up for everything because it looks good on a college admission form, but. patton can’t help but think about logan’s not-super-hidden concern, the night before he’d started chilton—“what could he possibly be scared of? he’s the one staying at sideshire high. he’s always had other friends. he’ll probably make more friends now that i’m not going to be at school taking up all his time.”

and, well. involvement in things he’s interested in. which means other kids who are interested in the things he’s interested in. which means potential friends. 

with roman as the sole exception, logan’s always been slow to warm to people—he’s very particular about who he lets to be close to him. but once he does warm to them, he’s fiercely, intensely loyal, defensive, a good friend. a fantastic friend.

so maybe patton’s hovering a little to make sure that things go well for logan. sue him. but he can be a cool dad, that’ll help, right? he can offer snacks! and supplies for poster-making! and… and more snacks! 

so patton had been a whirlwind of activity, shoving most of the clutter out of sight so that the house looks slightly tidier, stacking outer layers on his coat rack that seems to wheeze under the pressure—patton practically has to tie things to it with his trans pride scarf, just to make sure that things wont fall down—and shoves dirty dishes in the dishwasher, out of sight, out of mind. he’ll wash them later.

he straightens up the bin of markers that he’d dug out of various desk drawers, and ensures that the glitter and glue are all grouped together, and that they’ve got pencils to sketch out a starting idea, because knowing logan, he’ll want to sketch out the idea first. 

he runs through the list of names that he’s heard logan mention as he straightens everything out—maybe it’ll be kai, logan had mentioned him and his interest in video games. or there had been a set of boyfriends the grade above him, corbin and… and sloane, wasn’t it, maybe it’d be one of them! or maybe someone that logan hasn’t mentioned. 

there’s the sound of a key at the door, and patton glances at his phone. right on time. he’d really expect nothing less, from logan, oh goD he should look like he’s being totally natural act natural patton!!!!!

so he quickly pivots and starts rattling around in the cupboards, and starts scooping coffee grounds into the coffee maker as he hears the door open, two thumps of backpacks hitting the ground, a mutter of “you can take your shoes off here” from logan.

“hey, kiddo!” patton calls, and a mumble of “my dad” from logan, and then the sound of two pairs of socked feet approaching.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted some coffee too, so i figured i could ask you and your—“

he pivots, and the word “guest” dies on his tongue.

because, standing in yellow socks in the midst of his kitchen, with his strange, sneakily altered version of the chilton uniform, looking supremely uncomfortable, is dee slange.

the same dee slange that has been logan’s de-facto rival at chilton. the same dee slange that told logan he’d never catch up to the rest of his class. the same dee slange that goaded someone into hitting his son. that dee slange.

this is the worst outcome for “logan could be bringing home a potential friend!”

patton swallows, setting aside the scoop of coffee, and glances at logan.

“we were randomly assigned people to get to know them better, since it’s the start of the new semester,” logan says, a brusque explanation.

“right,” patton says. “okay. um. hi.”

“hi,” dee says, voice tight, tilting up his chin.

“do you want some coffee?” patton says stiffly.

a long pause. “sure.”

“right then,” patton says, and turns to the coffee machine.

dee slange. dee slange! god, it probably is a good thing that he’d decided to hover, because honestly if logan and dee had had to work alone patton probably would have come home to the house in shambles. 

but he has to be polite, patton tells himself. so patton wracks his brain for his (probably outdated) etiquette lessons, and, once he gets the coffee machine going, he turns, leaning back against the counter. 

“it is dee, right?” he checks. “i’d hate to be calling you something that you don’t particularly want to be called. is it short for something?”

“it’s dee,” he says. he doesn’t answer the other question. he’s busy glancing around the kitchen.

right, patton figures. time to move to the next small-talk topic.

“your grandmother’s friends with my mom,” patton tells dee. “evelyn, right? i always liked her.”

honestly, a lot of his mom’s friends had been a wild gamble, if he told them he was trans, and evelyn had probably taken it best out of all of them. that had been enough to earn his affection, even if evelyn’s general kindness hadn’t done that already.

dee’s dad, on the other hand… well, he’d been a flip side of that coin, but so had a lot of people, back then.

but dee smiles, ever so slightly, at the mention of his grandmother, so patton figures he hasn’t made any major social missteps. 

yet.

“yes,” dee says, refocusing from where his eyes had been briefly fixed somewhere beyond patton, back toward the entry hall. “she’s doing well. i’ll tell her you said hello.”

another long pause. patton clears his throat, tapping his fingers on the counter, before he says, “how was school?”

“fine,” logan says, with a slight grimace.

“there was that, um. the thing in latin today, right?” patton says. “the recitation thing? tempora cum causis Latium digesta per annum lapsaque sub terras… i can’t remember any more.” 

frankly, it’s a miracle he can’t. logan’s been reciting the first part of ovid’s fasti for the past week. he was pretty sure “scilicet arma magis quam sidera, Romule, noras, curaque finitimos vincere maior erat” would be running around in his head for a month, since logan had been chanting in his room like he was conducting some arcane ritual.    

logan scowls, a dark look flitting across his face even as he finished patton’s line, “ortaque signa canam. yeah, that was today.”

“and?” patton prompts. 

logan scowls. “he thought my pronunciation was over-rehearsed.”

“over-rehearsed?” patton says. “i mean—it would be, wouldn’t it? it’s not like you walk around and latin just casually tumbles out of your mouth.”

“precisely,” logan says.

“the man is an idiot,” dee says, brusque, turning his focus back again—patton didn’t think he’d done that bad of a job, tidying things up in there.

“i—well, now,” patton says, unsure of exactly how to step but he’s a dad it’s practically an instinct to instill manners, “don’t be mean.”

“no, he’s right,” logan says, looking at dee thoughtfully. “he is an idiot. he forgot to teach us the imperative verb tense and only remembered when all of us got it wrong on the imperative-centric quiz.”

dee rolls his eyes, the yellow one glinting. “i nearly forgot about that. my god, did the man get hired just because he plagiarized some old myths from percy jackson during the job interview?”

“those are greek,” logan says, “unless you’re referring to the later series.”

“my point,” dee says, “you cannot deny that charleston is a simpleton, look at the way he handled the moreno/watts situation.”

patton blinks. “what moreno/watts situation?”

logan also looks confused, but really the only way he can tell is because patton is his dad and knows when he’s covering up an emotion. well. most of the time. some of the time. more than most other people, let’s go with that one.

dee sighs, put-upon, before he says, “janey watts and sarah moreno were both taken to our esteemed headmaster’s office yesterday because mr. medina caught them about to claw each other’s eyes out in the alcove near the hidden rear staircase of the senior’s lounge. when attempting to discover what was wrong, mr. charleston’s first guess on what they were fighting about was that they were fighting over the same boy.”

logan allows his confusion to show. “but janey watts is a lesbian.”

“yes,” dee says, “and now you can see one of the many reasons why charleston is a simpleton.”

patton sighs. “well, charleston’s always been… a product of his time?” he says, and tries to elaborate. “you know, he backed up giving me a month of detention once because i refused to respond to my chosen name and pronouns.”

dee’s eyes darken. “bastard,” he spits out, filled with more venom than patton was expecting.

“hey, now,” patton says, even as startled as he is with… that. it’s not like dee and patton are particularly close, to warrant this level of defensiveness. well, patton guesses he’s in the gsa, so it makes sense that he’d be defensive of trans rights. “i could bust out the swear jar.”

“you’ve never had a swear jar,” logan says.

“i could start,” patton says. 

logan turns to dee. “i didn’t know you were friends with janey watts.”

“oh, i’m not,” dee says, and then, matter-of-fact, “she thinks i’m a slimy jerk with no morals and who would sell out his own grandmother if it meant getting further ahead.”

patton feels a little stab of hurt, the way he usually does whenever he hears someone talk bad about themselves.

“then how did you know what charleston said?” logan says, and hey, good point! but logan’s always been more observant than him.

“oh, please,” dee says. “logan, you’re a journalist, you should know that we all have our own sources.”

“in the headmaster’s office?”

dee shrugs. “to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but theopportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”

“sun tzu,” logan says. “art of war. you could do with the seem humble part.”

“but you’re already so filled with conceit,” dee says, and patton’s about to burst in with a hey now, but logan just shrugs.

“i know myself,” logan says.

“so you can win all battles?” dee says. “i didn’t know you read had an interest in ancient chinese literature.”

“mostly just that one,” logan says. “do you have an interest in ancient chinese literature?”

“mostly just that one,” dee parrots. “shall we get started?”

“may as well,” logan says.

“you kids want coffee while you do that?” patton says. “oh, and would you mind if i did my homework, too?”

“for your business degree,” dee surmises, and really, patton probably shouldn’t be surprised that he knows that, but he’s surprised anyway, darn it. “fine. it’s your house.” 

so patton pours everyone some coffee and sets out cream and sugar, since he doesn’t know how dee takes his coffee, before he gathers up his own homework and settles in, listening absentmindedly as the boys sort through various options that’s been offered to them.

dee, it turns out, milks and sweetens his coffee to a frankly absurd degree—patton wouldn’t be surprised if dee would be met with a few mouthfuls of sugar-sludge at the bottom of his mug—and picks his way through snacks, eating them so swiftly and unnoticeably that patton doesn’t realize it until he goes for a pretzel and realizes the bowl is near-empty.

“i don’t suppose you want to do the ‘how i knew i was gay’ one,” dee says briskly. they’ve sorted through most of the list—this is the last suggested poster theme option—and then they’ll narrow down their yeses.

“certainly not,” logan agrees. “there isn’t particularly much to tell, anyway. boys were always just… pretty.”

“one boy,” patton murmurs slyly, grinning down at his homework even as logan half-heartedly stamps on his foot.

“not much for me, either,” dee says. “girls always had cooties, and i always knew i was a boy, so—“

everyone at the table freezes. and then things start to click.

the altered, strange uniform, as if to say look here, look directly here and nowhere else—hadn’t patton practically lived in too-baggy chilton sweaters, to hide his chest and later his binder from anyone who could have possibly seen it?

dee’s continuous glances toward the entry hall—not just at the clutter, but at patton’s trans pride scarf on display.

dee was short, and patton had been too—patton hadn’t even been 5′3″ before he started t on a more consistent basis, after logan was born.

dee for short, and nothing else—an unusual name, but it wasn’t like he could throw any stones with a name like patton, could he?

dee’s face shuttering in too-great anger, at the news that charleston had given patton detention for sticking up for himself—because he’d had experience with that, maybe?

and then:

patton thinks, oh.

as he stares at dee’s yellow-gloved fingers, curling into fists, he thinks: you’re like me.

the lashing out at other people. the isolating himself. the particular taste in clothes. the new name. the upper-class society. the potential clashing with parents.

oh, oh, oh.

if it weren’t for how perfectly, perfectly still dee was, patton could almost believe that he came out on purpose.

“okay,” patton says, when he realizes it’s probably been a too-long pause. “hey, it’s okay. me too, you know? we won’t say anything if you don’t want us to.”

dee dips his head in a nod, tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“right,” he says hollowly, before he clears his throat and tries for his usual, arrogant tone. “of course.”

“we won’t,” logan agrees, and frowns. “i’m your academic rival, not some asshole that would out you without your consent.”

it’s at that that dee relaxes, fists unclenching. he smooths his hands over the poster.

“right,” he says, and clears his throat. “fine, then.”

patton hesitates, before he says, tentatively, “your grandma was really cool about it, when i came out. back in the day.”

dee’s lip quirk up, and patton knows he’s said the right thing.

“yeah,” dee says. “i mean, i can’t really remember it, it was back when i got adopted—”

“you’re adopted?” patton asks.

dee gives him an almost patronizingly amused look, gesturing to his dark skin, the vitiligo on his cheek. “yes, that’s such a shock, i’m sure, because my parents definitely match my coloring.”

patton flushes. “well, i’ve never met your mom.”

dee mutters something like what a blessing for you, and patton feels a flare of worry that he can’t really expand upon before dee continues, “yes, i’m adopted, from haiti. i was… i don’t know. four, five. i can’t remember it very well. but grandmother’s… yeah. grandmother’s the best.”

it’s the most fond patton’s ever heard him sound, and, from the look on logan’s face, it might be for him, too.

“i might try and get coffee with her soon,” patton says, casual. “and if, you know. if you want advice about, um. this. just let me know. yeah?”

dee’s eyebrow quirks at him, and he gives him a look full of quintessential teenage amusement and, potentially, embarrassment.

patton can relate. he was the same, a lot of the time, whenever people offered advice or help when he first came to sideshire.

well. maybe he was less sassy about it.

“can we focus on the project?” logan says tiredly. 

“what, are you jealous you can’t contribute to the discussion about various nicknames for testosterone?” dee says.

patton grins. “the testoster-zone.”

“the t-party,” dee offers.

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “um—”

“can we please focus on the project?” logan says, more pointedly.

dee rolls his eyes, but turns back to his poster.

patton tries to focus on his homework, but he just can’t help it, and—

“anti-cis-tamines.”

“dad,” logan groans, and patton and dee share an amused glance, and—

well. maybe dee wasn’t the worst potential friend that logan could have brought over.

⁂

this place might as well be the twilight zone.

dee has his bowler hat on, and logan’s tall enough that they’re probably at a decent angle that he can’t tell that dee is looking around everywhere he can.

if only dee had managed to shake him off—but mr. sanders (”please, it’s patton, mr. sanders is my father!”) had insisted that either logan or patton walk dee back to the bus stop and, well, honestly, logan was the lesser of two evils.

not that mr. sanders is evil. he seems removed from that. too removed, if you get dee’s drift. no one could possibly be that deeply nice. there had to be something going on there. a ploy to get people to trust him, or something. the defenseless little puppy defense, or something. playing sweet and kind until it suits him.

even as he’s thinking this, something in his brain refuses to let it click into place. dee shakes it off. he’ll investigate later—whether it’s an opossum defense or a ploy or something—there’s too much to see here.

it’s like a group of tv set designers got together and thought, right, what are all the clichés of a tiny small town, added some overgrown ivy and picturesque worn red brick, and the entire place reeked of domesticity. he means, really, who even has a town center gazebo? dee’s seen flyers advertising for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon. for charity. “costumes and periodwear encouraged.” what kind of periodwear did one wear for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon?

the buildings have those twinkly lights all around it. the streetlights are wrought iron instead of the stark poles that are near the streets of his neighborhood. there is a community garden. there is a punnily named cat-themed store. 

seriously. what planet is this?

they get to the bus stop.

(also—the bus? what was this, the middle ages?)

“right, then,” dee says. “you’re bringing the posters tomorrow?”

logan nods his head in assent, hands stuck in his pockets. apparently, that’s not a clear enough hint, but his research shows that logan doesn’t respond very much to subtleties.

“you can go,” he adds, bluntly.

logan shakes his head. “i’m just going to go to the diner for dinner, anyway, and not being there means that my dad can get sappy with virgil without my bearing witness. and besides, my dad would kill me for leaving you here alone.” 

dee stares at him. “you do realize the likelihood of someone attacking me here is approximately on the same level as greedo being the one who shot first?”

logan blinks. “you’re a star wars fan?”

dee shrugs a shoulder, before he says, “more when i was a kid. i’ve got three snakes named—”

“rey, finn, and poe?” logan says, with a twist of his mouth.

“luke, leia, and han,” he corrects. “i said when i was a kid, sanders.”

“kid is an unclear term,” logan says. “for instance, i could argue that your viewpoint on the superior space western is childish, since the clearly superior space western franchise is—”

dee scoffs before he can finish his sentence. “of course you’re a trekkie.”

“so you admit it,” logan says, and dee rolls his eyes.

“i was just narrowing down the number of popular space westerns, spock.”

“i prefer data,” logan says. 

another pause, before:

“snakes?” logan asks.

“garters, all three,” dee says. he hesitates, before he says, “luke and han are trans.”

“i wondered,” logan says. “since snakes can often eat each other, but if all three snakes were, ah—“

“afab?” dee provides.

“right, yes.” logan says. “may i see?”

“i don’t have them on me,” dee says, before he says, “yeah, all right” and digs out his phone, swiping for the latest photo of his snakes.

it turns out to be the one of grandmother, amused, looking just enough off-camera that it’s clear it isn’t candid, wearing leia as a necklace, luke and han in her upraised hands. logan smiles at the photo. well, smiles as much as he’s capable of smiling. dee thinks that the whole i prefer data thing might be a cover-up for the fact that logan might actually be a robot.

“the checkered one is leia, the one with the yellow stripe is luke, and the one with the brown stripe is han.”

“nice,” logan says. “and that’s your grandmother?”

“yes,” dee confirms, tucking his phone away. 

“do you spend much time with her?” logan says.

“frequently,” dee says, and lies, “she lives closest to chilton, it just makes the most sense.”

well, the first part of that sentence isn’t a lie. it’s just that that isn’t the whole truth.

but partial truths are what he works best with, and he notes that logan nods, seeming to accept it as a whole truth, before his eyes turn elsewhere.

dee follows his gaze. 

the window’s lit, gleaming softly, a wide window that allows a view.

there’s a boy in there, alone. he’s shirtless, and wearing red leggings typical of a dancer. even at the distance they’re at, dee can see his muscles straining as he moves, graceful and limbs elongated as he reaches and spins, slowly, achingly slowly, everything so precise down the slightest twitch of his finger, and logan is staring, eyes gone soft and awed and sweet, and—

“didn’t realize i was boring you that much,” dee comments, even if he is a little relieved that logan’s attention is off the question of his home life and on his pretty dancer. “that’s the boytoy, isn’t it?”

logan looks at him, eyes sharpening. “roman’s my boyfriend.”

“right, right,” dee says, waving it off. he’s distracted, good. “so that’s still a thing, then?”

“yes,” logan says. “that’s still a ‘thing.’”

he doesn’t use airquotes, but it’s a near thing. it’s basically implied in his tone of voice.

“do you like him a lot?” dee asks.

“i love him,” logan says simply—as if it’s a fact, indisputable, absolute. 

dee nods, turning his attention back to the bus stop. it should be coming soon.

“are you going to tell him?” dee says abruptly and oh, now he’s done it, losing control of his mouth just once today isn’t enough, he really needs to make himself look like a fool, doesn’t he?

logan turns his attention more fully back to dee. “no.”

dee scoffs. “right.”

“i won’t,” logan says. “really. roman would understand, he’s—well, clearly he’s gay too, he understands the importance of coming out on your own terms.”

dee glowers at the ground, scuffing his shoe over the cement, before—

“my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six.”

dee pauses, and turns to look at logan.

logan isn’t looking at him. he’s got his hands clasped behind his back, still staring ahead, as if he’s keeping an eye out for the bus.

“my dad worked at the inn—he’s manager, now, but back then he was a housekeeper. he worked his way up. we could only afford to live in the poolhouse because the manager, maria, gave him a major cut on rent. i was bullied about it, when i was a child. my dad doesn’t know that.” a pause, and then, “my grandparents don’t know about the poolhouse, either. they thought we lived in the inn proper and got an apartment much sooner than we actually did. they’re paying for me to go to chilton. it comes with the condition of going to their house for weekly dinners.”

dee stares at him. “why would you tell me that?”

logan shrugs, and turns just his head to look at dee.

“i know you’re trans, you know where i lived and that i can’t afford schooling,” logan says simply. “if either of us feel tempted to let it slip…”

“then we know the other one has something in hand,” dee finishes slowly, not admiringly. “mutually assured destruction.”

it’s a sound strategy, really. logan takes the assumption that dee won’t listen to promises, and uses a shortcut. it’s a dangerous move, a gamble. not one he’d have expected, from logan. this day’s just full of surprises.

“precisely,” logan says. “for whatever reason, i don’t think you hold very strongly to the sense of the honor of giving someone your word.”

that last part is said in the closest tone to sarcastic that he thinks he’s ever heard logan use. 

“you’re right, i don’t,” dee says, and swallows. “homeless?”

“i didn’t really put the pieces together until i was older,” logan says. “it still doesn’t seem like it, to me. we were happy.”

dee wonders what that’s like.

“well,” logan says, peeking down the way. “i think i hear the bus coming. i’ll bring the posters tomorrow.”

“right,” dee says. “so. are you going to suggest we dissolve the academic rivalry, then?”

logan hums, and tilts his head. “you know, you’ve been my only real competition since i showed up at chilton.”

dee does not preen.

“we’re the only ones who’ve ever challenged each other. without this, we’ll get lazy.”

“i’ll achieve nothing, i’ll become my mother,” dee quips, and logan smiles, just a little.

“right,” logan says. “so.”

dee pauses, before he says, “allies?”

logan smiles. “allies.”

as the bus rolls up, logan offers his hand, and dee shakes it, once. logan knows full well that he doesn’t hold to the honor of giving someone their word, but it still feels like they’re making a deal, anyway.

so dee clambers onto the bus, and settles in a window seat.

and if he smiles and turns details over his head the whole drive back, well. it’s not like anyone will know.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

TF2 gift for @sxpaiscia​

Written rapidly, in chat, after a long period of lost creativity; may not be great. Demo/Solly x 2     |  AO3 Rating: Explicit

Title: Pur-pulled Together

Darkness swirls through the room, faint light illuminates for but a second as lightning flashes outside.

Everything is hazy, indistinct and tinged with the dizzy haze settling over his barely-conscious mind. The hard concrete beneath his knees bites cruelly through the thick fabric of his breeches.

His helmet slides forward incrimentally as Solly shifts, trying to make out the location. His hands throbbed slightly, discomfort radiating from his wrists, bound together as they were.

Wriggling against the haphazard bonds, Solly snapped back to awareness; someone had taken the time to drag him into this secluded location, bind his hands behind him, and bind his arms to his sides. Yet... they had not thought to gag him?

Aha! A strategical error!

As he sucked in a deep breath to sound the alarm, the burgeoning cry choked quietly in his throat at the realisation he was not alone. Another body rocked into his, struggling to free their hands.

It was the sudden loud, heavily-accented cursing exploding between them that helped the mercenary to poinpoint his fellow captive.

"Demo?" Jane asked, dropping his voice lower to whisper, "...Tavish?"

Lightning captured the sudden jerk of Demo's head, face swinging to find the speaker. It was then Solly saw that Tavish's eyepatch had slipped across his face to the other side; effectively blinding the man. No wonder he reacted so strongly!

"Ach, yes it's me laddie... seems we're in a right pickle here." HE wriggled unfairly broad shoulders as if to make a point of how ver ymuch doomed the pair of them were.

"Now, now Private there's no room for talk like that! We must merely out-think the enemy, use a pincer maneuvre, strategically advance to the rear when possible!"

Tavish couldn't contain the small chuckle that escaped. "Of course you'd be able to make escaping sound like a battle plan, Jane me lad..."

They lapsed into silence, the real question finally making its way into their minds.

"So... I'm assuming that this here isn't the prelude to some degree of kinky shennaigans you were too timid to bring up to me at home base, right?" Tavish asked, the beautiful clever bastard that he was. Jane felt he was never going to live down the last time he'd unorthodoxically brought up a minor turn-on with Tavish in an unusual manner... but, in Jane's defence... he was a very hands-on man.

"That's a Negatory, Private! We are in hostile territory..."

"Oh, how'd ye know that, laddie? There's no light down here." Demo retorts.

"Because there's a big BLU symbol on the wall, I saw it last time the lightning flashed."

"...ah, alright then."

For a few seconds the room filled with the sound of two men thinking hard about how to free themselves from an exceptionally bizarre situation. The occasional harsh breaths and rustling clothing of someone testing their bonds.

"I can't seem to remember how we got here..." Tavish says, grunting with the effort of trynig to slip a wrist free. "One minute I was sticky jumping and the next, crack... thought I was for respawn... but now I'm here."

"Well, that's-..." and Solly stopped, because his own memoris were similar. One minute he was cackling maniacally, plummeting down towards the horrified BLU Scout, and the next... pain, sound, darkness...

"Mmm, I'm guessing ye can't recall either, hey?" Demo asks, wriggling over in Jane's general direction so their shoulders touched. Like a little island of safety amidst the sea of darkness they were lost in.

"...for reasons of national security I can neither confirm or deny these allegations..." Solly responds, and is definitely Not Pouting because REal Men Don't Pout. He liked the enemy you could see... because you can fight it. Being taken out by a sneak attack, utterly dishonourable tactic!

Tavish's lips brush his cheek and plant a kiss on the side of his nose. "There, there, love... I cannae see you, but it's the best I can do. Looks like we just need to stay calm and wait for answers, aye?"

"Aye... I mean, Affirmative, Private." the slightly-mollified Soldier responds. He settles a little closer to Demo, body heat bouncing between the two in this cold, quiet place.

"I'm guessing that you're a wee bit confused about this whole mess?" Came a far-too-familiar tone, so very like Tavish's and yet... not. "That's my fault for not wrangling my military man a little better, hope ye can find a way to forgive that little oversight."

"The deployment of my military might was too powerful for these foes, Lieutenant Demo." A contemptuous tone sneered, from somewhere nearby.

The lights flickering on near blinded Solly, too bright too soon. A growl builds in his throat at the sight of their captors... BLUs.

"Jane...?" Tavish whispers, and Solly turns to find the man just as much of a mess as he himself felt.

"BLUs, the Demo and Soldier. Looks like we're in a POW camp..."

"Och, nay... ye're in the BLU basement, don't be so dramatic!" BLU Demo chuckles, waving a hand  as he came forwards to take stock of them. Noticing Tavish's issue, the enemy deftly moved the eyepatch to the right location and grinned. "How do I look, laddie?"

Blinking his eye rapidly, Tavish grinned. "Like I haven't gotten around to killing you yet, but don't worry yourself... I'll make time."

"Oh, I like him..." BLU Soldier informs BLU Demo in a loud whisper. The latter pats him on the shoulder, as the pair smile to one another.

"What sick game are you playing here, you-... you-... you COMMUNIST HIPPIES?!" Jane snarls, moving painfully on his knees so his body was between the BLUs and Tavish. Let them take him first... give Demo a chance to escape.

With a thunk, something hit the floor and slid across to the pair. "Now, I think there's been a misunderstanding somewhere along the way... probably because my laddie here got the drop on you're boyo there. Damn fine strike with the shovel... mid-air too! Couldn't be prouder."

The smart retort died in Solly's throat as his opposite on the BLU team blushed, helmet tipping down as if to hide it; before the impulsive mercenary pressed a hasty kiss to the BLU Demo's cheek. Things... were sliding into place.

Solly was a passionate man, a caring man, a slightly unhinged man if you believed Medic's reports... but not ever really awarded the title of Clever man. Tavish knew this was wrong... Jane was smart about practical things; and with the exception of Sun Tzu;s Art of War, Jane rarely cared for things of a philosophical nature.

But it was clear that the puzzle pieces had clicked into place right now, and he was seeing the majority of the picture.

"You two... are like us." Jane said flatly, trying to work out how that factored into their current situation. "You worked together to ambush us... and get us here, trap us at BLU. But...why?"

BLU Demo rolls his eyes, mouth opening... before BLU Soldier cuts in sharply. "It was a strategic engagement to procure valuable assets from the enemy... for recreational and experimental use."

