#(which would be... politically a mess. that could be resolved either way really depending on who is chief cultivator etc)

[alecmagnuslwb]

Rent a Holidate

Read on AO3

Magnus is barely paying attention as his father blathers on about his annual Thanksgiving party. It’s the same as every year, food made by an overpaid chef, schmoosing clients and Magnus being expected to attend and behave.

They don’t even really celebrate Thanksgiving and it’s definitely not about family coming together to be thankful for the things they have and the love they share, it’s a way for his father to impress his clients with the size of his house and the happy little family picture that he, whoever his latest wife is and Magnus make. It’s a fake night, filled with fake rich people that Magnus loathes more and more every single year.

There’s a pause on his fathers end of the line and Magnus scrambles assuming he was asked some sort of question.

“Yes, of course,” he says hoping that’s the right answer. Evidently it’s neutral considering his father’s monotonous response.

“Fine then, I hope that he or she will be an acceptable date for the evening,” his father says. Oh shit, he thinks, did I just agree to bring a date to this thing?

For a moment he considers backtracking saying he won’t be bringing anyone, it’s not like he’s been on so much as a half decent date in over a year, but he knows his father, once you’ve said something you act on it, no turning back. So instead he grits his teeth and accepts he’ll be bullshitting his way through an emergency excuse to why his fake partner couldn’t attend the night of.

“He is very acceptable,” Magnus says faux cheery conjuring up a fake boyfriend in his head. Not that any partner of his could be deemed acceptable by his father, his father even finds his own career path teaching English at NYU to be an underperformance.

“It’s not Columbia,” he always says whenever Magnus talks about his work.

“Well, then I look forward to meeting him,” his father says not at all sounding like he’s looking forward to it. Which is good considering Magnus’ supposed boyfriend is a complete fabrication. “I’ll see you in a week.”

And just like that he hangs up, no goodbye, nothing.

Magnus sighs tossing his phone into the graded paper box on his desk and begins crafting a personality and profession for his fake boyfriend just in case he needs a more solid alibi.

***

Magnus laments his woes to Dot and Catarina later that night, it’s Thursday which means mimosas and movies.

“Part of me just wants to make up an excuse and be done with it, it’s not like he’ll even remember in a week’s time after the fact that I ever even had a supposed boyfriend,” Magnus says pausing to take a sip of his mimosa. “The other part of me just wants to bring the world’s worst date and embarrass him to no end.”

“You mean Camille wasn’t the world’s worst date?” Dot says curling up in the chair beside Cat with her own mimosa in hand.

“Camille was the world’s worst date, but she never was one to make a scene, she was quietly and privately terrible,” Magnus says moving quickly past the topic of his wicked ex. “I mean someone who’s not a bad person, just kind of a mess.”

“Why don’t you hire the guy Dot hired last year for her family reunion?” Cat says not even bothering to look up from her phone as she scrolls reading reviews for the movie they’re about to watch.

“Yeah he was great,” Dot says agreeing with Cat’s suggestion. “His names Alec. He can’t play straight to save his life which made it even better because my whole family was convinced I was not only dating a worthless degenerate, but a worthless degenerate gay man. Hilarious, honestly.”

She pulls up something on her phone and hands it to Magnus. It’s a Craigslist ad titled, Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad? Tired of your family’s absurd expectations?

He takes the phone reading the post entirely.

My name is Alec Lightwood, I’m a 28 year old almost felon who went to college for three weeks before dropping out. I have a Thunderbird that’s only a year younger than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s red guitar. It’s hideous and embarrassing and I love it. I can play anywhere between the ages of 23 to 32 depending on if I shave. I’m a bartender and occasional bouncer when the need requires, I haven’t been seen not in a leather jacket with a tear in the back since high school, I’m gay and very bad at hiding it and I’ve even got an eyebrow scar that’s sure to raise a few eyebrows (get it, raise a few eyebrows).

If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for a gathering of some sort, but have me pretend to be in a very serious relationship with you to torment your family, I’m game.

I can do these things at your request:

-        Openly hit on other guests while you act like you don’t notice (of any gender, I may be gay but I can embarrassingly hit on anyone even if it’s not convincing).

 -        Start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion (sports are off the table however unless your family are big into the Rangers or Islanders, then I can talk shit for days.)

 -        Propose to you in front of everyone and you tearily accept or you turn me down and I proceed to have a breakdown, but we resolve to work on our relationship much to your family’s chagrin.

 -        Pretend to be increasingly drunk as the evening goes on (sorry, I don’t actually drink anymore, but I used to. A lot. Too much in fact. I know the drill.)

 -        Start a screaming match with a family member, that could come to blows (but no one will be physically harmed, I promise) either inside or on the front lawn (if there is one) for all the neighbors to see.

I require no pay but the free food I will receive as a guest at any event!

We can meet prior to the event somewhere public and you can ask me any questions. And I mean any questions so that you feel safe.

-        Do NOT contact with unsolicited services or offers. Email me at: lightwoodarcher@gmail.com

“Um, he’s a felon?” Magnus says looking up from the phone when he’s done.

“Hey, don’t judge, you’re not exactly rap sheet free,” Dot says scolding him with a smile. Which okay, he does have a few arrests on his record, petty little things and pick-ups at a protest or two, but felonies are a bit above that. He says that aloud. “Also, as it says he’s technically an almost felon.”

“He’s not a murderer or anything, I had Raphael check out his history before I requested his services,” Dot continues on to explain, referring to their friend who’s a prosecutor. “He got picked up for aggravated assault after he caught the guy who got his sister hooked on drugs in her bed shooting her up, it was a bullshit charge from a snake of a man who deserved every hit he got. The charges were ultimately dropped and settled when the piece of shit he beat up got hit with about ten felonies himself. He’s a good guy, like a really good guy I promise.”

“Didn’t Raphael even stress that he never would have convicted Alec in a million years on the charges?” Cat says getting up from her seat and heading to the kitchen to refill her mimosa glass.

Dot nods taking a sip of her drink. “He did, he said any jury would have sided with him over the 30 year old drug pusher preying on an 18 year old girl. And even though we can’t tell him, because we don’t want him to smirk about it all the time and get a big head, we both know Raphael is the best judge of character and lawyer in America.”

It’s true, Raphael always knows what he’s talking about.

“Plus,” Dot continues on. “Alec’s very upfront about it, I didn’t even need to do the background check he told me exactly what went down when we met for coffee before the event, even brought his sister along to corroborate and make me feel comfortable.”

“Wow,” Magnus says genuinely surprised by the decency of a man on the internet.

“Also, he’s very cute,” Dot smirks over the rim of her glass waggling her eyebrows in Magnus’ direction.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “I don’t think it matters if my fake date is cute.”

“So you’re gonna do it?” Catarina says coming back in the room, a pitcher filled to the brim with mimosa mix in her hand.

Magnus bites his lip in thought as he looks down at the phone in his hand again. He does want to cause a ruckus, he’s tired of being the perfect little son when his father needs him to be. And Alec Lightwood might just be able to provide the exact ruckus he’s looking for.

“What the hell,” he mutters before tossing Dot’s phone to her. “Do I need to email him, or do you still have his number?”

Dot smiles in delight as she taps on her phone his own phone buzzing in his pocket a second later with Alec’s number.

***

Alec keeps his text exchanges simple, offering to meet Magnus the following afternoon after Magnus’ noon class for coffee. Alec lets Magnus choose everything, clearly dedicated to making the person contacting him as comfortable as possible. Luckily for Magnus Alec’s had no inquiries for this Thanksgiving, except for one that was definitely unsavory and he turned down immediately.

With such short notice Magnus thought for sure this might not work out.

He walks in scanning the shop looking for Alec and comes up empty based on Dot’s description of him. He gets in line and orders a drink finding a table off to the side where it’s not too crowded to sit and wait. He’s barely settled into his seat when the chime above the door rings and in walks a stunner with long legs and dark hair.

The man pauses scanning the room, then his eyes land on Magnus his lips tilt up just a bit and he walks over his way.

“Magnus Bane?” he says in question when he reaches the table. Magnus is speechless for a moment as the sun catches in the man’s hazel eyes and on the tiny silver hoops in his ears. He shakes himself from the trance he’s in, ignoring the way his eyes shine a little greener when he tilts his head and nods his own head in confirmation.

“Alec Lightwood?”

“That’s me,” the man says with a smile that crinkles at the edges just a bit, he reaches out a hand that Magnus takes shaking it instantly enjoying the contrast of Alec’s cold fingers to his warm ones. Magnus squeezes his hand once before letting go. “I’m just gonna go get a drink and then we can talk,” Alec says stepping back with a tentative, but dazzling smile.

Magnus watches him go enjoying the view of his long legs in motion. He spots the tear in the back of his leather jacket, just like mentioned in his ad, and smiles. Alec comes back moments later a mug of black coffee in hang.

“So you need a bad date for Thanksgiving,” he says tearing open an obscene amount of sugar packets and pouring them into his mug. “I’m guessing before we get into that though, you want to know about the almost felony?”

Magnus shakes his head and Alec looks at him quizzically for a moment, before the puzzle pieces in his mind clearly fall into place.

“Dot,” he says in understanding. “She must have told you everything.”

“She did,” Magnus confirms taking a sip of his drink. “And for the record it sounds like you were in the right.”

Alec smiles a small uncertain smile almost like he’s not sure that’s the truth, but takes the words as a compliment anyways.

“It wasn’t my finest moment, I guess I’m just overprotective when it comes to people I love,” he says running his fingers along the rim of his mug.

“Getting a drug predator away from your sister isn’t just being overprotective, it’s doing the right thing,” he says genuine. He remembers when they were in high school and Raphael had his run with a bad crowd, it never came to it, but he would have done the same thing Alec did if the situation had presented itself.

Alec just shrugs looking off to the side. Magnus sees the uncomfortable set in his shoulders and shifts the conversation.

“You come highly recommended, Dot says you put on one hell of a show at her family reunion,” he says with a bright smile.

Alec’s shoulders ease and he turns back to Magnus with a smile.

“Dot barely needed me, she put on a performance just as stunning, I’ve never seen a woman so small body tackle so many people during what’s supposed to be a friendly game of tag,” he says with a chuckle.

Magnus has heard all about Dot’s deadly game and seen the bruises she proudly displayed from her somewhat violent performance first hand.

“Believe me it’s not the first time she’s tackled down a full-grown man,” Magnus says with a laugh fondly remembering a frat party, an unsuspecting frat boy and a fateful game of beer pong from many years ago.

“Somehow that does not surprise me,” Alec says rubbing a hand across his dark beard. The conversation shifts from there, Magnus giving Alec the full rundown about his father, his current stepmother and the all too haughty evening they’ll be subjected to.

Conversation flows easy between them, Alec seeming to understand a lot of Magnus’ struggles with his family life and Magnus finds himself wondering if there’s more to why he does this bit of charity for people in need.

“So, why exactly is it you do this?” Magnus asks, clarifying quickly when Alec raises his eyebrow in question. They’ve covered the felony yes and it’s clear that Alec just simply cares, but that’s not a full reason why. “I mean I believe that you’re just a genuinely good person who wants to help people, but it’s deeper than that isn’t it?”

Alec pauses for a moment rubbing the back of his neck nervously, Magnus is about to tell him he doesn’t have to explain if it’s an uncomfortable topic just as Alec starts to talk.

“I’m gay,” he says and Magnus smirks, the obviously on the tip of his tongue. Alec picks up on it smiling back. “Obviously, but for a long time I couldn’t be, or at least not at home. My parents are kind of rich, they’d do these big to do holiday parties every year for Thanksgiving and Christmas. When my siblings and I were little they were just big boring adult parties that we’d steal food from. Then we all got old enough to date and to have plans for the future.”

Magnus hums in understanding. That’s how his father’s parties had been, one day he was a kid just stealing cookies and hating the droll grown ups and the next he was a man expected to present himself in certain ways, ways that weren’t remotely who he was.

“By the time I was 21 I was still in the closet, and already on their shit list for dropping out of college, and I never dated and my parents were just determined to find me a wife. Every year it was so and so’s daughter is lovely and has such a strong education or so and so’s daughter is coming and I can’t wait for you to meet her,” he says twisting the coffee mug between his hands. “I’m pretty sure those holiday parties are how my drinking got so bad, forced heterosexuality and an open bar do not mix well together.”

He chuckles and Magnus takes that as an invitation to do the same. Again he gets it, he’s taken his fair advantage of the open bar at his father’s parties many times.

“And then one year my dad was going on about some girl who was at Thanksgiving dinner, I don’t even remember her name, but she was standing there and the whole time he’s talking about how she’s so pretty and so ready to start a family and I should make a move before someone else did. And I was losing my mind internally and evidently I’d had just enough to drink that I just screamed at the top of my lungs that I was gay.”

He pauses taking the last sip of his coffee.

“And then I just left after my mom was trying to talk to me about causing a scene. Then Christmas rolls around and to my extreme shock I get the invite. I thought for sure I was in for the lecture I’d been avoiding for a month, but instead they just acted like Thanksgiving hadn’t even happened,” he shakes his head. “They invited some other poor girl to try and marry me off to and just went on like I hadn’t had a big, gay outburst. My outburst was a lot bigger that time, after that I didn’t get any more party invites, they just cut me out entirely.”

Magnus reaches out resting his hand on Alec’s that’s drumming on the table. “I’m so sorry, Alexander,” he says trying out the full name for the first time guessing that’s what Alec is short for. He likes the way it rolls off his tongue and judging from the way Alec doesn’t correct him he ventures he got it right.

Alec just shrugs with a sad little smile on his lips. “It’s okay,” he says. “I mean it wasn’t back then, but I’m okay now. I don’t need my parents or their money, my siblings are still in my life and I’ve got a whole life outside of that. I can have my gay outbursts in peace now.”

Magnus laughs squeezing his hand once before pulling back, he’s been resting it there much too long now.

They talk logistics after that, establishing a plan for the holiday dinner. Alec immediately offers to bring his Thunderbird to drive to Magnus’ father’s place upstate.

“I don’t have the car not to be embarrassing about it,” he says and Magnus smiles insisting he pays for the gas then.

He spends almost three hours and four coffees with Alec and eventually finds they’re not even talking about the dinner in question, but they’re just talking instead.

It’s an unexpected development.

***

Coffee with Alec goes all too well and by the end of it they have a carefully cultivated story about how they met and how long they’ve supposedly been together all set in stone. Alec ensures him he’ll be the ultimate, best bad boyfriend for the night, and frankly Magnus is having a hard time believing it.

Alec is sweet, kind without even realizing it and looks like the living embodiment of tall, dark and handsome. If Magnus is being honest he’d love to take him out sometime as a real date more than a bad boyfriend for the night.

He calls Dot after they’ve said their goodbyes, walking to his apartment not far from the coffee shop.

“So how’d it go?” Dot asks immediately upon answering the phone.

“He’s incredibly charming without trying to be and cute is a fucking understatement, Dorothea,” he says looking both ways before crossing to the other side of the street.

Dot chuckles wildly on the other side.

“I’m serious, if I was given the opportunity to craft a man based on looks alone I’m pretty sure he’d be what I’d create, he’s gorgeous,” Magnus says as he reaches his building going inside and heading for the elevator.

“I may have undersold him slightly,” Dot says sounding all too innocent.

“And was there a reason for that, my dear?” he says. He’s starting to feel like he’s being set up.

“Perhaps,” she says and he can hear the gleeful smile in her voice. “You can thank me later, for now just enjoy your bad boyfriend.”

***

Five days later on the last Thursday of the month, Magnus waits outside of his apartment for Alec and at three o’clock on the dot Alec’s truly ridiculous car pulls up. It’s even better in person than he described.

The black, red and white lines are exactly like Eddie Van Halen’s infamous guitar and the ’93 Thunderbird is just on the right side of beat up. The left taillight is busted, covered in see through tape and there’s a sizeable dent in the passenger side door.

Alec steps out of the car, a vision in his signature leather jacket, black jeans with far too many tears and dark eyeliner around his eyes. It’s not neat like Magnus’ though, it’s messy. His whole look from his disheveled, but neat hair, to his trimmed beard to his scuffed boots is just on the right side of acceptable, but screams of a wild side as well.

Magnus isn’t as black tie as he knows his father would like him to be, wearing a deep red shirt and tight pants with a line down the side, his perfectly styled hair, curly and soft with matching red streaks running through it. They make a pretty attractive pair if Magnus does say so himself.

Magnus can’t wait to see how the evening plays out.

Alec smiles at him coming over to open the passenger side door, it takes a couple tugs to get it open.

“It’s a little finicky,” he says playfully bowing and gesturing for Magnus to get inside. “Your chariot awaits.”

Magnus smiles stepping into the car. Alec shuts the door tight rounding the car and falling into his seat.

“Ready to cause a scene?” Alec says with a devilish smile that Magnus finds hard to resist.

“Absolutely,” he says with his own answering smile as Alec turns the key and peels out onto the road.

***

The ride up takes about two hours all told with holiday traffic and every minute of it is delightful. Alec tells him more about himself, outside of the surface stuff they’d covered to make sure Magnus was comfortable with this whole night.

He learns Alec loves archery, has an affinity for trash shows like the Bachelor and has a vicious little cat he adores named Church. Magnus gives his own tidbits in return about his work at the university and his love of bad horror movies, laughing when Alec suggests their fiendish cats might just get along.

Magnus laughs just as they pull up outside of his father’s home, “Chairman doesn’t exactly play well with others.”

Alec shrugs. “Neither does Church, that’s why it’d be fun,” he says with a smile pulling his eyes away from Magnus looking up at the sprawling house before them. He slows the car to a stop pulling into a spot that makes the car perfectly visible from the wall of windows that line the living room where all the guests won’t be able to miss it.

“Damn,” Alec says as he steps out of the car, Magnus joins him where he’s leaning back against the front of his Thunderbird. His car looks amazingly out of place and perfectly hilarious parked between a silver Porsche and a sleek black Lamborghini. “Your father’s in real estate you said?”

“Amongst other things,” Magnus grumbles looking at the house that was always too big, that always felt hollow and empty to Magnus when they moved here after his mother skipped town.

“It’s way too big,” Alec says with a grimace looking it over one last time before offering his arm to Magnus. Magnus takes it guiding him to the front door. “And there’s way too many fucking windows.”

Magnus chuckles as they reach the door opening it automatically and walking in. The space is gaudier than the last time he was there, the walls where once his father and stepmother number four’s portraits used to hang now feature the latest wife and sadly the one of him that his father had commissioned years ago. It’s the last time he’d agreed to sit for one of his gaudy paintings, he’s young, barely 20 wearing a stiff suit and barely any makeup, he doesn’t look like him at all.

“Well that’s a painting,” Alec says looking at it. “I like this you better,” he says eyeing Magnus up and down. Whether he meant to or not there’s a lingering in the look, Magnus likes it. “That looks like somebody trying to be something they’re not.”

And just like that with one look at a painting, Alec nails him right on the head. Like he can read Magnus easily, a thing that just about no one can do.

“Come on,” Magnus says pulling Alec along down the garish hallway that leads to the large expanse of the living room. There’s a new chandelier hanging in the hall, riddled in way too many gems. He bets it’s a feature added by the new wife.

“Maggie!” a woman’s voice yells, speak of the devil, he rolls his eyes at the nickname no matter how many times he’s told her to drop it she just won’t. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

His stepmother comes bouncing over their way, her ridiculously high heels clacking against the hardwood floor. He can hear his father sigh from the other side of the room, more concerned with his precious oak floors than anything else in the world.

Magnus braces himself as she barrels into him hugging him tight, she releases him with a smile before turning to Alec and doing the same.

Alec’s eyes go wide in surprise, no matter how much Magnus described her to him there’s no preparing for hurricane Marissa. She pulls back adjusting her very not appropriate for the setting tight pink and black strapless dress with a smile, her fake tan looks a little lighter than usual and he’s weirdly proud of her for that.

“And who is this?” she asks reaching out to adjust Magnus’ shirt collar that she crumpled when hugging him.

“This is my boyfriend, Alec,” he says gesturing his way. “Alec this is my father’s wife, Marissa.”

Marissa playfully pats Magnus’ cheek, “Stepmother.” She says it pointedly holding out a hand to quickly shake Alec’s. He will never refer to her as his stepmother out loud, much like the past four wives Magnus bets Marissa will be gone in five years’ time tops, his own mother hadn’t even stuck around that long. Also, she’s 25, five years younger than him, and there’s no way he’s referring to her as anything remotely close to a mother.

“It’s lovely to have you in our home,” Marissa says to Alec gesturing to the room at large. Magnus looks around at the room full of people, most of whom he doesn’t remotely recognize. A few seem somewhat familiar in the most unmemorable sense. He’s sure they’re constant clients and rich cohorts of his father’s that have attended before.

“That it is,” his father’s voice says coming up behind his wife. He rests one hand on her shoulder and holds out another Alec’s way. “Asmodeus Bane.”

“Alec Lightwood,” he says a perfect gentleman returning his father’s handshake. They’d agreed to keep it civil for at the least the first introduction and then let the evening escalate from there. Magnus can tell just from looking at it his father’s grip is tight, commanding and borderline threatening, but Alec doesn’t even flinch.

“Lightwood, hm?” his father says eyeing Alec up and down frowning and Magnus can tell he already disapproves of what he sees. “Any relation to the Lightwood Consulting company?”

“Yes,” Alec says and Magnus smiles when he sees his father’s lips uptick in an impressed smile that immediately falls at Alec’s next words. “But they cut me out and off years ago, I’m the black sheep of the family if you will.”

Asmodeus just hums disappointed. “Well, that’s a shame,” he says. “So, how did you meet my son?” he asks not bothering with anymore small talk now that he’s already decided Alec’s no good, just jumping right in to the things he can criticize.

“Prison,” Alec jokes and Marissa titters delightfully. She quickly stops when Asmodeus looks at her disappointedly. “Just kidding,” he says. “I did my time there years ago, no we met at a bar.”

Asmodeus bristles at the prison mention, which is technically a lie, Alec only spent a few hours in a cell back when he was arrested, but his father clearly buys it as more. Magnus can tell he’s tuning out the rest of their crafted meet cute story, all about how three months ago Alec had a few too many drinks and almost got into a fight and Magnus had been his stalwart knight in shining armor.

“Love at first sight,” Marissa sighs clearly enjoying their made up tale. “Isn’t it sweet, Asmody?” she coos tugging on his father’s arm.

“Yes, quite sweet,” Asmodeus grimaces gripping his wife’s arm and pulling her away. “We’ll talk later.” He says looking directly at Magnus, essentially and completely dismissing Alec’s presence all together before stepping away. Marissa grins wide waving at them as she goes her long pink acrylic nails clicking together as she does so. Marissa may not be the brightest or subtlest bulb, but at least unlike many of Asmodeus’ past wives she’s nice enough.

“Well damn, do I even need to do anything else? He seems disappointed enough already,” Alec says shaking his head in disbelief.

“Now, where would the fun in that be,” Magnus says with a smirk, shrugging off his jacket. Alec follows suit and Magnus admires the view of his arms in a short sleeved well-fitting white button up shirt. His love of archery has made for some nicely toned muscle.

***

They mingle for a bit after Magnus deposits their coats in one of the coat closets, Magnus putting on his best son of the year smile while Alec downs glasses of water that everyone thinks is vodka at a fairly speedy rate.

It’d been his first task when they’d rejoined the party walking over to the bar with a smile.

“I need you to fill a bottle or two of vodka with water and keep serving me all night,” he said to the bored and disgruntled looking woman behind the counter. The rest of the hired help for the night must have been sequestered away in the kitchen until dinner judging by her being the first one that Magnus had spotted.

“You planning something weird tonight?” she questioned sliding Magnus a glass of red wine.

“Not weird, just disruptive,” Alec said so kind and so believable that the girl perked up.

“Well I love to see rich people who call me barkeep unironically disrupted, so you got it,” she said with a smile discreetly pouring out a bottle and refilling it with water before handing a glass to Alec as he dumped a sizeable wad of cash into her completely empty tip jar. God, rich people were cheap.

She’s been steadily serving him since.

Now they find themselves with a man who has to be bordering on 200 years old and it seems Alec decides it’s time to truly get to work.

“All that glitters,” the old man says talking about something that they’ve clearly both been tuning out.

“Glitters?” Alec says a little too loud, just enough so that everyone in their vicinity can hear. “You mean the place on 5th? My ex used to dance there, maybe you saw him, man knew how to work a pole if you know what I mean?” he winks at the old man and Magnus just barely stifles his laughter as the old man steps back in shock. He mumbles something unintelligible looking suddenly ill and paler than he had before and slips away.

Alec tosses back his drink and hands it to a passing woman in a truly hideous pantsuit that is definitely not a server, dragging Magnus along to the table of appetizers. He tosses shrimp into his mouth not bothering with a napkin, rubbing his hands on his ripped-up jeans making direct eye contact with a young woman, no doubt another trophy wife, as he does so. She scrunches up her nose and steps away.

Evidently despite his fairly small work so far he’s made just enough of a scene to garner Asmodeus’ attention once again.

“So, Alec, I assume that colorful vehicle outside is yours?” he says walking up beside the two of them. Their bartender and conspirator comes up just then handing Alec a fresh glass.

Alec smiles at her, before turning to Asmodeus. He’s not acting drunk yet, but he’s bordering on behaving tipsy.

He slings an arm over Magnus’ shoulder and brings him in close. Magnus settles a hand at Alec’s waste enjoying the proximity.

“Yes, that is my sweet Cherry,” he says naming the car on the spot. “Won her in a poker game when I was 18, crashed her three days later and have been patching her back together ever since.”

“A poker game?” Asmodeus questions, clearly becoming more disappointed by the minute.

“Yup,” he says cheerfully popping the p in the word. “Well, I wouldn’t say won directly, more cheated a guy and then fought him for it,” he pauses gesturing to the little sliced scar that runs through his left eyebrow. “That’s how I got this.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many tire irons a high school principal is carrying around,” Alec continues with a snort tossing back half of his drink.

Magnus just nods along in agreement to Alec’s concocted tale. He actually bought the car from his sister’s ex-boyfriend when he was nineteen for 200 bucks, but this story shocks far more.

“You mean to say you fought your principal for your car?” Asmodeus says judgement so very clear in his voice.

“High school, am I right?” Alec shrugs with a chuckle smiling down into his drink. Asmodeus looks appalled.

“Oh, come on don’t look like that father,” Magnus says placing his free hand on Alec’s chest and patting there lightly. Magnus can’t help but notice how solid the chest under his hand is. “I got up to some trouble in high school myself, surely you remember.”

Asmodeus just hums, clearly finding Magnus’ occasional wild parties without permission a dull comparison to the tale Alec just told.

“Never forget the time I streaked and jumped from the guest house roof to the trampoline and right into the pool, nearly broke my arm in the process,” Magnus says with a smile. Alec leans over burying his face in Magnus’ hair, careful not to mess it up, whether it’s to play up the PDA or stifle a laugh Magnus isn’t sure.

They’d had a whole conversation about PDA, Alec promising to respect his boundaries, no kissing and never a hand wandering beneath his waist.

“How could I forget,” Asmodeus says sharply embarrassed by his son’s antics. He turns towards the large windows and looks out to where the porch patio lights illuminate Alec’s car.

“It is so sexy that you did that,” Alec says ignoring Asmodeus and turning towards Magnus. He downs the rest of his drink and meet’s Magnus’ eyes, a question and idea brewing clear in them. Magnus smirks tugging at Alec’s shirt.

“You think so?” he says teasingly.

“Mm hmm,” Alec says biting his lip and Magnus knows this is all a part of the show, but god are those lips tempting.

Magnus catches Asmodeus turning his attention back to them looking outright furious. Magnus pulls away from Alec’s eyes and smiles a bright smile like they’re doing absolutely nothing wrong.

“I’m gonna give Alec the tour,” he says leadingly pulling Alec along by both hands and rushing away from the living room and down the hall before Asmodeus can say a word. He can see Alec’s smirk as he notices the stares of the other guests in the room.

Magnus doesn’t even pay attention to where they’re going as he pulls them into a room just off the right side of the hall.

“How’d you actually get that scar?” Magnus asks once they’re inside shutting the door behind him, no doubt convincing everyone they’re about to get down and dirty.

“Took a hockey stick to the face when I was 17,” he says pulling himself to sit up on a desk. A desk that Magnus now recognizes as his fathers. They’ve pulled themselves into his father’s office and if they get caught in here he’ll never hear the end of it, he loves it.

“You played hockey?” Magnus asks lifting himself up to sit beside Alec on the desk ignoring the papers he accidentally topples to the ground.

Alec nods in the affirmative. “I did, that’s why it’s the only sport I can start heckling fights about, everything else is boring.”

Magnus snorts at that, he’s never been partial to any sport himself.

“Did you really do what you said out there?” Alec asks picking up a notepad and flipping through it mindlessly.

“I did,” Magnus smiles and Alec’s eyebrows both go up. “Don’t look so surprised, you’re not the only one capable of mischief.”

“Oh, I see that,” he says with a smile tossing the notepad back to where he found it. “That is kinda sexy you achieved a jump like that and didn’t get hurt.” He says it with his voice low and all sorts of New York around the edges. He freezes his hand stopping over the spot where he’d been about to pick up the ugly green and bronze sphere shaped paper weight beside him.

Magnus freezes too, Alec saying something like that while they’re alone makes it real, not like the fake flirty way he’d said it out in the living room.

“Sorry, that’s not, I’m sorry, I never cross that line when I do these things, we’re alone and,” Alec runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Magnus shakes his head reaching out and tentatively laying his hand atop Alec’s where it rests on the desk between them.

“It’s okay,” he says and Alec looks at him ready to argue the point. Magnus jumps in stopping him before he can say a word and taking his own leap into making this far more real than fake. “Really, it’s okay. You, uh, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Alec huffs a laugh opening and closing his mouth a few times like he’s looking for the right words to say. The space between them feels a little charged now that they’ve floated out the simple fact there’s a real attraction here. Alec closes his mouth and bites his lip looking determined like he knows what to say finally when the door busts open.

“Oh, my apologies boys,” Marissa says standing in the doorway her hands on her hips and a pleased little smile on her lips. “But dinner is served.”

Magnus and Alec pull away from one another quickly hopping off the desk and stepping towards the door.

“You two are just too cute,” Marissa says when they reach her. She loops each of her arms through one of theirs and tugs them down the hall happily. “Don’t listen to a word your father says.”

Magnus meets Alec’s eyes over her head only to find Alec already looking at him, a soft smile on his lips.

***

Magnus takes his proverbial spot on his father’s right at the head of the table, Marissa doing the same on his left. Despite Asmodeus’ clear attempt to keep Alec as far away from him and Magnus as possible by seating him at the far end of the long table he fails. Luckily one of Marissa’s friends, just as airy and tight dressed as her is seated next to Magnus and happily swaps spots with Alec.

Alec lifts his drink to Asmodeus in a faux toast that Asmodeus doesn’t even feign interest in as he takes his seat.

Dinner is served and it’s to be expected. The sweet potatoes are divine none of that weird marshmallow bullshit in them, the mac and cheese is literally to die for and the homemade bread hits in just the right way. The turkey is terrible, but that’s not at the fault of the overpriced chef that’s just simply because it’s an indisputable fact that turkey tastes like napkins.

Alec eats so much Magnus is concerned, he can tell from the tight fit of his shirt that Alec is in impeccable shape so he doesn’t really know where he puts it all as he goes for his fourth serving of mac and cheese.

But long before his fourth serving of cheesy goodness Alec starts up at least three debates that would be deemed far too impolite for their supposed polite company. Each fresh serving he corners someone new into a debate; first it’s an old lady in a pantsuit pulled into a debate about the existence of god, then a forty something who looks like he’s never seen a rainbow without feeling threatened into a talk on the merits of teaching queer history to children and finally a woman who can’t be much older than them who looks like her name is Tinsley or Ainsleigh or something equally as nauseating into a tense bordering on yelling match about the importance of safe abortion access.

He sounds a little more drunk with every conversation and he’s damn good at faking it. He sounds just the right amount of inebriated not slurring his words too much or fumbling around with his silverware, it’s practiced, a master class in being drunk without being drunk. Most people overplay it acting far more outlandish than a drunk person sitting at a table would, but Alec has it down pact.

Magnus watches him not a care in the world, acting like he doesn’t even notice the disruption Alec is causing. The only person aside from Magnus that doesn’t look increasingly more uncomfortable by the minute is Marissa who looks like she’s having the time of her life watching these stuffy rich people squirm.

Asmodeus of course does not look delighted, he barely eats, just scowls over the rim of his wine glass and attempts to deflect any conversation Alec purposely instigates another way unsuccessfully.

The only time he seems to look like he’s not about to have a coronary is when everyone’s plates are finally collected, Alec still shoveling the last bit of mashed potatoes on his plate into his mouth as one of the waiters lifts the plate away from him, and it’s announced that dinner and coffee will be served in the living room.

Alec stands stretching his arms up over his head and Magnus admires the ripple of his muscles as he does so before standing beside him. Alec reaches over the table picking up yet another glass of water and tossing it back with a loud unnecessary thirst quenched sound before holding out his hand to Magnus. Magnus takes it instantly with a smile following along as they head for the living room once again.  

***

A waiter takes their dessert requests, a choice of six different types of pie as they file out of the large dining room.

Magnus selects the pumpkin pie, while Alec chooses the chocolate pecan.

“Pecan, gross,” Magnus says as they work their way over to one side of the room a little bit away from everyone else to have just a moment of reprieve.

“How dare you, pecan pie is delicious,” Alec says sounding outright offended.

Magnus rolls his eyes and crosses his arms making a face that screams Alec is insane to have that opinion.

“It’s all sugar, no substance,” Magnus says. He really shouldn’t be surprised Alec’s favorite pie is one as ridiculously sugar based as pecan considering the amount of sugar he witnessed him dump into his coffee a few days prior. Alec doesn’t even deign him with a response, he just gives him another affronted look like Magnus has insulted his entire being, not a pie.

Moments later a waiter hands them each their requested pies. Alec takes a bite of his pointedly making eye contact with Magnus as he does so and making a pleased obnoxious yum sound. Magnus just rolls his eyes again, amused as he takes a bite of his own pie.

“So, are you enjoying yourself so far this evening?” Magnus asks after a few minutes of companionable silence.

Alec pauses grabbing a coffee from a passing tray and taking a sip, he grimaces a bit at the black coffee before answering Magnus’ question. Out of the corner of his eye Magnus sees his father watching them, almost looking excited to see Alec drinking a coffee, probably hoping it will sober him up.

