#also i think a lot of otherwise decent people on there get swept away in it all

[pseudophan]

i feel like i've talked a lot of shit about "twitter phannies" lately and i just wanna clarify i obviously don't mean everyone with a dnp twitter account like if anything i'm sure more than half are perfectly lovely it's just, y'know, the nature of twitter is so that all the most annoying tweets will always get pushed in your face and so they stick out and thus all the most obnoxious people rule the topics of the day on there. if you're on phannie twt and you don't suck ily you're great don't worry

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

People have been asking for a Chang timeline post! Chang not only represents a turning point in the politics of the Tintin series, he also represents a sense of chronology in the otherwise floating timeline of the canon. While Tintin almost never discusses his past, Chang is a key part of his personal story in Tintin in Tibet.

I imagine him and Tintin being around the same age, with Chang being a few months younger.

Child - Chang had a happy early childhood being raised by his father and grandparents. He never mentions his mother when recounting his backstory to Tintin, so my main guesses are she either passed away or his parents separated before Chang was old enough to remember her. His father and grandparents taught him how to cook from an early age, and taught him the importance of solidarity and community, lessons Chang will hold onto the rest of his life.

Early canon - Chang is orphaned. This sudden loss causes him to act out. He turns to picking pockets and causing general mischief until an orphanage takes him in. Chang learns a lot of skills just to survive - he’s stealthy, he’s street smart and pretty decent at climbing. His experiences as a street kid taught him to be wary of authority.

The orphanage provides a brief period of stability until it is swept away in a flood. Until this point, Chang has felt pretty powerless in his life so just goes with the flow, so when Tintin drags him out of a river he doesn’t think twice about going along with him to break up a drug ring in The Blue Lotus. Going on this adventure with Tintin imbues him with a sense of empowerment and purpose he never felt before.

Student - The Wangs adopt him pretty quickly after he busts the drug ring with Tintin. It’s a sudden change he struggles to adapt to, with the Wangs being wealthy academics and Chang coming from a working class background there’s a significant culture clash.

Tintin leaves just as quickly and rarely contacts Chang, even as his journalism career takes off, leaving Chang lonely and heartbroken. Chang tries to send him letters but doesn’t know that Tintin moved out of Labrador Road.

Having missed out on education for a bit Chang struggles with school. He feels unworthy of the opportunities the Wangs try to provide him with and a part of him feels they only adopted him because they were dazzled by him taking down that drug ring, an achievement he increasingly feels he will never live up to again. He struggles with mental health issues, but finds solace in photography, his portfolio getting him a place at university despite his bad grades.

Young adult - In an attempt to try and help Chang’s mental wellbeing the Wangs decide to send Chang off to visit his uncles before he starts university, only for Chang to nearly perish in a plane crash in Tibet. Ironically, it’s this near death experience that shakes him out of it. Chang has a renewed enthusiasm for life, taking to travelling, dance and photography. Didi trains him in some basic martial arts so Chang can fend for himself.

Tintin makes an effort to stay in touch after having nearly lost Chang. The two repair their friendship, and Tintin has him stay at Marlinspike when Chang studies in Belgium for his second year of university. By the time Chang comes around, he’s had a growth spurt and has been working out - Chang is pretty haunted by his skeletal state from his near death experience in Tibet, so has been making an effort to recover.

After helping Tintin with a case, Tintin gets him a job at his paper as his photographer. Being Chinese he faces challenges in the workplace, and he uses his charm to be as personable as possible. Unlike Tintin, he frequents quite a few staff parties, and ends up pretty popular!

A couple of years later, Chang tries to unionise the staff at the paper. He and Tintin are outed as a couple and the two of them are fired.

Middle aged - After fighting fascists with the Marlinspike team during WW2 Chang and Tintin settle down in Belgium, with Chang scraping out some freelance photography work and a part time job at a portraiture studio. War in China causes them to lose contact with his adopted family. 

While Tintin grows more cynical, Chang accepts the chaos of the world and mellows out a lot. He tries to be a supportive partner and makes extra effort to stay in touch with his uncles and cousins.

Elderly - Chang uses his skills in photojournalism when he gets involved in political activism. He and Tintin are finally able to reunite with Didi and his children in the 70s.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

The unplanned fourth part to my apparently-a-series on Essek Thelyss in the context of real-world espionage (parts 1, 2, and 3), today we look at an aspect of his story that doesn’t always apply in a D&D world: how do you prosecute espionage? 

Psych! That’s not the real question. The real question is: do you prosecute espionage? The answer is a) not as obvious as it might seem; and b) going to differ between D&D and the real world, because D&D governments are storytelling tools and IRL governments are...not.

The benefits of prosecuting espionage are obvious: the interests of justice are served, the person responsible can be punished appropriately and in accordance with the law, the full extent of their crimes are revealed (including potentially exonerating other suspects), counterintelligence gets to chalk up a win, and other people thinking about committing espionage themselves are hopefully discouraged. But there are a surprising number of arguments in the “against” column.

Some agencies that identify enemy assets want to leave them in place for their own purposes. For about 20 years during the Cold War CIA reserved the right to just plain not tell the Department of Justice if they had proof someone was engaged in espionage because they wanted the opportunity to turn them as double agents, feed them misinformation, etc. rather than outing and punishing them (President Gerald Ford ended this arrangement by executive order in 1976). This isn’t necessarily a good idea IRL, but it forms the bread and butter of RPG espionage storylines and is definitely something to think about in a D&D context.

In the real world, ideally someone can only be found guilty of a crime and punished accordingly after a trial, and an agency often finds itself with sufficient evidence to doubt a person’s trustworthiness but not enough hard proof to take to court. In those cases agencies may decide to leave that person in place but cut off their access to classified info. Ironically, sometimes this means promoting them - moving the person into a higher-ranking job in a different area that just so happens not to deal in secrets. Sometimes the asset realizes they’re close to being rumbled and goes along with the effort, maybe taking retirement early or changing jobs before they can be pushed, and the whole matter will quietly lapse without anything so formal as a trial. Sometimes someone makes a mistake and sidelines a loyal, competent employee. That’s a judgement call.

In the real world, ideally someone can only be found guilty of a crime and punished accordingly after an open trial. Given how severe the punishments are for espionage, civilized countries do try to stick to that even though holding such a trial carries risks. Providing proof that someone stole secrets generally requires talking about said secrets, which means revealing classified info in court, which may negate trying to keep the information secret in the first place. They may also not want to reveal in court how they figured out that person was a spy, especially if it was a double agent or cryptographic source that fingered them. In D&D-land where monarchs are common and still wield judicial power, fantasy rulers may hand down whatever punishment they please based on whatever evidence they (or the DM) will accept, so this isn’t as much of a concern.

Even a D&D monarchy that doesn’t have to worry about revealing secrets in court might think twice before publicly punishing a high-ranking spy, though, because the only thing more embarrassing than failing to convict a major spy is succeeding. A government having to admit that its people were compromised, especially high-ranking people, is a body-blow to its standing both at home and abroad. It damages trust in the government, makes the public feel unsafe, and makes allies hesitant to share information lest their secrets be leaked as well. Lower-ranking government employees may think, “My boss is selling secrets, why not me too?” or “Why bother to follow security protocol when some mole will give it all away?” Every decision and contribution made by the asset becomes retroactively suspect, even those that had nothing to do with whatever secrets they leaked. The foreign nation to whom they passed information inevitably gets drawn in as well, negatively affecting those relations. And of course everyone involved looks very, very bad.

All of which leads me to say I think there’s a chance - maybe not a good chance, but a chance - that Essek could privately confess the affair to the Bright Queen without major public repercussions. Leylas Kryn could simply declare him a traitor and order his public execution without justifying herself, but it would raise a lot of questions and none of the answers would help her or the ruling dens; Den Thelyss allowing Den Kryn to unilaterally execute a high-profile member - a child of the umavi - without explanation would stoke ferocious rumors about what Essek might have done and cast a major shadow over the entire den. But publicly declaring what Essek had done also doesn’t do the Dynasty any favors. It makes everyone involved look very bad - how could they miss a spy at the highest level? so close to the Bright Queen herself?? who can be trusted??? - especially Den Thelyss, which might lose its place among the ruling three as a result. Publicly outing such a high-ranking Kryn official as compromised might set off the Dynasty equivalent of a Red Scare, too, since the Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount mentions the constant and well-justified Dynasty fear of agents sent by Lolth to destabilize the Kryn out of sheer spite that they got away from her.

By the time Campaign 2 ended the latest clash between Empire and Dynasty had been settled and neither side seemed to want to stir it up again right away. The fact that both stolen beacons have been returned also bolsters the case for letting the matter lie. A confession from Essek clears up remaining doubt on the Bright Queen’s end - while he doesn’t know every Empire agent in the Dynasty, he can tell her exactly how the beacons were stolen and who else was involved, probably clearing the names of many currently under suspicion. Essek would have to resign as Shadowhand, of course, and leave the Dynasty (at least for a couple centuries), but he never seemed interested in being Shadowhand and he wants to go exploring anyway. Den Thelyss definitely wants the whole affair swept under the rug and would go along with whatever story made that happen. Other than Verin I don’t get the impression many people would miss Essek except as a lost opportunity. I hope they’d give him long enough before leaving Rosohna to pack up his cool leyline-weathervane though. He could totally mount that on Yussa’s tower. Or Allura’s!

And that concludes this particular train of thought re: Essek Thelyss in the context of IRL spies and espionage. Again, all of this is only as relevant to the campaign as the players decide it is, so don’t go giving people crap for being “unrealistic” about their versions of how the beacon trade went down. Frankly the last thing you should want here is realism, because “realistic” espionage is a callous world of deception, manipulation, and general human pettiness with no sense of narrative flow.

None of what I’ve talked about is an excuse for Essek’s actions. But it is a reason. It’s why and how a person entrusted with precious national assets could get into a headspace where it seems reasonable, even necessary, to trade them away to foreign enemies. It’s how a person of otherwise decent character & beliefs can end up committing terrible crimes. It’s why that person might sincerely regret what they’ve done, and not just because they fear punishment. The Warmind Rasputin paraphrases Octavia E. Butler saying, “Misdirected by accident or intent, intelligence can foster its own ecstasies of growth and decay.” In other words: sometimes you get too far into your own head. Without an anchor to reality, without perspective, your own mind gets twisted up. Sometimes you just need a friend (or seven) to grab your arm and say, “Breathe.”

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

It started with a whisper

I originally wrote ‘Like I did with you’ as a one-shot but people wanted a sequel. This turned out to be waaaaay longer than expected (4.7k word count). Inspired by Everybody Talks by Neon Trees. I hope you lot enjoy!

Ao3

(Also this is Mari’s new outfit, all credits go to the original artist)

————

Two teens stood upon the balcony of a large banquet hall, exposed to the midsummer night air. The sky was a lilac blanket that hung over the Parisian buildings, speckled with glowing stars. The moon, with it’s crescent smile, beamed down of the young couple.

Hey, baby, won't you look my way?

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she rested her head upon his shoulder, relaxing after the night’s rapid escalation. Tonight she had arrived at the ball with the intent to be there for her friends, but somehow she found herself within the arms of Gotham’s (and probably Paris’) Ice Prince. She had overheard his nickname from the Gotham students, one of which being Jon, who was in the middle of mocking the young Wayne. She had never considered that nickname as suitable; sure he was temperamental & had a tendency to snap, but icey to the core? No.

I can be your new addiction

Damian was calm. For the first time in his life he felt like he could take a breath. His exhale was carried off by a small gust of wind, the bush over hanging the stone railing rustled. With his inhale, the scent of Marinette’s perfume became present once more. Mixed with the crisp night’s air, her usual scent of pastries was mixed with what could only be described as ambrosia. His phone vibrated within his pocket, it was never on volume due to the potential risk it caused during his heroic activities.

“Shit.” Notifications covered his screen, multiple tweets, Instagrams and Tiktoks in which he had been tagged in. But the alert came from his family’s private messaging chat. The whole thread was a shit storm, Grayson and Todd’s messages were completely capitalised (he learnt years ago this meant ‘to yell’ in writing form) and both had multiple ‘keyboard spasms’. Drake, like the thorough detective he is, had combed through the images and videos, investigating their validity. His honorary sisters had replied with ‘awwwww’(s) and ‘Omg we MUST meet this girl! I need to know how she tamed the demon!’. He could practically hear Brown’s shrill voice from across the ocean.

Hey, baby, what you gotta say?

No reply from his father or Alfred. The two of them were the only semblance of ‘normal’ paternal figures he had within his life, after the sham of a relationship he had previously held with his grandfather. Their silence unnerved him.

Marinette had noticed his attention had shifted to his phone, her own mobile was buzzing away within her baby pink purse. Messages, notifications of account tagging and comments galore. A sigh left her lips when she saw her parents seemed to be none the wiser. Good, she didn’t need to deal with future adoration for ‘The boy who swept our daughter off of her feet’ (or something along those lines).

Her cheeks regained some of the warmth they held before as she thought of her parent’s reaction. Scrolling through her Twitter she saw her friends had posted multiple images of the night’s events, majority being her shared dance.

Chloé Bourgeois @TheBestBourgeois

what kind of Disney shit is this? (Insert video of two teens dancing around an mostly empty dance floor.)

Alix Kubdel @Sk8trGirl

Replying to @TheBestBourgeois

I KNOW RIGHT?! THEY WERE FUCKING FLOATING!!!

All you're giving me is fiction

She was thankful that they hadn’t tagged her but she hadn’t been spared by others in attendance. Her post thread had blown up, thousands had commented and even more had viewed the evidence. There was no way she would come out of this unscathed.

“Has anyone been on Twitter today?” The blonde of the family asked as she walked into the dining room. Her eyes focused on her scrolling screen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually has anyone seen what’s happening on any of our socials?”

It was early in the afternoon and the family had recently returned home after a straining stakeout. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and the Batfam had to deal with his minions. Dick’s arm was in a sling (sprained from a grapple gone wrong), Jason was icing his hand, Alfred was stitching Bruce’s chest wounds while Tim and the girls escaped without severe injuries. All were still recuperating and finally able to recharge.

Alfred always enforced a strict ‘no devices at the dinner table’ rule; no matter how urgent it was, it could wait until after sustenance was consumed. Tim strongly opposed this, but there was no arguing with Agent A. This all surmises that probably no one had seen the crap storm on social media.

I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time

Bruce sighed, bringing his free arm up to rub his eyes. Tilting his head back to look at Steph, “Who was it this time?” Barbara quickly took out her phone to see what Stephanie was talking about, all the while glancing accusingly at Dick and Jason. Both of whom held up their arms (or in Dick’s case arm), declaring their innocence.

“It wasn’t fucking me!”

“Jason! Language!” Dick shot a glare at Jason and was met with one in return. “It wasn’t me either.”

“Then who-“ Bruce started before being cut off by his most rambunctious daughter.

I found out that everybody talks

Stephanie with a squeal, exclaimed that it was Damian. Visions of what the Wayne brat could have done flashed through the heads of everyone in the room. He had been sent overseas before the quarantines and lockdowns hit. During Damian’s first month in France he had been forced into online schooling and then finally when he got to go to in-person classes he hated it. Described the class as a kindergarten with petty and vindictive toddlers.

Had he broken someone’s arm? Was that person of such importance that it had spread over multiple social media platforms? France’s government had announced on June 15th, that teens were now being inoculated so him having COVID-19 was doubtful. Had he insulted the wrong person? Had he taken over the government? He certainly had the potential.

Everybody talks, everybody talks

What they saw stunned them, even Steph as she watched it for the 7th time. Damian Wayne was dancing. But not only that, he was dancing with a girl.

It started with a whisper

“What is this shit?”

No one verbally objected to Jason’s outburst but he was sent a harsh glare from Alfred, Dick and Bruce. Their focus soon returned to the images and videos before them. Babs’ and Steph’s phones were returned to them as the others ran to grab their own devices. They all met back at the table, comparing the posts and comparing their notes.

I can hear the chitchat

“There’s no way this can be real.”

“Jesus Tim,” Barbara rolls her eyes, “have you seen the amount of posts there are? You’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

Take me to your love shack

“I’m with Tim, how do we know this isn’t some skit. I mean, Demon Spawn almost looks normal. That’s a matter of concern.” He almost dry heaved when he agreed with Tim. Damian couldn’t be capable of naturally exuding that amount of humanity unless there was something in it for him.

Mamas always gotta backtrack

“I was just saying Babs, that we should check the credibility of these images. For all we know they could be gorilla glued together and trying to get unstuck.” Tim cringed at his own reasoning, he really needed to either sleep (probably not going to happen anytime soon) or find his favourite coffee brand (which had been one of the first to vanish after the covid hoarders appeared).

When everybody talks back

Dick was too busy freaking out and spam messaging the youngest Wayne, to defend Damian’s humanity. The family saw this and followed suit, wanting to get information from the source.

Chat name: Alfred supremacy

BigBird: AHHHHHH DAMIAN!

BigBird: YOU LOOK SO CUTE!!!

BigBird: HAIFJDNDNFI

LittleWing: WTF HAPPENED DEMON SPAWN YOU LOOK ALMOST HUMAN

Babs: who knew the city of love would influence the brat

Blondie: they are so cuteeeeeee!

Blondie: We HAVE to meet her!

Silent-but-deadly: agreed.

Timbo: YO DEMON

Timbo: Apparently the videos are legit

Timbo: are you being blackmailed?

And it just devolved into more chaos from there, fueled by the fact that they saw Damian’s ‘Blood Son’ account appear online before vanishing once more. Dick shrieked, “I FOUND HER ACCOUNT!”

The family gathered around the eldest son, peering over his shoulder to view his iPhone 12max screen. They saw a young girl’s Instagram account. It was locked but they could see her profile pic, the girl had black hair and looked to be if Asian decent. They compared it to the videos but it was hard to see due to the hall’s lighting and the minimised facial features of the pfp. Alfred suggested that they search up her username and see who has tagged her, some might have other photos of her.

After research for awhile, the family began to get frustrated with lack of results.

Hey honey you could be my drug

You could be my new prescription

“Come on!” Jason complained, “What kind of teenage girl doesn’t post her life online?” He ignored the girls glares and went back to researching. How had the account by the name of ‘mariiiiinette’ to managed to prevent the entire Wayne clan from accessing it? Damn Instagram privacy settings. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “We are fucking stupid. Why don’t we just use the Bat-computer? It would be so much fucking easier.”

“It shouldn’t be used for civilian issues-“

Too much could be an overdose

“The girl could be a meta for all we know! We aren’t safe until we know who she is.” Jason points a finger at Tim, his paranoia flared up and even though he would never admit it, Jason would do anything to protect each member of his family (although Bruce is still debatable).

All this trash talk make me itching

Barbara and Tim took their usual positions as Oracle and Red Robin (who had been banned from patrol due to lack of sleep). The rest of the Batfam stood behind them either with arms crossed or still failing at researching.

Oh my my shit

“The account is owned by a girl called Marinette Dupian-Cheng. She is French-Chinese and her parents own a popular bakery. Also if it wasn’t already obvious, she goes to Collège Françoise Dupont, aka Damian’s French school.” Tim begun informing his nosy family, “But this account has been inactive for the past 6 months, which is strange due to her frequent posting schedule before hand. It seems she probably has a second account and this is her old one.”

Everybody talks, everybody talks

“Not only that,” Barbara interrupted. “There are unopened messages from other accounts that accuse her of being a bully. There is a whole Facebook page about this girl and how she has been hurting her old friends, but neither side seems reliable. The so called victims seem to be twisting the truth but there is barely any information about Marinette so we can’t disprove it either.”

“Read out some of the messages.” Bruce took a cup of coffee from Alfred and sipped it.

The main screen of the bat computer displayed a Facebook group with the banner picture being a photo of Marinette. “They are mostly complaints expected of teen girls when there is a girl they don’t like; ‘Marinette is such a know-it-all’, ‘She is constantly insulting Lila’s intelligence’. They go on to talk about how Marinette was briefly expelled from the Collège before being reinstated by the principle for a reason unknown to them.”

Everybody talks too much

“Her school reports up until this year were good. The newest one states, ‘While Marinette is a wonderful and bright student, I encourage her to settle her disagreements outside of class. This seems to only be a recent occurrence and I implore her to go to the guidance council if she is in need of help.’” A beat of silence echoes through the cave, Tim sighed. “Jason’s meta theory could be correct. She could have just recently started exhibiting her abilities and using them to get what she wants.”

“Bruce what do you want to do?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

She opened her eyes to the blaring morning light that streamed through the blinds. Her lashes still painted with mascara that refused to leave. She felt a pang of sorrow when she was removing her makeup and dress last night, she never wanted the night to end. She shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, covering her mouth when she yawned. She greeted her mother as she entered the kitchen to get breakfast.

She glanced at her phone and there was the chaos that was started hours ago and it was still occurring. It was the weekend, she wouldn’t need to deal with her classmates until Monday. But she would still have to survive her parent’s interrogation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother smirking at her.

Everybody talks

“Nadja told me some interesting news about last night.” Marinette held her breath, glaring at the toaster, willing it to hurry up so she could escape. “Well,” Sabine patted her shoulder before rubbing Mari’s back. “I know you didn’t want to go but I hope you had fun.”

With that she exited the kitchen, probably going to help her father in the bakery. The ravenette stared after her, eye widened in shock, jumping when the toaster went off. Buttering her toast she went over the conversation, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had expected a ‘When do I get to meet the oh so famous prince?’ or ‘Should I be expecting a new guest sometime in the near future?’ or at least a ‘Who was that young man, Bǎozàng (宝藏 it means treasure)?’ But she said nothing.

A small smile was plastered upon her face as she changed and went down to help her parents in the bakery. Her father didn’t say anything either, he gave her a knowing smile before continuing to kneed the dough. She sat at the the store front as the cashier whilst her parents were busy making ‘Paris’s Finest Pastries’.

Her musings slowly faded as she was brought back to reality by badly hushed whispers. Two young preteens were by the bread roll casing near the door. She had seen them come in before with their parents, the girls went to the prestigious international school over in the 16th arrondissement. The one with purple hair kept whispering to the brunette, both ‘subtly’ glancing towards her. Using her enhanced hearing she listened in on their conversation.

“That’s her, I swear that’s her in the video.”

The blonde’s face soured likes she sucked on a lemon. “No, it wasn’t good lighting there is no way he would dance with someone like her.”

Everybody talks

Marinette had tough skin but their words had an impact, only a small one due to her defence mechanism of repressing emotions. She stopped listening and went back to drawing in her sketchpad, she was in desperate need of a new school outfit.

The two girls eventually came up to the counter, goods in hand. Marinette rung up and bagged their items (paper because save the turtles sksksk) in a tired daze. A phone was shoved into her face, her eyes barely adjusted to view the screen before the blonde spoke.

“Is this your instagram?” She asked in a tone so snobbish that it should be illegal from a person her age. Marinette finally was able to view the screen that was barely an inch from her face. Her old Instagram ‘mariiiiinette’ was displayed on screen, she hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking back to the two in front of her.

The blonde’s nose scrunched up and the purple goth girl squealed in delight. They soon after left the store, their conversation had devolved into ‘See! I told you’ and ‘Yeah, yeah. You were right.’

Walking to school on Monday, she had finally come down from cloud nine. She still rode the tail end of her high as she rushed along her path to her campus, she wasn’t going to be late but she sure wasn’t going to be early. She had spent the better part of the weekend designing and sewing a brand new outfit. Her new look was composed of a black cropped singlet (L'amour gagne hemmed into it and it’s straps), paired matching peach plaid cropped overshirt and a-line miniskirt. Her hair was down, ballet flats were worn and her makeup was the usual with the added edition of a rose gold eyeshadow.

Even though her face was covered in a black and gold mask, she looked hot.

She reached the campus and the whispers started again, people were still buzzing from Friday night. Her classmates, the majority of her grade and the younger years seemed to gossiping before class about the formal’s events. She couldn’t spot any of her friends or the two Gotham transfers, so she was stuck listening the the chitchat. Why couldn’t she have been late like usual?

Damian had a fowl disposition and it showed in multiple icey glares (and that was before he even reached the collège). His family had made their appearance known in Paris at 1am Sunday morning. He could have used his dorm to escape but his family didn’t have the word ‘privacy’ within their vocabulary. He didn’t want to have to pay for a lock replacement due to his brothers’ (most likely Todd with Drake & Grayson laughing at him) lock picking habit.

The Ice Prince was back with full force. He had just been... influenced by all the other couples. Yes he did respect Dupain-Cheng and he appreciated her company & pleasant conversations. He would struggle to hide a small smile at the memory of the dance, even if he denied himself the happiness of normality, he felt content when reminiscing.

“Ooo the Ice Prince is here, did he have a fight with his princess or something?” The voice seemed to mock him.

“The Disney Magic is gone. The demon is back.”

Everybody talks

At the second jeer he shot a glare at the perpetrator. Jon held his hands up in an ‘I surrender manner’, laughing as he joined Damian at his side. The two entered the school’s large foyer and looked to see if any of the classes were open yet. Sadly they weren’t, before he was wrong and the his class was plain torture but this was truely hell.

He saw Dupain-Cheng sitting alone on the stairs, drawing within her sketchpad. He wondered how a girl like her, who always seemed to be involved in other’s lives (for the better) was ignoring all of the comments about her. She felt his focus centre on her, eyes flicking up to meet his, she provided him with a small wave before continuing to draw.

Jon nudged him with an elbow to his ribs and dragged him off to the side, into the boy’s locker rooms. Jon scowled at the door, “It’s a mad house out there. You’ve heard what some people are saying right?”

“Why would I care about these imbeciles?”

Jon jabbed Damian in the chest, causing the demon to stumble. Green eyes darted from blue eyes to the tan finger. “You care when lies hurt people you care about.”

The day began to rapidly decline once the two dance partners took their seats, next to each other. They had both been placed up the back of the class and them sitting together hadn’t been a problem until now apparently. She wasn’t even safe when the teacher started their lecture, whispers and glances were cast towards them. Once the two got to biology it was better, Ms Mendeleiev was a strict teacher and was able to control the class.

Everybody talks

But the recess came. When the bell rang she slowly started packing up her equipment, Alix and Max (who she shared biology with) waited for her; she watched as the Ice Prince left through the door. She knew she didn’t need to be concerned about her friends joining in with the gossiping, if anything they would dispel people and tell them to ‘Mind their own fucking business’ because this whole situations is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

She did receive some slight teasing from Alix about being a Disney princess, but Marinette quipped back about the skater’s fairytale story being ‘Pinknette, the Geek and the Beast’. The three met up with the other two of their group, they had just come from geography. Kim was complaining that Argentina was a state in America.

“That’s Arkansas you idiot!” Chloe shrieked, lightly hitting his arm with her white handbag. Max held his head in his hand as he approached, how had his tutoring sessions failed so badly?

Chloe turned to Marinette, a smile forming from her glare. The blonde examined the designer’s clothing, nodding. “You look like you are about to have a hot girl summer.”

Marinette’s face burned, the tips of her ears coated in red. Alix chuckled and nudged her shoulder.

Everybody talks

“Look at her, she is so desperate for his attention that she probably copied those designs.”

“Why do you think he danced with her anyways? Maybe she has something on him? I mean, she forces him to sit next to her in class, who knows what else she has done.”

What. The. Fuck.

Chloe glowered towards Lila’s posy. “We have a fucking seating plan, those cretins-“ She made a motion to storm over but was caught by the ravenette, looking back to Mari, her rage decreased from a boil to a simmer.

“No Chlo. It’s fine, it’s not worth it.”

