#but apparently we’re ‘not busy enough to warrant more staff’

[therealjammy]

Co-worker and I bonded this morning over how she and I are always the ones who get called in early to cover people’s shifts that they dropped suddenly due to illness (which you shouldn’t come into work sick anyways) and the fact that no one would do the same for either of us

And apparently no one covered any of my shifts while I was on vacation; the general manager didn’t schedule anyone to, meanwhile all last week I was covering someone who was on vacation

I’m starting to get real fed up with this, honestly; I’m a giver by nature but sometimes the giver wants things to be given to them in return and for things to be two-sided every now and again

[azucanela]

chapter iii

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: cursing. mentions of violence. mild violence. 

word count: 2k

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows.

series masterlist

MAYBE SHE WAS OVERCOMPENSATING, but at least overall productivity of the agency was up. If Y/N was honest, throwing herself into her work probably wasn’t her best idea, in fact one might consider it self destructive. But.. she was frustrated. And the pent of emotions of not only herself but those around her had to go somewhere. 

And what better place to put that energy than her work?

Of course, as she slams a villain into the wall of concrete before bringing their hands together and handcuffing them, all Y/N feels is boredom. Dissatisfied, unfulfilled. Although it had taken her a while to separate her own emotions from that of others when she was younger, it doesn’t take much effort to determine that those feelings are entirely her own. 

In a job like hers, boredom was something to be grateful for, something to welcome with open arms all things considered. And busy season would be coming up for heroes, so Y/N probably should be grateful for the lack of activity. And yet… The calm before the storm was always rather unnerving. 

Y/N can hear the sirens of the police, brows furrowing as she sighs. Dragging the man she had just apprehended along with her despite his grunts of protest. Y/N watches as a police car pulls around by the entrance of the alley she’d cornered him in.

He was just a petty thief, but Y/N had been trying to keep out of the spotlight for the time being, unless her assistance was warranted. And thus far, it hadn’t been.

Inhaling deeply, Y/N watches as an officer exits the car, a smile coming across their face as they see her. “Hey Empatha!” They wave, and Y/N can’t help but offer a small smile and wave of her own back as she hands the criminal over to them.

“Hi, everything alright at the precinct?” It’s meant to be a polite, simple question, but Y/N can practically— literally— feel the way the officer lights up at the question. As though they’d been meaning to bring it up. Y/N had interacted with most of the Police Department briefly, so they weren’t entirely unfamiliar but… that didn’t mean Y/N wanted to stick around for long.

They shrug, pushing the thief into the back of the car despite his protests and shutting the door on him. “We had some plumbing troubles earlier— or something like that I don’t know… but yeah. Everything has been good. Kinda.” 

Unsureness is bleeding into their tone, so Y/N raises a brow as she finds herself asking, “something on your mind?” 

The officer offers Y/N a sheepish smile, “we could really use your help on one of our cases, the Stain Copycat, I assume you’ve heard?” 

Nodding slowly, Y/N finds herself wanting to exit this conversation, and soon, “I can look into sending someone from the Agency but it’s Hawks’ choice.” She looks around with a frown, “I have a feeling the press will be here soon so I should get going, but I’ll be in contact.” She says with a smile, taking a step back before disappearing into the shadows.

Telen’s ability. Y/N borrowed it frequently, and from the soreness of her body, Y/N had a feeling that they’d had quite the day as well. He was capable of teleporting through shadows, light was a major inhibitor but it was an incredibly useful ability and had saved her life a countless number of times. Whether that was literally or from… conversations like that one. 

Y/N had been avoiding Endeavor’s agency since far too many of her old classmates were sidekicks there. As much as she wanted to help, her presence wasn’t necessary. And she had heard about the Stain Copycat case, the one who had yet to be caught, the exception. Hawks had mentioned it during one of their calls recently, so technically she wasn’t lying when she said someone would be sent over to help. 

Just not her. Anyone but her. 

With a sigh, Y/N finally appears in the locker room of the agency. Welcoming the smell of blood, sweat, and probably tears.

It had been a long day, and Y/N quickly decided there was no better way to amend that than with coffee. She’s changing into her civilian clothes— having ended her shift at the agency for the day— inside the locker room dedicated to such things. Patrol had been mostly quiet today, which she was grateful for, but that didn’t make her any less suspicious as to why things had been so quiet. 

Y/N makes her way out of the locker room once she’s changed, and through the agency, offering a smile to Telen as she finally steps out of the agency doors. “You alright today? I can feel the soreness.” She says, walking backwards as she speaks to him, while he holds the door open for the both of them. 

Telen offers her a smile, “yes. It appears I took quite the hit.” He brings a hand to the back of his neck, “not the best day.”

Y/N raises a brow, “wanna come with me? I’m gonna get a drink, maybe something to eat at the café a few blocks from here.” She’d always enjoyed Telen’s presence, he was calm, quiet, but good company nonetheless. Someone who listened, but could certainly maintain a conversation. They’d been working together for a few years now and Y/N had grown to like him. That and she would be returning later regardless seeing as Lorelai had requested a coffee herself. 

Telen shakes his head, “I still have one more patrol, but if I happen to come around there, I might stop by.”

She nods, raising her hand to wave to him as one final goodbye before turning on her heel, and almost instantly a rush of wind is hitting her, though she finds it refreshing as she stares to the sky, a grey color, clouds shielding the sun from view. 

It’s a nice day, she decides, looking to her left. Hawks had placed his agency rather strategically, and by strategically, that meant nearby a café she had been going to for longer than she could remember. Y/N was close friends with the owner now, and many of the employees there. So her presence wasn’t anything astonishing, though Y/N had offered time and time again to advertise their business, they’d always declined. The owner had insisted it was nice being a small business, rather than one swarming with customers. 

Y/N had made the shop her safe space, most of the time, those who recognized her seemed to understand her desire to be left alone. And it was relieving, to be normal for a moment. Not to say that she was special or anything, but life as a hero was… an overwhelming one. She’d been lucky to evade the press earlier.

It doesn’t take long to arrive, a short walk is all it takes before Y/N is opening the door to enter the small shop. Almost instantly, she’s greeted with a bag of chips to the face, having been thrown by a grinning Lily, one of the longtime employees that Y/N had known for years now. “Hey superstar.” 

In response Y/N groans, moving to cover her face in the scarf she’d worn and bury her face inside it, cheeks warming in embarrassment. “Shut up, Lily.” Her eyes drift around, “where’s everyone else?”

Lily shrugs, already moving to make Y/N’s usual as she replies, “we’re a bit short staffed today.” She looks to Y/N, “we haven’t seen you in a while. Been too busy for us, have you?” Her words are teasing, but Y/N finds herself feeling bad for not visiting more often. Her schedules become more busy as the time for announcing the top heroes draws near, more meetings, more events, more press conferences. And with her little scandal with Bakugou, she would likely have to give up even more of her time.

“Never.” Y/N finally replies, moving to stand at the counter and placing her bag of chips there. Y/N pulls out her wallet.

Lily waves her off, “on the house.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes, “I make a ridiculous amount of money, let me spend it.” She says, pulling out a few $20 bills, though Lily simply looks to her pointedly. This only encourages Y/N, causing her to keep eye contact with her as she drops all of the bills into the tip jar. “Split it with the rest of the staff.” 

It's true, Y/N’s salary was… more than enough. Hawks had never been frugal with his money, his employees were well off and she was grateful for it but at this point she had more money than she knew what to do with. She was no Number 2 Hero but her bank account spoke for itself. 

Despite this, Lily glares in response, before sliding a drink over to Y/N. “Regardless, how have you been, aside from getting black out drunk at a very important Gala and then proceeding to talk shit about—”

“I doubt she wants to talk about that Lily,” The bell by the door rings, signaling that someone has arrived, and of course, there stands Rosalyn, another one of the employees. Her hair is greying now, but she still bares the same smile and calming persona that she did when Y/N first met her. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was bad.” 

Y/N is grinning as she walks over to Rosalyn, throwing her arms around her as the pair hugs, “good to see you Ros.” Lily pretends to roll her eyes at the sigh of physical affection, though she smiles at the sight of the reunion, before heading through the door behind the counter.

When they pull away, Rosalyn pats Y/N’s head with a smile, “and you! It’s been a while, look how you’ve grown.”

Y/N’s brows furrow as a small laugh escapes her, “I doubt I’ve grown any.” If she’s honest, Rosalyn and Lily hadn’t changed at all. Y/N wondered if they viewed her the same as they used to after all these years as well. And maybe she was scared of the answer, and that’s why she never asked. She could see it, Y/N doesn’t necessarily know or remember when, but she can recall the first time she noticed that they looked at her differently. 

Things had changed at one point, and maybe Y/N’s visit to the coffee shop was just her attempt at holding onto the past. A past where she was happier, where things were simpler. 

Moving to remove her jacket, Rosalyn shrugs, “perhaps I’ve shrunk. Happens with old age I suppose.” The woman heads over to the small entrance that leads to behind the counter, which also happens to have a door to the backroom. “I’ll be back shortly,” she says. Offering Y/N a smile that she quickly returns before heading into the backroom. 

Y/N nods, taking the chips and her drink to one of many tables by the window and placing them down there to save her spot— though the shop is currently empty, she has no doubt that the busier hours will start soon. Regardless, Y/N comes to a stand to move to the display window filled with different pastries. Their new selection is certainly interesting, the sight makes her miss baking. Not that she has the time nowadays.

With a sigh, Y/N straightens her posture, when the bell rings, indicating that someone has entered. Turning Around. Y/N’s eyes widen as her mouth gapes open due to the sight of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

note: shorter chapter but i hope it was worth it hehehehehehe

[farmhandler]

Subtle

Rating: T

Pairing: Kolivan/Keith

Warnings: Some alien biology, that’s about it

CH: 1/1

A/N: fic/art trade with the wonderful @kolikeith. They requested anything koliveith where another member realizes they are together, which I am only happy to provide!

Regris hates mornings.

It is anunspoken gripe that he has held for what feels like decaphoebs. The Blade of Marmora are early risers by necessity no matter the cycle nor the system. Their latest missions have lead them into systems that have a cycle much shorter than Regris is used to, and as a result they have been sleeping less often and waking more. The sporadic few vargas of sleep they all have managed has been wearing on his team.

Duty first, Kolivan would tell him. Ah, what he would do to sleep in.

“Quiznak,” he swears, vaulting out of bed in one fluid movement. He thwaps his tail against his bedframe in irritation as he makes quick work of his bed and then heads into their communal bathroom space. The other blades are already up and about as he makes his way to the bathroom to wipe his body clean of the moisture it produced overnight. He feels naked without his suit, but it would not make sense to dirty his clothing first thing in the morning.

“Regris,” Antok says as he passes. He is a blade of few words, but some of them he reserves for Regris. They have a strange sort of companionship not found within many of the blade ranks stationed here.

“Did Kolivan mention anything about the data we’ve been decoding?” Regris asks him, getting straight to the point. Antok eats early, and so does Kolivan, and usually Keith if he isn’t trying to get killed on some suicide mission.

Antok shrugs his shoulders. Regris’ tail swings behind him.

“You’re useless,” he says without meaning it, leaving Antok to finish his morning routine and wash his body clean.

To his surprise, he sees Keith leaning against the wall out in front of the communal space, wearing what he can only assume is the human equivalent to sleepwear. Humans have an affinity for dressing in loose clothing at night.

Regris is about to offer him a greeting when Kolivan comes out of the bathroom’s entrance, tugging at the wrists of his suit like he has just finished putting it on. He moves out of the doorway and looms over Keith, saying something quietly to him that has Keith smiling.

Regris stops moving. His tail thrashes behind him. Kolivan does not bathe often, and he is always early. Regris can count on one claw how many times they have met like this. He doesn’t particularly want to awkwardly shuffle past the pair, but the wet state of his skin is bothering him now more than ever.

Someone catches Kolivan’s attention. He steps away from Keith hastily to address them, and Keith looks around like he is surprised to find that they are in public.

When he catches sight of Regris, his face starts to turn pink. Regris cocks his head.

“Keith,” he says on approach. “Have you had a chance to check on the decoding algorithm that we’ve been running? Kolivan wouldn’t let me spend the night with it.”

“Because he knew you’d never leave,” Keith points out. Regris doesn’t point that if he stays up, he doesn’t have to war his way through every morning. He is looking forward to the day they can eradicate sleep entirely. “And no, I haven’t. Everyone on team echo is busy preparing for Kral Zera.”

Kral Zera. The ceremony meant to repair the broken empire. The ceremony that the blades are going to sabotage with a dozen bombs and take out the highest in their ranks.

“I’ll check on it later,” Regris says, and then he awkwardly shuffles past Keith and Kolivan to get to the bathroom.

---

Regris’ concern is always his code. Data. Interpersonal relationships are the furthest thing from his mind when he’s focused on a mission, but even Kral Zera has him rattled.

It is in the middle of the cycle, while a huge batch of data is being processed that he decides to take a rare break and head towards the cafeteria for some food. His stomach helpfully reminds him he skipped breakfast by growling loudly.

He is nearing the cafeteria when he catches the scent of Keith wafting from the other end of the hall. He picks up his pace, eager to find Keith and enumerate over the details of the Kral Zera mission.

When he turns the corner, he is once again surprised by the presence of Kolivan. Lately, the two of them have been appearing together more often than not, their scents intermingling in a way that Regris does not like. Or at the very least, he isn’t certain how to take. It is true that Keith is a valued member of the blades, but his days of being a vratling following its mother are over.

He watches them speak indistinctly, noting the downturn of Keith’s mouth to mean that the conversation is not going well. He lifts his arms in a gesture of expression his frustration, then points in a random direction. His voice echoes a little louder, but Regris still can’t make it out.

“I have been looking for you, Keith,” Regris says upon approach. Both of them turn to stare at him, and he inexplicably feels as though he is intruding. He salutes Kolivan. “I had some questions about the mission for Kral Zera.”

“You are not the only one,” Kolivan tells him. “I had intended to summon the entire team, but since you’re already here, I’ll speak freely.”

“Of course.” Regris inclines his head.

“I was just discussing with Keith how the mission is critical, and that we cannot let our emotions get the better of us.”

Keith scowls openly as Kolivan remains tense beside him. He is standing much closer than the spacious hallway would warrant, but Regris is not one to question.

“Of course,” Regris repeats, looking between them uncertainly. “The mission first.”

“At least you remember it,” Kolivan says, sounding quite unlike himself for a moment. He’s looking at Keith.

“We’re going to be fine,” Keith insists calmly. For all of Kolivan’s talk of holding back one’s emotions, he seems….distraught.

“My simulations have confirmed this is the best course of action,” Regris adds. Kolivan’s expression does not change, his scent sharp with unease. “They will be distracted by the goings-on above, and the entire sector will be guarded by a ghost staff.”

“For once we will benefit from the Galra Empire’s brutality,” Kolivan says, sounding resigned. “I know you will both perform…admirably.”

“Like we always do. We’ll get it done.” Keith turns to Kolivan. “This is going to work.”

“I am not concerned with the mission’s success,” Kolivan states, staring down at Keith. His fingers brush against Keith’s side, and Regris wants to point out there is plenty of space to his right.

“I’ll be returning to my data sets,” Regris says.

“Let me know what you find,” Kolivan tells him, his eyes flicking briefly in his directly before he returns to Keith.

---

Regris doesn’t see Keith alone until a few days later, right before the mission is meant to start.

The first thing he notes is the smell.

Not his smell, but the scent coating his person. It is obviously Kolivan’s. They have been spending much more time together as of late prepping for the mission, so it is not entirely surprising. They eat lunch together often as well, and Keith can be found in Kolivan’s office on any quintant.

“Ready?” Regris asks. Keith nods, and then Regris can’t help but add, “Kolivan appears worried this time around. My simulations and datasets didn’t calm him like they usually do.”

“Yeah,” Keith replies slowly, pulling his hood over his head. “He’s…distracted, I think. Talk about an emotional wreck,” he mumbles under his breath, in a tone that Regris assumes Keith thinks he cannot hear.

“We’ll be fine,” he adds. “It’s a big mission, but isn’t it always? We’ve been through worse.”

Even though it doesn’t sound like Keith is talking to him, Regris nods.

“And another thing—”

“Keith.”

Kolivan’s voice suddenly sounds from beside them. Neither of them flinch at the sharp tone of his voice, too used to surprises as a spy unit, but Keith’s eyes instantly light up.

“Kolivan!” he says, stepping forward. He pulls his hood down. “Aren’t you supposed to be briefing team alpha?”

“Yes, I was. I just finished. As if I could leave without my echo,” he says fondly. Regris’ tail flicks behind him. His scent wafts over; he smells like Keith smells like him.

Ah, he thinks as he watches Kolivan take Keith’s braided hair in hand, making some excuse that he has done it incorrectly. Recently, Keith had decided to grow a braid. Regris is a Galra half-breed, and since he does not grow hair, its significance often escapes him.

He watches Kolivan stroke his fingers down the length in an intimate gesture and thinks, ah.

“Ah,” he says out loud.

Kolivan jerks like he just realizes Regris is there. He was near the doorway, shadowed partially, so it is possible. Apparently, many things are possible.

And now Kolivan is staring at him like he wants to murder him. As if he were to blame for his flagrant display of affection. Regris swallows, then gestures to his pad. “I was just reviewing the data with Keith.”

“The data. Yes.” He clears his throat. “Very well. I would like to hear about it. Please continue.”

Keith’s face is pink again. As the pieces are still slowly coming together, Regris remembers vaguely that it is an indicator for embarrassment, or perhaps happiness?

“If you look at this diagram, it should be easy for our spies to hide here, and then with our blades they can slice through the metal wall after arriving here…”

All the while he speaks, Kolivan stands closer to Keith than is socially acceptable among the hierarchy. Then, when Regris moves to scribble at his pad and correct a mistake, out of the corner of his eye he sees Kolivan lean down, and Keith lean up.

“I have corrected the mistake,” he announces loudly. When he lifts his head, they are both looking at him innocently. He says nothing to the pair—they will hear enough later once this gets out, but his tail swings gently back and forth, and for once he hopes that there will be a peaceful end to this adventure soon.

Mostly, so he can sleep in one morning. For once.

[corpse--diem]

Bad Beat | Felix & Erin

Summary: “In poker, bad beat is a subjective term for a hand in which a player with what appear to be strong cards nevertheless loses.” Date: Present Featuring: @streetharmacist

Felix Doyle liked to stay in touch with people. He was a talker. Liked to know how people were doing, what they were up to, when they were going to pay him back. Whether it would be sooner rather than later. If they even could or not, which was always a particularly fun discussion. Lately, however, someone he had been in constant conversation with had upped and apparently died on him. Doing a thing like that often left a debt unsettled and when it came to Jack Nichols, it left a particularly large debt behind.

A large enough debt that it warranted a house call.

He didn’t make a habit of visiting funeral homes. Not unless he wanted to be warmed by that confirmation that, most certainly, an old enemy was dead. He approached the Nichols’ funeral home with a very different mindset. Just wanted to talk, that was all. He adjusted his violet tie before he slipped through the dark and found a window obscured entirely in the dark. It occurred to him that he hadn’t exactly checked the business hours. Then again, death hardly ever did that either, which he thought over as he slipped open a window at the back of the house with a straight-edged knife.

He stayed in the dark as he shut it behind him, more shadow than anything human shaped as he looked over the main room. Didn’t seem there was anyone near. Time as it existed stopped for the fae as soon as the sun stopped showing its face. He took a moment to knock on the inside of the door before he took a seat in the reception area. In the dark, he adjusted his glasses and waited.

For the first time in nearly a month, things were running normally. Smoothly, she’d even dare to say. Almost as if things hadn’t come to a grinding halt for far longer than she’d have liked, and for reasons she liked even less. But that was over. Thank fuck, that was over, and Erin could finally pour those frustrations out in the constant stream of death that ran through this town more consistently than the rivers that found Dark Score Lake.

A full day’s work was coming to an end. The rest of the staff had gone home for the night, and she was getting ready to close the books when she heard the knocking from her office. Loud knocking. Echoing like it was coming from inside–which was impossible, right? She’d locked the doors hours ago. Fucking awesome. Erin truly loved when people just showed up mysteriously in her home. Pulling out the knife Nic had left behind from her drawer, suddenly very grateful for his forgetfulness, she stashed it in the side pocket of her blazer, easing her way out into the reception area. 

“Hello?” She called out, stopping to a halt when her eyes landed on the man in sunglasses. Fuck. Was this a bossman thing? “Can I help you?” She inquired carefully, trying to stay friendly should this be an actual customer in need of her services.

Funny how the funeral home didn’t feel as sterile and emotionless as a hospital did. Guess something had to be warm after a body emptied itself. Other than the crematorium, of course. Felix tapped his fingers against his dark grey dress pants as he waited. It was a bit of an unorthodox house call to make, but considering the circumstances, it was the only type of call he wanted to make. Phone calls didn’t suffice for the important questions. Like where his money was.

He picked his head up as she entered the room and straightened himself up slightly. A businessman’s smile curved his mouth as he stood up. All business with no soft edges to be readily found.

“Hi,” he said, a smile around the words. He made no move to go towards her, instead pocketing his hands and putting his weight onto one foot as he crossed it behind him. “I’d say so, yeah. Erin Nichols, right? There’s this little problem I got, you could say. You see, there’s just a little something I’d like to get settled. Worked out, even! Its sorta outstayed its welcome and I wanted to check in. Keep a finger on the pulse and all.”

His head tilted slightly.

“It’s a matter of wanting to lay something to rest? You know how it is.”

Something was off about this guy. His smile was sharp and his answers circled slowly around her questions. It was already getting on her nerves. Whatever this guy wanted, everything in Erin’s bones told her this wasn’t an above board visit. Did her best to keep her smile friendly despite the confusion that touched her narrowed brows. “I do,” she nodded, making sure to remain a good few feet from him. “Better than most." Her eyes flickered past him to the door. The lock was still firmly in place and no visible signs of tampering from the advanced alarm system she’d spilled a considerable amount of money into installing. Seemed to mean fuck all these days, apparently. That knife was burned a warmer hole in her side pocket. 

"Well, I can’t tell you how sorry I am if you’re here about a recent loss,” she started, braving a few steps forward. “But it’s a little late and we’re closed to the public for the night.” Not entirely true but she gestured towards the door anyway. “How about you stop by tomorrow morning and we can talk then, Mr.–Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“I had a feeling you might,” Felix said. “See, I had a really good feeling that you would. That’s why I wanted to come here. It’s looking like I made the right call.” She seemed a little nervous, maybe even a little on edge. He supposed that was fair. A stranger for all intents and purposes had broken into her business. It was fair to be alarmed. As fair as it was to check on investments long overdue, or so he thought. There were some things where fairness didn’t play too large a role.

“It’s not so much a recent loss,” he said as he adjusted his cufflinks. “More the kind that’s been accumulating and it takes a real toll when it gets to a certain point. The point that has brought me here to you.” When he smiled, it was a small and quick flash. “Mr. Doyle will work just fine for this, Ms. Nichols, and unfortunately, mornings don’t work for me and I don’t think this can wait. It’s a matter of debt that I’d like to discuss.”

Erin did her best to follow this man--Mr. Doyle--as he spoke. The longer she listened, the more she appreciated the way he weaved his words like he was telling a story. Careful consideration given to every syllable and each word placed with intent. He clearly thought highly of himself for this show he was putting on.

It's a matter of debt.

Those words set off ever alarm bell in her mind into a shrieking mess of panic. Her back stiffened and her body stilled, hoping he couldn’t see the noise building behind her eyes. Panic quickly gave way to anger. God, did these assholes ever let up? She was a funeral director for Christ’s sake. It was very simple and here he was, no doubt asking for me. How and why this continued to get more complicated was completely beyond her but she could feel that pit in her stomach burning hot and bright. Her eyes didn’t match the smile she forced back onto her face, arms crossing across her stomach. Fingers hovering inches from the knife there. 

“And what debt is that, Mr. Doyle?” She spat out, tilting her head slightly to the side, trying not to let the irritation in her tone completely swallow her own words. “If you’re here on behalf of your associate, you do know Dale’s already popped his cheery little head in here, right?

The fae laced his hands together. Something Felix had said elicited a quick reaction. It seemed that he might have hit a nerve. The right one too, at that. Good. That meant that he and Erin were likely on the same page. Any smile he had faded back into the dark from whence he had come. His face was still water.

“A rather large one, Ms. Nichols,” he intoned with a lifted brow. His thumb moved idly along the skin of the back of his hand. His posture shifted languidly, both feet flat on the ground. “Guns and drugs are pricey, sure, but other things cost a little more. Like blood. And bones. In the end, it all costs. It adds up. It spills over. Things get owed.”

He adjusted his glasses.

“It’s the one you just so happened to have inherited,” he continued. “I offered your dad a hand when he got himself in too deep and oddly enough, even with that particular clock stopped, the numbers are still ticking up. May he rest in peace.”

He shifted. Cocked his head.

“Dale? Can’t say I’m all too familiar with a Dale.”

Oh, this guy had a lot of nerve. It occurred to Erin suddenly--was this him? The him? The man who hid in the shadows and whose name she hadn’t earned the privilege of obtaining. Always demanding more. One thing after the other, a slow escalation. First it was organs, then supernatural parts, andj ust last week Dale had shown up with a body. Pointed to the cremation room and a Don’t make me spell this out for you, dear. And Erin just had to hop to it. No questions asked. And while she’d seen glimpses of what the man was capable of, fear wasn’t the emotion scratching at her insides. It was anger. Expanding, needling and poking uncomfortably and uncontrollably under her skin.

“I’m aware of how businesses operate, Mr. Doyle. Even unconventional ones like yours,” she seethed. The debt. The fucking debt that was going to haunt her until the day she was in one of these fucking caskets. Her eyes watched his body language, waiting for some tell that’d let her know it was time to run.  “Dale,” she repeated, barely hiding her annoyance now. “The mouth breather you send traipsing through my house and business every week for collection.”

She watched him, waiting for that recognition to flicker across his features. It never came. Dread and uncertainty fighting for attention above her anger. “...Who are you?”

“So I’ve been assured. The place is lovely and it would be a shame for it to go under.”

His own voice lacked any of the prior pep he had at the beginning. It wasn’t the first business conversation he had and he was confident that it wouldn’t be the last. That confidence coalesced with mild annoyance. Something didn’t add up. Felix didn’t like that. Not. One. Bit. His hands unwound and slipped into his pockets, his head cocked. Mouth breather. Did he look like he was interested in putting mouth breathers on his payroll? Not dang likely. He bristled at the accusation. There were plenty of things he could be rightly and unquestionably accused of but this--

Wait.

“Collection? I have barely collected a dollar, let alone a cent, in weeks. That’s why I’m here. Because the money hasn’t been showing but it sure as hell has been spiriting itself away, Ms. Nichols. Isn’t that odd for a dead man?” He said, head tilted downward as his brows raised. Then he shook his head, his smile one with teeth before he spoke. His words didn’t match the smile as he seethed. “Who the fuck is Dale?”

It was better before you got your grubby hands on it, Erin thought, her sense of self-preservation reeling her in. If this was her boss, something she was quickly beginning to doubt, mouthing off to a man who likely magicked his way in could be the last thing she did. “It is. We’re a damn pillar of the community,” she answered dryly and left it at that.

There was a noticeable shift in Mr. Doyle’s mannerisms. Now he seemed agitated and his confusion was on par with her own. “Dale, uh--” she faltered for a moment, shaking her head. She didn’t even know his last name. “Bald guy, Hawaiian shirts. Wears those chunky gold necklaces you just wanna--” she gestured towards her neck and pulled on an invisible chain. She’d fantasized about that one more than once. Exasperation had her stepping closer, shaking her head. “No--I’ve been paying you, or whoever, on time, in full, every week,” she insisted, her eyes frantically watching. Still waiting for something to dawn on him. 