Jane frowned. Tavish... has a lightbulb moment, and began to laugh.

"Oh aye, so kidnapping us from battle and binding us up down here was easier than maybe asking if we'd be open to a little inter-team 'cooperation', hmmm?"

"Well, boyo, if we'd said 'Oh hey would you like to perhaps go fuck yourself and your boyfriend in the kinkiest way possible', do you think we could have gotten past 'go fuck yourself' without you sending us through respawn?" BLU Demo grinned.

Tavish nodded, considering. "Aye, fair point there. Now... is there any chance of you taking these here bindings away? I can barely feel my fingers, and I think I'd like a word with my laddie Jane first... not a decision I can make solo, if you ken."

He was somewhat shocked by how fast they had been released after that. There was a moment where both parties tensed, as if expecting someone to throw a punch... but nothing came.

Quietly, Tavish whispered, "Jane... I'm all for this odd little game, but do you-...?"

"YES." Jane added before he could even finish the question.The man's belt had hit the floor already, pants threatening to go down with it...

Tavish hid his face in a hand. He loved to hate Jane sometimes. All passion and little forethought...

BLU Demo motioned to the health pack on the floor, and Tavish snatched it up quickly. Before it could dissolve in his hands, he slapped it against Solly's nearest shoulder; healing him instantly. A smaller healthpack bounced against his own forehead before the bright healing power coursed through his own battered body.

"Told ye they'd get soppy and try tae save the other..." BLU Demo muttered to BLU Soldier, who slid some cash into a waiting palm. "Ahem, if you're all right as rain... perhaps we can take ye up to our room? Don't worry about the others, they're celebratin' victory in town... the big fella wanted to try the mexican restaurant there."

With a meaningful glance to Jane, a pointed grin at the half-hard erection tenting what remained of the man's pants, and a shrug... Tavish smiled at their 'captors'. "Lead the way... if you dare."

After tramping through the BLU base with a vague sense of deja vu, for the building was a reverse image of their own, the REDs were unceremoniously ushered through a doorway at the end of an oddly-silent corridor.

Solly stumbled slightly, eyes trying to catch another look at the interwoven class symbols on the door; he'd... been rather impressed, always wanted to try something like that for Tavish one day. Damn BLUs stealing his secret intelligence telepathically or something...

Tavish felt strong, familiar arms wrap about his torso from behind; pressing him against a chest similar to his own. Clever, calloused fingers teasing at any exposed flesh through the ragged attire, dancing at his throat as they trailed higher.

Hot breath gusts over his throat, so different to the way Jane felt against him... and yet, Tavish felt his skin tingling. HEat rising to dance along every nerve in response to this new situation... and pressed against his own firm buttocks, an answering surge of lust.

He ground back against it, gasping as the BLU nipped his throat in response, and they both laughed in an eerily similar voice. How strange to have someone new to your body... show such intimate knowledge, knowing where you liked to be touched to stir the flames of your own passion.

"I'm glad you seem to like this arrangement..." the BLU murmured, tone low and soothing as he pressed a trail of kisses up the dark column of Tavish's throat. He pauses, and they both glance towards their Soldiers, eyes drinking in the scene before them.

BLU slammed RED against the wall, rough and ready, helmets clanging as they crashed their mouths together in something that appeared like passionate warfare. Muscular hands that could deal death and pleasure so easily, fought to divest the other man of his attire first.

Clothing hit the floor rapidly, weaponry that perhaps should not bounce... did so, in their haste. They kissed like it was a battle, their hips rocked against one another in-... no, it can't be! Tavish stifled a laugh as he realised they were rutting against one another in marching step time. Oh, Jane... predictable, adorable, forever deliciously ridiculous. And... he was all Tavish's.

Except for in this moment, that is.

"Where did ye go, laddie? Am I not enough for ye..." teases his BLU opposite, hands unbuckling his belt and allowing it to fall away. Tavish turned to face the other man, slding his own hands up under the blue shirt with the same delicate finesse he used to craft his bombs.

Fingertips traced over each defined muscle, felt the stiff coarse hair of the man's chest as he helped the BLU to peel the shirt off. Just as the BLU undressed him in return.

Tavish took initiative, pressing his lips against the other man's first and bringing a hand up to cup the BLU at his nape. Mouth moving to press hot little kisses across the other man's firm jawline, feeling stubble graze at his sensitive lips in a way that would sting tomorrow. Yet he could not bring himself to care.

BLU Demo's hands found his waist, his hips, slipping down the seat of his pants to clench at taut buttocks below  and encourage the rocking motion they both enjoyed. Little sparks flaring before their good eyes when they aligned correctly.

Desperate for more, spurred on by their own lust-ridden Need to be closer, both Demos wrestled with one another's pants, forcing them down whilst locked at the mouth. Tounges dancing against one another, tantalising and promising more...

The garments hit the floor in a pile, and were forgotten. Tavish pressed his living mirror against the wall, adjusting his stance to allow the BLU to raise his thighs and clench them about the RED's own. The added support of the wall made the whole endeavour well-worth the earlier struggle.

His member throbbed, a dark column that curved upright against his abdomen. The need seemed to radiate between the near-identical men, shafts slicking together inexpertly... but easily enough, from the precum that continued to pearl between them.

Periodically, they snatched glances at their own partners, who were as loud as the Demos were silent. Both RED and BLU Soldier seemed determined to grind the other to orgasm first... jaws clenched, bodies shuddering from the onslaught of sensation, hips pistoning so firmly, so doggedly...

Tavish felt his member twitch at the sight, remembering how that stolid pumping determination felt when they were alone. Whether Soldier rode triumphant upon his lover's shaft, or slid deep within Demo until the man screamed his release at the  unrelenting march of pleasure... he was always thusly determined.

With a strange sense of desperate purpose that stole upon both men like an assassin in the darkness, the Demomen crashed their mouths together in fervour. Hips bucking wildly, cocks throbbing and grinding against one another as best they could; sweat slicked skin making wet little noises as they rutted relentlessly.

Tavish was panting, sweat was running into his eyes, but he was so turned on it was almost hard to think... a combination of the BLU Demo wrapped about him, the lusty sight Jane and the other created, and the sense of danger this whole situation presented. A sense of taboo... interteam fraternisation and all.

His skin tingled, anywhere his counterpart touched felt like trails of fire writhing beneath it; the slapping of their skin, the hitched breaths and moans, the shuddering exhalations by his ear as the other bit his lip to hold off. They both wanted to stay here, on the brink, as long as possible...

"I-..." he gasped, the heat pooling in his abdomen an inferno threatening to break its bonds.

"...aye!" BLU Demo managed in response, legs clinging to him all the tighter for it, hips meeting every thrust in a frantic race to the finish.

His legs were trembling, climax imminent, when BLU Demo came; tremors taking ahold of that firm, sculpted form as thighs clenched violently about Tavish. Stark spurts of hot, violently white cum splattered on their chests, smearing messily as they continued.

The sight of the other man's release broke the last fraction of control in Demo's body, and his own orgasm surged through him like a lightning strike. Tavish curled about his counterpart, teeth sharp where they bit into muscular flesh as he came; hips shuddering into convulsive thrusts as his release slicked their joined flesh.

BLU Demo ground back against him until the climax faded, until they were both a shuddering mess that needed the wall to hold them up. Tavish could not help but laugh airily, delighted and (for the moment) utterly spent.

The BLU released him to place his own feet on the ground, and grinning cheekily. "That was as grand as any explosion... good job, boyo."

"Same to ye, matey." Tavish shot right back, trying to catch his breath. A new partner was always an exhilarating, breathtaking experience, even if things went wrong. Still, this had been brilliant.

Feeling surer of himself by the second, Tavish stumbled over to drop to the bed, and the other man joined him a moment later. Their eyes, for between them they had one functional set, riveted on the sight of their lovers...

Both Soldiers were flushed to the tips of their ears, slightly shocked expression on their stoild faces; they each fisted the other's cock, pumping slowly now, for their members were momentarily spent.

In a moment of clarity, Tavish realised that the pair must have been watching the Demos climax with such intensity, they had yet to even realise they had also come. Ach, but what could you do with such big, beautiful, sensitive men...

He goes to nudge the BLU Demo, and meets the other's nudge halfway; he'd noticed too. Still,if the valiant stirring in his loins was any indication... the sight was just the thing to rekindle his spent passion.

"A fine lad you got there, boyo... wouldn't trade him for mine, but I was wonderin' if ye'd be willing to share him. Just for tonight, that is... see if I can show him that BLU does it better. What do ye think of that?"

Tavish couldn't hold back the laugh. "Aye, Jane's a fine lad and I love him, even when he does get strange ideas... but if he and your boyo are happy for it, I see no harm in showing your lad how real men please one another. The RED way." he teased right back.

Noticing the conversation, Jane and the BLU Soldier had decided to make their way to the bed as well; listening in with interest in nothing more than their helmets, the mixed essence of their own release coating their abdomens, hands and reinvigorating cocks. 

Jane watched Tavish, head tilted as if considering, before flashing a wide, smug grin. He was a man who loved a challenge, and Tavish could see the thirst in Jane’s eyes to prove to the BLU Demo once and for all... that RED was superior in all things. The BLU Soldier seemed to think the same, because he moved over to stand before Tavish, eyes scrutinising the mercenary from beneath the helmet.

“Looks like this maggot needs to learn that BLUs do everything better.” growls the oddly-familiar tone, as the muscular man climbs onto the bed. The BLU straddles Tavish’s lap, his reawakening cock slapping lewdly against the muscles of the demolition expert’s abdomen. 

There’s a strangely disconnected moment there, hanging in the air; the mannerisms, the body, the voice are all so painfully similar... and yet, they both know the other is not their lover. Just a similar version, so this is a body they have not touched, not explored or pleasured in any way... 

In short, a challenge.

The pungent stench of sweat and sex filled the room; almost dizzyingly so. Tavish’s hands reached out to press against the familiar flesh of the stranger before him, tracing muscles along the man’s arms, her chest, his abdomen. Tugging playfully at the happy trail in the way Jane always enjoyed... Like his hands had magnetised, Tavish found he could not pull them away, and with every little familiar movement, every quiet breathy response to his touch, certainty grew. This soldier was not Jane, but there was no doubt that the BLU was eager to experience this new mating with an equally familiar-stranger; that Tavish could please him, and be pleased in return.

He glanced into those piercing blue eyes, peering at him from under the blue-tinted helmet, and saw nothing but encouragement... and a hint of challenge. Tavish grinned, pulling the military mercenary closer so their mouths might finally meet; his tenacity and playful licks against the bulkier man’s bottom lip gaining Demo access into the hot cavern of BLU Soldier’s mouth.

Delving deeper with his questing tongue, he felt the other surge forwards, their bodies pressing close in a mess of cooling sweat and ejaculate. In the near future they would throw themselves into a shower cubicle to be rid of it, but for this moment it was only an afterthought. A dirty little thrill, one might say.

“Good lad...” Tavish murmurs, pulling back to glance over his shoulder at the other two; heart thundering a little faster when he sees the flushed, overstimulated expression of his Jane. BLU Demo had moved beyond foreplay now, the sneaky bastard had contrived to find some lubricant around here somewhere... from the soft hissing groan Jane made, that Tavish knew so intimately, it was clear he was at least two fingers deep.

“C’mon lad, they’re gettin’ ahead of us now, whatsay we show ‘em how it’s really done?” Tavish grins, patting BLU Soldier on the thigh to indicate they needed to rise. Moving around the bed, the RED winked at his BLU partner before patting the empty space. “Hop up here laddie, whatever position ye like best...”

In the periphery, BLU Demo was watching, along with Jane. Curious, but not willing to stop what they were doing at this time to intervene... still, it would be a tad hard to proceed without-... ah. BLU Soldier had pulled a small well-used tube from the internal pocket of his helmet; well, that’s definitely something he might need to mention to Jane for future notice.

BLU Soldier spread his thighs, pillowing his head on crossed arms as Tavish drizzled too-cool liquid into a palm; allowing bodyheat to warm the chill from it, before daring to use it. With a free hand, he traced little patterns down the length of the Soldier’s spine, enjoying the way this not-Jane seemed to enjoy it just as much as Tavish’s own partner. 

When it became obvious the other man’s attention was on the opposites, and not in fact paying all that much attention to the careful slicking of his entrance; it earned him a smack to one of those unfairly mucular cheeks, startling a yelp from the military mercenary. Tavish couldn’t help the grin that erupted, seems like both the Soldiers had more than just the physical similarities in common... for good measure, he spanked the opposite cheek with enough force to leave it glowing rosily in the dim light.

Tavish laved lubricant-slick fingers around the man’s hole, his free hand running over the muscular planes of BLU Soldier’s body, enjoying how different muscle groups shrank and danced under his touch. Finally, with a pointed glare from the BLU, Demo decided he had best move along or they might lose this particular challenge...

A finger tentatively breaching the Soldier, sliding in and out in a gentle rhythm amidst grumbles that ‘he was an army man, dammnit, a fist wouldn’t break him!’; waiting for that subtle tensing of muscles to ease. It may be a familiar routine, but Tavish wasn’t BLU Demo, and he had technically killed BLU Soldier a few dozen times in the last week alone... no surprise it took more than a few hot kisses to relax the enemy. Still, he added little twists, turns and brushes against the man’s prostate to provide some small reward for his patience in this.

By the time they had reached the third finger, a familiar sigh echoed across the room so pointedly that Tavish paused his ministrations. Jane was sinking, exquisitely, onto the BLU Demo’s cock with such a look of exhilaration and pleasure that Tavish’s cock throbbed headily from the scene. He could only assume the BLU Soldier felt the same, given how he clenched about the intruding fingers...

A shudder ran down the RED’s spine at this sensation, the hot sucking heat rushed straight to his member; leaving it bobbing heavy, aching, between his thighs. Somewhat cruelly, Tavish brushed the knuckles of his free hand down the length of BLU Soldier’s desperate, weeping cock; delighted at how it quivered and pulsed his lust at the merest hint that the need for release might be met.

“Are ye ready, boyo?” he breathes, bending over the other to whisper right into the helmeted man’s ear; heavy shaft grinding slickly between the muscular globes of BLU Soldier’s backside. “Feels like you are...”

“A-Affirmative, sir...” the man chokes, grinding back into the sensation with abandon; fingers fisting the bedclothes to stop himself begging.

Tavish couldn’t help but love a man like this, and pressed a soothing trail of kiss from nape to base of spine. Slicking his cock quickly, efficiently, and guiding it on a few glancing thrusts between those taut cheeks in a teasing manner; before lining the head of his saft with BLU Soldier’s entrance. 

Carefully, he pressed inward. They both exhaled loudly from the sensation of that hot, sucking hole clamping down around the head of Tavish’s cock; breathing heavily as the RED’s hands clamped tightly to the BLU’s muscular hips. Tavish inched deeper with small rocking motions that drew quiet hisses, curses and moans from the other; noting the small changes between this man and Jane.

BLU Soldier began to press back in encouragement, drawing deeper and faster; Tavish was only too pleased to comply. The pace grew wild, sending thrills of lightning up his spine as the sound of flesh slapping against sweaty flesh filled the room. Tavish pumped at the BLU’s cock, moaning at the way it made the Soldier’s insides clench at him desperately. 

His hands roamed further, running over the muscular back as Tavish murmured small compliments, instructions and unintelligible sounds of pleasure under his breath. Periodically his eyes fell on the lust-fuelled bodies moving together in oddly perfect accord across the bed, and it did nothng more than spur him on to delve deeper, go faster, find the angle that made his partner scream...

Every thrust forwards met the powerful grind of BLU Soldier’s hips, both shuddering from the inexplicable sensation; Tavish mindful even in this state, to aim for the man’s secret pleasure spot. Let the BLU know what it was like to go boneless, as Jane often did... or did for Tavish, on the odd occasion... after a good bout of lovemaking.

Movement caught his eye. BLU Demo had rolled them both over, so he was now atop Jane and pouding away at this more fortuitous angle; Jane’s fingers clenched the bedsheets tightly, mouth open in a soundless exhalation of wordless delight. 

There was a moment... just a fraction of a second really, when his eyes met the BLU Demo’s... and a single thought echoed between the pair. Their bodies slowing in their thrust as the men receiving glanced back in mild confusion, awaiting explanation.

“Shift along laddie, seems you and my Jane there could perhaps enjoy this a mite bit more if we all play our part...” Tavish said conspiratorially, and they moved a few centimetres to the right, while their opposites moved to the left; aligning the pair perfectly.

BLU Soldier, impaled upon Tavish’s throbbing cock, now found himself repositioned over Jane; head aligned with the RED’s desperate cock, and vice versa. Jane wasted no time in darting out his clever tongue to tease at the weeping slit, precum dribbling  onto his face like rain; and the BLU Soldier licked a tantalising stripe down Jane’s cock before sucking at the head.

The ripples of these new pleasure diversions echoed through all four men, and both Demos began to thrust again. BLU Demo flashed a grin, and Tavish could not help but return it; the cheeky bastard!

Pleasure lit up his spine like christmas lights, every movement seemed to push him closer to the edge; but he refused to climax until this BLU Soldier fell into his own release. His sack slapped lewdly against the muscular buttocks in a driving staccato pace that you could almost dance to; feeling the other tensing almost as tightly as his own balls were. 

“C’mon lad... that’s the way, come for me now. Come...” he encouraged as the the man’s thighs began to tremble, as BLU Soldier’s insides clenched erratically around Tavish’s shaft, and Jane swallowed deeply against the rush of come flooding his throat in frantic spurts.

BLU Soldier let out an unintelligible gurgle of release around Jane’s cock, before the other Soldier was climaxing too; filling the BLU’s mouth to capacity. The sights, the sounds, the sensation of trying to thrust through such erratic clutching at his shaft when he was so, so cery close...

Without thinking, Tavish jerked forwards and in one fluid motion, grabbed his opposite number by the nape, crashed their mouths together in a clumsy clash of teeth and tongue... and screamed his release into that waiting mouth. His body shuddered in convulsions of pleasure as his cock throbbed deeply within BLU Soldier, hips thrusting erratically as a golden haze seemed to descend.

When clarity next returned, Tavish dropped momentarily boneless against BLU Soldier’s shaking spine; breathing deeply before he had the strength to withdraw and help the other to sprawl on the bed beside him. Jane and the BLU Demo following suit. 

Tavish reached out to tangle his fingers with Jane’s. BLU Demo and Soldier mirrored them.

“That was a fine spot of lovemaking we did just then, boyo.”

“Aye.”

“Affirmative.”

“Negatory.”

There was a worried pause, as the other three assumed something had gone wrong... but their eyes fell upon the tired but still somehow oddly smug grin Jane gave. “The exercise was performed with exemplary tactical precision, but it is important that we run these covert missions with different members of the platoon regularly.”

Tavish squints at his lover. “Jane are you saying you want to do this again?”

“Affirmative.”

“...Aye, I could live with that.”

From the grins they received from BLU Demo and Soldier... it might just be on the cards.

“Just... no more kidnapping, aye?”

BLU Soldier grumbled, but BLU Demo gave him a poke. “Aye lad, we agree. Now can ye shut up, I think I just came my brains out, and I need a minute...”

“Ach, do you hear that, Jane? These BLUs have no stamina!” Tavish goads.

He is swiftly struck with a pillow.

------

The End

[alphabees-writes]

Glee - S1 E4 (Preggers)

And from this moment onwards, Kurt Hummel proceeded to steal every single damn scene he was in. I’m actually unironically excited for this one. I didn’t think that could still happen! Here goes!

I will always love this Single Ladies scene. I will always love season 1′s Tina/Kurt friendship. Also, Brittany’s here, inexplicably. Did he pay her for this? In Pixie sticks, perhaps? Or Monopoly money?

“Kurt’s Superstar Playlist” is the most adorable name his playlist could possibly have. All we get to see on it are 4 Beyonce songs, and 1 Gwen Stefani - but it’s a cute little insight.

God sometimes I forget how cute Jenna Ushkowitz is and then this scene really slaps me round the face with it huh!!!

WHY are you filming this, Kurt? What are you using this for? I’d love to know. I’d say it’s just to check out his own dancing technique but it’s in black and white… Where are you posting this!!!

I want that swingy-suspended chair thing he has in his room sooooo bad

Ok now the fact that this is being filmed is giving me fic ideas…

BURT HUMMEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BURT F U C K I N G HUMMEL BABIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

God the look of fear on all three of their faces when they see Burt??? Don’t you worry kids he’ll come around real soon…

Burt’s approving nod when he yanks on Kurt’s unitard… God I love this man.

The LOOK on Kurt’s FACE when Brittany says he’s on the football team… I can hear his inner monologue like “bitch we may be in the basement but I will make a window to throw you out of”

Kurt just wants to relate to his old man so bad :( Baby boy he’s already so damn proud of you!!! Also that LAUGH.

He really just slapped Tina’s ass! And she completely rolls with it, the absolute champion. Also, the subtitles Netflix provided me with were (smacks bottom) and I just love that.

Oh god it immediately cuts to the WORST scene. Terri learning to give birth. William Schuester trying to help. Just let me perish, RIB?

Shout out to Kendra’s actress for somehow managing to make her character even more despicable than Terri!

Actually the shit she says to Will here is almost valid… All three of them are fucking awful huh!

Seriously why are Kendra and Terri the best actresses on this whole show? It’s the only reason I care about this fake pregnancy arc anymore…

The teacher’s lounge is always either an arid, desolate wasteland, or the only watering hole within 100 miles where all the thirsty ass teachers congregate. Take your pick.

Why does Will pretend to hesitate before going to sit with Ken and Emma? They’re the only people we ever see you talk to dude!!!

Ken with the psychoanalysis, wow. Just hit her right there buddy!

THAT’S HOW SUE C’s IT!!!

Rachel really just EXPECTS every solo… I almost forgot how bad she was when she started. “Maria is MY part!” Not anymore!! Kudos to Lea Michele for managing to make Rachel really sound like she thinks she’s the victim when she really isn’t.

Tina’s face… She was seriously happy. Season 1 Rachel SUCKS for even trying to take this from her. She IS talented. She IS ready!

Everybody else knows it’s a fat load of BS… Kurt lowers his sunglasses to look at her like she’s a bug beneath his shoe. Also, Kurt, why sunglasses? You don’t start getting hangovers ‘til next episode, sweetie!!

“You’re trying to punish me” I think being a total martyr might be one of Rachel’s worst traits early on in the series. I get that performing is her deal, but she can’t even take a second to at least fake being happy for Tina? Unreal.

Everybody else just moving straight on with it is hilarious. They’re all so happy for Tina and don’t give a shit about Rachel’s melodrama, which I’m living for!

I wanna be all “Finn’s an arrogant bastard for assuming Kurt wanted to ask him to prom, grr!!” But then I remember Kurt’s canonically in love with him at this point, so I’ll let him off this time

Kurt’s devious little smile when he asks Finn for a favour… I love one (1) boy!

AHHH THE TRYOUT SCENE. INCREDIBLE. This might honestly be my favourite scene from season 1. It’s definitely up there, anyway.

Cute brotherly Furt moments. Finn putting that helmet on for him. “Red’s your colour!” And they DON’T make Kurt get all giggly about Finn just being nice to him? Kurt just telling him he’s really cool? Pure.

“Rehearsing–” “PRACTICING!”

Finn tells Kurt he’ll be murdered if he uses his music and Kurt comes straight back with that rum chocolate souffle line. This show would be NOTHING without Kurt.

And THIS is what I mean when I say Kurt was a Gryffindor from the get-go. Even now he’s refusing to be anything less than himself for anybody, even the jackasses that harass him every day when he’s on their pitch.

Shut the fuuuuuuuck up, Puck!

“Hi, I’m Kurt Hummel and I’ll be auditioning for the role of kicker.” What did we do to deserve him?

His starting pose… His hips… The footwork… “That was good, right?” His whole ATTITUDE. THE ROYAL WAVE.

As if the TV network would cancel Sue’s news segment for having a few Cheerios in the glee club?

Oh god. Quinn telling Finn she’s pregnant. The fucking cinematography here… The camera work, the audio mixing…

“Think of the mail… Think of the MAIL…”

Did Quinn seriously just say “Ask Jeeves” told her the hot tub could knock her up? I mean, I know she’s lying, but ASK JEEVES? That should’ve tipped Finn off more than anything else…

Damn. Season 1 really had the power to get me shook, laughing, and then crying in the span of 30 seconds? Or maybe it’s just because I can’t stand seeing Diana cry…  

Sandy lets his kettle whistle for far too long, it stresses me out

Sue just… Offers this fired man a job? I know she’s got Figgins by the balls over the stockings commercial, but come on, surely the council would get involved or whatever???

Rachel sucks right now but god damn it Taking Chances gives me chills every time I hear her sing it… And she’s so cute when they tell her she got the lead!!!

If musical stuff is so frowned upon socially here, how are they expecting to get a full cast for Cabaret? Especially if NONE of the other glee kids are interested?

And there’s no funding for the arts but they have a whole ballet studio on school property…?

Sign #12 That Mr Schuester Is An Asshole: He just straight up tells Rachel that he’s the only person that likes her, which is wrong for so many reasons

He does have a point about Rachel needing to take a step back sometimes though. I hate that she’s so awful sometimes that I have to agree with Schuester.

He’s not HURTING you Rachel, he’s giving a chance to grow to somebody else!

Jenna did a beautiful job with this solo… Tina’s so cute too! I love her singing this sweet song with her goth aesthetic

This scene between Mr Schue and Tina was almost sweet BUT:

Sign #13 That Mr Schuester Is An Asshole: He did NOT need to touch Tina’s shoulders, or get that close, or whisper to comfort her.

Don’t take one for the team, Tina! Take one for YOURSELF!

I’ll let him hugging Finn slide because, wow, Finn’s breaking my heart right now…

However I will not let it slide that he’s seemingly taken him off campus for lunch…???? Dude, take him to your office. This is creepy as all hell even if he has good intentions…

“I got this at the school library. Did you know that you can just… Borrow books from there?” Protect him. Protect him at ALL costs. He was so genuinely inspired by watching Kurt make those goals that he went to a library for the first time in his LIFE oh my goodness

Oh god. The camera panning from a random father and his young son, over to Mr Schue looking at Finn? HE’S NOT YOUR SON MY GUY, HE IS YOUR PUPIL. PROFESSIONAL BOUNDARIES!!!

Terri and Will are both brushing their teeth with no toothpaste… Freaks…

Have I mentioned how much I adore those little background choir soundbites between scenes? They did so much for this show…

SHUT! UP! PUCK! Drink your fucking character development juice already!!!

Kurt just casually dropping in Sun Tzu’s Art of War… He just knows that. He’s prepared to just drop that in conversation. Son, why are you so ready for combat,

Also the way Kurt commands their attention? They can rag on him all they want but they all know he’s legit…

Look at all these doofuses in their football gear busting a move. Look at Kurt sat at the front just watching, judging, as he was born to do

MIKE! KILLING! IT! I love that they let us see a sneak peek of his moves… Serious HC that Kurt making the football team dance is the first time that Mike really got to show off his skills

Kurt shooing Mr Schue away like that gives me life!!! Sit down old man

“All right boys…”  And they all look so concerned behind him lmao… “Oh– SNEAK ATTACK back to the ring…” Mike’s trying so hard to keep in time. I love him. OH and there’s Matt! Most valid glee club member simply because he never says anything.