Everybody talks... back

The group walked out to the school’s front steps, it was a mad house... a mad courtyard? Students sitting on the stairs, on the grass and standing around mingling, all of them now were staring at her. She held her backpack close to her chest (she had swapped her signature coin-bag purse for the pastel pink bag), pretending its a shield. Her friends circled around her becoming an obstacle to prevent their stares. If people were afraid of a scowling Kim then they don’t know the scorn of Chloe or Alix’s bite. And Max, sweet quiet Max.... you better hope he doesn’t have blackmail on you (he probably does), he can dismantle your life with a single anonymous post.

Rushed footsteps approached them. The group was broken apart by a rude Wayne boy, he swept Mari away from the school and the gossip crowds within. Her four friends shouted at him and he kept walking, shooting a glare at them in response. He kept pushing Marinette forward with a hand placed on the small of her back, her backpack was now swung over his other shoulder.

They ended up in her favourite alcove. She had brought him here with the other Gotham transfers for a native’s tour of Paris. It had always been her safe place to be creative.

It started with a whisper (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“My apologises for our rushed departure but you seemed to want to get out of their anyhow.” His gruff tone danced through the silence, his head still peaking around the corner; watching for any unwelcome guests.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost being carried off by the gentle wind. A genuine smile illustrated upon her face.

“We weren’t able to converse after the events of the other night. I would like to formally apologise once more for my actions causing this adverse reaction. If I had kn-“

“You don’t need to apologise!” She squeaked, hiding her eyes behind her fisted hand. Her shoulders curled inwards as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible, a side effect of her common use of her secondary miraculous form: Multimouse.

“I chose to dance with you, you don’t need to apologise for my own actions.” He stared at her with confusion. He had taken the blame so she wouldn’t need to do so herself; but she had taken it anyways. He had given her an out. Why does she always take the blame, even for things out of her control?

“But if I hadn’t danced with you then you wouldn’t have been the focus of the entire school.”

Marinette stepped forward, her eyes hardened and blazing. “Damian Friday night I went there out of obligation to my friends, I didn’t want to be there. But dancing with you? That was the highlight of my week, probably my month too. I enjoyed our time together.” Her face softened, lips twitched downwards ever so slightly. “I don’t regret anything about that night, but do you?”

He was bad at comfort. Everyone in his family avoided him when they were in need, he plainly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t visibly upset but he sensed that she is disappointed that he apparently didn’t share the same opinion of the night. The only thing he regretted about that night was letting Jon call him a coward, but then again if he didn’t he never would have danced with Dupa- Marinette.

He picked up her clenched hand, the tension in her body alleviated at his embrace. He remembered how Grayson would apologise to Kor’i or how his father interacted with Ms Kyle. He brought their hands up and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

And that was when I kissed her (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“I do not regret anything either—“ he cleared his throat, “In fact, I’d appreciate if we would be able to interact more, especially outside of that cesspit.”

Was he...?

It didn’t matter.

She smiled the same dazzling smile she gave him at the dance. She nodded while laughing, “I’d love that.”

Everybody talks

The two stay talking, hidden within their secret alcove for the rest of the day. She texted her parents to say she was with a friend and would be back later that night. Damian didn’t bother texting his family, Marinette knew he had to be back soon due to his dorm’s curfew.

The sun was setting at they walked back together, he did the gentlemanly thing and dropped her off at her bakery door. She could see her mother behind the register inconspicuously looking over at the two of them. Damian’s lips quirked upwards, she was satisfied with his kinda-smile.

He walked back, hands in pockets and a neutral expression upon his face instead of a scowl. He reached his door and took his keys, he found that it was already open. Damn.

His family was splayed out within his two roomed dorm. Todd and Drake were fighting over a place to sit on his bed, whilst his father sat at his desk, watching the commotion. The three of them turned to him as he enter the room, they were the only family members able to attend on short notice; Cain had a ballet audition, Gordon & Brown had concert tickets for tomorrow, Grayson had to take care of Mar’i while Kor’i was on Tamaran and Alfred stayed to ensure no one died during their night time activities.

“We need to talk Damian.” His father stood, leaning onto the desk chair. “The school called and said you had an unexcused absence for half the day. Where were you Damian?”

Damian stared into his father’s eyes. He was fifteen, almost an adult, but was treated like he was ten again.

“I was with a friend.”

“Probably the girl from the dance. Marinette, right?” Todd mocked him. Damian snapped his head in the direction of his bed, glaring at both his brothers.

“That’s what I want to talk about with you Damian. Now I don’t know her personally but from what we’ve discovered through our investigation we have some concerns. What’s happened Damian?”

The youngest Wayne’s glare shifted off of his brothers to the floor, and then finally to his father; his family sitting in wait for his answer. Straightening his posture, his shoulders clicked as he rolled then back. His statement’s tone was sure and steady, “Everybody talks father.”

Everybody talks... back

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Michelle Kiefer

Michelle has 55 stories at Gossamer. If you haven’t read them, what are you waiting for?! She has great takes on Mulder and Scully. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her fics here before, including Christmas in California, Making Other Plans, and Six Inch Valley. Big thanks to Michelle for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I’m not sure anyone is still reading my stories.  I haven’t migrated my X-Files ones to AO3. I don’t think Gossamer provides any viewing statistics. I’d be very happy to hear that people still like my work.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

My X-Files fandom experience was amazing.  I remember that sense of excitement and immediacy.  It was thrilling to write stories (and read those of other authors, of course) in an active fandom for a show that was on the air.  It was truly my first experience in an online world--a parallel world to my real life existence.  I learned how to keep a foot in each world.  As I recall, it was very hard to keep my focus in my “meat” world, when the online one was so fast moving and thrilling.  But I did get some balance in my life as time went on.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Message boards and mailing lists were my experience.  They were primitive compared to the pretty screens now.  I forged some amazing friendships, some of them with people I discovered lived relatively near me.  All I wanted to do was discuss episodes and fic.  The flame wars were a little intimidating, but also amusing if you didn’t get swept up.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

I was very passionate about the fandom--as I said, there were times when my online life seemed to overpower my real life experiences.  I learned to manage that, and think I’m all the better for that.  And I found some amazing friendships that are active and thriving today.  I learned a lot about writing with XF fanfic.  The level of quality was stunning.  A decent percentage of fic were as good or better than traditional published fiction.  But there were so many writers!  I wanted to make an impact on the fanfiction world, but that meant taking my writing very seriously and learning to develop a story, pace that story, make it compelling and believable.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had a couple of coworkers that talked about the show all the time.  I was curious, so I watched an episode.  I believe it was the cannibal town one.  I thought David Duchovny was odd looking and wasn’t terribly impressed.  But I tried another episode - Wetwired, which blew me away with the morgue scene when Mulder thinks he’s going to identify Scully’s body.  Ah...I thought, now, I see what everyone is talking about!  And from then I was hooked.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

As I watched, I wanted more.  I was fairly new to the internet (frankly, the internet was new to almost everyone)  I found episode reviews, and some of them were fantastic.  Some mentioned fanfiction.  I was unaware of such a thing, though to be honest, since childhood, I’d been spinning stories in my head about characters on TV shows.  I found some fanfic. The first couple of stories were not great (at least one was horrible) but then I found some that were very good.  Probably a bit soap-operaish, but still readable.  And then I became voracious as I plowed through the mass of stories looking for the good stuff.  And boy was there good stuff.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I’m not estranged from it, but I don’t spend much time with it after all these years.  I’ve found fanfic in some other shows that I like and only occasionally read old XF stories.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I’ve not been as involved with any other fandoms, i.e. following commentary on the show.  I tend to dive into TV shows well after their heyday, so I’m always late to the party. I do read fanfic from other shows, and have actually written fanfic for other shows, but I need a really good idea to write.  None of the other fandoms for my other shows are as busy and active as XF, even ones currently in production.  And none of them have as much fanfic and certainly not the level of brilliance that we had in XF.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I tend to go for interesting partnerships, very much in the XF fashion.  And a flawed hero is always a plus!  The partnerships don’t necessarily have to be romantic---in fact I find I prefer those that are not.  Really, Mulder and Scully were the only ones I felt deeply as a pairing, probably due to the chemistry between the actors. But the partnerships have to be well-balanced and realistic.  I loved the characters on Sleepy Hollow.  The two main characters were very much in the mold of Mulder/Scully.

My newest passion is British detective shows and I’ve completely fallen for the “Morse-verse” shows, Inspector Morse, Inspector Lewis and Endeavour.  Less of an XF feel, but compelling characters with interesting backstories.  Other favorite partnerships in the British detective genre are on Inspector Lynley and Broadchurch.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

A bit less now, though I’m still involved with a wonderful group of ladies who love the X-Files.  When we get together for a yearly weekend, we binge episodes and eat impressive amounts of junk food.  XF isn’t on network TV these days, but if it was, I’d probably watch it.

A couple of years ago, I listened to Kumail Nanjiani’s XF podcast on my long commute.  I loved the commentary and interviews so much that I did watch some old episodes.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don’t read much XF fic.  I’m currently reading in some other fandoms, but it’s harder to find good stories--the ones I follow aren’t very active these days and the quality just isn’t what XF was.  We were so lucky.  We had maybe 20 incredible top authors at any one time, then maybe another tier of 50 to 100  good to maybe great writers.  And with new episodes, there was so much inspiration. We were so spoiled.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Everything from Syntax6, MaybeAmanda, Kel.  A special story for me was “Strangers and the Strange Dead” by Kipler because I remember reading that very early in the morning in my unheated basement in the winter because that was the only time I could use our single computer without others in the family complaining.  I remember actually gasping at the big reveal in the story.  I can even remember the story’s opening line!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I was just learning how to write fiction when I was involved in XF, so I’m not sure my best work is there, though the bulk of my stories are there.  I liked some of the work I did with others.  I wrote Bone of Contention and Out of the Everywhere with Kel and I think that those stories got the best aspects of both of our styles.  For stories I wrote myself, I think they’re not bad, but they are rather short and it’s always easier to maintain a theme and style for a short story.  I liked Black Cherry Velvet.  I’m writing some Inspector Lewis stories that I think are pretty good--they benefit from the years of experience that I was gaining through XF.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Never say never, but I probably won’t write more XF.  I used to burn with it, but I think that got burned out a bit.  Still, I have such wonderful memories of the whole period.  It might be worth looking at again.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

As I mentioned, I am currently playing in the Inspector Lewis world.  It’s sad--it’s a very small and not terribly active fandom.  Sad that my best work is in an inactive fandom where I’m lucky if 20 or 30 people are reading them.  It doesn’t help that I don’t write the most popular pairing.  

But I’m really enjoying it.  I occasionally write for Man From Uncle, which really shows my age, as that was a childhood obsession.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

With XF, it was always a take on an episode--did I get a tiny idea that I wanted to develop, or was I not thrilled with the way something went on the show.  Now,  it’s usually a “what if” kind of thing where I get inspired by a possible event and explore how that would play out, i.e.  “What if this character had a one night stand resulting in an unplanned pregnancy?”  What would happen?  How would he handle the consequences of this?  How would it change his life?

What's the story behind your pen name?

It’s literally my own name.  I SOOOO wish I’d used a pen name.  But I was naive and fandom was so new to me that it never occurred to me that a pen name would be better.  I always told myself that my real name sounded like something made up, like a TV newscaster name, and I hoped people assumed it was a pen name.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My husband and my kids were the only ones who knew about it for many years. Then I went to a fandom/fic gathering for three days and had to explain to a few other family members and my work mates why I was going to Chicago on my own. It’s still mostly a need to know thing and they don’t really need to know.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I’m on AO3 as msk.  And everything I wrote for XF is on Gossamer.

(Posted by Lilydale on February 2, 2021)

[fific7]

Velvet

Billy Russo x Reader

@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: This follows on from That Swept-Back Hair, approx 8 months later. Things have changed.

Warnings: TBI, memory loss, mentions of sex, angst/fluff mix.

A/N: Loosely based on S2 Billy Russo, but this is non-canon and exists solely within my imaginary Punisher AU. In fact, who is The Punisher? It’s really just The Frankie & Billy Show!

(The little double blink he does as he’s drinking gets me right in the 🖤)

(My GIF)

Your hand glided across the top and then back over Billy’s shorn velvety head, feeling the soft prickliness of the short hairs against your palm. They’d shaved his head when he’d arrived at the hospital prior to surgery.

You still weren’t totally comfortable with the new look, however you knew it’d been unavoidable, and that was that.

It had started growing back a little, and you didn’t want to think about why they were still keeping it short.

His eyelashes fluttered but his eyes remained closed; you sighed and settled yourself back against the uncomfortable seat, ready for another hour’s silent visit.

The sunlight stealing through the venetian blinds threw highlights and shadows onto Billy’s face, and you felt a sudden need to touch his skin. Your fingers ran over his face, feeling each ridge of his scars.

How was Billy going to react when he saw them, you wondered. Let’s be honest, he was a vain man and his good looks had made up a large part of his persona. You didn’t think he was going to take it very well.

It takes a lot of courage for people with disabilities, burns and scars to brave the stares and whispers of others, when all they really want to do is to hide away. The world can be a cruel place, and they have to dig down deep within themselves to find the strength to deal with it.

As you sat there with Billy’s unresponsive hand clasped in yours, your mind drifted back to an awful day, two months ago.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Two short months. How quickly everything can change in a heartbeat.

You and Billy had made a go of things after the Firefighter Affair, as Karen called it. During the six months following it, you’d found yourself in an actual, real-life relationship with Billy, much to your surprise - and intense pleasure.

He’d still spend long hours at Anvil, he had to keep building up the business and you understood that. What you weren’t so happy about was that he was still very much ’hands on’ with the assignments, as if he didn’t want to let go of the reins to a large extent. Inside, there would always be a piece of Lt. Russo, right alongside CEO Russo.

On the other hand, he had to get used to you jetting round the globe on short trips for your new job, which you were loving.

To begin with, there were sulks and jealous outbursts mainly about ’all those foreign guys’ but he chilled a little after you reassured him you had no interest in hooking up with any of them. “Better not, sweetheart,” he’d growled, dark eyes staring you down.

Both of you had made sure you spent time together in between your busy schedules; breakfasts, lunches, dinners, movies, walks and picnics in the park. Taking turns at staying over at each other’s places.

Yes, you’d breached the panther’s den, a huge victory in your mind as none of his other women had ever set foot in it. Hell, some of your clothes and toiletries had made their way into his wardrobe and bathroom, and vice versa.

And, of course, the incredible sex.

Billy was as energetic, sensual and inventive between the sheets as ever. And sometimes he was just pure caveman. You’d be showering in the morning, Billy would strut naked into the bathroom, and you’d hear, “Showering without me, sweetheart?” Hands grabbing you, arms going round you, and you’d be laying on the bath towels on the floor in an instant.

Billy, hovering above you, his body pressing down on yours, eyes gazing at you, “I think you need a little disciplining, angel,” his mouth and hands all over you. You’d thread your fingers through his hair, giving a not-so-gentle tug, there’d be an answering grunt, Billy revving up, ready to give you the best time you’d have that day.

Things were going really well, much better than you’d expected. At first, doubts had still clouded your mind about Billy’s ability to stay faithful, but... there was no evidence to the contrary, he was behaving himself and nothing but very attentive to you. You were now on his arm at every event he attended.

Then, an unexpected phone call one morning as you were getting ready for work. A hospital administrator, who said that you were receiving the call because your name and number were on Billy Russo’s emergency contact list.

Everything stopped, frozen in the moment, as you automatically assumed the worst.

Your brain finally kicked in and began to filter some of what she was saying back to you. Eventually you gathered that Billy had been caught up in an explosion and had been badly injured. Like, really badly injured. She wouldn’t give you any other details over the phone, but agreed when you asked if you could visit him. She did warn you, however, that he wasn’t conscious.

You were scrambling round your apartment, looking for jacket, shoes, bag, when your phone rang again. Karen. You picked up, and heard her trembling voice saying your name and spilling that Frank had been injured in an explosion. Again, you stopped in your tracks.

It dawned on you now why you got the phone call from the hospital, as you were sure Frank would be at the top of Billy’s contact list.

You hadn’t even thought about Frank, that he could’ve been injured too. You felt a stab of guilt.

Agreeing to meet at the hospital, you hung up, dropped a quick explanatory text to your boss, and rushed out to begin your trek over there.

You met up outside the main entrance and stepped into the chaos of the ER. Eventually you were led to a small side room and informed that the attending doctor would come and find you as soon as they could.

Both of you sat and speculated on the severity of their injuries, and what the ‘incident’ could have been. The guys didn’t discuss the nitty-gritty of their work with you, due mainly to the sensitive nature of the assignments.

Karen called into work, firstly to explain her absence and secondly, to ask if there was anything being reported as a major incident, but there was nothing.

A couple of days later, she’d managed to discover that Anvil had got a contract to bodyguard a government official from a Middle Eastern country, and dissidents from there had ambushed him on his way from the airport into the city, slamming their SUV into an escort car and causing its gas tank to explode a few minutes later. That’s what Frank and Billy managed to get caught up in.

The doctor came and collected Karen, saying that Frank was conscious but dazed, and she’d give her more details about his injuries as they walked to his room.

Once you were left alone, the wait began to feel endless. Your mind was circling like a washing machine stuck on the spin cycle; Frank was conscious, Billy wasn’t, Frank was conscious, Billy... why wasn’t Billy conscious?

Eventually, the doctor returned for you, but sat down on one of the plastic hospital chairs rather than leading you to his room. She had that sympathetic but business-like look on her face, the one medical people seemed to adopt when they had bad news to impart.

You found yourself thinking that they had to maintain a bit of distance, otherwise they probably wouldn’t be able to do their job.

She started speaking, telling you that Billy had received his injuries in an explosion, and had sustained lacerations from shrapnel, a dislocated shoulder and a broken foot. But the most serious one had been a substantial concussion which had caused a small bleed on the brain, and this had required immediate surgery.

Swelling of the brain had also caused complications, and Billy had been placed into a medically-induced coma.

She’d stood up then and you’d followed her along several corridors, repeating ‘shrapnel’ over and over in your mind. The doctor had stopped outside a door with a small rectangular window inset above the handle, turning to face you.

“He’s suffered quite a lot of facial scarring, and is quite heavily bandaged... I just wanted to warn you.”

You felt tears stinging your eyes.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Karen had texted you about 30 minutes later, asking if you wanted to stay or go.

To be quite honest, you’d be glad to leave the oppressive little room; the beeping of the machines and rhythmic clicking of the ventilator had been making you feel tense, and a headache was forming behind your eyes.

And Billy’s bandaged head and face - you felt guilty for thinking this - looked like something out of a horror movie.

The two of you met outside the main entrance and headed to a coffee shop you could see on the opposite corner. You had no idea if it had decent coffee but it surely couldn’t be any worse than the dishwater the hospital passed off as a drinkable beverage. Karen caught you up on Frank’s condition as you walked over there.

He had a couple of dislocated joints, two broken fingers, cuts and bruises. Where he’d lucked out - so to speak - was that he’d avoided getting concussed.

Once you’d got your distinctly average coffee, you relayed the details of Billy’s injuries to Karen, and she’d been shocked that he was in such a serious condition.

There was going to be a long old journey ahead to get Billy back on his feet.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

They brought Billy out of the induced coma just short of three weeks later. The brain swelling had definitely been a worry, but they weren’t keen on keeping him under much longer. However, more concerning was the fact that he didn’t wake up of his own accord once the medically induced coma was reversed.

The mummy-like bandages had been removed at the same time, revealing angry-looking red scars. The nurses had been applying oils and balm to them several times a day, and this had helped to calm them quite a lot. But you knew they were still going to be a big shock to Billy.

Frank, out of hospital by then and keeping things ticking over at Anvil, didn’t say much - as was his way - but you knew that both he and Karen were as worried as you were about this unsettling turn of events.

You tried to maintain a positive front, but on occasion found yourself literally sobbing on Karen’s shoulder when it got too much to handle.

You fell into a strange kind of half-life; working as usual then heading out to the hospital each evening to sit and talk to Billy, holding his hand. You ate at odd hours, slept erratically, disturbed by bad dreams, usually about Billy never regaining consciousness.

And so it went; work, hospital, eat, sleep, repeat. Day after soul-destroying day.

Today, at lunch-time you were on your way out to grab something to eat when your phone rang, an unknown number. Praying it wasn’t some annoying cold-caller, you picked up to find yourself speaking to a doctor from the hospital. You stopped walking; you usually didn’t hear from them, they usually had nothing new to tell you.

Three minutes later, you were running back up to your office, to let your boss know that Billy was awake and you had to get to the hospital. “Go, go, Y/N,” he said, “and keep me posted!”

In the back of an Uber, you texted Frank and Karen to give them the good news, saying you’d be in touch later once you’d been able to see him.

You really hoped the traffic wouldn’t be too bad, you were majorly anxious to get to Billy. In case he lost consciousness again before you saw him.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your feet took you through the entrance hall, into the lifts and up to Billy’s floor without any conscious input from you, as you’d taken the same route so many times. You waited impatiently at the nurses’ station, your head whipping round as you heard your name.

The doctor took you into the small side room again; so, a chat before you got to see Billy. The doctor had that same look on her face.

“Billy’s awake, but he’s a little disorientated. Y/N... he’s experiencing some amnesia. From what we can gather, he thinks he’s still a serving Marine in Afghanistan.”

Your heart sank; you supposed it had been naive to think he’d wake up and things would magically be back to how they used to be.

“But that’s normal, right? After a head trauma.”

She nodded, “Yes. And all or some memory can be recovered. But as you probably know, there are no hard and fast rules about if or when that will happen. There are no guarantees when it comes to amnesia.”

You gulped, nodding to show you understood.

The doctor reached into her top pocket, bringing out a card and handing it to you. “We have a psychotherapist affiliated to the hospital, a Dr Dumont. In fact, I think she was planning to assess Billy in the next day or so. She’s got several vets on her books, I’m sure she’d be happy to take him on.”

You handed the card back to her. “Thanks, but we’ve already got counselling set up for Billy. An ex-Marine buddy of his, who supports and counsels vets. He’ll be a lot more comfortable with Curtis. Please thank her but let her know we don’t require her help.” The doctor looked a little sceptical but nodded and tucked the card away.

She stood up, waiting for you to do so and then walked with you along the familiar corridors to Billy’s room. “Has he mentioned anyone’s names when you’ve talked to him? Me, Frank, Karen?” A shake of her head, “No, sorry. As I said, he’s quite disorientated.”

You nodded, asking, “Has he seen his scars yet?” Again, she shook her head, “We thought that might be a bit too much for him on his first day awake. If he’s run his hand over his face, he’ll have felt them of course, but there are no mirrors in the room or bathroom.” You nodded, “Thanks, Doctor. I think that’s for the best. I won’t mention it unless he asks me directly.”

She left you outside the door, and taking a deep breath, you opened it and went in.

The figure in the bed had wrapped his sheets round him, right up to his neck. He was curled up on his side, facing away from the door, a defensive position it seemed. You approached the bed, feeling that he knew you were there, but there was no movement.

“Billy?” you said quietly, “it’s me, Y/N.” No response.

Then his head turned towards you, and you had your first sight of his dark eyes in a long time, gazing at you over his shoulder. But you saw instantly there was no recognition in them, and you had to look down to hide your disappointment.

He began to sit up, struggling against the sheet cocoon he’d created, and you leant forward, reshuffling his pillows. He sank back into them, still staring at you. You drank in the sight of him, awake; you’d really begun to think that he’d never regain consciousness.

“We know each other, then,” he suddenly said, a statement, not a question. Voice low and raspy, no doubt due to the recently-removed ventilator.

“We do, Billy,” you replied, “we’ve been seeing each other. An item, as they say.”

He nodded slowly, “For how long?” You pulled up a chair alongside the bed, “Six months.”

He gave a low chuckle, and now his eyes flickered up and down your body as you sat down next to him, before returning to meet your eyes. His had a slight glint in them.

“So we’ve slept together. We have good times?”

You smiled, nodding, “Very good times, Billy.”

He gave you the Billy smirk, and you knew that your Billy was definitely still in there somewhere.

His demeanour suddenly changed, he looked worried. His eyes dropped down onto his hands.

“I don’t know who you are.”

The flat statement took your breath away. You knew he didn’t recognise you, but hearing it said straight out like that hit you like a slap in the face.

He stared at you again, while you tried to arrange your face into a neutral expression. “Sorry,” he mumbled, one hand gesturing in the air at nothing.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted his hand and entwined your fingers with his, “It’s OK, it’s OK,” you said, although truthfully it wasn’t.

It hurt your heart that he didn’t recognise you, but the amnesia was to blame, and you couldn’t lay a guilt trip on him about it.

He was still gazing at you, and you continued, “I’m here, Billy and I... we.... are all here for you.” Squeezing his hand, “Me, Frank, Curtis, Karen, we’ll get you through this, I promise.”

Tears welled in his eyes, and his fingers gripped yours.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Once back in the privacy of your apartment, you filled in the others on a group call. Frank rumbled down the phone, “So he thinks he’s still serving?” “Apparently so. That’s what he told the doctor. I didn’t want to push it on my first visit. I’m heading back later and I’ll try to talk to him a bit more.” Karen asked if he knew about the scarring yet, and you said no, he’d admitted he was in quite a bit of pain, but all over, not just his face.

Curtis butted in at that point, saying that some of his guys had mentioned this Dr Dumont you’d told them about. “Yeah, she’s got some... weird ideas, they said. Masks and shit.” What? You asked him to elaborate and he’d told you the little he knew. “Well, I’m glad I kicked that idea into touch,” you replied, “none of that stuff is gonna help Billy get better, I’m sure of that.”

When you got back to the hospital, Billy was sitting up in bed, and spent the first five minutes you were in the room just staring intently at you. You’d gently questioned him as to how he was feeling, was he eating, drinking, sleeping, but got no response.

Then he’d shaken his head, as if trying to clear it, and asked, “Am I still in Afghanistan?”

You and he then spent a little time talking about what he remembered, probing to see how far back his memories went. He did think he was still in the Marines, thought he was on a tour, but couldn’t remember who he was serving with, could see some faces but didn’t recall names. You were keen to get Frank and Curtis in to see him, maybe it would help if he was face to face with them.

You could see he was getting tired, so you pushed your chair back, about to stand up, when his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. It was such a Billy thing to do, you heard yourself gasp.

He looked at you, then down at his hand on your wrist, “Shouldn’t I have done that?” You smiled, “It’s just such a normal thing for you to do it took me by surprise, Billy.”

“I’m always grabbin’ your wrist?” You laughed out loud, “Amongst other things!”

He laughed too, and you were so happy to hear that sound.

“We need to be talking about all-a that.” He tugged on your wrist, “And I reckon I need a kiss.”

You shook your head, smiling, “Maybe soon, Billy, right now you need to concentrate on getting better.”

“But I think it’d help!” giving you a sly side-eye, “jog my memory.”

You leant in, “How can you think about kissing when you’ve been through a major trauma?!” but you were craving the closeness with him, after weeks without it.

His hand suddenly went from your wrist to the nape of your neck, pulling you half on top of him, and you were thinking that some things didn’t change when his lips met yours.

You’d been imagining a fairly quick, chaste ‘getting to know you again’ kiss, so you were surprised when you felt his tongue sneaking past your lips, his other hand moving smoothly onto the swell of your breast, massaging firmly, and you could feel his arousal under you.

You pushed back, looking at him with a smile.

“Marine! Stand down.”

It was a stupid cheesy thing you’d always said to him, even before you were properly dating.

He stared at you, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, “That.. what you just said. It feels familiar.”