That’s when she paused, planting her feet again, realizing she’d stepped closer to this stranger than she suddenly felt comfortable with. “You didn’t answer my question,” she stood firm on this, shaking her head. She’d had enough. “My dad was an idiot, so if I do owe you money? Fine. Add it to the pile. Why not, right? But you’re not going to just waltz into my business--my home--and start demanding things without a better explanation here.”

“With the pillar that it is, it makes you wonder what might happen without it. I’ve certainly wondered.”

The fae nodded some, a look of the very slightest appreciation on his face. He would be even more appreciative of such banter if he had his fates damned money. But he didn’t and his appreciation ran shallow like a nick from a razor. His patience ran just as thin too but he waited. Felix listened. As she explained what poor fashion choices this Dale figure made, he looked away in thought. A hand slipped out his pocket as he rubbed at his jaw. His teeth clicked together. Something was more than wrong.

It was fucked.

“Ah, but you haven’t,” he said. “I’ve been getting breadcrumbs in comparison to what I should be getting. I don’t know who the hell Dale is but I know a Big Carl and that sounds a lot like Big Carl. He’s the reason I’m here. He’s the one that’s supposed to get the stuff from you.” The last time he had seen Big Carl, the guy was in and out. Fast enough that Felix hardly got a word in as he looked at the sad amount of money that had been thrown on his desk. He had been bitter ever since. Felix had thought little of it at the time, about as much as he usually thought of Big Carl.

“On that, you and I agree. Your dad wasn’t so money smart, bit off a little more than he could chew, and I was there to help a guy out. That’s what I do. I help people. Communities, even.” He didn’t smile. “But not without the expectation that at the end of it all, I get what I’m owed. That’s how this works. Your dad knew that but he just kept chewing.”

Erin only entertained his thinly-veiled threat with an eye roll. There were bigger issues at hand. And, apparently, a Big Carl. The thought of there being another fashion-dense ogre of a man sliding through Mr. Doyle’s circles was as unlikely as it was nightmarish. “That’s Dale, then,” she confirmed. “Or Big Carl. Whatever.” That fuck. What had he done now? “I don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t have any proof he’s actually doing anything, but something stinks, and it’s not coming from the basement. Think we can agree on that much.”

He knew her father. Of course he did. “My dad was an idiot,” she huffed in response. Even this guy knew it and more than likely took advantage of his desperation and stupidity. A new kind of worry built in her gut as she ran a hand over her mouth. “Whatever's going on, it’s not me and I swear I can prove it. Wait here--” she nodded, backing up slowly as she moved down the hall, still in his line of sight. She was sure he trusted her disappearing into a room alone right now as much as she trusted turning her back to him. After digging briefly through her desk, she was rushing back with a small, leather ledger.

“My dad must have gotten rid of or just didn’t write any of his transactions down. Which, I get. Paper trail. But it’s probably partly to blame for how fucked over he was at the end,” she said, giving pause. A flash of his blue eyes nestled between decayed flesh jumped in her mind’s eye. She cleared her throat to shake it off before handing it over. “All of our transactions. Every penny since I’ve taken over.” It was mostly in code, and probably easily decipherable to even the most basic cop. But a book of scribbles and numbers held less weight in comparison to the very solid, frozen evidence under their feet. If she was going to go down, it sure as shit wasn’t going to be because she couldn’t keep track of her books.

Felix’s stance shifted and he started to move. To pace. A habit of his when he started to consider the most efficient yet lesson-learning way to dismantle someone. Big Carl. Dale. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t a stranger to names upon names. He had taken more than a few himself. His lip curled slightly as he took in a slow breath. Stopped walking. The anger was laced with excitement. How long had it been since he had been two-timed? By a man that willingly wore Hawaiian shirts no less? He looked at Erin from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t mind the stink of a few dead bodies,” he finally said. He faced her and cocked his head to the side, his expression less than pleased. “But it appears that we can agree on that. For now.”

As she told him to wait, he nodded and set about to his idle pacing as he lined up his thoughts. When she returned, he took the offered ledger. Shifted his glasses up to look at it with bare eyes. What was written on the ledger in regards to lighting, to him, was the full amount of what he should be receiving. Reality differed. His smile grew, teeth visible.

“I’m getting maybe a tenth of this,” he said as he slid his glasses back on. “That’s funny. That’s really funny. This hasn’t happened to me for a very long time.” He had underestimated Big Carl. Maybe he had lost his touch. He was bubbling with fury. “I’m thoroughly entertained. What do you know about him?”

He believed her. He was pissed, and everything about that sharp smile still made Erin’s blood run cold, but it wasn’t for her. It was for the bald-headed asshole who got nothing but pure joy out of pissing her off on a weekly basis. Her fury towards Felix suddenly veered course, finding a new home. She wasn’t this guy’s biggest fan but common ground had settled her some.

“Not much,” she shook her head, crossing her arms. “I know he corresponds directly with our boss. He’s the money guy or something. Makes all the pick-ups throughout town, however that works. But he comes through the back, same time and day every week. Which is incredibly stupid, by the way. Told him that much too, but the guy’s got the most fragile ego I’ve ever seen. He was waving his gun in my face to shut me up like I’d just insulted his entire bloodline.” She ground her teeth together, trying to recall any other small details. Most of the time she did everything in her power not to think about Dale.

“Flashy. Braggy. Loves to show off whatever new watch or jacket he’s got that week like I give a shit.” Fuck. Seemed stupid obvious in hindsight. She just figured a guy in his position got paid a hell of a lot better than her. Rolled her eyes and scoffed bitterly. God, this guy was stupider then she gave him credit for. “Guess he doesn’t think of me as a threat.” That was putting it lightly.

Felix listened to every word she said carefully. White Crest wasn’t a particularly large town. Not in his eyes. Small towns had this capacity to suffocate that intrigued him. Constricted yet somehow more freeing than a city could be. It was charming the way a coral snake could be if one confused it for a milk snake.

“So he keeps to a schedule,” he remarked. That was good. Very good. Nothing made a job easier than a predictable idiot too puffed up to notice he was sinking. “I like that. We can most certainly work with that. And I am awfully curious about this boss of yours.” He huffed a dry laugh at the mention of an insulted bloodline. If Felix had his way, there wouldn’t be enough blood left in the man to determine which line went where. Now that their ire had changed from being directed towards each other to someone else, someone far more worthy, the tension in him unwound. Erin’s hatred for Dale was near tangible like heated iron. It wasn’t something he could wield. But she certainly could.

“It’s good that he doesn’t, you know.” His smile bordered on serpentine. “See you as one. People like that never realize it until that curtain comes down and they’re left to wonder where everyone went.” He looked at Erin for a long moment before he extended a hand. “I’m glad we’ve met, Ms. Nichols. Circumstances and all. Would you let me know the next time you see Dale?”

“I’m pretty curious myself,” Erin agreed, casting a quick look his way. “And I could say the same about you, Mr. Doyle.” Her immediate fears were calmed for now, she assumed. He wasn’t gunning for her throat and he seemed nearly as convinced as she was about the true culprit. Still--that borderline insidious smile of his knew he was handing her a gift. Dale was the kind of guy who couldn’t see past himself. Didn’t want to, didn’t care to. She wasn’t even a speck on his radar. Two birds, one bald, ugly stone. All she had to do was accept it.

Felix extend his hand towards her and she just watched, hesitant, like this was some sort of trick. Maybe they’d built trust on a more solid foundation. Maybe she’d never see this guy again. But considering it was the professional thing to do here, she shook his hand firmly in return. 

“I don’t think he’s going to bother you much anymore,” she said simply. The words came out so easily, so confidently, it surprised even herself. The implication was pretty clear. This one was hers and fuck it--she was taking it. Nerves buzzed beneath her skin and something in her felt just that much lighter, but stronger. Like she’d reclaimed a sliver of the power she’d lost the moment she found her father’s half-assed note and a bag of frozen hearts. “I’ll remind him I’m still around.”

There was still a debt to be paid, after all. 

[percywinchester27]

About a boy (Part-8)

Word count: 4.7K

Warning: Suspense, feels, physical abuse, child-trafficking and bullying

Characters: Dean, Cas, Gabriel, Benny, Michael, OCs and… Sam?

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: I’m sorry this part is so delayed. Life got to me in a not so nice way. I will try my best to be better from now on <3

All my love to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​​​​​ and @deanssweetheart23​​​​​ for beta reading this story <3

About a boy masterlist

“Sometimes I think that some of these kids dye their hair,” Will muttered, kicking a stone out of the way. “There can’t possibly be that many brown haired boys.”

“You have brown hair,” Cas pointed out mildly, feeling sympathetic towards the boy.

“But my name isn’t Sam!” Will exhaled, attacking another stone. 

The two of them were walking back from school. Dean had waited back for some extra class, and on the way out Cas had bumped into Will, who had been in a dark, brooding mood. Only now did he know that it was because of an abundance of dark haired boys.

“I feel like I’m disappointing Dean,” Will admitted. “But I swear there isn’t another Sam on the floor, unless some kid is hiding his real name for whatever reason. The only other thing Dean gave me to go by, was that Sam has brown hair. But that is most boys.” His voice was full of despair. 

“You’re being harsh on yourself, Will,” Cas soothed, placing a hand on Will’s shoulder. “There isn’t much to go on here and Dean knows that. He isn’t going to be disappointed.”

“I had to do this one thing, and I’m wretched at it,” Will moaned, seemingly not having accepted a word of what Cas had said. 

He is used to always having a solution, Cas thought. Will attempted math Olympiads for fun. He was smart enough to fuse out the fire alarm system. He was the sort of boy who was used to getting solutions for his problems, answers for mysteries, and now that he couldn’t figure this one out, it was bothering him. But there was also one other thing. Will was probably used to being self sufficient. He had always made his own bed and clapped his own back. Now, there was Dean.

Cas realised, Will looked upto Dean. The way he hung on to Dean’s every word like it was a gospel. How he glowed when Dean lightly made fun of him, teased him or even called him a dumb-ass. Behind Will’s disappointment was his inherent desire for praise, and not any praise, but Dean’s praise.

Cas felt a deep pang in his stomach, a swell of empathy. He had seen so many kids yearn for attention, for a drop of love in this place where everyone was lonely together. Will was no different. He’d never had anyone to appreciate his intellect. Lots of parents would have sold their souls for a prodigal child like Will. But here he was looking for acceptance from a boy who was looking for something else, someone else.

With a heavy heart, he said, “We’ll keep looking, Will. We’ll find Sam.”

The boy looked up, hazel eyes round, the question in them clear as the day. Who is Sam? But he didn’t ask. Maybe something about Cas’s expression made it clear that he wouldn’t answer. It wasn’t his secret to tell anyway. Besides, he had no business dragging a kid into this. Especially a kid residing on the 4th floor. Cas shuddered.

Will cast another look, but didn’t talk for the rest of the way back.

*****************************

“Damn it!” Dean cursed as he stumbled over a rough patch of land. It had been three days since the fire alarm incidence and he could only barely manage to walk by himself. Of course today had to be the day when the calculus teacher extended the class. Ordinarily, Dean would have ditched in favor of having a steady support in Cas to walk back, but he paid attention in calculus. After all, he had promised to help Will out with it. So much for that crazy kid’s expedition to champion math! Which was why Dean took meticulous notes and for that, he had to wait back.

Apart from having to stumble all the way back, Dean didn’t really mind walking alone. Cas had been hovering over protectively over Dean at all times, worrying that if he was left alone, Michael’s goons might ambush him and finish what they started that night. As it turned out, Cas needn’t have worried at all. All his fears had been put to rest when the Principal had called Dean and Cas and asked about their bruises. Apparently, the nurse had made a formal request to the principal to look into the matter. Dean hadn’t given names, but the word got out and the said gang of goons started skirting him. It had still taken a quarter hours reassurance to get Cas to leave without him. 

Now his legs ached, his lungs screamed in protest. I’m experiencing old age at fifteen, Dean thought wryly as he pushed the gate of bell stone open. He heard the voices before the scene around the corner met his eyes.

A woman’s voice was echoing in the yard, high and poignant and authoritative. The familiarity and hope of just seeing someone he knew had Dean running despite the pain shooting up his foot. He wasn’t wrong. 

There she was standing tall and thin, with short brown hair, and the sheriffs uniform crisply cutting a formidable figure before him. Even though her back was to him, Dean knew it was her.

Jody.

He started rushing towards her, then abruptly stopped, the realisation hitting him like a block of ice. No one knew that he knew Jody. He couldn’t just barge in like that and blow his cover and their plan. The sight of her induced such homesickness, Dean staggered to the tree next to him, falling back against it for support. He felt like his legs might give out anytime. 

Even if he did meet her, what was he going to tell her? He’d made no progress when it came to the Stynes. Jody had put all her trust in him, risked arguments with authoritative people to get him in and he had nothing for her. He had no clue about where all the kids were disappearing off to. Shame and guilt flared up inside him and he lowered himself on the ground, disappearing completely from her line of vision.

He had disappointed her. 

“Officer,” someone cleared his throat. Dean recognised Andy. He sounded uncomfortable and scared. “It wasn’t really my fault, you see.”

“Not your fault?” Jody thundered. “Locking up kids like that on floors? And don’t you lie to me, I saw the grills myself.”

“They’re old, rusted and just there, doesn’t mean we use them,” Andy stuttered. He was much taller than Jody, but right now she seemed to tower over him.

“Do you take me for an idiot? I rolled one of those down, and for iron so rusted, it sure slid down smoothly.”

Despite the reeling shame, Dean wanted to whoop out loud. Jody was one of the smartest people he knew, and badass. Andy was in for it.

“We searched the whole place thoroughly, and those kids live in horrible conditions,” she said. “This place is a living hazard. You call it a boys home?” And what of the left wing?” she pressed, disgusted.

Dean dared to raise his head above the shrubbery just a little bit to peer into the opening. Jody was standing along with two other police officers, all of them in uniform. Andy was just a few feet away, visibly displaced, and Garth was hovering in the background, for apparently no other reason than to provide staff support to Andy. Garth seemed disinterested in the exchange and was fiddling with the dials on his walkman.

“The left wing is not in my jurisdiction. It’s always locked up. It doesn’t belong to the orphanage.” Andy’s voice was reedy.

Jody put her hands on her hips. “Really?” There was a dangerous edge to her tone. “And you don’t have the keys.”

“No,” Andy lied through his teeth. That asshole. 

If Dean had had any reservations about whether or not Andy knew what was up in this place, they were shattered right then and there. He was in this with the Stynes.

Jody turned to the police officer next to her. “Alright, Andrew, we’re breaking in.”

“Do you have a warrant to search the place?” Andy questioned. Dean swore under his breath. This man actually had the audacity to act superior. Dean tried to raise his head further to get a better view, to see the expression on Jody’s face. His foot slipped and fell back on the ground with a crash.

“Who’s there?” Andy said sharply.

“Shit!” 

“Get up,” Jody ordered, and Dean, after muttering a few more choice words, staggered to his feet and raised his hands. “It’s me.”

Andy’s face turned red, the suppressed anger making its appearance. “Winchester!” he bellowed, “What the f-... hell are you doing there?”

“I-I fell down,” he said hurriedly. “Was coming back from school.”

“From behind the bush?” It was Jody. “Higgs, what’s this boy doing here?”

Dean noted with detachment that he’d actually never known what Andy’s last name was. He avoided meeting Jody’s gaze.

“Look up!” Jody ordered, and Dean did so; slowly.

It was there for a split second, but Dean saw it in her brown eyes as they widened. A complex emotion; a mixture of relief, tenderness, pain… and then horror… anger.

“Higgs.” Jody’s voice was low, but it was so full of anger, loathing, that Dean backpedalled. “What the hell,” she said, seething, “happened to his face?”

Andy looked at Dean properly for the first time and paled. The angry red patches on his cheeks disappeared quickly. “I-I don’t know,” he said, running a hand across his face nervously. “You know how they get sometimes. Boys will be boys.”

But Jody was having none of Andy’s shit. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face to her level. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t drag your ass back to the station for allowing child abuse.” She looked dangerous, and Dean truly understood why everyone with ill-intent back home ran in the opposite direction when they saw her car. 

Dean knew she couldn’t actually haul Andy to the station. This wasn’t her area of jurisdiction. This was just part of her case. And even if she could get the local PD to do this, it threatened their whole operation. Sniffing police interference, the Stynes might completely move their base. Children would keep disappearing and Dean would lose his only chance of finding Sam.

Andy stammered a mumbled explanation as Jody pushed him roughly. Dean didn’t hear a word of what Andy was saying, for Jody had turned to look at him, and Dean braced himself for the disappointment in them. Not only had he failed her so far in the operation, he’d managed to get his ass kicked spectacularly, too. In fact, his bruises were better now, light purple to yellow in some parts and the swelling almost gone in others. 

When Dean looked up, Jody had squared her shoulders to face only him. Her eyes were blazing, though not with dismay or any hint of let down. There was only regret and pain there and so much worry that Dean felt he would drown in it. 

He was reeling. Suddenly he was standing in the front space of Bobby’s house, Jody looking down at him not with anger but worry when he’d first rigged a car. The day when he’d caught Bobby and her sitting on the porch steps and how hastily she had withdrawn her hand from Bobby’s when she’d seen Dean walk towards. He remembered the sun light squinting off the wooden table and how she had been nervously running her fingers along the edge of the table when Bobby told him they were seeing each other. Jody who was never nervous, only scary, had cared about what Dean, who wasn’t even Bobby’s son, had to say about their relationship. 

Dean remembered all the times she had driven by early so she could drop Dean off at school when Bobby was out of town. he had hated being driven around in the sheriff’s car. It was like announcing ‘don’t be friends with me, I know the sheriff.’ He’d barely ever spoken a word to her then. Suddenly there had been casseroles on holidays and real food on the table on Sunday mornings, instead of whatever mix Bobby put on the table in his hungover state.

All the sneaking around, whispers that were quieted too quickly so it wouldn’t make Dean awkward. The hope in her eyes when he sipped the coffee that she had made on mornings that she’d stayed over. She would almost always get it wrong by adding sugar, when Dean liked his black. Only now, after he had lived in this hell hole, did he realise the sort of luxury he’d had. He was no different from all the boys living in the orphanage. His parents were as dead and cold in their graves as the others’. But unlike them, he’d always had a room of his own, no worry where his next meal came from. He’d had gruff ‘good mornings’ from Bobby and shenanigans in his garage. And unexpectedly, softness from a woman who made her living by being firm.

Tears burned at the back of Dean’s throat and he blinked rapidly, still unable to take his eyes off of hers. Of course there would be no disappointment in those eyes… only care and… love. Jody’s eyes shone with unshed tears of her own, and he could see her desperately trying to get a grip. 

“I got punched at school,” Dean said through a thick throat. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault.” He fervently hoped that behind his words, she heard what he truly wanted to say. It wasn’t your fault, Jody. None of this is. Please don’t pull me out of here. For the both of us.

She had wanted this one win in that male dominated department where she was better by ten times than any idiot. And he wanted… no, he needed to find Sam. He stared intently back at her, willing her to understand. At long last, she nodded. A quick jerk of her chin.

“Alright,” she said hoarsely. Dean hoped that the others interpreted it as anger. “Get going then. Next time I hear of you breaking into fights, I’ll admit you to a juvie myself. You get that?”

Dean nodded.

“Off you go,” she ordered in what was supposed to be a stern voice. Then, she very deliberately raised her hand, as if to shoo him off, and pointed it to the side of the orphanage. Even though the main door was right in front. Something glinted off her finger as it caught the Sun, and Dean caught his breath. It was a thin gold band, plain but solid, resting on the second finger.

He had to bite his lips so as to not betray a reaction.

She widened her eyes. GO.

Dean turned on his heel and headed towards the side she had pointed towards, completely bypassing the main door. In the distance he could hear Jody ordering Andy and the others off towards the left wing, even if just for the heck of it. Leading them away, he realised, away from him.

He increased his pace and turned around the corner. Dean rarely visited this part of the ground. Mostly because there was an old barnhouse there that totally creeped him out. Once upon a time, when the orphanage hadn’t actually been an orphanage but a handsome, inhabited manor, the barhouse used to house actual animals- poultry, horses and pigs. Now it was just as dilapidated as the manor house if not more. The timber girders were sagging under the dead load of the disrupted roof. The planks that made up the walls had been eaten into by termites, and cobwebs adorned the facade extensively. Of course it gave Dean the creepers. Of course he’d never even been slightly tempted to go in. But as he inspected the barren building, he noticed, to his surprise, that the door was ajar.

Dean knew the barn-house was used as a storage for things so old that even the Orphanage didn’t want it inside, which was saying something. Dean and Cas often joked that the only use it would be would be if they used it as kindling and set it on fire. At least one night wouldn’t be so cold anymore. The trepidation he felt as he stepped inside the threshold now, was very real. 

Inside, everything was at least five times dustier than what he thought it would be. And so much darker. Silhouetted against the broken furniture and wardrobes was a man. He was wearing plaid underneath a thick flannel jacket and a baseball cap. Scruffy beard covered his face. A face with all too many frown lines, but laugh lines around his eyes. A face that was more familiar to Dean than any other.

Before he knew it, Dean was bounding forwards till his face was pressed against the soft cotton of the man’s shirt.

“Bobby!” Dean let out a strangled dry sob. 

It was too much. The weeks and weeks of living in this hell house, the constant fear for Sam, of not finding Sam, all came crashing down. Then there was that other feeling, one that almost made him feel ashamed. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say it was a feeling of… belonging. But how could he belong to this place? He hated every brick of the orphanage. A place that caged children. His Sam... Cas and Will. Maybe the belonging wasn’t with the place… but with the people.

“Hush,” Bobby said gruffly, patting Dean’s shoulder. Dean noticed that his voice was thicker than usual. Bobby cleared his throat. “It’s alright, my boy.”

Dean didn’t want to let go of Bobby. Not just because he had missed Bobby terribly, but because he’d never actually ever hugged Bobby like this. He didn’t know what to expect when he pulled back. 

When he did, there was only fierceness in Bobby’s eyes. Fierceness and fear. Not unlike Dean’s own fear for his brother and friends. A disjointed part of his mind wondered if love and fear were always this connected. And how it had taken him a trip to this goddamn place to feel both of those emotions so viscerally.

Bobby was still looking down at him, his lashes were wet. Dean had to look away.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked.

Bobby shrugged. “I heard about the fire from Jody. I-I was worried.” he hesitated, then added. “I needed to know that you were fine. I know you’re… well, you’re scared of fire.”

Dean had never said it, but Bobby was there in the early days when Dean even flinched from the stove fire. 

That still didn’t answer the question.

“I mean, what’re you doing here?” Dean gestured to the out house.

Bobby cleared his throat once more. “Sneaked in. Had to see you. I had to beg with Jody so I could tag along. Her only condition- no one could see me.”

“Jody!” Dean suddenly remembered, then threw a finger towards Bobby. “You’re getting married?”

Bobby shuffled from one foot to another, almost looking nervous. “Yeah. I had that ring made for a while now, since before you left. And I meant to ask you before asking her… but she found it in the back pocket of my pants and well, the damn cat was out of the bag.”

Dean stared. 

Romantic proposal was one thing. He hadn’t really expected Bobby to put on fairy lights around the house and fill the front yard with rose petals, but the proposal could have been more than her accidentally stumbling upon the ring. Dean wanted to shake his head indulgently at Bobby’s complete and utter lack of romantic timing. Maybe Jody liked that sort of spontaneous thing. Who knew? 

There was something in Bobby’s words that stopped Dean from acting upon his amusement.

“You said you wanted to ask me?” Dean asked flatly.

Bobby looked even more nervous if that was possible. “It is your home, Dean. I wanted to ask you if it was alright with you.” He looked at Dean with a worried expression.

This time Dean really did shake his head. “Bobby, you crazy old man,” Dean laughed. “Of course I’m happy for you. Jody is a badass.”

Bobby’s eyes softened, and his shoulders relaxed. “She wanted you to know, too. Said it didn’t count as engagement if you weren’t in on it.”

The tears had just subsided, but Dean’s throat burned with them again. 

“Bobby,” he said, his voice rough. “You getting married to Jody would be the best damn thing to happen to our home.”

Bobby beamed. His whole face lit up, and for a second Dean could almost feel the homely warmth of Bobby’s kitchen in the cold, dusty barnhouse. Then Bobby’s smile slid.

“What’re you doing here, kid?” Bobby asked, his face screwing up in his classic frown. He always tried to look annoyed when he was feeling something, Dean remembered fondly. “Come home. The place feels just like an empty car dump without you annoying my gourd,” he said pointing to his head.

Dean wanted to smile at Bobby’s attempt to lighten the tone, though it didn’t take a keen eye to see the wetness of his lashes, hear the gruffness of his voice.

“Sam…” Dean started.

“Sam’s… Sam’s a ghost story, Dean!” Bobby almost gasped, as if he’d tried too hard to not say those words, but they had escaped him anyway. Dean’s heart seemed to crack just a bit. He could see that Bobby loved him. Like his own son. But for Bobby, Sam was still his friend’s son, who was lost. He had no connection to Sam whatsoever. 

All these years, through hot grizzly afternoons and through cold shivery winter nights, that blood bond was what had kept Dean awake, picturing horrors that might have been happening to his brother who was still out there somewhere. Who knew? Maybe waiting for his older brother. Dean had held on to it, steadfast, never giving up. But somewhere through the years, Bobby had.

Dean didn’t begrudge Bobby the non-attachment, but if only he understood that finding Sam was the purpose of life for Dean, especially now that there was a ray of hope, now that he was so close to discovering the truth.

Perhaps Bobby understood too well, because he put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t have said that,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I just worry about you.” His eyes roved over Dean’s face. “Look at all of his,” he gestured vaguely at the bruises. 

“It’s nothing, Bobby,”

“Exactly!” Bobby pointed out. “It could get so much worse.” But something about Dean’s look made Bobby’s shoulders slump. It was clear that Dean wasn’t going to give up on this.

With a resigned gesture of his arms, Bobby turned around and produced a wooden box from behind. The box wasn’t ornate but, the rosewood exterior had a pristine quality to it, as if the box had been in existence since a long, long time.

“Here.” Bobby’s voice was heavy, and his eyes had that look… the one that made him look older than he was. “Take it.”

“What is it?” Dean asked, running his fingers over the rough exterior of the dark wood. 

Bobby didn’t answer, and Dean clicked the lock on it. The lid opened easily enough. Inside was a collection of mismatched things. There was a small knife, a little charm bracelet, a figurine of a peaceful looking baby angel and among other things a bundle of photos. Images after images of his family… of faces that he was afraid he was beginning to forget. Photographs from his parents' wedding, in front of their lawn, from his childhood, dad hugging mom in front of a sleek black car.

“Your dad loved that thing,” Bobby murmured, but Dean barely paid attention. He was hungrily flipping through the bundle, his hands shaking. At the very end, there were pictures of a small baby, clicked in a series. Small chubby hands held out, rosy cheeks, light brown hair and a laugh that seemed to reach out of the picture itself. 

Dean didn’t know whether to simply keep looking at the picture- because at this point his eyes were simply devouring it- or shut the box, just so he could control his feelings, get a grip on his wildly failing heart.

“Where?” he stammered, shutting the box as the later instinct won. “Where did you find these?” Even to his own ears, Dean’s voice sounded strangled.

“I’ve always had them,” Bobby said, then gauging Dean’s outrage quickly added, “I wanted you to move on, Dean. When you first came to live with me, you didn’t talk for half a year. It was like living with a shadow. I didn’t want you to get lost in the past and never resurface from whatever goddamned dark depth you had fallen into. And then when you started talking, and it looked like you were finally going to get a childhood, I didn’t want you to lose yourself in a false hope.”

“So you never gave these to me?” Dean glared. He could feel the blood rising to his face, his fingers balling into fists.

Bobby squared his shoulders. “Damn right I never gave you those. And I won’t feel sorry for hoping that you’d give up on the crazy mission to find Sam. You were just a kid, Dean. You still are, and from what I knew, I truly believed Sam was lost.” His voice cracked.