“Well, your father is kind of terrible, and all these people are exhausting,” he says gesturing with his fork to the room at large after he sits his coffee on the floor next to him. “But despite the fact she may be a little air headed Marissa is lovely and I get a kick out of making rich people as uncomfortable as possible, so it’s been a pretty good night thus far.”

He pauses taking a bite of his pie and looking at Magnus from underneath his thick dark lashes. “Plus, you know, you’re pretty good company as well,” he says tapping his fork to his lips.

Magnus slow blinks at him and smiles.

“You’re pretty good company as well, especially when you’re just being you, like right now, not the overstated bad boy, even if he is a good time,” Magnus says. He reaches out his empty fork and boops Alec on the nose with it, just because. Alec scrunches up his face adorably at the action.

“Well I like you being you too, though it’s kind of fun you’re playing into my whole act, most people just play the none the wiser partner,” Alec says before leaning down and drinking another glug of his coffee. He makes the same cute displeased face again as he swallows.

“Really? No one’s made it seem like you’ve turned them into a crazy bad boy too?” Magnus says surprised. He’s been having a pretty good time being a little more instigative around his father than he usually would be.

Alec shakes his head. “Not really, Dot tackling her family members was a bit of an outlier, and honestly they’re almost never guys.”

“So I’m your first fake boyfriend then, huh?” Magnus says oddly flattered about the possibility.

“Second actually, but still most of the time I get hired by women, there’s a comfort in knowing that your fake date won’t try to make a move,” Alec says taking the last bite of his sickeningly sweet pecan pie.

“I guess I didn’t have a problem with that prospect,” Magnus says smiling around his fork looking right into Alec’s pretty hazel eyes, all dark rimmed and intent on him.

“I guess you didn’t,” he says with a smile putting his empty plate and mug on a passing tray and leaning back comfortably.

Magnus joins him leaning over by one of the sprawling windows casually finishing off his pie looking up to see one of his father’s political friends, a 30 something councilman of some sort, staring at them nearby. Alec, the little devil, winks at him slow and seductive. The councilman bristles and his wife beside him gives Alec an evil stare.

Magnus laughs a little, thinking that’s it for that interaction when suddenly the click of heels approaches them.

“Did you just wink at my husband?” the woman all but screams at Alec causing him to jump up from his slouch against the windows. Her head shakes as she speaks, her clip-on earrings wobbling.

“I,” Alec starts, but she doesn’t let him get in a word before she’s tossing her glass of white wine right at him.

“Oh, shit,” he says surprised and laughing a bit as he scrubs at his face his already messy eyeliner getting even messier in the process.

“Listen, lady I had no intention, your husband was the one staring,” he shouts back sounding a little more drunk than he did at the dinner table, they weren’t planning on Alec picking a fight tonight, but it seems he’s rolling with the one presented to him.

“Why you little, you little-“ she basically shrieks her husband pulling at her arm trying to stop her from taking this any further. Magnus steps in in front of Alec, a stern look of shutting shit down that he learned from his father on his face.

“You will want to watch your next words very carefully, wouldn’t want your husband’s constituents hearing any bigoted language coming from his already,” Magnus pauses surveying her bejeweled dress that looks like she’s going to a bad 80’s themed prom. “Tacky wife.”

She looks angrier at that, but Magnus’ stern look seems to usher her away, allowing her husband to pull her from the room.

The room is dead silent all eyes on them.

“Alright,” Asmodeus’ voice booms, everyone turning his way. “Show’s over, nightcaps will be served by the barkeep in the library shortly why don’t you all head in there,” he says gesturing to the way of the library. He steps over to Magnus and Alec as does Marissa who instantly hands Alec a towel.

“She’s always been a stick in the mud with bad taste,” Marissa says showing her own dislike for the councilman’s wife. “You didn’t do a thing wrong.” She smiles at them both apologetically before linking her arm in Alec’s and pulling him the way of everyone else. Magnus moves to follow, but is stopped by a hand on his chest from Asmodeus.

“We need to talk,” he says leaving no room for argument. Alec looks back at him from where Marissa is still chattering happily to him, a clear question of if he needs to cause a scene to stay with Magnus in his eyes. Magnus waves him on, watching as they go.

He barely waits until Alec and Marissa are out of ear shot to start in on Magnus.

“I know he’s faking it,” Asmodeus says and that is not what Magnus was expecting. He plays dumb though raising his eyebrows in question.

“Don’t act like you don’t what I’m talking about, I’d venture to say from the looks you two share you know all about it as well. You just brought him here and put on this whole show to embarrass me,” Asmodeus continues with a disappointed sigh. “That man hasn’t had a drop of liquor tonight, every action he’s taken hasn’t been some alcohol fueled mistake it’s been purposeful. He’s probably the most sober person here tonight. As far as I’d guess aside from truly being the black sheep of his family name and that truly atrocious car nothing that’s happened here tonight has been real.”

And alright, yeah Magnus definitely wasn’t expecting this. He expected his father to rail on his choice of partner, to knock Alec’s character and behavior and maybe Magnus’ to boot as well. He didn’t expect him to know exactly what’s been going on all night.

“And before you ask how I figured it out, you really should have made sure your date kept better track of his finished glasses, after dinner he left one behind and it didn’t smell of the vodka we’ve all been convinced he’s been downing all night,” Asmodeus explains. “From there a quick search told me the name was at least true. His family really did cut him out judging from his complete disappearance from all events, not that I can blame them, anyone who behaves this atrociously without influence of alcohol just to play a game probably deserves to be cut off.”

Magnus huffs out an unamused laugh at the underlying implications of his statement.

“Is that a threat?” Magnus says steely eyed.

“It could be, if you don’t get him out of here right this instant and promise to never try anything even close to similar to this charade again,” Asmodeus says just as steely eyed and Magnus hates that he learned the look from him.

For a moment he considers just leaving, hightailing it out of there with Alec and not saying a single other word to his father, but he’s tired. He’s 30 and he’s been putting up with his father’s vague threats if he doesn’t play the good little son role since before he could talk practically and he’s just done.

“No, we won’t be leaving,” Magnus says holding his ground. “And as for this charade well I guess I can promise you nothing like this will ever happen again, because I’m done. I’m done playing some perfectly crafted son that I’m not, I’m done acting like we’re a happy little family, like you won’t get bored of poor, sweet Marissa in no time and there’ll be a new wife on your arm who you’ll pay just as little attention to.”

“You’re right, I did do this to embarrass you, to show those fucking fakes in there that you are the fakest amongst them, even more so than all of them combined. Alec may have been playing a role tonight, but he’s ten times more real than you could ever dream to be. Don’t worry about having to cut me off and making a whole big show of it, I haven’t needed you or your money in years,” Magnus says. He straightens out his shirt and stands with his head held high turning on his heel to join Alec in the library.

***

Magnus is frankly riding high on truly stepping up to his father for the first and likely last time in his life when he saunters into the library scanning around to find Alec. He spots him in the corner chatting with Marissa.

“There you are,” Alec says sounding genuinely concerned. Magnus just smiles at him hoping it looks more assuring than it feels.

Marissa reaches out patting him on the cheek lightly. “Don’t listen to whatever he said, he’s just jealous he’s not as outstanding as you,” she says with a smile.

Magnus is struck in that moment with how much his father doesn’t deserve her, she might be a lot to take sometimes, but she is a genuinely kind woman.

“Nor as outstanding as you,” Magnus says with a smile and she blushes at the compliment. He’s ready to follow that up by telling her that she should leave his father’s ass immediately before he gets the chance to toss her to the side, but someone calls out her name and she’s pulled away smiling at them as she goes.

“Ready for the grand finale?” Alec says as soon as Marissa steps away. The grand finale, right, Magnus and Alec had discussed giving one last show before they left for the night if they managed to make it all the way through dessert. And they have, everyone’s nursing nightcaps ready to exit for the evening, but clearly all lingering around to see if Alec does anything else embarrassing or outlandish before they go.

Mere moments ago Magnus was ready to just storm out of here with Alec at his side and maybe ask Alec if he fancied going on a real date for a late-night drink somewhere.

But now with his father storming into the room after him, glaring and judging, looking quite possibly the most upset he’s ever been with Magnus he can’t seem to find a reason to go just yet.

“Let’s do it,” he says and Alec smiles tossing back his water and acting as if there’s a nice vodka burn to it. He grabs a discarded fork from a table nearby and taps it on his now empty glass so hard that it chips just a bit earning everyone’s attention.

“Could I have everyone’s attention please,” he says sounding a little bit like he’s sobered up after the near fight with the councilman’s wife. Most of the room looks their way eagerly like they can’t wait to see what happens next, while a few others apprehensively turn their attention.

“I met this stunning man not all that long ago,” he says laying his hands lightly on Magnus’ shoulders. “But in that short time, I have realized that undisputedly there will never be another for me. From the moment we hooked up in the back of Cherry the night we met,” he says not elaborating at all on that sentence, earning the shocked gasps and confused looks of many. Marissa giggles, Asmodeus seethes not loving this new addition to their fake meet cute story even if he knows it’s all a ruse now. “I knew you were the one, so, Magnus Bane,” he continues on getting down on one knee he pulls the plain silver ring he’s been wearing all night on his middle finger off and presents it to Magnus. “Will you marry me?”

Magnus pretends to be shocked covering his mouth with a gasp. His eyes flit up to where his father stands, looking like he’s about to make some move to physically stop Magnus from answering Alec’s question, like he won’t survive the embarrassment of this room full of people knowing his sons engaged to a degenerate in messed up jeans even if he knows it’s not real. Magnus doesn’t give him the chance immediately looking down at Alec with glassy eyes.

“Yes, Alexander, yes,” he says no longer hiding his amused grin as Alec slips the ring on his finger and lifts up from the ground pulling Magnus into a crushing hug. The room claps tentatively, enthusiastically in Marissa’s case who it seems does not care how insane something is she just loves love. How she ever ended up married to his father, who only truly loves himself, his hardwood floors and his hair is a continual mystery.

“Wanna get the fuck out of here?” Magnus mumbles into Alec’s ear. Alec pulls back from their hug and nods enthusiastically.

“Do I have your permission to bridal carry you out of here?” Alec says lowly ensuring no one can hear him.

“Oh, hell yes,” Magnus says delightedly as Alec lifts him up and makes for the door.

“We’re gonna go celebrate in the back of Cherry again,” Alec announces proudly to the room as he goes. Magnus pats him on the shoulder guiding him to the coat closet where he quickly grabs their jackets, Alec never losing his grip on him.

Asmodeus shouts after them as they head out the door, Alec pausing at his car and planting Magnus down on the ground gently. He tugs at the door three times before it opens gesturing for Magnus to get in as he ignores his father’s bellowing shouts. Alec playfully salutes Asmodeus and slides over the hood of his car bumping into the Porsche beside him setting off it’s car alarm as he lands and slips into the driver’s seat quickly.

He starts the engine peeling out of the space just as Asmodeus reaches the front of the car. Magnus just blatantly ignores him only catching sight of Marissa standing in the door waving their way as they drive off.

***

The ride back is quiet for the first twenty minutes or so, music playing softly as Alec drives drumming his fingers along the steering wheel to the beat.

“My dad figured out you were faking it,” Magnus says with no preamble looking out the window as they go. The roads are mostly empty now people celebrating the holiday into the late hours with their families before waking up at 5 a.m. to Black Friday shop.

“Shit, there goes my Oscar,” Alec says eyes flashing to Magnus quickly with a laugh before focusing back on the road. Magnus chuckles in response.

“Well, it’s an honor just to be nominated,” Magnus smiles tilting his head towards Alec.

Alec snorts a little laugh then turns his head quickly to Magnus once again.

“Did your dad give you a lot of trouble about it?”

“He did, I don’t think I’ll be getting a Christmas invite after I railed back at him,” Magnus says. “But it’s okay. I think it was just a long time coming, bound to happen. Better to get it over with now before I wasted more years trying to seem like I’m something I’m not just to please him.”

Alec comes to a stop at a red light and turns his attention fully to Magnus.

“Are you okay? I mean shitty or not, having a parent cut ties isn’t easy, trust me I know,” he says. Magnus watches him enjoying the way the red of the stoplight cuts through his dark hair.

Magnus takes a deep breath and gives Alec a small assuring smile.

“I will be,” he says, truly meaning it. The fallout with his father is a lot, but he will be okay. He’s lived without his father being truly present in any form since the day his mother walked out on them, this new world where he’s likely all cut off isn’t anything new really. He’ll manage, hell he might even thrive without the chains of his father’s expectations weighing on him now.

The light turns green and they lapse back into comfortable silence for the rest of the ride, Magnus completely endeared as he listens to Alec mumbling the lyrics to every other song that comes on the radio under his breath.

When they pull up to the curb outside of Magnus’ house Alec steps out first ever the gentleman helping Magnus with the finicky passenger side door.

He holds out a hand helping Magnus out and smiles when he drops it shutting the door tight.

“Well, thank you for the free meal and the fun night of mischief,” Alec says leaning back against his Thunderbird. His eyeliner is a mess and there’s a faint dried spot along his white shirt stained from the wine incident, he looks beautiful under this streetlight and Magnus wants more night like this. Well maybe not exactly like this one, it’s been a bit of rollercoaster for him emotionally, but nights with Alec all the same.

“Go out with me,” he says not even framing it as a question. He knows Alec is interested too has seen it in the moments where he was just being himself and the appreciative glances he’s given Magnus all night that clearly weren’t just a part of the show he was putting on. And that doesn’t even cover their coffee the other day, the easy way they’d talked and just clicked right off the bat.

“For real, not a fake date or a bad boyfriend show, a real date,” Magnus clarifies when he notices Alec’s surprise.

“I’d like that a lot,” Alec says pushing off the car. He steps a little closer to Magnus leaving just a bit of distance for Magnus to clear if he wants. Magnus does want so he steps up not quite touching Alec, but close enough all he’d have to do is raise a hand. It feels almost like when they were in his father’s office tonight, but even better because they’re alone for real now, there’s no show and no chance of interruptions.

“I need the record to show that I literally never do this, not once, I haven’t even been interested, let alone made any sort of action to make something real out of one of these fake dates,” Alec says low and sincere keeping his eyes on Magnus’ the entire time making sure the words are clear. “You are entirely the exception.”

“Entirely exceptional, actually,” he adds on with a smile. Magnus smiles reaching out his hands to rest on Alec’s chest.

“So are you,” he says patting his hands twice where they rest. “And I believe you aren’t just doing this to pick up hot guys, no worries.” He says with a chuckle and Alec rolls his eyes.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Alec asks.

“Nothing, no classes until next Tuesday and most of my friends are out of town for family dinners and what not. I’m as free as a bird,” he says blinking his eyes just a bit flirtatiously at Alec.

“Good, we should get dinner, no family, no bullshit, just us,” Alec says tentatively resting his hands on Magnus’ waist.

“I like the sound of that,” Magnus says lifting up to kiss Alec on the cheek softly just once before pulling back.

“I’ll text you with a time and place in the morning,” he says slowly stepping backwards holding Alec’s steady gaze as he goes. He turns just for a moment putting his key’s in the door and pushing it open before turning back. “Goodnight, Alexander.” He says and watches as Alec smiles a dazzling smile before rounding the car and opening the driver’s side door.

“Goodnight, Magnus,” he says before slipping into his car. Magnus watches with a smile as he pulls away from the curb, his bright red ridiculous Thunderbird speeding away. The smile doesn’t leave his face as he makes his way all the way up to his apartment, so much so that he’s pretty sure his cat is judging him all the way to bed.

***

One Year Later

Magnus’ phone buzzes insistently his ringtone blaring on the nightstand.

“Stop that,” he says weakly reaching out an arm to silence it, his hand falling to the nightstand and coming up empty once, twice, three times while it continues to ring. It’s far too loud and far too early on a holiday with no responsibilities for this.

A chuckle comes from above him and warmth reaches over brushing his fingers before gripping the phone and pulling back.

“Magnus Bane’s phone,” Alec answers his voice a little lower and rougher than usual from sleep. It’s a very nice sound. Magnus can’t hear who’s on the other end of the line, but when he flips over he sees Alec smile and perk up a bit leaning back against the headboard.

“Yeah it is Alec, it’s good to know you remember me, Marissa,” he says and Magnus raises an eyebrow he’s only heard from his father’s wife once since last Thanksgiving, an apologetic text on his father’s behalf. His father on the other hand hasn’t so much as sent a sternly worded email in that time.

“Yeah, he’s here, hold on sec,” Alec says, he lowers the phone offering it to Magnus who grumbles a bit lifting himself up and leaning against the headboard next to Alec.

“Hi, Marissa,” he says clearing his throat a bit.

“Magnus!” she shouts into his ear and he jumps back a bit, from the both the volume and from shock hearing that she’s finally dropped her terrible nickname for him. “I was glad to hear Alec answer the phone, I knew you two were a good match, even if it was all a show that night.”

“Ah,” Magnus says. “So father told you.”

“He did, but it doesn’t change that you two are the cutest,” she says. “Which speaking of your father,” she starts and Magnus is ready to shoot down any attempt at reuniting she’s trying to pull here. Marissa is a nice woman, but his father’s silence in the past year has spoken volumes, he’s not playing into a reconciliation he can’t even make the call for.

“I left him,” she says finishing her sentence. Magnus huffs out a little surprised laugh that Alec raises an eyebrow at, well good for her. “About a month ago and I know it’s incredibly short notice and you might have other plans, but I’m having a little Thanksgiving dinner of my own with a few friends this year and I’d love to see you. And Alec too, of course!”

Magnus smiles, they’d had a Friendsgiving slash one year anniversary celebration over the weekend with Raphael, Cat, Dot, Ragnor and Alec’s siblings, tonight’s plans were likely going to consist of Chinese takeout on the couch and making out. And while Marissa can be a lot she was always kind, and he can’t help but recall how supportive she’d been that night a year ago. He can’t find it in himself to turn down her offer because of it.

“We’d love to,” he says and Alec looks at him again in question. Magnus just waves a hand signaling he wait a moment for explanation. On the other end of the line Marissa claps excitedly.

“Yay!” she says. “I’ll text you my address, I’m in the city now so Alec might have to leave Cherry at home.”

Magnus laughs. “Oh, he might bring her anyways.”

He chats idly with Marissa for a few more minutes before disconnecting and promising they’ll be on much better behavior this year for dinner.

“Marissa left my father,” Magnus says as soon as he’s hung up and tossed his phone back on the nightstand. Alec smiles looking just as oddly proud for her as Magnus feels. “And we’re having Thanksgiving with her and some friends tonight.”

“Good for her,” he says flipping back the covers and getting out of bed. “Should I get out the eyeliner and torn up jeans for tonight just for old times’ sake, or no?”

He smirks standing gloriously naked in front of the dresser rustling through one of his drawers. His drawers. Magnus isn’t quite used to the lovely novelty of the fact that Alec lives with him now. It’s been about two months since they made it official and just seeing one of Alec’s crappy romance novels on the coffee table or his shitty leather jacket hanging in its permanent space in their closest still makes him feel all sorts of tingly.

Magnus hums in thought rising up from bed and moving to lean against the dresser beside Alec. He’d pay good money to get Alec to wear eyeliner more often frankly.

“I think you should bring both of those things out as often as you’d like,” he says reaching out a hand and cupping Alec’s cheek turning it towards him. The feel of Alec’s soft, shaven skin is something he also isn’t quite used to. For the first time in their year together he’d shaved off his beard entirely, completely out of the blue and for no other reason than he’d had a day off and was bored. He’s as handsome as ever, but Magnus had quite literally had to do a double take when he came home and saw Alec sitting on the couch.

“Do try and leave the illustrious tales of our sexual escapades at home this time though, darling,” he says with a smile. He’s mostly joking, but now that their sexual escapades are real and not fictionalized he’d like to keep them just between them.  

“Damn, well there goes all my dinner conversation topics,” Alec says with a wicked little smile.

“Menace,” Magnus says as he slides his hand down from Alec’s face to his chest with a shake of his head.

Magnus runs his fingers lightly through the hair on Alec’s chest stopping to rest on the stark black tattoo on his lower abdomen. And boy hadn’t it been a blissful discovery to see that ink when he finally got Alec’s shirt off for the first time. He trails his fingers over the shape of it lightly, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“If you keep doing that we’ll never leave this room,” Alec says his lips tilting up in a little pleased smirk.

“Doing what?” Magnus says innocently still moving his fingers over the shape of the tattoo lightly.

“And you say I’m the menace,” Alec says leaning in to kiss him on the lips once hard and bruising. “We need to shower.” He says stepping away from Magnus. Magnus’s hand falls and he pouts laying it on a bit thick. Alec pointedly attempts to ignore it.

“Together?” Magnus says with a hopeful smile.

Alec rolls his eyes. “I feel like despite having literal hours to get ready we’ll end up late somehow if we do,” he says eyeing Magnus’ bare form appreciatively. “But there’s no way I can say no to that.”

Magnus smirks pushing himself off the dresser and right up against Alec.

“Damn straight,” he says before leaning in to lay a teasing, promising kiss on his lips.

“There is absolutely nothing straight about this,” Alec says with a toothy smile once he’s pulled back already tugging Magnus into the bathroom for their shower. Magnus laughs loud and bright as he’s dragged along.

***

Impossibly despite literal hours, Alec’s right, showering together does prolong the entire process of getting out of the apartment when showering becomes shower sex, which becomes another round on the bathroom counter which results in needing to shower again, separately this time much to both their dismays.

Eventually though, they’re dressed and ready. Magnus finishes up the last touches on his hair, adjusting the bright almost golden streak at the front of it which compliments the golden chained pattern of his shirt. He picks up the ring Alec fake proposed to him with last year and twists it onto his right-hand ringer finger with a smile. They obviously aren’t actually engaged, but increasingly lately Magnus finds himself thinking about making it real.

He gives himself one last once over in the mirror before stepping out of the bathroom to find Alec sitting cross legged on their bed and Magnus is nearly sent back in time to a year ago.

He’s wearing the jeans and boots just like he had that night, his eyeliner is in place a little less messy but still unpracticed and his hair is its usual tussled self. The shirt is almost the same, this time it’s one Magnus gave him with subtle lines of shiny black at the collar and cuffs, the little black loops in his ears are a gift from Magnus as well.

It’s a perfect combination of that first night when they were a fake couple out to cause mayhem and the couple they are now, a royal we couple that are so deep in love Magnus has to just take a few breaths in sometimes to remember this is all real.

“Ready to go?” Alec asks looking up at Magnus with a smile. Magnus nods as Alec stands throwing on his leather jacket with the hole in it he refuses to fix. Magnus follows suit grabbing his own jacket and following Alec out as he grabs his keys and wallet scratching the heads of both cats curled up on the back of the couch as he goes.

“We could take the subway you know?” Magnus says once they’re in the elevator, Alec twirling the keys to his Thunderbird around his finger.

Alec scrunches up his face adorably. “No way,” he says gesturing for Magnus to step out first when they reach the lobby. “Cherry helping us fight through Thanksgiving traffic is gonna be a lifelong tradition for us.”

Lifelong Magnus likes the sound of that, but he is dubious that Alec’s precious car will last anywhere near that long.

Alec rushes to the car parked proudly and loudly right in front of their building unlocking it and pulling four times on the passenger door before getting it open.

He smiles at Magnus gesturing with an overstated bow for him to get in and Magnus rolls his eyes but can’t seem to hide his smile and Alec knows it. He shuts the door once Magnus is in and in a move reminiscent of their escape from his father’s last year slides over the hood before slipping into his own seat and starting the car driving off to a much better Thanksgiving than the year before.

[bhaleesi]

Hello Bhaleesi! I divided my asks in two if you dont mind. The first one was getting long 😅😅

I noticed that Selena's cause of death is not concrete. So (hypothetically speaking) what if she was alive ryt now? Can the realm have 2 potentates at once? Emotionally, Selene has the upper hand whereas politically....Quill can't be removed. Sorry for the dumb question but I honestly adore both these potentates and I couldn't sleep last night thinking abt it😅😅😅😅😵 What abt Ayden though😬😬

Quill was tempted to trust the spymaster of the realm. She was more personable than her older brother, yet Quill remembered Isabelle including her on the short list of people to be wary of. He certainly was each time he saw Reyna and Ayden interact in an informal setting. It often left him … self-conscious.

And were Ayden and Reyna ever romantically involved? Reyna had still not given up on her hopes for Ayden that time I see😲😲 Does Reyna have something for Ayden other than her ambitions?🤔

I'm so sorry for the long asks but I'm obsessed with AWAS and want to dig into the characters. Love from me!!❤

P.S- I really wanna see Quill and the twins together!

No worries about dividing the asks - it makes it easier for me to give detailed answers to any questions you have! I enjoy answering your questions, too, so no need to feel like any of them are dumb! <3 

*******

Selene being alive would be ... uncomfortable to say the least. The realm can have two potentates in the sense that one is the “ruling” potentate (married to the current sovereign) and the other is a dowager potentate (married to the previous sovereign). In this hypothetical scenario, however, Quill and Selene would both be “ruling” potentates ... which the kingdom can’t have 😅. This is such a fun hypothetical because there’s so many ways it could go. 

1. You could make the argument that Selene being alive means that Quill’s marriage to Ayden isn’t legitimate. Depending on how the Grand Seer feels, an annulment of Quill and Ayden’s marriage could be arranged so that Selene takes her crown back. 

Which of course would immediately make Theron an enemy. One way I can think of to resolve that is to take away Quill’s crown and essentially give it to one of his younger siblings by having them marry Lucien. This of course opens up a tiny problem named Lyra Livingstone, who is going to be pissed because Corvus already has dibs on Lucien. So ... minimal bloodshed scenario is Viscardi or Luna marries Esme instead (to avoid messing with the Livingstones) and we hope that it’s good enough for Theron (it won’t be..)

2. Or we say that the Grand Seer decides not to annul the marriage and Quill’s claim is recognized. This will cause lots of unrest in the kingdom, since there will be people that prefer Selene (or at least just want Quill gone). There’s also the emotional component, where I think Ayden would be really conflicted. On one hand, it’s Selene. But also, on the other hand, Quill. Not to mention how the twins would feel. 

This one is definitely more unstable. The Annex and Coven are satisfied by the decision. Sanguis, parts of Ancient, and Briar will want Selene reinstated. The Seas won’t care either way. Stepes is a bit more variable. The newly-made Frontier will prefer Quill. 

Would this divide be enough to start a war? Probably not ... but it’ll make things incredibly tense in Eurydice. Selene will very much be the Catherine of Aragon to Quill’s Anne Boleyn (as in people view Selene as the real Potentate, no matter what the “head of the church” says). 

******

I’m always happy to talk about Reyna! 

I don’t think that she wants more from Ayden beyond the throne. Spending so many years around Ayden has made Reyna more fond of him, and she might even enjoy being married to a degree ... but she’d still show up in a stunning gown to his funeral after he dies a tragic and inexplicable death, leaving the kingdom in her hands 😅

Ayden and Reyna were never directly involved. Ayden wasn’t in a romantically receptive state when they met. This changed over the years, and he starts to develop a subconscious “crush” on her just before the story starts. Reyna is very good at learning what people like, and modifying her behavior to wrap them around her finger. Had it had another few months to develop, I could see Ayden start to consider courting Reyna. Quill shows up at the perfect time~ 

(and now Reyna is Orion’s problem lmao) 

******

I’ve actually got a fair amount of content planned for Quill and the twins in the upcoming chapters, so you’re in luck! 

Thank you for the ask! 

[wunderlass]

I’m feeling so deflated to be writing this post. S1 had its flaws but those could be placed at the feet of a freshman showrunner who could learn from her mistakes going into S2 and up her game. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, and S2 was a mess.

S1 had a clear central plotline: the mystery of Rosa’s death, leading to justice in the form of Noah’s death and Rosa’s resurrection. S2’s central plotline was…um. The kidnappings? Leading into the plot to blow up Crashcon? I think? But there was so much other stuff gong on it’s hard to tell.

Carina – if you happen to come stumbling into the tags for reactions – you’ve already acknowledged that you struggle to edit your scripts down for length. And it does show in the finished product. But you also struggle to edit your ideas down to fit into the episode count you have. There were too many extraneous plot threads this season, too many guest characters, and the ideas you had were shoddily and sloppily executed.

There were shining moments scattered here and there and the occasional good episode, but for the most part this season lurched from badly paced episode to badly paced episode. Stuff was crammed into each episode and yet somehow the plot also treaded water until 2x11 when it all kicked off – and this was because so much of what happened in the earlier episodes didn’t feed into the main plot. Even Max’s death, the overarching motivation for many characters at the beginning, was shoved to the side for other ideas.

And the payoffs for each of these storylines was too often underwhelming. Max can’t come back because he’ll be full of dark energy and a destructive force! Resolved in 30 seconds by him blowing up a pile of stuff. Max can’t remember Liz! Fixed in the same episode. That pattern continued with the finale feeling like it was trying to wrap up all these storylines without really having a story of its own. The various cliffhangers from Crashcon were tied up before the title card and then let’s spend the next 40 minutes treading water again.

There were good moments in the finale. Max and Isobel’s discussion, the Maneforrest kiss, Rosa and Helena’s reunion. But as for the rest? Hear me whine:

-          Jesse’s death was anticlimactic. His line about “no more Manes men” makes no sense given as far as he knew Flint (and maybe Clay?) is still alive. His death should have been poetic because one of his son’s killed him but it didn’t hold the weight it should have, possibly because it came so early in the episode.

-          It would have been far better if Jesse had discovered that Harlan killed Tripp and buried him beneath the shed. How awful would it have been for his entire worldview to be shaken by that revelation? How perfect would it have been if he discovered that Tripp loved Nora? If he died after learning all of that, becoming desperate and sloppy in whatever scheme he was trying to pull off (self-immolation via the bomb?), it would have been a fitting ending.

-          So many characters this season were badly served. Alex, Michael, and to a lesser extent Max, had real arcs and progression. Alex especially you can see them setting up his growth for a payoff in the finale. 

-          Kyle was shafted, shoved to the side for the Steph storyline that didn’t feel like it was going anywhere, and I suspect we got a lot of that cut away to make room for other stories.

-          Rosa’s story started off strong and then mostly got tied into rehab or helping Isobel. Them having her out and about in public in Roswell is complete nonsense.

-          Max had a line for Isobel about her becoming her “entire self” this season, and that rang false to me. We’ve only seen Isobel develop her powers. Her personality has shifted each episode, fractured and inconsistent, dependant on what the writers needed her to do. She didn’t get much of a storyline of her own – the abortion was redundant, serving as a political soapbox for Carina rather than anything that served the character – and while she’s found out more about her heritage, that’s never been as important as Michael or Max finding out about theirs. She said she wanted to become more like her mother and that never went anywhere.

-          I was so hopeful that Carina had listened and understood the criticisms with Maria’s handling in S1 and worked to improve it. She certainly gave her increased screentime. Except, so much of that screentime was tied into Michael, and latterly Isobel. She lacked interactions with Liz or Rosa. She was in two whole scenes in the finale and after she broke up with Michael, she disappeared from the story, and if that doesn’t say it all…

-          And that break-up was contrived bullshit. I’m not saying this as a shipper. It felt like they’d planned to have them break-up in the finale and wrote it even though the motivations hadn’t been properly established. Seeds were sown but they were communicating well as a couple and resolving their issues as they went along. Suddenly those issues got un-resolved and were enough to break them up.

-          The most galling part is that so much of what follows comes from Tripp’s diary, and Maria is excluded. This is her story too! Louise was her great-grandmother! Rather than sitting around her in the hospital room reading this stuff, they do it in the Crashdown.

-          Which fits the pattern of what’s happened all season. Maria found out she was part alien and it was about her powers, rather than her legacy, rather than what happened to her great-grandparents.

-          And it became clear that it was done so they could do the Nora/Tripp and Malex parallel.

-          Which completely solidifies for me where Carina’s priorities lie. She’s been clear that Malex is her favourite ship on the show and Michael is her favourite character. But this season has shown that she’s incapable of ensuring her favouritism doesn’t screw over other characters.

-          The sad thing is this really does show up in marketing. Carina always pushes and praises Vlamis and barely ever mentions Jeanine on her SM. Media outlets write about Malex as the centre of the show and they aren’t supposed to be. We have a sci-fi show with a Latina leading lady and nobody cares – not the showrunner, not the media (outside of Latinx-centric publications), not the fandom. I’m not Latina and it frustrates me so I can’t imagine how actual Latinx people feel about that.

-          Maria was dragged into a love triangle that Carina never had any intention of doing justice to. Maria and Michael were always only ever meant to be a pit-stop on the way to a big Malex reunion. Sadly it’s clear the same goes for Maneforrest. Why write something if you’re only going to do it half-arsed? And it clearly was. That’s why the Maria and Michael break-up was so perfunctory and illogical.

-          While I’m on the subject of Maria – last season Mimi was clearly deteriorating and didn’t recognise adult Maria anyway. Now that seems to have shifted to Mimi’s mind moving through time. It’s still unclear if this is the alien DNA or what was done to Patricia Deluca in Caulfield. I don’t understand why they introduced both elements – apart from being able to give Maria a line about unethical science which OH BOY what a contrast with Liz.

-          Speaking of Liz.

-          Wow.

-          If the central storyline was the kidnappings and Crashcon shenanigans, she really had no involvement with that all season apart from the very end. All the investigation went to other characters. Her mother was involved, but not Liz.

-          Let me repeat that.

-          Our lead character was not involved the central storyline of the season.

-          Alternatively, if you think Max learning about his history, and all of the reveals about 1948, and Maria’s heritage etc etc were supposed to be the main storyline…

-          Doesn’t matter because Liz wasn’t involved in any of that either!

-          Liz was a subplot in her own show after they brought Max back. Hell, she was a subplot even when she was working on that.

-          The narrative focus really has centred on Michael, Alex, and later Max.

-          I wonder what they have in common with each other.

-          If you don’t believe me, check out the screentime figures for this season. Liz had the fourth largest amount of screentime in the finale, and she’s only had majority screentime in a handful of episodes all season (2x01, 2x07, 2x11).

-          And then realise that the plot kept moving after Liz left Roswell. She’s just not part of it anymore.

-          I watched the finale and kept asking myself where Liz was because she kept disappearing for whole chunks of time.

-          She was in her own subplot about science for the back half of this season, and honestly, I’m going to have to write an entirely separate post about Liz and ethics in science because NOPE.

-          Max was right. Liz deserved to follow her calling but she had options that didn’t involve risking the aliens.

-          As such the Echo break-up was stupid but whatever, based on this season I guess it needed to happen.

