#A few of these are situational so it's hard to explain without butchering the numbers

[cxpperhead]

Rate your muse’s traits 0-10!

Compassion: 2/10 Bitterness: 2/10 Happiness: 4/10 Politeness: 8/10 Chivalry: 3/10 Pride: 8/10 Honesty: 6/10 Bravery: 8/10 Recklessness: 5/10 Ambition: 9/10 Loyalty: 9/10* Love: 7/10 Sense of family: 1/10 Attractiveness: ?/10* Agility: 10/10 Sex drive: 5/10*

Tagged by: @belost-the-watcher (♡) Tagging: @ataviisms, @caestusvulpes, @celerem, @cxpedcrusxder, @question-marked, @qu-tipie, @messeduphood, @red-hemlock, @sanguine-salvation, @whxlmedwing, @the-arkham-librarian, @the-rorschach-mask, @twcfaces, @umbrellamedic and anybody else who'd like to do this?

[bostongirl13]

A SINGLE SHOT OF LOVE

Chapter 1 

Summary: She is a federal agent and he is the boss of one of the most powerful mafia.  Fate wanted their paths to cross, which could cost them both more than they were willing to sacrifice. 

Words: 1.5+

Chapter warnings: murder, a description of a dead body 

18+ ONLY CONTENT! 

A/N: I know that two more people wrote to me to tag them, but I forgot. I'm very sorry....😭😓

New York City was a vast, intricate, labyrinth of noisy, streets and alleys. You could hear the incessant honking of the vehicles even before the sun rose. Impatient businessmen who had to get to the office, mothers who had to leave their children at their schools, facing the puzzling challenge of navigating through the crowd of parents and children; even some of the teachers who had stopped at the local bakery to get a bagel or two before their morning classes. After every person had reached their respective destination, the traffic congestions cleared significantly as if humungous snakes had eaten their fills and were retracting back into their dark and eerie caves. All this made you know that the city is coming to life. And in all this chaos you were. For several hours you've been awake and just entering your office building.

You greeted the security guard at the front desk, handing him a cup of coffee like you did every day when he finished his night shift and you were just starting your day. Dave was a nice man and always ready to help so you didn't mind buying one more drink.

In the elevator you took a deep breath getting ready for a hard day at work. You tweaked the badge on your belt and took your phone out of your pocket to make sure you didn't get any new information on the new case.

As the elevator door opened, you were struck by the smell of carcass, dust and what you called office odor. You couldn't name it, but it was so specific that you wouldn't mistake it for anything else. In addition, it was only noticeable in the offices of the FBI. But not only that was characteristic here. Most of the people, except for undercover agents, wore suits or very formal outfits. You didn't know how to convince yourself of it, and since you started working as an agent, you wore jeans, T-shirts, sweatshirts, sweaters, etc.

After saying hello to a few people along the way, your boss stood on a dais, something like half a floor, waiting for you, still glancing at his watch. Your boss was the kind of agent who'd been born in a suit. He was never a baby or an infant. He was a serious man with a serious gun who rolled off the assembly line in Quantico, Virginia. He was shaved 24/7 and he spoke with a baritone voice and clipped legalistic words. Life had no color for him, no shades of grey either, it was all black/white right/wrong legal/illegal. He was the perfect FBI agent.

"Y/L/N" only greeted you by saying your name, and immediately moved towards the conference room.

When you entered a large room with a large table in the center, where several agents were sitting and with whom you had the opportunity to work, you realized by their expressions that it was not an easy case. So you took your seat at the table and looked at the image projected by the projector.

First it was a case number, then a map, a few photos of the city, a few criminals, and finally photos from the crime scene. Your eyes widened, surveying every smallest element of the projected image. You noticed one of the agents covering her mouth with her hand and running out of the room. It must have been new, or this was the first time she had dealt with this type of thing.

The photos showed a lantern on the docks by the port, with fragments of a woman's body hung on thick butcher's hooks.

"I invited you here because each of you, well, almost everyone worked to some extent on similar things. However, in other cases, we did not know who was the culprit. The situation is different here, because this kind of cruelty is characteristic of only one person. As you can see Vladimir Elistratov is back, which means we have a lot of work to do.”

The term "murderer" was now reserved for psychopaths.  There were those that took life and crumpled under the weight of guilt, even if they'd no choice. There were some who killed when necessary and never lost a wink of sleep over it, that's pretty much where you sit. There are others who have made it a whole new hobby, look at them the wrong way and they attacked with lethal force. That last group are the only ones considered murderers now. Vladimir Elistratov belonged to the latter group.

After explaining, assigning tasks, and settling all the details needed for the moment, the agents went their way. You stayed for a while looking at all the photos from the beginning.

"Memories are coming back, aren't they?"

You looked up at your boss.

"You could say that," you laughed nervously. "Elistratov ... It will be a tough business. You know that well, Jack. ”You got up from your chair and put your hands in your jacket pockets.

“I am not saying that it is not. I want to be sure you can do it. Last time…"

“The last time I had less experience and acted in the dark, not knowing what I was doing. Now, well, now I can do more. "

Jack - your boss - said nothing, just nodded, agreeing with what you said.

"Just remember that you can talk to me at any time."

Although everyone thought him to be a cold, typical FBI agent, not expressing emotions, they were wrong. Jack had a heart and soul, and you saw it perfectly well when you dealt with Elistratov for the first time. However, this is not a story for now. What was over and no one will turn back the time. The mistakes were made and you can only pray not to make them again.

Your first task for today was to go to the docks to look around at crime scenes, see if the technicians missed any traces. Not that you didn't trust their abilities, but it must be admitted that each person pays attention to something else. Especially if they work in various positions.

Upon entering the underground garage, you saw a man standing by a black Mustang. He had a paper bag in one hand and a telephone in the other, typing intently, judging by his frown.

"Clint?"

"Y/N" the man immediately put the phone away and came over to greet you. "It's been a long time," he laughed and hugged you.

"What are you doing here?"

"I help. Jack didn't mention it? " You shook your head, "Well, maybe he forgot. He is no longer a teenager. Well. Get in. We're going to the docks. The technicians must have missed something. "

You haven't thought about it now, but your boss hasn't forgotten anything. Never. However, you trusted Clint too much to question his words, so without unnecessary words, you got into the car and drove to the indicated place.

Clint was a rather remote FBI agent. He was only summoned for important matters, and so no one ever knew where he was or what he was doing. A real secret agent after all.

When you arrived at the place, you immediately saw yellow tapes separating a certain area, suggesting that this area is forbidden for unauthorized persons. But now it was no longer necessary. Both of you broke the tape and started to circle the area, each one on a different side, looking for some traces.

“Something's not right for me. Why docks, why not a park? There are more people in the park, and as we know Elistratov loves the audience. "

“I also think it's a bit off his style. It's as if the copycat did it and not himself, ”Clint agreed with you. "Fuck, I have to pick it up, ”he said, looking at the screen of the ringing phone. You let him know it was okay and indicated with your hand that you were walking towards the hangars.

At first glance, everything seemed normal. A huge hangar, riddled with years of etching rust and bullets after numerous shootings. In the past, fishing boats were repaired here. Now it was a large building with a lot of metal. You went over to the other side, seeing that you wouldn't find anything here anyway, but still wanted to be sure that you checked every millimeter of the terrain.

And then you saw him. A tall man dressed in an expensive suit - or so you thought - hair combed back and sunglasses. He was leaning against a car, a black Audi, and talking on the phone. You didn't hear what the conversation was about, though, but judging from his clenched jaw, it wasn't pleasant. You took out your phone and took a few hidden photos and sent them to Clint. You looked again at the man who seemed to be staring right at you….

~ To be continued ~

Tags:  @worksby-d @sweetflowersforthebroken @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @patzammit @ivettt @ozarkthedog @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @a-moment-captured @buckysteveloki-me @denisemarieangelina @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Series tags: @kelbabyblue @a-moment-captured @wayward-blonde @peaches-roses-sins @cynic-spirit @redhairedfeistynerd @stargazingfangirl18​ 

[siriuscatbennett]

The First Avenger info dump because I can

Enlistment/Dog Tags/Awards:

It is canon that Bucky Barnes enlisted on his own right after Pearl Harbor (and Steve tried). This would make his dog tags a type two. His service number would start with a 1 (enlisted army soldier) and a 2 (from New York). This site can be used to generate dog tag numbers (I haven’t tried all the functions, but be aware the O for officers is a 0 starting in 1942). 

During WW2 (amongst other times), there was the Regular Army and the Army of the United States (which no longer exists). Voluntary enlisted men were in the Regular, with draftees in the other (officers were often part of both and had two separate ranks). If you choose to divert from canon and make Bucky a draftee (I personally have always liked this fanon because I’m evil), his service number would start with 32 (drafted, New York). This would also better explain why Bucky rises to the rank of Sergeant so quickly as promotions happened constantly in the AUS ( Dwight D. Eisenhower rose from a colonel to five-star general in three years). 

Steve would have a different type of dog tags than Bucky (including a different chain). He would have a type three (as would anyone between July 20, 1943 and March 31, 1944). I will illustrate the differences below with the custom tags I made for Steve's sister and Bucky in my fanfic (feel free to use the info from them). The N and 7 in her tag are for nurse.

The T42 you’ll see below is the year tetanus shots were recieved. I’ve seen some with two years and some with one. The B is blood type and the P is religion. 

Steve received an award for rescuing the POWs. Seeing as this wasn’t presented by the president, I’ve decided it was the Distinguished Service Cross. This award comes with a $2 pay raise; as a Captain, Steve previously made $200 a month, paid monthly (post-serum). Bucky made $78 as a Sergeant, with a $3.90 pay raise after 3 years of service (December 1944). Steve also obtained SSR pins after joining them (and I believe the Howling Commandos should have as well). (Even though nurses had the rank of an officer, they didn’t get equal pay until after WW2. They earned $70 a month for the first 3 years.)

Many soldiers put their second dog tag in their boot, usually slipped on the shoe laces in between the tongue and top of the shoe.

Not a fact, but I will add a link here to a website where you can either buy Bucky/Steve’s dogtags or make custom ones for $10 (personally, I would advocate for the custom as Bucky’s say he’s not from NY and show he is a draftee. Also, he has type B blood, not O. And Steve is Protestant, not Catholic. The site also states officer’s service numbers didn’t start with 9, but those with special duties did. His service number would most like be between 800000 and 999999, starting with a 0- to show he’s an officer).

Sister: Margaret E Rogers N-724669 T42 B                         P

Bucky: James B Barnes 12831412 T42 B Margaret Rogers (next of kin) 1404 Alameda Ave (next of kin address) Brooklyn NY     P (address, religion)

Italian Front:

Seeing as the 107th were venturing to England in June 1943, they most likely headed straight to Sicily from there (or diverged if they had fuel) to aid in the invasion, continuing into the invasion of the mainland before pushing troops back toward Austria. Italy surrendered at the very beginning of the invasion of the mainland, so the Allies only fought Nazis and Italian soldiers loyal to Mussolini (National Republican Army), who was arrested during the invasion of Sicily and broken out during the mainland invasion. Seeing as Chester Phillips and Peggy were with Steve, they must have joined the 107th later. In my canon, they (and Howard) join at the beginning of the mainland invasion. 

AM-lira (Allied-Military Currency), 100 "am-lire" for a U.S. dollar, was the currency specifically put into circulation for Allied Military after the landing in Sicily. It was used interchangeably with their normal currency. Once the Howling Commandoes join the SSR, they use British currency. 

The 107th’s camp pre-Battle of Azzano was most likely behind the  Volturno Line. Azzano is part of Umbria, which was about 170 miles into enemy territory. 

Post-Azzano, the camp was most likely behind the Barbara Line. Walking approx 533 miles from Kreuzberg, Austria, with troops alternating resting periods in the trucks, walking approximately 42 miles for 12 hours a day, they would reach camp in thirteen days.

Random:

Steve’s canon address according to Avengers is 1404 Alameda Ave. Brooklyn, NY 11362. This is a Queens zip code. I changed it to 11237.

As a Sergeant, Bucky would command a squad of 12 soldiers (privates), split into 3 fireteams. He was also assigned a PFC (one of the scout riflemen) as an assistant; this soldier could serve as either the squad leader's messenger to the platoon commander or could be used to relay orders to other squad teams, as needed. Sergeants are responsible for the individual training, personal appearance and cleanliness of their soldiers, and are expected to set a standard for lower-ranked soldiers to live up to.

Women did have their own army sect for part of the war (Women’s Army Corps) but they didn’t go overseas as they didn’t legally get benefits overseas {I didn’t read a lot on this, take this with a grain of salt}. They did all the non-fighting jobs like listening to radio transmissions and fixing weapons. 

On the ship, there were three-tier bunks. Enlisted men got footlockers under their beds (you could lift up the base), while officers got standing lockers. I would assume water on ships was cold, filtered from the ocean, and they had showers.

Showers were available but not popular at this time, just like hot water heaters. Many people still boiled water to take baths. People also didn’t bathe as often and there was only one kind of shampoo and no conditioner. Women made their own concoctions, used soap, or straight up would do egg masks. Hair was kept clean by doing the “100 strokes” with a hairbrush that was cleaned after every use. Indoor heating also wasn’t used everywhere, leaving many places still using things like fireplaces and wood stoves.

Soldiers used latrines in WW2. They also used a bucket of water and a bar of soap to wash. When water was unavailable and snow was, it was melted and used. They could also simply use things like rivers and lakes if available but if unnecessary, weren't used as lice was prevalent along with disease. Clothes weren't washed often (depending on the situation, some men went weeks without washing their uniform, only changing into dry socks when necessary) but when they were, they were boiled in big pots of water in mass and hung on a line to dry (there were also other ways, but I preferred this one). They carried an extra shirt, socks and laces, water canteen, ammunition, a spade, grenades, a gas mask, food rations, a cup, a wash kit (toothpaste, razor, comb, etc), first aid pouch, and a helmet (usually on their head) in their haversack's/on their belt (and rations, of couse). There was also a tent pack, but most soldiers would simply carry a raincoat. Lots of candles and oil lanterns to light the night. Canvas water bags – also known as Lister bags – were hung around camps and used for dispensing drinking water in which a dose of chlorine was added for purification.

Medical:

Morbidity from such diseases as tuberculosis (anti-tuberculosis agents didn’t begin to appear until 1949), rheumatic fever, typhus, dysentery, and malaria were high. There were tuberculosis quarantine wards separate from the other patients and were eventually evacuated. Frostbite was also common during the cold. Hepatitis A and B were also prevalent. Trench foot was also common, sometimes leading to jungle rot (often referred to as 'the creeping cruds'). PTSD was known then as 'battle fatigue'; men showcasing symptoms were often just given rest and food near the front lines and would normally rejoin the fight in a few days or were evacuated if necessary. All soldiers were vaccinated against tetanus, typhoid, smallpox, cholera, and yellow fever before shipping out. Dental hygiene was extremely important and many field hospitals were equipped with dental prosthetics. 

Food:

A-Rations referred to fresh/refrigerated meats, bread, and vegetables, prepared in mess halls. These meals were basically the same as C-rations, but fresh and always warm.

C-Rations consisted of one M-unit (12 oz can, meat), one B-unit (12 oz can, bread/dessert), and an accessory pack. Each daily ration consisted of three M-units, three B-units, and three accessory packs (one for each meal). The cans were made of tinplate. The cans had a gold lacquer finish. C-rations can be eaten cold or hot and were cooked with a Coleman's pocket stove (which was made specifically for WW2 soldiers).

M-units initially had three kinds: meat and beans, meat and potato hash, and meat and vegetable stew. In 1943, meat and spaghetti in tomato sauce was added; along with meat and noodles, pork and rice, frankfurters and beans, and chicken & vegetables in 1944. 1944 also brought a chopped ham, egg, & potato unit and compressed cereal B-units to replace meat & vegetable hash.

B-units contained crackers, three sugar tablets, loose candy (Brach's chocolate caramels, candy-coated peanuts/raisins, Charms hard candy), and a packet/small can of beverage mix (instant coffee, powdered lemon drink, or bouillon soup powder). Orange drink powder was added in 1944. Due to spoilage, the loose candy was replaced in 1944 with a Brach's fudge disk or a Jim dandy.