“Comb through the hair… SLAP THE BUTT!” And they’re all trying so hard… 10/10

“I’m your best friend,” says Puck, to the boy he has been consistently fucking over for four (4) episodes, and presumably many years prior…

I really do hate Puck for the first part of this season but god damn does he have some lines. “’Sup, MILF?” “Well, CALL the Vatican! We got ourselves another ImMaCuLaTe CoNcEpTiOn!”

I remember the first time I heard the term “Lima Loser” but I didn’t know the show was set in a place called Lima (I would’ve been, like, 9) and I thought it was lime-a-loser. Like he was going to have limes thrown at him. And it was this big, serious threat…

How the FUCK did Terri get into Quinn’s car? Why is that never addressed? Like, ever? Quinn doesn’t even ASK?

Do this many people turn up to American high school sports events irl??? And do they really play the national anthem? That must get old

Why are all these football players 30… I’m so thirsty for realistic casting…

BURT’S HERE TO SEE HIS SON!!! We love a proud dad.

“I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU!!!” And now he’s doing high kicks. Kurt’s doing the absolute MOST.

I will never understand the rules of American football… And I mean NEVER.

“Ring on it on three” I love that it has a code name. And they were all too busy being dudebros to call it Single Ladies…

The one dude on the opposite team who starts boogying along is the real MVP

NEVERMIND. BURT BOPPING IN THE STANDS IS THE MVP!!!

“Can I pee first?” Legendary

Burt just going “he’s so little…” In the middle of the silent crowd…

MY BOY NEEDS HIS MUSIC!

BURT’S SO FUCKING PROUD I’M ACTUALLY CRYING??? YOU CAN HEAR HIM SHOUTING “THAT IS MY BOY!!! THAT IS MY SON!!!” THROUGH THE WHOLE CROWD!!!!

I feel like Puck seeing Finn and Quinn kiss and then the crowd going silent as he walks away is meant to make me feel… Bad for him…? But we’ve only ever seen him be mean to Quinn, really. You’ve got to earn those moments!

Ah… The skincare routine. He’s thriving.

Burt! Hummel! Is! Proud! Of! His! Son!

Burt… I’m pretty sure he assumed you wished his mother was alive. As opposed to her corpse being at the big game.

Oh boy here it comes…… Chris looks SO young here. So scared. So vulnerable. The way he slightly stutters… He nailed this scene. So much.

He’s gay!

He knows.

Do they make sensible heels in sizes for three year olds…? Asking for a dad

The raw EMOTION on Kurt’s face. It’s killing me.

This is the starting point… “I’m not in love with the idea, but I love you.” And it only gets better from there…

And he THANKS his SON. He’s sure. He’s so sure, Burt, and you are going to be so proud of him forever.

Finn gives Quinn that blanket his dad gave him when he was a baby… Did she give it back? I fucking hope so…

You tell him, Finn! Puck IS an asshole!

MIKE’S IN GLEE!!! SO IS MATT!!! And Puck’s here I guess, yay… He’s got a season or so of sucking to go before I can get excited about that.

“Regionals” here we come? My guy, let’s get through sectionals first…

Rachel’s big, cruel smile when she thinks she’s going to be handed Tina’s solo. Why would she presume that it’d just get handed to her??? I mean, I know why, but like, why… And she has the audacity to look like she’s been betrayed. Not even slightly, hon! You deserve nothing if not getting one solo is all it takes for you to quit!

This Sue’s corner genuinely gets me through some shit. “There’s not much of a difference between a stadium full of cheering fans and an angry crowd screaming abuse at you - they’re both just making a lot of noise. How you take it is up to you. Convince yourself they’re cheering for you. You do that, and someday, they will.” Hits me hard!

This one was longer. Primarily because of Burt, I will admit, but it can’t be helped. Perhaps it’s the best episode of season 1 because of Burt! Now that’s a break through…

[shadow-lord-by-day]

Chapter 1, Innocence Lost

Eight years later Sarah sat cross legged in the glass cell, as much a prisoner as the silent girl beside her. X-23 was calm today. She was curled up beside Sarah, who was holding a copy of 'The Art of War', by Sun Tzu, which she was pretending to read to the little girl. Inside, she had hidden a few pages of paper, on which she had printed the fairytale 'Pinnochio'. X-23 was listening, head resting on Sarah's shoulder and making happy noises along to the story. It didn't matter that she didn't know what a cricket was, and had probably never seen anything made of wood. Pinnochio was her favourite. She had enjoyed Rapunzel, and even smiled at Little Red Riding Hood, but Pinnochio was always her favourite. Sarah could tell. It didn't matter that she only heard her vocalise words once or twice a day, she could always tell. Occasionally, a guard would patrol past the cell, and Sarah would make X-23 sit up and look alert while Sarah read aloud something profound sounding from the book underneath.  Sarah patted X-23's hair. She had, after much begging and pleading, convinced Sutter to allow her to cut it herself, and now it hung loose around her shoulders instead of being cropped close to her head, as her previous barber had insisted on cutting it. On days when most of the guards were off sick, or on Christmas, Sarah would sneak hair clips and bands into the cell, and do X-23's hair up in a bun and show her in the mirror. She liked the days when Sarah did that. Once, Sarah had managed to sneak her phone in, and X-23 had spent an afternoon wide eyed and gawking with earphones plugged in as she made her way through Queen's entire discography. Sutter had nearly found out about that one, and Sarah had had to throw her phone away to keep the transgression covered up. X-23 had once asked why she didn't try to sneak things in more, and Sarah, unable to lie and unwilling to tell the truth, had just broken down into tears and hugged her until they were both crying, and Sarah was escorted out.  She reached the end of the story and put down the book. "It's a big day," she whispered. X-23 looked at her blankly. Sarah smiled, then lost heart and stopped smiling. "I won't lie to you, Twenty-Three... it's going to hurt."  X-23 blinked in surprise, and cocked her head. "I don't want them to do it. But they're going to hurt you. To make you...better." She patted her hair again. "You know how you have to go to the doctor whenever you cut yourself? And it hurts when you bend your back too much?" X-23 nodded. "Well, you won't have to worry about any of that anymore." Sarah wiped a tear from her eye. "Be strong for me, ok?"  X-23 blinked again. "Will they take you away?" She said in her tiny, frail voice.  Sarah vehemently shook her head. "No. No, Twenty-Three, I wouldn't let them." The girl smiled, and hugged her. Sarah tried not to cry.  Just then, there was a hard rapping at the door. "Kinney!" Sutter's angry voice bellowed. "It's time!"  "Alright!" Sarah yelled.  "Be strong, Twenty-Three," she whispered. "Make me proud." She stood up, and opened the cell door. An armed guard rushed in, grabbed the little girl roughly by the shoulders, and X-23 was frog marched away into the next terrible stage of her life.

Sarah watched from behind the one way glass on the wall of the sterile white operating theatre as X-23 was loaded into a horrible metallic tube that she knew Henry Callahan had designed specifically for this purpose. The girl looked pale and frightened, just like she always did when being handled by the guards. The tube was sealed around her, and X-23's terrified face became visible from the small glass window that afforded her her only view outside the metal contraption. A elderly Japanese man stood beside Sarah, a sad look in his eyes. "I had hoped to save her before now," he said sadly, watching the spectacle unfold. "Have the Hand eradicate any sign of this awful place, and get you and her to her father. But alas, I failed. The Hand will not speak to me."  Sarah sighed glumly. "It's too much," she murmured. "She's eight. She should be playing with toys and wearing sparkly clothes with unicorns and rainbows on them." She turned to the man. Muramoto Toyoharu was X-23's martial arts instructor, and the only person besides Sarah who routinely showed the girl any kindness. He was less of a prisoner than Sarah was, but hadn't been back to Japan in four years, and hadn't seen his family in longer. He acknowledged the pointlessness of trying to teach an arthritic eight year old martial arts, and had spent more time trying to teach her Japanese than fighting. To both his and Sarah's astonishment, this had worked, and despite Sutter's best efforts to keep X-23 as mute as possible the girl had grown up bilingual. Fascinated by this development, Sarah had managed to sneak X-23 a French dictionary and guide to grammar, and by the time she was six was speaking three languages. This had been harder to hide from Sutter, who had yelled at Sarah for two hours after X-23 had called him 'un branleur' one day. Sarah had been extremely proud.  "What exactly does the cylinder do?" Muramoto asked. "And do I want to know the answer?"  "It filters out oxygen," Sarah said blankly. "And at the same time increases air pressure and temperature." She shrugged. "It tortures her."  "Jaakuna yarō," Muramoto spat. "The poor girl."  Sarah looked away as the screaming started. Loud, pained, resentful screams filled the room, occasionally mixed in with pleas for it to stop. Sarah bit her lip as the tears rolled freely down her cheeks. It's her birthday, she thought. Would a cake be too much to ask?  The minutes she stood like that dragged by, X-23's screaming echoing over loudspeaker and pounding its way into Sarah's skull. It was shrill and tortured and empty, and she could sometimes hear her own name in the wailing, begging for her or Muramoto to save her. Sometimes she would glance at the door, but the guards all carried guns, and she had been ordered on pain of death not to interfere.  When the screams stopped, they did so gradually. The volume faded, reducing itself to plaintive sobs. A hiss of escaping gas emanated from the cylinder, and Sarah looked up in time to see X-23 stumble out onto the floor, gasping for air and coated in sweat. Henry Callahan hurried toward the door, but paused as he caught Sarah glaring at him through tear reddened eyes. "Do you see now?" She growled. "Do you finally understand what you're doing to her? That she's just a child, and that you'll have nothing left if you carry on like this?"  Muramoto placed a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Sarah," he said softly. "Pick your battles."  Henry shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, biting his lip. "You know," he said sheepishly. "She shouldn't have been able to survive that. It worked."  Sarah's blood turned ice cold. She looked sharply up at X-23, lying gasping on the steel floor. She saw her look up and the nearest guard, whose rifle was trained on her brow. She saw something she had never seen before in X-23's deep green eyes. Something fierce.  'Snikt'.  Two bone blades broke the skin of X-23's right knuckles. She moved fluidly, more fluidly than she ever had with Muramoto, and in one swift motion the claws were buried in the thigh of the guard before her. He screamed, unthinking releasing a volley of rounds into X-23's torso. She fell away, eyes wide, staring at the red splatter on her white hospital gown. Sarah screamed then, and ignoring the guards sprinted into the chamber. She rolled X-23 over and ripped open the front of the gown, eyes foggy with tears and throat clogged as she saw the bullet wounds.  'Plink'.  A lump of lead was expelled from X-23's stomach. Then another. And another. Sarah blinked back her tears, and watched, astonished, and the red holes in X-23's belly and chest began to close of their own accord. The bone claws retracted into her hands, and the wounds they left in her knuckles slid shut almost immediately. "Oh," Sarah breathed. "Oh, my sweet girl." She turned back to the guard, blood still pouring out of his leg. "Twenty-Three, what have you done?"

Four months later X-23 sat alone in her cell, meditating. Sarah watched her from outside, trying to make out her face from behind the veil of hair that she had pulled in front of it. The girl had changed since her experience in the cylinder. Her training with Muramoto had picked up the pace rapidly, and she had already mastered six of the martial arts that she had beforehand taken months to learn even the basics of, to the point at which Muramoto was unable to best her at any of them. She had become quieter too. Sarah would sometimes go into her cell only for X-23 to just shake her head, and Sarah to leave again, feeling dejected. One day when she had been in a more open mood, and the guards had been particularly lazy, she had confided in Sarah that everything was louder, smellier, and brighter now, and that it scared her. Sarah had tried to explain that this was because her senses had been heightened by her mutations, but X-23 was still too young to understand what that meant.  Sutter had brought in a firearms instructor, an ex-military man with no sense of humour and a bad temper. He had shouted at X-23 for half an hour before handing her a pistol, with which she had demonstrated immense skill right from the word go. X-23 was already a better marksman than any of the facility's security detail. Sarah and Muramoto had never got on with the instructor, and many angry glances had been exchanged between them as X-23 had been taken to and from her training.  But the instructor was nothing compared to Kimura. Not long after X-23's mutations had been forced to surface early, the doctor's had dragged her away, kicking and screaming, and strapped her to a surgical table. There, they had ripped open her arms and feet, and tore her claws out of her. She had lain on the table, stricken and screaming, while the surgeons and engineers carefully produced replicas made of adamantium, cutting edges sharpened to points so delicate that if they had been made of anything else they would have snapped under the slightest strain. They tore her arms and feet open again, pulled out and discarded the bone claws that had grown to replace those that they already been removed, and replaced them with the adamantium blades. The skin had closed over the top, and when X-23 unsheathed her claws in anger, it was adamantium that had broken the skin.  X-23's handlers quickly realised how much of a mistake this had been when they discovered that strikes that ordinarily wouldn't have pierced their body armour were suddenly causing fatal bleeding, and the facility had scrambled to find a solution. They found it in Kimura Al-Jamil, an ex-SHIELD agent on trial for murder. They had kidnapped her from her cell and explained what they needed to do to her, and what they needed her to do. She had accepted, and been given a fake name and identity. The facility had somehow discovered a method of making a person's skin totally impenetrable, and soon Kimura had replaced all of X-23's handlers. All, that is, except for Sarah, who was still required to keep X-23 calm.  Kimura was a nightmare. She was a bully, and beat X-23 almost constantly, never needing to fear reprimand due to X-23's healing factor. She had threatened Sarah and Muramoto on numerous occasions, and once knocked out several of X-23's teeth in full view of both of them "by way of punishing the little brat". Sarah had appealed to Sutter eight times now to have Kimura removed from the program, and been met with stony silence each time.  Sarah tapped the glass. X-23 glanced up at her, and nodded for her to come in. Relieved, Sarah pushed inside and sat down on the floor opposite her. "Can I touch you?" She whispered. X-23 nodded. Sarah pulled a plastic comb from her pocket, and gently started to run it through X-23's hair. It could get in such a mess during her sessions with Muramoto. X-23 smiled faintly. Sarah smiled back. "How are you feeling?"  X-23 shrugged. Sarah nodded. "I see. Do you want me to read to you?" X-23 nodded vigorously. "Alright," Sarah laughed. She reached into her bag and retrieved the book, and read to the girl, who closed her eyes, occasionally smiling or frowning as the story progressed. Sutter was no longer interested in the content of what Sarah read her, only that they met their quota of contact time each week. Now that X-23 was almost ready for use in combat operations, he was accelerating the timeline at which they were working. Sarah had requested that he leave it be, but had as usual been ignored.  Sarah had not been reading long when a loud rapping at the glass of the cell caught her attention. She glanced up, annoyed, to see Henry Callahan squinting through the window. "Hang on," she said the X-23, and stood up to face him, arms folded. "Yes, Callahan?"  "What are you reading?" He asked.  She showed him the book that she had stashed a few chapters of Harry Potter into. A biography of Julius Caesar. "I'm teaching her about military strategy. Why?"  "It didn't sound like military strategy," Callahan retorted, more sharply than Sarah thought was strictly necessary.  "What else would it be?" Sarah asked, exasperated. Eight years of being cooped up underground with this man had worn on her a long time ago. "And why is it any of your business? You're not a handler. Now shoo. She's getting restless." This much was true, X-23 was rocking back and forth, glaring at Callahan through the glass. He gulped, and hurried on his way.  "I don't like him," the child said sullenly. It was a sentiment she had expressed many times, and one that Sarah wholeheartedly agreed with.  "Neither do I," she sighed, sitting back down and going back to the story.  "Sarah?"  She looked up, surprised. X-23 didn't call people by name much. "Yes, Twenty-Three?"  "Sometimes in the books there are people who have pets, and they keep them in cages and play with them." Sarah felt her heart sink. She had known that this was inevitable. "Am I your pet?"  "No." Sarah closed the book. She leaned closer to her. "Listen to me, Twenty-Three. You are no one's pet. You are no one's slave. Ok? You don't have to do what they tell you. You're a real person, a real girl. You're... you're my daughter." She pulled her in and hugged her. X-23 flailed for a moment, but leaned into the embrace and returned the hug. "And I love you. And I promise that I'll find a way to get you out of here, alright?"  X-23 nodded against her shoulder and said, in the tiniest voice, "Thank you".  Sarah pulled away from her and adjusted the bun of her hair. She adjusted her child's black hair, allowing it to cascade down her back, and looked deep into those dark eyes. That was a feature that came from her. X-23 looked overwhelmingly like her father, but she had Sarah's eyes. "Remember. They can't control you if you don't want them to."

"Afternoon, Kinney."  Sarah closed her eyes and pursed her lips. She put down the kettle and mug, and turned to face the owner of the voice. In the kitchen door stood Kimura, arms crossed, an arrogant grin plastered across her face. "Kimura," she said, trying not to let her dispassion for the woman show too plainly. "Would you like some coffee?"  Kimura made her way into the room, languidly taking in the kitchen's interior as she did. Sarah watched her warily. "You know, Kinney," she continued. "I always did wonder about you." She continued stalking the room, occasionally glancing at Sarah as she spoke. "Your role here makes no sense. You clearly despise everybody here. You hate what has happened to your little pet. And yet...you volunteered to be X-23's surrogate. Why would a sane individual ever do such a ridiculous thing?"  Sarah sipped at her coffee, glared at Kimura, and headed for the door, only to have her escape blocked. Kimura raised an eyebrow, smirk still plastered across her face. If it weren't for the fact that she could probably kill her from where she stood in under a second, Sarah would probably have slapped her, but thought better of it. "I take it you hadn't heard of me before coming here, then?" She asked cooly.  "No." Kimura frowned. "Why? Are you famous?"  "In certain circles," Sarah affirmed. "I was on the front cover of Time Magazine once." Kimura cocked her head, unable to hide her interest. "I'm a scientist, or at least I was. A geneticist. I predicted the existence of the X-gene two years before Department K released evidence of its existence to the civilian population, and five years before the first confirmed reports of mutants."  Kimura leaned back, threatening posture gone. "How the hell did you end up here?" She asked. "Sounds like you had a nice cushy career all lined up for you."  Sarah laughed hollowly. "I was contacted," she continued. "Offered exactly that. A nice cushy job, and in my home country. I arrived, and learned all about this place." She gestured randomly. "I learned about the previous Weapon X models. That the Weapon X program was having difficulty with their newer model. I…" She broke off and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I wanted to know more. About the project. So I stayed, and when I had fixed the genetic code of the new clone they fired me on the spot. So I suggested that I be the surrogate and a handler, and they agreed to that." She took another sip of coffee. "And while I was pregnant, of course, I learned exactly what they were going to do with her."  Kimura laughed. "What, did you think they were going to be making a superhero?" She cackled.  "Yes. The Weapon X program is a derivation of the Weapon Plus program. The one that made Captain America." She shook her head. "By that point, it was too late. X-23 was a success." She paused, and took a large gulp of coffee while Kimura prepared to gloat. "I did find out that her father was still alive, though."  As Kimura's face turned from triumphant, to confused, to suddenly fearful, Sarah pushed past her and back towards X-23's cell. She whirled. "She killed Muramoto!" She shouted. Sarah froze. She turned around herself.  "What did you say?"  "They tested something new this morning. A chemical or something, I don't know. Makes her mad enough to kill anyone." She burst out laughing again, seeing Sarah's horrified face. "Oh, yeah. Your precious little pet is a murderer."

Sarah ran through the facility, footsteps echoing loudly through the dingy metal corridors. Her ears were ringing. She could taste bile. Kimura was messing with her. She had to be. There was no way that X-23 could have done that. She still had things to learn from Muramoto. Sutter wouldn't do this, not now. He was still an asset to them.  She screeched to a halt in the dojo, and her eyes widened in total shock. X-23 knelt in the middle of the floor, adamantium claws unsheathed, in a growing pool of blood. Before her lay Muramoto, flat on his back, blood leaking from an open wound in his side and quite dead.  "X-23?" Sarah called. The girl looked up at her, eyes wild and afraid. "Oh, my god… come here Twenty-Three."  X-23 ran to her, panting ragged breaths. Sarah threw her arms around her, feeling her erratic heartbeat. "I'm sorry," X-23 gasped. "I was so angry-"  "I know," Sarah said soothingly. "I know. We're going to leave now. I'm taking you back to your cell, ok? Try to stay calm for me. It's alright, Twenty-Three. It's ok."  X-23 shook her head, still buried in Sarah's shoulder. "They made me do it anyway," she whined. "They made me do it anyway. They made me do it anyway."  "Hush." Sarah stood up, taking her by the hand and pulling her towards the cell. "Don't worry about that. It's alright, Twenty-Three. It's alright. We'll be ok, I promise. We'll be ok."

One year later Arthur Morrison, born in Austin Texas, had reached his peak. He was, despite all odds, favoured in the running for the President of the United States of America. People were flying his merchandise outside their windows, and the country was abuzz with excitement over the upcoming election. Today, a crowd had gathered in Washington DC to listen as Arthur read aloud a prepared speech, swelled on pride and the nation's approval. The sun shone brightly, a light breeze blew, and birds were singing in the trees. A few banners amidst the throng voiced dissent, but they were easily ignored amongst the droves of supporters.  A few children were gathered towards the end of the prepared stage, most of whom were suffering from some life threatening illness or another. Arthur's PR team had thought it a good idea to show Arthur speaking to them for a few seconds to impress the crowds, and as he walked up onto stage, beaming and waving to the spectators, Arthur bent down and exchanged a few words with each of them. The closest to the stage, a girl wearing thick glasses and sporting black hair tied in pigtails, looked up at him plaintively. A little awkwardly, he patted her head. "How are you lass?" He asked, not knowing exactly what to say. Behind the glasses, X-23 blinked, and buried her claws in Arthur's chest.  Nobody reacted until the girl was off the scene. People searched for her to no avail, important people in important looking suits made important sounding speeches about terrorism, and Captain America filed a document in his desk under the tab 'Weapon X'.

Sarah was at her wits' end. She had kicked and screamed through every stage of the preparation process, she had tried to convince X-23 to run, and she had done her best to sabotage communications to and from the facility. It had done little practical good, but helped her conscience.  Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of New York crime, had found Sutter's delicately encrypted advertisement. He had been intrigued by its content, and for a large sum of money purchased the facility's services. Within the week, Arthur Morrison was dead, and Sutter's bank account was significantly fatter.  Sarah and X-23 were alone in the cell. Since Muramoto's death, X-23 was the only person Sarah could bear to be around. Today, the girl was utterly silent, rocking slightly and staring into the middle distance. They hadn't even bothered to remove the bomb collar when she had returned from the assassination, and the LED on its side winked mockingly at Sarah, who staunchly ignored it.  Sarah hadn't brought a book, or any hair supplies, or anything else today. She was just sitting with X-23, arms folded, murder in her eyes. X-23 continued to rock. Her hair was still in pigtails. Wordlessly, Sarah reached over and started to undo them. X-23 flinched initially at the contact, but gave no further resistance.  "Sorry," she muttered.  Sarah sighed. "It's ok," she said wearily. "I'm not mad. This wasn't your choice."  "What if they make me do it again?"  Sarah shrugged. "We'll see about that when it happens, Twenty-Three."

In the next five years, X-23 killed ninety-six people. Some, like Morrison, were politicians. Some were mobsters. A sparing few, for whom an extortionate sum was always demanded, were superheroes. The facility was well concealed enough that none of the police departments or intelligence agencies searching high and low for the source of the killings were able to locate it.  By the time of X-23's thirteenth birthday, she was the source of a great deal of news coverage, paranoia, and contempt. SHIELD issued a statement, reassuring the public that they were doing everything in their power to locate the killer, even though all their leads had gone cold. Security at public events was tripled.  Sutter and Henry Callahan were soon rolling in money. Sarah had politely declined the blood money, and her share had gone to Kimura.

Sarah was sitting at her desk, numbly filling out some paperwork. She was drained, and had heavy bags under her eyes. Her pen ran out of ink, and she stated at it blankly for a few seconds before picking up a second one. Her contact time with X-23 had been reduced significantly, and the sessions she now had with her were quieter and more filled with tears. It was very clear that X-23 didn't want to be doing what she was made to. She had never said as much, but she would curl up in a little ball and cry once every assignment was up.  Sarah finished her paperwork and sat back in her chair, too tired to do anything else. She was drained. She had tried to help X-23, and for her efforts she had been beaten back and made totally alone.  A knock on her door. "Come in," she called, eyes not moving. Sutter strode in, immaculate in his new suit, beaming ear to ear.  "Kinney," he drawled.   "Sutter," she growled.  He took the seat opposite her. "Listen, Sarah," he said, hands folded in his lap. "You've been an extremely useful asset throughout this entire project, and we're all very grateful for your assistance in all matters you've attended to." He sighed deeply. “However, Sarah, with the current progression of this project, and our plans for the near future, we believe that your input is no longer required.”  Sarah sat back, stunned. “I’m sorry?” She asked, voice low.  “We don’t need you anymore, Sarah. You are being made redundant.”  “But-” Sarah blinked slowly. “Don’t you need my help? To keep X-23 happy and contained?”  Sutter smiled without humour. “X-23 is also no longer required. We’re making more clones. X-24 through X-35, and we’ve found others willing to act as surrogates and handlers, with fewer rebellious tendencies than you have exhibited. X-23 is to be terminated via carbonite bullet a week tomorrow.” He gave her the same empty smile. “I’m deeply sorry about all this.”  He waited for Sarah to make a response, and when she didn’t simply shrugged and left. Sarah stared at the door for several seconds. Then, quietly and passionately, she started to cry.

It was at this point that Sarah decided that she had really had enough. She had given thirteen years of her life to care for X-23, and they were just throwing both of them away like so much garbage.  So, rage filling her, Sarah hatched her plan. The Weapon X facility contained a large quantity of explosives, and Sarah had discovered over the thirteen years that they were not kept track of as well as Sutter might like. She had also found that a number of the guards were themselves gamma level mutants, and Sarah for a fact knew that all mutants shared a strong allergy to peanuts. Not to mention that they all drank a sizable quantity of coffee each day, and it would be absolutely no issue for Sarah to sneak some peanut oil into their mugs.  All this discovered and accounted for, Sarah initiated her plans.

