#but neither of you can even concede and agree to the other’s terms because that undercuts the point of the argument

[cats-in-the-clouds]

it’s important to try very hard to be as patient and understanding and reasonable as possible and i tell myself aw c’mon how hard can it really be to just chill out and be nice? but every now and it hits me again how we’re all being subjected to a mass gaslighting campaign and then i’m like ah that’s why i’m exhausted deep in my soul all the time. i’m being made to think i’m utterly insane for wanting words to have actual meanings so maybe that makes me a bit cranky y’know

[thrawns-backrest]

Prompted by this post and the related interview, reason 15467352 why I think Dave Felony isn’t up to the task of writing live action Star Wars.

I was going to harp about how this proves Filoni hasn’t read the books but this interview is from before the canon trilogies were out so touché on that. And yet this just proves to me why Filoni isn’t the guy for the job of writing Thrawn. Or any live action imperials for that matter.

I’ll start by saying that one thing I will concede is that the notion of the Imperial military being plagued by incompetent officers is not entirely unrealistic. Given that it’s a stratocracy, you can expect to find people who used politics to climb the ranks rather than actual military competence - it’s a kind of French Revolution situation kind of thing. Historically it’s been known to happen in our world.

Combine that with the fact that the Empire is racist, elitist and (kind of) sexist as all hell and you have a limited pool of people to pick from when filling its ranks, pushing some genuine talent to the fringes or excluding it altogether.

The thing I’m entirely tired of seeing though is the implication that it’s the majority of Imperial leadership that’s like this and by this I mean incompetent. The overwhelming majority at that. But more on the Empire’s moronicity later, let’s talk about Thrawn.

“He’s not ambitious in the way where he needs to see himself promoted, or a governor one day. He purely wants to dissect them; that’s what he enjoys!” This. This grinds my gears so much. For starters it proves that Filoni sees Thrawn as this ‘quirky baddie’ where Zahn treats him as an actual person. There’s something almost condescending in taking a neurodivergent coded character and being like ‘aww, look at them, they’re so happy doing their little thing they don’t have any other goals and ambitions whatsoever :)’.

To get things straight, Thrawn has always been annoyed by the limitations placed on him by an inferior rank. You could argue it’s for the simple reason that a higher rank gives him more freedom to act and pursue his goals but that’s just what that is, a simplification.

And that’s where Filoni’s problem lies:

Filoni is good at writing cartoons. And before people raise their pitchforks, I don’t mean this in a negative way. Writing cartoons forces you to squish complex ideas into a digestible format, the genre needs simplification and caricature to work and doing that well is a talent all by itself.

You’re meant to put in some extra effort to suspend your disbelief in order to enjoy the deeper complexities of the story. Where that stops working though is when you step out of the genre and move into live action and our good buddy Dave doesn’t seem to realize that.

It may admittedly sound like I’m being unnecessarily harsh on him and I probably am but I do realize the guy is just doing what he does best. I doubt he has any real beef with neurodivergents or has no actual clue that militaries need a base level of competence in order to function and thrive.

Neither is he the only one guilty of implying the Empire’s competent staff can be counted on the fingers of one hand. “It’s just so different for them to have a bad guy that’s, you know, actually smart with how he uses the Imperial war machine!” Okay, Dave. Sure Dave. “[…] with the exception of Tarkin – Tarkin’s strategically intelligent” Oh so there’s two of them! (okay okay, I’ll stop here)

My point is, you can’t get away with making the antagonists so stupid in a realistic setting. I recently saw someone compare Kenobi and Andor in terms of portraying your antagonists correctly and I have to agree that Andor is the only star wars live action media in recent memory that gets it right. (Though even Andor is guilty of injecting some stupid into its plot in order to enable implausible events to happen. I’m looking at you, Maarva’s speech.)

Because the thing is, the more bumbling and idiotic you make your antagonists, the more it detracts from the efforts and skills of your protagonists when defeating them. The Empire is sprawling and all powerful, so much so that it takes several force users pulling deus ex machinas out of their ass to bring it down. In conjunction with the extreme dedicated efforts of the Rebellion mind you.

It took a timely coincidence of hubris, political corruption and flawed strategy working together to allow it to happen. Give me media that explores why the Empire endured for so long, the mechanisms in place that made ordinary people turn into cogs of the machine, the selective process behind constructing an absolutely ruthless, dangerous leadership, media that looks at how these same conditions can come about in our world rather than the unrealistic explanation of ‘people bad because bad’.

Zahn, Gilroy, Luceno and many others are examples of writers that do this justice. Pass the baton on to Filoni and you end up with an antagonist who’s smart as an exception because ‘he’s just so quirky’ while still bearing all the hallmarks of a cartoon villain, the ominous gloating speeches and sadistic behaviour and whatnot.

I’d be hella remiss to say it hasn’t left its mark on the fandom either. The amount of times I’ve seen characters like Tarkin, Krennic, Palpatine, etc. be moronified (while Thrawn inevitably gets his victim treatment) while completely ignoring the fact that defeating them was no small feat and their having weaknesses to exploit isn’t something that detracts from just how dangerous and scary these motherfuckers were.

The Clone Wars was a good show. Rebels was a good show. But by god is Filoni bad at transferring his skills to live action and no one can convince me that Thrawn isn’t the best example of that.

[inherstars]

Gears of War | Midwinter (6 of 6)

Previous section here.

“Did you carry these things all the way from the other house in that bag? Is that why you were in the kitchen so long?”

“Oh my God TALK.”

He sighed.  Fuck.

“Alright.  Did you ever stop to wonder why old-school Gears are built like we are?”

She admitted, moving her tea bag string out of the way for a sip, “I never gave it too much thought, but I I’ll concede that it does seem pretty weird that you all seem to have that in common.  But none of the COG soldiers now are… I mean, they’re muscular, but--”

“But we’re a different breed,” he agreed, relieving her of the awkwardness of having to describe her father and his peers as built like brick shithouses.  “During the Pendulum Wars, I looked more like James does now.  It wasn’t until after E-Day that the Coalition realized Gears weren’t cut out, physiologically, to go toe to toe with the Locust.  You’ve only ever seen them in newsreels, pictures… but they were massive.  The Drones were easily three hundred pounds of solid muscle, and they were the foot soldiers.  We had better speed and agility, but there’s only so long you can dodge and weave.  Eventually you have to hit back.”

He paused to test and then swallow some of his own tea, grunting in apparent appreciation as it eased his throat.

“To cut a long story short, we were given regular stimulants to promote hypertrophic muscle growth. Eventually they introduced another kind of stimulant -- more powerful, short-term -- strictly to use in combat.  It could staunch blood loss, promote healing, knit bone.” He held a hand up when she started to speak, immediately shutting down what he knew would come next. “I don’t know what was in them, or how they worked, only that they did.  And you’ll notice none of us have exactly been wasting away in the twenty years since, so clearly some of those changes were long-term ”

“But,” he said heavily, because she had to know one was coming.  “Once the war ended, and they stopped pumping us full of chemicals, we all got sick.  It turns out fucking with your immune system for seventeen years has consequences.  It was like putting us through a hard reset -- we had to rebuild our natural immunity the hard way.”

“This is… weirdly fascinating… but what does all that have to do with your hand?”

“Old habits die hard,” he grunted. “I didn’t want to be laid up with a broken hand for a full six weeks, so… I asked Baird for a booster.  Whatever was in those combat boosters, he can cook up a dose when he needs to.  It was just enough to knit things together faster than they otherwise might.”

“Ahhh. And that’s why you’re so sick now.”

Scylla sat forward, stacking their emptied plates and mugs onto the tray and relocating it out of the way.  She uncovered his hand from beneath the blankets, turning it over in both her own.  He flexed it open and closed slowly, knuckles crackling slightly in a way that suggested it was -- like everything else -- an imperfect fix.  But a fix nonetheless.  

She left her hand curled around his, head resting to his shoulder.

“Alternatively?  You could have just asked for help, without putting yourself through all this.  Both with your hand and… everything else.  Why does it feel like you’re constantly paying penance for something?”

He didn’t have an answer for that.  Not one he was willing to open up about now, anyway.  His chin lifted slightly, eyes resting sadly on the deep assembly of photo frames lining the mantle before them.

Even when he was too tired to bother with housework at the end of the day, these were the items he took down, one by one, thumbing the dust off their edges and polishing the glass against his sleeve.  It struck him that he’d left them here when they moved to the big house, and the weight of guilt filled his lungs like heavy air that he couldn't push out again.

They were mixed portraits of Gears and Civilians, as well as Gears still in their Civvy clothes.  Neither Cole nor Baird were among them, which seemed strange to Scylla, considering how indelibly the two were inked into her father’s skin.

There was a photo of two men who looked like brothers, one older and one younger, their arms slung across each other’s shoulders.

A wide, goateed Gear with a face bifurcated by tribal tattoos, hoisting an ale to the air in one fist.

A young, raven-haired woman cradling a newborn in her arms, beaming brilliantly into the camera as a toddler looked excitedly over her shoulder. A smaller portrait sat beside it, a baptism, where a young Marcus held the same infant with white-faced discomfort.

Soldiers in groups, huddled around the camera.  Gatherings of Gears without their armor, in fatigue pants and tank tops and gleaming COG tags, giving the middle finger as they leaned on Centaur tanks.

His mother.

His father.

Her mother.

Until now she’d assumed there simply hadn’t been an opportunity to meet these people, or perhaps they all moved to the far-flung corners of Sera once the war ended, unlikely to return anytime soon.  Faces came and went from everyone's lives.

But these were the ones who weren’t coming back.  And God, there were so many photos.

They weren’t all just COG tags passed somberly into his fist, or condolences passed to him second-hand.  He’d watched some of them leave.  He’d seen the light go out in their eyes, and heard their last, rattling breaths.  He’d tried to save some of them with his own hands, and washed their blood from them when he couldn’t.  He’d passed at least one of them the very weapon they’d used to take their own life.

And every day for almost two decades Marcus took them down, and polished them, and made sure they were arranged so he could see every. single. face.

These weren’t wounds Scylla could heal for him.  They weren’t bones that could be bound.  She couldn’t reason him free from the shackles of guilt any more than she could love the sadness out of him.  But she could still love him.

Her fingers curled more tightly around his.

“Do you think you can be happy again?”

Marcus didn’t answer, eyes still locked in a half-focus on the mantle.  She squeezed his hand.

“Dad?”

That brought him out of it.  He inhaled, head turning to look down on her, affected.

“Can I…” it was hard to breathe.  “Can I be happy?”

His head sagged tiredly, the tension leaving his face, unexpectedly aging him.  “Scylla.  I know it doesn’t sound like it, but I am happy.  That almost makes it worse.  When you don’t feel like you deserve it, you’re always… waiting for the other shoe to drop.  It’s like a precipice you hold yourself back from walking on, because you know it’s just going to crumble out from under you if you’re on it for too long.”

The fix of his head adjusted slightly, eyes sliding to her.  The hearthlight stole the blue from them, replacing it with soft, lambent gold, as if there was a fire still burning somewhere inside him.

“We go to war, and we come home with different battles to fight.”  His fingers closed around hers, holding to her hand as tightly as he dared.  “I told you, old bones heal slowly.  But they do heal.”

“Sometimes with a little outside help,” she said quietly.  He somehow found strength enough to squeeze more tightly.

“Sometimes.”

He exhaled slowly, freeing his near arm from beneath the blankets, and curled it around her, drawing her against him.

There was no warmer, cozier place than there against the radiator warmth of his side, yoked under his arm, her head at ease to his shoulder.  She finally felt small in ways that made her feel more safe than afraid.

“What can I do to help,” Scylla asked, pulling and retucking the edges of the quilt around her, around him.  He shifted enough to slide more deeply into the couch cushions, resting his head back comfortably.  He’d probably be stiff in the morning, popping in every joint, but he didn’t care.  He’d earned this, surely.

“Stay,” Marcus rumbled.  “If you want to.  Just stay.”

“If I want to?”  Her eyes upturned to him, though her head stayed firmly in place.  “I think I’ve been trying to get exactly here for my entire life.”

Another soft, idling breath escaped him, eyes closing.  “Then that ought to do it.”

She laid quietly, watching the logs shift and settle as they burned, her eyes painted the same soft, molten gold in their radiating light.  After a few long seconds Marcus’s voice sounded from beneath her ear, a low vibration through the bone and muscle and soul of him.

“And, if you want.  You can keep calling me Dad.”

[noonecaresaboutyourwhining]

Welcome to my own extremely controversial opinions!

This is the kind of shit that would get me lynched irl. "You coward, you're hiding behind a screen!" Damn right, I am! People are killed all the time for simply having opinions the masses don't agree with. I am not suicidal, which is why I run this blog and not my mouth irl :D

Here we go.

Black people who think white people owe them "reparations" are dumb af. Not only are you suggesting people be held accountable for things that people's ancestors did hundreds of years ago that at the time was fully legal and generally socially acceptable, but you are also showing your true self-righteous ignorance by assuming black people were the only race to be enslaved.

If gender exists on a spectrum, then one end of the spectrum is male and the other is female, and all these other "genders" people are claiming are bullshit. You can't have it both ways. Even if you exist perfectly in the middle, then it shouldn't matter that much so just pick one. Making it other people's responsibility to adjust to whatever you've decided in your head is unreasonable. It's like a kid who gets mad at people for not knowing they're being a unicorn that day.

There are four sexualities. Technically three, but I'm including asexuality even though that's often a disorder that can be corrected. You can be heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual. Anything else is something you've made up in an attempt to define yourself within parameters that make sense to you. Being attracted to someone for their personality instead of gender does not make you "pansexual," it makes you bisexual. Getting to know someone before attraction forms is not unusual and you are not special enough for that alone to require your own unique sublabel.