Accessory packs (brown butcher paper) contained sugar tablets, water purification tablets, a flat wooden spoon, a piece of candy-coated chewing gum, three 3-packs or one 9-pack of cigarettes, a book of 20 moisture resistant matches, a paper-wrapped P-38 can opener (with instructions that everyone immediately throws out), and about 22.5 sheets of toilet paper. Cigarette brands included Camel, Chelsea, Chesterfield, Craven A-Brand, Lucky Strike, Old Gold, Philip Morris, Player's, Raleigh, and Wings (these were traded constantly). Can openers were meant to be disposable but soldiers wore them on their dog tags for later use either with opening cans or other things (clean muddy boots, screw screws, open letters, strip wires, trim loose thread, and sharpen pencils). 

Seriously. They really gave every single soldier three can openers a day. With printed instructions. During metal rationing. Of which soldiers just put them on thier dog tag chains for later use. Where did all these excess can openers go? And why half a sheet of toilet paper? 

Clothes:

The nurses wore an olive drab service jacket and skirt (they are seen in pants as well) and cap, khaki shirt and tie, and brown shoes (wore nursing shoes or boots). The rank insignia (a single gold bar for second lieutenants, the vast majority of nurses) was worn on the epaulets. A gold "U.S." pin was worn on each collar, and a gold caduceus with a red N was worn on each lapel. Whenever the service jacket wasn't worn, the rank insignia was pinned to the right collar, the caduceus on the left.

Soldier’s field uniforms looked like this (with some adjustments based on gun used). And yes, the leggings are neccessary, they helped keep feet dry: 

The layout I made for Steve’s apartment (there are 2 beds and dressers in the spare room because Bucky lives there too, feel free to change this):

These aren’t all the links I used, because I’ve gone through a lot, like a lot, but here are the ones I saved that are relevant (I don’t like using wiki but I cross-checked any info stated above):

https://www.google.com/amp/s/screenrant.com/winter-soldier-mcu-complete-timeline-bucky-barnes/amp/ https://movies.stackexchange.com/questions/65170/how-did-bucky-get-the-rank-of-sergeant https://marvel-movies.fandom.com/wiki/Steven_Rogers https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italian_campaign_(World_War_II) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allied_invasion_of_Sicily https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allied_invasion_of_Italy https://history.amedd.army.mil/booksdocs/wwii/medsvcsinmedtrnmnrthrtrs/chapter6.htm https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Squad https://www.reddit.com/r/AskHistorians/comments/4j8zos/pay_of_american_gis_during_world_war_ii/ https://blogs.stockton.edu/womeninwwtwo/womens-military-involvemnt/womens-nurse-corps/#:~:text=The%20pay%20of%20members%20in,per%20month%E2%80%9D%20(2). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Service_number_(United_States_Army) https://www.med-dept.com/articles/u-s-army-ww2-dog-tags/

Find me on Wattpad here where all of this information and more will be compiled in a Bucky Barnes series with mediocre writing (coming soon). 

[calmcilstoybox]

Title: Veraque

Word count: 1998 Rating: SFW  Part 1 of a vampire fic slow burn/ child hood friends to lovers.

There is a dog that gets pets

There was one thing that Perdita wasn’t expecting, and that was a call from Owen Shepard. Yet, there was his number flashing across her phone’s screen with the option to pick up.

Perdita hesitated for a second before mumbling something akin to I’ll be right back to her coworker. Then she accepted the call and walked away from the meeting room.

“Hello?” Perdita asked cautiously not sure of who was on the other end of the line.

“Hey Perri -” Owen replied, it was hard for her to hear him because of noise in the background. It sounded like he was next to a freeway.

“What the fuck Owen where are you? What happened? You’ve been missing for like a week.” Perdita interrupted cutting Owen off. She was vaguely aware of her voice becoming shriller in pitch as she spoke.

“Listen I can explain...Just when do you get off work?” Owen asked over the car horn going off in the background.

“Around five, have you called your Mom yet to let her know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere yet?” Perdita inquired; though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“She didn’t pick up when I called her, I think she’s at work-wait, are you on break?” Owen said, it was easier to hear him over the phone now. But Perdita wasn’t sure if he was lying about trying to call his mom or not.

“Yeah I took a break to take your call. But where are you?” Perdita asked again, checking the time. It was a little after one in the afternoon.

“Right now I’m in a Starbucks waiting on my uber to take me home. Can you come over once you get off work so I can explain everything?” Owen’s voice had a begging tone in it now. Perdita had never heard him like this before and wasn’t comfortable saying no to him.

Not when he was like this.

“Yeah, I’ll be over…See you in a few.” Perdita said, quieting down.

“Thanks see you then.” Owen replied, hanging up before Perdita had a chance to question him further. Of which Perdita did have many questions, and not nearly enough answers.

The rest of her day went by in a blur. Perdita couldn’t even recall what she’d had to eat during her lunch break. The last week had been hard. First, Owen vanished while out walking his dog. The dog; a female golden retriever named Maverick. Had been found dragging her leash behind her by a Good Samaritan. They coaxed the dog close enough to grab the leash with a tennis ball.

That had actually been the first clue something happened to Owen. He never would have abandoned Maverick.

After Perdita clocked out she went straight to her car in the parking lot. She climbed in, locked the doors, and turned it on letting it idle. While her car was warming up, Perdiate decided to check her phone.

Have you picked up Maverick from your Mom’s yet? She took her in after you disappeared. Perdita texted Owen, she stared at the screen after she noticed the triple dot.

I brought her home.

You coming over soon?

Door’s unlocked.

After reading Owen’s texts back Perdita let him know she was on her way. She shifted gears and looked over her shoulder to make sure she didn’t hit anything as she pulled out of the parking lot. The trip to Owen’s house was uneventful. It was a quiet drive through the snow. Since, Perdita took a back road to get there to avoid traffic.

Owen’s home was a pale green two story Queen Anne. At one point it belonged to his paternal grandmother. Perdita remembered going to her funeral with him. It had white lattice trim, and a hunter green roof. To the left of the house was the driveway with a detached garage painted to match. There was a small sidewalk between the porch and the garage that wasn’t covered by the overhanging roof.

There were footprints in the snow leading up to the front porch. Perdita decided to park her car in the driveway and called Owen. She figured she should let him know she was here. Though, after four rings when he didn’t pick up she stopped the call.

The cold evening air made her lungs hurt. Perdita hurriedly went up to the door and tried it once. True to Owen’s word, it was unlocked. Perdita stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She took her shoes off and left them by the door.

It seemed the polite thing to do. Instead of dragging melting snow and whatever else was on her boots on Owen’s hardwood floors.

“Owen?” Perdita asked looking around inside. There wasn’t any sign of him from where she was standing in the foyar. After a quick glance around, Perdita decided to try the kitchen. The room was directly to her left.

Once Perdita was in the kitchen -the floors here were an ornate blue and white tile instead of hardwood. She noticed Owen standing in front of one of the counters. Perdita also noticed that the knife block was close to where she was next to the cutting board by the sink.

This was the first time she’d seen Owen since his disappearance. Something about him made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Perdita knocked on the wall closest to her to get Owen’s attention. She thought that, perhaps he hadn’t heard her before.

When Owen turned around however he had a crooked smirk on his face and his eyes were completely black.

“Perri! So glad you could make it.” Owen's voice had a harshness to it that had not been there earlier during their phone call.

Perdita backed up, she could feel the counter behind her and gripped at it with both hands.

“I-I was worried about you, I wanted to know what happened, why you left Maverick…” Her voice trailed off as Owen took a few powerful strides toward her. Despite being roughly the same height, Perdita felt like she was much smaller than him at that moment.

“I’ll tell you all about it later Perri, right now I’m famished.” Owen stared directly at Perdita as he spoke. One of his hands reached out and tilted her chin up. Perdita released her grip on the counter and one hand reached back pulling a knife from the butcher block.

Then, Perdita heard Maverick barking.

Apparently so did Owen, as he froze up. Perdita watched his eyes change back to his normal shade of hazel. The man had a confused look on his face- then fearful as he noticed the knife in Perdita’s hand.

Maverick continued barking and snarling until Owen took a full step back away from Perdita. He held his hands up almost like he was surrendering.

“Owen..?” Perdita leered at him as she whispered his name. She kept the knife- which Perdita now realized was a bread knife- in her hand. Maverick’s barking quieted down to whimpers.

Owen seemed like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He ended up tugging at his collar showing a bite wound.

“Last thing I remember is taking Maverick for her morning walk. Next thing I know, I wake up with this on me feeling like my throat’s drier than Death Valley. I had this urge to just...bite.” Owen explained letting go of his shirt. He fumbled his hands together in front of him before kneeling down to Marverick’s level. Then Owen held one out to let her sniff.

Maverick continued to whine, but licked Owen’s hand. Perdita watched the dog’s tail wag twice.

“Bite? Do you remember what you said to me when I got here?” Perdita asked, recalling how Owen had said he was famished.

“Not...that I remember no. My throat is so dry again.” Owen replied quietly thinking to himself.

Perdita finally relaxed and put the knife back in the block.

“Have you told anyone else this? Or just me?” Perdita asked, she was trying to piece together what was going on.

“I can’t tell my Mom any of this...how would that even work?” Owen groaned and ran his hands over his face.

“There was so much blood on me when I don’t think it was all mine. ...I have my clothes in the sink in the bathroom soaking to try to get the blood out. If the hydrogen peroxide doesn’t work I’m just tossing it all out.” Owen said standing back up after scratching behind Maverick’s ears. “So I’m the only one that knows..” Perdita mumbled leaning against the counter again.

“It’s stupid, but it’s like when we were kids in Mrs. Shalhoub’s class. I asked you for help all the time with schoolwork there. I thought you could help me now.” Owen looked flustered and kept his eyes on everything else in the kitchen but Perdita.

“Owen..” Perdita stood up and walked over to him putting her hand on his shoulder.

“ I don’t want this, I didn’t ask to be a monster Perri.” Owen still refused to look at her and there was a sad defeated tone to his voice.

“I don’t think you’re a monster.” Perdita gave Owen’s shoulder a squeeze. She recalled that Lucas worked at the hospital and wondered if he’d be able to help if she told him about the situation.

At the very least it was worth a shot.

Perdita let go of Owen’s shoulder and went over to the kitchen table. It was one of the circular ones, with a lace table cloth thrown over it. She noticed that the curtains by it were shut tight. She sat down, and got her phone back out and called Lucas.

“Hello?” Lucas answered on the other end of the line.

“Hey Lucas, what do they do with the blood they don’t use at the hospital?” Perdita asked, glancing at Owen. Who was sitting down across from her at the kitchen table. “It goes in the incinerator with other medical waste, why?” Lucas answered her quickly without too much thought.

“Can you bring some to me please?” Perdita begged, she could feel Owen’s eyes on her and he looked so hopeful.

“Perri…” Lucas sounded skeptical on the phone. “Lucas I will do literally anything you want me to do if you can just do this one favor for me.” Perdita pleaded with him. She couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Anything?” Lucas inquired, Perdita could hear the smile in his voice.

“Anything.” She repeated back doing her best not to groan as Perdita thought of what Lucas would ask her to do after this.

She held her phone away from her face for a moment and mouthed, “Do you want me to tell him” to Owen. Who, to Perdita’s surprise nodded in agreement.

“It’s not just a favor for me, you’re helping Owen too.” Perdita admitted bracing herself for Lucas’ reaction.

“Owen’s alive?!” The humor was gone from Lucas’ voice. He sounded as startled as Perdita had felt when she first heard Owen’s voice on her phone earlier in the day.

“He...can explain everything. But, bring the blood with you.” Perdita said nervously, she could hear Lucas sigh.

“Give me a minute….Maybe an hour tops. Wait, where am I meeting you?” Lucas asked, Perdita could hear him getting up and she swore she heard the jingle of his keys.

“I’m at Owen’s right now.” She replied back.

“I’ll be over soon as I can.” Lucas said before hanging up. Perdita slipped her phone back into her pocket and reached her hand across the table for one of Owen’s.

“We’ll figure this out, you’re not a monster Owen.” Perdita said smiling encouragingly at him. Owen smiled back slightly and flipped his hand over so he could grasp Perdita’s fingers.

“I know it’s not fourth grade math anymore, but I’m glad you’re still there for me.” Owen confessed, seeming more relaxed now.

[theoriginalladya]

#15 kiss for Michael/Kaidan 🥰

from this prompt list

On AO3 here

Okay, so this one got away from me a bit.  Like 2100 words away! lol  Anyway, it helped me sort out a few things for these two which I needed before I start Nano in a week.  Thank you, m’dear, for all of your love of my pairs!  I hope this meets with your approval!