X-23 looked up as Sarah walked into her cell. She managed a weak smile, and Sarah gave her one back. She was bored. Come to think of it, she was always bored, but now more than ever. It had been many weeks since she had been made to do any missions or exercises, and her restlessness was growing. Sarah checked behind her shoulder for something, then winked at X-23. She crouched, and spent several seconds whispering into her ear. X-23’s eyes widened. She gasped. Finally, she nodded.  Leaving the cell, Sarah was met with Callahan. Noticing her, he grinned and stepped forward. “One last chat with your little pet, huh?” He gloated. “God, I’m glad I’m not you.”  “Shut up,” Sarah growled, trying to push past him.  To her horror, Callahan blocked her way, still grinning. “Too squeamish to watch them do it, huh?”  Sarah glared at him. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to be there. To pass moral judgement on every piece of shit in this bunker, if nothing else.”  “Aw,” Callahan smirked. He reached up and fondled a lock of her hair, only to have her pull away from him in disgust.  “You’re revolting,” she spat, and shoved him aside as she stormed to the exit. Callahan laughed.  “We’ll see who gets the last laugh, Kinney!” He cackled. “We’ll see!”  Sarah gritted her teeth and carried on. She checked her watch, heart already beginning to pound. She checked her pockets and made sure that everything was where it was supposed to be. She took the elevator back to the surface, something she had been doing with reduced frequency of late, for what she hoped would be the final time.

Three hours later Someone tapped on the glass of the cell. X-23 looked up blankly to see Callahan looking in. She bared her teeth at him. Of all of them, he was her least favourite. Some of them simply beat her, but it was Callahan who stabbed her and ripped her open and experimented on her and laughed and laughed as he did it and called her freak all the while. She balled a fist at her side.  Outside, Callahan had lost interest and was talking to someone who she couldn’t see. She sniffed the air, and smelled one of the guards. All the mutant ones, the really dangerous ones, were absent today. That was good. She didn’t want this to be difficult, either her or Sarah.  The latch to the door was undone. A guard walked in, carrying a rifle, accompanied by Callahan. “X-23,” he said, voice empty and sickly sweet. “We need to perform a checkup on you. Could you come with us, please?” X-23 glared at him and nodded. “Wonderful. This way.”  He turned his back. X-23 got up. The guard beckoned. X-23 unsheathed her claws. The guard’s eyes widened. He raised his rifle. X-23 shot forward, and buried her claws in his chest. He gurgled and dropped down. Callahan whirled. X-23 moved again, and slashed his hamstrings. He dropped onto the floor face first, smashing his nose. X-23 checked the corridor, and finding no one present crouched down by Callahan, observing him. He looked up at her, fear plain on his face. “Twenty-Three?” He stammered. “Please, I was only-”  X-23 retracted her claws and punched him squarely on the already ruined nose. He sobbed in agony, and X-23 felt not a shred of pity.  She stood up and kicked him in the belly. He exhaled sharply, and she kicked him again, breaking a rib. She kicked and kicked and kicked, until he was crying and begging. “You’re a freak,” she said with spite, spitting on him. She unsheathed her foot claw, and placed it on his temple.  “Please,” he begged.  “No.” She pushed down, and he didn’t beg anymore.  She bent down and took his watch from his wrist, strapping it onto her own, and took off running. She encountered another guard, who managed to shout a word of surprise before she silenced him with a claw through his gullet. She checked the watch. Sarah had given her fifteen minutes after they came into her cell until the explosives went off, which she had already used four of. Ideally, she be out five before the detonation. Fortunately, Sutter’s office was on the way out.  For the first time in her life, she was filled with a sense of elation. When Sarah, her mother had promised to get her away from here, she hadn’t believed it, but now here she was, about to break free, about to-  An alarm sounded. The lights went out. Doors began slamming all around her. She whirled, eyes wide. Someone must have found the corpses. She started running again, finding that the door at the end of the corridor was deadlocked shut. She unsheathed her claws and cut her way through it, but she was wasting too much time already. She ran past several guards, killing each as she came to them, panting as she was overwhelmed by terror and adrenaline. She rounded a corridor and saw the elevator, standing open. She ran, slamming into its back wall, gasping for breath. She looked around, and jammed the button that her mother had told her to with her thumb.  As the doors closed, she heard heavy footfalls. “Wait!” A voice boomed. She looked up in surprise, and Sutter burst into the elevator, entirely out of breath. He looked over at her, and his face turned to horror. She cocked her head, and killed him as painfully as she knew how.  The elevator rolled on upward, and X-23 started to smile. She checked the watch, and her eyes widened. Panicked, she found a foothold on one of the walls, and cut a hole in the roof of the elevator large enough to crawl through. She pulled herself out and steadied herself on the rising roof. She waited, heart pounding, and when she heard the detonation behind her she launched herself upwards, catching the very bottom of the elevator door. She hauled herself up, gasping at the fresh air. In the snow before her was Sarah, who was practically weeping with relief.  The blast reached X-23, and she was violently flung from the shaft, landing at Sarah’s feet. The pain was exquisite, but one thing shot through it. A scent. One she had smelled many times before. It was on Sarah, and panic and rage overcame her, and she unsheathed her claws, and swung at Sarah, teeth bared, snarling, and a strong hand grabbed her wrist and pushed her back down.  She writhed for a few seconds, gnashing her teeth, howling and screaming. She roared, trying to break free, but the grip was strong. She could hear Sarah screaming, and she focused on those screams and pulled herself out of the rage.  She looked up, to see the old army man who had taught her to shoot. She blinked. “I’m going to kill you,” she told him calmly.  He laughed, and a twinkle she hadn’t seen before was in his eye. “I wouldn’t recommend that,” he chuckled. “My name is Shatterstar. I work with your father.”  X-23 froze. “My dad?”  “Yes. His name is Logan, and he’s very much looking forward to meeting you.” He pulled her to her feet. “I have a jeep. We need to move, quickly.” He turned to Sarah, who was writhing in the snow, which was red with her blood. He bent down and pulled her up too, and X-23 gasped to see two deep gashes across her face.  “Mom…” she whispered. “I’m so-”  Sarah looked up at her, and seemed to calm down. “Laura,” she said, voice brimming with happiness. “We’re alive.”  X-23 frowned. “Who is Laura?”  Sarah smiled. “You are, Laura. That’s your name.”  Laura thought about this for a moment, and nodded. “Laura,” she said. “I am Laura.” A bullet tore past her.  “Oh, shit,” Shatterstar muttered. “We have to go.” He picked up Sarah, who yelled in surprise, and took off running, Laura following. For the first time, she took in her surroundings. All around her was a thick blanket of snow, and in the direction they ran stood a forest of pine trees, blowing in the breeze. A road cut through the forest, at the end of which stood a jeep.  Shatterstar reached the jeep and bundled into the driver’s seat, Sarah taking the passenger seat. Laura climbed into the back, and the jeep lurched forward. Behind them were the sounds of pursuit. Guns fired, dogs barked, and with a lurch Laura recognised Kimura’s voice shouting orders.  “Who are you?” Sarah asked, addressing Shatterstar.  “A mutant,” he replied. “I work with Logan.”  “But how did you know what was going on here?”  Shatterstar sucked in air through his teeth. “That is a very long story, and one that I don’t think I quite have the authority to tell. Besides-” He was cut off as a bullet tore through his head. Sarah screamed, and Laura jumped in shock. The jeep skidded to a halt and almost toppled over. The sounds of chase drew closer.  “No…” Sarah moaned, burying her head in her hands. “Not after all this…”  Laura turned around and looked in fear out the rear window. She saw other jeeps nearing, heard Kimura laughing, and then…  Something dropped from the sky. They were a person, so far as she could tell, and made entirely from metal, wearing a padded blue and yellow outfit. They were clearly a man, and utterly huge. Laura blinked in surprise. The other jeeps screeched to a halt. “Now,” said the man. His accent was Russian, and he did not sound pleased. “You’re probably wondering what exactly is going on here.” A round of gunfire echoed out, and Laura watched, wide eyed, as it sparked off the man’s head. “Well, looks like you’ll never find out.”  He strode forward at pace, quickly catching up to the nearest jeep. Laura’s eyes widened as he effortlessly picked it up and hurled it at another, before barrelling through the rest, smashing and tearing, quite unhindered by the rain of gunfire that peppered him.  Soon, the jeeps were in full retreat, Kimura shouting orders in a noticeably higher tone than before. The man dusted off his hands with an audible clanging sound, and strolled back to where Laura and Sarah hid in their own jeep. As he did, his skin seemed to shimmer as he morphed from metal to flesh and bone. He had close shaven brown hair, bright blue eyes, and kindly features. He peered in, and was visibly saddened by the sight of Shatterstar’s dead body.  He looked up and smiled at Sarah and Laura. “He was a good man,” he said sadly. “A shame that that had to happen.”  “Who are you?” Sarah asked, voice quavering.  “I am so sorry, that was very rude of me," the man spluttered. "Where are my manners? My name is Piotr Rasputin, or Colossus if that’s a bit of a mouthful.” He opened the doors, and Laura and Sarah stepped out, watching the receding jeeps with fear. “I work for an organisation called the X-Men. You won’t have heard of us.”  He clapped his hands, and a metal box descended from the sky, attached to the end of a length of steel cable. It touched down, revealing itself to be about the same size as the elevator that Laura had just escaped from. It’s doors swung open, and Piotr gestured. “Please. The boss is eager to meet both of you.” He examined Sarah’s wounds. “And we will also need to look at those.” Laura wearily stepped into the second elevator, and soon found it rising. All three were silent for the ride up, until the box slotted into the hull of an aircraft that Laura didn’t remember seeing from the ground, and opening out into the jet’s interior, where they were greeted by a girl, only the same age as Laura herself, with dark brown hair and eyes, and somewhat angular features. Further towards the front of the plane another woman stood up, also with brown hair, and herself probably a little older than Sarah. “That’s the boss,” Piotr whispered.  The girl stuck her hand out. “Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m Kitty. Are you Laura?”  Laura was taken aback, but nodded and stared at the hand. “Oh,” said Sarah. “Laura, you’re meant to shake it. And how do you-”  “I believe that I can answer that, Doctor Kinney,” called the other woman. She was Scottish, Sarah noted. She strode forward. “Kitty, Laura, why don’t you two get to know each other a bit? Piotr, start piloting the plane back to Muir Island. I’ll speak to Doctor Kinney. I’m sure she has a lot of questions.”  Sarah watched warily as Piotr walked forward to the controls and Kitty led Laura to a small table, where she started trying to get to know her to very little avail. The woman approached Sarah, who shrunk back from her a little. “You’ll have to understand that I’m not much for trusting people these days,” she said cautiously.  The woman laughed. “Me neither. Come with me, there’s a back room where we can chat.”  She led Sarah to a small but comfortable room, occupied by a few chairs and a circular table. Sarah sat down, still unsure of what to say or do, and the woman took the seat opposite her. “Well,” she said. “First of all, my name is Moira X.”  “X?” Sarah asked quizzically.  “Just X.” She grimaced. "Look, everything must seem very confusing. Today has been wearing on you. You should rest."  Sarah shook her head. "No. I want answers. How do you know everything already? When we were leaving? Laura's name? How did you implant Shatterstar in the program?"  Moira sat back, pursing her lips. "Ok. Well, it's a long story, but we have a long flight."

Note: Sorry, Shatterstar fans.

[nadziejastar]

Lexaeus He's a character with strength to rival Xaldin. While Xaldin has power plus technique, I'd say to Lexaeus is more of a samurai, or that he has bushido-style strength. If you listen to his very last line in Re:COM, I think you'll be able to see his spirit. I wanted to do more with this character. --Nomura

Yeah, Aeleus really did get done dirty. His last line was apologizing to Zexion. In his report, he said Zexion was the only one he trusted. What was their relationship like? In KH3, why did Ienzo say that Aeleus needed to let go of his grudge against Roxas of all people? That confused me. That’s not something we ever saw. What exactly did he have against Roxas? They never even fought and have barely spoken. Roxas had barely been an organization member before Lexaeus got eliminated. 

It’s sad that even after so many years, the organization members are still so FLAT. It’s one of my biggest disappointments with the Xehanort arc. They really needed another game to flesh all of these characters out. Even became remorseful, but it felt like it came outta nowhere, since we didn’t see his past. Isa’s character was a joke in KH3. Even Lea still feels flat with his last minute “apprentice” backstory. Xemnas’s actions now make zero sense, since he was trying to complete Kingdom Hearts to “round up a bunch of empty husks, hook them up to Kingdom Hearts, then fill them all with the exact same heart and mind”. But in KH3...they all had free will. How do they all have the exact same heart and mind, if they could BETRAY Xehanort? They weren’t even Norted...

But I digress. I could tell that the story of the Xehanort Saga was incomplete just by looking at Lexaeus’s weapons in 358/2 Days. I couldn’t help but notice the unique names of them and it aroused my curiosity. They definitely weren’t named arbitrarily. It was strong evidence that he actually had a backstory thought up for him that just never got revealed to us players.

Lexaeus: Forgive me, Zexion. This was a fight I should not have started.

It’s a shame Nomura wanted to do more with him, but he probably never will get the chance to now. I think Aeleus was certainly guilty of doing bad things, but unlike Dilan, I don’t think he was truly evil at heart. He wasn’t naturally good at manipulating people’s hearts. I believe he had misgivings about what the apprentices were doing, and felt guilt. I also think he was supposed to get an actual redemption, and that’s why he was there with Ienzo while Lea was looking for Isa. He wasn’t one of the truly incorrigible members, like Braig. He would try to atone in a similar way to Even. Braig couldn’t be redeemed, which is why he could only kill himself at the end.

“This is my strength… I, number five in the organization… I who was once his favorite pupil!”

His Mystery Gear is “Rockhead”, idiomatically meaning “hardheaded”. He probably wasn’t an intellectual powerhouse. I think Aeleus was tricked by Xehanort. He developed a relationship with him as his “favorite pupil”. It probably started off relatively benign. Aeleus truly thought he was a brilliant man and looked up to Xehanort. Then he started getting gradually more dark and immoral. It took time for Aeleus to cross the line and do unethical things, urged on and pushed by Xehanort. He knew it was wrong, but Xehanort probably said similar things to him that he did to Terra. Only Aeleus actually went all the way.

The weapon is obviously shaped like a moai statue of Easter Island. I think the Mystery Gear represents the memories of the person right before they lost their heart. The people of Easter Island believed that the statues would capture the chiefs' "mana", which was their word for supernatural powers. They believed that the statues themselves were moved and erected by mana. Aeleus seemed to believe that giving up his heart and becoming a Nobody would grant him special powers. I think his motivation was that simple. Power. His lifestyle revolved around martial arts.

Some of his weapons are named after taoist principles. “Heaven, Earth, Man” is a concept found in many martial arts like Tai Chi. Heaven can be described as the effect of Gravity on our frame, tissues and movements. Earth by contrast is the ‘support’ provided by the ground that our structures can work off of. In the ancient philosophies of both China and Japan, the three principles of heaven, earth, and man expressed this view of how human life and society could be integrated with the order of the natural world. 

“Wind, Forest, Fire, and Mountain” is a reference to Sun Tzu’s The Art of War: 

“Move as swift as a wind, stay as silent as forest, attack as fierce as fire, undefeatable defense like a mountain.” 

One of his weapons is named “Cicada-shell”. Cicadas are symbols of rebirth. The shell is a symbol of the old way being discarded. This weapon is part of Lift Gear, which is Temperance in Luxord’s deck. Temperance represents calmness in the face of adversity. It can also indicate a time to evaluate and re-examine the priorities you have chosen. So, it’s a very good fit.

Another weapon is called “Flying Firefly”. Fireflies can represent a little bit of light which can illuminate the darkness. This weapon is part of Ominous Gear, which is The Hanged Man. This card represents indecision or suspended action. It can mean that a sacrifice is needed to make in order to progress. This can be repentance for past wrongdoings, or a calculated step backward to recalculate one’s path onward. 

Interestingly a few weapons are named after flowers. “Camellia” In Japan is called “Tsubaki” and symbolizes the divine. It is often used in religious and sacred ceremonies. It also represents the coming of spring. Generally, it is a symbol of love. The weapon is part of Fearless Gear which is The Hermit. This is about turning your attention inward to find the answers you seek, deep within your soul. I think Aeleus had someone that he was in love with and was rejected. He has been burned by love and this might have driven him to focus on power exclusively.

One of his weapons is named “Holly Olive”. In Japan there is the custom of sticking a sprig of holly olive through the head of and fastening them to the doorway of the house. This is in accordance with the legend that demons hate the sharp thorns of the holly olive and the stink of the fish, and will disperse on being confronted with these. This weapon is Prestige Gear, which is Strength. It represents inner strength and fortitude during moments of danger and distress.

Day 119: Hearts and Emotion

Author: Xaldin

Watching that foolish beast flail about only deepens my disdain for humans and their incessant need to be pinned down by feelings. We became Nobodies precisely to avoid the shackles of emotion. It was only later that we realized the scale of that loss: that some things simply cannot be done without a heart. Nonetheless, I see nary a pleasant thing about it.

Another reason I think Aeleus had someone he loved is his weapon called “1001 Nights”, also called “Arabian Nights”. The Arabian Nights is an epic collection of Arabic folk tales written during the Islamic Golden Age. It’s about a broken-hearted king who was scorned by an unfaithful wife. He chose to marry a new woman every day only to kill her the next morning. One woman survives by telling him stories each night.

This weapon is Ultimate Gear, which is The Emperor. It represents the masculine principle and a powerful leader who demands respect and authority. It’s all about control, authority, regulation, and organization.

“Clear Mirror, Still Water” is a term often used in Kendo. It is also translated as “mind undisturbed by evil thoughts”. It does not apply only to Kendo and other martial arts, but daily life. When a mirror is dirty or it has something on it, it does not reflect things as it should. So it is not working as it is supposed to do. When your mind is not clear, your mind does not work as it is supposed to, either. Moreover, when your mind is not clear or clean, it is usually mean that something evil thing is going on in your mind. So there are two meanings in keeping your mind as clear as a clean shining mirror.

It’s part of Champion Gear, which is The Empress. This is the opposite of The Emperor. It represents the feminine principle. It could be associated with fertility, expression, creativity and nurturing among many other aspects. It's about connecting with beauty and bringing happiness to your life.

One of his weapons is named “Wood Heron” which you just know has to mean something. That’s not something you would randomly name a weapon. I believe it refers to a wooden totem, which is used to represent spirit animals.

It’s part of Rage Gear which is The Devil. This card represents your shadow (or darker) side and the negative forces that constrain you and hold you back from being the best version of yourself. Yeah, I definitely think Aeleus was going to try to atone for his actions.

One of his weapons is simply named “Iron”. And there are symbolic meanings to the different elements, which is where I think they were going with that. Iron is similar to The Emperor. The weapon is part of Crisis Gear which is The Lovers. This card represents conscious connections and meaningful relationships. It gives the same impression as 1001 Nights. Aeleus probably had difficulty with his relationships.

Another weapon is named “Copper”. It is similar to The Empress, as it’s associated with the feminine principle. This weapon is Technical Gear which is The Star. It represents reprieve after a period of destruction and turmoil. The Star brings renewed hope and faith.  

He has a weapon called “Prismatic Gold”. It’s part of Hazard Gear, which is The Sun. It gives you strength and tells you that no matter where you go or what you do, your positive and radiant energy will follow you and bring you happiness and joy.

[beca-mitchell]

Aubrey Posen's Guide to Using Social Media Effectively

summary: Aubrey learns that knowledge isn’t always power. In fact, she’d like to forget that she ever believed that.

aka this is an Aubrey-centric fic in which Aubrey learns that Beca and Chloe are seeing each other through various social media and how she deals with this.

word count: 6.5k

author’s note: Happy birthday @velmster!!!

Thank you for keeping me somewhat calm when we met bsnow. Thank you for helping me write my Pitch Perfect lectures. And thank you for being an incredible friend. I know how much you were looking forward to this story, so I really wanted to make sure it was finished for your bday! 

For everybody else, this story is based on a true story about how I found out my roommate and best friend were dating each other. Some embellishments here and there, but otherwise, yes I am crazy.

Also on AO3.

“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Aubrey Posen dislikes social media.

It’s not that she’s old, it’s more that she just doesn’t get it. Every day, it seems like a new social media network is created and Aubrey has pretty much only just figured out how to make a Bitmoji for her Snapchat account.

It’s mildly irritating that Chloe spends most of her time on one social media platform or another, flitting between her laptop and phone and persistently attempting to show Aubrey cute photos of corgis.

Well, she doesn’t dislike the content, it’s just that social media seems like a really difficult thing to keep up with and she has to worry about not flunking out of her MBA program.

Her buzzing phone jolts her out of her musings.

Instagram: chloebeale has sent you a video.

Knowing Chloe, it’s probably a meme, a topical video, or just a cute fluffy video of a corgi or a pug. Somehow, Chloe still manages to suss out when she’s feeling down because the videos tend to be on point with everything she’s going through at the moment.

She supposes just one more Instagram video of a corgi lying on its back won’t hurt.

Living with Chloe after Barden only makes sense. By the time Chloe finally graduates from university, Aubrey is done with managing the lodge and wanting to pursue something a bit more prestigious again.

They somehow both end up in New York, though Chloe has started working for an advertising agency and Aubrey has started school at NYU. Aubrey recalls that living with Chloe for their first year of Bellas co-captaincy had only been natural - as much as it had been a necessity. They weren’t allowed to have the Bellas house all to themselves because their entire team would be primarily first years. Without the allure of having a full team, student government had elected to allocate their treasured house to yet another sorority on campus.

Back then, Aubrey immediately shot down Chloe’s idea to join the sorority. Instead, she got to work and found a cute two-bedroom townhouse, small enough for the two of them and yet large enough that she doesn’t necessarily have to see Chloe’s things encroaching on her personal space.

If Aubrey’s being honest, Chloe’s ‘things’ might be a misnomer.

The absolute parade of people she’s seen (and heard, on many occasions) leaving Chloe’s room in previous years? That might be more accurate. It had admittedly stopped when Chloe set her eyes on one Beca Mitchell in the fall of 2011 and Aubrey saw significantly less people leaving their comfortable little townhouse. Instead, she saw more of Beca Mitchell than she would have liked back then, absolutely pestering Chloe with her latest music innovations or whatever the hell she called them.

And the next year, Chloe stayed back at Barden for another year with Bellas (read: Beca), she helped Chloe wrangle their treasured Bellas house back from the sorority and the rest is history.

Now, in New York City, freshly graduated, Aubrey has a little trouble finding something as cozy considering rent prices in New York City and the budget they’re both working with. She finds a nice two-bedroom (read: two-closet) apartment in East Village, with a functioning bathroom, kitchen,and , thank God, a working dishwasher. It’s a steal, even if Aubrey had flirted a little with the landlord and his wife to get a good price.

It’s a steal and she doesn’t have to share a bedroom with Chloe. She won’t have to hear Titanium for the millionth time.

Ultimately, Chloe is a good roommate. She picks up after herself. She cooks. She cleans.

(Aubrey has heard nightmarish stories from Chloe about what it had been like when Beca and Fat Amy shared a room in the Bellas’ house.)

The thing about Chloe is that she really has no sense of personal space. She enjoys shoving her phone into Aubrey’s face to show her a funny text or a cute image. She’ll ask Aubrey loudly and inappropriately whether she needs more tampons halfway down the aisle in the supermarket. She tries to braid Aubrey’s hair sometimes when they’re both lazily waiting for their laundry in the dingy laundromat - emphasis on tries . She sets Aubrey up on about five blind dates only their third month into living together in Manhattan.

In fact, Chloe’s fairly infuriating because she does all these things without asking and never wants anything in return. She never talks about her own feelings - the ones that Aubrey has to draw out of her with painstaking precision. In fact, Aubrey sometimes worries that her obsession with Beca Mitchell might be getting out of hand. Aubrey tries to remind Chloe that Beca isn’t so bad without her ear monstrosities and that maybe Beca just needs time to see the light (read: Chloe), like she did with her ear piercings.

Chloe just smiles and asks her whether she wants to get McDonalds for dinner.

Aubrey would never ask for another best friend.

“You know what you should do? Download Tinder, Bree. I’m sure the selection here is much better than Georgia.”

“No.”

(She downloads Tinder.

It is admittedly not horrible.

She ignores the smug look Chloe shoots her.)

Aubrey should have seen it coming, in retrospect. There’s something about Beca Mitchell that makes Chloe completely lose her mind whenever they come within touching distance of each other. Aubrey can’t recall Chloe ever being so touchy with anybody else, especially not when she vehemently reassures Aubrey that they’re “just friends, besides Beca is seeing Jesse.”

It’s weak and they both know it, but Aubrey supposes that the fixation on Beca means that Aubrey will get some peace and quiet in their apartment for the time being.

Until one day, Beca is very much single. It’s not even news that comes directly from the woman herself since Beca pretty much moved immediately to Los Angeles after graduating to pursue the first label that offered her a job. No, the news comes from Fat Amy who actively updates their group’s Facebook chat with whatever gossip she can find...usually about the Bellas themselves.

It’s actually kind of deja-vu, seeing the hurricane that has seemingly gone through her home. Aubrey comes home to a mess of crumpled-up pieces of paper and about five empty cans of cider.

“Oh, Chloe,” she murmurs, reaching for the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

Sitting with Chloe on the couch while she sleeps restlessly? That’s kind of deja-vu as well.

Instagram: chloebeale has sent you a photo.

It’s a photo of Jesse with his arm around a woman’s shoulder.

chloebeale: i can’t believe he moved on already!!!!!

Aubrey scowls, typing back. She doesn’t understand how she has five separate conversations going on with Chloe. Can’t she stick to just one account?

aubreyposen: You’re literally in the living room. You couldn’t have shown this to me in person?

aubreyposen: why don’t you message Beca if this is bothering you so much?

An hour later, Aubrey notices the Seen receipt and suspicious lack of reply from Chloe.

Aubrey finds out that Beca is actually living in New York before Chloe does. It’s only because she bumps into her at their local Trader Joe’s and is about to berate Beca for not knowing how to use her eyes when she realizes-

“Beca?”

“Aubrey?”

Aubrey is pleased to note that Beca looks mildly terrified of her in that moment, but she can’t quite dispel the warmth that rises up when she sees her friend. She had missed Beca, despite all her original reservations about her.

“I’m going to hug you now,” Beca states, somewhat awkwardly before proceeding to do so. When she pulls back, she looks equally  astounded. “Wow, what the hell? This is crazy. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“In this Trader Joe’s?”

Beca laughs at that, shaking her head. “No, I just meant...here, I guess. Manhattan.”

“How would you? You never message us.”

The mild terror is back in Beca’s eyes, alongside a glimmer of genuine regret and sadness.

“I thought I knew what…” Beca trails off, looking absently at her full cart. “How is Chloe?” she asks, lowering her voice. “I never…”

In a sympathetic streak, Aubrey shakes her head, stopping that difficult line of thought. “Why don’t we set up a kind of reunion dinner or something? Get more Bellas down here.”

Beca brightens and relaxes at that. Aubrey takes the opportunity to critique Beca’s choice in fresh produce.

There’s nothing quite like a Bellas party, even if the entire evening had been hijacked by Fat Amy. Somehow, she manages to wrangle them all into a party near Columbia.

“Do you go here?” Aubrey asks. She realizes that she’s not exactly sure what Amy is doing in New York. They had kept in contact sparsely over the years, but Aubrey knows stuff about Amy mostly through Chloe’s updates over the years.

“No, not really,” Amy answers vaguely. Aubrey doesn’t bother pursuing that. “Hey, do you think Beca and Chloe will finally figure it out?”

