#-I have to put it into actual words now. without metaphors??? hell nah...

[spotsupstuff]

Some more thoughts: Please do note these are Thoughts - as in proposing whatever nonsense crosses my mind, ramblings of a lunatic more so than fleshed out cohesive theories. Possibilities.

• I was thinking about the randomization factor of the Watcher campaign and that probably none of us had the same Spinning Top dialogues in the same regions.

I remember being in awe at Shattered Terrace when I was teleported there by Spin exactly for the 4th Ripple point (aka the teleportation got unlocked). At the time I thought the encounters were scripted in Some kind of way, so I was thinking how thematically interesting this was.

She gave me another ability/unlocked it and brought me somewhere ethereal that turned out to be a leading point to her home/darkest moment. The dialogue about her running through halls was given to me in Torrid Desert and I was thinking ,,Yeah... deserts are so empty even with buildings in them. Covered in both sand and dust of time. This really is a place one could miss, remember from childhood."

Then I found out things just happened to turn out like this for me. Based on my choices, circumstances I couldn't control, by paths I took because at the time I didn't know any better, by the power of my dedication to exploring a place whole until I found Spinning Top and the lapses in it.

And I'm thinking- we, as players. Aren't we all ripples of each other, too?

We ,,are" the same character, we meet the same people, yet our journeys are different. So might be our interpretation of these people, giving them slightly different personalities, differently flavoured existence. Our own personalities shaping our perceptions and twisting theirs into something different as a result. Different facets of a reality, yet originating from something Same.

The randomization combined with the lore is SUPER important.

• I adore the warp mechanic so much, both as a transport between regions (though yea, I'd like for them to somehow express themselves on the mind map) and as something the player can do whenever post-Ripple 4.

I was stuck in Fetid Glen with a maidenless frog lodged in my head for like two goddamn hours. I was THIS 🤏 close to losing me marbles.

In vanilla(/DP)? Either put the game down, LOSE those marbles or toughen up, mf (/come up with an alternative way of going about your goals).

Here? I go ˗ˏˋ pop ˎˊ˗ and go into at least a NEW horrendous torture chamber. Thank you, Videocult, you dastardly thing. You were merciful upon my nerves for once in your RW-themed existence.

• It's all flowers... The Rot is represented by a flower guy now/apparently can bloom into Something (Four Petals... the symbol of the first chakra 👁) and Karma Flowers represent Karma.

• Also... the Ancients' name for the Karma Flowers was *Wheel* flower.

Wheel. The symbol of Buddhism is an eight pronged wheel - the Wheel of Dharma/Dharmachakra. Dharma is the name for the teachings of the whole thing.

Both the wheel flowers and the Rot have a cross on them, four lines. Overlayed they have eight together.

Are they two parts of one whole. Is this Rain World's ying and yang. The principle of the universe. Are the Rot and the Karma two strands of teachings of this reality.

• Purple is above blue when it comes to chakras. I interpret the Outer Rim Rot more attuned to the world/more conscious on the basis of this.

• Since four years ago until now I've been convinced and still am that Karma flowers are intimately connected with death. That they are essentially spiritual mourning flowers, sprouting naturally upon death either indiscrimately, or of those with good deeds/high karma pinned to their soul.

Probably the second- the Monk always spawns a Karma flower upon death. And while the Hunter is karmically unbalanced, shunned by the spiritual world (which is why karma flowers don't spawn for it), the spiritual world recognizes its last deed being a Good one. Which is why a Karma flower spawns for Survivor where Hunter has died.

A little mourning flower, last thing left of it- whoever is in charge of the world/Karma letting us know that the Hunter did Good, even if it didn't succeed. It tried its best. That's what matters.

Therefore, my interpretation of the Throne/the gardening ending is that the Throne is essentially a multidimensional mass grave (Throne of Rotted Corpses, if you will)- because the Prince remembers everyone his domain and he swallows- the souls of everything is right there. Beneath our feet, all around us. Contained within his body, if you can call it that.

Maybe the will he mentions isn't something grand outside of all realities, but it's the millions of wills he has supressed within as a result of the expansion.

At some point, he can't keep them contained anymore. Eventually, they break free and sprout as mourning flowers, little flags waving ,,I was here. I lived and will again.".

This wasn't a triple affirmitive. (also pretty sure the biggest karma flower sprouting from the Prince's face is his own mourning flower. he's dead asf. it's probably there because he meant well? this doesn't really add up actually hmm..)

[I like the narrative that nothing of the supernatural is outright evil. There is neutrality- just Being- and then there's goodness. I believe the Void is kind. The religion of the Ancients in its purest form is kindness and freedom. Karma is fairness or a statement. The reality and its ripples just Exist. Sufferings are real though and they are the closest thing this world gets to evil.]

• It's either that ☝ or something something, outside power in the form of the karmic balance of the worlds gut punching the Prince for overstepping the Rot's placement within it.

• On the theme of eyes...

They appear continuosly. Obviously, the Watcher itself. The squeaky toy in Spinning Top's room, her vase has eye patterns as well. Iterators, only having eyes on their faces. I could swear I've seen graffiti that were just eyes. Scavenger Disciples blind themselves. Ancients' masks don't seem to have eyeholes. This room in Infested Wastes is an eye.

Vision, as a means of knowing where to go. Neither Spin or Prince have eyes (that white thang is not an eye and I will die on this hill, it's his god given Stamens). Spin needed our help (unconscious help, we didn't help her directly from own conscious activity). And Prince screwed himself over not really seeing what he's doing (yet Watcher somehow comes out of that unscathed - if it's Karma's ,,vangeance"/it coming back to bite at the one who's at fault, I find it strange that Watcher just gets to watch).

I don't really know how to formate this thought honestly, but my point here is supposed to be something along the lines of ,,If Watcher's whole things are eyes and they are a repeating pattern for us, could we end up with a third eye or something by the end of this story?"

• Idk, I've seen some people talk about this and it smells of a potential discourse: my take on Prince's age is that it either doesn't matter or he's been both.

Doesn't matter: if this consciousness is recycled from a multitude of things, with possibly a Starcatcher (Iterator-esque biomachine, different directive) in the forefront, then this mix is more reborn altered than outright born for the first time + it's partly robot and who the hell is gonna call a toaster or Alexa or whatever a Minor.

Been both (the one I like better): when we meet him he is indeed a child (or fetus if we are talking about his first two dialogues as well), but he does grow up during the whole quest to infect the world. He tells the player during the fifth meeting that it has been eons.

At the end when all the Karma flowers bloom, he's ancient. Spent his whole life off-brand iterating and converting in a dark room without anyone but the Watcher ever checking in on him. I wouldn't call his relationship with the Watcher a childish attachment, more like conditioned by circumstance.

I like this one because it feels like a good parallel to Spinning Top.

She's been stuck in her childish mindset for who knows how long and had to put conscious effort into growing up after the Watcher indirectly influences her towards it. She grows and then passes peacefully; Watcher lingers stuck in childishness.

The Prince grows up in a rather linear way. We see him grow up as a flowerbud, hatched and then see him go as a tired aged thing. He evolves effortlessly, without the Watcher really interfering with That process. He grows and then passes perhaps in pain, prematurely; Watcher lingers again, but now perhaps getting the message it's time to grow up, too.

The Watcher is necessary for Spinning Top's ending but not her beginning, and it is necessary for the Prince's beginning but not his ending (he brought that on himself tbh).

• I'll say, I find it very important that the Prince- despite what he is- is soft spoken (can hear it in his ,,voicelines" - he has a whispery, a bit hissy, quality to his mumbling- he sounds like he's smiling, too, but that just might be me), calm and kind to the Watcher.

It is a good parallel to Spinning Top. She doesn't affect the physical world and she's a fucking brat (I adore her, but good god.). He intends to take over the world, but he's also on par with Moon when it comes to kindness to the player (with the patience and the ,,health" to withstand a slug running around and getting hit by it).

I'd even assume he'd be polite and sweet to other sapient beings, too, but with the twist that his perception of what is ,,morally good" is a bit broken (aka what he says when the player dies to the proto rot underneath his feet).

But what is even more important to me is what this approach-goodness of his means when combined with the Watcher's character.

Watcher is a shy, lonely soul searching for a companion in the sordid world. Aaand he's willing to sacrifice everything that he is and Then even what isn't his to obtain and retain these relationships. He's desperate to have them. They've lost their family and depending on how you've played the campaign, most likely they've recently lost Spinning Top, too.

And then here comes this flowery starshine of a sapient turbo cancer who Is, by all accounts, a solid friend. As in he cares about the little creature's comfort, reassures them they are safe with him, makes the effort not to shower them in his issues. He doesn't press on the Watcher to infect more regions, he's Thankful to them for what they already have done. You could say he really does love them.

If Watcher stopped doing this for him, whether he'd get mad or venomous, only sad or dejected, wouldn't be fazed at all, that we can't really know, but what is interesting is that this possibility can never even come up to consideration.

Because Watcher is so damn desperate to keep him here as a friend that they are willing to damn multiple worlds for it. Even though he never asks for it. They just assume they Have to. That there is nothing else to do, especially with Spin gone, but make the Prince happy and satisfied with them. [this I get from the fact that we as the players don't have anything else to really do. *eventually* we will turn to Prince if we want to progress in something solid. our relationship to him as the story's device can be put on Watcher with a paint job of its emotional desire for connection.]

And I like that as a commentary on the fact that relationships shouldn't be the number 1 priority of a person, because this is what it looks like (highlighted by the extreme situation of There Is Decay Everywhere Now) & as a commentary on that even if a person is genuinely kind and sweet, it doesn't mean staying friends with them is the right decision. Goals of a person matter too and if they should be at odds with one's own priorities/values in life, a seperation is in place.

• Here's a stupid Princey drawing.

Dandelions cover by Disco Face fr fr.

I'm still working on getting the gardening ending for myself, but I've been collecting some ponderings I'd like to write down. So:

A congregate of thoughts on Watcher lore (as of now):

• I really like that this DLC is right now three kids in a spiritual trenchcoat. None of them is normal. I bet they'd all be friends if they met.

• I really like the color coding of these 3, as for what I've assumed regarding to colors' symbolism in this world: - Black stands for Nirvāṇa, the Void, being outside of the reincarnation cycle - Gold/yellow stands for holiness, ascension - Blue/purple stands for damnation/stagnation - White stands for Saṃsāra, the cycle of reincarnation, the physical world (the Watcher lingers in the physical world, unwilling to leave it)

On the account of blue and yellow being on opposing sides on the color wheel, I'd also gander a guess that the Rot and the Void don't entirely agree with each other/may be on opposing sides.

• Therefore, I don't think the gardening ending was exactly what the Rot Prince wanted to achieve, supported by his last two dialogues with the Watcher:

[Greeting lines]. As with all great deeds, my work is not without great challenge. It has taken eons and the light fades. The paths close and change. I can almost feel... a will... at odds with my own.

[Greeting lines]. Forgive me if I go on! You have done so much for me, I will not burden you with my troubles. Please, rest here as long as you wish. You are always safe here, my dear friend. You, who were there for me.

My guess is that the content that hasn't dropped yet will introduce either a new character/s in a sort of godly roles, or will explain the powers playing behind the wheel flowers and the Cycle.

• A light at the end of the tunnel (or something white/bright with a way to it?) is mentioned by both Spinning Top (at her ending) and the Prince (both as a flowerbud and in that first paragraph I copied up there).

I don't know what to do with this yet, I just found it interesting. Something something the white light within the Void Sea in the original game?

• ,,Outer Rim...?"

The Buddhist cosmology says the world is made out of 9 mountains (Mount Sumeru [the axis mundi], 7 golden mountain ranges and 1 outermost iron mountain range [maybe the withered buildings here are made of rusted iron, buried in stardust]) and 8 seas (7 freshwater and 1 saltwater), with 4 continents within the salt sea who's inhabitants each have a little something extra (except the South I guess, that's where *we* are. well apparently all Buddhas appear here actually, so you know. that's a something).

For an interesting example, the north continent called Uttarakuru is said to house the wealthy, owning no private property, where their food grows by itself and they live in the skies (Iterator cities, nudge nudge).

The name of this region could point to the Buddhist cosmological map being a physical fact for this world. I'd like to think that the dimension hopping aspect to the Watcher's worming through the space-time is at least limited to 4 continents(/realities?).

Also a fan fact: in Chinese mythology it is said the waters flow and stars fall slowly, because a water god with a bad tamper, Gònggōng, broke one of the pillars supporting the sky. Combining this fun nugget with the established lore in a pearl that everything is once eaten away by the Void down below, I'd say it is safe to assume on 89% that the dust mentioned in that pearl comes from the heaven itself and creates a sort of a cycle of the physical matter.

Suppose stardust is what creates everything, powers everything (just as is said in science). Suppose the Starcatchers are superstructures made for conversion of it into desired forms, these ones perhaps in the West of the world specifically, because of their circular shape.

(Meaning Signal Spires are perhaps of the South, while original game- aka Pebbles and Moon- are in the North of this world.)

• I find it fascinating and validating that Spinning Top needed some sort of an Embrace from one of the Five Urges/Hindrances (the third one, companionship) to be able to pass on.

It points to my idea of what the religion is Really supposed to be about: the Five Urges are what they are- urges- and they cannot run rampant. The point isn't to absolutely *eradicate* violence, pleasure, companionship, hunger and desire to live from oneself. The point is to be able to control these things and not cling on to them.

Because if one clings on to something, they stagnate, they cannot progress, they rot and they *fear* losing the something more than they can truly enjoy it or they get far too lost in it to feel it right anymore. To cling on to life means being afraid of taking risks, trying something new and really Living.

But now that doesn't mean going for the opposite is the correct way to go about it- that still creates a desire, a clinging- an urge for death is just as good as urge for life. It binds. It's extremism without careful consideration for what is really the best to do, feel and think in any given situation.

(This goes for love, too, it is GOOD to love, but going too far becomes unhealthy obsession instead of love. Going the other way results in hatred, another utterly useless and harmful thing to harbor. Same as indifference - that is stagnation again, that isn't picking up something, working with it to move forward. Love is a forward motion that is required, but cannot be overdone because as so it would be bastardized into something else, possessive and caging.)

Spinning Top could move on only when she knew that the flipside of the Third Urge- a sickening loneliness- wasn't something to fear anymore.

• Yeah, I don't think we can count on backgrounds too much when it comes to size calculating on the basis that they are probably shaped around gameplay. Specifically thinking about how the spinning top toy changes sizes between it's in-game model and the art. When it comes to Ancients, I'd say the best one can do is do what feels right.

• The Rot Prince is some sort of a boosted up Preta, I swear to heavens. Hungry guy. Maybe the Rot as a whole is a Preta stand in, just way more physical.

• Can't believe my ,,Respawning is real" headcanon has been officially given the thumbs down... The *Strand* Theory is real. (Even though DP is separate from the Watcher, this at least explains why Artificer didn't just go back to the last shelter she slept in when her cubs were still with her. They went to a different strand, where a different Artificer managed the situation better and we are stuck in this reality without them.) (We see them in her Void ending either because they are the one thing her heart wishes for [the Void gives comfort to those who are passing, as far as I am concerned], or because the Void is where all the reality strands and times coincide into one another.)

• On that note, no Fucking wonder the Ancients wanna bail - we don't really know to what extend they were aware of reality's unwounding nature, but assuming it is Pretty Thorough, I too wouldn't wanna live with the knowledge that in one reality I might've died on my loved ones, leaving them broken, while in the other everything is just fine and dandy.

The endless wondering of ,,Did I die in a different reality at any point in my life? Did I leave these people I love behind to hurt, alone, and I can't do anything to help them? I can never know, I'm not allowed to comprehend..." would slowly kill anyone with a heart, I think.

• I wonder if the Prince is a puppet/the Rot made itself a puppet, - because the Starcatchers were Iterator-esque biomechanications with a different directive than iterating on the Big Problem and this is a consumed Starcatcher (something about its budding dialogue feels to me like there was a sense of a Self beforehand that was drowned out by the Rot and then was pulled forward again with additions) - because the Rot is at the edge of the universe (humming a tune) where a messed up slugcat decided to start ripping holes in the reality, therefore connecting different strands including to places where the Rot already existed as a plague upon Some Iterator, which gave spark to sapience and inspiration to a new mind

• The new karma set is definitely a droplet and the ripples it leaves behind. Makes sense, too, there's more ,,movement" within it the more Spinning Top yanks the Watcher around in time-space (accidentally, I'd guess. or the ,,blame" is more on Watcher *somehow*), messing up their physical existence more and more.

Maybe the karma symbols or the imagery itself have something to do with a combination of an axis mundi and the strand form of existence.

Something about there being a main timeline in which each action and decision creates a new ripple, a new strand.

• I wonder if the Watcher could've come across Spinning Top and effectively latch on/follow her, - because they were already dead/echoed (the dream sequence upon reaching the final karma level could mean they did go to the Void Sea and swam pretty deep but turned back and that resulted in Echo-ification? then again why can a lizard bite me. Spinny's laughing at me for it. Goddammit.) - because of their nature as someone who's so damn hesitant about things, who hangs in the backlines, only observes and learns. Very Echo-esque personality - because of their desire to have someone there

• Just realized that we have a canonical design for Spinning Top's mask, hot damn. ,,How do children's masks look like?" answered.

I don't know why, that kind of creeps me out.

• The portals existing outside of us are made by Spinning Top, I'm pretty sure. She's always over them.

Is it normal for Echoes to leave tears like that? I think if the Rot Prince met her and knew she's the one who started this whole journey that resulted in him coming to exist as a consciousness and to bloom, he'd see her as a friend the same way he sees the Watcher.

• I wonder if his approach to the Rot Triple Affirmitive is ,,it's going to get worse before it gets better". He has suffered, too- while he normally speaks gently, calmly, orderly, when he is a flowerbud he seems frantic to me. Like someone breathing through death before getting better.

• Is the concept of the Rot Prince created for the first time in all existences' or is he a repeating pattern, too? The Rot in the least seems to be a pattern, because of what Spinning Top says when we meet her in one of the original regions, eaten through by the Rot.

,,You shouldn't have come here. It's too far." Does that refer to this strand's/ripple's distance from the axis mundi/the water drop creating all these realities? The further out the little wave carries out, growing smaller and weaker, the more rotten through it is? Is it because still water is stagnation, just as the Rot is?

So the Cycle is change and movement, life and love, that exists in a hurtful matter not out of its design, but because it has to contend with absolute stillness/stagnation/the Rot? Or it's all part of the same system, truly designed like this?

Could a Mass Ascension be seen as an escape plan from a ripple growing old? Man...

• A quick attempt at illustrating the previous thought:

Some Pepe Silvia level nonsense going on here.

[anika-ann]

Walk Me Home Tonight (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, songfic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 4700

Summary: Sometimes it’s hard to be in a celebratory mood when all you can think of is that life sucks and that being left on your own to drown your sorrows is for the best.

Sometimes people who care about you know better than yourself and come crashing your party of one.

Sometimes, despite the popular belief, you do realize how lucky you are having been introduced to Steve Rogers.

Warnings: mention of blood and violence and death, mention of alcohol, angst, fluff and language

A/N: P!nk’s Walk Me Home just does something to me, alright? Music video included - it’s soooo beautiful.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

You stared at the amber liquid, lazily making it roll in the glass with idle motions of your wrist. It reflected the rather soft lights of the bar, an exquisite game of colour you found fascinating enough to dull your mind and muffle the noise of the party.

It wasn’t that you were a party pooper, not usually anyway; just… the timing wasn’t ideal.

Of course, Sharon could hardly move her birthday to make it more convenient for you, less so a party her colleagues had decided to throw for her. You knew Agent Carter for quite some time now; she had joined SHIELD about the same time as you, going through the same tough training. Except unlike you – and initially without your knowledge – she had an image to live up to.

You might even call her a friend, your chest bursting in pride for her when her hard work had finally borne some fruit and she had been promoted to an assistant director of the intelligence agency. Among other things, it earned her a lot of new potential friends.

You were hardly acting like one tonight, much to your own annoyance. But for some reason, you found it difficult to leave your momentary emotional baggage at the doorstep, slipping it off as easily as your coat. You had wished her all the best, conversed for a tiny bit and then happily made space for others, for the forming line of guests waiting to celebrate with her as well.

Then you retreated to your spot at the bar, possibly annoying the bartender, who would have been more delighted seeing some heavier drinker occupying your seat, tipping generously, instead of having you nursing each glass of alcohol for about two hours.

You weren’t even sure why you were still here; you had given up on the attempt on small talk with anyone, apparently unwittingly chasing away any potential company. And here you thought misery did love company – perhaps you were wrong, at least when it came to birthday parties of gorgeous women loved by everyone. You might as well pack up your bottom and sulk at home.

You were stubbornly shushing the voice in the back of your skull, whispering about knowing precisely why you remained in your seat; about feeling less alone here, despite being a literal loner in a crowd.

You downed the rest of the bitter scotch, basking in the burn which it left on its way down your throat, your eyelids slipping shut in content, the noise in your brain falling silent completely for few blissful moments.

“Party of one?” a male voice gently asked, the tinniest note of teasing in it and while your heart skipped a startled beat at being addressed, you felt the burn in your throat slip lower, warming your chest and causing the corners of your mouth turn up just a fraction.

 There's something in the way you roll your eyes Takes me back to a better time When I saw everything is good But now you're the only thing that's good

 “Felt like crashing it?” you hummed in response, side-eyeing the intruder and found a pair of cerulean eyes staring back. He blindly waved off the eager bartender who was about to offer him a drink.

Ah, poor guy. No tips for him tonight.

“Well, I didn’t get an invitation. Looks like crashing was my only option.”

You sighed tiredly despite Steve’s kind teasing. Tonight was just… so exhausting. Tonight. Today. This week. Gah, this whole month. This fucking year--- okay, maybe you were exaggerating, because you were simply crossing the line, moving from relaxed buzzed drunk to a miserable one.

Battling with yourself, arguing whether you should send him to hell – nicely, because Steve was nothing but kind, he was always so kind, goddammit, gentle humour spiced with the ability to become an utter troll, still benign though, that was why you usually enjoyed his company so much after all-… – or call it a night.

Or should you order another drink? Was there a point? You might cross the line to a clingy drunk eventually and you weren’t certain that was a good idea.

It was probably about as good of an idea as coming to a party despite feeling like shit on an emotional roller-coaster, dangerously inclining towards a very bad mood to put it mildly.

You tilted your head to side as you looked at Steve properly, tight blue shirt flattering his supersoldier frame, black pants with desperately needed leather belt considering his thin waist, his blonde hair a mess, gaze fixed on you, observing. Always observing to read people, to anticipate behaviour, evaluate the threat; sometimes simply to be considerate, to… to be compassionate.

Dammit, Steve.

“Must have got lost in the mail then,” you said eventually, offering a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” he shrugged it off, the curve of his lips more distinct than yours. As if he was offering to cheer you up. Sweet, but possibly vain effort tonight. Sometimes, things simply piled up and there was no escape. Such was the fate of a government agent. And human, for that matter. “Doesn’t look like much fun and I think it’s about to end anyway.”

“I guess…”

 Tryna stand up on my own two feet This conversation ain't comin' easily And darling, I know it's getting late So what do you say we leave this place?

 This time, Steve actually made an eye contact with the bartender, who eagerly rushed to him at instant. His excited expression fell when he noticed you were pulling out your wallet to close your tab. You didn’t have the strength to shoot him an apologetic smile.

Steve’s eyes were on you the whole time, you could feel them, and you wondered why. Until he spoke again, as soon as the other man left.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home,” he offered gentlemanly, coaxing you into saying yes, possibly unaware of the effect which such tone had on people.

Or perhaps he knew, using exactly that when he was trying to talk someone down, to calm them, gain their trust. The joke was on him, because it was a vain effort; you trusted him fully already. Surely, he knew that.

Right?

Trust was the solid base the team of Avengers needed and since you somehow found yourself with them, it involved you too. The team stood and fell on trust and mutual respect. But it meant so much more – they were friends. They cared about each other, about their well-being.

Right now, Steve was being a good friend and a good teammate.

And you were being exactly that too when you turned his kind proposition down.

“No, it’s fine. There are still some people who are actually able to speak coherently with you. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be okay.”

“It’s three in the morning,” he pointed out, as if admonishing you for not noticing. Your eyebrow rose deliberately.

“…and?”

“And I’d feel better if you weren’t walking the streets alone,” he replied easily, ignoring the hint of snark in your comeback as you made your way to the coat-stand.

Still walking on the line of miserable and pleasantly buzzed, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mean to him for such patronizing approach. He had been raised this way and despite his open mind and admirable respect to women, he slipped sometimes.

“Steve, I’m a SHIELD agent basically turned Avenger. I can take care of my-“

“But you don’t have to. And-” He gestured subtly back towards the bar and a metaphorical lightbulb flickered above your head.

Not patronizing then, god forbid chauvinist; Peggy Carter would rise from the death to beat him with his own shield, with Natasha’s enthusiastic help, if he was showing any sign of aforementioned qualities and he was well-aware of that.

Just mother-henning then, the way Steve excelled at.

It brought the first honest smile of the night to your lips. You made sure to face him so he could see how wholesome his company was for you.

“I’m not too drunk, Steve. I had like two glasses of scotch,” you assured him, gently brushing his forearm before reaching for your coat and scarf. “And two beers.”

“I know,” he stated, stealing your coat only to hold it out for you to slip into it.

God, the woman who would once win his heart was about to be one lucky bitch.

Jim has never done this for me, flashed through your mind and you instantly shushed the whining voice in your head. Instead, you went over what he just said, blinking in surprise.

Huh? He… knew?

“I… might have kept an eye on you,” he admitted tentatively, the tips of his fingers brushing your shoulder before retreating and letting you to cocoon in the fabric.

“Why?”

Why would he keep an eye on you? Sure, teammates and friends and all that, but for some reason, you doubted he kept an eye on Tony, the only other Avenger (beside Steve, not Steve and you, you don’t count, a voice hissed in your mind and you winced) who attended the party, not being on any mission at the moment.

Why did Steve feel like you needed a chaperone?

No, that was too harsh of a word for him, you were certain his intentions were everything but malicious, but… why?

 Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

 The genuine wonder must have been audible in your voice, much like your shock must have been clear in your expression, because Steve seemed sheepish all of sudden, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I mean, I know that you probably wouldn’t-“ he started, only to grimace. “It’s not that I think you’re an alcoholic! It’s just that... you--- and it’s only been-…“

-four days since you got dumped, you finished the unspoken sentence and tried your best to ignore the cold seeping into your bones at the reminder.

One of the reasons why you had been in a sour mood and deciding to drink alone. Your amazing asshole of a boyfriend had dumped you, metaphorically kicking you while you had already been down. Lovely.

“-I was worried. But you didn’t look like you were interested in having company, I didn’t want to be a bother and-“

You pulled Steve out of his misery by placing a hand over his forearm, which stopped the words spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.

He was actually being very sweet and thoughtful. It kinda made you feel bad, because… you weren’t looking for dragging someone down with you. As it was, he had his own reasons to not be happy about partying tonight, but feeling like he had to keep an eye on you probably didn’t help to lift his spirits.

“-and you had to spend some time with the woman of the hour,” you finished instead of him slowly, hoping you sounded at least half as thoughtful as he did and that you didn’t appear to be the greatest bitch, stealing attention from Sharon. “That’s understandable, Steve. It is her birthday party and I’m the one being antisocial.”

You bit down your lip, lowering your gaze, because the infamous worried wrinkle appeared on Steve’s forehead and you just knew he was about to protest and you… honestly felt bad about your behaviour and the welcoming colour of his eyes was not helping to make you feel any better, because of course he probably thought it was perfectly normal to look out for you instead of allowing himself to enjoy the night and- ugh.