-          Did Max even care that Liz left? He loved her for twenty years and then when he had her, it didn’t matter anymore? What the fuck? Are we ever going to get answers as to why he fell so hard and loved her for so long, or is the “Malex is cosmic” story more important?

-          Also the whole thing about the Genericorp lady not being interested in Liz based on meeting her at the Crashdown was stupid. You hire scientists based on the previous work they’ve done and their credentials. Diego’s word should have been enough to convince her, and then maybe an actual proper job interview to make sure she was a good fit. Not “let’s sneak into her secret lab to look at what she’s working on”.

-          When Liz does leave, she only says goodbye to Rosa and Kyle. Arturo is mentioned but not seen. Which means the whole ICE sequence this season, which should have been a solid motivation for Liz to take the Genericorp job on its own, has been resolved without a proper payoff. All that stress – scenes that I know felt genuinely stressful to some viewers because of how close to home it hit – and we don’t even get to see Arturo seeing his “genius daughter” leave with his future secured.

-          It’s plausible that Liz said goodbye to other characters – Maria, Isobel, Michael – off screen BUT SHE’S YOUR LEAD CHARACTER AND HER LEAVING TOWN SHOULD CARRY SOME EMOTIONAL WEIGHT FFS

-          Compare Liz leaving and arriving at the ocean to Buffy Summers leaving Sunnydale in Becoming Part 2. There is no contest.

-          It’s clear to me that the audience Carina writes this show for is herself. And that’s fine. Plenty of writers do that. But that means she’s writing a show for the women in fandom who like epic mlm romances with lots of angst. And the problem with that is that this show has a Latina lead who is not being done justice.

-          This is not me railing against Malex. There is space in the show for both things. This is me expressing my frustration at a showrunner and creative team who are not taking care with all characters equally.

-          Carina uses her platform to throw in politics and use characters as mouthpieces without considering their impact. She thinks she’s educating the straight white people in the audience without thinking about how scenes of ICE intimidation, homophobic violence, and racism will affect the people who are impacted by those things in real life.

-          Am I done with the show? Probably not. I’ve got fics I want to write and while I’m not hubristic enough to think I can write better than a team of professional writers, I’m going to at least try and do some of these neglected elements of the show justice.

-          Hubris. Remember when I thought that was going to be a theme of this season? Apparently not. There was no theme, unless “no editing, we die like men” counts..

[innerclouds]

Questions to really go deep

1. Do you have more friends or acquaintances? No.

2. What emotion are you most afraid of feeling/ displaying? Depends on who’s company I’m keeping.

3. Have you ever experienced a “glitch in the matrix” moment? Deja vu? Constantly. Probably just signs of a stroke coming down the line.

4. Favorite term you discovered on Urban dictionary. I don't browse it so none?

5. What’s a subject you could talk about for hours? Politics.

6. What’s the difference between a type and a preference? I am not getting into this, this is a trap question.

7. What secretly scares you about society? I'd say but I'd be labeled for "wrong think" on this platform. Not that I haven't been already.

8. How bad is your FOMO? What is a FOMO?

9. What’s your spirit animal? Depends on the quiz thing I've taken, it's always different.

10. How well do you perform in school? About average.

11. What are your good habits? What are your bad habits? Washing hands. Biting nails.

12. What personal trait are you most proud of? I can doodle gud I guess.

13. What does your driving say about you? Paranoid.

14. What do you think is the weirdest/ creepiest societal norm? Man that's a long list. Again, it would get me labeled for "wrong think".

15. Favorite sound effect? None.

16. You have the power to divide the world by 2 to 4 groups of people, how do you divide them? With a battle axe.

17. What popular saying or quote pisses you have? The heck is a quote piss?

18. Are you cooperative or a contrarian? Yes.

19. Something a lot of people like that you HATE. Again, I probably shouldn't say.

20. There’s a website that rates and reviews your performance as a lover. What would the reviews for you say? 10/10.

21. What was “the incident” that happened at your high school or college? Which one? There were a lot of those.

22. Has there been a time where you wanted to speak up about something but held your tongue anyways? Gee I dunno.

23. A big risk you took that paid off. Short list.

24. A big risk you took that did not work out. Long list.

25. What’s your favorite historical event to research? Black plague. Actually did something for that as a subject for school once, it was entertaining.

26. How do you work your way into someone’s heart? Rib cage with a bone saw.

27. What food combinations do you enjoy that other people find weird? Not sure.

28. Have you ever had an encounter with law enforcement? How’d it turn out? With a rent-a-cop. About as well as you’d expect.

29. What book made you appreciate reading? All of them.

30. Are you toxic? Are you afraid to admit it? Oh no, I am absolutely toxic and I own it. Some say I'm hitler 2.0 because *gasp* I have differing opinions and tend to rely on facts and evidence. The horror!

31. Dumbest thing you’ve done in a foreign country? Haven't been in any of those. Unless Utah counts, in which, I went to Utah counts as dumbest thing.

32. What do you think is an unfair double standard between men and women? This is another trap question, especially with how it's worded, that I refuse to get into because it'll take hours and I simply cannot be arsed.

33. What’s your personal heaven? Full of eggrolls.

34. What is something that everyone should experience in their lifetime? Conflict.

35. How often do you change your mind on something you thought you were concrete on? Not often, but if you present solid evidence it will help sway me.

36. Is it easier for you to love or hate? What do you think this says about you? I'm an emotional sponge so both. Probably says a lot.

37. You have doubts about the person you’re romantically involved with, how does this get resolved? Don't have any doubts but if I did I would expect by talking it out.

38. Has there been a time where you thought you were helping someone but were actually enabling their worst habits? Possibly.

39. “Charlie” is short for “Charles” but both have the same amount of letters. What are your thoughts? I don't care.

40. To the person you’re asking these questions to: what is the best and worst things about them? Them being them is the best thing about them. Need more days off, heh.

41. Do you surround yourself with people that bring the best or worst out of you? The former.

42. What will inevitably lead to human extinction? Humans themselves, unfortunately it's taking far too long.

43. Is it better for someone to have a wide range of superficial knowledge or deep knowledge about a few things? Yes.

44. What if there were no professionals in any given subject, but everyone knew a little bit about everything? Okay?

45. How can we judge ourselves by our intentions yet judge others by their actions? This can lead to very murky waters and I'm starting to wonder if the OP has a personal slant on these questions, as far as I'm concerned actions speak and intentions are just intentions until they are actions.

46. Can we ever believe someone when they say their intentions are different from their actions? So that basically confirms it. Thanks for playing.

47. What if you could tell if someone’s intentions were truly transparent upon first meeting them? OP, stop it.

48. What is the biggest waste of human potential? That is an extremely long list, but somewhere around the top five? I'd say social media.

49. Would things get better or worse if humans focused on what was going well rather than what’s going wrong? Maybe, maybe not.

50. What benefits does art provide society? Does art hurt society in any way? Art will always benefit society and no, art does not hurt it at all.

51. When did you screw everything up, but no one ever found out it was you? Can't recall doing any of that.

52. How sneaky were you when you were younger? Or was it something recent that you messed up and got away with? See above.

53. What would you name your boat if you had one? Leaky.

54. What’s the worst commercial you’ve recently seen? Why is it so bad? The gillette commercial, you know the one, for obvious reasons.

55. What’s the closest thing to real magic? Love.

56. What is the craziest thing one of your teachers has done? Halloween, dressed as an escaped crazy person with actual chains, dragging them down the halls and scaring the crap out of anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.

57. On a scale of 1-10, how strict are/were your parents? 7.

58. Who was your worst teacher? Why? Don't recall.

59. Who was your favorite teacher? Why? Either PE teacher and another down the line. They both understood.

60. Which would you pick: being world-class attractive, a genius or famous for doing something great? None of the above, fame is overrated.

61. What paper that you’ve written are you most proud of? See school subject on the black plague.

62. What would you do if you were invisible for a day? You mean I've not been invisible my entire life?

63. What actions in your life will have the longest reaching consequences? Rather not mention.

64. You’re the first human to interact with an alien and it’s non-hostile. What do you do? Too shy and quiet to make a proper first contact, probably doom our species to abrupt extinction as a result due to a misunderstanding.

65. Are you afraid? Who isn't?

66. To the person you’re asking these questions to: date, marry or kill? First two.

67. To the person you’re asking these questions to: where did you meet them? Next to a campfire outside a snowy tavern in the woods.

68. Can you describe your first high experience? Confusing.

69. Nice Wat?

70. Can you describe your worst drunk experience? Never again.

71. Post the 17th picture from your gallery. What gallery?

72. What was your favorite place you’ve been employed? What was your least favorite? None. Theater.

73. Do you value charm or intelligence more? Big meaty brains.

74. What worries you most about your mistakes? All of it.

75. What personal prisons have you built out of fears? Yes.

76. What is the most important thing you could do right now in your personal life? Long list.

77. If you could ask one person, alive or dead, only one question, who would you ask and what would you ask? I wouldn't ask anything.

78. What is your number one goal for the next six months? Improve.

79. If happiness was the national currency, what kind of work would make you rich? Shitposting.

80. Who or what do you think of when you think of love? Bae.

81. When you help someone do you ever think, “What’s in it for me?” No.

82. What’s the difference between settling for things and accepting the way things are? Virtually none.

83. How many of your friends would you trust with your life? One.

84. Is it better to have loved and lost or to have never loved at all? Depends.

85. Who do you dream about? Naked butlers.

86. What has been the most terrifying moment of your life thus far? Near car accident.

87. Are ghost or aliens real? In a manner, probably. Most likely.

88. Have you ever broken a bone? No.

89. What’s something you’re embarrassed to admit to try? Vegan meals.

90. Is your nationality a part of your identity? No.

91. Do you find your eye color unique? It can be.

92. Is there a song you enjoy from a genre that you don’t listen to? Multiple.

93. What is your sexuality? Triggering to some.

94. Is the person you’re asking these questions to an introvert, extrovert or an ambivert? Former.

95. What’s the sweetest thing you’ve done for someone? Roses.

96. What’s the worst thing you’ve done to someone? Something I can never forgive myself of.

97. When was the last time you’ve felt jealous? Why? Been a while.

98. Do you still think about your first love? No.

99. Would you want to live in the country you want to go on vacation to the most? Yes and no, they need to clean up their problems first.

[easilydistractedandamused]

As it turns out, I really like writing out my Headcanon’s so here are some more that resolve mostly around Shazam (as always):

Billy is always thrown off by the height difference whenever he turns into Shazam. The magic makes it easier but for a few seconds he has to adjust to the new body. Vic is the only one who knows

Since his body always feels so foreign to him, he has to depend on his instincts and that’s where most of his mistakes when working with the League come from

He rarely makes the same mistake twice

Batman and Cyborg are the only ones who notice this

Because of his years on the street he has a hard time trusting people and showing that he cares which causes him frustration. 

he reacts badly when people sneak up on him 

The JL members all get it and tend to make sure not to sneak up on any members anyway as a lot of the members don’t react well to being snuck up on

he has food stashes hidden in multiple areas. One in his room at the Watchtower. Two in the rec room. Another in the infirmary. 

Batman and Superman are the only ones who’ve ever noticed these stashes. 

Clark doesn’t know who the food stashes belongs to and is concerned but thinks they might be for emergencies like the day Flash accidentally eats all the food. 

Bruce knows exactly what they are due to Jason who did the same thing when he adopted him that he never really grew out of and looked into it. He was very shocked it was Shazam but figured it was a left over habit from when he was kid and starts to keep a closer eye on him

Billy noticed and didn’t appreciate it but never knew what started Batman watching Shazam like a hawk

Everyone thinks Shazam doesn’t have taste buds because he can eat just about everything (including Wonder Woman’s first attempts at cooking) but Billy is just used to making himself eat foods he didn’t particularly like.

Billy, not Shazam, Billy, is a lot smarter than he looks. He acts naive because a lot of people will assume he is easier to manipulate when, in fact, he is manipulating them. Typically for information.

Black Adam is the only one of his enemies that realizes he’s smarter then he acts. Sivanna is too self absorbed to ever realize and Black Adam is too amused by this to tell him

Vic is the only member on the Justice League to know this though he isn’t aware of just how much smarter he is because he doesn’t know how to tell when he’s faking ignorance on a subject yet (he’s pretty sure Billy doesn’t understand advanced robotics and his confusion when they’re facing them and Batman using technical terms is real)

Darla and Freddy are perfectly aware of how smart Billy is and go to him when they need help with homework. He considers it a small price to pay for their silence when really he doesn’t mind helping them out

It has nothing to do with the Wisdom of the Gods. He is genuinely a smart person and is stifled in his current grade. 

He doesn’t mind too much as it made it easier for him to hide being homeless as he did the bare minimum of work to pass his classes without catching his teachers attention.

He knows how to read most ancient languages due to growing up surrounded by them and can keep up a casual conversation even before getting the Living Lightning which taught him more.

Black Adam insulted his accent once (”well excuse me for not remembering a language I learned at three”) but tends to help him out in the languages his powers aren’t much help with

He knows how to pick a lock with just about anything

is a bargaining master. he bought ten shirts for a dollar.

Catching him in a lie is nearly impossible as he has had to learn how to growing up to explain bruises and other injuries or that he was living on the streets.

he didn’t lie to Darla and Freddy because he knew they wouldn’t believe him anyway.

They were angry when they figured this out

He is good at planning ahead and thinking on his feet. The League was very surprised by this when a mission went sideways and he was able to handle himself perfectly despite being separated from everyone and managed to avoid a diplomatic incident with the locals

Vic was not surprised by this at all because their usual hang out was him planning ahead. Not too far from the city that he couldn’t reach it on foot but just far enough that no one would notice and investigate any sounds

his patrol is literally just him walking around town in costume and sometimes he’ll bring another member along. Fawcett citizens have long since gotten used to this and don’t even blink at the sight even more

He brings Vic the most because it’s the closest he can get to taking a casual stroll since the accident

Billy was touch starved for the longest time. he could handle going hungry but the loneliness was the worst part of being homeless if anyone asked him but he has an ongoing relationship with prostitutes and drug dealers and would often curl against them for hours if they’d let him.

They always did

Billy has what he refers to as a “quota” of human contact to keep loneliness at bay as he doesn’t like people touching him without his permission

Vic usually invites physical contact to work around this

He has a tendency of just...draping himself across people’s backs no matter the form he’s in because if they react badly to the touch, he has enough time to either cling to them or run away before they turn around.

the person he does this most to is Vic as touch is now rare for him since the accident and Billy doesn’t want him to feel lonely like he had. He tends to do it more as Shazam as it takes some careful positioning to do it in his human form due to the height difference

He has bodily thrown himself at Darla’s back once when he realized he hadn’t had any human contact in a while. The Vasquez’s assumed they were wrestling.

Due to his magic being electricity based, he has the ability to sense electrical impulses though it’s far stronger as Shazam (a fact that he’s glad for because as Billy it sometimes keeps him up enough as it is)

It also allows him to access computers and the like and if he wanted to, he could connect to the internet but he only does that during movie nights and is slowly getting better at it.

He doesn’t sleep longer then three to four hours at a time

He can still use magic in his human form but it tires him out quickly and when he first started learning, it would cause him physical pain.

The transformation left scars the first time and if he turns back into Shazam too quickly without giving his body proper time to rest, his human form gains more scars

He tends to hide the scars with makeup so as to not cause concern but only when he knows he won’t be able to wear his sweater in advance as it both takes time and makeup can be expensive so he’d rather not use it if he won’t need to

He sometimes dog sits for Hades and has been teaching the hell-hounds all sorts of tricks. He hopes to one day acquire a puppy hell hound

Has a genuinely good relationship with most of the Gods but plainly informed them that after cleaning up their messes for a certain length of time, he is allowed to talk to them however he wanted to.

He only really insults Zeus as the King of the Gods creates the most messes out of the rest and they, at the very least, show him gratitude for doing it and while a lot of them have the bad habit of acting like it’s an honor, they still give him small gifts.

Persephone adores him

He also gets along fairly well with the Seven Deadly enemies of man and will sometimes have conversations with them while he’s in the Cave of Eternity. They appreciate the company

he steals the clothes of people he is fond of because this way he will always have a part of them close by if they suddenly leave (with Vic it had been more or less because he was a football player he liked but now that he’s his friend it still counts).

asking for your clothes back won’t work. Vic has tried. 

Vic has accepted that he will never get his jersey back

Every once in a while, he makes a nest of the clothes he’s stolen and just lays them out and sees how many people he cares about that liked him back. It physically breaks him when he has to toss one of the clothes away because he refuses to keep the clothes of people who have hurt him.

sometimes he’ll wear the clothes and Vic will just give a sigh if he sees him wearing his jersey.

Vic thinks that Billy treats them like trophies

The first time he met Alfred Pennyworth, the entire League realized he could “turn the jerk off” (Darla’s words but Vic finds nothing else conveyed it better) as he spoke to Alfred politely. 

They’re still reeling over this

He bonds with Damian over a love of animals

Shazam can use his magic to contact others he shares his powers with

since Tawny has the Living Lightning he called him.

No one warned him against it and now Robin wants a magic tiger

Shazam is no longer allowed in the Batcave

He cannot be stopped though so he’ll sometimes purposely break into the Batcave just to bother him. 

Billy is nothing if not petty

He did, at least, manage to convince Robin that Tawny is literally one of a kind but that he would be willing to share custody if he wanted one so badly. 

he did but Damian wasn’t going to admit that

Batman never unofficially banned him so whenever he invites Shazam over, he makes a really huge deal (”but you said I wasn’t allowed back!”)

Alfred respects him because he actually cleans up after himself and offers to help out with the dishes if a meeting involved food. 

[snowyfrostshadows]

Easier Said

“I wouldn’t call your bet stupid…”

“Oh yeah?” Matthews shot him a look that was half glare, half resignation. “What would you call getting Captain Grif to give me an honest to god compliment within the next twenty four hours?”

Bitters couldn’t help wincing slightly at his friend’s phrasing.

“….hopeless.”

“-And when I win, you have to not only admit how lazy your Captain is, but you have to tell my Captain how awesome and cool he is to his face.”

Matthews’ face darkened as he actually stood up to lean over the still sitting Palamo. “Fine.” He practically snarled, ‘But when I win, you have to tell your Captain that you’ll be taking relationship advice from mine since he gets more action in a week than yours has in his entire life.“

Palomo stared slack-jawed up at Matthews, reply clearly lost at the normally reserved and polite private’s ruthless terms. To be fair, the only one not staring at Matthews was Bitters, who was taking advantage of his friend’s glare fest at the other lieutenant to swipe his drink and downing it. If Matthews was at the point of picking fights, then any more alcohol in his system would probably kill him.

“I-you-Fine!” Palomo sputtered out. “Not that it matters, cuz the chances of you winning are slim to none!”

Matthews’ expression somehow managed to darken even more. “We’ll see about that.”

And with that, Matthews spun on his heel and left the mess hall, not even bothering to wait for a response from Palamo.

Bitters sighed. He should have known better than letting Palamo sit anywhere near them. Green Team’s lieutenant had a habit of annoying just about everyone around him. It really had been too much to hope that Matthews would somehow be immune to him.

“We win, I get your dessert rations for a month.”

“Wha-?”

Not bothering to wait for a full reply, Bitters also got up and left. Like a true maverick.

By the time he caught up to Matthews in their shared room, his friend was already passed out in his bed.

The responsible thing would be to wake him up and make sure that Matthews was actually aware of what exactly he’d gotten himself entangled in this time and figure out some way of fixing or undoing it. But, Bitters was not in a responsible mood tonight nor did he want to hear Palomo bragging over a ‘easy win’ so soon.

Deciding to just let Matthews wake him up for training in the morning and dealing with it then, Bitters headed for his own bed.

With as early a riser Matthews was, he figured they’d have enough time to figure something out.

                                                          …

Matthews did not wake him up.

In fact, for the first time that he could remember, Bitters got up first.

At least, that’s what he thought until he took a closer look at Matthews and realized the blonde was awake and just staring at the ceiling.

“…Kyle?”

“Mm?”

“…You doing okay?”

“Depends. Did I really get into a shouting match with Palamo that ended in a stupid bet or was that just a nightmare from too much alcohol?”

“No, that bout sums it up.”

Matthews groaned as he covered his face.

“…you could take it back?”

Matthews shot him a dirty look. “And listen to Palamo go on about how great his Captain is and that he feels sooooo bad mine can never measure up?” He snorted. “I’d rather go one on one with Locus than that.”

Bitters gave a small grunt of agreement. Compared to sitting through a three hour spiel from Palamo, anything seemed like a cakewalk.

“So. Any idea on what you’re going to do next?”

“Maybe stay here. Never leave the room. Can’t lose a bet if the other party never sees you again.”

Bitters gave his friend a long look.

“That’s it? That’s your plan?”

Matthews shrugged. 

“Christ Kyle! You can’t be hung-over enough to think that’d actually work?”

“What else am I supposed to do?!” Matthews wailed “I made a stupid bet because Palamo wouldn’t shut the fuck up and drunk me forgot that Captain Grif would rather run laps than give me an actual compliment! I’m not you!”

“He doesn’t exactly compliment me either Kyle.”

“But he made you his lieutenant! That might as well be a compliment!”

Bitters snorted. “He’s also kind of nuts. I can walk right out of training and he’d give me a thumbs up or something.”

“Exactly! He likes you and nothing I do is right! Palamo is never going to let me live this stupid bet down.”

“I wouldn’t call your bet stupid…”

“Oh yeah? And what would you call getting Captain Grif to give me an honest to god compliment within twenty four hours?”

“…hopeless.”

Matthews made a strangled angry sound before turning to face the wall.

Normally that would be the end of the conversation as Bitters waited for his friend to get over himself and bounce back to being his usual annoying, optimistic self but something Matthews had said wouldn’t leave him alone.

'I’m not you’

Which, yeah. Was obvious. Matthews was bit of a kissass to Grif. Bitters couldn’t care less what their Captain thought of him. Matthews was physically incapable of not following an order while Bitters had yet to follow one without dragging his feet first.

But, they weren’t complete opposites.

They both enjoyed the less than strenuous training Gold Team offered. Matthews could be amazingly (and even terrifyingly) protective of his food and even Bitters had some small fraction of respect towards Grif.

The longer Bitters mulled over these facts, the less The Idea seemed absurd. Heck, if they could pull this off, the amount of obnoxious rubbing in Palamo’s face it’d provide was almost (almost) worth more than the other lieutenant’s desserts and hurt pride.

“Hey Kyle.”

“Mrrgh.”

“I know how you can win that bet.”

A small squeak on Matthews’ bed was the only indication Bitters had his friend was listening.

“You can be me.”

Silence, then “The fuck is that supposed to mean Antoine?!”

Bitters released a long suffering sigh. “And to think, everyone thinks you’re the smart one. Simple. We trade armor for the day.”

“……that couldn’t possibly work…could it?”

Bitters shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It’s not like Grif’s ever seen us out of armor before and I think we know one another well enough to impersonate each other for at least a day.”

Matthews frowned. “…what about talking? I’m pretty sure this whole thing would be over once one of us opens our mouths.”

“Easy. You don’t talk, I’ll tell everyone you’ve got a cold or something and I” Bitters shot Matthews a smug grin as he lowered his voice into a rough approximation of his friend’s voice. “Imitate you.”

While not perfect, it was a good enough imitation to pass if you’d only heard Matthews once or twice in passing or if you didn’t care enough to investigate further. Instead of being impressed by this rather amazing secret ability of Bitters’, Matthews looked furious.

“You told me that wasn’t you!”

Oh. Right. He had used that skill before to 'volunteer’ Matthews for extra watches and other boring tasks. Whoops.

“Eh. You would have done that stuff anyway.”

“Well yeah, but only if was actually me volunteering in the first place and not my so called friend setting me up for MORE work!”

Bitters held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“And that was wrong of me and I feel just horrible about that.” Aside from a disbelieving snort, Matthews didn’t interrupt him. Bitters chose to take that as a good sign. “Now, we could either spend the next week arguing over it or put my impressive impersonation skills to good use and go with the plan most likely to end with you rubbing in Palamo’s face how much better our Captain is than his.”

Matthews’ pissed off expression shifted towards a more thoughtful one. Good. He was wavering. Time to pull in the ultimate trump card.

“Think about it Kyle. Compliments from Captain Grif. All. Day.”

And with that, the last of his friend’s resolve crumbled.

“Fine. But if we’re going to pull this off, we have to be at the top of our game. No slacking, Bitters.” Matthews couldn’t help the smug glee that crept into his voice “As everyone knows, I don’t slack off.”

Maybe. Just maybe, they could win this.

                                                          ….

Grif raised an eyebrow as he watched the last two members of his squad come into training nearly an hour late. Which, wasn’t much of a surprise in Bitters’ case. The lieutenant was a maverick after all. Matthews being late on the other hand was much more shocking. Usually the kissass in training was the first one here, setting things up so Grif wouldn’t have to.

Until today apparently.

“About time you two showed up. I’m actually a little disappointed in you Matthews. Expected more from you.”

Instead of blubbering apologies right then and there like normal, the kid just stared. To be fair, both kids were staring at him, but coming from Bitters, that wasn’t much of a surprise. His lieutenant wasn’t exactly the chatty type in the mornings. But Matthews…

Suddenly, Bitters elbowed Matthews in the side causing him to cough a little.

“Sorry Sir. We uh had a late night drinking. Well I did, Bitters wasn’t feeling well so he retired early and I uuuuh…overslept? But once I realized how late it was, I rushed both of us out here because I’d hate to ever disappoint you Sir!”

Grif glanced over at Bitters for confirmation only to find his lieutenant staring up at the sky, clearly wishing to be anywhere but next to Matthews. Which, Grif could absolutely agree with.

“Aside from the fact that you apparently drink, fine. I’ll forgive your lateness this one time if you promise to never repeat this grave transgression again.”

“Oh of course Sir! Consider this an important lesson learned!”

Cripes. The kid actually saluted at that. Even Bitters thought it was overkill judging by the embarrassed flinch of his shoulders. Normally Bitters had his reactions hidden to a T.

“Whatever Matthews. Bitters, I want you to direct drills while I observe from ov-”

“Aaactually Sir.” Matthews interrupted. Actually interrupted. The hell???? “Bitters can’t talk today. His throat’s super sore from coughing all night.”

Grif stared at the two of them. Between Bitters looking as if he was wishing the ground would open up and swallow him (a fair feeling considering how closely he was standing next to Matthews to be honest) and Matthews rocking on the balls of his feet, something seemed…off.

It was probably nothing, but it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for whatever they (most likely just Bitters) were planning.

“…fine. Let everyone know they’ll be doing laps in ten minutes or so.”

Matthews gave him another salute. “Ab-so-lutely Sir! You can count on me!”

As the two of them walked off, Grif could have sworn he heard a groan from Bitters. And while it was good to see some things never changed, Grif couldn’t help wonder if it was proof of Matthews’ claims of the lieutenant being sick. The maybe groan he heard was a tad deeper than he normally heard from Bitters.

                                                           …..

“What the fuck was that Bitters!?” Matthews hissed at him over their private com.

“Uh, me being you? Duh.”

“I do not sound like that!”

“Overly peppy? Practically falling over yourself to please Captain Grif? Saying 'Sir’ every other word? That’s you dude.”

“Is not! I am not that obnoxious sounding!”

“HEY REEDS!”

“What are you doing?!”

“Proving my point.” Bitters muttered before raising his voice to the other solider who looked way too confused at being addressed by 'Matthews’ for Bitters’ liking. For God’s sake, Matthews wasn’t that much of a recluse.

“…yeah?”

“Bitters and I are having a little debate and need help resolving it. Impersonate me.”

Reeds just stared at them. “You want me to…what?”

“Impersonate. Me. God’s sake Reeds, pretend you’re me, it’s not that hard. A fucking Fed could probably do it.”

Beside him, Matthews shook slightly as he held back a laugh. How the nerd wasn’t more popular in their little squad boggled Bitters’ mind sometimes as he actually had a pretty good sense of humor. Ah well, it was their squadron’s loss.

“…I uh. Okay. Um….'Oh wow Captain Grif! You’re sooooooo amazing! I wish I was half as cool as you! Do you want me to draw you up some battle plans? Steal, I mean fetch food for you? I can do both!’ …..do you erm, want me to keep going?”

Bitters snuck a look at Matthews. If they weren’t currently wearing helmets, Bitters was ninety percent positive there’d be an extremely pissed off look on his friend’s face. Making sure he was on their private channel first, he couldn’t resist the urge to rub salt in the wound.  

“What do you think Kyle? Should he keep going?”

“Fuck. Off. Antonine.”

“Hey, be happy I didn’t throw actual money into this thing. You’d be so broke right now.”

Switching his external mic back on, Bitters couldn’t keep a smug tone from leaking into his voice. “Nope, that’ll do it. Thanks a lot Reeds. You were a big help.”

“Uh huh….I’m just….going to finish warming up for training. Over there.” And without another word, Reeds ran off as far as he could from Matthews and Bitters short of actually leaving the training area.  Weirdo.

“…that actually reminds me.”

Bitters did not like how suddenly light Matthews’ voice just got. Considering how pissed he’d sounded ten seconds ago, the easy going-ness he heard now did not promise anything good.

“You should do some warm ups too. The more the better.”

“.. the fuck I am.”

“Oh yes you are~!” God fucking dammit. Matthews was practically singing with glee now. He only did that when he knew he’d just about won an argument.

“Warming up before training is very important so you don’t sprain anything. And well, I just wouldn’t be 'me’ if I didn’t do more than the required amount to make up for being late.”

“…”

“Chop Chop Bitters. Time’s a-wasting.”

“….God I fucking hate you.”

Matthews shrugged. “Your idea man.”

“I should have just left you to mope to death in our room.”

Matthews only reply to that was giving him the finger and walking away.

“Where do you think you’re going?! Matthews? Get the fuck back here!”

“I’m just doing what you do during warm ups. Ditching 'me’ and moving suuuuuper slow. Better pick up the pace Bitters. I think Captain Grif’s heading over.”

                                                        …..

Nearly a half an hour later, Bitters was certain he’d made a huge mistake.

Palamo’s wounded pride and desserts were sooooo not worth giving a 110% percent towards training.

It wasn’t as if Bitters was out of shape or anything. Being in a war and training for it your entire life tended to keep a person relatively fit.

The only exception to that rule being one Captain Grif apparently.

No. What was quickly wearing him out was doing the regular training while ALSO keeping Matthews from being well, Matthews.

To be fair, Matthews was doing a pretty good job at not being his usual kissass self. Mostly.

There had been a few close calls that had required Bitters to 'accidentally’ tackle him. Like now for example.

“OW! I wasn’t even jogging Bitters what the fuck?!”

“My bad. Toootally thought you were there. Would hate it if the whole thing fell apart because Grif accused you, I mean me of suddenly giving a shit about running drills.”

“And you running into me every five seconds won’t!? I do not pay that much attention to you during training!”

“Mmhm. So you do admit you pay attention when I do follow the day’s regime huh?”

Matthews shoved him. Actually shoved him.

“That is not what I meant and you know it!” Matthews shrieked.

“Hey!”

“Shit.” Both teens said at nearly the same time as they watched their commanding officer march towards them.

“I don’t know what you two think you’re doing today, but knock it off or so help me, I will actually expend the effort it takes to separate you!”

For whatever reason, Matthews chose that moment to act like himself. The nerd actually had the audacity to flinch and stiffen his posture at Grif’s threat.

Bitters was going to murder him.

“Matthews.” Bitters said slowly over their private com. “What. The fuck. Was that?”

“Shit.”

“No kidding Sherlock! What were you thinking?! Don’t tell me you honestly can’t bear the thought of us being separated!”

“Oh for God’s sake-Being on opposite sides of the training field would be a god damn blessing! Get over yourself Antoine!” Matthews hissed over the line.

Blitters blinked at that and tried not to acknowledge whatever…feelings…that stirred up. He could do that later, when he didn’t have an image to maintain.

“…okay. What was up with you freezing just now?”

“Palamo’s heading this way.”

“Fuck.”

                                                       ….

Grif was no stranger to being ignored. In fact, being ignored had worked out fairly well for him for the bulk of his military career.

This, however was pushing it.

Aside from a weirdass reaction from Bitters earlier, both kids were ignoring him in favor of a private conversation between the two of them. And he only knew that because Matthews was visibly reacting (albight slightly) to whatever Bitters had said.

Suddenly, Matthews turned to face him.

“Looks like Palamo’s joining us today, Sir.” There was a couple second delay before the 'Sir’. Almost as if Matthews had just tacked on the word last minute. Unsure whether to be concerned or suspicious over that, Grif turned to watch Palamo join his squad for (presumably) the day

Ever since the entirety of Green Team save Palamo died during a mission, Tucker had been shoving the kid off on the other Captains under the guise of 'it’s not fair to just train one kid, how can the poor guy learn the value of teamwork if he doesn’t have a team?’.  

On one hand, Grif was impressed at Tucker’s dedication to skipping out on his one job at the rebel base. On the other hand, however, he was getting real tired of being stuck with the kid whenever Tucker wanted to bother Kimball and Felix for the thousandth time.

Simmons may have set up a very strict 'No-Palamo-Is-Not-Allowed-On-My-Team-Ever-Again-Or-I-Swear-To-God-Tucker-I-Will-Run-You-Over-With-A-Fucking-Tank’ policy, but Caboose was still an option. Amazingly, unlike Tucker, no one had died on his team. And Caboose liked literally everyone. Grif should not have to watch more kids than he already had to.

Grif sighed; heavily regretting putting on his helmet this morning. Visors had a horrible habit of blocking his fingers from rubbing his face in exasperation over the stupid nonsense that was his life.

“Matthews, go greet Palamo and I dunno, run laps with him.”

“Do I have to? Palamo fucking su-”

A hard smack interrupted the rest of the sentence but it was already too late. Grif was staring at them again, suddenly very glad for his helmet. He was 90% sure he’d just lost his usual blank poker face.

Matthews was rubbing the side of his helmet where Bitters had smacked it while (presumably) glaring daggers at the lieutenant. As soon as he realized Grif was staring at him, Matthews’ posture instantly straightened.

“I mean…of course Sir! I would love to…do what you just said! Hanging out with Palamo is just…the…greatest…thing ever…”

“….Are you feeling alright Matthews?”

“Never better Sir!”

“…Uh huh. Just. Go greet Palamo already.”

Matthews gave him the absolute quickest salute he’d ever seen before booking it towards Green Team’s sole member. Grif waited a couple minutes for Matthews to be out of earshot before glancing at Bitters.