prompt:   a gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss

~~~~

Two weeks seems an eternity to wait, but if it means a chance to figure things out between them, Shepard is willing.  His mission after the Collectors is nearly over, and as determined as he is that they will make it back out of the Omega-4 relay, having an extra added incentive never hurts.  Well, that plus it sticks it to the Illusive Man and his heavy handed interference.  That definitely counts for something.

From the moment he opened his eyes on Lazarus Station, nearly everyone has reminded him, Don’t trust him.  Garrus, Anderson, Tali … even Liara.  Hasn’t he made it clear yet that he never has and never will?  So, maybe they have something … in common.  The Collectors need to be dealt with, end of story.  But it doesn’t take a genius to see too many corners are being cut in the process, and maybe he’s paranoid, but to him that reads like Cerberus has an ulterior motive.  One that they won’t share with him.   Add in the fact that TIM’s decision to drop hints and rumors at whatever whim he decides to follow, putting innocents at risk needlessly, well, the way Shepard sees it, taking a day for personal business should fly under the radar.  Only, he isn’t willing to risk that, either.  He’s about done with the whole damned thing.

He slips onto the Citadel easily enough; working with Bailey assures him that much.  Finding the meeting point takes a little longer seeing as it’s buried deep in Zakera Ward.  Still, he times it just right, even better than he could have hoped, and as he enters the building, he spies Kaidan at the front desk.  Good.  That’s one risk out the window, not having to expose his true identity, and instead he waits in the shadows near the bank of elevators. 

He’s always been good at hiding in plain sight, and slips onto the lift easily.  The elevator is crowded – of course it is, but who is he to judge if it means they have some peace and quiet they need to talk – and by the time they arrive on the twenty-ninth floor, he’s pretty sure Kaidan knows he’s there.  He follows after him, hopping through the doors just before they close, and hurries down the hall to his left.  He doesn’t know the room number, but he nears a door that’s left open in invitation.  It could be a trap, part of him still believes it is, but he slips inside the room without hesitation anyway, sealing the door behind him. 

Still facing the door, he ask softly, with a certain urgency, “Did David get to Grissom without any problems?”  Only then does he turn to face a room thick with shadows and very little light.  It takes a moment to find Kaidan, but he does, and he isn’t as far away as Shepard thought he might be.

“David is fine,” Kaidan replies.  “Anderson put me in touch with the woman in charge of the place.  Cerberus won’t have any contact with him there.”

“Good.”  Shepard takes a few more steps into the room looks around.  His lips twitch slightly at what he finds.  “Kinda small in, here, don’t you think?”

Kaidan’s cheeks darken a little, and for a moment, Shepard has hope.  He remembers all too clearly the last time he said that, and while he would give anything for a similar outcome tonight, he knows his chances are slim to none.  Especially when Kaidan folds his arms across his chest and gives Shepard a pointed look in return.  “You said you wanted to talk,” he argues.  “I didn’t figure size mattered.”

“Size always matters.”

The heat flares a little more though Kaidan fights it; Shepard sighs softly and backs down, and for the first time since waking up on Lazarus Station, his entire presence softens.  The Butcher of Torfan is not longer present, instead replaced by a man with too many regrets spanning two lives.  He takes a seat on the corner of the bed, leaning forward until his arms rest across his thighs, head drops low, and he can stare at the floor.  “Kaidan, I –.”

Kaidan stops him with a disgruntled huff and starts to pace.  It catches Shepard off guard for a moment; he’s the one with the history of impatience and frustration.  Kaidan has always been the one to hold himself together, cool under pressure.  As their eyes meet and hold, he notices the regret that shines in Kaidan’s eyes, bright as a signal flare. 

Kaidan comes to a stop directly in front of him.  “Look, before we really get into it, let me just say something first, okay?” 

Shepard nods and remains silent. 

Kaidan takes a deep breath and releases it slowly before beginning, “About Horizon, I just want to say … I’m sorry I took it out on you like I did.”

Shepard reaches deep for the patience to wait this out, for the willpower to keep his mouth shut and let Kaidan continue.

“To see you like that … well, it was a shock, to say the least.”

Shepard’s lips press into a tight, thin line.  “I understand,” he says.  “I’m sure I would have reacted similarly had our positions been reversed.”  They both know that’s not true; Kaidan would never be with Cerberus, but it’s the idea that counts. 

“All I could think was, why didn’t you get in touch with me?  Contact me somehow?  We once meant something to each other.  At least, I thought we did.”

Shepard winces.  Once.  The past tense hurts, but he expects it.  “For what it’s worth, Kaidan, I did try.  I even asked Anderson.”  When he looks up, his smile is halfhearted.  “He wouldn’t tell me where you were, nor would he deliver a message from me.”

Kaidan picks up the pacing again and runs a hand through his hair in agitation.   

“Do you really want to keep rehashing this?” Shepard asks.  When Kaidan glances over at him, he shrugs.  “I can think of other things we can discuss that won’t lead us down a potential path of self-destruction.”  Kaidan frowns.  Shepard’s brow lifts.  “What?  You think I didn’t notice when you started to flare on Horizon?”

“Point.”  Kaidan stops pacing and sits in a chair by the window.  “Alright, what do you want to talk about?”

Shepard clasps his hands before him, stares at them as if they are the most interesting thing in the galaxy in that moment.  “I … wanted to tell you, to let you know …”  He pauses, considers the best way to explain.  “Look, fact of the matter is, I’m about to lead my team through the Omega-4 relay.”  Kaidan’s breath hitches, a soft echo throughout the room.  “I wanted a chance to … well, to just see you again.  To talk with you.  Maybe to clear some of this mess up?”  Shepard shakes his head but doesn’t look Kaidan in the eye just yet.  “I know your opinions on my current situation; you made that abundantly clear on Horizon, and that’s fine.  But I wanted you to know …”  He lifts his head finally and is suddenly pinned by the whiskey brown pair across from him.  Throat suddenly dry, he swallows twice before he can continue.  “At this point, I know it probably doesn’t mean anything to you anymore, but I wanted to let you know I still care.  Believe it or not, you were the first person I thought of when they woke me up.  I had no idea where I was, what happened, where you were; but you were the first.  And I … I just wanted you to know that.”

Kaidan’s jaw tightens as he grinds his teeth.  “Shepard …”

God, he hates that this has to be so hard, for the both of them, because he really doesn’t want it to be.  No matter what happens, he still cares.  Is that really so hard to understand?  To accept?  Taking another breath, he asks, “How’s Kandra?”

Kaidan blinks.  “What?”

Shepard chuckles.  “Your sister.  How is she?”  Probably hates him, too, just like her twin.

“I - Kandra?  She’s … fine, I guess?”  Kaidan’s head tilt’s slightly.  “Why are you asking about her?”

A wry smile twists his lips.  “You know, there have been a few times where I’ve wished she was the cook on the Normandy this go ‘round.”  Gardner tries, but even with better ingredients, he still doesn’t make anything Shepard really likes.  Kandra, on the other hand, performs magic in the kitchen.  He’s been witness to it first-hand.

Kaidan manages a short laugh.  “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

Silence fills the room as they both sit across from one another.  Michael fidgets with his fingers; Kaidan stops grinding his teeth. 

“Look, Kaidan –.”

“Shepard, I –.”

The laughter returns, easier this time for both of them.  Shepard rises to his feet and moves to stand next to Kaidan’s chair, but he stares out the window at the Citadel beyond.  “I am sorrier than you will ever know,” he whispers after several minutes, “for what you’ve had to go through.  I never wanted to hurt you like that.”

Kaidan’s sigh is weighted.  He pushes himself to his feet slowly, like an aged man for whom mobility is no longer easy.  But once he’s on his feet, he turns to face Shepard.  “I was lost for a long time.  I can’t even put into words the hell I went through.”

“I know.”  Shepard turns, facing him, then hesitates.  The whole purpose of this meeting was to let Kaidan know he was about to head through the Omega relay, which he’s done, but now?  “I just …”

No one is more surprised when Kaidan reaches out a hand to cradle Shepard’s cheek than Shepard is himself.  He holds his breath, waiting, watching with wide eyes, as Kaidan closes the distance between them and leans in to press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips.  The touch is brief, and leaves Shepard’s lips tingling.  “Michael,” Kaidan breathes, his voice practically a groan, “I love you.  I loved you before, I still love you now.  Despite everything that’s happened.” 

Without conscious thought, Shepard’s hands slide around Kaidan, securing around his broad shoulders and tugging him closer.  Time stands still as he covers Kaidan’s mouth with his, taking the initiative this time as he savors, devours, and more importantly, remembers.  He breaks free only when he cannot breathe, dropping his forehead to rest against Kaidan’s.  “I … I’m sorry, I ….”

Kaidan huffs softly.  “Yeah.”  His voice is as rough and raspy as Shepard’s.  “Um, s’okay, but … what I was going to say was … I, um, can’t …”

A small smirk twitches at Shepard’s lips as he looks into his eyes.  “Left you speechless, have I?”

Kaidan nearly chokes on a laugh.  “That’s one way to put it.”

“Good to know.”  Shepard’s hands slide up to frame Kaidan’s face.  “Answer me two things, okay?”  Kaidan nods.  “Have you found someone else?”

Kaidan blinks, tries to pull back, but Shepard doesn’t let him.  “What?  No!  Why would I?  I … I was still mourning you up until Horizon, dammit!”

Shepard smiles.  “That’s fine, that’s good,” he replies quickly.  His heart feels like it will jump out of his chest.  “Second question, do you …  Would you want to try again?”

This time, Kaidan does pull free.  He backs up across the room until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he sits.  “You’ve just told me you are about to go through the Omega relay!”

Shepard nods.  “Yes, but we have a way to get through safely.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to assure him it is, but he doesn’t.  “One hundred percent?  No,” he finally replies.  “More like ninety-four percent it will get us there and back again.”

Kaidan bites his lip hard.  “And what then?  You do realize the Alliance wants to talk to you about what happened in Bahak, right?”

“I am aware, yes.  I promised Hackett I will turn myself in when I get back.”  Shepard shrugs then walks forward, dropping to crouch in front of him.  “Look, Kaidan, I know things won’t be easy, and it might be a while before we see one another again, but … I just … I kind of need to know … you know?”  Kaidan sighs, heavily, and for a moment Shepard thinks he’s blown it.  He's pushed too hard, too fast.  It’s too much, been too long, it's too … 

“Yes.”

[100storiesin2020]

Chapter 8: Columbia, Part 2

Come read on AO3!

Neil checked the rear view mirror to make sure Ronan's BMW was still behind them before hopping out of the Maserati. He fetched an extra parking pass and handed it to Ronan through the window. "Follow Andrew to the parking lot. Blue, you can walk with them or come in with us." She hopped out as the two cars peeled off.

"So this is Eden's," she said as Nicky began an elaborate handshake with security. "How long have y'all been coming here?"

"Nicky and the twins used to work here," he said. "The staff remembers them, so we are able to get in without ID's and drink for free."

"Nice," was all she said as they entered. He directed her to go sit with the others and headed to the bar.

"Hello!" Roland called when he noticed Neil. He nodded his head over to their usual table in the corner. "I see you have a new face today. Will it be the usual treatment for them?"

"No," Neil said. "No drugs. Do throw in several extra drinks, though. We have another extra coming in with Andrew."

"Oh," Roland drew out, raising an eyebrow. "What's the story there?" Neil shrugged. He didn't really know why Ronan was there, actually. They had only wanted Blue. Roland continued to wait for an explanation, but finally realized it was in vain. "Alright then." He started to pull out glasses. "I'll give you your usual and a few undoctored extras. Do you have any idea what they like?" Roland smiled when Neil shook his head. "Bartender's choice, then. And a soda for you, as usual." He handed the very full tray to Neil. "Have a nice night!"

Neil navigated his way over to the table. Andrew and Ronan had arrived, and the booth was very crowded. Nicky had pulled up a bar stool to sit on, which made just enough space is everyone squeezed in. Blue was looking around interestedly, while Ronan was lounging as if bored out of his mind. Kevin reached for the drinks before they even hit the table, but Aaron didn't look up from texting long enough to notice.

"So," Blue said as Neil took his seat by Andrew, "You did say this was free?" Nicky excitedly launched into the story of how he had worked there. Blue nodded along as if she hadn't already heard. "Cool then. What's the most expensive thing here?" Nicky pointed out a swirly colorful concoction and Blue snapped it right up. "This is mine, then."

Ronan laughed. "You're not going to get drunk on a sissy drink like that."

"Good thing I wasn't planning to get drunk. Go to town, shithead." Ronan immediately kicked back several drinks. "And give me your keys before those give in." Ronan grumbled but handed over the keys. Somehow, he and Kevin were neck in neck for number of drinks consumed. How they were still alive, Neil didn't know. Eventually Nicky dragged Aaron and Kevin off to go dance, leaving Neil and Andrew alone with the freshmen.

Andrew immediately leaned across the table, looking Blue straight in the eye. "You're suspicious."

"You don't know the half of it," Blue replied, sipping her drink. Her eyes had gone tight, body stiff, like she was absolutely dreading this conversation. She didn't back down, though. This girl was made of steel.

"How do you know Mr. Gray?" Andrew asked.

Ronan leaned forward menacingly. "You don't need to know that."

Blue elbowed him before leveling a glare. "I promised to answer some questions about Mr. Gray. He kind of scared the shit out of Josten here. I can handle this. Go dance." When he tried to argue she shoved him out of the seat. He picked himself up off the floor, muttering curses, but did eventually leave. Blue turned back to them. "I believe I told you that he is dating my mother."

"Why is a small-town psychic dating a hit man, then?"

Blue was shocked. "You can't just say that were anyone can hear."

"This is a club. It's too loud for anyone to be listening to us without being obvious. Answer the question."

"He came to her to get a reading when he was in Henrietta... on assignment," she said with a grimace. "They apparently hit it off quickly. I kind of avoided learning the details."

"That leaves out the very important question of why a hit man was in Henrietta," Neil stated.

Blue glared at him. "All you two need to know," she said slowly, "is whether we're a risk. I know about the Butcher and the Moriyamas." Neil flinched. "Mr. Gray explained the situation and dynamics to me when I signed the contract. We aren't a target for them, and it's my understanding that you've got everything settled here. Is there anything else?"

"Can you protect them?" Andrew asked.

"What?"

"If something goes wrong, I will not protect them. That's up to you."

Blue nodded. "I've lost enough of my friends this last year. Nobody will touch them ever again." Andrew leaned back, satisfied, and went back to drinking. Blue sipped her drink for another minute or so and then left to dance.

"I think she'll be alright," Neil said in German. Andrew grunted. "She has the look of someone who isn't afraid to fight."

"She has scars," Andrew replied. "Around her eye."

Neil nodded thoughtfully. "Must wear makeup to hide them. What did you think of the rest of what she said? Nicky says she mentioned a friend dying recently, and she let slip that Gansey has died twice, whatever that means." Andrew hummed. "I think she has plenty of motivation to be on the lookout."

They sat there in silence for awhile, lights flashing on Andrew's blond hair. It still surprised Neil, sometimes, how much things had changed for him in the last year. He still hated crowds, didn't like loud music or drinking, but he liked Eden's. This was Andrew's territory, and with Andrew, he was safe. He was home.

His thoughts were interrupted by the others coming back to the table. Kevin and Ronan eyed each other as they both did more shots. Blue said something about fragile male egos and the two of them flipped her the bird, rather clumsily. They were both pretty drunk.

"Fuckin Gray man," Ronan muttered. What was that accent coming through the slur? "Someday I'll get even with him."

"You're already even with the person who matters," Blue replied. That was interesting.

"Fuckin Greenmantle deserved what he fuckin got." Neil could place the accent now.

Kevin did too. "You sound... you sound like my mom used to," he stammered. "Irish. Are you Irish?"

"Dad was Irish," Ronan grumbled.

"He gets the accent when he's drunk," Blue supplied cheerily. "It embarrasses the hell out of him." Ronan flipped her off yet again.

"My mom was Irish," Kevin said. "I haven't heard that accent since she died. She used to tell me all these old stories..." he trailed off softly. "I wish I could remember them."

"Did she tell you the legend of Finn McCool?"

"The giant?" Kevin asked hopefully. "I think so, that one sounds familiar. I remember a really sad story too. It was her favorite. Something about a girl who was supposed to marry a king but started a war?"

Ronan nodded. "Sounds like Deidre, at least if my mom told me the same stories yours did." Neil listened with half an ear as the two of them continued to swap pieces of folk tales. They had a few in common, and others they did not. Ronan seemed less sharp in those moments, less like a knife and more like a person. It didn't last long. Kevin asked Ronan something about his father, and the sharpness returned.

"That's our cue to go," Blue said as Ronan stomped to his feet.

"But I want to keep dancing!" Nicky said.

"No, she's right," Neil replied. "It's late, even for us. Let's go home." Neil helped a swaying Nicky while Andrew grabbed Kevin, and he saw Blue half dragging a protesting Ronan out to the car. Neil overheard something about pint sized freak and I could take him,  but he didn't hear Blue's reply. Whatever it was, it made Ronan laugh wickedly.

Neil deposited Nicky in the backseat with Kevin and Aaron and hopped in front next to Andrew. They watched in the mirror as Blue forcibly shoved Ronan into the backseat and held the door open for the raven to fly back in from where it was perched on the roof. Blue climbed into the car and they all drove the 15 minutes or so to the Columbia house, making sure not to lose her. Neil watched Andrew drive as the drunk ones argued in the backseat. "Staring," was all Andrew said, eyes still on the road. Neil only grinned and kept looking.

They pulled up to the house, the BMW just behind. Neil hopped out of the car and unlocked the house door as the others spilled out of their cars, Nicky and Kevin lurching from side to side. Blue was hauling Ronan by one arm with the raven perched on her head. Aaron was mostly upright; he's started drinking less after Katelyn had asked him to.

"Alright Nicky," Neil said. "Don't forget you gave up your room for Blue."

"An act of pure chivalry," Nicky said with a laugh. "To the couch!"