You nodded, “That’s good, Billy... I’m happy about that, I say it to you all the time. It’s our little joke.”

He lay back on his pillows, mood changing suddenly, staring at you. “Why d’you shove me away? I was kissin’ you, had my hands on you, wasn’t that familiar to you, Y/N?”

You stroked his arm. “Billy, I didn’t shove you away. I just need you to remember that you’ve suffered a major trauma, you need to be calm, concentrate on getting better...” He was looking tired, head nestling back into his pillows.

You stood up, picking up your bag, “I’m gonna head home now, let you get your rest. I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” You leant forward and kissed his temple, “Sleep well.”

His eyes were already closed as you pulled back from the kiss.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The four of you met up at the hospital mid-morning the next day. Karen and Curtis sat down on chairs in the corridor, while you and Frank headed into Billy’s room.

You stopped in your tracks in the doorway, Frank bumping into you. There was a small, dark-haired woman sitting on a chair, side on to the door, with a clipboard on her knees.

But what had you both frozen to the spot was the sight of Billy, dressed in a tracksuit, sitting on a chair opposite her. He had a pure white mask on; two eye holes, a fully-formed nose, small slit for the mouth. It was damn scary-looking.

You took a few steps into the room, “Who are you?” you challenged the woman, although you had a good idea already. “And why is my boyfriend wearing that weird mask?”

She stared at you, “Boyfriend? Oh.. I didn’t realise...”

You decided to drop the innocent act. “Are you Dr Dumont? Because if you are, you can take your clipboard and your mask and get out of here. I asked the doctor yesterday to tell you that we already have counselling in place for Billy.”

“Well, yes she did, but about that... to be honest that’s why I decided to..” she looked over at Billy, “assess him in any case. I don’t feel that the counselling you mention would be right for...”

“Doctor!” you hissed, and she stopped talking. “You are treading a very thin line here. I haven’t asked or authorised you to see Billy, so I will ask you again, please take your theatre props and go.”

You’d walked over to Billy as you’d been talking, and stripped the mask off him, holding it out to her. Billy’s wide dark eyes were gazing up at you.

She stood up and snatched the mask from you, placing it on top of her clipboard. With a very condescending smile, she said, “I’m telling you, you’re making a big mistake.”

“Get out! Now,” you said, glaring at her.

The door banged shut behind her, and you said as Frank walked over to you, “Unbelievable! Billy’s had a lucky escape from that quack, I reckon.”

Frank nodded, placing his beefy paw on Billy’s shoulder. Billy’s eyes were searching his face.

“Bill,” Frank growled, “‘s me, Frankie. I’m here for ya.” He tightened his grip on the shoulder under his hand. “I got your back, bud.”

You could both tell that he didn’t yet recognise Frank. But he did recognise the comfort the words gave him.

“Frankie,” he murmured.

Then he looked to you. “Y/N?...right?” You nodded, fighting to keep your expression blank. Still not sure of you, even your name. You caught Frank sending you a sympathetic glance.

You took his hand, rubbing your thumb over his skin. Billy had a puzzled look on his face as he looked up at you.

“Why’d she put that mask on me, Y/N? My face hurts. Don’t I look good?”

Your mouth drew into a line, and you quickly glanced at Frank.

“Billy, you look as good as you always did.”

“Did I look good?”

“Yes, you looked so handsome,” you replied, “a beautiful man.”

That small smile, dark eyes sparkling at you.

“And do I still look good?”

You ran your hand down the back of his velvety head, feeling him shiver as your fingers trailed onto his neck, pleased with his response to your touch.

“Yes, you do, Billy,” you answered honestly, because as far as you were concerned, he did.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Additional A/N: DUMONT 🥊 POW! 🥊 how it would’ve gone down if I’d written S2 😉 And thank you Tumblr for totally eating the draft of this last night, really enjoyed re-typing it.

[misskikuwrites]

Shattered Glass

Bederia Week 2021: Day 2 - First Date

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

Tags: fluff, angst 

Words: 8,328

@bede-x-gloria

-

Gloria curled her legs beneath her on the wooden chair, holding the steaming mug of tea close for warmth. Spring had finally come to Galar, but the spacious Pokemon Lab in Wedgehurst carried a lingering chill in the air. That was probably part of the reason why Hop always wore his lab coat. Otherwise, it was the sense of pride and achievement that drove him to don it day after day- he wore it with his head high, sitting across from Gloria at the dining table nestled by the entrance to the lab. She couldn't begin to feel cold, or worry about it, with bigger things on her mind. 

 "What am I going to do, Hop?" she sighed. "The Gala is next week."

 He sipped at his coffee, unperturbed. "So? Do what you did last year- if you get asked to dance, turn them down. Simple." 

 "It's not simple. I got away with that last time because it was my first year as Champion. This time, I'm expected to socialise- and that means dancing. If I decline everyone who asks me, it'll be a serious… what's the word? Faux pas?"

 Hop's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Never thought you'd care about social expectations. Especially when it comes to rich, snobby expectations." 

 She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "You don't understand- I'm the Champion. I have to care about these things now, I don't have a choice. It's either conform to their rules, or get eaten alive by the rich, snobby people and journalists alike. Also, those 'rich, snobby people' are the ones sponsoring the League. I have to appeal to them."

 Which meant dancing. Dancing and socialising with people who wouldn't have glanced at her twice if she wasn't the Champion.

 "I see your problem." Hop nodded slowly. "Guess I'm lucky that no one will be paying any attention to me. No one's going to ask the Pokemon Professor's assistant to dance." 

 "You'll have to dance with me at least once," she said. "But you're right. It's me they'll be looking at, not you." 

 Gloria sighed again. She stared down at her tea, the churning in her stomach sucking away her desire to drink it.

 "A week." She drummed her fingers against the ceramic mug, anxiously tapping away. "How am I going to learn to dance in a week?" 

 "A better question is who's going to teach you," Hop said. 

 "Who'll be willing to teach me and keep their mouth shut," Gloria added with a huff. "The last thing I want is an instructor blabbing to journalists about my inability to dance." 

 "What if you didn't go to an official instructor?" Hop asked. "What if, instead, you went to someone who knew how to dance themselves and could teach you? Someone we know isn't going to sell you out to the press." 

 "You know someone like that?" 

 He smiled. "We both do." 

 There was something about the twinkle in his eyes that unsettled her, something suspicious. 

 "Who?" Gloria asked. 

 "Bede." 

 She blinked at him. "Bede?" 

 Hop nodded, smile widening. "He's part of the Ballonlea Theatre- there's a lot of dancing in those plays. He's probably been taught to dance since he became the Fairy Gym Leader, and I bet he'd be willing to teach you." 

 She pursed her lips at that idea. Hop was right- most likely, Bede already knew how to dance. She couldn't remember much from the first League Gala she'd attended, it was all so much of a blur, of faces and names she couldn't remember, dazzled by the luxurious hall, the music, the food, the lights. She'd been swept away by the whole experience. She hadn't paid attention to anyone she knew save for Hop, who she'd managed to persuade to come as her date. 

 "Maybe…" she said, mulling it over. 

 "Maybe?" Hop gave her an unimpressed look. "You've got a week to learn how to dance well enough to fit in with people who've had years of practice. Who else is going to be willing to teach you on such short notice?" 

 Gloria grumbled in her throat. "I know, but…" 

 "But?" 

 How could she explain what she was feeling when even she didn't know herself? The jumble of emotions inside her was confusing enough without having to voice it to someone else. 

 "I guess you're right," she sighed. She had to face the facts one way or another. "I don't really have any other options, do I?" 

 "Not since you left it so late, you don't," Hop said. He nodded to her pointedly. "Come on, call him." 

 She blinked. "Now?"

 "Yes, now! The sooner, the better!" 

 It was too soon, too sudden, and her heart began to race in her chest. She froze for a second until Hop's stare spurred her to move, and she dug out her phone with fumbling fingers. 

 "Fine, fine. I'll call him," she huffed and clicked through her contacts for Bede's number. 

 Hop stood from his chair and hurried around the table and into the seat beside her. He grinned, leaning close. 

 "What are you doing?" Gloria leant away from him, discomforted by the delight on his face. Her thumb hovered over Bede's number. 

 "It was my idea," Hop said. 

 Gloria frowned. "That doesn't mean you get to eavesdrop." 

 "You're stalling," he said, and jabbed at her phone. His finger tapped the screen, tapped Bede's number, calling him. 

 "Hey!" She balked. She scoffed at Hop, a beat of panic rising in her chest, before she decided enough was enough. 

 It was time to bite the bullet. 

 Gloria swallowed her grumble and held her phone to her ear, sending a sharp look at Hop as he leant close again. 

 Whatever, she thought, slightly disgruntled. He can listen if he wants.

 The ringing of her phone stopped, and Bede's smooth voice sounded into her ear. 

 "Morning, Gloria," he said. "I trust you're not calling because you've gotten yourself into another predicament so soon?" 

 His voice carried a hint of amusement, and already Gloria felt her cheeks begin to warm. Hearing his voice so close, as if he was speaking right into her ear, had a strange affect on her. 

 "That depends on what you mean by predicament," she said. 

 She curled a lock of her hair around her finger absently as she spoke. The way her heart fluttered in her chest, she needed something to do with her free hand to calm her nerves. She glanced at Hop. He nodded at her, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

 "Well, you know how the Gala is next week," Gloria began. "I was wondering if… by any chance you knew how to dance?" 

 "Of course I do. Who do you think you're asking?" Bede replied. 

 Hop rolled his eyes. Gloria sent him a hard look in return. Talking to Bede on the phone was difficult enough with her nerves on overdrive, she didn't need Hop's play-by-play reactions to everything. She resisted the urge to swat at him. 

 "That's what I was hoping," she said with a sheepish laugh, "see, I don't actually know how to dance. At all." A pause. "Would you be able to teach me?" 

 Gloria's cheeks burned as she forced that question out. It felt like it had taken all the air in her lungs just to ask, leaving her lightheaded and giddy. Anticipation seized her heart as a second of silence passed. 

 "I suppose I could clear up my schedule for you," Bede said. "Teaching you to dance sounds like it would be amusing, if not a decent way to pass the time. I can hardly leave you to stumble on the dance floor at the Gala and risk you denting the reputation of the League, can I?" 

 Gloria held her phone tighter. "Does that mean you'll teach me…?" 

 "I will," he said. "How does tomorrow morning sound? You've only got a week to learn, and I'd rather we start sooner than later. Although, with me as your teacher, I'll have you mastering the steps within a day or two, just you wait." 

 She turned her mind to tomorrow morning, quickly working through any plans she might have made. 

 "Tomorrow works for me," she said, nodding even though Bede couldn't see it. "I can come by the Gym at, say, nine o'clock?" 

 That'd give her enough time to wake up and prepare herself for the inevitable embarrassment she'd face in front of Bede. Although he's not one to make fun of her, she'd never danced in her life. 

 She heard the smile in Bede's voice when he replied. "It's a date," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

 "Okay!" Heart pounding, it came out as a squeak. "See you!" 

 A click sounded as Bede hung up, deafened by the drumming of her heart in her chest and the surging of blood between her ears. 

 A date. 

 She couldn't think. His words echoed in her mind. 

 It's a date. 

 It was when Gloria pulled her phone away from her ear, cheeks flushed, still feeling giddy and breathless, that she noticed the look Hop was giving her. He grinned from ear to ear, amusement twinkling in his eyes. 

 "What?" she asked, feeling her heart skip.

 "Your first date with Bede, huh?" Hop said, smirking. "I knew it was going to happen eventually, but-" 

 "It's not a date!" She cut him off as she flushed darker. Heat rose up her neck to pool across her face, embarrassment and indignation burning to the tips of her ears. 

 "He literally said, 'it's a date,' Gloria. It doesn't get more obvious than that," Hop said. 

 "It's just a phrase!" She folded her arms, meeting his smirk with a frustrated glare. "It doesn't mean anything- he doesn't like me like that, anyway!" 

 "Says who?"

 "Says me!" 

 Hop raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? Enough to bet on it?" 

 "Of course I'm sure!" Gloria huffed again. "Bede's not interested in someone like me." 

 That's right. The memory hit her square in the chest, winding her. A chill spread through her body, through her heart, as though she'd swallowed a block of ice. His type is someone so different to me, she remembered. The person Bede likes is… 

 Who? 

 Her stomach sank. She didn't want to think about that, about the person he'd described to her. Honest and diligent, the one Bede had spoken about seemed so far away from her, and she didn't know why it bothered her so much. 

 She didn't know why it bothered her at all. 

 Was there someone Bede would rather spend his time with? 

 "Ten thousand Poké," Hop said. He still wore his ridiculous grin, still taunting her. "I bet you ten thousand Poké that Bede has a crush on you." 

 Gloria frowned. The thought made her feel ill. "I don't want to bet on that," she said. 

 "Why? 'Cause you know I'm right?" 

 "Because I know you're wrong!" she huffed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "He already likes someone, and it isn't me, okay? I know because he told me."  

The smirk fell from Hop's face. "He told you that? When? Where? What did he say?" 

 "It doesn't matter," she said, turning away from him. 

 "Come on, Gloria. There's no way he likes someone else- trust me, I know for sure." 

 Hop placed a hand on her shoulder. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but it only served to enrage the storm churning in her gut. Nausea rose up her throat, she tasted bile. Her heart, having fallen into her stomach, pounding heavily with slow, rhythmic panic. 

 "Don't-" she swatted his hand away, "-don't say that. He doesn't like me, okay? And I don't want him to. I don't want anyone to." 

 Something squeezed tight in her chest. Crushing. Heavy. It sucked all the air from her lungs, made it impossible to breathe. 

 I don't want that, she thought, clamping her eyes shut as a wave of pain, of grief, crashed over her. I don't want love. 

 Love hurt. It brought suffering and heartache. It destroyed, leaving nothing but pain in its wake and scars that never heal. She'd seen what it had done to her mother, felt an echo of it herself. A monster wearing the guise of hopes and dreams.

 Gloria breathed out shakily, opening her eyes. She felt cold. 

 "I thought you liked him," Hop said slowly.

 Her heart thumped. "I don't," she said. "Not like that." 

 The weight in her voice struck a chord with Hop. His expression fell, and he looked away from her as realisation filled his eyes. 

 "You still don't want anything to do with love?" he asked. "Even after all this time? Even with Bede?" 

 A sliver of ice dug into her heart. "What does Bede have to do with that?" 

 "I thought… with him, it might be different for you," Hop said. "That you might stop denying yourself happiness if it was Bede." 

 Gloria stood abruptly. Clinched her hands at her sides, affronted by Hop's suggestion. She turned to him, stared him down. 

 "I'm not denying myself anything. I'm protecting myself. From pain, from grief, from the kind of hurt you've never experienced," she said, her voice a whisper, a hiss in the silence. "I don't need love to be happy." 

 She stalked from the lab, leaving Hop and his questions, his naive hope, behind. 

 -

 The next day, Gloria stood in her bedroom and tried to quell the nerves building in her chest. After her conversation with Hop, after she'd stormed out on him, the things he'd said kept returning to her mind. The way he'd gloated about it being Gloria's first date with Bede. The way he'd brushed aside her determination not to fall in love, as though her promise was paper thin, the flimsy words of a child, as though he knew better. 

 He knew nothing. Nothing of pain, of heartache, of grief. He didn't know what it was like to have a third of his family taken in an instant, to have his word turned upside down in a split second. Hop didn't know what it was like to be the only one left for his grieving mother to hold onto. 

 Gloria was all her mother had left. She grit her teeth, forced away the pain. Hop didn't understand, but that didn't mean he didn't care. His words had come from a place of kindness. He hadn't meant the damage he'd caused, she'd seen the hurt reflected in his eyes when she'd stormed out, the regret he'd been unable to voice. She hadn't given him a chance to. 

 In a way, in the deepest recess of her heart, Gloria feared that Hop was right. There was some truth to his words- something had shifted inside her when it came to Bede. Her guard slipped. She found herself wanting to be with him more, to know him more. The space he occupied inside her mind had grown to proportions she hadn't imagined possible, and he took over her thoughts when she least expected it. The slightest of things reminded her of him. The scent of tea, cookbooks in store windows, Great Balls in the hands of young trainers. 

 And there in her wardrobe hung the beautiful dress she'd bought for the Gala. Hidden in it's black protective sleeve, the floor-length dress was beautiful with a delicate lace bodice and flowing chiffon skirt. It was gorgeous - and expensive, she'd winced at the price tag when she'd glanced at it - but she'd been drawn to it for more than it's design alone. 

 She knew why, now- for the dress was a stunning, deep violet. A colour that had quickly become her favourite for reasons she refused to ponder. Gloria refused to look at it. Refused to think about it or what others would assume when they saw it. Would anyone else - journalists, sponsors, her friends - make the connection?  

Would Bede? 

 Gloria clenched her jaw harder until it ached. There was no connection, no deeper meaning, to her choice of dress. It was a coincidence, nothing more. She shook off that thought as a needle of fear stabbed through her chest. Her hands trembled for a moment. She took a deep breath and collected the shoes she'd laid out by her bed the night before- barely a few inches high, the silver heels still daunted her- and stuffed them unceremoniously into her bag. She didn't have time for this. She had an appointment, a date as Bede had said, to attend. 

 No, it's not a date, Gloria reminded herself. He was just teasing you, like he always does. 

 A tiny part of her ached, knowing she was right. She quashed it before it could surface any further, driving it hard into the pit of her stomach like it was a revolting bug to crush beneath her heel. Stamp it out, grind it into dust. 

 Let nothing of it remain. 

 -

 The backstage of Ballonlea's Gym had transformed into a place of wonders. Costumes hung from racks, fantastical dresses and robes fit for kings strung up like garments in a store. Props sat atop boxes, shiny swords with ornate hilts next to thick books bound in leather, and Gloria might have believed she'd been transported to another time if it wasn't for the bluetooth speakers filling the room with an orchestral piece and the Rotom phones in the hands of actors on break. She stopped by the door to stare at painted murals slanted against the wall. They depicted different scenes, each exquisitely detailed, from the interiors of a castle to palace gardens. 

 Gobsmacked by the sight before her, Gloria remembered that the Ballonlea theatre was as highly regarded as the Gym. She'd never been backstage inbetween League Challenges, and as a result had never witnessed the inner workings of the theatre as they put together their plays. Actors were strewn throughout the large backstage area and into practice rooms on either side of the hall, memorising scripts, repeating lines and rehearsing scenes. Some were even in costume, clashing practice swords in a mock battle. As her eyes skipped from actor to actor, she saw someone turn in her direction. Her heart caught. 

 Bede. He stood tall, his lean figure accentuated by the form-fitting pants - or were they leggings? - that he wore, and he walked over to Gloria with subtle grace. She swallowed thickly and stopped her mouth from falling open as he drew closer. Her heart raced, she suddenly felt on edge. As if all eyes had turned on her, as if her nervous tells were obvious to the world, to Bede. He was dressed for theatre practice, wearing dark leggings and a thin turtleneck shirt, and Gloria chewed the inside of her cheek, cursing how attractive he managed to be in every situation. Coils of heat made their home on her cheeks when he stepped up to her. With a toss of his platinum blond curls, his lips pulled into a faint smile.  

It's a date, those words echoed in her head again. She shot them down quickly. It's just a phrase. He didn't mean anything by it. 

 "You're three minutes late," Bede said, tilting his head in amusement as he gazed down at her. "No matter. I'll work you harder in order to make up for it." 

 Gloria flushed. "Three minutes is barely late," she said. "Besides, I arrived in Ballonlea before nine." 

 His eyes twinkled with mirth. Violet. That soft colour striking her speechless. 

 "And yet, our agreed meeting time was nine, and you somehow missed it," Bede said. He smirked, turning on his heels and motioning for her to follow. "This way. I've reserved a room for us." 

 Gloria bit back her retort and skipped to follow Bede away from the bustle and commotion of the backstage crowd. He led her down the hall to a secluded room that had mirrors lining the back wall from floor to ceiling. There were speakers plugged in by a corner, a drink bottle beside them, and Bede walked over to it and set his phone on top. 

 "Put your bag down off to the side so it won't get in the way," Bede said. He busied himself with the speakers and his phone for a few seconds before standing. "Did you bring your heels like I asked?" 

 He turned to look at her, and she realised she hadn't moved an inch since she'd stepped into the room. 

 "Yes, of course!" Gloria said, startling and shucking off her bag. 

 She shoved her backpack into the corner of the room as she flushed. She'd been too busy watching Bede, too busy following his graceful movements with her eyes, too enraptured by how lean and fit he looked when he'd squatted by the speakers with ease. The leggings he wore were practical, giving Bede's legs a range of movement that other clothes would've restricted, but the sleek black fabric was form-fitting and accentuated the shape of his thighs and the curve of his backside that she wouldn't have noticed otherwise. 

 Arceus, Gloria! she chided herself as her heart lurched into her throat. She flushed with heat, nerves fluttering in her lungs. Get a hold of yourself! He's your friend, don't gawk at him like that. 

 It didn't matter how attractive Bede was, it wasn't right for her to ogle at him like a rabid, obsessed fan. It was shameful. She bit down a pang of disgust at herself and pulled her silver heels from her bag. 

 Bede nodded appreciatively at them. "Good. Leave them there for now, I'll have you practice with them later," he said. "First, let's run through the basics." 

 'The basics,' according to Bede, started with her jogging a few laps of the room and stretching in order to warm up. He then had her go through the steps facing the mirrors, following the movements Bede made as he ran through them beside her. She stepped when he did, quickly getting over her apprehension and the embarrassment of holding her arms up as though she were dancing with an invisible partner. Slow music trickled from the speakers and filled the room, Gloria's shoes clacking against the floor to the gentle rhythm. Bede's steps were silent and enviously more graceful than hers, but with him going through the same movements, she felt at ease. He called out each step before they took it, carefully watching her to make sure she got it right. Occasionally, their eyes met in the mirror. Bede gave her nods of approval or the hint of a smile. Always, his gaze held more than he let show in his expression, and it sparked something ablaze in Gloria's chest. She cut her attention away, catching herself before she stumbled or missed a step. 

She hadn't yet fallen on her face in front of Bede and was determined to keep it that way. Despite how distracting he was. 

 Soon enough, to the appreciation of Gloria's aching arms, Bede called for a break. She dropped her arms to her sides with a heavy sigh. 

 "People actually do this for fun?" Gloria huffed as she stalked over to her bag to retrieve her water bottle. She drank greedily, uncaring of the droplets cascading down her chin to slide beneath the front of her top. The water was cool and refreshing, and she would've tipped a bit more down her front if Bede wasn't with her. 

 He turned away from her stiffly and coughed into his hand. "Dancing at functions is an important Galarian tradition," Bede said. For a moment, it sounded like his voice was slightly strained. He drank from his water bottle, and when he spoke again, his voice was clearer. "These steps haven't changed for hundreds of years, and remain a constant fixture at events such as the League Gala. It's imperative that you learn, as being able to dance expertly is a symbol of status." 

 Right. Because Gloria cared about status. She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She was more worried about making a fool of herself in front of all the people, the sponsors, the media, her friends, that would be at the Gala. Status, reputation, when she wasn't in the spotlight, it didn't matter to her. 

 "When did you learn how to dance?" Gloria asked, splashing some water on her face. 

 Bede's expression hardened for a split second, long enough for her to catch the twitch of his brow, the stiffening of his jaw, and the shadows that flickered behind his eyes. The darkness that overcame his face was gone in an instant. Had Gloria blinked, she would have missed it entirely. 

 "Years ago," Bede said, "as per Oleana's instructions, I had the steps drilled into me so that if such a time came where I would accompany the Chairman to functions, I wouldn't make a fool of myself and tarnish his image." 

 Of course. Gloria's heart sank. She should have known, shouldn't have asked. Prying into Bede's past, despite how much she longed to know more about him, hardly ever went well. The pain in his eyes was one she'd felt herself- the pain of dredging up old wounds. Even now, fragmented as it was, pieces of Rose's hold over Bede remained. Memories slowly faded like scars, never truly disappearing.

 "Turns out, he needn't have worried about me ruining his image- he managed that well enough himself," Bede said, his expression lifting. "Besides, now I'm skilled enough to dance at functions that require my attendance as a Gym Leader. Skilled enough to teach the Champion how to dance herself." 

 He turned to her as he said that last part, and the pride in his eyes, the satisfaction in his smile, eased a weight off Gloria's heart. She found herself smiling back at him. 

 "Guess I should be thanking Rose for his foresight," she said. 

 Bede scoffed. "Hardly." 

 Gloria stepped over to him. She was drawn to Bede's side by a firm tug on her heart, by the tender warmth pooling through her chest, and she smiled brighter. 

 "I'll settle for thanking you instead," Gloria said. 

 "As you should." He nodded, and walked back towards the wall of mirrors. "It's time you learn how to dance with a partner," Bede said. 

 He turned on his heels to face her, waiting in the centre of the room, and held his left hand out, palm up, with his right held behind his back. He eyed Gloria intently, and her heart skipped. She knew this would happen eventually, that she'd have to practice with Bede as her partner, but the sight of him there, waiting for her to approach, sent nerves skittering through her chest. She breathed in a deep, silent breath, and stepped up to him. Slowly, she placed her hand in his. 

 And he closed the distance between them. In a split second, his arm was around her. His chest was right in front of her face. She let out an undignified speak at the touch of his hand low on her back, jolting at the sensation. 

 "Ah, sorry," Bede said, dropping his hand from her back. "I didn't mean to startle you." 

 Gloria straightened, blushing at the embarrassing sound that had slipped from her lips. She shook her head hurriedly and peeked up at him. An echo of his touch lingered on her skin, the slightest pressure on the small of her back that tingled with warmth. 

 "That's- that's okay," she said. Her voice was strained. Tight. "I-I didn't realise we'd have to stand this close to dance." 

 It was difficult to speak with her face flooded with heat. Her eyes were at the level of his collarbones, and she could make out the threads of his turtleneck shirt at this distance. She took short, shallow breaths. They were so close, she was afraid to breathe too deeply lest her chest brush against his. 

 "You don't seem to mind getting closer than this to me when we hug," Bede said, quirking an eyebrow at her in amusement. 

 "That's different!" Gloria said. 

 Why was it different? Her protest didn't make sense. She stared straight at his chest, unable to lift her gaze to meet his eyes. Her heart thundered at a dizzying pace, and she was grateful for the music playing from the speakers- the pounding of her heart was deafening in her ears, she worried that Bede would be able to hear it in the silence. 

"Well, you'll have to get used to this if you want to learn how to dance properly," Bede said. "I'll take it slow for you, alright?" 

 His hand returned to the small of her back, and she sucked in a gasp at his touch. 

 "Don't tell me, you're ticklish here?" he asked, gently sweeping his fingers over the spot.  

A tingle shot down Gloria's spine. She jumped back, stifling a yelp in her throat. 

 "D-Don't do that!" she squeaked. She rubbed her back where he'd teased her, trying to remove the sensation of his touch. 

 Bede lifted a hand to his lips, covering up his smirk and his quiet breath of laughter. Gloria scowled at him, pouting. It wasn't fair that he could play her so easily like this. She wasn't ticklish on her back- not at all, but the touch of his fingers had sparked something across her skin, something that left her confused and indignant. 

 "My bad," Bede said. His voice was light with mirth, eyes twinkling at her. "I won't do that again." 

 Gloria narrowed her eyes slightly, pressing her lips together firmly as she watched him. He'd enjoyed her reaction so much, she wasn't sure she trusted him not to try that again. Bede's expression softened when she didn't budge, and he held out his hand with an apologetic smile. 