“If Matthews shows any more signs of snapping, throw him at Palamo. Maybe then Tucker will quit dumping the kid on me.”

Bitters gave him a stiff nod before following after Matthews.

Grif watched him go. Either something most definitely was going on and both kids were in on it or Matthews was a whole lot more capable of a Simmons level breakdown than first thought.

Either way, today was turning out to be more headache inducing than first thought.

                                                           …..

“ 'I’d mess this up? I’d mess this up?!’ Bitters, what the hell was that just now?!”

Bitters flinched slightly at Matthews’ near hysterical voice over their private com.

"I uh. Forgot to turn my external mic off.”

“…Okaaaay. Why. The fuck. Did you say that in your impersonation of my voice if you thought no one would be able to hear you?!”

“…Force of habit?”

“Bitters!”

“You try yo-yoing between voices and not get mixed up!”

Matthews groaned as he ran a hand over his helmet’s visor. “Fiiiiiine. Thanks to you, Captain Grif thinks I’m like, three seconds away from 'snapping’ and I dunno, murdering Palamo.”

Bitters’ pace slowed as he mulled that comment over in his head. “That…could be considered a compliment if he thinks you could beat Palamo in a fight.”

Matthews snorted. “A well placed rock could take Palamo out.”

Bitters gave a small hum of agreement at that. Palamo was utterly useless in a fight; well, anywhere out in the field to be honest. How he’d lasted this long truly had to be one of life’s great mysteries.

“…-do about Palamo?”

“….What?”

Matthews sighed. “I said, what are we going to do about Palamo? I mean, don’t you think he’s going to notice something’s up?”

“Nah. Palamo’s an idiot. I bet I could speak normally to him and he wouldn’t question it in the slightest.”

“…You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I say we continue as planned and not stress over Palamo being here. Heck, if he’s tagging in on today’s training, we won’t have to track him down later to prove you winning the bet since he’ll be able to witness it first-hand. Win-Win.”

“Mhm. You’re being suspiciously optimistic about this.”

Bitters shrugged. “As much as it pains me, I know Palamo more than I’d ever willingly want to. Which means, I know for a fact we’re fine.”

“If you say so.”

Bitters decided against responding to that as they were within speaking distance with Palamo. Before he could call out to the other lieutenant, Palamo spotted them and quickly closed what little distance had remained between them.

“Heeeey Matthews! I’ve been thinking about our bet and-”

“You’re ready to throw in the towel? Smart.” Bitters quickly interrupted. Granted, that wasn’t something Matthews would ever do, but the sooner he shut down whatever 'idea’ Palamo had about their bet, the better.

Unfortunately, Palamo didn’t seem thrown off by 'Matthews’ being rude. “Haha no. I was thinking since Bitters threw in another demand if you won, I should add another thing too! To keep it fair, you know? So, after a lot of thought, I decided. I win, in addition to telling Captain Tucker how great he is, you’d join Green Team!”

Matthews and Bitters both stared in silent disbelief at Palomo’s, quite frankly, stupid idea.

”…that seems a bit much in exchange for some desserts Palamo.“

Green Team’s sole member shifted slightly. "Not really….I heard from Jenson who heard from Captain Simmons that some ice cream was recently found and it’s supposed to be allotted into our upcoming dessert rations and I’d really like to have some without getting a brain freeze a minute into eating it. Like erm, y'know, last time?”

Bitters blinked behind his visor. Well fuck, how was he supposed to talk them out of that if the New Republic really was getting ice cream again?

“Oh. Is that all?”

Bitters snapped his head to stare at Matthews who was actually speaking through his external mic in the absolute worst impression Bitters had ever heard in his life of his own voice what the fuck?!

“If we get ice cream, you can keep it.”

“Really?”

Matthews shrugged. “Sure. I mean, this’ll be what, the second time in years the New Republic gets that treat?”

Palamo was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Aww thanks Bitters! I knew you were ni-” he froze, suddenly suspicious, probably finally picking up on Matthews’ god awful impersonation of Bitters. “…What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Matthews stays on Gold Team and you keep your ice cream ration. Aaaaand, as a show of good faith that I’m not tricking you, you can have Matthews’ share, regardless of the outcome of the bet.”

Bitters stared at his friend, certain that Matthews maybe had just actually lost his mind. “Are you uh sure about that Bitters? That seems a bit much.”

“I"m sure. Palamo really missed out last time with as big of a brain freeze he had then. I figure, this time should be better.”

“Yeah Matthews. Bitters knows what he’s talking about.”

Matthews gave a small nod. “I do. Sides, everyone knows it’s impossible to get a second brain freeze in your lifetime. Especially if you double the ice cream intake and eat it faster than the first time you had it. Matthews can back me up on this fact right Matthews?”

Bitters smirked as realization at what Matthews was doing finally hit him. The guy could be downright diabolical when the mood struck him to be. “Oh absolutely Bitters! It’s a well documented fact proven by numerous studies!”

'Matthews’ confirming his friend’s claims seemed to be enough to convince Palamo. Bitters couldn’t help thanking whatever God existed that the other lieutenant was such an idiot. It made him annoying as fuck, but it did have its’ perks.

Now that their pre-emptive petty revenge had been taken care, Bitters eyed Palamo curiously.

“Why would you even want Ma-me on Green Team anyway?”

Palamo anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh. No reason.”

Bitters gave him the flattest, most pointed look he could while wearing a helmet. Palamo, for once in his life, got the hint.

“Fine. I was just trying to rebuild Green Team.”

“…Starting with Matthews.”

Matthews’ impersonation skills were utter garbage but the way he deadpaned that statement so flawlessly gave Bitters some hope that his friend might one day stop giving a shit about every little thing.

Palamo shrugged. “Sorta. I figured he’d be the easiest to convince to join Green Team.”

“….You do realize that’s never going to happen right?”

“Well, not with Matthews obviously but-”

“No one is going to join a team where ninety percent of its members died during their first and only mission.”

Bitters quickly stifled a snort under some fake coughs. “Sorry,” he threw in another fake cough at Palamo’s suspicious look. “Helmet’s been acting up today.”

Instead of dropping it and moving on to say a different topic like any normal, rational person would, Palamo, the weirdo, perked up.

“Oh! I can probably fix it! I used to help Rodgers with his helmet all the time!”

Bitters took a step back. “No it’s uh fine. I can do it later.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’ll only take me like a minute to figure out.”

To Matthews’ credit, he didn’t just stand around to watch their whole plan fall apart. He put in a valiant effort in trying to hold Palamo back from getting anywhere close to Bitters or at the very least focusing his attention elsewhere.

Unfortunately for both of them, Green Team’s lieutenant could be fairly single-minded on things. One minute Matthews had a decent grasp on Palamo’s shoulder and was pulling him away and the next, he got a rather painful jab in the gut from one of his captive’s elbows.

Taking full advantage of the sudden momentum no longer being held provided, Palamo basically tackled Bitters and took off his helmet.

“God Matthews, was that so ha…” Palamo trailed off as the realization of Bitters being in Matthews’ armor and not Matthews settled over him.

Slowly, as if in a daze, Palamo looked between the two Gold Team members.

“…You dirty fucking cheaters.”

Bitters gave him a small shrug. “We were just stacking our odds to better our chances.”

“That is the literal definition of cheating!”

“It absolutely is not! Matthews, back me up here.”

Matthews hesitated just long enough for Palamo to take full advantage of and turn things back in his favor. “Ha! Told you!”

Bitters rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What are you going to do? Consider the bet forfeit?”

"When I’m basically winning? Hahahahaha No. I’m thinking letting your Captain know you two switched places for the day. Can’t imagine he’d be too happy with that fact you know? He might even have you guys removed from his team!”

Bitters snorted at that. He highly doubted Grif would even be slightly annoyed at his and Matthews’ failed gambit let alone mad enough to kick them off Gold Team. That shit required paperwork, and Grif did not do paperwork.

Unfortunately, Matthews, the idiot, fell for Palamo’s bluff hook, line, and sinker and panicked. And, as Matthews often did when panicked, he did something stupid. Which, in this case, was 'tackle Palamo with no follow-up plan or thought to possible future consequences’.

Bitters sighed as he moved to pull his dumbass friend out of what was quickly turning into an actual fight. Well, he would have if Palamo didn’t punch his still unhelmeted face because SOMEONE thought it’d be a fantastic idea to just toss the thing after stealing it.

Bitters stumbled back rubbing his sore jaw, thankful nothing seemed broken.

The responsible and Matthews-esque thing to do would be to suck it up and go right back in there and break up the fight. But metal on flesh really fucking hurt and honestly, fuck Palamo,

Just as Bitters was really about to get into the fight himself, somebody grabbed him by the back of his armor and pulled him back with enough force that he nearly landed flat on his ass. Bitters just barely managed to get his bearings back in order in time to witness Captain Grif of all people pull Matthews and Palamo apart.

“What. The fuck. Is going on here?”

Silence met him. If Bitters had to guess why, it’d be because all three of them were having trouble processing the fact of Grif doing anything remotely solider-y.

Grif sighed as he turned to face Bitters. “Matthews. Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing Sir. Just a uh, small disagreement but nothing major. We were actually on our way back to training.”

“Training’s over.”

Whatever retort Bitters thought he could use died on his lips at Grif’s nonchalant tone. Surprisingly, Palamo was the first to pull himself together enough to continue the conversation.

“I just got here! Training can’t be over already!”

Grif shrugged. “Funny thing. When two lieutenants and Matthews of all people start ducking it out in the middle of the training field, it turns out no one wants to run laps and would rather watch the fight.” Grif’s voice hardened. “So again. What happened?”

Again, none of them answered him. Grif sighed. “Alright. We’ll take this elsewhere then. I am not standing around in the sun in full body armor while you three play the quiet game. Follow me.”

Grif led them to the main building on base and the first room with chairs.

“Sit down; helmets off.”

Bitters took the seat between Matthews and Palamo. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Grif wanted their helmets off so they couldn’t talk privately with each other to figure out a plausible story and to make them crack faster.

Honestly though, Bitters wasn’t too worried about Matthews. As long as he didn’t look at or make direct eye contact with anyone, the guy actually had a pretty decent poker face. Add in the fact of Grif thinking he was Bitters, who wasn’t known for sharing anything if he didn’t want to share; chances were good he’d be ignored.

Which just left Palamo. Who was probably two minutes away from ruining everything unless Bitters could somehow discreetly knock him out without Grif noticing.

“Uuuuuh Captain Grif Sir?”

Or Palamo could just ruin everything now.

“Yes, Palamo?”

Green Team’s lieutenant eyed the members of Gold Team curiously.  

“Aren’t you going to say anything about Matthews and Bitters wearing each other’s armor?”

“….They’re what?”

For one glorious moment, there was pure, utter silence. And then, unsurprisingly, Palamo broke it. Laughing so hard Bitters was surprised he didn’t fall out of his chair.

“Seriously?” Palamo leaned forward to get a better look at Matthews. “Captain Grif doesn’t know what you look like? My Captain does.”

Bitters shot a look at Matthews. He was just barely holding his poker face together, but judging by the tenseness of his jaw, he was about one word away from doing something stupid. Again.

Bitters jabbed Palamo in the side hard enough to turn the other teen’s snickers into wheezes for air. “Excuse us for not wanting a stray bullet to catch us unaware or did you forget what happened to General Stone?”

“…huh.”

Belatedly, Bitters realized he’d just used his regular voice, effectively outing himself and Matthews. He might have been more upset over that if not for the fact of the current rate on how badly things were going, it was going to come out eventually. Better now than Palamo somehow twisting everything later.

Grif’s gaze bounced between his two soldiers.  "….mind telling my why you two switched armor?“

Before Bitters could even attempt a bullshit excuse, Matthews surprisingly spoke up first.

"It was a bet Sir.”

“…a bet.”

Matthews nodded. “Yes Sir. Bitters bet I couldn’t be lazy and I bet he couldn’t keep up with training.”

“Uh huh. And that made you trade armor why?”

Matthews paused for a second at that. “We…decided that you’d be the best impartial judge and thought if we wore our regular armor, you’d…end our bet before it could even begin?”

Grif nodded like that made sense. “And Palamo?”

Matthews’ voice hardened slightly “He was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.”

Palamo made to object to that, but Bitters quickly stomped on his foot, amazingly without Grif noticing.

“Huh. Alright. Nice job Matthews. Didn’t think you had it in you to be lazy, so color me impressed. Try to apply that to training more. Bitters, I’m disappointed in you man. Thought you’d be better at faking effort. Palamo. Mind your own fucking business next time. I think that covers everything. You’re all dismissed or whatever. Do not bother me for the rest of the day.”

As soon as Grif was out of the room, Bitters threw a smug look at Palamo, who short of being sick, couldn’t possibly look any paler than he did now.

“Did you hear that Palamo? Captain Grif just complimented Matthews twice.”

Palamo gave him a shaky nod. “I did.”

Bitters’ voice turned smug. “Which means Matthews won the bet. Hey Matthews! When do you want-shit.”

While Palamo looked sick from nerves, Matthews was slumped in his chair like he’d just been shot.

Bitters shot the other lieutenant another look. “I’ll contact you later over the helmet radio to let you know when you can fulfill your end of the bet.” He couldn’t resist a smirk. “Enjoy the rest of your day Pal.”

Palamo groaned, something Bitters elected to ignore in favor of helping his friend to his feet.

“C'mon Kyle. This is just sad.” He muttered low enough that Palamo wouldn’t be able to overhear.

“Captain Grif complimented me. Me!”

“Mmhm. He sure did. Good going there buddy.”

Matthews’ awestruck smile was contagious, it wasn’t long before Bitters was wearing a small, genuine smile as well

“….You wanna know what could have made this better? If I could I have recorded him saying that.”

“Maybe. But not having a recording makes it more…I dunno, special?”

Matthews’ expression softened a little. “Yeah…”

“You know, we could probably record Palamo making a idiot of himself tomorrow in front of Captain Tucker.”

Matthews snorted. “We could.” An excited look crossed his face. “Hey Antoine. When we get back to our room, want to crack into my Victory Food Stash with me?”

Bitters’ grin widened. “Fuck yeah! Don’t even have to ask.”

                                                 ……

The next morning, Grif took his usual seat by Simmons at the Captain’s Table in the mess hall.

He listens juuust long enough to register that Simmons and Tucker are arguing about training stuff before tuning them right the fuck out. It was way too early to be thinking about being a real actual solider in a real actual war and all that entailed in his humble opinion.

Instead. he spent his time scanning the mess hall. Unsurprisingly, it’s still fairly empty as most of the rebels are either getting some much needed rest or out doing more soldierly things like patrols or some crap.

He just barely registers Bitters and Matthews leaning against a nearby wall talking to each other before he notices Palamo making his way towards their table.

Grif can’t help internally groan. The kid might not be on his team or even be looking to talk to him but usually, just the sight of the his lieutenant tends to put Tucker in a bad mood. If Palamo’s starting his kiss-up-ery shtick this early, it’s going to be a looooong day of listening to Tucker’s bitching.

“Uh. Captain Tucker Sir? Can I, uh, talk to you?”

Tucker heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “You already are.”

Palamo squirmed slightly, looking (in Grif’s slightly confused opinion) as if he was as eager to talk to his Captain as Tucker normally was to him. “…right.” The kid took a deep breath, almost as if he was bracing himself. “I. I can no l-longer take relationship advice from you Sir.”

“Fucking finally” Simmons muttered beside him as Tucker stared at his lieutenant as if Palamo had suddenly grown a second head. “Not going to-? Who the hell else around here are you going to get dating advice from!?”

Palamo looked ill. “From C-Captain Grif sin-since he gets more a-action in a-a week than you have i-in your entire life.”

Simmons choked on his coffee while Tucker gave Grif the biggest look of surly betrayal as if he’d been the one to insult him and not a dumbass kid.

Before Grif could even attempt to deny or defect any more accusations, Palamo was talking again.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it! I still want your advice!”

“Then why the fuck did you say that!?”

“I lost a beeeet!” Palamo wailed.

“To who?”

“…Matthews…”

Tucker stared at Palamo. “You lost. A bet. To Matthews.” Palamo nodded miserably. “How? Matthews should be like, the easiest person to win anything against!”

Grif frowned at that, oddly insulted on the kid’s behalf. Sure, Matthews was an annoying suck up but he wasn’t the worst person on base.

“He uh. He said he could get Captain Grif to compliment him.”

Correction. Matthews was the absolute worst person on base because apparently, the kid had perfected the fine art of bullshitting his way past every single one of his emotional defenses.

Resolutely not meeting Tucker or Simmons’ twin looks of shock, Grif grabbed his glass of orange juice and started downing it in an attempt to buy himself some time.

Thankfully, he didn’t need much time to figure a decent enough-ish comment to get the others to leave him alone. Heck, it might even be good enough to make Tucker actually do his job for at least a day if he was lucky.

With far more nonchalance than he had when he first grabbed it, Grif placed the glass back on the table and gave Tucker his best 'I-couldn’t-care-less’ look.

“Nothing wrong with a little positive reinforcement here and there. You should try it sometime.”

With more ease than he currently felt, Grif got up from the table, grabbed his (mostly) empty tray and disposed of the contents as he left the room; noting that Bitters and Matthews who, no doubt had known exactly what was going to happen earlier were no where to be found. Likely booking it the second Palamo starting crying and taking his (probably) dared comments back.

He was honestly torn.

On one hand, he should probably punish the two of them for making him part of the butt of a joke, even if, Tucker by far had gotten the bigger hit from it. On the other hand though, he couldn’t help being mildly impressed.

Matthews had taken a pretty big gamble and somehow managed to come up on top, Via a lot of overcomplicated work no doubt, but still. It was fairly impressive for the little kissup.

Eh.

He could take his time on this. He was a Captain after all and hell. It might be hilarious to watch the two of them worry over a punishment that might never come.

The day was looking to be off to a good start.

[plush-anon]

tejoxys

I finally saw the Endgame spoilers clip

*rubbing my grubby little hands together bc I love a good roast*

Welp, if it’s a roast you want, a roast you shall receive!

(Note: I think I spoke vaguely enough about everything big in the Clips below NOT to warrant an outright Spoilers tag, so I’m leaving it with just an Endgame Leaks tag and a ‘Read More’ line. Message me if you’ve a.) seen the Clips/gone scrolling for more info in the Spoilers tag and b.) think it’s more spoilery than I try to vague it to be, and I’ll tag it post haste)

Christ Almighty, the Clips just make everything look like an enormous MESS.

Thor looks just... awful. In every scene. LITERALLY EVERY SCENE HE’S IN IN THESE SPOILERIFIC CLIPS, HE LOOKS TERRIBLE. There isn’t a single one where he doesn’t look like a mess. Everyone else gets a glow-up (new hair, tattoos, freshly shaved) and looks put together in general (which is admittedly baffling - really, EVERYONE looks good in the face of mass genocide and failure to stop it from occurring?) but Thor decided to whip out his Big Lebowski cosplay at their big ‘save the world’ get-together... why??? (seriously Thor, was a shower too much to ask for?)

Now, if we’d had ANY inclination that anyone else looked rough aside from Tony and Nebula a la the stuck-in-space teaser trailers we saw originally, that would be one thing. Everyone there lost a loved one, everyone there has probably had to come to terms with the fact that they FAILED TO STOP THANOS when they were all right freakin’ there! NO ONE SHOULD LOOK 100% OKAY HERE. Show me dishevelment, poor coping mechanisms, show them having to struggle for weeks (maybe even MONTHS) after the events.

But nope! They are ALL in perfect health according to the trailers we’ve seen before. Even Tony, after nearly dying in space multiple times, just takes a bath and appears to be in fine health after getting back (with some bags under the eyes). Everyone’s perfectly fine, except for Thor (and maaaaaybe Hawkeye, who looks to have gone full-on Frank Miller Batman in his quest for vengeance, but still had time to get a mullet and some sweet sleeve tats in between!).

Nice.

This is a MASSIVE problem with the MCU as a whole, and has been for a while: their repeated attempts to gloss over and sweep consequences of mental trauma and illness away under the rug until it suits them for plot convenience or for comedy. You see this in the Thor sequels a LOT (Selvig being institutionalized for comedy after being possessed, Loki being kept in literal solitary confinement for roughly 2 years, Valkyrie’s PTSD and alcoholism played for laughs, mocking Loki’s suicide attempt from Thor 1 and the actual death he survived in Thor 2, ALL of Odin’s outright dickishness as a parent a la narcissistic parenting, Hela being imprisoned in isolation for literal CENTURIES), as well as anything to do with Tony Stark and his thought process (everything he does is pretty much as a result of the trauma he endures, and everyone in the Avengers just??? doesn’t recognize it??? and attacks him for it without going ‘hey, maybe he’s got PTSD’ or something???? what the hell, man). GOTG does a MUCH better job of it with Rocket and Nebula, but Mantis is left woefully unrealized (thought they do touch upon it briefly, and handle it with relative seriousness). 

Either way, Thor concerns me a LOT, because he is the king of a very small group of Asgardian refugees (and given the scene that shows in the Clips, as well as the appearance of another Thor character later on, we KNOW there were multiple survivors), trying to find a new life on Midgard in the face of not one, not two, but THREE fcuking tragedies - the destruction of Asgard, Thanos’ attack on their ship, and the Snap. Why is he the way he is, in the location he’s in (which actually appears to be the apartment from Team Thor’s mockumentary)? He is the only semblance of leadership left for these people who have lost everything and he’s Like That. Where is a Thor stressed and fretting over being fully responsible for once in his life over the lives of his people, over what little remains of his kingdom? Where is a Thor struggling with guilt as he tries to build a new life for his people, struggling with rule and politics and trade? WHERE IS HE??? Bc right now, all I see is Chris Hemsworth auditioning for the remake of The Big Lebowski, having wandered onto the Avengers set instead of his audition location by mistake -_-

The scenes with Steve leave me absolutely baffled (and some of them just ooze cheese, and not in a great way), because how in the fcuk do we get to those?? His scenes feel the most disjointed here, bc they all have a similar vibe to his personality in Whedon’s Avenger movies. Kind of the ‘Boy Scout’ presentation, which is particularly odd in the aftermath of the Russo Fools’ two Cap movies and Infinity Fcuk Up, which made him more serious, less - bright? I can’t think of a good word for it rn. This is particularly highlighted in his big ‘save the world’ speech we hear - it feels kind of like an ‘okay team, time to save the world!’ speech, instead of something more serious. Is it to try to bring everyone’s hopes up? What else is missing here that we’re not seeing? Why does he feel like he’s back to this persona in light of all that’s happened? Is it to highlight how good and awesome he is in order to {SPOILER REDACTED} like we see in that final sequence? (Also, the imagery for SPOILER REDACTED, while meant to be badass and awesome, feels... kind of awkward, IMHO. Which is weird, bc I thought it would be more amazing and awesome. IDK, maybe I’m just super jaded with the MCU by now).

Carol Danvers’ scenes are actually pretty on point. She gets to be a badass in her fighting scenes and gets an awesome new look that pretty much only functions to further cement her Lesbian Status. The only way she would be more obviously a Lesbian is if her suit were in the colors of (one of) the Lesbian Pride flags and a Cyndi Lauper song was playing in the background (or maybe Joan Jett).

Hulk/Bruce Banner... I don’t even know how they’re going to swing this. Like, at all. I’m particularly baffled bc given how some of the scenes appear to be set early in the film, it resolves extremely quickly to get to that point, and after all the drama of Hulk not coming out in Infinity Fcuk Up, I just - who the fcuk knows at this point. Also, that one scene with the {SPOILER REDACTED} could be effective depending on how they set it up, but then... why exactly is he the one in the scene with the {SPOILER REDACTED} and not Carol or Thor, due to Obvious Plot Reasons?

Finally, Peter Parker. He’s adorable in his scenes, ‘nuff said.

Now, after seeing these scenes, I am left EXTREMELY CONCERNED for this movie’s tone. Granted, it was only 5 minutes of footage for a 3 hour movie. Quite clearly, there is a LOT we aren’t seeing. All the same though, it feels extremely disjointed. I know they’re trying to pull away from the dark and grim ending of Infinity War, but these clips make it all feel a little too casual, a little too ‘let’s go beat the bad guy!’ as opposed to ‘we have suffered a great failure and a great tragedy - as heroes, we MUST work to undo this for the sake of those we have lost, and everyone left alive who has lost the people they loved’. Idk, that may just be me on this one.

But you know the worst part of all of THIS? The worst part is that this is probably what we’re going to get on the release date. This isn’t a trailer Marvel released with deleted live-action scenes featuring minimal to no CGI, or sections clumsily edited over with explosion effects - this was a slew of scenes with a TON of special effects fully rendered in painstaking detail, recorded with a phone on its side in what looks like a movie theater, with foreign subtitles on the screen (I honestly don’t recognize the alphabet, but it might be Middle Eastern). That CGI is expensive and time-consuming as all hell to do, and considering how many of these scenes had it? Either they wasted a shit-ton of money on scenes they didn’t use (seriously, a number of them have Rocket in them, or Hulk - those aren’t the easiest characters to render, I would imagine), or these are in the movie, end of story.

Not to mention, TPTB clamped down on these Clips HARD - like, IMMEDIATELY - as opposed to the process behind deleting Reddit comments. The fast and heavy response from Marvel and the Russo Fools, COMPLETE WITH OFFICIAL TWEET LETTER, along with a Chris Evans tweet not to Spoil the Shit, was to chastise the ones who did (which is somewhat warranted here, given how extreme the security on leaks for Endgame have been).

This response, combined with the quality of the clips, and some of the plot threads that actually seem to be mentioned/referenced in the Lego sets, leads me to believe it’s real.

And I’m not really impressed.

On the flipside, I’m actually kind of relieved, knowing what I’m going into when I walk into the theater opening weekend. I’m not going to be completely shocked and horrified by what I see. This works well in breaking the ice, and also eases some of my anxiety on what to expect (bc I have had a LOT of it for this movie).

The downside to this is that at the end of the day, this is what 22 films ultimately amounted to. Something that feels a little too glib, a little too rushed. Something that doesn’t feel like it’s doing right by the characters who were left, and the characters we love (at least, not in full).

I understand that this is an insurmountable task - to bring to film, with limited time, a satisfying conclusion to so many characters. To arrange hundreds of people within thousands of hours on a set budget to bring this massive story, building for over ten years now, to a close that will resonate and sate with as many fans as possible. But I read fanfiction that does just that with less time, fewer moments, no budget - hell, there are 10k oneshots that rewrote Infinity Fcuk to make sense and treat the characters with the respect that they’ve earned over 20+ films.

This? Doesn’t feel like those.

I will happily admit, I am guesstimating a LOT here, based off of what essentially amounts to 3% of the movie (slightly more, depending on how long the credits are sans post-credit scenes, but still roughly 3%). There is a LOT that is missing, which could fill in these gaps successfully and make this whole post look completely pointless. If it does that, I will gleefully concede that it fooled us on this one. Maybe all of these scenes really ARE hoaxes (even if they were painstakingly subtitled in a foreign language and shown on a movie theater-size screen, but I digress).

But the framing of the scenes looks like it was meant to showcase what the movie would be as a whole, in terms of tone and what to expect. And from that, I’m not excited, or overjoyed. I’m just tired.

And I cannot WAIT for this all to be over, bc I’m fcuking exhausted just watching 5 minutes. Lord knows what 182 of them will leave me like in the end.

*peers up at massive unending ranty analysis post* ...ah. Well then. that happened again. Ah well. Hope you had fun reading my nonsense brain goop, kiddos.

[ill-doc-s-personal-nurse]

Dinner Night - Jakurai x Miho (Drabble)

After a week after their time at the cafe, Jakurai was finally visiting Miho’s home for the weekend. But one thing was for sure…

It was a mess.

With hair up in a bun, exercise clothes on, and a rag in one hand and spray in the other, Miho was tackling the place. After polishing the kitchen it was time to carry out cleaning the furniture in the living room, mainly of cat hair that had accumulated that week.

The lanky white and cream spotted cat that had shed its fur all over currently lounged in her small enclosed bed, watching every move Miho made. She set down the surface cleaner and rag on the kitchen counter before picking up the lint roller and proceeding to the couch. It took a few strips of the roller before the fabric couch was free of mainly white fur. The blanket took at least ten strips.

“There, now there’s less chance of him being stuck in cat hair,” Miho spoke to herself. While she had gotten the note from Jakurai that he didn’t mind, she knew any cat hair was a pain to remove from clothes regardless.

The next plan was to vacuum the rug. Miho picked it up from its place in the small closet and went back to the rug before she checked its battery: 75%. It was enough to clean without dying on her.

In the next moment of it turning on, Tenshi jumped out of her bed and up onto the couch. She was quick to hiss at the small red device and set herself in a defensive position.

Miho ignored her aggression at the vacuum and finished up quickly. She knew if she took too long, the cat would lunge at the electronic. Once finished with that task, Miho took care of the vacuum and visited the couch again to see the startled cat.

With Miho’s hand extended to Tenshi, she let her cat sniff her hand before moving in to scratch her ears. “You’re such a moody little girl, you know that?” A smile brought itself on Miho’s face as Tenshi headbutted her hand for more affection, which was willingly returned. Miho soon was able to get the cat in her lap and stroked Tenshi’s body, the cat purring.

“You better be on your best behavior tonight.”

◾️◽️◾️◽️

A text appeared on Miho’s phone, one from Jakurai. Miho had to move from her position on the couch in order to bring him in. Tenshi hopped off of her lap as she moved to stand up. In the time after cleaning, she made sure to change into something not as homey, but kept her hair up in its bun. She proceeded out of her apartment with keys and phone in hand, giving a quick text back to say she was on her way.

Soon she was in the lobby area and spotted Jakurai sitting in one of the chairs available. Once they made eye contact, Jakurai stood up from his seat. “Good evening,” he spoke with a polite bow.

“Good evening,” Miho greeted back with a bow of her own. “Was travel here okay?”

“It was doable. Nothing extreme.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear.” Miho paused and spoke again, “Well, we can go up to my apartment. The stairs are faster there.”

“Lead the way,” Jakurai spoke with a small smile.

They both went toward the staircase, Miho in the lead. They went up two flights before going down the hallway and stopping at a door where the hallway changed to the right. Miho unlocked the door and let Jakurai in first, him thanking her for the kind action. Miho then entered and closed the door behind her.

While the place was still tidy from the earlier clean up, Tenshi sat just a few feet from the front door, her eyes trained on the new human in her sights.

“This is Tenshi?” Jakurai asked as Miho stepped up next to him.

“Yes, she is a very sweet girl but is not that fond of new people. It may take her a while to trust you.”

Miho glanced at the jacket Jakurai was wearing. “Would you like me to take your jacket for you?”

Jakurai started to take his jacket off and spoke a thank you to her. Miho took the jacket to the closet and hung it up before walking back to the couch where Tenshi had now moved.

She gave the cat a few pats and spoke, “I did just do grocery shopping yesterday, so there should be enough options for making something.”

They both went over to the small kitchen and proceeded to look at the ingredients before deciding on a dish to make. While they were able to pull out the ingredients, it was up to Miho to retrieve the necessary cookware from the cupboards.

“This is a bit more than the general recipe says for,” Jakurai commented.

“The extra I will give to Tenshi. She eats at about this time.” Miho spoke as she washed the vegetables. She then moved them into a metal bowl and set them next to the cutting board before drying her hands. “Is that knife okay for the chicken? I haven't sharpened them recently.”

“It’s working alright.” Jakurai kept his focus on how to cut the meat with the bone still present in it.

They both worked on preparing the ingredients before moving onto the stock for the dish. While it was simple, Miho’s general habits stopped Jakurai for a moment when he saw her pull out a small stool.

“Is the powdered stock all the way up there?” Jakurai asked as he looked at where Miho set the stool.

“It is.” Miho got up on the stool and opened the cabinet. “I don’t make soup based foods often, so I put them up here…” She trailed off as Jakurai’s hand reached in before she could and pulled out the desired packet. Despite the bit of agitation she now felt, she didn’t make comment on it. “Thank you.” As she got down, Jakurai offered her a hand so she could keep balance.

Both of them continued on, the large pot being for their meal while Miho had set a much smaller pan down to cook the extra chicken and carrots she had out. While it would take a while before any of the items could be put in, there was at least one part of dinner Miho could get completed.

“What would you like to drink?” Miho asked. “I have orange juice, milk, cranberry juice, and water.”

“I’m fine with just water, thank you.”

Miho went to grab two glasses and filled both with water. She handed one to Jakurai and they both took a sip at the same time.

“I’m a bit surprised,” Jakurai spoke. The questionable look from Miho gave him the indication he could go on. “Most of the time when we’re with Doppo-kun and Hifumi you have wine or sake.”

“I do enjoy those, yes, but I don’t want to be drinking that all the time. It’s not healthy,” Miho spoke before taking a sip of her drink. “Plus those nights where we’re all together only happen about once or twice a month.”

Resolve came to Jakurai’s face after hearing that answer. “That’s good you don’t do it daily and that you are caring for your body.”

Miho gave a smile in a silent reply before it changed to one of thought. She had a question of her own to ask. “Say, may I ask why you don’t drink? I know that one episode happened on game night two months ago, but Doppo never explained to me the situation.”

A sigh left Jakurai’s lips. He wasn’t sure himself and had to think about how to explain the strangeness about the situation.

“All I know is if I take a sip, I become drunk. I don’t remember anything that happens during that period either.”

“So, your body acts as if you’re lightweight with any drinking alcohol as well?” Miho questioned.

“From what I know, yes,” Jakurai nodded his head in confirmation.

“Ah, alright.” Miho set her glass down and went over to the pot to check on its status. She looked up for a moment at Jakurai to make one more comment. “Then I’ll be more careful with drinks next time. I’m sorry about that slip up.”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Jakurai came over and stood next to her, a caring expression on his face. “You didn’t know, so don’t feel like you did wrong.”

The two of them continued on talking, Miho working on maintaining the food as it cooked as well. Much more was shared as they conversed. More about things from life were shared, mainly parts of their past that were fun and enjoyable. Soon, it was time for the food to be served and was done efficiently with both of them working together to serve it.

“Jakurai, could you please hand me one of the small bowls from the cupboard right there?” Miho pointed to the one she was asking for, which Jakurai willingly got a small ceramic bowl out of for her.

When she thanked him and took the bowl, Miho took the chicken and carrots from the small pan and put the contents into the bowl. The chunks of chicken were shredded with the cooking chopsticks efficiently before Miho walked over to where the small mat with Tenshi’s water bowl rested. She set the bowl down after it had cooled a bit as Tenshi went straight to devouring its contents once her head could reach the food.