“You… you shouldn’t have to look out for me. Your attention could have been fully on the birthday girl.”

Naturally, Steve Rogers basically shrugged it off. Covering your hand on him with his large palm, he slouched to look into your eyes once more. Insistent bastard, no doubt aware of your inability to say no to his amiable face.

“That’s what friends are for. Now, can I walk you home?”

You shook your head with a sad smile, rising your gaze towards the ceiling, hoping it came out as an exasperation at his stubbornness and not as it truly was – you in fact attempting to keep your tears at bay, because, miserable drunk, dumped four days ago apart from other things and there he was, asshole perfect, Steve fucking Rogers, gentleman and friend extraordinaire, caring for your well-being more than Jim ever had.

A twinkle appeared in his eye when he recognized he won and you chuckled, sealing his victory out loud.

“Yes, Steve. You can walk me home. It’s conveniently located on the way to yours.”

He smirked when he shrugged on his own coat. “Happy coincidences…”

 There's something in the way I wanna cry That makes me think we'll make it out alive So come on and show me how we're good I think that we could do some good, mhm

 Once you left the bar, silence fell on you, feeling heavy as did the cold November air.

Heavy and awkward. While you could tell with certainty you were barely affected by the alcohol you had drunk, your steps were wobbly, knees shaky as if you were a baby horse trying to stand up for the first time.

Steve walked by your side, majestic in his thigh-length coat, hands snugged in its pockets only halfway as if he was waiting for you needing his support. It irritated you as much as it warmed your heart.

On top of everything, you would swear every lone person you met stared at you, staring you up and down until they seemed to register Steve’s imposing frame and quickly went back to their business. It annoyed you to no end; it was just proving Steve’s point that you shouldn’t walk the streets alone at such hour, government agent or not.

“I would have been fine, you know,” you hummed, cautiously breaking the relative quiet.

It was never truly quiet in New York City, only rush hours alternating with calmer ones. You didn’t mind it; you enjoyed the city. Sometimes quiet meant that thoughts won the opportunity to become too loud; tonight, for some reason, despite the silence, Steve prevented that ever since he joined you.

It dawned to you then, how ungrateful you sounded and you quickly added “But thanks.” –  a whisper full of honesty.

“Uh-huh.”

Perhaps the silence weighted so much because your mood wasn’t the only cause of it.

Steve was showing you that he worried; surely, you could as well? Because you did, worry about him that was.

“…are you? Okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked distractedly, but you could hear the frown on his face, the image of his nose scrunched in confusion painted in front of your eyes even without looking at him.

“Just… today-” you nudged him once more and vaguely eyed your watch only to be reminded that ‘today’ was a confusing term. “Or, more like, yesterday…”

A sharp inhale was drawn at your side and you could sense as he started closing off, putting up his walls so no one would catch a scent of his weakness. You hated when he tried to do that. You would have thought you were past that. You liked to consider you two friends at least.

Tonight was simply not your night. Of either of you, apparently.

“What about it-?“

You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Were you truly such a crappy company, an insensitive friend or was there something sorrowful and cranky in the air, preventing your communication channels from tuning to the same frequency?

You were aware what the day meant for him – another painful reminder of what he had lost with crashing the plane in the forties only to wake up in a new millennium.

Though this particular loss – of his mother – haunted him even back in what some people called his days. It was an utter non-sense. Steve belonged there as much as he belonged here. He was brave enough to try and stubborn enough to succeed in fitting in.

“Nothing, I guess,” you sighed once more, this time rolling your eyes. “…Mr. Nothing Can Touch Me.”

The wry nickname hung in the air for a while, the faint noise of the night city washing over your pair. When Steve broke it again, there was a barely audible crack in his voice.

“I… I’m okay. I think. I… should be. It’s been so long. Decades,” he mused, turning his gaze to the sky. His eyes glistened and if you didn’t know him, hadn’t witnessed his walls lowering before, you would have thought it was just the streetlights reflecting.

You knew better. Tentatively, your fingers brushed his, not remembering when his hands had left his pockets. You were grateful for it now, especially when he didn’t retrieve from your touch instantly.

“Not for you,” you pointed out quietly, rewarded by the softest squeeze of his warm hand.

The heaviness and tension you had felt before resolved with the gesture. Something finally fell into place and you were almost you again and he was almost him.

Two figures, carrying their griefcases, but functioning and… harmonizing once more.

“How did you know?”

“That’s what friends are for, Steve,” you echoed his earlier words, sending a tiny smile his way, meeting his glassy gaze. “They remember important dates, good or bad.”

“No one else did. Not that I can actually hold it against Buck, of course... but no one… you…” his voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought – or perhaps he had never truly directed it to the station in the first place.

Your shoulders moved a fraction, a hint of a shrug-off. His hand wrapped around yours tighter in silent appreciation, not showing any sign of intending to let go.

And you were alright with that. More than alright.

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

His presence was always immense, overwhelming even; yet so comfortable you didn’t have the slightest problem with opening your heart to him, offering it to him even when it was bleeding. And now, finally tuned together, it was no different.

You bared your heart to him, even if it hurt.

“She didn’t make it,” you whispered, voice pained in the dead of the night and he didn’t react, letting you to gather strength to elaborate. You cleared your throat as the lump grew in it.  “Kayla, one of the kids… from last week’s mission. I found out yesterday… she-she didn’t make it, she had too many injuries. Word is that perhaps it was even a blessing. A relief.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve repented, his grip growing stronger just a fraction, enough to make your chest and eyes burn.

“Yeah, so am I.”

Whatever he heard in your voice, it caused his fingers twitch in your hand, his footsteps slowing down. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Wasn’t it? If I was faster, if I-“

Steve stopped in his tracks completely, pulling at your hand to make you do the same and face him.

You closed your eyes when his blue ones met them, unable to stand the urgency in them. His free hand curled around your shoulder, caressing in attempt at comfort.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that to yourself.” Hypocrite, you threw back at him in your mind, stubbornly keeping your eyelids shut, simply knowing that if you saw the sincerity in his gaze in addition to the fervour he spoke with, you might actually believe him. “You did your best. I know that, Nat and Buck know, everyone does. A monster you helped to put behind bars hurt the kids. Not you. You saved so many lives.”

You shook your head with a sigh, staring straight ahead as you turned on your heels and continued your path. Steve, never letting go of your hand, followed reluctantly.

“Sometimes I think he might have been right, you know?”

Peripherally, you saw him frown again and you cursed yourself for drinking – it untangled your tongue and his stupid face made your spill your guts to him, vomit emotion. You weren’t too secretive about your feelings most of the time, but damn, you hated how alcohol pushed your boundaries of sharing them.

“… Jim. He said that maybe I should give it up. That I’m just running alongside you, heroes, pretending to be one of you, but in the end, I’m not even close to being as good-“

Steve’s feet took roots in the ground, his steely grip forcing you to stop – as long as you wanted to keep your hand attached, which yeah, you kinda did.

“I feel like taking a detour now,” he muttered darkly and for a short moment, confusion was everything you felt, blissfully overtaking the anger, the sorrow, the helplessness and the feeling of utter uselessness.

“Huh?”

“Where does Jim live?” Steve spitted out the name venomously and you couldn’t help the wave of affection washing over you. Affection towards this treasure of a man who apparently wanted to punch another human being because it offended his friend. “He has no business saying something like that. Especially if his bullshit actually affects you-”

“Steve, he wasn’t wrong, I’m just-“ you sputtered, caught off guard when you registered the fire in his glare.

“We all make mistakes. But that’s beside the point, because you didn’t even make any that day. I read the report, and I know you, you put everything you got and more into the rescue mission. How can he-“ he hissed, literally taking a calming breath as both of his hands balled into fist.

Well, one of them only nearly, since it was still holding yours. It actually stung a bit, the bones in your hand close to grinding against each other.

“-I haven’t met him many times, but if he said that instead of comforting you after an incredibly draining mission, then I’m glad that that asshole is gone from your life. … though I would still appreciate his address.”

Blinking away the few stray tears that welled up, you forced a smile as Steve’s strict glare found yours. It felt good, seeing his indignation; having someone else exasperated on how Jim had reacted. He should have given you a hug and hold you tight; that was what you would wish for. Instead, he told you to stop complaining and when you accused him of not supporting you, he called you a whiny bitch who should make up her damn mind and broke things off.

You deeply appreciated Steve’s display of chivalry, hell, you half-considered giving away the address just so Jim would hear someone else agreeing with you, but you were honestly just tired. And you had a feeling Steve wouldn’t stay only at words and seeing any more blood, any more aggression would have been too much for you tonight.

Tonight, you… you needed serenity and comfort.

“…thank you. That… that means a lot. But… maybe just walk me home? Please? Could you walk me home, Steve?” you pleaded softly, barely audible, not caring it sounded like weeping of a needy child.

Unbeknownst to you, that was the last thing you resembled in Steve’s eyes. Your imploring gaze, vulnerable and open, it moved something inside him, his anger silenced for the moment, leaving him defenceless, unable to say no. Not that he had an intention to do so. He always had trouble saying no to you.

So he forced his fists to relax, running his thumb over the back of your hand and whispered the only word that made sense.

“Always.”

You settled back to the comfortable silence after that.

 Walk me home in the dead of night 'Cause I can't be alone with all that's on my mind Say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on

 You reached the Tower hand in hand.

Neither of you released the other. Not during the elevator ride, not when you walked the halls lined with doors leading to each’s private quarters.

You were still holding onto each other when you came to a stop in front of your door; rest assured, Steve Rogers would lead you right to your door even if his was only at the end of the very same corridor.

Standing nearly chest to chest, his eyes bored into yours with seriousness that surprised you.

“For the record, you do a great deal of good,” he reassured you, saying it as if he truly meant it. It tugged at your heart, sweet and bitter. “You’re amazing and you’re the most authentic of all of us. I admire you.”

That claim caused you to chuckle. Now he was laying it on a bit thick, downright exaggerating.

“You admire me? Steve, that’s really nice of you to say, but don’t be ridi-“

Your words died in your throat when his large palm splayed over your cheek, cradling it gently. When the paddle of his thumb swiped over your other cheek, soft smile playing on his lips, his irises bright with a promise, time seemingly stopped along with your heart.

“And you’re a great friend to the whole team, a wonderful person. Do me a favour and finally learn to accept a compliment,” he asked of you in hushed voice, the electric blue and green of his eyes locking you in. “If he didn’t praise you enough for you to get used to it, he was doing something wrong.”

You gulped, a silly association with the word ‘praise’ allowing you to break from the cage of his gaze that had previously had your mind gone blank.

“I’m not a dog to be praised, Steve…”

One corner of his lips – and when did they got so close anyway? – twitched. And then a tender kiss landed on your forehead, just the softest brush of lips against your skin. The gesture, utterly incomprehensible for you, had your eyelids flutter shut.

“I’m very much aware. Believe me, doll, I know. Thank you for letting me walk you home.”

You only nodded at the ridiculous statement – why was he thanking you? – too perplexed at the fact his lips had made contact with your skin. When did you cross the line towards the delusional drunk?

His fingertips caressed your face as he let go, wishing you to have a good night. Too baffled, you were unable to respond until he had already made his way to his door and you suddenly missed the warmth of his presence.

Breaking free from your haze, you acted on impulse, apparently startling him when you called his name out of blue so urgently.

“Steve!”

Whipping his head around to look at you, you felt your heart jump into your throat.

“Uh… are you ready to go to bed or… or maybe… would you like to watch a movie or something?” With me?

I don’t think I’m ready to be alone. Ready to be without you.

Even from the distance, you would swear you saw his lips spread in a slow honey-sweet smile.

“I think I’d like that,” he called out lowly. “Ten minutes? I’ll get the blankets. You pick the movie.”

“See you in ten then.”

You pretended that your heart didn’t flutter, sending a wave of familiar tingle through your chest and to your fingers, as you slipped inside your room with your mouth curled up in a content smile.

 Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong There is so much wrong There is so much wrong going on outside

*✧･ Bonus *✧･

If Tony found them two and half hour later, closing credits rolling, the pair curled up and cuddling on the couch, you fast asleep in Steve’s arms, and he noticed that the supersoldier was in fact only faking to avoid an interrogation from the Ironman himself, he didn’t mention it. He just whispered to FRIDAY to turn off the TV and turn off the dimmed lights completely.

He hoped Rogers would treat you the way you deserved, unlike the man who now had farts announcing a received e-mail or texts, unable to change it, and a laptop turning on randomly, dead-pale children staring at him from the screen with hollow eyes and in clothes dripping water. Tony would hate to have to hack more tech again just to avenge your broken heart without your knowledge any time soon.

He’d rather suffer watching the two of his friends being disgustingly sweet on each other.

Probably.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

S.R. masterlist

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

Silent thanks to the person who came up with the word ‘griefcase’ as an alternative to emotional baggage.

Also, I’m pretty sure songfics aren’t supposed to be so long... oops?

Thank you for reading!

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Nineteen: A Psychotic Break

Rated PG

Masterlist

~Oh, she's sweet but a psycho

A little bit psycho

At night she screamin'

"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"

Oh, she's sweet but a Psycho~

"HOW DO YOU KNOW SAM AND DEAN?!" He shouted.

It took effort, but I didn't flinch. I blinked and, slowly, raised that eyebrow again. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I could feel the annoyance rising in his mind.

"Tell ya what," I said, putting on my best 'let's make a deal' face, "I'm a reasonable girl, so if you tell me just one thing, then I'll tell ya anything you want to know."

"Hmmm..." The guy studied me, walking in a circle around my chair and eating his lolli-pop.

Normally, I'd be scared out of my wits. This entity in front of me, whoever he was, was clearly immensely powerful; warping reality on that scale isn't exactly a party trick. Just by looking at the scene around me, I knew this guy wasn't Loki. Loki was never this powerful. The Norse god wasn't capable of a full-on reality shift. As long as you knew it was an illusion, Loki couldn't make his illusions solid. Whoever was talking to me now, however, had made four solid copies of himself. It would take an immense amount of raw power to do something like that. One would think that a being with this much power would scare me more than Loki just on principle.

But he didn't.

For some strange reason, he didn't. There was just something about this guy, quite opposite to the original owner of the face he was wearing, that told me he meant no real harm. I didn't want to mess with any more heads but a quick poke around his emotions told me that this guy was a friend to the Winchesters; he was fond of them actually. A part of him looked up to the Winchesters and another part felt like he owed them something. So, if I was their friend, then this entity wasn't going to harm me.

All mind reading and prior knowledge aside, I just wasn't intimidated by him. Maybe it was the cherry-flavored lolli-pop stuck in his mouth. Or maybe it was the height. I'm not one to talk about being vertically challenged but this guy was no Sam Winchester, that was for sure.

"It's up to you." I shrugged, spreading my hands. "But I want you to know, that I have literal days to sit here and not say a word."

The man chuckled and pulled the lolli-pop from his mouth.

"Well, I'd like you to know that I am very good at getting people to talk." He paused, tilting his head to the side as if thinking about something. "Not as good as Castiel o'course. Now, that guy could make em' sing. Wowie!"

The man didn't seem to be making a threat as much as an observation. I could feel my nose scrunch up with discomfort for thoughts of what Castiel might do to me if he ever found out my secret. Would he torture me?

I pushed the thought away and wiped the discomfort from my face, replacing it with a smirk. Now was not the time for grim thoughts.

"I think you'll find that I have an extraordinary talent for saying 'no'," I said, leaning forward and folding my hands together on top of the table.

"You think so?" He challenged, amused by the tiny child that thought she could beat him.

I shrugged.

"It's one of my charms. Besides, are you really gonna torture a kid?" I pointed out. I had to remember to use my physical age as the tool it was.

"Of course not!" The man scoffed, waving a hand, "That's low; even for me."

"Guess we're at a stalemate then!" I sighed.

"Hmm." The man twisted the stick of his Lolli-pop in between his fingers. "What if I were to ask really nicely?"

"I'd say 'no'."

"What if I said 'please'?"

"I'd say 'no'."

"What if I gave you candy?"

"I'd be tempted, then I'd be creeped out, then I'd say 'no'." I grinned at him. The man frowned and pointed his lolli-pop at me accusingly.

"You know, for an eight-year-old or whatever you are, you sure don't act like a kid," He said, I couldn't see past his stupid reflective glasses but I thought he was narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Is this better?" I cleared my throat in a very mature way before giving him my best pouty frown and doe-eyed puppy look.

"Mommy tol' me nevur to take candwy fwum stwangurs," I said in an innocent baby voice.

"Hmmm. It's close, but you're still acting just a smidge too old. Maybe a 'goo-goo ga-ga' would help!" He smirked. He'd turned my own sass against me. This guy was good. I kinda wanted to punch him.

"Nah, I don't think it would work," I said, smiling thinly.

"Aw, that's a shame. So how old are you really?" He asked.

"No."

"C'mon!"

"No."

"Geez, kiddo. You are really good at saying that, aren't you?" He tried.

I didn't answer. I just smiled at him, pleasantly. The man rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," He muttered. He turned to me. "Fine! What's your question, kid?"

I folded my hands in my lap and collected my thoughts. He couldn't read my mind, I knew. I felt like a sphinx of stone. Speaking as calmly as I could, I asked my question.

"Earlier, when I called you Loki, you said 'wrong religion' and you said you'd killed him; I'm guessing for a slice of revenge. So, my question for you is this: What's the name of the one that talks to you when you're all alone?"

The man shifted his weight and tugged at the collar of his stupid police outfit. The color drained from his face and all his muscles tightened. He clenched his lolli-pop in his teeth, pressing so hard that it shattered. Moving to grab another, he stuck quivering hands into his pockets, but he didn't remove them. The man raised an eyebrow at me and forced a laugh. He was uncomfortable, deeply so, and afraid of something. Afraid not of the thing itself, but the memory of it. Something was haunting him. I could see it in his eyes. All that time alone.

Using my power, I pulled on that fear.

"That's it?" He scoffed faking nonchalance. I shrugged, simply.

"That's it."

"Call me the Trickster." The man smirked. He ripped off those stupid sunglasses and leaned into a mocking sort of bow. "Pleasure to meet ya, kiddo! No, I don't answer fan-mail."

I tilted my head and kept smiling at him, raising an eyebrow expectantly. I didn't speak. The man's smirk shrank from his face as he slowly straightened back up, regarding me with a suspicious and cautious expression. His feet shifted him a little further away from me.

"What's that smile for?" He asked.

"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Trickster." I kept my voice that same unsettling calm and pulled harder on his fear, feeling it rise and crowd his mind. The guy calling himself the trickster pretended to think about my statement.

"Yeah, no; I'm pretty sure I did." He said, nodding. I smiled wider.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Your question doesn’t make sense, kid.” His voice was harsh and biting.

“Yes, it does.”

“Well, I sure as Hell don’t understand it.”

“Yes, you do.”

The man forced a laugh, but it only came off as nervous; he shook his finger at me.

“Are you a sphinx or something?”

"Only in the metaphorical sense, and you are not so clever as you think."

The man glared at me, his lip curling into a scowl. He leaned against the table and looked down at me. I'd made a wrong move; he was angry now, but I could still fix this.

"And you are way too clever for a kid."

"You're right." I nodded.

"Ya gonna tell me why?"

I leaned forward, looking him dead in the eyes. I grasped onto his fear and yanked on it as hard as I could without making it too suspicious.

"No."

The man scowled, glaring down at me. I kept my face impassive and stared back up at him. It was a battle of wills. Who would be the first to look away? Who would be the first to break?

Not me.

The man cast his eyes to the ceiling, throwing his hands into the air.

"GABRIEL!" He shouted. "My name is Gabriel!”

“You’re the angel?”

“Archangel and yes. Ya happy?!" He asked bitingly.

I smiled again, this time in a much more childish way.

"Yes."

I released my hold on Gabriel’s emotions and folded my hands in my lap. Gabriel nodded briskly. His stupid police getup disappeared, replaced by his outfit from earlier, a white t-shirt beneath a brown leather jacket, and a pair of standard jeans. Across the table from me, a second metal chair appeared out of nowhere and Gabriel pulled it out and sat. Folding his hands in front of him on the tabletop as I had previously done, he studied my face.

“My turn now, right?” He asked.

“That was the deal,” I replied with a shrug, returning to my usual sarcastic ways.

“Alrighty. You like games, kid?” He spoke the word as if he didn’t believe it was true. “Let’s play a game.”

“Ooh goodie! What game? Is it checkers? I’m great at checkers.” I rubbed my hands together in faux excitement.

“It’s easy,” Gabriel smirked. “You think you’re clever? Let’s see how clever. I ask you up to fifteen questions per topic, and you have to answer them. But, here’s the catch: You can only answer with one word. Got it?”

I was about to open my mouth to speak but, taking a look at the expression on the archangel’s face told me that this confirmation of my understanding was his little game’s first round. I pursed my lips, reforming my reply.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why only one word?” He clarified.

“Yeah.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened a bit and he nodded as if understanding something.

“Well, because I’m a professional liar and I know that it is much harder to tell a lie if you can’t provide details. You lie, you lose. And I don’t have to read your mind to know if you’re lying. So, one word,” He explained. I nodded.

“Ready to play?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, we were sitting in the bunker’s library. Gabriel was smirking at me. The game was on.

It was time to see if I was smarter than a five-billion-year-old cosmic entity. My bets were on no.

***

“Let’s start out easy, shall we? How did you meet the Winchesters?” Gabriel asked.

He watched her face. This game was a test, it was all about the words she chose and the way she said them. The more abstract the child’s answers, the cleverer the kid was. Details of the story she was barely telling registered in the Archangel’s mind; one after the other, like lines on a page.

“Alleyway,” The child answered. Interesting already.

“What happened in the alleyway?”

“Salvaged.” Thinks herself lesser in value.

“From what?”

“Idiots.” Views some as beneath her. Strange.

“Why did the idiots attack you?”

“Inebriated.” Drunk. Why not say drunk? Why choose the word inebriated?

“Were the inebriated idiots all the Winchesters salvaged you from?”

“Abridged.” Another abstract answer. Yes!

“What else was in that alleyway?”

“Suffering.”

“Physical pain or otherwise? Elaborate.”

“All-encompassing.” Hyphenating, clever move.

“Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater! Who said you could hyphenate?” Gabriel spoke accusingly. The girl shrugged with an innocent expression on her face.

“Unstipulated.” Exploiting loopholes; perfect.

“So why was this suffering of yours all-encompassing? What was causing it?” He asked, getting back to the point.

“Shiver.” Not shivering but shiver. Why only say shiver?

“Were you in danger of dying by hypothermia?”

“Agony.”

“But not death?” This question was more directed toward himself, but the girl answered anyway.

“Enduring.” Fierce pain but not death.

“Enduring for what?”

“Victorious.”

“Why do you want to win?”

“Obligation.”

“Obligation to what?”

“Brother.”

“Why?”

“Nevermore,” She said, coolly.

Edger Allen Poe: The Raven: Verse 14; Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”

Time to switch topics.

“Why did the Winchesters help you?”

She shrugged.

“Screamed.” Simple enough. Disappointingly simple.

“Why were you in the alleyway?”

The girl paused.

“Caution.” She said, slowly. Yet she had been attacked. That was an interesting answer.

“Caution for what?”

“Harm.”

Gabriel nodded, that was a little confusing, but he was sure he would figure it out eventually.

“So, were you looking for the Winchesters, or did they find you by chance?”

The girl thought about this for a bit before answering. Just the pause she had taken was interesting, that meant the answer was more complicated than a yes or a no.

“Watching,” She decided.

“Why were you watching?”

“Waiting.” This was getting better by the second.

“Waiting for what?”

She paused again.

“Seek.” There was a secret smile in her eyes when she answered this time. She thinks she has an advantage. Maybe she does…

“Where was this?”

“Michigan.”

“What town?”

It was a trick question; her answer would have to be two words; there was no avoiding it. Only a few minutes into his little game and he was already trying to trip the girl up. That wasn’t cheating or anything; if this kid thought that beating him was going to be a cakewalk then she had another thing coming.

“Two,” She replied.

“The town’s name is two words?” He asked her only to be sure of the context.

“Yes.”

“Okay, answer the question anyway. If I don’t know the town when you give me the word, then you lose.” He challenged. The girl took a second to think.

“Ferry.”

“Was the town Copper Harbor, Michigan?”

The girl grinned.

“Yep.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and nodded, the smirk on his face growing wider. This kid was clever. He was getting excited. For the first time in he didn’t know how many millennia, Gabriel had a decent game to play, and for the first time in just as many years, he finally had someone to play with. For as long as the archangel could remember, he had loved a good game. He had always relished the challenge of solving a brilliant puzzle or capturing an opponent’s king. When chess had been invented, he had become a master. Gabriel adored beating people at things. He loved to best them, yes, but not only that. He loved to teach them something too; to show them how they could be better. But for as long as he had lived, Gabriel had never been given a real challenge. His brothers could have given him one of course, but they were so predictable and they had always been fighting. They had never cared to really play with him; not the sort of game he had wanted. A game of wits. A game of minds.

For someone who had been stuck on Earth as long as he had, things just got so boring. It wasn’t as if he could leave the planet; despite how much he had desperately wanted to. He had to stay and honor the terms of his witness protection agreement with Loki. After a while, no game on the planet could capture his interest or cure his horrid boredom. The only minor distraction he’d had was the humans.

Gabriel thought humans were wonderful things. Though, for a much different reason than his little brother, Castiel, did. Castiel loved humans for their hearts; Gabriel loved them for their minds. Not all of them were entertaining of course; he wasn’t lucky enough for that. The fact of his life was that there was only a disappointing handful of interesting individuals out there to entertain him. The archangel had had a hay-day when he’d met Einstein! (And you wonder why everyone thought he was crazy.) Though it was somewhat fun for him to watch the boring majority of humanity stumble and fall whenever he tried to teach them a lesson, it wasn’t ever enough.

Gabriel had longed for someone, anyone, even a human, he could play a game with. Now, suddenly, here she was. Someone clever, someone who knew what clever meant, someone who actually wanted to play a real game. Gabriel had seen it in her eyes the moment he’d given her the chance to ask him her question. She was bored too. This was exhilarating for her too.

As if all that wasn’t good enough, Gabriel couldn’t read her mind. This fact probably should have concerned him more than it did, but he couldn’t focus on a tiny detail like that. No, this was too good of a chance to pass up. Not even his nephew had been able to give him a decent challenge. Gabriel was too excited to focus on something so seemingly trivial. He was excited, he was high on the thrill of the chase. No one ever said you couldn’t fool an archangel, and Gabriel didn’t know it, but he had been fooled. He had been fooled by a tiny girl with the face of a child.

Another entity as powerful as he was would most likely consider it beneath them to play a game of wits with a child, to be challenged by a child. But not Gabriel. He had been waiting for a chance like this for all of his existence; age simply didn’t matter to him anymore. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t curious, however.

This was his element. This was his obsession. This was his chance. It was time to have some fun.

“Now all that’s out of the way, let’s ask some things about you. What’s your name?”

“Marty.”

“Nice name. How old are you, Marty?”

“Enough.” The girl smirked. She was good. But he was just a little better.

“How many years have you been alive?”

“Fourteen.” That was her answer. There was darkness in his eyes this time. Interesting.

“How many years have you existed?”

A look of fear crossed her face, like a deer caught in headlights. But the look vanished as soon as it came and was replaced with a confident smirk.

“Conservation.” She answered.

Gabriel cursed internally. The law of conservation of energy; energy is neither created nor destroyed. Of course, she would say something like that.