“Figure what out?” Aubrey asks absently.

There’s a long silence while Amy drinks from her cup, watching her carefully.  Aubrey waits, raising an eyebrow in response to Amy’s silence. Amy finishes her entire drink first before saying “never mind.”

Aubrey shrugs and squints through the darkness. She still feels a protective streak flare up in her at the thought of her teammates, even though she’s long been off the Bellas’ team. She takes in how far they’ve come - how distant and precious their years at Barden seem now, compared to everything. She is so grateful for the experience. Even though these are mostly Chloe’s friends, if anything, Aubrey feels like there’s definitely a connection and bond with this set of Bellas - one that’s stronger than ever before. She begrudgingly attributes it to Beca’s hand in reshaping the Bellas, and though she’d love to maintain that she finds Beca irritating about 90% of the time, she knows how untrue it is and how much she considers Beca a friend.

Looking back up, Aubrey scans the crowd again, relaxing against the cushions of the couch, which she has deemed the perfect vantage point.

She pauses.

She thinks she sees Chloe grabbing Beca’s hand and pulling her out onto the makeshift dance floor and Beca’s expression indicates mild protest and discomfort, but she follows obligingly. Aubrey thinks she sees this because they disappear as quickly as it happens.

She actually doesn’t think too much of it until much later. She sees what appears to be Beca and Chloe in a heated argument on the couch she had once been sitting on, now haphazardly pushed to the side. They are angled towards each other with a familiar comfort emanating from both of them.

“-didn’t mean it! God, Beca,” Chloe is exclaiming - loud enough for Aubrey to hear as she passes on the way to the kitchen.

She wonders if it was a mistake, introducing Beca back into Chloe’s life so soon after her break-up with Jesse. She stops walking and hovers near the doorway, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

Aubrey watches the tension rise and fall in Chloe’s shoulders, the way she turns her body towards Beca. She can no longer hear their conversation, but she watches anyway because a part of her kind of wishes they’d figure it out and - oh , that’s what Amy meant.

Aubrey wonders if Chloe will finally leap at this very perfect opportunity to reveal her ever-growing feelings for Beca. It’s a constant back and forth between them. Aubrey had been mildly interested in this fixation back when they had first met Beca, but now she’s kind of tired and wishes they’d just get their crap together.

Aubrey doesn’t see them for the rest of the night, but she might have been fairly distracted by the competitive karaoke game going down between Flo and a few other students.

“I think you’re right,” Aubrey tells Amy the next day. She hands Amy a bottle of Advil and a water bottle. “About Beca and Chloe.”

“Of course I’m right,” Amy mumbles. “Hey, can you go grab me a burger from Shake Shack?”

Chloe (4:41 p.m.) I’m gonna be visiting my parents this weekend in Portland! Don’t wait up ;)

Aubrey (4:50 p.m.) Say hi for me! Also, we’re rescheduling movie night.

Chloe (4:51 p.m.) Totes!

It’s not uncommon for Chloe to visit her parents. She did fairly frequently while they were in school together. The quiet weekend means Aubrey can tackle that case study that had been evading her focus for the past few days and she can work on a few other assignments she wants to get out of the way.

She’s about a quarter through an assignment when she gets a text.

(Fat) Amy (5:29 p.m.) the big bm is away for the weekend. Want to hang?

Aubrey considers that heavily. She waits an hour before replying.

Aubrey (6:34 p.m.) Sure.

Aubrey (6:34 p.m.) Also, stop calling her that

Hanging out with Amy is kind of fun, Aubrey supposes, so long as she takes everything with a grain of salt. She lets Amy tell her about her part-time job as a mail courier and makes it a point to ignore her stories about her more peculiar clients and their oddities. She tuned out after the story about a man with long toenails and tries to ensure her dinner stays down.

Aubrey finally focuses when Amy says, seemingly out of the blue, “So, how are we getting Beca and Chloe to admit their feelings for each other?”

She considers denying it or feigning confusion.

It’s tempting because Aubrey has always enjoyed a good scheme, but she doesn’t want to interfere too much, knowing that Chloe will likely want her privacy on this front. “Aren’t they figuring stuff out themselves?” she asks.

Fat Amy scoffs. “Please. Your hair is going to be grey before they actually sort everything out. We need to give them that little push.”

It’s already sounding better than working on tedious assignments, but Aubrey’s still cautious. “We shouldn’t meddle,” she says half-heartedly. “We really shouldn’t.”

She receives a glare in response. “We definitely should,” Amy retorts.

Well, Aubrey doesn’t know how to disagree with that. “What’s the plan? We need a plan.”

Instagram: @becamitchell has posted for the first time in a while. Check out their post!

Aubrey frowns at this very specific notification. Why has Instagram deemed this as important material? That seems invasive - both to her and Beca. She opens it regardless and tilts her head, trying to suss out what exactly it is that Beca posted. It’s a photo of Coney Island with the sunset in the background.

She notices that Chloe has already liked the post. She shakes her head. Chloe’s addiction to social media will always evade her understanding.

(Fat) Amy (2:57 p.m.) SHE LIKED HER POST!!!!

Aubrey (2:57 p.m.) Calm down, she likes everybody’s posts.

That is true, as far as Aubrey is aware. Chloe likes everybody’s Instagram posts. It’s not really that which is most interesting to Aubrey. There is something more interesting about the fact that Beca had apparently been at Coney Island all day, especially since Aubrey distinctly recalls that Chloe mentioned she had been planning to go over the weekend.

Aubrey (3:01 p.m.) Do you know if Beca went with anybody to Coney Island?

(Fat) Amy (3:03 p.m.) No, she never tells me anything.

Aubrey (3:03 p.m.) understandable.

If Aubrey knew that scheming with Amy meant reactivating her Facebook account, she would have declined immediately.

“Do I just create a Facebook group or something?” Aubrey asks, frowning at her phone. “Why can’t we just text them and tell them we’re having a movie night at our place?”

“What era are you from?” Amy demands. “Just make a Facebook event. I know Beca needs her entire life scheduled or she’ll never show up to anything.”

Aubrey grumbles and sets up a Facebook event. “It’s literally just going to be the four of us,” she mutters. “This is so unnecessary.”

“Fine,” Amy exclaims. “Let’s invite the rest of the Bellas.”

“Amy, no!”

Her cry is to no avail as Amy immediately invites the Bellas and a few other people whose names Aubrey can’t quite recognize at first glance. Aubrey’s first thought is how their landlord is going to receive a few complaints over the weekend because of course Amy would somehow turn a small gathering into an impromptu party.

She sighs, mentally doing calculations in her head as to how much food she should buy as well as how many drinks she’ll need to get.

“This is going to be amazing, Aubrey. I’m so happy you agreed to this.”

She tacks on a couple extra drinks to her mental list because she’s sure she’ll need it.

Leading up to the movie night in question - an event that once only belonged to Aubrey and Chloe - Aubrey tries to figure out if Chloe and Beca are still talking to each other.

Chloe has been quieter and more reserved recently, though she cites stress from her job as the primary reason.

There’s a part of her that knows instinctively that Chloe likely had some kind of falling out with Beca, or maybe she’s mulling over her own feelings, but Aubrey just wishes Chloe would open up to her.

“Chloe?” she tries tentatively one evening while they’re scarfing down take-out from their favourite Chinese restaurant.

Chloe glances up at her from where she’s reading text messages on her phone. It’s a bit too far that Aubrey can’t quite see who she’s texting. “Yeah, what’s up, Bree?” Chloe asks, clicking her phone off casually.

“You’d...tell me if you were seeing somebody, right?”

There is a very brief pause, but a pause nonetheless.

Then, Chloe, as quiet as Aubrey has ever heard her, murmurs “yes,” softly. “I would.”

“That’s good to know.”

Aubrey lets it go for the moment. She has assignments to worry about and this damned Bellas party.

Chloe is ridiculously excited about the movie night extravaganza Aubrey and Amy planned. They somehow manage to wrangle 12 women into their tiny apartment, with enough seating (most of it improvised) for everybody.

They opt to watch horror movies, starting with It . Aubrey is not sure whose brilliant idea this is, but she feels like it could be either Lilly’s or Amy’s.

Aubrey grumbles as she retrieves another roll of paper towels from underneath the sink. Amy has somehow spilled her third drink of the night - none of which have been her own drinks.

Aubrey notes that Chloe isn’t being particularly helpful either because she’s immersed in a conversation with Beca on the loveseat - the most comfortable seat in their apartment currently. Chloe has her arm casually draped around the back of the couch to play with strands of Beca’s hair and Beca seems to either not notice or not care , but it’s then that Aubrey realizes that it’s neither . Beca is enjoying it if the smile on her face is any indication.

God, they’re dating, Aubrey thinks, resisting the urge to point at them and yell out her triumph.

Instead, she tilts her head, observing in silence.

They’re sharing a blanket too, which Chloe brought out from her room. Neither of them notices anything about the movie that’s playing and it’s dark enough that Aubrey only catches glimpses from time to time of their expressions.

It’s enough to see that Chloe has never quite looked so happy and Beca has never quite looked so relaxed.

The next time Aubrey glances at them, Beca has seemingly fallen asleep, completely pressed into Chloe’s side with her head tilted onto her shoulder. Chloe isn’t bothering to watch the movie at all even though her conversation partner has knocked out. Instead, she watches Beca, eyes trained on her the whole time.

Aubrey can’t help but smile even if it briefly hurts her that Chloe evidently didn’t bother telling her about this little development at all.

Mostly because it’s such a significant development in her best friend’s life.

(Aubrey is ridiculously happy for her. And Beca too.)

While sitting next to Chloe on their couch, Aubrey tries to focus on reading her textbook, but she finds her eyes drawn to Chloe’s phone because it continues to vibrate with a new message every two seconds.

Chancing a glance at her best friend, she sees the slow smile spread across Chloe’s face - a smile that is so smitten and grossly cute that it makes Aubrey shudder because she knows who Chloe is talking to without having to see the messages.

When Chloe gets up to retrieve their mail from downstairs, Aubrey bites her lip before pressing the button on Chloe’s phone. She sees a slew of messages from Beca. Except, it’s not just ‘Beca’. Chloe has changed her name on messenger to read as “grumpy becs” followed by three emojis: a blue heart, a raincloud, and a star.

The messages themselves are all the more incriminating, if the display name change weren’t enough.

Beca I miss you

Beca Just thought you should know or whatever

Beca When can I see you again?

That alone is enough to make Aubrey sit back firmly and contemplate. She vaguely wonders how long this has been going on - how long Chloe has been hiding this from her.

She wonders when Chloe will just tell her.

Her plan evolves.

Aubrey attempts to set Chloe up on a few dates, just to test the waters. She does so right in front of Beca. She’s really just testing the limits of Beca and Chloe’s strength because she still can’t quite believe that they’ve been hiding this from her for so long.

It was kind of cute at the beginning, now Aubrey is wondering how long it’ll take for either of them to crack. It’s like a fun game, sometimes.

Today, they’re enjoying brunch in Brooklyn. It had originally been Aubrey and Chloe’s pre-arranged brunch, but Chloe had tentatively asked Aubrey if Beca could come along because she was “feeling down from her job” and “we should totally show her this brunch place, Bree!”

Aubrey had agreed because she kind of just wanted to put Beca on the spot again. It’s a little fun to watch them both squirm.

“Chloe,” Aubrey states, primly folding her napkin. She waits until both Chloe and Beca have taken sips of their mimosas. “I would like to set you up on a date with one of my classmates.”

Chloe looks mildly curious, which is fine.

It’s Beca’s reaction that almost cracks Aubrey’s facade. She chokes on her drink and turns to Aubrey with wide eyes, like she can’t quite believe what she’s just heard.

“You would?” Chloe asks at the same time Beca asks, rather loudly, “Why?”

“I would,” Aubrey agrees, ignoring Beca. “I just think you’ve been single for so long. Not that you need somebody to make you happy. Just. Something to take your mind off things because I know how stressed you’ve been at work.”

“You’ve been stressed?” Beca asks, so softly that Aubrey momentarily forgets that she’s sitting across from Beca Mitchell. The amount of tenderness in Beca’s eyes directed straight at Chloe is kind of alarming if Aubrey didn’t already know they were in some kind of relationship.

“No, just,” Chloe sighs. She directs her attention fully to Beca. “A little. It’s just some personal things going on right now.”

Aubrey decides to let up on her line of questioning and drinks some water, watching them carefully. She decides not to bring it up again, feeling only more certain that they are dating , like officially.

When she gets up to go to the washroom, she can hear Chloe and Beca begin to whisper to each other, catching the tail end of their conversation: “-tell her?”

Aubrey smiles triumphantly.

“What made you bring that up today?” Chloe asks quietly, when they’re doing some weekend cleaning.

Aubrey frowns, focusing on a coffee stain plastered on their counter. She is sure she didn’t see this just a week ago and Chloe doesn’t drink coffee.

(Aubrey also knows that she always uses coasters and cleans up after herself.)

“What did I say?” Aubrey murmurs.

“About setting me up with somebody.”

Aubrey straightens, eyebrow rising slowly. “Chloe,” she starts.

“I’m happy right now,” Chloe says, not allowing her to finish. She fiddles nervously. “I can tell you that much. I appreciate the offer, but no.”

It warms Aubrey’s heart somewhat, when she notes the sincerity in Chloe’s tone. She can’t help the smile that rises on her lips and she nods encouragingly at Chloe to continue.

She wants to hear all about it - she wants to hear how happy Chloe is and how far they’ve come.

“Okay,” Aubrey says slowly. “You’re happy.”

Chloe bites her lip, looking like she’s about two seconds away from spilling everything. Aubrey restrains herself from excitedly wringing the cloth in her hands.

“I’m happy,” Chloe says after a moment, shrugging a little.

When she catches Aubrey staring at her, she smiles, a little apologetically and hurriedly returns to vacuuming.

Aubrey sighs.

She’ll accept that for now.

(She is so happy for Chloe.)

Amy sighs, stretching out completely on the couch and leaving a little place for Aubrey to perch herself at the end. “If only there were a way to see where they were at all times.”

Aubrey agrees absentmindedly, feeling like there’s something that she’s missing - maybe something that she has completely overlooked.

“Oh, hey, look. Beca’s in DUMBO.”

“That’s nice,” Aubrey replies. Something buzzes through her body. It feels like excitement. Maybe anxiety. Maybe indigestion from Amy’s food.

Vaguely she recalls that Chloe said she’d be away all weekend for an office retreat in -

She pauses.

In Brooklyn.

She latches onto it because she had given Chloe a little shit for it when she heard about it. She hadn’t understood why Chloe opted for separate lodging in Brooklyn when she had a perfectly good home in Manhattan, but now ...

Aubrey scrambles for her phone, nearly leaping clear over the couch and dislodging Amy in the process.

“Where are you going?” Amy calls, peeking over the couch. “Washroom?”

“No,” Aubrey says briskly. “Even better.” She swipes open her phone, navigating to Snapchat like Chloe once instructed her.  Opening it, she sees missed notifications from a number of people, including Chloe.

It takes her about an entire minute to click through all of the missed photos and videos from Chloe when she finally gets to one from just half an hour ago. A vague photo from somewhere that looks like it could be Brooklyn, but it’s not quite discernable to Aubrey.

She furrows her brow before pinching her fingers on the screen, enabling the map function.

She’ll never get over how creepy this is, but she’s is suddenly immensely grateful for it.

She notices that Chloe’s Bitmoji is back in what Aubrey assumes to be her Airbnb.

“This is the most useful thing that Snapchat has ever done,” Amy mutters as they stare at the little circle enclosing both Beca and Chloe’s tiny figures in the same space.

“They’re together!” Aubrey yells. “They’re in the same place! That’s what that means, right?”

Amy is nodding vigorously. “Yeah! Should we go over there now?’ She’s already grabbing her shoes from the front door.

Aubrey’s arm flies out. “No, no. We should…” She can’t stop the grin that stretches across her face. “We should send them a Snapchat.”

“Uh, what? Why?”

“So we can be sure. Amy, you don’t understand. She was so close to telling me. Maybe this will be the exact guilt trip she needs to finally tell me!”

It had not been the guilt trip Chloe needed.

She sent back a few selfies. Beca ignored Aubrey’s Snaps mostly, but at least it updated their locations frequently enough that Aubrey could tell exactly where they were all weekend.

Aubrey diligently keeps track of all their movements with this newfound power.

On Saturday, they spent most of the morning inside, before Chloe seemingly met up with other friends or coworkers for a few hours while Beca wandered around DUMBO again.

Then, they went for dinner at a place Aubrey had been dying to try.

Then, a movie.

Aubrey is shocked at how much information she suddenly has at her disposal. She feels simultaneously torn between continuing to keep this information from Chloe or just revealing all her cards at once.

She discusses this properly with Amy while they’re at Pinkberry on Sunday evening. Aubrey is expecting Chloe to return home soon, but her action plan has yet to be completed.

“Do we tell them we know?” Fat Amy asks as she continues piling toppings in her cup. "Oh, this is like that episode of FRIENDS. Excellent.”

“We?” Aubrey questions.

“Yeah, we’re partners in crime. Practically sisters.”

Aubrey shrugs at that. “Well, I’m thinking of just asking Chloe if she’s hiding something for me.”

“How well did that work out for you last time?”

Aubrey scowls at her friend. “She’ll tell me. I have all the evidence I need.”

“Ah, so you’re going to ambush her. You're an amazing best friend.”

“I’m going to gently nudge her,” Aubrey says delicately. She turns on her phone, navigating to her notes. “I have proof that she and Beca have been going on secret dates for at least the past three months. Maybe more.”

“Well, how are you going to bring it up?”

“I’m going to casually bring up all the places she was today.”

“Casual,” Amy agrees.

Aubrey opens Snapchat, wondering where Chloe is at the moment. Her eyes widen and she splutters, dropping her spoon.

“What is it?” Amy demands excitedly.

“Chloe’s home,” Aubrey says stiltedly. “And Beca’s with her.”

She has barely thought about talking to Beca about all of this. She obviously has to go through her whole spiel as Chloe’s best friend.

Amy is already standing and holding out Aubrey’s purse for her. “Let’s go.”

Aubrey stands, chair scraping back loudly. “Let’s get them.”

By the time they end up reaching Aubrey’s apartment, she is primarily trying to slow her breathing and put on an air of unaffected nonchalance. She makes extended eye contact with Amy before sliding her key into the lock.

Beca and Chloe are sitting on the loveseat again, though they’re not sitting close together. They’re chatting casually, facing each other. Both turn towards the door when it opens all the way.

“Hi roomie,” Chloe greets.

“Hi Aubrey. Amy,” Beca says, waving a little.

“Chloe. Beca.”

They all stare at each other for a moment before Amy breaks the awkward silence by moving to sit on the other couch, stretching out.

A million things run through Aubrey’s mind as she stares at Chloe and Beca. There are so many ways to go about this - so many opportunities for embarrassment and amusement.

Also, so many ways that they could continue to lie to her.

Chloe coughs, standing up quickly. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom. One sec, guys.”

Three pairs of eyes swivel to watch her leave.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Aubrey asks Beca once Chloe has disappeared to the washroom.

Beca stares back at her, a little insolently, a little nervously. “I don’t know. Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she fires back.

Aubrey is surprised at how easily Beca placed the ball back in her court. She practically handed it to her. Aubrey gracefully accepts.

Staring at Beca, Aubrey watches the way she seems to wither under her gaze. Aubrey’s not sure why it comes out exactly like this, but it does: “Not really,” she says slowly. “Except, maybe - Beca, please leave smaller hickeys on Chloe’s neck.”

Her voices rises a little at the end and her arms cross as she stares her down. Beca flushes deep red. Aubrey grins triumphantly when Beca squeaks "what?"

Beca seems to shrink into herself and she gapes, sinking into the couch a little. Amy unhelpfully laughs - or shrieks - and contributes nothing more to the conversation.

“You know, it was one thing when I thought you two were just trying out a friends with benefits thing, because God knows that you’ve both needed to get this fixation with each other out your system, but -” she holds up a finger when Beca opens her mouth. “-My roommate , Beca Mitchell? My best friend? How could you?”

Beca’s brow furrows. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re upset about, but I’m...I’m sorry-?”

“You two,” Aubrey says, sighing. She pulls out her phone, consulting the list of places they went all weekend. “All weekend, while Chloe was supposed to be away for work, and instead, you went to the movies, went to DUMBO, went for a nice stroll in the park,” she continues listing off places and Beca looks increasingly freaked out with each item.

Aubrey can hear Chloe rushing back down the hall. She heaves a breath when Chloe skids into view, eyes wide as she takes in how traumatized Beca looks, how delighted Fat Amy looks, and how pleased Aubrey looks.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice rising nervously in pitch.

Amy grins. “How long do you have, Chloe?”

Aubrey is about to settle down for bed after finishing off a bottle of wine with her friends. After all the drama, they had laughed it off - Beca more hesitantly than everybody else - and drank some wine, reminiscing on Barden and everything in between.

Chloe and Beca had cuddled immediately on the couch, limbs tangling, pleased smiles on their lips.

Now, Aubrey hears a quiet murmur of voices from the hallway.

“I tried to tell you,” Chloe whispers, hushed. “I knew she had an idea.”

“I really thought she didn’t,” Beca mutters back. “You didn’t tell me she’s fucking crazy. I felt like I was on episode of Maury or something. I've never been screamed at like that before.”

Aubrey scoffs. Beca is a baby. She had only raised her voice once. Hardly screaming.

Chloe laughs. “Hey, that’s my best friend you’re talking about, babe. I know her better than almost anybody else.”

“And I’m your girlfriend,” Beca says, in a voice that is so foreign to Aubrey. It is tender and affectionate.

Chloe giggles in response. “Well, I did try to warn you.”

“Chlo!”

Aubrey smiles.

Now that Beca and Chloe feel like they don’t need to hide anymore, Aubrey sees more of Beca than she ever did before, especially with how often she stays overnight. Especially on weekends.

Aubrey hears more of Beca’s music everyday. She also hears Chloe happily humming to herself whenever she’s making dinner.

Aubrey huffs, bumping into Beca on the way to the bathroom.

“Sorry,” Beca says, a little too cheerfully for Aubrey’s taste.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” Aubrey mumbles, blinking to make sure she’s not imagining Beca Mitchell in one of Chloe’s old oversized shirts in the middle of her hallway.

“Here I am,” Beca parries back.

“Bec!” Chloe’s voice calls from down the hall.

“Coming!”

Aubrey makes sure to take her time in the bathroom, hoping against hope that Beca and Chloe are going to sleep in.

She is very wrong.

Aubrey stares wide-eyed up at the ceiling, regretting her decision to forego the earplugs while she was in line at the check-out today.

This is her third traumatizing weekend in a row.

It is only 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

That’s early, even for Aubrey.

She doesn’t even want to think about whose idea this is.

Aubrey has had enough.

She barely resists the urge to just smack her hand against Chloe’s door to tell them to keep it down.

Aubrey (7:29 p.m.) Chloe Beale. Get out here. I have to tell you something.

She sends it off and doesn’t bother waiting for a reply considering she had just been freshly traumatized.

Aubrey privately wonders how Beca finds energy considering how much time she used to spend trying to make Bellas’ rehearsals difficult for everybody. Aubrey assumes Beca spends more time figuring out ways to annoy her than humanly possibly.

“Hey,” Chloe says, startling Aubrey out of her hypnotic trance by the stove. She turns to lower the heat on the stove before facing her friend. “Whatcha making?” Chloe asks, grabbing two - Aubrey’s eyes zero in on the action - water bottles from the fridge.

“Chloe, I have something to tell you,” Aubrey says briskly. She wants to get it over with. Chloe nods, uncapping one water bottle and taking a swig. Aubrey tries not to think about it too hard. “Chloe, you...I -” Aubrey tries to think about what Fat Amy would say, or even do. Chloe continues to stare at her, growing more concerned by the second. “I...no longer wish to have surround sound to your…” Aubrey puts her hand on her chin, tapping contemplatively. “Your...activities,” she finishes delicately. She mentally congratulates herself on her word choice.

It’s interesting, actually. Aubrey kind of wishes she had a secret camera set up somewhere because the next progression of events is simultaneously mortifying and hilarious. Chloe tilts her head in confusion, taking in Aubrey’s words. Aubrey only narrows her eyes further, willing her roommate to just...get the point, so neither of them have to be subjected to this awkward silence any longer.

“Oh,” Chloe says, finally. Quietly. Her cheeks grow red. It’s only temporary while Aubrey thinks that she can maintain the upper hand. Unfortunately, Chloe’s lack of boundaries means that she often bounces back from embarrassing moments with lightning quick reflexes. “I mean,” Chloe says, maintaining a hesitant tone. “It wasn’t me, right? I tried to tell Beca you’d be able to-”

Aubrey drops her spatula in the sink in horror. “No!” She wants to die. “I don’t want to - Jesus Christ, Chloe. Just, I’m letting you know that I can hear you, okay?!” Then, quieter, after a brief pause, “it was definitely you this morning,” she mutters.

Chloe blushes again, though she seems less embarrassed. “Oh, right.”

About an hour later, Aubrey finally settles back in bed with her laptop, determined to watch a movie and just relax for the rest of the night. She quickly stuffs her headphones into her ears, wary of the fact that both Chloe and Beca are still in the apartment.

Her phone buzzes just as she’s about to recline further into her pillows.

Chloe (8:47 p.m.) Oh, haha, I just saw your message.

Chloe (8:47 p.m.) gotchaaaa

Aubrey (8:48 p.m.) I hate you. And I hate Beca, too.

[pendingtitle-blog]

overnight

A collection of stories from the CBD 24/7 McDonalds as told by the workers on the battlefields of its busiest nights. The unsung heroes bringing you food at your lowest moments. All their stories and experiences told are true.

“Treat your men as you would your own beloved sons. And they will follow you into the deepest valley.” ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

11:00 PM. A Friday night. The horde begins to fill up the Melbourne CBD. A knot forms in your gut. Questions race through the mind: How will tonight transpire? Who will make this harder than it needs to be? What will the toilets end up like? What you do know for sure is the party is about to start. The horde will need to be fed. Sustenance in the form of trans fats and fried goodness. Take a deep breath and enter the barracks. The store is clean for now. Bins are freshly replaced, tables wiped down and the stations stocked up. McDonald’s is ready for it’s beating.

You walk through the kitchen, past the managers' office and into the change room. It’s almost time to clock on. Seven hours of punishment from the general party-going public. Seven hours of providing service with a smile, drained of all energy and enthusiasm. The Japanese warriors of old were recorded to have prepared for battle through specially prepared meals that they would consume leading to a rallying of the troops by yelling “GLORY, GLORY”; which would be met by calls from the generals replying “YES, YES”. The same principle applies in this time. Your special meal is a 50% discounted crew meal or a cigarette behind the store to activate the synapses allowing orders to get out faster. The rallying calls is a change room banter. You shoot the shit with the rest of the crew, hearing horror stories from the past to the soundtrack of your coworkers selected playlists echoing the small room. The guy to your left tells you a story all too common with the disorderly drunks fighting among each other. He’s been here a little longer than you so he’s seen the worst that a Friday overnight can offer.