Just like that Dean felt all the anger leave him, his body deflating. Suddenly he felt tired, bone weary. His legs gave out from under him and he collapsed onto a dusty trunk. What was the point of being mad? It was not like Bobby had kept his childhood from him. Dean still had his mother’s picture by the side of his bed. His dad’s first sawed off and baseball glove on the wall. He’d always had mementos to remember his parents by. The only things new were Sam’s pictures. And what was even the point in blaming Bobby. All he wanted was to help Dean. Besides, Bobby had left no stone unturned in his time to find Sam.

“Why are you giving this to me now?” Dean asked, head bent low, all energy simply draining out of him.

Bobby lowered himself to Dean’s level, hand back on his shoulders, “Because now it might actually help you.”

Dean couldn’t help himself. He flung his arms around Bobby once more. This was more hugging than maybe all of their time together, but Dean simply didn’t care. “I can’t wait to be back,” he admitted, his voice muffled against Bobby’s shoulder.

Bobby chuckled dryly. “Can’t wait to have you back either, kid.”

After a moment he let go, patting Dean’s back in quick succession. “You still remember about the pager, right?”

Dean nodded, now slightly awkward. “I’ll send out a flare if there is ever an emergency.” Secretly Dean knew he wasn’t going to do it until he found Sam because that would mean an immediate rescue and permanent goodbye to this place.

Bobby gave him one more hard look, then nodded and walked out of the barnhouse. Goodbyes weren’t really his thing.

Dean knew that they couldn’t have left together, too much risk, so he waited for a few minutes, then slipped out, too, the box clutched tightly in his hands. He felt both lighthearted and also awfully homesick at the same time. So lost was he in his own feelings that he never noticed the shadow move from the side of the barnhouse where it had been lodged for a while now, and come face to face with him.

Dean ran headfirst into the wall of black, then staggered backwards.

“Benny!” he said, surprised as he looked into the shadowed face.

Benny’s face looked impassive, his eyes however were narrowed. “That police woman looked like she wanted to smother you in hugs.Your old man looks pretty solid and caring and alive. Care to tell me who is this Sam you’re looking for, Winchester?”

******************************

A/N 2: Please do tell me what you thought of the chapter? I live for comments!

If you wanna be tagged, please send me an ask

About a Boy taglist:

@sdavid09​​​​ @deanssweetheart23​​​​ @blacktithe7​​​​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​​​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​​​ @chalicia​​​​  @anathewierdo​​​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​​ @protectteamfreewill​​​​ @firefly124-writing​​​​ @spnbaby-67​​​​ @hoboal87​​​​ @rizlow1​​​​ @donnaintx​​​​ @starmission​​​​ @gh0stgurl​​​​ @tftumblin​​​​ @emily-a-c11​​​​ @ericaprice2008​​​​ @jotink78​​​​ @charliebradbury1104​​​​ @ohgodwhybloggg​​​​ @i-dont-get-cold​​​​  @bobbie3939​​​​  @samsexualdeancurious​​​​ @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba​​​​  @cookiechipdough​​​​ @wildfirewinchester​

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 17

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~5100

Rating: R (language, implied inability to consent)

Summary: Drake goes to Ramsford while he figures out his next steps, Leo has something to ask Liam, and Hana is at her wit’s end

Author’s Note: I’m just gonna throw a trigger warning here that there is an interaction in this chapter where a man is clearly looking to engage in sexual activity with a woman who is not able to consent at that time. There is no actual sexual assault or violence, but it’s the type of thing that may hit close to home, so I thought I’d give some warning. It’s in the third and final “section” of this chapter if you wish to avoid it.

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

“Hello?” Drake called out, glancing around as he stepped into the foyer of the Ramsford estate. He wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t any staff to greet him, given the Beaumont’s current financial situation, but he figured he should announce his presence somehow. Not just lurk around until someone found him. He was pretty sure he was the only person invited for dinner tonight, after all.

He hadn’t really wanted to come for this dinner, but when Savannah had called him, excited that he was still around and inviting him over now that she was settled at Ramsford, he just couldn’t bring himself to say no. He’d seen so little of his sister over the past couple of years, and even before then, he’d always found it hard to tell her “no.” So here he was, hoping that Maxwell and Bertrand had enough whiskey to get him through the evening.

“Drake, is that you?” Maxwell’s voice called out, echoing through the halls as he rounded the corner, “Hey, glad you could make it!”

“Yeah…” Drake trailed off as Maxwell came over. Maxwell was clearly going in for the hug, but thought better of it when he saw the look on Drake’s face. 

“So, yeah. Dinner might be a bit yet. Savannah is cooking but Bertrand has decided to ‘supervise’ as this is ‘their first dinner party’ as a couple or whatever. I wandered through the kitchen about 20 minutes ago, and it was not exactly going great.”

Drake just shook his head, “I hardly qualify as a dinner party.”

“Yeah, well… try telling Bertrand that. Do you want a drink while we wait for whatever the hell we’re gonna get for dinner at some point?”

“What do you think?”

“Right, stupid question. Come on, I’ll get you some whiskey.”

Drake followed Maxwell through the halls to the private lounge and took a seat on one of the couches as Maxwell wandered over to the bar cart and preparing a whiskey on the rocks and a glass of white wine before he joined Drake on the opposite sofa.

“So, has Riley been having a good time with Hana?”

“What?”

“Hana told me they were going to check out Riley’s favorite place for Chinese take out today and that she was going to see how it stacked up to authentic Cantonese cuisine. I was wondering if you’d heard the final verdict.”

“Maxwell, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Hana’s in New York,” said Maxwell, squinting slightly as he took a sip of his wine. “Drake, did you not know that?”

“No, she uhh… didn’t tell me that.” Drake downed his whiskey in one, pushing himself up off the couch and stalking over the liquor. That information warranted another drink.

Hana was in New York with Riley. Riley couldn’t be bothered to text him, but she was taking Hana out and keeping Maxwell posted about everything they were up to, apparently. It just was him she wanted nothing to do with. 

It was like every other time, and this time, he knew it was his own damn fault that she left him. He’d fucked everything up. He drank his second glass in one swig. He just wanted to go back to his quarters and be alone with his pain, but he could hardly duck out of a family dinner where he was the only guest. Pouring himself one more whiskey, he took a deep breath and rejoined Maxwell. He was gonna have to get through this night somehow.

Maxwell glanced up, tapping his finger on the side of his wine glass as Drake sat down. The silence was tense for a few moments before Maxwell broke it. 

“Drake, I wasn’t trying to pry, I swear. I’m just worried about Riley and I thought maybe-”

Drake jerked his head up and stared at Maxwell, “Why are you worried about Liu?”

Maxwell tensed for a second, “Look, I’m not trying to butt in where it’s not my business or anything-”

“Really? Since when have you had any sense of boundaries?” Drake snapped

“Hey! I’ve given you plenty of space! I get that you and Liam had to work through your… issues, or whatever. But she’s like my sister, and I have a right to be worried about her, too!”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s all my fucking fault. I already feel like shit about it so-”

“Oh come on, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“Then what’s your fucking point?”

Maxwell let out a sigh, “I’m just trying to make sure that both of my friends are doing okay and not isolating themselves and being all lonely and mopey and deciding that it’s better if no one knows that they are actually hurting.”

Drake took a deep breath, “Since when did you get so fucking insightful?”

“My greatest strength is that everyone underestimates me. It let’s me see things,” he said with a shrug.

“Huh,” was all Drake could muster, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“So, if you can promise not to jump down my throat, I’d like to ask how you are.”

Drake grimaced, “I’ll be fine. It just sucks right now because all I can do is wait for the other shoe to drop.”

Maxwell frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as you could probably guess from my reaction, Riley’s basically ghosting me. I’m just waiting for the inevitable breakup text.”

“Or, she’s mopey and isolating herself, you know, like I said,” countered Maxwell.

“I don’t know. She won’t talk to me.”

“So go back and talk to her. The people behind the attacks are behind bars and you, Liam, and Olivia all said that things are looking good from that standpoint. You took care of what you needed to here, time to go take care of things with one Riley Liu.”

Drake shook his head, “It’s not that simple, Maxwell. I don’t even know if she wants me there.”

“I never said it would be simple. But you don’t know what’s going through her mind right now, right? So maybe she wants you there with her or maybe she doesn’t. There’s really only one way to find out.”

Drake bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to keep calm. He couldn’t let Maxwell know that he didn’t know if he could deal with the possibility of face to face rejection from Riley. Not now, after he’d come to think that she might be the one woman who would stay. When Savannah left, it had nearly broken him completely. If he had to watch Riley leave him, too… well, he didn’t know if he could handle it.

“Hey,” called out Maxwell, forcing Drake to divert his attention away from his spiraling thoughts, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think she wants to leave you. But even if she does, wouldn’t it be easier to move forward knowing you did everything you could to try and make things right?”

After a few seconds, after processing the fact that Maxwell could apparently read him like a book, all Drake could say in response was, “Damn, you’re right.”

Maxwell smiled, “I’m fucking insightful, remember?”

Drake laughed at that, raising his glass to clink against Maxwell’s.

After taking a sip of his wine, Maxwell pulled out his phone, “Speaking of being insightful, what do you think the odds are that dinner preparations have completely fallen off the rails?”

“I’m going with about an 80% chance.”

“My thoughts exactly. So shall we preemptively order some pizza?”

Drake smiled and nodded as Maxwell called the restaurant he always used for late night sustenance at Beaumont Bashes. It was strange to think that Maxwell was now a close enough friend that he felt okay about talking with him about anything he was feeling. More than that, he realized that he had misjudged Maxwell a lot over the years. But if the past year had taught him anything, it was that Maxwell had pretty decent awareness when it came to a lot of things. He’d seen the value in Riley before any of them, after all. 

Drake knew he probably should apologize for some things he’d said in the past, both to and about Maxwell, but maybe bringing up his past intolerance of the man was not the best way to go. So instead, he waited until Maxwell finished placing the order and hung up the phone before he got up and walked over to the liquor once again.

“You need a refill, best friend roomie?”

The subsequent shriek of joy was loud enough to bring Savannah and Bertrand running.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Liam sighed, rubbing his eyes as he scanned through the final reports on all the interrogations. Starting tomorrow, some the initial hearings were happening in public court. Liam had pushed for expedited trials, knowing that the people had been through enough with these attacks and didn’t need the court proceedings to drag at a glacial pace. Of course, this meant he was giving himself less time to develop a firm grasp on the details of the three men whose trials were starting this week for when the press inevitably asked for comments. Still, he knew the prosecutors had it worse, and he was grateful the team of attorneys had agreed with his plan yesterday, even agreeing to meet with Bastien’s agents on a weekend.

He’d slept in his office last night, reviewing the files well past midnight. When he woke up with his head hanging over the arm of his sofa, he’d scurried off to the Monarch’s Quarters, quickly getting freshened up before heading back to his office. He chose his desk this time, hardly able to risk drifting off to sleep again, but it was still hard to stay focused. The reports were full of so many conflicting details, it was hard to keep who said what straight, and he’d been at if for hours at this point. He was about to get up and stretch his legs for a few minutes, but heard a couple of knocks on the door. Before he could call out a greeting, the door swung open, Leo walking straight in and over to the side cupboards.

“Why hello, Leo. Please, come in.”

Leo paused to turn to Liam. “Why, thanks brother!” he said in an exaggerated manner, winking as he looked back towards the wall units, “I was thinking of fixing myself a drink; would you like one?” 

Liam glanced at the clock on the wall. “Leo, it’s not even noon,” he chastised, “and you won’t find the whiskey in that cupboard.”

Leo stopped rifling through to cupboard and walked over to Liam’s desk, a wide grin spread across his face. As he plunked himself down in one of the chairs facing Liam, he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. After a moment, Liam sighed and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out the Highland Park whiskey and two glasses.

“Keeping it close at hand, nice. I have to say, I like your style. Dad always kept his booze tucked behind the books. Your way is much wiser,” Leo said, accepting the glass from Liam.

“So what brings you by my office? We haven’t seen much of you around the palace the past couple of days.”

“Well, it seemed like things were pretty hectic around here. I thought I would give you some space while you dealt with all the official business. Besides, the casinos worry that something has happened to me if I’m around for more than two days and don’t make an appearance,” he joked. “Anyway, I just came by to let you know I’m flying out tomorrow.”

Liam took a sip of whiskey and nodded. He’d been expecting this since the funeral. He was actually kind of surprised Leo had stuck around Cordonia as long as he had. “Where are you heading this time?”

“I’m spending the next week in Havana, then it’s on to Rio.”

“Of course. Well, you know you’re welcome back anytime. Keep in touch, okay?”

“Yeah…” Leo said, trailing off and looking down at the surface of the desk. It seemed odd to Liam. Usually, when Leo said he was leaving, he appreciated a light-hearted goodbye. Liam figured years of Father attempting to guilt him into staying had taken their toll, so he always tried to show Leo that he understood his need to explore, to go elsewhere. But today, that seemed to bother him, and Liam wasn’t sure why.

“Is something wrong, Leo?”

Leo paused for a moment before he spoke, “You’re doing okay, right?”

“Of course.”

“I mean, you’re okay with the fact that I don’t spend much time in Cordonia, right?”

“Where is this coming from, Leo?”

Leo shook his head, “You don’t have to pretend you didn’t hear what Drake said to me the other day. I know you overhead us.”

Liam nodded slowly. He hadn’t heard everything, but he’d heard enough. And while the fact that Drake had mentioned being torn away from his life had been of more interest to Liam at that time, the fact that Drake had told Leo that he was a bad brother was also something that had stuck in his mind.

“It didn’t seem like the type of statement you’d put much stock in, if I’m being honest.”

Leo tensed at that. “He called me a shitty brother, Liam! Of course it stuck with me! Do you think so little of me that you thought I wouldn’t care about that?”

“Of course not. I just thought that you knew better than to hold Drake’s anger as a source of universal truth, not to mention you never seemed to mind being told you weren’t living up to expectations in this building.”

Leo gave Liam a small smile, “So, you don’t think I’ve been a bad brother to you?”

“No, I don’t feel that way.”

“But Drake was right. I haven’t really been around, I tend to get caught up in my own interests. I definitely have failed you in some ways.”

Liam shook his head, “I don’t expect you to care for me in the same fashion as Drake. He has his way of doing things, you have yours.”

“He called me your drinking buddy.”

Liam chuckled at that, “That’s an interesting perspective. It lacks some nuance, but yes, I suppose you do get me to let go of certain stressors temporarily by encouraging me to indulge in a variety of vices. It’s helpful at times, so I wouldn’t be so dismissive of it.”

Leo just shook his head, “Come on, you don’t need to shield me. If you need to get pissed at me, I get it.”

“Why would I need to get pissed at you?”

“I abdicated, for Christ’s sake! I left you with all the responsibility.”

“And didn’t I encourage you to take that course of action?”

“Yes, but Drake said-”

“Forget what Drake said. His interpretation of our relationship is highly irrelevant, and Drake is going to think what he’s going to think. I am telling you, I do not resent you for abdicating. Being Crown Prince was killing you; you were miserable. I love you, and I want to see you happy. How could I ever hold you taking an action that greatly improved your happiness against you?”

“But I want to see you happy, too.”

“I know you do. I presume that’s why you are very willing to take the full blame for indiscretions conducted by either of us.”

Leo scoffed a little, “Sure, when we were little.”

“And now. I heard Regina had some choice words for you after our night of drinking before the funeral.”

“She said she was amazed that after all this time, I still found a way to be a bad influence on you,” Leo said with a little smile.

“Exactly, and you let her believe that. Leo, you’ve always shown you care about me in your own way. I’ve never felt like you didn’t love me just because we want very different things out of life.”

“Still, the weight of the crown-”

“Is something that I don’t see as a barrier to my long-term happiness. It’s a responsibility, sure, but I am honored that our people trust me as their leader.”

Leo stared at Liam for a few seconds before throwing the whiskey back and finishing his drink. “You’re a good king, you know that right?”

Liam smiled gently, “Thank you, Leo. I appreciate that.”

“And I don’t just mean better than I would have been. You are a good leader. Cordonia is lucky to have you.”

“Thank you. But I think you would have been a better king than you give yourself credit.”

Leo just laughed, “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.” He stood to leave and strolled over to the door, but before he opened it, he spun back to face Liam.

“Do you mind if I give you a piece of advice?”

Liam inclined his head, “I would be a bad king if I couldn’t handle friendly advice.”

“Right, well this more personal than professional.”

“If it’s about Madeleine, give your history, that seems like a rather awkward topic-”

“Nah, it’s more general than that. Just... you need to be selfish sometimes. Not often, let’s say once a week. But you need to do something, no matter how small, that’s just for you.”

“Leo…”

“Promise me you’ll at least consider it. Remember, I love you, so that means I like seeing you happy. And I know you well enough that you might forget about your own happiness if things get hectic. So add it to your schedule or something, but remember, once a week, one thing, just for you.” And with that he was out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hana felt... well, the only way to describe it was gross. She knew that her plan for the evening was not something that was completely acceptable, morally speaking. But she hadn’t known what else to do.

All weekend, Riley had been completely uninterested in talking about anything of substance. She’d listened to Hana just fine and told plenty of amusing anecdotes. However, anytime Hana asked her how she was doing or if she needed to talk about anything, Riley had just brushed her off, saying she was fine before suddenly remembering a story about a funny customer or something of that sort. It was always lighthearted and superficial. There was never one iota of depth to anything she said. It had been shopping and restaurants and tourist attractions before Riley scurried off to get ready for work both Saturday and Sunday, and Hana was done with it. 

Maybe she wasn’t being fair. Both Saturday and Sunday evenings, when she’d been alone, trying to devise a strategy to encourage Riley to open up, she’d come to the realization that most of the weight that she’d felt in their friendship had come from her opening up, not so much the other way around. While Hana had discussed her distorted dynamic with her parents, her failed engagement and romantic inexperience, and her very lonely and isolated childhood, there was very little Riley had told her. She briefly mentioned that her father was long gone and her mother dead, but it had been Maxwell who told her that her mother had died of a heroin overdose. She wasn’t even sure if Riley had any family beyond that, any aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandparents. And Riley certainly hadn’t confided in Hana about her growing feelings for Drake at any point during the social season or Liam and Madeleine’s engagement tour.

The fact that her friendship with Riley appeared to be fairly lopsided filled her with both pain and guilt. It certainly hurt knowing that the first person in her life she saw as a best friend had probably not felt so connected with her. But more than that, she felt guilty for depending so much on Riley for emotional support and strength without offering anywhere near enough in return. But tonight, that was going to change.

Hana had tried being friendly and open. She’d tried asking gentle questions. She’d point blank asked Riley if she’d heard from Drake while they were at the Guggenheim. But Riley had deflected every single attempt. So tonight, Hana was getting her drunk. She hated thinking of it that way. It sounded so predatory, so malicious. But her intent was merely to use a bit of alcohol to help Riley feel comfortable enough to actually let her guard down and communicate openly. 

Her plan had been simple to execute, at least initially. Riley was off Monday, and given her apparent desire for all things fun and frivolous, it had been very easy to convince her that while in New York, Hana really wanted a little taste of the nightlife. Riley had been thrilled, offering to lend Hana club wear and taking them to a small little lounge after dinner before they headed to a nightclub. She hadn’t been out dancing in ages, apparently, and was very enthusiastic about the idea.

At first, it had gone exactly as Hana had hoped, with Riley downing vodka sodas while Hana just sipped on an amaretto sour as they sat in a little booth at the lounge. When they’d paid the cover to enter the nightclub, the bass from dance tracks resonating through Hana’s entire body, Riley appeared to be tipsy. Hana figured a couple more drinks, an hour or so of dancing, and then they could head out and actually talk.

What she hadn’t accounted for was the swaths of men who didn’t seem content to let them dance without butting in, invading their personal space without even saying hello. All of these men came with offers to buy them drinks, and while Hana always declined, Riley seemed keen on taking every single one of them up on it, wandering over to the bar time and time again, dragging Hana along with her.

Currently, Hana was standing there, watching as a tall man with very blond hair ordered Riley yet another Long Island Iced Tea. Riley was well passed the point of tipsy and was incredibly intoxicated, leaning heavily against the bar, the words she was practically yelling over the loud music slurred into a giant mess. The man in question didn’t seem to mind at all, though, handing his credit card over to the bartender.

“Excuse me!” Hana called out, the bartender pausing to look at her.

“Sorry!” yelled the blond man, leaning close to Hana so he could speak directly into her ear, “I didn’t know you were drinking. What do you want?”

Hana just shook her head and rolled his hand off her shoulder, leaning over the bar to speak directly to the bartender, tugging her skirt down as she did so. The length was not something she was used to, and she was feeling self conscious of how high it would ride up her thighs with her movement.

“Cancel that Long Island Iced Tea, please. She and I are leaving.”

The bartender glanced between the three of them, but after just a couple of seconds, he nodded with understanding. Hana then spun towards Riley,  hoping that she would be a cooperative drunk.

“Riley, sweetie,” Hana said, leaning to speak directly in her ear. 

Riley spun to face her, stumbling slightly on her heels as she moved, grabbing Hana’s arm. “Yeah?” she said, a concerning glazed looked to her eyes as she seemed to struggle to meet Hana’s eyeline.

“It’s time for us to leave.”

“I think she can decide if she wants to leave for herself.”

Hana rolled her eyes. She had hoped that the blond man would have moved on, but it seemed like he had set his sights on Riley. Ignoring him, she linked her arm through Riley’s and started to navigate them toward the coat check, but the man grabbed Riley’s wrist and tugged her back towards him.

“Riley, why don’t you tell your friend you’re having a good time and that I can get you home.”

Riley just looked dazed, her gaze unfocused, so Hana stepped forward and tugged her towards her side. “Riley, come on,” she said before looking at the man, “You are a disgusting excuse for a human being if you think that she is in any state to go anywhere with you.”

“Bitch!” the man spat out, but he seemed to decide that having this fight with Hana was not worth his time as he turned away and walked away from the two of them, probably looking for some other woman to ply with alcohol. Shaking her head, Hana wrapped her arm around Riley and moved them towards the exit. When they were waiting for their coats, Riley seemed to gain a little awareness of her surroundings.

“Where’d Peter go?”

Well, Hana had a name for the blond man with ill intentions now. “He had to go, and so do we,” she said, trying to guide Riley’s arms into her jacket.

“Oh,” said Riley, “Is Peter, I mean, where’s he, yeah, you know?”

Hana just blinked, not really having any clue what Riley’s drunken ramblings were supposed to convey. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get a cab back to my hotel.”

Hana was able to shepherd Riley out onto the sidewalk, but when she attempted to flag down a taxi, Riley batted down her arm, almost falling into the gutter in the process.

“No taxi, only three blocks,” she slurred, stumbling away from Hana and down the sidewalk with surprising speed.

“Riley, wait!” Hana cried out, “Where are you going?” But Riley didn’t give any response, so Hana took off after her. Any efforts to redirect her were met with groans and slurred grumbles and complaints, so after a few attempts, Hana just followed along. Riley was clearly on some sort of drunken mission, and Hana was going to be along for the ride, apparently.

It was a tricky route to wherever Riley was going. There were numerous other bars, clubs, and restaurants in this part of the city, and even though it was after midnight, there were still many people on the sidewalk, many of them just as drunk as Riley. Trying to prevent collisions, dodging cat callers, and keeping Riley upright was taking a lot of effort. Hana barely felt like the sidewalk was any less of an overwhelming place of noise and bodies than the dance club. Her ears were ringing and she was exhausted. She just wanted to get Riley safely into a bed and then go to sleep herself.

After a couple of blocks, Riley stopped in front of a small market, veering towards a side door. Hana was about to correct her that not only was the market closed, but that she was trying to enter what was clearly an employee entrance, but Riley fished a set of keys out of her pocket and fumbled with them, trying to unlock the door. At that moment, Hana realized that this door wasn’t to the market, it was to Riley and Drake’s apartment building.

After a couple of tries, Riley got the door unlocked and open, so Hana followed her into what appeared to be a mailroom for the building and then up a flight of stairs. Hana didn’t know what she had pictured for where Drake and Riley lived, but it certainly wasn’t this. She was trying hard not to be judgemental, but she’d never been inside a building so run down. It had probably been an adjustment for Drake compared to living at the palace.

As Hana trudged up several flights of stairs behind Riley, catching her from falling twice, she couldn’t help but think about Drake and Riley, not only living in this building, but in this neighborhood, in this city. Riley she could kind of imagine, out at a different bar or restaurant everyday, trying new foods and drinks, charming different people left and right. She was so bubbly and outgoing and had a definite wild, impulsive streak.

But Drake? Nearly agoraphobic, routine loving, scoffed at the new and unknown Drake? She just couldn’t see it. He would have punched at least five people on their walk back from the club alone. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture him in a place that was so loud and with so many different people. It seemed like the type of thing he would avoid at all costs. She didn’t know what to make of that. Did Drake have some secret, social side that he only let Riley see? Or was he just miserable and surly all the time? Hana felt like it was probably the latter. It made her sad to even think about. Here he had made a grand romantic gesture, moving to be with the woman he loved, and it was probably draining and stressful beyond his wildest dreams.

Eventually Riley turned down a hallway and made her way to a door labeled 4B. She tried to use her keys, but was struggling to figure out which key went into which lock. After a few seconds, Hana stepped up to grab the keys herself, but before she could even offer her help, Riley started crying, sinking to the floor.

“Riley!” she cried out, crouching down and grabbing her shoulders and rubbing circles against them. “It’s okay; I can unlock the door. It’ll be okay.”

“S’not that,��� Riley mumbled. “I jus’ wanted t’forget t’night… T’not feel so bad…”

“Shhhh,” hummed Hana, sitting down on the floor next to Riley, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m so lonely. But no one cares,” Riley slurred, head thrown back against the door, “He’s never coming back and I’m gonna always be alone.”

“Riley, plenty of people care about you,” Hana said, trying to provide words of reassurance, but it was like Riley was just giving some sort of emotional speech, and she just kept mumbling the same thoughts over and over again. That she was alone. That she had no one. That everyone would always leave her. So Hana did the only thing she could think to do. She sat there with her, letting her ramble and release her pain. She wasn’t going anywhere, and hopefully that fact would provide at least a little comfort.

Permatag: @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019  @sirbeepsalot  @texaskitten30  @princessleac1  @ladyangel70  @dcbbw @yaushie @octobereighth

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @notoriouscs @butindeed  @addictedtodrakefanfic

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon @thesumofmychoices @cosigottahavefaith @thequeenchoices @katedrakeohd  @feartheendlesssummer  @ao719  @ooo-barff-ooo​ @sunnyxdazed

[victorineb]

So, about a million years ago (well, two and a half) I was writing a Basic Chickens fic about Adam coaching Elias on the art of dating, while secretly falling for him. I’d be very, very surprised if anyone remembers it but, just in case, here’s the long-delayed penultimate chapter (and the final one will be posting on Friday).

Hope y’all enjoy!

Also on AO3

Green Scarf to a Bull - Chapter 5: Wanna Get Out of Here?

It took everything Adam had not to run screaming when Elias returned from the barber. Terrible, terrible things had occurred while Adam was drinking away his sorrows, clearly.

“You should close your mouth, you look very silly with it hanging open like that.”

Adam snapped his jaw shut and surveyed Elias’ face with horror.

He looked fucking gorgeous.

Though true to his word not to do anything drastic to Elias’ “signature look,” the barber had still somehow worked wonders. Elias’ moustache had been trimmed and shaped into something almost rakish looking, and his hair had been tamed and tousled, the curls now defined and swept flatteringly back from his face. And, just to make matters worse, he’d traded his own top for one of the new ones they’d bought earlier, a dark blue waffle knit that pulled teasingly across his shoulders and chest.

Adam made a small, dismayed noise and dropped his head back to the bar.

“Adam? Does it look bad?”

Adam raised his head minutely and gaped at Elias. “Bad? No, not bad, Elias. Definitely not bad.”