 "I promise," he said, and Gloria gave in. 

 How could she not, when he was looking at her like that? She stepped up to him and took his hand, holding her breath to steady herself when he set his right hand low on her back again. 

 "Place your hand on my shoulder," Bede said, directing her free hand so that it was resting lightly on his shoulder. 

 Gloria nodded, still staring at his chest. 

 "You realise your dance partner might take offense if you stare at their chest the whole time, right?" Bede said. "At the very least, you should try and meet their eyes." 

 "Sorry," Gloria said, and forced herself to look up. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest when their eyes met, and a renewed rush of warmth swept across her face. She fought the desire to look away. 

 The corner of Bede's mouth twitched with the hint of a smile as he nodded. "Good. Next, try not to look like a stunned Magikarp, and I'm sure you'll do fine."

 Gloria balked at him. "A stunned Magikarp?!"

 "There. That's much better," he said with a smirk. "You'll dance a lot finer if you just be yourself." 

 She blinked for a moment, realising what he'd done. Her heart still raced, she still felt flushed with heat, but no longer was her body stiff with nervous energy. Gloria could look Bede in the eyes without wishing to flee. He'd eased that all away with a simple jest. 

 "You're horrible," she said, shaking her head. She managed to smile, her voice soft with amusement.  

"Ah, but you're the one who came to me for lessons," Bede said. "Surely you knew what you were getting into."

 With that, he pulled her into the first steps of their dance. The time they'd spent practicing earlier came back to her after she stumbled for the first few seconds, almost kicking Bede's shin at one point, and before long, they were dancing smoothly in time to the music. Gloria repressed the urge to look at her feet, and instead found herself meeting Bede's smile with her own. A flicker of pride showed in his eyes. Pride, satisfaction, and something more that she couldn't place. With each step, her confidence grew. She relaxed further, following Bede through the motions of the dance as it came easier and easier for her. A smile broke across her face whenever their eyes met, a bubble of something sweet and tender blooming in her chest. 

 Dancing, as foreign as it had been when they'd first begun, soon felt natural. It felt natural to sway and step with Bede like this. To be so close, to share smiles and breaths of laughter. It was obvious to Gloria now why people danced, why it was a cemented Galarian tradition, for she felt so light, so carefree, she wouldn't have minded if the dance lasted forever. 

 Bede slowed, and Gloria came to an abrupt halt, stopping herself in time so she didn't continue and step right into him. She blinked as Bede dropped his hand from her back. 

 "You got the hang of it rather quickly," he said, releasing her hand. "Next, you need to be able to master the steps in your heels." 

 Oh. Gloria blanched, glancing to where her heels sat next to her bag. 

 "Have you worn them in yet?" Bede asked. 

 Gloria twisted her lips and trudged over to her shoes. "Not exactly…" 

 "Not exactly?" Bede echoed. Gloria suppressed a pout at the disapproval in his voice. "Have you worn them at all?" 

 She sat on the floor by her heels, pointedly focusing on taking her shoes off so she didn't have to suffer under the unimpressed look Bede was giving her. 

 "I tried them on in the store," Gloria said, her protest dying beneath her breath. She slid her feet into the sparkly silver heels, weaving the thin straps through the clasps.  

Bede sighed. "You really should be wearing them for a couple of minutes every day, in order to loosen them up and get yourself used to them," he said. "It won't matter how well you can dance in your regular shoes if you stumble in heels at the Gala."  

Gloria pursed her lips and stood. He was right, annoyingly so as always, but that didn't stop her from grumbling wordlessly at him as she found her balance. Bede raised an eyebrow at her, watching the way she stood with her legs stiff and taut. 

 "Walk the length of the room," he said. 

 She frowned for a moment before complying and walking towards the mirrors. Bede studied her as she passed him. Each step she took felt awkward, as though she were walking on stilts instead of heels a few inches high. The clack of her shoes made her even more self-conscious, and she wanted to shrink away at the noise. 

 "Stop." 

 Gloria froze. With a sigh, Bede stepped up beside her, their eyes meeting in the mirror. 

 "This is exactly why you need to practice walking in heels," he said. "You're walking like a baby Ponyta taking its first steps, not like the Champion of Galar." 

 Gloria pressed her lips firmly together. "Hey, it's harder than it looks! You're lucky you don't have to wear shoes like this- I'm terrified I'm going to roll my ankles if I'm not careful!" 

 "If walking in heels is as difficult as you make it out to be, no one would be wearing them," Bede said. He gave her an unimpressed look at her complaints. 

 "You're saying that because you've never worn high heels before," Gloria said with a huff. "I'd like to see you trot around in these without an issue." 

 She met his gaze in the mirror with defiance. Bede looked as though he was about to bark back at her, his brow furrowing slightly, eyes narrowing, but then he sighed and turned on his heels. 

 "Fine," Bede said, stalking towards the door. "Stay here. I'll be right back." 

 Gloria blinked at him, stunned into silence, and he whisked through the door and clicked it shut behind him. She stood there, confused, and shifted awkwardly on her feet. She definitely needed to get used to her heels. Barely five minutes into wearing them and she already wanted to kick them off. The looming Gala and the hours she'd have to spend on her feet seemed more daunting than ever before, and she hadn't even attempted to dance in her heels yet. She faced the mirror and practiced a few steps of the dance. Her movements were stiff, ankles wobbling as she tried to balance on her heels. She jumped when the door swung open. She whirled in shock, mouth dropping open, as Bede cut across the room towards her wearing a pair of sleek black high heels that looked straight out of Nessa's wardrobe. He walked with confidence, with his head held high, his steps smooth and graceful despite the pencil-thin heels that were taller than Gloria's. 

 Bede deposited his regular shoes by the wall, before stepping over to Gloria with a smirk.  

"What were you saying?" Bede said, "I've never worn heels before?" 

 Gloria gaped wordlessly, fumbling to find something, anything, to say. "You- How? When? Why?" She gestured wildly at him, at his high heels, and shook her head in disbelief. "Since when do you wear heels?!" 

 "Not of my own accord, I assure you," Bede said. He lifted an eyebrow at her, as though slightly put off by her shock. "Some of our plays require historically accurate attire, heels being a part of that. These are not mine, I simply borrowed them from an actress that has a shoe size close enough to mine." 

 "Right." Gloria nodded, trying to wrap her head around this. "I just… never expected you to actually… wear shoes like that. Willingly, at least." 

 "It will be easier to show you how to walk naturally in high heels if I demonstrate myself," Bede said, nonplussed. He turned towards the mirror, gesturing for her to do the same. "In order not to walk like a stilted Girafarig, you need to step toe-to-heel, rather than heel-to-toe." 

 Bede swept his leg forward, touching the front of his shoes to the ground as he said, the heel coming into contact with the floor a split second later. 

 "Don't exaggerate the movement," he continued, "the heel should hit right after, if not with, the front part of your shoe as you walk. Like so." 

 He turned and walked parallel to the mirrors, giving Gloria a side-on view of his gait. 

 "The length of your steps will naturally be reduced in heels. Compensate by taking small, but faster, steps than usual, in order to maintain a normal pace." 

 Bede reached the end of the mirrors and spun on his feet to face the opposite direction as deftly as a ballerina. He continued his walk, returning the way he'd come. 

 "You'll have a natural inclination to lean forward if you try to walk faster than your heels will allow, so lean back slightly to compensate," he said. "A sloppy posture will destroy your efforts to fit in, and put all the training I've given you to waste. Above all, do not slouch." 

 Gloria bit back a smile. "It sounds like you're trying to teach me etiquette," she said with the hint of a laugh. 

 He raised an eyebrow at her as he passed. "Am I not?" 

 "Maybe." 

 A bubble of amusement, of enjoyment, built in her chest. She clasped her hands behind her back as she watched Bede walk to the end of the mirrors again, the trepidation inside her having lifted. He turned around to face her, and she knew it was time for her to practice. 

 "Right. Now that you've seen what it should look like, I'll have you walk the length of these mirrors like I did," Bede said, and stepped over to her. 

 "Okay. I can do that," Gloria said, nodding to herself in order to cement a thread of confidence inside her. She turned side-on to the mirrors, and absently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears as Bede's attention fixed on her. A different wave of nerves flooded her chest, and she straightened instinctively beneath his gaze.  

She took a deep breath, flexed her fingers at her sides, and stared at a single spot on the wall in front of her. 

 Pretend he's not watching you, she told herself. Just ignore him completely. 

 The thumping of her heart refused to slow. There was something about having Bede focus on her so intently that made her stomach flutter as though she'd swallowed a swarm of Combee. She warmed from the inside out, and struggled to recall his advice as she went to step forward. 

 What is wrong with me today? It's just Bede. Nothing's happened, nothing's changed. Gloria puzzled over her thoughts as she walked along the wall of mirrors. One foot in front of the other, toe first as Bede had advised her, she tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes on her. She kept thinking back to their phone call. To the phrase Bede had used. 

 This isn't a date, she reminded herself as she reached the wall and turned to walk back the other way. She stiffened when her eyes fell on Bede. He had a hand cupped over his mouth, watching her with a deep, thoughtful expression. His ardent concentration made her heart flop. She wobbled on her heels, and his eyes flicked up to her face with a beat of concern before she broke into a fast-paced walk to get past him as quickly as she could. 

 "Not bad, I suppose," Bede said. He turned to face her as she passed him. "Practice walking like this in front of a mirror every day until the Gala, and you should be fine." 

 Gloria slumped with a sigh of relief. 

 "Make sure you don't do that at the Gala," Bede said, muffling his laugh behind his hand. 

 She pouted at him, but it was sweet to hear him laugh, however brief it was. His violet eyes softened with his smile, and it made her heart soften in response. She loved having him be so genuine with her, comfortable enough to smile and laugh without a care. Comfortable enough to wear heels fit for a model to prove a point.  

"So, are we going to practice dancing with you in those heels, or-" Gloria cut herself off when Bede turned and marched towards his shoes by the wall. She was still suppressing her laughter when he walked back to her wearing his regular shoes. 

 "There's no point in having me practice dancing in heels," Bede said. "I have no desire to wear those unless strictly needed." 

 "Aw, but you look so graceful in them," Gloria teased. She blinked up at him coyly, taking his hand when he held it out for her. 

 Bede huffed, rolling his eyes. "Of course I do. I wouldn't be seen dead in them otherwise- too many people view men in heels as a comedy act, something to ridicule. I refuse to fumble about for anyone's entertainment, which means I can't settle for less than perfection in my gait. They can hardly laugh at me when I'm as skilled as - if not more than - any woman in heels." 

 Gloria blinked at Bede as he set his hand on her back, drawing her closer as they began to dance.  

"I didn't think about it that way," she said, surprised. "I guess a lot of people would see a guy wearing heels as some sort of joke." 

 "Exactly." 

 They fell back into the rhythm of their dance, one step following another, and Gloria quickly realised something was different. She was taller in heels, which meant she was no longer staring at Bede's collarbones but rather at the level of his shoulders. She was closer to his face, closer to him, now. The fluttering returned to her lungs. Strangely giddy, strangely warm, as though a simple change in height had shifted something inside her. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling- if anything, she wanted to bask in it. It was like a weird combination of delight and anxiety, swirling together in her stomach and flooding her veins. She was enjoying the moment, yet dreading it at the same time. With Bede, she felt comfortable. Light. Happy. And strange. Gloria glanced at his eyes, but quickly looked away before he noticed. 

 Why am I being so weird about this? she thought as she tried to swallow down the bundle of nerves building inside her. This is all Hop's fault for suggesting those things yesterday. For saying that Bede had a crush on me, that I had a crush on- 

 Gloria stopped. Her heart stopped. 

 No. 

 "Gloria?" 

 She shot away from him like she'd been zapped. Cold. She felt cold. Cold and numb and-  

Bede was looking at her in concern.

 "I-I just need a drink," Gloria said, whirling on her feet. Panic rose up her throat. Choking. Tight. The edges of her vision went dark. She stumbled over to her bag and snatched her water bottle off the floor, unscrewing the lid with trembling hands. 

 No.

 She drank quickly. Drank too much, forced the water past the lump in her throat. 

 This isn't- 

 She couldn't breathe. There wasn't enough air in the room. Her heartbeat deafened her thoughts, pounding in her ears with creeping dread. Darkness fell over her mind. Gloria turned away from her bag, her stomach lurching as her eyes drew towards Bede. He stood still, stretching out his arms. Tall and elegant. Handsome yet beautiful, with a model's poise, as graceful as a prince. He was kind. Forgiving, understanding. He never pushed her harder than she could take, but made her want to strive to be something more. He was her friend. Her rival. She loved his smile, his determination. His wit. She loved that she could be herself around him. She loved his company, his rare but sweet laughter. Everything about him. Gloria loved- 

Bede looked to her with a start. Water sloshed over her feet. Her bottle lay on the floor, water trickling out, having slipped from her hands. 

 No.

 Her heart pounded. Concern worried his brow, he stepped towards her. 

 "Gloria? What's wrong?" 

 She stepped back into her bag. Panic as cold as ice shot through her veins. 

 No- 

 She couldn't move. Bede came closer, worried. Saying something she couldn't hear. 

Don't come over here! 

 Panic seized her. Gloria grabbed her bag, shoving her discarded shoes into it. Her heart boomed between her ears like an earth-shaking drum. 

 "I-" she choked on her words. "I need to go-" 

 Bede frowned with concern. She wanted to vomit. To scream. To cry. To protest-

 To flee. 

 Gloria ran. Out the way she'd come, the backstage a blur of colours, of people, of  costume racks she almost crashed into. She bolted, tripping on her heels. She stumbled. Lurched forward, caught herself before she could hit the ground. Her lungs burned. Her throat burned. 

 Tears burned in her eyes. 

 She shot out of the Gym, throwing a Pokeball to the ground in front of her. She leapt onto her Corviknight's back before the surge of light had faded, and called for her Pokemon to fly, to go, to get her away from here. 

 Away from the one calling her name.

 She didn't look back. She couldn't. Gloria buried her face in Corviknight's steel feathers as they took to the sky, and she shut everything out. She felt nothing, thought of nothing, until they landed in Wedgehurst. 

 Gloria stumbled off the back of her Corviknight and hit the ground hard. Her legs drove her forward. Through the pain, the fear, the panic, through the front doors of the Pokemon laboratory. She shoved them open with force, and they swung open to crash against the wall. She didn't care. Couldn't care. Hop saw her.  

And Gloria crumbled. She fell to the floor, legs buckling beneath her, and the look on her face was enough for Hop to know something was wrong. He was in front of her in an instant. 

 "Glo, what happened?!" Hop asked, reaching for her. 

 It was too much. Gloria collapsed into him with a broken wail. Everything she'd held back broke forth all at once, and she shattered. She screamed. She clung to him with desperation, nails clawing into his lab coat, face pressed to his shoulder. Hop wrapped his arms around her. 

 "It's okay, it's okay," Hop said, repeating those words again and again. "I'm here. you're alright, you're okay." 

 It hurt. Her lungs, her throat, her heart. She was in pieces. Fractured. Broken. All she felt was pain. 

 Guilt. 

 Gloria's sobs tore from her throat like daggers of ice. Her scream rose from her chest like bloodied thorns, tearing her skin, her lungs, leaving her bleeding. Raw. It ached.  

There was nothing left of her. 

 She couldn't hear Hop's whispers, couldn't feel his touch. Amidst her sobs were broken words. 

 "I don't-" 

 Gloria clung to Hop. Tighter, firmer, muffling her words into his coat. 

 "I don't want this-" 

 Why- 

 It hurt. 

 Why did this happen? 

 Hop held her tighter in return. "Oh, Gloria…" Understanding in his voice. 

 He knew. 

 "I don't want this…!" She shook her head, again and again, against his shoulder. Into his lab coat, smearing her tears across the stainless white. "I don't want this…!" 

 "I know," Hop said softly. Quietly. A gentle recognition that only she could hear. "I know…" 

 It was too late. Her guard had slipped, her walls had lowered too far. She'd thought she was safe. 

 She was a fool. Her heart, fractured and broken, lay in pieces in her hands. A million shattered pieces. She'd fallen from the precipice she'd danced around for so long, stepped too close to the edge one too many times, and this was the result. Her fate. Her punishment. 

 No, she'd slipped from that edge long ago, only realising when she'd hit the bottom. 

 Hop had been right all along. 

 Gloria was in love with Bede. 

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Croatia brings no men in a hamster wheel to Rotterdam 2021

Now could this be the teddy bear uprising invasion Muse has warned us about 12 years ago?

And LITERALLY, these review series make me feel like Croatia is openly taunting me - I watch the days go, I’m losing track of time, and when another day comes, I’m screaming “oh no I forgot to publish a review sooner than wanted!!”. Guess I’m for one glad there’s a time related song this year, hum?

ARTIST & ENTRY INFO

Repping the Adriatic coast nation that got all the sea instead of Bosnia & Herzegovina is some 22 year old Albina Grčić, who first popped up on X Factor Adria back when that was a thing, and got lumped into a girlgroup in later stages, but to that she said “hvala ne” and moved on with her life, getting eliminated just like that. Queen <3 She did get her second chance to compete as a soloist and make a more prominent mark on her career when she ended up on The Voice in Croatia. She did well, placing third overall in the season, but somehow, during the duel stage, her coach initially favoured her fellow Dora 2021 contestant Filip Rudan:

Her Voice success landed her a record deal with the Croatian division of Universal Music, she released a debut single, sometime later ended up on Dora, and here she is now, on Eurovision.

“Tick-Tock” is the song, a standard upbeat pop song, and one of the ones that talks about a girl leaving a terrible relationship and being so well over it that she “found [her]self and [she’s] finally free”, and the “tick-tock” here is used to represent the time passing by, not the sound of her heart, unlike a fellow ESC entry of a similar title. The tune (or its lyrics only) is co-authored by some dude you might’ve heard of from France’s 2018 preselection Destination Eurovision, and that is Max Cinnamon - some half-English guy with a half English song about love (”Ailleurs”) that did moderately averagely in the final... I don’t even know if his influence shows, I just love how 2021 has sort of become revenge of the NF flops but they’re writing other entries instead (Suzi P, “Adrenalina”).

REVIEW

I often don’t really fully vibe with female bops in Eurovision as much as I want to, like, for the most part they’re overhyped, and I let the “yass queeeeen” audience gorge on the everything their favourite bops give them. But this year there are plenty of great ones to choose from, as I think that it’s safe to say that most, if not all, are tucked in somewhere inside my top 20, top 25 at the very minimum. Croatia managed to even do the impossible and land into my top 10.

Why?

Well, the answer is that the song is just so damn good.

I mean, what’s NOT to like about it? It’s a catchy and upbeat song that incorporates xylophones (or whatever is it that sounds like them), guitars and synths; has a good bassline in the chorus; and it’s just... a very good composition overall, like, all the instruments in it are just in their right place and uplift the song massively. I also like Albina’s performance on it, both live and studio, it clearly shows that she’s a very good singer (also shown on her cover of the scandalous Oscar award snubbery “Husavik”). Sounds like a song a common pop loving Eurofan could gear themselves towards. Besides, it also has possibly my favourite pre-chorus section of the 2021 year? Oh wait, there’s also Switzerland, scratch that. “Tick-Tock” has one of my favourite pre-chorus sections of 2021. It builds up so well instrumentally and the way Albina sings it is even better. I obviously like to believe Albina heard those voices from far away that helped her to escape, has found herself, and she’s finally free from her “partner’s” bad lovin’ and restraint. Yas queen go be free you didn’t deserve his tomfoolery anyway!  👏 (Also I admire a section that’s not quite the pre-chorus but is still before the 1st chorus, the one that goes “If you pull me down then I'll come around” - literally just a lot of the parts of the song are full of nice vocal performance and I don’t regret ranking this in my top 10 not a second.)

If it has any drawbacks, it’s just that it gets a tad too repetitive after the halfway mark... like, the pre-chorus before the second chorus is the one to be repeated once again, and no new verse, nothing - but it does launch itself into something extraordinary, and that is a chorus in Croatian, which I assume she would perform in Eurovision because there’s no Eurovision version on the song promo bundle, I suppose. Comparatively the Croatian chorus is not as complex in lyrics as the English language one, and flows slightly differently too. But the song still has a long chorus by the end, and song with too many choruses is never a good sign for those that look for a song that’s constructed well, but I guess it’s a good factor for those that value the song’s catchiness. I guess that’s what one of the two Eurovision 2005 hosts valued the most when writing the Ukrainian 2006 entry “Show Me Your Love”, which if you ask me, is straight up 75% chorus, lol.

So yeah my verdict is that almost everything about this song, I like. I’m just a little devastated that in a usually very easily gorged on category of female bops, this just tends to lag behind in love, like a fellow song I really like this year, Israel. Instead people tend to prioritize Cyprus (which I get because they’ve established themselves as a girlbanger nation since Fuego swept Eurovision) and... probably even Azerbaijan? (which I might also get because Eurovision rarely has this thing called an ethnobop anymore, and it has more ethno than “Cleopatra” did, but still unnecessarily underwhelming lol.) Well then, in a year of female bangers, I would just like Croatia to not be swept under the rug come semis I guess. Yeah “Tick-Tock” may not sound like it brings something totally never seen before in a Eurovision environment (foreign language lyrics, themes about a break up, hell even her dancers looked like they were wearing the same hats as Tamta’s dancers), but you got to have a lot in you to sell a worn out idea to the new heights, and Albina does exactly that in my eyes.

Approval factor: Yeah! There is a lot of it in here for me. Follow-up factor: A great follow-up, not so great in regards to panini but musically it’s just going up and up from what we had in the past few years. I’ve actually not minded “The Dream” for the most part but I knew it was a chanceless plodding ballad and Roko harboured heaps of wasted potential working with Jacques Houdek and having wings as part of his performance, uff. *_* And then there’s “Divlji vjetre” which I also like a lot - a much better male ballad winner choice! If the Dora re-up winners keep being decent imo just like this, I have a feeling I will follow it a lot more often than I did just this one time this year. I am just saying that panini-wise, it was a sucky move from HRT for not allowing their last year’s winner promote his new song with Tijana (from Serbia 2017) on the Dora night, so we sadly only heard a pre-recorded opening version of “Divlji vjetre” to start off with :( Otherwise I think it’s not Dora’s fault in itself that Damir himself chose not to even submit an entry this year because he hadn’t found a good one - much like with Diodato for Sanremo (he was NOT rejected, if you think he still was, shush). But aside that, musically, it just keeps going up for me. Well done Croatia, for you’ve used to be a Eurovision country I don’t necessarily care about, that you brought two pretty damn good entries in a row. Qualification factor: I can absolutely trust in Albina bringing in a little bit of her charisma and well-likedness, and on top of that, a great vocal performance, in Rotterdam. Don’t ask me why, I just do. She doesn’t really perform her song live on pre-parties as much as I’d like to hope she would, but you heard girlie on the national selection, she didn’t win for nothing. Yeah yeah there might as well be female uptempo songs hungrier for the last spot, but I’d like to think Albina is one of the ones ready to devour than to be devoured. Go girl! Take us all dancing!

NF CORNER

To be honest with you, “Tick-Tock” winning Dora caught me by surprise. Ever since its re-up, the last two editions were kind of won by male ballads, and maaaaybe the dancey females were doing moderately well enough for themselves, but not overall? But look, juries were very keen on Albina, probably because she can SANG and she creates one hell of a fancy presence on her performance. And somehow she ended up snatching a win out of the hands of 5G conspiracy theorist 2016 representative Nina Kraljić, who was at first too drunk to care, but too unexpectedly sober to yell all over the soc. media how she was robbed and how the contest was rigged against her with her being on first and all that. Which is a shame that she is one of THOSE people, because her NF entry “Rijeka” is kinda nice? We did have the Balkan-esque ballads coming from Croatia in recent memory, but we haven’t had a truly proudly folksy one at that from Croatia for a long while, if not ever. Nina could’ve very well brought that to Rotterdam (and another mismatched wardrobe choice oops). But instead she was the one screaming “oh no, oh no, oh no”.

Actually I regarded Nina as one of my faves pre-show, and Albina was on her way, though she didn’t really cement the personal fav status until after all performances, thus making Nina and Albina switch spots for me. But truly, the one song that was my top favourite, iiiiiiiiiiis

GIMME AN OCEAN! OF LOVE!

2021 made me realize that damn, maybe anything that’s funky is my favourite music genre afterall. Up until then I vibed with entries like “Tonight Again” and “What’s the Pressure?” that had this sort of energetic flair and very rhythmic kinda sound to it, but 2021 just simply cemented it to me that my music world has probably been about nice and smooth and funky all along. I owe so much gratitude to ToMa first and foremost along the lines of more to have come in this year’s lineups - I just can’t not want to dance to “Ocean of Love”, and ToMa is quite alright at selling it live as well. There are small gripes with some instrument usages but that doesn’t detract from the fact that I love love LOVE funky guitar tunes.

Aside from that, I can give shout outs to Beta Sudar, whose song not only was underrated, but also had an underrated meme format throughout its performance:

My other props go to Bernarda, who not only competed in a national selection singing a song about seeing “Colors” while blind (and ironically there was a song called “Blind” in that same NF sung by a well-seeing guy!!), but also for finally putting this every country’s reject to rest. Seriously. That particular song was passed on to everyone in need of a competitive Eurovision bop, from Poli Genova to Helena Paparizou as of recently. Oh well, at least the song died a honourable death - well performed slice of good typical Eurovision pop (maybe even overperformed a little towards the end), that got a good rank with the regional juries, but somewhat murdered in televote, fellow Boris Milanov composition “Chameleon” style.

This one Mia Negovetić chick was promising too! Her song was written by the Debs and you might be tired of them trying to continue infiltrating Eurovision at this point, but a lot of their Eurovision songs are usually something I enjoy, “She’s Like a Dream” is no exception. Nothing but 3 minutes of pastel-dressed Croatian Ariana Grande doing what she does best <3

Oh and also some dudes tried to play chess on stage too I guess. But their song is not worth looking into, because one of the acts on it is apparently also a conspiracist, and maybe because oft this their entry is aptly titled “Sing, for the freedom has arrived!” lol I wonder what exactly is the kind of freedom you’re thinking of my guy

Was this the “better mood game” Laura was warning everyone about? Beats me

NF CORNER (NON-COMPETITIVE)

• It’s still hilarious to me as to how one of the acts this year, Brigita Vuco, was planning to bring in backing dancers, only for them to show a fake COVID test or something and outright BARRED from coming with her on stage. <3 Whatever she intended to do with them dancers, I have absolutely no idea, but at least she committed to her song being about drunken nights visually by having all these blurry shots

• Nina Kraljić’s greenroom shenanigans, from the “1-2-3, 1-2-3, drink” to numb the sadness over some results (and the 8 she got from the region Rijeka for the song “Rijeka” lmao), to whatever she saw on the phone that made her smile or go neutral

• Greenroom reactions in general. I swear, this year had cameramen in every single corner everywhere just to make sure something covers up for a human audience instead of severals of Zoom screens permitted to act as an audience. Random people in greenrooms were doing some sort of emotions after random acts, and also randomly they ended up pointing a camera towards an act that lost, but the act didn’t treat losing as if it were such a big deal <3

• All the other memes the Croatian Twitter might’ve noticed me for:

seriously Bernarda was locked in a bluelight mathematical dice contraption. how fucking cool is that

ANY LAST WORDS?

I just fucking hope that Albina shatters any doubts that people have had about her song come rehearsals, and somehow Croatia AND Israel slip through, because never too many female bangers I appreciate in the final, if they all are the bangers I appreciate, lol.