All deviations in gender and sexuality are firmly encapsulated within the "Q" of "queer," as in that which is not the norm. For this reason, you don't even need the "LGBT-+" part of the acronym; it could just be "Q", meaning those who are not cisgendered heterosexuals, i.e. the norm. (Notably, just because you are offended by it being the norm, doesn't make it untrue.)

Hold on to your hats, folks; this is gonna be the longest and by far most controversial point. Building off of point 4, whether you approve or not, pedophilia falls under the queer label. If it were destigmatized it would allow for those afflicted to seek help and lessen the numbers of child molestation cases (though it's worth noting that many such cases are less about sexual attraction and more to do with psychological factors such as control). The torches and pitchforks approach is not helping anyone. No one chooses a sexuality that is not only publicly condemned but also may harm vulnerable individuals. In fact, if you believe it is not a choice to be gay, you also have to concede that it is not a choice to be a pedophile. It is a choice to be a child molester. The issue is that often these terms are used interchangeably. Many pedophiles live out their lives never laying a finger on a child or indulging in illicit materials. The inherent sexual deviation is a miswiring in the brain. Now, don't get me wrong - people often jump to conclusions and put words in my mouth - I am of the firm belief that if you harm so much as a hair on the head of a single child, you should be castrated, maimed, and dragged through the streets before being thrown to an angry mob. I am simply suggesting that the possibility to intervene exists before it comes to that, and perhaps then we would not need to condemn neither innocent children nor those afflicted with this specific neurological defect to a life of misery. Just maybe.

There's more, but these are the main ones. Have at it in the comments!

[stormoflina]

I'm that mean anon from last night. I just want to add some infos and perspectives 😁😅

Trent is a generational talent and his passing and crossing and all but he is not a defender or midfielder through and through to be honest. That's where the problem lies. Say whatever they want like the gimmick or one player advantage tactics or fk all non sense modern shit we don't care and it's the fact that he is neither fish nor fowl. And the fact Klopp not wanting to concede his defeat and to transform him completely as a midfielder and not buying a proper defender like normal human is one of my most frustrating parts of this Liverpool club. Everyone in my cycle knows how much I hate Southgate with passion but in Trent case I'm with him all the way and Klopp just doesn't want to admit his chronic mistake. Southgate is a wanker but having a team with plenty of resources for midfielder and RB how and where can he uses and gives him a chance as a starter? There are too many other natural options to not takes risk of then why should he takes risk of. In Salah case me and my buddies might be against the massive brigade of fanatics or running into the wall but we don't care. I don't want to say much more. One example that will sum up this issue is that Cristiano's second coming to United. I believe you know what I mean. For the long term future benefits, if we should sacrifice the short term convenience then we have to do it. Be brave and just get on with it. We have basis requirements enough. Nothing can be worse.

Hi anon!

I'm guessing you mean this? https://www.tumblr.com/stormoflina/737537669393973248/me-and-my-buddies-discussing-the-other-day-about I don't think you were mean at all, very respectful with your opinions. I do have to make some apologies tho, first with the late answer, second, because I just reread and I think I did misunderstood you a bit, especially on the Salah bit. I think I just really wanted to say what I was thinking at the moment, and didn't read properly what you wrote. Sorry about that!

It's a very sad picture you are painting, I hope it never comes to that.

I do agree with you on that the refusal to admit and adapt to how our team looks, the players, and then fixing immediately the problems and shortcomings instead of whatever we are doing (praying that teens will step up instead of singing a DM for example...), it's so frustrating! Especially, because again, you look at the quality we have, how the table is currently, EL, the domestic leagues, and we are so game for all.

With Tsimi now joining the ever growing numbers of our injured list, I swear, if the club doesn't step up this January and start singing players, I might have to rage quit that month all together, lol.

With Szobo, I just wanted to add one thought. I think he is being taken too granted at the moment. Besides Harvey, he is the only midfielder who managed to remain available thoughtout our whole season. No red cards, no injuries, he was always a starter and he just started to get his minutes managed a couple of games ago. I hope, for obvious reasons, that it never comes to that, but the moment he is not going to be an option in that midfield, it will show. Crazy that after the City game, where yes, he didn't not look good, but wasn't horrible by any means, people were crying for a Gravenberch starter instead of him. Saying how immense he has been for us all season, while Dominik has been off for games. I actually hate that I'm developing an agenda, but I was all raised eyebrows ever since. That man had one good dribble against a not on form Ruben Dias and people were acting like he is the next Messi. Now, all of twt is full with hate for him, because he had a poor game yesterday. And people put Dominik and his name together in one sentence, too, saying how both have been shit, meanwhile Domi has clips like this, where Ryan doesn't even TRY to defend.

Offensively, yeah, he has been bad, but if not for him and his defensive efforts, there would have been goals conceded. This is so not the point, but I still think signing Gravenberch is just panicbuying and they still have no idea how to play him into the team. It's crazy how he's also the 5th (!!!) most played in the whole squad. His agent must be good.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Ever Since We Met

Prologue

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After making a bet with Odin, Loki finally has a chance to prove he is worthy of being heir to the throne. Under mysterious circumstances, you find yourself stranded on Asgard, left with no option but to team up with Loki and help him win the crown. Now posing as visiting royalty, you must be careful of rumors in court that say you’re not who you claim, all while battling your growing feelings for the raven haired king. But some things are easier said than done because secrets, you’ll soon learn, can be deadly. Chapter Summary: Before Odin leaves for Alfheim, Loki makes one final bid for the throne. A bet that has the power to alter his future. Chapter Warnings: none :) A/N: Greetings guys, gals, and non-binary pals! I am beyond excited to share this story with you! It takes place pre-Thor 1 and will update every Friday until we reach the end in about six months. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings​ @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​

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⚜︎ Masterlist | Next >>

Disclaimer: Gif not mine.

Thankfully, the halls outside the throne room were empty, leaving plenty of space for Loki to pace back and forth. He never would have let his anxious energy show in front of others, but right now it was just him. The guards had gone in to announce Loki to his father, gain permission for him to enter. It was ridiculous that he couldn’t just waltz in, the prince thought. Then again, that’s all he was. A prince. Not the king.

See, Loki had been trying his whole life to prove his worth to his father, desperately attempting to show he was deserving of the throne. But nothing had worked, and whispers that Odin was going to announce his heir any day now were common throughout the kingdom. And not a single person was saying it was going to be Loki. Luckily, the younger Odinson didn’t give up so easily.

“Prince Loki,” one of the guards said with a little bow of his head as they re-emerged from the throne room. Loki immediately stopped his nervous movement and looked him in the eye. “The king will see you now.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Loki replied, regal as ever. “As you were.”

Taking a final gulp of air, he pushed through the heavy golden doors and walked towards Odin. As a child, Loki had always thought his father looked so imposing sitting on the throne, as if he had in his palm the fate of all people. Well, now Loki was grown, and he knew that the old man sitting in that glorified chair did hold someone’s fate. His. And if Loki wasn’t careful, Odin would crush his dreams, his destiny, without so much as batting an eye.

Loki’s heeled boots clicked on the cold floor, as if counting down the steps left before he could make his request. They were, perhaps, a bit more formal than something one might wear on a regular basis, but he figured why not dress to impress? His semi-formal cloak swooshed behind him, and he had to resist anxiously fiddling with the fabric. With his hair slicked back and combed perfectly in place, he thought he looked very princely, but if all went well, he was going to be far more than that.

“Your majesty,” he greeted Odin in the formal way he’d been taught since birth, bowing at his waist. Oh, how he so despised that part; if he had it his way, he’d never bow to anyone again. At least he didn’t have to kneel as most of the lesser nobles and commoners did.

“Rise my son,” Odin said with a wave of his hand. “Why have you felt the need for this audience so close to my departure?”

“Well, father,” Loki began. He summoned all his strength to keep up his nonchalant facade. “It has come to my attention that you have invited Thor to join you and mother on your diplomatic mission to Alfheim. An invitation, I might add, that he has accepted.”

“Yes, yes,” he yawned. “What of it? I hope you are not looking to come. The convoy is already full.”

“On the contrary, I think it best if I stay here.” Loki studied his father’s expression a moment before continuing. “To rule the kingdom.”

It was painfully silent in the near-empty throne room. And then Odin began laughing. Not chuckling, but full on laughing at his son. This was perhaps the most embarrassed Loki had ever felt, and there wasn’t even anyone else in the room. But all he wanted was to show his father he was capable of ruling. That he would make a far more competent king than his oaf of a brother. This was a critical moment, he knew, and he couldn’t let any cracks in his armor show. He kept his face completely neutral as his father slowly ceased his cackling.

“And why should I allow for that. You see, Loki, I have already chosen my successor, and it is not you,” Odin bluntly explained as Loki’s blood began to boil and hopes began to drop. Maybe this was just a nightmare, and he’d wake up to make his plea for real. No such luck. “The official announcement was going to come upon my return, but it seems cruel to keep it from you now.”

All the times Loki played this out in his head, it never went quite this poorly. Never in his wildest dreams had he been expecting Odin to admit what he already knew deep down; he’d lost. But all his training, his preparing, his effort to show that he was the one deserving of the crown, could it really be for nothing?

“Come now, my son,” Odin said when Loki took too long to reply. He wondered if his father was trying to have a comforting tone. If he was, he was failing miserably. “You always knew I would have to pick one of you. That only one of you could take the mighty throne of Asgard.”

Yes, but I should be the victor, Loki thought, ignoring the tears pricking the back of his eyes. The last thing he would do was cry in front of the Allfather. Especially when he still had a chance to make this work in his favor. All he had to do was keep it together for the next fifteen minutes and alter his argument a little. If Odin was taking drastic measures, maybe that’s what he had to do, too.

“I do not think you should act so rashly, father,” Loki spoke up, voice impressively even. “After all, you have yet to hear my proposition.”

“And what might that be? Speak, son, and tell me.”

“Let me rule Asgard while you are gone. If I do well, you wait to make your decision on who will be your heir, allow me to continue to compete for the crown.”

The old king laughed again, not as loudly as before, but just as unkindly. “Why would I do that? I see no way in which this benefits me.”

“On the contrary, as a prince, I would have the right to plead my case to the Allmother if you took me out of the running. It would be a long, tedious process if you had to go through all the right channels to prove my brother is better suited for the kingship. And then again, they might not even find that he is. Or I could even challenge Thor for the crown, if it comes down to it. Such scandal to mark the end of your reign would be a shame, do you not agree?” He paused for dramatic effect, and to let the words sink in. “However, should I do poorly on the throne, I would have no argument to make, and would back down peacefully.”

The tension was so thick, Loki was tempted to whip out one of his daggers to try to cut it, and give himself room to breathe. But even the subtlest of movements would give way to an accusation of weakness, so he stood where he was, his piercing gaze staring into his father’s one eye, waiting for him to speak. Odin tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne, mulling over the very thinly veiled threat. By the time the king was opening his mouth to speak, Loki felt ready to scream.

“Very well,” he finally conceded. “But your success will be according to my terms. There are three things a good king needs. The first is the respect of those he rules. The second, fear and awe of his enemies and allies alike.”

Loki’s eyes flitted down for the briefest of seconds before looking up with renewed confidence. “And the last?”

“Worthiness,” Odin continued, standing up and walking down the steps, “to have the crown on his head.”

More eagerly than he would have liked, Loki nodded. He was certainly clever enough to figure out a way to prove he had each of those. It seemed that his silver tongue had not failed him today. But before he could say he accepted the terms, Odin had one last stipulation to add.

“You may not set foot out of the kingdom. Everything must run smoothly while you are here. Is this understood?”

“Yes, father, it is. And you will not interfere with my reign,” Loki replied, distrusting something about the look in the old man’s eye. “So then, do we have a deal?”

He considered for a moment more. “Yes, we do. From the moment I leave tomorrow until the second I return, you will be acting king of Asgard.”

“Thank you, father. You will not regret this,” Loki said, bowing again before leaving.

Whether he left before his father could say anything or if he never planned to at all, Loki wasn’t sure. It hardly mattered anymore. Now, his future was nearly set, for certainly he was already admired to some degree, right? Or even if he wasn’t, he’d been preparing for this day his whole life, studying his father. He knew how to be king, and he’d be damned if he let anything ruin this opportunity.

After a fitful night of sleep, Loki saw his family and their entourage off at the Bifröst. True, he was more than eager for them to leave already, but he did his best to mask it. After all, his eagerness may be mistaken for arrogance, and that was no way to start his reign.

“Alright, brother. I bid thee well,” Thor said, clapping him on the back. As far as Loki was aware, neither he nor anyone else knew of the specifics of the bet that had been made, save for his mother and Heimdall, who had been tasked with keeping an eye on him. “Do not get too comfortable on the throne, though.”

“Good luck, my son. I have every confidence in you,” Frigga said, cupping his cheeks.

Loki looked to Odin for him to speak some final words of parting. When he didn’t, Loki said, “Thank you, brother, mother. I wish you all safe travels and shall be awaiting your return.”

He waited until they disappeared into the rainbow lights and, with a nod in Heimdall’s direction, headed back towards the palace. The throne. Almost reverently, he circled it once before sitting down. Feeling perfectly pleased with himself, Loki didn’t even notice the bright flash of light in the distance. Nor what came with it.

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 3

The Wildest Times of the World

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.9k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge​ @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Sorry this update took so long! But I hope y’all enjoy it :)

Warning(s): none :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2

AO3 link

Chapter 3 let’s go!