“Oh.” Somehow Elias managed to fill that syllable with shy pride and Adam couldn’t help but smile at him. Then he groaned and laid his head back down. Jesus, did he have even one iota of cool left?

“Are you in pain? Did you fall down again?” Elias asked, taking a seat next to Adam.

“If I recall correctly, you fell. I was just dragged down with you,” Adam snarked, turning his head towards Elias so his cheek lay against the bar. He saw Elias open his mouth to protest and quickly cut him off. “I’m just a bit drunk, Curly, nothing to worry about. Shouldn’t have been boozing on an empty stomach.”

“The staff should not have let you get into such a state. Show me which of them served you and I will tell them so.” Elias was already getting back to his feet, looking around to see where all the staff had run off to.

Adam yanked him back down, trying not to notice how firm the bicep he’d got his hand around was. “Don’t you dare, Elias. That barmaid was very sweet to me just now, I’m not letting you headbutt her for doing her job.”

Elias sat back down easily enough, but the frown was still present. “You think she is sweet?” he asked, fiddling with a bar mat.

“Jealous, Curly?” Adam asked, because an impending hangover wasn’t enough pain, apparently.

“Don’t be silly, Adam,” Elias sniffed, breaking Adam’s heart just a little bit more. “I only wondered if perhaps you would ask her out. Then we both could have girlfriends.”

Adam smiled, too tired to do anything else. “Sure, Elias, maybe. I’ll think about it.”

And he did think about it. He thought about it often over the next few days, as he helped Elias procure his date. He thought about whether flirting with someone pretty would take his mind off Elias practicing how to ask someone out without coming off as insane. He thought about whether a quick, no-strings fuck would ease the ache of seeing Elias’ smile when his waitress said yes. He thought about whether having someone else’s arms around him could make him forget how it felt when Elias brushed their hands together, or stood too close, or gathered Adam in one of his too-tight hugs that made him want to burrow into Elias’ sturdy chest and never leave.

The conclusion was the same every time: You’re fucked, Towers.

Those same words were running havoc in his head right now, even as he nodded and made approving noises during the pauses in Elias’ excited babbling. Fucked, you’re fucked, so very, very fucked, they went, on repeat like the world’s worst earworm. He really, really hadn’t wanted to be here for this, somehow stuck in a room with Elias changing into decent clothes again, but Elias had insisted Adam should come over as he got ready for his date. It was only right, he had said, that Adam should be there for every part of the night, to see the culmination of all his hard work.

And he would be. Oh would he ever, after Elias’ oh-so-clever suggestion that Adam should actually be in the damn restaurant while Elias conquered the art of dating. He’d fought tooth and nail against that little idea but… well, Elias had begged, had literally got down on his knees to plead with Adam that he couldn’t do it without him, that Adam was his strength, his rock, looking up at him with those golden-brown eyes wide and needy…

Frankly, Adam had been forced to agree just so that he could get his rapidly bulging trousers out of Elias’ eye-line. And so now here he was, pulling on his second-least-favourite suit (bloody-mindedness certainly was not a good enough reason to warrant his least-favourite, a horrifying white linen affair he’d bought during his short-lived Merchant Ivory phase) and trying not to stare as Elias buttoned his shirt, thereby committing the cardinal sin of covering up his chest.

The second they were dressed, Elias dragged Adam over and positioned him slightly in front and nestled into his side, taking in the sight of them together, all dressed up and looking, respectively, completely delighted (Elias) and like their cat had just been run over (Adam). Elias, having apparently noticed Adam’s total lack of excitement, nudged him none-too-gently in the side.

“You should smile, Adam. We are going on an adventure!”

Adam plastered a smile onto his face, though he couldn’t find it in himself to make it in any way convincing. Elias didn’t seem to mind, though, nodding with satisfaction and grinning proudly at their reflections.

“We are handsome, aren’t we? Nobody could be able to resist us.”

Inside himself, Adam screamed. Outside, he gave Elias a wan smile and said, “Yeah, we’re pretty hot, big guy.”

And they were, Adam wasn’t lying. They looked great together, Elias’ rugged, rustic looks now tamed into something approaching suaveness, the perfect foil for Adam’s pretty, slick aesthetic. It hurt, in a way Adam could hardly process, to think how easily this could be them getting ready for date night together, standing close and flirting easily, maybe deciding that a night in would be more fun and ripping all their fine threads off each other. He turned away from the mirror and his phantom happy life, muttering something about finding his coat. He heard Elias stepping up behind him, his hand on his shoulder, his voice asking, suddenly worried, “Is everything all right, Adam?”

One deep breath, that was all Adam allowed himself before he turned back to Elias with a bright, carefree smile. “Fine, Curly, not a problem in the world. Now,” he said, passing Elias his coat so he couldn’t grab his parka and ruin the look, “let’s get this show on the road.”

They stepped out into the cool evening air, heading in the direction of the café where Elias’ waitress had requested he meet her. Silence hung between them, Adam finding himself unable to conjure his usual stream of meaningless but entertaining babble. He doubted Elias would even notice anyway, let alone care. He was probably caught up in thoughts about his waitress, about how pretty she looked in her stupid, frumpy aprons.

Jealous, are we?

“You’re very quiet,” Elias said, his voice unusually soft in the darkness.

“What? Oh, yes, suppose I am. Just distracted. Thinking,” he added, cringing as he knew what would come next.

“Thinking of what?” Elias asked, right on cue.

About how much prettier you’d look in an apron, isn’t that right, Adam? Because you’d wear one if he asked you to. You wouldn’t even hesitate. Pathetic.

“About the future, I suppose.”

“What about the future?”

“Oh, wondering what I’m going to do after this,” Adam said, waving a hand as if to suggest some grand plan just forming on the horizon. “I’ll need something to do that isn’t coaching you on the art of seduction, big guy. You won’t be needing me anymore.”

“Oh,” Elias said, quiet and apparently surprised. It prickled at Adam a little.

“What, did you think I’d just stick around and spend all my time on you?”

I would.

“Of course not!” Elias spluttered the words out, startled but indignant. “I will do very well without you, I never really needed your help at all, it was you who kept turning up and poking your nose into my private business!”

Oh.

The silence returned and Adam was of half a mind to dump Elias right here and let him see just how well he did get on by himself.

He was working himself up into a proper tantrum when Elias asked, again in that soft, sad voice, “I will still see you though? You won’t go away too far, will you?”

Adam felt his heart break. Why couldn’t it be enough that Elias so wanted his friendship? Why did he always have to be greedy, never satisfied until he’d wrung everything from every person, every experience.

He sighed and patted Elias on the arm. “No, Curly,” he said, his own voice gentle even as it lied, “I won’t go too far off, I promise.”

Elias smiled, relief making his face glow in the dimness. “That’s good, because I would miss you, even if I don’t need your help anymore.”

Adam just smiled back at him and bumped their shoulders together. He couldn’t have formed words in that moment for all the fame and all the front-page bylines in the world.

It was only a couple of minutes more when they reached the street with the café and Adam parted ways with Elias, leaving him to stroll with his waitress towards the restaurant, while Adam rushed ahead in order to secrete himself before they arrived. And if he paused briefly to duck into a quiet alleyway and sob for the hated ache in his heart, that was no one’s business but his own, and there certainly were no signs of it by the time the helpful hostess was showing him to his seat.

They had deliberately chosen this restaurant for its seating. While most of the place was filled with standard tables, the corners were lined with booths, all of them given extra privacy by the artfully arranged plants surrounding them. From within one, it was impossible to see the person in the booths on either side, which meant that if, say, a rather anxious gentleman needed the secret support of his best and truest friend during a date, that friend could be secreted within the adjoining booth without the gentleman’s companion being any the wiser.

Avoiding the glances from the other patrons – clearly he was a pathetic creature to be pitied, coming to a place like this to eat alone – Adam pulled his notebook and phone from an inner pocket. He carefully, deliberately lined them up, trying like hell to project an image of a terribly important food critic here to frighten the life out of the staff with his mere presence. The way the hostess had beamed at him and ushered him ever so solicitously to his seat had probably helped with that impression but, even so, Adam was certain it was easy to see he was a fraud. Still, he opened the notebook and began fastidiously writing, looking around every now and then as if taking references for his description of the place’s ambience.

You look ridiculous.

Probably true but at least it gave him something to do while waiting for Elias to turn up. Not that he was actually writing anything of any value – of course not, it was him doing the writing – but it was better than staring around the room at all the happy couples, knowing that Elias was soon to join their ranks.

He had just ordered his second stiff drink and an appetiser he planned on picking at but not really eating (he didn’t feel much like eating right now – for that matter, he didn’t really feel like staying, or helping, or doing anything except getting blind drunk in the dark of his apartment, but eating was definitely off the table, at least) when Elias’ voice blared across the restaurant, proudly announcing that he and his date had a reservation. If Adam had still been the same man he was before he met Elias, he’d have laughed himself stupid over the weirdo with the loud voice who’d clearly never been in a restaurant before, let alone on a date. He’d probably have made some cruel, cutting remark dressed up as wit to whichever poor soul he’d managed to coerce into dining with him. And he’d never have known that the kindest, gentlest, most weirdly charming man he could ever meet was walking past him. He probably wouldn’t have even cared.

Adam wished, for just a second, as he ducked his head and raised his menu to hide his face, that he still was that man. He might have been awful, arrogant and delusional but at least he’d had no idea his heart could hurt like this. He’d had no idea that the way Elias briefly touched his shoulder as he passed could make Adam want to grab him by the hand and beg him to stay with him, to be on a date with him, to love him.

Ignorance is bliss and Adam was in hell.

Or, at least, he thought he was. As it turned out, though, he had deeper yet to fall.

Elias had suggested, when they were planning this terrible scheme, that he should wear a microphone and Adam an earpiece, so that he could hear what was being said. Adam, turning a shudder into a laugh, had patted him on the arm and assured him that wouldn’t be necessary, he didn’t need to eavesdrop on the conversation. As it turned out, he’d been right about that but not for the reason he had thought. Adam didn’t need technological assistance to hear at least half of what was happening in the next booth, because Elias’ voice carried with crystal clarity all by itself. He could, without straining an inch, hear every single thing Elias talked about.

And what Elias talked about, it turned out, was Adam.

Oh, he tried to stick to the rules Adam had given him, to ask polite questions and not interrupt but listen attentively. Adam could hear the slightly stiff noises of interest Elias carefully made at intervals of about thirty seconds, which Adam had told him were not “stupid and pointless” but an important signal that you were actually paying attention and not just waiting for your turn to speak. The problem was that every time the waitress asked a question or made an observation of her own, Elias responded with a tale about “My friend Adam.”

“My friend Adam says…”

“My friend Adam thinks…”

“Adam, he is my friend you know, once…”

The enormous fool was going to ruin the whole enterprise by going on and on about his “kind” and “funny” and “handsome” friend Adam, as if he were more interested in him than the woman sitting opposite. Adam dropped his face into his hands and groaned softly. Maybe it should have been him with the microphone so that he could Cyrano de Bergerac this bitch. Or maybe just yell at Elias to stop being such an idiot and woo the damn girl.

Wait. Handsome?

Did Elias think he was handsome?

Adam felt the blush rising up his neck, heating the skin beneath his palms. Oh god, this was ludicrous, this was too much. He’d done his duty, he’d made sure Elias got here with his date in tow and had sat here like a stealth gooseberry while Elias got comfortable with conversing like a human being and actually kind of succeeded at it. Nobody could say he hadn’t given it the old college try but sitting through any more of this was too much to ask. Elias probably wouldn’t even notice that he was gone, and Adam wasn’t planning on sticking around after this so he wouldn’t even have to come up with an awkward explanation.

He pocketed his phone and was just looking round for a waiter to ask for the bill when he caught the words Elias’ waitress was saying behind him.

“You must really care about Adam.”

“Yes, Adam is my very good friend.”

“Friend.” Her voice was flat, unimpressed maybe?

“Yes, Adam is my friend. My best friend. And I am his best friend too, of course.” Elias said this in the kind of voice usually reserved for announcing that you’d once won a Nobel Prize, and it was followed by the kind of silence that usually came when one conversational partner was trying to figure out if the other one was playing some massive yet obscure prank on them.

Finally, Adam heard the waitress blow out a long breath. “He’s very kind to you, Adam, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes, he is always doing things for me, did I tell you about-”

“And he spends all his time with you?”

“Not all, and it is rude to interr-”

“And he touches you a lot, have you noticed?”

“He is just…” Elias sounded totally bewildered but rallied quickly. “Adam is just a friendly person.”

“Mmm. And how do you feel when Adam’s being ‘friendly’ with you.”

Oh, Adam did not like the tone of that “friendly” at all.

“Ah, well, I always feel happy when Adam is with me. Adam is exciting and brave and wonderful. He is my friend for now and that is enough.”

“Just for now?”

“Oh yes. I would like him to stay forever but Adam is not a forever sort of person, I think. One day he will fly away, because he is like a bird, he needs to fly. And I am just a bull who must stay on the ground, so off he will go and I will be glad to have known him.”

Not a forever sort of person. The words rang in Adam’s head as his stomach plunged painfully. Adam is not a forever sort of person. So that was all Elias thought of him. Just some flighty, fairweather type, not worth counting on for more.

The waitress was speaking again, surprisingly sounding not irritated but somehow… sad, almost yearning. “I think you’re too harsh on him, Elias. You should give him a chance.”

Tears sprang into Adam’s eyes. The only person who believed in him was a woman who had barely met him. Not his best friend. Not the man he’d confided his hopes and dreams in. Not the man he… No, just some random almost-stranger who knew nothing about him, who was being kind because she had no reason to be cruel.

“What do you mean, give him a chance? I am a very good friend to him, I have given him many chances.”

Adam could practically feel the waitress’ eyes roll.

“I mean, Elias, that I think Adam is in love with you and I think you should give him a chance to prove he would stay if you asked him.”

Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.

Adam froze in panic. How the hell had she worked that out? She’d met him all of twice and he hadn’t even known how he felt himself the first time. Damn Elias, why couldn’t he have talked about something normal? Hell, even something abnormal would have been better than painting a very clear picture of sad little Adam who followed him round like a besotted puppy desperate for a treat.

Adam shrank down in his seat, wanting desperately to disappear, or suddenly go deaf, or possibly be struck by lightning. This was Norse country, right? Close enough, anyway. Maybe Thor would be passing and take pity on him.

The silence that had been coming from the next booth while Adam wished for godly intervention was suddenly broken by a loud snort. Elias, evidently amused by the waitress’ suggestion, was laughing heartily at it. “That is silly, Adam isn’t in love with me,” he said, as if such a thing was about as likely as their waiter serving them human flesh. “I think he would quite like to have sex with me-”

He thinks?! I literally propositioned him at least twice!

“-but Adam would never be in love with me. No, I think you are mistaken, though I am sure it is not your fault and waitresses don’t need to be clever in any case so that is fine.”

Adam paused in the middle of his despair to wonder how the hell he had come to fall in love with such a rude asshole.

Takes one to love one, his mind helpfully supplied.

“I don’t think it’s me who’s being stupid just now,” he heard the waitress say, and mentally applauded her for putting Elias in his place.

Not that he would stay there, of course.

“Oh really? You’re calling me stupid? Well, I can prove I am not the stupid one.”

Oh no.

“Just wait a moment and I will prove to you how silly you are.”

Oh please no.

Adam considered, in the five seconds that followed, the shape of the knife lying still-unused at the side of his plate. Specifically, he considered whether its point was sharp enough to penetrate all the way through to his jugular vein and therefore let him bleed out before what was about to happen, happened. Probably not, he decided, but before he could turn his attention to any more potential weapons of self-destruction, Elias was beside him, dragging him out of his booth by the elbow and standing him in front of the waitress. Who was giving him a look part-way between fury and pity that Adam hoped never to have turned on him again, lest he shrivel under the shame of it. He could only imagine what their fellow diners thought of him now.

“Now, here is Adam,” Elias began, as if he was a particularly interesting specimen Elias had brought along to school for show and tell. “He will tell you that he’s not in love with me and that you are being silly.” He gave Adam a bright, foolish, heartbreakingly trusting smile. “Go ahead, Adam.”

Adam found he couldn’t meet Elias’ eyes, nor those of the waitress. He just stood there, head down, eyes pricking with tears, like some naughty schoolboy brought before the headmaster and finding himself not so uncaring and cocksure as he’d thought.

But you love being the centre of attention, Towers. Look at all the people, rapt with anticipation for your little performance. Spotlight burning a bit, is it?

“Adam?” Elias looked at the waitress, his grin wobbling a little now, and then quickly back to Adam. “Adam, tell her. Tell her you are not in love with me.”

Adam thought about the plan. About how, if he just stuck to it, he could be out of this mess, free and clear. How he could, with a few short sentences, make his friend happy. How playing along would be best for everyone, especially himself.

And then Adam thought, Fuck it.

“No, Elias.”

He watched Elias’ face fall and twist in confusion, and then turned on his heel and strode out of the restaurant before Elias could make any sort of attempt to stop him. If he even would have.

Running again, Towers? Do you ever do anything else?

Adam felt the cold pit open within him and gladly flung himself in. What had trying ever gotten him anyway?

[heartbeatan]

Partition (Chapter 2)

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Yoongi Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter 2

A few hours ago you were hanging out in a voguish club that had been rented out for an exclusive launch party. The room was filled with big industry names, peers, and the occasional celebrity who decided to join. Attentive wait staff zipped smoothly through the crowd carrying trays of drinks and appetizers.

Two of your colleagues had also attended, but for the most part, you were wandering through the party alone. Your little talk show production didn’t tend to warrant a lot of mainstream attention, but it had done well enough that most guests knew who you were even though tonight was the first time you were formally meeting. The event had been a great opportunity to network, but the alcohol had begun to take over the atmosphere and no one wanted to talk shop anymore. Although you were a bit of an outsider, you were confident that you could make friends, however, you weren’t quite sure you wanted to expel the energy. The week had been long and busy, so a big part of you just wanted to go home and relax and not wake up with a hangover the next day.

You were standing on the second level, surveying the room below and sipping a glass of wine when a woman's voice startled you.

“He’s here!” your colleague and friend, suddenly appeared.

“Who’s here?”

“Don’t be coy, you know who I’m talking about.” You didn’t - but you figured it out as soon as you saw him step through the doors and onto the landing. The site of him gave you butterflies. You watched him warmly greet several people before he headed off in the direction of the booths. Min Yoongi.

On TV he was always charismatic and handsome, but now that you were able to see him in the flesh you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he truly was - not just in terms of raw looks… he had a certain aura that was quite sexy.

“Do you mean him?” you asked, nodding in his direction.

“Yes, of course. Who else would I be talking about?” she rolled her eyes. You could have argued with her about how there were many people in this room you would have been interested to meet, but you decide not too as you knew precisely why she was excited about him.

The rumor mill had been buzzing with the news. Apparently, he was a fan of your show and, in particular, of you. He allegedly had been asking around about how the two of you could meet. You assumed it had just been another inaccurate, out of context, ridiculous rumor, but, some of your staff had run with the idea either as a joke or in genuine hope that a wild romance between the two of you would occur which they could gossip about. Regardless, it was titillating to think that there was an off chance he was secretly (or not so secretly) pining over you.

You watched him confidently cross the room as he continued to greet others along the way. He made it to one of the V.I.P. areas which was filled with media personalities in expensive suits. After making pleasantries, he turned and began to scan the faces in the room before him.

“He’s looking for someone,” she gave you a nudge. It was your turn to roll your eyes. She was right though - he did seem to be looking for someone or something. Eventually he looked up to check out the second level. His gaze crossed the upper floor until his eyes arrived on you. You quickly glanced somewhere else, hoping he didn’t notice that you were watching him, but you could see in your periphery that he hadn’t moved. In fact, you were sure he was still looking right at you. After a moment you glanced back and your eyes locked with his. He dipped his hands into his pockets and gave you a casual, crooked grin. It was a mischievous expression - as if you two had a secret. You weren’t sure if it was the result of him also hearing the rumors and finding them amusing, or if it was because the rumors were true. The uncertainty made you a little uncomfortable so you turned your back to face your friend and took a comforting gulp of your drink.

“He’s looking right at you,” she exclaimed. “I knew it was true.”

“You don’t know that for sure. Stop staring, he’s going to think I’m asking you to spy on him for me.”

“I am spying on him for you - just not at your request. Oh, he’s going somewhere…” You fought the urge to turn around and watch him. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. Why would I do anything?”

“Give me a break. Tell me you haven’t thought about it?”

“Nope.” You took another sip. It was a lie. You did have a crush on him - although, you had never actually met, so at best you could call it a celebrity crush. He was endearing. He acted, he was a music artist, a radio DJ, he did a lot of charity work, a lot of community work, he was an art collector, he played basketball, he was an adventurist - hell, his list of hobbies and interests seemed to change more sporadically than yours did, which you didn’t think was even possible. Personality wise, as best you could tell anyway, he was charming, polite, open-minded and he seemed genuine. Intelligent, but, obscurely so - a bit of a weirdo, but in a good way.

Before the rumors, you didn’t really think about him, but whenever he was appearing on TV or in a magazine interview you were sure to tune in. Once you had heard the rumors, however, he was on your mind even when he wasn’t on your TV screen. You spent a many evenings doing the ménage à moi while fantasizing about him. You had imagined a sultry, sexy first encounter if you ever crossed paths. Perhaps a coat room, or a tucked away corner of a studio. Your fantasies always placed the two of you somewhere risky and elicit - he struck you as that type of lover.

Regardless, that was all fun in your head - this was reality.

The evening rolled on and you spent it conversing with various partygoers and getting buzzed on a few more drinks. By 10 o’clock you had managed to meet almost everyone of importance, but your desire to leave the party early had for some reason subsided - there was still one more person somewhere in the club you were pretending not to look for.

Nature finally called, so you made your way towards the restrooms. As you crossed the floor, you felt a pair of eyes watching you. You looked up in their direction and, for the second time that night, you locked eyes with the sexy man you had only ever seen on TV and met in your fantasies. Unlike you had earlier, he didn’t dart his eyes away when you caught him staring. He held your gaze. His face was very handsome and inviting and there was something about the way he looked at you that made your insides tingle slightly. For a moment, you got lost in the exchange but were knocked out of your trance when you bumped shoulders with another guest passing by.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said before you ducked into the restroom. You felt your face flush with a bit of embarrassment.

When you exited one of the stalls, you we’re greeted by your friend again who was freshening up in the mirror.

“So, how is your night going?” she was trying to imply something. “Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No, I haven’t seen him at all.” She paused and smiled at you through the reflection in the mirror. She picked up on the fact that you had actually been thinking about him. “Well… he’s definitely seen you. He’s been watching you all night.” She handed you her tube of concealer, prompting you to clean yourself up.

Her revelation gave you a rush of excitement and you turned your head to look directly at her. “How do you know that?Have you been watching him this whole time?”

“Yes,” she was unapologetic. “Please, go flirt with him. Let me live vicariously through you! I need this.”

You laughed. “Why don’t you just go flirt with him without me as your buffer?” You returned the tube and shuffled through your bag for your on-the-go products.

“I would, but he doesn’t know who I am and it’s you he wants.”

“We’ve been here for hours. If he was really interested, he would have approached me by now. Your theory is bunk.”

“Mmmm, I don’t know. The night is still young. Let’s get back out there and find out.” You rolled your eyes as you finished up and repacked your purse.

You gossiped about the nights hot topics as you exited the rest room. Who was too drunk, who was too candid, who was flirting - all the juicy events that happen when the alcohol really flows. Upon re-entering the main room, you heard a voice call out in your direction.

“Hi.” You looked up and saw a man leaning against the railing looking at you. You stopped in your tracks when you realized it was him. Your friend forced a cough as a cheeky acknowledgement of your conversation from moments ago.

“Hi,” you responded somewhat dumbfounded. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, amused by your bewilderment.

“Hi! I’m a big fan!” your friend shook his hand and gave him a bright smile.

“Oh, thank-you,” he returned with a warm greeting.

“You know who this is, of course.” She gestured towards you. “We were both really looking forward to meeting you tonight.” He looked back at you at you as she says this.

Bitch.

“Really?” he asked, almost rhetorically. “Well, I’m a big fan of yours.” He reached out to shake your hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” You clasped his outstretched hand. His grip was polite but you could feel the strength he had in his hands, and you noticed how beautiful and masculine his long fingers were. For a moment you thought about what they could do to you. That thought combined with the sensation of this first touch sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. You shook off the thought and looked up to meet his gaze, but that didn’t help. He had a glint in his eye that made you feel… something. Like he desired you… as if he wanted to take you right then and there in front of all those people - and that you might have let him if he tried.

He turned to your friend. “Do you mind if I steal her away for a bit?”

“Oh no, not at all!” she replied, all to enthusiastically. “In fact, keep her. Make sure she has a good time. She has nothing to do after this… or tomorrow, by the way.”

Fired.

You watched her skip off back into the crowd as she bid you a good night. You turned back towards him and he nodded in the direction of the bar. He placed his hand onto your lower back to guide you there. Another pulse crossed over your flesh under the heat of his palm. You winced slightly, annoyed that you were so easily turned on by this stranger.

You reached the bar and took a seat next to each other. He turned his chair so he could face you. Trying to be cool but not too inviting, you turned yours somewhat to face him.

“I heard you were going to be here tonight,” he said. “I was hoping it was true. It’s about time we met.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?” You wanted to kick yourself for that response. Firstly, you were too flirtatious, and secondly, you weren’t sure what kind of response you’d get or how you’d handle it.

“Because I want to take you home with me.” You choked when he said this.

I guess they weren’t simply rumours after all.

“You’re so forward. What makes you think I want to go home with you?” you smirked. Again, your inner flirt was making an appearance. Something about his proximity to you made her come out uninvited.

Keep your panties on, girl. You drew your lips between your teeth at the thought of your panties in relation to him. He’d probably pull them off of you with his teeth.

“Nothing. I don’t know if you want to.” He brushed his thumb across your lower lip, acknowledging your grip on it. You quickly released it. “But what I know of you, you’re an honesty-is-the-best-policy kind of person.”

“You don’t know me… at all.” You cocked your eyebrow.

“No. But, I want to get to know you.”

“Really? Because it seems as if you just want to sleep with me.”

He smiled. “Sleep with you feels like an understatement of the things I want to do to you.” Your nether region tingled.

Damn it, why is what he’s doing working?

He continued in a more serious, but still flirtatious, tone. “But I do want to get to know you. I’ll wait. Whatever you need, I’ll do. I’ll take you out. We can have dinner, drinks, go to the movies… If you don’t come home with me tonight, my interest in you won’t end.” He ran one of his fingers around the rim of his glass. You watched it softly circle around and around again. A simple action, but somehow it felt sexual and arousing. “I just don’t want to waste any time.”

Oh, please. Give me a break. You rolled your eyes no way believing he was sincere. He wants sex. Plain and simple. This is insta-lust, not insta-love. Regardless, when you looked back at him the hunger in his gaze was clear, and it made you not really care if it was just a big line to get you between the sheets. The last rendezvous you had with a man was over a year ago. Since then, you’ve been rendezvousing with battery powered objects. You were needy to feel the weight of someone on you and the heat of their skin brushing up against yours… or really just anything solid against you - the lamppost outside your apartment complex was looking pretty good to you at this point. At least he was a solid object that you had chemistry with.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked.

“No.” you responded. “But I’m still intrigued.”

His smile stretched a bit further. “Good.” He pulled his phone out of his breast pocket and gestured for yours. You handed it to him and he entered in his number and called himself so he would have yours. When he was done, he handed it back.

“There.” he said. “So, what will it be? Should I call you tomorrow or should I call my driver?”

You stared at each other for a moment while you considered his proposition. You wanted to go home with him. He was alluring, confident, a little dangerous - whatever it was about him that was seducing you, you wanted to give in. You weren’t sure if he was genuine when he said he’d wait for you and take you out on a proper date. Even if he did, you may not end up liking each other by the end of it, and maybe wouldn’t get the opportunity to have the great sex you had imagined you would have together. This was the sexy first encounter you had imagined - how often does one get to live theirs? You took another sip of your drink and licked the liquor off your lips before turning to give him your answer.