The two of them then sat at the small dining table just on the other side of the half wall that divided the kitchen from the living room area. Their conversation started back up as they ate through the meal together.

“No, I didn’t really participate in clubs during high school,” Miho spoke.

“Why not? They’re great ways to build more friendships for sure.” Jakurai picked up some of the leek and chicken together after that.

“I had a lot of work around the house helping my father.” Miho picked up some of the food with her chopsticks but didn’t eat it just yet. “Since my mom was gone, it was up to my dad and I both to keep the place neat. He was a busy man when he still had a job too, so it was mainly me managing the house.”

“It seems the whole family gets worked to the bone then?” Jakurai knew Doppo worked way too much, now he had learned even Doppo’s uncle, Miho’s father, also was a busy businessman.

Miho nodded her head and swallowed what food she had in her mouth before speaking again. “In a sense, the Kannonzakas are cursed with being heavily worked.” She took a moment before adding on more, “But I think it also depends on time management and standing your ground too. I do feel with the new government that males in the family are having more of the issue for sure.”

“I can see that,” Jakurai noted. “The new system is supposed to be something to help, but none of us know if it will be efficient or not.”

The conversation continued on a while later. When Tenshi had finished her meal, she had started walking around Miho’s feet and peering up at the table to see what food she and Jakurai were eating.

Jakurai took another bit of his food and went to go eat it before freezing as Tenshi jumped up on the table and put her head out to sniff the contents between the chopsticks. He looked from the cat to Miho, who was glaring at her feline.

“Jakurai, no matter how cute and innocent she acts, do no give her any of it.” Miho started to tap the table with her nail and make small noises with her mouth to get Tenshi’s attention.

Jakurai slowly brought the food to his mouth and ate it, but Tenshi didn’t leave his meal alone. She proceeded to go to his bowl and start to dip her head in. It didn’t last long as Miho stood up from the table and picked the cat up.

“You are very naughty!” Miho spoke to the cat in her face and then looked at Jakurai. “I’ll be back in a moment. She’s being put in the bathroom for now.” Miho walked off with the cat to leave Jakurai in the main room. A door was shut in the small hallway a few seconds later and Miho was back at the table.

“Are you alright?” Jakurai asked.

Miho fixed a stray hair behind her ear and let out a small sigh. “I’m good, just didn’t expect Tenshi to do that, even if she’s a bit of a princess sometimes. We can eat in peace now.”

They continued on with conversation, enjoying one another’s company. One thing that felt great about the time together is how often Jakurai could see Miho smile and let out laughs. They were pleasant and made his own spirits rise even more. This meal together was definitely making his night a great one.

Although it was soon time for it to end.

Dishes were washed and set to dry. Once the last one was set down, Miho went to the small closet and pulled out Jakurai’s jacket and brought it over to him.

“Don’t want to leave without this!” She gave him a smile with it as he picked it up from her grasp.

“Thank you.”

He put it on and went to the door to leave, stopping as his hand rested on the handle. “Tonight was a nice night. Thank you for inviting me over.”

“Thank you for all the help you’ve been doing.” Miho gave him a warm smile. “I hope you have a safe travel back home.”

“Thank you, I hope you have a good night, Miho.” Jakurai bowed and then took his leave.

“I hope you have a good night too.” She was able to say it before he was out of view.

Once the door was shut, Jakurai stood there for a moment. It already felt a little less lively with saying that farewell. It was a wonderful night for sure, but why did Jakurai feel somewhat unfulfilled?

He shook his head. “Maybe I just forgot to do something today…”

And with that, he was off.

[ryukoishida]

Quan Zhi Gao Shou | The King’s Avatar Fic: In which WZ is a white snake spirit/bodyguard and ST is a sword spirit who suffers.

Title: Counter Spark Fandom: The King’s Avatar / Quan Zhi Gao Shou Character(s)/Pairing(s): YuHuang, Su Mucheng Summary: Atavists were beings whose veins ancestral blood ran through, allowing them to transform into their powerful spiritual forms. To protect them, Secret Service agents with similar powers were hired to remain loyal by their side. Huang Shaotian learned to protect himself with false smiles and high walls, but when he met his assigned SS agent Yu Wenzhou, a man with the blood of a white snake spirit, his resolve to stay away from others began to crumble. [Secret service/bodyguard AU] Part: 1/4 of “Two Way Monologue” series Rating: T A/N: It’s basically an “Inu X Boku SS” AU, to be honest. Have fun reading this mess!

Writing Commission | Editing & Translation Services

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Two Way Monologue, parts:

i. Counter Spark (YuHuang) ii. The Magic of Us (WangYe) iii. Ghost Notes (GaoQiao) iv. Fire Bird & Electric Lady (ChengChu)

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i. Counter Spark

“I can’t believe your family is actually allowing you to move out on your own,” Su Mucheng laughed as she gracefully folded herself into the couch, crossing her legs and glancing up at her childhood acquaintance as she accepted the cup of tea offered by the new occupant of Unit 14 of Glory Complex.

“What the hell are they gonna do about it?” Huang Shaotian scoffed, throwing himself into the adjacent couch uncouthly by comparison, and continued in an irritated tone as he glared daggers into his own glass of water, “I’m an adult already; I don’t need their permission to do anything. It’s high time I get out of that shit hole.”

“You say that,” Su Mucheng took a sip of her tea before placing it delicately back on the saucer, her glossed lips twitching up into a small, knowing smile, “but I bet your parents threw a fit, huh?”

The prestigious Huang family was regarded as one of the most influential Atavist clans in China — politically- and financially-speaking — and as the only son who inherited the divine powers of the legendary sword spirit Ice Rain, Huang Shaotian had always been surrounded by walls upon walls of protection in case other clans were planning against them. Adults of other smaller clans boasted and praised his talents, though they were also secretly envious of his powers, while peers of Atavistic origins or normal humans tended to either avoid him or crowded around him with special treatment because of his family background.

Huang Shaotian had learned to deal with the burden of being a prominent Atavist. When he was young, he didn’t know any better, and would display his emotions openly before others: the bitter sneering when he heard others talking shit behind his back, the angry, disappointed tears when he realized that those who were willing to befriend him were only doing so in order to gain something from him and his family.  

“They’re never satisfied with what I do,” Huang Shaotian concluded with a huff, crossing his arms, “so I might as well just stop being an eyesore and get the hell out while I still can.”

Su Mucheng had known him since they were young; their families had been neighbors for years, and they would visit each other’s houses on many occasions. She couldn’t say she entirely understood what Huang Shaotian had went through in his own household all these years, but she could take an educated guess from how isolated he was kept by his own parents and the other caretakers in the mansion, and how much of himself he eventually learned to hide from others.

She gave him a soft, sympathetic smile and left it at that.

“Have you met the other residents yet?” Su Mucheng asked, attempting to carefully change the topic to something more cheerful.

“Listen, I’m not here to make friends, all right? The point I’m trying to make by insisting on moving out on my own is to show my folks that it’s not that big of a fucking deal, that I don’t need to be protected like I’m some sort of fragile, little flower, and I’ve had had enough of them controlling me like I’m a goddamn puppet, existing just for their own greedy objectives,” Huang Shaotian said, the irritation in his voice starting up again at the thought of his overly-dominant parents. “And who cares about the other residents? They’re all Atavists like you and me, right? At most, after they’ve heard of who I am, they’d try to get on my good side in the hopes of getting something in return. I know how it works; this had always been the case no matter where I go, and I’m fucking sick of this bullshit.”

In the past, Huang Shaotian would have happily accepted any forms of interaction with others — it was less troublesome that way. He’d learned to put on a bright, pleasant smile because that was what his parents wanted him to do, but now that he was finally out of his family’s shadow, he had more freedom over how he’d deal with these sorts of wearisome interactions.  

Su Mucheng was about to open her mouth to defend her housemates, but Huang Shaotian was faster, and for once, his tone had softened into an almost remorseful tenor at his next question, his topaz eyes lowered to stare at his lap instead.

“Anyway, how are you holding up?”

This sudden change of direction didn’t throw either of them off; they both knew what Huang Shaotian was referring to.

“What do you mean? I’m doing well!” Su Mucheng exclaimed with a little too much enthusiasm that even she wasn’t convinced. “Even better now that you’re here!”

A brief moment of hesitation, and then Huang Shaotian said, glancing up at Su Mucheng with an apologetic light to his eyes, “I’m sorry I couldn’t attend your brother’s funeral.”

Su Mucheng sighed softly, placing a gentle hand over Huang Shaotian’s shoulder, and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it, okay? It’s the thought that counts. I’m sure Brother appreciated it all the same.”

Su Muqiu hadn’t been a close friend of his — there weren’t many people in his circle Huang Shaotian would dare call his close friends — but he had been a respectable Atavist, a doting elder brother, and an agreeable acquaintance; and those qualities, if nothing else, were enough for Huang Shaotian to feel a sense of loss when he’d heard the news. After all, he knew how important Su Muqiu was to the young woman sitting beside him right now. He was the only family Su Mucheng had after the great war that took place almost two decades ago.

As if the thought had just come up to him, Huang Shaotian suddenly asked, “Where’s Lao Ye anyway? I’d have thought that he’d be under you now that Muqiu had… passed away.” Huang Shaotian was uncomfortable at the topic of Su Muqiu’s death, but it was unavoidable at this point, so he tried to use the most respectful tone, “you two were like siblings, too, weren’t you?”  

“Ah… Ye Xiu, he’s working for someone else now,” Su Mucheng replied with an uneasy chuckle, her hand only shaking slightly when she lifted her cup up to her lips to take another sip of the lukewarm tea. She winced at the bitter aftertaste.

“You fucking serious? After what had happened, Lao Ye just broke the contract and left you on your own?” Huang Shaotian’s eyes widened in disbelief, the anger surfacing up once more like furious, towering waves of a stormy ocean.  

“He didn’t leave me,” Su Mucheng immediately protested in emphasis, and in a smaller voice, she said with her head lowered, “I was the one who nulled our contract.”

“Why the hell did you do that?”

The Su siblings were two of the few people Huang Shaotian was familiar with, and so of course he knew of their family’s circumstances, though some parts of it remained a mystery to this day. He knew that the siblings were orphaned from a young age due to the great war, yet as to how Ye Xiu became their shared Secret Service agent, serving the brother and sister known to the Atavist community as “Feng Huang” — the two majestic, five-coloured birds that ruled over other bird species in Chinese legends, their status and importance equal to that of the dragons — nobody had yet figured out how that had come to be.

All Huang Shaotian was aware of was that Ye Xiu was an important figure in the Su siblings’ lives; as far as Huang Shaotian was concerned, Ye Xiu — with the blood of the green dragon spirit running through his veins — had always been by Su Muqiu and Su Mucheng’s sides, protecting them as the two’s guardian, but more than that, playing the role of a genuine friend and brother-figure throughout the siblings’ difficult lives.

“He and Brother had been really close — you know that, right?” Su Mucheng recalled their childhood days, and the flash of pain reflected in her eyes, in the firm line of her lips, made Huang Shaotian regret bringing up this topic at all, “and he blamed himself for what happened, even though there was nothing he could have done. I couldn’t stand seeing him like that, and I knew that his guilt and sense of duty was only making it impossible for him to leave on his own, so… so I made the decision and forced him to leave.”

Ye Xiu was like another older brother for her, and she wanted what was best for him, too. Tying him down to a place that would only allow unfounded remorse to eat him alive because of something as rigid and impassive as a contract would have been too cruel, and so, despite the excruciating agony that clawed deep within her chest after she’d made that decision, Su Mucheng did what she had set out to do.

If it weren’t for the fateful encounter with Chu Yunxiu soon after the tragedy, Su Mucheng wasn’t certain if she would still be able to be where she was right now.

“It wasn’t easy to let him go, but I couldn’t depend on him forever either,” Su Mucheng smiled at the other man, “and hey, everything turns out pretty okay in the end, I think.”

“The little miss is all grown up now, huh,” Huang Shaotian grinned, running a hand over the woman’s hair to playfully mess it up, which Su Mucheng didn’t appreciate as she dodged skillfully off to the side and stuck her tongue out at him in a childish gesture.

“I totally take that back,” Huang Shaotian cackled.

“Come on, stop being such a loner and let’s get out of this room,” Su Mucheng pulled Huang Shaotian off the couch with a grunt and a surprisingly strong grip for a woman of her height, “I’ll introduce you to the other residents of the complex. It’ll be fun, I promise!”

“Uh-huh,” Huang Shaotian rolled his eyes even as he allowed himself to be pulled out of the door of his chamber.

“It’s about dinner time now, so most of them should be in the dining hall,” Su Mucheng was telling Huang Shaotian as they entered, only to be met with an almost empty room.

Two teenagers sat at the far corner, and one man with shaggy bangs falling over one eye was sitting on the other end, quietly concentrating on his own dinner while reading.

“Wow, what a party,” Huang Shaotian sniggered, and Su Mucheng slapped his arm in retort.

“Mu-jie,” one of the young men sitting by the corner greeted them with a small wave of acknowledgement and a shy smile. The teenager, a high school student, it seemed, as he still donned a set of uniform in navy blue and grey, had kind-looking eyes, and when Huang Shaotian glanced over at him, he instantly nodded a quick and formal greeting at the stranger.

“Xiao Jie, and Yifan, you two just got off from school? Pretty late for you guys, isn’t it?” Su Mucheng wandered over to the table where the two young men were sitting with their half-consumed dinner, and Huang Shaotian had no choice but to follow from behind.

“Mu-jie,” Qiao Yifan, the other boy whom Huang Shaotian hadn’t taken notice before, murmured in greeting, but even as the two adults came closer, he shrunk back against his seat as if he wanted to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

“It’s going to be finals week next week, so our instructors had us all stay behind for extra lessons,” Gao Yingjie replied, making a face.

“Sounds rough,” Su Mucheng commented sympathetically. Even as the teenagers were eating, they had notes, binders, and textbooks spread out all over the table so that they could make the best of their time to study.

“A new resident?” Gao Yingjie couldn’t help the curiosity as his gaze once again focused on the stranger standing next to Su Mucheng.

“Huang Shaotian, a childhood friend of mine,” Su Mucheng spread her arm towards the blond-haired man.

“Neighbor,” Huang Shaotian quickly corrected, “from a long, long time ago.”

“Whatever, stop being such a jerk,” Su Mucheng grumbled before facing the two youngsters again with a sunshine smile and continued the introductions, “This here is Qiao Yifan, and this is Gao Yingjie, Yifan’s contracted SS agent, but everyone calls him Xiao Jie because he’s the youngest in the complex. They’re both in their third year of senior high, so Shaotian, I’m saying this now, please be a good role model for these boys.”

Before Huang Shaotian could come up with a good retort, the two teenagers’ eyes turned extra bright and excited at the sound of the newcomer’s name.

“Hold on, you mean you’re the Huang Shaotian?” Gao Yingjie gasped, almost dropping the chopsticks he was holding, and he was grabbing onto Qiao Yifan’s sleeve as if the other boy was unaware of the significance of this discovery.  

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that, kid,” Huang Shaotian rolled his eyes and ignored Su Mucheng’s rather painful elbow jab against his side.

“The Atavist with the title of Sword Saint, the one who inherited the spiritual power of the legendary sword Ice Rain — that’s… that’s you, right… sir?” Gao Yingjie’s cheeks tainted a soft pink when he finally realized how rude he was probably being, and like his companion, the boy shrunk back against his chair when Huang Shaotian stared icily down at him.

“So, what if I am?” his tone was sharp and cold as a storm of ice shards.

The respect, the expectation, the fear, the exhilaration — these were all displayed blatantly in these youngsters’ eyes, and it was forming a rusted chain from years and years of practiced smiles and forced laughter, restricting him from moving forward, suffocating him from the inside.

‘And there it goes again,’ Huang Shaotian thought, a hint of disappointment and something darker, more desperate and forlorn, seeping into his bones like poison corroding what was left of his hope of starting anew in a different environment with different people. ‘They’re all the same. They all want the same thing from me,’ he reminded himself bitterly, ‘all the same.’

“I-I’m sorry,” Gao Yingjie apologized when he saw Huang Shaotian’s expression darkened in an instant, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Xiao Jie,” Su Mucheng quickly said, pulling Huang Shaotian away, “he’s just in a prissy mood because of uh, jet lag. We better get out of your way and leave you to your studying.”

Gao Yingjie and Qiao Yifan both nodded numbly before burying their heads into their notebooks once more, though once or twice, they lifted their faces from pages of notes to peek over at the stranger with curiosity that they didn’t dare show when Huang Shaotian was still standing close to them.

“Why do you have to behave like this?” Su Mucheng hissed at him as she pulled the man almost a head taller than her towards the double doors that would take them out into the hallway, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. There were a few more people she was planning to introduce him to, but if he was going to be uncooperative right from the start, there really was no point, was there?

“I was half-considering playing nice, I swear to god I was, but did you see those kids’ faces the moment they realized who I am?” Huang Shoatian snarled, fiercely shaking off Su Mucheng’s hands on his arm.  “That’s exactly the type of unwanted attention and behavior that makes me sick, absolutely fucking sick to my stomach. They wanted something from me — I don’t know what it is yet, and I don’t fancy finding out — but there is no way in hell I’m just going to smile and accept it like I’ve done all these years to make my family happy.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Shaotian! Oy, listen to people when they’re trying to talk to you! You little—”

The elevator doors shut in her face before Su Mucheng could finish. Leaning her back against the wall with a heavy sigh, she was contemplating whether it’d be wise to go up to Huang Shaotian’s apartment unit and tried to explain Qiao Yifan’s situation to him or if it’d only make the matter worse.

“I see you’ve tried to introduce Shaotian to the others,” a man came and stood by her side, eyes casted down to see that Su Mucheng was restlessly pulling on a loose thread on her sweater. He wrapped a warm, gentle hand around her smaller one as a gesture of comfort. The lingering, familiar scent of cigarette smoke hovered warmly over her like a blanket. “How did it go?”

“You clearly saw the whole thing, didn’t you?” Su Mucheng squeezed the man’s fingers appreciatively before letting go, and she glanced up to meet the man with a lazy smirk that confirmed what she’d guessed. “Want to try and convince him that not everyone here is out to get him? It’s hard to get through his thick head sometimes, but you’d know that already.”

“There’s someone else who’d be much more suitable for this task, and he’s already waiting upstairs as we speak,” the man grinned. “You haven’t had dinner yet, right? Let’s grab some food. Big Eye might get lonely the longer I’m away.”

Su Mucheng snorted at the confident tone with which her companion spoke of his relationship with Wang Jiexi, his current charge, but followed him anyway.

-

“Welcome back, Master Shaotian. I apologize deeply for arriving so late in the evening that I was unable to help you move in and unpack this morning. Please accept my offering of remorse and forgive my negligence.”

Kneeling with one knee by his unit entrance with a bouquet of what seemed to be blue hyacinths and forget-me-nots was a man who was close to his age, with a head of dark locks combed stylishly into a casual curtain haircut and donning a slim-cut suit and tie of ink black, pristine white shirt, and leather gloves. Since his head was bowed low, Huang Shaotian couldn’t see the man’s eyes or his expression, and he was instantly wary at the first sight of this well-dressed stranger.

“…I know I’m going to regret asking, but do I know you?” Huang Shaotian sounded hesitant. “Also, can you please get up? You are making me super uncomfortable. And do I even want to know what those flowers are for. Wait, don’t tell me those flowers are for me? What the hell is this? Am I suddenly living the life of a shoujo manga protagonist?”  

“My apologies,” the man pulled himself to his feet and stood with his back straight and tall, and finally lifted his head to look at Huang Shaotian properly for the first time. With a gentle tenor that could rival the moon’s soft brilliance, and a harmless smile lining his lips, he introduced himself, “My name is Yu Wenzhou, your assigned Secret Service agent during your residency in Glory Complex. To answer Master Shaotian’s question, this bouquet is indeed a welcoming gift for you, but should it displease you, I can certainly get that out of your way. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, and I look forward to serving you starting from today.”

Yu Wenzhou bowed once more, his manners perfectly immaculate; nothing about the man could be considered disagreeable, and if Huang Shaotian wasn’t in such a stupor right now, he might actually take the time to appreciate the angular planes of the man’s face and the beautiful deep blue of his eyes without feeling so conflicted about the entire ordeal.  

Huang Shaotian blinked once, then twice, and when he realized that he’d been staring for too long, he began to ramble, “Hold-hold on a moment, would you? What do you mean, you’ll be serving me? What SS agent? I don’t remember signing any contracts with an agent or being assigned to one! Is this a trick of some sort? Were you sent here by my family’s enemies to screw with me? Because I can tell you right here right now, that I have nothing to do with them the moment I stepped out of that estate, so like, if you’re looking for trouble, you’re going to have to leave and go bother them instead. Hey, you listening to me, buddy? Oy, I’m talking to you, oy! What the hell are you smiling for, damn it!”

“There must be some misunderstanding, Master Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou patiently explained, though it was difficult to maintain a neutral expression after Huang Shaotian’s hilarious outburst, “I am here to serve you under no one’s will but my own.”

“Wait,” Huang Shaotian put up a hand to halt the other man from talking, his eyes growing wide as a sudden realization dawned on him. “Wait a fucking minute. My parents send you here, didn’t they?! They think I’m useless without them! Well, in that case, you can fuck right off back to the estate and tell my folks I’m doing just fine and that I don’t need a goddamn butler to take care of me.”

“Master Shaotian, please,” Yu Wenzhou took a step forward, an arm reaching out but when he saw Huang Shaotian flinched at the motion, the bodyguard immediately remained in his place and continued with a raw, agonizing look in his eyes that only briefly surfaced before it was drowned out by the dark tranquility once more, “I have nowhere else to go.”

That flicker of emotion didn’t escape Huang Shaotian’s observation, and he wasn’t sure how to respond to that or what it could possibly mean, yet it was that exact moment of fragility that Yu Wenzhou accidentally let slip that allowed Huang Shaotian to think twice before he started again.

“Listen, buddy,” Huang Shaotian decided to try a different tactic then — one that worked with the majority of the people he used to have to deal with on a daily basis — and sent Yu Wenzhou one of his signature friendly grins, “I honestly have no use for an SS agent, and I don’t want you to waste your potential here. So why don’t we sit down, have a nice talk, and see if I can find you a new, more fitting employer, huh?”

Yu Wenzhou’s lips tightened into a firm but determined line at the other man’s suggestion, and when he glanced up to meet Huang Shaotian’s gaze, Huang Shaotian’s heart was trembling at the inkling of gritty resolve — an absolutely contrasting image to the elegance of his gestures and the warm tone he spoke with — reflecting bright in those dark eyes.

“I do not wish to serve anyone else but you. You see, the reason why I’m still here…” Yu Wenzhou swallowed, taking in a deep breath as if he was letting go of a deep secret that’d been buried within him for a long time, and said, “You may not remember this, but the reason that I’m able to survive until now is because of you, and no matter what happens, knowing that I’m more capable than before, I’d like to repay your kindness with my humble service.”

“You’ve completely lost me, man,” Huang Shaotian sighed. With what little he could discern from Yu Wenzhou’s words, he could only assume that they’d met before, a long time ago, perhaps, so long that he had no memory of such an encounter. A part of him wanted to find out more, but mostly, he just didn’t want to deal with this strange man any more for the time being.

He had things to unpack, and a new semester of school to prepare for in a few days.

“Okay, okay, let’s settle the situation like this until we can find a better solution: you can stay for the time being, but you are not under any obligation to… do things for me, all right?”

Glancing up at him from beneath his blond fringes, Huang Shaotian’s tone became a little less aggravated and more frayed on the edges, as if he was too tired to carry on with this conversation, and perhaps Yu Wenzhou could tell, because with a small yet grateful smile, the SS agent agreed.

“Thank you, Master Shaotian, for allowing me to stay,” Yu Wenzhou lowered his head in a respectful bow again while Huang Shaotian walked past the man to enter his unit. He only hesitated a little when he silently retrieved the bouquet from Yu Wenzhou’s offering hands.

The next morning was a Sunday, but Huang Shaotian woke up before his alarm went off. His phone informed him that it was only 5:32 a.m., but he didn’t feel the slightest desire to go back to sleep. The unfamiliar environment made him antsier than usual, and the best way to rid of that discomfort was to get out of bed and physically work off the excessive energy.

But first — as his stomach reminded him rather loudly with an obnoxious growl — he needed to get some breakfast. He quickly took a shower and threw on a set of comfortable clothing before heading out.

“Good morning, Master Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou greeted him from the entrance the moment he stepped out of his apartment.

“Shit, how long have you been waiting out here for?” Huang Shaotian almost skipped back when he saw the agent standing in the same position as he had left him last night. He still looked as impeccable as ever, and Huang Shaotian half wondered if he’d been standing out here the entire night.

Instead of answering with a direct response, Yu Wenzhou merely gave him a gentle smile and said, “I didn’t want to miss the chance to serve you again like yesterday. I learn from my mistakes.”

“I can see that…” Huang Shaotian was a little bit weirded out but didn’t want to elaborate on this topic, so he asked with a hesitant voice, “Um, have you had breakfast yet, at least?”

“I am not certain what dishes would be to your liking, so I have asked the kitchen to prepare a bit of everything,” Yu Wenzhou responded as they walked towards the elevator together, the bodyguard always remaining two steps behind Huang Shaotian — a careful distance.

“You’re not really answering my questions — did you notice that?” Huang Shaotian’s brows dipped into a slight frown, and Yu Wenzhou was afraid that he’d unknowingly aggravated his charge. “Why is that?”

“My first priority is your wellbeing, Master Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou said, slightly taken aback by Huang Shaotian’s question, but he responded truthfully, “please, do not concern yourself over me, for I’m of no consequence at all. Nothing would make me happier than to please and serve you.”

Huang Shaotian noticed the detached way with which the other man verbally belittle himself like it was a normal occurrence, and he wanted to say something about that, but as they entered the elevator and Huang Shaotian glanced over at Yu Wenzhou, who still maintained a respectable distance away from him, his facial expression as smooth and impenetrable as the surface of a mirror, he only said with a shake of his head, “You’re a strange one.”

He didn’t think he had the justification to ask, and he was sure that Yu Wenzhou would not stay here for long anyway. Why made it complicated by getting into businesses he had no right to be in?

Since it was still so early in the morning, the dining hall was fortunately empty. Set up on one single table were breakfast items ranging from western cuisine like eggs, sausages, and cereals to the Chinese usual like deep-fried dough sticks, hot savory soymilk, and rice porridge. On a wheeled cart, there were a variety of teabags and coffees.

“For fuck’s sakes, there’s no way I can finish all this by myself,” Huang Shaotian fell into the chair pulled out by Yu Wenzhou, and turning around with an almost accusing stare, he continued, “you’ve got to help me eat some of this.”

“I cannot possibly—” Yu Wenzhou started.

“Yu Wenzhou,” the man used his name for the first time, amber irises glaring up at him through his blond forelocks with the kind of commanding light Yu Wenzhou found impossible to ignore, and his lips upturned into a forced, cold smile, “Let me rephrase this a little: I’m not asking you to join me at the table; I’m…” he sighed, averting his gaze guiltily when he said his next words, “…I’m giving you a direct order.”  

Huang Shaotian was used to people doing what he asked without thinking too hard about it: at home, except for his parents, the caretakers of the mansion would easily do anything the young master requested and would never dare to go against his wishes; and at school, his easy-going attitude and charming smiles effortlessly won over his teachers and peers as well.

Yet when faced with the humble — or rather, self-deprecating — manner with which Yu Wenzhou carried himself around him, Huang Shaotian found it much more difficult to understand the actual intention of the SS agent.  

“In that case, I shall do as you wish,” Yu Wenzhou lowered his head in respect and took a seat across from Huang Shaotian, but he didn’t start touching the food until Huang Shaotian finished his second piece of deep-fried dough and consumed half of the soymilk. All throughout breakfast, neither of them had spoken, but Huang Shaotian would occasionally observe the SS agent with what he thought were discreet glances.

By the time they finished their meal, the other residents had finally begun to show up for breakfast. To Huang Shaotian, most of them addressed the newcomer with a stiff but polite enough ‘good morning’, while to Yu Wenzhou, it appeared that most of them were, to varying degrees, acquainted with the SS agent and so were more comfortable with friendlier greetings. Ye Xiu even came over to give the initially startled man a one-armed hug, mumbling something in his ear that only Yu Wenzhou could hear before he stepped away to join Wang Jiexi at his table. While taking a sip of his coffee, Ye Xiu managed to catch Huang Shaotian’s attention and sent him a knowing wink, which Huang Shaotian was utterly perplexed by and so decided to ignore him all together.

Though they had known each other since they were children, Huang Shaotian could tell when Ye Xiu had something up his sleeves, and that wink had been anything but innocent.  

“I didn’t realize you’re friendly with Lao Ye,” Huang Shaotian said with an interested expression as they entered the elevator, “or with the others, for that matter. Who were you contracted with before?”

“Ye Xiu-qian bei had helped me in the past,” Yu Wenzhou only said, and then with an almost imperceptible bitter twitch of his lips, he murmured, “though we’d also been compared a lot when we were younger — perhaps since our abilities stem from similar roots — but Ye-qian bei’s powers and his command over it have always been exceptional among the Atavist community, so there was no comparison at all. I look up to him, and he had taught me much about my own abilities.”

“Lao Ye is a monster,” Huang Shaotian agreed with a laugh, “even I’d have a hard time fighting against him depending on the conditions. And what about the others?”

“I have the opportunity to be acquainted with Mistress Mucheng through Ye-qian bei, but I only started becoming acquainted with the others since I started living in Glory Complex several months ago.”

“You acted differently when you’re with them,” Huang Shaotian tried to tread along this route carefully, because he also noticed that even though Yu Wenzhou accepted the others’ amiable approach (sometimes overly so as had been with Ye Xiu’s case), the SS agent still had that aura of invisible armor around him that made it hard for others to get closer. “If it’s a matter of spending time together, does that mean that given enough time, you’ll stop with all this overly-courteous nonsense and start talking to me like a normal person?”

They were about to go into Huang Shaotian’s unit, but Yu Wenzhou stopped short.

“I apologize,” was the first thing that came out of Yu Wenzhou’s mouth.

“Whatever the hell for?” Huang Shaotian raised both of his brows in confusion.

“There is simply no way for me to treat you as I treat the others, Master Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou lowered his head, unable to meet his charge’s eyes, but he continued in a soft yet revered tone, “you are different; you mean so much more to me than the others.”

“You know, it’s funny you say that,” Huang Shaotian shook his head and pulled the SS agent into his unit, closing the door behind them so they could continue this conversation with more privacy, “because I see no difference between myself and those guys down there. I mean, sure, the Atavist community is organized in such an outdated way that some clans are viewed as more ‘distinguished’ and so were given more powers over the others, but we are all essentially the same, aren’t we?”

“This is not what I mean,” Yu Wenzhou took a step forward, as if the chain inside him had suddenly snapped and something akin to desire in the form of a meandering, hissing snake had been set free, breaking the mask of calm that he always hid behind. He kept forcing Huang Shaotian to walk backwards until his back hit the wall and he was trapped between plaster and the man’s fist braced against the wall a mere inch beside his head. The ink in Yu Wenzhou’s eyes darkened, thick and endless like the depth of night, when he whispered brokenly, like a desperate man pleading for Huang Shaotian to understand, “To me, clan politics and hierarchy is meaningless. To me, you — Master Shaotian — you are my one and only concern. Always had been. Always will be.”

“Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian was overwhelmed by the SS agent’s abrupt change of mannerism, his breathing hitched and heart thundering at the proximity, but his eyes were cold and aloof when all he could see, all he could smell, all he could breathe in was Yu Wenzhou’s face, his scent, his exhales. Still, there was only so much Huang Shaotian allowed himself to tolerate, and this was it; there were too many unknown variables where Yu Wenzhou was concerned, and he didn’t like surprises. He also didn’t like almost-strangers getting into his personal space without just cause. “You’ve crossed a line,” he uttered each syllable curt and clear so that there was no chance of misunderstanding, “get out.”

The darkness in the SS agent’s eyes dissipated, clarity gradually returning to his senses, but it was too late. He’d let the roiling, starving monster within him escape, and in the end, Yu Wenzhou was helpless against its deadly claws, its suffocating yearning. Exhaling shakily, he retrieved his arm back to his side and took a step back, and with another bow of apology, Yu Wenzhou exited the room.

Muttering colourful swear words and running frustrating hands over his hair worthy of a bird’s nest, Huang Shaotian felt his heartbeat slowing down finally, but what got left behind was a strange void that threatened to swallow him from the inside. He recalled those horrifying, beautiful eyes from that one moment of weakness, the simplicity of and faith in his words, and Huang Shaotian had to squeeze his eyes closed in a futile attempt to forget. After several minutes of useless struggling, he began to tidy up his belongings and make this place feel more like a livable place.

-

“All right, I’ve had enough of this game of hide and seek,” Huang Shaotian breathed out through his nose as he narrowed his eyes with obvious impatience, his golden irises hardening into a sharp metallic tone as the late afternoon sun reflected off of them.

It was his third week living in Glory Complex and second week since the new semester had started. Ever since the first day of class when he hadn’t expected to be picked up from school with a flashy black sedan at the entrance of the university and Yu Wenzhou opening the door for him like he was a foreign prince, Huang Shaotian had very firmly instructed the SS agent to never do that again.

Yu Wenzhou had seemed slightly disappointed then, but with his usual calm demeanor, he only nodded and apologized for causing trouble for his master. Huang Shaotian was about to open his mouth to say something — to reprimand him, maybe, or to tell him again to stop using such formal language around him — but knowing it was no use, the man simply snapped his mouth shut and said nothing.  

“Not too shabby for the heir of Ice Rain,” the man — presumably the leader — standing in front of a group of ten, maybe fifteen people with a gun held expertly in his hands, cackled loudly.

“Oh, so you do know who I am,” Huang Shaotian gave them a pleasant smile, shouldering his messenger bag more securely, and said with a subtle warning tone, “you can still run away now before I change my mind.”

“Ah, and an arrogant, smug brat as well. We’ve been ordered to deal with you as nicely and quietly as possible, seeing as you are the only precious son of the Huang clan after all, but I like feisty little boys like you — putting up a decent fight makes the reward that much more captivating.”

His underlings laughed at the crudeness of their leader’s taunt.  

“Ugh, you are so not my type, man,” Huang Shaotian wrinkled his nose in disgust, and dumped his bag by his feet, cracking his knuckles in readiness with an animalistic grin stretched across his lips, “give it up.”