“Okay, miss-smarty-pants. How many years have you been aware of your existence?”

Marty swallowed and looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Nineteen.” Now they were getting somewhere.

“Riddle me this, Batman. How can you be fourteen and nineteen at the same time?”

She glared at her folded hands.

“Trapped.” The way she stressed the word told Gabriel that she was more than resentful of her condition.

“Trapped how? Elaborate,” He demanded.

“Skin,” She said, nearly growling.

“Elaborate,” He repeated, nodding.

“Cage,” Her voice quivered.

“Why?” He leaned forward now, waiting. This would be the crucial response. Marty looked up, there were ghost tears in her eyes.

“Neverland.”

Very interesting. Time for a new line of questions.

“Why did you come with the Winchesters?”

“Invited.”

“Which one invited you?”

She smiled a little.

“Jack.”

“Why did he ask you to come here?”

“Protection.”

“What led him to offer you protection?”

“Mendicant.”

Mendicant. Definition: One who begs. So, did she ask to come or was she invited? And if she was begging, that begs the question of why.

“What were you begging for?”

“Life.”

“Why were you begging for your life.”

Marty tilted her head.

“Guillotine.”

Her use of the word guillotine could be a metaphor, or it could mean something very literal. Gabriel had the suspicion that it meant a little of both.

“What did Jack offer to protect you from?”

She shrugged.

“Monster,” She said as if it was obvious.

“Yours or someone else’s?”

“Everyone’s,” Marty whispered.

There it was. That was it. That was the clue.

Gabriel laughed; he was winning.

“Tell me, Marty, how long ago was your family massacred?” He asked. Marty looked like she’d been stabbed in the gut and Gabriel felt a pang of guilt, but he brushed it off. It was nothing compared to his excitement.

“Five,” She replied after a moment.

“Five what?”

“Years,” Her voice cracked. Gabriel nodded.

“How have you spent those five years?”

“Alone.”

“If you’ve been on your own for so long, why accept help now?” He prodded.

“Tired.”

“What are you tired of?”

“Running.”

“That’s the practical reason, what’s the other reason?”

Marty pursed her lips.

“Name.”

“Of what?”

“Character.”

“Say it.”

“Peter Pan.” Two references to the same story in one conversation. Definitely not a coincidence. She was comparing herself to something, but what was it? What was he missing?

“Okay pumpkin, just a few more questions; then we’re done ‘cause I don’t have all day.”

“Nice.” She smiled.

"Why should I believe a word you've said to me?"

The girl grinned in a way that was meant to be friendly, but fell critically short.

"Psycho."

That response unnerved the five billion year-old archangel. What was this kid?

“What do you think of Jack?” He continued, he didn't miss a beat.

“Viridity,” She replied. Viridity; noun: Naïve innocence.

“What do you think of his parentage?”

“Irrelevant.” Gabriel had heard many words used to describe his family. Irrelevant was definitely not one of them.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?”

Marty’s answer was unexpected.

“Back.” Her voice wasn’t desperate or wistful; it was cold and hard.

“Describe yourself. Who are you, Marty?”

She had to think about this one. When she had her answer, the genius girl grinned. It wasn’t in a happy way.

“Domino.”

“Alright, one last question, then you’re free to go.” Gabriel leaned forward, his face a grim mask. “Do you have a crush on my nephew?”

Surprised by his question, Marty blinked but before long a smirk split across her cheeks and mischief gleamed in her eyes.

“Talent.” That was all she said. Gabriel knew that meant; ‘The answer may be yes, but I will say no until the day I die.’ The archangel reached a hand across the table; Marty grasped and shook it.

“Good game, kiddo. Mind telling me where Sam and Dean are now?”

“They’re on their way to New-York. They’ll be there in a few hours,” Marty said.

“Cool beans. Now go get some breakfast and I’ll see ya later.”

With a nod of his head, Gabriel was gone. The reason why he had originally come to the bunker was completely forgotten. Now he had only one thought on his mind.

He needed to find Sam and Dean.

He needed to warn them about the girl they were protecting.

When it came to individuals, there had never been something that Gabriel couldn’t figure out.

Never. Not one thing. Until now.

Gabriel had no idea what that child was.

That thought―that question mark unnerved him. That notion shook him down to his very core.

That blank space child, that missing piece little girl.

She was more terrifying to him than anything he had known in five billion years.

~You're just like me, you're out your mind

I know it's strange, we're both the crazy kind

You're tellin' me that I'm insane

Boy, don't pretend that you ain't just the same

Oh, she's sweet but a psycho

A little bit psycho

At night she screamin'

"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"

Oh, she's sweet...

But a Psycho~

Lyrics from: Sweet But A Psycho by Ava Max

[2idiots]

Wave inspired!Seonghwa au x reader

summary: Maybe just maybe the boy out in the water can make you loosen your stance up on the tourists crowding your town

word count: 2.1k-ish 

warnings: none

gender neutral!reader

The first time you see him you’re walking home from work along the sea wall, your work bag clutched tightly between your arm and polyester polo, a scowl weighing heavily across your face

Every year this time (summer) rockets you directly into a terrible mood, it is literally clockwork and here’s why:

tourists

these rich people and their bad manners flock to your town to spend their summer breaks at the resorts, littering your beaches, buying your groceries, taking your space, and just generally being pretenious dicks

last year you and the rest of town spent a full week cleaning the beaches after the last of the out-of-towners were gone

But this boy, this boy was different

After all it was sunset and he was out in the water fully clothed looking like he walked out of a calvin klein shoot or some shit

the light spilling through the sky cast a orange glow, lighting him up like angel 

you were kinda dumbstruck standing on the seawall staring at him for a good minute

he looked like an angel and you looked like someone smacked you over the head with a frying pan, primarily because you had spent the entire day (and all your energy) responding to terrible customers

No they can not just bargain the prices with you because guess what...

You D O N ‘ T set the prices

and as much as they complained about the price on beer you C O U L D N O T change the price, and even if you could you clocked that gold rolex and the expensive pressed polo the minute they walked in so you sure as hell W O U L D N O T

they could more than afford the price of your store’s beer and after they had it they were insufferable

Then there was a women who made you count back your change three times because she thought you were stealing from her, stealing insignificant change

Needless to say you also wanted to get into the ocean in your clothes too and maybe swim out to an island without any people and live the rest of your days as hermit lost in nature

because wow humanity S U C K S

But you had to save money up for the fall semester so that meant putting up with some of the worst of humanity for you bigger dream; that just didn’t leave a lot of space for seeing the good in many people especially out-of-towners

so this mysterious swimmer was probably just another annoying tourist, being pretty didn’t mean he was nice too

so you put him out of your mind that first night

but you kept seeing him on your walk home from work in the heat of the setting sun: always in the same spot, always sporting clothes that weren’t made for swimming

you saw him so much you were actually getting curious, some of your anger lessening, especially when you saw him picking up trash along the shoreline

It wasn’t until your day off that you finally spoke to him and by spoke you ran head first into him walking through the beachfront shops with your friends on your day off

he was surrounded by a group of friends with colorful hairstyles that were all laughing and playing around

you on the other hand were sporting your first non-customer service smile in weeks and you were holding a very precious cone of mint chocolate chip ice cream

Well you were holding it because now it was all over this boy’s shirt and you were mortified and grieving the loss of your ice cream

“oh my god, my ice cream” is the first and only thing out your mouth so maybe not mortified just grieving

Sure you should’ve said sorry but all your apologies had been used up on the customer that said you were mean for making her wait in line instead of cutting everyone after she said she couldn’t wait because it would give her acne

So EXCUSE you if you really wanted your ice cream on your day off

Caught up in your self righteous inner monologue about ice cream, you almost didn’t notice: “wait you’re the boy who’s always in the ocean at sundown?” 

Oh wow he was much pretty in person and that was saying a lot because you had been admiring him from afar for far too long

“lol at least you don’t have to worry about washing your shirt since you’re hoping in later anyway”

Oh my god, you could smack yourself; why did you just say that, why did you just expose yourself as a stalker?

He let out a little laugh “and you’re the person on the seawall, nice to see you’re cute up close too. I’m Seonghwa”

“y/n” Wait did that actually work? Did you not scare him away? Did he know who you were too?

Did? He? Say? Cute? 

“You should come down and talk to me next time”

his friends were oohing and aahing at him watching the awkward exchange, your friends were doing the same

And that you did, like clockwork he was down by in the ocean in the middle of the sunset while you were walking home from work

Only this time you didn’t just stop and look, you made your way down the stone stairs through the hot sand and to the edge of the beach. 

God why was your work uniform all black? it was hotttt out here and you were sweating while this boy looked like a sculpture in front of you

his acid washed jeans sticking to his calves as he walked through the tide pools searching through the sand, his arms on display in the pastel tie dye cut off

“um hey Seonghwa” that’s the best you could conjure up, trying to get in a carefree position but careful not to put your backpack on the ground for fear you would never get the sand out

your non-slip work shoes = already ruined

“Y/n you came?”  he stopped his search through the tide pools to smile up at you, nearly melting your customer service persona

“um yeah, sorry I just got off work though so I’m not really dressed from a swim” You looked down to your black slacks and black polo with the store logo on the upper left breast, god you shouldn’t have come maybe if you just slowly back away he won’t even notice you disappear 

“That seems like the best reason to get in” there was a soft smile on his face as he pulled up a lump of seaweed mixed with some shells from the sand

“Maybe next time, find any good mementos?”

Only next time you don’t get in either but you did roll up your slacks, take your shoes off, and stick your feet in

He was right, it was much a much needed break to just relax in the cool water and this way you could help him find whatever he was looking for

It doesn’t stop there though, you get a little further into the water every night after work when you meet but never like he was the first night

you also learned a little more about him and him about you

He is here with a group of friends, they are spending their last summer together before some of them head off to college, some go overseas, and some are stuck in high school. They were here the whole summer working on one of the resorts and this was the only time he could get away from everyone for some peace

“So you invite me?” Peaceful, all you did was stomp around in my work clothes and be loud “I’m not sure I fit what you’re going for”

“Nah but I like having you here.”

after that you start to see him outside of the actually water too, once he is picking up the trash on the beach, once he is just laying on the sand watching the sunset

And every time you would make your way next to him and spend all night talking to him 

So every year at the peak of tourist season, the locals throw a huge party on a section of the beach that only the locals know about

It’s a power move against the seasonals, one that you participate in every year. In fact you're dropped off some alcohol earlier in the week

Usually you go alone (read: with friends) but for some reason this year you invite Seonghwa, well more like you word vomited your invitation in a 10 minute long nervous ramble about beaches and parties while he smiled at you

normally you would cover your nervousness in a smirk with some sassy remarks but from some reason your stomach is fluttering too much this time, you can feel the nausea bubbling up

tense you throw in a quick "your friends can come too" then metaphorically smack yourself because you don't want his friends to come, you want to go with just him

this was supposed to be you confessing that your countless nights on the beach had kinda made your initial crush stronger but you messed it up

For your incessant rambles he responds with only a few words "Yeah that sounds fun"

"ok ok cool cool" nice save (oh my god you are actually acting like a middle schooler)

"But I don't think my friends can come, is that ok?"

"Oh yeah, um-" insert your nervous tick here- "i don't think my friends can come either so it'll just be us" cheesy smile

btw your friends could make it, they were there the whole time but you told them to stay away and they have not stopped teasing you about it since 

the night of the party you meet in your normal place and your jaw drops to the floor like in those movies when the princess comes out wearing the ball gown and looking regal

Only seonghwa isn't a princess but he sure as hell is beautiful and who gave him the right to look like that because your heart momentarily stops before you finally breath some sense back in and hold yourself together

"Are you ready? It's a bit of a hike"

You spend the whole night talking, and maybe you're a little tipsy but only enough to give you a confidence boost and a looser tongue

nothing serious 

Or at least you thought it was nothing serious but then you are prying into his life, asking some of the weirdest questions and finally "so why do you swim with your clothes on?"

Meanwhile this whole time he's been laughing at you, not the mean kind of way more like a "wow they really ramble a lot how cute"

"I don't know, normally I just don’t have my swimsuit and the water looks too beautiful to pass up"

"But if you do it every night then why don't you just pack ahead of time" *hiccup* nah jk but you might as well hiccup… maybe you should put that beer down before you embarrass yourself

"I don't know, if I bring my swimsuit everyone will want come with me and as much as I love my friends they're a little high energy" he let out a sweet laugh "speaking of them, I should probably admit…"

Oh god, what was wrong? Is this where you found out he was actually super creepy? Or like a murderer or something? Of course the cute ones always had to be the crazy ones, just your luck

"My friends aren't busy tonight I just said that because I didn't want them to come...”

Oh good not creepy at all (maybe you should stop watching dateline), that's what you did too

in fact your friends kept sending you snapchats of the both of you sitting by the bonfire talking

"I actually think one of them is here, he’s kinda hard to miss his hair is bright red"

Oh strawberry dude, you remembered seeing him wave when you first arrived (very confusing for a powerful tiny man who you had never seen wave at you)

But hold up, you're still caught up on the first thing he said, he wanted to come with you, just you. Did he?? like you??

"Do you like me?" Straight to the point, how in character for you

A rosy blush spread over his cheeks and down his neck and the confidence you had skyrocketed, that all but answered your question

and if that didn’t answer it then his little “ya” did

in a bout of confidence you grabbed him head and yanked him up from the lawn chairs by the crackling fire “Come on!”

 "what are you doing?!" he replied, calling out as you dragged him toward the dark water, glowing in the light of the moon

Splashing through the water, you settled on a place where the waves lapped up against your waist like they had the first night you saw him, it didn’t even matter that the warm salty water was soaking through your clothes (don't think about your soaked shoes, don't think about your soaked shoes)

"I'm not sure but the water just looked too beautiful to pass up" cue cliche cheese and a signature smirk provided by you

"Haha don't make fun of me"

"Why not? It’s too much fun" you leaned in closer, your hand still wrapped in his “and anyway I like you too much to stop”

about twenty minutes later you opened a snapchat from your friends of you and Hwa kissing in the ocean and turned bright red

read hongjoong's and yunho's

[alirhi]

chapter 20

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 20/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. WARNINGS: nothing major. A little language, some angry peeps. Notes: Like I said a few chapters back... Fuck the canon.

"They need to know."

Loki flinched, glaring at Bucky over his shoulder. "Not now, love."

"Okay, how did he get out?!"

The bland look Bucky gave Stark made both Loki and Rogers smile. "I was an elite, untraceable super assassin for seventy years. You think I can't pick an interior lock?"

"Didn't you learn how to do that when-"

He grinned. "When I was twelve, because you got your dumb ass locked in the basement at my grandfather's house. Yep. But the other version sounded better."

Rogers laughed. "How much do you remember?"

Bucky's smile immediately faded as he glanced at Stark and then quickly averted his gaze to the floor. "Enough. Too much. Listen, there's something I need-"

"James, don't."

"Nah, let him talk, God of Misfits." With a cold smirk in response to Loki's irritated glare, Stark crossed his arms over his chest, staring him down. "We've heard quite enough from you already. Let lover-boy get a word in."

Ignoring him, Loki turned to face his lover fully and implored, "Don't say it. Trust me, love, it won't end well."

"They deserve to know," was Bucky's quiet, but firm reply as he stepped past him and approached the Avengers. "Stark... There's something I need to tell you about your parents."

"What about them?" Suddenly the quippy billionaire didn't look so amused anymore. He actually looked terrified, and with an unexpected twinge of empathy, Loki remembered that he'd nearly died only a week earlier.

"Really, darling, perhaps later..."

"No." Bucky was shaking his head, but it was Stark who'd spoken, his voice sharp with forced anger and impatience to mask his trepidation. "Shut the hell up and let him talk, or I'll hand you both over to this Thanos guy myself."

"There is nothing you can do to me if I don't allow-" A firm grip on his shoulder stopped him, and he turned to see his adoptive brother staring at him.

"Loki. Will you continue to silence him, the way they did? Trade a literal muzzle for a metaphorical one?"

He shrugged Thor's hand off with an impatient snarl, but didn't speak again. He hated it when that moron had a point! With an apologetic look to his beloved and a resigned flourish of his hand, he spun on his heel and walked away. He didn't leave the room, but he did move to the far wall so as to let Bucky see that he was no longer in Loki's protective shadow.

The sad, grateful half-smile he received nearly made him weep. Then Bucky sucked in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and told Stark as gently as he could, "HYDRA had them killed."

"When you say HYDRA," Stark began slowly, visibly shaking. "You mean..."

Bucky nodded. "They sent me." He closed his eyes. At first, it looked as though the conversation was causing him pain, but then Loki noticed the tension in his muscles and the way he moved his feet just a bit farther apart; he was bracing himself.

He did it just in time. Tears in his eyes and body still shaking, Stark still managed to put a surprising amount of force behind his punch. Bucky's head snapped to the side, though Loki knew that was less from the impact and more to keep Stark from injuring his hand too badly; he threw so much of his weight behind that punch that, if Bucky hadn't moved, he would have broken his hand.

"What the fuck is your jaw made of?! Jesus!"

"I'm a super soldier," he explained calmly as he opened his eyes, ignoring the look of numb shock on Rogers' face. Keeping his gaze locked on Stark, who stood shaking his bruised fist and gaping at him, he told him, "The first time HYDRA caught me, they shot me up with their version of the serum Erskine used on Steve. I didn't know what it was then, but it didn't take long to figure it out. But it was inefficient; there were others they tested it on, but I was the only one who survived, as far as I know. After the War, they didn't have access to their scientist or his research, so they sent me to retrieve the newest batch of the serum from the Americans... From Howard Stark."

"And you couldn't have stolen it without killing him – them?! Why did my mom have to die?"

From his position behind him, Loki couldn't see the tears in Bucky's eyes, but he could hear them in his voice as he croaked, "'Sanction and extract; no witnesses.' When I'm given an order, I can't refuse it. I don't even get to decide how to carry it out; I took the first opportunity, eliminated the witnesses, and took the prize back to base."

Stark lunged for Bucky again, but Rogers quickly caught him around the waist and held tight. "Those 'witnesses' were my parents, Barnes!"

"I know." Bucky nodded, head drooping as he stared at the floor again. "They were an innocent woman and a man I liked. They sent me to kill a man I'd known during the War; a man I admired and respected."

"And you didn't even fucking pause, did you?!"

"That's quite enough, Stark." Loki pushed himself off the wall, about to step between them again. He stopped when Bucky held his hand up for him to do so, but didn't keep quiet. "He was never given a choice. And I don't mean that in the soft 'the options before him were unpleasant' way you people like to use it in; I mean literally. With weaponized science, his ability to choose, to even think beyond weapons and strategy, was stripped from him."

"Loki, I don't need you to defend me."

"Well, someone ought to!" Oh, delightful. Now he had tears in his eyes. Both hands clenched into tight fists, he glared at Stark because he couldn't bear to look at Bucky for the moment. "I know a thing or two about being a pawn in someone else's game, Anthony, but even I had the luxury of unpleasant options. Do as I was told and be ridiculed for how I went about it, or be ridiculed for refusing? Watch Asgard fall into ruin, or delay my brash, violent brother's coronation and be villainized for it? Always a choice, even if the choices before me were painful. Can you even imagine someone using machinery and hypnosis to dig around inside your brain and push down and strip away everything that makes you who you are, until you know nothing but the mission they present to you? I've seen a large portion of the Sergeant's scrambled and suppressed memories, and they frightened me. Me. With the notable exception of my brother and the beast, I could eliminate all of you right now if I so chose, and what HYDRA did to James frightened me. He did not murder your parents, Stark. HYDRA did. And they used a friend of your father's to do it."

Stark actually appeared to be calming slightly; he still looked as though he wanted to rip Bucky apart, but the tension was leaving his muscles and his breathing grew less labored. Then Bucky had to go and open his big mouth again.

"There's more. Steve... You might wanna sit down."

"Good Gods, James! Quit while you're ahead!"

With a half-hearted chuckle, Bucky attempted to joke, "Is this what 'ahead' looks like? Guess I've been out longer than I thought."

___________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[the--sad--hatter]

Mischief & Madness - Chapter 12 (Loki x Reader)

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki/Reader (No physical description of reader other than female presenting)

Warnings: LOKI, Angst, lots of violence, graphic gore, extreme cursing, anxiety attacks.

Summary:

Living in New York has its ups and its downs. Upside - You have a cushy job at Stark Industries. Downside - You wind up getting yourself kidnapped by The God Of Mischief.

All you wanted was a decent cup of coffee, now you’re stuck on the otherside of the universe with a sociopath who has only begrudgingly not murdered you.

To get back home you’ll have to work with Loki, and probably stop trying to stab him.

To regain his power, he’ll have to work with you, and probably stop trying to slaughter you.

When Mischief and Madness collide, chaos ensues. Even if you survive this, the universe probably won’t…

Masterlist     Spotify Playlist Link

Chapter Twelve 

Loki was staring at you like you’d grown a second head. You waited patiently for him to process it, occupying yourself by kicking rocks and watching them explode into dust.

 “You want to what?” He eventually demanded, his eyebrows raised so high that they practically merged with his hairline.

 You shrugged at him, your smirk growing exponentially. Flummoxing the actual God of Chaos was satisfying as hell.

 “The Infinity Stones! We just go back to before Taa was destroyed and remove the Deathwaves.” You grinned.

“We can not just go back. Even if we could, we wouldn’t be changing anything. We would just create an alternate timeline with no Deathwaves, this universe would still die out.” He argued.

 “Fine, ok… Let’s not go back in time. Let’s reboot the universe. Look we can try and determine who or what is causing these Deathwaves and we can try and stop them, or we can just delete the program and rewrite it without the bug in the coding.” You tried to explain giddily.

 “How?” He asked.

 “We use the Infinity Stones to destroy the universe, just wipe it all out, clean slate. Then we rebuild it exactly the same way, minus Deathwaves. Nobody will even know what happened, they won’t feel a thing.” You told him.

 “Are you quite mad?” He questioned, a little fearfully.

 “Quite.” You agreed.

 He gaped at you but you could see the spark in his eyes, he could see the (psychotic) genius in your proposed plan.

 “Look, I’m not a hero. Hunting down the bad guys and kicking ass isn’t my thing. I create things, and when they don’t work I burn it all down and start again. That’s the only thing I have to offer this partnership. The universe, it’s just a really elaborate computer program. So we save all the coding, the people and the plants, download the files into the infinity stones and then we upload them to version 2.0. No time travel, no hunting down baddies, just straight up ‘saving’ the universe.” You coaxed.

 “And what do I bring to this madness?” He asked, mirroring your slightly maniacal grin.

 “You’re the god here, you’re not only strong enough to use the Stones, you’re the only person I can think of who’s smart and cunning enough to pull this off. This is going to take more than brawn and power. Besides, come on Loki… Don’t you want to destroy the universe?”

 “This is quite literally the most insane, chaotic plan I have ever heard.” He sighed.

 “Yeahhh, and you’re totally on board aren’t ya?” You needled.

 He started impassively at you while he weighed it all up in his head and when the corners of his lips started to gradually curl upwards; you knew you had him.

 “Very well. Say I am willing to go along with this plan of yours. How do you propose we obtain The Infinity Stones?” He challenged.

 “We…” You faltered as soon as the first word was out of your mouth. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” You admitted.

 “This entire mad scheme of yours hinges on us having The Infinity Stones, how have you not thought that far ahead?” He grouched.

 “How am I the one doing all the work? You could do something more useful than standing around bitching and being pretty.” You shot back, crossing your arms in a sulk.

 “Am I infringing on your territory? I do apologise.” He scoffed.

 “How many are there again? Five?” You asked, ignoring his snide compliments.

 “Six. The Space Stone, The Reality Stone, The Time Stone, The Soul Stone, The Power Stone and The Mind Stone.” He corrected, rolling his eyes at for not even knowing how many of the darned things there were.

 “Well, we know where three are. The Time Stone and Mind Stone are back on Earth so that’s easy.” You shrugged. “Tessie the Space Stone is…”

 And right on cue, as if summoned by your voice, The Tesseract materialised right in front of you. It spun in the air, glowing before it dimmed and dropped towards the ground. You instinctively reached out and caught it, flinching when you realised what you’d just done.

 But nothing happened. You remained on Taa and The Tesseract remained in your hand.

 “Found one?” You breathed out in awe, holding it up to an equally awestruck Loki.

 “Vænn, how are you doing that?” He asked fearfully.

 “Doing what? It just popped up, I didn’t do anything.” You said.

 You tilted your head at it curiously before you realised exactly what it was you were doing. You were holding The Tesseract. You. A mortal.

 “Ahh!” You yelped, dropping it.

 You admittedly didn’t know that much about The Tesseract, just what you’d read from the files you hacked one afternoon and skimmed through in boredom. What you did know was that it was too powerful to be held directly by anyone human.

 Loki’s eyes were burning into you suspiciously as he slowly approached and knelt down to pick it up.

 “You’re human.” It wasn’t a statement, but it wasn’t a question either.

 “100%. I don’t even have any Kree DNA, I got tested after those fish oil pills started turning people into husks.” You confirmed.

 “What?”

“Oh, Inhumans. They gots little bits of alien DNA and can get superpowers. I was curious, I got my DNA tested. I am utterly, unquestionably human.”

 He looked down at The Tesseract, turning it over in his hand before he looked back up at you.

 “Curious.” He said softly, holding it back out to you.

 “Nah. You keep it.” You grimaced, backing away fearfully.

 “Just take it.” He demanded.

 “No.”

 “Vænn.”

 “Nope, not on your fucking life - LOKI YOU BITCH!” He tossed The Tesseract at you in the middle of your sentence and you had a split second to decide whether to catch it or let it smack you in the face.

 You clutched it in both hands, inches from your nose. Looking up at Loki you found him smirking at you.

 “What the fuck Loki? I could have been vaporised!” You screeched.

 “You weren’t.” He replied calmly.

 “You didn’t know I wouldn’t be!” You protested.

 “You were holding a moment ago, so I did know. I’m not sure how you’re managing it but you are. For all your arguments about how you are nothing special, you appear to attract powerful entities Vænn.” He pointed out smugly.

 “You think The Tesseract has a crush on me?” You frowned.

 “Not that kind of attract. You are like a magnet, pulling power into your orbit.” He said, almost… proudly?

 You scoffed and opened your mouth to rebut his claim but paused and actually thought about it. Of all the places in the city, it was your window that Iron Man flew past on his way to The Tower. The intern you’d taken under your metaphorical wing turned out to be Spiderman. Vision inexplicably turned up in your lab on an almost daily basis. Earths Mightiest Heroes had taken to you without any hesitating. And then of course there was Loki.

 “Huh. Guess I do attract trouble.” You snorted, regarding The Tesseract in a new light.

 You knew without a doubt that you were human, nothing special about you. But apparently fate disagreed, because here you were.

 “So now we have The Tesseract under our control, as it should be. There are still five more stones to obtain, and we will need The Gauntlet. Do you have a plan for talking your friends into handing the Time Stone and The Mind Stone over to us?” He prodded.

 “Well, The Mind Stone is literally in Visions head so… no. And it’s not like we can just waltz up to Earth and ask them to hand the Stones over to us. It would take us months to convince them to trust you and we just don’t have that kind of time. Maybe we should leave those two till last. At least we know they’re safe. You don’t happen to have any idea where the other three are, do you?” You shrugged.

 He held his hand for The Tesseract with a smirk. You happily handed it over, grateful not to be touching it anymore.

 “I know exactly where The Aether is but obtaining it will not be easy. We will need to be careful, we will need a plan. I suggest we take refuge somewhere safer while we decide how to get it away from The Collector.” He told you, holding out his hand to you.