“I think the worst I’ve seen was this obese woman who started a fight with this guy in the store,” he chuckles “she must have been at least 200kg and she thought this other customer had bumped into her on purpose so she just flew a punch at him,

“It sounded like she thought he was making fun of him for her weight which I’m guessing she was insecure about so it turned into a full brawl with at least five different people trying to hold her back,” he goes on “it ended up with the police being called to break the whole thing up”.

Another question forms in your mind. What in god’s name is driving us to do this? It’s not a complicated motivating factor. Why else would an 18 to 20 year old put themselves through this?

Money. This is what you signed up for.

“Because doing this gets you more money. Also, tons of babes come in and will give you their number if you’re lucky,” he grins.

Time ticks closer. The shift starts soon. One sleeve at a time, button up the front, one leg at a time, tighten the belt, slip your work boots on and tie the apron on. Out into the trenches. Finally, ask to start the shift.

“Yes, yes” the manager replies.

“He will win who knows how to handle both superior and inferior forces.”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The greatest armies in history have always relied on coordination and careful execution to subdue powerful forces for victory. Nothing has changed in the present day. Armed with grills, beef, chicken, deep fryers and various other products. Rapid fire production is needed to keep the hunger back. A symbiotic relationship between the front counter and kitchen is needed to keep the peace. One without the other on a night like this would surely end in defeat. An army of eight against the never-ending patrons of Melbourne's ever-booming party scene. It should be noted: this isn’t the case all the time. One hour the store could be packed with order numbers being yelled at the top of your lungs and the customers responding with the ever original catchphrase:

“BINGO!”

The next it could be completely dead with the air being filled from the bleeps and blorps of kitchen. This will not be one of those nights.

Wave one begins. The families and oldies finishing off an old-fashioned night on the town with grease and salt. Children demand soft serves and chippies. The oldies wanting coffee at this hour because how else would one want to finish their night off. Police officers also load up on fuel for their all-nighter of a shift patrolling the patrons of the clubs that will eventually end up in the store.

This will be a litmus test for how the night travels. It’ll show you how busy you’ll end up being, which crew are not up to the task and how awful the bathrooms will end up being. It’s almost a given you get a crew member bewildered by the number of people storming the fort. Putting themselves in no good position to be useful and making a stressful situation even more stressful. Can you blame them though? No one can truly understand what an overnight is until you actually do it. It takes a lot of endurance to make it through a night like this. Even with the consistent sales being made, you ask,  

“Well this is busy, how worse could it get?”

Your fellow coworker replies with the smug grin of a veteran who’s seen it all,

“This is nothing.” A favourite phrase among many of the employees who have worked these shifts.

He continues, “You didn’t work the overnight of the Queens birthday public holiday. That was nasty. It was just me and the boss on the front with two others in the back. We were so backlogged with orders that we had someone from kitchen jumping up to front counter to help get rid of the backed up product while more orders were still coming in.”

The thought of this makes you uneasy and stressed. Nothing is worse than a packed house, nothing but noise resulting in orders being unheard and customers angered because they couldn’t hear. Order 116 being screamed into the void.

His account of events develop further with more horror, “This did not stop from 1 AM to 5 AM. Just constant flow of orders. It would get so bad that I would have to stop taking orders because it would only make it worse. But what resulted was disgruntled drunks now mad about not only not getting their orders quickly but now they weren’t getting served. It was a lose-lose situation for a while.”

A common occurrence on these shifts is that you gain a lot of new perspectives. You don’t have it as bad as you think you have it right now. A lot of this could be a lot worse.

“Thus the expert in battle moves the enemy, and is not moved by him”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The halfway point occurs and it’s time for your break. Relieved of duty for half an hour to refuel and revitalise yourself. So far the crowds are exactly what you would expect. Drunk, disorderly and disappointing. But the team has held them back well with little to no disruptions. Successful execution as always. However, the constant flow and attention drawn onto appeasing the crowds made you forget one thing: The body needs to sleep. The constant attention to everything but yourself has distracted your body from the recovery and rest it needs. Sitting down for this half hour to eat and scroll through Facebook, the effects become immediately noticeable. Speech: impossible to understand. Motor functions: harder to use. Sanity: warped. Time begins to slow down and speed up meaning this war will never be finished. The 30-minute break turned into five. Time to end this.

You would never guess it during the day, but the dining area during 12 AM to 6 AM in a 24/7 McDonalds is something else. You begin to understand how wasteful of a species we are. A trash dump is one of the first words that come to mind. Paper bags, boxes, half eaten food, sauce spills, drink stains, melted ice cream, lost wallets and phones all strewn across the tables, floors and seats. Overflowing bins create a greasy stench. The homeless of the city sleep amongst this because it's better than sleeping on the streets. A quick glimpse at the toilets reveals a myriad of monstrosities ranging from faeces on the floor and walls, a flood of urine creating ‘stank’ air as a replacement for oxygen, dried up vomit containing half digested cheeseburgers and used tampons littered about. Six million years of human evolution has lead to this moment. Only you and the coworkers around you can turn this dumpsite into a restaurant that families come into during the day. The bags fill up one by one, ready to be compacted. Where is this waste going to end up? Another landfill? You’re not paid to think about this. You’re being paid to hide it from today’s customers.

Except they won’t let you give you the courtesy to that. The final rush of club goers come in at 4 AM to add more waste and more stress. This rush will be particularly nasty. Complete disregard for everything around them. Settling into the areas already clean. Encamping into spots until 6 AM. Leaving more waste than before to be collected. A strain on everyone’s resources stopping the entire crew from finishing what they need to finish. But that's what sets McDonalds’ overnight workers from the rest of the crop. Endurance of all this bullshit. The kitchen crew will still clean and prepare for the next people coming in. The front counter crew will still stock and clean the restaurant while getting orders out the best they can. The manager on shift will still do the bureaucratic work required to make sure the store continues to run on top of doing what they can to help kitchen and front with what’s needed. A formidable force in the hospitality industry. Unbeatable.

And just like that, the pain ends. The store is clean like nothing happened over the last 7 hours. Everyone is gone and the day is starting for everyone else. Except you. It’s time to rest soldier. The journey home begins.

“Who wishes to fight must first count the cost”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The body knows it must rest now. Your eyelids are drawing heavier and you're drifting off into the realm of sleep. However, it doesn’t end there. Your dreams are invaded by the events of the past shift. Surreal nightmares that take away all control. Every worst-case scenario that the brain could create is presented in high definition terror. A customer has been waiting four hours for their order. The monitor is overwhelmed with products you don’t understand. You keep packing the orders wrong. The whole team despises you. Failure. Hate. Fear. All for your viewing.

You only had to do one. Now, what happens if you were to do it four to five days in a row? You’ve heard the stories told to you by the real troopers who put themselves through it again and again, living on a reverse sleep cycle.

One of the kitchen crew had told you their “sleep deprivation would build up so much that by the time I got to a day off I would sleep around 16 hours literally wasting it, making it become, instead, a cycle of sleep and work”. A beast that keeps on consuming time and energy the more you dive deeper into.

The sleep after one of these shifts is enough to make anyone feel like they’ve wasted a day. Sleeping until 4 pm just to eat dinner then go back to sleep. Time stolen because recovery was necessary. To someone who had to do multiples of these it then felt like “a void,” where they “would be back and forth between the same two places, doing the same things” entering into what felt “like I was in a dream and granted how little sleep I got maybe parts of it was”.

This is what you agree to and there’s no shame in it. You need money and this is the lengths you and the people around you will go to get it. The hospitality industry is known for its horror stories and granted the customers are significantly worse at this time; although, a small minority remain kind-hearted in these hours. The knot unties and now you have permission to rest easy until the next time.

[yodawgiherd]

Chapter 29: Half-hot, half-cold

AO3

Rating: M

“So, she curved you both a whole week huh? “

“Hmm. Got to say it surprised me, I would have never guessed that she took it so personally. “, Mikasa leaned back in the chair, eyes scanning the crowd and searching for a familiar head full of blond hair.

“I don’t think that Armin sharing their troubles with you was the sole reason, more like the last drop. “, Eren stifled back a yawn, blinking the tiredness from his eyes. It was rather late in Japan. “The straw that broke the camel’s back, as they say. “

“When did you get so poetic? “, she giggled, and finally spotted Armin in the crowd, waving him over. “Are the sakura trees whispering knowledge to you? “

“Nah, I blame Erwin. The man has so many talents that I wouldn’t be surprised if he was secretly an author on the side. “another yawn threatened to tear his jaw from its hinges. Damn he was beat. But talking with Mikasa was something that he enjoyed more than sleeping. He felt a bit embarrassed by realizing it, but he missed her a lot. It was just a few days, but he was really looking forward to getting home and hugging her. And perhaps other things later, he thought with a sly grin, his eyes gliding over to the nightstand where the Shibari book was laid.

Armin sat down opposite of her, and seeing her with a phone he mouthed “Eren? “and Mikasa nodded in confirmation. “Look I can hear that you are tired, so I won’t keep you. Besides Armin just came, so we will try to come up with a strategy to get Annie to open. Sooo see you tomorrow? “

“Tell him I said hi! “, Eren shuffled into a more comfortable position on the bed and with a final “Love you “and “Love you more. “, they hung up on each other. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face. Finally, he was coming home. The week was exactly as hectic as Erwin promised it to be, the two of them traveling from place to place to try and establish as many connections as possible. And overall, they were very successful, as the director said, grinning wide. Yet somehow, all Eren could think of was getting home and seeing her again. One more night, he thought to himself, and closed his eyes, drifting to sleep.

“What did he say? “, Armin asked, when Mikasa finally put down the phone.

“Not much, just that he’s excited to come back home. “, she smiled, “I’m looking forward to seeing him again too, you know. “Mikasa leaned back forward, and fixed Armin with a stare. “But Eren is not the reason we are here, soldier. Any development on the operation: Annie? “

Armin gave her a mock salute. “Sir! No sir! She’s still not answering my calls, sir! “

“At ease. “, she chuckled. “Well that sucks, because I haven’t seen her since the talk either. She stopped going to Levi’s gym, and if I call her she ignores it as well. “

“We could always just, you know, just turn up at her house. “, Armin suggested, “We both know where she lives. “

“I’m not going on a home invasion just because we haven’t talk to her in a week. Not happening Armin. “

“Yea, yea, I’m just saying. Sometimes you have to take the conflict to the enemy territory. I read it in The Art of War. “

Mikasa decided not to question the great Sun Tzu, especially because the waiter just showed up with their order and she was really hungry. The next few minutes were spent in silence with both of them stuffing their stomachs instead of thinking about their problem. It was a welcome change.

“So, youph phlaning sumting specl? “, Mikasa looked up from her food with raised eyebrow. Whatever Armin wanted to say, the meaning was lost to her because his mouth was full of his noodles. He swallowed, rather noisily, and repeated his question. “So, you planning something special? “

“For what? “, she asked.

“For tomorrow, what else. The great reunion after a week of painful separation and all that stuff. “he waved his fork around to emphasize his point.

“Well…. No, not really. “, honestly, her great plan was to drag him off to bedroom as soon as possible, but now that she thought about it, perhaps they could do something more…. Normal?  The bedroom thing was happening, wherever Eren wanted it or not, but maybe she could do something for beforehand. Like… dinner?

“Whatever you guys feel like doing, I’m sure he will be happy. “Armin put down his bowl and flashed her a smile. “I’m hardly the relationship expert here. “

They finished their food and left the restaurant, walking together up until the point they usually said their goodbyes and continued separate ways.

“Any last minute tips? “, he asked, the easy smile on his face covering just how much he was worried about his relationship that seemed to be falling apart.

Mikasa scratched the back of her head. “Nope, not really. Though maybe you could like buy a bottle or something, that should at least take your mind off it for an evening. “

Drinking. Now that was a sound advice. Arming hugged Mikasa goodbye and resumed his journey to his home, the thoughts dragging behind him like a dark cloud.

 The evening found her standing in front of a wardrobe, as she chewed her bottom lip and discussed with herself what the hell she was supposed to wear. Over the course of years, she collected a rather vast collection of things she bought herself and some that Eren got her, but right now she couldn’t decide for shit. Well fuck it, she said to herself, he always said that she looks amazing no matter what she wears. Grabbing t-shirt and sweatpants from the pile, the pulled them on, heading to the kitchen. Now for the main course of the evening.

The door clicked, and Eren let out a sigh, taking in the familiar scent of his home. He sniffed, his nose scrunching a bit. There was something… off, about it, but he couldn’t place it. But before he could investigate, he was hit by whirlwind of strong limbs, pale skin and raven hair, knocking him back a few steps before he managed to regain some balance, his luggage clattering on the ground in process. “H… “was all he managed to squeeze out before she viciously attacked his mouth, biting his bottom lip until he let her in to drag her tongue alongside his. Eren completely surrendered to her assault, keeping his hands on her hips to steady her, although he was quite sure that she could keep herself on him with just the leglock she had around his waist. But while he was completely content about how the night was going right now, Mikasa seemed to remember something, because after few minutes of trying to suck his face off she broke the kiss, panting for air, and wiped her lips on her sleeve.

“You… you want to move this somewhere else? “, he asked, also breathing heavily. She nodded. “Where? “

“To the kitchen. “, she said and jumped down from his arms, grabbing his hand instead and dragging him behind her.

His theory, that she wanted him to lay her down across the counter as he was itching to do a week back was quickly debunked, when he saw the prepared table and the food that was sitting on top of it. “You…err… cooked? “

“Yes. “, she turned, hands on hips. “Something wrong with that? “

Eren sat down with a grin, shaking his head. Mikasa’s cooking wasn’t THAT bad, but he just spent a week in the most prominent of Japan restaurants, so he was rather sure that anything she made will just pale in comparison. “You made burgers? “

“Of course. You are back on the American soil, so you have to eat like a proper citizen. “, she flashed him a smile. “Dig in. “

It was…. Surprisingly tasty, Eren had to admit. It seems that once again he underestimated her. Over the course of the meal he told her all about the Japan trip, the things he saw and did, and the plans he made for when the two of them will be there.

“All right, but about you? “

“What about me? “, he asked, a bit confused by the question.

“Well, you’ve been sitting here, saying Erwin did this and Erwin did that, but what about you? What did you do there? “

Eren scratched the back of his head. “Well, that’s the thing, I didn’t do much. I just sat there while he flourished his perfect Japanese and won everyone over. Oh, and some of them wanted to see my hands. “

Mikasa almost choked on her drink. “your hands? “

“Yep. “, Eren held up his palm, letting the light fall on his long fingers. “For some reason they really liked seeing them, Erwin told me that they called them “hands of a great healer. “ “

“Healing? Is that all they do? “, she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I got plenty of tricks up my sleeve. “, he grinned, “Let me show you. “

 Their clothes littered the floor as they tumbled on the bed, and Mikasa couldn’t help but sigh as she felt his fingers push into her. She closed her eyes to savor it, while Eren planted a string of kisses from her mouth to her neck, where he grinned into the skin.

“Baby, you didn’t tell me there was a dessert. “

“W-What? I-I didn’t… “, she pried her eyes open, just to see him drag his lips down her body and reposition himself between her thighs, where he shot her a quick grin. When he dipped his head down and she felt his mouth where she craved it to be, Mikasa decided that he can keep making as many bad jokes as he wants to, if the outcome will feel as good as this. Then he sucked, and she lost control of her voice.

 “Delicious. “

She snorted, still hiding her face behind her arm, the aftershocks of her orgasm slowly leaving her body. Eren gently pulled her cover away, grinning when she blinked her eyes open at him and pecked her on the lips.  

“Someone was a screamer today, you wanted the neighbors to hear us? “

Mikasa blushed to the roots of her hair. It was the truth that she was rather loud, but then again, with the way he could make her feel, who could blame her?

“You know what, “she frowned at him, “you just lost your privilege to be on top with those stupid comments. “

“Oh. “, was all Eren could say before his back hit the mattress with her straddling his hips. Reaching out to the nightstand, she fished out a pair of handcuffs and clicked them closed on his right wrist before dragging his arms up so she can secure them to the metal bed railing. Eren automatically raised his other hand, and she rewarded him with a kiss before cuffing his other wrist, locking him arms in place above his head.

“You, sir, are under arrest. “, she said, grinning at her victim below her, “You have the right to remain silent, “she pinched his nipples and watched him shudder, “but I would prefer if you didn’t. “

Eren wanted to say something, but she dragged her fingernails down his chest, and all he could do was moan while the red markings appeared on his skin. Then she curled her fingers around his stiff length and dragged the tip of her tongue over the tip, and he lost the ability to talk. When her hot and wet mouth enveloped his whole shaft, he closed his eyes and gave up on thinking. It was good to be home.

 The bottle stood unopened on Armin’s table, and he watched the liquor inside with sad eyes. It was late, but he just couldn’t bring himself to crack it open and forget, as Mikasa advised him. That was the thing, he didn’t want to forget, not even for a night. Instead, he grabbed his phone and with practiced movements called Annie, for what could be like a hundred time this week. Armin was more than ready to hear the voice mail again, so he was mightily surprised when she picked up. He jolted up in his seat.

“Annie? Is that you? “

There was no response form the other side, but he could swear that he could hear her breathing.

“Annie please, answer me. “

Still nothing.

“I just… “, he sighed. “I miss you Annie, so please, call me, okay? “

Without a confirmation or denial, the line disconnected, and he was left staring at the blank screen.

[msdoctorwho]

Fire Meet Gasoline, Ch. 9

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461255/chapters/34141604

But it's a bad bet, certain death But I want what I want and I gotta get it When the fire dies, darkened skies Hot ash, dead match, only smoke is left -Sia

In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity. -Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”

As hurt, scared, and angry as she was, Bulma had a hard time blaming him for leaving. He’d only just started to let himself be comfortable with her, to settle into a new life, to figure out who he was away from a dead planet and a nightmare tyrant. How else could she expect him to act, blindsided with the overwhelming responsibility for another life, fearing a distraction that could rob him of the achievement on which he’d staked his entire significance?

While she obviously hadn’t gotten knocked up all by herself, they both knew if she hadn’t pursued him so relentlessly, they’d still just be sort-of-friends.

That was the worst bit -- she missed him, she missed the easy company of their fledgling friendship, and hated that it might be gone, forever. Sometimes she wished it could all go back to the way it had been before, too.

But there was no use dwelling on that -- she needed to move forward, and there was work to do.

With her child’s father in space, potentially never to return, the possibility of wishing back Nappa and Raditz had become a certainty for Bulma. She needed to know more about them. She wanted more for her child than a lost, dead, heritage.

And the feeling that they deserved the same second chance as Vegeta had been nagging at her ever since she’d spoken with him about it. Now, he wasn’t here to fight her on it.

Or give a fuck what she did with the rest of her life on Earth.

It was easy enough to collect the dragon balls again on her own. She took them to the middle of nowhere to avoid inconvenient questions from nosy friends.

She hadn't counted on stumbling into Gohan, who, from the look on his face, was also hoping to be alone and escape the notice of anyone he knew.

“Hey, Bulma,” he said, looking surprised and guilty.

“What’s up, kid?” Bulma asked, calculating whether or not to lie to him.

“Dad thinks I’m doing homework, and Mom thinks I’m training.” He paused. “I just needed a break.”

“You’ve got a lot of expectations on you, kid. It’s not really fair.” She ruffled his hair, embarrassing him with the childish gesture. “But if anyone can live up to them, it’s you.”

Hand to the back of his head, he looked bashful and changed the subject. “What are you doing out here, with the Dragon Balls? Can I help?”

She looked at him for a long time, and then looked away. “You’re not really a kid anymore, Gohan. What I want to do isn’t necessarily smart, and it isn’t safe, but it’s what I feel in my heart is right.”

She went on, looking out over the jagged cliffs of rust-colored rock, baking in the afternoon sun. “If I let you stay, I’d have to ask you not to tell your parents and I don’t want to put you in that position.”

He thought for a moment. “I think Dad would want me to help you even if it meant lying to him. And Mom...well, I’m going to be in trouble with her today either way,” he laughed uneasily.

Bulma nodded, and began to summon a dragon.

The majesty of Shen-lon never got old -- a vast creature that seemed to touch the sky, booming voice echoing in her ears. This time, she felt like he was eyeing her a bit in judgment.

She worded her wish carefully. “I wish for Nappa and Raditz to be alive again, but unable to harm me or anyone I care about.”

If she played her cards right they’d never uncover that failsafe.

In an instant, they towered over her, blinking and disoriented. Raditz recovered first. “I remember you, little human,” he hissed.

Nappa’s eyes narrowed in recognition.

She didn’t cower, budge, or lose eye contact. “Aren’t you at all curious about why you’re no longer dead?”

At this they looked uncertain. Suddenly coming back to life was a lot to handle, even for them.

“Vegeta asked me to find the Dragon Balls and bring you back,” she lied.

Nappa snorted. “Prince Vegeta doesn’t ask anyone to do anything.”

She had to smile at that. “True enough, but fortunately for him I agreed with the idea.”

“Why, little earthling, would you ever do that?” Nappa’s soft growl was much more intimidating than Raditz’s brash, insulting tone, as he stepped closer.

“Stay away from her!” Gohan warned, his forward motion cut short by Bulma’s quick gesture to stay put.

“Nephew!” Raditz’ surprise was evident, but there was nothing warm in it. “Come to greet your uncle?”

He cracked his knuckles, and even Bulma could feel the auras flaring to life around her. The Gohan who had cowered from these aliens was long gone, replaced by a young man eager for a fight. She’d bet her airship that Piccolo was monitoring them from somewhere, as well.

Bulma needed control of the situation now.

“Stop this at once!” she commanded, in their own language. “Power down, and show more control than a green cadet.” Translated more accurately as, “Stop jerking off instead of thinking.” Her tone was haughty, arrogant, and scathing.

The two Saiyans, all three of them actually, gaped at her open-mouthed. She imagined they could not have been more surprised than if Vegeta himself had unzipped her skin like a suit and stepped out to reprimand them. Their collective gathered power fizzled out in shock.

“A lot has changed while you’ve been gone, assholes.” she said, ignoring them to brush non-existent lint away from her clothing, an arrogant display of confidence.

“Clearly,” Nappa replied, gruff, and suspicious, regarding her like a talking cockroach.

“The short version is: Gohan is with me because Kakarot recognized Vegeta as his Prince, became a Super Saiyan, and killed Frieza to avenge your planet.” Mostly killed, she amended, in her head.

Gohan couldn’t follow the conversation, but he heard his name, and his father’s, and Frieza’s. The Saiyans seemed to be listening attentively, so he let himself relax.

Bulma continued, “Vegeta is on a training mission to ascend, as we’ve been warned about a new threat to Earth.”

“And why would Prince Vegeta give a shit about a threat to this pathetic ball of mud?” Raditz challenged.

“Is there a reason needed to fight, Saiyan, beyond glory, blood and victory?” she replied coolly. It was a very Vegeta, very Saiyan answer. The implied Saiyan subtext was a bit more like “Is that not enough to get it up for you?”

“...the brass balls on this bitch,” muttered Raditz, cowed enough to do it under his breath.

“What is Prince Vegeta to you, woman?” Unlike Vegeta, when Nappa used this form of address, it was distant but respectful. His eyes were curious.

For the first time her composure flickered. “I’m his...” she paused, searching for a Saiyan label that commanded more respect than “baby mama,” and coming up wanting.

“I’m his earthling paramour,” she finally ground out, her eyes daring them to comment. It implied higher status than “whore” or “concubine”, but not by much.

Nappa’s head was spinning. She spoke like a soldier, with the rude, direct structure of the barracks, none of the bullshit equivocation of the aristocracy. Her flawless accent, though, and her tone -- that belonged to a queen. The clear ring of command belonged to a general.

She sounded like Vegeta.

She sounded like Vegeta, with a cultivated fondness for creative vulgarity and a habit of using and discarding feminine pronouns like she could only be bothered to use them when she felt like it.

She was a fascinating and infuriating creature, and he could see all too well what Vegeta’s interest in her might have been.

Raditz only laughed though, almost to the point of tears. “As if! The Prince never eats local cuisine!” Literally: “never fucks cannon fodder.”

She grew more and more still, the longer he went on, and Nappa felt he had seen warmer light reflected off of glaciers, compared to the icy glint of her gaze.

“Put your useless, lowborn brain to work, you unwashed troglodyte, and use your enhanced senses to figure it out.” She opened her arms, daring him to do it.

Raditz approached her with caution, though it was clear by now her only weapon was her tongue. He lifted her hair, curiously, and then dropped to his knees to investigate her scent, his nose practically in her crotch. Her face flamed, but she didn’t move.

His expression was suddenly a lot less smug. “It’s faint, but she does smell like him.” He stared at her with a lot more curiosity now, which inexplicably made her feel shy. She ignored it.

Nappa rolled his eyes and stepped up to her, looking for more important tells. She watched him, warily, but allowed him to pull her sweater off her shoulder, exposing her neck.

Raditz gave a low whistle. “Well, someone’s been biting --” Literally: “Looks like he bit off more than he could--”

Nappa cut him off with a wave of his hand. If she’d had any idea what a mark like that meant, she wouldn’t have introduced herself as only his lover. Nappa had long ago given up trying to figure out how his Prince’s mind worked, but this was a next-level mess.

And…

His hand drifted lower, respectfully, hovering over her lower belly, searching. He dropped to his knees without thinking, automatically, and punched Raditz in the calf.

“Kneel, idiot, she is mother to the next heir of Vegetasei,” he said only. He wasn’t a kind man, but it seemed cruel even to him to add the rest when it was obviously unknown to her.

And the claimed mate of your Prince.

Which is how Bulma found herself with two loyal if somewhat feral Saiyan subjects, however much she tried to convince them otherwise.

Her parents were used to her “taking in strays” at this point. Her mother was delighted to host “friends of Vegeta” and her dad greeted them warmly with only a little grumbling about moving up the R&D on his food replication tech with two more Saiyans to feed.

She convinced them without too much trouble not to blast her parents or anyone else into oblivion for neglecting to use Vegeta’s title, telling them that since he’d been living on Earth he had stopped using it.

Raditz was insufferably pleased that the first legendary to arise in millennia was from his own direct bloodline. He was desperate to find out more, convinced that he himself should be able to do it, too. At her insistence he agreed to wait to visit Goku until she could break the news herself, but he wouldn’t wait long.

That was going to be a fun conversation with Chichi.

Turns out, the two of them were indeed better conversationalists than Vegeta when it came to Saiyan culture, though the comparison wasn’t entirely fair. Nappa reminded her that all of Vegeta’s knowledge came from what he’d learned as a young child, or from a book, or his elders. He’d experienced none of Vegetasei’s culture or society as an adult himself.

She was ashamed of not having figured that out herself, as it should have been obvious.

“If he was insufferable, that was my doing,” Nappa told her, one night when they were sitting alone over coffee, the first and only Saiyan to take to the bitter Earth beverage. “He was a boy, tormented by a monster, told he was a Prince. Fortifying his pride and his power was all I could do for him.”