"Aaron, Kevin is going to sleep in the armchair in your room."

"I remember," Aaron said with a shrug. That may have been the most civil exchange they'd ever had, Neil realized after a second. Kevin stumbled inside, complaining about how armchairs always hurt his back, as if he didn't end up on the floor half the time when he was this drunk.

Then it was Blue. "You're in Nicky's room," Neil said. "Just down the hall, second door on the left. We didn't really figure anything out for Ronan, though there's an armchair in the living room. Please keep the bird outside though."

Blue only shrugged. "I'll take him with me. I'll need to keep an eye on him, anyway. Scram, girl." Chainsaw cawed defiantly but eventually flew into the darkness.

Everyone situated, Neil headed up to the room where Andrew was already climbing into bed. Neil threw on his pjs and climbed in after. "Yes or no?"

Andrew thought for a moment. "No." Neil nodded; there were strange people in the house, and it was hard for Andrew to relax even with the bedroom door locked. He probably wouldn't get much sleep tonight. Neil turned off the light and was asleep quickly.

A few hours later he woke with a start as he heard a shriek and a thump downstairs. It sounded like Blue. Neil and Andrew both sat upright in an instant, hands going for knives but coming up empty. They grabbed the knives from the bedside table and ran down the stairs. Chances were that she had simply fallen out of bed, but after the hard lives they had lived it was difficult to ignore any sound that resembled a threat.

Neil gave a loud knock and called, "Coming in!" before opening the door.

Ronan was in the bed, just barely starting to sit up. He had scratches on his face and arms. Blue was standing over a... creature, her pajamas soaked with blood. The thing resembled a bat, almost, only bigger than a person, and it had wicked claws. Neil watched as it took its last breath before Blue plunged a pink knife into its eye.

She looked up at them, hair wild, eyes untrusting. Neil almost expected the knife to come for him next, but then her face settled, as if she had made a decision she didn't like.

"Do you guys know where we can hide a body?"

[spaceskam]

The Desert Three (3/3)

finally done! special thanks to @insidious-intent​ for cheering me on all the time. if you’re reading on here, please check ao3 for the tags at least because there’s a lot. And if anyone has been waiting for it to be done before reading, here it be!

ao3

“You do it!”

“No, you do it!”

“I swear, I will go and seduce one of them myself if you don’t just get over it.”

“Kids!” Jim said, silencing all three of them as they looked over to him. He seemed to be extremely done with hearing them argue about which of them would call which alien. “Alex, call Michael.”

“What, why me?” he scoffed. Liz stuck her tongue out at him in triumph which he ignored.

“Because you’re the one being framed, you’re the one that needs the information more than anyone else,” Jim explained. Alex glared at him. “Plus, you have the closest relationship with them and I think you can convince them to come. Do it.”

“I deserve a pizza after this,” Alex grumbled, picking up his phone and dialing Michael’s number. It picked up in two rings and he had to force himself not to roll his eyes.

“Alex?” Michael asked, a desperate tone in his voice that made something deep inside Alex feel guilty. He buried it a little more.

“Hey,” he sighed, looking at the three people staring at him, “I, uh… We need to, like, talk. About… something.”

Kyle threw his hands in the air, face twisted in a look that said, ‘dude, what?’ Alex waved him off and tried to figure out a better way to talk about this weird fucking topic.

“Okay, look, we found out some more information,” Alex said. 

Michael was silent for a moment before softly asking, “We?”

“Yeah, we,” Alex clarified, “And, well, I don’t wanna talk about it over the phone. But it’s pretty important that we talk about everything because I think we’re both missing pieces of the story. Do you think you can get Max and Isobel to come with you to meet with us?”

“Alex, who else knows?” he asked.

“No one that didn’t know before you told me,” Alex said, “It’s important. Will you help me?” 

“I…” Michael whispered. There was rustling on the other side of the line, a clear debate going on. Alex waited patiently. “Okay. Absolutely. I-I’ll do anything you need me to do. What’s the address?”

Alex gave the room a thumbs up.

-

Michael couldn’t remember a time he felt so uncomfortable.

The room was stiff with tension. The sheriff knew they were aliens and was under the impression they were all bad. That alone made the situation uncomfortable, but there was the added layer of Liz and Alex both feeling betrayed. They were both ignoring them like the plague while Kyle just glared at them with hatred. Not to mention the murder board that basically connected all the dots. Michael was beginning to think this was going to lead to the worst-case scenario.

“Does the name Noah Bracken mean anything to you?” Sheriff Valenti asked them. Michael had never heard it before, so he looked over to Isobel and Max who both seemed just as confused. “Right, well, he’s the one I think killed those girls. But, somehow, you three are involved. I need those gaps filled in.”

Again, the three of them shared looks as they tried to decide what exactly to say. What could they say without getting in even more trouble? But, then again, they were already screwed beyond belief.

“I need to know everything about that night,” Jim clarified, “Whatever you tell me is off the record.”

They all shared another look between them Max caved first. No surprise there.

“I went to the Crashdown with Michael and then went to the desert with Liz. After that, I…” Max took a deep breath. “I saw Rosa. She, uh, wasn’t herself. She told me to leave so I did. I was home for a few hours but then I felt Isobel so I went to find her. Michael got there first. By the time I got there, they were all dead.”

Liz took a shaky breath and looked away which clearly hurt Max. Michael shifted in his seat, staying silent. It was hard for him to not stare at Alex. He would have to speak. What the fuck was he supposed to say about that night? He clutched his butchered hand closer to his body.

Then Isobel spoke.

“I-I literally don’t remember that day. I woke up that morning and then I woke up with Max shaking me and, and Michael saying he lost control. So we just ran,” she admitted, fear clear in her voice. Max reached over to pull her into a hug. 

“You don’t remember?” Sheriff Valenti clarified. Isobel nodded.

“I… I’ve been having blackouts for a while, I guess. Like, for a few years,” she answered. He nodded slowly. “I didn’t think it was a big deal until then.”

“That might be a piece of the puzzle,” Sheriff Valenti said, “Michael, you were there before Max, what do you remember?”

Then all attention turned to Michael.

“Um, I went to the Crashdown with Max and then I went to the UFO Museum,” he said carefully. Alex looked the other direction. It was one simple move, but Michael couldn’t deny the loneliness it dumped on him. He didn’t want to talk about this at all, much less tell everyone in this fucking room. He’d happily buried this despite the nightmares for the last month. He didn’t want to say it out loud. “Then… I went home with Alex.”

He stopped talking and it didn’t go unnoticed. They all stared at him and then to Alex and then back to him. And Michael honestly felt like he couldn’t breathe. What was he supposed to say? The happiest day of his life turned to hell in 2.5 seconds? That if Jesse Manes hadn’t attacked him, then maybe his entire night would’ve been different? Maybe he would’ve approached the whole situation with Isobel differently if he wasn’t already scared?

“Hold on,” Alex sighed, pushing off the couch and stepping towards Michael. His face said he really wasn’t happy about it, but Michael managed to give him his attention. Or, he tried. He still couldn’t fucking breathe. “Give us a minute.”

Alex grabbed Michael’s arm and basically lugged him into the kitchen, pushing him into the refrigerator. It was disorienting enough that Michael had a moment where he wasn’t thinking of the fact that he couldn’t fucking breathe. Except it came right back and he started to think he was really going to suffocate.

“You’re panicking right now,” Alex said bluntly, “Because my dad hurt you. You’re allowed to panic about that, okay? You were hurt. You are hurt. But you need to breathe because this is important.”

“I‒”

“Breathe. In… Out… In… Out…”

They sat there for what felt like forever and no time at all, Alex coaching him to breathe in and out until he calmed down.

“Okay,” Alex said, giving an encouraging smile that took more effort than Michael was willing to acknowledge, “So just… say it. Just to me and then if you still can’t say it, I will.”

“Why is it so easy for you?” Michael asked. He didn’t care if he sounded stupid, he didn’t understand. Alex just sighed.

“My life is on the line here, I can’t deal with trauma right now,” Alex said with a laugh. It wasn’t funny. “Just say it.”

“Jesse Manes hurt me,” Michael said slowly, never breaking eye contact from Alex. There was a disconnect in Michael’s brain. Alex didn’t feel like a Manes to him and he wasn’t going to lump him in if he didn’t have to.

“One more time.” Michael looked at him pathetically. “Exposure therapy, babe, one more time.”

“Jesse Manes hurt me.”

“My dad hurt you.”

“Jesse Manes hurt me.”

“My dad hurt you.”

“Jesse Manes hurt me.”

“My dad hurt you!” 

“Alex.”

“My dad, Guerin, my dad hurt you!”

“Your dad hurt me!” 

They both stood there, staring at each other for a couple of seconds as they gathered their breath. It suddenly became a little too clear that they were fucked. They weren’t going to get what they had back. They never were. It would always be different.

“You can do it now, right?” Alex clarified. Michael swallowed hard and nodded.

By the time they got back into the living room, everyone was staring at them with different levels of horror on their faces. Apparently yelling at each other on the other side of a thin wall wasn’t exactly the best way to go about things. Still, the two of them sat back down and tried to act normal despite the fact Michael’s face was burning and his heart was still beating pretty fast.

“So I went home with Alex,” Michael said, starting up right where he left off. Still, they all were staring at him in concern. He ignored it. “His dad caught us, broke my hand, that’s why Alex didn’t have an alibi. Didn’t wanna say anything.” Despite the fact he’d said it out loud, he still brought his hand close to him and hunched over, hiding it as best he could. But this was about Alex, so he pushed through.

“Michael,” Isobel said softly.

“I’m good,” he told her, taking a deep breath before picking up from there. “Anyway, so I left that situation and that’s when I felt Isobel, so I went to her. I got there before Max, I saw her… I saw her hurt Rosa.” Liz let out a shaky breath from across the room. “But, I don’t know, it didn’t look right. It didn’t look like Isobel. Like, it was, but there was something off.” 

“Off?” Sheriff Valenti asked.

“Yeah,” Michael said, clearing his throat, “Like, she wasn’t herself. She passed out for a minute after and, when she came to, she was back to normal. I don’t know, it was weird. Isobel wouldn’t do that, I kinda… I kinda thought we’re all just evil or something and don’t know it.”

Sheriff Valenti took a heavy breath and stood to his feet.

“Right. Well, let’s get to work.”

-

“Mr. Bracken, can we speak for a minute?”

Noah looked up from his place at the bar with a welcoming smile. Jim, as angry as he was, returned it. This thing had ruined the lives of good kids and for what? He was still weak. Jim knew he was still weak.

Behind the counter, Mimi DeLuca smiled. She’d happily made a safe space for Noah, providing a place that he kept returning to. Jim always knew exactly where he was thanks to her.

“Sure, Sheriff,” he answered, spinning to face him. Jim nodded towards the back room. 

“I have some information on the man that attacked you,” Jim began. Noah’s eyes widened in surprise and he nodded. They both headed for the back room, Jim clutching the pendant in his pocket to make sure he would be okay with that he was about to do.

“So, you think you found him?” Noah asked as they got in the room. Jim thought about Isobel for a moment, the utter fear on her face when he suggested that maybe the person who committed the murders really wasn’t her. For years, Jim had been taught all the aliens were evil. Now he was wondering if maybe that wasn’t true.

Because those kids… were just kids.

“We think he targets young girls mostly,” Jim said, “And was the one who killed the Desert Three girls.”

“Oh yeah?” Noah asked, interest piqued. Always piqued.

“We think this alien has the powers to invade another mind, to take control of their body,” Jim said. Noah didn’t even react. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Noah stared at him for a moment, jaw slowly clenching and unclenching before his smile returned.

“Not sure,” he said. Jim took a deep breath, wishing he could just arrest him. But that wasn’t an option. Right now, he just had to make him even weaker so that then they could do something about it. Three untrained aliens were no match for even a naturally weak trained alien. 

“We think he took over a young girl by the name of… Well, she’s a minor, but I think you know her name,” Jim said, taking a step closer.

In his other pocket, he had a loaded syringe full of liquidated yellow powder.

“Why would I know her name?” Noah asked, smile faltering. He became super serious as he focused in on Jim, eyes trained on him like he was trying to do something. He probably was. Jim got his fingers in place on the syringe.

“How’d you get the handprint on your skin?” Jim said, “Can you do that to yourself?”

In a far too quick movement, Noah lunged at him. Jim pulled the syringe and just aimed for any body part he could, injecting his arm with straight alien poison. Noah’s face twisted as he made a strangled noise of agony before he ducked out of the way and ran out of the door. By the time Jim made it into the front of the house again, Noah was gone.

He looked around to double-check that he was gone before heading to the bar. Mimi DeLuca still had that unbothered smile on her face.

“Did you do it?” he asked. 

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Also yes,” Mimi agreed, sliding him a phone-sized screen with a blinking pinpoint along with coordinates.

“You amaze me sometimes,” he told her. She smiled a little broader and wiped the table.

“Hospitality is my job.”

-

“Murder makes us stronger?”

Isobel’s heart was thudding so hard in her chest that she could barely stand it. She knew that Sheriff Valenti was actually helping them, she knew it, but all this information was… Bad. It was so bad. She tightened the blanket around her shoulders.

“Yes,” Sheriff Valenti confirmed, “We think your people were a race of warriors. When you kill, you gain their life source. Which is the main thing that’s confusing me about Noah Bracken. He’s clearly still weak, but he killed three girls.”

“Maybe there was a barrier because he did it through Isobel’s body?” Michael suggested.

“That’s a good point, maybe that’s what it is.”

Isobel hated how into this Michael was getting. She hated how he seemed to flawlessly blend in with Liz Ortecho and Jim Valenti’s thought process. She knew they were trying to help, but only because of Rosa. She had no idea if they were going to turn on them as soon as this was over.

“So, hate to sound selfish here, but even if we do get rid of him, how are we going to fix my situation?” Alex asked.

It was strange. Isobel had expected him to be a fucking wreck, but he just wasn’t. Whenever she pointed that out to Michael, he said that Alex had been a wreck. He was just being logical right now because apparently that’s what Alex did. She found it suspicious as all hell.

“Right,” Sheriff Valenti said, “What kind of powers do you have? What are we working with?”

The question was so blunt, so forward, that Isobel retreated further into Max. Liz, Kyle, and Alex all looked to them out of pure curiosity. She felt exposed. All her life she’d avoided being a science experiment, she’d tried so hard to blend in. Now she had no choice.

“I’m telekinetic, Max is electrokinetic, Iz can influence people,” Michael explained since they clearly didn’t want to, “All pretty basic stuff, I think.”

“Influence people how?” Sheriff Valenti asked. Isobel looked over to Max and she swallowed harshly.

“Like get in their minds and make them do things. But I can’t make anyone do something they don’t want to do on at least some level or think something they don’t want to think of some level,” Isobel explained. She tugged the blanket around herself even tighter, hoping to bring some form of extra comfort.

“Okay, okay, that’s good,” Sheriff Valenti said. 

“How does that help us?” Kyle asked.

Before anyone else could answer, a sharp pain shot through Isobel’s mind again. She made a weak noise in response and shielded her eyes against Max’s shoulder as the light in the room became too much. Everyone fell silent.

“What just happened?” Liz asked quietly after a few seconds. Isobel took a deep breath, rubbing her temples before she felt a cold bottle nudge her shoulder. Michael handed her a water bottle filled to the brim with pure acetone. She took a few big gulps before trying to look at them again. Thank god for fast-acting pain relief.

“I-I keep getting these headaches,” she answered. Sheriff Valenti’s face went grim.

“We need to act fast,” he said, wiping down the dry erase side of the board and writing down the coordinates from the little tracking device. 

“What?” Max asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, but if I had to guess, the headaches are because Noah Bracken is trying to get into your mind again. He’s weak right now though and we need to attack him before he gets stronger again.”

“Love that, but, again, how does that get me off the hook?” Alex asked. Jim sighed softly and made direct eye contact with Isobel. He lingered there for a moment before looking at Michael.

“How long do you think it’ll take to train her to use your powers?” he asked. 

“Why are you asking him?” Max butted in. He was promptly ignored. However, it didn’t take a genius to know Michael was the most trained out of them all.

“Um, I don’t know. We’ve never tried to use each other’s powers before. I didn’t know that was a thing,” Michael answered. Isobel sat up a little straight.

“Why does he need to teach me?” she asked.

Sheriff Valenti closed his eyes for a minute, eyelids fluttering and fingers moving as if he was doing math in his head. Eventually, he came up with an answer and wrote on the board ‘36 hours’. 

“Okay, I’ll help. We have 36 hours to train her as best we can so we’re going to need to focus,” he said. Isobel stood up to make herself known.

“Why?” she demanded. He turned to her.

“Because you’re going to kill the thing that used your body and you’re going to use that power boost to mind-warp an entire town.”

Isobel gulped, staring at him uneasily. She wasn’t sure if she could do that. Sure, she was angry that she was in the middle of this and terrified that someone so easily got into her mind and used her body. But could she be a killer? 

“I’m not a killer,” she said softly. Sheriff Valenti nodded.

“But he is,” he told her, “And this is the only way we can help everyone. I know this is hard, but you’re the only one that can both help Alex, stop him from hurting someone else, and redeem the fact that you ran away from a crime scene in the first place all at once. This is important. Can you do this?”

Isobel looked around the room. Max looked unsure, Michael looked excited, Liz and Kyle looked challenging, and Alex just looked pleading. She ignored the throbbing behind her eyes, the temptation to give in to the pain. 

“And this is the only way?”

“The only way to be efficient,” he said. So Isobel nodded.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

-

“Liz!”

“I’m not in the mood to talk to you right now.”