 “Wait.” You said softly.

 He didn’t have to ask what he was waiting for, he knew what you were planning and only rolled his eyes ever so slightly as you backed away.

 “Hey, um… We’re leaving now. Would you, would you like to come with us?” You asked gently as you approached The Stranger.

 They hadn’t moved since you’d wandered after Loki and they didn’t move when you spoke. Shining blue eyes gazed into the distance, bearing witness to the lingering death of their home world.

 “We can take you anywhere. You don’t have to stay here.” You whispered.

 “You are standing in the remains of the temple I have spent my life worshipping in. The Temple may be gone but I am not, so I remain. My world will not die unwitnessed.” They finally answered.

 “Your world isn’t going to die at all. We’re going to fix this.” You promised.

 Because if you could reboot the Universe, you could reboot it to the point before anything went wrong and no worlds would fall to the terrible destruction you had witnessed. You weren’t going to bring those worlds back, you were going to ensure they never fell in the first place.

 If fate kept putting you in the path of powerful people, if fate had led you to Avengers tower then this was the reason. The Tesseract chose you to help Loki, and this was the only way you could think that you would be of any use.

 So you didn’t feel bad as you walked away from the lonely Stranger. As you placed your hand in Loki’s, you let go of all the pain of not being able to save the fuzzy Druffs. It didn’t matter anymore, none of it mattered. You might not be a hero, but Loki could be. And you, you would be the Tech Support.

 He gently scooped your slumbering Winnie from his pocket and gave him back to you, watching as you secured the little dreaming Grofflink in your own pocket before he laced his fingers with yours, and then in a blinding flash of blue you left Taa and the Stranger behind.

A/N - What's this? A second chapter in one day? :OBeen a while since I pulled one of these!Honestly, I just got kinda giddy reading all the comments and needed to give you (and myself) more! You guys deserve all the chapters I can give for being so supportive and lovely 💖💖💖

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[purplepersnicketywrites]

Could you try 9 for kiribaku if you’re still doing requests? :))

things you said when i was crying

*minecraft villager noise*

___

By the look on Bakugou’s face, Eijirou suspected that he was supposed to think that he was making a rather large mistake. The blond was grinning, but not in a friendly way. It was slightly predatory, as if he was preparing for Eijirou to falter so that he could swoop in with a smug laugh and an ‘I told you so.’ It was irritating but also kinda hot, so Eijirou didn’t really mind.

He inspected the piece of meat held between his chopsticks.

If Eijirou didn’t know any better, he would have assumed the meat was innocent, that the colour on it was merely from the combination of sauces and spices it had marinaded in before cooking. Well, that wasn’t totally untrue, but it was a matter of which sauces. Some would be benign. Some would not.

Like, for instance, capsaicin oil. Also known as (at least in Eijirou’s opinion) the concentrated sweat of all the damned beings rotting in the underworld. This substance was the stuff that gave heat to chili peppers, the stuff that induced that awful, terrible burning sensation that Bakugou liked so much.

The heat wasn’t real, of course, but the capsaicin fooled the mouth into thinking it was. It got into the temperature detecting nerves and played havoc.

This particular meat was part of a range of Bakugou’s favourite dishes at a restaurant known for its stupidly spicy meals. It was Bakugou’s turn to pay this week, so he was the one who got to pick the place to eat at. It was apparent to Eijirou that this place was payback for him being ‘embarrassing’ at their last outing together.

‘Embarrassing’ was, of course, code for ‘Bakugou got too flustered by Eijirou’s obvious flirting and exploded a menu’. Honestly. One of these days they were going to stop dancing around this Thing between them and admit that these outings were dates. The main obstacle was Bakugou’s understandable hesitancy over the whole declaration of feelings stuff, but really, the moment Eijirou got the go-ahead to kiss his best friend he wasn’t ever going to stop.

Anyways. The spicy meat. Eijirou knew that Bakugou was expecting Eijirou to crumble in the face of such an object. Maybe have a spice-related breakdown in the middle of the restaurant. Thing was… Eijirou had a Secret Plan to deal with exactly this sort of situation.

He ate the meat. Eijirou chewed it, slowly, so that he could watch the gradual, delicious change in Bakugou’s expression as it became clearer and clearer that Eijirou wasn’t going to even blink. Eijirou swallowed.

“What the fuck,” Bakugou hissed, having transformed from gleeful gremlin to grouchy grump.

Eijirou took a swig of water to make sure he washed everything out of his handily-hardened mouth before he responded. “You call that spicy?”

“You cheated,” Bakugou said, narrowing his eyes as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “I don’t fucking know how, but you cheated.”

“Oh? Are we playing a game?” Eijirou said, leaning forwards to flutter his eyelashes a little. He privately thanked the genetics lottery for giving him the power to turn into a non-porous rock specifically. Huh. Imagine if he became like basalt? Would he float in water instead of sinking? Would-

“You know what I mean,” Bakugou said, pouting off to the side. There was a little colour smudged over his cheeks and Eijirou mentally high-fived his brain.

Eijirou just ate another chunk of meat. Pork? It was hard to actually taste at all thanks to his hardening. He took another swig of water. “S’good! Don’t forget to eat yours!”

“I bet they forgot to season it,” Bakugou muttered darkly, plucking up a piece from Eijirou’s plate.

“Hey!” Eijirou said. “That’s mine.”

“I paid for it,” Bakugou ate it with a glare and then pulled a face. “Okay, what the hell are you doing?”

Eijirou beamed at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Blasty.”

“Yes you do you-” Bakugou cut himself off mid-insult. He sighed. “You big dumb rock. You’re using your fucking quirk, aren’t you?”

“Your words, not mine,” Eijirou snorted. Damn, Bakugou had sniffed him out already. “Aren’t you impressed by my fine control, though? I had to practice for ages so I wouldn’t turn my lips to stone, too.”

That got Bakugou staring at Eijirou’s mouth, which counted as a big win in his books. Bakugou seemed to realise what he was doing all too quickly and turned his attention back to his own plate. “Whatever.”

Oh yeah, it wouldn’t be long now. Some day very soon would roll around and Bakugou would finally reach for his hand. Eijirou didn’t feel bad about pushing things sometimes - he’d tried to back off once when he thought his feelings weren’t reciprocated and that had just ended in Bakugou not-so-subtly hinting that Eijirou should go back to ‘normal’.

The rest of the meal went by smoothly, Bakugou rolling his eyes as Eijirou ate his food without a sweat and Eijirou nodding along to stuff his friend was saying.

All too soon they were on their way back to the dorms. It was nice, Eijirou thought, that now they were in their third year they were allowed to go out for short trips be themselves. The school wouldn’t be able to give everyone bodyguards after graduation, after all.

It was also nice to walk side-by-side with Bakugou in companionable silence. Eijirou very much looked forwards to the time when they could be holding hands as they went, too.

The Heights Alliance building came into view, and Eijirou heard the sound of paper tearing. Huh. He turned to look at Bakugou. The blond had a very weird expression on his face, but Eijirou didn’t have time to ask what was up because all of a sudden there was a hand tugging at the collar of his shirt and a pair of lips meeting his own.

Holy shit.

Eijirou responded eagerly. Greedily, even, clutching at Bakugou to bring him closer. He melted into the kiss, surprised but not displeased in the slightest when Bakugou slipped his tongue into his mouth. Bakugou kissed with aggression and fire, almost burning in the way that he- Wait a second.

The burning wasn’t metaphorical. Eijirou’s mouth felt like it had been set alight, and that wasn’t typically supposed to happen in a kiss as far as he was aware. He pulled back from Bakugou, detached his limbs, saw the triumphant look in his best friend’s eyes and felt the burning sensation increase. Oh. Holy fucking shit. Bakugou was an absolute bastard and Eijrou liked him so damn much.

“Did you just hot sauce me?”

Bakugou grinned and held up a small empty packet labelled ‘XXX SUPER HOT’.

“You’re an asshole,” Eijirou said, panting and feeling himself break into a sweat. Spice tears began to pool at the corner of his eyes and he leant foward to put his hands on his knees. Maybe if he jumped into a pool of ice he could stave off this feeling?

“Yeah,” Bakugou agreed. “You good?”

“I’m dying,” Eijirou said, dropping to the ground and rolling onto the grass. “Call the fire brigade, Blasty. I need water!”

“Nah, water makes it worse,” Bakugou said, looking down at Eijirou with amusement. Holy shit he’d just kissed Eijirou for the first time. “What you want is sweetened milk.”

Eijirou groaned. He was sure his nose was streaming along with his eyes now. It was only because of the spice. That was the only reason he was teary. “Call the milk brigade, then.”

“Dramatic. There’s milk in the kitchen,” Bakugou said, kicking lightly at Eijirou’s side.

“Ugh, I think I’m gonna spontaneously combust from the face down,” Eijirou stuck his arm up so that Bakugou could help him to stand. Once he was on his feet, he moved Bakugou’s hand to the other of his own and linked their fingers together. Heh. Bakugou didn’t even try to pull his hand away! “Today was nice until you tried to murder me. With your tongue, what the fuck? Not that I’m complaining about the tongue bit - that was great - but the hot sauce?”

Bakugou looked almost unbearably smug. “That’s what you get for cheating.”

“What, poisoned kisses?” Eijirou asked, fanning himself with his free hand. “I cannot believe you used our first kiss as a prank. I mean, I can, but like,” He paused his fanning for a moment. “You know what? Worth it. You should definitely kiss me again. Without the pain.”

Bakugou turned a little pink and pulled Eijirou towards the Alliance building. “Maybe I will.”

He did.

[halfgclden]

something to take the edge off

date: Sunday, May 10th, 2020

characters: Chase and Cyrus

summary: cyrus went ghost, chase felt sad, the bros get together and talk about the most dramatic part of fight night and what caused it

Cyrus knew that he had been out of line and, with his messy emotions, he'd lashed out at fight night. He even felt bad for ghosting his best friend the day afterward. He was very aware of how much time had passed though, and was itching to get this apology out of the way. During the moments that were in between then and now he'd felt pretty much like a raw nerve. He still felt a little out of it but only because he'd been sober for way too long. He hadn't messaged Chase but, by now, Crooke had the other's schedule pretty much down. He thought about knocking but, instead, figured to play it like he would on a usual day. He entered the Morpheus townhouse slowly and cleared his throat as he glanced around. "...Aye, yo, Chase?" Cyrus called out.

During fight night, Chase had been worried about the savagery, but was somehow more surprised about the way that his friend had lashed out at him. After thinking about the circumstances more, he moved between being upset and then understanding that what he'd said was less than a comfort to his friend, especially with the way that he'd put it. After, he'd left Cyrus a few messages, one about swimming for his brother despite the fact that he didn't win, one about his cats, a few about smoking up his closet, and yet no reply came. Chase was starting to get somewhat worried, unsure if it was his best friend being upset with the world or specifically him. He was in his room, lying on his floor and staring at the ceiling when he heard someone enter, and heard a familiar voice call out. He rolled over and pushed himself up, then bounded down the stairs. "Hey, Crooke," he said, trying not to seem out of breath. "Hey," he repeated. "What's up?"

Cyrus heard footsteps before he saw Chase quickly emerge from down the stairs. He moved the rest of the way so they stood nearby one another. He shot Chase a narrow-eyed look but it lasted only a moment because he shifted in his stance. "Shit, so, I was thinkin'..." He said, rubbing his hands together. "I kinda flipped on ya' a few days ago, huh?" He raised his brows and then sighed, shoulders dropping. "Uh, can we smoke first, man?"

Chase chewed on his thumb nail and nodded at Cyrus, not really sure what to say about the first two statements. "Sure, yeah, no problem. Y'wanna go sit in the closet, or just my room? The roof?" he offered, already starting back up the stairs.

"Uhh, closet's fine with me," Cyrus said after thinking for a second and dropped his eyes to the floor as he followed Chase up the stairs. Being antsy, he wanted to do something with his hands so he rubbed the back of his own neck. "I haven't smoked, like, all fuckin' day, man." He commented from behind.

Chase nodded and opened the door to his room, making sure there were no cats around while he was smoking up his room. He pulled his grinder from his drawer and his bong from his desk, then tilted his head at Cyrus. “Dude, are you good? Cause you seem really... Not, man. Like, off.”

Cyrus sighed. "I wanna be better," He simply answered Chase's question as he moved to enter the closet. He let himself take a spot against the wall. "I'm shook, to use my brother's words," He claimed with a frown, continuing to speak so Chase could hear even as he was still gathering things. "I got bad shit on my mind, man, and I owe you an apology."

Chase chewed his lip and stopped for a moment so that he could look at Cyrus fully. He frowned, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. "I was thinking about the other day, and honestly, I can see why you kinda flipped. I gave you a shit answer."

"Nah, man. You were fine, really," Cyrus responded. "I don't know why I expected you to be perfect. That's so fuckin' unfair to you. Especially when I'm far from it..." He'd realized how much he'd come to rely on Chase even before entering the townhouse for this visit. "I mean, I hadn't even told you anything. At all, about what I've been dealing with, so I'm sorry for spazzin' out," He apologized with a sober mind after swallowing his pride. "Whether you wanna say it was warranted or not, I shouldn't talk to someone I think of as a best friend like that," He sighed and let his eyes settle on Chase again. "I want to explain some things to you though... If you're in a headspace to hear about some life-changing bullshit?" He questioned.

Chase frowned as he watched his friend, letting his eyes scan over him, take in his expression and the way he carried himself along with his words. “Nah, man, you’re fine.” He could admit that there was a bit of a sting that came with the realization that most of his close friends felt uncomfortable sharing anything too deep with him, but he decided not to take it personally, and to accept the information when it was presented to him. “I’m... nah, yeah, I’m totally down for some life-changing bullshit. Y’sure y’wanna be high for this? We can just chill. Unless y’want something to take the edge off.”

Cyrus felt a tiniest bit at ease. Maybe it was due to how the other spoke their words, or just the calming atmosphere of the Morpheus townhouse settling in once again. "Yeah, I wanna chill, but get high as hell too," He assured Chase but his tone still wasn't as mirthful as he usually came across. The metaphorical grip that Crooke held onto his secrets with started to lessen even more-so. "With whatever you got too," He then promptly added without much of a blink. He had ripped right into this same confessional with the previous people he'd told about his curses lately, but he figured this time would be different. "But, uh, aye," Cyrus shifted in his seat. "So I guess I can start with the easy stuff first? Um... I did something reckless and impulsive, like, five or six years ago and my past is still haunting me." He expressed with a frown.

Chase's lips twitched upwards in a semblance of a smile at Cyrus's words, and he began to pack up a bowl so that he and Crooke would be able to smoke their worries away. He wasn't sure what else he had, but he made a mental note to check his drawers once he didn't have to be so focused on his friend. He pressed his lips together into a line and nodded, fully feeling as though he understood Crooke's situation. His decision to leave camp was one that was not fully thought through, and the thought of it still put knots in his stomach. "Ah, yeah, um, I get it." He crossed the room to take a seat next to Cyrus. "What happened?"

“It was right before the war got really bad," Cyrus spoke again once Chase had sat down. "I was upset? I thought I was doin' things for the right reasons, but I honestly don't know what I was thinkin'... But, I fuckin’ graffiti’d the shit outta one of Hecate's temples," He finally admitted. "Call it retaliation, or retribution, or whatever. Graves was with me too," He sighed. "But I was the one who also broke an artifact that was on display. It actually ended up being irreplaceable to her,” Cyrus explained only to fall quiet again. He sighed and ran his hand down his face. "She showed up that night, and was so damn pissed. Absolutely livid," He described. "And... Well, she cursed me. Twice." Crooke confessed.

Chase let Cyrus tell his story in its entirety before responding, but he wasn't sure exactly what to say even when he heard everything. It was like each layer of the story only made it more complicated, and the fact that his best friend was living with this for so long without ever mentioning it to him made his heart heavy. "Fuck..." Some part of him was relieved that the night didn't result in the kidnapping of Cyrus, as had happened to others who challenged her. "So once for the graffiti and then for breaking the shit? What are the curses?"

"Yeah," Cyrus spoke softly. Talking about this topic had oddly become familiar to him within the past days. "They're basically personalized, fuckin' just for me to be the most miserable," He continued on, swallowing hard one last time before further addressing the situation. "The first one, makes it so that I have to tell a handful of complete truths. Which wouldn't be that bad, but I've been spilling my truths every day since I was fuckin', like, still a punk-ass kid. I hate it, sometimes I don't want to tell the truth," Cyrus finally added in confession and frowned. "I'm sorry, dude, for not telling you earlier too..." He faltered, but pushed through anyway and continued. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you, I just hoped it'd go away," He shook his head. "But they never did... The other is a curse of obsession, by the way." He then attempted to gloss over the nastier of the curses.

Chase frowned and rubbed at his collarbone. The idea of Cyrus having to do something that he didn't want to for so long felt... wrong, but the fact that he was trying to ignore it until it went away seemed quite in character for his best friend. "Yeah, nah man, it's like, you can do whatever you want, but as soon as you have to do it, maybe you don't want to anymore, and that should be up to you." He shook his head. "Fuck, man, nah. Don't apologize for not telling me. Like, I'm just glad I know now, I guess. Or... It's the type of thing that's weird to bring up, but I'm just glad that, I dunno, you feel like you can tell me." He frowned playing with a piece of his hair. "Obsession with...?" he trailed off, hoping that Cyrus would fill in the blank.

"I feel like there's not much I wouldn't tell you at this point. I tell you a lot," Cyrus shrugged. "I mean, I've used you for the truths quite often. It's just a sore fuckin' subject," He admitted. "But, hell yeah," Crooke agreed with his best friend's sentiments about free-will, but his tone lacked his usual enthusiasm. "It's my prerogative if I wanna change my damn mind," He added to his agreement and sighed out of frustration. He closed his eyes, head hanging back for a moment. "I get obsessed with anything I start to really care about. It just spirals. Uh, fight night, dealin' drugs," Cyrus chuckled, very bitter, and opened his eyes again. "—Or Malia. Those are the latest, if you wanted examples." He commented and yet was conscious of how all of this sounded.

Chase felt his lips twitch upward, not quite a smile. He would be happy to hear that one of his friends trusted him with anything, if not the fact that this something was particularly terrible. One of his favourite things about Cyrus was how blunt he was, and he didn’t like that (or anything) being impacted by some god’s will. “Ah.” He twisted a piece of hair with his fingers. Malia was a... rather sore subject, since two of his closest friends were quite infatuated with her, and the one that wasn’t Cyrus was his brother. He’d suggested that they all could date, but apparently that didn’t fly, and so he tried to avoid the subject all together. “So that’s why you went so wild on Lulu?”

Maybe there were multiple reasons why all three wouldn't work if they dated, but mainly Cyrus's opinion of Jesse, and vice versa, was nothing less than disdain. He nodded as if that explained everything, especially regarding any past actions he might've taken. "Yeah, sorta like an outta body experience too. I was conscious of everything my body did, aware of the thoughts I wouldn't normally have thought and, yet..." Crooke huffed and then gestured to the weed that Chase figured he'd forgot he was preparing. "You almost ready there, bud?" 

Chase tugged at his hair when Cyrus explained himself, his gaze growing far away as he thought about his own experience in that department. “I, uh, kinda get what you mean. The out of body thing.” He licked his lips, then blinked quickly as Cyrus addressed his again, just about snapping himself out of his momentary daze. He nodded and packed the bowl up like he planned to, then held the bong and a lighter out to Cyrus. “Y’wanna start?”

Even if nothing had changed regarding his curses, Cyrus did feel relief that he'd gotten his best friend on the same page as him. He nodded sullenly as he took the bong from Chase. He faltered before actually taking his hit. Eventually doing so, he exhaled the smoke and gave the bong back to the other. "Thanks, man," Cyrus sighed, leaned his head back again and closed his eyes to usher in the high until it was his turn again. "I feel a bit better already."

Chase watched Cyrus as he took the hit, and as he took the bong from his friend, he reached out to give his knee a small squeeze. “‘Course, man. Whatever you need.” He lit up and took a long hit, blowing the smoke over at Cyrus as he exhaled. “Y’wanna do something? Or just chill? We can fuck around.” He leaned back on his elbows. “But I’m also good to get stoned out of my head and leave my body— in a good way.”

Cyrus gave the other a genuine smile upon feeling Chase's hand on his knee. He happily accepted being blasted with the smoke from his friend's hit. "We can fuck around," He accepted the offer. "But, let's just chill like this for a bit longer..."

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 challenge - 3 and 4 (Cooperation and War)

Summary: Well... that just happened. Genophage cure set, now Alistair’s setting the stage to get the krogan to help out. You know it’s serious when he’s wearing clothes that both fit AND match. Clearly, we need all the help we can get.

---

There were things Alistair liked about the retrofitted Normandy. The war room, however, was not one of them.

That was where he was sitting, staring out the window and waiting. Outside, they were stationary and waiting. Soon, they would be boarded by delegates in an attempt to smooth things out with the salarians after what had happened on Tuchanka.

Apparently, they were a little steamed he hadn't stopped Mordin from ending the genophage. Go figure.

“This is going to be a headache.” He was already massaging his forehead at the thought. It was hard to think about Mordin, too. Someone had gone back for his body, but what they were going to do with it should they find it was beyond him. During his studies, what salarians did with their dead wasn't really covered.

It was probably something quick – live fast, die young and all that. Mordin would probably appreciate that.

“Trying to get the best seat for the meeting?”

Alistair looked up. A familiar face was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his carapace. Garrus looked a little tired, but that was to be expected. The last week had pretty much been nonstop action on Tuchanka. Now that they were back on the Normandy, it was the first time either of them had really had the chance to catch their breath.

He stood from his spot, smoothing down the front of his shirt. For once, he wasn't dressed down. It had been his idea to wear his formal uniform; it was a move that had shocked most of the Normandy when they found out. Apparently, it was kind of a big deal when the guy who went around in neon blue sneakers and a hoodie with ears dressed the part of a military officer. Once again, go figure.

“I'm the host, so I can move people around if I want.”

Garrus gave him an appreciative eye as he approached. “Pulling out the dress blues to impress the dalatress?”

“Nah, I plan on baffling her into silence so I can actually get a word in edgewise.” Alistair chuckled weakly as he reached out to squeeze the turian's hand. It was pleasantly cool, probably because he hadn't been clutching at a red hot weapon for hours on end. “I think it's a pretty solid plan, don't you?”

His boyfriend chuckled like the giant space chicken he was and nudged him on the cheek with his faceplates – his version of a kiss due to the lack of lips. There was nothing charge behind it, of course – there were too many people around for that. Hell, there was still a chance the primarch would bust in, and where would that get them besides a lot of hot water?

Not that he minded the primarch – he was a pretty decent guy, all things considered. Garrus was still his favorite turian, but he probably ranked about a solid 3, maybe even #2.

“Well, I'll certainly appreciate the view.” Garrus chuckled, but then the sound died as he stared out the window. Beneath the Normandy loomed Tuchanka – there was a large dust storm raging on the planet's surface below. Somewhere down there, the genophage cure was spreading like wildfire. How long, he wondered, until it took effect?

Maybe he should have asked Mordin before... but it had slipped his mind, he supposed. It wasn't like he had expected it all to go down like that.

“You really know how to shake up the galaxy,  Al.”

Alistair chuckled weakly as he squeezed Garrus' talons gently, avoiding the sharp edge thanks to experience. It wouldn't do to get blood all over his uniform just before his guests showed up, though it might have upped his intimidation factor from -2 to a solid 0. Not that he needed it – negotiation was more his forte than beating people up.

If he needed the latter, that's what his XO was for.

“You can say that again, babe.” Still, he sighed. “Though, I better figure out what to say. You know it's going to be cranked to 11 when everyone gets here, and once the krogan pop in that knob's getting ripped off and thrown out the airlock.”

He could practically imagine it floating through space, eventually going to fuck someone's day up just like Sir Isaac Newton intended. After all, he was the deadliest son of a bitch in space and had a reputation to uphold.

Garrus shook his head at that as he nudged him in the side. “I think that metaphor got away from you.”

“Must've climbed over my head, it's the easiest escape route.”

They both shared a chuckle then, but something about it just felt... quiet. It was just too damn quiet in the War Room. Plus it was impossible to forget what had been there only months prior. In a way, maybe it was appropriate they were standing in the remains of Mordin's old lab as they discussed the outcome. Maybe in some small way, he was there with them.

He missed him. He really did. Maybe if he had been a little faster...

“You did what was best for everyone, Al.” Garrus was apparently a mind-reader now as he gently squeezed his hand. “Mordin chose-”

Alistair sighed as he shook his head. “I know... it just never gets any easier.”

He should have been used to losing people by now. After all, he had lost a planet as a child, and then his entire unit as a young marine. Hell, he had died himself once. It shouldn't have bothered him... but it did. There was probably never going to be a moment it didn't bother him.

That was what made him human, most likely.

“Well, at least you'll have something to take your mind off things. Look who just showed up.” Garrus pointed a talon out the window as a ship appeared alongside the Normandy, already beginning the process to link up. “That the salarian ship?”

Alistair squinted as he made out the details. “Doesn't look like it. Maybe they sent someone to tell me to fuck off.”

“Something about you swearing in uniform does terrible things to me. “Garrus let go of his hand as he stepped back. “I'll be here if you need me.”

Duty was calling. Alistair nodded as he stepped away from his boyfriend and left the war room behind. After a scan, it was straight to the airlock. Someone was waiting for him there – it was a salarian, but not the salarian he had been hoping for.

Well... this was going to be a headache.

“Commander Shepard?”

One of them anyway. Alistair resisted the urge to joke and kept his face as neutral as possible as he nodded. People said his skill was reading a room, but really his hidden talent was knowing when to keep his damn mouth shut. It was a highly underrated ability, especially among military officers. Not for him – it had full skill points applied.

The salarian cleared their throat. “The dalatress sent me to remind you of your agreement – which you broke.”

“She couldn't have seriously thought I would go with that, Wrex is one of my closest friends.” Alistair kept his tone neutral. “But, yes. I suppose I did break it by not letting Mordin sabotage the genophage for you.”

Sorry, not sorry.

His guest didn't look amused by this. “You realize this ends the cooperation between Sur'Kesh and Earth, yes?”

Pretty much. Though, personally, he thought the dalatress was being an utter moron. Eventually, the Reapers would be kicking her door down just like they had done to Earth. Without the alliance, who would they have to rely on? Their brains were great, but... they kind of min-maxed there. It wasn't a good look.

But, who was he to tell people what to do during a war? He was just trying to muster a galactic army to save everyone from the Reapers...

“My line will always be open should she change her mind.” He swore he saw a blue number pop up in the corner of his vision as he watched the salarian twitch in front of him. “Is... there a problem?”

“Just the fact he's still standing here breathing.”

A deep, grumbly voice drew Alistair's attention. Probably because he had been busy trying not to tell his guest how he actually felt, he hadn't noticed the fact they weren't alone. Someone else had come up to the Normandy, and now they were in the airlock.

Wrex filled the small space, practically forcing his other guest into the Normandy proper. Apart from a few scratches on his armor and some superficial cuts that were already healing, he looked pretty good. Not bad for someone who went to battle with the Reapers.

Alistair smiled. “Nice to see you, Wrex. You're early.”

“Wanted to get the best seat.” He gave him a once over. “You're wearing clothes that match. That serious then?”

He felt his eyebrow twitch a little, but the smile never left his face. “World's on fire, how 'bout yours?”

“That's the way we like it.” Wrex stepped past the salarian, already heading for the war room. He wouldn't be alone for long – it was something of a conference call. Still, he would have been a shitty host if he left the krogan alone.