[sebseyesandbuckysthighs]

Three Soldiers and a Baby | Part One

summary: Three handsome bachelors find their day to day operations disrupted when an unexpected new roommate (who comes complete with a diaper and a pacifier) shows up at their doorstep. How will they deal with this new and baffling responsibility without losing their minds or killing each other in the process?

pairings: Bucky x Reader (eventual) featuring Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

warnings: none, this is all very introductory

a/n: Here we go! The start of something I’ve been working on for a little while and finally managed to finish! As this is being posted I’m actually on a plane from Greece back to Canaduh for 12 hours. Pray for my sanity and my knees!

*warning to mobile users, the “keep reading” tab may not work so apologies in advance*

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |

Late mornings were not typical for Steve Rogers, but that didn't keep him from enjoying them. By now he should have been halfway through his early run before heading back home for a shower and a large breakfast. Still, a break from his normal routine was not unwelcome. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes he turned to look at the empty space beside him. This was another part of his normal routine that he wouldn't mind changing; waking up alone. There was nothing he could do about that if he stayed in bed, though, so Steve tossed aside the bed sheet and got up from the hard mattress. After finding a pair of sweatpants to pull over his boxers and a zip-up hoodie to cover his bare chest, he made his way to the kitchen.

The Brooklyn apartment was by no means as large or luxurious as the Compound, but it was everything Steve wanted in a place. The area was great and central to a lot of local business. The bedrooms were a decent size and the living room and kitchen area was a large open space with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the city. It wasn't the typical penthouse, but this entire level of the building was dedicated to just this apartment and the only way you could access the floor was by key. There were a few other security protocols set-up as well, of course. You could never be too careful. The last thing anyone wanted was an unwelcome visitor showing up at Captain America's front door. Not just his door since he also shared this space with two of his best friends and teammates. Having Sam and Bucky as roommates was just another great bonus. Well, most of the time.

Sam Wilson was seated on one of the stools by the kitchen island sipping from a glass of orange juice. His attention was seemingly fully focused on his tablet, but the second Steve entered the room all bets were off.

“Why did I move in with you people? What could have possibly possessed me to do such a thing? Desperation? Pity?” He tilted his chin upwards and pursed his lips as though really thinking about it. “Maybe I've just lost my damn mind.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he poured himself a glass of orange juice and took a long sip. “What is it now, Sam?”

“Not what...who.”

“Alright.” Steve conceded with a sigh. “What did Bucky do now?” Sensing that this wouldn't be short, or pretty, he took a seat at the counter beside him.

Last night the three roommates had gone out to a nearby bar. Not for any particular reason other than maybe seeing Bucky off before his solo mission. A few years had passed since his stint in Wakanda and after taking some much deserved time to himself Bucky agreed, however reluctantly, to return to active duty. There were of course some concerns, but it didn't take long for Bucky to prove himself and become a powerful addition to the team. His friendship with Sam was a little turbulent at times, but it was mostly due to the fact that they enjoyed pissing each other off. A night out at a bar was usually a recipe for competition.

“You wanna know what he did?” Sam said. “I'll tell you what he did. Picture it, a beautiful Saturday morning after a night out with no hangover in sight. No missions. No plans. No responsibilities. Just me and half a pizza in the fridge calling out her siren's song to me.”

Steve chuckled, but once he saw the lack of humor in Sam's eyes he cleared his throat, motioning for his friend to continue.

“So there I was, humming some Earth, Wind, and Fire as I made my way to this very kitchen when none other than the edgelord himself comes barreling into me. No shirt, no shoes, stinking of his nasty ass cologne from the night before, but wait,” Sam paused, pretending to sniff the air suspiciously. “There's another scent desperately clinging to life despite the overwhelming odds.”

Steve grimaced knowing what that meant. How out of it was he that he managed to sleep through the confrontation? “Okay so Bucky ate the pizza. It's not a big deal. Besides I don't remember anyone actually laying claim to the leftovers. You know the rules.”

Clearly, that wasn't the end of it though as Sam raised his hand in declaration. “Oh but it didn't end there! Barnes' reign of bullshit managed to completely ravage my entire morning in the span of twenty minutes. The guy is going for a record at this point.”

Apparently after eating the pizza Bucky then went on to finishing the last of the toothpaste, using Sam's towel to dry himself off after his shower, and topping it off by drinking the freshly-brewed coffee that Sam made for himself before Bucky was finally out of the door and heading for his mission briefing.

“He's back on his bullshit, Steve.” Sam folded his arms in front of his chest and stared at the other man. “Tell me this isn't about that girl still.” When Steve didn't answer right away Sam threw his hands in the air. “It's been two years! He can't still be hung up one girl.”

It was actually closer to a year and a half, but yes Steve did think it was about that girl. They never really knew who she was, only that for awhile there Bucky was the happiest Steve had ever seen him. He spent more nights away from home and would come back in the morning with a love-struck look that not even Sam could wipe away. When asked if they could meet her Bucky would dodge the subject or say it's complicated. Turns out it was a lot more complicated than they thought when he came home one day telling them that it was over. It was Steve's hope that during one of their nights out he would find someone new and move on.

“The guy just needs to go on a couple dates and get laid.” Sam suggested.

As much as Steve doubted it would be that simple he remained hopeful. “Did you see anyone leave his room this morning?” The other man snorted and shook his head, which was condescending enough to earn a unappreciative growl from Steve. “What I meant to respectively say was no. Barnes was solo this morning.” A sneer exposed Sam's white teeth. “Just like you.”

The blonde groaned and leaned back on his chair. He wasn't exactly doing any better when it came to finding love. There were girls he would see for a little while, but nothing that turned out to be more than just a fling. “What the hell is wrong with us?” Steve mumbled.

“What the hell do you mean by 'us'?” Sam scoffed indignantly. “Don't group me in with you two hopeless fools. I just so happen to be seeing someone.”

That got Steve's attention. “Bullshit. You do? Since when? Who is it?” The barrage of questions and disbelief in his tone did little to improve Sam's already sour mood. “What the hell, Steve? Do you know who you're talking to? Look at this.” Sam stood up, holding his hands out as he showcased himself with a slow twirl. Only Sam Wilson could pull off a silk robe and boxers set. “I'm a masterpiece. It was only a matter of time before I was swept off my feet and taken off the market by a beautiful woman.”

If there was one thing that could be said about Sam Wilson it was that he never lacked in confidence. Steve smiled at his friend. Sure, he was still a little shocked, but genuinely happy for the guy. “That's one lucky lady. What's her name?”

“Ah-ah. Nice try, Rogers, but these lips are sealed. ” He mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away a key. “All you need to know is that she's a lady agent and she has good taste. Otherwise, I'm a man of mystery and I do not kiss and tell.”

Steve frowned. “But you're always prying into mine and Bucky's love lives.”

“Do as I say, not as I do, Cap.”

“Yeah fine, whatever.” Steve got up from his seat and made his way back to his bedroom to change. “I'm going for a run. And don't worry. I'll talk to Buck when he gets back.”

“Yeah, you better.” Sam called out. “Cause it he does just one more thing to piss me off, I will not be held accountable for smothering him with a pillow the next time he passes out on the couch.”

After three hours of running, Steve was on his way home and yet no closer to figuring out a way to help his friend. He scoffed and shook his head as he passed through the elevator doors. How could he help Bucky out of his funk when he didn't have a clue for himself? He was deep in thought as he rode up the multiple floors wishing that the answer to Bucky's happiness would appear before him. Though, when the doors finally opened to his floor, he was greeted by something that wasn't there when he left. There on the floor right outside of their door was what looked like a basket. A very particular kind of basket. One that shouldn't be sitting out front of anyone's door let alone the home of three bachelors. Before he could take a step closer, the basket started to cry.

part one >> part two

a/n: There we have it, the series has begun! What did you think? Are you ready for what comes next? I hope you liked it and are as excited as I am for more! 

Feedback is always appreciated, leave it here!

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[justlightthefirstspark]

Utd vs Reading 02/02/2020

Or, as @danieljamesmufc so eloquently put it, ‘The Battle of The Baes’ (Baes in question obviously being Amy Turner and Angharad James)

Anywho, there isn’t much of a ~detailed~ analysis like other pieces have had. A lot of the plays (and therefore, issues) are the same every game, and I don’t wanna keep repeating myself by making the same points week in and week out. Also, this game was kinda scrappy and not much really happened - until the end but we will get there in due time. I have a LOT of thoughts about the end of this game.

Few small changes in the XI - due to McManus picking up an injury vs Chelsea, Amy came back in at CB which was just

And then I saw Harris at RB 😐 I think I’ve made my feelings about that very clear, and I don’t wanna start hating on Martha for the sake of it, but Smith is the better of the two imo. And I just can’t see why Casey keeps insisting on playing TWO natural RB’s when she has a natural LB sitting on the bench ALL THE TIME, collecting splinters in her arsecheeks. It’s annoying, and I’m kinda sick of it.

Lizzie Arnot dropped out of the XI, in favour of Jane Ross for this one, and everything else was pretty much the same as Wednesday night.

Also, and I would really appreciate some help/info/whatever you’ve all got for this, but I was under the impression that Amy couldn’t (or at least, wasn’t really supposed to) play 3 games in one week? I’m like 90% sure that Casey benched her a few times in the second half of last season for this exact reason? Apparently that’s down to the knee injury she had a few years ago, but I would appreciate some clarification on this if anyone has anything 🧐

Also (I’m being annoying now, sorry) but this commentator was... bad. Mispronuncing players names (who is Jackie Groinen?), not even bothering to try and pronounce others (here’s looking at you, Angharad James), misidentifying players, just not really knowing what was happening a solid 83% of the time... idk who she is but she needs to not commentate on a United game again, I can’t listen to her. Girl had some, interesting, opinions too, and I’m quoting her directly now, “United will think that they’re due a defeat” 🧐 I’m not entirely sure how, or why, that would be the case, but apparently both United and Reading have alternating W/L runs in the league and today was Reading’s turn to win? I was confused. I still kinda am. And I didn’t like it.

First half:

The first 10 mins of this were pretty boring tbh. There was an awful lot of back and forth, misplaced passes, interceptions and the like. I think United were just on top in the opening few minutes, judging by the amount of time they spent in Reading’s half, and their possession.

‘8 - Corner and a free kick for United in quick succession. Nothing came from either (surprise surprise), but there was a lovely bit of ball control in the box from Ross after the FK. Just couldn’t get it to Sigsworth (who probably would have scored but we don’t need to talk about it)

‘13 - Another potential Ross/Sigsworth link up in the box but Ross just swept it straight into the legs of a Reading player, instead of passing to Jess on her left 🤷🏽‍♀️ I thought she was okay today, so I won’t give her too much grief for that mistake

‘16 - decent chance for Sigsworth, ended up launching it straight at *insert Reading player here.* Foreal, I have no idea who it was. Sorry. Groenen and Zelem both had decent opportunities following this, but nothing came of either of those

‘17 - Another corner for Utd, wasn’t a great delivery to be honest. Was played out and worked back in, LJ managed to get a shot off but sent it behind with a deflection so yet more corners followed. With nothing coming from any of them - this is starting to be a problem. We never challenge from set pieces, and I’m genuinely starting to wonder why that is? Does someone else need to take them? Or what?

There was *a lot* of midfield action around this time, more back and forth, a few fouls, and free kicks. None of this was noteworthy, hence the lack of notes.

‘21 - Amy stop backpassing challenge. I gave Abbie SO much shit for this vs City and Chelsea (as well as vs Spurs, oops), so I guess it’s Amy’s turn now. Sidenote: I think ‘Turner & Turner’ is my fave chant, the original at least. No disrespect to Abbie but seeing Turner x2 at CB on the teamsheet has me like

‘28 - Earps’ clearnances need work. Like, a lot of work. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m never fully convinced by the ball that leaves her feet, and I don’t think she is either which is an issue 😬

‘29 - GOAL - United. I was literally just making a note on how boring I was finding this game - my highlight by the 28 minute mark was Amy lashing her boot into Tash Harding’s face. Lol. - when Lauren James appears literally out of nowhere and lashes one home. A gorgeous strike, cutting in from the left. This kid is lethal.

‘38 - Today I learned that we really only have one fast defender - Millie. Martha somehow outpaced Amy back with Reading on the break and I think my jaw hit the floor.

‘41 - United have the ball in the back of the net again. Amy got under a well struck free from Zelem and fired it home, but somehow was ruled offside. Clearly this ref and I have very, very different opinions about what the offisde rule actually constitutes, cause she was very much clearly onside.

Idk if you can see properly in those pics, but no one is offside in any of them. You can see in this video too, that Amy is in fact, NOT offside. I’m not having that one, it should have stood. https://twitter.com/48hours8/status/1223984745413038081?s=21

I just. I’m highkey so annoyed. And I’m definitely dragging this out but like

Moving on. That concluded a pretty uneventful half, aside from the goal and the offside that wasn’t actually offside.

Halftime:

Reading made a pretty interesting change at the half, subbing Haz off for LMKU. Maybe LMKU offers more of a threat going forward, but I thought Haz was pretty solid in the first half? She was certainly a lot better today than she was in the reverse fixture - she was shredded by Galton on every single run but I didn’t see her do anything like that this time? Anyway. (Also I’m lowkey sad Amy never got to slide tackle her into the middle of next week)

Second half:

‘47 - Quality build up work down the left and a gorgeous ball into the box from LJ, I fortune my it just brushed past Sigsworth and Ross in the 6 yard box/penalty area. So close to a second for United.

‘51 - a pretty poor free kick from Zelem, and a pretty poor decision and back pass from James. Sometimes I wonder if people on this team think about what they’re doing before they do it 🤗

‘53 - decent chance for Reading, which ultimately comes off the back post. United very lucky to get away with that one.

‘59 - Harris was very far forward there for a time. Like in the opposition box forward. Hello, anxiety. Also Amy nearly body checked someone around the same time and I was truly living my best life.

‘61 - Zel with a decent free kick, just couldn’t get the dip it needed to hit the back of the net

‘62 - another good strike from LJ, unfortunately just straight at the keeper.

‘63 - Penalty - Reading. Yellow for Amy for pushing Utland (I didn’t catch who it actually was, but according to Reading’s twitter it was LMKU) and conceding the pen.

‘64 - MARY EARPS SAFE HANDS LET’S GOOOO 🗣👏🏽🔥 What a save, my god. I was sure that was going in, but I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong in my life.

‘75 - another great chance for LJ - a lovely strike, think it could have done with a little bit of a chip, and then surely it was going in. Good work from Jess and Jackie in the build up too

‘76 - ‘82. This is where shit got crazy. And I really have no words for what I saw during this 6 minutes. Well, I do have words - I have a lot of them - but most of them aren’t suitable for this platform so I’ll just keep those ones to myself. Never in all my life have I seen such incompetent refereeing. A free kick awarded to Reading on the edge of the box, due to a ‘handball’ (that didn’t happen) by Lauren James, is cleared and HEADED away by Katie Zelem. The ref then proceeds to book Zelem for handball which, unless she suddenly has a third arm growing out of her FACE (I can confirm - she does not), makes absolutely zero sense, and awards Reading another penalty.

Jess also managed to get herself booked for questioning the ref’s decision and defending Katie sjsjsj, and not a single Reading player made a claim for that penalty. Surely, if she had handled the ball, every Reading player in the box would have appealed for it? You can clearly see the ball hit her head in the video linked below, but apparently the arm bone is now connected to the face bone, at least according to this ref anyway. 🙄

https://twitter.com/48hours8/status/1223996019022626821?s=21

I have no more thoughts on whatever happened after that because I had to turn it off before they scored that penalty, otherwise I would have drop kicked my laptop out my window. For what it’s worth, I did think Martha had a decent game today. I still want Smith at RB and Lotta at LB while Amy’s at CB though. You can’t make me change my mind 🤗

This is the third time this week alone that United have been robbed by poor referees, and apparently the ref of the City/Arsenal game today wasn’t much better. I didn’t see that game so I can’t really comment, but I don’t doubt those claims. The standard and quality of refereeing I’ve seen over the past 2 seasons since my introduction to women’s football has been appalling. And it’s not fair, I think this tweet pretty much sums it up.

The FA has pretty much demanded that every team/club in the WSL be full time, it’s about time that they demand the same qualifications and high quality from their officials, because this just isn’t good enough. And not just from the standpoint of a United fan, and in the context of today’s result, but league wide. It’s just not good enough. I’m completley here for literally everybody calling this shambles out for what it is, and the United girls being salty af on the tl.

Sorry that is this kinda long and ranty, but I’m in my feelings about this ref. ✌🏽

[popculturebuffet]

Top 8 Worst Christmas Episodes

Happy Holidays everybody! If your wondering where i’ve been.. i’ve been a combination of swamped with holiday activity, and just plain activity, and procastinating on getting content out for this blog.. but i’m kicking myself to actually get in gear. And I can’t think of a better reason than the holidays.  I love this time of year, while it can be physically and financially exhausting, people can act like rabid wildebeasts in stores, and there’s no end of jackasses who refuse to accept that Christmas isn’t the only holiday in town and that it’s perfectly fine if people want to you know, celebrate something else. But beneath it all is heart: giving gifts to people you love out of the kindness of your heart, beautiful decorations put up with care and holiday warmth, people freezing their asses off for charity everywhere.. there’s a lot of good done and a lot of good underneath.  And part of that good is Christmas Episodes. I do love me a good holiday episode and there’s been plenty of great Christmas epsidoes with a few Hannkuah and Kwanza ones thrown in. But for the mountain of presents of episodes, that we will get to, there’s also a small pile of cole that’s become sentient and stalks me every holiday season.. my meataphor may of gotten off track but the point is out of the VAST majority of good to decent holiday episdoeds there’s a handful I just.. flat out hate. ones that either miss the point, are unecessarily cruel and not nearly funny enough about it, or ones that are simply bad episodes of their show that happen to be christmasy. SO let us unwrap the pauly shore of christmas gifts, these are my 8 most hated christmas episodes.. and this is just episodes of ongoing shows, not specials (Though the episode being longer than usual is fine). Otherwise number one would be that time Chewy’s family killed time while his wife’s dad masturbated. As for why 8, my lists on this blog will vary based on need and I could only find 8 I TRULY loathed.. I didn’t want to pad the bottom of the list with mediocre episodes... only the cream of the crap and my christmas fury here. Now that’s out of the way, let’s ho ho go.  P.S. No the brooklyn nine nine episode is not on the list, I just love tha timage and felt it fit. 

8. The Finster Who Stole Christmas (All Grown Up)  This is by far the tamest on the list. I don’t hate All Grown Up. It is a confused shows (with early middle schoolers acting like high schoolers and what not), but it’s just medicore at worst outside of a few episodes. This one though.. is just bleh.  Chucky\ finds a tree on the street that’s perfect, wanting to have a memorable christmas for once. HE takes it home, thinking it’s abandoned, and it’s instead thought to be stolen and we spend a whole epsidoe watching a fucking 12 year old slowly be consumed by guilt.. I hate these kinds of plots. it’s one thing if the character genuinely fucked up or you mine some humor out of it, but it’s a nother when a character genuinely made a mistake and is instead internally tourtured. All the kid wanted was a tree.. he was kind of an idiot but the amount of vitrol over someone TAKING A TREE OFF THE STREET THA TWAS UNMARKED AND YOU DIDN’T TAKE INSIDE. is baffling.

7. Merry Christmas Mordecai (Regular Show) I do like Regular Show. While i’ve latched on to other shows far more, I still enjoyed the show and was a huge fan of it for some time.. this is the episode that killed that. The reason it’s lower is as an episode, it’s only the last two minutes or so that’s truly terrible, but GOD I hate this episode with every fiber of my being.. .the arc would get MUCH worse, but this did kick it off and turn me off the show for some time, though I did come back by the final season so there’s that.  The plot is simple: Mordecai is nervous because his ex Margret will be at the same party he’ll be with his new girlfriend CJ. Things go fine, it’s awkard but whatever.. and then he has a flashback.. and KISSES HIS EX , PASSOINATLEY AS SEEN ABOVE, in FRONT of his new girlfriend. The hero of our show, who was kinda shitty early on but that was ironed out by this point, cheated... and ruined a relationship I happened to really like. The problems of this arc are deep, vast and will require their own article some day, but yeah.. this one scene ruins the episode and set off one of the worst romantic plot tumors i’ve seen in a show and is so nonesnical , yes I get getting swept up in old emotions but you still cheated dum dum, I can’t help but put the whole episode here. It’s like a tootsie pop but the center is somehow full of bees: sure you enjoyed it but the amount of beestings in your mouth will make you hate the experince anyway. That said I will leave this clusterfuck on this blessed image because fuck if it can take it away from me. 

Thank god they didn’t ruin these two for me. 

6. Doug’s Christmas Story (Doug (Nickleodeon Run)

Only 90′s kids will rue the day this episode was born. Doug was mostly a bland and forgetable show.. but this episode is just unspeakably depressing. The premise is Doug’s dog, porkchop, saves local rich kid Bebe from thin ice, she thought he bit him.. and doug’s dog gets put on trial and SENTENCED TO DEATH AT THE POUND. Despite the fact the thin ice sign is clearly there, and this is a GROSS over reaction to a leg injury that wasn’t even caused by the biting. Porkchop knocked her down he didn’t tear off her leg or something.. the ep is lower because it IS well voice acted, but good acting only makes it that much more heartwrenching and makes me question WHY THIS for the christmas story. It’s not a TERRIBLE idea for a story, but for an episode your going to play every year ,epseically for a young network such as nick who only had three shows to start and thus would need this in rotation for some time, WHY would anyone think “Dog gets sentenced to murder for doing something good” , even if it turns around in the ending, is something people would want to SEE every year. Just a poorly written tear jerker that , while thankfully far away from my own nieces where it can’t scar them for life, will likely never leave my memory. 

5. Stump Day (Star vs the Forces of Evil) Oh god this one.. while the top 4 are far worse, this one is still ungodly aggravating. It DOES have a good joke at the begining.  Kid: Uncle River can you tell us the story of stump day? River: (Jovially) Ha ha ha, you don’t tell me what to do! (Tells story anyway) But after that... ti’s the story of Marco throwing Star a birthday party on Stump Day, Mewni’s christmas. As someone who has a birthday near a holiday, if not on one, I do sympathize. All your present days and celebration are crammed into one tight period. Marco means well and gathers all her friends, and her boyfriend tom.. and star flips out not wanting to piss off the stump. So far no bad... Marco meant well but didn’t know how much she cared, Even though Tom warned him I do get star being unpredictable and thus taking the shot anyway.. then he INSISITS on having the party anyway, and has the fucking BALLS to call tom a bad boyfriend when tom eventually calls him out on wanting to keep it going. Especially since Marco COULD’VE just made it into a holiday party to make her happy without sending everyone home. But no he had to be a selfish, entitled dick weed. While tom DOES lunge at marco after Marco calls him a bad boyfriend, Marco again went FAR out of linea nd insulted his own friend because he’s jealous Tom’s with star, and he’s not. ANd then a stump attacks... and then TOM’S forced to apologize. For attacking marco, yeaht hat’s fair but for being a bad boyfriend? No... Marco was the dick and he basically wins anyway despite agian, a simple solution being right there. Let’s move on. 

4. Road to the North Pole (Family Guy) Oh boy this one.. this was at the tale end of my watching Family Guy, before “Quagmire’s Dad” out and out pissed me off enough to finally leave, being you know a transphobic mess i’ll defintley talk about in the future, but this was close: An uncomfortable, unfunny christmas special that starts with Quagmire being overly hostile to Brian for a mistake he couldn’t have possibly known about and continues into a trip to the North Pole where the elves have become deformed due to industralization and Santa is deathly ill and Stewie and Brian have to convince people to ask for less to save him.  The IDEA here is not bad, and after this and the doug entries I want to make something clear: dark, twisted, messed up... these are not bad things for a christmas special to be. Futrama’s two christmas episodes , and to a lesser extent it’s one holdiay episode, are really funny and this trinity’s going to war from the movie is a holiday staple to me. 

See that’s some good all inclusive holiday hilarity that’s patently messed up.. and a emotinal holiday story with some dark themes? also works... King of the HIll had a whole episode where bill was sucidial before taking on the persona of his ex wife that was damn good, having some humor while still having a fairly depressing story with a solid emotional core. You CAN be dark , subversive.. but you have to have a point. Doug was bad because it leaned too far into the misery and that’s what ultimatley hobbles this episode too. You have to have SOMETHING to make people invested besides holding a gun to their dog’s head or KILLING SANTA.  This ep has a godo concept, santa having to industralize to keep up and slowly growing exausted or sick from it.. it’s not bad at all.. but the ep takes it too far and dosen’t have enough emotion to it to brign us back from the brink. It’s especially galling since family guy had DONE a christmas episode in it’s earlier, better seasons, that was far better than this, so while I don’t fault them for wanting to do a second one I DO fault them for doing it so poorly and wasting a potetinally tearjerking and well done concept on a crappy meanspirited wasted hour of my life.. because oh yes, this was an hourlong special. Ho ho hum. 

3. Miracle on Evergreen Terrace (The Simpsons) This one MEANS well but just ends up misrable. The premise isnt’ TERRIBLE: Bart burns down the christmas decorations, fakes a robbery and then feels really guilty as the family is helped by those around them. The issue is when Bart is found out, while his family is furious the town ALL shuns the simpsons with pure hatred, and later robs their house and leaves them with nothing. It’s not an episode i have TONS to say on like those above and bellow, it’s just miserable... and like I ranted about before black comedy can work but this took it too far: most of the simpsons did nothing wrong and bart was throughly punished with his heavy amount of guilt. The show already did “Bart feel sbad after doing something awful at christmas time” FAR BETTER in “Marge not be proud” which, while one I don’t really watch because it is hard to watch at times, is still excellent and Is hard to watch for the RIGHT reasons instead of just being mean spirited. Now from mean spirited to .. I dont’ even know with this one.