Fuck it, you thought. “Call your driver.”

[samayla]

Hobbit Fic: Gemini

AO3

Bilbo may be a Baggins of a Bag End, but his twin sister Bella inherited all their mother’s Tookish tendencies. If one Hobbit burglar is good, surely two will be better… right?

Rating: G

Wow... it’s been FOREVER since I last updated. If you’ve been waiting, welcome back! And if you’re new to the AU, just plain welcome!

Chapter 16: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

Kili was grinning like a maniac.

As he bustled past with another tray piled high with dishes of cobbler, Ori smiled to herself and turned to a fresh page in her sketchbook to capture the way his hair clung to his sweaty face, and the way his eyes gleamed in the firelight, equal parts proud and excited. The Prancing Pony’s common room was a bustling, sweltering hive of activity, and Kili was right at home at the center of it. 

Word of cranberry apple cobbler had spread through Bree like wildfire, with first the local hobbits, then big folk and even travelers showing up, and more and more ingredients had been donated to the cause. Now, the place had the air of a festival day - all laughter and color and unrestrained merriment.

Bilbo supervised the kitchen staff in the preparation of his secret - though apparently famous in the lands in and around the Shire- family recipe. Meanwhile, Kili had taken it upon himself to head up the small army of volunteers eager to lend a hand in exchange for a bit of dessert - and a peek at the apparently famous recipe, Ori suspected. Some, he turned over to the inn’s head cook, who directed them in arranging a frankly impressive spread of cold meats and cheeses, pickled vegetables, day-old bread, and fresh fruit. Others, he put to serving and collecting dishes. Still others worked with Dwalin to find places for everyone to sit. Under his eye, dinner had spilled out of the inn’s common room and into the square outside, with the latest arrivals laying out blankets and towels when the tables and chairs ran out.

Though Kili’s enthusiasm for the party was infectious, he wouldn’t hear of the other company members lifting a finger. 

“More’n enough help to be gettin’ on with,” Dwalin had growled in agreement, and he’d installed Ori and her sisters at what he declared was the best table to watch the proceedings. Nori disappeared within the hour, but Ori and Dori were enjoying the evening of relaxation.

Bella materialized out of the throng with three cups in hand.

“What’s that then?” Gloin demanded from the next table over, as Bella passed a cup each to Ori and Dori. The banker was already well into his own cups and was growing embarrassingly belligerent.

“Dandelion wine,” Bella chirped, apparently unbothered by his gruff manner. “Butterbur’s ale is fine enough, I’ll warrant, but this time of year, nothing beats his dandelion wine.”

“Bah!” Gloin downed the rest of the ale in his cup. “You halflings are all starry-eyed over nothing! Never been out yer little hidey-holes!”

Bella shrugged, unwilling to let Gloin get under her skin, though Ori’s artist’s eye noticed the faint pink tinge that made the freckles on her cheeks stand out. “It’s Bilbo’s first time out this far, true enough, but I’ve been out this way plenty of times.” She turned her back resolutely on Gloin’s table and addressed Ori and Dori instead. “Never could sit still, you see. Always something to do or someplace to go. Bilbo shares my taste for little adventures, of course. He just prefers his come out of a book, where he won’t get burrs in his toe hair.”

“He’ll be facing a great deal worse than burrs in his toe hair,” Thorin rumbled suddenly from behind Ori’s shoulder, making her jump and slosh wine onto her sketchbook.

Bella whipped out a pretty little embroidered handkerchief, and Ori had the fleeting thought that she’d like to sketch the little purple flowers from the border sometime, before Gloin snatched it away with a bitter laugh. “Don’ tell me,” he slurred. “Chrys-s-san...Chrysanth...Chrys’mums for cleanin’!”

“Belladonna, Master Gloin,” Bella sniffed, snatching the cloth right back again and attacking the spill as Dori pulled out her own handkerchief to help. “A gift from my dear cousin Otho on his last birthday. I figured a little adventure like this was the perfect chance to misplace it.” She held out the dripping sketchbook. “Here, Ori. I’ll let you take care of that. You’ll know better than anyone what can be done about it.”

“My apologies, Ori,” Thorin said gently. He passed over his own handkerchief to aid in the cleanup effort. “I will stop in the market for a new book first thing in the morning.”

“No need for that,” Ori hastened to assure him. “I was going to stop for a couple of spares in the morning anyway.” She blotted away more wine from the cover. “Most of this one’s in charcoal anyway, so once it dries, I can sharpen up any blurred lines, and it’ll be good as new.”

Thorin smiled away her protest, and Ori knew she’d lost this particular argument already. “Knowing you, that one is near full already.” Dori started to protest as well, but Thorin countered her argument expertly. “It is a company matter: we cannot have a scribe without a proper supply of books. I’ll find a replacement and some spares tomorrow. I insist.”

There was nothing Ori could say to that, and the soft smile Bella hid behind her wine glass said she knew it too. Thorin was too good sometimes.

“Whatever an ‘Old Took’ is, it can move mountains in this part of the world!” Kili flopped into the chair Dori had just pulled out for Thorin.

“Here,” Bella chirped up at Thorin. “You can have my seat. We’re about due for a refill anyway. Anyone else want anything? Kili? Thorin?”

Kili started to answer, but Thorin cut across him as Gloin banged his fist on the table he was sharing with Oin. “We are drawing more than enough attention to ourselves already.”

“Nonsense,” Bella answered. “If you’d only put on that smile again and lend a hand, you’d blend right in with the rest of the crowd. No one need ever know they’d shared dessert with a grumpy dwarven king.” She slipped away through the crowd with her armful of glasses before Thorin could answer back.

“She’ll be in a sorry state come morning,” Gloin groused suddenly. 

“Nah,” Kili answered at once. “Looks to me like halflings can hold their liquor just as well as we can.”

“Better than some, I hope,” Thorin muttered.

Kili laughed. “I don’t know… Nori’s got herself in a drinking contest with one of them back in the corner, and he’s matching her drink for drink. Not sure where either of them is putting it, if I’m being honest. Four helpings of cobbler, too. Each! Not that I blame them,” he babbled happily, still grinning and paying more attention to the room in general than he was to the dwarves at the table. “Phenomenal. Better than Ma’s - and that’s saying something!”

“Cheats!” Gloin bellowed suddenly.

Kili whirled, confused.

“Cheats, the lot of ‘em! Anyone could cook like that with the vendors on their side! Take my wife! Take my wife! Excellent cook! Best in the Blue Mountains - meanin’ no offense to your lady mother. Jus’ a fact. Best in the Blue Mountains. But even she - even my wife! - would have a hard time competing with these halfling cooks when every little thing she needs costs her an arm and a leg. Inferior quality, too, I’ll warrant!”

The others at the table were dumbstruck by this outburst, but thankfully the rest of the room seemed to be too loud and chaotic for it to have attracted much more attention than that.

“It’d be silly to let such a small matter as -” Dori began, but Gloin cut her off, chest puffing up as he slammed his fist on the table again.

“Small? Small! They’re downright dimn-dimin...diminuitive! What business have they got cooking so well? What do they do with it all? They’re so tiny!”

Kili frowned and peered around at some of the nearest hobbits. “They’re not that small.”

Gloin scoffed. “Half-lings, lad,” he said loudly. “Half. They don’ call ‘em that on account o’ bein’ large!”

If they weren’t drawing undue attention before, they were now. The conversation around them soured and then died. Ori saw Thorin’s shoulders shift and knew his hand was going for the hilt of a knife.

“Come on, Gloin,” Dori said, as though nothing at all were the matter. She stood and hauled him upright as well. “Why don’t you show me that picture you brought of your dear wife, hmm? I heard you telling Dwalin it was quite a flattering likeness, but you haven’t shown me yet.”

Gloin blinked blearily. “Haven’ I?” He lurched away from the table, only Dori’s strong grip on his arm keeping him vertical. “Well, come on, then. No time like the presen’, I always say. Righ’ flatterin’ likeness. Righ’ flatterin’.”

The tension slowly eased around their table as Gloin was escorted upstairs, but Thorin did not look particularly relieved. Ori patted some more at her damp sketchbook to keep her hands busy, while Kili tried to work out how Gloin managed to win their argument.

“Halflings,” he muttered as Bella returned with refilled glasses and Fili at her side. “Half. Lings. Half-lings…”

“We are hobbits, Kili,” Bella said shortly as she took up Dori’s vacated seat. Fili spun Gloin’s chair to join their table. “We are not half of anything.”

“I meant no offense,” Kili was quick to assure her.

“None,” Fili confirmed. “That’s just what the men call your folk.”

“Elves too!” Kili added emphatically.

Bella snorted. “In that case, I should be calling your folk Naugrim.”

Kili made a face. “What’s that mean?

“Stunted people,” Ori blurted, before she could think better of it. Her cheeks flushed as Thorin growled.

Bella paled. “Perhaps it would be best if we agreed to leave the more ill-considered aspects of Elvish nomenclature aside.”

“So, if you’re hobbits,” Ori ventured, eager to talk about something that wasn’t likely to make Thorin any angrier, “are their different words for male and female? Like dwarves and dams?” She flipped through until she found a page in her book that was mostly dry.

“Ooh!” Kili exclaimed. “Wom-bit?”

“Nah, Ki,” Fili answered. “That’s that rat-thing from Balin’s stories about the Dark Land.”

“Fine. She-bit?”

“Gal-bit,” Fili countered.

Kili grinned. “Fe-bit!”

Fili blushed, but he was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of Bella’s brother, who flopped down onto the arm of her chair with a pleased huff. “Well, that’s the last of it!” He passed a cup to Kili. “For my assistant! You have to try this!”

“What is it?” Kili asked, the cup already halfway to his lips.

“Only the best dandelion wine I’ve ever tasted,” Bilbo declared happily, taking a swig of his own. 

Kili swallowed hard and started to cough.

“What’s the matter?” Bella asked, clearly alarmed by his reaction. “Don’t you like it?”

Ori glanced from Kili and Fili to their uncle and back again. She was not at all sure that was a story any of them wanted repeated. 

“Might like it a bit too much, if mem’ry serves!” Dwalin clapped both Kili and Fili hard on the shoulders as he strode up. “Come give us a hand, lads. They want dancing.”

“Twist my arm,” Kili laughed, clearly relieved. He bowed low and offered Bella his hand. “Care for a dance, fair Lady Bell?”

Bella giggled and gulped down the rest of her wine before reaching for his hand. Fili swooped in and grabbed Kili instead, twirling away with him. “There are tables to move first, dear brother,” he said formally. Bella laughed outright and followed them out to where several of the men were already shoving tables out to the edges of the floor.

“What about you, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked. “Do you share your sister’s love of dancing?”

Bilbo chuckled, but flopped down into his sister’s chair. “Normally, I’d say yes, Master Oakenshield, but alas, my poor feet have already taken quite the beating these past few days. I think they’d prefer a rest while I enjoy the festivities from afar.”

“We have much farther to go,” was all Thorin said in reply. 

The musicians started up, and for a few minutes, the three of them were content to watch. “Will you join the dancing, Ori?”

“Oh, no,” Ori said, blushing as she watched Dwalin and Fili stomp out a complicated figure in the middle of the dancefloor, to much clapping and cheering. “I’d much rather sketch. Everyone is so merry tonight, it’d be a shame to forget about it later.”

Bilbo sighed contentedly and settled back in the chair, sipping at his wine. “I can see the draw of it all now, I suppose. The travelling, I mean. I can understand a bit of why Bella would want to run off, if this was what was waiting for her.”

Ori opened her mouth to answer, to tell Bilbo how sweet a thought that was, but Thorin beat her to it. “There is more to the world than baking and dancing, Master Baggins,” he rumbled.

Bilbo was quiet for a minute, staring determinedly at the dancers, while Thorin lit his pipe, and Ori dared hope that would be the end of it. Bilbo had made so many people so happy today. It wasn’t fair of Thorin to shove reality back in his face so rudely. He was only trying to help. 

Suddenly, Bilbo whirled and pinned Thorin with a glare. “I know full well the world is full of rainstorms and thunder, Master Oakenshield,” he spat. “But it seems to me that there is then even more reason to savor the sunshine when it chooses to peek out from behind the clouds.” He stared a moment longer, but Thorin didn’t appear to have anything to say to that, and Bilbo nodded to himself. He finished his drink, blushing fiercely - he had freckles, just like his sister - and marched over to join the dancing.

Ori drank some more wine to cover her own embarrassment, and she sketched in the drier margins of her book - Dwalin’s wide grin as he clapped for a hobbit lass dancing a jig, Fili twirling Bella, Kili teaching Bilbo the steps to a dwarvish dance, Bofur piping with the other musicians, Nori listing to the side as a group of hobbits and men declared her the winner of her drinking contest and passed over a small purse…

Other than asking if Ori required another refill on her drink, Thorin did not say a word after Bilbo left. He merely watched the room warily as he finished his pipe, then retired up the stairs.

[pyropsychiccollector]

            Kagura raised an eyebrow as Jellal got up from his kneeling position. The two of them, in addition to a recuperating Erza, were currently on the ship that Neinhart and the other Spriggan Shields had been in command of. The swordswoman had thought the felon was taking time to catch his breath after nearly drowning, but that didn’t seem to be the case as he’d only stayed sitting for a modest amount of time.

            Then again, he wasn’t exactly as roughed up as Erza.

            “You’re re-entering the fray?” It didn’t sound much like a question.

            Jellal paused in his stride, back still facing Kagura.

            “The fighting here in the South is over, for the most part. I will leave the remainder to Fairy Tail, Lamia Scale, and Mermaid Heel. From what Erza said, there are still these ‘Spriggan 12’ warriors invading Ishgar; I will help eliminate them. That is something I can do.”

            Kagura frowned at the tone in his voice. He didn’t think it was something he ‘can’ do – Jellal believed it was something he had to do. Defeating three of the Shields here in Hargeon, in addition to the ones that attacked Magnolia, that dealt with a chunk of the threat, but they were still at war.

            Kagura looked off to the side with a conflicted expression.

            “… Erza will prefer to have your support, when she wakes up.” The swordswoman knew Jellal was… an important person in Erza’s heart. Kagura didn’t approve of it, but she was putting Erza ahead of her own misgivings about Jellal.

            Jellal turned his head a fraction, but still didn’t face Kagura.

            “If you’re speaking of what happened to Natsu… Erza will be fine. I’m not the one she’ll need by her side – that would be you, as well as Milliana and her family in Fairy Tail. The best way I can contribute is by continuing the fight while you all recover…”

            Kagura’s mouth became a thin line as she gave Jellal a hard stare.

            “You’re not saying this halfheartedly, are you? Erza will fully expect you to make it back alive, not in a body casket.”

            Though Kagura couldn’t see it, Jellal had a small, somewhat self-depreciating smile on his face.

            “… I’ll admit, I was prepared to throw my life away at any given moment, in this war. In the end, compared to you all, my life is expendable.” He could sense this provoked the purple-haired woman, and he shook his head to quell whatever objections she was going to spew. “But as usual, Natsu gave me a fresh perspective on what I should do. Do you remember what he said, before fading?”

            Kagura’s brow furrowed.

            “He… hated you.” To herself, she thought, ‘Not that I can blame him.’

            Jellal gave a small dry laugh.

            “Natsu was a very temperamental individual… He had a heart of gold, and often his rage was very much warranted. If I hadn’t hurt Erza like I did, I have little doubt that I would be as protective of Erza as he was…” Jellal looked up at the nighttime sky. “I don’t blame Natsu for being angry with me. He had every right to. But it isn’t as if I could never earn his forgiveness… No, that’s not quite right. The point isn’t to earn forgiveness. In atoning for my past sins, I cannot dwell on such things; if people forgive me, it will be of their own volition. I can’t expect everyone to just move on, when I’ve stolen family from them or worse. Rather, I must dedicate my life to helping others. To fight back against oppression and cruelty. To help lost souls find their path in life. And if I am to do all this, I must… live. Dying would be my escape from this heavy burden on my shoulders… But it is a coward’s retreat.”

            Jellal began to walk away once again.

            “I was a monster and a murderer. That stain will never leave my soul. But Natsu freed me, so for him, for Erza, and for everyone I ever wronged, this is how I will live my life from now on. Ultear established Crime Sorciere for the purpose of saving lives and ending evil, so I will carry out that will.”

            Kagura watched his retreating figure until he was out of sight; she was unable to think of anything else to say back to him. It was a shock to see her brother’s murderer change so much, in such little time. A year ago, she was prepared to take revenge for Simon, but now she wasn’t so sure that she could… Not just because of how it would affect Erza, but because of how the man in question had found an answer he had been searching for.

            Jellal likely wouldn’t find happiness in life… But Kagura knew about “duty” and “purpose” all too well; if that’s how Jellal chose to forge on, she wouldn’t stop him.

            ‘… Natsu managed to pull off another miracle, even in death. It’s little wonder he was dear to Erza’s heart as well…’

            Kagura turned her gaze to the bound Neinhart, who was near her and unconscious. It was fortunate how Erza had Magic-restraining handcuffs; now that despicable man was removed from the war. Apparently Dimaria was similarly restrained elsewhere in Hargeon.

            Kagura clenched her fists in determination.

            ‘For Erza, and for Natsu, we will win this war!’

            ~*~

            “The port of Hargeon has been liberated!!!” Warren announced excitedly, to the jubilation of his Guildmates. “There’s a few residue forces on the outskirts, but we’ve got ‘em on the ropes! The Spriggan Shields were killed or captured.”

            Makarov couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

            “Very good… Now it’s just a fight on three fronts.”

            Mavis cupped her chin as she stared at the map hologram.

            “… Have everyone in Hargeon move to intercept the Alvarez forces to the West. It’s our least guarded area, and there’s only the one Spriggan Shield.”

            “Invel…” Makarov frowned as he bore holes into the map with his eyes. “I’m certain he’s the Spriggan Shield in the West. If he is in fighting shape, please send Gray to intercept him. He may be our best option now.”

            “Yes, sir!” Warren confirmed and proceeded to relay the orders to those stationed in the South, as well as relay the news of Hargeon’s liberation to the other battlefields.

            “The East still troubles me…” Mavis furrowed her brow. “I still don’t have a solution for August.”

            Makarov nodded heavily.

            “Even if Warrod and the other Gods of Ishgar hold off God Serena and Jacob, he is most definitely the most imminent threat.”

            “Do you have any ideas?” Mavis asked for his opinion, which for Makarov was a rare occurrence. The First Master was usually so confident she could come up with a strategy for any occasion… But to be fair, August was on his own level in terms of sheer power.

            “If we cannot find a strategy to take him down, I think it would be best to try negotiations with him… He would certainly be more approachable than Invel.” Makarov reflected on his time in Alvarez, seeing the stark contrast between Zeref’s Chief of Staff and the Magic King.

            This brought the attention of Mest, who was seated nearby. He stood up in alarm.

            “Master, surely you can’t be serious…! That woman was the one who suggested it first! We can’t trust her!”

            Makarov sighed at Mest’s unchanging position on the matter. It was a good thing Lucy was busy watching over Brandish; after saving the Spriggan Shield from an attack by her former subordinate, and learning of their shared past, Lucy had become rather attached to her. There was no need to get the child worked up over this.

            “I understand your hesitation, but it is not an option that we can dismiss. I’m not sure that Erza, Laxus, Mira, and Gildarts with their combined powers could defeat August… Mest, use your head. Negotiations may be our only hope of avoiding annihilation by the enemy. It’s risky, but we must consider all the cards in our hand.”

            Mavis’s frown deepened.

            “We killed Zeref… Are you sure he would listen, even after hearing that news?”

            Makarov shook his head solemnly.

            “I imagine that may very well provoke him… But what other options do we have left?” The elderly Guildmaster studied Mavis’s face keenly, to which she could only stare down at the floor, lost in thought.

            “You’re right, of course… There’s also the Spriggan Shield to our North that we still don’t know specifics about. If we could negotiate an end to the war with August, that may be our best chance at survival.”

            “First…!” Mest cried out in a strangled voice.

            “Mest, that is enough.” Makarov barked. “We’re not giving up. The war is far from over, and Acnologia has yet to make an appearance. If we can cooperate with Alvarez, we may stand a chance against him. But if we exhaust ourselves fighting Alvarez, I fear Acnologia may swoop in to pick the meat from our bones!”

            At this, Mest could utter no objections. He knew the frightening power of Acnologia, had witnessed the carnage he could wreak firsthand. Still, cooperating with an enemy that was trying to steal their First Master and annihilate them… It didn’t sit well with him.

            “A-About that…” Warren spoke up with a very pale face.

            “Hmm?” Makarov urged the telepath to continue with the new information.

            Warren squeezed his eyes shut tight.

            “Acnologia has appeared in the East…”

            All Guildmates listening in could only gasp and tense up. That battlefield was turning into quite the scene… and could spell bad news for Fairy Tail.

            ~*~

            God Serena tsk’ed as he avoided another tree sprouting out from the ground underneath him. He’d been going at it with his former allies for a while now. Despite overwhelming them with his eight Dragon Slayer Lacrimas, the old fossils just wouldn’t stay down. They should’ve been dead at his feet by this point, but somehow they were tapping into a wellspring of power he hadn’t seen from them in all the years he served Ishgar…

            ‘Who knew they had it in them…?’ Serena thought to himself grimly as Hyberion paralyzed him long enough for Wolfheim to charge at him and savagely slash his torso while in beast form. He regained control of his body pretty quickly, but in that lapse of control, the other Wizard Saint – Jura – attempted to smash Iron Rock pillars into him. Spreading his arms out, Serena managed to halt the momentum of both pillars, but now his arms were heavily embedded in the rock, and were profusely bleeding from the strength he needed to exert. He snarled as Warrod yet again made a tree system appear beneath him and wind around his body, twisting it enough to nearly snap his neck. ‘This is not happening…!’

            Though the four new Gods of Ishgar were bedraggled in their appearance, and looked to be on their last legs, but they were still somehow managing to reverse the tide of battle on him. It infuriated the Dragon Slayer that he had to go all-out against his contemporaries – part of the reason he left Ishgar was because they lacked this defiant fire in their eyes, back when he was their ally. They were old, stuffy, and never actually took pride in their power, never ‘doing’ anything with it. They just roamed the continent in their ‘retirement’… It sickened Serena to be associated with such spineless worms. Alvarez’s attempted invasion all those years ago was the most action he’d seen in years; the threat of the Balam Alliance never interested him, as they couldn’t hold a candle to the kind of power that Alvarez possessed. And he was proven right when a single guild did the brunt work disassembling that makeshift patchwork of Dark Guilds.

            Alvarez had power, and they flaunted it. Serena could support the continent of Alakitasia because they had pride as a people. Had the geezers before him shown even a fraction of the potential he was seeing now, he might’ve reconsidered his choice to betray Ishgar. But now that they’d pushed him to this extreme, he wasn’t going to forgive them or show mercy.

            Seeing Serena getting his ass handed to him, Jacob stretched out his gloves over his wrists as he cracked his knuckles. However, before he could step into the fray, August blocked his path with his arm.

            “Wait. It’s not over yet.” He rolled his eyes as Jacob let out a grunt.

            Channeling his Purgatory Dragon Slayer Magic around his body, Serena burned through the tree and snapped it like a twig. He then used Gale Dragon Slayer Magic to blow back his enemies before touching back on the ground and using Cavern Dragon Slayer Magic to overwhelm them again. Once the four mages were knocked down again by boulders, Serena coated one fist in Purgatory Dragon Slayer Magic, and the other fist in Fulmination Dragon Slayer Magic… A combination they hadn’t seen yet.

            “I hear an impudent brat in Fairy Tail was combining Dragon Slayer Magics…” God Serena smirked maliciously, the pupils in his eyes now black. “I figure, why not show you that I can do it infinitely better?!”

            As he brought his potent fists together, a vortex of flames and lightning overtook the four strongest mages of Ishgar. Serena cackled uproariously when Warrod and Jura made an effort to defend all four of them, but his attack burned through Warrod’s walls of tree bark. Jura’s Rock Mountain looked like it might hold up, but then Serena’s combination attack violently exploded, shattering Jura’s powerful defense and severely incinerating and electrocuting them all. It got to the point that Warrod, Wolfheim, and Hyberion’s hearts gave out from the severity of the electric shock. Jura was on death’s door as he lay gasping for breath, lying defeated on the ground after the fatal assault.

            ‘I… Impossible…! Wiping out the Gods of Ishgar in one strike?!’  Every cell in his body ached, and it felt as if his skin would melt right off.

            Serena tsk’ed as he noticed that Jura was still living, after the blast. It wouldn’t be much effort to finish him off, but he’d poured so much power into that last attack that his body was left shaking somewhat.

            “Still holding on, huh…? Here, let me put you out of your misery… faker…” Serena scoffed at the notion this man had become one of the ‘Gods’, in his absence. He charged his fist with Purgatory Dragon Slayer Magic one more time. “God bye-bye~”

            Just as he was about to unleash one more devastating attack, Serena, Jura, Jacob, and August all tensed up as immense Magic power abruptly flooded the area. All eyes turned to see a distant figure approaching, an unrecognizable one as he appeared to be a human.

            “I smell a dragon…” The figure drolled with a bored expression. It took a scarce few moments for everyone to register who this was.

            “A… Acnologia…!” Jura wheezed out, his face petrified.

            Jacob took a weary step back, and August’s face settled into a stony expression. Serena’s face went from one of surprise to a twisted sort of pleasure as his pupils darkened once more.

            “Heeeh… The King of Dragons is here!” He arrogantly spread out his arms before pointing at Acnologia. “I’ve been waiting for you! I’ve come all this way to slay…!”

            But before Serena could finish, Acnologia had passed by him with such blind, unbelievable speed that no one had seen him move. But the evidence of his one fatal strike was evident, as a good chunk of Serena’s torso was now missing, and the artifact on his back was irreparably smashed.

            “Wh… Wha…t…?” Serena violently coughed up blood before collapsing and expiring.

            Seeing his ally get cut down in the blink of an eye, Jacob prepared to fight back. However, August once again stopped him.

            “Don’t. You would die instantly, if you raised your hand against him.” The King of Magic warned his comrade. “Not even I could hope to defeat him… Only His Majesty, with the power of Fairy Heart, could hope to slay this one. We must hurry to Fairy Tail…”

            Jura was at a loss for words. He should be happy that his comrades’ murderer was annihilated… But this did not bode well. If Acnologia was going to take part in this war now, there was no hope for any of them.

            “There are now 6 dragons left…” Acnologia spoke coldly, without regarding the fallen Jura or the other Spriggan Shields. He turned on his heel and stalked away without another word to them. As a breeze carried some dust to obscure his retreating form, he was gone the moment the dust blew past.

            August slammed the end of his staff on the ground.

            “We must not delay any further… Jacob, go on ahead.” August declared as he began to walk in the direction of Magnolia. As they were still near the border of Bosco, it would still take time for August to reach the guild…

            “Gotcha…” Jacob got a crick out of his neck as he started walking as well. Though he did pause to take one last look at Jura. “… It’d be a pain if you survived… Sorry, I really did like your ‘do.”

            Jura’s eyes widened as some invisible blade sliced into his neck, making blood gush up like a geyser. In a few short moments, the light faded from his eyes… He couldn’t even lament how he had failed Lamia Scale and Fairy Tail… All four of Ishgar’s mightiest snuffed out, just like that.

            ~*~

            Back in Hargeon, Dimaria wept bitter tears as she was restrained to a chair. She had heard Ishgar had managed to take back the port, and that incited her. But even so, all she could dwell on… was her own cruel words she had spoken, earlier.

            “Randi became… a prisoner of war… Oh, how splendidly miserable she must be at this moment…”

            Now she had a taste of what being a prisoner of war felt like…

            Dimaria gritted her teeth as the tears kept coming, leaving hot streaks on her face.