With his eyes closed and feeling his own soul reaching out for that of the ancient Ice Rain’s, he followed the strand of familiar light, pulling the thread towards himself and winding it tightly around his heart until he and the spirit of the legendary sword became one. A burst of wind picked up in the narrow alley, and gladiolus flowers surrounded his frame in a whirlwind of dazzling blue and deep violet petals. When the wind finally subsided and the group of attackers could see clearly once more, standing in front of them was the spiritual form of Ice Rain.

All humanistic traits of Huang Shaotian had been washed away and transformed into something more ethereal: azure swirls marked his left cheek, sunlight-gold irises deepened to sky blue, blond hair grew long and styled into a messy ponytail that brushed past his lower back, and the pale blue fabric of his garment, bordered in soft silver, was accentuated by the dark mazarine scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.

He unsheathed his sword, the blade shimmering with a cold gleam befitted of its title, and its commander swept his enemies with eyes of a predator.

“Well?” one of Huang Shaotian’s brows arched upward in challenge. “Am I going to have to waste time kicking your ass one by one or will all of you be fighting me together at once?”

“Get him!” the leader hollered before Huang Shaotian had a chance to taunt them some more, but that was fine with him, too.

Upon the leader’s command, the group split up into two teams and went around the swordsman in an attempt to surround and attack him from all directions. Those with long-distance assault skills began throwing elemental spells at him, as turfs of red angry flames and sizzling balls of electricity, like bursting fireworks, got easily deflected by Huang Shaotian’s blade, ricocheting back to the group and injuring them from the delayed explosions. While this was happening, agile fighters sneaked close to the swordsman’s side and tried to attack him with various weapons: daggers were flung towards him like horizontal raindrops; swords were jabbing and slashing at him with no mercy; and punches were thrown his way in a flurry of rushed movements.

Huang Shaotian, with a choreographed-like dance that allowed him to move in between these bulky bodies easily and gracefully like rivers carving delicately into earth, successfully refracted most of the incoming attacks as he manipulated his sword as if the weapon was an extension of his arm. Within the span of a few minutes, he had injured over half of his attackers with long, bloody gashes on their arms, their backs, their chests, leaving these men heaving and staggering into the nearest wall for support.

“Had enough yet?” Huang Shaotian wiped the splatter of blood that had landed on his cheek with his sleeve, smearing the red across his pale skin and making him seemed more bloodthirsty and impossible to conquer.

Blood thrummed in his ears, and the thrill of the fight made Huang Shaotian hyperaware of his surroundings as he gracefully swung his sword to one side to discard of his enemies’ blood, the liquid spattering against the ground like heavy rainfall. Yet even with his heightened senses, he was too intoxicated by the blood that shrouded around him intimately like a piece of silken cloth. It was too late by the time he heard the cocking of the gun, and a flash of heat surged against and into his right shoulder, the force knocking him slightly backward.

“You fucker—” Huang Shaotian muttered with clenched teeth.

Blood began to seep into the blue of his garment, but Huang Shaotian hardly felt the pain. However, before he could take another step, before the leader could aim another shot at the swordsman, a figure appeared in between them, lithe and abrupt, surprising everyone in the vicinity.  

Another shot rang in the air, but everyone was frozen in place by the unannounced appearance of the stranger donned in white.

The bullet hit its mark, though it wasn’t the target that the leader had intended. The stranger’s hand had been in the way of the gun’s muzzle, and the bullet spun its way into his palm and through his flesh and bones, leaving behind a bleeding gap in the center of his hand.

“Yu… Wenzhou?” Huang Shaotian was uncertain, since the man’s physical appearance was very different from the one he was used to seeing, but deep within his body, the soul of Ice Rain was pulsing and responding to the spirit embodied in the other man’s frame. That familiar hue of light, the exact degree of warmth — Huang Shaotian’s heart instantly felt more grounded, though he couldn’t even begin to explain why.

The man turned around and gave him a soft smile; that, at least, was the same smile — harmless yet somehow distant. His eyes were the pale shade of lavender, matching the markings on his forehead, and his long snow-silver hair flowed freely behind his back and over his shoulders, which perfectly complimented the white and purple hues of his clothing, as well as the snake that had made itself comfortable resting around Yu Wenzhou’s shoulders, its head bobbing, pink eyes glazed, and forked tongue occasionally darting out in quiet hisses to taste the particles in the air.

“Your pet?” Huang Shaotian asked with a playful grin, all the while eyeing the snake with a cautious glance. At the sound of his voice, the snake turned its head sharply towards Huang Shaotian, the cream white and pale rose scales glittering in the light.

“Hush, Swoksaar, he is not our enemy,” Yu Wenzhou murmured comfortingly to the reptile, one hand reaching over to gently pet the snake on its head with the tip of his finger, causing the snake to turn its attention back to its owner, and then said in response to Huang Shaotian’s question, “In a manner of speaking. I apologize for arriving so late again, Master Shaotian.”

“You couldn’t have come at a better time, actually,” Huang Shaotian chuckled, and this was when he noticed Yu Wenzhou’s injury. “Hey, your hand…”

“Ah, this?” Yu Wenzhou lifted his injured hand up to inspect it, but he seemed undisturbed and merely said, “This is nothing. Please do not concern yourself over this. I would rather you grant me permission to deal with these gentlemen so as to not dirty your hands further.”

“You sure you want to do this all on your own?” Huang Shaotian’s expression became more somber. Though he knew Atavist blood ran through Yu Wenzhou’s veins, yet the swordsman wasn’t at all certain about his spiritual strength or combat skills; despite this, Huang Shaotian wanted to believe in him.  

“Please allow me to take this chance to prove to you my worth and loyalty,” Yu Wenzhou bowed, gaze lowered in humble reverence.

“Then they’re all yours,” Huang Shaotian put his sword back into its sheath with a nod.

“All right, all right, who the hell are you? Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt?” the leader’s patience had been running thin during this short exchange between Huang Shaotian and Yu Wenzhou; he was even more pissed that he was pointedly being ignored by the two youngsters while his underlings were watching.

“And do you not understand the definition of ‘disrespect’, sir,” Yu Wenzhou turned back to the leader with a deliberate slowness that had the other man freeze with a sudden seizure of fear. The Atavist’s pale-eyed stare impaled him calmly like a snake observing its prey, calculating the perfect moment to strike and kill, “when you and your friends decided to harass my master without even identifying yourself?”

The leader swallowed loudly, the arm holding the gun trembling and had to be steadied by his other arm as he took a step back.

“What is the matter?” Yu Wenzhou advanced another step, the corner of his lips twitching up slightly as Swoksaar tasted the waves of avid fear emitted from the men around them, though his eyes remained impassively cold. Curled up along his shoulders, Swoksaar the snake continued to hiss threateningly at the leader. “I thought you wanted to know who I am? Have you lost interest already? Or is it your nerves that you’ve lost?”

“It doesn’t matter who the fuck you are! Whoever is in the way, we’ll get rid of them, too!”

His subordinates echoed the leader’s proclamation, though some of them were doing it halfheartedly.  

“Oh, is that so?” Yu Wenzhou hummed, his smile growing wider, adding a hint of sensual maliciousness to the line of his lips. He lowered his head and whispered a command to Swoksaar; without any warning, the snake struck forth, mouth stretched wide with its dripping fangs exposed.

The leader hadn’t expected the swiftness of the reptile; in a second, the gun clattered to the ground uselessly as Swoksaar’s curved, sharp fangs sank deep into the man’s lower arm. Once incapacitated, the snake coiled along the injured arm — now boring two small puncture wounds and a sickly dark red-purple bruise beginning to bloom around that area — and continued its way up until it happily wrapped itself tautly around the man’s throat, its muscles beginning to contract.

The man grabbed onto the body of the snake with both hands to try and pull it off, but the harder he yanked, the more unwilling Swoksaar seemed to let go; he began to wheeze as his lungs slowly but surely ran out of oxygen.  

“L-let our boss go, sonovabitch! Call your dirty snake off, now!”

The group of men, who had been so rambunctious before when they had been attacking Huang Shaotian, had suddenly become much more cautious as they tried to approach Yu Wenzhou, but even that degree of vigilance was no use. With a wave of his arm and a dramatic sweep of his wide sleeve, a wall of violet-tinted needles materialized from thin air before Yu Wenzhou, and with another swing of his arm, the needles were discharged.

Upon being shot with the needles, which seemed to have melted as soon as they made contact with exposed skin, the men wailed or swore in agony, tripping and toppling over each other as they dropped to the ground into a mess of limbs. Their skin burned with biting acid, and strands of yellow smoke hissed from affected flesh.

Watching from the side, Huang Shaotian whistled, obviously impressed with the SS agent’s accuracy and skill.

Now that the underlings were no longer a threat, Yu Wenzhou crouched down by the leader, who was still grappling with Swoksaar but to no avail.

“Swoksaar, relax,” Yu Wenzhou ordered softly.

The man felt sweet air filling his lungs once more as soon as the snake slackened its body, and he gasped noisily to regain some semblance of consciousness. He glared darkly up at Yu Wenzhou, but the Atavist simply looked back at him with that frustratingly calm and unperturbed smile.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” the man spitted out.

“I want to know the name of the one who hired you to instigate this.”

“I’m the one who wanted the brat dead!”

This time, Yu Wenzhou was the one who had his fingers clasped tightly around the man’s neck, the tip of his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of his throat with nails sharp enough to draw blood. He lowered his head to speak directly into the leader’s ear, “What was that again? I don’t think I quite heard you.”

The man, shaking feebly against the menacing tone and sharp claws of Yu Wenzhou, muttered a name, and after nodding once to express his approval, Yu Wenzhou let him go and summoned Swoksaar back so that the snake could rest on his shoulders once more.

“What would you like me to do with him, Master Shaotian?” Yu Wenzhou asked once he got back to Huang Shaotian’s side.

“How badly did you hurt those assholes?” the swordsman wanted to know.

“The acid will merely leave small scars after the affected flesh is completely healed. Swoksaar’s poison, however…” Yu Wenzhou paused, glancing over his shoulder impassively to observe the bruising of the wound on the leader’s arm before letting out an amused chuckle, “that man is going to lose the arm, at least.”

Huang Shaotian nodded, satisfied, “let them go, then.”

The group didn’t need another invitation. Those who could move without aid quickly came to their leader’s side and hauled him up, and without daring to look back to the two Atavists, they scampered away.

“So, you wield the spiritual powers of the white snake,” Huang Shaotian commented with an interested glint to his eyes.

“Indeed. Swoksaar is not a separate entity but is actually a part of my spiritual form; we cannot be separated for too long a time.”

They transformed back to their human selves after the last of the enemies had disappeared around the block.

“You know, I could have totally taken care of that bastard by myself, thank you very much,” Huang Shaotian picked up his discarded school bag but hissed in pain when he apparently forgot that one of his shoulders had just been shot with a bullet.

From his own bag, Yu Wenzhou took out a package of dressing and a roll of bandage, and despite Huang Shaotian’s initial protest, the man finally gave up and allowed his SS agent to deal with his injury.

“I have never doubted your abilities, Master Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou was saying while he worked to wind the bandage around the dressed wound with enough pressure to stop the blood flow. “It is simply that, I cannot control myself when I see someone trying to hurt you.”

He paused momentarily as he applied tapes to keep the bandage intact.

“Give me your hand,” Huang Shaotian said.

“Master Shaotian?”

“Your hand,” he emphasized, rolling his eyes, “you know, the one that had a bullet blasted through it?”

“You don’t have to trouble yourself—”

“For fuck’s sakes, Yu Wenzhou, will you please just give me your goddamn hand?”

“Okay,” he seemed a little dazed when he lifted his injured hand out for Huang Shaotian, who took it carefully into his and started to disinfect it as best as he could.

Huang Shaotian had a much more difficult time bandaging him since he had never done this before, but Yu Wenzhou appreciated his effort anyway, his lips lifting up into a gentle smile that Huang Shaotian didn’t spot at all. Yet as his gaze settled onto Huang Shaotian’s injured shoulder, where blood was still seeping into the white of the bandage, his eyes darkened with shame and discontented resentment aimed at himself. He wished he could have taken the bullet for the other Atavist instead; he wished he had done more; he wished Huang Shaotian wouldn’t push him away again. Not like last time.

“Please punish me,” Yu Wenzhou finally said, the syllables heavy, his heart heavier.

“You say the weirdest shit, Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian shook his head, a little exasperated, a little fond, “and why would I do that? Have you done something terrible that warranted punishment?”

“After all I have said and promised, I’d failed to do what I have set out to do properly. My duty is to protect you from all harm — precisely during scenarios like the one we have just experienced — and yet I wasn’t here when you needed a shield the most; I wasn’t here to take that bullet for you. I’ve caused you to bleed.”

It wasn’t like him to ramble on and on like this, and Huang Shaotian was too distracted by the man’s soothing tenor that it took him a few seconds to process what he was saying. “I do not deserve to be contracted as your SS agent.”

“Woah, woah, woah, okay, let’s slow down, shall we?” Huang Shaotian quickly stopped him from going further. “First of all, this bullet wound? Not your fucking fault. Did you ask those bastards to attack me? No. Second of all, I was the one who forced you to stay away from the campus in the first place, remember? Because honestly, that car is so embarrassing. So, if anyone were to be blamed here, I think I’d be the perfect candidate in this case, right?”

Yu Wenzhou didn’t say anything; he merely shook his head in disagreement, his head and gaze lowered to avoid direct eye contact with Huang Shaotian.

“What, are you saying I’m wrong?”

Still, the other man pressed his lips tight. He didn’t dare outwardly challenge Huang Shaotian, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Huang Shaotian — the one who’d saved him from himself all those years ago, the only one who could light the smallest flame of hope in the dying ambers of his heart with one smile — placing all the blame onto himself on his behalf.

“Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian called out his name without the weight of his surname for the first time, and he felt the man’s fingers hooked under his chin, forcing him to look up and directly meet his gaze. “Wenzhou, look at me.”

“You want to stay by my side and be my SS agent — fine,” there was a hint of yielding to his tone, and Yu Wenzhou’s heart stuttered when Huang Shaotian looked at him with a hesitant smile, and then his expression turned serious again with his next words, “but I won’t have you blaming and beating yourself up every time I got a papercut or, you know, got attacked by some random wild Atavist clan. I want you to promise me that, as long as I am your master and you are my shield, you will take care of yourself so you can… um, well, so you can take better care of me. You hear?”

He realized belatedly that the last part of his statement could be taken entirely out of context and be interpreted in several ways, yet when he tried to gauge for Yu Wenzhou’s reaction to his longwinded and awkwardly-phrased arrangement, his forelocks were covering any emotion that might be reflected in his eyes, but his next gesture stunned the usually boisterous Huang Shaotian into absolute silence.

As gently and tenderly as he could, Yu Wenzhou picked up Huang Shaotian’s right hand and lowered his head to place a light kiss on the back of it, his breath burning the skin there, like a fiery brand, a silent pledge.

“I promise,” he said, and the smile that followed was one that Huang Shaotian had never seen on the man before: it was warm, but it was the sort of warmth that travelled past the curve of his lips, reached his eyes, making them that much more kind.    

“Awesome,” Huang Shaotian said, blinking blankly and five seconds too late with his cheeks tainted a light pink as he quickly retrieved his hand and stuck them into his trouser pocket. “Now then, will you finally tell me what’s up with all these overly courteous honorifics you keep drenching me with for the past few weeks? I want to know why I’m… ‘different’, as you said, compared to the rest of them in your eyes.”

“You really can’t recall?”

“Remind me, will ya?”

They had begun the short walk back to Glory Complex, and evening was fast approaching as the sky was awash with a palette of blazing reds, rich violets, and griseous blues.

“Do you remember a small snake that you’d rescued from a group of children throwing rocks at it? And then bringing it back to your home, where you had to hide it in a warehouse in your backyard because you were afraid someone might find it and throw it away? You must have been fairly young then — five, or six years old?”

“Are you—” Huang Shaotian stopped to turn and look at Yu Wenzhou with disbelief in his eyes, his mouth agape, “—are you telling me that, that tiny, little snake from back then — that was you?!”

With a chuckle, Yu Wenzhou nodded in affirmation.

“With Swoksaar’s spirit resting inside of me, my body was never really stable in between transformations,” Yu Wenzhou explained, craning his neck to stare at the beautiful sky as the painful memory washed over his mind in sheets that threatened to asphyxiate him, “in addition to having a frail physical body and poor mental control over my spiritual powers, I was seen as some kind of lesser misfit in the Atavist community; the humans, of course, would never welcome me as one of their own. So, I was never accepted in either spheres.

“When you found me, I was about to give up,” Yu Wenzhou glanced over at the other man with a light-hearted smile that didn’t quite match the desolate connotation of his words. “But then there you were, shielding me — a dirty, nameless nobody — with your own body, and taking me into your home like I mattered.”

“But… you were gone after like, two days!” Huang Shaotian recalled, “I thought you’d been eaten by another wild animal or something, I was so worried.”

“You were?” his voice remained leveled, but his heart felt incredibly light.

“I guess I worried over nothing though, huh?” Huang Shaotian laughed, leaning against his arm easily like they had been friends for years, the sound a wonderful melody reminiscent of a bittersweet memory.

It was strange to think that just three weeks ago, Huang Shaotian hardly wanted to have anything to do with him, but he understood now — why Yu Wenzhou had been so insistent when they first met, when they saw each other after so many years, a fateful reunion.  

“I guess you did,” Yu Wenzhou said with a soft smile.  

-

“Oh, if it isn’t Wenzhou,” Ye Xiu sat across from him, placing down a mug of coffee and a notebook scrawled with messy handwriting on the table.  

“Ye-qian bei,” Yu Wenzhou greeted him, glancing up from the book he was reading. He slipped a piece of paper to mark his place in the book and set it aside. “How are you?”

“Pretty good, pretty good,” Ye Xiu replied, then turned to the younger man with a knowing grin, “but it looks like you’re doing very good for yourself, too.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“It’s okay, Huang Shaotian has that effect on everyone,” Ye Xiu smirked, and then asked with a more serious tone to his voice, “so, he finally remembered?”

“Yes,” Yu Wenzhou took a graceful sip of his earl grey and left it at that.

“Well, I’m glad it all worked out for you, I really am,” Ye Xiu patted his shoulder good-naturedly.

“And how are you and Master Wang getting along?”

“Me and Big Eye?” Ye Xiu hid his face behind his cup of coffee.

“It must be different from when you were serving the Su siblings, surely?”

“That’s, uh, one way of putting it,” he lighted a cigarette and sucked on it like his life depended on it, and this was the signal that Yu Wenzhou could clearly interpret as one that he should stop talking about a certain someone.

“Wenzhou, Wenzhou, I’m back!” the door to the dining hall slammed open and in bounced Huang Shaotian who’d just been set free from school.

“Welcome back, Master Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou gathered his book, excused himself from the table, and went over to greet his charge with a smile.

As the two left the dining hall, with Huang Shaotian chattering about something unfortunate that had happened to one of his classmates that day and Yu Wenzhou attentively listening and nodding at the right places, Ye Xiu happily returned to his previous task of consuming his coffee and making notes on his design.

“Ye Xiu, there you are,” Wang Jiexi sounded unimpressed, though it was subtle enough to not be easily noticed.

“Miss me already, Big Eye?”

“I’ve booked us flight tickets to Sri Lanka tomorrow morning,” Wang Jiexi ignored Ye Xiu’s playful teasing.

“What is it that you’re gathering this time?” Ye Xiu sighed and pulled himself out of the chair. The cigarette, almost burned out, was left inside the ashtray, a lonely trail of smoke rising up weakly from the pile of days-old ashes.  

“Alexandrite,” Wang Jiexi said. “I expect you to diligently carry out your duties as my SS agent during this trip. Will that be a problem?”

With a mocking grin, Ye Xiu turned to face the witch, renowned in the Atavist community as a powerful healer and diviner, and bowed before him, right hand crossed over his heart and said, “Of course not, my lord.”

---

A/N: So the next part will be WangYe, but I’m gonna leave this AU for awhile because jfc it has killed me for the last few weeks. Thank you for reading ‘til the end, guys!

[nancydsmithus]

Postmortem Of Gutenberg The Launch, So We Can Embrace Gutenberg The Product

Postmortem Of Gutenberg The Launch, So We Can Embrace Gutenberg The Product

Leonardo Losoviz

2019-10-17T12:30:59+02:002019-10-17T11:17:33+00:00

After 10 months of being released as WordPress’s new default editor, Gutenberg is still shrugged off by a sizable amount of people from the web development community, who frequently cite as reasons to disregard it its lack of accessibility support (even though major accessibility improvements have taken place), how slow it is (even though it is running much faster now), and several other grievances. This pessimistic reaction to Gutenberg is most evident in online articles demonstrating Gutenberg’s capabilities which, instead of eliciting a positive reaction from the readers, they mostly attract contempt (as reflected in a stream of negative comments).

Many people seem to be angry “at Gutenberg” (we will see in a while what Gutenberg actually is), expressing that Gutenberg should never have happened or, at least, never have been integrated to WordPress core as its default experience, or at least not so soon. Different people have different reasons to be opposed to Gutenberg, with some of their reasons being more personally significant than others. For instance, some people have seen their livelihoods jeopardized, having worked hard to specialize on a certain solution which, due to Gutenberg’s arrival, is in peril of disappearing (such as anyone working with this brand or that brand of page builders). I can truly understand why these people are angry at Gutenberg, and I sympathize with them.

However, I do also believe that being endlessly angered by Gutenberg and dismissing the whole of it — without even considering if it may be worth using after all — is not a sensible approach. When it was initially launched, I was quite opposed to Gutenberg, thinking that it was not ready, and this stance lasted for several months. However, I have lately found myself using Gutenberg more and more, and I can even claim that, nowadays, I’m actually enjoying it. While at the beginning I was a bit angered “at Gutenberg” myself too, I let my anger go away, and now I can actually benefit from it.

Through this article, I will attempt to change the narrative under which Gutenberg is most commonly depicted. I will enumerate what went wrong in the past, and describe what Gutenberg has been and what it is, from which I can give a leap of faith to present Gutenberg in a favorable light. I will also argue that Gutenberg already is a positive force, and as such, it deserves being given another chance (if you haven’t done so yet).

What Gutenberg Actually Is

From my point of view, the most important reason why Gutenberg is not more widely accepted is that, when people talk about Gutenberg, they equal it to not one but actually two entities (which are confused with each other), namely:

Gutenberg, the launch;

Gutenberg, the product.

Gutenberg as “the product” is the plugin/functionality itself. Gutenberg as “the launch” was the process that involved the initial development and release of Gutenberg, possibly starting when WordPress founder Matt Mullenweg introduced Gutenberg to the wider audience in June 2017 during WordCamp Europe 2017, and ending in early December 2018 when WordPress 5.0 was released with Gutenberg merged into it.

(Once the launch was over, a new stage started which continues until today: The “Gutenberg continuous delivery cycle”. However, this stage is very different from “Gutenberg the launch”, as there have been no serious issues with it, and as such it doesn’t produce any misconception towards “Gutenberg the product”. For this reason, there is no need to talk about it in this article.)

We must distinguish between the two entities, “the launch” and “the product”. As such, from now on, I hope that when we refer to “Gutenberg” it invariably means “Gutenberg the product”, and if we want to reference “Gutenberg the launch” then we must explicitly name it (possibly using any of its variations, such as “Gutenberg’s initial development/release” or similar phrases). Most importantly, we must refrain from mixing the launch and the product in the same bag: Mentioning any factor that contributed to Gutenberg’s disappointing launch as a reason to not use Gutenberg in our projects should be phased out, and Gutenberg as a product should be judged only against its own qualities. This is being fair to Gutenberg the product.

I believe that, while “Gutenberg the launch” has been justly criticized, the constant scorn aimed at Gutenberg the product has been unfair (even if it were justified), and that Gutenberg the product is, itself, a victim from the stained reputation conferred to the name “Gutenberg” during its frustrating launch. For instance, when searching for “Gutenberg” in the WordPress plugin directory, because the algorithm deciding the plugin ranking factors in the plugins’ rating, Gutenberg appears only around the 10th position. However, many of the 1-star ratings would not have taken place if Gutenberg had not been merged into core; had it been initially released as a plugin only, and waited until the most important bugs and issues (such as the lack of accessibility) had been resolved before merging to core, then its rating would today be higher.

If we are able to split apart the two entities (the launch and the product) and deal with them separately, then, on one side, we can do a postmortem of what went wrong during Gutenberg’s launch and feed this knowledge into the current continuous delivery cycle, so that the same mistakes will not be repeated (indeed, this seems to be happening already, as I will describe below); on the other side, we can allow ourselves to appreciate Gutenberg as a product, add it to our stacks, and hopefully benefit from it.

I will do exactly this, from my own point of view.

What Went Wrong During The Launch Of Gutenberg

In a single sentence, the team leading the process messed it up (that’s the polite way to say it).

WordPress 5.0 with Gutenberg merged into it was launched in early December 2018, just before WordCamp US. Launching it then was the wrong decision, for a very simple reason: Gutenberg was not yet ready. In particular, the accessibility situation was very dire, with Gutenberg being almost useless through accessibility devices such as screen readers, effectively making anyone depending on such devices unable to use the WordPress editor. And because the WordPress community is very vocal in protecting the rights of everyone (literally everyone) to be able to access the Internet, this rushed launch was not well received.

Matt Mullenweg (who was leading the release process) may have had good reasons to be adamant about launching on that date, which could have, for instance, made sense from a business perspective. However, it certainly did not make sense from a community perspective. Indeed, many community members felt betrayed, complaining that they had to hurry to test their clients’ sites even though they were on holiday. We can safely say that, for many people, such a premature launch was perceived as a wreck (even if the software was working properly, so no Y2K actually happened), which created unnecessary discontent, and which could have perfectly been avoided by either postponing the launch, or by first releasing Gutenberg as a plugin to be merged into core at a later, more stable stage.

Was the pain, frustration and disappointment inflicted in the community really worth the cost? I believe most people will say it was not. I absolutely think it was not. In my opinion, these kind of situations in which an action is taken against the will of the majority of the community members must be avoided in the future (unless there are really good reasons for it, even if not everyone agrees on them; if that was the case concerning Gutenber’s launch I do not know, since I’m unaware of any really good reason to justify it).

In his presentation during that same WordCamp US, Matt Mullenweg did acknowledge that mistakes were made during the launch of Gutenberg, and that he had learned the lesson so that these mistakes will hopefully not be repeated. I reckon we can accept his apology and trust that his decisions will be the right ones next time (even though new quarrels on equally-important topics have taken place since then). However, the damage is already done: A wound has opened up which may take time to heal, so the community will be less trustful until confidence in the WordPress leadership is fully restored.

Why Things Seem To Be Much Better Now

Now comes the good news: The state of affairs appears to have mostly taken a positive direction, with the improvements listed below already happening.

Improved Communication

One of the loudest complaints about the Gutenberg launch was the lack of communication by the leadership. Because no proper channels to manage the project and communicate its decisions were put in place (at least not in a comprehensive manner), it was difficult to have an accurate picture of the overall situation. (For instance, information by different authors or teams was published through different avenues, including unofficial ones such as personal blogs.)

This concern has been greatly improved. In particular, the amount of information in the make blogs (where the different communities interact to take decisions concerning WordPress for different areas, such as core, accessibility, design, internationalization, and others) and the frequency with which the information is updated have been increased, and every team holds a regular Slack-based meeting (mostly taking place on a weekly or biweekly basis) in which anyone with a WordPress.org user account can participate. As experienced by some community members, it is now possible to reliably follow the developments on some topic, and have enough information to be able to become involved.

The fallout from Gutenberg’s launch also prompted Matt Mullenweg to expand WordPress’s leadership with two new roles: an Executive Director, to oversee and direct all contributor teams in their work to build and maintain WordPress, and a Marketing & Communications Lead, to lead the marketing team and oversee improving WordPress.org, related websites, and all its outlets (unfortunately, the person assigned to this role quit not long after, so somebody else must be found to take over this position).

Triage Team Formed To Tackle Open Issues

During the initial development phase of Gutenberg, several people complained that existing bugs, which had accumulated into the thousands, should be fixed before venturing out into adding new functionality to WordPress.

In March this year, a triage team was formed to clean up the open issues in the WordPress Trac bug tracker. This is hard work that has been needed for many years. If ever finished, WordPress would then have the chance to switch from Trac to a more modern bug tracker, such as GitHub.

Accessibility Is Steadily Becoming A Non-Issue

Accessibility issues are being tackled in every new Gutenberg release, with version 6.3 providing the lionshare of improvements. At the current pace of improvement, the most outstanding accessibility issues (as reported in the Gutenberg Accessibility Audit) should soon be a part of the past.

Judging Gutenberg On Its Own Merits

Now that we have split Gutenberg the launch from Gutenberg the product, we can proceed to analyze Gutenberg as a product and decide if it is worth adding to our application stack, based solely on its own merits and shortcomings. Many people do rightfully point out Gutenberg’s problems as the reason to not trust it (instead of focusing on the failed launch). However, Gutenberg has been improving by leaps and bounds, and many of the criticized issues may have been solved or may be on the brink of being solved. As such, the negative assessments should have a date of expiry and be re-evaluated. If we can give Gutenberg a new try and see where it stands nowadays, we may appreciate that, after all, it is not so bad. In my opinion, Gutenberg deserves a warmer welcome than it currently gets.

I am amazed that Gutenberg is still being compared to the previous way of editing content in WordPress (mainly through the tinymce, but also shortcodes, widgets, and others), arguing that it is more difficult to code through Gutenberg. This may be true, but it is also missing the point: Gutenberg is not here to provide a new way to code our application, producing the same features as in the past; instead, it is here to greatly enhance what can be done, offering to add features to our applications that could only be dreamt of in the past. Also, Gutenberg is not another page builder. Indeed, comparing Gutenberg to Divi or Beaver Builder is similarly missing the point, because it is like comparing a Victorinox to a regular knife: Yes, you can do site/page building with Gutenberg (actually not yet, but it is already a work in progress), but that is just one of its many uses; there are several other uses which are initially hidden, but once you pull them up from their compartment and understand how they work, a new world of possibilities will be revealed. Below, I will describe some of these new possibilities that Gutenberg brings to the table.

First, let’s discuss what’s not so great about Gutenberg. The one thing where I believe Gutenberg can be truly considered detrimental is in the steep curve of learning of React (which is the JavaScript library Gutenberg is coded with). WordPress has always been very inclusive, enabling people from any background (not only coders, but also non-techies such as bloggers, marketing people, salesmen, and the like) to create a theme or plugin or launch a site. This is beyond doubt not the case anymore, and it is unfair to expect everyone to have to learn React to create a Gutenberg block (this is not necessarily the case, since we can also create blocks using other JavaScript libraries, and even without using JavaScript, such as through ACF blocks, however using React is the most logical option if only because Gutenberg is coded with it). The only argument that could justify this disadvantage is if it makes the experience better for the user. Let’s see if this can be considered the case.

As I argued in a previous article of mine, the block-based architecture from Gutenberg radically changes the way in which applications are built: Instead of thinking in HTML code, we can now think in terms of components as the unit for building the website. This architecture is more maintainable and resilient, since each component (or block) can be independently developed and tested, and because it is easily reusable it can lower down the cost of developing several applications. Indeed, the recent popularity of JavaScript libraries such as Vue and React can be greatly attributed to their support for components. It is a great feature that developers love and which, I believe, once you start coding with, there is no turning back.

In this same article, I also describe how Gutenberg could support the “Create Once, Publish Everywhere” strategy (also known as “COPE”), enabling to produce a single source of truth of content to feed to all of our applications, for whichever medium or platform they run on: web, email/newsletters, iOS/Android apps, VR/AR, home-assistants (like Amazon Alexa), and others. Because it makes the overall content management much simpler, COPE also enables to lower the costs of producing content for different platforms. When I first wrote my article, I was theorizing that it could be done. However, I have recently implemented COPE for WordPress, and it works like a charm! (Stay tuned for another article in which I explain how it works in detail.)

The combination of COPE and the WordPress APIs (WP REST API, WPGraphQL, and my own PoP API) will provide one compelling reason for managing all of our content, for all of our applications, through WordPress. The other compelling reason will be Gutenberg’s ease of use (which is not fully here yet, but at the current pace of development, will arrive sooner than later), enabling the end-user to create elaborate content in a very simple way.

We already have access to great new features, such a real-time preview of how the content looks like, copy/pasting from Google Docs with perfect formatting, creation of intricate grid layers with nested elements inside, and many others. We can also expect new blocks to deliver utterly-unexpected features we have never imagined. My bet is that, through Gutenberg, WordPress is poised to become the digital assets manager of the web. (I’ve already written an article which will soon be published here on Smashing Magazine concerning this topic and my justification for this bold statement.)

In addition, Gutenberg allows to reuse code with other CMSs or frameworks (such as for Drupal and for Laravel), so that coding for WordPress needs not to be restricted to WordPress anymore, once again allowing us to lower the cost to develop a library that needs to run in as many systems as possible (for instance, a company providing an integration of its API for many different platforms and languages, such as Stripe, could benefit from it). Currently, only the client-side code (JavaScript and CSS) seems to be re-used, however, the server-side PHP code can also be re-used. (I will, once again, soon publish an article on Smashing explaining how to do just this.)

These features are already a reality, and we can expect Gutenberg to provide many more compelling reasons for its existence in the years to come (according to Matt Mullenweg, Gutenberg has currently implemented only some 10% of its potential).

We can finally attempt to reach a verdict on Gutenberg the product: My stance is that it establishes a higher barrier of entry to WordPress, which is regrettable, however, it also is a beautifully engineered piece of software which grants real new powers to WordPress and, due to WordPress’s prominence, to the web development world in general. And between this trade-off between costs and benefits, I believe that having Gutenberg as part of WordPress is more worth it than not. I hope you can agree with my opinion or, if not, at least the reasons against it can be based solely on the characteristics of Gutenberg as a product.

Conclusion

Gutenberg is currently at its best — having started to provide delightful user experiences that were not possible with WordPress before. However, not everyone is aware of this fact because not everyone can get down to embracing Gutenberg. This is an unfortunate circumstance because Gutenberg (as the product) should not be faulted for the mistakes that took place during the launch of Gutenberg. If we are able to split these two entities apart and treat each of them independently, we can then convincingly ask people to give Gutenberg another chance, suggesting that Gutenberg as a product is worth having, even if Gutenberg the launch was a failed process.