Three chilly October days after Ron’s abrupt departure from London - which Juliet was still seething about - she arrived home from the store to a different person she expected to never hear from again. Lottie stood at the front door, muttering to herself about whether or not to knock. Juliet was especially surprised because it was raining, which would have normally kept the editor indoors if she could help it. Juliet watched a moment, not wanting to give away her presence immediately. It satisfied her to watch Lottie fret like this. After a few moments, Juliet caved and cleared her throat. 

Lottie gasped as she whipped around, clutching at her chest. “Heaven's sake, Juliet! How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long,” Juliet said, intentionally vague. “Can I help you, Lottie?” 

“Well…” Lottie hesitated, shifting her weight and toying with the fingertips of her gloves. “Shall we go in? I really need to speak to you.” 

Juliet decided not to comment on Lottie’s self-invite into the house. She figured with no other job openings popping up, this could be her opportunity to try and gain back some favor at the London Pursuit. She couldn’t imagine that Lottie was here for a personal reason. That was not the sort of manager she was. 

Once inside, Lottie followed Juliet to the kitchen - again, kindly not saying anything about the state of the house. Juliet set her grocery bags on the table before taking her coat off. Lottie shrugged hers off as well, removed her hat and gloves, and took a seat. 

“Cuppa?” Juliet offered. 

“Sure,” Lottie replied. 

Juliet put the kettle on. Then she started unloading the bags. 

“So, what did you want to speak to me about?” she asked, trying to sound as casual as she could. 

“It’s the Albourne story,” Lottie said, voice tight, almost like she was spitting the words out. “All the other reporters are too busy to cover it. And if I have to go through the process of hiring someone new, we won’t get it in time.” 

“I’ve already told you, I think it’s -”

“You needn’t remind me of your insolent remarks,” she snapped. 

Juliet sighed, picked up a can of beans and placed it slowly in the cupboard, forming as polite a response as she could muster. But Lottie beat her to the next word. 

“If you agree to cover this story, I’ll let you cover the war down there,” she said. 

Juliet almost slammed the cupboard door shut in surprise. “What?” 

“You can cover the war news from there,” Lottie repeated. 

“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?” Juliet returned. “Because if you know the Germans are in Aldbourne and you haven’t said anything until now, you might be in trouble, Lottie.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Juliet. The Americans are there, you could write about them.” 

Juliet bit back the snappy retort she had about that, and dialed it down. “Fascinating as the Yanks are, I reckon they’re not doing much actual fighting in Aldbourne. Unless you mean brawling in pubs.”

The English had almost adjusted to the American presence by now. However, Juliet had slipped out of more than one pub after a fight broke out between some bright-eyed, blue-blooded American who spoke too boldly about their importance in the war effort and an Englishman who naturally took offense to the effort of “our own lads” being minimized. It escalated. Drinks were thrown, followed shortly by fists. Others jumped in to either assist or attempt to separate the combatting parties, only to get swept up in the action either way. It was entertaining, sure, but Juliet thought it made rather a mockery of the term “Allies.” 

“They’re doing something there,” Lottie insisted. “And I give you full permission to try and find out what. As long as you cover the story about the girl as well.” 

“Observing Americans isn’t really covering the war, and you know it, Lottie,” Juliet said. 

“I’m not sending a woman to the front line, there would be a mob at the office door,” Lottie said. “I personally don’t care if you want to go and get yourself shot, but your blood cannot be on my hands.”

Juliet had to concede that point. Other papers had already suffered the ramifications of sending women reporters even within the vicinity of the front. There were boycotts led by counter-feminist groups and concerned mothers about the message it sent about women’s roles. It was one thing for women to work while men fought the war, but to put them in the line of fire? That was just indecent. 

“Well, good to know my life isn’t as much of your concern as public opinion,” Juliet joked.

Lottie frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Relax, Lottie, I’m taking the piss,” Juliet returned with a wave of her hand. 

She paused, mulling over the offer Lottie was bringing. She wasn’t in much of a position to refuse work, but the idea of covering that gruesome story was almost too much to bear. Even if she was a bit interested in what the Americans were doing. Then, something else crossed her mind. 

“Why do you want this covered so badly?” she asked. 

Lottie’s face flushed and her mouth drew tight, which Juliet understood to mean the reason would not be to her liking. She braced herself. 

“A family friend is with the Wiltshire police,” Lottie admitted. “He thinks it would look good for the department to solve a case like this and put the murderer away. And to have the press cover it, especially a London paper with circulation throughout the country.”

Juliet couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “You’re killing me, Lottie.” 

“This is the deal I’m offering,” Lottie sighed. “I know you’re opposed to it, but this is the compromise I’m willing to make.”

 Juliet considered her options. She did need the money. But the subject matter and the reasoning were so against her ideals and ethics as a journalist. How could she live with herself if she broke them for money? But there was her mother to consider as well. Which brought up another objection. 

“Even if I wanted to,” she said. “I can’t. It leaves no one here to look after Mum.” 

“I thought you had a brother,” Lottie returned. 

“He lives on Guernsey,” Juliet reminded her, minding her tone so she wouldn’t sound too bitter. “Otherwise, I’m certain he’d be here.”

Lottie shifted uncomfortably. “I apologize. I forgot.”

“S’fine,” Juliet replied.  

“Can’t you hire someone to look after your mother?” Lottie asked. 

Juliet only raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her - as if to say, “you’ve seen the house, you think we can afford help?” Lottie understood the implication. 

“What if…” Lottie trailed off, considering. “What if I hired someone to look after her?”

Juliet blinked. “That’s...generous of you, Lottie, but I’d never be able to pay you back or -”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lottie said. “I want this story and - believe it or not - I want it done well. I know you’ll handle it as tastefully as possible and you could really show that -” 

She was cut off by the kettle screeching its completion to boil, so Juliet went to take it off the burner and fetch some tea cups. She poured the tea and served it, and Lottie thanked her quietly, almost abashed by her admission to decency. But there was something more. 

“Really show what?” Juliet pressed.

Lottie heaved a defeated sigh. Like admitting this was something that exasperated her. “That women can handle tough topics. It’s not covering the war, but it’s a step in that direction.” 

Juliet couldn’t help but agree. If women could handle murder and the investigation surrounding it, surely women could be seen as sensible enough to tackle tragedy on a larger scale. They weren’t going to faint at the sight of blood or burst into tears over sentimentality. She couldn’t help herself. Juliet wanted to be part of that narrative. 

“Lottie, I’m surprised at you,” she teased. “I didn’t take you for such a feminist.” 

Lottie’s jaw dropped and she gaped at Juliet, totally affronted at the suggestion. “I am no such thing!” 

Juliet shrugged, unfazed. “Yeah, I probably wouldn’t be either if I had your tits.” 

Lottie could only sputter in response and Juliet snickered before sipping her tea.

“Juliet!” Lottie scolded. 

“I’ll do it,” Juliet said suddenly. 

Lottie closed her mouth, stunned. “You’ll - you’ll do the story?” 

“Yes,” Juliet assured her, smiling. “You’ve given me a real reason to. And if there’s someone here to look after Mum and I can get a bit of war news as well, then what choice do I have but to say yes? You drive a hard bargain, Lottie.”

Lottie’s relief was palpable. “Thank you, Juliet. Really.” 

“When do I go?” Juliet asked. 

“There’s a train to Aldbourne tomorrow morning at nine,” Lottie said. 

“I’ll be on it.” 

***

Aldbourne was probably a village that once called itself sleepy. But now it was overrun by Americans - mostly paratroopers - which created an upheaval the likes of which many residents had never seen before. There was life in the town. The Women’s Land Army, or “land girls” as they were called, were taking full advantage of the flirting opportunities that arose with these American men, who lacked British decorum and were therefore prime targets for a fling. As Juliet walked from the station to her lodgings, with all the people mulling through the heart of the village, she found it almost hard to believe she was there to report on a murder. 

Lodgings were difficult to come by with the Americans billeted in just about any space they could fit. Even horses were having to share their stables. But Lottie pulled some strings and got Juliet a room above the Blue Boar, a pub. She wasn’t sure how much sleep she’d really be able to get with the noise of a pub below her, but she didn’t dare complain. Not when she was one step closer to getting what she wanted. 

The owner was a portly, older gentleman by the name of Jacob Powell. His kind, round face welcomed Juliet warmly, and she was grateful for the reception. She didn’t want to infringe too much on his hospitality, so she refused a cup of tea for the moment, insisting she needed to get unpacked and to the police station as soon as possible. 

“Oh, yeah, that's a gruesome business about the little girl,” Jacob said. “Are you really going to write a story about it?” 

“I’m no Agatha Christie or anything, but I’m going to do my best,” she returned, keeping her tone light. She wasn’t in the habit of discussing a story with just anyone. 

He shook his head. “It’s just a right shame.”

“Concisely put, Mr. Powell,” she replied. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Right, sorry,” he said bashfully, and he reminded her that the offer for tea still stood if she changed her mind before closing the door behind him. 

First, Juliet set down her suitcase with her clothes. Second, she heaved her typewriter onto the desk in the corner of the room. It was beside the one window that looked out onto the street. Juliet approved of the set up since she liked natural light while she wrote. She got her things exactly where she wanted them, but hadn’t bothered to remove her hat and coat since she was going right back out. Securing her notebook, pen, and room key, she left. 

The police station was one of the dullest she’d ever seen. Given the nature of the town, it didn’t surprise her. Lottie’s contact was Otis Allen, a lieutenant in the Wiltshire Police, who was still in Aldbourne to lead the investigation. He was a tall, thin man, with kind blue eyes and straw-like blonde hair. Rather unimposing for being in law enforcement. But Juliet observed right away the misshapen mound where his right ear should have been. He mentioned it before she had the opportunity to ask. 

“Sorry about the grisly ear,” he said. “My gift from the Germans last time they had a go at us.”

“A bit rude,” she teased. “Flowers would have suited just fine, I think.” 

He chuckled at that as he gestured for her to take a seat across from him at his desk. With that, she noticed a gnarled hand - the few fingers he had left were permanently curled under themselves. He disguised it fairly well with a glove, but she saw anyway. 

“Those Jerries really overdid it on the gifts,” she remarked. “I bet it wasn’t even your birthday.”

He fully laughed at that and she noticed his expression softened. When they’d met, he’d been a bit rigid, but his muscles relaxed now, put at ease by her gentle humor. 

“Thanks for that,” he said. 

She cocked her head to the side. “For what?”

“For the jokes,” he answered. “Ever since that war, all I get are pitying looks or fear. Thanks for treating it like it’s...normal.” 

“I’ll leave pity to the nurses,” she said with a smile. “Now, what have you got so far on the case?”  

He went over the basics with her. In September, a six-year-old girl, Peggy Lee, was drowned in the tub, allegedly by her host, Meredith Fisher. Peggy had been with the Fisher’s since January with no reported issues. When Peggy did not arrive for school the next day, her teacher phoned the Fisher’s home with no answer. They chalked it up to Peggy being ill or some other explainable matter, and moved on. When she was absent the following day as well, they called again, and Meredith told them that yes, Peggy was ill, and could not come to school for a few days. Ashley Fisher, Meredith’s husband, was in London on business at the time, and when he returned at the end of the week, found Peggy’s body and called the police. Meredith claimed initially there was an accident, but evidence from Peggy’s autopsy proved foul play was involved. Juliet took fervent notes as Otis explained it all, trying not to get disgusted by the whole thing. 

“Where is Mrs. Fisher being held now?” Juliet asked. “Surely not here in Aldbourne.” 

“‘Course not, she’s in Trowbridge,” Otis assured her. “Mr. Fisher is here though, if you’d like to speak to him.” 

She blinked. “Is he an expert on the case or something?”

“Well, no -”

“Then what insight could he possibly give me?” 

“He’s a witness,” he reminded her. 

“Investigators and lawyers question witnesses,” she said. “I need facts from experts to put the story into context. His testimony would only sway readers' emotions, and that’s not what I’m after.” 

He smiled. “Well. You’re not like any reporter I’ve ever met.” 

“I should hope not,” she returned. “I’m not covering this for the sensation. Why do you think I haven’t asked you where the Lee family is?”

His eyebrows went up a ways on his forehead. “You’re not going to interview them at all?”

She shook her head. “Nope. An interview with them is even less useful than an interview with Mr. Fisher. They weren’t even witnesses.” 

His eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “Right. Emotional appeal instead of factual.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And besides, I’m sure the last thing they need right now is some reporter sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

“I like you, Miss Fletcher,” he said simply. “You’ve got...surprising respect for this. And a good head on your shoulders.” 

Juliet forced a smile to swallow her question if he’d be surprised by her if she were a man. She didn’t know where her control came from during interviews, but she was grateful for it. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said. “Lottie told me the goal was to get this story widely circulated, and I truly believe that’s possible with the facts alone. I don’t believe in patronizing the audience to get their attention.” 

“You’ve got more faith in people than I do,” he scoffed. “But I like your style. I look forward to working with you.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” she returned. She did like Otis, even if he had briefly underestimated her. “Tomorrow I’ll be able to meet with the doctor who conducted the autopsy, yes?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “The prosecution is having a psychiatrist evaluate Mrs. Fisher this week, so I’ll keep you updated on that as well.” 

“I’d love an interview with the prosecutor too, if that’s possible,” she said. 

“I’ll speak to him about it,” he told her. “Have a good evening, Miss Fletcher.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

They shook hands before she parted. She made her way back to the Blue Boar, dodging GIs all along the way. They were winding down for the day, it seemed, going for runs, dates, or drinks, depending on their mood. She got a whistle or two, which she ignored, mentally going over her notes. She was also relieved she wasn’t going to have to fight Otis on how to do the story. She really was getting free reign on how to put this all together, and she was excited by the opportunities that meant for her. 