            “Randi…!”

            ~*~

            High on Mount Zonia, an exotic-looking scarlet-haired beauty looked down on the forces that were beating back the Alvarez troops. Though the members of Fairy Tail, Blue Pegasus, and Sabertooth were outnumbered, they definitely possessed higher quality Magic. She had sent her personal guard, Heine Lunasea and Juliet Sun, to do battle in her stead. However, even they were taken down by the mages from Fairy Tail…

            “It’s almost time we get started in earnest…” The woman chuckled cruelly. “The third and fourth guests will be arriving shortly~…”

            With the deaths of Larcade and Bloodman, Irene Belserion knew that she would have to pick up the slack for them, but she also knew what their deaths signified. “Emperor Spriggan” was dead. She didn’t even need to use her “eye” to confirm this fact.

            Still, it was Zeref’s will that they slaughter Ishgar and take Fairy Heart to kill Acnologia… And that was precisely what she planned to do. The other members of the 12 certainly weren’t going to stop the assault, especially not their Chief of Staff.

            “Perhaps ‘the Scarlet Despair’ is an apt name, after all…”

~*~

Note: Four Shields down, eight still in the game~. ... Three of which are captured, and one is licking his wounds. Plus, Acnologia on the hunt for dragons, though I imagine that's within expectations. I think I nailed Jellal and Serena the way I wanted to nail them... Even if Serena still got taken out. I like to think that at least in this AU, he was weakened in his fight with the Gods of Ishgar, which is why Acno took him down with ease. I would've liked a more prolonged fight, I suppose, but I think I conveyed the feelings I wanted to put out there. And Jellal? Much as I don't like his canonical representation, I didn't wanna half-ass his character, so Natsu's words encouraged him to cling to a new purpose in life, rather than sitting around and wondering if he'd ever be forgiven. ... Oh. And there absolutely won't be a narrative revolving around Erza for him. We're gonna get him off his ass and be an actual character. >.>

[quillwritten]

Coffee Shop AU pt. 1

In which I decide to do weekly updates of an alternate universe thing I play around with when I’m bored or frustrated. It’s kinda bittersweet because Avery is a little out of character in that she’s so much more free spirited and excitable when she’s not constantly worrying about being arrested or someone close to her dying, but it’s a lot of fun and gay in several ways. Anyway, here’s your first installment

The tiny radio in the corner of Training Grounds is playing the song from The Greatest Showman because Sorrel hasn’t figured out how to hook up a sound system and refuses to ‘give in’ by letting Elva fix it for him. The reason Dove notices this is because a girl bowls through the door halfway into the chorus and immediately starts belting it out — not at the top of her lungs, but at a level that isn’t usually deemed acceptable in a tiny, indie, coffee shop. Dove stares at her over the mug that Sorrel says is hers because it’s got a lightning bolt on it, and raises an eyebrow as the girl launches into an impressively accurate recreation of the dance from the movie.

Attention caught, Dove surveys the girl. She’s wearing ripped shorts in a dark denim and a shredded white t-shirt with a black sports bra underneath, flashing way too much brown skin than the pathetic english sun really warrants at the beginning of May. Her hair is dark and brushes her shoulders as she dances, and when she flings her arms out the light glints on a silver chain looped twice around her wrist with some sort of oval-ish pendant swinging from it. The outfit is completed by a pair of silver ballet pumps with bows on the tows.

As absurd as she looks, she’s pretty. That said, staring is rude and Dove intends to go back to her coffee and Instagram and waiting for Sorrel. Then the girl vaults over the counter and Dove’s jaw drops.

“You can’t do that.” The words fall out of her mouth without even thinking but the girl is too invested in the song to hear her. Dove clamps her mouth shut so she can’t draw attention to herself by speaking again and tilts her phone back just enough to take a surreptitious photo to show the police, or Sorrel, or the owner. Whoever she has to talk to when a coffee shop gets invaded.

The girl flings open cupboards and starts making herself a cup of tea, all while Dove stares and pretends not to. What sort of person jumps over the counter in a coffee shop and starts making their own drink? Dove’s met some impatient people in her life, but this girl is taking the biscuit.

Literally, apparently, because she’s found a packet of mini chocolate chip cookies. She drops them onto the saucer, nestled under the curve of the cup and spins away to grab milk from the fridge under the coffee machine. She doesn’t stop moving the whole time the music is playing, and when it finally cuts to the hosts of the show talking, she slumps over the counter like a puppet whose strings have just been cut.

Dove blinks and turns back to her coffee and her phone.

The next song to come on is some sort of rap-remix type number. This time the girl doesn’t start dancing, just hums and bobs her head as she picks her way around the counter this time and glances over the shop.

Dove is the only other person in the cafe, because it’s four minutes to ten on a Saturday night and the cafe closes on the hour, so there are nine entire tables that are completely empty.

The girl picks the one next to Dove, because of course she does.

At this point, Dove considers shouting for Sorrel. The girl has quite clearly noticed her so it’s too late to be worried about drawing attention to herself, and she doesn’t understand where he’s gotten to. She’s seen the back room and it’s not big; there’s no way all three staff members could have missed all the commotion.

She takes another sip of her coffee while she’s deliberating, which is when Sorrel finally appears behind the counter. He nods at Dove, takes in the other girl, then shouts over his shoulder for Siva.

Dove relaxes slightly; this makes sense. Siva owns the place, he’ll know what to.

Except Siva walks out and does nothing more than roll his eyes.

“Did you at least pay for it?”

The girl doesn’t even look up from her phone as she talks around a mouthful of biscuit. “No, but I bought mum’s present today, so we’re even.”

“What sort of present costs the price of an earl grey and a packet of cookies?”

“You make an excellent point, you can buy chinese tonight, too. The fancy one that does Ben and Jerry’s.”

Sorrel drops into the chair opposite Dove while she’s busy gawking at Siva and the girl who might be his sister. Now he’s here she can see the similarities. Still, it doesn’t explain anything that the girl has done up to and including actually vaulting over the counter like one of Toby’s video game characters.

“Are you nearly finished?” Sorrel asks.

There’s still a fair amount left in the mug but Dove just wants to get outside so she can question Sorrel. She downs the rest of the drink and brings it over to the counter. Anita has appeared to wipe the surfaces behind it and she takes the mug and saucer off of Dove with a tight smile. She’s never particularly seemed to like Dove, but no one’s ever mentioned it out loud or given a reason why. Dove tries to be as polite as possible when interacting with her at all times, so she says thank you before walking back and grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair.

Sorrel finishes saying goodbye to Siva and the girl and Dove doesn’t drag him out of the door because that would be too obvious. Instead she speed walks as fast as she can without looking strange and holds the door open for him until he reaches it. He raises an eyebrow as she drops the handle but she doesn’t say anything until they’re out of view of the front window.

She means to say ‘what the hell just happened in there’, or ‘did you see that insanity’, or something else along similar lines, but the words get lost on the way to her mouth and come out wrong.

“Who the hell was that?”

Sorrel laughs and tells her Avery has been his best friend since they were four.

Dove might have been offended by that, but she’s too busy stuck on Avery and her casual disregard for anything resembling a normal approach to a coffee shop.

Sorrel laughs again and Dove shoves him into the next bush they walk past on principle.

[seatsbythepit]

thoughts on ornstein's summary thing?

Okay, anon, I gotta admit my head has been whirring on this one, I’ve been thinking about your question the whole time I was at work - and I would like to apologize in advance, because it was 100% more eloquent in my head than in the words I’m about to write.

First and foremost, I have to make two “disclaimers”:

The first being that we should all keep in mind that David Ornstein is, at the end of the day, a reporter with sources at the club. He has often been reliable, tends to post only when he’s fairly certain of his information, and probably takes his info in good faith, however we do have to take any and all information (i.e. how certain deals happened, mood of the players/club etc.) with a pinch of salt, purely because only the people who were actually there would know what was said and done etc. But we can of course draw our own conclusions from the actions of the club, past experience, etc.

The second: I am not particularly a good stats/data person, nor do I have a great capacity for economics, I have basic understandings but I can’t venture too deep - so my thoughts come from a more observational/analytical perspective purely from what I’m seeing/hearing/understanding. So, apologies again to anyone who wants me to delve into the mathematical and statistical minutiae of our club, I don’t feel I could do that justice.

So, let’s proceed under the cut because this is going to be fairly long I imagine.

🔽🔽🔽

To address what I think of what Ornstein has presented us with: It is nothing too surprising or shocking. For some this will warrant an eye-roll, for others it may it reignite anger/frustration at the absurdity of our board, there will be some hurt/disappointment with certain players or certain transfers, or the lack thereof in particular positions - and perhaps even some room for consolation or reasoning. But ultimately: Nothing totally new.

(And I have to stress, we will all view the First Team’s situation, and in part some of the academy’s involvement, in different ways - we will come to some similar and some different views, all of which may be right/wrong to different extents. I can only speak for myself when I discuss this.)

I think the transfer window started out fairly well, we sealed Lacazette and Kolasanic in time for summer tour - two very good players, both high achievers in their former leagues. We had some backroom changes too, to coaching staff and to our legal team - nothing too spectacular there, but a little “fresher” to start the window’s activity.

The disappointment comes where deals/transfers were dragged out, things kept getting changed, and ultimately, we perhaps lost/gained in places where we were looking to do the opposite. There of course will be the January window, but I think accompanied with the context of losing our last two PL games a lot of people do not take kindly to indecision and hesitation - though it is granted the influence of other clubs/players on the other side of business will have contributed in certain areas.

All in all, I don’t think too much else would have happened in the window even if we had got 3 wins in a row, maybe one more signing of some notoriety, but nothing too big. (As the Ornstein Recap alludes to, without Alexis’ sale there was no room to budge in terms of a “big” signing [in all honesty I don’t subscribe to the idea that it has to be big or expensive to make a difference, but we could have done with a midfielder or a defender - as some players seemed to have fallen out of favour], again due to the fact that Stan won’t splash the cash.)

I’ll briefly touch on the talk of Hector Bellerin and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain in Ornstein’s Recap:

Hector wanting to go back to Barcelona seems to be part truth and part self-fulfilling prophecy, and as Hector said before he is committed to Arsenal and I guess we can only really take his word for it. Not to mention I feel that if you commit to such a long contract as he has, you should honour it - you should honour your commitments unless there is an extreme circumstance that requires you to leave. Note: Losing CL football does not qualify as extreme, no matter how unappealing or shit it may seem to some professional footballers and to some fans.

Perhaps the biggest controversy of the window was the departure of Oxlade-Chamberlain. Again, I am only speaking for myself so: I was disappointed, yes. I didn’t like the way it had been dragged out, I didn’t like the fact that he got to play against Liverpool as it seemed so clear his time was over at the club, it just all felt so unnecessary. I am sad that he chose not to commit himself any further to us - we of course had many years of hoping for “his year”, and last year seemed to be the beginnings of having that only for it to be cut off during this window. He had/has his reasons, what else is there to say? Bitterness has turned to resignation and now to indifference, I have other players at my club that require my support and attention.

I think the real crux of our issues does lay outside of transfers, and more in the boardroom - as I’m sure most will agree. The on-pitch performance/player attitude and fan influence are all (partly) side effects/symptoms of the deeper rot that is our (majority) owner and inactive board. (

All current members of our board have become active between 2005 - 2013.

Sir Chips Keswick was first appointed as an Arsenal director in November 2005 and replaced the outgoing Peter Hill-Wood as Chairman of Arsenal Holdings plc in June 2013.

Ivan Gazidis was appointed as Chief Executive Officer of Arsenal Football Club in January 2009.

Arsenal Football Club’s longest-serving director, Ken Friar OBE has been a mainstay of the Club for more than 60 years. (Honestly won’t really include Ken in this, he still serves our club in 23847724 ways and I will fight for him.)

Lord Harris of Peckham was appointed to the Arsenal board in November 2005.

Stan Kroenke became a shareholder in May 2007, was appointed to the Board of Directors in September 2008 and became the majority shareholder of Arsenal Football Club in April 2011.

Josh Kroenke joined the board of Arsenal Football Club in December 2013.

The reason I make note of this is because this coincides fully with the time (10 years) where we were emphatic that we could not/would not be able to compete with our rivals as the Emirates Stadium needed to be paid off, leaving little else for club business. In fact, it required Arsene Wenger reassuring the banks that he would stay for a further 5 years to see that there was a consistency within the club (i.e. making CL every year, which we did.) in order to repay the loans. (It was partly his idea that we move to a bigger stadium in the first place.)

So, for those years I suspect the board didn’t have too much to do, sure there would be fan discontent, and there really was (“Spend some fucking money”, ring a bell?) - we made a few goes at the title and progressed only a little in the CL, no FA Cups, no nothing - but hey, they were in the Bubble of Time, they told us about that time, so we just had to suck it up, right? Fair enough, I suppose. We still did very well to maintain top 4, especially in a time where that money did actually matter a lot.

2013 rolls around, we start to defrost, and fans think “We should really be doing something by now, ffs” But we have to bear in mind two crucial things:

The lucrative nature of the PL, the value, the cash flow, whatever you want to call it - it had grown exponentially in that decade, this meant that “lower clubs” had tv money, advertising and sponsorship that allowed them to be on a more even playing field, the divide between the great, good and mediocre was allowed to shrink.

Stan Kroenke was (and is) the tache with the cash.

I think we know how the rest goes, we got some great players, both known and unknown, big shiny toys and hidden gems, and everything else in between. We won an FA Cup, two…three in fact - but at the very core the slight patch of mold started to grow, the Kroenke effect. We’re held on a tight leash, our system dictates that we can only use what we make in profit to deal with everything, Stan doesn’t want to give us anything, but hey! Apparently, he wants us to do well!

And you can imagine the fan discontent grows and grows, it’s daylight robbery, we pump the club full of cash in the form of shirt sales, tickets, programmes, magazines, merchandising, our tv subscriptions and so forth (because we love it and want to see it thrive.) - and receive very little in return, no desire, no ambition, falsehoods and unfulfilled promises. That is the first boil of anger festering.

The second boil, and the worst casualty, is Arsene Wenger. Arsene loves us, he loves Arsenal Football Club. And because of this he has not only contributed to our stadium, he has declined offer after offer from other clubs, he has taken the full force of any and all criticism/abuse directed at the club and has protected those that sit at a desk (or relax in a different country entirely) above him.

The reason he is a festering boil is because he becomes a way to channel any and all anger, not just the criticisms he receives as manager. The first boil (The Board) can remain subtle, silent and deadly, but the second is pickable, burstable, it is pumped full of bitterness and entitlement, sadness and despair. But Arsene, despite a few words of displeasure, takes it - he allows it to happen because [read the first few sentences above].

So when you take Arsene for what he is, he is brilliant, he is infuriating, he is wise, he is stubborn, he is intelligent and he is heart breaking. Arsene has made mistakes, foolish decisions, perhaps he has been secretive, perhaps he really does need to let loose and expose our board for what we already know and more - but he won’t, at least I think he won’t, because (excuse my strange analogy) I see it like this:

The club is hanging over a cliff edge (within the context of the expectations and demands of a club our size, I know there are 100s who have it worse off than we do.), and Arsene is holding onto us, he won’t let go, because the way he sees it is that if he drops us (if he leaves) we will fall, fall hard and it could be some serious damage to us - this is because of instability the board has given us - BUT in all of this Arsene is getting older, he is under strain, it is getting harder and harder to hold onto us, the magnitude of our plight is no longer manageable the way it was in the late 90s/00s.

He does make mistakes, he does get it wrong, but perhaps it wouldn’t feel so terrible or be so exacerbated if the system above him had the decency to take him away from the pressure, to say “No, this needs to happen”, “It’s okay we will do this”, “We have decided this”, “You need to do this”. For as long as he tries to keep it all together without letting them be held accountable he is going to be hurt and be the cause of hurt, whether that’s fair or not.

Maybe he could let go and nothing too terrible would happen to us and he could go home and rest or turn his work elsewhere, but there’s this sense of responsibility, that deep love, that relentlessness. He doesn’t trust that if he lets go that somebody will come to pick us up and mend us, not under Stan Kroenke, he would not forgive himself if it were to be damaging to his life’s work and life’s love.

So… we’re in a rut, Stan won’t move, Arsene won’t either. And together it creates this friction, this resentment that oozes and pulses in many factions of the support base, we can use social media to micro-analyze and overanalyze, to pick and pick and pick at our wounds with no healing to come with it, only botched plaster jobs and short term solutions, maybe some pain relief in between (trophies/big wins/good team performances/exciting players).

And then the third boil comes from the media who love their clicks for money, the supposed fans who deliberately create more issues with little room for reason or debate, and the pundits (ex-Arsenal players sometimes) who apply logic/expectations/experience from when they were footballers to a vastly different environment of modern football - anything that’s bad is really bad, and anything that’s good can only last for a week. It’s the culture of hyperbole, sensationalism, dramatics, and hypocrisy.

TL;DR: We are burnt out. Something has to give.

In all of this nonsense that has gone completely off topic, we are stuck. Ornstein’s words are only a mirror being held up to remind us that we are still frail as fuck underneath, we are trying hard in some ways and utterly stagnant in others. But it won’t stop me from coming along with my glue and my bandages, it won’t stop me from wishing someone would heal the infection, that someone would remove the rot and start again, and that the most special someone, Arsene Wenger, could move on and not feel like he let us down. He deserves that at least.

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Honeymooners pt 1

Gonna turn this into a multi chapter thing since it’s getting kinda long. The prompt about reader and Loki going undercover as honeymooners at a fancy honeymoon destination that I said I’d write forever ago but didn’t get around to

(So if you’re going under cover for anything, you’d probably want fake names, but I don’t want to make up fake names and I like using Loki’s name so yea...)

A loud ringing from your nightstand roused you from your deep sleep. Your eyes opened instantly, years of training instantly putting you on alert as you recognize a mission briefing call. "I'm here." You answered.

 "Agent, good, head up to the debriefing room," Mariah Hill's voice came through the speaker, "we have your next assignment."

You nodded, the last traces of sleep leaving you as you remembered she couldn't see. "Should I grab my partner?"

"Not yet, he's getting a debriefing packet but there's classified information we need to go over with you separately."

You raised an eyebrow. Loki, god of mischief, currently tasked with aiding SHIELD for glorified community service and thus your partner on most missions, would be debriefed separately? If you were working together, wouldn't the logical thing be to brief you simultaneously so any ideas the other had or questions could be addressed together? You knew better than to ask questions though, Mariah would just end up repeating her orders. "Understood, I'll be there in ten."

"Hurry, your transport leaves in two hours, everything you need is packed, so this debriefing has to be fast."

You sighed as she hung up, failure to plan on SHIELD's part always warranted an emergency on your part. Hopefully the travel time would be long so you and Loki could fill each other in on anything that had been missed. Still, something about separate briefings disturbed you. No sense in worrying about it now though, time was ticking and you still needed to shower.

Ten minutes later, you were rushing into the briefing room where Mariah sat at a long high-tech table, a TV screen displaying a mountain lodge behind her. "Recognize it?" Mariah asked, looking up as you entered.

You stared at the screen blankly, searching your memory. The lodge seemed familiar in a dreamlike way, but nothing truly stood out.

"Not sure, your history and all, but some little girls grow up planning their dream weddings and honeymoon vacations."

You frowned glancing between her and the screen. "I'd never really thought about it, I guess. Marriage might come some day, but I've had other things to worry about. Maybe friends planned their's..." You trailed off, not sure what she was getting at.

Mariah smiled, "don't worry, it's not a test, just was wondering if you recognized it. That's the location of your mission. 'Lover's Lodge, Honeymoon Resort', honeymoon destination of only the wealthiest and luckiest clients. It's such a destination resort that any who attend have to prove they've been married in the last 48 hours. Officially they prefer 24, but occasionally travel gets interrupted and they felt like expanding the inclusion list. Newlyweds plan their weddings around when there's space available here, very exclusive."

"I'll bet." You crossed your arms, not wholly impressed. Sure it was an interesting place to visit, presumably anyone lucky enough to be an actual guest would enjoy it, but that type of feather in your cap didn't particularly interest you, not when you'd been told of an impending mission and you were very much single. Sure you pined after a guy, but he was millennia out of your league and definitely didn't return the feelings. Plus with your busy work schedule, dating really had taken a back seat to your plans.

"So what's the mission?" You finally prompted.

Mariah blinked, "there's underground seismic activity. Gamma levels are off the charts. We have reason to believe a magical portal of sorts is open in an underground area. The lodge itself exists in a weird jurisdiction and since the portal is believed to be magic in nature, we need your partner to investigate it."

"Loki."

She nodded, "he's uniquely equipped to handle magical enemies and we don't particularly trust him to do anything solo. The god of lies title and history inspires a great deal of understandable distrust."

You shrugged, "fair enough. I trust him though."

"Which makes you uniquely suited to operate as his partner, as well as the other portion of this undercover operation."

You were starting to get a headache, she seemed to be hinting at something without daring to say the actual nature of what she meant. "So we're undercover as work staff?"

Mariah smiled thinly, "I was hoping you might've guessed... no, the owner needs to be investigated to see if he has any part to play in the operation of this portal and the background checks and period of time it would take to sneak you into the workforce would be far too long."

"So?" You prompted, mind not quite working.

"I need you to go undercover as guests. Far more freedom to move around this way."

You swallowed hard, mind reeling. "But guests have to be newlyweds..."

Mariah held up a sheet of paper. Warily, you took it from her, examining it carefully. There in crisp new letters, signed by the state of New York, lay your full name married to Loki Laufeyson. You looked up at her stunned, "what the hell is this?"

"Less than 48 hour old marriage license between you and Loki, thought that was clear. We have wedding pictures as well as several witnesses that can attest the validity of your wedding."

"You married me to Loki without either of us knowing?" No wonder they didn't want Loki in attendance, he was sure to be pissed.

"It's forged, but will fool the admissions there, we snuck a different couple in several weeks ago to make sure. You're going undercover as a newlywed couple, enjoying all the amenities and making sure to close that portal and if necessary, remove the owner from his position, assuming he is involved. Think of it as a working vacation."

"With an ornery god, you do know Loki isn't going to be pleased."

"It's a six hour car trip, you'll have plenty of time to warn him. And it's by limo, refrigerator and bar fully stock, all expenses paid."

"What if I refuse?"

"You'll be out of a job." Mariah glared at you.

Your eyes flashed, "I'm one of your most loyal and successful agents, one refusal and I'm out on the streets?"

Mariah sighed, "no, you'll be heavily reprimanded and demoted, pay cut and put on leave, but please, you're the only one qualified to do this, we need you."

"You need Loki."

"He won't work with anyone else, there's no punishment we can give him, all of it has to be willing. Even threat of returning to prison on Asgard hardly bothers him. Please, he seems to like you."

You grit your teeth, that was the bitter crux of it. That Loki considered you an acquaintance of sorts but would never share your feelings. To have to openly act as though you were madly in love with him, only to return to hiding your feelings would kill you. Worse, Loki would either pretend to go along with it and not see how badly it tore you apart each moment, or he would refuse because ultimately he couldn't even tolerate you as a friend. Nothing of this mission wouldn't end extremely painfully for you. "Fine, but I'm getting another more expensive vacation after this."

"It's practically a vacation already, other than the portal."

"And an obstinate Loki. That's the only way I'm agreeing." You crossed your arms.

"We'll take it up with Fury, no absolute promises, but I'm sure we can manage something."

"Good."

By the time your conversation ended, you were becoming pressed for time. You practically flew out of the room, rushing down the many stairs and out to the waiting limo that Loki sat in, already looking annoyed. His arms were crossed as he glared sullenly out the tinted windows, fingers tapping in time to some unheard beat. "Sorry," you panted, scrambling in beside him. A soft smile touched the corners of his mouth upon seeing you, "got held up with Mariah."

Loki nodded, "for a moment, I was worried they might send a replacement for you."

"Can't get rid of me that easily." You winked, settling in as the car lurched forward.

Loki nodded curtly, that smile once more returning. "I take it there's a reason we were informed separately."

"Oh yea, and you're just going to love it." Sarcasm dripped heavily from your tone and Loki raised his eyebrow curiously. Over the next hour you and Loki shared the various information regarding the specifics of the mission finally coming to the part you dreaded most.

"But all this could just as easily have been told together, why the separation?" Loki mused.

"It's our cover," you sighed heavily, lifting up the marriage certificate. Loki frowned, "I suppose I didn't think we'd spend long there." You shook your head, "part vacation since it's a resort and SHIELD is cheap, and we need to investigate the owner as guests. It's easier than getting us jobs apparently."

Loki squinted at the paper, "we're married?" He looked up at you and blinked.

You popped the cork off the bottle you'd been struggling to open, "only technically," you said taking a long swill. "It's a forgery but best in the business. Sorry to do that to you, only way they could think of apparently."

Loki shrugged, "I could think of worse covers."

You looked at him, mid drink. Slowly you removed the bottle, "really?"

"They could have placed me with a different agent, which would be insufferable."

You laughed, "yea, I guess." Still your heart ached, not sure how to vocalize your feelings.

Loki could see the sadness in your eyes but didn't seem to realize what caused it. "What if we made it into a competition?"

"A competition?" You repeated.

"Whoever appears the better and more in love spouse, the winner."

You winced internally but you knew you loved a good challenge. Almost unwittingly, you heard yourself answer, "you're on, I'm going to kick your ass at this."

"My love, that you could think to hurt me?" Loki placed his hand over his heart in shock.

You scowled, "you didn't say we started yet!"

"Fair enough agent."

"What's the loser have to do?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something." Loki smirked.

Scoffing, you retorted, "yea right, I'm going to win."

The car ride passed uneventfully, you and Loki having plenty of the finer details of the mission to discuss and plan. "So it's in a sort of mountainous area, built on a number of natural hot springs that make for quite the scenic hot tubs."

Loki pursed his lips, "perhaps we might skip the hot tubs?"

You stared at him blankly, "and sauna? I gather?"

Loki nodded, "I don't care for heat much." He trailed off, looking away. You didn't press him, but he had alluded to not tolerating heat in the past, perhaps this was related.

"It's built over an inactive volcano, I believe, dig deep enough and you'll find lava but no worries of eruption in my life time. At least that's what SHIELD's experts seem to think."

"Is that related to the portal?"

"More like a fun fact." You shrugged, "and a tram that can take guests down to the beach, only an hour's ride. Sunbathing could be fun."

Chuckling, Loki reached for his drink, "I'm sure the number of newlyweds enjoying the sunset will be amusing."

"Probably. The tram doesn't stop, every half hour all night. Midnight swims on a clothing optional beach." You swallowed hard, trying not to picture Loki partaking in that.

"They really are encouraging intimacy everywhere, aren't they?" Loki blinked, studying you.

The look he gave you was so intense, you found yourself turning away, if only to hide your blush. "Guess so. At least no one will check on whether or not guests do, right?" You forced a weak laugh.

Loki nodded thoughtfully, "that would be awfully invasive of them."

Sleeping with Loki, or rather sleeping with Loki had only briefly crossed your mind. It would be hard to get around not sharing a bed but two mature adults could handle that surely, but if anyone noticed? That would be the final nail in your coffin to fake sex with Loki just to maintain your cover, or real but wasn't mutually desired.

"Agent?" Loki prompted, pulling your mind back to the present.

"Meeting the owner might be challenging if he's behind the portal." You forced yourself to change the subject. "Though I believe he greets each couple personally during their stay, guess we'll have to meet as many couples as possible to increase our chances of running into him."

Loki sighed, resting his chin on his fist, "wonderful, socializing with mortals."

-

“Oh! Loki!” You paused, “I mean, darling look! We’re here I think!”

Loki straightened up, roused from his bored stupor and followed your pointing finger out the window. For the past half hour, the limo had been winding its way slowly upwards through a forested mountainside and it had at long last shown signs of nearing a massive resort. The picture Mariah had shown you really didn’t do the place justice for its size and splendor, anyone fortunate enough to visit would definitely have to pay a small fortune.