In this article, I did a postmortem of the failed Gutenberg launch, based on my own understanding of the events. Carrying out such a postmortem can help the community and the leadership make sure that those unfortunate mistakes do not happen again. After the postmortem, I proceeded to evaluate Gutenberg based on its own merits and declared my stance: I believe that Gutenberg is a great tool to have, and the WordPress community can certainly benefit from it. And because it will only be getting better and better, Gutenberg could even inaugurate a new golden era for WordPress.

(dm, yk, il)

[the-fallen-blue]

Eh, those Star Trek examples strike as when people defend how little focus Mayweather and Hoshi got because "TOS didn't develop Uhura ect. either!" Yup, it happened before and it was pretty stupid. Why do we keep doing it? I also think this is lot more egrerious than other examples, since those at least happened in the same show (and Nikolai was actually mentioned in season 1) and most of all, none of them were protagonists. And are people seriously pretending people had no problem with Sybok?

So! Serial fiction like TV shows, novel series, comic books, etc, exists on kind of a spectrum. On one end you’ve got what I think of as “mystery novel” fiction. This stuff is very tightly plotted, like a mystery; the writer goes in at the beginning knowing precisely who all the characters are, what they’re going to do, and how the plot is going to resolve. This, obviously, lets you write a convincing mystery, but it’s useful for a lot of things. You can go nuts with foreshadowing, it makes long-term character development really easy, you can pull great “gotchas” or build audience engagement with ongoing hints about the plot. Mystery-novel fiction resists retcons, prioritizes characterization and tends to hold a strong, consistent mood and genre throughout. A good example of a really strongly mystery-novel type show would be Babylon 5; JMS had a full five-year plan going in, he knew which characters would become ancient heroes and that the angels were really assholes and it let him do all kinds of bizarre prophecy shit and the audience had a great time second-guessing things.

On the other end you’ve got what I’d call “D&D campaign” fiction, which you basically just make up as you go along. This stuff is loosely plotted, like asshole players are doing unexpected shit every five minutes that you have to react to; you pretty much go to the page with whatever the writer’s room came up with that week. It’s pretty inevitable for stuff like comics where literally any writer might show up and mess with your character on any given day, but it has its own advantages when done intentionally - it allows for creativity, timely political commentary, and fun off-brand shit like Halloween episodes or famous film homages. It resists nothing and is all over the place. Xena is kind of the quintessential D&D fiction. Is it 44 BC? 25 AD? 1200 BC? How long does it take to travel to India from Greece? Who gives a shit, it’s an interesting story. Does this send-up of The Producers require Gabrielle to write self-important schmaltz when we’ve established her as a legendarily talented author? Who cares, it’s funny, let’s go.

Star Trek as a franchise, despite its attempts in later series to fall more in line with the modern popularity of mystery-novel TV, is a show that has always lived heavily on the D&D end of the spectrum. Does time travel lead to a closed loop or split alternate universes? Well that depends, what serves the plot of the week? How about Tuvok, what’s his rank, and how many crewmen is Voyager supposed to have? Are Romulans honorable, or is that Klingons, who is Future Guy, and what the actual fuck does the Prime Directive actually say. Well. Who the hell knows? Certainly not the writers, and we can (and do!) fanwank but we don’t either. There has never been a show bible in the history of this universe, and it really shows even when they tried to be more serial in DS9 and Enterprise, and that’s honestly not an existential crime (as much as it annoys continuity wonks like me). It lets Trek be flexible and that’s usually a good thing. (It’s a problem when they can’t decide which kind of show they want to be and make pretenses of continuity and fuck it up, but that’s a completely different discussion.)

Now, sidelining your characters of color is universally stupid, so you’re right to call that a bad excuse. But in a D&D-style show, randomly retconning a new relative or relationship onto a character is actually not stupid at all, as long as it meaningfully serves the plot. Continuity is simply a lower priority on that end of the spectrum. And that’s where we’re at with this Spock thing. Like, unexpectedly sublime justification in the plot pending of course, it is absolutely stupid for a couple of reasons - it makes the show look deeply insecure about its ability to appear important on its own merits, it makes the universe feel smaller, it was absolutely and obviously guaranteed to get continuity wonks grumping about how dumb it is on the internet, anyone who’s been in Trek fandom for five minutes could have predicted that and ought to realize it’s a terrible way to promote a new series - but that specific reason? That retcons are bad and unsuited to Trek? I don’t think it holds water. It’s only bad if it’s done to no end and the story doesn’t actually need it, and we don’t know the story yet, so we can’t confidently make that call.

[bountyofbeads]

Trump’s Emergency Powers Threat Could End Shutdown Crisis, but at What Cost? https://nyti.ms/2H3xNXL

#Trump’s #EmergencyPowers Threat Could End #Shutdown Crisis, but at What Cost? #TrumpShutdown #GOPshutdown #endtheshutdown #Trumpborderwall #impeachtheMF #potus #25thamendmentnow

By Charlie Savage | Jan. 9, 2019 | New York Times | Posted January 10, 2019 |

WASHINGTON — President Trump’s repeated threat to declare a national emergency so he can build his border wall without congressional approval has been denounced by Democrats as extreme and an overreach. But it could be the only politically realistic way out of the shutdown crisis in the nation’s capital.

“I think we might work a deal, and if we don’t, I may go that route. I have the absolute right to do national emergency if I want,” Mr. Trump told reporters on Wednesday. “My threshold will be if I can’t make a deal with people that are unreasonable.”

If the president does invoke emergency powers to circumvent Congress, it would be an extraordinary violation of constitutional norms — and establish a precedent for presidents who fail to win approval for funding a policy goal.

But Mr. Trump’s threatened move offers both sides a face-saving solution in the budget standoff between the president and congressional Democrats that has prompted a partial government shutdown, which, if it lasts to Saturday, will be at 22 days the longest in American history.

Both sides have taken absolutist positions that leave no room for the kind of split-the-difference compromise that usually ends budget impasses. Mr. Trump refuses to accept anything less than his demand for about $5 billion in wall spending, and House Speaker Nancy Pelosi has said his wall along the southern border would be immoral.

But Mr. Trump’s claim that he can and may attempt to build his wall another way opens the door for him to sign a spending bill with no wall funding, reopening the government without capitulation by either side.

While any such move by Mr. Trump is certain to prompt outrage from his critics and wild approval from his supporters, there is good reason to believe that it is unlikely to result in much immediate change. His push for a wall would be channeled into a lengthy court fight, keeping lawyers far busier than construction workers, at least initially, as his term ticks away.

“We’re going to be in 2020 before this gets resolved,” said Walter E. Dellinger III, a former solicitor general in the Clinton administration, adding: “If they are just planning where to build slats, judges are unlikely to decide that requires expedition in the Supreme Court. I think they would recognize the wisdom of going slow.”

If, in the end, the Supreme Court were to rule that emergency-power laws give Mr. Trump authority to proceed, he would probably face still more litigation with property owners over whether the government may use eminent domain to force them to sell their border lands. There may be little time left in his term after all that to add more than a few miles, if any, of barriers to the 1,954-mile border, which already has 654 miles of fencing.

And if the court instead eventually ruled against him, Mr. Trump could honestly tell his supporters that he tried, and then vow to renew the push if he is re-elected. Indeed, he has suggested that he would relish still having the issue of wall to once again rev up supporters in the campaign. He wrote on Twitter late last month that Democrats may have enough votes to stop his wall, “but we have the issue, Border Security. 2020!”

In the meantime, the shutdown that is threatening to last for months could end. Hundreds of thousands of federal workers and contractors could once again receive their wages and pay household bills. National parks could reopen and be cleaned. Needy families could keep receiving food assistance. Across the economy, farmers and businesses that depend on government actions could proceed with work they need to be handled.

“It’s a way to get past an ugly fight in a way that allows the dust to settle and passions to cool while moving on,” said Bruce Buchanan, an emeritus professor of political science at the University of Texas at Austin.

If Mr. Trump does invoke emergency powers, fierce criticism would follow. Of the 58 times presidents have declared emergencies since Congress reformed emergency-powers laws in 1976, none involved funding a policy goal after failing to win congressional approval. Chris Edelson, an American University government professor and author of a 2013 book, “Emergency Presidential Power: From the Drafting of the Constitution to the War on Terror,” said he could recall no such instance in the first two centuries of American history, either.

The precedent Mr. Trump would establish raises the risk of longer-term damage to the American constitutional system, undermining people’s confidence in the country’s democracy, said Elizabeth Goitein, who oversaw a recent study of presidential emergency powers for the Brennan Center for Justice at New York University School of Law.

“It is a crisis when the president of the United States flouts the role of Congress and abuses his powers in order to get around the will of Congress and to undermine the democratic process for lawmaking set forth in the Constitution,” she said.

Ms. Goitein and other experts who have studied emergency-powers laws have said there are serious — if not dispositive — arguments that Mr. Trump’s legal team can make that at least two such statutes could be used to erect border barriers by redirecting military construction funds that can be freed up, in a presidentially declared emergency, to build something Congress has not approved.

But she and others maintain that it would be an abuse of power for Mr. Trump to proclaim that there is a national emergency along the southern border that justifies a wall. The number of people illegally crossing the border is far lower than it was a generation ago. The recent phenomenon of caravans of Central American migrants largely consists of people who present themselves to border officials and request asylum.

And despite repeated false claims by Trump officials that terrorists are infiltrating the country across the border, including by the thousands, no one in the modern era who committed a terrorist attack on domestic soil has turned out to have sneaked in via Mexico.

Many legal experts nevertheless expect that in the inevitable litigation, the Justice Department would pressure judges not to even consider the facts, arguing that courts must defer to the president’s judgment about whether an emergency exists rather than substituting their own thinking.

But even though courts have traditionally given substantial deference to the president’s determinations in security matters, Mr. Dellinger said that should not be true within the executive branch. He said it was the obligation of senior Justice Department officials who review the legality of proposed government actions — the head of the Office of Legal Counsel, Steven A. Engel, and the acting attorney general, Matthew G. Whitaker — to independently assess whether there really is a justifiable basis to declare an emergency, and if there is not, to tell Mr. Trump no, or resign.

“If there is not, in fact, a persuasive basis for this being the kind of national emergency that was contemplated by Congress, and it is nevertheless approved by the Department of Justice, what is the rule-of-law cost? What kind of slope does that start us down?” Mr. Dellinger said. “One question is whether there is some other way out of this current mess that doesn’t involve such a cost to the rule of law.”

[abovethesmokestacks]

Make Me Feel Like I’m Real (5/7)

Title: Make Me Feel Like I’m Real Pairing: T.J Hammond x OMC Rating: General Audiences Warnings: swearing, increased hate for tabloids? Otherwise none Spoilers: spoilers for Political Animals (esp. the last couple of episodes)

I am so sorry I flaked out for MONTHS. I got caught with the nastiest flu ever in mid-November and didn’t shake it until week after New Years. In between better and worse periods of being sick, I had a very untimely case of writer’s block, so all in all a shitstorm as far as writing was concerned. Finally managed to finish this baby tonight, and I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know if you want in on the taglist.

TAG LIST: @loup-malin, @ursulaismymiddlename, @sarahsassafras13, @bakexprayxlove, @booksandshowsandmovies-ohmy, @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki,@lilasiannerd, @the-hidden-seeker, @bovaria, @ceebeetumbles, @the-scars-and-the-stripes, @smile-youlookbetterhappy, @captain-amelia-bradley, @mrshopkirk, @amrita31199, @winter-in-wakanda, @avengerofyourheart, @creideamhgradochas, @themcuhasruinedme, @feepsmoothie, @nuvoleincielo, @wellfuckbuck, @callamint, @tatortot2701, @mellifluous-melodramas

<< Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

June 2014

”Please jailbreak me.”

”That bad?”

”I feel like I have ants crawling under my skin.”

”Do I say ‘you’ll be okay’? Or will that make it worse?”

”I hate myself.”

”I love you.”

”I don’t deserve it.”

”I still love you.”

”Please bake me a cake with a rasp inside it.”

”I’ll send you cupcakes and a $1 nail file.”

”How you holding up?”

”Okay, I guess.”

”Really?”

”No. I’m terrible. I remember exactly why I tried to halfass my way through it before.”

”But you won’t now?”

”I won’t. I promise.”

”I’m sorry.”

”What? What happened?”

”No! No, it’s-it’s a step. I should be doing this face to face, and I will, I just… I’m so sorry.”

”Oh.”

”A conversation for next week. Just… I don’t know. I wanted to get a head start.”

He returns home at the end of March.

Rehab was different this time. Same place, a couple of people he recognized from his previous stint, but this time T.J actually tried. Dutifully went to appointments, talked, reflected, fought, accepted. The first week was hell, as expected. One year apparently did very little to tame his cravings. He was commended for making it so far essentially without help, for returning to rehab, and when he stepped outside the doors to finally leave, he felt ready. He could do this. One day at a time.

And then he realizes he promised Aiden he’d call once he was home, and one day at a time becomes one second at a time. They’ve only spoken on the phone a handful of times, exchanged a couple of pictures. Trouble is huge now. The sensation of ants under his skin returns full force when T.J picks up his phone, and he can’t even bring himself to call. He scolds himself for being such a fucking chicken and sending a text.

>>Can I come over?

>>ofc

>>I missed you

>>me 2

Everything seems so amplified. He’s about to see his boyfriend for the first time after three months, for the first time since that night. The rehab welcomed him immediately, and T.J packed his bags, sending Aiden and his parents a short text from the cab. His mother called a couple of times during his stay, asking if he wanted them to visit. He declined her every time. It was better that way. He couldn’t fathom having to deal with himself at times, even less his family. Plus, things were getting serious on the campaign trail. Caucuses and rallies had kept Elaine busy. T.J didn’t want to interfere. Either way, it wasn’t his first rodeo.

His bags feel lighter as he dumps their content on the bed, sorting through the mess. Dirty clothes, toiletries, a notebook he got to keep track of all the things he wants to do, needs to do. It’s gotten to be a pretty extensive list. Smiling, T.J sets it on the bedside table. He’ll have to look through it later, see where he can start. It’s mostly amends, but he figures he can’t ignore them, not if he really wants this to stick.

When Aiden knocks on his door ten minutes later, T.J’s heart kicks into high gear. It’s… He realizes he’s scared. They are together, or so he fervently hopes. What if Aiden wants to take a break, the kind that always remains a break and never has a happy ending? T.J pulls at the sleeves of his henley, trudging out to answer the door. Aiden’s outside, smiling expectantly. It’s not the full-on grin that’s like the sun on a cold winter day, but it’s something. T.J’s heart is still beating hard, but it’s as if the other man’s presence calms it, however little.

”Hi.”

Yeah, it’s awkward, and if he didn’t know better, T.J would say he’s been transported back to high school. For what feels like hours there’s only tentative smiles and hands shoved into pockets before Aiden takes the first step. He brings T.J in for the tightest hug he’s had in three months  ̶  three fucking months  ̶  and it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced, he’s sure of it. It’s more than the sensation of being held tight; it’s the scent of Aiden that he would happily drown in, and just being home. Aiden presses a gentle kiss to his lips, and T.J can swear he’s flying. He’s home.

It’s not easy to be back, and it takes a couple of weeks for them to get back into the life they were right in the middle of before New Years. There’s the issue of T.J having to adapt to life post-rehab, taking the responsibility he never really bothered with the last time. There’s also, well, life. T.J has things he needs to do. He needs to leave the club, or at the very least renegotiate his position in the hierarchy. Aiden keeps busy, rehearsing with the orchestra for a month-long concert tour that, yes, has T.J worried. There’s also the issue of the election.

Preparations for the final stretch of the nomination process have been going on for a while, gathering support from delegates and maintaining their donor base. Sooner or later they will knock on his door, and he will be asked to do his part. He’s not sure if it will be easier or harder this time. It’s not him the spotlight will be on primarily, but with his history, he will be dragged into it plenty. The addict son of the Secretary of State, now second-time-Presidential candidate, and the former President, at least one suicide attempt, hospital visits that were swept under the rug, plenty of scandals to choose from. Yeah, what opposing candidate and newspaper would turn that down? It’s easier because he’s trying to stay clean, level-headed, and not fall apart at the slightest hint that he’s in trouble. And, he has Aiden by his side. It’s harder because he will have to deny himself the escape when the spotlight eventually stays too long on him and tries to burn him. And… he has Aiden by his side. The tabloid article that ran back in October was nothing compared to what might be published now. He’s not ashamed of Aiden, absolutely not. He just wishes he could shield him from the cruelty of the press.

Some of it is easy. T.J gets out of his club deal, no hard feelings (just an obscene amount of paperwork), and he continues his efforts to fulfill the program outside rehab. Making amends with Gunner has his stomach in knots, and he feels like he’s doing it wrong when the other man nods and pulls him in for a hug. He fucked up another man’s sobriety, and this is it? It feels too easy, and T.J wants to do more, but can’t come up with any gesture that would atone for his wrongdoing.

Most of it is… not exactly hard, but unfamiliar. He thought he’d be more confident in his abilities, in his resolve to stay clean post-rehab, but all he can see nowadays are potential pitfalls. Each passing day bring him closer to Aiden leaving to go on tour, and it’s hard to feel confident when he knows what happened last time he was alone. He also realizes he has to let Aiden go, that he can’t let it stand in his way. He went to rehab so he could get past not only the addiction, but the co-dependency, too. It will be okay. T.J repeats it like a mantra, rehashing the coping mechanisms he’s learned should he be tempted, making sure he has places to be while Aiden’s gone.

When the day comes, he’s restless. By 8 am, he’s already on his third cup of coffee, and keeps rechecking Aiden’s bags to make sure he has everything he needs. It sucks. Things are finally starting to settle between them, they’re doing good, and now they gotta make it on their own for a month. Aiden lets him fuss, until the cab honks angrily outside his apartment, after which it becomes a race to see how many affirmations and kisses and silly little declarations they can cram in before they have to open the door and wave at the cabbie to wait.

”I’ll miss you,” T.J mumbles, straightening the lapels of Aiden’s blazer, fingers tripping over each other from too much caffeine.

”You’ll do fine. You can text me anytime, about anything, and I’ll call you as often as I can, okay?”

”I’ll still miss you.”

”Trouble will take care of you,” Aiden coaxes, nodding to the now very large cat sitting at their feet.

They’ve decided to let Trouble stay with T.J until Aiden gets back home. It’s easier for everyone. T.J gets to stay in his safe space, he’ll have something to focus on daily and Trouble gets taken care of. It’s a win-win for everyone.

”I’ll blame him for everything then.”

Aiden rolls his eyes at him, leaning in for a final goodbye kiss before taking his bag and the cello in its case, and walking out to the cab. T.J feels like some strange 50’s housewife, waving off his man as he rides off into the distance. Only thing missing is a fucking handkerchief. Behind him, Trouble meows loudly, looking very perturbed and apparently knowing that his owner has gone off and won’t be coming back for some time. T.J snickers, picks up his phone and snaps a picture of the groused cat.

>> he looks like he will murder me X attachment img_1293.jpeg

>> Damnit, told him to wait until Friday! X

>> play good ok? X

>> I will. I love you. X

>> i love you X

>> I love you. X

>> i love you X

>> Turning off the street now. I believe in you.

He keeps staring at those four words throughout the day, smiles as he reads through the rest of the conversation. So blessedly ordinary, so perfectly okay. T.J knows the feeling won’t last forever, and revels in it for as long as it lasts. Aiden calls when they get to their first stop, only dropping his phone twice as he tries to unpack and talk at the same time. It’s easy, effortless. He can do this. He can. He can.

For the most part, he does okay. The schedule he’s set up for himself helps. Meetings, dinners, Trouble. He plays a lot, working his way through the treasure trove of sheet music Nana gave him for Christmas two years ago. The first week of Aiden’s three week tour goes by without a hitch. He’s energetic, he has a plan, it works. It goes so well T.J starts worrying, and so is not surprised when the following week he suddenly wakes up one day with a weight on his chest that is another kind of trouble. It’s that dangerous cocktail of loneliness, doubt and a day with no plans. His skin feels electrified, fingers twitching for something to do, the apartment feels too small. The real Trouble meows, demanding his attention, but T.J can’t focus. He makes sure the furball has food and heads out.

It’s dangerous, and he knows it. Last time this happened… He lets out a shuddering breath, digging his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. It will be okay. It’s not even noon, he would be foolish to try, he’s been doing good, he just- he has to come up with something to do. T.J keeps a running commentary on himself as he stalks downtown, heart aching because he wishes Aiden was here. His first truly bad day since coming out of rehab, and of course Aiden has to be away. He knows he’s supposed to be okay, that his sobriety isn’t and shouldn’t be tied to his boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean this feeling of anxious worry in his chest will go away as easily as it would if Aiden was by his side now.

>>not doing so good 2day. trying 2 find smth 2 do. miss u.

It takes Aiden all of two minutes to respond.

>>Tour is overrated. Can’t wait 2 come home. U will make it through 2day, I know it. Call me if u need to, travel day 2day. xo

This man, he’s too good for him. His body this aches and wants and writhes, but T.J fights. He ends up going to lunch, finding a reason to kill an hour. It becomes two hours, a staffer who used to work for Elaine on Dougie’s team recognizes him, comes over to talk. It’s good, normal. Smalltalk and business talk and empty phrases. ”I don’t know anything about that, and even if I did, you know I couldn’t say anything about it.” ”Tell Doug I said hello.” ”Sure, I will!” T.J can’t even remember the guy’s name.

He visits Nana, determined not to let anything tempt him today. She’s surprised at first, but seems to realize he needs refuge from the world. They play showtunes and watch horrible soap operas for hours before T.J feels safe and centered enough to return home. Trouble needs him. It’s a strengthening thought. He’s needed. The cat climbs him like its own personal tree the second he’s inside the door, and he holds the purring fuzzball close, doesn’t mind when Trouble curls up next to him on the bed. He can’t wait for this loneliness to come to an end.

He should have known even thinking about the possibility of being happy once Aiden gets home was tempting fate. The days have felt impossibly long, and he has gone stir crazy trying to work through the combined stress of loneliness and worry about his resolve. T.J can practically see the finish line. One more day, one more night. He can do it.

With one day left, he’s pulled back into the harsh reality. T.J’s phone explodes around 9 am, sending Trouble into a tizzy that ends with claw marks etched into his arm before the spooked animal sets off like a rocket to hide under the couch. Hissing at the quickly reddening marks, he fumbles for his phone and blindly sliding the blinking icon to answer.

”Yeah?”

”Aw. You sound like you’ve had a lot of sad, lonely nights.”

”Aiden?” T.J sits up, clenching his fist so as not to itch the scratches. Aiden snickers at the other end of the line.

”Were you asleep?”

”Are you surprised? It’s Saturday!”

”I thought you’d be lying dramatically on the couch, crying your heart out,” Aiden rebuts, and though the tone is teasing, the comment confuses him.

”Are we- Should I know what you’re talking about?”

”Oh. Oh, okay. You haven’t seen it. We’ve apparently broken up according to at least two tabloids.”

T.J’s blood freezes in his veins. He tells Aiden to hold on, bringing up the browser on his phone, taking a steadying breath and then does what he’s long learned he shouldn’t do. He googles himself. In less than a second, his screen is filled with headlines screaming at him.

HEARTBREAK FOR HAMMOND?

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST? - FORMER FIRST SON SPOTTED ALONE

TWEAKING T.J? NO THANKS!

LOVE 'EM AND LEAVE 'EM?

THE SINS OF THE FATHER… A YOUNG BUD HAMMOND IN THE MAKING?

His eyes skitter from one headline to the other, feeling his heart rate increase and his mind instantly kick up a whirl of ”What did I do?” It’s only when Aiden calls his name loud enough for him to drag him out of the judgmental tailspin that he takes a moment to calm down. Nothing has happened, it’s just gossip. They’re still together. Aiden is just away, doing a concert tour. No heartbreak.

Right?

”Aiden…” he begins, rubbing his forehead. ”I’m so sorry, I-”

”T.J, don’t. This isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you. You told me this could happen, and I accepted it. I know we’re not over, I hope you know that, too.”

”Of course! I miss you like crazy, and I’ve- I have had a few hard days. I’m still good.”

”I’ll be home soon, T, I promise. Are you eating okay? You looked a little pale in the pictures?”

Of course there were pictures. T.J groans.

”I’m not subsisting entirely on takeout, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies, making a mental note to take out the boxes that have accumulated in his kitchen. ”I’ve had dinner with Nana a couple of times. Wholesome, filling meals. You would be very proud.”

His phone beeps, indicating another call, and he misses most of Aiden’s no doubt sarcastic comment checking his screen. Elaine. Fuck. He bites his lip.

”Mom’s calling,” he says, putting the phone back against his ear. ”I gotta take it.”

”Of course. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

”I’m sorry. Again. And again.”

”And I love you. Again. And again.”

They say goodbye, and T.J has to call Elaine back. She’s somewhere in Wisconsin, incidentally also heading home to prepare for a rally set for next week. Apparently she has put him on Google alert, and T.J’s not sure if he’s supposed to be grateful or miffed. As is, his mother is more worried than angry, asking if everything is okay, if he needs anything.

”I’m fine, mama, I promise. It’s all lies,” he assures her, crouching to hold out his hand when Trouble crawls out from under the couch to check if things have calmed down.

”You sure, sweetheart? I’ve got staff working on finding out the source for the articles. The timing is a little too convenient. They’ve left you alone for so long now, and suddenly running a purely libelous excuse for an article this close to-”

”I promise. I’m okay. Nothing I haven’t seen before. Aiden will be home tomorrow, he’s… he’s actually kinda amazing about this whole thing.”

On the other end, Elaine lets out a breath, and he can almost see her trademark smile. T.J can’t help but smile in kind, not caring that she can’t see it. Trouble comes trotting towards him, sniffing his hand to check if there’s a treat waiting.

”I’m glad. I’ll be home in a few days. We’ll talk more then, okay?”

After promising he’ll come by with Aiden once they’re all in the same city, they say goodbye, and T.J quickly works through his notifications. Doug has sent a bunch of texts, and the righteous anger almost jumps off the screen. Nana and Bud have both left voicemails, a bunch of emails have dropped in. Nothing to worry about in the grand scheme of things. And yet…

He can’t help himself. Against better judgment, T.J scrolls through a couple of the online articles, knowing they’re worse than the printed versions. Whoever invented the comment section should get a swift kick to the shins with a steel toe boot. It’s all variations on the same spiel, T.J Hammond spotted alone, looking tired and haggard, where is the still unknown boyfriend he’s been sighted with, are drugs behind the supposed breakup, and… There’s a picture of him talking to the staffer – what the hell is his name again? – that makes his stomach lurch. He still looks tired, but the pap has managed to catch him in a moment where he’s smiling, however tentative. Even though this is –  should be –  same old-same old to him, the insinuation that he’s cheating or moving on because of a relapse makes him nauseous.

By some miracle, T.J manages to tear himself away before he makes the terrible mistake of delving into the comment section, fearing it might set him off and make him do something stupid. He clenches his teeth, shutting of his laptop and pushing it away from himself. It’s.. not okay, but he’s okay. He can do this, it’s nothing he hasn’t encountered before. Only it is, his mind quietly tells him, and T.J can’t really protest. There’s never been anyone like Aiden in his life when this has happened. It’s been months, they’re good, even with his recent stint in rehab. All things considered, they’re good, he’s clean, why does this have to happen?

It’s a blessing to wake up to knocks on his front door the next day, to Trouble galloping to serve as welcoming committee, to Aiden’s smile as he sets down his bags and bring T.J in for a hug and a peppering of kisses, to calm in his soul. Couldn’t the paps capture this instead? Is this not as desirable?

”Next time, I’m bringing you with me,” Aiden speaks against the crook of T.J’s neck, holding him tighter. ”I don’t care how, you’re going in my suitcase. You’re getting contortionist classes for Christmas.”

”I missed you, too,” T.J replied quietly, drawing in the scent of his boyfriend.

He still smells a bit like bus and airplane, but there’s that ever-present smell of sandalwood hidden underneath, the soft cotton of his shirt evening it out. Aiden smells like safety, his tall and slender frame so easy to wrap oneself around, always warm no matter the season. Maybe it’s regressing a little bit, but right there, wrapped up in Aiden’s arms, T.J can’t help but feel relieved. He’s back, he can breathe a little easier. It is a nice little moment, tender and stretching out until seconds feel like minutes.

Until Trouble decides he’s done being ignored and uses them as his personal scratch tree.

They have a nice two days before Elaine calls to inform T.J that she’ll be home the next day and wants to have dinner with them both. He can almost hear how smug she looks when he turns to Aiden to ask if the time is okay, and he’s not entirely sure why it makes him blush a little. So Aiden hasn’t gone home since he got back. So maybe they’re enjoying the domestic bliss. So maybe it makes him feel better and not think about the articles so much. So maybe he likes it.

Aiden hasn’t been over for dinner with his family since Christmas, and T.J feels like he’s introducing him for the first time all over again. The way he hugs his mother is perhaps a tad perfunctory, but his stomach does a wild little somersault when he sees the way she smiles brightly at his boyfriend, hugging him as tight as she would her own two sons. Nana, true to her nature, is as brash as ever, holding her arms open for T.J and beckoning him over with a ”Come here, you little shit.” He’s almost surprised she doesn’t slap Aiden’s ass when they head to the dining room, where Dougie and Anne are waiting for them.

They chat amicably, polite questions about Aiden’s trip, about his parents. Dougie goes on a tangent about something that happened in Minnesota, and T.J can’t help but look at Anne by his brother’s side. She looks good, a lot healthier than she did back before they married. As fucked up as T.J had been, of course he’d noticed; the way she shuffled her food around her plate, the sometimes less than subtle excuses from the table. It’s a struggle, just like his own, and he can’t even bring himself to be jealous of her progress.

”So, how you holding up. T.J?”

Smooth, Dougie.

”Your faith in me is breathtaking, bro,” he shoots back, chewing demonstratively on his food.

Doug pulls a face at him, huffing. ”I just meant, it’s been a while since-”

”I’m good. It sucks, but it comes with being a Hammond. Same old, same old.”

”You know that’s not true, honey,” Elaine admonishes him, setting down her knife and fork.

And T.J knows that’s not entirely true either. The second Bud announced his intention to run for president, their lives were never the same. They became public property, something for people to scrutinize and put expectations upon. It’s not his father’s fault, but he’s not sure if he should put the blame on the people or the ones that cater to them.

”Any luck finding the bastard behind this?” Nana, always there to distract, even if it brings them back to the matter at heart.

”Nothing substantial yet,” Doug says, but T.J can tell from the way he clenches around the cutlery that there is something. ”I talked to Daniel-” That’s the fucking staffer’s name! T.J thinks triumphantly, ”-he didn’t seem like he was hiding anything.” His brother turns to him. ”Asked if you were okay.”

”Peachy.”

”Come on, man, we’re trying to help you!”

T.J is about to launch into a rant of his own, feeling the exasperation rise in his throat, but it lodges there, frozen in place when Aiden places his left hand over his under the table. It’s Thanksgiving and Christmas all over again, thumb running smoothly over his knuckles, a quiet show of solidarity, a simple gesture to say ”I’m here. It’s okay.” His outburst dies before it has time to potentially ruin dinner.

”I…” His voice comes out thick and low, and he squeezes Aiden’s hand. ”I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, it just makes it worse.”

”I know you don’t,” Elaine tells him, reaching out to pat his cheek. ”But if this is something… more, I want you to know that we’re not going to stand for it. You’ve been through enough, darling.” She pauses for a second, eye contact briefly breaking to look over at Aiden. ”Why don’t you bring Aiden with you to the rally next week?”

”Mom…”

Elaine pulls back, once again sitting straight in her chair. ”If you don’t mind?” She looks inquiringly at Aiden, and T.J can feel him stiffen in his seat.

”I… guess not? I-I just gotta check m-my schedule?”

”You don’t have to do this,” T.J assures him, then turns to his mother with a sharp look. ”Right?”

”Of course not, I just thought you would appreciate having him there. I know you don’t like these things all that much.”

Well, she’s not wrong about that. Elaine’s first campaign had been taxing enough to get through and that was when he could battle the pressure of presenting a perfect picture with blow. He’d been high a couple of times throughout, it was easier to smile and pretend that way. That’s not an option now. No floating through rallies and fundraisers in a blur, all edges smoothed out. T.J hates the way his mother managed to trap him, hates the way he can’t look at Aiden for the rest of the dinner, hates the way conversation dies down to hums and platitudes. He’s almost thankful when the family disperses after dinner almost like they knew this was painful. Aiden carries most of the charm as they say goodbye, thanking Elaine for the delicious food, giving her a hug that to T.J’s eyes looks as sincere as anything. He himself barely manages a light kiss to his mother’s cheek before he’s out the door.

”You’re angry,” Aiden states, slinging his arm around T.J’s shoulder.

He’s not sure whether to contest the statement or not. It’s not quite anger, not all of it. It’s worry and disappointment and apprehension, all swirling inside him, and T.J knows he needs to get a grip on it before it sets off his itch.

”You don’t have to come,” he murmurs, still keeping his eyes trained downwards, following his feet as they steer homewards. ”I can manage. Done it before.”

”But you don’t have to.”

Aiden stops mid-step, holding onto him gently to make him stand still, too, before placing both hands on his shoulders.

”I’m not… wild about the idea of standing in front a crowd, waving and smiling, but I can see what your mom’s thinking. If we go… if we stand there together, it’s a statement, right? We prove them wrong.”

”I hate that we have to do that,” T.J says, reluctantly looking up, breathing slowly in and out. ”I never thought I’d have to bring you into this, not this much. If she- If mom becomes President, I won’t move back. I don’t think Doug will either. It shouldn’t be as exciting as last time, people were going on and on about how the White House had not one but two First Sons, the first since JFK junior.” He uttered the last few words with rehearsed disdain, having heard them so many times, always with the same expectations attached to them.

”They came after you, T. You’ve done so well, and I want them to see that. If it helps that I stand by your side and show them just how much I am still in love with you, then baby, I’ll do it. I’ll dress up in my best suit, and I’ll kiss you on national god damn television if that’s what it takes.”

They both break down in snickers at that, T.J leaning in to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s jaw.

”You only have one suit, idiot.”

Aiden grins, kissing him back. ”Then clearly it’s my best one.”

It doesn’t take away all of his worries, but it eases them slightly. They spend the following days preparing, Aiden asking questions upon questions, getting asked questions in turn as he’s cleared by Elaine’s security to attend the rally as part of the family. It’s the only time before the rally T.J sees him even a little bit nervous, sitting with his hands clasped tightly in his lap, shaking and nodding his head so vigorously when he answers it sets the tight curls of his hair dancing. T.J draws a small sense of pride in being able to be the supportive one, to be the one who has the answers, who knows what will happen.