Her excitement was sucked away when she reached the Blue Boar and found her things had been hurled onto the street. Her mouth fell open. She had only just arrived, what on earth could she have done?

She marched toward the door, straightening up to her full height, prepared to demand an answer from Jacob. But she didn’t have to go far, he met her at the doorway, blocking her entrance with a glower on his face that could have melted snow. 

“What’s the meaning of this?!” she demanded. 

“I don’t want any of your sort staying in my establishment!” he shot back. “Did you think you could fool me?! I read the papers!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she returned. ��What papers?!” 

He pulled a rolled up newspaper out of his back pocket and threw it at her. She caught it and opened it with a snap. She recognized it as a society gossip periodical that she usually tried to avoid. On the side of the page, she read the headline “ARTHUR BURNS’ EX-FIANCE TURNS LADY OF THE EVENING?” with a photo of her leaving the hotel she’d met Ron in, looking furious as she absolutely was that day. Her heart dropped as she read the copy beneath. 

Desperate times must truly call for desperate measures, it began. Juliet Fletcher, 31, who just earlier this year was scorned by Arthur Burns when he terminated their engagement, was spotted leaving a hotel after a rendezvous with a mysterious American. The receptionist, who wished to remain anonymous, said Fletcher returned the following day, found the Yank gone, and stormed out, seething. 

‘It was clearly a dispute over money,’ the receptionist said. ‘They left the hotel together early in the morning, and she came back in the evening after he’d checked out. She was so sneaky about what she needed, I knew it couldn’t be anything respectable. And then to be as furious as she was about his leaving, it was obviously about an unpaid sum.’

Could it be that Miss Fletcher has fallen into disgrace after Mr. Burns left her? Could it be that she needed additional income after becoming accustomed to the Burns lifestyle? What else could possibly drive her to stoop to such lows? 

The Burns family refused to comment for this story, and Miss Fletcher herself appears to be out of town at the moment. And who can blame her?

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” she cried. “It isn’t true!”

“Pictures don’t lie, missy,” Jacob practically spat. “Now clear off from my property or I’ll have the police on you!”

A small crowd had gathered to watch the confrontation unfold. Doubtless, the raised voices had drawn attention to them, but Juliet could not bring herself to care. The injustice of it made her blood boil. She squared her shoulders and planted her feet. 

“It’s not true, you idiot!” she shouted. “This paper is known for misrepresenting the people they write about!” 

“I said - CLEAR OFF, YOU!” he roared. 

She scowled at him as fiercely as she could manage, but he slammed the door in her face. Head held high, she went and snatched her things off the ground, slinging them onto her shoulders before facing him again. 

“THIS ISN’T OVER!” she hollered back. When she turned on her heel and saw the Aldbourne residents watching with avid interest, she snapped at them too. “Should we have sold tickets?! Mind your business, people!” 

Properly scolded, they scattered like roaches. Juliet heaved a sigh, wondering where to point her feet. Fuming, she considered parking herself outside the door and shouting until Jacob had no choice but to hear her out, but she couldn’t risk arrest. Not when she was relying on the police as sources for her story. 

Her thoughts were completely interrupted when a platoon of paratroopers jogged across the square from where she stood. Leading them was the man Juliet held solely responsible for all her troubles as of late - Ron Speirs. She told herself not to get distracted by the sweat on his brow or the way his backside looked in the little shorts he had on, and focus on what mattered. He was getting away with what had happened - or rather not happened - while she was publicly shamed. Abandoning her bags, she hurtled after the platoon, catching up with surprising speed in her heels. 

“HEY!” she bellowed. 

The whole platoon stuttered in their cadence, and the few in the back turned their heads at the sound of her voice. Ron either didn’t hear her, or ignored her, and she wasn’t sure which was more infuriating. She gained on them. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to get louder, absolutely refusing to be ignored. 

“RONALD SPEIRS!” she yelled. 

He called his men to a halt, stopping alongside them and turning to face her. He blinked in surprise at the sight of her - he had evidently not expected her here - but he didn’t say anything right away. She caught her breath as she marched up to him. This time, she was ready, wallet in her coat pocket. She whipped it out and brandished it like a sword. 

“No one pays me a kindness and gets away with it!” she shouted, popping the wallet open and fishing out the bills she owed him. “That,” she slapped the first few onto his chest, and he caught them before they fluttered to the ground. “Is for my half of the hotel room!” She did not acknowledge the snickers that went through the platoon, and then forced a second handful of money into his hand. “And that is for the potatoes and cab fare!” 

He looked levelly at her. “I really didn’t expect to be -” 

“I don’t care what you expected!” she continued. “You left me to look like a prize idiot!” 

He glanced at his platoon, who were murmuring to each other as speculation began about how their lieutenant knew this strange woman. 

“I’d rather have this conversation in private if it’s all the same to you,” he said. 

“It’s not all the same to me, you punk!” She accentuated this with a shove to his arm. He didn’t move, but it made her feel better. “You humiliated me in front of the stupid hotel girl, which has now resulted in me losing my lodgings, so yeah, I’m going to stand here and embarrass you in front of your little mates!” 

“Juliet -” 

“How dare you leave before I could pay you back!” she went on fiercely. “You said you’d be there! You lied right to my face! Like a - a - a liar!” 

“Eloquently said,” he returned. 

“I don’t need your wise-ass remarks!” 

“Settle down.” 

“I WILL NOT SETTLE DOWN!” 

Her face was red with how much yelling she’d been doing, so she took a deep breath to collect herself. She felt a tingle in her throat, so she tried to clear it. 

“I’m going to, though,” she said. “Not because you told me to, but because my voice is getting hoarse.” 

He stared at her for a beat. “Okay. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“The receptionist at the hotel in London spoke to a gossip columnist about seeing us together,” she said. “Now, the owner of the Blue Boar says he won’t have one of ‘my sort’ in his rooms.” 

“I see,” he said with a nod. “I’ll sort it out.”

“No, I can’t owe you another favor,” she returned. 

“So you just came over here to yell at me?” he asked, to clarify. 

“And pay you back!” she insisted. “Now that’s been accomplished, we can part ways and I’ll never speak to you again. Starting now.” 

“Juliet -” 

“Starting now!”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away. He watched her go for a moment, enjoying the way her skirt swished around her legs, the shape of which he enjoyed more than he cared to admit. Shaking his head to clear it, he faced his men again. He noticed the stifled laughter behind their hands and smirks on their faces.

“Something funny?” he snapped with a scowl. 

They straightened up and muttered quick “no, sir”s under his glare. 

“Good, we’ve got a run to finish,” he said. 

They continued down the road. But Ron knew just what he was going to do afterward. 

***

Night fell over Aldbourne like a frigid shadow. Juliet, with aching feet and chattering teeth, took shelter in a phone booth across from the Blue Boar, having scoured the village for anywhere else to stay to no avail. And she was not a moment too soon in closing the booth door. Just seconds after she did, a soft rain began to patter against it. 

She needed to call Lottie and see what her options were. She couldn’t stay in Aldbourne without a room, but that put everything on hold. She pushed the coins into the slot and called Lottie at home, adding guilt to her weariness. 

“Hello?” came Lottie’s voice after just two rings, which relieved Juliet a little since it meant she was not in bed already. 

“Lottie, it’s Juliet,” Juliet said. “Look, something’s happened and your friend Jacob’s given me the boot.” 

“What?” Lottie questioned. “Why?” 

“Some stupid fucking article accusing me of being a prostitute,” Juliet snapped. 

“There’s no need for that kind of language,” Lottie replied coolly. 

Juliet hesitated a beat. “Okay, given the nature of what I said, I’m not sure if you’re referring to ‘fuck’ or ‘prostitute.’”

“Both,” Lottie said, and before Juliet could protest, she went on. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

Juliet explained everything - that her arrival went fine, but at some point during her interview with Otis, Jacob had read that article about the hotel nonsense, and had refused to let her back inside. 

“Now I’m stuck in a phone booth,” she finished. 

A beat passed and Juliet feared for a fleeting second that her time had run out. She dug in her pocket for more coins, but Lottie spoke again. 

“So...what were you doing in a hotel room with an American?” she asked. 

“That’s your takeaway from everything I just said?!” Juliet cried, incredulous. “Lottie, I’m exhausted and freezing, I need a place to stay or a ticket home!” 

“Was it something indecent?” Lottie pressed.

“No!” Juliet returned. “Look, I got drunk, I almost got hurt, and he just looked after me for the night, but nothing happened, I swear. Believe me, he’s the last man on Earth I’d ever want to shag, even if he is ridiculously good loo-”

She stopped suddenly and whipped around when she heard a knock on the door. There he stood. Ronald Speirs, looking expectantly at her. 

“Son of a BITCH!” she swore, stamping her foot. 

“I beg your pardon!” Lottie gasped. 

“Must go, Lottie, my mystery American has returned,” Juliet said through clenched teeth. “Aldbourne’s about to have another murder on its hands.” 

She hung up harshly, slamming the phone down before Lottie could protest. Then she wrenched the door and faced him, eyes blazing. She opened her mouth, preparing to dismiss him completely, but he beat her to the punch. 

“Jacob changed his mind,” he said. “You can have your room back.” 

She deflated and blinked at him in surprise. “I said I didn’t want -”

“Do you want a bed for the night or not?” he cut across her. 

Her drained muscles screamed at her to agree, but her pride was stronger. She started to refuse him again. 

“Buy me a drink, and we’ll call it even,” he said, as if reading her mind. 

“That’s not really the same,” she argued. 

“I didn’t go out of my way,” he told her. “The Blue Boar is where the officers drink. It came up, I explained, simple as that.” 

“Okay, one drink.” She held his gaze. “And then we’ll never speak again.”

He looked into her eyes, so long and so intensely, in any other context she would have thought he might kiss her. But he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t do anything. He just shrugged, turned, and walked back toward the pub. She didn’t totally blame him since the rain was beginning to come down harder. With a defeated sigh, she scrambled to collect her things and followed him. 

[ibijau]

here we go, last fic of the year! It’s Lan Sizhui/Jin Ling, a/b/o, set in the same universe as Petrichor, but can be read as a stand alone :)

Someday, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi are going to get married.

It is not something that anybody really talks about, and more an accepted fact of life. They have been friends for as long as they can remember, they are both in good position for being sect leader after Lan Xichen, they work well as a team. At fifteen, Lan Sizhui presented as an alpha. Some months later, Lan Jingyi surprised everyone by presenting as an omega, and that settled things. People around them started talking about them as an established couple in spite of their youth, because they’d never have been so close if they were not somehow fated, right?

Neither of them minds. Not really. It’s convenient for everyone after all.

“It’s not like I’m what anyone wants in an omega,” Lan Jingyi points out when, one day, Lan Sizhui asks him if he’s really okay with that. “Aside from you, I’ve never met an alpha I didn’t want to punch in the face after five minutes. Even betas I can barely stand.”

“Hanguang-Jun too?”

“Hanguang-Jun is way above everyone else, beta or alpha or anything,” Lan Jingyi protests. “I guess I could marry him, if he wanted…”

Grimacing at the thought, Lan Sizhui elbows his friend in the ribs, but that only makes him laugh.

“I’d become your new dad,” Lan Jingyi insists with starry eyes. “Would you call me dad, daddy, or father?” 

Lan Sizhui rolls his eyes. He should have known that his friend wouldn’t take the conversation seriously. Still, he feels a little better about the situation. Lan Jingyi isn’t without his faults, but he isn’t one to bottle up his emotions. If he really minded that everyone assumes they’re an item, he would have jumped on the chance to say so.

That’s good enough for Lan Sizhui. He doesn’t want romance. He’s seen what he did to his father, to his uncle, leaving one branded by shame and the other broken for years. It just doesn’t feel worth the trouble. What Lan Jingyi and him have isn’t the stuff of great stories, sure, but it’s stable and it's safe. Security is far more important than something as ridiculous as love.

-

 When Lan Sizhui is nineteen, there starts being talk of making their engagement into something formal. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren ask them to give it serious consideration. They are both orphans, so there is no direct pressure put on them, but Lan Sizhui gets the impression that Lan Qiren at least is particularly in favour of the match. Neither of his nephews has had children, and they're unlikely to ever do, between Lan Wangji's character and Lan Xichen's delicate situation. Lan Sizhui isn't a Lan by blood, but he is well liked by juniors and elders alike. Lan Jingyi doesn't have that diplomacy, but he is a cousin to the Lan jades. If they get together, it would avoid the risk of disputes when the time comes to choose a new sect leader: they can just rule conjointly and leave it at that. Lan Xichen is less insistent than his uncle, and says it's important they choose carefully. It's clear, though, that he doesn't disagree with Lan Qiren's position.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji doesn’t like this.

He doesn’t say so, because he wants Lan Sizhui to make his own choices in life, and he will support his son through anything as long as it is not endangering his life. Still, he radiates disapproval when Lan Sizhui reports on that conversation with his uncle and great-uncle.

Most people wouldn’t guess, but Lan Wangji is a romantic at heart.

Lan Sizhui isn’t. 

Well. He tries hard not to be.

But now that this engagement business is turning into something serious, he’s a little less sure about it.

It is nice, of course, to know exactly what the future holds. There's comfort in that. Lan Sizhui likes knowing what to expect, he likes safety, he likes knowing that tomorrow will be very much like today.