Loki chuckled at your pet name for him, “So we have, congratulations on our first day of marriage.”

You reached for your phone and opened it, noticing a barrage of pictures featuring you and Loki photoshopped into a number of wedding poses. It had been a small, private affair apparently, contrasting notably with the amount that would go towards the honeymoon but it was evidently about the two of you and no one else.

Loki leaned against you, staring down at the pictures. You could feel your cheeks heating in a blush at the close proximity, you had been this close before and managed to hide your feelings, why was it suddenly different? You silently admonished yourself.

“That’s a lovely dress,” Loki murmured, tilting his head to the side. His long hair brushed against your cheek and you fought back a shiver. “Somehow, I think the dress would look better on the actual you, not this model they chose.”

You furrowed your brows, surprised by the sincerity of the compliment. Opening your mouth, you looked up to ask him if he was acting or meant it but Loki’s attention was already back to the sprawling grounds of the resort. Your mouth fell shut and you stayed quiet.

The limo finally rolled to a stop, the door opening as the two of you scrambled out. Loki left first, turning around and offering you his hand to help you, placing a gentle kiss on it before allowing you to straighten up completely out of the car.

You closed your eyes, praying silently for patience, strength to make it through this mission, then slowly opened them and beamed at Loki. The flirtatious giggle came easy to you as you leaned forward and pecked his cheek. Loki stiffened for a moment, before sinking into your touch as though it were the most natural thing ever.

“Do you have the marriage license, love?”

“Right here, sweetie.” You giggled again, waving it for him.

Loki pursed his lips, eyes darkening, clearly not amused by the pet name. If you were going to suffer, dying for this to be real, you might as well punish Loki with cute names. A hotelier approached as the two of you stood there, no time to turn back now.

[kansascityhappenings]

White House holds coronavirus news conference as lawmakers consider aid packages

The White House news conference is expected to begin at 10:30 a.m.:

Senior Trump administration officials urgently pressed GOP senators to approve a House-passed bill to deal with the coronavirus pandemic — and quickly act on a major economic stimulus package amid growing fears that the outbreak could send the country into recession.

In a closed-door meeting Monday night, Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin urged GOP senators to get behind the House bill, which had prompted growing Republican concerns in recent days, with top officials warning the economic situation is too precarious and the threat to public health too severe to let the measure hang in limbo for days.

The cost of the new package will be roughly $850 billion, a source briefed on the matter tells CNN, and will include aid to small businesses and airlines. It’s expected to include the White House’s request for a payroll tax holiday, something that could cause a fight on Capitol Hill.

Asked what the Senate would do when it officially receives the House bill, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell told CNN bluntly: “Pass it.”

In the meeting, Mnuchin told GOP senators he would present more details during a Tuesday lunch about the Trump administration’s proposal for the next economic package. He also told senators to get behind the House-passed measure, which would ensure individuals have access to free testing for the disease and displaced workers have access to paid leave, bolster unemployment insurance benefits, expand food stamps and increase federal funding for Medicaid programs.

The warning, GOP senators suggested: Act now before it’s too late.

“I don’t think we can assume we can keep reconvening the Senate every week, like we did this week,” said Sen. Marco Rubio, a Florida Republican, after the meeting. “I think the assumption is going to be, we’re going to do something (and) it’s going to be big because we can’t assume we can just keep coming back here.”

At the meeting Monday, Mnuchin did not detail a price tag for the next economic stimulus measure, but earlier in the day, Senate Democratic leader Chuck Schumer of New York proposed $750 billion in the next plan. Republicans did not reject that number out of hand and said that Congress would likely have to act on a subsequent stimulus measure once the next plan is approved. Already, Congress has appropriated $8.3 billion to deal with the crisis.

“We have a real focus on urgent action,” Eric Ueland, White House legislative director, told reporters after the meeting. “I’m hoping there can be swift action on consensus items.”

Ueland and Mnuchin told reporters that the House bill, which the treasury secretary negotiated with House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, should be passed immediately despite the concerns among some Republicans that the measure could hurt small businesses.

“Again we’ll be speaking to the Republicans at lunch tomorrow about the bill but we look forward to them taking it up and passing it,” Mnuchin told reporters. “But we got a lot more work to do and the main reason why we’re here tonight was talking to the Senate about other bills that they’re going to work on ASAP.”

Trump suggests changes to House bill

The fast-moving developments came after the House’s sweeping coronavirus relief bill, which had been barreling forward in the Senate, had hit a speed bump earlier in the day amid objections by Republicans and a suggestion by President Donald Trump that the Senate would make further changes to the measure.

Also, Trump told reporters that “we may very well be adding something” to the bill, despite his public endorsement of the measure on Friday night.

“I think they may make it even better,” Trump said of the Senate. “Look, they’re working with the House, working very much in unison like the question before. They’re working to only enhance it and make it better and make it fair for everybody. And that’s what we’re looking to do. So we may go back and forth with the House a little bit, but both will be in a very positive fashion.”

The measure passed the House by a 363-40 vote early Saturday morning. Some Republicans objected to several of the provisions in the bill, particularly the paid leave program and its potential impact on businesses throughout the country.

One obstacle was removed Monday evening. The House approved a set of changes to the coronavirus stimulus bill by unanimous consent, clearing the path for the Senate to consider it. Republican Rep. Louie Gohmert of Texas withdrew his objection to the House’s ‘technical corrections” bill accompanying the coronavirus relief package that passed early Saturday morning. He allowed the measure to advance, saying on the House floor after reviewing the language of the resolution that the changes “make the bill better than it was when it got passed.”

On Monday, Gohmert said he raised concerns to both Trump and House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy, who also supports the House-passed bill.

“The last draft of the ‘technical changes’ I saw was 87 pages long,” Gohmert said in a statement. “I cannot in good conscience give my consent to something that has not been finished or made available to members of Congress before it is up for a vote.”

Those objections were apparently settled by Monday evening.

Indeed, a growing number of top Republicans suggested that the Senate should quickly adopt the House plan — and worry about other proposals for the next response to the crisis.

Sen. John Cornyn, a member of the Senate GOP leadership team, told CNN it’s “my inclination” to let the House bill pass unchanged and focus on the next bill.

“It may be the best thing to do would be to make those changes on the next bill because this isn’t the last piece of legislation that we are going to be passing related to the coronavirus,” the Texas Republican said.

“If we putz around here, we are losing time,” said Sen. Shelley Moore Capito, a West Virginia Republican

Sen. Joni Ernst, an Iowa Republican, said she supports moving quickly on the House bill.

The developments come after the Senate scrapped its own recess this week to consider the House bill — and as senators return to Washington uneasy about the risk they and their staff face by staying in session.

Indeed, prospects appeared to grow slim Monday that the Senate could speed up its schedule this week, but those discussions are expected to during the parties’ weekly Tuesday lunches. Democrats are expected to have a conference call for their weekly Tuesday lunch as opposed to meeting in person, an unusual move reflective of how fears over the virus are upending the Senate.

Some Republicans are trying to push for more changes to the bill.

“I don’t think the House bill is going to pass the Senate as it is written for one basic problem: It doesn’t go far enough and it doesn’t go fast enough,” GOP Sen. Tom Cotton of Arkansas said on the floor of the Senate, referring to the bill’s system for small businesses to get tax credits for paid leave for their displaced employees.

In addition to the coronavirus legislation, the Senate also had to consider a measure to renew key authorities under the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, which expired on Sunday.

The Senate was prepared to take steps to pass the House’s bipartisan FISA reauthorization bill, which passed last week, but objections from critics like GOP Sens. Rand Paul of Kentucky and Mike Lee of Utah threatened to eat up several days of the Senate calendar to overcome a filibuster and approve the measure.

Instead, McConnell cut a deal with Lee on Monday that paved the way for the Senate to focus on the coronavirus legislation.

The agreement included a two-and-a-half month extension of the three expired FISA authorities, which passed the Senate by unanimous consent, and agreement to consider amendments from Lee and Paul related to representation for targets of FISA surveillance warrants and limits on searches that can be conducted under the law related to US citizens and the internet.

The short-term extension now has to be cleared in the House by unanimous consent just like the coronavirus changes, meaning any single House member can object and stop it.

But in the Senate, the FISA agreement clears the stage for the chamber to consider the coronavirus legislation — if it can find a way forward amid the disagreements over the bill.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/tracking-coronavirus/white-house-holds-coronavirus-news-conference-as-lawmakers-consider-aid-packages/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2020/03/17/white-house-holds-coronavirus-news-conference-as-lawmakers-consider-aid-packages/

[cryptswahili]

QuadrigaCX and the Million Dollar Questions: What We Do and Don’t Know

QuadrigaCX Exchange’s founder, Gerald Cotten, passed away more than two months ago, and with his death, the keys to the exchange’s cold storage allegedly went to the grave with him.

This is the story that QuadrigaCX is sticking to in the posthumous mess that has followed its founder’s death. The situation has been likened to a second Mt. Gox, with some of the biggest differences being that we don’t know whether or not QuadrigaCX is solvent and there’s no hard evidence of foul play on behalf of the exchange. But there are also more questions than answers, and lack of hard evidence or transparency in the situation (including, whether or not there are cold wallets and whether or not QuadrigaCX is being honest about not having access to them) is the exchange’s closest resemblance to Mt. Gox: no one’s completely sure of what happened and what’s going on.

This has led media, social media commentators and other community voices to see the facts of the case through different lenses. Some have argued that QuadrigaCX has no cold wallets, others have said they must be lying about not having access to these funds. One bold camp has even called the likelihood of Cotten’s death into question. This conspiracy is tenuous, as death certificates are public (even if Cotten’s name is misspelled as “Cottan” on the certificate, likely an honest mistake made by crossing the language barrier); Globe and Mail reporters even traveled to Jaipur and spoke with doctors who verified his death.

Those doctors, the accounts recall, also signaled that Cotten’s death was unconventional, as was how the body was handled — but more on that later.

QuadrigaCX would keep Cotten’s death from the public and its clients for about a month, enough time for his widow, Jennifer Robertson, to transfer the contents of her husband’s estate as set out in his will — a document updated two weeks prior to his death — into her name. All the while, customers complained about their perpetual struggle to withdraw cash and coins from the exchange. It has since ceased operations due to its self-proclaimed inability to access cold wallets to address these liquidity issues.

Plenty of affected users think the funds are gone and the wallets don’t exist, and evidence — some hard, some soft — is piling up to suggest that there’s something amiss with how things stand now.

After corresponding with multiple persons who either knew Cotten well, were QuadrigaCX customers or who were associated with the exchange’s business, Bitcoin Magazine learned that questions have surrounded QuadrigaCX's operations for some time — enough to warrant skepticism about the story it’s been presenting.

This account will give an overview of what we know so far. It attempts to be thorough but not exhaustive and to treat conspiracies with skepticism while not ignoring them.

Trouble Brewing

Gerald Cotten died unexpectedly on December 9, 2018, while vacationing in India. His sudden death has been framed as the culmination of Cotten’s seven-year battle with Crohn’s disease, though Cotten’s death at the age of 30 is rare for people with the disease. He passed away while under care at Fortis Escorts Hospital in Jaipur, India, where he was reportedly honeymooning with his newly wedded wife, Jennifer Robertson, when he had some extreme gastrointestinal pain.

Though Dr. Sharma originally diagnosed traveler’s diarrhea on Cotten’s first visit to the hospital, Cotten’s condition quickly deteriorated. Twenty-four hours later, after being readmitted, Cotten died of cardiac arrest induced by septic shock when his intestines were perforated, the death report notes.

The doctor told the Globe and Mail that Cotten’s death was “medically unusual,” particularly the way his condition dramatically worsened so rapidly. He and his staff are even a bit “[unsure] about the diagnosis.”

No autopsy was performed, and the apparent mysteries surrounding Cotten’s death become more complicated as he was prepped for burial. Dr Semmi Mehra, an embalming specialist at Mahatma Gandhi Medical College & Hospital, whom Robertson attempted to employ for Cotten’s embalming, refused because the body came from the hotel the couple were honeymooning at instead of from the hospital where Cotten passed.

“That guy told me the body will come from the hotel. I said: ‘Why the hotel? I’m not taking any body from the hotel, it should come from Fortis’,” Dr. Mehra told the Globe and Mail.

She would direct them to a public medical college in the area who would ultimately embalm the deceased crypto tycoon, the Globe and Mail reports.

Cotten’s death left the company’s leadership without a clear successor, as Cotten left no directions for appointing a new CEO, an oversight that complicates the exchange’s apparent inability to access cold wallet funds. An emergency shareholder meeting was called on January 25, 2019, to appoint new directors. The meeting resulted in Jennifer Robertson, her stepfather Thomas Beazley and Jack Martel being elected to the board. The meeting supposedly took place over a conference call, according to a conversation Bitcoin Magazine had with Michael Patryn, the exchange’s co-founder who claims to have distanced himself from the exchange since March 2016.

Two sources who knew Cotten told Bitcoin Magazine that they were shocked to hear that Cotten hadn’t put contingency plans in place for his sudden passing, saying that this was out of character for a man who always had security at the forefront of his mind.

“This is the part that gets a little bit hairy,” Michael Perklin, Shapeshift CISO, told Bitcoin Magazine. “For a business to operate for six years and not have a business continuity plan? That’s reckless. I was incredibly shocked to learn that they couldn’t access the wallet. Gerry was a very smart man. It was inconsistent with his personality to not have a backup if he was hit by a bus. We’re definitely missing important pieces of this,”

He added, “Gerry updated his will two weeks before his death. That proves that he is thinking about these things.”

QuadrigaCX waited more than a month to make Cotten’s death public, and they waited longer still to admit that the company was having trouble mustering up the liquidity to honor withdrawals.

By the time the exchange shut down, Jennifer Robertson had gone through probate to transfer the assets in Cotten’s estate to her name. During this in-between period, she listed (and allegedly sold) Cotten’s sailboat/yacht and placed four properties in a trust called the Seaglass Trust, reportedly taking out a second mortgage on two of these. One of these properties, Cotten and Robertson’s former home at 71 Kinross Court, Nova Scotia, has been sold, while another property in Kelowna, British Columbia, has also been sold, an anonymous source told Bitcoin Magazine.

Liquidity Issues

Before Cotten’s death, users embattled in months-long withdrawal issues aggravated the exchange’s reputation and troubled history. Even as early as March 2018, bad press plagued the exchange for a delayed withdrawal of over $100,000. This issue could be the consequence of the exchange’s tenuous relationship with its Canadian banking partners, a struggle that culminated in November 2018 as the Canadian Supreme Court ruled to take control of $21.6 million after the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce (CIBC) froze accounts related to QuadrigaCX's business. It also lost a not-insignificant sum of ether to a smart contract bug in June of 2017, worth $17 million CAD at the time.

QuadrigaCX's banking difficulties have been a recurring theme in the exchange’s five-year history, according to multiple Bitcoin Magazine sources, all of whom asked to remain anonymous due to the sensitivity of the ongoing case.

One long-time QuadrigaCX user filed a ticket on August 14, 2018, after attempting to withdraw cash in late July. QuadrigaCX support’s initial reply oddly claims, “Both have been processed and arrive in a few years [sic].” After the user continued to complain about not receiving their funds, a follow-up email stated, “There is no issue, just ongoing issues … with the banks,” — the exchange’s familiar mantra in response to withdrawal issues.

After going round-for-round over email with QuadrigaCX support for weeks, this customer received his funds nearly two months after he requested them and a month after he opened a support ticket.

This experience seems par for the course, as another user complained that withdrawal requests for himself and others have been marked as complete after a similar, month-long, back-and-forth exchange with QuadrigaCX, but the funds have still not been deposited into their accounts.

“They stopped replying to my emails after January 11,” this user told Bitcoin Magazine. He said that he’d initiated a withdrawal request on December 8, 2018, which was marked as completed on December 22, 2018, despite no funds hitting the user’s bank account. This particular individual has $2,000 tied up. We’ve spoken to an individual with a similar experience who is missing $1,100 and another who has lost more than $1 million CAD after failing to have withdrawals satisfied.

A Canadian business strategies and best-practice professional, who asked to remain anonymous, also attested to Bitcoin Magazine that QuadrigaCX’s relationships with banks were a stressed and constant “struggle.” They even introduced Cotten and QuadrigaCX to a potential banking partner, but, after the company failed to provide “beneficial ownership information,” the bank refused to do business with the exchange (QuadrigaCX’s failure to provide this information, the source said, may have to do with the connections between Michael Patryn and ex-con Omar Dhanani, something we’ll go over more in the “Loose Ends” section of this article).

These issues, the source believes, are a plausible reason behind QuadrigaCX’s multiple shell companies (QuadrigaCX Fintech Solutions Corporation and Whiteside Capital Corporation).

The death of the exchange’s CEO seems to have either exacerbated these banking problems or exposed them to the public more thoroughly. And while Perklin called QuadrigaCX ’s money transfer issues unsurprising, some aspects of the exchange’s withdrawal process were anything but — specifically, offering hard cash withdrawals in the mail or in-person as a preferable option.

Multiple clients have reported receiving thousands of dollars via Canada Post. Speaking to a few of these users, Bitcoin Magazine verified these reports: One of these individuals told us that, while the three packages they received listed QuadrigaCX, Vancouver, as the return address, Canada Post’s tracking information lists the packages’ origin as Richmond, British Columbia; Calgary, Alberta; and Sherwood Park, Alberta.

Besides using Canada Post, QuadrigaCX offered hard cash withdrawals via in-person pickups. This practice, while not totally unheard of in the cryptocurrency industry, is virtually non-existent for retail exchanges (Coinsquare, one of the only legitimate exchanges to have offered it, no longer does). More than just unconventional, the makeshift, lax nature with which the exchange went about processing these withdrawals is suspect.

One of Bitcoin Magazine’s sources recalled driving six and a half hours to the Laval pickup location in late January, after “getting the runaround” since November, wherein each attempt to transfer cash ended in its being processed and cancelled. This process went on for weeks; the client even attempted to transfer the money into ether to withdraw to another exchange but hit the same dead end. When the users tried to get answers, their queries were met by silence on social media, support tickets and calls to QuadrigaCX's offices.

“We had enough after Christmas and chose to pick up our cash at the location in Laval. They sent us an email confirming it was processed and would be available on Jan 21 at 10am,” the source explained. “We drove 6.5 hours to that location, only to find a nonexistent office suite with a mailbox drop there. No person. No one in the building knew of that company either. We called and left messages on that number provided and drove home. He finally called us a week later saying QuadrigaCX wasn't giving him the cash to hand out but if they did give him our cash (they were supposed to give him 5k) he would reserve our amount out of that and text us to come pick it up. Two days later he texted us and said they aren't giving him the money and he will be in touch.”

That was the last time they heard from QuadrigaCX’s cash lackey, who, judging by his responses, had little connection to the exchange besides being an intermediary for cash payments. Days later, the exchange would announce Gerry’s death and its likely insolvency.

As noted earlier, QuadrigaCX’s banking relationships were non-existent, and Robertson admits in her affidavit that the exchange “had no corporate bank accounts.” Cash would likely be hard to come by for an exchange with no corporate account with a licensed bank or fiduciary partner. Instead, the exchange had to rely on a patchwork banking system which consisted of nine or so payment processors, including the Canadian-based Bylls and Billerfy.

Billerfy CEO Jose Reyes was involved in the November 2018 proceedings that ended in the Canadian Supreme Court freezing $25 million CAD tied to the exchange’s business. According to court documents, he had three personal accounts frozen along with two corporate accounts for Costodian Inc., another payment processor QuadrigaCX used for its business, for which Reyes is the sole director and officer. Reyes had transferred some $1 or 2 million CAD to his personal account from Costodian’s corporate accounts, making it unclear to the court as to the ownership of the millions in deposits from 388 users.

“CIBC has not been able to determine to what extent the Depositors, Costodian, Reyes, QuadrigaCX and/or Billerfy Labs Inc. (“Billerfy”) are entitled to the Disputed Funds,” the court order states.

The $25 million is still stuck in limbo, along with $5 million more in CAD that the exchange holds in bank notes for funds held by other payment processors. Ernst & Young (EY), as monitor over the legal proceedings, has contacted the processors to collect this debt. In its second report, the monitor revealed that it had received $20 million in bank draft notes from Costodian, though it must wait for the approval of the Royal Bank of Canada (RBC) to clear wires for the bank drafts to be deposited into a disbursement account that the monitor oversees.

In its second report, EY also indicated that Robertson and QuadrigaCX ’s litigation coffers are running low, insinuating that they are not far off from running out of funds entirely. If the RBC clears the bank draft wires into the disbursement account, this will keep the exchange’s legal operations afloat amidst the courtroom proceedings and restructuring.

Entering the Courtroom

After going offline on January 28, 2019, for reported maintenance, the exchange came out publicly to say that it did not have access to its cold storage, as Cotten had been the sole guardian of the wallet’s keys. In a sworn affidavit filing with the Nova Scotia Supreme Court, Cotten’s widow Jennifer Robertson said that the funds are likely lost.

“QuadrigaCX's inventory of cryptocurrency has become unavailable and some of it may be lost.”

On February 5, 2019, the exchange filed for investor protection with the Nova Scotia Supreme Court. EY was appointed as monitor over the case, giving the firm legal rights to oversee a compensation account for QuadrigaCX users as well as monitor the exchange’s current cryptocurrency balances and any hardware that may contain company information (namely, keys/seeds for the alleged cold storage).

In its first report as legal monitor, EY reported that it had begun funding the debtors’ compensation account with $150,000 CAD which Robertson supplied out of her own personal finance. More notably, the firm reported that QuadrigaCX “inadvertently” sent some $460,000 CAD worth of bitcoin to the cold wallets its employees reportedly can’t access. Perhaps in response to this blunder, the firm has taken control of QuadrigaCX's remaining hot wallet funds, as well as the funds that were accidentally transferred, and placed them in their own cold storage, the monitor’s second report reveals.

As with other exchange scandals in the industry, it didn’t take long for QuadrigaCX to rack up an adversarial list of investor-led reclamation suits. With funds for more than 100,000 users so far unaccounted for, Canada’s premier law firms lined up to represent the thousands who have come forth to challenge the company in court. These lawyers had a court date on February 14, 2019, to determine who would win the right to represent aggrieved clients in the legal proceedings looming ahead.

After delaying the decision a week due to the strength of the competing firms, presiding Nova Scotia Court Justice Wood ultimately gave the bid to Miller Thompson and Cox & Palmer for its apparent expertise with the Companies’ Creditors Arrangement Act (CCAA), a piece of Canadian litigation that affects insolvency cases, and digital assets.

“Miller Thompson has additional depth in certain areas, including larger CCAA proceedings and cryptocurrency … The relationship between the two firms has been thought out carefully with a view to minimizing costs. Cox & Palmer will deal with their areas of expertise, including local litigation practice and court appearances. Miller Thompson will provide expertise in dealing with large creditor groups and cryptocurrency technology,” the judge wrote in a court order.

The case will re-enter the legal arena on February 22 for the next round of proceedings.

Where’d the Funds Go?

QuadrigaCX claims that the funds are inaccessible, but some creditors and blockchain professionals alike are starting to think the funds aren’t actually there.

For starters, QuadrigaCX has refused to attest to their cold storage reserves by making the public address for these wallets public. One Reddit user, dekoze, claims to have tracked funds from a hot wallet address listed in Robertson’s affidavit to five wallets that could constitute part of the exchange’s cold wallets. These wallets recently had 104.365 BTC sent and split between them, an amount nearly on par with the 103 BTC that QuadrigaCX “inadvertently” sent to its cold wallets on February 6, 2019.

Other blockchain transaction analysis suggests that QuadrigaCX has been cycling funds through competing exchanges, and they’ve also found little evidence that any cold wallet reserves exist.

James Edward (@ProofofResearch) first dropped this bombshell. Taking deposit addresses provided by QuadrigaCX customers, his transaction analysis of the Bitcoin blockchain found no trace of cold wallet reserves. Instead, it found a dizzying trail of transactions to and from popular exchanges like Kraken, Bitfinex and Poloniex, something he reinforced with later research using the wallets unearthed by dekoze (which Edward, in this newest research, actively disputes are cold wallets).

Taylor Monahan, the CEO of Ethereum wallet MyCrypto, corroborated Edward’s findings with her own analysis of the Ethereum blockchain. Like Edward, she found no convincing evidence that QuadrigaCX operated with cold wallet storage, and she also followed a tortuous trail of transactions that led to other exchanges like Bitfinex and, most notably, ShapeShift.

“It’s just bizarre,” she told Bitcoin Magazine.

“Totally hypothetical, it’s possible that QuadrigaCX has some hidden cold storage somewhere if, and only if, instead of going between a hot and cold wallet, they went directly from user deposit addresses to the cold wallet. Now, I went through their transactions for over three years, and it’s very hard for me to imagine that … with all the practices I’ve seen and how they operate and how often they move funds that they have a mechanism to put funds into the cold wallet that no one noticed.”

Hidden or not, she’s not convinced that the cold wallets are there, though, because she only found one instance of a cold wallet holding some 4,000 ether for more than a year, after which portions of these funds were sent to hot wallets for QuadrigaCX or competing exchanges. For the rest of the wallets that Monahan tracked, she believes that QuadrigaCX could have been market making to improve the appearance of exchange liquidity.

“This would mean having to source coins from an external source in order to fulfil withdraw requests because they’re playing with their own money,” she qualified. “Even if that’s the case, I cannot imagine why they would exchange ether through ShapeShift. This was something they did consistently over the years.”

Now, an exchange sending funds to another exchange isn’t anything new; exchange-to-exchange arbitrage and inter-trade is common in the industry. But QuadrigaCX ’s activity doesn’t make much sense, Monahan told Bitcoin Magazine, especially the millions in ether that was sent to ShapeShift, which charges higher fees than other exchanges for the convenience of instant cryptocurrency swaps.

The movement of funds could be customers depositing of their own volition, something that Monahan takes into account in her analysis. She says that those withdrawals are likely denoted by multi-numerical values, while funds QuadrigaCX was sending itself may be represented by rounded off numbers.

“When you look deeply into how an operation does something … everyone has their little quirks. For Quadriga, for example, they love to send exact amounts.”

The rationale for cycling funds through different exchanges amounts to a fractional reserve system, the same practice banks use today to shuffle credit. Basically, if QuadrigaCX did not have enough in their wallets to cover a massive withdrawal in bitcoin, they would send ether to something like ShapeShift to convert these funds to bitcoin to honor the withdrawal.

Coinbase CEO Brian Armstrong believes this is the most likely scenario. In a Twitter thread, citing the exchange’s own internal transaction analysis, he speculates,“Patterns of sends from cold storage suggest they tried keeping [the] exchange afloat, and maybe attempted to trade their way out of a hole” — a hole that was in part dug by the exchange losing roughly 67,000 ether to a contract bug. That was in June 2017, after which time the exchange began draining their “cold wallets,” Armstrong holds.

Couple this with the 2018 bear market and you have a solvency crisis.

“This implies that at least a few people inside QuadrigaCX knew that they were running fractional. If so, then it's possible that untimely death of their CEO was used as an outlet to let the company sink,” he concludes.

In our conversation, Monahan noted decreasing transaction volumes following 2017, something that could either be attributed to Armstrong’s conclusion or to the anemic nature of the market in the bearish slump that began in 2018.

“You can definitely tell that the amount of money being moved around was very high in 2017 and has been dwindling, and previous to 2017, you see less activity. Whether that indicates something on QuadrigaCX's end is hard to say because every exchange is going through this [after the 2017 bull run].”

When asked about the strength of such transaction analyses, Perklin cautioned that “the only way to get a map of all of QCX movements would be to get all the deposit addresses.”

Loose Ends and Conspiracy Theories

For all that we do know about QuadrigaCX, there’s also plenty we don’t know — as well as lots of unsettling middle ground between the two.