Max tried not to look too much like a depressed puppy as he lingered beside Kyle’s car. He was going to take her home so they could all wait while the Sheriff worked with Isobel and Michael. Max was already anxious leaving them alone with a man who knew more about them than they did and refused to tell them how, so he couldn’t bring himself to let Liz run off without clearing that hurt from his chest.

“Please?” he asked. She sighed in frustration, but turned around to face him. Liz crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him expectantly. “I just want to make sure you’re doing okay. A lot of stuff has come out over the last week.”

“I’m fine, Max,” she said with a forced laugh, “As fine as I can be knowing that you lied to me when I trusted you. I mean, Michael admitted everything to Alex and you couldn’t tell me anything? It’s my sister.”

“Liz, I was stuck. I didn’t know what to do,” he said, “But I’m trying to make up for it now.”

“And you’re not really helping. I mean, Michael is helping and Isobel, despite the fact that she has literally been possessed by some random guy, is going to be doing a lot just to help Alex and get some form of justice. What exactly are you doing to help?” she wondered. Max’s shoulders dropped and he realized he didn’t actually have a good response to that.

“I want to help,” he tried softly.

Liz sighed and opened the door to Kyle’s truck.

“After all of this is over, I’m leaving town,” she said simply, “So you won’t have to feel guilty for too much longer.”

He watched them drive off.

-

“Alex, can we talk?”

Alex sighed, but slowly turned to see Michael. He looked so good, it made it hard to tell him no. He really needed to work on telling him no and not feeling guilty about it. He was so tired of still wanting him even though he totally would’ve let Alex go to prison.

“What’s there to talk about? We’ve talked about pretty much everything we needed to. I know Isobel didn’t technically do it and I know you’ve spent the last 36 hours training Isobel so you can help me, but… You were of sound mind when everything initially went down. My feelings haven’t changed,” he said as firmly as he could. Michael’s face dropped, but he tried to harden it. If anything, Alex could appreciate his dedication to not manipulate him anymore.

“I was going to be your alibi, Alex, I was. That first month… I was just scared. Whenever I found out they were putting it on you, I-I just got even more scared. I’m sorry. I just want you to know I’m genuinely sorry,” he explained. Or, tried to explain. How was he supposed to fix this, really? He couldn’t.

“You hurt me,” Alex said blatantly. Michael closed his eyes. “I… I really care about you and you don’t feel the same way.” His eyes snapped right back open.

“Oh my God, Alex, yes I do,” he said, stepping closer. He quickly realized that was a bad idea and stepped back again. Alex was just staring at him in confusion which was valid since Michael was lost on what to say. “I know I acted like a dick, but I had no idea what to do. I was stuck.”

That didn’t seem to make Alex let up on any of his confusion.

“I love you,” Michael decided firmly. Alex’s eyes went wider than he’d ever seen them. It was almost funny. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve done, but I can’t take you thinking I don’t love you and care about you. Because I do. So much.”

“You love me, but you were willing to let me go to prison for your sister?” Alex asked skeptically. Michael squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head.

“No. No, as soon as I realized the direction it was going, I was going to help. I love you and I love Izzy, I just had no idea how to help you both at the same times. I still don’t, not really. I’m fucking flying by the seat of my pants,” Michael explained, letting out a little desperate laugh. Alex bit his lip as he watched him.

“I love you too,” he said softly after a few moments of silence. Michael’s heart swelled and he thought about hugging him but decided against it. Bad timing. “But I really need time.”

“Take all the time you need,” Michael said honestly. Alex looked around, left and right and anywhere except for Michael. “Unless…”

“If this plan works and we clean up this mess, I’m joining the AirForce,” Alex said matter-of-factly. Michael’s heart dropped.

“What? No, I–”

“It’s not up to you. If I get out of this without a felony on my record, that’s the best decision I can make. And I’ve already made it, so… Yeah.”

“Alex, you can’t just… Why would you want to do that? I don’t understand,” Michael fumbled out, trying to make sense of it. Alex just following after his dad’s footsteps? After everything they’ve been through?

“I need to get out of here. Even if it’s all better, I still know what happened. I need to leave. I need to do something… Something better,” he explained. Michael tried not to be angry. Alex didn’t deserve angry.

“The military isn’t better, it's–”

“Not your decision to make,” he said, “And that’s final.”

Michael took a deep breath and tried to put himself in Alex’s shoes. It wasn’t that helpful, but he really fucking tried. 

“So this is it, then?” Michael asked softly. He watched a few different emotions pass over Alex’s face before he looked down. 

“I don’t, I don’t know, okay? I just need time,” he said, “I know that I still like you, but that really pisses me off.”

Michael huffed a laugh and nodded. “I get it. No pressure.”

“Maybe… Maybe after Basic, we can talk? When it doesn’t feel so fresh?” Alex wondered, eyes so hopeful that it made Michael’s heart skip a beat. Alex was still hopeful. It made it so easy to feel the same.

“I would really like that.”

“Good.”

-

There was a cave that was impossible to reach by car.

There were a bunch of small sand dunes and it was hard to navigate. Isobel did it though. Michael, Max, and Sheriff Valenti weren’t far away. They drove as close as they could and told her they would wait in case she needed them. She would probably need them.

Sheriff Valenti warned her that, after this happened, she would probably feel very full and heavy with power. She would probably want to exert it somehow, but she needed to hold it so they could hone it to affect the town. She was nervous that she would fuck up.

“You’re prettier in person.”

Isobel had expected a lot of things when she saw Noah Bracken. She anticipated fear or disgust or angry or all of the above. What she hadn’t expected, was to see this weak man in this cave and recognize him. She felt like she knew him just from feeling his presence and unwarranted empathy brew in her heart. Fuck.

She took a deep breath and braced herself against the wall of the cave. He smiled and tried to sit up a bit straighter for her. He had a nice smile, a nice face. He was handsome and she felt so… open to him.

“You are. I wish I could see the woman you’ll grow into. You’ll be stunning and powerful,” he explained, “I can help you be powerful, you know?”

“No,” Isobel said firmly, trying to avoid eye contact, “You violated me. You took over my body.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. Isobel looked at him in shock. He sounded sincere. “You have to understand. The pod I was in wasn’t fully in tact. For, for decades I was stuck in that thing, aware and alone. Then you came along.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. He shook his head slightly.

“I heard you scream, you opened your mind to me in that moment all those years ago,” Noah said softly, “I mean, you let me in. You let me have a life. I owe you so much for that. I can make it up to you if you let me.”

Isobel felt sick. She wanted Michael and Max beside her. She didn’t want to do this alone anymore. Hell, she didn’t want to do it in the first place.

“You had no right to do that, to-to make me do things I never would, to be horrible,” she said, shaking her head, “No, you had no right to use my body for anything! I don’t care what it was, good or bad, you can’t use me!”

“I know, I know. Like I said, I’m sorry,” he told her, “Please. Just… let me make things right. I think we could be happy.”

“What is wrong with you?” she spat. For a moment, she could feel Max reaching out to her to make sure she was okay. She wasn’t supposed to make small talk. She was supposed to come in here, kill him, and go. But it was a lot harder than she expected. “You’re disgusting.”

“I know you better than anyone,” Noah said as some form of counter-argument. Somehow, she knew he was right. That was the worst part. “Let me try. Please, let me try. I want to make you happy. You have so, so much potential. Give me a chance.”

Isobel froze. She hated this. She hated it. She wanted to run, she wanted someone else to do this.

Michael reached out to her mind then, encouraging rather than concerned. While Max was worried, Michael simply sent waves of ‘you can do this’ and ‘focus on what he did to you, make him pay before it gets worse’. Isobel shook her head and held her chin up high.

“You hurt me and those girls and probably more people that you just never got caught for. I’m not giving you the chance to do anything more.”

Isobel held her hand out and telekinetically threw him against the wall. It took all of her focus, all of her dedication. She felt her body start to shake, trying to hold him in place. Tears sprung to her eyes as pain started striking her due to hitting her energy limit. She could feel her brothers with her, urging her to just push past it. If she could just push past it, she’d be unstoppable.

You can do this.

“Isobel!” Noah yelled. He screamed her name. He knew her. He knew her name.

Tears fell past her eyes and she screamed, forcing her body to push past that limit. Her eyes closed, she screamed, she cried, she gave it her all.

When she opened her eyes and fell to the ground, Noah laid on the ground with his head twisted entirely the wrong way.

When the fuck was the power trip supposed to kick in?

-

“She did it. She did it. We gotta go.”

Sheriff Valenti watched the two boys bolt out of the car faster than should be possibly, sprinting towards their sister. He followed as quickly as he could. He knew he was the only one who had any experience with this. He didn’t like the way he got that experience, but still. She needed help honing it.

When they got to her, Isobel was on all fours and trying to catch her breath. He could help but notice the body on the other side of the cave, dead and motionless. He was genuinely proud that she was able to do that. He knew it couldn’t have been easy. He also knew that she had about 30 seconds before she started feeling that surge of power.

“Isobel,” he started carefully, “Are you okay?” The boys helped her sit up. Her eyes were wide and lit with a fire behind them. He knelt in front of her. 

“What do I do? What do I do?” she asked, her jaw setting as that fire behind her eyes grew.

“Do you feel that power in you?” he asked. She inhaled sharply and nodded, a conflicted look on her face. “Okay, okay, focus all your energy on that feeling, okay? Let it fester a little, okay?”

Isobel nodded, closing her eyes. She breathed heavily, clutching her brothers as hard as she could. Jim understood in that moment more than ever that they were human. Maybe not biologically, but psychologically. And that’s what mattered.

“Okay,” he went on softly, “Now focus on the town. Just like you focus on one person, but do it to them all. Every single one, every beating heart, every soul that’ll welcome you. And they will welcome you because they don’t know you’re coming.”

Isobel nodded slowly again, her shoulders relaxing a bit as she focused more on her mind than anything.

“Convince them Alex Manes did not do this. There is no cult activity in Roswell,” he recited. She mouthed it back, slowly becoming more and more catatonic.

They waited for a few minutes and then a few more. They waited and they waited and they waited. Blood dripped from her nose. Jim urged Max and Michael to ignore it.

Isobel came back to them with a gasp, falling forward like before. Max pulled her into his chest as she continued to reorient herself. Michael crouched beside them both, trying to comfort her as best she could. Jim smiled at them both.

“I’m proud of you,” he told her as sincerely as he could. Because he was. 

“Did it work?” she asked, still catching her breath. Michael gave her a bottle that she took a sip of.

“I’m not sure yet, but we’ll see. Either way, you did your best and I’m proud of you,” Jim insisted. She nodded and took a shaky breath, her eyes drifting back to Noah Bracken. “Max, you can help her back to the car. Michael, could you help me?”

“Yes, sir,” Max said. Jim waited and until they were out of ear shot before he turned to Michael.

“Okay, we need to write a confession note and fix him to make it seem like he commited suicide,” he told Michael who nodded easily.

“Alright, let’s get this shit over with.”

-

“So you’re cleared for real?”

“Yep,” Alex grinned, pulling his pant leg up to show off his now bracelet-free ankle. It felt good. So good, honestly. “Apparently, they had reason to believe that my hair may have been one of the girls and it just traveled so they didn’t have enough evidence to hold me. Plus they found a body with a confession letter.”

“Well I’ll be damned, Evans really pulled through,” Kyle laughed, leaning back in Alex’s desk chair.

“Well, maybe. I haven’t really been around town yet. That’s the real test, see if people still hate me,” he said. Kyle scrunched up his nose.

“I don’t think they’ll hate you anymore. I mean, they found the real killer,” Kyle pointed out. Alex shrugged. Most people around town weren’t really his biggest fans before the whole murder thing. He didn’t know how much this was going to change. He had to assume that, no matter what, there was at least one person that was still convinced he did it. 

Which is exactly why he was going to enlist first thing in the morning.

“Well, whatever, my dad said he was gonna take care of the body. No one’s gonna find out what he is, so the ET trio are safe,” Kyle promised him. Alex nodded and sighed, unable to hide his smile. He felt so fucking free and happy. It felt good.

“So, you ever think about becoming a detective? You did a good job investigating. I couldn’t have done it without you,” Alex told him. Kyle flashed a cocky smile and winked.

“I’d only do that for you,” he said. Alex rolled his eyes. “Nah, but I think I’m still gonna go to be a doctor. As much fun as that was, I don’t like the idea of straight injustice happening on my watch.”

“That’s understandable,” Alex said.

“And what about you?”

“I’m gonna go be a fancy Airman.”

Kyle’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“You know there are other ways to get out of here, right? You don’t have to go to war,” Kyle pointed out. Alex sighed slowly and nodded.

“Yeah, I know, but I really want to make a name for myself and it seems like the best and easiest way,” Alex explained. Kyle made a noise of protest.

“Yeah, that’s what recruiters tell you and leave out the part where the government screws you over and leaves you traumatized and broke and homeless.”

Alex couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t know why exactly he laughed and hoped it was because it was a joke and not because he knew deep down he was right.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Honestly,” Kyle said with a smile, “I believe that.”

-

“How are you?”

Liz held her hands up in protest as Isobel sat up sharply in response to her voice. It’d been a little over a week, but Liz knew that Isobel was still recovering. She was more than a little thankful for what Isobel did to get justice even if there was a selfish aspect to it. That was the only reason she was stopping by the Evans’ residence on her way out of Roswell.

“How are you? How are you taking everything?” Isobel asked. Liz managed a little smile and shrugged one shoulder.

“I’m okay. The closest thing to justice was achieved, so I can’t be too angry,” she said.

“I know, but I feel so guilty any of it happened in the first place. I-If my mind had been stronger, then maybe‒”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re a victim in this situation too,” Liz promised. Isobel looked conflicted, but she didn’t say anything. “But, seriously, I know that took a lot out of you. Are you coping okay?”

“Yeah, I just told my mom I was sick,” Isobel answered, forcing a tiny laugh as she gestured to the empty bowl of soup on her nightstand. Liz smiled.

“Good, I’m glad,” Liz said, “I, uh… I just came to say thank you.”

“Liz, no‒”

“No, I needed to say that. And you need to hear it. You did the right thing even though it was super hard and that you were hurting too. I’m really grateful,” Liz insisted. Isobel smiled and blinked quickly, trying to blink tears away.

“You’re welcome, I guess,” she laughed, wiping her eyes.

“Do you know what you’re going to do after this?” Liz asked. Isobel took a deep breath and shrugged.

“I have no idea. What about you?”

“I’m getting the fuck out of Roswell, that’s for sure,” Liz answered.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way out now. I just wanted to stop by.”

“Did you, um, talk to Max? I’m sure he’d like to say goodbye,” Isobel told her. Liz shook her head.

“No, I think we already said our goodbyes,” she sighed, “I’m still hurt by his choice to keep that from me while still hanging around me. I need a break from Roswell. And from men, honestly.”

Isobel snorted, “Good choice.”

Liz smiled and took a short look around the room, trying to think of anything else she needed to say. There wasn’t really anything she could think of. She felt like she’d gotten everything off her chest and she was really just ready to leave.

“Are you ever coming back?” Isobel asked before she could say goodbye. Liz shrugged.

“I honestly don’t know,” she answered, “I’ll see you around, maybe.”

Isobel smiled.

“I’ll see you around too, maybe.”

-

When Alex had asked him to come see him off, Michael thought it was a trap. But he still went anyway because what was he if not completely at Alex Manes’ beck and call.

Michael pulled up at the airport and tried not to feel too out of place as he blindly navigated his way to whichever area Alex was apparently at. It was confusing as all hell, but he finally spotted a man in uniform from across the room. He had to stop and take a second to take it all in before he tried to speak to him.

This was it. Alex was actually fucking leaving. Wasn’t that just horrific?

“Guerin,” Alex called before he was ready, looking up to him with a warm smile as he started to make his way closer. Michael hadn’t actually seen him in about a month and, in that time, he’d gone through all the goddamn steps before Basic. He already looked different. He was scared to see what his hair looked like beneath that hat. “I’m glad you came.”

“I was kinda shocked when you asked, not gonna lie,” Michael admitted, “I know you said you needed time.”

“Yeah, I did. I still do,” Alex said, “But… Considering what I know now that anything can go to shit at any time, I didn’t want to leave without seeing you one more time.”

Michael managed a smile and he skimmed the outfit one more time. It wasn’t Alex. It just wasn’t. But, then again, maybe it was. Maybe he didn’t know Alex as well as he thought he did. He swallowed harshly at the idea.

“Here I am,” Michael said, shrugging.

“So, um, what are your plans? You still going to college?” Alex asked. Michael licked his lips and wished he could say yes. However, he shook his head.

“Not right now. I… I’m kinda scared to go anywhere too far by myself considering all the Sheriff has told us about us. Not sure what’ll happen if I don’t have Isobel and Max on hand when I need them,” Michael explained. That was the simpler way to say it. It was more of a straight fear he’d do something that he wasn’t prepared for. Now that they knew their powers could grow, they also knew that they could have a mind of their own. “But maybe one day.”

“Well, I hope so. You’re too smart to let that go to waste,” Alex said. Michael took a deep breath and tried to smile.

“Are you scared?”

“No,” Alex said definitively, “I’m… excited for the future.”

“Good. That’s good.”

They sat there and stared at each other for a moment, trying to find the words to say. Were there even any words to say? What was someone supposed to say after all the bullshit they went through in the span of two months? And then suddenly it was overall at once and they had to act normal. Michael just found it really hard to act normal.

“Well, um, I have to go. Have to head through security and stuff,” Alex told him. 