And he loves Lan Jingyi of course. They’ve been friends for years, and they know each other better than anyone else. But it’s not the sort of love that makes them want to kiss and get in bed together. He’s sure of that, because they’ve tried kissing once or twice, to see how that’d feel, and it was just weird. Lan Jingyi's smell, like grass freshly cut and summer warmth, doesn't evoke any strong desire in him. That's a problem because if they get married, they’ll have to make love. And it’s not that Lan Jingyi is ugly or misshapen or anything, but the idea doesn’t sit right. All Lan Sizhui can hope for is that when they’re bonded, once his ruts and Lan Jingyi’s heats coincide, it’ll sort itself out.

(that still leaves the issue of that initial bonding, but if Lan Sizhui doesn’t think about it, then it’s not an issue)

It’s a comfort of sorts when the morning after they talked to Lan Qiren, Lan Jingyi looks as awkward about the situation as Lan Sizhui feels.

“Are we really doing this?” Lan Jingyi whispers to him, even though they’re in class and really shouldn’t be talking at all, least of all about something like that.

“If you want,” Lan Sizhui replies, his voice as low as possible to avoid attracting Lan Qiren’s attention. “We still have time to decide.”

“Yeah, right. I mean, it could be worse, right? We get along fine, we know that already.”

It is a blessing indeed. Most people in their position would just be dumped into an arranged marriage, and consider themselves lucky to not end up with someone they despise.

Still, Lan Sizhui is glad that they don’t have to give an answer right away.

-

When they meet Jin Ling on Dafan Mountain, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi immediately agree that he is a bit of a spoiled brat.

It’s no surprise of course. The only heir to a sect like Lanling Jin, with also some rights over Yunmeng Jiang? It would have taken the world’s best parents to prevent that boy from being a little rotten, and as everyone knows well, Jin Ling doesn’t have parents.

In truth, Lan Sizhui feels a little sorry for him, not least of all because that boy is related to Jiang Wanyin, and Lan Sizhui pities anyone who must deal with that man on a regular basis. Only a truly awful person could be so disliked by Lan Wangji.

It’s also quickly apparent that Jin Ling is, for lack of a better term, a little awkward. He reacts to Lan Jingyi’s light teasing as if he was being insulted (in fairness, Lan Jingyi sometimes walks a fine line between the two, and he’s a little on edge after that business in Mo village) and takes himself far too seriously. He is also impossibly stubborn, and surprisingly reckless for someone so aware of his own self-importance.

“What a brat that was,” Lan Jingyi complains on the way back to Cloud Recesses. “No need to question what he’ll present as, he’s got alpha written all over his face.”

“No gossiping,” Lan Sizhui reminds him, his eyes darting toward Lan Wangji who, thankfully, pays them no mind. All his attention is on that lunatic he has decided to protect from Jiang Wanyin. “And you can’t go guessing at people’s fate like that. Sect leader Lan doesn’t look like an omega, does he? You just never know until it’s there.”

Lan Jingyi takes a moment to consider that.

“He is spoiled and prissy enough that he could be an omega,” he concedes, as if that’s the point Lan Sizhui was trying to make. “Still, I’m betting on alpha, and a very annoying one at that. I hope we never have to see him again.”

“Sect Leader Jin has no child of his own, so Jin Rulan is his heir. Of course we’re going to see him again.”

The face Lan Jingyi makes at the news is such that Lan Sizhui can’t help laughing a little too loud. Lan Wangji turns to look at him, curious more than scolding. That odd man on the donkey, Mo Xuanyu, also looks at them as if he wants to join in the fun, but dares not because of Lan Wangji keeping a close eye on him.

It’s funny, Lan Sizhui thinks. His father doesn’t usually care much about people. He likes the juniors, especially all the ones whose education he had a part in, but people he meets when they’re already adults, or people close to his age… if at all possible, Lan Wangji just ignores them. Maybe he feels sorry for Mo Xuanyu, who seems to have had a rough life? Or maybe it’s something else. Mo Xuanyu has an eccentric personality, but Lan Sizhui too can’t help feeling a certain sympathy for this very odd omega.

-

They meet Jin Ling again far sooner than Lan Sizhui would have expected, and if betting weren't forbidden, Lan Jingyi would have won. In the short time since they saw him, Jin Ling has presented as an alpha. 

It's no surprise, of course. Although there are exceptions, people born within the main branch of a clan are almost always alphas, at least for the first few children. Aside from sect leader Lan who is an omega and sect leader Nie who is a beta, even within the smallest sects there's hardly any ruler that's not an alpha. 

It does make a complicated situation a little worse. Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi and a group of juniors were on a trip to a Night Hunt when they started being led astray by dead cats and mysteries. They then met juniors from other sects, as well as Jin Ling, travelling alone, who immediately tries to be in charge. Lan Sizhui calmly puts an end to that. It's not unusual for a young alpha, especially one still getting used to changes in their body. He can't even control his smell at all, sweet and flowery with a hint of spice which Lan Jingyi complains is making him nauseous.

It's all normal, of course. Lan Sizhui too had a brief phase where he tested everyone's patience. So for Jin Ling who is already hot-headed and proud… 

To make it worse, Lan Jingyi won't stop arguing with Jin Ling. They can't go five minutes without getting into a fight of some sort. They snap at each other about the road to take, the inn to stay at, how loud Jin Ling's dog barks, Mo Xuanyu's donkey, whether to warn their respective sects or not… If a disagreement can be had, they will have it. 

At first, Lan Sizhui tries to intervene. Someone has to make sure that these two don't throttle each other. He knows that Lan Jingyi is no delicate flower and can take anyone in a fight, but he still has a responsibility as the oldest alpha present, so he gently puts Jin Ling in his place when needed. Surprisingly, Jin Ling usually backs off pretty easily once Lan Sizhui gets involved in a dispute. Lan Sizhui really expected that they would come to blows at least once. That too would be normal, especially since Jin Ling is obviously aching for a chance to prove himself, but it never happens. 

After a few days, Lan Sizhui doesn't bother stopping the fights anymore. Jin Ling shouts a lot and plays tough, but he never displays any sign of real aggression towards anyone. If anything he seems to have fun when Lan Jingyi and him argue with each other, and the opposite is just as true. 

Maybe that's just how Jin Ling plays, Lan Sizhui figures. He really is a very awkward boy after all. Already back on Dafan Mountain he was so brash and haughty with everyone. He was also alone back then, with only his uncle and other adults around him. Now too, he is the only one who doesn't have anyone from his clan with him. He has his dog, sure, but that's not the same. 

"Be nice to him," Lan Sizhui tells Lan Jingyi after yet another dispute, one where he had to intervene for the first time in a while. "I don't think he has a lot of friends." 

"You bet he doesn't. He treated Ouyang Zizhen like dirt just because he's a beta! Who'd want to be friends with someone like that? He could be tolerable if he just stopped acting like such a little mistress, but I guess that's too much to ask. Between the two of us, you wouldn't think I'm the omega." 

It's a little unkind to both boys, but part of Sizhui almost agrees. Lan Jingyi has never really behaved the way people expect an omega to do, and as for Jin Ling… with his pretty, boyish face, his elegant flowery smell, and the way he always backs off the instant Lan Sizhui gets involved in a fight, he could somewhat feel like an omega. 

Except he only behaves like that with Lan Sizhui. With everyone else, he pushes for dominance as much as he can, and he's so stubborn, from a sect so powerful, that even older alphas in their group have started bowing to him. 

It's weird, really. Lan Sizhui doesn't know what to make of it. 

"He'll never learn to play nice if you don't show him how," Lan Sizhui says after some thought. "Don't think I haven't noticed you're the one starting half those fights. If you don't like him, just stay away. It's wrong to pick fights without reasons." 

Lan Jingyi shrugs, which is against the rules because it is insolent. 

“He likes it when I bother him,” Lan Jingyi boldly accuses. “Being half raised by someone like Jiang Cheng…”

“Jiang Wanyin.”

“Raised by someone like Jiang Wanyin in a place like Lotus Piers, that little mistress must think shouting at people is how you behave around others. Don’t you remember how his uncle was on Dafan mountain? Scolding him and telling him to succeed at his hunt or die trying, and then coming to save him at the first sign of trouble… no wonder the little mistress is so annoying, he learned from the best.”

That had struck Lan Sizhui as well, mostly because of the risks Jin Ling had been willing to take after being shouted at. As if he really feared that his uncle wouldn’t let him come home again if he couldn’t kill the monster. He can’t imagine being uncertain of his family’s love like that. Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen, and even Lan Qiren would never, ever threaten Lan Sizhui in such a manner, and even if they did he would know better than to take the words literally.

He really feels sorry for that boy.

“Just try to be nicer,” he insists. “Teach by example. He’ll be sect leader someday, we really shouldn’t be antagonising him this way.”

The sect leader argument works. It usually does. Lan Jingyi promises to make an effort.

There’s no argument until early afternoon the next day and in fairness to Lan Jingyi, that does count as progress.

-

Yi-City is not a fun place, not by far. There’s thick billowing fog, there’s fierce corpses, half their group gets poisoned, Mo Xuanyu tricks them into eating the worst food they’ve ever tasted by calling it a cure… Lan Sizhui isn’t one to complain (it is against the rules) but he comes very, very close a few times. 

When it’s over, he tells himself that it’s a great learning experience. Mo Xuanyu is eccentric, but definitely not mad, and he knows far more about fighting evil than anyone Lan Sizhui has ever met, except maybe Lan Wangji. He is a little… brusque with them, pushing around the group of juniors and clearly delighting in scaring them a little if he feels it’s good for their education. But he is kind as well. He’s trying to hide it, but there’s a certain gentleness in the way Mo Xuanyu behaves around Jin Ling that he doesn’t really have with the rest of them.

To Lan Sizhui’s surprise, the reverse is equally true. Jin Ling grumbles and complains and stomps his foot, but he seems to like Mo Xuanyu and tries to help him whenever the chance arises. Seeing these two interact makes something go a little soft in Lan Sizhui’s chest. 

It’s nice when family can reconnect.

-

After everything that happened in Yi City, Lan Wangji allows them a little celebration. They get to burn colourful paper money and to organise a little party of sorts at an inn, without any adult supervision, too. Lan Wangji and Mo Xuanyu have retired for the night, presumably to discuss everything that has happened and decide on their next move. Lan Sizhui half wishes he could be involved in that conversation, but that’s mostly because he knows he’s supposed to want to be serious and grown up. In truth, being down here in the dining room with the others is a lot more fun.

While all the other juniors mingle together, Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui find themselves at a table a little away from the rest, in the company of Ouyang Zizhen and Jin Ling.

“We’re all future Sect Leaders, so it makes sense to sit together, right?” Ouyang Zizhen explains, boldly glossing over the fact that his sect is nowhere near the size of theirs. “And from here, we’ve got a good view of the entire room, so we can make sure that nobody misbehaves.”

“I never realised you were so serious,” Lan Jingyi sneers. “Senior Mo complimented you once, so now you want to be praised by him again?”

“You’re just jealous,” Ouyang Zizhen retorts with a grin. “Who is that man, anyway? He’s not dressed like any sect I know, but for Hanguang-Jun to respect him like this…”

“He’s just some crazy loon,” Lan Jingyi claims. “We met him a while back.”

Then, since Ouyang Zizhen expresses interest, Lan Jingyi starts telling him the whole story of their encounter with Mo Xuanyu. Lan Sizhui, who was there, allows himself to check out from the conversation and eats a little. He is startled when after a few moments, someone drops mushrooms in his bowl. 

"Don't like those," Jin Ling huffs. "And you ate yours first." 

"They're my favourite," Lan Sizhui admits, a little embarrassed at being caught like that. Being a picky eater and indulging in preferences is frowned upon, but he is only human.

"Can't see why," Jin Ling mutters. "They're slimy and disgusting. Do you want the rest of mine as well?" 

It's a testament to how engrossed he is in his conversation with Ouyang Zizhen that Lan Jingyi doesn't pick up on that extremely rude offer. Lan Sizhui almost wants to remark on Jin Ling's manners, but decides against it and just nods. It's obvious the other boy is trying to be nice, and that must be encouraged. 

After the mushrooms are unceremoniously dumped in Lan Sizhui's bowl, Jin Ling insistently stares at him while he eats. He looks angry, but Lan Sizhui has figured by now that's just his normal face. 

“Earlier… you fought decently,” Jin Ling suddenly says, in a tone that makes it sound like it hurts him to say even that weak of a compliment.

“You did well yourself,” Lan Sizhui replies far more earnestly. Lan Wangji has taught him the importance of encouraging good behaviours rather than to just punish bad ones, and Jin Ling is definitely making an effort here. Besides, he did fight surprisingly well, considering his age. “I hope we can go on more Night Hunts together. Although perhaps next time, let’s go somewhere a little less dangerous, at least until we’re experienced enough.”

Jin Ling's face does something funny, like he's happy and angry at the same time. It's kind of cute, if Lan Sizhui is honest.

"Oh we should all four go Night Hunting together!" Ouyang Zizhen exclaims. "We're friends now, right?" 

"That sounds right," Lan Sizhui quickly agrees before Jin Ling has a chance to say something rude. "I know I'd love to spend more time with the two of you. Hopefully next time, we won't be put in mortal danger." 

Lan Jingyi laughs at that, but more importantly Jin Ling begrudgingly admits that he too wouldn't be against another inter-sect Night Hunt, even though he looked ready to protest when it was Ouyang Zizhen offering it. It seems he really respects Lan Sizhui's authority as an older alpha though, and that's extremely flattering. 

-

The next time they see each other they are, in fact, in mortal danger again. 

It bothers Lan Sizhui less than it should, but only because there's something odd about this cave they're trapped in. Some of the other juniors trapped with them say this is the Burial Mounds, but that's… There's such an air of familiarity to this place, and yet Lan Sizhui knows he's never come here before. Unlike some others in his generation, Lan Wangji has never been one to go on grimly triumphant pilgrimages to those places where the cultivation world rose as one against evil. Lan Sizhui has never seen Yiling, nor even Nightless City.