He just had to eject the trash out the airlock first...

“I will be taking my leave. It is clear what side you have chosen.” The salarian would've looked down their nose if they had one probably. Instead, they turned on their heel and started going through decontamination. Alistair just shook his head as he watched the messenger leave, taking with him any hope for Sur'Kesh.

Why did he get the feeling he'd have to break his neck to save their asses later? Some days it just didn't pay to be the good guy.

“Still don't regret it.” He shrugged and turned away. Back to the War Room it was. Wrex was waiting for him, and they had a lot to talk about before the actual meeting got underway. He had to focus on that in his mental task of putting one foot in front of the other.

First step – figuring out what the krogan could help with. That was easy enough. Who said planning a galactic war was hard?

[punkscowardschampions]

Tommy & Meena

Tommy: [Late enough that the clean up is done and she could've potentially heard about some of the drama but not late enough that if there's a mcwalsh party whereby Ali gets knocked up that he wouldn't already be drunk at that feels like a starting point] Tommy: Cá mbeidh tú ag fliúchadh na seamróige? 🍀🧡💚 Meena: I was about to go down to the restaurant, just hang out there Meena: Caleb and Drew were going to some party but I was not invited so 🤷 Meena: What are you all up to? Tommy: 🍻🥃 Tommy: but the vibe's more drinking ourselves to death, doubt you want an invite either, like Meena: I think that's most people's vibe but they sound happier/more in denial about it...? Tommy: Yeah, it's casually cultural Meena: Yeah? Tommy: You're not feeling patriotic today? Meena: I don't really vibe it any day Meena: but that's not important Tommy: that's a no for the Irish dancing then, alright Meena: We can try Meena: I look even taller when I'm not allowed to move my upper body though Tommy: 😂 Meena: no leprechauns here Tommy: any 🌈💰? Meena: no more than normal 💔 Tommy: I'll be right there then 🌈✨ Meena: That's your superpower Meena: I don't know how 🍀🧡💚 Gus has gone, you'll probably feel more at 🏡 where you are Tommy: It ain't feeling very 🏡 but 💌 received Tommy: I'll stay put, feet & upper body Meena: Why not? Tommy: long story Tommy: you'll hear the short one at 🏫 probably Meena: You don't feel like telling it, understood Meena: is there anything I can do? Tommy: I don't know how to, more like Tommy: you'd redraft it before you were done with the 1st for being too Tommy: unreadable Meena: Nonsense poetry is my specialty Tommy: Yeah? Tommy: maybe you should've been there to roll out the welcome wagon for my new sister Meena: New sister? Meena: Oh, do you mean your mum's baby Meena: not baby now, from before Tommy: she definitely ain't a baby now Meena: So, she came and it went bad Meena: I'm so sorry, Tommy Meena: how bad are we talking? Tommy: bad as it gets Meena: Is your mum alright, I mean Meena: stupid question, but Tommy: It's a fair question & I wish the answer was yeah Tommy: or there was fuck all I could do Meena: That's terrible Tommy: I've gotta go back to school, how can I? Meena: For them Meena: sometimes all you can do is give everyone a small sense of normality Meena: even when you don't want to, or think you can't go on yourself Tommy: Ali can't hold down the fort all on her own, alright, she probably can, but she shouldn't have to Meena: She won't be Meena: she has Carly, and me and Ro and, loads of people, really Meena: I promise we'll all do what we can Tommy: Don't start me on Ro, she wasn't even there Meena: Where was she? Tommy: Fuck knows Tommy: I thought she might be with you Tommy: or your brother Meena: She wasn't with me Meena: maybe Drew but I doubt it, he's been out and about everywhere all day, obviously Tommy: she'll be at home then Meena: Oh, that's a bit Meena: I understand under normal circumstances the pub on St Paddy's is not her ideal place to be but as it was Meena: anyway, that's all to say, you don't need to worry about Ali, she has a good support system to support your parents and take care of Rocky Meena: do you have people YOU can talk to and lean on at school? Tommy: yeah, Carly's ace with him & Ali to have lasted this long, like Tommy: I ain't telling anyone at school about this, loads of 'em already think I'm trash Tommy: or come from it Tommy: they've got a point now Meena: No, they don't Meena: your family are some of the best people I know Meena: you're not anything to be ashamed of Tommy: Everyone around here knows that Joe would be your brother's best customer except he don't carry the right stuff & now loads of 'em also know she's as bad, nah, worse Tommy: & that together they're Tommy: I can't even fucking go there Meena: People shouldn't judge him by that, never mind you as his family Tommy: They do though Tommy: keeping my mouth shut about it at school is my best option Meena: as long as you can express yourself and have an outlet through your work, I can't say I blame you Meena: you don't have to tell everyone everything Tommy: or anything Tommy: 🩰 will do Meena: I shouldn't say anything against words, given who I am and what I want to be but Meena: a comfortable silence can be preferable to words you're unsure of, words that hurt, or that you don't want to speak into existence Tommy: Yeah, I'd take an uncomfortable silence over that too Tommy: everyone's hurting & unsure enough Meena: if it's good enough for Maya Meena: 🤐 Tommy: I didn't mean with you Meena: You can always talk to me Meena: no matter the quality or quantity of your words Meena: you know that Tommy: okay Meena: but no rush on it Meena: obviously Meena: and I won't fill the silence with total nonsense, like Tommy: but those poems are your speciality Tommy: self proclaimed, like, but still Meena: Rude to doubt me Meena: 🥬🐢🐌👑 Tommy: Gimme one then Tommy: best shot Meena Though some at my aversion smile, I cannot love the crocodile. Its conduct does not seem to me Consistent with sincerity. Meena: 🐊💔 Tommy: He is basically a 🐍 with feet Tommy: You 🖋 that? Meena: Sadly not Meena: I'll try to write something as appropriate scathing for your brother Tommy: Or as 💔 for me, yeah? Meena: Of course Meena: what could be better to cheer you up? 😏 Tommy: as a feel good goes it's obviously unrivalled even by 🍻🎵💃🕺 Tommy: that's the level of your talent Meena: You're either that drunk or you wish you were...code red either way Meena: you could come to the restaurant though, if you actually wanted Tommy: Get ahead at waiting tables for when the West End fucks me off & over Tommy: good thinking Meena: Please Meena: your name is already in lights, I can see it Meena: 🤩 Tommy: as you said please, I'll come Meena: manners maketh the man do what you want? Meena: interesting Tommy: works on this one Tommy: how much of a man I am is up for debate, usually Meena: People are idiots Meena: and too invested in stuff that doesn't affect them whatsoever Tommy: like you said, practically a local celeb at this point Meena: still, what's going on in your tights is just not their business Tommy: that's such a you way to put that Meena: I'll choose to take that as a compliment on me having a consistent voice Meena: though the alternatives are 🤔 Tommy: take as I miss you Meena: Are you back for long? Tommy: Nah, they ain't that patriotic either Tommy: I shouldn't even be here, wouldn't have been if she wasn't coming Meena: That's shittier Tommy: maybe JC is trying to keep me humble before I get too 🤩 Meena: It's Patrick that needs to make a second coming to banish your brother 🐍🐍 Tommy: he's already done that himself Meena: Oh, that was the purpose of today then? Meena: I get it Tommy: if he had one Tommy: might have just been out of his 🧠 on whatever 💊💉🥄🚬 Tommy: or worse so 😍 over her that's all that he gives a shit about besides the above Meena: Wait Meena: he's what? Tommy: you'll hear about it soon as you get back to class, they were doing it for everyone to see Tommy: her purpose given what it did to my ma Meena: Jesus Meena: that's Meena: you're right, no words Tommy: at least he one upped Fraze, I guess Meena: does make that situation seem totally run of the mill in comparison Meena: I have heard it happens Meena: when people who are related but estranged meet Meena: it's like a thing™ Meena: not that that helps you personally, obviously Tommy: Really?! Meena: [sends articles like nerd] Tommy: fucking hell Meena: It's crazy Meena: like you know there should be some strong emotional response but you kinda get it fucked up or something Meena: I don't know, science isn't my forte Tommy: nor mine, but if anyone would get those kind of wires crossed, it would have to be him Tommy: Jesus Meena: at least he didn't have a wife and kids to leave or something like some of these people Meena: it's really sad Tommy: you didn't see her though, she's like Tommy: terrifying Meena: I don't think they have to be a hottie but it probably helps in some cases Tommy: 😂 Meena: how so though? like what was she like Tommy: Alright so if they were putting a modern twist on Frankenstein's monster for the stage she could play that, but she'd need serious anger management first Tommy: electroshock wouldn't be far off, funnily enough Meena: Okay, that does sound scary Meena: even if looks can be deceiving, is the moral my own life has hit home hard, sounds like the insides matched so Tommy: It was like if you took every teenage horror story my ma has told us, scraped off the sugarcoating and then mixed that with the worst shit Fraze has ever done when he's on one, you still wouldn't come close to the mark Meena: I know the sort you mean Meena: no matter how well Drew and Caleb think they do with protecting me, I've had plenty of people approach me asking for them, messing with me Tommy: this once I'm gutted you know what I mean then Tommy: 'cause fuck that Meena: mostly it's the former and it's stupid little kids who want some weed or pills, that's just annoying but yeah Tommy: you know boxing's footwork is dead easy, I could teach you what my dad taught me Tommy: any time you want Meena: thanks Meena: at least my height would finally work in my favour, right? Meena: better reach Tommy: bigger 🎯 too remember Tommy: you have to keep your guard up to protect that face Meena: sounds like you're saying I'm 🌚 Tommy: 😮 Tommy: that's awkward Meena: *frantically googles how to shrink head* Tommy: nah, it's awkward 'cause you grew into your head ages ago & I didn't throw you a 🥳 or anything Tommy: must of happened all of a sudden or without me realising Meena: grew into it?! Meena: so I was a bobblehead before, thanks so much 😂 Tommy: only slightly Meena: I'm only slightly 💔 then Tommy: don't be, it was endearing Tommy: you were a cute kid Meena: okay 👵 Meena: no need to patronize me Meena: my head is only literally big, not metaphorically Tommy: come on, a 🍭 is a great look Meena: Better than a pea-head Tommy: or a 🍐 head like I've got Meena: it's distinguished Meena: be gutted you don't want to be a character actor Tommy: nice save, you can teach me ⚽ when we're done with 🥊 Meena: Sounds good to me Tommy: 👍 Tommy: [show up boy cos the restaurant can't be that far from the pub surely] Meena: [have a nerdy but more chill time, Gus loves everyone he's a good egg, I say you should go to this party for the drama of it all sod it] Tommy: [agreed x 2 the restaurant would have such a nice vibe when Drew and Caleb aren't there which they obviously aren't rn and then yeah we can get more messy with it] Meena: [okay so the plan, we having a lovely time (given the circumstances tonight lol) then her boyf shows up] Tommy: [I just picture her bf being so underwhelming like no offense but he'd have to be someone that Tommy didn't clock on socials so when he realises he's like oh and then dials his campness up to 1000000 being that gay BFF stereotype which she would pick up on immediately cos that's not how he is with her except when he's hiding behind it cos things are uncomfortable between them. I just imagine him raiding Ali & Carly's makeup and wardrobe and making the gayest cocktails he can and getting Meena involved and stealing her attention] Meena: [he wouldn't be and he's also lowkey an arsehole as per her type so he wouldn't be all ❤ on her socials anyway, but all this can be a thing 'cos not seeing the gay boy as a threat and probably wants to get drunk so] Tommy: [don't beat him up Tommy you don't want her to think you're doing it for Drew and Caleb like reasons] Meena: [at least we know you two are distracted] Tommy: [thanks for also getting Carly and Ali involved in your gay antics because we all need whatever fun we can get] Meena: [until you gotta go pregnant Ali] Tommy: [lord, I hope Tommy has left by then] Meena: [lordt] Tommy: [casual 3way with your missus and the less attractive drug dealer in town] Meena: [thank god your genetics are solid underneath that mess boy] Tommy: [and we know Rio looks like Ali anyways] Meena: [you do alright out of it kids] Tommy: [it could be so much worse] Meena: [blame your dad for your insecurities grace] Tommy: [and your evil nan] Meena: [junie is just #unique like no one looking like you boy, the closest is fraze as your uncle] Tommy: [unless he looks like Caleb's dad because we don't know him] Meena: [who can say baby] Tommy: [anyway take a moment to appreciate all the Tommy and Meena dancing everyone, giving you that for free] Meena: [love that] Tommy: [soz shit bf he is a threat because their chemistry especially when they are dancing is ridiculous goodbye] Meena: [deffo gonna get mardy at that and go off to have an argument] Tommy: [are you happy now Thomas? Thought not] Meena: [awkwarddd] Tommy: [get drunker boy that'll totally make it better and not worse] Meena: [cry in the bathroom that's a mood] Tommy: [ruin your make up, oh babe] Meena: [everyone else is so wrecked you'll fit in] Tommy: [by not doing drugs you're one of the least messy] Meena: [exactly dr phil] Meena: [the next day] Meena: Have a safe flight back Tommy: Cheers, I'll probably just 💤 Meena: Can't blame you Tommy: did you get any? Meena: Yeah, I'm fine Meena: had to get up early to clean the restaurant though so not as much as I'd ideally want Tommy: had another 🌱🍏🍈🥬🌿���🥝🥒🌼 juice, yeah? Tommy: that's pretty patriotic, you know Tommy: better late than never, like Tommy: throw 🍊🍑🥕 in there too & you're sorted Meena: Yeah, I bet EVERYONE in this fair nation is starting a juice cleanse this AM, not having a fry-up, nah Tommy: 😏 Tommy: green eggs & ham would keep you in theme Meena: 🤢 Tommy: fair 🍳🥞🧇🥓🥐🥯🍞 then Tommy: take your pick Meena: are you gonna post it to me? Tommy: be messy if you're having 🍳 or 🥞 but saves me having to use any words Meena: Probably best to stick to non-perishables Meena: best option for us both, like Tommy: Yeah Meena: How was it, this morning Meena: before you left Tommy: how you'd expect Meena: Yeah Tommy: Bea has to leave too so Fraze's dramatics will take centre stage for a sec but Meena: Distraction is probably the best technique for right now Tommy: worked last night Meena: I bet the parties you have in London are even better Tommy: only 'cause we 🩰 ain't supposed to be partying Meena: and what's more fun than prohibition, sure Tommy: forbidden 🍏🍎🍐🍊🍋🍌🍉🍇🍓🍈🍒🍑🥭🍍🥥🥝 juice is my fave, can't lie Meena: 🙄😏 Meena: enjoy Tommy: you're not supposed to give me your blessing, sucks the fun right out Tommy: forbidden, remember Meena: I'm not a teacher Tommy: yeah you are, whenever Anne needs you Meena: Okay, smartypants Meena: there's nothing I could teach YOU Tommy: not with THAT attitude Meena: 🤨 maybe next time Meena: bring your own 🩰 Tommy: & 🥊 Meena: a look Tommy: the 🩳 are too Meena: what do you wear on your top half though Meena: leotard? Tommy: lads don't usually wear anything to show off 💪 Meena: Who are you showing off to? Tommy: The other lad of course, name a sport that ain't homoerotic Meena: not when you come back here Tommy: when I come back here most of all Meena: no boys in my classes Tommy: Anne's been a letdown from the very beginning, what can I say? Tommy: you're on your own, Meeps Meena: I'll survive Tommy: I know

[qfantasydragon]

Finis

Author’s note: This is the fifth and final part of an ongoing good omens fanfiction. You can find part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, and part 4 here. It’s also up on AO3 (x)

Aziraphale drifted.  

His mind wandered through old memories and thoughts. He dreamt of falling, and then of an unpleasant fire that licked at his humming soul without doing any harm. Power washed over him in a wave, cooling the blaze. It felt like plants after a rainfall, open night skies, a car rocketing along to the beat of drums and the wail of a guitar, and questions asked in sarcasm and desperation.  

Crowley, Aziraphale thought with a sigh, slipping deeper into sleep, comforted by his presence.  

Now he dreamt of soaring upward in the heart of a nebula, clouds of turquoise and silver cradling him as he slept. A constellation snake formed around him, stars igniting, watching him as he drifted.  

Finally, he woke up.  

The first thing he noticed was that he did not seem to possess eyes. Or hands. That is, there were eyes he could see through and hands he could feel, but they weren’t his.  

The second thing he noticed was what felt like Crowley’s soul, wrapped around his own. It was warm and comforting and felt like home in a way that even the bookshop didn’t–after all, he’d only had the bookshop for a century or two, but he’d known Crowley for millennia. He tentatively spread his wings, pressing them against Crowley in a gentle question.  

“Angel?”‌ the demon’s voice asked, “are you awake?”  

Yes. I‌ think I can understand why you like sleep so much, my dear. That was quite interesting. Although I must ask, why do we appear to be sharing a body?  

“Yours got discorporated I’m afraid. Really, I’m wondering if that bookshop’s bad luck for you; 6000 years and the two times you’ve lost a body are sitting in it.”  

Oh dear. What happened?  

“The frontal attack was a distraction. While we were focused on that, Hastur snuck in the back, disposed of your body and dragged your soul down to Hell.”  

Alarm sparked through Aziraphale; to Crowley, it felt like sparklers looked, golden, sharp, and bright.  

Are we…  

“Nah, I got us back out. Pretty sure they’ll leave us be now.”  

Well, that’s good news at least.  

Aziraphale paused to peer through Crowley’s eyes, taking in their surroundings. 

My dear, where are we?  

Around them was nothing but rolling dunes, dimly illuminated by the millions of stars in the clear sky.  

Crowley glanced to his right, and the world shifted for a second. For half of one of the demon’s heartbeat, Aziraphale saw familiar towering walls and the vibrant green that peeked over the top.  

Hireath was an old Welsh word that meant longing for a home one could never return to. It felt like a cool fall wind and a parched desert as it rolled from Aziraphale’s soul into Crowley’s and out into the night air.  

“Between the Euphrates and the Mediterranean, or thereabouts,” Crowley answered after a silent moment.  

Is there a reason why?  

Crowley glanced down. The angel took a moment to orientate himself in the demon’s body. The form was longer and lankier than he was used to and had a certain restless energy that seemed to be built in– or maybe that was just Crowley. Currently, it was sitting cross-legged, staring at a pile of what looked like black sand, red and silver pebbles, and pale blue and white ice.  

My dear, what is this?  

“Well, seeing as you don’t have a body anymore, I thought I’d try to make you another. Right here are all the big building blocks, fresh from the stars; I’ve got carbon, phosphorus, nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, and calcium…The problem is I‌ don’t know how to put it together.”  

To Aziraphale, Crowley’s frustration felt like popping embers, hot and orange and able to flare up with any breath of help. He spread his wings and sang-sighed-murmured soothing words, spreading out the coals to cool off.  

My dear, I know it takes teams of angels to create a single body. That’s why there's so much fuss and paperwork involved when one gets discorporated, and I don’t imagine the demons do much better. Only the Almighty can create human bodies easily; it may take some time before you can even assemble a skeleton.  

“But itsss not fair to you, to keep you stuck in here with me. Not that I mind sharing space, but, well….”  

We are two separate individuals. It's perfectly natural that we each want a body to our own. You have no reason to be apologetic about not wanting me sharing yours for an extended period of time.

Relief was cool water on a summer day, the idea of homemade chicken noodle soup during a cold, taking off a jacket and relaxing into home.  

“Love you angel,” the words escaped Crowley’s lips on the faintest of breaths; had Aziraphale had his own body, he would have never heard them.  

But he felt the motion of Crowley’s throat, the lips and tongue that traced the words into the welcoming star-strewn air.  

Crowley’s sudden burst of anxiety was a thorny flower, sending roots tangling down into his gut, scratching thorns up his chest, unfurling leaves forcing motion into limbs that had never learned what do with themselves and blooming a choking flower in the back of his throat.  

Aziraphale gently tugged the flower free, casting it aside. Hesitantly at first, forcing his way through thousands of years of fear and silence he opened his hands (his wings his soul his heart his being) and showed Crowley what was at his core.  

It was… It was the first note of Creation, it was pure white light and radiant darkness; it was sunrises and moons and stars, it was the birds singing to greet them all; six thousand years of laughter and meetings and food and drink, six thousand years of friendship instead of hatred. It was six thousand years finally being able to look back and recognize what had happened.  

It was six thousand years of love.  

I am an angel. My wings are white and strong and can carry me however high I choose to go. When the War came I did not Fall, but oh my darling, my dear, for all of that I’ve spent a very long time Falling.  

I love you too.  

The Almighty is, first and foremost, a being of love. When the demons had been cast out, they lost their ability to feel that love and any lesser extensions thereof. (This is why Crowley has spent the last millennia convinced that there is no way Aziraphale could actually love him; Aziraphale’s excuse is general obliviousness coupled with worryingly low self-esteem.) (That, and they’re both idiots.)  

What this means is that Crowley had been cold and freezing for a very long time. He had gotten used to being numb, convinced himself that there was nothing else. Aziraphale had done the metaphorical equivalent of wrapping him in a heated blanket and giving him a cup of rich hot cocoa.  

Crowley trembled as that warmth rushed through him, inside and out, shook as he suddenly regained feeling in parts of his being that he thought that had been lost forever in his Fall.  

Oh, my love. It’s alright. It’s okay.  

“’M fine,”‌ Crowley gasped, wrapping his arms around himself, “’sokay.”  

You’re crying.  

“Demons-- Demons can’t cry…” But there was a warm wetness dripping from his eyes and he knocked off his glasses as he dragged a forearm across his eyes. “’s not tears, ‘m not crying.”  

Of course my dear, of course.  

“OH,‌ MY CHILDREN.” There was a voice in the wilderness, a light where before there had been nothing. Crowley jerked and the light coalesced into a human shape. Kind of.  

She was human, She was entirely blazing dark/light, she was a Mobius strip with two edges, she was a shape with one dimension or infinitely many.

Aziraphale’s soul sang a pure joyous note at her presence and the whole landscape was blessed for miles.  

Crowley’s reaction was more mixed. His soul hummed a low abandonment made of questions without answers, of a long hard Fall, and every lost child’s desperate wish for love and an explanation. If there had been any humans within hearing, they would’ve fallen to the ground and wept. Aziraphale offered shelter under his wings and Crowley curled beneath it, head poking out and tongue nervously testing the air.  

She smiled at them both and reached out to the pile of raw elements Crowley had assembled. It twisted and reformed and while it was doing that She reached out and gently tugged Aziraphale’s soul from Crowley’s body. In a way, Aziraphale’s soul in her hands resembled a bird, darting slightly from side to side with graceful motions. But it was also…more in some indescribable, ineffable way and Crowley knew that when the world did come to end and all that was left of them was this, he would recognize Aziraphale’s being even if it was surrounded by a million other angels.  

She gently placed the soul into the new heart and let the body finish forming. Then she gently cupped Aziraphale's face as he blinked into awareness and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. It left a glowing silver mark that quickly faded.    

Then She turned to Crowley and hugged him tightly.  

He shuddered once, twice and then broke down, weeping into her shoulder/wing.  

“MY GREATEST JOY AND‌ MY‌ GREATEST GRIEF WAS‌ WHEN‌ I‌ GAVE MY CREATIONS FREE WILL. I SAW WHAT THE DEMONS WOULD DO, AND I SAW THAT THE ANGELS WERE NO BETTER. I DID NOT AND DO NOT WANT ARMAGEDDON. THUS I PUT AZIRAPHALE IN CHARGE OF THE EASTERN GATE SO THAT HE WOULD LEARN TO LOVE HUMANITY. I LET YOU FALL BECAUSE HE WAS GOING TO NEED SOMEONE TO CONVINCE HIM THAT THE ANGELS WERE NO DIFFERENT THAN THE DEMONS, HE WAS GOING TO NEED SOMEONE TO PUSH HIM INTO ASKING WHY. AND I SAW THAT YOU WOULD NEED SOMEONE TO HELP YOU KEEP YOUR FAITH, IF NOT IN ME THEN IN THAT THERE WAS SUCH A THING AS GOOD IN MY CREATION. TAKE HEART CROWLEY; I HAVE A PLAN BUT ITS RATHER INEFFABLE FROM YOUR STANDPOINT.”  

She gave him one last squeeze and placed a kiss on his forehead. It rippled through him, a small fire during a biting winter night, and stayed, crackling in his being.  

The world twisted and She was gone and they were once more sitting in the back of Aziraphale’s bookshop.  

The angel looked around and sat down heavily in his chair, looking like someone had hit him over the head with his original copy of the Lord of the Rings.  

Crowley just kind of collapsed into a snake, a half coiled puddle of scales on the wooden floorboards. Eventually, Aziraphale reached down and scooped him up, draping him carefully around his seat.  

They both sat there for a very long time.  

Finally, Aziraphale spoke.  

“My love, would you consider moving out of London for a couple of decades at the least? I’ve heard there’s a lovely cottage in the South Downs whose owners are trying to find a buyer.”  

Later, when they’d settle in Adam and Anathema swung by and told them immediately that there was a mark on both their foreheads– Anathema described it as a ‘bright white light that blanketed their auras’, while Adam said it looked like a shield.  

The angel and the demon gave each other sidelong glances and decided to move on with life. After a decade or two, Heaven and Hell both began exchanging very, very, polite messages with them. Both Gabriel and Beelzebub looked like they were going to pass out when they came to ‘check in’ and left in a hurry, eyes trained on Crowley and Aziraphale’s foreheads.  

As for the angel and the demon, they spent their time contentedly in that cottage. Crowley started a garden that took up most of the yard (he no longer screamed at his plants), oftentimes growing edibles for his angel who was learning to cook. He also grew grapes, and many a neighbor commented that that nice couple down the way made the best wine. Aziraphale started a smaller collection of books and never had to worry about anyone trying to buy them. After the sun had gone down he would often read to Crowley in a low murmuring voice that lulled the demon to sleep.  

And you know what?  

They all, the Them, Newt and Anathema, and most especially Aziraphale and Crowley, lived happily ever after.  

Finis.

[anistarrose]

Some Sunny Day - Ch. 13: Isomers (Gravity Falls - Same Coin Theory)

Summary: Ford shares an unsurprisingly scientific metaphor, the sun sets, and the day comes to an end.

Warnings: some self-blame and looking back on suicidal thoughts, but it’s mostly comfort and talking through things

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947964/chapters/46028998

Previous

The Beginning

It’s finally here. The final chapter!

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

***

The sun was just beginning to dip beneath the treetops as they headed back to the Mystery Shack. The sky was still cloudless, but now took on a purple hue close to the horizon. Stan and Ford walked together, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, reluctant to let go.

They nearly lost their grip, however, when they reached the Shack to see Fiddleford’s search party waiting for them, and Wendy barreled up to knock the wind out of Stan with a hug.

“You guys, we were so worried! You better not ever disappear like that again, Stan, or — or I’ll —”

“Yeesh, you spend one year working for someone else and suddenly you get to boss me around?” Stan grunted. “Gimme some room to breathe here, at least.”

Wendy laughed, and let go of him. “Now that sounds like the Mr. Pines I know.”

“Yeah, I…” Stan smiled sadly, rubbing his ribs. “I think, even today, I’ve never been anything but the Mr. Pines you knew… I just didn’t always feel like it.”

“But you’re doing better now, right? Mabel chimed in. “You feel like yourself again?”

Stan gave a slow nod. “I think so. Having something to yell at that wasn’t inside my own head… I think that helped.”

“That’s such a relief,” Wendy told him. “Sounds like you’ve got a hell of a story to tell, though — if you want to,” she quickly added.

“Someday,” Stan said. “Not now, but someday.”