“He would hate that you’re telling me this,” Bulma said.

“Which one of us is going to tell him?” Nappa asked.

She sighed. “Either of us, if he asked.”

He grunted, pleased with the loyalty in her answer, however difficult it might make life for them both.

If he ever comes back, Bulma thought.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her, however hard he tried.

He trained to utter exhaustion, in the most extreme conditions he could produce, and still she haunted him.

Unexpectedly, there was a monitor in the ship connected to a camera in her lab, an old feed that had never been disconnected. There was a fearful symmetry in the way he watched her now, the same way she had observed him in the beginning.

She didn’t spend much time at her desk, but he would catch her, now and then, eating instant noodles, drawing schematics, engine grease smeared on her cheek, in her hair. Sometimes he saw the remnant of tears, or dark circles from lack of sleep, but in general she looked like she was doing well, doing better than him.

The curve of her belly appeared overnight as if from nowhere, and he watched it increase with growing dread. No matter what he had said to her or himself, he kept thinking desperately that she was alone, unprotected, it was his duty to be close, to make sure both she and the child were safe. The way he had never been safe.

He was not the kind of man who should have offspring. He knew nothing of fatherhood other than the distant man who’d made a feckless bargain to save himself by giving his son over for certain abuse.

He should not be a father, he had never wanted to be. But it was happening whether he’d willed it or not, and suddenly the terror that he’d never ascend wasn’t only about himself anymore. The androids were coming -- had already come, the boy had said, and Earth had been crushed beneath them.

He had to ascend, he had to, and for once Kakarot wasn’t in his thoughts at all.

In his nightmares of failure, he didn’t dream of his own death anymore.

Only hers.

[undergroundbandimagines]

7 Lessons from Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War” That Will Get You Through a Divorce

7 Lessons from Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War” to Get You Through a Divorce

Recovering from a marriage to a narcissist adds an added layer of complexity

By dmitry_islentev for Shutterstock

Recovering from a divorce after a 20-year marriage is never an easy feat. Therapist Susan Pease Gadua in Psychology Today likens the undoing of a marriage to, “Trying to disentangle two trees that have grown next to each other for years. The more intertwined the root systems are, the longer it will take for the trees to go their separate ways.”

Recovering from a marriage to a narcissist adds an added layer of complexity and a few extra hurdles to get over before you can feel whole again. And divorcing a narcissist is not for the faint of heart. Yes, this too (like a gallstone) shall pass, but first, it’s going to hurt. And you’re going to need to strategize.

If you’re like me, you may not have unpacked this emotional baggage until after the marriage, and you may not have a full understanding that you are, in fact, married/separating from a narcissist. All you know is you’ve been lied to, lied about, and he is accusing you of his actual behavior, which is maddening.

According to Dr. Ramani Durvasula, someone who is an expert in the field of narcissism, “narcissistic” is an adjective, it’s not a diagnosis. It’s a descriptive term that usually signifies a personality pattern. It is characterized by patterns like inconsistent or superficial empathy, entitlement, grandiosity, arrogance, superficiality, chronic validation-seeking, hypersensitivity, a propensity towards rage, especially when the person is frustrated or disappointed, and then incapacity to deal with frustration and disappointment.

The first thing to understand, according to Dr. Ramani Durvasula, is that narcissists love to win. “It motivates everything they do. They actually believe you can win in relationships, so it’s a big thing to them. They really love the idea that their partner will get destroyed after the relationship ends, which is why narcissistic divorces can be very expensive.”

Now, you may be a kind and gentle, loving soul. The kind of person who scoops up spiders to let them live, just not in your house. (OK, I am not that person). The point is, it’s time to grow a pair. You don’t have to sink to their level — instead, you must rise above it.

You might be wondering what a Chinese general, military strategist and reputed author born in 544 BC could know about egomaniacal showrunners, forensic accounting, and family court, but I find that Sun Tzu’s profound wisdom of outsmarting your enemy, plotting several moves ahead, and getting inside the head of your opponent are time-tested winning strategies.

Even if you have to stomach an expensive divorce, you will be better prepared going in with Sun Tzu’s knowledge. And hopefully, with fewer surprises, it will be a shorter ordeal.

The Art of War lesson #1

“Move swift as the Wind and closely-formed as the Wood. Attack like the Fire and be still as the Mountain.”

Translation: you cannot mediate. You may have a loving friend or relative advise you to mediate because it is the kinder and gentler route, the route that saves money. The problem with this is that successful mediation requires complete disclosure, laying everything on the table and there can be no power imbalance. If you are married to someone who lies and cheats, what makes you think you will have fairness and transparency in mediation?

This is a waste of everyone’s time and money. I still receive polite bills from Geraldine, the kind woman who did her level best for two years to try to end this marriage before she pulled me aside at our fifth mediation and said, “You cannot mediate with this person.”

File for divorce. It’s the only way.

Lesson #2

“Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.”

If he is sneaky, guess what? He will try things in court that are dirty and sneaky. He will hire sleazy lawyers that specialize in high-end bullshit. Remember, you are that closely-formed wood. Know yourself, and don’t be rattled by his bullshit tactics.

Case in point: One of my husband’s strategies was to convince the court I was a dreadful parent who drove the family to financial ruin. But, like the Peanuts characters listening to an adult, what the state of California hears is, “wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.” It still comes down to: what is your shit worth? How much does this guy make? I put my career on hold to raise our children and create a lovely home. Alimony, child support, bing, bang, boom.

In his arrogance, the ex and his lawyers announced that since I had driven the family to financial ruin he would be keeping the pension. The only problem with that is — the law! We didn’t really need to reinvent the wheel, yet here we were, reinventing the wheel, to the tune of a six-figure legal fee.

Lesson #3 (a two-parter)

“It is only the enlightened ruler and the wise general who will use the highest intelligence of the army for the purposes of spying, and thereby they achieve great results.”

“Foreknowledge cannot be gotten from ghosts and spirits, cannot be had by analogy, cannot be found out by calculation. It must be obtained from people, people who know the conditions of the enemy.”

Subpoena folks. Have your team seek records from reliable sources to get the actual factual documents you need. Subpoena people who have his documents and his contracts. Do a forensic accounting. Check out his girlfriend’s Instagram. It may be quite enlightening. Even better if she has a blog detailing the timeline with everything you need to know.

Lesson#4

“Conceal your dispositions, and your condition will remain secret, which leads to victory; show your dispositions, and your condition will become patent, which leads to defeat.”

If you’re feeling a little bamboozled and you’ve just gotten out of a marriage in which you were emotionally manipulated for years, you may not be used to standing your ground and remaining poker-faced.

What the narcissist desperately needs is attention and he/she needs to know that he matters in your life. When you resist those crazy calls, emails, and texts and simply don’t engage, it is maddening for them. Dr. Durvasula says, “You win when you don’t give them the fight because the fight is what they want.”

I say, not mattering is the biggest wound the narcissist can receive from the person who used to hold his hand in empathy and believe the crap he shoveled. It throws them off their center. It also enrages them, but your secret weapon is not giving a shit anymore. It helps unnerve them, and more importantly, it helps you lay the ground for getting back to yourself, remembering how strong you can be, and finding your way out so you can move on.

Lesson #5

“It is the unemotional, reserved, calm, detached warrior who wins, not the hothead seeking vengeance and not the ambitious seeker of fortune.”

You may want to seek revenge on your ex for any number of grievances, but consider whether going for the jugular in court is just something you could work out (much less expensively and without involving law enforcement) in therapy. Dragging things out will drain both of you, both emotionally and financially. It’s time to break free and leave emotion out of the proceedings.

Lesson #6

“Anger may in time change to gladness; vexation may be succeeded by content. But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life.”

No, we won’t be having Thanksgiving together, thanks.

My ex-husband is mortally offended when he is not invited to Thanksgiving. At my apartment. With my family, who hates him. And yet he engages my younger daughter in this fantasy that, gee, it would be so nice if we could all do things as a family if only Mom wasn’t so bitter!

A huge part of separating from this person is becoming grounded, once again, in your own reality. You are entitled to your feelings, and the idea of sucking it up because it’s good for the kids is bullshit. What’s good for the kids is living in reality. What’s good for the kids is knowing their mother is true to her feelings. That she matters. We can now have lovely, separate, but equal holiday events. You don’t get to sit down and have a slice of my bitchin’ pecan pie at my table that would put Martha Stewart to shame. No. Not this year, not any year. Boundaries.

Right now you’re swimming with sharks, and this may well be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you will get through it, one day at a time. You are fierce. Rely on your senses — no one can tell you that what you heard must have been a mistake, what you witnessed was distorted, and no one can deny your experience. Hold your center, no matter how much he tries to throw you off.

Lesson #7

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.”

When you are finally divorced, that is an accomplishment in itself. The going got tough, and you proved you could get going and get it done. You fought for yourself and you probably turned out to be much stronger than you realized.

The truth is, up is the only way to go now. Hold a vision of yourself in a happier place where you are in control of your life. It will be a lot to unpack — therapy is an excellent tool to help with this — but get through the fight and lean on your village for all the support you need.

It’s a beautiful thing to regain freedom, peace, and financial independence, and when you get there, it’s going to feel so good.

7 Lessons from Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War” That Will Get You Through a Divorce was originally published in P.S. I Love You on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

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[thedogsled]

QOTD - reference

Pre-season 13

The best journeys answer questions that in the beginning you didn’t even think to ask – Jeff Johnson

Forget what we became, what matters is what we’ve become, and our potentials to overcome - Aniekee Tochukwu Ezekiel

Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved – WJ Bryan

New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings – Lao Tzu

To avoid criticism do nothing, say nothing, be nothing – Elbert Hubbard

Anger: an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured – Mark Twain

Education is the kindling of a flame not the filling of a vessel - Socrates

Trust yourself. Think for yourself. Act for yourself. Speak for yourself. Be yourself. Imitation is suicide – Marva Collins

13.01 - Lost & Found

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone – Harriet Beacher Stowe

Do not fear death so much, but rather the inadequate life – Bertolt Brechy

Democracy is a device that insures we shall be governed no better than we deserve – George Bernard Shaw

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end – Seneca

We must travel in the direction of our fear – John Berryman

Neither should a ship rely on one small anchor, nor should life rest on a single hope – Epictetus

A traveler is really not someone who crosses ground so much as someone who is always hungry for the next challenge and adventure – Pico Iyer

13.02 - The Rising Son

Cease endlessly striving for what you want to do and learn to love what must be done – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The most authentic endings are the ones which are already revolving towards another beginning – Sam Shepard

If you want to shine like a sun, first burn like a sun – APJ Abdul Kalan

History is a vast early warning system – Norman Cousins

I don’t like to commit myself about heaven and hell. You see, I have friends in both places – Mark Twain

To succeed in life you need three things: a wishbone, a backbone and a funny bone – Reba McEntire

13.03 - Patience

Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age – Jeanne Moreau

Don’t be pushed by your problems. Be led by your dreams – Ralph Waldo Emerson

It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wears you out, it’s the pebble in your shoe – Mohammed Ali

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste death but once – William Shakespeare

Indifference and neglect often do more damage than outright dislike – JK Rowling

Too many people know the price of everything and the value of nothing – Oscar Wilde

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a ride!” – Hunter S Thompson

13.04 - The Big Empty

It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious – Oscar Wilde

The world is wide, and I will not waste my life in friction when it could be turned to momentum – Frances Willard

Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward – CS Lewis

Nations, like stars, are entitled to eclipse. All is well, provided the light returns and the eclipse does not become endless night. Dawn and resurrection are synonymous. The reappearance of the light is the same as the survival of the soul – Victor Hugo

One can never creep when one feels an impulse to soar – Hellen Keller

In every day, there are 1,440 minutes. That means we have 1,440 daily opportunities to have a positive impact – Les Brown

13.05 - Advanced Thanatology

Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny – Christopher Markus

Do not worry if you have built your castles in the air. They are where they should be. Now put the foundations under them – Henry David Thoreau

Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living. It’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope – Dr. Seuss

There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm – Willa Cather

The same boiling water that softens the potato hardens the egg. It’s about what you’re made of, not the circumstances – Unknown

The hardest thing in life is to learn which bridge to cross and which to burn – David Russel

When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower – Alexander Den Heijer

Bravery never goes out of fashion – William Makepeace Thackray

13.06 - Tombstone

Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly – Morticia Addams

A ship is safe in harbour, but that’s not what ships are for – William G T Shedd

The roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less travelled by, and that made all the difference – Robert Frost

Courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway – John Wayne

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future – Oscar Wilde

Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that – Martin Luther King

13.07 - War of the Worlds

Remember that just because you hit rock bottom doesn’t mean you have to stay there – Robert Downey Jr

When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on – Franklin D Roosevelt

Never love anybody who treats you like you’re ordinary – Oscar Wilde

The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision – Helen Keller

To thrive in life you need three bones – A wishbone, a backbone and a funny bone – Reba McEntire

We build too many walls and not enough bridges – Isaac Newton

Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds – Albery Einstein

13.08

Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality – Lewis Carroll

Practice like you’ve never won. Perform like you’ve never lost.

We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us – Charles Bukowski

Life has a way of testing a person’s will, either by having nothing happen at all or by having everything happen at once – Paulo Coelho

13.09/13.10 - The Bad Place/Wayward Sisters

Joy is the holy fire that keeps our purpose warm and our intelligence aglow – Helen Keller

Beware of monotony; it’s the mother of all deadly sins – Edith Wharton

You can waste your lives drawing lines. Or you can live your life crossing them – Shanda Rhimes

I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back – Maya Angelou

Heroes need monsters to establish their heroic credentials . You need something scary to overcome – Maragaret Atwood

I would rather wait with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light – Helen Keller

The further we’ve gotten from the magic and mystery of our past, the more we’ve come to need Halloween – Pata Guran

I desire the things which will destroy me in the end – Sylvia Plath

I think you travel to search and you come back home to find yourself – Chimomanda Ngazi Cidichie

Maybe who we are isn’t so much about what we do, but rather what we’re capable of when we least expect it – Jodi Picoult

We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are – Anaois Nin

Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to pick up the pieces when it’s all over – Octavia Butler

If your dream is only about you, it’s too small – Ava DuVerney

The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any – Alice Walker 

[chloe-gayzer]

Oh that's so awesome you are taking Nadine/Chloe prompts!! "Et tu, Chloe" was so great! Any chance you would write their first treasure hunt/job as a couple? Again thanks for writing and sharing such wonderful stories!

[[Finally finished! Put more into this than I expected to, if I’m honest]]

Read it on AO3

“King John’s treasure, huh?”

Chloe shot Nadine a grin. “Said to have been lost in the Wash in Eastern England. But a little digging and…” She held up a small, well worn journal. “Stumbled across this while I was hunting down clues. Journal of one of the king’s guards.”

“Say anything good?” Nadine asked, giving Chloe a curious look.

“Only that a good portion of that treasure wasn’t lost in the wash. They split their little caravan in two and, well, the first one most definitely drowned…”

“And the second?”

“Darling, we have a lead.”

Nadine perked up. “Where are we headed?”

“To a quaint little abandoned fortress at the edge of the sea.” With a flirtatious smile and a wink, Chloe patted the seat beside her. “Shall we book a flight?”

Her partner smirked and took the spot. “Sure. Why not?” She received a kiss on the cheek.

“Hm, let’s have some fun with it.”

“So, do you want to hit the hotel first? Or wander around a bit and see some sights?”

Nadine yawned. “Hotel. I need sleep.”

“Not used to the jetlag, eh, love?” Chloe grabbed her suitcase up, headed for the car rental set up. A hand slipped into her free one. “I’m always surprised when you do that,” she admitted.

With raised eyebrows, Nadine pursed her lips. “I won’t hold your hand if you don’t want me to.”

“No, no, I like it. Just never took you for one to do that.”

She shrugged. “I like keeping you close.”

“What a coincidence. I like being close.” Chloe shot her a wink. “So, hotel for a nap, and we’ll make a plan after.”

“Sounds good.”

Renting a car and reaching their hotel took another hour and a half. Nadine was exhausted by the time they got there, but not so much so that she didn’t notice the few dirty glances they received. She had grown to expect that– two women holding hands often garnered a glare or two. Ridiculous, really. And she should’ve been used to it, but that wasn’t something she could get used to.

Chloe noticed her unease and squeezed her hand. “C'mon. Nap time, remember?”

Nadine took a deep breath and smiled at her partner. “Ja. Nap time.”

The hotel room was nice, if a bit small; one bed, a couch, and a small “kitchen” area. There wasn’t much of a view, but they weren’t there for the hotel room. They were there for treasure.

Nadine tossed her suitcase on the couch and let herself fall on the bed.

“You look comfy,” Chloe commented. “Have room for one more?”

“Only if it’s you.”

“Oh, nevermind then. I thought I’d get the bellhop from the lobby for you.”

Nadine rolled her eyes. She sighed and kicked off her shoes, pushing herself up further on the bed. “Well, he’s not who I want next to me.”

“And who would you prefer?”

“I already said it. You. Now are you joining me for my nap? Or am I sleeping alone?”

“I did want to take a shower, but I could stand a nap.” She yawned. “Might actually need one, come to think of it.”

The ex-mercenary patted the bed beside her. “Come on, then.”

Chloe happily obliged. She slipped her arms around Nadine and nuzzled against her. “You know, we should make a list.”

“Of what?”

“Things we want to buy when we find this treasure.”

Nadine shifted so she was on her side with Chloe spooning her. “How about we do that after we sleep?”

A scoff from Chloe. “Why is it that sleep is the only thing you like?”

“It’s not the only thing. I like you too.”

She tightened her arms around Nadine and kissed her cheek. “Something for the list: I’m going to buy you the most comfortable pajamas I can find and hope you never wear them.”

“You know, I didn’t used to sleep naked. That is primarily your fault, I think.”

“Sure, I’ll take the credit.”

Nadine woke first, feeling restless. She took a deep breath and sighed. Chloe was still half curled against her. The ex-mercenary moved to escape the grip, pausing to press a kiss to Chloe’s jaw. “I’m going for a walk,” she murmured.

“Mmkay…” Chloe mumbled back, curling in on herself in the absence of Nadine.

She paused for a moment to look over her girlfriend’s sleeping form. She smiled, filled with affection.

After a stretch, she slipped on her shoes and headed for the door.

The town they were staying wasn’t too big. Not exactly a tourist town, but there were plenty of little shops along the main way. She was more interested in some exercise or any sort of movement, but it was nice to look in at the little store and see their wares. Maybe she’d spot something Chloe would like?

Sure enough, she ended up spotting a simple pair of earrings in a window shop. They were studs with little, deep red garnet gems on them. She slipped in the shop and came out a few minutes later with a small bag.

Nadine walked on. It was later in the day, so not many people were out and about. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it didn’t seem headed her way.

Temptation drew her into a small bookshop. She’d only brought one novel with her and she’d finished it on the plane. Something else to read might do her good– especially if she had to wait in the car here as much as she had in the Western Ghats.

The woman working greeted her, they exchanged pleasantries, and Nadine went about looking at books. She wandered about the store, looking through what she found interesting. Ah, yes. The Art of War by Sun Tzu. No thanks.

She found a small section in the back labelled “Pride”. That piqued her curiosity. Leave it to a private owned store to have what the big brands never did.

On front view was a book labelled “One Girl: a compilation of poems about women loving women”. She picked it up and glanced through. The first poem was by Sappho, a name she recognized. She read a couple before glancing at the time. She’d been out for a bit. Maybe it was time to get back.

Nadine went to place the book back on the shelf, but hesitated. She brought it to the counter. “Just this, thanks.”

When Nadine got back to the hotel room, the shower was running. She had half a mind to slip into the shower with her, but instead, she propped herself up on the bed and took out the book she’d purchased.

She didn’t notice when the shower stopped, too invested in the book. She did, however, notice when the door opened and Chloe stepped out with a towel wrapped around her. It sufficiently distracted her from the book.

Chloe leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Well, good to see you’re back.”

Nadine took a deep breath. “Didn’t expect me back?”

“I was thinking about how it’d be perfect if you were back by the time I fi–”

Thunder crashed loud over the hotel and the sound of rain started up. They both jumped and glanced to the window to where the rain poured down. After a moment, their eyes met again.

“I suppose that means we’re having a night in?” Nadine asked.

Chloe raised an eyebrow, and with a rather dramatic motion, dropped her towel. “Would that be so bad?”

A grin formed on Nadine’s face. “Have I ever told you how much I enjoy our partnership?”

The next morning, Chloe and Nadine found themselves on a long car trip out to the coast. Chloe, of course, was the one to drive. This left plenty of time for Nadine to read. Some of the poems weren’t to her taste, but others she liked instantly. One or two she even strove to memorize.

“You’ve had your nose in that book for what’s at least an hour,” Chloe commented. “Is it really that good?”

Nadine shrugged. “Some of it.”

“What’s it about?”

“Women,” she responded, looking up with a smirk.

A huff left Chloe. “Trying to make me jealous?”

Nadine put the book away and looked to Chloe. “Eyes on the road. And you’ve nothing to worry about. Some of it reminds me of you, in a way.”

“Ooh, do tell.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She shifted in her seat, leaning on the divide between them. “How much longer, do you think?”

Chloe shrugged. “I’d say… half an hour? Less if I try hard.”

“How about you drive safely, ja?”

“Pssh, where’s the fun in that?”

With a roll of her eyes, Nadine hummed. “You’re girlfriend survives the trip. Sounds fun to me.”

“I suppose you have a point.”

They settled back into the comfortable quiet between them, the only sound being the radio playing softly. It wasn’t long before they could see a rather dilapidated ruin in the distance: no more than a vague shape under what was probably ivy and vines.

“If we’re unbelievably lucky… that there holds a few million dollars worth of treasure for to fill our pockets with.”

“When are we ever that lucky?”

Nadine was right. They’d gone on a few jobs together– Starting at the tusk of Ganesh. Two smaller jobs in the months between that and their current position. This was only their first job as a couple, of which they were just shy of their two month mark. After the second of the smaller jobs– they had been paid to reclaim a valuable art piece from someone or other– that Nadine had made a move. Now they were rather happily involved with each other. But their past jobs had never been lucky.

Finding the tusk? Chased by a warlord, shot at, nearly drowned, in a helicopter when it crashed, and nearly gone down with a train.

The first small job? Shot at, tricked, stolen from, and shot at some more.

The second? Punched, nearly killed via explosion, and, what do you know, shot at.

Both were hoping this time might be different.

“Over here,” Nadine spoke up. “Look.”

Chloe wandered over to where her girlfriend stood and looked up above the dilapidated fireplace. There was what had probably been rather ornate carving etched there. Now it was filled by lichen and moss.

Chloe pointed up. There were rusty hooks showing higher up. “Think those held a tapestry?”

“It’d be a good way to hide this,” her partner noted.

The carving was of a woman with feathered wing-like arms, a bare chest, and cruel talons. “Looks like a harpy. We should see if we can find anything that matches.”

“Harpy? Those are the things that kill men, right?”

Chloe shrugged. “I don’t know them as well, if I’m honest. They’re supposed to be birds with the faces of women? But I’ve heard them as being described as beautiful to some, disgusting to others. You might be thinking of sirens. Now those most definitely killed men.”

“Then we should be fine.”

They wandered into the next room and were greeted by another carving, this one cracked down the middle.

“Well, china. Looks like we found your siren.” The carving was very obviously a woman with a fish tail.

“They really like to focus on the breasts, don’t they?” Nadine commented. As with the harpy, the siren also had her chest out.

Chloe snorted. “So do you.”

Nadine flushed a dark red. In her opinion, Chloe was much too skilled at making her flustered. She shrugged. “Yours are nice.”

The treasure hunter bit her lip, giving Nadine a rather prideful look. “Thanks, love. I rather like yours too.”

“A wise woman once told me these things come in threes,” Nadine spoke up, changing the topic. “Should we find number three?”

“Sweet talker. Let’s head on.”

The next room had no ceiling. That is, it had once had a ceiling, but now it lay as rubble on the floor. Ivy had made it’s home on the walls and covered everything it could.

“Well, this might be a pickle.”

“It’s probably under the ivy.”

Chloe contemplated it. “I think I can get up there. Think I can borrow your knife?”

Nadine dug her multi-tool out of her pocket and passed it over. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Do I ever?” She winked and shoved the multi-tool in her back pocket.

A sigh from the other woman. “How many crumbling ledges, bad grapple points, sarcastic quips to dangerous men…”

“I’m alive and kicking, aren’t I?”

Chloe looked over the wall. She could see what was most likely the rusty hooks from the tapestry– or whatever had covered it. She just needed to get high enough to cut the ivy down. The room was probably fifteen or so feet high. The lowest handhold she could spot was about a foot out of her reach.

“Give me a boost, love?”

“Sure. Ja.”

“Right here then.” She patted the wall.

Nadine nodded. “Up you go.”

Chloe made her way over to the top of the Ivy, pulling herself up so she could sit on the edge. “Alright. Which bit on this is the sharp one?” she asked as she pulled the multi-tool out.

“Hold it with the brand name on the right side. Should be the last one on that side.”

“Thanks.”

One by one, she severed the stems of ivy and pulled the tops down so they drooped over, barely clinging to the wall. She did this a fair bit down the wall before closing the tool and dropping it back down to Nadine. “Alright. I’ve got an idea to get these all off at once.”

“You’re going to grab them and jump?”

“It’s only, what, ten feet down? Fifteen? I’ll be fine, don’t give me that look.”

Nadine rolled her eyes but smirked. “I just told you not to hurt yourself.”

“Catch me then, if you’re so worried.”

“Rather kiss you,” she admitted.

“Time and a place, darling.” Chloe bit her lip. “But I suppose we can make this a time and place for it.”

“Just get down here.”

“On it.”

Chloe gathered up the ends and took a deep breath. “Catch me or don’t. But let’s find our third etching, yeah?”

“A sphinx… hm…” Chloe was mumbling to herself as she looked over the books she’d picked up.

Nadine watched her from her spot on the bed. She could only think of how attractive her girlfriend was while researching.

They’d found nothing more than the carvings in the castle– a harpy, a siren, and sphynx–  and had returned to the hotel so more could be learned. After getting back in town, Nadine had led Chloe to the bookshop she’d been at before. Chloe had then bought up every greek mythology book she could find. Nadine hadn’t bought anything– her poetry book was plenty.

Giving Chloe another lingering look, Nadine hummed and opened said book.

She wasn’t sure how much later it was when Chloe shot out of her seat. “I think I’ve got it.”

Nadine closed her book and sat up. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Alright, so the harpy. A bird woman, the personification of storm winds. They were seen as human vultures, vicious and hungry. They’d steal food and people. Very cruel.” She was pacing as she spoke, looking at the book in her hands. “Sirens were different. The originals look like harpies, but the one we found was a fish, not a bird.”

“The english version,” Nadine spoke up.

“Exactly. And around the time this treasure was "lost”, is when that version was gaining popularity. They’re absolutely beautiful women with voices that entrance men and lure them to their deaths.“

"Reminds me of someone.”