2.. Mrs. Wakefield (King of the HIll) What a shock, ANOTHER show I really like that had a terrible episode. No really most of these shows I liked at some point. That includes the top 2, King of the Hill, especially towards the end, had some really bad ones, and a really REALLY weird one that played out like a psyological horror film and ended with a mentally damaged man turned into sausage, yes really, and this one is no exception.  Mrs. Wakefield is the story of an old woman who grew up in the hills house.. and wants to die there...  just stay until she dies. I get being lonely during the holidays, which is the given reason why she’s really doing this she’s cripplilngly alone: being alone sucks. I know this, I understand this.. but it still dosen’t mean you can die in someone’s house. That’s a traumatlizing pile of stuff your foisting on people you barely know and Hank keeps getting vialnized for throwing her out by the neighbors.. for NOT WANTING SOMEONE TO DIE IN HIS HOUSE. And later it gets to the point where she’s playing hider in the house and hiding in there trying to die.. what COULD be kinda funny in a twisted way just ends up being creepy. And again this episode had what was essentially a horror story about Luann marrying an older man who slowly moldeed her into the mascot for his company, chased her and peggy around in a pig mask, then got cured of his psychosis just in time to end up as sausage. And yes that was a real thing that happened. They probably shouldn’t do horror but they can do it but here it’s just dumb. Also for those curious while I haven’t seen it hider in the house is a film i’ve heard of about a man who lives in the walls of a house and stalks the suburban family that moves in to no one’s shock, it stars gary busey. I would also not be suprised if that was his life right now. But busey aside, this episode is terrible and like family guy after it and simpsons before it, King of The Hil lhad several stellar holiday episodes and as I mentioned made suicide and devloping a split personality into comedy while still keeping the drama so this.. this is inexcusable. Speaking of inexusable

1. A Robot for All Seasons (My Life as a Teenage Robot) Oh my aching head this one.... yeah this one somehow COMBINES problems from above with it’s own bundle. It has the tonal issues most of these have, being far too bleak without any real effort to back it up.. but it also makes the ENTIRE CAST into dickheads Minus our hero and her semi-stalker Sheldon.  The basic premise is Jenny, our teenage robot, gets kidnapped and taken over by a miserable boy who has her ruin christmas and every other holiday and then wake up with no memory of her being BRAINSWAHSED into it. The IDEA isn’t bad... it’s a dark cirumstnace but it’s a good premise for a half hour special and would have her on the run with her friends trying to help her after beliving she couldn’t do it right? Well... as I said, ENTIRE CAST: Brad, Tuck, HER OWN FUCKING MOTHER all apparently belivie jenny just snapped and did this all on her own, despite you know mountains of super villians. No one came looking for her, no one thought she was acting weird, no one cared. her mother is outright working on the next model.. it’d be okay if they were supsicious or if they wondered why or if ANY OF THEM besides sheldon had looked for her or done anything or if the bad guy had had her act like this was her idea.. but no she just acts massively out of character by ruining lives for a full year, and no one is suspcious and by the end all is forgiven for both the antagnoist and the assholes, even though the assholes all abandoned their best friend/daughter instead of trying to figure out what’s wrong and the angagonist, kid or no kid STOLE A YEAR OF JENNY’S LIFE AND NEARLY RUINED THE REST OF IT. And I know she’s a robot, she is immortal etc.. but she wants to be normal. she lost a year of high school, a year of friends and nearly lost everything.. and yet is just supposed to FORGET that? or that again everyone around her minus her stalker gave up on her? Fuck that, fuck this and... have a happy holidays.  The holidays are more than this pile of garbage and I will be back sometime before the 25th to celebrate the best rather than the worst, to spread joy rather than headaches.. but I do hope if you had to endure any of these that this helped you like it helped me. Have a wonderful holiday time and i’ll see you soon. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 15 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

Len is not the sort of person that whistles while he works, but if he was, he would be whistling now.

It's a good day.

A good week, even.

Oh, sure, they haven't figured out what the Families are up to yet, though they have confirmed through interviews with the org crime unit and various C.I.s. that the other Families have also been unusually active recently, suggesting - however impossible it seems to be - that they were all involved in this still-unknown 'big day'.

And, yes, the concept of any Family deal big enough to unite the Families is utterly terrifying, not least because Len isn't sure who he can trust with the information. He's brought Captain Singh in on it, both because Len is technically a guest at Singh's precinct and, more importantly, because Len does in fact actually trust Singh to be a decent policeman. Singh understood the ramifications immediately and vowed to do everything he could to help, but they've both agreed to gather more information privately before laying out the situation to anyone higher up (they have no hard evidence, and that weakens their case) or even sharing it outside a very limited group of trusted detectives.

Particularly in light of what happened to Len.

Len also informed Captain Singh of the events following his clash with the Flash, of course, in the interests of giving him the full context for what he overheard, and where, and why he was there in the first place. Singh's expression had been interesting to watch - pain, mostly, since Lloyd and Petersen were probably what Singh would've probably termed "good cops" - but Len made very clear to him that Len doesn't subscribe to the all-too-common Central City view that any cop who isn't on Family payroll is therefore "good" and not corrupt.

Lloyd and Petersen are perfect examples of that, for that matter: conspiring to murder another officer, however disliked and hated, is undoubtedly an act of corruption, but that form of corruption doesn't stem from the typical stinking pit that is Family money and influence. It stems from the belief that cops, particularly "good" cops, don't need to be held accountable for what they do the same way normal people do.

Len knows the way their thinking must have gone:

So Cichowski took bribes - definitely wrong, but did that mean he should go to prison for it, like any civilian would? Surely not. He made a mistake taking a little Family cash, certainly, but it was just a mistake, nothing more; it was asking far too much of him to resist such a tempting offer all the time, wasn't it? As long as he didn't do it routinely, then surely it wasn't real corruption, right? Listen, the man made the highly commendable decision to become a cop, thereby risking his life to serve his city - in return, clearly he ought to be given far more deference and license to make such mistakes once in a blue moon, even though no such lenience would be given to any of the people of the city they were purportedly serving.

(Ignoring, of course, the fact that corrupt cops are serving themselves rather than the city.)

And even Lloyd and Petersen themselves, planning a murder - they felt it was the right thing to do, even if it was illegal, so surely it couldn't be that bad, could it? After all, a cop's judgment was so much more important than little, unimportant things like the laws...

Singh hadn't liked hearing that.

But not as much as he didn't like hearing Len point out that that sort of corruption, that the-boys-in-blue-are-better-than-you culture, is the sort that rots from the top down. The men and women of Singh's precinct thought they were untouchable as long as they were "good" - meaning, as long as they did the bare minimum of their jobs and didn't take Family bribes - and the reason they thought that was because that was the way things were run.

And who was responsible, one might ask, for the way things were run in a precinct?

At least Singh had the decency to come to terms with it at once and acknowledge his role in creating - or at least reinforcing and failing to dismantle - that culture: he offered Len his badge at once, stating his willingness to go to the Commissioner and resign, with the reasons explained publicly in order to start the process of rebuilding the department into a place with ethics and respect for the rule of law. Into a place that the community could truly trust.

Len refused Singh's offer.

That clearly came as a surprise, though the surprise lessened when Len explained his reasoning: the Families uniting into a single entity for any reason, no matter how temporary, represented a threat to Central City on an existential level far beyond even what corruption might accomplish, and as a result, taking them down had to be top priority, putting aside anything but the most egregious crimes.

"Though if I find a single cop in your precinct involved in anything more serious, I'm taking 'em down right away," Len warned Singh.

"More serious than conspiring to murder a superior officer?" Singh asked, arching his eyebrows at Len.

Len snorted. "You know what I mean. The whole point is that I'm their superior officer, so I have the means to ensure that they're punished for what they've done; if not now, then at least later. Civilians, though, they can't do that, and especially not criminals. I hear anything, and I mean anything, about one of your officers abusing their power to hurt someone in custody - and I don't give a damn how many priors that someone has - or to force something, whether by illegal searches or planting evidence, on someone in the street, and I will come down on them so hard they're going to think they forgot to evacuate ahead of a tornado."

Singh nodded, his face grim. "As it happens, I agree," he said. "Any abuse, any illicit searches or wrongfully obtained evidence, any officer-involved shootings, anything like that - you hit them as hard as you like, and I'll back you to the hilt. We need to make it crystal clear that following the laws is not even remotely optional for cops, even if that means tearing apart the whole department and starting again."

It was Len's turn to arch his eyebrows at Singh. "Singing a different tune now than you were before."

"I knew we'd gotten lax," Singh said. "But I thought it was lax on things like paperwork - cutting some little corners to try to pursue justice better, faster, getting people the answers they need and the safety they require, and I thought that was okay. I didn't realize we'd gotten so bad that two of my men would actively plot a murder without realizing that it made them just as bad as the people they're trying to stop."

"Looking the other way on the cutting corners is how you get them there in the first place," Len told him. "You let someone start thinking some rights are small enough to be optional, sooner or later they'll get to thinking that the big ones are, too."

"Clearly," Singh said tersely. "So your plan is to defer my resignation until after we've gathered enough evidence of the situation involving the Families to present to the Commissioner?"

"No," Len said firmly. He'd been considering it, but Singh's speech was sincere enough to convince him otherwise. "I don't want you to resign at all - I want you to stay and help rebuild. Your own record is pretty much clean -"

One of the reasons Len chose this precinct as his temporary office, in fact.

"- and more than that, you're not wrong. Most of your detectives aren't bad guys; they're good cops, and we need good cops in Central, desperately. The problem's that the whole CCPD's been mired in this 'blue code' culture for so long that it's hard to tell which ones actually think they're doing the right thing and which ones are breaking and bending the rules for their own purposes. Our job'll be figuring that out, and you'll be better at doing that than me."

Singh nodded thoughtfully. "What about Lloyd and Petersen, though? A lot can get swept aside in a clean-up like you're planning, since we'll need to wipe at least a few slates clean, but - conspiring to murder's a bit much."

"Conspiring to murder in such a way that makes you vulnerable to Family blackmail," Len corrected him. "Much worse."

"I know this might be difficult for you to process, Snart," Singh said dryly. "But the law does consider 'murder' to be worse than corruption."

"Maybe in some places. In Central, corruption's the bigger problem."

"And yet, the law persists in its unreasonable prioritization of murder attempts. Well? What are you going to do about them?"

Len smirked.

He smirks now, too, in memory.

"Danvers," he says as she walks in. "Tell me."

"I offered, yet again, to get them a cup of coffee," she reports. "They declined, again, and continue to be convinced that you're intending to poison them."

Danvers' somewhat blood-thirsty smile might go some way towards explaining their new-found conviction.

She hadn't exactly taken the news of Len's attempted murder well, by which Len means she's now even more ferociously protective of Len than she was before.

He's reminded her three times so far that she is not legally allowed to avenge his death, should it happen, and she persists in replying only that in that case it would probably be for the best for everyone involved if he didn't die, then.

(He's touched. He’s semi-seriously worried that she's going to go to jail for murder in the first degree one day, but he's still sincerely touched.)

"Good," Len says. "Let 'em stew."

"Boss, we've gone past stewing," Danvers laughs. "We've got to be at least in the braising stage."

"You've been talking to Charlie, haven't you?"

She snorts inelegantly. "If he could offer me better tips about how to make them feel like the stupid jerks they are, I'd take them, but as it happens, no." She grins. "You're right, though. Being excessively nice to them and watching them torture themselves with their own paranoia about when you're going to bring the axe down on them is almost good enough."

"You are a jealous and vengeful god, Danvers," Len tells her, not disapprovingly. "I told you, I promise I'll report them, just after we use their brand new shiny connections to the Families to give us a lead on this 'big day' we're dealing with."

"I'll hold you to that," Danvers says peacefully. "I know you, boss; it's amazing what you'll forgive if you're the only victim."

"They -"

"If you say something dumb like 'they were under a lot of emotional pressure' or 'they didn't actually succeed in murdering me', I'm putting a tracking bracelet on you for your own protection."

"I was going to say they'll get what they deserve at the appropriate time," Len lies. He might have been about to say one of those other things, but Danvers can't prove it. "Honestly, Danvers, between you and Barry, it'll get done; he's as rabid over it as you are."

She smirks.

She's been smirking every time he says "Barry", but that's because she's a ridiculous romantic who thinks the fact that they're on a first-name basis and have decided that they're officially boyfriends is super cool.

Possibly because it is, in fact, super cool.

Len hasn't been this excited about a relationship in - ever.

"Shut up," he tells Danvers, smirking back at her in shared glee. "Get me Thawne and Iris."

"Will do. I'm amazed she's still talking to you, you know."

"I employ her," Len says dryly. "It helps."

After figuring out who exactly the Flash was, Len decided that since the Anti-Flash Task Force had already been constituted with such a vague mandate, not to mention filled with people he generally found trustworthy, that it made the most sense to just continue to operate on that basis.

His first priority, though, was to get them all on the same page.

And that meant, at least unofficially, getting the Flash recognized as an agent of the law and giving his actions at least a veneer of legitimacy - albeit somewhat retrospectively.

"I'm an undercover cop?" Barry asked when Len explained. "You're making me an undercover cop?"

"Yep. You can't arrest people, and you should try to keep from breaking too many laws -" When possible, of course. Len used to be a thief for a living, after all. "- but since we don't want to let Wells know we're on to whatever he's up to, you can't be publicly associated with the department. And that means you're undercover."

"This is awesome."

"You need to unmask yourself to the current Anti-Flash Task Force so that they don't keep trying to take you down."

"Not awesome! Your task force includes Singh, Eddie, and Iris, remember?"

"Danvers, too, and of course I remember; they're my team," Len said patiently. "But no one is benefiting from your continued silence in this regard, least of all Iris. If you have a reason not to tell her that's better than 'I promised Joe West', I'll consider it not bringing her into the loop. Do you?"

"...it could put her in danger?"

"She's already on the task force; any danger she is or is not going to be in is going to arrive regardless of what she knows. Next?"

"...I really don't want to and as my boyfriend you're not going to make me?"

"Of course I'm not going to make you."

"I sense a 'but' here."

"Well, since you already sense it," Len said dryly. "I’m not going to make you tell her anything but my team is getting the full Flash briefing tomorrow morning at 9AM. You're welcome to tell her first, or to be there to help explain things."

"But either way you're telling her with or without me?" Barry asked. He looked, if anything, relieved at the prospect of being forced to confess.

"Got it in one," Len affirmed.

And yet, despite all chances for a private confession, Barry ended up meekly sitting in the conference room when Len arrives a half-hour early.

“You’re early,” Len observed, more than a little bemused. As he well knows, Barry isn’t one for punctuality, not unless the world is ending.

“The world is ending,” Barry said grimly when Len pointed that out.

He’d brought coffee and donuts.

Sadly, they didn’t help him much.

“You – I – what – Barry?!” Iris yowled while Eddie just stared at Barry, mouth agape.

They were the only ones to be surprised, though.

Singh - as Len distinctly started suspecting during the course of their earlier conversation - already knew and had for some time, so he took it calmly enough.

(Danvers, oddly enough, appears to have already known as well - apparently she caught a glimpse of the Flash during their big battle on the street, matched the face with the Barry she’d snuck a peek at in the office, and intended on telling him afterwards, only to lose track of him in the ensuing chaos. The woman has seriously got x-ray vision, Len swears.)

The next few minutes were something of a kaleidoscope of emotion.

First, Iris was shocked (“You’re the Flash? You’re the Flash?!”).

Then she was relieved (“I knew you were hiding something; I just didn’t know what. I thought – something from the coma –”)

Then she was disappointed (“Why didn’t you tell me?”).

Then she was sad (“Don’t you trust me?”).

And then, at last – after Barry let slip in an effort to reassure her that he’d only not told her because West had made him promise not to – incandescently angry.

“You lied to me!”

“To be fair,” Len drawled, “to my understanding, he’d only been out of the coma, what, a few hours, not even one whole day, before West made him make that promise? And it’s pretty hard to feel like you’re betraying a promise, especially one to your father figure, even if you were in a vulnerable state when you made it –”

No, Len didn’t feel even the slightest bit bad about throwing Joe West under the bus.

It probably wouldn’t have worked as well as it did if Iris wasn’t already stewing over the whole thing with her brother Wally and her mother, but as it was –

Fireworks.

"I know you did that deliberately," Barry told him after Iris stormed out of Len's office. "Don't think I don't."

"Are you upset?"

"I, uh...listen, it's mean to do to Joe. He's really not that bad – you know, you should really add him to the task force team officially –"

"No chance in hell, but also not what I asked. You upset about it?"

Barry considered it, then shrugged. "The West family fights have always been epic and I'd really rather not be in the middle. Anyway, I’m, like, 75% sure she said somewhere in there that she forgave me for not telling her!"

He beamed.

The way Len remembered it, Iris said something along the lines of “you shouldn’t have let him convince you to lie to me but I know who the real asshole that I won’t be forgiving for this is!”, but he was pretty sure that meant exactly what Barry thought it meant.

Really, dumping this mess on Detective West's head, if it got Barry the absolution he'd so desperately longed for and lifted the weight of that unnecessary secret off Barry’s shoulders, and thus getting Len a chance to see that beautiful smile?

Yeah, he’d do it that way any day.

"If you don’t mind,” Singh said dryly at that point, suddenly reminding everyone that the captain of the precinct is sitting among them, “I’m going to go make sure she doesn't blow anything up in the meantime.”

By the time they got to the main floor, Iris was yelling, West was yelling back, and somehow they'd gotten off the subject of Barry – according to Danvers, West had apparently reacted to the initial accusation by trying to excuse his actions as being for Iris’ own good, which went over exactly as well as Len would have expected it to – and onto the subject of Francine and Wally.

Apparently, all of Iris’ plans about a reasonable and pre-planned confrontation went up in smoke the second West said, “You don’t know what’s the right thing for you sometimes.”

Len can’t really blame her.

Luckily for Len’s eardrums, Singh interrupted and sent them both home to go fight it out there instead.

(A short conversation with Singh later, Len did, begrudgingly, agree to bring West onto the team. The man already knew about Barry, after all; there was no point in keeping him out. Even though they would definitely need to have some serious words about cops that willingly worked with known vigilantes without bringing them in...)

After that, Barry lets himself get talked into doing some work up in his lab lest he mope for the few hours it took Iris to finish fighting with West and return, but when she finally did return, she was no longer quite as angry.

“I’m not talking to Dad,” she informed Barry, giving him a hug. “At all. Zilch. If you promise me you won’t mention me to him at all for the next few days, I will trade you total absolution and forgiveness.”

“I won’t even remember your name when he’s in the area,” Barry promised. “Hey, who’s this girl, why’s she here –”

Iris laughed.

“So – we’re okay?”

“Oh, we’re better than okay, Mr. Allen,” Iris said, grinning. “We are going to go through the backlog of my blog and you’re going to tell me the story behind every last incident –”

Barry wailed dramatically as she drags him off, but he was clearly enjoying himself

It was really nice to see them getting along again. Gave Len hope that if Barry could get absolution, then Mick -

Len is not thinking about Mick.

Nope.

Len is high on new relationship vibes of goodness and he's not letting any thoughts into his head that might disrupt that. He's giving himself a small vacation from despair. He deserves it.

Besides, the end result of the whole thing is that Iris took some time away from the precinct to cool off – forgiveness or not, she’s still a little upset about the ease by which Barry lied to her – which in turn meant that Barry ends up using the spaces in his daily schedule that he’d previously used to hang out with Iris to come visit Len instead.

Len doesn’t mind that at all. Even the torture and tedium of routine PT are a lot more fun with a solicitous boyfriend willing to run and get him his favorite pizza as a reward.

(It’s actually kind of funny – despite Len knowing that there has to be a Salieri’s pizza shop around the precinct office somewhere, since Danvers gets pick-up from it on the regular, Barry can’t seem to find it for the life of him. He swears that the only place to get it is the original location in the slums, which he can only get to in time due to his super-speed, while Danvers just smirks and refuses to divulge her sources. She's stubborn like that. But pizza or no, seeing Barry around is a surefire way to brighten Len’s day.)

Sure, Barry can't be there all the time - he's got his regular CSI work that Len doesn't want to interfere with, and of course keeping up with his speed training so that Wells doesn't get suspicious, and recently Barry also mentioned something about having some luck convincing Cisco about Wells because of some sort of time travel aberration where Wells apparently killed Cisco in a future that never happened...

Yeah, Len's not touching that last one with a ten foot pole. He's already made Barry swear never to use his time travel thing for anything less than a city-wide apocalypse - nothing personal, nothing stupid, and certainly not to fix an argument or something stupid like that.

Barry actually protested that the first time Len brought it up.

Well, not the “no time travel to redo an argument” point – they've both seen Buffy, and they've already had the whole discussion about how Willow's behavior leading up to the Tabula Rasa episode is unbelievably unethical – but he argued that there might be some reasons that justify it, like death of a loved one.

Len put a stop to that line of thought right there and then.

(If he starts thinking of letting Barry change history to fix lives, then he'll ask him to fix time to save Mick. He wouldn't be able to resist. And then they'd probably never meet and Barry would still be under Wells' influence and -)

Barry got the picture.

They still hadn't entirely agreed - especially since Barry wasn't even certain that he could go back more than a day or so, rendering the problem somewhat moot as even Len has trouble objecting to a very small and limited reset to keep someone important from dying or something - but Len at least managed to extract a promise from Barry that he wouldn't do any time travel without checking in with Len or Iris first as to the wisdom of the action in question, which Len supposes is the most he can reasonably ask for.

But that's as much thinking about time travel as Len wants to do. If Cisco's future-doppelgänger-self got murdered by Wells in such a way that Cisco somehow retained the memory of that murder, thereby causing him to doubt his relationship with Wells, that's his business.

Though apparently the (unspecified to Len) method of murder apparently raises the intriguing possibility that Wells himself might be the second speedster, and thereby the man who murdered Barry's mother, rather than merely employing him.

"We’re not sure if he is, though," Barry said when Len asked, gnawing at his lip. “Cisco admits that he doesn’t really remember what happened, not exactly, so it's still possible that he's just someone working as Wells’ agent. But if Cisco is right – Wells might be the Reverse Flash.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Bad enough being manipulated by a mentor, but...yeah. If Wells is the one who killed my mom and framed my dad, we need to get a confession out of him.”

"Wells or not Wells, the most important thing is that we stop the Reverse Flash at all costs before he hurts more people," Len corrected. "If we can get a confession, that’d be great. But if we can't, we can still use the fact he exists to create enough reasonable doubt due to previously unknown circumstances to get your father released."

Len got very satisfactorily kissed for that. That'd been fun...

"Boss!"

Len snaps out of his daydream. "Yes, Danvers?"

"Iris and Eddie are here," she says, looking amused. "Since we’re seeing them separately from the rest of the team the last few days –” Meaning West, mostly. Poor Eddie keeps having to split his time between his girlfriend and his partner, since they aren’t talking. “– I figured you’d want to talk to them first. Shall I show them in?"

"Yes, do," he says. "I want to hear how far they've gotten on Wells' Family connections."

The answer, unfortunately, is not far at all.

"His records are creepily perfect," Iris says, pacing the room. "Like - creepily perfect. We're talking, the guy has never so much as made a typo in anything, and his signature is picture-perfect identical on every page. It's like all his paperwork was done by a robot!"

"Does that help us?" Len inquires.

"Probably not," Thawne says reluctantly. "There's no hard evidence Wells has ever even seen a Family member, much less a financial connection between them -"

"There's what Barry's friend Terri found," Iris objects.

"We haven't connected that shell company to Wells, though," Eddie protests.

"Shell company?"

"Yeah!" Iris says enthusiastically. "Our one lead!"

"Hardly even that, really," Thawne qualifies. "We've identified one company that handled a large part of the contracting for STAR Labs' construction - Zoom Contracting - but their financials are ridiculously bizarre."

"They supposedly constructed the entire inner ring of STAR Labs in less than three weeks," Iris says. "And supposedly they incurred no costs for doing it beyond the raw materials needed for the work – though of course they got paid hand over fist for it all."

"That sounds like fairly routine graft to me," Len says. "What's the lead?"

"We haven’t found any other clients who acknowledge having worked with them or any other projects that they’re associated with on any construction approvals, but they regularly receive extremely high payments from – somewhere," Iris says. "Somewhere unknown. We managed to work that out between my hunches, Terri's forensic accounting wizardry and Kara's ridiculously fast archival research - seriously, girl, you're not also a superspeedster metahuman, right?"

"Nope," Danvers says. "I'm a different species entirely."

"Iris' theory," Thawne, blessedly practical, interjects, "is that if Wells really is the speedster in yellow, he theoretically could have done a lot of the construction personally, thereby avoiding outlay on labor costs and resulting in an extremely fast deliverable. And if he did it personally and Zoom Contracting is just a front, then the additional 'client' payments could be how the Families are paying him for the hits. It's pretty tenuous."

"Good enough start for me, though," Len says. "You're authorized to keep digging, all of you. Just remember -"

"People who look into STAR Labs or Wells have a tendency to disappear," Iris says. "We know. We're being careful."

"Good. Out, all of you; I've got my own mission for today."

"I'm sure you do," Danvers says with a grin. "Have fun, and don't strain that side of yours by going too quickly."

Thawne snorts.

Everyone looks at him and he flushes. "I just – too quickly – never mind."

"No, it was a good one," Len allows magnanimously. "Good luck on your investigation. Get back to me when you have results."

Thawne leaves, escorted by Danvers.

Iris, however, lingers behind, standing by the door.

Len arches his eyes at her, and she smiles ruefully.

"I'm guessing we can both take the shovel talk as said, right?" she asks.

"We can," Len agrees. He'd expected something like this. "I have no intention of breaking Barry's heart."

"Good," Iris says, but she hesitates. "But...Barry - okay, you know how he didn't tell me about the Flash thing?"

"Oddly enough, having been there when you found out about it – yes, I'm familiar."

"Yeah, yeah, that’s not the point I’m getting at here. Stop being snarky for two minutes. The point is - I love Barry. He’s my best friend. He always will be. But – he lies. A lot. Mostly to get out of confrontations, but sometimes he just forgets to mention things because he subconsciously realizes people might get angry at him if he tells them." She shakes her head. "And based on what I know about you so far, you take people not being straight with you pretty seriously."

Len frowns. "Are you...warning me about getting my heart broken? By Barry?"

"I mean, yeah, I guess, sort of? Again, while this is based on a pretty limited acquaintance with you, I think you're a pretty upstanding guy, former thief or no thief," Iris says, crossing her arms. "For all your jokes, you really care about ethics and being a good person and all that. If things blow up, well...I just wanted to say that, Barry or no Barry, best friend or no best friend, come tell me your side of the story and I'll be willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Okay?”

Len is gaping at her.

“Listen, like I said, Barry's my best friend, but I know him. I know him and I know you, and...I don't know. You're pretty lonely, and you don't deserve to be." Iris shrugs. "Break his heart, I'll break you. But if you two break up..."

She trails off, frowning.

"Too many 'break's in that sentence?"

"Yeah. Anyway, you get the gist."

And then she slips out the door before Len really has time to react to what she just said.

He's not exactly sure what to do with it. He supposes he appreciates the faith she has in him, and acknowledges that as Barry's Mick she would have the most insight into Barry's character, but...really?

Now that he's gotten to know Barry, Len can't imagine what in the world would be bad enough to cause the sort of break up blow up Iris is describing. Besides, he knows about the Flash thing - what else is it going to be? Barry's not-so-secret supernatural blog that he's totally still updating?

Weird.

Len supposes he'll just take the compliment.

In the meantime, he has a date.

He timed his meeting to end exactly 25 minutes after the meeting time Barry proposed, so it's no surprise when Barry appears in his office only seven minutes later, looking flustered and embarrassed. "Uh, hi - I didn't mean -"

"Good timing. I just finished work," Len says, not without fondness. "It ran long."

Barry looks relieved for a moment, then suspicious. "Did you deliberately let it run long?"

"Of course I did. I've met you."

Barry laughs, looking delighted. "Okay, c'mon, I left the car outside -"

"No, wait, don't -"

They're in the car.

Len bends double in agony as his side and back and leg scream protest at the abrupt change in position. The fact that Barry has managed to make the actual running part of events so sudden as to barely be consciously noticed doesn't really matter; his body still knows it happened, even if his mind doesn't.

"Barry," he says through gritted teeth. "I ain't wearing my braces. That hurt."

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean -"

"We'll talk about your evolving definition of consent later. Go get my crutches."

Barry reappears a second later, looking embarrassed. Luckily, Len's managed to take a few deep breaths and shove down the pain again. "Thanks."

"Sorry," Barry says again. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," Len says. "And one of these days I'll be fully healed and you'll have permission to run me around as you like, but until then, a bit of caution wouldn't go amiss."

"Yeah, you're right...what was that about consent? I mean, I wouldn't, uh, you know -"

"Not sexual consent," Len says, rolling his eyes. "You're fine on that. Just regular normal consent, asking for permission, that sort of kindergarten stuff. The fact that you tell me you're gonna run me doesn't mean you don't have to wait for me to say 'okay' before you do run me. Emergency cases of rescuing life and limb excepted, of course."

"Got it," Barry says, still looking embarrassed. "Sorry."