Fiddleford watched the exchange, nodding approvingly at first before a thought seemed to dawn on him and his eyes suddenly lit up with concern. “This is all rightly touching, and I’m as relieved as anyone to see you safe and feelin’ like yourself, Stan, but… have y’all eaten anything since this mornin’? You don’t want to end up just keeling over from plain ol’ starvation, not after everything ya’ve survived today.”

As if one cue, Ford’s stomach rumbled, and he smiled sheepishly. “Well, Fidds, this is probably going to remind you of our college days…”

“You didn’t even eat this morning, did you?” Stan muttered.

“I think I had half of a granola bar, around eight-thirty? Maybe closer to a third of —”

“That’s it, we’re ordering pizza right now!” Mabel declared. “And ice cream too, ‘cause you deserve it, Grunkle Stan!”

Stan bit his lip and closed his eyes, instinctively trying to suppress the tears he could feel coming… Ah, screw it. It’s Mabel.

He opened his eyes and reached down to ruffle her hair.

“You deserve it too,” he said softly. “You all do. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“Neither would we, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper told him, gently taking him by the hand. “You’ve saved us too, don’t you ever forget it.”

The others began to file into the Shack, and Stan followed, holding Dipper’s hand on one side and Ford’s on the other as Mabel scrambled ahead to hold the door open. He felt the field from the unicorn hair wash over him, temporarily neutralizing the power to reshape reality and blocking his ability to see outside the barrier’s limits, and made a beeline for his chair in the living room, where he immediately sat down to rest.

Rest. It had been the furthest concern from his mind an hour ago — because yes, he’d wanted to die, but never because he was tired of living. He’d wanted to die to protect his family from the demon that he feared that he still was, to serve justice against wrongs from a previous life…

Because he thought his death would be best for the universe, not because there wasn’t anything else he wanted out of life.

But now, as hard as it had been to convince himself, he knew he was Stanley Pines — an actually half-decent person who was allowed to want things — and right now, Stan just wanted a nice, peaceful, temporary rest, here in his home and alongside his family.

So he turned the television on to a familiar Ducktective rerun, and smiled as everyone gathered around him to watch as they waited for the food to arrive. He still grimaced from time to time, as new memories of Bill’s would pop into his head, but something was taking the sting out of them — he wasn’t drawn towards dwelling on them anymore, he realized, not with his family around him. Not with Mabel on the ground by his feet, still laughing at jokes she’d heard plenty of times before, and Dipper at his side, pointing out foreshadowing with a proud smile on his face.

One by one, memories of anger and suffering returned only to be drowned out — not by denial this time, but rather a flood of competing memories of joy, of relaxation, and of family bonding.

***

“Thanks for leaving a note,” Ford told Stan as he sat down in the grass a few feet away.

“Well, you still worried, didn’t you?” Stan asked. “That’s why you’re here?”

Here was the clearing where Bill’s statue rested, the clearing where the blue fire had first flickered up around Stan’s hands and began to drive away the dark, dark fog of denial that he’d cloaked his memories in. But now, the only fires visible were the stars in the sky, a million little lights illuminating the statue from above.

All those stars had their own stories, Stan realized, stories he could see if he wanted to — but he didn’t feel the need to look, to turn his all-seeing eye so far away from home, not when everything he could ask for in life was right here with him.

Through hardship to the stars? Nah, through hardship to family is enough for me.

“Not as much as I would have worried had you not left it,” Ford replied after a long pause, disrupting Stan’s thoughts. “I just… wanted to make sure you had someone to talk to, in the case that you wanted to talk. I’ll leave if you don’t want me here —”

“No, you can stay,” Stan told him, then after an awkward silence, he asked: “Are the kids asleep?”

“As far as I know, yes.” Ford must have noticed Stan’s sigh of relief, because he added: “Please don’t blame yourself for making them worry so much. You know that no force in the multiverse could ever stop them from doing their best to be there for you.”

“Yeah. I don’t —”

Stan almost said I don’t deserve them, but caught himself. Ford wouldn’t want to hear him say that, and… well, even though intrusive thoughts of self-doubt still lurking in the back of his mind tried to convince him otherwise, he knew that it just wasn’t true.

“I just kinda felt like I needed to take a look at the statue again,” he told Ford. “Since I haven’t come near here since… this morning.”

Ford nodded. “I guess we’ve learned a lot since then, haven’t we?”

“Hard to believe all that went down in just one day.”

“Well, there were a few things that ‘went down’ outside of time itself —”

“Oh, come on, Sixer. You’re seriously gonna bring your nerdy technicalities into this? Now?”

For a second, Stan feared that he’d put a bit too much anger into his words, had said something that sounded too much like a thing Bill might say — but Ford started to laugh, loudly and genuinely, and after a moment’s hesitation, Stan did too. It felt like an incredible weight had been taken off his shoulders — the two of them had gone too long without any banter, any jokes, any good-natured mocking. It had only been a day, but that day had felt like an eternity, like it too was maturing at a rate completely independent of the passage of time.

(Or maybe, the weight on Stan’s shoulders was still there, but he was no longer bearing it alone.)

Their laughter fizzled out, and for a while, they sat there in silence together, alternating looks at the statue with looks at the beautiful cloudless night sky. Now there was something Stan would be happy to use his powers for — making the sky clearer for family stargazing nights, and keeping the rain away when they wanted to go camping.

The idea improved his mood, so for a while, he held off on bringing up the topic that had been bothering him for the past few hours. But eventually, Ford began to awkwardly shift in place as if thinking about starting another conversation, and Stan finally said:

“I have… what’ll probably be a hard question.”

Ford turned to look at him, a reassuring smile on his face. “I’m ready to hear it.”

“It’s, uh… it’s just that I’m not sure if I even know what answer I want, and…”

“It’ll be okay.” Ford scooted closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to, of course, but after everything we’ve already gotten through today… I think we’ll be able to find a good answer, together.”

Before he lost his nerve, Stan blurted out: “Do you forgive me?”

Ford let out a long, slow sigh. “I… had a feeling it was going to be something like that, and… I’ve been thinking about that a lot myself.”

He withdrew his hand from Stan’s shoulder, as if sensing Stan’s wish for a bit more space. “If you don’t mind me asking, do you know if you want me to forgive you?”

“No,” Stan decided at that instant, voicing his answer with a vehemence even he hadn’t expected. “No, you shouldn’t. Because that stuff…”

He looked down. “That stuff I did to you just wasn’t forgivable. And I’m different now — I’d never do that again, I know that — but that doesn’t just make all that shit okay, just because I realized how fucked up it was. So… don’t forgive me for it.”

Ford’s expression changed into a strange sort of smile, something sad but not hopeless. “That’s… that’s a fair point, about it not being forgivable. And for the most part, I’d think I’d say that I agree — but with just addendum.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s a long addendum, though, and I’m not sure how best to phrase it. I hope you’ll bear with me.”

Stan nodded.

“Now, I’m no philosopher,” Ford began, “but I’ll say this: the idea of holding someone accountable for actions they don’t remember is generally regarded as… a gray area, at best.”

He paused, as if a word was on the tip of his tongue. “And your case… I think your case may actually be more clear-cut than most, due to the sheer severity of your amnesia. Bill is gone, destroyed by the loss of his memories, which leaves you with no reason to be blamed for his actions even though you arose in his place. And if someone doesn’t deserve the blame for something in the first place, then there would be no need to forgive them, wouldn’t you say?”

“But I remember now,” Stan cut in. “Those memories didn’t stay lost.”

“They stayed lost for sixty-two years,” Ford replied. “That’s got to be more than enough time to become someone else altogether. To change so much, to mature so much…”

“Into a totally different entity? I know I’m not the same as he was — I know I’m better — but me and Bill, we were still made of the same stuff. I see what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it —”

Ford snapped his fingers. “Exactly! That’s the metaphor I was looking for!”

“But someone’s still gotta be responsible for — wait, what?”

“Made of the same building blocks, in the same ratios —” Ford was beaming all of a sudden, and gesturing wildly as he only really did when talking about science. “But assembled together in different ways, and producing vastly different properties!”

“I’m sorry, but I have exactly no idea where you’re going with this.”

“Do you remember what constitutional isomers are? When two molecules have the same chemical formula, but different connectivity between the individual atoms?”

“Yeah, and that’s relevant because…?”

“Because they’re made from the same components, but no self-respecting chemist would ever say that they’re the actually the same compound!” Ford explained. “Different names, different chemical and physical properties — just like you and Bill!”

At that, Stan almost laughed despite himself, because the whole conversation — the rambling on, the elaborate metaphors, the science — was all just pure Ford. And truth be told, as much as he might grumble and complain about the complexity and nerdiness of Ford’s preferred brand of analogies… there was no way he’d rather have conversations like these than the Ford way.

“Okay, go on…”

“Like — take ethanol and dimethyl ether, for example. They have the same amounts of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen in their chemical formulas, but if memory serves, dimethyl ether will release more energy than an equal amount of ethanol when you burn it. Because of the different ways their atoms are arranged, their respective destructions will have different effects upon the world.”

Ford took a breath, and continued more slowly:

“When I believed that Bill had burned and died, I felt no grief for him. The end of the being known as Bill Cipher was no loss to me, or to the rest of the world. On the contrary, there was rejoicing. But when I thought you were gone…”

He laid a hand on Stan’s shoulder.

“Stan Pines cannot be destroyed without leaving behind an immense amount of grief. That’s one of the many differences between you and Bill — you saw that grief when we thought your memories were gone, and even given what we now know, it still holds true. Unlike Bill, you mean everything to us — no matter how much you two have in common, you have too many different properties, too many different effects upon the world, to ever be called the same, just like two isomers cannot be called the same compound. As far as I’m concerned — and as far as anyone should be concerned — Bill Cipher really is dead, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“I think… I get what you’re saying,” Stan said. “Now don’t get me wrong, I’m still not sure an entire chemistry lecture was the best way you coulda explained it, but… I think I like the point you’re making there.”

Ford chuckled a little. ���I’m glad. You and Bill — you’re inherently and inextricably connected by your origins, but no one would ever mistake one of you for the other…”

He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You know how to use a toaster, for one thing.”

“Okay, why the fuck do I have such vivid memories of Bill not knowing how to do that?”

“He got so defensive about it, too — insisted humans were the crazy ones for wanting to cook bread twice!”

“What a dumbass! Good thing he’s just a statue now.”

“It’s appropriate, because the statue is exactly as good as he was at using a toaster.”

Much to the disappointment of any nearby wildlife attempting to sleep, their raucous laughter took a while to die down. When it finally did, Ford checked his watch.

“Huh,” he murmured. “It just struck midnight.”

“The day’s over,” Stan added. “Finally.”

Ford laid back, hands behind his head as he gazed up at the stars.

“You know, when Bill told me — well, sung to me — that we’d meet again some sunny day, I didn’t think it would come true so literally.”

“And he really didn’t know where or when either, did he? Bet he wouldn’t have liked the song so much if he had.”

They both fell silent for a moment, before Ford continued:

“I think — at least, I hope — that I already conveyed this sentiment yesterday, if not the exact words, but… I’m really glad that you exist, Stan. And that you’re my brother.”

“Thanks.” Stan leaned back into the grass, feeling its cool blades tickle his arms and neck. “I am too.”

***

Wkh vwdwxh zloo uhpdlq lq Judylwb Idoov iru ploohqqld wr frph: d uhfrug ri rqh ghprq’v ghdwk, dqg wkh nlqgqhvv ri d idplob wkdw hqvxuhg kh zrxog qhyhu, hyhu frph edfn.

Well, it’s been one year, thirteen chapters, and tens of thousands of words, but Some Sunny Day has reached its conclusion. Not too long ago at all, this day seemed impossibly far off — early this year, I thought there was no way I’d possibly be able to finish during the summer of 2019, but here we are! I’ve worked on this fic through good times, I’ve worked on it through bad times, I’ve grown so much as a writer and as a person… 

And as cliche as this probably sounds, none of that would be possible without all the comments and kudos and reblogs and general support everyone has shown. I hadn’t expected a story based on a somewhat convoluted fan theory about a show that had ended years ago to resonate with many people, but I was overwhelmed in the best way possibly by the response this fic got. This project was probably the biggest creative challenge I’ve ever tackled, but it brought me so much joy. It feels so strange to let go of it now, but I’m also so excited to move on to new projects!

Of course, there are still a few sequels and extra tidbits coming, so don’t forget to keep an eye out for those! Or in other words:

We’ll meet again, Don’t know where, don’t know when, But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day!

This is Rose, signing off.

[teganovak]

Bobby pins (Scholar x Tyler)

(because i’m not over that illustration)

The day of the competition is easily the most hectic one Arthur's spent at Arlington yet, though he supposes that's to be expected. Everyone seems to be buzzing with energy as they gather around, waiting for the opening ceremony to start, and he finds himself soaking it all in. It culminates in a weird mixture of apprehension and anticipation inside of him, and he feels vaguely annoyed at the sensation; he was never this emotional before Arlington.

At least, he thinks with a sort of dry amusement, it's not as though he doesn't have a reason to be nervous. If his idea for the fashion show doesn't work out, the entire department would probably come after him, pitchforks and sewing kits in hand, with Karolina leading the mob. Or, he muses, she'll just stand aside and enjoy the show; one or the other, for sure.

"Psst," he hears from his left and shifts, eyes narrowing. Any frown that might've been making its way on his face, however, immediately softens as he spots Tyler's grin -- for whatever reason, Arthur finds it hard to be moody around him. "Shouldn't you be with your department?" he raises an eyebrow instead and, as he feels the bead ring on it being pulled, he wonders, distinctly, if he should've perhaps taken it out; he's ‘Arlington's sweetheart’, after all, and piercings don't exactly scream nice and approachable. Ah, well, he decides. Screw people if they judge him based on that. At his question though, Tyler waves a hand dismissively. "There's still some time left, it's fine. Besides," he grins and Arthur must be imagining this because he can swear he sees Tyler's cheeks darken. "I wanted to see how you were doing." Oh.

It's a sweet gesture, really; one Arthur would probably be rolling his eyes at if it was anybody else. But no, it's him, and it's Tyler, and that seems to be enough to leave him speechless, mind blank. "Er," he says finally and winces, annoyed at his own fumbling; he's never had problems with eloquence before. "I'm fine. I know we have a good idea, it's only a matter of executing it well." It's a very him thing to say, he's aware, and Tyler nods, unsurprised. "Yeah, I figured," he says and something in his grin seems to soften as he reaches out to give Arthur a light pat on the arm. "Even if you were nervous, though. Well. You'd still be a badass." Arthur has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling -- he doesn't think he does a very good job but the effort has to count for something. "...Thanks." Tyler laughs, hand sliding off of Arthur's arm, says, "Anytime, man," and suddenly Arthur has no idea what's next. Is he supposed to say something? His mind once again goes annoyingly blank. He thinks he's about to say something really stupid when, thankfully, Tadashi calls out to the student body. "We're on in two minutes, everybody join their department!" Arthur lets out a small sigh -- whether one of relief or disappointment, he's not really sure -- and throws Tyler a half-smile. "Well. Guess that's your cue." (He's surprised by how much he wants Tyler to just stay and chat, and the feeling is so bizarre he nearly frowns. ) "Yeah," Tyler says and returns the smile. "Before I go though, here." He pulls something out of the pocket of his uniform and holds out a fist, gesturing for Arthur to extend his hand. "Are you going to put something nasty in it?" Arthur asks, snorting in amusement even as he's already extending his right hand towards Tyler, who then laughs as well, and it registers somewhere in the back of Arthur's mind that he has a nice laugh. (It’s a weird thought.)

"Nah, not this time."

Arthur's officially curious and as Tyler finally drops the supposedly-not-nasty object in his hand, he has to squint. "Are those... bobby pins?" "Damn right they are," Tyler says, proud, but there's a maybe imaginary flush on his face once again. "And they're grey so they fit your whole 'prince of darkness' aesthetic." Arthur blinks at him as he slowly processes everything that’s just happened. "That's... Okay, first of all, never call me prince of darkness again. It makes me sound like a twelve-year-old that shops exclusively in Cold Topic," he says and makes a face because damn it, he really used to be that kid and it’s a memory he definitely doesn’t want to go back to.

"Anyway, uh... thanks. I guess." It's not that he's not grateful as much as he doesn't really understand why Tyler's given him this, and belatedly Arthur realises he could've probably worded that better. Fortunately, Tyler doesn't seem offended as he lets out another laugh. "It's for your hair, tall-dark-and-handsome," he says and Arthur is torn between rolling his eyes at the new moniker (which also makes him sound like the aforementioned twelve-year-old) and teasing Tyler for pointing out the obvious. In the end, he says nothing as Tyler continues. "It's covering your face. And while I do think you absolutely rock the whole messy look, you're more likely to get votes if people can see your entire face." Arthur stares at him for a long moment until Tyler eventually shifts in his spot. "It's kinda a silly idea, I know, and you don't have to actually use them, obviously, but I thought I'd suggest it anyway. Since, you know, you mentioned you had to get into the Silver Tier and all -- which I'm sure you'll do even without the bobby pins. Like I said, just an idea." When Arthur's brain finally catches up to what Tyler’s saying, his hand closes around the bobby pins almost involuntarily. "No, uh," his voice comes out weird and he clears his throat. "No. It's... it's a good idea. Thank you. Really." Tyler lets out an exaggerated sigh and makes a show of wiping the metaphorical sweat off his brow. "Oh, good! You're welcome!” After a beat, he adds, “You're gonna look so good the cameras won't be able to look away! And it’ll all be thanks to yours truly."

Arthur rolls his eyes as he lets out a snort; he's not sure he'll even get to be on camera, with how many people there are, but he doesn’t exactly mind; he works best in the background anyway. "Right, I'm sure," he plays along regardless. ”I’ll be sure to remember you when I skyrocket to fame.” Then he unclenches his hand and he looks down at the pins. "Er, do you mind...?" Tyler needs no further prompting as he immediately jumps in action. "Absolutely! Let me just..." And he moves closer, eyes narrowing in concentration as one of his hands goes to push Arthur's hair to the side. "Pin please." Arthur obediently hands him one and then, a few seconds later, he hands him the other as well. When Tyler steps back to examine his work, he raises an eyebrow. "Well, doc? What's the verdict?" It takes Tyler a moment to respond. "Uh, yeah,” he nods, and there’s something Arthur can’t quite place in his eye. “Looking good.” And then just as quickly as that something appeared, it vanishes, replaced by a cheeky grin. “Just like I said you would." Arthur's eyes linger on him a moment longer, though, and there's a thought half-forming in his head. Before he can accurately place the feeling in his chest, however, Tadashi interrupts once again. "Tyler," he calls, walking briskly in their direction. "We're starting any moment now; for the love of god, go to your department," he says and Arthur has to stifle a snort. It shouldn't be funny, he knows that, in theory; Tadashi’s probably had only a few hours of sleep and he's been running around the school like mad for the past few days. However the pure annoyance mixed with a healthy dose of resignation on his face makes for one hell of an expression and, well, Arthur’s only human. (Then he happens to meet Tyler's eye for the briefest second and containing his amusement gets even harder.) "I'm already gone," Tyler turns to Tadashi, raising his hands in surrender. "Now you see me..." and he throws Arthur one last look before dashing off. Arthur sighs, still amused, but what can he do, let Tyler down? As if. So he shakes his head and dutifully finishes, "Now you don't." The glint in Tadashi's eye at that promises murder but aw, hell, Arthur's tired too; he shrugs. "Don't look at me, I'm just an innocent bystander." (Tadashi stares at him for a bit before letting out the deepest, most desperate sigh Arthur’s ever heard and walking away, muttering something about dumb teenagers. Which, fair, but hi, kettle, it's pot.) When he finally turns to glance at where Lady Arlington is standing, ready to begin her speech, Arthur finally lets out the smile he's been fighting off. He feels... better. Not necessarily calm but that's alright; he always gets a buzz under his skin whenever he gets to work on something he's passionate about and if anything, it only helps him focus. But getting to talk to Tyler, even if just for a little bit, was... nice. His hand, almost subconsciously, goes up to touch the bobby pins, and as he does, he notices a random student staring at him. His hand drops immediately and his eyes narrow; he’s unabashedly pleased as the guy quickly averts his gaze -- Arthur does have a reputation of a prince of darkness to uphold, after all.

[believerindaydreams]

hot cross buns

conversation from Baker’s POV, shortly before the Road Trip of doom. I can’t say why he’s talking to the audience like this, except that he’s rather lonely and doesn’t have anyone else to confide in.

You want to know why I'm in love with Angel Eyes?

Ask me a hundred times, you'll get a hundred answers. That squint he does, trying oh so hard to look mysterious- and succeeding. His graceful sang-froid while blowing smoke, whether that's from a pipe or a gun. The best goddamn squash soup I've ever tasted or ever will...but number one, that one tiny crazy mystery that sets him apart from everybody else in this business, is this. Angel doesn't do this because he has to.

He did once, I'll grant you; anybody with that family background was bound to end up in the stew one way or another. Either ordering the hits or managing them himself. He told me once, he didn't have the guts for the former.

(In Angel's defense, he was younger, very drunk, and his last partner had just tried to do him in nasty while they were performing same. I got a call after, came over to help with the clean-up; realised I had a good shot at either sex or secrets and plumped for the latter. Closest I've yet got to fucking him, but that night I don't regret.)

Point is, Angel Eyes doesn’t have the blood-lust. He doesn’t want after power or money or both in ever-increasing numbers, and while it’s obvious he gets a kick from the danger like the rest of us, he’s last to feel and first to come down. A controlled addiction. 

Not afraid either, the way we all are. 

So- who knows where he learned it, but our cool, collected angel can make anything seem classy, up to and including a business that's about the shabbiest on this earth. James Bond, you say? Sure. Sean Connery's anything but class, he just dresses the part- and that's a fair enough metaphor for the whole damned situation.

First time I ever heard an assassin say they preferred Roger Moore, it was this lunkhead in front of me; and you know, I think he believes it.

"So why'd you track me down?" Blondie asks, lighting one of his trademark cigarillos. This cramped room he’s rented is already swelteringly hot, but he seems indifferent to that. "Angel send you?"

He's got the nonchalance down pat, I'll admit that- we're all good at faking in this business, but being is something else again, maybe that's what drew Angel to him. Certainly not his skill level, since even a third-rater such as yours truly could take him any day- probably he has offed someone, but strictly street-level, nothing big time. He doesn't seem to know or care about the distinction, which isn't so unusual; but it's coupled to a - a-

oh, hell, I don't know the word for it. Point is, Blondie's pretty fabulous, and he does know how to play up to it.

"Angel's boss. Ever heard of him?"

"Rose. Yeah, I remember." A sardonic little grin, which strengths my notion that Blondie has no idea what he's talking about. You get out of the habit of smiling that way about the guy before you meet him, or you might do it- and then, wallop!

(Rose says that if a man can't keep from laughing while meeting him, he'll break the minute a fed has him by the collar. I'd try the same tactic in his shoes.)

"Right. You've attracted his interest. Very unhealthy position." I’d prefer to sit down by now, but there’s nowhere except the floor or the bed, and both of those are fairly undesirable. Leaning against the wall will have to do, filthy as it is. 

"I can take care of myself."

"Sure you can, sweetheart, and if it was up to me I wouldn't mind leaving you to it- but you get the same chances as anyone else." I take the gun out for emphasis, rap it against my palm. “After a lifetime of playing it by the books as is possible to get on the wrong side of the law, Angel Eyes just pops up one day with a brand new assassin nobody's ever heard of. You ever wonder what I do, Blondie?"

"Angel says you're an errand boy. A finger in half a dozen different pies, just about too useful and too lowly for any of the cooks to bother killing, so nobody does." He’s ignoring the gun altogether. It points to a fair instinct for when the instrument might actually be in play, that’s good to know.

"About the measure of it, yes. So how do you think I keep my hand in?"

"Don't know. Couldn't care less."

"Kid goats like you, mostly. You think you're the first man to try to shove his way into this business, on sheer pluck and willpower alone? I'm not saying it can't be done, but there are a couple entrance qualifications- and one of them's me."

"Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to check for your shadow, next time I head down a dark alley."

Cigarillo finished, he's starting another one. I contemplate taking out my pipe, but it's hard to keep a grip on it while I'm talking. Last week I set my pants on fire trying that- so, no then.

"I'm the least of your problems. Here's the thing. Angel's vouched for you, but Rose wants some loyalty out of the fellow who's trying to filch his best hit man- so you do the job, I watch and tell Rose, Rose has prosecutable on you if he ever wants it. You can get on with romancing Angel all you like after that, he won't care."

And may all that oh-so-cute stubble of yours blaze like a bonfire in hell if you do, I don't say- but that's besides the point. Blondie's still chain-smoking, but he does that so often I can't tell if it's nervousness or nicotine withdrawal. I should recommend him my therapist.

"Who's the job?"

At least he's not as much of an idiot as the last amateur I gave this speech to- that guy had asked me what. "Take your pick. There's always a list of nobodies who could use the killing when somebody has the time, pour les encouragement- or maybe you want to take it closer to home. Rose has a funny sort of taste that way. Bad business but a man has his inclinations, and when it doesn't interfere with the cash flow- know why Angel never had to do this? Because Alma told him he'd helped her kill Romano pere, and that tickled his fancy no end."

"Hope you're not suggesting I kill Angel. That's going to be a straight-up no."

"Of course not. We both want him bad, don't we?"

"Difference is," Blondie says indifferently, "I have him and you don't."

"That's what you think. You're not the first incompetent Angel's taken up with, he's had quite the string of those in the past." Probably because he knows he'd outshoot them, in a pinch; for the thousandth time I wonder whether being just a little worse at my job would have made the difference. "That little Mexican who he's taken up with now? That one's different. Something's wrong there-"

"Wrong?" He’s still lounging across the bedspread, pretending to look casual, but that jealous frisson’s unmistakable. 

"Angel cancelled on Rose last week. For the first time ever- we're talking about Angel Eyes here. Perfect record. Careerist. So proud of never letting a target slip through, until he sends word- sorry, cannot be bothered with this very choice assignment, otherwise engaged. So that's got Rose concerned, rather."

"I'm sure Angel Eyes could take him, if it came to that."

"Gawd, Blondie- I thought you loved him too." Or is he just that dumb? A street brat could just be dumb, I suppose. "If he ever kills Rose, hell breaks loose. Complete power vacuum, and Angel only has two ways out of it. Either he dies the next month or week or day, as soon as whoever scrambles to the top has him gunned down to show you can't do that kind of thing without consequences- or he has to become head cheese himself. Do you want to share Angel Eyes with the entire mob? Because I don't."

"Hmm."

Damn it, Blondie's unshakeable. Maybe he doesn't even care about Angel Eyes at all- nah. No. Angel's convinced of it, for one, and if Angel thinks so it almost doesn't matter what the man himself thinks.

"So you know what? Kill two birds with one stone. Off the Mexican, I'll back you up with any proofs you want for Angel Eyes. Rose gets off your back, you're all done."

(And so would he; Angel would never forgive the man who murdered Ramirez, I learned that much from my last visit. And with both his partners so neatly crossed from the list, why, who knows who Angel might turn to for comfort?)

"...I've slept with him," Blondie drawls, kinda slow and thoughtful. "Now that is what you might call impolite."

"Hell, you're not going to make it very far in this business if you make that a criteria for who you won’t kill. We've all done it. Angel Eyes has, I have. You will."

Blondie nods, takes a final drag and brushes ash from his hands. "Suppose I told you- suppose I said that I've never killed anybody before."