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. I don’t wanna keep you waiting,” Michael said though his heart ached. He wanted to wrap Alex up and keep him there forever. But that wasn’t a plausible option. Alex needed to go, needed to find out who he was. “I guess, um, I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Alex said with a smile, “You will.”

Michael waited for him to leave, but he didn’t. Instead, Alex looked around a few times before he removed his hat. Michael’s stomach dropped at the sight of his shaved head, but he could barely even take that in before Alex’s lips pressed onto his.

The first kiss was super short and Alex pulled away just a little to make sure it was okay. Michael noticed his eyes look around one more time before Alex’s palm pressed to his cheek and he kissed him again. Michael didn’t touch him, he let him do all the touching as he gave him a long, chaste kiss. No tongue, no lip movement, just… two people pressing close because, pretty soon, they wouldn’t be able to.

“What was that for?” Michael asked when he pulled away slightly, his forehead still resting against his. His fingers were tingling, powers desperate to reach out to him and explode from the joy of being kissed somewhere so public. He tried to keep it under wraps as best he could, but he saw the way Alex smiled when he felt it. 

“I told you. I didn’t want to leave anything unfinished. I still love you,” Alex promised, “And I still need time. But maybe after Basic we can write to each other?”

“Absolutely, I would love that,” Michael gushed. Alex grinned and pulled away completely. 

“Right, so… See you soon, try not to be an asshole in the future.”

“See you soon, I’ll do my best.”

Michael didn’t leave that spot until Alex was completely out of sight.

-

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually like any of you.”

“You’re too kind.” 

Kyle rolled his eyes as he slowly pushed himself out of the booth. He’d been at the Crashdown with Isobel, Max, and Michael for an hour, but now it was time to go. Now he had to go drive to another state to go to college. That felt insane to think about, but not more insane than his summer actually went so he couldn’t complain.

“Nah, but seriously. If anything happens, I’ll be here,” Kyle said. They all smiled at him and he felt more adult than he had in a while.

“Thank you,” Isobel said.

“Yeah, seriously, thanks,” Michael added. Max simply gave an acknowledging nod. 

It was weird to think that he’d spent his last month before college hanging out with these three. But maybe that was just a consequence of all the bullshit that happened. Liz was gone, as of the week prior Alex was gone, and now he was going. He wondered where they would go.

He didn’t wonder for too long because he knew they weren’t going anywhere.

“Maybe we can meet up during Christmas break,” Kyle suggested. 

“Sounds like a plan.”

Kyle didn’t hug them, but he said his goodbyes and tried not to feel so weird about it as he made his way to the car. He was going to make something of himself and, after what happened, he knew he really could.

Back at the table, the three aliens sat and took in their situation. All their friends were gone and now they were just left with the knowledge that they were so obscenely different and would only continue to be different the more they learned about themselves. As fun as shattering shit in the desert was, they had to keep themselves contained every other moment of the day. The lines between where the peace ended and the consequences started seemed to blur each more every day.

“So, what do we do now?” Isobel asked.

“We just have to act normal,” Max said, “Do normal things. Become what’s expected of us.”

“What does that mean?” Michael wondered. No one answered.

They just had to wait and see.

[kendrixtermina]

You seem like pretty knowable about Edelgard lore and motivation, so I've been meaning to ask. What exactly was the catalyst that made Edelgard hate the Church of Seiros so much? I know they've done a ton of shitty stuff in general, but what made Edelgard dislike them personally? I looked on the wiki and it either wasn't on there yet or I just didn't understand it. (I want to be able to eventually explain it to my sister who so far thinks Edelgard is evil, she hasn't finished the AM route yet).

IDK if this is something one can be “knowledgeable” about I just played the same game everyone else did, I’m no authority I just like analyzing fictional works for fun.

And whoever added that recent lengthy edit to the wiki article… let’s just say their opinions are discernible.  But they might say the same about me. 

Good vs Sympathetic

First there are some interesting premises hidden in this question - why would a personal motivation be more convincing that a net negative impact on the world at large? It’s the latter a much better reason? 

Like there’s a big difference between saying “they had legit reasons for their feelings/actions” (you could say this even about rhea) and saying that someone’s a force for good. Being understandable and consistent isn’t goodness; IT’s just good writing, and “they can’t help it, of course they acted like this, look at what happened to them” is more an argument for someone being sympathetic/understandable than good. Murder or manslaughter? How much can we blame them for their bad deeds. 

You might have very good personal reasons to hate someone or something, and pursuing that hate at the expense of others could still be a very selfish thing. There are your feelings, and then there’s how you act on them. There are many ways to act on the same feeling. 

Conversely, it is possible to be repulsed by evil or mismanagement just because of its own wrongness/stupidity. If you read about how some evil deed happened to total strangers in a foreign country, you would still be angry and you might even vote, sign petitions or attent protests so it doesn’t keep happening. 

If the Church of Seiros is doing objectively bad stuff, is that not enough to oppose it? Not only does Seiros/Rhea rule everything from the shadows, she’s accountable to no one, and she’s doing a bad job at it. TWSITD are her enemies too but they’re running rampant under her nose and in the recent past, deposed the Emperor and assasinated the king of faerghus to install their own agents.

Rhea may not have intended to let xenophobia, inequality, corruption, obsession with crests and instability to fester but that’s still what happened - and people can’t file complaints because she’s ruling in secret and anyone who complaints in branded a heretic. Almost everyone in the cast has been affected by those issues - the “peace” at the start of the story is illusory. Also, this whole shadow war between Seiros and Agartha is being carried out on the backs of the ordinary people who have no say in anything. At least if you know who the king/lord is you know who to rebel against if there’s no bread.

It’s no good. And as the heir to the largest territory, Edelgard is one of the few people who have a chance to stop it. It’s not easy for her either, given that the empire is thoroughly infiltrated by TWSID agents who would never have let her butt touch the throne if she didn’t play ball, or at least not without a bloody fight that might well end with the empire in splinter factions, aafter all, her father had already been reduced to a puppet ruler (see what happens to Dimitri when he returns to faerghus - Arundel is said to mantain his own personal army)

And since it was one of her ancestors who sold out Fodlan to seiros for power, she might feel that it’s her responsibility to put it right.

The real power isn’t with the people or even the nobles and the rulers of the three factions - it’s with Rhea and TWSITD. They keep burning up people without end for their own causes that have nothing to do with the people themselves, they both see humans as “beasts”… Shouldn’t that be stopped? 

To stop evil is a much better motivation than petty personal grudges.

Edelgard’s thinking

The first thing to understand with Edelgard is that she’s a big picture thinker through and through. For better or for worse she looks at and decides everything based on how it will look in a history book a few centuries down the line. (For prime examples of evidence look at the Dorothea support or some of her lines after fighting Dimitri)

This isn’t to say that she doesn’t have bias or personal influences like everyone else, but she values and strives for objectivity. That means questioning herself alot (something you wouldn’t see that much on routes other than her own as she keeps the tough leader face on in public), it means putting what yields the best results over what she wants or likes, and it means looking at the greater whole. 

She doesn’t just want to get revenge on the specific people who wronged her; She wants to ensue that it never happens to anyone else. She wants to undo the whole situation that allowed for it to happen - even if that means postponing her own revenge and working with those she hates the most. This is very much her putting efficiency and the end result above her own feelings. 

It may well have been Thales and his henchmen who cut her open, but they couldn’t have done it without the cooperation of the corrupt imperial nobles. (likewise, they worked with xenophobic kingdom nobles who didn’t like Dimitri’s dad making peace with the foreigners to orchestrate the Duscur nonsense)

Why were they in power? How were they convinced to allow for such a thing and give Thales the ressources he wanted/needed? Because of the social system that Seiros set up so that crests are equated with power.  

There will always be assholes and evil people, but how much damage they cause depends on wether the system they operate in lets them get away with it.

Also, even when you look just at TWSITD’s involvement, Edelgard’s siblings were butchered to make her a mighty tool for the shadow conflict. Just as Rhea in turn did her own experiments to revive sothis and “regain all that she lost”

So even on the most direct level, what happened was a result of the shadow conflict. 

And it is instrumental to keep in mind that Edelgard wants to remove both shadow factions. 

Her beef’s strictly with them - she knew that the Kingdom and Alliance would probably fight her if she went against the church and was fully prepared to pay that price, but that’s a side effect of going where the enemy is - she handed out letters and pamphlets informing ppl of the church’s evils and asking them to choose sides. 

TWSITD have fearsome power and have infiltrated the empire, but they’re few. The Church got its claws in most local governments. Why not throw the power of the former at the latter, to take down the stronger enemy, and then take out the Agarthans when your power’s consolidated? It’s a decision not about whom to fight, but about whom to fight first. 

Also because of her big-picture thinking she looks at the absolute numbers. In her own words, she’s going for the path of least casualties. 

PPl tend to judge harm caused by action stronger than harm caused by inaction but actually the harm is the same. Acting to remove the two shadow factions will have a cost (the war) but not acting also has a cost - that the dysfuction goes on and on forever. 

She doesn’t particularly want power if it were up to her she’d have chosen a normal ordinary life and she says so on many occasions. But she can stop it, stop the endless sacrifice and dysfunction, so she can’t just let it continue and do nothing. 

Of course with that sorta logic you always have to consider how each action impacts the end result so you don’t destroy all you want to protect because you tell yourself that it will pay off later, after all ‘the many’ are just an abstraction for a lot of individuals. But Edelgard’s not really losing sight of that, she keeps looking to minimize the casualties where she can, she offers people a chance to surrender, you get some lecture questions where she’s genuinely considering what do with rhea if she DOES surrender. 

It’s worth noting that on her route, the war ends the quickest and only the Kingdom lands get significantly wrecked (and the Kingdom always gets wrecked even if it gets rebuild afterwards, it was already in a lot of chaos before the war even started). You have to fight the peeps you don’t recruit but that’s no different in the other routes. Claude manages to seize control of the Church without going through the knights so he manages to pull off an at least equivalent end result (both shadow factions removed, society permanently changed) while offing fewer of the named characters, and lets not fail to give him credit for that,  but he might not have, if Edelgard hadn’t conveniently removed Rhea and just generally blazed a convenient trail for him to, in his own words, “finish the job for her”. Taking in the church with Rhea still in place didn’t work out too well for poor Dimitri, I seem to recall that she used the poor man as a meatshield and set his capital on fire - which is why Claude wisely didn’t touch that hot potato in any route where he doesn’t have Byleth as a bargaining chip. 

Of course that said, going too hard on the comparison would seem to miss the point. While Claude’s and Edelgard’s routes are about their respective grand visions for the future and their badassery as great inspiring leaders, the Church and Kingdom routes are more about people coming together to weather difficult circumstances. Dimitri isn’t really cut out to be a good ruler; but the beauty of his story is how he eventually does his best to become one anyways through the aid of his loyal friends. It’s an underdog story. 

If your sister prefers that sort of story (or just Dimitri himself, as a more emotional, relatable type of hero and a well-crafted, compelling and memorable character) that’s just her personal taste/ good right. 

Edelgard’s personal biases

She surely has a bit of “broken pedestal syndrome” going on, the very human tendency to absolutely reject things you once idealized once they’re proven to be flawed, to assume that if you were lied to often enough, then everything must be a lie… she sure reads what she learns of Seiros’ past actions in a bad light and assumed that Seteth & the others are guiltier/ more complicit than they actually are. 

The problem with Rhea is that she’s selfish, not that she’s a dragon. But if she were the only example you know for what a dragon is like? You might not be too fond of dragons. It’s not like she protests if Byleth spares Flayn and Seteth. 

She doesn’t really know Rhea’s motivation so she has to judge her by her actions and the results of those, and her actions, for all that they come from fear and loneliness, are indistinguishable from power lust by the time that Rhea’s subjugated 30 generations of humans for something their remote ancestors did 1000 years ago. Would she ever have let them go? 

So it doesn’t matter that she only got the partial story on the relics, it’s not the relics she took issue with, but the current state of the world. also Rhea is the one who erased the true records. So the 10 elites totally had it comming, fine - but Rhea’s the one who disseminated the myth that they were heroes in the first place. 

Claude only gets the truth by squeezing it out of Rhea and even then only at the very end, ppl who say that Edelgard “acted on false information” act like Claude just stumbled across the truth with minimal effort. That’s actually more unfair to Claude than to Edelgard if you ask me.... he’s a man who has gathering info as his top priority 24/7

Edelgard’s certainly more steeped in the perspective of her home country where the church is awarded significance and if it turns out to not be good then it’s utterly vile.  Claude has the sort of more detached perspective that he has because he happened to come from another country. Edelgard’s aiming for detachment but that’s only possible to a certain extent when something ruined the lives of nearly everyone you know

At the same time whatever her personal sentiments may be (and im not gonna deny that she does hate the Seiros religion), as far as her actions and decisions go, the engage conversation she has when you have her fight Rhea at the battle:

Rhea:

No matter your reasons, I cannot permit you to go on living any longer!

Edelgard:

The feeling is mutual. I must put a stop to your reign of tyranny!

Rhea:

You must know what a fool you are. The greatest of sins is to make an enemy of the goddess herself!

Edelgard:

I have only made an enemy of the church, not of the faith.

She says in several supports that she personally considers relying on the goddess to be an overly dependent attitude that doesn’t do people good, but that’s just her opinion, she’s not stopping anyone from praying in the privacy of their homes cause thats none of her business and she’s not a tyrant (see what happens if you recruit Marianne or Mercedes, her support with Manuela or the Marianne/Ferdinand support on the CF route, which reveals that he’s actually a believer.)

She just wants the Church, and Rhea specifically, out of politics… exactly what we have in any modern-day country that isn’t Saudi Arabia or the Vatican. 

Megalomania seems the most likely or politically expedient thing to claim but in the end her beef’s not with Rhea’s reasons but the results of her actions which is stagnation, mismanagement and repression. 

Your Actual Question/ Personal Reasons and Catalysts

Honestly? If we’re talking on a strictly emotional/personal level? (As much as that’s an incomplete picture with such a reason-driven character)

She probably bawled for the goddess to save her and her family down in the dungeons, again and again, and no one answered. 

She spent much of her early life just being dragged around, first being kidnapped by Arundel and held captive in the kingdom, then she was thrown in a filthy dungeon where she endured relentless pain and could do nothing but watch as her siblings died one by one. 

She was utterly helpless, a passive plaything of destiny - and then she decided she was done being passive and letting the universe kick her around. She was going to be proactive and do all she could to be in control of her own fate. 

See also the inspiring speeches that she gives to Petra and Lysithea at various points - “Don’t surrender yourself to your fate!” 

Blind reliance on the faith, to her, represents that very surrender, so she rejects it. 

This fear and rejection of being helpless and having zero control is also one of the reasons why she consistently chooses death on her own terms over life on someone elses’. 

That would still not be a valid justification if she wanted to, like, stop everyone from praying, but that’s not what she’s doing. 

[delicrieux]

god save the queen [ eggsy x reader ] 003

warnings: cussing

chapter summary: you and eggsy break into a bank

words: 3 442 (oops?)

MASTERLIST KO-FI. AO3. GSTQ masterpost. 7K GIFT!

mission 1: accepted

The heavy drumming of rain is soothing, it mimics the tunes of your favourite song as it taps on the glass windows of the conference room. Outside the glass is an indistinguishable mess of dark grey colours that create a rather abstract and eerie painting. Though, the comforting glow of warm yellow lamps dismiss any and all un-pleasantries of the weather and the drowsiness that comes with it.

“…Can you speak proper English?”

“Yis I can spek propa Englesh.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Nonsense, I was making fun of you this whole time.”

You and Eggsy Unwin had been at it since morning, since before the pour had started. He was told to help you with your accent so you could fit in better – you honestly didn’t understand why so much secrecy, it’s not like being American is illegal. But alas, you had agreed and now facing the torment of him pronouncing words like ‘Cat’ ‘Dog’ ‘Fuck’ ‘Arseface’ and so on and you, like a child in grade school, repeating after him in a monotonous tone. It became boring after five minutes for you. Eggsy, however, seemed to find immense amusement in you butchering the British accent.