Len waves a hand, dismissing it. "Now," he says, settling himself more comfortably into the car. "We estimate Lloyd and Petersen won't be coming out for another seventeen minutes, twenty three seconds, right?"

"That's right."

"Well, then," Len says. "Maybe we should talk about your sexual ethics -"

Barry knows Len well enough by now to laugh and take that as a cue to lean over and kiss him.

Seventeen minutes later, their targets exit, right on time, and Len gently (and reluctantly) pushes Barry away.

"Great," Barry says, focusing on the extremely paranoid looking pair. "Let's follow them."

"Be a little obvious about it," Len advises.

“A little obvious?”

"They’re cops; there’s no way you can drive well enough for them not to notice you. So we want to be obvious instead - not too much, just enough that they see a black car with tinted windows and think 'Family'."

Barry grins.

They follow Lloyd and Petersen for a while, pausing occasionally to make out as the two cops make their general rounds throughout town. Len’s been following them for a few days, mostly with Danvers or sometimes Wally to drive him – they haven’t yet figured out where they're meeting with the Families, or even if they are, but in Len’s opinion, following them around and heightening their paranoia is fun regardless of how productive it is.

Stalking people together while on a date with Barry is even more fun.

“Hey,” Barry says at their fourth stop instead of trying to wiggle into Len’s lap like he has the last three stops. “That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Len asks, looking around. It’s a slum corner, not unlike most slum corners – a crummy office building, a shady-looking bodega, a run-down set of apartments. Nothing special.

“No, I know this building,” Barry says, squinting at the office building Lloyd and Petersen entered a few minutes ago. “This is where Dibny’s office is.”

“Dibny?”

“Yeah, you know, Ralph Dibny, the one I told you about. The cop – well, he used to be a cop – the one who planted evidence?”

Len’s eyebrows go up. “And he’s working in the slums now? As what?”

“Private investigator, apparently. His building did have a Family problem, though; I saw some when I went to visit him.” Len arches his eyebrows, causing Barry to flush a bit. “I was having a bit of a moral crisis and wanted to remind myself what not to do. Ultimately not an issue.”

Sounds like an issue, but sure, Len’s willing to take this one on faith. He nods. “Family problem, huh? Which Family?”

“Santinis.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Not a Santini area, usually. Interesting. Did Dibny say that he stayed in touch with anyone from the precinct?”

“Yeah,” Barry says. “He said some of them threw him work when they could, on account of their friendship and empathy and stuff. Including some of the cops known to be in the Family pocket. Do you think…?”

“That Dibny’s acting as some sort of go-between? It’s possible,” Len says. “It’s as good a theory as any, anyway, though of course we’ll have to see who else is in that building –”

Barry’s gone.

And now he’s back.

“They’re on Dibny’s floor,” he reports. “No idea if they’re going to see him specifically, though; I didn’t stick around for fear they’d see me.”

Len snorts. “Well, that works. Now we just need to know what’s on that floor - which we can do another time,” he adds, catching Barry’s arm before he disappears again. “Hold off.”

“Okay,” Barry says, then grins. “Back to what we were otherwise doing?”

Well. If Barry insists...

The rest of the ride goes pretty much without incident, and Barry promises to get West onto the Dibny connection since West is technically on the task force team now, as Len promised.

Unfortunately, West’s still pretty bitter about Len’s existence, not to mention the fact that Len and Barry are openly dating – Len got bored and hobbled off about three minutes into West’s shovel talk, both because he believes respect is earned, not given, and because he wanted to ensure West’s oblique references to his service weapon remained oblique and didn’t turn into actual threats that would potentially get West in trouble – so Len’s been delivering actual instructions through Barry for the time being in the hopes that if West thinks it’s Barry’s idea, he’ll actually do the work he’s been told to do.

(Purposefully malingering because you don’t like a guy is not corruption; it’s just being an asshole. Though if West says one more thing about Barry banging a supervillain…)

A few more kisses later, Len starts making his hobbling way back towards his office even as Barry disappears in a flash of light.

Heh.

Flash of light.

It’s never going to get old.

Len’s about halfway there when his phone buzzes with a text from Charlie.

Got some1 wants 2 meet u. Has ur card.

Len’s eyebrows go up. His card? As in, his almost-never-used brand-new business cards that actually admit that he’s a cop? Who the hell would have that?

Doesn’t want 2 meet at ur office. Jitters in 5?

Make it 10, Len texts back, sighing. He sends a text notifying Danvers of his changed plans so she doesn’t start a search party when he doesn’t arrive at the office and changes direction.

When he gets to Jitters, he sees Charlie hovering by a booth in the back, smiling at a twink.

Len makes his way forward. “No,” he says. “Just – no. Bad Charlie.”

Charlie pouts at him, but shrugs. “Another time, maybe,” he tells the twink – brown eyes, brown hair, pouty lips aside, and Len really shouldn’t be mentally nicknaming him ‘the twink’ since this is probably his contact but it’s really hard not to – and meanders off.

“Tell me,” the twink says in a surprisingly upper-class sort of accent that doesn’t really match the faded green hoodie he’s pulled up in a vague attempt to hide his face. Or possibly it’s those hearing aids he’s not-so-subtly trying to hide, who knows. “When he says he’d like to eat me, does he mean –”

“S’got priors for attempted cannibalism. I wouldn’t go for it if I were you.”

“Ah. Right. I see.” The guy lets his eyes drift across Len’s body. “I don’t suppose –”

“Not a chance.” Len settles himself down across from the guy. “You wanted to see me?”

The guy produces what is, in fact, Len’s card. “I think it’s more like you wanted to see me,” he says, tilting his head back in an arrogant sort of way. “I found your card in my – temporary living quarters, let’s say, with a note indicating that you wanted to discuss what I learned during my tenure at STAR Labs.”

Tenure at STAR Labs –

Ah, yes.

The now-missing Mark Mardon’s surprising choice in roommates.

“So you're Hartley Rathaway, I’m guessing?” Len says.

“That’s correct,” Rathaway says. “I also hear that you’re the man in charge of investigating the Flash. The Anti-Flash Task Force, I believe?”

Stupid nickname.

“I’m associated with a task force dedicated to looking into unusual events in Central City,” Len hedges. “And yeah, I’m currently investigating STAR Labs, including your claims of misconduct prior to the Accelerator explosion. Anything you’d be willing to tell me, I’d appreciate hearing.”

Rathaway’s nose wrinkles a bit when he hears Len’s lower-class accent in full force. It’s not Len’s fault it goes particularly nasal around longer, more unfamiliar words, but the reaction does make Len not particularly fond of the young Rathaway, no matter how much sympathy he has for anyone who got kicked out of their family for being something other than straight.

Guess you can take the money away from the rich kid, but it doesn’t make him any less of a spoiled brat…

“I do have information about the Accelerator explosion, which I’ll be more than happy to share with you,” Rathaway says, clearly deciding to ignore Len’s obviously less-than-privileged origins in favor of the opportunity to tell his story to a willing ear. “Despite the fact that my earlier complaints were so rudely brushed off by the police.”

“Well, I ain’t the regular police,” Len says.

“I also,” Rathaway says, then pauses, clearly for effect, “have information regarding the illicit activity of the Flash himself.”

Oh, boy.

“We’re largely dropping that angle of our investigation,” Len tells him. “While we’re very concerned with illegality around the Flash, we largely believe him to be acting in good faith.”

Rathaway sneers. “Good faith? The Flash?”

“That’s correct,” Len says, a little stiffly. “His decision to take on crime-fighting on his own account without coordination with the proper authority might be over-enthusiastic, but we have reason to believe he’s honestly trying to help people.”

“Oh, I’m sure he thinks he is,” Rathaway says, still sneering. “I assume the little secret prison he’s running is also considered to be ‘in good faith’?”

Len freezes.

Secret prison?

(He’s trapped in a small dark room, an unfamiliar claustrophobia seizing his heart as he thinks to himself that he’s going to die in this room, this prison with the Families guarding the door so that they can come in and hurt him whenever they feel like it before coming to kill him at last when they get bored of him, he’s going to die in this modern-day oubliette where people are put to be forgotten, this terrible place where no one will ever find him, his death ignored, and only Mick and Lisa left to mourn and wonder...)

The Flash – Barry – his Barry – is involved with a secret prison?

Len’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know.

But there’s no sound of a lie in Rathaway’s voice, and Len - Len's a cop. He picked that job years ago, the job and all the responsibilities that came with it, and that means his duty, first and foremost, is to justice. It’s the mission he’s devoted his life to; the one principle he holds above everything; the thing that drove him through undercover work all those years, the thing that led him to the work he does now.

The basis for everything he does, the most fundamental of his beliefs: that the pursuit of justice is the utmost duty of every cop, no matter the personal cost.

If Len closes his eyes to something bad just because he’s pretty sure it’s going to ruin everything good that he has?

Well. That would makes him no better than the corrupt self-interested cops that he hates so much.

No better than his dad.

So even if Len desperately doesn’t want to know – he has no choice.

He has to know the truth.

“You know, I ain’t too sure about that,” he says, very slowly. “Why don’t you tell me all about it, and I’ll see what I think?”

[emospritelet]

may I add the prompt where KOL!Gold turns up with flowers to thank Belle for having taken care of him, and sees her with Will and thinks he's her boyfriend ?

See, I told you the current angst was your fault :)  I tweaked it slightly, but what the hey…

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20]

AO3 link

Gold was halfway towards the Cadillac before he decided that he wasn’t in the frame of mind to drive.  He turned on his heel, striding off towards the town at a pace that he knew was going to cause him a lot of pain by the time he lay down to sleep that night.  He found that he didn’t much care; the pain in his leg would distract from the hollow feeling in his chest, the space where his heart had trying to make itself known again after so many years of wasting away.

He strode along, head down, lost in bitter self-loathing, and his subconscious whispered soothingly that it was only to be expected.  Opening his heart had only ever led to loss.  He had been a fool to think otherwise.  He had been a fool to hope.

By the time he reached the main streets he was tired and in pain, and he couldn’t face the slog through the snow to his own house.  He went to Granny’s instead, pushing open the door and taking a seat at the bar with a sigh of relief.  The bunch of flowers was looking a little windswept by its swift passage from the hospital, and he dropped it on the bar, ordering a whisky from Miss Lucas, hesitating slightly, then making it a double.  She poured it for him with a sympathetic smile, but didn’t fall into the cliché of asking whether he had had a rough day.  He supposed it was obvious to anyone who could see him.  He took a drink, wiping a droplet of whisky from his lip and letting it burn its way down inside.  The arrival of Dorothy was a welcome distraction.

“Hey!” she said, a little breathlessly.  “Hell of a day, huh?  You wanna buy me a drink?”

“Here,” said Gold, shoving the flowers at her.  Dorothy took them, brow crinkling in puzzlement.

“What are these for?”

“Flowers,” he said impatiently.  “Stick them in a vase or something.  Or take them home, I don’t care.”

“Okay, it’s just - why are you giving them to me?”

“Maybe I’m grateful for all the good work you’ve done at the hospital since you got here,” he said shortly, and she gave him a look.

“I know you are,” she said.  “I also know that you’re a thoughtful sort of guy, and I very much doubt you bought these flowers for your favourite lesbian when you know in your heart she’d prefer a decent bottle of vodka.”

“Do you want the flowers or not?” he snapped.

Dorothy put her hands on her hips, the plastic wrapper crinkling around the bouquet.

“Oh, I’ll take ‘em,” she said.  “If you tell me who they were really meant for.  And if the answer is anything other than sweet little Belle French who you’re very clearly totally in love with, you’re an idiot.  Come to think of it, you’re an idiot anyway for giving these to me when you should be presenting them to her on bended knee while you apologise for being an asshat and ask her out for dinner.”

“I don’t—”

“Followed by lots of sex, future marriage and babies,” she added.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said repressively.

“Which bit?”  She grinned at him.  “The part about you being an idiot or the part about you being in love with Belle?  Did I lose you at the marriage and babies part?”

“I did apologise!” he snapped.  “I took your advice.  And Jefferson’s, for all the good it did.”

“You’re not seriously telling me she told you to shove it?”

“Of course not…”  He took a sip of his drink.  “She accepted my apology, said we were friends.  She was very gracious about it.”

“Well then,” she said.  “Now you can move on to the next step, right?  Ask her out.  Tell her you’re totally in love with her and you want to see her naked.”

“For fuck’s sake—”

“You can offer to let her see you naked as a sweetener,” she added.

“I’m not in love with Belle!” he insisted, ignoring both the comments on nudity and the fact that he was almost certainly lying.  “And - and even if I was, it wouldn’t make any difference.  She’s seeing someone.”

Dorothy’s eyebrows shot up.

“Since when?”

“Since he turned up outside the hospital and swept her off her feet,” he said, his tone impatient.

“Really?”  Dorothy gave him a flat look.  “Who is this lothario?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.  “Short hair.  Her age.  Zelena says they’re together.”

“You believed something Zelena said?”

“Well…”  He frowned at that.  “I don’t think she was lying.  They were all over each other.”

“In what way?”

“In the hugging and kissing way, what do you think?” he said shortly.

“Hmm.”  Dorothy took a slurp of her drink.  “Tongue?”

“I wasn’t exactly gonna walk over there and check,” he snapped.

“So they could just be friends.”

“Friends that like to kiss each other,” he grumbled.

“I kiss my friends.”  She leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to his cheek, leaving the scent of flowers in his nose.  “See?  And trust me, I really don’t want to sleep with you.”

Gold had to grin at that.

“Your loss,” he quipped.

“That’s the spirit.”  She clinked her glass against his, winking.

“You guys started without me!”

Jefferson’s injured tone made them both look around, and he shrugged out of his coat, stamping snow from his boots.  He was carrying a large padded envelope under his arm, and he shoved it onto the bar, brushing snowflakes from his dark hair.

“What’ll it be?” asked Dorothy.  “Gold’s drowning his sorrows, and we’re all pitching in.”

Jefferson’s mouth fell open.

“She said no?”

“She didn’t say anything,” said Gold, in a wry tone.  “I never got the chance to ask.”

“She was talking to some guy,” put in Dorothy.  “And this moron here assumes they’re bumping uglies three times a night, without actually asking her about it.  Hence the drowning of the sorrows.”

“I’m not drowning my sorrows,” muttered Gold.

“Sure you’re not,” she said, with a sniff.  “You’re pretty much crying into your whisky thinking she might have the hots for someone else, but you absolutely have no feelings for her whatsoever, nope.”

“I didn’t say I had no feelings for her,” he said.  “I - I just meant that it doesn’t matter.”

“I never heard of her having a boyfriend,” said Jefferson.  “Where the hell did this come from?”

“I bloody well saw them, that’s what!” snapped Gold.  “Do you people think I just go around creating painful scenarios in my head for fun?”

“Yes,” they said, in unison, and he scowled, turning back to his whisky.

“Look,” said Jefferson patiently.  “I’m willing to bet she’s not seeing this mystery guy.  If she was, why wouldn’t she mention it?”

Gold didn’t have an answer for that, and Jefferson rolled his eyes.

“She was staying at your house for days,” he added.  “Did she mention a boyfriend to you then?  Or call him?  Even once?”

She didn’t.  She didn’t call anyone except her father.

“He was abroad,” he said.  “Just got back in the country.”

“But did she mention him?”

Gold was silent, and Dorothy sighed.

“You need to say something to her,” she said.  “Forget about this not-boyfriend, and just tell her how you feel.  Life’s crappy enough without ignoring the few opportunities for love that come along.”

“I’m not—”

Dorothy slammed down her glass and grabbed at the napkin holder, waving it at him threateningly.

“I swear by all that’s holy if you tell me you’re not in love one more time, I will take this napkin holder and shove it up your oblivious ass!” she snapped. “With no lube!”

Gold burst out laughing, followed by Jefferson, and after a moment she joined in, putting down her weapon of choice.

“I’m serious,” she said, when they had stopped chuckling.  “You like her.  She likes you—”

“She likes everyone,” said Gold wearily.  “That’s who she is.”

“What did I say about the napkin holder, hmm?”

Gold sighed, slumping a little on the bar, and Dorothy turned to Jefferson, fishing a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket.

“Get yourself a drink,” she said.  “And get him another one.  I’m gonna go see what I can find out about this alleged boyfriend.”

“You don’t even know where they’ll be,” grumbled Gold, feeling like a moody teenager and hating himself for it.

“Well, they’re not here,” said Dorothy patiently.  “So they’re obviously at the Rabbit Hole, right?”

“Or back at her place, picking up where they left off,” said Jefferson helpfully, and Dorothy smacked his shoulder.

“Not.  Helping.”

“Look,” sighed Gold, sitting up.  “I appreciate you two trying to cheer me up, but this is ridiculous.  Leave Belle to have some time with her - well, whatever he is.  Just bloody well have a drink with me, would you?”

“Jefferson can be you drinking buddy for the next twenty minutes,” said Dorothy.  “I’ll be back.  Mine’s a vodka tonic.  Keep my seat warm, okay?”

With that she was gone, and Jefferson slid into her seat, beaming at Gold.

“So,” he said.  “What are we drinking?”

x

Belle took a slurp of her drink, setting it back on the table and grinning at Will.  He was very tanned, his hair shorter than ever.  A little thinner than he had been when she last saw him, but he looked happy, which was all she cared about.

“You’re looking well,” he said, echoing her thoughts.  “Small town life must agree with you.”

“It - has its moments,” she admitted.  “What about you?  Still teaching?”

“Yeah, I’m loving it,” he said enthusiastically.  “Going back in the New Year. There’s a great little community of us now, and the local people are so welcoming.  You should come out and visit sometime.”

Belle sighed.

“God, I’d love to,” she said reluctantly.  “No bloody chance at the moment.  I’m trying to save up for a place of my own.”

He made a noise that suggested he knew exactly how it was to need more cash, and picked up his glass.

“Come on then, Belle,” he said.  “Drink up, we’re celebrating.”

Belle shot him a wry glance, and clinked her glass against his before taking a drink.

“There,” she said.  “Now d’you want to tell me what we’re celebrating?  I mean other than you turning up out of the blue right before Christmas after you’ve been radio silent for months?  I know you, you have something to tell me. Right?”

He sent her a lopsided grin, which made her even more convinced he had something to tell her.

“Yeah, sorry about being a crappy penpal,” he said.  “Life kind of got in the way.  I can only stay tonight, as well.  Got a bus to catch in the morning.”

“Well, I’d offer you a bed, but you know how Dad is,” said Belle, with a roll of her eyes.  “We never did set up the guest bedroom, and it’s full of all his fishing crap.”

“No need, I got a room at that bed and breakfast,” he said, taking a slurp of his beer.  “Flew into New York yesterday, and figured I’d stop by on the way to Toronto, see how you were doing.”

“And?” she teased, and he grinned.

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” he remarked, his eyes glinting.  “Okay, I wanted you to be the first to know.  I’ve - I’ve met someone.  The one.  The love of my life.”

Belle’s eyes widened, and she almost bounced in her seat.

“That’s wonderful!” she said.  “Is this the reason for the trip to Toronto?”

He nodded, looking almost shy as he turned his glass between his fingers.

“She’s asked me home to meet the family,” he said.  “Her name’s Anastasia.  Ana.  She’s - God, Belle, she’s everything!”

Belle couldn’t seem to stop smiling.  She reached out to hug him, squeezing him tightly, and Will squeezed back.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, her voice muffled a little by his scarf.  “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Well, that’s partly the reason for my visit,” he said.  “I - uh - I asked her to marry me.  Wondered if you’d come to the wedding.  It’ll be in Toronto, so not far to travel.”

Belle sat back with a squeal of delight, clapping her hands.

“Oh my God!  Of course!” she said.  “When’s the wedding?”

“Hopefully next September,” he said.  “We haven’t told her family yet.  Belle, I was such a bloody idiot when I asked her, I didn’t even have a ring!  We were walking along the beach at midnight the day before she flew home, and the stars were out, and it was perfect, and I just kind of blurted it out.  Luckily she said yes.”

“Lucky for you indeed,” said Belle, amused.  “So when are you getting a ring?”

“Oh, I got one,” he said hastily.  “She’d been saying how pretty it was, so I hope she’ll like it.  Here, let me show you.  You can give me a woman’s opinion.”

He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, bringing out a little box, and opened it up to reveal a white gold ring set with a ruby and diamond cluster.  Belle took the box, looking it over and smiling with delight as the light sparkled on the cut stones.

“It’s beautiful,” she said warmly.  “I’m sure she’ll love it.  I’m so happy for you, I truly am.  And I can’t wait to meet your bride-to-be.”

He smiled, his eyes gong soft, a far-away look in them.  A look of contentment, of happiness.  He had found the love of his life, and was loved in return.  She found that she envied him.

x

Dorothy shoved her hands in her pockets, tucking her chin into her scarf as she hurried along the street.  The Rabbit Hole wasn’t far, and she soon ducked in through the doorway with a sigh of relief, warmth flooding over her.  She didn’t bother taking off her coat; if Belle was there, it wouldn’t take her long to get the information she was after.

She spied Belle almost immediately, seated at a table in the corner with a young man sitting across from her.  The young man had soulful eyes and a ready smile, with close-cropped hair.  They were talking, their heads close together, but Dorothy couldn’t hear a thing over the sound of the music in the bar.  They seemed to get along very well, but she couldn’t see that the two of them were exhibiting any signs of being a couple.  Just two friends having a drink, as far as she could tell.  She was about to wander over to say hi, when Belle reached over to hug the man.  He hugged her back, eyes closed and a wide grin on his face, then sat back and said something.  Belle let out a squeal and clapped her hands, and the man’s grin broadened as he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a ring box.

Dorothy pursed her lips.  That was definitely an engagement ring.  Belle had taken the ring and was looking it over, talking excitedly.  She can’t be getting engaged to someone when she’s never mentioned him.  That’s ridiculous.

She waited to see if the ring was going on Belle’s finger, but the box was closed, the young man put it back in his pocket, and they clinked glasses. Dorothy nodded to herself.  No kisses.  Nothing to suggest the guy was anything other than a friend.  Probably that ex that Belle had mentioned in the Rabbit Hole, the one who had seemed too much like a brother for her to want to kiss.  Whoever the engagement ring was for, it wasn’t Belle.

“Don’t they look happy?”

Zelena’s voice made her jump, and Dorothy turned with a scowl as the other woman sidled up next to her, a drink in one hand and a smirk on her face.

“They look like two friends enjoying a drink,” she said.  “He’s probably that ex she talked about.  The one that was just a friend.”

“They look like more than just friends to me,” said Zelena snidely.  “I’d say they look perfect for each other.”

“Yeah, well, given that you’d interpret someone telling you go jump in a lake as a come-on, I think your ability to read people is kind of crap,” said Dorothy dryly.  “What are you doing here, anyway?  You decided to stalk Belle now? Given up on creeping out Gold?”

“It’s a free country,” said Zelena stiffly.  “I might ask you the same question. Why are you lurking in here and not down at the diner mooning over that slutty waitress like usual?”

Dorothy felt her fists clench, and told herself to calm down.

“You know, you’re right,” she said.  “Gold was about to buy me a drink, so I should really get back there.  Not like I want to hang out with you, things haven’t gotten that desperate.”

Zelena scowled, nostrils flaring, but she tried to cover it with a smile.

“Suit yourself,” she said airily.  “Perhaps I’ll head down to Granny’s myself, help Dr Gold down some whisky.”

“Be prepared for him to leave as soon as you get there, then.”

“I’d go and say hello to Belle,” added Zelena, “but she looks rather busy, don’t you think?”

Dorothy raised her chin.

“Only one way to find out,” she announced.

She strode over to Belle’s table, causing Belle to look up with an expression of surprise, which became a warm smile.

“Dorothy!” she said.  “Hey!  D’you want a drink?”

“Nah,” said Dorothy bluntly.  “I’m helping a stupid friend drown his sorrows at Granny’s, and I really need to get back there before his brain implodes from all the over-analysing he’s doing.”

“I—”  Belle looked confused.  “Oh.  Okay.”

“Hi,” said the young man, and Belle’s eyes widened.

“Oh!  Sorry!  Dorothy, this is Will.  He’s a good friend of mine.  Will, this is Dorothy.  She works at the hospital as a nurse.”

“Pleased to meet you, Will,” said Dorothy.  “Any good friend of Belle’s is a friend of mine.”

She gave Zelena a meaningful look over her shoulder, and Zelena scowled. Dorothy turned back to face Belle and Will.

“So…”  She gestured between them.  “You guys aren’t dating, then?”

“Oh, God no!” said Belle, with a chuckle.  “No, we’re just friends.”

“I’m sort of ninety percent engaged to someone else,” added Will, and Dorothy grinned.

“Congratulations,” she said.  “Just thought I’d check.  People tend to jump to conclusions in this town.”

She glared at Zelena again, who had developed an interest in the contents of her drink.

“Okay, well - I guess I’ll see you at work,” said Dorothy breezily.  “Nice meeting you, Will.”

She shot Zelena a withering look as she passed, receiving a glare in return, and left the Rabbit Hole feeling somewhat lighter of heart.  Belle was a free agent.  Now all she had to do was get Gold to ask her out.  Piece of cake.

[quietseraphim]

Dream a Little Dream of Me

My first BTS fic ever! Cross-posted on AO3

(I promise there’s a read-more link, sorry if it doesnt show up on mobile)

Pairing: Kim Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Drama, Angst, Fluff

Tags: Idol!RM Student Teacher!Reader. Soulmate AU, meeting in dreams. There’s a decent amount of cursing in this, just a heads up.

Summary:  There are old wives tales about dreams and what they can mean. There are also stories of dreams that you can share with your soulmate, dreams where even if you're not together, you can still comfort each other when you need it most.

What happens if your soulmate is not only on the other side of the planet? But they're also international icons?

Chapter: 1  2

Ao3 Link

Please be sure to like it here on Tumblr or give me some Kudos on Ao3! 

Also: my inbox is always open, any and all constructive criticism is welcome as well as questions/regular comments on the fic! Enjoy!

There were a lot of old wives tales about dreams, from the idea that a dream about your teeth falling out meant an unexpected rainfall of money, to the idea that dreams are visions of your past life. But there are also tales of dreams that feel so real that when you wake up, you feel empty inside. Dreams that felt so real that you could feel the warmth of the other person’s body long after they were gone. People would say all kinds of things, from writing them off as sex dreams or even going so far as to say it was a ghost. And in a way it was true, but according to others, these particular dreams were a snap of connection between soulmates. That they would connect when they needed each other the most. But like everything, this could be flawed; even if by some miracle that a pair would be alive at the same time, a pair of soulmates could be on opposite sides of the world where their sleeping patterns would never cross, each having to live out this life without their other half. In cases like these, they’d have to wait to meet in a different timeline where fate and the universe would be kinder. Fluff pieces would be written in newspapers, smattered between the stories of politics and murder to make people feel better. The pair would talk about how their dreams connected for months before finally meeting in person and falling in love. Most readers wouldn’t read too much into it, and no one really believed in soulmates.

~~*~~

It was a reoccurring dream that always left me feeling empty inside once I woke up. It was a simple thing, more a feeling than a dream, but the weight of having someone’s arms around my waist, their face pressed against my own, their breath tickling my neck, a feeling of having someone there when they weren’t, it’s a hard feeling to shake when it felt so real.

My eyes fluttered awake as the last remnants of my dream were swept away by the harsh light of the afternoon sun, groaning I slowly propped myself up, checking my watch. The LED screen read 5:24 pm, my impromptu nap had only been little over an hour, work was more stressful than usual. I stretched my arms above my head and heaving another heavy sigh, I flopped back onto my pillows,  please let me continue that dream I prayed silently closing my eyes...After a minute or two after just laying with my eyes closed, I let out a huff, whatever hold on that sleep had on me was gone and now there was no chance of falling back into the dream. The dream that always felt so so real.