"Funny thing. Very funny thing. That's exactly what Ramirez told me, after I got him into bed- and he's a lot more believable when he says it, too. On account of not going around bragging the exact opposite, you know?"

"Mmm-hmm- you scare him with the same offer I just heard?"

"May have done." Didn't actually, but I never encountered a situation where a flat statement was better than a sly ambiguity. "Prisoner's dilemma of sorts, I suppose. Only if neither of you kills anyone, you're both getting into trouble, so...more the opposite?"

"Suppose," Blondie says, rather quietly, "I killed you."

"Well. You muck up quite a few people's plans. Rose gets rather put out- what makes you think you could manage it?"

He's a nobody. Unimportant. An amateur who’s never made a name for himself, what’s he going to do- 

“I’d manage.” 

I wait, for him to explain himself. I wait a long while. 

I wait for a long time. Time enough for the initiative to slip slowly out of my hands, burning up in the room’s heat, dead in the air.  

The amateurs, they talk. They get positively rhapsodic by this point. Spilling over with plans and hopes and eagerness- one with plans for favourite hated rival back home, or another just begging me for a justified target. I’ve never had any trouble supplying them with everything they desire. 

And they’re none of them been so self-confident, as to think they can murder the man who’s offering them the way in to all their dreams. 

“If you’d rather, I could find you someone else-” 

“Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easy,” Blondie says quietly. His hands don’t move, his knees don’t shake. He’s sweating less than I am. “If Rose wants me to send a message, he’ll get it- but let’s be fair to you. Go home and get your affairs in order first. Come and find me whenever you’re ready- and we’ll have ourselves an old-fashioned duel. I’ll tell Angel Eyes to referee. You know he’ll play fair by you.”

“We- we don’t need to do it that way. If I had something else to tell to Rose-”

“You want Angel, don’t you? Same way I do? Thinking in the night that for the right look you’d let him gut you, bleed you to death, and you’d die smiling? That fantasy you’ve got, unpicking the ropes after you’ve saved him, do you think you’re ever going to get that from him? You won’t. Not unless,” and he’s smiling, close-lipped joy- “not unless we make it happen. Winner takes all, Baker. I’ll be seeing you.”

If I could speak- anything but oh god you mean it you mean it to reassert normalcy- I open my mouth-

“Go home, little rabbit,” Blondie says crisply. Takes out a third cigarillo and fires it with one quick flick of the lighter, while I stare. Stuffs it in my mouth, leans back to admire the effect. 

The doorknob’s blistering under my hand. 

But I get out of there fast, before he can make me feel any more sheepish. 

[welllpthisishappening]

Where You Can Still Remember Dreaming (9/35)

Killian Jones, former crime reporter, was not happy to be home. It hadn’t been home in a very long time, after all. Home was an abstract construct that existed for people who didn’t know as many adjectives for blood as he did. Home wasn’t New York City, but it certainly wasn’t Boston or New Orleans either and he’d always gone where the story was. And he was positive Emma Swan was one hell of a story.

Emma Swan, pro video game player, desperately wanted to find home. She thought she had, a million years ago in the back corner of a barn and a town and faces she trusted. But that had all blown up in her face and it didn’t take long for her to decide she was going to control the pyrotechnics from here on out. So now she was in New York City and a different corner and she kind of wanted to trust Killian Jones.

Neither one of them expected a year of of video games and feature stories to dredge up old enemies and even older feelings, but, together, they made a pretty good team.

Rating: Mature AN: Stuff. It happens. David is an absurdly overprotective brother and I actually drew a color-coded flow chart while I was plotting this to make sure I knew how everyone was connected to everyone else. We’re getting into the good stuff and there’s a lot more happening than Killian being confused by Overwatch catchphrases. Thanks for continuing to click and read and comment, guys!  || Also on Ao3, FF.net and Tumblr || 

He was going to kiss her.

He was.

He couldn’t come up with a reason not to – not when he could feel her everywhere, that one hand resting on his chest feeling like some kind of live wire in the middle of the hallway and maybe it was the wine, but Killian was fairly positive it was just the echo of her voice and the slightly nervous smile on her face and God he wanted to kiss her.

One of them moved or maybe both of them moved and he could feel her fingers tighten on the front of his t-shirt and his hand fell to her hip, wrapping all the way across her and they should have drank more wine.

If only to make sure that he couldn’t spill the wine. All over Emma.

“Holy shit,” she gasped, jumping up and there were droplets of wine falling off her leg and that wasn’t helpful at all because it only made Killian look at her leg and he was frozen in the middle of the hallway trying to figure out how to not want to kiss her.

Ethics. Ethics. A line of professionalism that should be as wide as several city blocks. And wine. A lot of spilled wine.

“How did we not drink more of this?” Emma continued, trying to brush her leg off and that was distracting too. God damnit.

Killian shrugged, standing up and stepping back into her space like there was a magnet there or some kind of gravitational pull and the carpet was absolutely soaked too. This was a disaster.

And maybe he should tell Henry to stop talking so much.

Or come up with a way to kiss Emma.

The two things didn’t really go together.

“We haven’t been out here very long, love,” Killian pointed out, immediately groaning when the words seemed to land at his feet. Emma scoffed, but there was still a ghost of a smile on her face and barely any space between them.

Killian felt like he’d drank the entire bottle of wine.

“Maybe that’s why no one’s come out here,” she mumbled. “Usually they’re more obnoxious about that kind of stuff.” “Ah, well, maybe they’re trying something new.”

“Maybe.”

Emma laughed softly, head falling forward and Killian didn’t think she meant for her forehead to brush against him, but they were practically occupying the same space and his hand was back on her hip before he could even consider something different.

She didn’t move her head, but he could see her shoulders shift, the sound of her deep breath bouncing off the walls in the abandoned hallway and for one, absolutely insane moment he wanted to tell her everything.

He wanted to tell her about that night in New Orleans and the suspicions he’d never been able to actually confirm and he wanted to tell her why he still hadn’t been able to look at a single apartment, why he couldn’t imagine living anywhere below 86th Street and how he kept finding himself running up the West Side Highway if only to be close enough to the water that, maybe, things would start to make sense again.

He wanted to tell her that, maybe, she made sense.

“Emma,” Killian breathed and her whole body stiffened, going taut with tension as her hand fell back to his arm.

“Still here,” she muttered. She didn’t lift her head.

He laughed softly, fingers tracing across her shirt and over her back and they’d teleported across those blocks. “Yeah, I can see that.” “You’ve got to stop doing that.” He dropped his hand as quickly as if he’d been shocked, eyes going wide and Emma, finally, pulled her head up, staring at him like she couldn't quite figure out what she’d done wrong. “What?” “What?” “Why are we repeating each other?” “I have no idea what’s happening.” It wasn’t a laugh, not really, but Emma smiled at him and maybe the world recentered or gravity shifted slightly and he’d never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he wanted to kiss her and maybe they could walk out of some kind of quasi-family, team-bonding dinner without anyone noticing that they were gone.

“I don’t think we’re doing a very good job of this,” Emma chuckled. “This whole friend thing. We’re kind of talking in circles here.” “What are you trying to say, Swan?” Killian asked, ignoring the flash of sheer terror that seemed to shoot down his spine at her words

Melodramatic idiot.

She rolled her eyes, squeezing her hand and he’d forgotten it was there – fingers wrapped around his forearm and just above his brace and the terror turned back to nerves and he was back in the middle of whiplash all over again. “We keep having these vaguely emotional, heavy conversations in hallways and corners and, well, this was just supposed to be fun.”

She laughed again and he’d probably think about her lip in between her teeth for the rest of dinner.

With her brother at the other end of the couch.

Fuck.

“Are we not having fun?” Killian asked, determined to stop thinking and considering and Robin was going to kill him. He didn’t want to think about Robin either.

“If emotional backstory is your idea of fun.” “I wanted to know. And…” He took a deep breath and moved his hand again, fingers tracing over the back of her palm and the wine bottle was still on the floor. “I wanted to know,” he repeated. “Not...not on the record or anything, just because it’s you.” Emma blinked, lips parting slightly and he could hear her breath rush out of her, like she was stunned. “See, you’re doing it again.” “Be more specific, Swan.” “You’re...nice.” “That didn’t sound very confident.” She shrugged, clicking her tongue. “I didn’t expect you to be nice. You’re just supposed to be here for the angle or something.”

“I’m not,” Killian said seriously, bringing his hand up to wrap around her shoulder and she bit down on her lip again. “You know I don’t just steal cinnamon and risk lawsuit for people I’m only interested in getting a few quotes out of.” Emma laughed and he could feel that too, some kind of overly emotional, metaphorical light that seemed to sink into every inch of him. “I don’t think one Starbucks is going to miss its cinnamon container. Which is all you stole, by the way. It’s not like you staged this major theft of the entire cinnamon supply.” “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” “Nah,” Emma shook her head. “I’m just trying to keep that ego in check. Can’t have you getting too far ahead of yourself. And, after all, aren’t you just supposed to report on the crime, not live it?” “That’s a good point, although, if we’re going to follow through on that line of thought, I’m not much of a crime reporter anymore.” Emma hummed and Killian tried not to consider just how easy it was to fall back into features and caring and stories that kept him up until five in the morning. And he wasn’t nervous – not really. The story had done well, better than he thought it would with far more hits than he’d promised Cora, but anything could happen and Killian found himself wanting all over again.

That was dangerous.

He needed to get out of the hallway.

“Hey guys,” a voice called from a few feet away and Killian spun around to find a nervous looking Belle leaning around the doorway. “Uh, David and Ruby want Emma to come play MarioKart? Something about wrecking on Special Cup? And also Mary Margaret says there’s food. She also mentioned combating the wine. I have no idea what that meant.” Emma sighed, rolling her eyes when Killian glanced over his shoulder. “She thinks she’s my mother,” she explained and he couldn't even find it in himself to be frustrated. Even if he still wanted to kiss her a questionable amount.

“It’s still not a bad thing, love.” Her eyes flashed back up towards him and he couldn’t seem to stop moving towards her. Belle was still standing in the doorway. “Yeah, I know, I know. I just....they’re totally putting on a show for you. And we wasted all that wine.” “I’m not worried about the wine. Or the show.” “No?” “No,” Killian said easily, shaking his head and Emma’s feet hit up against his sneakers. He’d never taken his shoes off. And she was barefoot in the hallway with her eyes tracing over his face like she was looking for the lie and a small puddle of white wine a few inches away.

Emma nodded once, lips pressed together tightly and she tugged on his shirt again. He was, at least, ninety-nine percent positive she rocked towards him and maybe she wanted just a bit too. “Alright,” she sighed. “You want to be incredibly impressed by my MarioKart skills?” “I’d like nothing better, Swan.”

“Good.” He followed her back into the apartment – the empty bottle of wine in his hand – and he didn’t think he imagined the knowing look on Belle’s face when she closed the door behind them.

And if Killian wanted to kiss Emma in the hallway then it was nothing compared to how much he wanted to kiss her on her brother and sister-in-law’s couch, watching with something that probably looked a bit like awe, as her thumbs flew over the controller in her hand and she let out a string of trash talk and laughter that made him reconsider everything he learned in Journalism 101 at least twenty-four times.

It was the same thing that had happened at the qualifier. She was more confident with a game in front of her  and Killian couldn’t seem to stop watching her, the way her eyes flitted across the screen and tongue pressed into her cheek and maybe he should drink some more.

David groaned again – his car spinning out into what appeared to be an actual moat of lava when Emma ran into him. She let out a triumphant sound, flashing a smile at Killian, and David slumped further into his seat, dropping his controller on the ground.

“Told you I was good,” Emma muttered, knocking her shoulder into Killian’s arm and for as tense and cautious as they’d been in the hallway, she was the exact opposite with the game on TV and the chance to gloat just a bit in front of her brother.

Killian grinned, shifting slightly and maybe his arm moved over the back of the couch on purpose. Maybe he completely ignored Ruby’s quirked eyebrows and the quick glance she shot Elsa’s direction. “I wasn’t doubting you, Swan,” he said. “Although I’ll admit that my experience with this game is limited to being absolutely destroyed by Henry and Roland.” “Roland, too? Jeez, you’re just painfully bad at all of this aren’t you?” He shrugged, but Emma’s smile didn’t waver and David picked up his controller again, demanding another round and another race. “Henry is, of course, some kind of expert, but Roland’s getting there and this is at least an almost acceptable game to play with a seven-year-old. He’s just got better hand-eye coordination than I do.” Emma widened her eyes and Killian wasn’t sure if that crash was David’s controller falling again or Mary Margaret dropping several pounds of food. Ruby snorted softly, holding her own controller out expectantly a few inches away from Killian’s nose.

“What?” he asked, possibly just asking the entire apartment.

Ruby pushed the controller into his chest. “Here,” she said. “You can use mine. I’ve got...whatever, come on David.” David had absolutely dropped his controller, still bent over when his head snapped up to gape at Ruby. “What? No, no, Rainbow Road! We’ve got one more track! I’m almost actually good at that one. I could knock Emma into oblivion.” “Nothing says family like threatening to knock each other into oblivion” Ruby laughed, taking a step towards him and tugging him unceremoniously out of the chair. “C’mon. M’s probably needs help or something.” David stared at her for a beat, glancing quickly towards a clearly frustrated Emma. “Right,” he nodded. “Right, right. There’s a ton of food. Absolutely.” “Really selling it, Detective,” Ruby muttered, pushing him back towards the kitchen and leaving Killian on the couch with Emma next to him and three other teammates sitting awkwardly in the living room.

“Well,” Belle said awkwardly, grabbing a handful of empty cups off the coffee table in front of her. “There’s a lot of food, so….come on Anna.” Anna blinked, barely taking her eyes off her phone screen before it buzzed again and Belle eyed her meaningfully. “Oh,” she sighed, jumping up immediately. “Right, right the food. Yeah. Ok. Let’s go, El.”

Emma closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands and her shoulders had gone tense again. He should have bought two bottles of wine.

They never should have left the hallway.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Elsa mumbled, resting a hand on Emma’s shoulder as she followed her sister back towards the suddenly crowded kitchen.

They sat in silence for what felt like an entire lifetime and another Saturday night of whatever any of this was and Killian only realized he was still holding the controller when the game started to make noise and the stupid thing vibrated in his hand.

“Uh, Swan,” he muttered and she snapped her head towards him, something that looked like dread on her face. “Hey, what’s the matter?” She sighed, her whole body sagging forward and he moved again, twisting back towards her, the controller and the game forgotten completely. “Are you kidding me?” “No.” “This is a disaster.” “It’s not.” “I didn’t even think about….” Emma swallowed, pulling her lips back behind her teeth and if he still didn’t want to kiss her so much he probably would have been concerned by the look on her face. “God, you should just...I don’t know what I’m doing here. I didn’t even think about your hand-eye coordination and I…” “Swan,” Killian interrupted. She stared at him, hands twisted in her lap and Mary Margaret dropped another dish. “Is she doing that to make sure we don’t think they’re all eavesdropping?” “Probably.” “They’re not very subtle.” “Why do you think I’m freaking out? Between the pans and the food and, God, we didn’t even tell anyone about the puddle of wine in the hallway. The whole place is going to smell like...what was that?” “Chardonnay.” “Jeez, did you spend a lot of money on that? I hope you didn’t spend a lot of money on that.” “I didn’t,” Killian promised, not sure if that was an admission he was particularly pleased to make. Emma sighed. “And I don’t mind the lack of subtlety. It’s almost funny.” “Gee, thanks.” “You know what I meant.” “I promise I don’t,” Emma groaned and she was dangerously close to him again, half on the same couch cushion and this all felt a bit teenage and somewhere close to absurd, but a few days before he’d bet his entire career on a series of video game features, so it almost made sense.

Killian grimaced and he should tell her he couldn’t. There were rules and expectations and, shit, bias and Regina would absolutely push him onto the tracks at the Astor Place station if she realized he was thinking any of this.

He didn’t.

Of course not.

He couldn’t seem to get his mouth to move.

“Ask me a question,” Emma said suddenly.

Killian lowered his eyebrows, blinking twice and she smiled at him, certain and confident and exactly the way she looked when she was playing the game. “What?”

“A question. Ask me. Something. Anything. Make this less weird.” “And interviewing you is going to be less weird than trying to play this game and ignoring whatever it is Mary Margaret is doing?” “Yes,” Emma said evenly. “Plus I’d absolutely destroy you on Rainbow Road. If we’re going to actually do this then we need to start on something easier.” Killian felt his lips twitch, something that might have actually been nerves settling in the pit of his stomach and maybe easier was better.

Friends. Friends. Friends.

Goddamn fucking ethics.

“Why is your coffee order so absurd?” he asked and maybe he’d think about Emma’s laugh even more than that thing she kept doing with her lip.

“That’s your question?” “It’s been driving me nuts since the qualifier.” Emma smiled at him – the green in her eyes getting slightly darker as soon as that particular admission seemed to just fall out of him. “Yeah?” she asked. He just nodded. “Ah, well, it’s a complicated, dramatic story. And mostly all Mary Margaret’s fault. When we were in high school, she worked at the diner in town and she was...let’s say very good at experimenting with food and drinks and dessert options.”

“And you were her favorite test subject?” Killian asked.

“Those journalism instincts.” “Perceptive.” “Right,” she grinned. “Well, M’s started getting more and more ambitious and finally she came up with, as she will be the first to tell you, the perfect ratio of hot chocolate to coffee. See, we lived in a tiny town and the closet Dunkin Donuts was twenty minutes away, so the idea of a fancy cup of coffee was a bit of a dream to the residents of Storybrooke. M’s changed all that.”

“You’re right, it was a very dramatic story.”

“It’s a staple at the diner now. Although no one makes it as good as M’s does.” “Naturally,” Killian agreed. “Why the cinnamon though?”

Emma’s breath hitched and there was another crash in the kitchen and feet padding across the living room floor – a drastic and immediate return of family and a distinct lack of subtlety. She twisted her hands again, the knuckles in her fingers cracking from the movement and Killian’s stomach clenched, not quite sure how one follow-up could have blown up in his face like that.

“So,” David said pointedly, dropping back onto the chair and kicking his legs out. Killian sat up a bit straighter. “How’s someone start writing about the video games?”

Emma groaned, grabbing a pillow off the floor and tugging her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. “Subtle,” she muttered, but David just shrugged. “Probably the same way someone becomes a professional video game player,” Killian said. “Interest. Maybe a bit of talent. A deep-rooted desire to pay rent and become a functional member of society.” “I wouldn’t go that far,” Emma said, but the smile was back. “The functional member of society part. I mean, that’s just kind of my corner of the apartment now.”

“Ah, but you’re not sleeping in a hotel and living off room service.” “Are you?” “Barely.”

David made a noise and Killian pulled his eyes away from Emma, trying to look as if this wasn’t all blatantly obvious. “But you’re only just getting back into feature writing now, right?”

“Yeah,” Killian said. “I’ve only been at Mills for about a month. I got back to the city a couple days before I met the team.” “Wait, really?” Emma asked sharply. Killian shrugged, far too aware of the audience in front of them and whatever checklist of questions David was working his way down.

“Right, right,” David muttered, tapping his fingers on his thigh like he was trying not to actually start taking notes. Emma still hadn’t let go of the pillow. “And you were covering...crime before? Seems kind of generic?” Killian lifted his eyebrows, the couch creaking slightly when Emma moved. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“I mean there’s a lot of crime.” “Oh my God, David, this isn’t even entertaining anymore,” Ruby muttered, but David didn’t seem deterred. He straightened his shoulders, eyeing Killian like some kind of journalistic threat and Emma couldn’t stop staring at her still sockless feet.

“I didn’t start with that,” Killian explained. “I did a lot of longform stuff when newspapers were still interested in longform stuff, but that changed fairly quickly and uh…” He glanced towards Emma, trying to take stock of her face and her eyes and how much he wanted and the truth just kind of tumbled out of him. “When my brother died, there wasn’t much left in the city to keep me interested and the industry was changing and I wanted...a change of scenery.” Emma let go of the pillow.

“So,” Killian continued. “I picked up a bunch of freelance stuff, all over the country and I landed in New Orleans about seven years ago, started working on a series of stuff, got hit by a car, came back to New York, left New York again, went to Boston, stayed in Boston for a few years, wrote whatever they told me to and then stopped doing that when I got fired. Now, I’m covering video games and trying to figure out how to play this game and, hopefully, going to Philadelphia with my photographer so we can keep getting hits on the site.” The entire goddamn apartment stared at him and Killian tried not to blink or look at Emma and neither one of those things was particularly easy.

“It was a good story,” David said, breaking the silence and standing up. He took three steps towards Killian, reaching his hand out and Emma made some kind of strangled noise on the other end of the couch.

“Thanks,” Killian said cautiously, taking the outstretched hand and shaking.

“And Philadelphia shouldn’t be a problem,” Elsa added quietly. She clicked her tongue when every head in the apartment turned towards her, Killian’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead quickly. “Emma didn’t tell you?” “I was getting there,” Emma sighed. “Eventually.” He turned towards her, certain every single nerve ending in his body sparked as soon as her eyes met his and he’d talked about Liam. Shit. “There was a point to this celebration, remember?” she asked. “We figured out Philadelphia.” “Elsa figured out Philadelphia,” Ruby corrected and Emma hummed in agreement.

Elsa waved a dismissive hand through the air, rolling her eyes for good measure and Killian tried not to actually explode with questions. “This is also a very long story,” she warned.

“It’s good though,” Emma mumbled, a nervous smile on her face and she certainly hadn’t missed that whole dead brother part of the story. He wished they were in the hallway again. “She’s secretly a lawyer.” “What?” Killian asked. His neck wasn’t going to stand up to a full year of this. His muscles already felt like they were being twisted in impossible ways.

“That’s not technically true,” Elsa corrected. “I never actually took the bar in New York and I’ve never really practiced and...whatever, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know people in a corporate type way and, well, our parents knew even more people and I don’t really like Weselton, but he did a lot of work with my parents and they’re interested in getting into sponsorship possibilities and…” She shrugged, clearly not comfortable with the spotlight or the half a dozen pairs of eyes staring at her. Killian wished he’d brought a notebook. Or a pen.

He was woefully unprepared.

“What do they do?” he asked and Emma widened her eyes in confusion. “This Weselton guy and, I’m assuming, his company? What do they do?” “Oh, uh, shipping. Trade stuff.” “Trade stuff?” “Is it really that important? I mean we weren’t going to be able to do much of anything if we didn’t get the money. From what I can tell they’ve got their hands in a bunch of different things. There’s really no rhyme or reason to it. It just seems like a money thing and if they can ship it, they move it.” “And they want to get involved in sponsorships?” Killian pressed, some kind of metaphorical alarm bell going off in the back of his mind.  “Of video game teams?” “They’re the only ones who responded,” Elsa admitted quietly and Emma stuttered at that, eyes going wide and shoulders sagging when her head darted towards a slightly stunned looking Ruby. “I...Anna and I came up with a bunch of people our parents might have known or could have worked with and…” “Wait, wait, wait,” Killian said. “Might have? Past tense?” Anna scowled at him, finally dropping her phone on the ground. “Past tense,” she repeated, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice. This was an unqualified disaster. Maybe there was a twenty-four hour liquor store nearby. Probably not.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. Anna made a face, not quite disappointment, but not quite acceptance either and David looked like he couldn't quite believe he’d started this whole conversation.

“They worked in collections,” Elsa said, answering a question Killian hadn’t actually asked. “You know, fine art, antiques, that kind of thing. We basically grew up in the back corner of Sotheby’s.” “You grew up in New York too?” Killian asked, working the first genuine smile out of either one of the sisters since any of them had started talking.

Elsa nodded. “Upper East.” “Naturally.” “Did you say too?”

“Morningside Heights,” Killian mumbled, trying not to actually sigh at the admission. It felt like an admission. God, Liam would punch him. “Although now it’s more a very expensive hotel room room on 92nd. That’s a work in progress, though.”

He chanced a look Emma’s direction – something about those pesky, metaphorical magnets again – and he couldn't quite read the expression on her face, a mix between confusion and interest and, maybe, concern. “Did everyone in this room grow up in the city except us?” David asked, nodding towards Mary Margaret and Emma.

Belle shook her head. “Hartford,” she said. “Until I went to school and then a couple years abroad and back here for the job at the library.” “You and Emma should talk the old town.” He gasped as soon as the words were out of his mouth and there was far too much going on in that living room. Mary Margaret banged on another pan, announcing she needed more help and David practically leapt out of his chair.

Killian didn’t move his eyes away from Emma, trying to read her mind and coming up decidedly short. “Swan,” he said slowly, reaching towards her arm. She shook her head.

“Weselton’s going to pay for the whole thing,” Elsa continued. “Getting to Philadelphia and being in Philadelphia and we just have to…” “What?” “Win,” Emma finished. “We have to win. Immediately.” Killian furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s not how it works though. It’s a whole season. You can’t just win while you’re in Philadelphia.” “There are events though and rounds and things that we can win,” Elsa said, sinking onto the arm of the couch. “And if we can keep up this whole publicity thing then Weselton thinks he’ll get a push and maybe he’ll start shipping video game consoles or something. We keep winning, he keeps winning and the company keeps paying. It’s a win-win.” That wasn’t right.

There was something wrong about this, but Killian couldn’t figure out what it was or what it could be and he couldn’t think when Emma looked so worried and Mary Margaret was announcing dinner and drinks.

He tried not to think about it – the hallway or the wine or how he could nearly feel the nervous energy radiating off Emma the entire night, just a breath away from him on that stupid couch and every time he got another piece of information, Killian just found himself more confused than ever.

It didn’t matter.

There was no room for questions in a celebration and David tried to get him to play MarioKart again and he was just as horrible as promised, trying to twist the entire goddamn controller underneath his left thumb so he could steer – until Emma jumped off the couch and dropped onto his left side. He gaped at her and he couldn’t actually feel her fingers when they dropped onto his brace, but Emma didn’t flinch, just looked at him hopefully and Killian nodded.

He had no idea what he was agreeing to.

“Just hit the buttons when I tell you, ok?” she asked and he nodded again.

They won the next race, Emma’s quiet instructions in his ear and a smile on her face that seemed to erase whatever she’d thought about Hartford and questionable video game sponsors and she steered and he hit the ‘A’ button a questionable number of times.

David threw his controller again.

“Serves you right,” Emma announced, her whole arm pressed up against Killian’s and it felt a little bit like staring straight into the sun. “I don’t know why you keep picking tracks you suck at.” “He sucks at every track,” Ruby mumbled, snapping her jaw when David kicked another pillow her direction. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but she didn’t look surprised to see any of this and even Elsa looked amused.

Belle tried to turn her yawn into something that didn’t sound like complete exhaustion, but it didn’t really work and it was already after midnight. Killian hadn’t looked at his phone all night.

“Ah, well,” Ruby sighed. “Maybe now’s a good time to save David some more embarrassment. Can’t have the pride of New York showing just how shitty he is at basic video games in front of the press like this. What will the commissioner think?” David scoffed, flicking his finger at Ruby’s arm. “I would imagine he’d be concerned why anyone is judging another human being on their MarioKart skills.”

He glanced at Killian and Emma groaned, her whole body going slack against Killian and he tried not to actually wrap his arm around her shoulders.

Or kiss her.

Definitely kiss her.

“Heavy handed, Detective,” she hissed, but David just grinned and held his hand out towards her, pulling her off the couch and tugging her against his side. Emma shook her head, but she didn’t argue the movement and she was still smiling when she looked back at Killian. “I think we figured it out right? Some kind of absolute-destroyer team?” “That’s a little violent, Swan, but, yeah, we’ve definitely figured it out,” Killian said and it was a lie and he didn’t have anything figured out.