Chloe grinned but waved her off. “Hush, you. Anyway, the last one was a sphinx. A monster with the face and chest of a lovely woman, body of a lion, tail of a serpent. She would kill those who failed to solve her riddles and often devoured children. All of them are greek in origin and are half woman, half beast.”

“Deadly grecian monster women. Okay.”

“On top of that, we can see it as the elements. Air, water, earth. But I’m not sure if it relates.” She shrugged it off. “What’s more important is I connected each to a greek author that had a story with each. Bad part: author’s name didn’t make it through the years. Good news? Their story did.”

“And the puzzle is based off of it?”

“I think so. The nobleman must’ve had them as a favourite author.”

Nadine tilted her head, curious. “So it’s like if someone liked Shakespeare, they might fashion a treasure chamber based around… Hamlet, or Much Ado About Nothing?”

Chloe bit her lip, looking over Nadine. “Exactly. But Shakespeare was a few centuries after.” She met the woman’s eyes. “But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose the possession of the fair thou ow'st…”

Nadine tilted her head, curious. “What does that mean?”

“It’s from Shakespeare. Sonnet eighteen. You’ve probably heard the first bit. The "shall I compare thee to a summer’s day” thing.“ She shrugged. "The part I said basically means "you’ll always be beautiful, no matter what”. Reminded me of you.“ She shot her girlfriend a wink.

Nadine’s jaw tensed like it always did when she was suddenly confronted with a blatant compliment. Her face flushed red. Despite this, she responded, "Which now inspires, cures and supplies, and guides my darkened breast: For thou art all that I can prize: My joy, my life, my rest.” She took a deep breath and met Chloe’s eyes, smirking now. “No bridegroom’s nor crown-conqueror’s mirth, to mine compar’d can be: They have but pieces of the earth, I’ve all the world in thee.”

Chloe was very suddenly breathless. That seemed so romantic. “What’s that from?”

“Katherine Philips. You know that book I’ve been reading? It’s mostly, ah, sapphic poetry. That’s one of my favourites, where she talks about the woman she’s fallen for.” Nadine  smiled. “I suppose learning it just paid off.”

Chloe seemed almost lost in thought. “It certainly did.” She made an appreciative noise. “How were you single when we met?”

“I didn’t run into many women in that profession. But with the poems… it’s a bit embarrassing to know, if I’m honest. Didn’t really expect that to go over well.”

“Well, I certainly liked it.” She kissed Nadine’s cheek. “I’m not against showing you how much.” A smile settled on her lips. “And don’t be embarrassed– that was utterly romantic. You’re welcome to say things like that whenever you want.”

“Ja?”

Chloe set the book down and sat on the edge of the bed. “Most definitely.”

Nadine bit her lip, eyes glancing to Chloe’s. She pulled her closer, hands traveling down Chloe’s sides. “Haven’t they moved like rivers— like Glory, like light— over the seven days of your body?” Nadine slipped her fingers under the hem of Chloe’s shirt. “And wasn’t that good? Them at your hips—”

Chloe gasped as the pads of Nadine’s thumbs found a soft spot on her hips. “Oh… Yes. I definitely like what you’re saying.”

“Really? Personally, I think that’s enough talk…” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Chloe’s jaw, slowly making her way down to her neck. “I’m sure I can get some pretty sounds from you though.”

Chloe’s eyes closed and she leaned her head back. “I look forward to it.”

“You were right,” Nadine commented.

“I love hearing you say that.” Chloe grinned and pointed her flashlight down the tunnel they’d just triggered. “Not the sphinx, not the harpy… but the siren.”

“Let’s just hope she’s not leading us to our death.”

“You worry too much.”

They moved down the tunnel, flashlights out. There was barely room to stand. The two moved forward at a crouch. The tunnel was made of stone with small divots in the wall where torches had once been placed. Small carvings of sirens could be seen every few steps, leading them on.

About fifty feet in, it opened to a large chamber. The wall ahead held small, circular slots and closed stone door. Before the door was a wooden crate.

“What’s in here, huh?” Chloe questioned, reaching for the crate. It fell apart as she lifted it. Metal tokens scattered on the floor at her feet. “Oh.”

Nadine crouched, picking up one of the metal discs. “A frog and a mouse?”

Chloe grabbed one up too. “This one has a lion.”

Together, they gathered the others up and identified the animals on each.

“I’ll just say it. No idea what this has to do with the sirens and such.” Chloe looked over to her partner.

Nadine was staring intently at the little discs. “Maybe… Maybe they aren’t related to the monsters.”

“What do you mean?”

Nadine moved around a few of the tokens, putting them in small groups. “This is Aesop’s fables,” Nadine commented. “See? That one there, with the one you’re holding– The Lion and the Mouse. And there’s the Dog and the Hare.”

“I thought it was the Tortoise and the Hare.”

“That’s one too, but I don’t see it…” She picked up one of the discs and flipped it over. “Markings on the back too.”

“I’m not too familiar with the fables. Just bits and pieces over time, and what I got from those books on Greece.”

“I’ve read them all,” Nadine mumbled. “Had the book when I was younger.”

“Then make that another reason I love having you around.” She handed the lion token to Nadine. “Think you can figure these out? Maybe teach me a thing or two on the way?”

“I’ll do my best.” She sat down and pulled some of the more distant coins closer. “Alright. The one with the frog and the mouse on it. It’ll go with… there should be a hawk here somewhere.”

“How does it pair up?”

“The frog tied the mouse to him, accidentally drowned it while swimming, and when the body of the mouse floated to the top of the water, the hawk swooped down on it. The frog was taken too and devoured.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Cheery.”

Nadine shrugged. “They’re tales about morals. That one is "harm hatch, harm catch”. If you hurt someone–“

"Someone else will hurt you?”

“You got it.” She moved the two discs to the side. “I prefer the newer version. The Scorpion and the Frog.”

“How’s it different?”

“The scorpion asks for passage across the waterway, promising not to sting. The frog trusts it– but the nature of the scorpion is to sting, so it does. Both die because of it: the frog from the sting, and the scorpion from the water.”

“Doesn’t quite have the same meaning, dear.”

“Maybe not.” She squinted at two of the tokens she held. “Dogs?” One faced the right, the other left. Both had something held in their mouths.

Chloe leaned on her, looking over her shoulder. “They look mirrored.”

Nadine let out a soft “Oh!” and turned one of the dogs upside down. “The Dog and her Reflection.”

“Which is..?”

She rubbed her thumb around the edge of the disc. “A good moral for thieves. Greed will make you lose what you already have.”

“And the story?”

“Ah. A dog is carrying something in her mouth– usually meat or a bone or something. There was a version that said it was shiny red pennies, but I digress.” She set the two dogs together. “She walked over a bridge of some sort and glanced into the water, where she saw a dog carrying something good. She opened her mouth to bark and lost what she was carrying. The version with the pennies, she died.”

“And you read these as a child? I think I prefer that poetry book of yours.” Chloe bit her lip, thinking of the previous day’s activities.

“Of course you do.”

“Your hands…”

“Actually, it’s called "These Hands, If Not Gods”.“

Chloe smirked and kissed Nadine’s cheek. "I prefer yours.” She motioned to the tokens. “Come on. What’s the next one?”

“Chloe?” Nadine called.

“Yes, darling?”

“Why are we always getting shot at?” Her voice was loud enough to reach her partner over the gunfire.

Chloe just laughed and fired a few shots over the cover they’d taken. “Comes with the job!”

“You’re lucky I–” Nadine cut herself off and let out a sort of frustrated noise. “To the side.” She fired twice into a man’s chest.

“I’m lucky about what?”

A man came around the corner and grabbed Chloe the second after she spoke. Nadine snarled. “Let go of her!” Her punch had him stumbling back, letting Chloe follow up with the butt of her gun. He lay unmoving on the ground a few moments later.

“I don’t think they actually know about the treasure,” Chloe brought up, back to the stonework.

“What do you mean?”

“Look around! I think we stumbled into something a tad more illegal than what we’re up to.” She jerked her head to the crates in the center of the cavern. “Our tunnel just happened to break out here! I’m pretty sure we took the wrong path!”

“So, what, we stumbled on a drug smuggler ring?”

“Looks like it!” She let loose another volley of shots, taking two men down in the process. “Why don’t we clear the place out and head back?”

“Clear out a drug den?”

Chloe just laughed. “Come on, love!”

An hour passed.

Chloe and Nadine sat with their backs to the wall, breathing heavy. “See? No problem.” Chloe leaned against her girlfriend. “We did just fine.”

Nadine sighed. “I’d like to do one job where we don’t get shot at.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I don’t like you being shot at,” she muttered.

Chloe leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Shall we get back to it?”

“Ja.”

“Now, I think our problem was following the sirens again. I’m certain this cave would have been underwater back then.”

“A place for sirens?”

“Exactly.”

“Then let’s try the harpy.”

“I will never understand why every person that’s hidden a treasure puts endless traps and locks and puzzles in the place the treasure isn’t.”

Nadine pulled Chloe closer and rested her cheek on Chloe’s stomach. “I’ve come to expect it.”

“But not being shot at?”

She shrugged and slipped Chloe’s shirt up. After a few soft kisses, she responded with, “I keep hoping we won’t be shot at.” Another kiss. “I’m getting tired of patching you up.”

Chloe sighed and set aside the trinket she’d been messing around with. It was, as always, a clue to the actual location of King John’s treasure. Thoughts of the crown jewels were dismissed from her mind as Nadine rubbed a hand down her torso.

“We should go out for dinner,” Nadine commented.

A huff. “You didn’t bring MREs this time?”

“I did, but we’re in a hotel. Not out on the field.”

“And if I’m enjoying what you’re doing too much to leave our room?”

Nadine shifted, moving to kiss Chloe’s face, finally to her lips. She drew the kiss out, hands roaming down Chloe’s body. She pulled her close and made the kiss heated as possible. Just as Chloe moved to slip her hands up Nadine’s shirt, she pulled away.

“Come on. Let’s go get dinner.”

“You’re evil.”

“Learning from the best.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and gave her half a smile. “We’ll head out to the other castle tomorrow. But yes, let’s go for dinner now.”

Chloe pressed her back against the wall and let herself slide down into a sitting position. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. “Well. That was fun.”

“Maybe we don’t do that again, ja?” Nadine laced her fingers together and pressed her palms to the top of her head, making it easier to breath.

“What is it with all these traps?”

Nadine grinned. “It’s almost like we were trying to find the crown jewels here.”

A scoff left Chloe and she shook her head. “Yes, but when no one knew they were here.” She yawned. “No doubt we’ve got a couple more traps in front of us.”

Her partner took the spot beside her and patted her lap. “Here. Get some rest. We can stay here for a bit.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ll keep watch.”

Chloe hummed, but accepted. She curled onto her side, head in Nadine’s lap. “I’ve got an idea,” she mumbled.

“Hm?”

“We should buy a hot tub. That should be on the list.”

“At your place or mine?”

“Yes.”

A chuckle. “Fine by me.”

Nadine ran her fingers through Chloe’s hair and traced down her jaw. Chloe sighed, content at the affection she was receiving. Nadine continued on with soft touches. It was long before Chloe was breathing peacefully, asleep.

Nadine looked fondly down at her. “I am amazed by peace,” she murmured. “It is this possibility of you , asleep and breathing in the quiet air.”

“More poetry?” She wasn’t asleep, apparently.

“Uh, ja.”

Chloe just shifted a bit closer. “You’re lovely. You know that?”

Nadine flushed red. “Just get some sleep.”

She kissed the top of Nadine’s knee. “Mhmm.”

Chloe laughed loud. She landed on her feet and nearly fell over. “I’m alright? I’m alright!” Well, her shoulder twinged a bit where she’d hit it on the way down, but other than that, she seemed fine.

“Chloe?” came the rather frantic voice of Nadine on the other side of the door.

“I’m fine! Give me a moment and I’ll get this open for you!”

Chloe looked around the room she’d dropped into. There was a path leading off at the far end of it. Not what she needed until Nadine was with her. Above her was the hole she’d ended up falling through. Nope. The door Nadine was on the other side of was stone and too heavy for them to lift. She noticed a chain in the corner of the room. Maybe that had something to do with it.

The chain entered the room through a small hole in the ceiling and fell directly down, disappearing into the floor. Chloe gave it a tug. Heavy, but she could hear what was most likely a system of levies above her head. Sure enough, with more effort, the door groaned and began to lift off the floor. As soon as it was high enough, Nadine slipped through.

“What the hell was that, Frazer?”

Chloe was caught off guard. “Frazer?” she questioned. It’d been months since Nadine had addressed her like that.

Her partner seemed tense, at the very least. She ignored what Chloe had said. “You need to be careful. Not just jump head first at every possible danger we find!”

“I got through, didn’t I?”

Nadine scowled. “You could’ve been hurt!”

She was angry, that much was exceedingly obvious. Chloe couldn’t really figure why. She’d made her way through and gotten the door open for Nadine. Of course, she could’ve been hurt. That just came with the job. And they’d had their little arguments before, of course. Their relationship wasn’t perfect. They were happy together and knew to give each other space when needed. Like now.

Chloe stepped back and took a deep breath. “Alright.” Being with Nadine had meant learning. Being with Nadine meant she’d have to forgo her pride occasionally– say an apology and figure things out. She didn’t see anything wrong with what she’d done, but obviously, Nadine did. “I’ll say sorry, but I want to know why you… “ A sigh. “In layman’s terms. Make it obvious. What’d I do?”

That seemed to throw Nadine off. She crossed her arms, nostrils flaring. “You, you do this all the time. Leaping before you look..” Her eyes flicked over to Chloe before going back to the floor. “It’s one thing when you know where you are, but you just… Just jumped into a dark hole and were gone. How was I supposed to help?”

“Nadine, I–”

“You scared me.”

Oh.

Chloe gulped and her stance lost any readiness to argue she’d had. “I’m sorry.”

That threw Nadine off even more. “You… you what?”

Chloe gave half a grin, not really there. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

Nadine’s stance shifted, losing most of the anger she’d held. She hadn’t been expecting an actual apology. An argument where she had to prove that Chloe could’ve done anything else, maybe.

Chloe turned away, taking deep breaths and trying to center herself. “We should get moving.”

A touch on her shoulder stopped her. “You’re hurt.”

She didn’t respond, but let Nadine examine the wound. Apparently, that hit on the shoulder had placed a nasty little slice there. No wonder it hurt.

“Hold still.”

Chloe listened, letting her girlfriend have free access to the cut. Nadine hesitated as she pulled Chloe’s shirt up to get a clearer view. Things still felt tense.

They were both silent as Nadine cleaned the cut as best she could and used a few butterfly bandages to hold it together. She have preferred to cover it completely, but there wasn’t exactly room on her person to carry gauze.

“Let’s press on,” Nadine finally spoke up.

Chloe nodded and avoided looking back at her. She led their way from the room, silent for once in her life.

Nadine frowned. She didn’t want her, well, outburst, to fit itself between them. She fought for words, trying to think of something to say to break the silence and fix what she felt like she’d broken. She already regretted how she’d reacted. She knew Chloe was like this, but sometimes it was too much. She just wanted Chloe to stay alive and unhurt. But at the same time… she needed to trust that Chloe knew what she was doing.

Words came to her, but they weren’t her own. She stopped walking and braced herself.“But I want your life before mine bleeds away–  Here–not in heavenly hereafters–soon,–  I want your smile this very afternoon,” she spoke softly.

Chloe laughed, mostly out of disbelief. “More of those pretty words from your book?”

“Ja. Wanted to break the silence.” Nadine slowed to a stop. “Listen, Chloe–”

“No. No, no, no. I got it, I’ll be more careful.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then what?”

A soft sigh left her and she reached out to take Chloe’s hand. She focused on it, fingers playing across Chloe’s palm and rubbing small circles at her wrist. “We’ve got a dangerous job. I know we can’t avoid it. And I’m sorry for getting angry at you, but I care about you, Chloe. I hate seeing you hurt.”

Chloe ran her free hand down her face and trapped it between her chin and collarbone, looking up at Nadine. “It’s been a long while since I’ve had that, so I’m still getting used to it. Someone caring, that is.” She shot her a crooked grin. “Feels nice, I’ll admit. I just have to get used to thinking of both of us, and not just me. If you’re patient with me?”

Nadine understood what she was saying, to a point. “I can be patient, ja.”

“And I’ll try to be a bit less impulsive?” Chloe offered up in a small voice.

Her girlfriend pulled her a bit closer and placed a peck on her lips. “Please.”

She hummed. “Alright. Give and take. I think we can handle that.” She inhaled deeply and let it out slow. “Ready to keep moving, darling?”

Nadine frowned, looking back at the way she’d came. It’d be nearly impossible to go back through with the rubble to the room they’d been in before.

“Chloe?” she called out.

“Still here! If a bit miffed that we keep getting separated.”

She let out a relieved breath. “See any ways through we missed over there?”

“No. But if I can just…” There was the sound of stones shifting on the other side of the pile. At the top, a few bits of rubble fell away, revealing an opening just big enough for a hand. “We might have to go about this the old-fashioned way,” Chloe admitted from the other side.

“Probably.”

“What’s it look like over there anyway?”

Nadine glanced back. There was a stone wall built into the center of the room with writing etched into it. “Looks like another clue. Or something. You can read it when you get over here.”

“Fair enough.”

Nadine got to work, pulling at the chunks of stone. After a good deal of work and some time, they’d make a hole just big enough for Chloe to squeeze through. She pulled herself up, holding a hand out to Nadine. Nadine grabbed Chloe’s forearm, pulling her through and into the room.

“Thanks, love. Now. Where was this clue?”

Nadine gestured back to the stone wall.

Chloe’s face lit up and her expression turned curious. Her eyes raked down the etchings, teeth needling her lower lip. “Hm. The top bit is greek. Which I… can’t read. The rest is Middle English, looks like. I can read that, well enough. Thank you, Cutter.”

“I recognize a word or two, but no more than that.”

Chloe ran her fingers over the words. “Right here? It says “I was stolen from my mother”. The next line… “Born to a child of Aphrodite, fathered by a…” I think this word is an insult, something like “devil”. Bastard, maybe?” She shrugged.

“What else?”

“Patience.” Chloe stepped back, taking a moment to process what she was reading. “Learned in the way of Sappho and stolen to be the heir of a… “ She hummed. “That insult again.” She waved it off. “I am the reed that bent to the wind. I will watch the oak be ripped from the ground. I have taken the treasure of the king and hidden it. Only when they have learned the words and stories of my mother will they be able to recover them.” Chloe looked up, back to Nadine. “Well. What do you think?”

“I recognize the name Sappho. She’s one of the poets from my book.”

“Hm? The same do you think?”

Nadine nodded. “She’s a greek poet from around six hundred B.C. Her name is where the word sapphic comes from. And lesbian. Well, that didn’t come from her name, it came from the island she lived on.”

Chloe grinned. “Any samples of her work?”

Her partner rolled her eyes but she did have an example. “Oh it, puts the heart in my chest on wings, for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking is left in me.”

“You’re lovely, you know that?”

“I’m all for compliments, but let’s try to figure out where the crown jewels are.”

“I can compliment you and work on this puzzle of ours,” the taller woman answered, winking at her girlfriend.

Nadine was half tempted to roll her eyes again, but instead redirected focus back to what their mystery writer had put there. “The reed and the oak tree thing. That’s another fable. Obscurity often brings safety.”

“So, what I’m getting out of this is that a half greek, half English child was taken from their mother and forced to be the heir apparent to their father,” Chloe responded. “Didn’t like the king, so they screwed with him and hid the treasure.”

“They were probably a woman,” the ex-mercenary pointed out. “Learned in the way of Sappho would either mean they knew all her works or were a woman who loved other women. What’s the point of mentioning what poems you know in a text that would only be read by who made it this far?”

“So a gal after my own heart, huh? Yours too, of course.” Chloe hummed, looking over the text. “The words and stories of my mother…” A frown. “I would assume knowing greek would help. But it’s all greek to me,” she joked.

Nadine didn’t respond. She’d taken out her phone and started flicking through.

“What are you doing?”

She shrugged but smiled. “Checking if my phone has service. It does.”

“And?”

“Well, there’s this thing called the internet…”

Chloe rubbed a hand down her face. “Have I told you yet today how glad I am you’re with me? I would’ve suggested finding a way out of here and stopping by that little bookshop again for a little help.”

“This will be a little faster.”

“Seriously, darling. You are absolutely lovely.”

Chloe sipped at her beer, feeling rather relaxed and rather proud– both of herself and Nadine. Back in the hotel– well hidden– were three priceless artifacts, all being the crown jewels of King John. One was a small ampoule that doubtless had some soured scent in it now that it’d been a few hundred years. The second was a jewelled sword about the length of Chloe’s arm. The last? A lovely little jeweled crown.

This pay day was going to feel so good.

Nadine smiled across at her. She was seated on the other side of the booth with a drink of her own. The bar wasn’t too crowded, so they could keep to themselves without much trouble.

“So we’re getting hot tubs, was that it?”

“I’m also buying you some nice pajamas. I’ll admit, I thought the list would be longer.” She bit her lip, eyes tracing their way over what she could see of Nadine. “You didn’t add anything to it. Can’t think of anything?”

“Might put some money aside for a retirement fund,” came an answer. “Does that count?”

“As responsible as that is, I’m talking about instant gratification rather than long-term benefits.”

“I can think of something that’s both,” Nadine responded playfully, leaning her elbows onto the table.

“Sorry, love. I’m not for sale. You are in luck though… I happen to already be yours,” she reassured.

“Actually, I was going to say we buy a str–”

Nadine cut off as a man approached, two drinks in hand. She tensed. Strange men were to be expected at a bar, but that didn’t make her feel better about it.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he started, eyes on Chloe. “Care for a drink?”

“She’s taken,” Nadine responded, voice harsh.

Chloe nodded. “She’s right. I’m taken.”

He frowned. “Come on, I’ve got to be better company than this. It’s just a drink.”

Nadine had a rather dangerous look on her face, Chloe noted. “Really not interested. There isn’t better company than who I’ve got, so I’d rather not have you ruin our celebratory drink.”

He scowled but started on again. Nadine cut him off immediately. “She said she wasn’t interested.” The tone of her voice alone was a threat.

“Listen here, you fucking dy–”

There was a loud thwack as Nadine’s fist connected with his face. The drinks he had been carrying spilled and he hit the ground hard. His nose was, at the least, bleeding. At most, broken. Probably broken. The hit left him unconscious on the floor.

Nadine shook her hand. She’d split her knuckles.

“As attractive as you punching out skeevy men is, we should probably get out of here,” Chloe pointed out. “Rather than incur the wrath of– well, shit.” The bartender was already making his way over.

Nadine moved to place herself between Chloe and the bartender. “Listen, we’re sorry, but he–”

“He’s an ass,” the bartender said plainly. His accent gave him away as Irish, rather than English. “He’s in here all the time. About time someone hit him.” He sighed and kicked the man’s boot. “I’d guess he was trying to interrupt your night?”

Chloe nodded, moving to stand beside Nadine. “He decided he was going to hit on me and try to call my girlfriend some names,” she explained. “Deserved this, really.”

The bartender nodded. “You’ll hear none of that from me. My twin sister got married as soon as the vote passed back home. If I’m honest, her wife woulda punched him out too.”

A laugh left Chloe. “A woman after my own heart,” came Nadine’s response with a grin.

“Thanks for understanding,” the treasure hunter added. “But we should probably still get going. Before the arsehole here wakes up. How much do we owe for drinks?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s on his tab.”

Another broad grin spread across Chloe’s lips. “Lovely. Thanks!”

“Have a good night, ladies.”

On their way out, Chloe dropped a more than generous tip in the tip jar. They headed back to the hotel, Nadine in shotgun as always.She had a hand resting almost innocently on Chloe’s thigh. It was less innocent when she started gradually moving up until she was practically under Chloe’s shirt. She slipped under it and started tracing little patterns on her skin.

“Trying to distract me?”

“Trying to let you know what I’d like to do when we get back. I celebration was cut a bit short, after all.”

Chloe hummed. “Speaking of which, I think I can guess what you were going to add to the list earlier. I think it’s a great idea. We should get one. Ooh, or, better yet: you buy what you were going to say, I’ll buy what I think you were going to say, and we see if I was right.”

“And if we end up with two?” Nadine chuckled.

“One for your place, one for my place. Better yet, we buy a third for travel, seeing as we do that a lot.”

They pulled into the hotel parking lot.

Chloe slipped her hand into Nadine’s as they headed inside. “We should call Sully. See if he can’t find us some buyers.”

“Sounds like something for tomorrow.”

“Mm, you’re right. I did like the sound of your idea to celebrate.”

Entering the hotel this time, there were no dirty looks thrown their way.

The elevator ride took forever, it seemed. Nadine wanted nothing more than to pull Chloe into her arms. Of course, she thought about it a few times a day, at least. Her favourite times were when she could act on it.

She did almost as soon as they stepped into the hotel room. Pulling Chloe close, she kissed her soft, glad for so many things in the last few days. Chloe finding her reciting poems attractive, the fact they’d talked out their fight rather than let it fester, and finally, of course, they’d found the treasure together. Nadine wouldn’t trade what she had for anything. Sort of scary, but, at the same time, it felt incredible.

Chloe guided her to the bed, pushing her into a sitting position. The treasure hunter then straddled her, slipping her shirt off over her head. Nadine bit her lip as Chloe shrugged her bra off too.

Nadine was practically overwhelmed by the sight, despite being privileged enough to see it plenty of times. Normally, she’d kiss down Chloe’s neck and make her way to her breasts, but this time she pulled Chloe in, hugging her close. She buried her face against Chloe’s shoulder and mumbled out a few short lines of poetry, ones that helped her get her point across when she couldn’t find the words herself. She was too worried wondering if it was too early in their relationship, but all the same, she wanted the truth offered up.

“What was that, darling?” Chloe murmured. Finding herself in Nadine’s embrace was always something she had no issue with.

Nadine turned her head, just enough where she could be heard. “You asshole, you love and that’s how you are in love. Any expert, observing human bodies, can see how she’s exceptional, how she ruins us all.”

It was Chloe’s turn to be struck breathless. God, this woman was going to be her undoing. And she wasn’t even done speaking.

Nadine pulled away, eyes meeting Chloe’s. “But you really love this woman, how come no one can see this? Everyone must become suddenly very clumsy at recognizing beauty if you are to keep her.”

Chloe surged forward, kissing Nadine hard. She was met with an enthusiastic response. Only after they were both well and truly breathless, she pulled away. “I absolutely love that little book of yours, and I absolutely, without a doubt, love you.”

Nadine grinned, pressing kisses to her neck and shoulder. “Have I ever told you how much I enjoy our partnership?”

Chloe chuckled. “You have. But I hope you know the feeling is mutual.” She put the slightest bit of emphasis on the second sentence.

A week in England and Nadine felt like she’d risked a lot more than just her life. Gained a lot more back, too. She murmured a soft “Ek het jou lief“ against Chloe’s neck.

Chloe didn’t have to ask for a translation.