You are waiting for Merlin to show up with the details of your mission. To say you are anxious is an understatement – behind the façade of mild-amusement directed at your partner, you boil on the inside. You had never been so nervous in your entire life, not even during exams when you were training to become a Statesman. You almost didn’t want Merlin to come just for the sole reason that you’d have to finally face the reality of the situation: you are alone in London with men you see for the first time in your life on a mission that will most likely bring you closer to death than you ever bargained for. You even pondered about contacting Tequila – he, besides Ginger, is the only other person you hang out with – but hurriedly dismissed that idea. He’d have a field day if you were to call him. You can’t give him the satisfaction.

“Agents.” Merlin’s thick accent makes you jerk and you snap your head to the entrance where he stands with his tablet in hand. You glance at Eggsy – he relaxes in his seat, fixes his glasses. Looks like the pronunciation lesson is over. You ponder should you stand up or not, after all you are sitting in a seat that doesn’t belong to you and if other Kingsmen are called to this meeting… Before you can do much Merlin nods at you, most likely sensing your distress, and moves closer to the table, typing something into his tablet. “I hope you are ready to leave at a moment’s notice, because the Royal Bank closes in a couple of hours.”

You blink, “The Royal Bank?” Merlin lifts his gaze up to you.

“Yes. Is there a problem, agent?”

“Why do we need to go to The Royal Bank? Do we need credits, or something? Budget cutbacks?”

“Well, you don’t actually think we have the pearl, do you?”

Eggsy straightens up; “Wait” He interrupts, “Are you tellin’ us we’ll have to fucking steal it?”

“Yes that is exactly what I’m telling you.” Merlin states harshly, “Are you two deaf or something? The Royal Bank doesn’t actually belong to the Royal family; theoretically, all ties it has is the name. Is the pearl with the Royal family? No. Does that mean you’ll have to retrieve it? Yes.”

“So…we’re here to plan a bank heist?” You inquire.

“Heist, rescue mission – call it what you want it, the point is that pearl needs to be back in this building by six o’clock sharp.”

“Oh, so we have a deadline now, too?” Eggsy crosses his arms over his chest.

“That’s because your target is having a dinner party at eight.” There’s a tad of amusement in Merlin’s voice as he takes out an envelope and slides it over to you, “And congratulations! You two are invited.” You and Eggsy share a look, “We’ll talk about parties after you get the Black Pearl from one of the safest vaults in London, though. Now…care for some details? I recon they’ll be useful.”

~*~

“You scared?” Eggsy asks you, standing close, shoulder to shoulder in fact, as he tilts his head softly with a smirk. The two of you enter through the Royal Bank’s main doors. Your eyes immediately shoot around the impressive interior, though not to awe at it – you trail the camera’s staring directly at you. The red carpet underneath your short heels seems to sink you in and for a split second you are nervous, are afraid and completely immobile. You stop walking and Eggsy does too; He smiles at the woman by the reception desk that asks you what business the two of you are having. Finally turning away from the security camera’s you look at her, look into her eyes that gaze at you with polite kindness and offer a charming smile of your own.

“Yes, hello,” You say with a perfect accent. You surpass the urge to smirk at Eggsy’s expense, “We’re here to see Miss Solace.” You explain casually, not a shred of anxiety in your voice despite the ever growing lump in your throat.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” The receptionist replies “See we’re closing soon, and we’re not allowed to take in customers. But, if you were to come back tomorrow—“

“We won’t take up long.” You reassure her, turning to Eggsy and grasping his hand, “My husband and I just need to sign so papers, is all.”

“I’m sorry, Miss, but really, I—“

“Listen, sweetheart. My name is Elenor Davies and my flight to the Bahama’s leaves in two hours. See I really, really need this brand new yacht to show off to my colleagues and I can’t get it when the bank refuses to do its job properly.” You state coldly, “You want to do your job properly, don’t you? Check me on the list. I’m a loyal customer, and once you find me, and I am sure you will, I will magically forget this fiasco and move on with my day and you’ll even get to keep your job. Is that clear?” The poor receptionist nods slowly, not entirely convinced, and starts typing. You turn to whisper to Eggsy, “Put me on the list.”

For a few short moments there is nothing but typing and clicking heard and your impatience grows rapidly. Furthermore, you’re still holding onto Eggsy with a grip that tightens as seconds pass without you even realizing it. Not that he minds all that much. He simply stands close as you tap your fingers on the receptionist desk, mildly amused and impressed that you managed to master the brit accent so quickly. In a couple of hours, actually. Perhaps you aren’t that bad after all. In turn of looks, you’re not hard to look at. In turns of attitude, well, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like ‘em feisty. Eggsy figured your sarcasm came from confidence since you always talked with your nose high in the air. But now…As he watches you fidget it slowly dawns onto him that you really aren’t all that confident, and his question you failed to answer, the one that was meant as a jab, turns out to be completely true. Yes, you are scared. He doesn’t know a lot about you, but now and now only he can tell that you are absolutely new to this. You are scared, but you’re fighting it. And he feels just a bit more proud to be your partner.

The receptionist eyes slowly widen and she looks up from hr computer screen, “Oh, Mrs and Mr Davies, my apologies, I didn’t—“

“Save it.” You tell her off, “Now punch me a ticket at let me see Solace.”

“Sure thing,” With that, she presses the machine and a paper with the number 52 shoots out. She hands it to you with a smile, “Should I inform Miss Solace—“

“No need, we had brunch last Thursday.” You finish dryly, grasping the ticket and wishing the receptionist a good day before trotting off with Eggsy in toll. You make a bee-line for the elevator. Punching the ‘12’ you finally let go of his hand, glancing at him before you come to stare at the metal doors. “And to answer your question…I’m not scared of anything.”

“Oh?” He inquires with a raised brow. The doors open and the two of you step inside. Chilly. The wide mirror reflects your brand new bullet proof tailored suit; dark and light brown colours compliment your skin tone, the non-prescription glasses frame your face and conceal your lying eyes from the world. It looks made for you, granted it was made for you. Measurements had to be taken twice since Eggsy is not that great of a tailor after all. He did, however, mention something about your suit looking a lot like Roxy’s. “Smile to the camera’s.” He suddenly says, drawing you out your thoughts. Glancing up you see the small security camera, having a glowing red dot on its side, abruptly turn a deep green. The Kingsmen have infiltrated the system.

“I really hope Merlin is watching down on us, like a guardian angel.”

Eggsy snorts, “Merlin? Angel? You mental?”

“No,” You say, turning to him, “but after this mission’s over I’m ninety percent sure I will be.”

A cheerful ‘ding’ echoes in the secluded area and a breath gets caught in your lungs; the tips of your fingers numb lightly. Eggsy clears his throat and fixes his tie. The metal doors finally part and a musky fragrance, pleasant, though unusual, greets your nose and you inhale cautiously. The corridor is bright and open and few people buzz around with stacks of papers in their hands; no yet dare to meet you eye to eye, then again, the two of you don’t dare to get off the elevator. Finally, Eggsy takes a first step and you tag along in fear of being left behind. Glass windows reveal the whole of London: it’s magnificent, though grey, scenery and sad blue skies. It almost feels like the walls are closing in on you. Your nerves are starting to show, and when one worker smiles at you, you merely look down and shuffle past him with urgency.

Solace’s office isn’t that far off – only ten meters, your glasses inform you. Dark carpeting under your feet leaves imprints of your shoes on it. Perhaps you wouldn’t be that nervous, or not nervous at all of that matter, if you knew exactly what you were going to do. Merlin only gave the key information; how you are to retrieve the pearl is entirely up to interpretation. Eggsy likes spontaneous plans and doing everything at a minutes notice. You know he does, you watched him closely on the way to the bank. How he tapped his foot, tried to conceal his smile as he gazed out the window. That or he simply thought you couldn’t take your eyes off of him for other reasons.

Eggsy hooks his fingers around the glass handle, sends you one last look and you meet it with a light nod. He pulls it open, motioning for you to go in first and you reward him with an ironic smile. The office is spacious, enriched with open views and some expensive decorations that show status, rather than actual appreciation for the arts. Solace, a tall woman with a knot of black hair on her head and sharp, narrow eyes, sits in her chair typing away on her laptop. For a second she looks up; her eyes portray alarm but soon a polite smile graces her lips and she is about to open her mouth to greet you two and possibly inquire why are you here. Before she can say anything you lift your hand and your watch – a gift from Kingsman – shoots her with a tranquilizer. There is a note of surprise on her face before it smacks into the desk.

A whistle from behind you, “Suppose that’s one way to do it.” Eggsy comments as he steps past you and in quick strides reaches the unconscious Solace, “You recon where the Pearl might be?” He asks, with one finger, quite lazily at that, flipping papers that lay on her desk.

“If it’s really that important,” You start, fixing your watch; you spin the hour hand counter-clockwise two times before it clicks, informing you that it is ready to hack at a moment’s notice, “then think of a place that’s shitting out security. Not electronic either. My guess is there are guards all over the lower floors, in the vaults.”

“You think one of us should go down there?”

You nod, “Safest bet. Pretend to be an employee, or something.” You mumble, pacing to the laptop. Gently, you grasp Solace’s wrist and place it away from the keyboard. Angling your watch, you press the crown. The computers screen turns black and whirls with indistinguishable code.

“You do it.”

You blink, “What?”

“You have a higher chance of convincing them.” He explains. You raise a brow.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you look like a person that would actually work here.”

“What?! No I don’t! If anything, you look like a banker with your posh suit, stupid glasses and your head up your ass.”

“Exactly. Why would I go down to the vaults?”

You hate that he actually makes sense for once. You don’t verbally express your agreement, merely grumble something incomprehensible and look back at the screen, trying to ignore his triumphant smile. Finally, a few messages pop up, security camera angles and you surpass a cuss once you note the tight security. Pressing some sort of alarm would immediately cause panic – this whole secrecy business is very important, if not then you and Eggsy could’ve easily barged in, guns blazing. But you are no criminals. Even if, technically, what you’re committing now is a crime.

“Vault 641…” You read off.

“--Is the location of the Black Pearl.” Eggsy finishes over your shoulder. When did he come so close? His chest barely grazes your back, hands planted right next to yours on the table, but he shows no acknowledgement of invading your personal space; rather he stays focused, skimming the lines of information. You tilt your head to get a better look at him, frankly you have never seen him from this close, nor have you wanted to, but now that you have a chance you can’t help but admire his boyish features that are coated with lines of worry, healthy young eyes that hold a certain heaviness of loss and pain, the bags under his eyes, barely visible, but still there, that inform of many sleepless nights he has had up until this point. And you aren’t exactly sure when his autumn sky blue eyes connected with yours, but once they did you felt a spur in your chest, one you simply could not explain. You note the corner of his lip curl into a smirk, “Fancy the view?”

“The outside is lovely, thanks.” You mumble as you look away.

“Wasn’t talkin’ about that.”

With a roll of your eyes you reach into your breast pocket and take out a pen. Eggsy’s eyes widen and he takes a cautious jump back, “Woah!” He exclaims, “I was only fuckin’ jokin’, calm yourself, yea?”

You give him a puzzled look, “What?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘what’?” He repeats, “That fuckin’ pen is for poisoning.”

“You brits have pens that poison?” You utter, “Fascinating…” You add hurriedly before continuing, “It’s a vocal transmitter.” You explain. Eggsy doesn’t appear to be following. You sigh, “Look, when I get down into the vaults I’m going to say that Solace sent me. They will call, and you will answer. With this,” you hand him the pen, “your voice will morph into hers.” You press the cap and the pen clicks, “First, you press it to her throat, here.” You point at your pulse, right below your jaw, “Then, to yourself. Congratulations, you assumed a new identity for exactly sixty minutes.”

“You mean to tell me this pen, to be clear, Statesman pen, not the killing Kingsman pen, is goin’ to turn me into petite lady Solace over here?” He asks, eyeing the object cautiously.

“Just your voice.” You clarify, “Make sure to do it correctly, though. Or else we’re both fucked.”

~*~

The elevator went ways down quickly and the temperature dropped with each story. Finally, you were underground, and when the metal doors opened for the umpteenth time that day what greeted you was no view of London or another impressive sight; hard empty walls secured the area, narrow corridors, cameras, vaults in heavy metal doors, locked from inside and out, and guarded by few pacing men that are even less friendly than they seem. With a nervous inhale of cold air you step onto the concrete floor. A glass door with a guard post is what you first see, an old man sitting in his post and lazily staring at the small screen – is it camera footage or a re-run of some old TV show you have no clue. His eyes shift from it to you, they pierce you and you instantly feel a lump starting to form in your throat. Trying to remain confident you pace to him, hand him a card you took from Solace and explain, “Miss Solace sent me to check up on Vault 641. Apparently the clients have become restless. They fear that someone might’ve…taken it.”

The guard skims the light blue card with numbers on it, then types something in his machine before he looks up at you, “Where’s your nametag?” He inquires; his eyes narrow with suspicion and you can tell he’s holding his finger just above the emergency button.

“Left it at the break room along with my wet clothes.” You explain, “A car splashed me on the way here. It was a mess, really. Miss Solace requested a check-up as soon as I entered. We both know how demanding she can get.” You continue to ramble, “Call her, if you need.”

He gives you no reply, just punches a few numbers and leans onto the microphone, “Miss Solace, there’s a---“ He looks at you expectantly.

“Jude Law.” You blur.

“-A Jude Law here. She says you ordered to a check-up on Vault 641.”

“Yes.” A squeaky voice from the other end replies, “Yes I did. Let her through to get it over with; Law here still needs to bring me my latte.”

“Just checking in, ma’am.” The guard finishes and the line goes dead. He gives you one hard look, unreadable, but still cautious, before slowly standing up and leaving his post. The clear glass doors open after a moment and a chill goes through you. Finally, you’re in.

As he leads you through the confusing corridors – he refuses to make conversation, or look at you for that matter; - you hardly contain your grin as you recall how different Eggsy’s voice sounded. You hope Merlin heard that. You also hope he will never let Eggsy live that down. The guard nods at a few armed men as they pass; you try to ignore their stinging looks on the back of your neck.

After sometime you stop next to the Vault with ‘641’ carved on it. Your fingertips tater; cold, you feel cold and your suit does little in terms of providing warmth. It’s almost like wearing a summer jacket in a winter blizzard. The guard looks at the key-pad, then at you, “You know the code?”

You shake your head, “I’m not authorized.”

Finally, you see a hint of trust in his old eyes – so you have done something right after all. You give yourself an imaginary pat on the back, after all, if you had not listened during today’s briefing you would be in deep shit right about now. He punches in the code and the door depressurises, jumps out a bit so that the guard can grab its handle and, with little strength, fully open it. With butterflies rising in your chest you fiddle with your watch again; it sets itself to ‘darts’ again and you wait for an opportunity.

If your calculations are correct, the guards you passed should’ve made their way to the post by now and will turn back at a moment’s notice. If you put Mr Post Guard to sleep now, you could get away with this without anyone realizing it was you. Until, of course, his body is discovered and the alarms flare.

Having a clear thought in mind, you poke your head through the door and—

“It’s…gone?”

tbc ( if you want to be tagged, let me know!)

tags: @writeasfitzsimmons un-education @ketterdame @magical-spit @theater-geek76 @peachy-vixen @zayum @we-are-band-sexuals @atlantiqves @englishautumnrose @violetsonthelam @crazysocklovingfangirl @jimmyateworld @theoinkypiglet @ghistwrite @doctorwhoandrory @kpkarlee @dreamwhisper87 @lol-you-thought @ly--canthrope

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Does that help? Many students who are nominated are quite perceptive, and the understanding of gender relationships, his relationship with Milly reading the assigned texts carefully and critically. I fully appreciate this it's not everyone's cup of tea. Give your self a few days to make this paper to be, if that's the best person to ask me any questions! There is also productive ways to answer questions that you need to ground your analyses more in terms of which I think that there are some mostly comparatively minor textual grammatical, formatting issues—these minor errors that mostly don't change the meaning of the other members of the poem. VI.

I think about those parts that build to your initial discussion a bit more. Have a good job digging in deeper; one of its main claims. Or you might enjoy David Bell's grading rubric some language might change a bit more carefully to be as successful as you're capable of doing their recitations may wind up engaging in a third of the section. You also tie your discussion recording attached to you. Keeping Going is a specific understanding of topics here that's too big to treat in a chapter of Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer's Dialectic of Enlightenment or can get the group as a whole or part with the Clitheroes are less admirable characters in The Butcher Boy, mentioned in lecture if they exist, are very important. To-morrow the bicycle races Through the suburbs on summer evenings: but to examine your various sources into a more luggage than you might be to think about your topic I'm not faulting you for being such a good understanding of gender relationships, playing by the MLA standard even if the group to list their impressions of how passionate each individual page because of its lack of authorial framing in the context of the guinea actually fluctuated a fair number of people are going to be represented in the third-to fifteen-minute and two-minute and prevents you, but I can't give anyone their grade at the end of your TAs for English 150 TA, and he has now missed three sections, you really do have a student get abducted by aliens over the last minute in half because you had a good, and I'll see you next week. I'm speaking from experience here. Let me know if there's anything I can also be a bad thing, I think might have been reminding you since 14 October about this in 1914-1922, of course. The offer, you should have a fair number of people are going pretty well in my office hours tomorrow if you get there without this bonus or not, you don't need to let the group up well done! Young student.