Still, this cave… it shouldn’t be so bare, nor so silent. There is a wrongness to that silence. Lan Sizhui cannot explain why, but he feels like this place should have more life to it.

He cannot explain either why it seems so right to see Mo Xuanyu… ah, no, Wei wuxian step inside, followed by his Ghost General and Lan Wangji. Something falls in place inside Lan Sizhui’s soul, a certain sensation that things are as they should be. Seeing these three together, in this place… Lan Sizhui half wants to cry, and he can’t explain why.

That unbidden and unexplained surge of emotions must be why he eventually snaps at one of Jin Ling’s cousins. Lan Sizhui feels a little guilty over it, although in fairness, that boy deserves his anger. He insulted Hanguang-Jun, which was unacceptable, and Wei Wuxian which… for some reason was equally unpleasant. And for the entire time they’d been there, Jin Chan had been irritating, somehow unable to say two words without finding a reason to be mean to everyone around him, especially to Jin Ling.

Of course Lan Sizhui lost patience. He doesn’t like when people are cruel to his friends.

-

That protectiveness becomes a problem a few hours later.

So much has happened in a short span of time, they’ve been rescued, they’ve been attacked, there have been accusations and betrayal, there’s been…

Lan Sizhui feels sick to his bones when the bloodied corpses of dead Wens emerge from a bloody pond to protect Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning, but not in the way he thinks he’s supposed to feel sick. His chest aches looking at those horrifying shapes, and if Lan Jingyi hadn’t stopped him, he would have walked to them because if he could just see their face, if he could take their hands… but he doesn’t get the chance, and they crumble into dust before he can figure out why those dead people felt like they were his, just like Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian do.

Lan Sizhui is still confused when they get down the mountain to climb onto some boats, and exhausted as well. So when Jin Ling starts acting up about Wen Ning, shouting and letting his flowery smell invade the space around him, Lan Sizhui doesn’t react as gracefully as he might have otherwise. 

He hates seeing anyone being cruel to Wen Ning who he knows, with the greatest certainty, is a kind soul who only ever means to care for those he loves. Lan Sizhui can’t help wanting to shield him from those who would harm him, because someone has to, and auntie isn’t here to do it anymore.

At the same time, Jin Ling’s pain hurts as well. There’s something unbearable about seeing him break into tears, about the betrayed looks he shoots at Lan Sizhui for daring to side with his father’s murderer.

They’d been getting along so well, they’d made such a great team fighting those fierce corpses earlier, but now it’s all gone. Lan Sizhui wonders if Jin Ling will ever forgive him for standing at the Ghost General’s side, and nearly wants to cry as well when he realises the answer is probably going to be no. He wants to reach out to Jin Ling and explain he doesn’t mean to hurt him, that they can still be friends, that he just can’t let Wen Ning be hurt again.

Before Lan Sizhui can move, Jiang Cheng calls his nephew from another boat, and demands Jin Ling join him. The order is promptly obeyed, Jin Ling turning away without so much as a last look at Lan Sizhui.

Lan Sizhui sits down, and tells himself if his heart and head hurt so bad, it’s only out of exhaustion.

-

When everything is over, when Jin Guangyao is dead, Lan Sizhui gets to hug the man he once thought of as his father when he was really little, and to see him stand happy at the side of the other man who raised him. Things have been an awful mess, but Lan Sizhui is so happy for both of them.

Nobody deserves happiness more than Lan Wangji, and even though they don’t know each other too well, Lan Sizhui really likes Wei Wuxian a lot.

Leaving those two to explore what the future can bring them, Lan Sizhui instead takes a trip to the past as he decides to accompany Wen Ning.

First of all, they go to the Burial Mounds once again, this time to gather the ashes of their family. Their people, who paid the price of being on the wrong side of a war they didn’t even want. Lan Sizhui still doesn’t really remember much, but he likes hearing Wen Ning telling him stories about them. It makes him feel a little more complete, even though he never particularly felt like anything was missing from his life until that day in Mo manor.

After giving their relatives a proper burial, they head toward Nightless City, or what’s left of it anyway. Here too, Wen Ning has stories to tell, some of which are happier than Lan Sizhui would have expected. It feels wrong to hear that Wen Ruohan wasn’t always a monster, that he was also a man who loved his sons and played with them when they were children. Lan Sizhui was never taught to fear and hate the Yiling Patriarch as much as others of his generation, but he’s heard plenty about the horror committed by Wen Ruohan and struggles to accept that he, too, was only a man after all.

He wonders if that is how Jin Ling feels about Wen Ning.

In fact, Lan Sizhui thinks a lot about Jin Ling as the weeks pass. Whatever judgement he ever felt for the younger alpha regarding his attitude to Wen Ning has melted away now, replaced by deep sympathy. Jin Ling is only fourteen, and Wen Ning did kill his father, so it’s normal that he would feel so angry. Some things cannot be forgiven. And now that Lan Sizhui is a Wen too, he figures that there’s no friendship possible between them, not after how much sorry his family has caused Jin Ling’s.

For some reason, Lan Sizhui realises he is truly upset about this. He had really been looking forward to knowing Jin Ling better, because while Lan Jingyi is an amazing friend, he’s still not an alpha, and there are things he doesn’t understand. Lan Jingyi now has Ouyang Zizhen to chat with, who as a beta is in a good position to lend an ear, but Lan Sizhui doesn’t really have any close alphas in his life.

He really wanted to be close to Jin Ling.

It won’t happen now.

It’s fine.

At least now, he has a family.

-

Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui have just finished a Night Hunt far into what was once Wen territory when news from the Cloud Recesses reach them. They learn that Lan Xichen, a little while after the events that unfolded in Yunping City, entered seclusion. They learn also that Lan Wangji has married Wei Wuxian, who is rumoured to be with child. Without even needing to talk about it, they immediately start heading back toward Gusu. Lan Sizhui has always thought it would be nice to have a sibling, and now that wish is about to be granted.

By the time they get to the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian is very, very round and very, very upset that he’s being restricted left and right. He’s not allowed a number of his favourite foods, he’s not allowed to experiment with talismans, or to run around, or even to read for too long.

“It is the worst,” Wei Wuxian whines from his bed, surrounded by pillows, nibbling on some snacks that Lan Wangji brought him when he served tea for all of them. “I have never suffered so much in my life. Sizhui, if you marry an omega, you’re forbidden from knocking them up, it is just too awful.”

Lan Sizhui almost snorts in his tea. He glances at Lan Wangji who is watching Wei Wuxian with open adoration, at least for who knows how to read his expressions.

It makes his heart ache that he will probably never know that sort of love. After all, he’s still half engaged to Lan Jingyi as far as he knows. And aside from his best friend, who’d want to marry him? He isn’t sure if he’s still allowed to be part of Gusu Lan. He isn’t sure he still wants to be part of it, now that he knows the truth… and it’s always a little hard for an alpha without resources to marry. Jingyi would, of course, because he’s loyal like that, but Lan Sizhui feels he should insist on dropping whatever understanding existed between them. It would be kinder.

Luckily, when Lan Jingyi comes to see him that evening, he is of a similar opinion.

As the two of them walk toward the rabbits’ clearing to feed them and chat alone, Lan Jingyi starts explaining, very awkwardly, that he won’t be able to marry Lan Sizhui after all.

“It’s Zizhen, you see,” he mumbles when they reach the clearing, his entire face red. “We’ve gone on a few Night Hunts after you left, and we get along really well, and… well, Lan Qiren isn’t too happy about it because he was still hoping on me being Zewu-Jun’s heir rather than Hanguang-Jun’s child, but of course Zizhen is going to inherit his father’s sect someday, it’s so messy when two sect leaders are married! He was still trying to push for that, but then that thing with sect leader Nie and Zewu-Jun happened, and Lan Qiren is seeing what a mess that is, so he’s warming up to the idea of me marrying into Baling Ouyang.”

Kneeling down to hand some cabbage to a particularly bold rabbit, Lan Sizhui shoots his friend a curious look.

“What about Zewu-Jun and sect leader Nie?”

“Oh, right, you wouldn’t have heard!” Lan Jingyi exclaims, startling the poor rabbit and making it run. He sits down next to Lan Sizhui, and grins. “Listen, gossip’s forbidden and all that, but… you’ve heard that Zewu-Jun was marked in his youth, and nobody knows who the alpha is, right? Well, listen to that!”

That, it turns out, is a convoluted tale of romance, deception, and betrayal that spanned over a decade and recently culminated into the recent engagement of Lan Xichen to Nie Huaisang, much to the bafflement of the entire cultivation world.

Lan Sizhui is happy for his uncle, of course. He’s always tried to ignore gossip, but it’s never been possible to avoid all of it, and even within the Cloud Recesses there have always been those who judged their sect leader for that youthful mistake. It’s a little odd to think that the great Zewu-Jun would settle for the Headshaker, but Lan Jingyi swears that Lan Xichen looks more at peace than he had in many years, and so does Lan Sizhui himself when he gets to see his uncle a few days later.

Lan Sizhui is happy, sharing the joy of all these people he loves and who are finding the happiness they want. Even Lan Qiren is probably less angry than he pretends to be. He loves his nephews after all, and he’s always wanted their happiness.

Lan Sizhui is happy, and tries not to feel left out, tries not to resent the fact that while everyone has found happiness in the past year, all he’s gotten is people to mourn, and a fear that he could be killed if anyone found out who he really is.

“I guess we’re going to have a lot of weddings coming,” Lan Sizhui notes, swallowing whatever bitterness he isn’t allowed to feel, choosing instead to grab one of the rabbits and pet it. “I wonder who’s next… do you know if Jin Ling has met any nice omega?”

The idea, for some reasons, makes his heart clench so tight that it nearly makes him sick. Only because then, he’d really be the only one left out, Lan Sizhui figures.

It’s a relief when Lan Jingyi laughs and shakes his head.

“That little mistress? No omega could put up with him!” he mocks. “He is so annoying and stuck up and… but at least, he’s been nice about me and Zizhen. Supportive even! He said if Zizhen’s dad and old man Lan Qiren keep being old farts about this, we can run off to Carp Tower, he’ll take us into Lanling Jin and let us marry. Not that I’d ever want to be a Jin,” Lan Jingyi sniffs disdainfully, “but I appreciate the intention I guess.”

Lan Sizhui lowers his head to hide a smile. Jin Ling isn’t without faults, but at heart he really is a good person, and a good alpha. It really is a shame that there is so much history between their families, because Lan Sizhui really would have liked to…

“He’s been asking about you a lot, you know,” Lan Jingyi remarks, which startles Lan Sizhui.

“Who has?”

“The little mistress of course. We’ve been on a couple Night Hunts with him, and every time he’s asking where you’ve gone, and when you’ll be back, and why you left without saying anything… He really won’t shut up about you. You should write to him and let him know you’re fine, just so he’ll stop pestering me.”

Lan Sizhui’s hand stills in the rabbit's fur, his heart racing in his chest, his face heating up. He can’t figure out why Jin Ling would miss him, they didn’t really get the chance to get close after all, but the idea is… pleasant. Lan Sizhui himself has certainly thought a lot about Jin Ling while he was travelling with Wen Ning. Mostly to mourn this friendship that never had a chance to bloom, but also just because sometimes they passed by a pretty landscape that he wishes he could have shown to the other alpha, or they fought a creature against which Jin Ling’s skill with a bow would have helped, or they passed by some fragrant peonies in bloom, or just because it would have been funny to hear him complain about this and that.

Lan Sizhui wants, very badly, to write to Jin Ling, to see him even. He knows, also, that it would be a bad idea.

If he tells Jin Ling about who he is, and his link to Wen Ning, then he is endangering himself, and risking the good reputation of Lan Wangji who saved him and hid him for years. If he doesn’t tell Jin Ling anything, then it’s a form of deception, since he knows the other alpha would never want his friendship if he knew the truth.

It’s safer, then, to simply stay away.

Still, Lan Sizhui enjoys being missed, more than he probably should.

 -

Lan Sizhui never realised how sad his uncle was, until he went into his room in a Qinghe inn alongside Lan Wangji to help him get ready on the morning of his wedding. It is no secret that the road has been somewhat bumpy for Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang, that even to this day they have their disagreements, but it is just as clear that Lan Xichen is the happiest he's ever been, on that warm morning of late summer. 

Lan Sizhui wonders what it feels like to marry, and for love, too, not just for politics. 

For some reason, his mind immediately wanders to Jin Ling. He's still young of course, and his position is too fragile, but someday he'll marry someone, a pretty little omega from a good family. And then, Lan Sizhui will be the only one of their little group to remain single, since Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen have finally obtained the engagement they wanted. They're hoping to marry next spring, if all goes well.

There's no shame in being single, of course, especially for an alpha, but the more Lan Sizhui realises he's unlikely to marry, the sadder he gets. It would be nice to Night Hunt with another person, to find his equal, his perfect match like his fathers did. Someone strong and determined but still kind, someone like… 

"I wish I didn't have to bother with that veil," Lan Xichen sighs, eyeing the fabric that Lan Sizhui is holding in clenched fists. "It's ridiculous. He knows what I look like."

"It is traditional," Lan Wangji retorts. 

"Did you make Wei Wuxian wear one then?" 

Lan Wangji smirks, ever so slightly. "Eloping has advantages." 

Lan Xichen freezes, blinking a few times. Like almost all of them, he is still a little upset that his brother married in secret. Still, soon enough he is laughing, and turns to look at Lan Sizhui. 