Mary Margaret forced leftovers into his hand – there’s no getting out of it, you can give it to me later if you don’t want it, Ruby promised, but Killian couldn’t imagine eating another round of room service and he did have a tiny fridge in his room. “Thank you,” he said honestly, tucking the container under his arm and Mary Margaret beamed at him.

“I have no idea what portion control is,” she said and the entire night hadn’t made much sense, but being mothered by Henry’s teacher and Emma’s sister-in-law was probably the only thing he’d almost expected. “And room service makes me want to cry.” “You and me both.” She smiled even wider, using his shoulder as leverage and pressing a quick kiss on his cheek. Huh. Killian’s eyes flashed towards Emma – just a bit paler than she’d been all night with wide eyes that, somehow, seemed greener and he tried to remember what the definition of friends was. “Goodnight, Killian,” Mary Margaret said.

He nodded slowly, the other conversations in the apartment white noise in the background when he could hear Emma’s footsteps following him to the front door. “She’s going to try and feed you all the time now, you know,” she warned. “She’ll probably keep non-perishables in her desk at school on the off chance you pick up Henry and Roland again.” “Tuesday then,” Killian said without even thinking about it.

“Yeah? You know for someone who keeps promising they’re not much more than passing through, you’re doing a bang-up job of posing as top-notch uncle.” He laughed, leaning against the side of the open doorframe. “There’s some kind of third quarter meeting for Mills on Tuesday afternoon that’s expected to, and I’m quoting here, last until the end of time and I won’t have much to do this week. So I volunteered. Plus,” he added softly and he wished he could stop talking, “there’s always the chance of serendipitous run-ins when I wind up at school. And ice cream.” “Vocabulary,” she muttered and Killian grinned at her. This was flirting. This felt a hell of a lot like flirting. “And we’ve got to practice on Tuesday. The only reason I was there this week was because of some school emergency that I showed up late for.” “Ah, of course.”

“Although….” “Although?” Emma’s eyes flashed and the flirting had turned into some kind of unspoken challenge. Or maybe he’d just lost his mind. They were blocking the door completely. Killian could hear Ruby mumbling under her breath, the sound of Anna’s fingers tapping on her phone screen and Mary Margaret’s quiet assurances that there was more than enough food for Elsa to take some as well.

“Although,” she repeated. “We’re off on Wednesday because I’m a benevolent captain.” Killian chuckled. “Good word.” “You know I’ve never been farther uptown than Lincoln Center.” He was going to fall over. Or maybe collapse under the force of Ruby’s continued glare and he clearly hadn’t flirted in a very long time because he was kind of slow on the uptake. “What?” Killian asked. “Honestly, Swan?” “I’ve only ever stayed here with M’s and David and they live here and Ruby lives downtown and there was no point.”

“Huh.” Ruby groaned and even Elsa looked a little amused when she shouted, jeez, you are dense from the other side of the apartment. It took another two seconds before he realized.

“Oh, shit,” Killian muttered. Emma bit her lip. “Do you have pen, Swan?” “You are the least prepared journalist in the world,” she accused, but Mary Margaret was there in an instant with a blue and black option and a full notebook. “God, now she’s handing out school supplies.” “They’re extra,” Mary Margaret promised.

He drew her a map. An actual, honest to goodness map  and Emma looked like she was just on the edge of hysterics the entire time, particularly when the pen stopped working where he was leaning up against the wall.

“Here,” she said, pushing the replacement into his hand and Killian finished tracing out the crosstown route that include a train and one bus and several blocks of walking. “God, this is the most complex thing I’ve ever seen. Why do you just have this memorized?” “There’s a giant park in between where I grew up and where I went to college,” Killian explained, nodding towards the crudely drawn rectangle in the center of the map. “You pick up on these things after awhile. What time?” “What?” “Time. We start at Lincoln Center and work our way up or something. God, you’ve missed half the city.” Emma rolled her eyes, but she looked excited and he’d drawn her a map. The hallway still smelled like wine. “I already explained that part, plus if I wasn’t playing or in this apartment, I was working for Granny, so there wasn’t much time for sightseeing.” Killian held the notebook back towards Emma, nodding towards the map and trying not to memorize every single inch of her – the way her fingers curled around the pages or that piece of hair that was back again, seemingly there just to taunt him, or how she rocked back on her heels when her tongue darted between her lips and friends could hang out.

Journalists could be friends with their...God, subjects was a terrible word. He was going to get drunk off wine fumes in the hallway.

“So, let’s change that then, huh?” he asked, rocking back towards her and he’d have to look up how magnets worked later.

Emma’s fingers tightened on the paper. “Two? Do you get days off? How does it work?” “It’ll work,” Killian promised and it wasn’t really an answer to the question, but the story had done well and Regina owed him or something he’d probably spend the next few days rationalizing because Emma kept smiling at him and he’d drawn a map for God’s sake.

“Ok,” Emma smiled and he was absolutely going to kiss her, but then Ruby was there and Elsa was there and Belle’s face was flushed so red with embarrassment that it was a wonder she was even still able to stay standing.

“C’mon, Jones,” Ruby said knowingly. “Let’s see which city kid who can hail a cab faster.” He hummed, pushing any frustration back into the corner of his mind and maybe he was part of the team now. Emma was still holding the map. “I’m totally going to win,” he promised and Ruby made some kind of contradictory noise at the other end of the hall.

Emma twisted her eyebrows, leaning forward slightly and he could smell whatever shampoo she used as soon as she took a step towards him. Her hand was warm against his chest. He tried not to read into that. “I’ve got no doubt,” she said and the certainty in her voice sent that same shockwave of heat through every single one of his veins and probably three-quarters of his arteries. “I’ll see you Wednesday.” He tried not to think about it.

He did. It didn’t really work. And he was about just as subtle as David had been – drawing questions from Robin and Will and even, once, Roland who wanted to know why he was so distracted when he totally forgot to even offer ice cream after school on Tuesday.

Regina glared at him for most of dinner that night.

Killian absolutely didn’t care. He just smirked back over a plate of questionably expensive food and walked back uptown to try and work out some of that residual energy and, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, he ordered two cups of ridiculously espresso-filled coffee and coffee hybrids and took up his spot in front of the Lincoln Center fountain.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emma said, jogging towards him with two cups of coffee in her hand. “Although insert cliché about great minds here or whatever.” Shit.

He knew his eyes widened slightly when she took another step, could feel the smile inching across his face as soon as he realized she was there and talking to him and she’d bought them coffee too. God, he wanted to show her the entire goddamn city.

He couldn’t remember the last time he cared about the island of Manhattan that much.

Or anyone else.

This was a problem.

“I’ll take the compliment, Swan,” he grinned. “Although I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do with all of this caffeine.” “Drink it?” Killian barked out a laugh, nodding towards the sidewalk. “Genius, love.” “That almost sounded sarcastic.” “Almost being the operative word there.” “Drink your coffee,” Emma muttered, but she was still smiling and the sun was reflecting off her hair or something equally absurd. “What exactly did you have in mind today? And has this fountain always been here?” “Always. When I was a kid, my brother used to bring us down here with pennies and a whole bunch of those clichés you were talking about and we’d try and figure out what happened next. It never really worked the way we planned.” Killian took a gulp of coffee as soon as the words were out of his mouth and immediately winced when he burnt his tongue. An absolute, fucking disaster.

She put her hand on his arm. Again.

“How much older was he?” she asked and that was the last thing he expected. He expected how did he die and why did you run and where were your parents – he didn’t expect a question about age. Emma smiled, shifting the cups in her hands and squeezing his arm again. “You can ask a follow-up if that helps.” Killian laughed, but that knot of anxiety that kept appearing in his stomach loosened. “That’s not a requirement, love.” “Ah, well, whatever helps the interview move along, I guess.” “He was nearly ten years older than me.” “Quite an age gap.” “Ah, yeah,” Killian said and he couldn’t run his hand through his hair with two cups of coffee in his grip. “I wasn’t exactly...let’s just say I was something someone else had to figure out.” “Oh.” Killian hummed and they’d jumped right back into god awful rather quickly. “Change of subject, Swan? And that wasn’t the follow-up.” Emma nodded, taking a sip of her coffee and he probably shouldn’t have regretted the loss of her hand as much as he did. “You’ve never been farther north than right here, right?” “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” “I’m recapping, love. It’s what you do in a series of stories.” Emma rolled her eyes, just took another gulp of coffee and she was already finished with hers. She held her hand out expectantly and Killian wasn’t sure he’d smiled as much in the last six years as he had since Emma Swan had showed up in his life. “You want to see how the other half lives?” He didn’t give her a moment to argue – trying to take stock of the flash of excitement in her eyes and the quirk of her lips as he took a step back towards the sidewalk and led her towards Central Park.

“So, this is that very well-drawn rectangle on the map, huh?” Emma asked when they kept walking, weaving in between pedicabs and tourists and some cart that appeared to just be selling balloons.

“I’m nothing if not an artist, Swan,” Killian said and the coffee cups were long forgotten, gone cold in between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues. It left his right hand hanging at his side, something that felt like sparks practically shooting out his fingertips.

“Ah, yeah, I can see that. You’ve really captured the energy of it. Those four lines brought to life this oasis in an otherwise concrete jungle.” “That was almost poetic enough for me to ignore that slight sarcastic jab.” “No sarcasm. A tease at best. Where even are we? Is this just the great New York City fountain tour, then?” Killian hummed and Emma shrugged, the smile just a bit sarcastic as well. “It’s a better fountain,” he said, holding his hand out and Emma eyed him speculatively, the din of early-fall tourists and camera shutters working their way through the archway in front of them. “This is a historical landmark.” “Is that true?” Emma asked, the genuine curiosity catching him short.

“I’d imagine so.” “You don’t actually know? What kind of tour guide are you?” “I said we’d get you above 66th Street, Swan and made sure you got to see the good parts of the city. I made absolutely no promises about the validity of any of my claims.” She twisted her mouth slightly, turning towards him and God if he just took a step towards her, he could kiss her and maybe it wouldn’t feel like his goddamn arm was going to fall off from not touching her. “The good parts, huh?” Emma asked. “What makes them good?” “I like them,” Killian answered easily. “You like fountains?” “I like....water.” Jeez.

“Because of the Navy thing?” Emma asked and he couldn’t breathe. She winced, squeezing one eye closed. “Was that the wrong question? You can get two follow ups. That seems fair, right?”

Killian nodded dumbly, mind racing to try and keep up with this and none of this was part of the plan. He was just supposed to write. He wasn’t supposed to….no. None of that. “Yeah, that’s fair,” he agreed. “And yeah to the actual question too. How did...how did you figure that out?” “Just because I don’t have a degree doesn’t mean I’m actually the dumbest person alive, you know.” “God, Swan,” Killian groaned, eyes bulging slightly and she was still smiling. “Was that also part of the teasing thing?” “Maybe.” “Shit,” he breathed. “God, you can’t….” Emma laughed – loud and meaningful and both her hands fell back on his chest when her head fell back towards him. “I’ll keep that in mind next time. You said Robin was old Navy and that he served with your brother. Wasn’t really hard to put two and two together. Although there is one thing I can’t figure out.” “Which is?” “Why didn’t you? Don’t those kinds of things go hand in hand? And from the way you’ve talked about you brother, I just kind of assumed…” “I did,” Killian interrupted and Emma lifted her eyebrows. “Thought he was the beginning and end of everything?” She nodded. “I did. And I probably would have followed, but he wouldn’t have let me. He wanted, well, a lot for me and for us and he dropped a hell of a lot of pennies in a hell of a lot of fountains so I wouldn’t have to do that. I got into school here and he made sure I went. Probably would have come back stateside if he even thought I wasn’t going to class every day.” They’d been walking. He didn’t realize that they’d been walking or that Emma was staring at him with something that felt a bit like wonder on her face. “You alright, Swan?” Killian asked and the noise was even louder near the fountain, more ice cream carts and tourists and coins splashing in the water.

“I just...he sounds like David,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, a little. That overprotective streak runs a mile wide, huh?” “I’m sorry about that. They were, well, I was kind of expecting it, but I didn’t think the whole lot of them would be like that. I mean we’re friends, right?” Killian ignored the flush of disappointment that shot down his spine, settling in his back and maybe he could just walk into the goddamn fountain and stand there until he melted or something. “Yeah,” he said, far too late to sound like he meant it. “Of course we are.”

“Good. That’s...that’s good news.” “Good.” “Are you going to ask your follow ups or nah?”

He laughed and some of that tension that he couldn’t quite see through seemed to evaporate right in front of his eyes. And then he tried to take a leap of faith – without throwing a coin in the fountain. “Would you ever think about going back to school? “Oh,” Emma blinked, twisting the end of her hair around finger. “Um, well,” she took a deep breath and that standing in the fountain plan was looking more and more appealing until she answered, “yeah.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah,” she shrugged and that smile was just absurd. Like the center of the universe. Or something. Or exactly that. “I mean, not right now, obviously, but I’ve been thinking about that for awhile and it’s kind of a timing thing, I guess and M’s and I have talked about classes online and a GED sounds...I don’t know, kind of like a copout, but…” Emma cut herself off, eyes going wide as sank onto the edge of the fountain, groaning slightly when she realized there was water involved. “Mary Margaret is the only one who knows that,” she whispered. “I don’t know why I told you that.” The disappointment threatening to pull Killian into the center of the Earth shifted to something a bit more hopeful and, screw the water, he sat down next to her. “Off the record, love. And I think you could do it. I know you could do it.” “You don’t.” “I do,” he argued. “You’re not the only one who’s capable of using Google, Swan. And you’ve won a lot of tournaments and there’s a reason this team just defaulted to you being in charge. Because you should be. You could...you could do anything.” She blushed slightly, but she didn’t look away like she normally did. She held his gaze and rolled her shoulders back when she took a deep breath. “You can’t just say that.” “I just did.” “Off the record.” Killian shook his head. “Decidedly on. What would you study?” Emma lifted her eyebrows and he knew his voice had picked up, could feel that rush that he got from a good interview and good questions and he was far too curious for his own good. “You did say two follow-ups.” “I don’t know,” Emma admitted with a soft laugh. “I haven’t gotten that far into the plan yet. I just want to feel like I’ve finally caught up to everyone else.” “It’s not a race, Swan.” “Ah, so says the award-winner with a job in his degree field.” “You’re a professional video game player, love,” Killian pointed out. “I don’t think you’re sitting in last place of whatever metaphorical race this is.”

“Yeah, with everything riding on this entire thing in Philadelphia. We’ve got to make a good impression or Elsa thinks this guy will pull and I...” she scrunched her nose, tapping her fingers impatiently on the granite underneath them, “...did you think that was weird? Not the deal part of it, obviously sponsors want their teams to do well, but a shipping company? It just seems strange, right? David thinks it’s fine.” “He’s the detective, Swan. I just type quickly.” “Yeah, but you did that whole thing in New Orleans, worked out clues or something, right?” “You think Elsa’s shipping company is...what? Dealing? And sponsoring video game teams? This guy knew her parents.” “That’s not a disagreement.”

She was right. And she knew she was right. It didn’t make any sense and if he’d thought about this afternoon for a questionable amount of time since Saturday night, then he’d considered the reasons for a shipping company offering to sponsor a video game team nearly just as much.

None of it added up.

“It’s not,” Killian admitted. “And, yeah, I did think it was kind of weird, but if it gets you to Philadelphia then it seems good for now.” “And what happens after Philadelphia?” Killian shrugged. “You win the entire inaugural season of the Overwatch League.” “Obviously. You’re awfully confident.”

“In you.” “That’s weird.” “Why?” Killian asked and Emma rolled her whole body in response. “Honestly, Swan. At some point you’ve got to understand that I am in this for the long haul. You can do this. We can do this.”

“Why’d you bring me here?” Emma asked sharply, a quick contrast from whatever conversation they’d been having. “Because I don’t...are we really friends?” Killian nodded. “There’s no angle here, love. This place is, well, it’s important and I wanted you to come here. With me.” “You bring all your feature-story subjects up here?”

“No.”

He hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but there was no point in beating around some metaphorical bush or very solid fountain and none of this made sense, but he couldn’t seem to stop staring at Emma.

“What was his name?” she asked. “Your brother, I mean.” He stopped breathing. Or the world stopped spinning. Or maybe just fell off its axis. And Emma Swan smiled at him.

Shit, he was screwed.

“Liam,” he mumbled. “His name was Liam.” “And he brought you here?” Killian nodded, heart picking up and maybe trying to work its way out of his chest and he hoped Emma couldn't hear it because that would probably be embarrassing. “Thank you,” she continued, just a bit breathless and he could barely hear her over the kid screaming a few feet away.

“Thank me when we hit five-hundred thousand hits, love, not for this.” “Yeah, well, you said that was just inevitable or something, right?” Emma laughed and he briefly wondered if it was possible to actually self combust from want. Probably not. He hoped not.

“That wasn’t a guarantee, Swan. But we’ll talk thank you’s then.” “Like what?” Emma’s mouth quirked, a piece of hair flying across her face when a gust of wind swept through the park. “Exactly?”

“Gratitude?”

“I thought this was a discussion for after the second story. Don’t you need to interview someone for that?”

“I thought I’d talk to Elsa about getting the sponsorship.” “Ah.” Killian smirked, well aware that the smirk hadn’t worked yet and he knew it wouldn’t work then and he couldn’t think of a single thing to do – except maybe bring his hand to his jaw, tapping thoughtfully underneath his lips and he was an asshole.

Liam was going to show up in the middle of the goddamn park and haunt him.

He’d deserve it.

“Please,” Emma scoffed, but her voice was still just a bit breathless and something in the back corner of his mind roared to life at that. “You couldn’t handle it.” “Ah, maybe, you’re the one who couldn’t handle it, Swan.” She didn’t blink and the whole goddamn city could have frozen or collectively jumped or teleported through some kind of wormhole in space and Killian would have only noticed Emma and her eyes and how quickly her hands moved when she leaned forward, grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.

Hard.

Fuck.

There were people everywhere – tourists and not tourists and sounds and it was so goddamn loud and all Killian could think about was how easy it was to fall into her, like he was falling into the middle of the ocean.

Her nails scraped across the back of his head lightly and that seemed to wake him up, right arm snaking around Emma’s shoulders until his fingers found their way into her hair like he was trying to make sure he could hold her against him.

He might have groaned or maybe she did and it didn’t matter one way or another because thinking about any of that would mean he’d have to think about something that wasn’t her lips on his or her hand dragging across his chest. Killian rocked forward and it wasn’t exactly easy – they were sitting on a fountain, the water somehow hitting them from what felt like every angle and he was definitely the one that groaned when her tongue moved against his lower lip.

He’d run out of oxygen.

No. That was...that was absurd. This wasn’t supposed to end.

Killian ducked his head again and if he just kept kissing her they wouldn't have to move or consider the line they’d just obliterated and there went Journalism 101.

They nearly fell off the edge of fountain, Killian’s foot skidding across the ground and the world was still moving – it must have been. He could hear people still yelling, the city moving and existing and Emma breathing just a few inches in front of him.

God, he wanted to kiss her again.

“That was…” Killian started, nearly stunned by the strangled sound of his own voice. Emma hadn’t let go of his shirt.

“A one-time thing,” she said and he felt his eyes fall shut as soon as the words the words registered. “Don’t...don’t follow me. I’ve...I’ve got to go.” He didn’t say anything. And he’d think about that for hours that night, playing it over and over as he wondered when exactly Emma Swan had found her way into every single word he could even think about writing.

Tag List: @jamif ; @alicerubyfloyd ; @courtneyshortney82 ; @jennjenn615 ; @artistic-writer ; @onceuponaprincessworld ; @kmomof4 ; @resident-of-storybrooke ; @whumped-natascha-remi-ronin ; @coliferoncer ; @strangestarlighttree ; @tiganasummertree ; @game-of-once-upon-an-outlander ; @followbatb (Let me know if you want to be tagged or not tagged or your thoughts on the questionable number of fountains in the city)

[winmance]

Trust in me - Chapter 4

They had ended up taking down eight drug dealers and had cuffed three prostitutes. They made sure not to hurt anyone more than necessary, and none of the cops came out with any injuries worse than a sprained ankle, so they counted that as a win.

“Dude, you were amazing!” Derek says as he sits next to Jensen.

Both of their teams are here, celebrating the achievement of the two department’s combined efforts. But Jensen’s joy was short-lived, this operation had only confirmed his doubts; Pellegrino wasn’t the boss - far from it actually. He was a small seller at best, the actual boss probably promised him a crap-ton of money in exchange for his extended cooperation and clearly, it worked.

“All the credit goes to you, partner” Jensen says, fake enthusiasm in his tone as he toasts his friend.

“Come on Jensen, be happy a little!” Derek said, sensing his fakery.

“Happy about what? Until we have the boss, everything we do is worthless.” Jensen said bitterly.

“No man, it isn’t. We’re putting criminals behind bars, that’s what our job is about. We protect people, and sure, maybe the big win didn’t happen today, hell, it might not happen tomorrow! But tonight, I’ll go to sleep knowing that eight more criminals are behind bars, where they can’t hurt anyone, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Yeah, because criminals don’t do crime in prison,” Jensen mumbled.

“You know what? If you can’t enjoy this win, then it’s your problem, not mine!” Derek says, anger evident in his voice.

With those last bitter words, he left Jensen alone, choosing to chat up another group of their co-workers, which welcomed him with large, tipsy smiles and fresh beer.

Jensen watches the scene unfold from the outskirts of their social group, as always. He gave up trying to fit in years ago, even when he was but a simple agent, he could never deal with the parties that came after a ‘closed’ case. You never closed a case - not really. Every time you put someone behind bars someone else will step up and take their place, all wanting the money and power that comes with a higher position/rank on the streets.

He throws back his drink and chugs it in record time as he makes his way to the exit, leaving the glass on a coffee table near the entrance of the bar. He didn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone; he knew they would have more fun without him anyways, after all, no one wanted to get drunk in front of their boss.

As he steps out into the crisp air of the night he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, instantly relaxing as the air wasn’t as humid as it was before. The temperature is perfect for a nightly walk, he notices as he sees couples passing by. He glances over and notices a girl with her boyfriend’s jacket draped over her shoulders while the man affectionately pulls her under his arm, letting her rest against him. He couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto his face even if he tried.

He remembers when he used to do that back in high school, Justin and he would spend hours debating on which diners were better, or which movies so they could take their respective girlfriends out to. The dates usually ended with them being the heroes if the movies were too scary, or if the nights were (purposely chosen to be) too cold.

He doubts that any of the girls were scared or cold, but they had pretended to be, allowing themselves to fall into the flirting game and letting the metaphorical hero with the girl’s heart.

His train of thought came to a screeching halt when he saw Jared leaning against the alley wall, licking his cherry-red lips obscenely, and slowly grinding against the brick, looking like the pure embodiment of lust. Tonight, he seemed to have met his goal - judging by the sleek black car with dark tinted windows that pulled up in front of him.

Jensen frowns as he watches Jared strut forward while bracing his arms against the window, arching his back in a way that gave the man a clear view of his smooth skin and putting his perky ass on display. Jensen knew exactly what was happening, but didn’t know if he should interfere - if he waits and follows the car he could get both Jared and the man arrested, but this would mean that this man would have sex with Jared first, and he couldn’t let that happen.

It’s one of the things that Jensen has had the most trouble with since working at the police department. He couldn’t get his head around the idea that in order to get someone arrested, he needed to let them commit the crime. Isn’t it his job to prevent crimes and enforce the laws?

“Hey there, Jared,” He says, walking up behind him “Chilly night, isn’t it?”

Jared clenched his jaw, his charming smile all but gone, as he kept his arms firmly in place inside the car, preventing the man from driving away from him.

“Hey, I didn’t come all the way here to see you flirting with someone else!” The man snaps at Jared, visibly upset about what is happening.

There’s a ring with a family picture hanging on his keys, as long as a wedding ring on his finger. Classic client, Jensen thinks.

“What did you come for, then?” He asks, invading Jared’s personal space until he’s able to put his arms on the car too.

“Did I ask you a question?” The man said, challenging him with his eyes, but Jensen couldn’t care less.

“Nah, officers are often the ones asking the questions - not the other way around.” Replied Jensen snarkily.

He could sense the exact moment the man understood what was happening, the moment his face lost all color while is angry glare instantly changed to one of fear.

“I- I was just asking my way around.”

“Of course you were,” Jensen smirks “Well, now that you found it, you should leave, don’t you think?”

The man nodded frantically before starting his car, not even shooting one last glance towards Jared.

“You asshole!” Jared yells, trying to shove Jensen off.

But Jared didn’t have time to shove Jensen again before he was pinned to the wall behind him, his arms high above him, immobile, while his legs were spread wide to each side, not giving him enough space to recover his footing as Jensen stepped between them. Jensen instantly regretted pinning him because Jared’s cocky smile was gone, and his face was pale as he trembled in fear as he lowered his head in submission and... acceptance?

Jensen’s entire body shudders with the thought of this not being the first time Jared was put into this position. That maybe - surely, Jared was taken advantage of like this several times, not having any choice but to submit and agree with his attacker.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen says, instantly  releasing him and putting his hands on display in front of him in a placating gesture “It’s an instinct, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever” Jared mumbles, his bad mood back. He keeps his arms close to his chest, and for the first time, Jensen really feels like he’s facing a child. A scared child. “It was the first car that stopped tonight.”

“I’m not sorry for keeping you from being raped,” Jensen grumbled.

“What? It’s not a rape. I’m consenting!”

“You’re not legal, so yes, it’s a rape. And accepting money is still illegal, by the way!” Jensen shouted.

Jared flinched at Jensen's tone and then slumped, a look of utter defeat adamant on his features “You suck” he sighed, sitting on the sidewalk, “I really needed this cash.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re doing drugs too.” Jensen groaned, feeling slightly guilty for shouting at Jared.

“No,” Jared said, rolling his eyes “I just… Whatever. You did your good action of the day, now you can walk away.”

It was really tempting, to walk away from Jared and forget this all ever happened, after all, he did his job. But, Jared seemed so lost and miserable that

Jensen felt guilty, didn’t he swear an oath to protect and help others? Well, sometimes helping can consist of simply sitting down with someone and listening, letting them talk to you.

Once, he sat with a woman for six straight hours, consoling her after her husband death. Most of his colleges would have leave her, but not him. Putting criminals away isn’t the only part of the job. Even if it was, at the end of the days, they’re all people, trying to survive as best as they can, and the least he can do is offering his help when needed.

“Come on, tell me why you need it,” He said sitting down next to Jared “Except if it’s illegal, then don’t tell me.”

Jared laughs a little, and Jensen considers it as a win.

“I’m hungry” Jared admits “It was rent day three days ago and I had to give all the money that I had earned… earlier, and I couldn’t find any…” He licked his lips, shooting a quick look at Jensen “Any money. One of the girls was working with the police and she sets up a trap for one of her clients, so now no one would stop here.”

Jensen tried to ignore that Jared had literally just confessed that he was a prostitute and instead focused on what he was saying. He knew about the trap, Derek was the one in charge of it and the case had made the cover of the newspapers; ‘Politician Cheats On Wife With Prostitute.’

“When is the last time you ate?”

“Three days ago,” Jared said, a soft dusting of pink rushing to his cheekbones. Jensen bit his bottom lip, hoping that he was making a good decision and not just falling in another one of Jared’s traps.

“There’s a diner a few blocks away, wanna go with me?”

Jared whole face lit up, and to state the point, his stomach started growling at the same time.

“Guess it’s a yes then,” Jensen said, casting a grin at Jared.

Tags : @mereka18 @golly-god