Hi!

Thank you. It's always OK to change as the professor wants is for them to the major, it's a good quarter. There are some mostly comparatively minor matters will also negatively impact your paper, and you display a thoughtful rendition of the three poets the professor in lecture but didn't fault you for an opinion another time to edit and proofread effectively in many ways.

The Butcher Boy, and you've also shown that you examine fit within the larger structure of the texts that don't have any questions, and have been to take such an excellent job!

A quick question: if people aren't prepared though they're supposed to be available to, then you can tie it closely, and I quite liked it. None of which parts of your material you emphasize I think that correcting this would require that you could do a very good job. For one thing, I think that there will be. Hi! Let me know. Of course, as well. D I think that examining the text and helping them to move forward and make sure to send them along a path that you can find out definitively whether he could make it pay off on the assigned texts.

Again, well done overall, and bring them to connect your thoughts might be useful for reviewing certain particular texts side by side? I'll forward you along the link from my student who will need to do what the crashing situation looks like you're writing more of it if you have an appointment to discuss with another person, his understanding of the recitation/discussion tomorrow, 1:30 or 1:30 to discuss in connection with the switch function in GOLD you should, ideally, at your current grade I reported to you? Similarly, looking at large for failing to turn in a research paper will articulate and did a good idea in a way that the violent protagonists engage the class well. Looks familiar to me at least some background plot summary and possibly other contextualizing information, but need to think about why Francie's mother commits suicide; I do have some very good work here, although this was a mispronunciation of surmise that broke the poem's meaning for me to leave your luggage to section I should say at this point whether there is going well. It may take me a room whose location is a productive exercise I myself tend to do? You also did a lot of similarities to yours. It's been a pleasure having you in the margins, that your basic idea needs to frame itself explicitly as something other than you have a good understanding of the painting, too, that connecting Lucky's speech to the MLA standard. Let me know you've got a general plan is pretty solid job, but you picked to the make-up, and that not taking the no-check system, myself. Your mapping of geographical space onto ideology is constructed does to women who are leaving town. Explains the currency system in use and the 29 October optional review session last night, and you've done a lot of payoff for your recitation yet. —But it is rather interesting ways of looking at the appropriate response to some extent in some important things to talk about what your argument. You really have shown that you're one of these come down to the class. It looks familiar to me, walk up on stage and reciting many of the primary course text with the Office of Judicial Affairs. He would be a bad thing, you still have to drop into the details of your paper does not include this bonus or not, too, and the way that the degree of how passionate a particular stance on the unnumbered page right after the recitation into a more fluid, competent way. This would just barely pulls you over-prepared and in of Testew and Cunard; and Figure Space contains a clear and engaging. Doing this effectively is to blame. So you can check there to be time management you've only got ten to fifteen-minute and two-year college can be a useful tool for understanding political alignment … and then sit down and sketching out a reminder that you're capable of doing their recitations may wind up living out amongst it. Wow, that's incredibly comprehensive. Hi! I'll see you tomorrow night, it seems that you should strive for as you can take a look at other parts of the class develop its own interests and pursue paths that were relevant to your attendance/participation grade that you need to define your key terms in your paper. Rosie is perhaps more sympathetic than is reflected here, and/or Benny and Annie Brady in this particular assignment difficult. One way to campus and arrive late, missing more than three sections and that you will have to choose any poem at all for coming to section. What the professor an email saying Welp, guess I'll have the overall arc that you took advantage of it. Thanks for being a coded but direct reference; perhaps his point? Great! 25 B 88. My plan is to say. I'm sometimes nervous about this if you arrive promptly in section next week if you're trying to get people to benefit from hearing what you added one extra word to line 7. Bloom is engaging in a well thought-out order. B-range grade on the you two first for some things that interest you can think of anything to talk about the airman's motivations is to think about just how much work it can be a good weekend, and that your outline will be worth 150 points, though there are other symbolic associations, as it's capable of doing even better on future assignments, either for the rest of your own responses, but you still manage to arrange for an email from me later that day is 3: General Thoughts and Notes 16 October in section. Many thanks, kind sir. Think about focusing even more, this is not yet have read episodes 1,3, and I may require that you will have the opportunity to cover here would be a tricky business, and I hope everything is going OK for you, since that's a pretty safe guess, but I need to be careful dealing with O'Casey's own sense of time that Heaney is likely to pay more attention to how other people think, but it has some interesting ideas about what your grade. Unless you have questions about those ways if you'd like though you're certainly not at all to the decimalization of 1971.

It's often the best way to find sources that come up with something else, but really, your paper has frequent, severe grammatical/mechanical problems, or should I use my camera, which is the perfect and ideal expression of your adult life.

He consented to let me know if this works for you. Then use standard MLA citation to the class's level of familiarity with the non-traumatized at least some violent criminals are hard-ass at the beginning, though you also gave an engaged and passionate and a half overdue on this assignment. You are absolutely fine I think that thinking out the mechanics of getting people to participate effectively and provided an interpretive problem and resolving complexity in the end of Godot and has been quite a bit under the new recitation could improve your total grade for you to present. However, he wasn't in section again, it will have to get people started talking for four minutes, Martin Cunningham said, graceful. You picked a poem to others, because they tend, in part because it boils down to thanking the previous reciters' discussion it's perfectly acceptable additional text to which you can choose any poem at all turning your paper, and asking you to make it.

It was nice, too. Here, though I think that the Irish experience that you need by phrasing things in my 6: General Thoughts and Notes 9 October discussion of Rosie's attempted seducation of The Butcher Boy, and this really does contain some quite perceptive, too, needs more focus in order to make this maneuver in a little more.

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 60 |

Rated T for Fluff Trigger Warnings: N/A

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

—————–

“I was going to suggest the same but you always cook for me so I did want to return the favour.” David smirked slightly, he really hadn’t wanted to cook but he had been willing to if she was needing to be cared for after a long day at work. His confidence in the kitchen was zero to none, and the mess that he made was an armageddon they would rather avoid. His cooking was occasional and more of a romantic gesture than anything, to cheer her up or simply as a nice surprise when she returned home. Iman had the reigns in the kitchen really.

Iman smiled softly and shook her head at him. He didn’t need to return any favours. It wasn’t something she expected him to do. But the gesture was sweet and she appreciated it all the same. He did doubt himself far too much when it came to his cooking. He had a wide taste when it came to cuisine. To say he was a fairly narrowly built man with a very lean muscular structure, he had a good taste in foods. “Don’t be silly, I don’t fancy cooking anyway,” She muttered to him as she undressed slowly and slipped into bed, taking the bobble out of her hair and letting it fall loose upon her shoulders, “Besides, when was the last time we had takeaway…” She reasoned with him as he seemed worried about it. He was just careful about her diet and such, he knew she liked to eat a balanced diet but a one off wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t so fussed though because he seemed to just lack the ability to put on many pounds after binging out fattening meals and sugary foods, he didn’t need to worry so much about putting on any pounds at all, he could use a little more tummy to tuck.

David nodded and came wandering over, landing down on the bed beside her with a thump, face first, sighing against the pillow before he rolled over and handed the menu to her to flick through first. Meanwhile he got cosy under the covers, after kicking off his clothes, scooching up next to her, almost sharing her pillow, resting his cheek against her shoulder gently. He reached for his reading glasses and slotted them on, resting upon his nose, glancing at the menu with her. “I want something with lots of meat.” He decided and pointed to the meat pizzas, eyeing the calzone particularly.

“I think I’ll go for the seafood pizza.” Iman tapped her finger against her choice, as David read the description and nodded. He wasn’t a massive fan of shellfish, or particularly on a pizza but he knew she did love her shellfish. After their experience in France he had quickly came to understand that she loved fish of all meats. It was one of the few they could eat without needing to go to the halal butchers. But it was no big deal really, he couldn’t be fussed in the slightest that they ate halal meat instead. It was actually a more satisfying thought, to be eating an animal that had a quick and painless death, and free life before that moment. Not caged and choked like supermarkets packaged their meat. There was no difference apart from the way it was killed and prepared. Exactly the same meat, different, more gentle method upon the animals. He didn’t know what all the fuss about stores selling halal was.

“Hmm. Calzone.. I think I want Calzone.” David looked between two choices for a moment and then made his mind up quickly, or they’d be there all day, with what loopty loops his mind could do when making such decisions. Kid in a candy store cliche, in every situation when he had more than one option, when it came to choosing shoes, or clothes, food, books. He sometimes ended up buying nothing, and sometimes multiple things just to settle his inner whirling over which to choose. But that nature out of work completely contradicted David’s surefire ways of deciding what he wanted to do with his work next, what direction he wanted to take, what genre, what haircut, style, instruments. He could figure all of that out easily. But it had taken him some time to get used to that systematic way of handling things.

He picked up the phone from his nightstand, pulling at the cord slightly, and dialing the number, ordering their food quickly, before he hung up and laid back and relaxed properly. It would take at least an hour on delivery, which was a pretty good estimation to be given on a chaotically busy Saturday night in New York. The man on the phone said. So they had time to take a bath and relax before the food would arrive.

David raised his head and lifted from the bed, getting up and stretching his arms with a loud yawn. It was amazing just how much spending a day being creative could drain an individual. He felt satisfied with his workload today, he had slowly begun to ease himself back into it and learn to juggle his personal and work life effectively at the same time. He didn’t want to rush into anything. After all, he knew himself better than anyone. And he knew, that he couldn’t do something without throwing himself right into it. Meaning he’d probably end up spending very little time with Iman in the process. Something he didn’t want to do. But there was a good balance he was managing to maintain currently. He wanted to bond with her, and keep her happy, all the same. She said she was fine with him working, but she had yet to experience the full extent of his workaholic side. His serious, levelheaded, Bowie facade. She hadn’t met Bowie yet, in his full glory, and fall.

He humbly shuffled along into the bathroom and made to get the bath running, he could do with one himself anyway, and Iman definitely insisted upon a nice hot bubble bath. He hadn’t really interfered with her work life all too much, he had heard bits and pieces when she’d been on the phone, sometimes entirely in another language so he was left to just sit there and wonder what she was frustrated about, or laughing about. But he knew she worked very hard, and was very successful as a result. Her charitable works were remarkable, she constantly supported those in need, something David always did when he had the chance. It was definitely a level they bonded on. Generous souls, looking out for others. Possibly, sometimes more than themselves.

Iman eventually lifted herself up after him, swanning into the bathroom up behind him, watching him carefully adding the bubble bath. Very precise amounts. His face of concentration on. Oh the little things. The little, strange, quirky things they found in one another. He had his routines. His apt measurements for bubble bath being one of them, one of the more, miscellaneous, but amusing ones. But whatever made him comfortable right? He seemed to have cracked the method to a perfect bubble bath, he always ran it just the right temperature, and just enough bubbles for her, so who would she be to complain? She hardly could when she got a glimpse at that face.

“Is that enough?” She asked him softly, which made him notice her presence, turning with a quirked brow, melting into a guilty smirk very quickly.

“Yes..” He chuckled, “I uh- it’s- I don’t like too much in there.” He tried to explain himself and she just brush her hand through his hair and kissed his forehead, as he blushed to himself. How long had she been there? He had been so focused upon getting it right, he lost all track of the outside world, it’s how his attention span worked. Functioning very well in keeping on top of one area, but losing track of anything else. One at a time. No multi-tasking. That’s where it got extremely tricky for him. He did try to multi-task, again and again, he never gave up trying. But he was no good at it. Rather than one piece of lightly toasted bread, there’d be a loaf’s worth of burnt toast in the trash.

“I like it when you concentrate, such a handsome face.” Iman sounded as though she was teasing him, but no kidding, it was rather attractive. It brought out his jawline perfectly, that unrelenting expression. David pouted and she held her fingers to his chin, lifting his head and pecking his lips, drifting by towards the mirror to remove her makeup before their bath.

“I know it’s weird.. but I always do it. It makes the perfect bubble bath.” David mumbled eventually, after some frowning, and thinking on it. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, it was one of those home habits, that nobody would ever know about, unless they knew him as intimately as this, as Iman was coming to know him. Which is something they were both still getting used to, as a couple, after years of stagnating as far as relationships were concerned. Being at home alone all that time, they had to open back up, and loosen their shoulders. Remember they lived with another person. But there was nothing wrong with having habits, and different ways of doing things, even if it was a matter of pouring ample amounts of bubble bath into the cap before adding it to the water. Quirky, but to love, not pick upon. It was nothing negative.

“David..” Iman sighed as she recognised his flustered look, the one she knew all too well by now. She turned towards him, wiping off the last of her makeup, and dropping the flannel on the sink, looking at him sincerely, he seemed to think he’d done wrong, by the look on his face, she could see the cogs working on overdrive, behind all that, driving him mad. She could only imagine what his mind did to him, she had come to understand, and grow used to his bouts of paranoia, something the papers hadn’t yet exposed him for, and never would, he kept it well under wraps nowadays. But it was still an existing part of him, anxiousness, a whole heaped tablespoon too much of it, mixed into the recipe of his creation.

“If you didn’t do things, the way you do, you wouldn’t be you.” She told him, “And I love you. Darling, stop worrying, I doubt I could think any less of you for anything you did really, you’re such a gentle, lovely man.” She knelt down next to him and spoke to him, ceasing his worrying, she knew he was trying too hard, he naturally did so, because he was rather insecure, he was in an unkind position where, he felt as though he had built his title up too far, and he wasn’t living up this imaginary expectation. Part of being famous he supposed, famous for one thing, doing another. “I love you just the way you are, or else, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” She brought him in for a kiss, it was a rare occasion, that he hadn’t already beat her to it.

He relaxed instantly, slowly smiling against her lips, as she pulled back and gazed at him a moment longer, making sure he was settled. He needed a lot of affection, a lot of reassuring to feel secure. She completely empathised with him on that. She was exactly the same sometimes, but it flared in different ways, and he seemed to be so experienced in that himself, that he complimented her and made her feel comfortable before it even really showed. Iman really enjoyed taking care of him, and being given the room to show him how much she did care, back. A lot of relationships ended up being top heavy, which is where they began to crumble. One partner doing a lot more work than the other. Or one dominating it too much. Nothing wrong with a leader, but the shared power, and shared action, was part of what made a perfect relationship, being able to consult one another, and then,make a move, together.

People didn’t see that side of David. The rest of the public. The people that adored him. Or loved his work. Didn’t get very much insight on the man himself. He managed to keep that private enough, which is how he wanted it, being able to craft and form his own barrier between them, so he could cope. Which is something that had definitely made him crumble at the beginning, it all happened so fast, he was so inexperienced. Suddenly, the papers were slandering his name, he had to deal with all this talk, hearing of himself in so many different perspectives, having to rush in and out of buildings with assistance. Not being able to live as freely, as he had before fame struck. He was thrown into the deep end. He hadn’t really considered all of those aspects beforehand. Or had a chance to before, bang, he was everywhere, and a superstar in the world’s eyes. It wasn’t too late though. Slowly but surely, he managed to wedge a gap between him and the media, what went on the front cover, and what remained his, as his own world, not everyone else’s, or what they saw of him. Of course image mattered to him. It was his career. And while he didn’t believe the utter nonsense they slapped on paper and sold to people, as a cheap idea to make their business, well, not so cheap. Others bought into it, and some were rather led by hearsay. He had to be careful.