It happened every once in a while, the connection, but it always happened at random times, which basically told me that if soulmates were a thing, then my soulmate lived on the other side of the planet, or at the very least, had an odd sleep schedule. After every dream, I felt more refreshed and energized than before (though that could have been an after-effect of the nap itself).

If I was being honest with other people, I don’t think soulmates existed, it seems too improbable, too impossible that there was someone out there in the world who is my perfect match, who was my partner for life, romantic or otherwise.

But then again...the hopeless romantic in me firmly believed in it, believed that I had made the connection, if only for a split second. There were so many afternoon naps that I woke up from with the feeling of arms around my waist and a nose nuzzled in my hair. These feelings/dreams would only happen when I was super exhausted or emotionally drained, either because of how work/school went or because my depression came in a wave that crashed over me, making it hard to even see straight. It was especially on those days that I needed the comfort that came with the connection dreams.

I’ve basically resigned myself to the fact that the connection dreams will never happen when I need them to, that I’ll never be asleep at the same time as my soulmate (for longer than 20 minutes anyway), and that I’d never meet my soulmate. Until finally, it happens and the phantom feeling of arms around me develops into something more.

Until one night it happens.

I was struggling to open my apartment door, I had so much shit in my hands and I was so fucking tired from the shit-show of a day. As soon as I finally got in, I kicked off my heels, practically falling over myself. I threw down my lunch bag, backpack, purse, basically everything. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and as I fumbled to check my emails, it fell. And that was it. I stared at my phone on the floor and all of a sudden tears started welling up in my eyes. I started breathing heavier and faster and I just let myself fall to the floor, sobs wracking my body. I have no idea how long I stayed on the floor for, or why I was really in the middle of a breakdown. Yeah, work had been shit, the students I had were even worse than usual, but it wasn’t so different than any other day. But then again I was just so tired, I hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately, or come to think of it water or food. Financial struggles were such a burden and apparently, after months of the anxiety and depression bubbling up it finally spilled over.

Heaving a sigh, I dragged myself off the floor and stumbled to my room, too exhausted in all aspects to do anything other than just flop onto my bed. I rolled over and grabbed the stuffed sea otter plush I got at the aquarium, hoping it would help me feel better, closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

As soon as I fall asleep, I feel that familiar weight settle over the curve of my waist. I sigh and push myself back a bit into their warmth. Thank god you’re here, please don’t leave anytime soon I say. I don’t expect any response, why would I? It’s been months of on and off connection dreams and usually, I can feel them for, at most, 20 minutes and even then the time flies and I never say anything. I don’t know why I said anything to begin with anyway. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, whoever is holding me, they stiffen, and then a pit settles in my stomach as I realize,  oh shit, they can hear me.

Is this actually happening? Comes a voice from behind, soft but husky, it almost makes me shiver, the feeling of their breath against the nape of my neck, are we actually dreaming together right now? Oh god, how I want to turn around, to see them, but I’m terrified. Not of them, but I’m so afraid any sort of movement will wake me up, or worse, that I'll turn around and it’ll be a normal dream. Not a connection dream, and goodness knows I couldn’t handle anything like that right now with my state of mind. And so...I just stay quiet. After all, there’s no actual rulebook on how this sort of thing works. Relishing in their warmth in their presence, after all, I’m half-expecting one of us to wake up at any point and all I want to do is feel comforted. They sighed, I guess you’re not really here and I am dreaming. Or maybe I need you more than you need me, but whatever the reason, I’m glad I finally get to hold you for just a bit longer. His voice is soft but almost sad, tinged with such a longing that sends a pang through my heart.

Alright, so it’s definitely not a regular dream, if it was a regular dream, something wild would have happened by now, and I don’t think I would be able to dream up such a wonderful voice. But I still can’t bring myself to turn around just yet, so I just let out a soft breath, and he pulls me closer and nuzzles his nose into the back of my neck.

When I wake up the next morning, I honestly don’t remember anything other than a soft white light, the feeling of warmth and a soft voice.

The next time it happens is a few days later, and I still don’t say anything, the fear of waking up rendering me basically incapable of doing anything other than burrowing further into their warmth.

This time though, he doesn’t just stay quiet, he starts to talk to me, I wonder if you can hear me, if you’re ignoring me, or if you’re as scared as I am? He laughs a bit, maybe if you knew who I was you would be scared, but I hope not. He keeps talking, mostly nonsense but when I wake up the next morning, I remember more of it, the “image” of the dream becoming sharper.

And so it goes on for a while, each night learning more about him when he talks. He’s always pensive, always wondering out loud what I’m like, what I’m thinking about.

Because it keeps happening, now he knows that I am there but he’s understanding of my silence.

One night he brings up the idea that they aren’t actually speaking the same language (or is it thinking? Since it’s happening in our heads). Even though I hear him in my own native language, he apparently is thinking/talking to me in another language, I wonder if you don’t talk to me because you don’t understand Korean, or maybe you do?

Each night I learn more and more, it feels almost unfair that he’s telling me all this and that I’m too much of a coward to say anything. I learn he likes music and when he runs out of things to talk about, he starts singing softly or rapping depending on his mood. He’s good at both, but I prefer his singing voice, may not be the best, but that makes me feel better. Makes him more human to me. The nights after he sings to me, I always try to remember the melody, it’s familiar, but then as the day goes on I forget more and more of it.

I learn that he has a big family, always telling me stories about his big brothers and little brothers, all the silly antics they get into.

I also find out that he’s here for a short time. Here being the area/zone/whatever that lets them connect basically every night. Now, our dreams connect I’m actually sleeping,  not napping like the first few times.

With each night and each dream, I start to communicate more. I’m still paranoid that it’s a regular dream and that I’ll wake up (the logical side of me thinks all this is just a wine-induced dream) so I still don't respond verbally to him, but I do nod or shake her head. I always adjust myself to be more comfortable in his arms.

With each dream comes more vivid memories the next morning, where before, when it all first started, I would remember nothing, just a comforting presence, now she can see more of him as well.

Each morning, the first thing I do is scour the internet looking for more information on soulmates, dreams, connections, and each time I find the same thing, “reports inconclusive”.

Two months after we start connecting more frequently, things change.

I’m leaving soon, we had just been lying together in the white space that is our shared dream space.

As soon as I hear this, my brain kicked into overdrive and the worst possible things flew past my mind. I guess when I was imagining the worst case scenario (which at the moment was that he was in a coma or something and that they were gonna pull the plug and I’d have to live my life alone) I tensed up or froze. I could feel him laugh, I humphed and he pulled me closer, rubbing circles with his thumb against my side,   I’m okay, I’m perfectly healthy, but I am leaving this area. I relax a tiny bit, but before I let myself relax completely, I wait for him to go on, I’m going back to Korea, which means we won’t be able to connect as often his voice becomes serious and sad. I don’t even know where you are, for all I know we could be across the country from each other right now, or even in the same city. His voice falls silent and I reach for the hand that is rubbing circles on my waist and interlace my fingers through his.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, silent, but I know it’s now or never. Finally, I talk to him, I’m going to miss this. I have to resist the urge to laugh because I can almost the surprise radiating off him, I’m sorry I haven’t said anything until now, I say rushing through my words so I can explain, I was afraid this wasn’t real, that this was just a regular dream, but then when I knew that it wasn’t a regular dream...I didn’t know when to start, I liked hearing your stories, hearing you sing. I let out a bitter laugh, that and I’m an awkward coward who didn’t know when the right time to talk was.

His body behind her relaxes as he snorts, I think you may be one of the few who like when I sing, people usually praise me for my rapping.

I huff, I love your voice … Oh fuck. I freeze, I don’t know where we are and I have to go and say that stupid four-letter word??? Fuck!

As I’m in the middle of my freak out I can feel his smile on the back of my neck and he pulls me a little closer, well if old wives tales are to be believed we are soulmates, of course you’re gonna love my voice, he teases and he tightens his hold on my waist.

We stay like that for a bit longer, a small pit of dread sitting in our stomachs as we hold onto each other, not knowing if I would wake up soon or if he would, if our dream would end soon.

What do you see when you look at me? He asks suddenly, breaking the silence, well, when you see my arm anyway he says pulling his hand away from mine and waving it around.

I snort at the silly motion, All I see is fuzzy white all around, the only thing that’s clear is you I answer, reaching out and lacing my fingers between his again, what do you see?

The same thing, he says, I see your hair, your arms and shoulders, he falters a bit, If this is the last time we connect, I want to see your face.

My brain short-circuits as he continues hurriedly, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.

I don’t say anything, I just slowly unlace our fingers, before I can say anything I can feel him starting to pull away, but before he can let the distance get any bigger I quickly grab his arm, close your eyes, I say.

He nods and swallows hard. I can’t read his mind, but I can tell he’s almost too unsure of his own voice.

He squeezes my hand and I know he has his eyes closed. I take a deep breath and close my eyes too. I shift in the space to face him, my hands finding a place on his chest. I freeze for a split second, his chest a lot more broad than I was expecting. I shake my head a teeny bit and take another deep breath.

One, I start

Two, he continues

Three, we whisper together opening our eyes, for the first time seeing each other fully.

Holy shit, I don't know if I say it out loud or if I’m just thinking it (though in this case, what’s the difference?). The man in front of me, the one who I’ve had essentially been sleeping with for the better part of two months, was international star Kim Namjoon, RM of BTS.

In my state of shock, there’s a sudden snap and the dream connection is severed. I sit up quickly, back in my own lonely bed in my own lonely apartment. My hand comes up to clutch at my throat, chest heaving with rapid breaths. Shit shit shit okay, slow down, the last thing I need is to have a fucking panic attack I go through my usual routine of calming my panic attacks, but I’m in too much shock and I start to hyperventilate tears blurring everything around me, of-fucking-course the universe would not only give me a soulmate who lives halfway around the fucking world. But it had to top it off with them being a fucking International star, a fucking idol! Fuck! The more rational part of my brain was going through all the scenarios and it came up with the same conclusion over and over, if it all was real and not some elaborate dream, it wouldn’t matter anyway, it was well known that it was near impossible for idols to date anyone, let alone a fan.

Too afraid to fall back asleep, to reconnect in their dreams, I stay up the rest of the night, alternating between cursing the universe and all the gods and beings I can think of, and crying until I’m numb, aching to be held by him again. To letting myself imagine all the scenarios where, by some miracle, that we could find a life together, where we could be happy and have a family together.

~*~

Miles away, Namjoon was going through the same rollercoaster of emotions. As soon as he woke up, he basically hurled himself out of his hotel bed over to the desk and opening up his laptop. Logging into Twitter, he spent the rest of the night poring over every single account of every single person who had ever liked, commented, retweeted anything they had posted. Desperate to see a picture of her, see a glimpse of her. She recognized me right?? So she knows who I am, she could be a fan or something. That singular thought kept him going as he checked account after account, trying to push away the ugly thoughts, the thoughts that were almost angry that if she had just talked to him all those times they had connected, that he could have found her, that he could have seen her for more than a split second before their connection was cut off.

He stayed at that desk until dawn finally broke, until he finally had to close his laptop and load into a car that would take him to a plane that would take him far far away from his soulmate.

[tnffc]

HAHaha... When you sleep, if your soulmate is awake you can see what they're doing.

Hoh…boy, okay ^^

This got angsty but I hope you like it:

____________

Everybody has a soulmate.

That was the lie people told each other.

Why did most people believe that? Because they knew it was true for them.

They dreamed of their soulmates. They dreamed what they were doing when they were awake while they were asleep.

There were many theories on how that ability developed, though there was no consensus on it as far as Peter knew. The most popular idea was, you started seeing what your soulmate did at the same time you started developing interest in romantic relationships.

That was why many first dreamed of their soulmates when they were teenagers, aged between 13 and 16 usually.

How did Peter know that whole shebang was absolute bullshit?

He was almost twenty, definitely romantically interested and had yet to dream of anybody.

When he had been a teenager he had anticipated the day he would finally dream of his soulmate. He had loved the idea of person meant for him, someone he wouldn’t have to worry might not like him. He knew he was difficult, too smart, too snarky, too arrogant sometimes. He knew people avoided him because he could have an unsettling aura. His sister and older niece had told him often enough. Luckily Derek didn’t seem to care.

He loved him for it.

But he was pack, Peter was yearning for someone who would truly understand him and appreciate him. Who might be able to do that, if not a soulmate?

Well time had passed, years of not dreaming of anybody. Some nights he had strange dreams he suspected might be something but they never were, they were just regular dreams, maybe a bit of wishful thinking as well.

When he was asked what he dreamed about, what his soulmate was like he stayed quiet or said he felt that was a private matter.

He didn’t really have many friends at that age so it wasn’t like anybody cared.

And there was no fooling his sister. She was his alpha and when she demanded information he could not deny her. So she knew, and she wasn’t necessarily careful with that information, so the pack, family and other acquainted werewolves knew too.

He was either teased for not being ready for romance or pitied because something had to be wrong with him.

It sucked.

Right up until he was about to turn eighteen and realized maybe it wasn’t that something was wrong with him but with the phenomenon of soulmates and how it had been documented.

He started researching and found a lot of supporting evidence.

There were many people - well some - who did not dream of anybody. Most seemed to identify as aromantics but that didn’t bother him. He finally found people who understood the dilemma, understood the stigma, who felt for him.

He even made friends.

Educating himself on the topic helped him find new perspective.

While he could only guess why there was apparently no soulmate for him, at least he could free himself from the oppressive societal structures surrounding soulmates.

He started going out, started engaging with people without worrying, wondering. He knew he was unbound and while that might hurt sometimes it also freed him.

Because there was no perfect person to love and accept him he had to find people for himself.

And while he was still a difficult person he learned that didn’t mean people weren’t interested in spending time with him if he made an effort.

~*~

Now, at almost twenty he was studying philosophy at the local college, had a nice group of friends and acquaintances and knew soulmates were just another lie people liked to believe in.

So he didn’t think much of it when he woke up one morning with the memory of one of the strangest dreams of his life.

He was lying in a huge room, it was dark except for light coming from somewhere he couldn’t see, illuminating some strange shapes above his head. Looking to the right and the left, his movements uncoordinated as if he was drugged or hexed he could see thick bars surrounding him like some sort of prison. He didn’t like that, not at all, he felt scared and alone and decided to try and change that, so he screamed, for someone, something.

And something did change. Another light appeared, it was warmer than the other and then a creature, huge and strangely shaped, almost human but not quite was above him, making incomprehensible but soothing noises at him while showing it’s large, terrifying teeth that probably could easily have taken off Peter’s entire arm…

He had woken up.

Confused about the fucked up nightmare but otherwise unconcerned.

It had been rather early though and he didn’t think he could go back to sleep so instead he got dressed and decided to go for a relaxed morning run.

The rest of his day was uneventful.

But the next night he had a very similar dream.

This time it woke him in the actual middle of the night and he had had to scream for much longer without the creature with the soothing noises coming in.

The rest of the night he tried to get back to sleep but felt restless and incapable to really get some decent shuteye.

Chris, who was something like his best friend actually mentioned how tired he looked.

Peter did not appreciate that but also didn’t feel like mentioning his weird dream.

At least not while Chris’ soulmate Victoria was sitting next to them. He didn’t particularly like her and definitely didn’t trust her.

It wasn’t like it was very smart to trust Chris either, being the heir of a hunter dynasty and all, but Peter knew the guy wasn’t as wild to kill werewolves as the rest of his people.

His heritage was actually a huge part why Peter had befriended him. Being his sister’s left hand meant he had to deal with threats. And befriending the future head of the Argents was a lot easier than constantly fighting them. It might actually be the base for a truce in the future if he played the cards right.

That night he dreamed of the room with the cage like confinement again and the feeling of loneliness and distress overcame him again, he screamed and screamed again. The only difference was the creature coming for him.

This time it looked different, with a different shape, bigger, bulkier, scarier. It’s voice was deep and vibrated through Peter’s body in a way that should have been terrifying. Especially when the creature just picked him up and wrapped him with it’s body, continuously making those noises, it’s body against Peter’s face vibrating as well.

But he felt soothed again, strangely enough.

He woke up again and looked at the clock.

It was barely 3am but he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

~*~

This was getting annoying and he had to find out what was going on. Those dreams had to mean something. He probably should pay Deaton a visit and ask him if he knew what might be wrong with him. Not an idea he had much love for, Deaton was one of the most irritating people Peter had to deal with, but he was the family emissary after all.

That day when he was having lunch with Chris and Victoria again he actually was so tired he dozed off, leaning against the tree they were sitting under.

He was in a different room. It was bright, with happy colors and a huge surface with vegetables on it. Those vegetables looked huge compared to what Peter was used to though.

He waved his arms around, just as uncoordinated as he had moved the other times. He was in another kind of confinement though, wood and plastic that held him snuggly around the waist.

He looked at his own hand.

It was misshapen, with a big palm and short, stubby fingers, it looked swollen but didn’t hurt, it looked almost the same as the chubby little hands and fingers of his niece Cora…

Peter breathed in sharply and started hyperventilating as his eyes flew open.

His heart was pounding hard in his chest and he felt like he couldn’t breath, everything felt blurry and there was a ringing noise in his ears.

He felt hands and heard someone’s voice but couldn’t focus.

All that was burned in his brain was one thought: His soulmate was still a baby.

Every time he felt like he was remotely calming down a new wave of panic swept him away until he finally lost consciousness when someone gave him an injection with supernatural tranquilizers.

~*~

He woke up in a hospital bed.

His sister was sitting at his bed, Chris was standing next to her.

Victoria wasn’t there and he appreciated that.

Talia reached out for his hand and cleared her throat.

“Hi…” her voice was unusually soft, she was a very resolute person for the most part. Loving in her own way, but not very gentle usually.

“The doctor said you had an intense panic attack. The guy in the ambulance sedated you because he was scared you might wolf out.”

Chris cleared his throat “I tried to tell him you wouldn’t but…but like your sister said, he was scared.”

Peter nodded. He didn’t like the way some people treated werewolves but that was the least of his problems right now.

His sister squeezed his hand a bit.

“Do you have any idea what caused the panic attack?”

He stared at his hand in hers and then at the ceiling. He nodded and felt a flashback to the moment he had realized it.

It all made sense. The strange proportions, the difficulty to understand anything but emphatically catch on what was communicated, the need based thinking, the uncoordinated movements.

He sighed deeply, aware his sister and friend waited for an answer.

“I had strange dreams for the last few days…this afternoon I realized…”

He swallowed, hard, trying to force the words out.

This didn’t mean he did something wrong, it didn’t mean he was destined to do something wrong. It just meant it might take at least two more decades for him to ever be able to even consider finding out who his soulmate was. Because he sure didn’t want to know them as a child or see them grow up. That’d be just so weird.

“What is it?”

Talia looked confused, concerned, she was probably going through all the possible things that could have caused such an intense reaction.

He took a deep breath and released it, shaking a little before licking his dry lips to find the words again.

“I realized I was dreaming of my soulmate. Who happens to still be an…an infant.”

He had almost choked on the last word and stared at the ceiling again.

The terror of the idea was wearing off and what was left was anger. He was so angry at the universe for fucking with him like that.

Talia and Chris didn’t say anything but eventually Talia actually hugged him and he knew that was what he had needed. Someone to confirm he wasn’t a monster for being destined to a child.

For the next three days he refused to sleep while Deaton was trying to figure out a way to block the transmission of their bond. Deaton, Talia and Chris had tried reasoning with him, tried to make him reconsider this action.

He had not yielded one bit. The idea to see someone he was supposed to fall in love with and maybe even desire physically at some point grow up from baby age to kindergarten, preschool and beyond was horrific. He did not want to be able to remember a child when looking at his soulmate some day in the future.

To Peter’s surprise it was actually Laura, who supported his decision.

She had just recently started dreaming of her soulmate and said she couldn’t imagine finding out it was a child, never mind a baby.

He had to admit she had been the last person he had expected to be compassionate about his situation. She was usually rather mean spirited towards him. Granted, she was a teenager and he had been pretty despicable too when he had been her age.

In the end Deaton found something. It wasn’t perfect, it would only dampen the connection but it was better than nothing.

It was a sigil, placed on Peter’s neck, shielding his conscience from most images that would be transmitted. All that would get through to him were feelings - for the most part.

Deaton had also insisted on making it so the sigil would break as soon as Peter’s soulmate started dreaming of Peter as well.

And Peter supposed he was ok with that.

~*~

Years went by. Peter tried to continue his life as it had been before.

The knowledge he had a soulmate somewhere out there was strange.

The knowledge said soulmate was likely currently learning how to read and write was stranger and a big part of why he usually stayed away from thinking about it too much.

Roughly eight years went by before things started to change.

What changed were the emotions transmitted. It had been basic emotions so far, things any person might go through at times. But they were getting darker. Very dark.

When Peter dreamed now it was of fear and grief and pain, loneliness, but not because he wasn’t in company, no loneliness because he felt neglected and ignored and left alone with his feelings.

It got so intense in the next year he finally found himself at Deaton’s feet, sobbing, begging for him to take the sigil away. He needed to know! He needed to know who his soulmate was. It didn’t matter what his feelings were he needed to know who his soulmate was to help them, to take care of them, to make them feel held and loved and taken care of.

Deaton might have understood Peter’s peril, or maybe not, you could never be sure with him, but he explained to Peter that no one could break the sigil now.

It drove Peter almost insane, he hated himself for the rash decision he had made.

Now he had to witness his soulmates suffering every night, knowing it meant his soulmate, a child, was awake every night, being scared, being deeply sad and lonely.

His sister suggested therapy, Peter chose to drown himself in work.

He started to take on jobs other packs asked him to do.

He could have become a teacher for philosophy and ethics but being a fixer felt better, made him feel less helpless, numbed the pain.

He also became more isolated again.

Which was why he didn’t realize Chris’ psychotic sister was playing with his nephew.

He only realized his mistake when he was trying to drag his dying body out of their burning home.

~*~

Four years.

It took another four years until he was suddenly pulled out of the agony of his maddening comatose condition by a dream.

Not a vague feeling but an actual dream.

He was sitting in school, fidgeting with a pencil, gnawing on it while staring a the back of another person’s head.

He heard a voice next to him say “Stiles, buddy, help me!” and turned his head to see a teenage boy with a slightly crooked chin, a hopeful smile and very intense puppy dog eyes.

“Sure thing Scotty” he heard himself say in the awful tone of someone whose voice was breaking.

When he woke up again he knew what this meant, his soulmate had started dreaming of him.

Not ideal in any way. Of all the things that might happen Peter had not anticipated being in a vegetative state when their connection was revived.

But at least it helped him think more clearly. It was if nothing else, a change of pace.

~*~

It took almost two more years for Stiles to walk into Peter’s room.

When he did Peter could not see him, but hear and smell him.

He had never smelled Stiles before, and never heard his heartbeat before and yet he recognized both immediately.

When Stiles approaches and hesitantly places his hand in his Peter feels his heart speed up.

But his heart isn’t the only thing.

To his surprise his healing is jolted awake as well.

It is amazing how little it takes.

Just that tiny contact, that connection of someone is all it needed for his wolf to find the strength to heal.

He blinks and turns his head just a little bit.

For the first time he can see Stiles’ face, the face of his soulmate.

Smart, snarky, chaotic, beautiful Stiles.

The nurse, Jennifer, comes in and clears her throat.

“What are you doing here? Out. Immediately!”

Peter tightens his fingers around Stiles’ and holds him back as the teenager wants to follow the order.

The nurse gasps in surprise at Peter being able to move and he tries to speak.

It has been a long time but he manages one word.

“Stay”

Stiles stares back at him, then to the nurse for a short moment before he nods and sits down in the chair next to Peter’s bed.

The nurse tries to protest but Stiles silences her with a simple sentence.

“He is my soulmate.”

[gwinnetts-archive]

dean domino // verses

sierra madre        it seems the artists these days are not who you think

during those long two hundred years waiting in the villa, dean has seen a lot of people arrive at the sierra madre, and he’s seen all of them die here.

maybe you’re some treasure hunter seeking the legend everyone knows. maybe you’ve fallen into one of elijah’s early traps. maybe you’re the courier, and the events of dead money are about to play out. it doesn’t matter — you’re here now. and the hard part isn't finding the sierra madre. it’s… well. you know.

this verse is not a happy one, and comes with a heap of content warnings by default. be prepared to see dean at his worst. he is not going to be friendly to your character starting out, and he’s guaranteed to want to manipulate them, at the very least, if he isn’t going to end up planning to kill them or get them killed.

this verse is only open to those who are familiar with dead money due to the unique atmosphere and lore of the area.

blanket content warnings for this verse are: violence, dismemberment, bomb collars, being hunted, body horror, manipulation, alcohol use

vegas        so shoot a star on the boulevard tonight

set after the events of dead money, assuming dean survives — and, by extension, is on decent terms with the courier.

dean shows up in vegas, just like he said he would. now what? obviously, it’s time to see the sights, meet the locals… and be horribly disappointed by what’s become of sin city. “freeside”? "the kings“? you've got to be joking.

this verse is intended for use with players of courier six who manage to keep dean alive. communication is necessary, as this means our muses have a pre-established relationship, by nature of the beast.

vegas ; elle        she didn’t choose this role, but she’ll play it and make it sincere

set after the events of dead money. a little courier by the name of elle days has swept through dean’s life, changing it forever. he learns the truth about vera, he finds out what happened to her and sinclair, and he lets go.

… in theory.

now, he’s living in vegas — specifically, in the tops, in the presidential suite where the head of the chairmen met a messy end about a month or two ago. he’s the newest and most famous performer at the aces theater, thanks to his connection to the protege of the proprietor of the strip. the proprietor who has… also died recently. hmmmm.

this verse is intended for use in any thread post-dm where there isn’t another courier in play. by default, elle is dean’s courier, and he finds himself tangled in a complicated “will they, won’t they” dance with her. he spends his time practicing and performing his acts for the tops, socializing afterwards, and, on occasion, getting the hell away from the strip for a change of pace.

dean’s presence and position at the tops can be assumed to be common knowledge, as can his friendship with the good karma courier who used to be close to mr. house, up until his “mysterious” death. all new vegas main plot events will happen as per elle’s standard history.

goodneighbor        from that moment, you’ll be out of place and underdressed

set shortly prior to or during the events of fallout 4. for this verse, elle is still considered to be dean’s courier unless discussed otherwise with thread partners.

dean has tired of vegas and traveled east. he was originally aiming for new york, and he even managed to stay there for a short time, but through a long series of circumstances, he’s now landed himself in boston, some four or five years after he left the sierra madre.

as a whole, dean is unimpressed with the commonwealth. but he’s staying for a while because he’s found himself a comfortable job that pays out very well, namely, signing on as a performer at the third rail in goodneighbor. dean may consider himself to be slumming it here, but the truth of the matter is, he’s enjoying himself more than he’d admit. unlike vegas, which is playing at civilization and propriety, goodneighbor knows what it is and doesn’t shy away from it. so while he misses the vegas lights and style, dean can definitely appreciate everything goodneighbor has to offer.

dean’s presence in the third rail can be considered as common knowledge as magnolia’s. he’s available as a companion to any sole survivor who manages to hit it off with him — he’s more restless than he likes to think. (companion stats here.)

he’s also available to hire for the occasional job; he’s no hitman, but he has a way of getting things done in a way that can leave enemies ruined more thoroughly than a bullet to the head, or goods stolen with no one the wiser. if the price is right, dean’s willing to solve a problem for you.