It doesn’t change the fact that they’re both a mess the day of the rally, hands shaking as they tie their ties, cursing under their breaths. True to his word, Aiden is clad in his only suit, hair pulled back into a tight bun. Though his heart is thundering in his chest, T.J can’t help but admire the man in front of him. It’s been almost a year since that first kiss, two years since they first met. It’s strange to think how much things have changed since Aiden came into his life.

”Hey,” he whispers, taking hold of Aiden’s hands as the man struggles to wrestle the silk into a tidy knot. His own fingers steady as they pry Aiden’s hands away, taking hold of they tie to twist and turn it in a pattern familiar to him. ”It’ll be fine. Find something to focus on. Not the people, that’s… overwhelming. Look at a flag, there’s always flags. Or balloons. I usually try to play connect the dots with them. One flag, linger. Another flag, linger.”

”And here I’d worked on my royal wave,” Aiden jokes, voice shaky as he exhales.

”You can wave.” T.J tucks the wide end of the tie through the loop he’s created, pulling to tighten the knot. ”I’ll be there.”

He smooths out Aiden’s shirt, pulling lightly on the lapels of his suit jacket. Aiden smiles weakly at him, fixing T.J’s tie in kind, straightening the collar before cupping his cheeks. T.J relishes in the sensation, the lightly calloused finger tips against his cheeks, the warmth emanating from the contanct. Tilting his head, he kisses Aiden’s hand, taking hold of it with his own, letting their fingers interlace.

”Ready?” he asks, gaze flickering over Aiden’s shoulder to the door behind which the public awaits.

”As I’ll ever be.”

It takes them both by surprise at first. Aiden, who has never been in front of this large a crowd before, breathes out a surprised ”wow” as they step onto the podium, squeezing T.J’s hand a bit harder. For T.J, it’s been a while since he’s been in the spotlight, but he eases into character sooner than he’d guessed, an easy smile gracing his features. He waves to the masses, his heart doing a little somersault when he sees Aiden doing the same from the corner of his eyes. The booming roar rises when Elaine finally takes the stage, and for a second, it’s almost like he’s back in that ballroom in Chicago.

The ruckus dies down as Elaine begins to speak, motioning with her hands for people to calm down. It’s always been fascinating to T.J how skillfully his mother can work a crowd, how with a simple gesture or a few choice words she can make her audience listen with bated breath, even when it’s just the standard phrases that precedes her true message.

”I am so happy to be here today, to see all of you. Your support and your enthusiasm are truly inspirational,” Elaine starts off, making a sweeping motion with her right hand. ”These are tough times, and we face even tougher times ahead of us. It is so important to stay strong, to stay together through these hardships.” The open palm becomes a fist, striking down with a decisive thud as her voice softens. ”It is far too easy to take the easy path, to turn a blind eye to injustice. I say, no more. No matter what happens, I will protect what matters to us, to this country. We are all family, and anyone who tries to challenge us, who tries to harm us,” She pauses, looking out over the crowd, and T.J can swear she is zeroing in on one of the cameras filming, “will see that we are prepared to defend ourselves.”

T.J has to fight to keep from frowning. It’s a tad more aggressive than he’s come to expect from his mother, almost to the point where it’s retaliatory. He steals a glance at Doug, looking proudly at their mother as the crowd breaks into cheers and applause. They all follow suit, but T.J can’t help but think there is something else going on, something in this speech he is missing, someone who will listen to it and see so much more than the impassioned outcry of a presidential candidate. He plays his part, knowing full well he will be in the papers for the coming week. He and Aiden have talked about it, prepared for it as best they can. The need to protect Aiden from the uglier sides of this mess boils in him, and through the final minutes of Elaine’s speech, he’s terrified that he made a mistake in letting Aiden convince him to come with him.

The man in question must have caught on to his discomfort, as he lean in to T.J when Elaine wraps up her speech.

”I’m fine,” he whispers under the thunderous roar, his breath tickling.

Something in him shifts, slotting together like pieces of a puzzle. They have made it. One year of sobriety and relapse and rehab and now the articles. It’s not gonna get easier, but they’ve made it this far. T.J thinks about how he’s been the older brother all his life but constantly been the one needing taking care of, needing protection. He wants to take that responsibility now, wants to be the man Aiden sees in him. When he smiles up at Aiden, there is true joy behind it. It stays etched on his face throughout the rally, on the walk home, settling into the kind of smile that lives in your eyes. Aiden stays the night again. Trouble sleeps nestled between them. T.J briefly wonders if this is what love really feels like before drifting off to sleep.

It takes the tabloids two full days to find out who Aiden is, running his life story over the following week. There’s nothing in there T.J doesn’t already know, but he can see the hurt in Aiden’s eyes, understands what he’s feeling. Someone has trespassed into his lover’s life. The way Elaine and her staff handles it makes warms his heart. She still refuses to say exactly what was up with her speech at the rally, brushing it off or switching the subject. T.J doesn’t believe for a second that the pointed jabs were just theatrics to win over the crowd. Maybe he’s not as invested in politics as Doug, but he’s sharp enough to see the broad strokes; the upswing in the polls leading up to the Democratic convention, the way the tabloids slowly back down from reporting on their every move. He’s sharp enough that when he sees President Fred Collier congratulate his mother on winning the nomination, he spots the unbridled disappointment and malice that the man tries to hide behind a slimy smile and grovelling words.

This man tried to destroy him. T.J swears to not let it happen again.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Protesters Block, Demand Removal of a Painting of Emmett Till at the Whitney Biennial

Dana Schutz’s “Open Casket” (2016) (photo by Benjamin Sutton for Hyperallergic)

On Friday, the 2017 Whitney Biennial opened to the public and protesters showed up to physically block and voice their objections to “Open Casket” (2016), a painting of Emmett Till by Dana Schutz. According to protesters Parker Bright and Pastiche Lumumba —New York-based artists who went to the Whitney on opening day independently, meeting there for the first time — a white artist should not be permitted to use and profit from the image of a black man killed in a racially motivated crime.

“It’s insensitive and gratuitous for the artist, primarily — then the curators and the museum — to willingly participate in the long tradition of white people sharing and circulating images of anti-black violence,” Lumumba told Hyperallergic. “There’s a history of white people taking pictures of lynchings. In 2017, for us to have a white woman painting that image with no context… that’s a grossly deficient way of using one’s privilege.”

The “Open Casket” protesters said the response from museum visitors on Friday was largely positive. No guards interfered. Despite a few critiques of their blockage as an act of censorship — they were, after all, preventing the work from being clearly viewed — the protesters maintain that any conversation should not center on the painting itself, but rather on its content and the implications of who made it.

Artist Hannah Black called for more drastic action in an open letter originally posted on her Facebook page, demanding that the painting be “removed, destroyed, and not entered into any market or museum.” She cited the frequency with which non-black media outlets share images or footage of dead black bodies (dating back to the American tradition of lynching photos), adding: “The subject matter is not Schutz’s; white free speech and white creative freedom have been founded on the constraint of others, and are not natural rights.” As of this writing, her letter has been signed by over 30 people, including several artists, critics, and curators (including Bright).

Schutz concedes that Lumumba, Bright, and others have the right to respond to her work, though she is less than thrilled by the notion of destroying or preventing the painting from being seen. She adds that “Open Casket” is not now for sale, and never will be.

“I don’t object at all to people questioning the work or even my right to make it,” she told Hyperallergic. “There is real anger and people have a right to it. I’m not for censoring or destroying any work of art. Public engagement and argument around it is important.” While Schutz also believes an artist has the right to paint all manner of subjects, “that doesn’t mean there won’t be bad or offensive art. It all depends on the approach and how something is done.” She added:

There were many reasons why I could not, should not, make this painting. The photograph is an icon of the Civil Rights Movement and a sacred image. I am also a white woman. I would not have made this painting when I was younger, before I had a son. I only thought about the possibility of painting it after listening to interviews with Till’s mother. In her sorrow and rage she wanted her son’s death not just to be her pain but America’s pain.

Acknowledging the searing significance of Till’s body, the co-curators of the 2017 Biennial, Mia Locks and Christopher Y. Lew, said in a joint statement: “Dana Schutz’s painting is an unsettling image that speaks to the long-standing violence that has been inflicted upon African Americans. For many African Americans in particular, this image has tremendous emotional resonance.”

At the Whitney, a protest against Dana Schutz' painting of Emmett Till: "She has nothing to say to the Black community about Black trauma." http://pic.twitter.com/C6x1JcbwRa

— Scott W. H. Young (@hei_scott) March 17, 2017

Bright, who wore a homemade shirt reading “Black Death Spectacle” during Friday’s protest, did not originally feel the curators’ intentions were made clear. “I told people they could go Google search Emmett Till’s open casket and see a more impactful image that doesn’t simplify or reduce or flatten Till’s body,” Bright said. “I was more interested in having people confront a living, breathing black body as opposed to one that didn’t really have a choice.”

In 1955, Till lay in his coffin disfigured past the point of recognition, his face a lumpy, pulpy mess. His mother chose to have an open casket, wanting her son’s mutilated body to remain visible, hoping to show the world what it had wrought upon her 14-year-old boy. Till was murdered after a white woman claimed he flirted with her in a Mississippi shop. Recent revelations confirmed long-standing suggestions of Till’s innocence; the accuser, Carolyn Bryant Donham, now 82, admitted that her original claims were false. In 1955, Donham’s husband Roy Bryant and his half-brother were charged with kidnapping, beating, torturing, and eventually shooting Till in the head. An all-white, all-male jury acquitted the two men that same year.

Till’s body remained on display for days in Chicago that summer, while over 100,000 citizens lined up to pay their respects. Images of the dead teen were published in black newspapers and magazines. Soon, the country had vivid visual confirmation of racial hatred. The Civil Rights Movement began in earnest two months later when Rosa Parks refused to switch seats.

The Whitney Biennial has a history with issues of racial appropriation and unchecked privilege, as seen most recently during the 2014 edition of the exhibition, when controversy surrounded a piece by Joe Scanlan. In “Donelle Woolford,” the white male Princeton professor hired black female actors to play the part of a fictional black artist named Donelle. Many objected to the piece’s inclusion in the Biennial; the Yams Collective, the largest of eight collectives participating that year, withdrew from the show because of it. Yams Collective member Maureen Catbagan explained that the group felt “the representation of an established academic white man posing as a privileged African-American woman is problematic, even if he tries to hide it in an avatar’s mystique.”

The 2017 Whitney Biennial is more diverse than the last: about half of this year’s included artists are female, and about half are non-white. Curated by Locks and Lew — the youngest curators to organize this long-running exhibition to date, and both Asian-American — the show grapples with current social issues and identity politics; its artists depict the horrors of hate crime, police brutality, and gun violence. Black artist Henry Taylor also has a graphically violent painting in the exhibition, “THE TIMES THAY AINT A CHANGING, FAST ENOUGH!” (2017), depicting the fatal shooting of Philando Castile by a Minnesota police officer in 2016. Lumumba and Bright argue that Taylor made this image with the understanding it could be him, whereas Schutz will never have the same relationship to the anti-black violence that she depicted.

Henry Taylor, “THE TIMES THAY AINT A CHANGING, FAST ENOUGH! (2017), acrylic on canvas, 72 x 96 in (photo by Benjamin Sutton for Hyperallergic)

Lumumba says that he finds the task of explaining black oppression to be emotionally laborious, but necessary. He wishes these talks had started on the “front end” instead of in reaction to the painting being included in the Biennial. “Schutz doesn’t implicate her own whiteness or participation in white supremacy,” Lumumba said. “There is a problem with people who have privilege only listening to other people with that same privilege. Like men reading something about feminism that was written by other men.”

Yesterday, Bright met with Locks and Lew. “Nothing was resolved, but it was one of the best conversations I’ve ever had,” he told Hyperallergic. “It means a lot. I never thought I’d get that close. I don’t think the Met would talk to me, or a lot of other big institutions.” In light of this year’s Biennial, however, Bright says he would avoid working with the Whitney if given the option, and encourages other artists of color to consider their affiliations carefully. “If anything is going to change, it has to come from the white art community,” he said. “We need white allies to help stand up for us, but not talk over us.”

Undue appropriation and careless white privilege are enormously important topics to consider in light of this dispute. But important, too, is the ability of art to arouse empathy. Art provides the opportunity to learn about the pain of others, though all pain is solitary and unique. “Art can be a vehicle for connection,” Schutz said. “I don’t believe that people can ever really know what it is like to be someone else — I will never know the fear that black parents may have — but neither are we all completely unknowable.”

In their comments, the curators also highlight the importance of empathy. “The 2017 Whitney Biennial brings to light many facets of the human experience, including conditions that are painful or difficult to confront such as violence, racism, and death,” they wrote. “Many artists in the exhibition push in on these issues, seeking empathetic connections in an especially divisive time.” It’s easy to be become dismissive or contemptuous of either side of the fence, and continued discourse is our only hope. In these dangerous Trump times, if we don’t find ways to talk to each other, we are in deep trouble.

The post Protesters Block, Demand Removal of a Painting of Emmett Till at the Whitney Biennial appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[metafinnwinchester]

Task 12: Muse Booster

Name: Finnegan “Finn” Winchester

Height: 5′8″

Age in Story: 24

Birthplace: Santa Monica, California

Hair (color, length, style): Finn’s hair is naturally dark brunet with a subtly wavy texture (most of the time he straightens it), but he’s been dying it blond since he was around fifteen. Depending on how far he lets it grow, it can be full blond and shaggy more often spiked up (x), or if he gets it trimmed, it looks neater with more of his natural color showing styled in either a quiff or left flat and swept over his forehead (x) (x). Currently, he’s letting the blond grow out, so his hair color looks like this (x), with the blond slowly fading in his hair.

Race/Nationality: White; American with Irish ethnicity

Regional Influences: Ireland, California

Accent (voice, style of speech, slang, signature words/phrases): Finn has an American accent, some would say he sounds “straight up Californian.” When he gets angry or frustrated, a little bit of an Irish accent picked up from his parents will slip into his voice. Since he grew up with Irish parents, he does on occasion drop some Irish words (he’s been most known to use “hussy” or other insults). He has a way of spewing out random words and phrases he makes up on the fly when talking, but can never remember them. His most popular signature word he’s sticking with is “bitchachos.” Voice clip here.

Religion: Catholic (even if he’s been bad with practicing the last few years)

Marital Status: Engaged to Daniel Bates

Scars/Other Notable Physical Attributes: He has a few freckles on his cheeks, neck, and shoulders. His back is littered with near-faded, red scarred lines from whippings at C.A.R.M.A. He also has a few other scars from fights and bullet wounds.

Handicaps (physical, emotional, mental): PTSD, anxiety, depression, ADHD, some anger issues. Due to C.A.R.M.A erasing some of his memories at one point, and those lost memories being retrieved by telepathic interference from his sister, Finn also has some very minor memory problems. He’s a functional alcoholic, and sometimes his knees get really sore and stiff after too much acrobatic and agility fighting. 

Athletic? Inactive? Overall health?: Very athletic. Going around as Phantom almost every night and fighting bad guys along with regular training helps keep him in shape. He’s in pretty good health despite his frequent drinking.

Style of Dress: Finn is almost always dressed nice, yet casual, with skinny jeans (either blue or black) with either a simple black or white t-shirt, a casual collared shirt (usually with sleeves rolled up) or a t-shirt with a flannel or plain over-shirt. For shoes, he usually wears vans, converse, or boots. Sometimes he’ll wear his glasses.

Favorite Colors: Blue, teal, black, and silver

How does character feel about appearance? He thinks he’s attractive and likes how he looks, although he sometimes does get slightly insecure when it comes to the scars on his back.

Any siblings?: Aislinn Winchester (younger twin sister), and Axel Winchester (younger brother).

Relationship with parents?: His relationship with his parents is fairly normal, and they get along. There was a brief period of time where he and his dad had some tension after he came out, but that was resolved (with some help from Caitlin), and they’re all on speaking terms. Dylan being in C.A.R.M.A has caused the two of them to talk less for obvious reasons, but he still considers himself close to his dad. He respects and looks up to his dad, and he loves his mother a lot and would do anything for her.

Memories about childhood?: He mostly remembers the good times where he and his siblings would terrorize each other (with love of course) and then laugh about it all later after their mom or dad would tell them to knock it off. He also remembers a lot of trips to Ireland to visit the grandparents, and how much he loved those vacations.

Educational background? (Street smart? Book smart?): He attended Stanford University with a focus in Music and Business. Unfortunately, he only made it halfway through junior year before he was arrested by C.A.R.M.A, so he has not earned his degree...yet. Even though most people don’t think so, he’s actually quite book smart, but his street smarts tend to overpower that.

Work Experience: C.A.R.M.A Meta Agent, and vigilante hero Phantom. Not the best things to put on a resume.

Where does the character live now? Describe home. (Emotional atmosphere & physical): Finn lives in a duplex apartment in West Stone with his fiancé Daniel Bates and their three dogs. The home is rather extravagant, spacious, and luxurious, which is just perfect for the two of them, and Finn always finds it easy to relax and chill out there.

Neat or messy?: It depends on his mood and how lazy he feels, but Finn prefers to be neat. Sometimes he just doesn’t have the energy to pick the clothes up off the floor.

Sexuality: Gay.

Morals: Finn isn’t really sure how to describe his morals. He was raised with the value of always trying to do the right thing, but he hit a dark period where morals were thrown out the window when he was forced into C.A.R.M.A. He had no qualms with assassinating a dangerous Meta or torturing a Rebel without guilt. Now that he’s no longer brainwashed, he regrets his past deeds and uses the Hero Squad as a way to “atone” for those by trying to save anyone needing help and stopping crime without killing the bad guy.

Activities: Playing guitar, singing, occasionally writing, running, dog-walking, sex with Danny, training, being a vigilante, drinking

Friends? Pets?: His closest friends are definitely Kelli, Hope, and Alexandra

Enemies? Why?: Sal Bradbury. The man lives to torment him ever since he was forced into and eventually left C.A.R.M.A, and Finn both hates him and weirdly cares about him.

Basic Nature: Finn comes off as extroverted, entertaining, sassy, and charismatic, but he’s a lot more than that. To those who really know him, he’s kind, protective, compassionate, and will go to the ends of the earth of them. He also has an incredibly short-temper, and when he gets angry, he likes to take it out through fighting.

Personality Traits: Feisty, short-tempered, humorous, protective, brave, intuitive, creative, impulsive, strong-willed, friendly, playful, tough, emotionally unstable, strategic, instinctive, smart, caring

Strongest/Weakest Traits: Finn’s strongest traits are definitely his bravery, his caring and protective nature towards his friends and family, and ability to plan strategies for a fight. His weakest would be his emotional instability since he tends to compartmentalize his negative emotions for extended periods of time until they all bubble up in the form of an emotional breakdown. His short-temper has also sometimes gotten him into trouble as well.

What do they fear?: He fears ending up in C.A.R.M.A again as an agent, forced to kill and torture innocent lives. 

What are they proud of?: He’s proud of surviving the worst part of his life spent in C.A.R.M.A, and the fact that he’s out and using his skills to help do good in Pansaw.

Outlook on life: Finn’s outlook on life kinda wavers towards pessimistic realism and rare hopeful optimism towards the future. Life currently sucks, but it could start getting better.

Ambitions: Finn’s ambitions at the moment are to basically try and really move past his former C.A.R.M.A life, keep his family safe and out of C.A.R.M.A’s hands, marry Daniel, and be happy in life. 

Politics: Surprisingly, Finn is really conservative on a lot of things, but more egalitarian with social issues. He absolutely hates social justice warriors; they are the bane of his existence and the reason he grinds his teeth at night. 

How do they see themselves?: Outwardly, Finn sees himself as hot shit, confident, funny, and bold. But deep down, he kind of thinks of himself as a hot mess at the moment. He doesn’t necessarily think he’s a great person, but he likes to think that he’s working on that. 

How are they seen by others?: Others view him as cute and snarky, but rather entertaining. His friends probably see him as a really annoying but lovable brother they trust.

Do I (the writer) like this person? Why? Why not?: I honestly adore Finn as a person, he’s the kind of guy that I’d wanna grab a beer with and be best friends with. He’d be like the older brother I never had.

Most Important Thing About Them: His resillience.

Present Problem: Finn’s current problem is basically that he feels like Sal and C.A.R.M.A have torn his family apart and it started since the day he was arrested. Sal’s been terrorizing him and his parents, putting ideas into his mother’s head and sharing all the recorded footage of his time in C.A.R.M.A being tortured and doing horrible things. His dad is also still in C.A.R.M.A and it’s been harder to see him more often.

How it will get worse: There are a million different ways this could get worse, but for Finn personally, it could only get worse if he somehow ended up back in C.A.R.M.A and being Sal’s “pet” again. He still has nightmares about what happened to him and what went on during his time there.

Their goals in this story?: He kind of wants to try helping make a difference with how Metas are viewed in the world, that not all of them are bad and some can be good and helpful. That’s sort of the reason the Hero Squad was founded; he and the others who started it wanted to use the skills they had to help others.

What traits will help/hurt them in achieving this goal?: His determination, bravery, intelligence, and skills from C.A.R.M.A.

What makes them different from similar characters?: I feel like what makes Finn different is that he takes responsibility for his actions from when he was in C.A.R.M.A, and doesn’t blame them on the fact that he was brainwashed (even if he says otherwise to other people). He also doesn’t really lament on it a lot or let it hinder him from trying to make it right in his own weird way.

Why will readers remember this character vividly?: He’s kind of a goofball and I find him entertaining, but he also has a bit of darkness underneath that he’s trying to overcome.

[vanquisher2099]

Part 23: An Expected Visitor

If asked, Maddie would say that she was capable of being a very patient person. She did, after all, make her living doing the sort of work that required patience – one had to be willing to wait for a source to get back to you, or for a target to make an error that left a paper trail. Not just that, but one had to be willing to wade through seas of useless information in order to discover the three or four facts required to provide the answers clients sought. It was not a job that rewarded the impulsive, and Maddie was very, very good at it. She had patience to spare, she thought to herself angrily as she checked the feed from the discreet security drone she had set up to follow her since the apartment she’d sent the Vanquisher into had rather spectacularly exploded.

It was not that Maddie wondered if the woman was dead, of course. She was quite certain that the Vanquisher was alive and well – after all, Maddie had been keeping an eye on morgues, hospitals, and the various unlicensed medical professionals which one could, in a pinch, retain the services of when a hospital was not an option for whatever reason. Maddie doubted very much, however, that any criminal doctor worth their salt would have taken in a wounded vigilante anyway, Hippocratic oath be damned. Certainly not after the incident in the nightclub – criminal doctors tended to take care of criminals, and the Vanquisher was not in anyone’s good books who fit that particular definition. Nor were criminals terribly fussy about removing one’s hands should it come to light that a doctor had given aid to some costumed would-be hero. Certainly, it seemed that if the Vanquisher had died, she’d done so somewhere completely hidden – and if she had survived, she’d done so with help that was unknown to the criminal community.

Which meant, as far as Maddie was concerned, that there was a nonzero chance the Vanquisher would want answers from her, Maddie, regarding what she knew about the contents of the apartment – namely the explosive ones, but probably something about the webstream Jack had decided to put on that evening as well. Maddie had, of course, seen the stream. That sort of event wasn’t the sort of thing that people in her circles missed. What really shocked her was the fact that the police didn’t seem to know, or at least were pretending not to know, that any such stream had taken place. It was either one of the few times the CPD had decided to play dumb about something in order to keep an investigation secure, or they were incredibly out of touch. The trouble was not just that a potentially very angry vigilante would show up and beat the shit out of her in order to gain information, the problem was that Maddie wasn’t even completely certain what information she had.

It was like this: Maddie had sent the Vanquisher after Jack by saying he was in town to resolve a dispute between rival syndicates, which had been a lie – partially true (Jack was in town to kill someone) and partially not. It was only after sending the Vanquisher his way that Maddie discovered that Jack had also been responsible for the murder of the poor bastard who’d come to her about the GFB Incorporated job. That Jack felt obliged to stream the (attempted) murder of the Vanquisher to every major syndicate in the city indicated that he knew everyone would be pleased to see the Vanquisher dead, but wasn’t exactly sure which party would pay him. Which made it difficult to guess which of the organizations was so worried that he might spill the beans on…something that they saw fit to shoot him in the head and blow up the apartment for good measure.

Maddie had her suspicions, of course – whatever the hell D3m3t3r’s organization was calling itself was the most likely to have something big and suspicious in the works, and she was inclined to blame them anyway out of spite. Of course, she couldn’t very well send the Vanquisher after D3m3t3r’s organization without risking D3m3t3r finding out Maddie had met with the Vanquisher and become partially responsible for the whole Jack mess in the first place. That would be more than enough to earn her one of those slow and torturous deaths she’d heard so much about. So Maddie needed two things: she needed the Vanquisher to show up so they could have a conversation about how this wasn’t Maddie’s fault, and she needed the Vanquisher to figure out who was behind the explosion without obviously helping her. If they could have this conversation without Maddie being on the wrong end of the Vanquisher’s fists, that would be ideal.

Thus, Maddie had a security drone following her and feeding video of her surroundings to her at all times so that at the very least there would be some warning and she’d have time to make sure their meeting took place somewhere that would, depending on how angry the Vanquisher seemed to be, attract lots of attention or none at all. If the Vanquisher wanted to see her, Maddie would see her coming first. Which made it something of an annoyance when Maddie returned home exhausted after a long night’s set, fell asleep, and woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and eggs.

There was a moment as she woke up that Maddie wondered if she’d perhaps taken some enthusiastic fan of her music home the night before and merely forgotten, but she quickly discarded that idea. She was not that frightened, which surprised her – there was, after all, an intruder in her house who had somehow avoided her drone on the way home, broken into her apartment, and been there for who knew how long. Long enough to brew coffee and make eggs, at any rate. Then again, she’d also not been roughly awakened, restrained, or seemingly bothered at all. If she was going to be murdered, it was by a very polite murderer.

It seemed that there was little else to do other than see who the hell was in her apartment, so Maddie rolled out of bed, stretched, threw on some clothes that made her slightly more presentable, and ambled out of the bedroom as if she had people breaking in and using her kitchen every day. The Vanquisher – for it was very obviously the Vanquisher – stood looking out the window, sipping a cup of coffee. Her helmet was off but her back was to Maddie, providing a view of a freckled neck, close-cropped red hair and little else. The Vanquisher put down her coffee and, somewhat reluctantly, put her helmet back on before turning back to face Maddie.

“Sleep well? There’s plenty of coffee left, and I made you an omelet too. Just cheese and peppers, though. I’m never sure what people like in their omelets.”

Maddie, still refusing to act surprised, poured herself a mug and sat down. “Better than I would have slept if I’d known you were going to break into my apartment.”

The Vanquisher laughed, and replied in an almost apologetic tone. “Your apartment is the only place I could be certain of privacy.”

“And that you could get free coffee, I assume?”

Another laugh. “I had to get up pretty early in order to get in here. Figured a little coffee might help – you’ve got very good coffee, did you know that?”

“Yes, I am aware of the high quality of my coffee. I know this because it is my fucking coffee.” Now that it seemed as if the Vanquisher wasn’t here to kill her, Maddie was beginning to feel a little annoyed. “So, do you care to explain why you’re here?”

Infuriatingly, the Vanquisher shrugged. “You watch the news. You tell me.”

“No.”

If her face had been visible, Maddie would have seen the Vanquisher’s eyebrows raise. As it was, a slight movement of the head and a shift in posture were the only signs of surprise. “No?”

“No. You came here, you broke into my apartment, you drank my coffee, you put my life at risk, because my clients are not the sort of people who would enjoy seeing me sipping coffee with a goddamned vigilante, so you can tell me what was so important.” The plan of staying casual had, apparently, gone out the window in favor of anger.

The Vanquisher held her hands up in a placating gesture that failed to do much to placate. “Fair enough. We had a deal, remember? I came here because we had a deal and I held up my end of the deal. Your hitman isn’t going to do any further harm.”

This answer calmed Maddie down, slightly, and she took a bite of the omelet and could not decide whether she was pleasantly surprised or annoyed to discover it was delicious. Her thoughts began to take on a better semblance of order as she woke up, which made her eyes narrow. “Nope, that’s not why you’re here. You knew how to contact me like a civilized goddamn person, and you broke into my apartment instead. There’s something more important, isn’t there?”

“I wanted to flirt with you a bit?”

“I would be flattered if that were true, but we both know it isn’t.” Maddie pinched the bridge of her nose, her recovered patience already fleeing.

A mumbled “It is a little true” went unheeded. “The thing is…” here the Vanquisher rubbed the back of her helmet almost ruefully. “You’re right. I guess the problem is that I’m not sure how to explain what it is I need.”

“So you decided that instead of taking the time to figure out how to phrase the request, perhaps in a written message you could have sent me, you would break into my apartment and make me breakfast?”

“I don’t know long it would take to get a response, and this is kind of important.”

“If it was important, why didn’t you come sooner?”

“I got blown up. It took some time to get better.” It was probably the vocal modulation, but the Vanquisher sounded decidedly nonchalant about the explosion. An unconscious rubbing of her shoulder was the only sign that thinking about the explosion was not a pleasant activity.

“Fair enough.” Maddie took a sip of coffee. “Have you figured out what you’re here for yet, or what?”

“The apartment – it was neutral ground, right? Shared among the various syndicates in town?” The Vanquisher held up her hand, forestalling any response. “No, you don’t need to answer. I know the answer to that one. So my question is, I guess… who blew the apartment up? And were they after me, or Jack, or both of us? Only I think whoever would be willing to blow up something everyone had agreed to keep neutral ground is someone who I should probably stop.”

“Oh? Why’s that? Aren’t you here to right all those wrongs? Take down everything and everyone in this city? Aren’t they just doing your job for you?”

The Vanquisher snorted, and her helmet briefly lit up to display two eyes rolling. “There’s a huge difference between getting justice for a murder and starting a gang war.”

“Is there? Because getting justice for a murder might end up starting a gang war, depending on how you play it.” Maddie took a sip of coffee and tried not to look as smug as she felt. People never failed to grasp the larger picture, or see the wider consequences of their actions. “Let’s say your murder, for example, ends up pointing to a syndicate leader as the culprit. He goes down, and then there’s a war of succession.”

“Not if you take down the whole syndicate.”

“Yes, but then there’s a bunch of newly-available territory that everyone left gets to fight over.” Maddie shrugged. “Any way you slice it, people are going to get caught up in something they don’t deserve to be caught up in. It’s one of the first things I realized when I got into this business.”

“You mean that’s the first thing you told yourself so that you’d feel better about your line of work.” There was a slightly accusatory tone to the Vanquisher’s voice. “We all like to believe that things are too big and too complex to ever change safely. Better to leave things as they are rather than risk a new thing, right?”

“That’s because it often is.”

“Well I don’t believe that.” The Vanquisher’s response was curt. “I don’t think you do either – not really. But I’m just the person who you sent out to protect a couple of bogus clients, that’s all.”

“What do you mean ‘a couple of bogus clients?’” To her credit, Maddie did a good job of acting offended.

“I did some investigating of my own, you know. I had some time on my hands while I…” Here the Vanquisher made a vague gesture to her body which Maddie took to mean ‘recovered from almost dying.’ “Jack was in town for a single target – an accountant, if I’m not mistaken, that is now under federal protection. It is expected his testimony will result in several high-profile convictions, assuming the jury isn’t compromised.”

“Coincidence.”

“Call it what you like. You still owe me an answer. Who tried to blow me up?”

Maddie shrugged. “I have no idea, but I can give you an educated guess.”

“Good enough. You strike me as fairly educated.”

Maddie smiled slightly at that. “You are, I’m assuming, aware of the recent arrival of a new syndicate in town, yes?” The Vanquisher nodded in assent and Maddie continued. “The leader of that particular syndicate is a ghost. A highly-skilled and very, very well-funded hacker by the name of D3m3t3r. She – I think it is a she, anyway, but nobody is 100% certain – has been systematically consolidating a power base by absorbing the weaker syndicates and dismantling the stronger ones. She’s been using Jack an awful lot, making her the one with the most to lose if Jack had decided to spill his guts. She’s also the only one new enough and with enough power to make an extreme move like detonating a bomb in the middle of the city without any real fear of reprisal – I very much doubt anyone could find her if she really needed to go into hiding. She has a single bodyguard and rarely meets with anyone in person – mostly it’s through heavily-encrypted communications.” Maddie decided to leave out the part where she had met D3m3t3r in person – better to hope that this would get her out of it.

“When you say that you doubt anyone could find her if she went into hiding – does that include you?”

Maddie shrugged again. “Probably. I am very good at my job, but if she goes quiet enough even my people won’t pick it up. Not just that, but I’ve literally told you everything I know about her. Well, apart from the fact that she hired me to find out more about you, of course.”

The Vanquisher laughed. “You know, I’d completely forgotten that part. I guess it would be a bit silly of me to hire you to find her for me, huh?”

An affirmative nod. “Frankly, the danger I’d put myself in doing something that stupid would require more money than you probably possess. Hell, I’m dead if she finds out I told you this, forget about anything more substantial.”

At that, the Vanquisher placed a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I’ll do my best to keep you safe.”

Maddie had, initially, expected some kind of threat as soon as the Vanquisher had touched her and was completely taken aback to hear what sounded like sincerity (albeit sincerity filtered through a voice modulator) in the Vanquisher’s voice. She peered closely at the Vanquisher’s helmet, as if it would suddenly go clear. “You’re really serious, aren’t you? About fighting for justice and writing wrongs and all that shit.”

The Vanquisher shrugged and, under her helmet, smiled. “Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t be running around getting blown up if I wasn’t serious, you know.”

“You’re incredibly dangerous.” Maddie shook her head as if to clear it, and repeated herself. “Incredibly dangerous, and stupid, and liable to get yourself killed. Do me a favor, okay?”

Maddie’s pronouncement seemed to have caught the Vanquisher off guard and there was a bit of hesitation in her response. “What kind of favor?”

A million different arguments for telling the Vanquisher to stay away ran through Maddie’s head, but to her surprise she found herself saying something else entirely. “Try not to die. I think the city might actually be better off with you in it.”

The Vanquisher bowed. “Very nice of you to say. I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, and next time you need my help? You have ways of contacting me that don’t involve breaking and entering. Use those.”

Part 24

Part 22