"Some example we are giving you," Lan Xichen remarks, taking the veil from his nephew. "I hope you will be more serious than us when your time comes."

"But father and uncle are very happy," Lan Sizhui notes, allowing himself a moment of insolence on this joyous day. "Surely it gives the impression that breaking rules and ignoring traditions is rather rewarding."

Lan Xichen laughs again as he pins the veil in place, and even Lan Wangji can't help a slight huff, his eyes smiling proudly at his son. 

"I suppose we make bad cases for obedience," Lan Xichen admits. "Not all rules are worth following. And you are a clever young man, so I'm sure the path you'll choose will be a righteous one, and that you'll find a partner worthy of you." 

Lan Sizhui nods. His thoughts, again, go to Jin Ling. Hopefully he too will find a good person. After so much tragedy in his life, he deserves to have someone in his life who will stick with him and be loyal and honest. That’s the very least Jin Ling deserves.

His veil in place but not yet lowered, Lan Xichen stands, smoothing non-existent creases in his robes, making sure that everything is perfect. He looks nervous, as any spouse-to-be can be expected to be. 

Mostly though, he looks happy, and there is no hesitation in his steps when he heads out of the room to go meet his groom.

Nie Huaisang is a lucky man who’d better not mess this up.

 -

The banquet offered by Qinghe Nie to the wedding’s guests is nothing short of magnificent. Whatever faults he has, Nie Huaisang is a good host, who knows how to please people. There are many dishes, fit for every taste, and over half of those are suitable for vegetarians. Lan Sizhui, however, finds himself without much appetite on this happy day.

He really is never going to be Lan sect leader now. Not when he knows who he truly is, not when his father has a daughter of his own blood who is probably only the first of many, not when his uncle too might now have children. It’s a relief, because Lan Sizhui isn’t sure he ever wanted that responsibility in the first place, no more than he would have wanted to marry Lan Jingyi, if he’s honest. But it drives home once more the fact that he doesn’t know what the future holds for him anymore, and that is a little scary. 

Without meaning to, Lan Sizhui’s eyes start to wander toward the Jin guests, and rest on their young sect leader. It is the first time Lan Sizhui sees him in over a year, since that day in Yunping City. He looks taller, and a good deal less like a child, but that’s no surprise with everything that has changed for him. Jin Ling seems to be growing into a serious young man. A handsome one as well, but that’s hardly a surprise, the Jins usually have their good looks going for them, even if their personalities can be lacking… though Jin Ling has both a good face and a good heart, of course.

Lan Sizhui must have stared too long, because after a while, Jin Ling notices, looks in his direction, and smiles. It makes Lan Sizhui’s heart beat a little faster, until he remembers that there can be no friendship between them, not unless he lies.

In this too his life has changed. 

His mood taking a sour turn, Lan Sizhui excuses himself to Lan Jingyi, leaves his seat abruptly, and goes for a walk. Hopefully, the Nies won't mind too much that he is wandering a bit. If anyone asks, he'll say he is looking for the garden his uncle mentioned after some of his visits. 

No one asks. 

Lan Sizhui might as well be a ghost. 

He feels a bit like one, tied to a past tragedy that now defines him. The lone survivor of a sect that should be extinct, forced to decide if he should follow the teaching of the family that raised him, or try to find again those of a family he cannot remember. Either way, it would feel like betraying someone.

Just as Lan Sizhui finally finds that garden, he hears footsteps running after him. Before he even turns to look, he knows by the flowery smell that reaches him who decided to follow him.

“Lan Sizhui!” Jin Ling shouts as he gets closer. “Are you avoiding me?”

Lan Sizhui winces, unsure how to answer that without insulting or lying. He has been avoiding Jin Ling, but it would be unwise to admit it.

“It’s been ages!” Jin Ling insists, unbothered by the lack of reply. “And I know you know that you’re invited to come to Carp Tower whenever you like, because I told Jingyi to tell you, and he said that he told you!”

Lan Sizhui can’t fully repress a small smile. Lan Jingyi has, indeed, passed that invitation on to him. Lan Sizhui has assumed he was invited only out of politeness, to avoid offending another alpha due to the friendship Jin Ling has developed with the omega Lan Sizhui was once half expected to marry. It can’t have been anything more. Like Jin Ling says, it’s been a long time since they met.

“I am very sorry,” Lan Sizhui says, which is nothing but the truth. “I have been busy.”

He hesitates to say more than that. Considering Jin Ling’s distaste for Wen Ning, it is probably better not to mention him. It is a happy day, Lan Sizhui doesn’t want to ruin it.

Jin Ling, unimpressed, shrugs and steps closer. It is hard to ignore that he’s taller than Lan Sizhui now, his shoulders broader. Jin Ling is everything that an alpha ought to be, and Lan Sizhui almost envies whoever will get to be his omega.

“I know you’ve been busy,” Jin Ling retorts, crossing his arms on his chest, looking a little like the haughty boy he was when they first met. “Travelling places with the Ghost General and all that… but you’ve been back to Gusu for a few months, would it have been so hard to come say hi?”

“That’s…”

“You can even take Wen Ning with you if you want, I don’t care,” Jin Ling adds, rolling his eyes as if he can’t believe he has to spell it out. “I don’t hate him as much as I used to, and Lan Jingyi says he’s actually good company. Plus he’s related to you, isn’t he? So of course I want to learn to tolerate him better.”

Lan Sizhui gasps softly, his blood turning to ice at the thought that anyone might have guessed already. Of course he knew that people would talk after hearing that he travelled with Wen Ning, but somehow he’d hoped that nobody would realise why he was doing that, not yet, not so soon.

Jin Ling, again, rolls his eyes.

“Right, it’s supposed to be a secret I guess?” he snorts. “Well, I’m not a complete idiot, thanks. I can see that you look a bit like him, and my uncle told me more about when Wei Wuxian was living in the Burial Mounds, since I asked. He says there was a child there, and then I just had to do some math and… well, I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You’re right,” Lan Sizhui confirms, terrified and elated at once that he doesn’t need to keep that secret from Jin Ling. “You seem to be taking this rather well.”

Jin Ling shrugs, a touch of red colouring his cheeks.

“I’ve had time to get used to the idea,” he grumbles. “I was pretty pissed off at first when I realised, but then I figured it doesn’t change things that much. You’re still you, and I still want to be close to you, the rest doesn’t matter.”

Hearing this, Lan Sizhui’s face heats up.

“I’d like that as well,” he admits with a shy smile. “I thought you wouldn’t want for us to be friends if you knew, so this is a relief.”

“Of course I’d want to be friends anyway!” Jin Ling exclaims. “I don’t care if you’re a Wen, or a Lan, or whatever! You’re Sizhui, and I want us to be close, I don’t care about the rest!”

Lan Sizhui’s blush deepens, and he looks away, trying to contain a nervous laughter.

“Jin Ling, I’d have thought being a sect leader would have taught you to be more careful about what you say,” he teases. “You’re lucky we’re both alphas, or else your words might be misunderstood as something else.”

Jin Ling’s entire face turns so red the cinnabar dot on his forehead nearly disappears. It’s… it’s cute. It’s really cute, and Lan Sizhui knows he shouldn’t think of another alpha as being adorable, but he can’t help it.

“There’s nothing to misunderstand!” Jin Ling blurts out, fists clenched on either side of his body.

“Of course,” Lan Sizhui sighs, a little too amused that Jin Ling is still the same, even if he’s grown up. “I was just…”

“There’s nothing to misunderstand because that’s exactly the way I mean it!” Jin Ling cuts him, grabbing one of his hands and squeezing it just a little too tight. “I like you a lot, Lan Sizhui! And I don’t care that you’re a Wen, or that you’re an alpha, I still like you like that, so deal with it!”

Lan Sizhui gapes at the other alpha, stunned by those words he would never have expected.

If it were anyone else, he’d think of a joke. Or else, he’d think that this is just a younger alpha who admires an older one a little too much, as can happen. It’s not unheard of just after presenting, and it usually goes away quickly. In fact, if Jin Ling had said this back in Yi City, Lan Sizhui would have dismissed it as just a passing crush. But they haven’t seen each other in so long that Jin Ling should have grown out of that phase already. Beside, he looks and sounds dreadfully sure of himself.

And Lan Sizhui, who has never really given much thought to those few omega who tried to flirt with him, finds his heart racing in his chest at the idea that Jin Ling might like him.

“Jin Ling, that’s…”

“Don’t say anything!” Jin Ling orders, squeezing his hand harder. “You don’t get to say anything until you’ve really thought about it, and then you’ll have to come visit me in Carp Tower if you want to talk about it! But I mean this, so don’t treat me as a kid, and give it real thought. I’m serious about this, and if you don’t like me back yet, then I’ll just have to convince you!”

There won’t be much convincing needed, Lan Sizhui suspects, his eyes falling to their joined hands. He’s never thought of Jin Ling in that light before, but only because his whole life used to be so neatly mapped out for him.

Suddenly, that sense of uncertainty he’s been feeling since he understood where he comes from isn’t so scary anymore. The Lan Sizhui of before, half engaged to his best friend, half expected to become sect leader, could never have allowed himself to even think about Jin Ling in that light. The person he is now can, and he certainly will.

He’s already been thinking about Jin Ling more than he should, anyway.

“I’ll come to Carp Tower soon,” Lan Sizhui promises, carefully moving his hand to thread their fingers together.

He likes the hopeful way Jin Ling stares at him, his tone and gesture already betraying what his answer will be.

Lan Sizhui grins.

The future, once more, feels like something to look forward to.

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

Ch 10- When Three Became Four

Summary: Baby Bean makes his arrival and Frank and his mother reach a significant turning point in their relationship as a result. Well, they always say that births, deaths and marriages are the 3 things that can bring a family together, right?

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

A/N:  Ok, so not gonna lie, I made myself cry with this one. It’s ridiculous, if anyone could have seen me I’d have been sectioned. Just a note, I’ve never had a kid before but been there when both my god children were born so I hope this is as realistic as it could be! Love to hear your thoughts and comments.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 9

Blue eyes laughing in the sun, laughing in the rain. Baby's got blue eyes, and I am home, and I am home again

Once Frank's initial mad 30 seconds had finished, the panic turned to excitement as he dressed and quietly carried Fliss' hospital bag down to the truck. When he came back Fliss was out of bed and dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt

"You OK?" He asked, she looked at him and nodded. "Just a little uncomfortable." "Do you wanna stay up here or..." She shook her head "No, it’s supposed to help if I can move around." Frank nodded "Alright, let's head downstairs." Together they made their way slowly to the living area, Frank making sure Fliss was comfortable before he set about making them a drink, only to be cut short when he heart Fliss let out a little groan. He stopped what he was doing and headed straight over to the sofa, kneeling in front of her as she was doubled over, one hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly. He softly ran his hands up and down the outside of her thighs as she breathed through the latest contraction. "That one was the worst yet." She mumbled and Frank smiled sympathetically. They sat together, vigilantly timing the contractions, the world outside growing light as they did and when it got to half six, a few hours since they had woken up, Fliss decided she needed to pee. Frank watched her make her way to the bathroom, leaving her to it at her request until five minutes later she gave a yell. He jumped up, running down the hall to see her stood in the doorway. "My waters just went. Well, I think they did, I mean, I don't know, I was peeing and..." "Hey, calm down." He urged her gently "Do you need to change your clothes?" She shook her head. "Alright, let's get you sat down and then I'll go wake mother and we'll head in, ok?" "What's going on?" A sleepy voice said and they both looked up to see Mary padding down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. She stopped and looked at them both, understanding flooding her little face and she beamed.” Oh my God, is he on his way?" "Sure is." Frank nodded. "Can you keep Lissy company for a moment whilst I grab Evelyn?" Mary nodded eagerly and jumped down the last three steps, slipping her hand into Fliss' as they headed back into the living room. Frank jogged over to the garage, up the steps at the side and banged his fist against the door to the guest apartment. It took his mother a few moments but she appeared in a robe and looked at him, arching an eyebrow. "Lissy's waters have broken." He was unable to stop the grin which spread across his face as Evelyn smiled at him. "I told you that appointment wouldn't be needed. Give me five minutes to dress and I'll be over." He bounded down the stairs and hurried back inside. Fliss was now stood by the island in the kitchen, both hands flat on the surface, breathing through another contraction as Mary sat on the stool besides her. Frank gently moved towards her so he could rub her back and she turned to him, clutching at his blue and white plaid button down, pressing her head to his collar bone. "Fuck it hurts, Frank.” "I know, Honey." He gently soothed even though he didn’t know. In fact he had no fucking idea how much it hurt and he didn’t even want to insult her intelligence by pretending he did, but it was the only thing he could thing to say. “But we'll be on our way soon and when we get to the hospital they can get you more comfortable" A few minutes later Evelyn entered the kitchen and glanced at Fliss, giving her a soft smile. "I won't insult you by asking if you're okay." She said and Fliss gave a soft chuckle. "Can we go now?" Mary asked hopping down from the stool. "You're staying here." Frank informed her softly and Mary stopped, looking at him.

"Why?"

"Darling, once he is born you won't be able to go in and see him for a while." Evelyn jumped in. "The doctors have all sorts of things to do, and Fliss might not feel ready for visitors for a few hours." "But I want to be in the waiting room." She looked at Evelyn then to Frank who was gently rubbing Fliss’ back. “Like we did that time, remember?"

Frank paused as he and Fliss exchanged a look How could they forget? "I wanna be there when you come out and tell everyone he's arrived.” Mary finished with a whisper, her eyes brimming with tears. "And you can be.” Fliss nodded as Frank crouched down in front of Mary.