Take, for instance, that a multitude of users who report receiving payroll deposits from RNC Inc., a company believed to be Robertson Nova Management Inc., a real estate management company registered in Robertson’s name. In the reply-to lines of emails confirming these deposits are listed one of two emails tied to Robertson. These deposits contradict Robertson’s sworn affidavit that she was not involved in the company’s business when Cotten was alive.

Questions also loom over the identity of Michael Patryn, QuadrigaCX ’s co-founder, who told Bitcoin Magazine that he cut ties with QuadrigaCX in March 2016. He left amidst a wider company exodus which gutted the shareholders sitting on the company’s board of directors. These directors, Patryn claimed, were upset with Cotten’s decision not to take the company public on the Canada Stock Exchange, a promise he made a year prior in 2015 which helped lead to the company raising $850,000 CAD in a private fundraising round. That same year, the exchange published its last financial audit, posting revenues of barely $80,000 CAD.

Patryn, who owns roughly 17 percent of the company’s shares, bought many of the shares off these individuals because “he wanted to make things right,” claiming that many of these shareholders were personal friends and invested because they “trusted” him.

Meanwhile, some skeptics don’t trust that Patryn is being honest about his identity. Critics and internet sleuths have argued that "Michael Patryn" is an alias for "Omar Dhanani," an ex-con from California who was pegged for identity theft and fraud in 2004 after a sweeping bust of members involved in the cybercrime syndicate ShadowCrew. Omar Dhanani allegedly began using the alias Omar Patryn in 2005, according to a forfeiture case, and he was deported back to Canada in 2008.

The connections between Michael and Omar rest on the shared surname, as well as the presence of Dhanani’s relative, Nazmin Dhanani, on a company filing for MPD advertising that Michael Patryn made in 2009. Michael Patryn would start the Midas Gold Exchange, an online e-currency exchange that had ties with the Liberty Reserve in 2009, a private e-currency enterprise that was shuttered in 2013 by U.S. officials for money laundering and whose founder was sentenced to 20 years in federal prison. Midas Gold racked up a notorious reputation for fraudulent activity during its short lifespan.

The conspiratorial web connecting Omar/Michael is documented elsewhere, so we won’t indulge it any further here. If the connections hold true, though, it paints a poor picture for the moral constitution of at least one of the company's founding members.

And it could explain the suspicious structure of the company’s operations. Amber Scott, the founder of Canadian Outlier Solutions, an anti-money laundering consulting firm, told Bitcoin Magazine, “QuadrigaCX was always ‘outside of my risk tolerance.’ Like many others in the community, I'm left wondering what I could have done differently to warn people when I saw red flags.”

A look into the company’s structure would be enough to give one pause. In her affidavit, Robertson revealed that, after 2016, “most of the business … was being conducted by Gerry wherever he and his computer were located.” The rest of the company’s employment base consisted of seven contractors, one of which, Alex Hanin, acted as the exchange’s sole developer, while the rest were a mixture of customer service representatives, social media managers and client verification employees.

One of these alleged employees hosted an AMA on the QuadrigaCX subreddit, which has since been deleted after the contractor reported that he was facing legal action from Jennifer Robertson’s legal council. Among other unverified claims, he alleged that QuadrigaCX was fraudulent from the start and that Jennifer and Gerry’s involvement from 2016 onward should be the chief area of concern for investigators, insinuating that Patryn and Lovie Horner, Patryn’s supposed partner, are no more than red herrings.

To attest to the veracity of his insider status, the contractor posted screenshots of the company’s Rocket Chat, as well as a photo of the funeral pamphlets used for Cotten’s funeral. Community members immediately raised questions as to why JA Snow Funeral Home, who hosted the burial, was misspelled as JS Snow on the pamphlet (though this could feasibly be a typo given the placement of “a” and “s” on a QWERTY keyboard).

A source with a computer science background shared an IP analysis of the image provided with Bitcoin Magazine, pinpointing the photo to a Halifax airport IP on the day following the funeral.

This IP tracking and the contractor’s testament is not conclusively hard evidence of foul play, but the threat of legal action and the deletion of the AMA and the contractor’s Reddit account adds to the pile of questions surrounding the case.

As legal proceedings progress, we will update this article with further information.

Reporter Jessie Willms contributed additional notes and research to this story.

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

[Telegram Channel | Original Article ]

[ellahmacdermott]

QuadrigaCX and the Million Dollar Questions: What We Do and Don’t Know

QuadrigaCX Exchange’s founder, Gerald Cotten, passed away more than two months ago, and with his death, the keys to the exchange’s cold storage allegedly went to the grave with him.

This is the story that QuadrigaCX is sticking to in the posthumous mess that has followed its founder’s death. The situation has been likened to a second Mt. Gox, with some of the biggest differences being that we don’t know whether or not QuadrigaCX is solvent and there’s no hard evidence of foul play on behalf of the exchange. But there are also more questions than answers, and lack of hard evidence or transparency in the situation (including, whether or not there are cold wallets and whether or not QuadrigaCX is being honest about not having access to them) is the exchange’s closest resemblance to Mt. Gox: no one’s completely sure of what happened and what’s going on.

This has led media, social media commentators and other community voices to see the facts of the case through different lenses. Some have argued that QuadrigaCX has no cold wallets, others have said they must be lying about not having access to these funds. One bold camp has even called the likelihood of Cotten’s death into question. This conspiracy is tenuous, as death certificates are public (even if Cotten’s name is misspelled as “Cottan” on the certificate, likely an honest mistake made by crossing the language barrier); Globe and Mail reporters even traveled to Jaipur and spoke with doctors who verified his death.

Those doctors, the accounts recall, also signaled that Cotten’s death was unconventional, as was how the body was handled — but more on that later.

QuadrigaCX would keep Cotten’s death from the public and its clients for about a month, enough time for his widow, Jennifer Robertson, to transfer the contents of her husband’s estate as set out in his will — a document updated two weeks prior to his death — into her name. All the while, customers complained about their perpetual struggle to withdraw cash and coins from the exchange. It has since ceased operations due to its self-proclaimed inability to access cold wallets to address these liquidity issues.

Plenty of affected users think the funds are gone and the wallets don’t exist, and evidence — some hard, some soft — is piling up to suggest that there’s something amiss with how things stand now.

After corresponding with multiple persons who either knew Cotten well, were QuadrigaCX customers or who were associated with the exchange’s business, Bitcoin Magazine learned that questions have surrounded QuadrigaCX's operations for some time — enough to warrant skepticism about the story it’s been presenting.

This account will give an overview of what we know so far. It attempts to be thorough but not exhaustive and to treat conspiracies with skepticism while not ignoring them.

Trouble Brewing

Gerald Cotten died unexpectedly on December 9, 2018, while vacationing in India. His sudden death has been framed as the culmination of Cotten’s seven-year battle with Crohn’s disease, though Cotten’s death at the age of 30 is rare for people with the disease. He passed away while under care at Fortis Escorts Hospital in Jaipur, India, where he was reportedly honeymooning with his newly wedded wife, Jennifer Robertson, when he had some extreme gastrointestinal pain.

Though Dr. Sharma originally diagnosed traveler’s diarrhea on Cotten’s first visit to the hospital, Cotten’s condition quickly deteriorated. Twenty-four hours later, after being readmitted, Cotten died of cardiac arrest induced by septic shock when his intestines were perforated, the death report notes.

The doctor told the Globe and Mail that Cotten’s death was “medically unusual,” particularly the way his condition dramatically worsened so rapidly. He and his staff are even a bit “[unsure] about the diagnosis.”

No autopsy was performed, and the apparent mysteries surrounding Cotten’s death become more complicated as he was prepped for burial. Dr Semmi Mehra, an embalming specialist at Mahatma Gandhi Medical College & Hospital, whom Robertson attempted to employ for Cotten’s embalming, refused because the body came from the hotel the couple were honeymooning at instead of from the hospital where Cotten passed.

“That guy told me the body will come from the hotel. I said: ‘Why the hotel? I’m not taking any body from the hotel, it should come from Fortis’,” Dr. Mehra told the Globe and Mail.

She would direct them to a public medical college in the area who would ultimately embalm the deceased crypto tycoon, the Globe and Mail reports.

Cotten’s death left the company’s leadership without a clear successor, as Cotten left no directions for appointing a new CEO, an oversight that complicates the exchange’s apparent inability to access cold wallet funds. An emergency shareholder meeting was called on January 25, 2019, to appoint new directors. The meeting resulted in Jennifer Robertson, her stepfather Thomas Beazley and Jack Martel being elected to the board. The meeting supposedly took place over a conference call, according to a conversation Bitcoin Magazine had with Michael Patryn, the exchange’s co-founder who claims to have distanced himself from the exchange since March 2016.

Two sources who knew Cotten told Bitcoin Magazine that they were shocked to hear that Cotten hadn’t put contingency plans in place for his sudden passing, saying that this was out of character for a man who always had security at the forefront of his mind.

“This is the part that gets a little bit hairy,” Michael Perklin, Shapeshift CISO, told Bitcoin Magazine. “For a business to operate for six years and not have a business continuity plan? That’s reckless. I was incredibly shocked to learn that they couldn’t access the wallet. Gerry was a very smart man. It was inconsistent with his personality to not have a backup if he was hit by a bus. We’re definitely missing important pieces of this,”

He added, “Gerry updated his will two weeks before his death. That proves that he is thinking about these things.”

QuadrigaCX waited more than a month to make Cotten’s death public, and they waited longer still to admit that the company was having trouble mustering up the liquidity to honor withdrawals.

By the time the exchange shut down, Jennifer Robertson had gone through probate to transfer the assets in Cotten’s estate to her name. During this in-between period, she listed (and allegedly sold) Cotten’s sailboat/yacht and placed four properties in a trust called the Seaglass Trust, reportedly taking out a second mortgage on two of these. One of these properties, Cotten and Robertson’s former home at 71 Kinross Court, Nova Scotia, has been sold, while another property in Kelowna, British Columbia, has also been sold, an anonymous source told Bitcoin Magazine.

Liquidity Issues

Before Cotten’s death, users embattled in months-long withdrawal issues aggravated the exchange’s reputation and troubled history. Even as early as March 2018, bad press plagued the exchange for a delayed withdrawal of over $100,000. This issue could be the consequence of the exchange’s tenuous relationship with its Canadian banking partners, a struggle that culminated in November 2018 as the Canadian Supreme Court ruled to take control of $21.6 million after the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce (CIBC) froze accounts related to QuadrigaCX's business. It also lost a not-insignificant sum of ether to a smart contract bug in June of 2017, worth $17 million CAD at the time.

QuadrigaCX's banking difficulties have been a recurring theme in the exchange’s five-year history, according to multiple Bitcoin Magazine sources, all of whom asked to remain anonymous due to the sensitivity of the ongoing case.

One long-time QuadrigaCX user filed a ticket on August 14, 2018, after attempting to withdraw cash in late July. QuadrigaCX support’s initial reply oddly claims, “Both have been processed and arrive in a few years [sic].” After the user continued to complain about not receiving their funds, a follow-up email stated, “There is no issue, just ongoing issues … with the banks,” — the exchange’s familiar mantra in response to withdrawal issues.

After going round-for-round over email with QuadrigaCX support for weeks, this customer received his funds nearly two months after he requested them and a month after he opened a support ticket.

This experience seems par for the course, as another user complained that withdrawal requests for himself and others have been marked as complete after a similar, month-long, back-and-forth exchange with QuadrigaCX, but the funds have still not been deposited into their accounts.

“They stopped replying to my emails after January 11,” this user told Bitcoin Magazine. He said that he’d initiated a withdrawal request on December 8, 2018, which was marked as completed on December 22, 2018, despite no funds hitting the user’s bank account. This particular individual has $2,000 tied up. We’ve spoken to an individual with a similar experience who is missing $1,100 and another who has lost more than $1 million CAD after failing to have withdrawals satisfied.

A Canadian business strategies and best-practice professional, who asked to remain anonymous, also attested to Bitcoin Magazine that QuadrigaCX’s relationships with banks were a stressed and constant “struggle.” They even introduced Cotten and QuadrigaCX to a potential banking partner, but, after the company failed to provide “beneficial ownership information,” the bank refused to do business with the exchange (QuadrigaCX’s failure to provide this information, the source said, may have to do with the connections between Michael Patryn and ex-con Omar Dhanani, something we’ll go over more in the “Loose Ends” section of this article).

These issues, the source believes, are a plausible reason behind QuadrigaCX’s multiple shell companies (QuadrigaCX Fintech Solutions Corporation and Whiteside Capital Corporation).

The death of the exchange’s CEO seems to have either exacerbated these banking problems or exposed them to the public more thoroughly. And while Perklin called QuadrigaCX ’s money transfer issues unsurprising, some aspects of the exchange’s withdrawal process were anything but — specifically, offering hard cash withdrawals in the mail or in-person as a preferable option.

Multiple clients have reported receiving thousands of dollars via Canada Post. Speaking to a few of these users, Bitcoin Magazine verified these reports: One of these individuals told us that, while the three packages they received listed QuadrigaCX, Vancouver, as the return address, Canada Post’s tracking information lists the packages’ origin as Richmond, British Columbia; Calgary, Alberta; and Sherwood Park, Alberta.

Besides using Canada Post, QuadrigaCX offered hard cash withdrawals via in-person pickups. This practice, while not totally unheard of in the cryptocurrency industry, is virtually non-existent for retail exchanges (Coinsquare, one of the only legitimate exchanges to have offered it, no longer does). More than just unconventional, the makeshift, lax nature with which the exchange went about processing these withdrawals is suspect.

One of Bitcoin Magazine’s sources recalled driving six and a half hours to the Laval pickup location in late January, after “getting the runaround” since November, wherein each attempt to transfer cash ended in its being processed and cancelled. This process went on for weeks; the client even attempted to transfer the money into ether to withdraw to another exchange but hit the same dead end. When the users tried to get answers, their queries were met by silence on social media, support tickets and calls to QuadrigaCX's offices.

“We had enough after Christmas and chose to pick up our cash at the location in Laval. They sent us an email confirming it was processed and would be available on Jan 21 at 10am,” the source explained. “We drove 6.5 hours to that location, only to find a nonexistent office suite with a mailbox drop there. No person. No one in the building knew of that company either. We called and left messages on that number provided and drove home. He finally called us a week later saying QuadrigaCX wasn't giving him the cash to hand out but if they did give him our cash (they were supposed to give him 5k) he would reserve our amount out of that and text us to come pick it up. Two days later he texted us and said they aren't giving him the money and he will be in touch.”

That was the last time they heard from QuadrigaCX’s cash lackey, who, judging by his responses, had little connection to the exchange besides being an intermediary for cash payments. Days later, the exchange would announce Gerry’s death and its likely insolvency.

As noted earlier, QuadrigaCX’s banking relationships were non-existent, and Robertson admits in her affidavit that the exchange “had no corporate bank accounts.” Cash would likely be hard to come by for an exchange with no corporate account with a licensed bank or fiduciary partner. Instead, the exchange had to rely on a patchwork banking system which consisted of nine or so payment processors, including the Canadian-based Bylls and Billerfy.

Billerfy CEO Jose Reyes was involved in the November 2018 proceedings that ended in the Canadian Supreme Court freezing $25 million CAD tied to the exchange’s business. According to court documents, he had three personal accounts frozen along with two corporate accounts for Costodian Inc., another payment processor QuadrigaCX used for its business, for which Reyes is the sole director and officer. Reyes had transferred some $1 or 2 million CAD to his personal account from Costodian’s corporate accounts, making it unclear to the court as to the ownership of the millions in deposits from 388 users.

“CIBC has not been able to determine to what extent the Depositors, Costodian, Reyes, QuadrigaCX and/or Billerfy Labs Inc. (“Billerfy”) are entitled to the Disputed Funds,” the court order states.

The $25 million is still stuck in limbo, along with $5 million more in CAD that the exchange holds in bank notes for funds held by other payment processors. Ernst & Young (EY), as monitor over the legal proceedings, has contacted the processors to collect this debt. In its second report, the monitor revealed that it had received $20 million in bank draft notes from Costodian, though it must wait for the approval of the Royal Bank of Canada (RBC) to clear wires for the bank drafts to be deposited into a disbursement account that the monitor oversees.

In its second report, EY also indicated that Robertson and QuadrigaCX ’s litigation coffers are running low, insinuating that they are not far off from running out of funds entirely. If the RBC clears the bank draft wires into the disbursement account, this will keep the exchange’s legal operations afloat amidst the courtroom proceedings and restructuring.

Entering the Courtroom

After going offline on January 28, 2019, for reported maintenance, the exchange came out publicly to say that it did not have access to its cold storage, as Cotten had been the sole guardian of the wallet’s keys. In a sworn affidavit filing with the Nova Scotia Supreme Court, Cotten’s widow Jennifer Robertson said that the funds are likely lost.

“QuadrigaCX's inventory of cryptocurrency has become unavailable and some of it may be lost.”

On February 5, 2019, the exchange filed for investor protection with the Nova Scotia Supreme Court. EY was appointed as monitor over the case, giving the firm legal rights to oversee a compensation account for QuadrigaCX users as well as monitor the exchange’s current cryptocurrency balances and any hardware that may contain company information (namely, keys/seeds for the alleged cold storage).

In its first report as legal monitor, EY reported that it had begun funding the debtors’ compensation account with $150,000 CAD which Robertson supplied out of her own personal finance. More notably, the firm reported that QuadrigaCX “inadvertently” sent some $460,000 CAD worth of bitcoin to the cold wallets its employees reportedly can’t access. Perhaps in response to this blunder, the firm has taken control of QuadrigaCX's remaining hot wallet funds, as well as the funds that were accidentally transferred, and placed them in their own cold storage, the monitor’s second report reveals.

As with other exchange scandals in the industry, it didn’t take long for QuadrigaCX to rack up an adversarial list of investor-led reclamation suits. With funds for more than 100,000 users so far unaccounted for, Canada’s premier law firms lined up to represent the thousands who have come forth to challenge the company in court. These lawyers had a court date on February 14, 2019, to determine who would win the right to represent aggrieved clients in the legal proceedings looming ahead.

After delaying the decision a week due to the strength of the competing firms, presiding Nova Scotia Court Justice Wood ultimately gave the bid to Miller Thompson and Cox & Palmer for its apparent expertise with the Companies’ Creditors Arrangement Act (CCAA), a piece of Canadian litigation that affects insolvency cases, and digital assets.

“Miller Thompson has additional depth in certain areas, including larger CCAA proceedings and cryptocurrency … The relationship between the two firms has been thought out carefully with a view to minimizing costs. Cox & Palmer will deal with their areas of expertise, including local litigation practice and court appearances. Miller Thompson will provide expertise in dealing with large creditor groups and cryptocurrency technology,” the judge wrote in a court order.

The case will re-enter the legal arena on February 22 for the next round of proceedings.

Where’d the Funds Go?

QuadrigaCX claims that the funds are inaccessible, but some creditors and blockchain professionals alike are starting to think the funds aren’t actually there.

For starters, QuadrigaCX has refused to attest to their cold storage reserves by making the public address for these wallets public. One Reddit user, dekoze, claims to have tracked funds from a hot wallet address listed in Robertson’s affidavit to five wallets that could constitute part of the exchange’s cold wallets. These wallets recently had 104.365 BTC sent and split between them, an amount nearly on par with the 103 BTC that QuadrigaCX “inadvertently” sent to its cold wallets on February 6, 2019.

Other blockchain transaction analysis suggests that QuadrigaCX has been cycling funds through competing exchanges, and they’ve also found little evidence that any cold wallet reserves exist.

James Edward (@ProofofResearch) first dropped this bombshell. Taking deposit addresses provided by QuadrigaCX customers, his transaction analysis of the Bitcoin blockchain found no trace of cold wallet reserves. Instead, it found a dizzying trail of transactions to and from popular exchanges like Kraken, Bitfinex and Poloniex, something he reinforced with later research using the wallets unearthed by dekoze (which Edward, in this newest research, actively disputes are cold wallets).

Taylor Monahan, the CEO of Ethereum wallet MyCrypto, corroborated Edward’s findings with her own analysis of the Ethereum blockchain. Like Edward, she found no convincing evidence that QuadrigaCX operated with cold wallet storage, and she also followed a tortuous trail of transactions that led to other exchanges like Bitfinex and, most notably, ShapeShift.

“It’s just bizarre,” she told Bitcoin Magazine.

“Totally hypothetical, it’s possible that QuadrigaCX has some hidden cold storage somewhere if, and only if, instead of going between a hot and cold wallet, they went directly from user deposit addresses to the cold wallet. Now, I went through their transactions for over three years, and it’s very hard for me to imagine that … with all the practices I’ve seen and how they operate and how often they move funds that they have a mechanism to put funds into the cold wallet that no one noticed.”

Hidden or not, she’s not convinced that the cold wallets are there, though, because she only found one instance of a cold wallet holding some 4,000 ether for more than a year, after which portions of these funds were sent to hot wallets for QuadrigaCX or competing exchanges. For the rest of the wallets that Monahan tracked, she believes that QuadrigaCX could have been market making to improve the appearance of exchange liquidity.

“This would mean having to source coins from an external source in order to fulfil withdraw requests because they’re playing with their own money,” she qualified. “Even if that’s the case, I cannot imagine why they would exchange ether through ShapeShift. This was something they did consistently over the years.”

Now, an exchange sending funds to another exchange isn’t anything new; exchange-to-exchange arbitrage and inter-trade is common in the industry. But QuadrigaCX ’s activity doesn’t make much sense, Monahan told Bitcoin Magazine, especially the millions in ether that was sent to ShapeShift, which charges higher fees than other exchanges for the convenience of instant cryptocurrency swaps.

The movement of funds could be customers depositing of their own volition, something that Monahan takes into account in her analysis. She says that those withdrawals are likely denoted by multi-numerical values, while funds QuadrigaCX was sending itself may be represented by rounded off numbers.

“When you look deeply into how an operation does something … everyone has their little quirks. For Quadriga, for example, they love to send exact amounts.”

The rationale for cycling funds through different exchanges amounts to a fractional reserve system, the same practice banks use today to shuffle credit. Basically, if QuadrigaCX did not have enough in their wallets to cover a massive withdrawal in bitcoin, they would send ether to something like ShapeShift to convert these funds to bitcoin to honor the withdrawal.

Coinbase CEO Brian Armstrong believes this is the most likely scenario. In a Twitter thread, citing the exchange’s own internal transaction analysis, he speculates,“Patterns of sends from cold storage suggest they tried keeping [the] exchange afloat, and maybe attempted to trade their way out of a hole” — a hole that was in part dug by the exchange losing roughly 67,000 ether to a contract bug. That was in June 2017, after which time the exchange began draining their “cold wallets,” Armstrong holds.

Couple this with the 2018 bear market and you have a solvency crisis.

“This implies that at least a few people inside QuadrigaCX knew that they were running fractional. If so, then it's possible that untimely death of their CEO was used as an outlet to let the company sink,” he concludes.

In our conversation, Monahan noted decreasing transaction volumes following 2017, something that could either be attributed to Armstrong’s conclusion or to the anemic nature of the market in the bearish slump that began in 2018.

“You can definitely tell that the amount of money being moved around was very high in 2017 and has been dwindling, and previous to 2017, you see less activity. Whether that indicates something on QuadrigaCX's end is hard to say because every exchange is going through this [after the 2017 bull run].”

When asked about the strength of such transaction analyses, Perklin cautioned that “the only way to get a map of all of QCX movements would be to get all the deposit addresses.”

Loose Ends and Conspiracy Theories

For all that we do know about QuadrigaCX, there’s also plenty we don’t know — as well as lots of unsettling middle ground between the two.

Take, for instance, that a multitude of users who report receiving payroll deposits from RNC Inc., a company believed to be Robertson Nova Management Inc., a real estate management company registered in Robertson’s name. In the reply-to lines of emails confirming these deposits are listed one of two emails tied to Robertson. These deposits contradict Robertson’s sworn affidavit that she was not involved in the company’s business when Cotten was alive.

Questions also loom over the identity of Michael Patryn, QuadrigaCX ’s co-founder, who told Bitcoin Magazine that he cut ties with QuadrigaCX in March 2016. He left amidst a wider company exodus which gutted the shareholders sitting on the company’s board of directors. These directors, Patryn claimed, were upset with Cotten’s decision not to take the company public on the Canada Stock Exchange, a promise he made a year prior in 2015 which helped lead to the company raising $850,000 CAD in a private fundraising round. That same year, the exchange published its last financial audit, posting revenues of barely $80,000 CAD.

Patryn, who owns roughly 17 percent of the company’s shares, bought many of the shares off these individuals because “he wanted to make things right,” claiming that many of these shareholders were personal friends and invested because they “trusted” him.

Meanwhile, some skeptics don’t trust that Patryn is being honest about his identity. Critics and internet sleuths have argued that "Michael Patryn" is an alias for "Omar Dhanani," an ex-con from California who was pegged for identity theft and fraud in 2004 after a sweeping bust of members involved in the cybercrime syndicate ShadowCrew. Omar Dhanani allegedly began using the alias Omar Patryn in 2005, according to a forfeiture case, and he was deported back to Canada in 2008.

The connections between Michael and Omar rest on the shared surname, as well as the presence of Dhanani’s relative, Nazmin Dhanani, on a company filing for MPD advertising that Michael Patryn made in 2009. Michael Patryn would start the Midas Gold Exchange, an online e-currency exchange that had ties with the Liberty Reserve in 2009, a private e-currency enterprise that was shuttered in 2013 by U.S. officials for money laundering and whose founder was sentenced to 20 years in federal prison. Midas Gold racked up a notorious reputation for fraudulent activity during its short lifespan.

The conspiratorial web connecting Omar/Michael is documented elsewhere, so we won’t indulge it any further here. If the connections hold true, though, it paints a poor picture for the moral constitution of at least one of the company's founding members.

And it could explain the suspicious structure of the company’s operations. Amber Scott, the founder of Canadian Outlier Solutions, an anti-money laundering consulting firm, told Bitcoin Magazine, “QuadrigaCX was always ‘outside of my risk tolerance.’ Like many others in the community, I'm left wondering what I could have done differently to warn people when I saw red flags.”

A look into the company’s structure would be enough to give one pause. In her affidavit, Robertson revealed that, after 2016, “most of the business … was being conducted by Gerry wherever he and his computer were located.” The rest of the company’s employment base consisted of seven contractors, one of which, Alex Hanin, acted as the exchange’s sole developer, while the rest were a mixture of customer service representatives, social media managers and client verification employees.

One of these alleged employees hosted an AMA on the QuadrigaCX subreddit, which has since been deleted after the contractor reported that he was facing legal action from Jennifer Robertson’s legal council. Among other unverified claims, he alleged that QuadrigaCX was fraudulent from the start and that Jennifer and Gerry’s involvement from 2016 onward should be the chief area of concern for investigators, insinuating that Patryn and Lovie Horner, Patryn’s supposed partner, are no more than red herrings.

To attest to the veracity of his insider status, the contractor posted screenshots of the company’s Rocket Chat, as well as a photo of the funeral pamphlets used for Cotten’s funeral. Community members immediately raised questions as to why JA Snow Funeral Home, who hosted the burial, was misspelled as JS Snow on the pamphlet (though this could feasibly be a typo given the placement of “a” and “s” on a QWERTY keyboard).

A source with a computer science background shared an IP analysis of the image provided with Bitcoin Magazine, pinpointing the photo to a Halifax airport IP on the day following the funeral.

This IP tracking and the contractor’s testament is not conclusively hard evidence of foul play, but the threat of legal action and the deletion of the AMA and the contractor’s Reddit account adds to the pile of questions surrounding the case.

As legal proceedings progress, we will update this article with further information.

Reporter Jessie Willms contributed additional notes and research to this story.

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

from InvestmentOpportunityInCryptocurrencies via Ella Macdermott on Inoreader https://bitcoinmagazine.com/articles/quadrigacx-and-the-million-dollar-questions-what-we-do-and-dont-know/