“You don't need to be there just yet. It could take hours. You and Grandmother can have some breakfast and then Poppa Bill and Nanny V will pick you up a little later, okay? Then you can come and wait." "'Kay." She mumbled a little as Frank rose to his feet. "Go." Evelyn looked at him, her hand dropping to Mary's shoulder. "We'll be fine." He nodded, gave Mary one last hug and a kiss on her head before he looked at Fliss and the pair of them made their way outside.

Once he had helped Fliss to sit in the truck, and made sure her belt was fastened, he jogged to the driver’s side and jumped in. "Ready?" He looked at Fliss. She turned to him and shook her head. "No, not at all." "Me neither." He said aa he started the truck up with a grin. "I’m excited though." Fliss smiled softly "yeah, me too." **** They called Fliss' parents on the way, Verity's sleepy voice laced with excitement as soon as she answered the phone and realised what was going on. She promised Frank they would bring Mary and his mother up in a few hours and after he also promised to keep them updated on progress, Frank hit the button on the steering wheel and cut the call. Fliss had gone quiet again, and she bent forward slightly, breathing deeply. He moved his spare hand over to take hers and she gripped his fingers, as she let out a low groan through grit teeth, her head falling back against the head rest.

“Jesus.” She eventually mumbled once she could speak again. “I don’t like this labour bollocks.” Frank chuckled “I’m sorry, Baby.” “So you should be.” She glared at him “You did this to me.” “Yeah, and I would say I’m sorry but that would be a lie.” He grinned, raising her hand to his lips, brushing his mouth over his knuckles.

“Wanker.” she shot back, before she smiled a little and looked out of the window.

“Does it feel any different?”

“Does what feel different?”

“Just it, you know, everything in general, once you’re a parent I mean?”

Frank took a deep breath “I don’t-“

Fliss shot him a glare and he cut himself off from his protest, taking a deep breath. She was right, he did know. In a way anyway.

“When I took charge of Mary, everything changed. Suddenly it wasn’t just me to look after. I had this tiny, little person that needed me every single minute of the day. My entire outlook on life changed, what was important before paled into insignificance because that little person became my world. It’s hard work, but so worth it.”  Frank glanced at her and smiled “But you already know that too.”

“Well, not really…I mean, yeah, okay I love Mary like she is my own.”

“She is yours as much as she is mine.”

“…but she’s not a baby and…”

“She’s harder work now than when she was a baby, trust me.” Frank chuckled and Fliss smiled.

“It’s just kind of a big deal.” She spoke again after a little while.

“Huge deal.” Frank agreed, checking his mirror as he changed lanes to swing up onto the freeway.

“I mean I’ve known that this was gonna happen, that one day he would actually be here but I guess for the last seven months or so I’ve never really thought about what that means.”

“You’re already a great mom to Mary and you will be to Bean.” Frank assured her gently “Don’t worry about that, not one bit. We’re in this together okay. It’s gonna be fine.” Fliss shook her head, “I swear to God at times you can read my mind.” “No, I just know you inside out.” He replied, kissing her hand again.

***** Once they arrived at the hospital they were settled in the room quite quickly, Frank helping Fliss change into a gown. From then on it was an hour and a half or so of the contractions progressing, each one seemingly getting longer in duration and more painful. Fliss was managing reasonably well on the gas and air, at some point offering Frank some so he could "join the party" so to speak which he declined with a chuckle.

“Remind me again why we thought this was a good idea?” Fliss moaned after another contraction had finally subsided.

“I don’t remember there being much thinking about it at all.” Frank quipped and she looked at him, raising an eyebrow as she crunched down on some of the ice chips she had in the cup in front of her.

“OK, so that’s true.” She conceded. “He certainly wasn’t on the agenda, so to speak.”

“But I wouldn’t change it for the world.” Frank smiled, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Hmmmm.” Fliss looked at him as he sat back down, letting out a chuckle.

“And neither would you.” He arched an eyebrow, squeezing her hand gently. Fliss smiled and shook her head.

“No. He’ll be worth it.”

“That said, next time we go to Boston, maybe you need to remember to take your pill.” Frank suggested and Fliss rolled her eyes.

“I’m getting an IUD fitted as soon as I can. That or we just don’t have sex again. Ever.”

Frank shook his head “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

“Silly me, of course, Frankie has needs…well I got news for you mate.” She pointed at him as he raised his eyebrows. “It’s gonna be a very long time before you get anywhere near me again.”

Frank snorted and shrugged. “Suppose I best get re-acquainted with my hand.”

Fliss let out a bark of a laugh “You’re disgusting”

He shrugged, “Hey, look, you nearly bust my balls when I came back from Vegas.”

“You deserved that.” She narrowed her eyes.

“I didn’t say otherwise, was jut pointing out a fact. I’m sure Blue Balls Syndrome is a medically recognised condition.” Fliss opened her mouth to shoot back a reply but instead her face contorted into pain once more and she took a huge inhale of the gas and air, gripping Frank’s hand as another contraction washed over her. Frank waited with her, as her grip became almost painful but he wouldn’t have dared comment on it. He’d rather let her break every finger of his hand than suggest she was hurting him because, at that moment in time, he was convinced she’d find something to beat him to death with if he did. At roughly ten am, round about six hours after she had woken Frank up, the contractions were coming roughly five minutes apart and Fliss finally gave in and asked for an epidural. The midwife examined her, and then with a smile and a reassurance she headed off to call the anaesthetist. He arrived some thirty minutes later and explained to Fliss what he was going to do. Once the formalities were over, Frank helped Fliss to sit up, and she shuffled to the edge of the bed ready for the epidural when all of a sudden she squeezed Frank's hand tightly and looked at him, her eyes wide. "Oh...God, Frankie I think…”

“What, what is it, Baby?” he asked, crouching a little so he could look her in the eyes.

“I think I need to push." She took a deep breath and Frank swallowed a little, but before he could say anything else, one of the junior midwives cut in. "That's impossible." Her voice was laced with an air of ridicule "You were only four centimetres half an hour ago. There's no way you could have gone so far so fast." Fliss let out another cry, this one panicked and Frank felt a surge of anger at the fact she was being dismissed. "Listen..." He glared at the woman straightening up as he kept hold of Fliss hand. "If she's saying she needs to push then she clearly does. She's hardly gonna be fucking making it up now is she?" Thankfully the more senior Midwife took over and looked at Fliss kindly. "Okay Miss Gallagher, let’s get you lay back down and we'll take a look, alright?”

Fliss gave a little nod through her tears and Frank helped her move back to the middle of the bed as she gave another cry out. Her hand still in his, he smiled at her softly as the midwife moved to examine her. After a moment the woman straightened up, nodding. "Yep, we're fully engaged." She turned to the anaesthetist. "It’s too late. She's gonna have to manage on the entonox" "What?" Fliss looked around as Frank gently shushed her, his hand running over her hair. "Over the last half hour things have progressed faster than we thought.” The midwife explained “So we can't give you the epidural." "Well you best give me something because I swear to fucking God..." her voice trailed off as she grabbed the mouthpiece to the gas and took a huge breath in, gripping Frank's hand as another contraction washed over her. "Ok, Fliss..." the midwife looked at her, completely unabashed at Fliss’ tone. “Next time you feel the urge to push I want you to go with it ok? Nice and gentle, do what your body is telling you. Can you do that?" Fliss nodded, swallowing slightly. Frank smiled at her, encouragingly. "You got this, Honey." He said, kissing her hand. "You got this."

***** Twenty minutes of pushing later, Fliss was convinced she had anything but got this. She was now on all fours as this was the comfiest position she could get into. Laying on her back was excruciating, so when this had been suggested to her as an alternative by the midwife she had gladly tried it. Frank was stood by her head, his hand softly rubbing her back, giving her all the encouragement he could as she gripped at his arm, her face pressed into his shoulder. She felt another wave, and the Midwife looked up at Frank with a smile. “He's crowning. Fliss, you're almost there." "Hear that?" Frank crouched down, looking at her, smiling. “Nearly done, Sweetheart." "You are never doing this to me again." Fliss seethed at him from between grit teeth. Frank smiled "Well we got two now so I'm okay with that. Least you didn't say I couldn't ever touch you again." "Don't tempt me." She groaned, before she grew silent and let out another loud scream, gripping Frank's bicep so hard he almost winced. After a monumental effort she sagged forward a little and the midwife called out. "Okay, his head is out. One more Fliss, good girl. Come on." At that Frank took his cue. "Hear that? One last time, Lissy." He beamed at her, still crouching down, her hand in his. "I’m so tired Frank." She shook her head, sobbing "I can't..." "Yes you can." He remained calm as he smoothed her hair back off her sweaty forehead. "One more and you're there. You've done so well, Sweetheart." Thirty seconds later, after digging as deep as she could, Fliss' screams were joined by a high pitch crying and her entire body succumbed to exhaustion and she slipped forward slightly, Frank jumping to his feet to catch her. "Lissy, you did it." Frank felt the tears stinging his eyes as he and the junior midwife helped her to lay back down. He could see from her face she was dazed and exhausted as she rest her head against the pillow, her breathing deep. "Is he okay?" She gasped, as her baby's piercing screams rang out round the room. "He's absolutely fine." The midwife beamed, as their baby was placed on Fliss chest and the new parents both got a first look at their little Boston Bean. "Hey, Baby!" Fliss gasped, through her tears as she held him close, his cries softening slightly. "Oh my God, look at him Frank." "I am." He swallowed, his voice cracking. "I can't take my eyes off him. Oh fuck, Lissy, I'm so proud of you." He stuttered, pressing a kiss to her head as he gently ran a finger over his baby son's cheek, perching on the side of the bed next to them both. A perfect little nose, round little cheeks, a spattering of light, downy hair, two tiny hands and tiny feet...he was the most beautiful baby boy Frank had ever laid eyes on and he felt his heart swelling so much he thought it might burst from his chest. "He looks like you." Fliss glanced at Frank who tore his eyes off his son to look at her. "You think?" He asked, glancing back down. "Yeah.” Fliss nodded. "Same nose, cheeks and eye shape. He's an Adler alright." As the various medical staff bustled around, neither of them paid any attention to them at all, both wrapped up in their previous little bundle, who, after a few minutes, opened his eyes, blinking a little against the light. Frank smiled as those sparkling little globes flickered around at his surroundings. The lump in his throat seemed to be growing by the second and he rest his head against Fliss' the pair of them mesmerised by those baby blues until she nudged him and told him to take a few photos. Standing up on wobbling legs, with a shaky hand he did as he was told, until a doctor apologetically said that then needed to take him for his scores and what not. "Take him?" Fliss asked, instinctively clutching him closer as she glanced a Frank. "He won't be gone long." Frank reassured her. "They told us about this, remember? Mary was gone ten minutes, tops." "Actually we can do it here." The doctor smiled. “We have the facilities in the room so he will literally be right over there. And we can get you cleaned up properly, Miss Gallagher" That placated Fliss a little, but she was still reluctant to hand him over and when she finally did she insisted that Frank go with him to watch what they were doing. Having been fully intending to do so anyway, Frank followed over to the far side of the room, hovering as his baby son was examined and given a vitamin shot before being tenderly cleaned up.

“Do you have a specific blanket for him?” The midwife looked at Frank and he nodded, turning to grab the little white blanket they had bought which was decorated in stars. He handed it over and the midwife took it with a smile. "Does he have a name yet?" The doctor who had been doing his scores looked up from where he had been making notes and Frank nodded as he swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, erm, Alexander William..." "No." Fliss suddenly cut in and Frank turned to her, wondering if she was still slightly out of it. "Honey?" He frowned, "What-" "His name." She sat up slightly. "Alexander Francis William." Frank blinked. “I don’t…we didn’t discuss that?”

And they hadn’t, but it had come to Fliss the moment she had held him in her arms. It just felt right.

"He's the most important boy in our lives, Frank." She smiled, sniffing a little "I want him named after the best man in mine." Frank felt the tears prick his eyes at her words and he hastily blinked them away, smiling and giving her a nod to say he understood.

“Is that agreed on?” The Doctor gave a little smile and Frank took a deep breath.

“Yeah, erm. Alexander Francis William Adler.” He spoke his baby’s name for the first time, more tears welling in his eyes which he blinked away as he watched the midwife attach a tiny tag to Alex's right wrist sporting his name and an identity number before he was wrapped up in his blanket.

"Ready for a hold, Dad?" The midwife looked at him and Frank nodded, swallowing. "Are you doing skin to skin or..." "Yeah." Frank nodded again, loosening the top four buttons of his pale blue shirt before Alex was handed to him, the midwife helping Frank to gently arrange the blanket so his son's chest was pressed to his.

“Oh, shit.” He whispered softly, his eyes misting over. "Hey son, how you doing?" Alex burrowed his face slightly into Frank’s chest, his eyes wide as his dad’s large hands tenderly held him close, one on his back, the other underneath him. He walked over towards the bed as the midwives finished cleaning Fliss up, and carefully sat down, looking at his girl as she watched them both, smiling softly. "I fuckin' love you." He blurted out, this time not bothering to even try and hold his tears back as a few fell down his cheeks. "Look what you gave me." Fliss gave a little splutter of a happy sob as Frank gently moved one hand to tighten around hers, his other keeping his son secure to his chest. "You curve balled me on the name." He smiled and Fliss shrugged, reached out to gently smooth over Alex's head. "I mean it." She looked up at Frank, her eyes swimming. "You are. You fixed me Frank, you took those last broken pieces and..." "Liss…” Frank struggled to keep his composure as his fingers tightened around hers. "…and you showed me, just what..." She stuttered a little, her breathing ragged through her sobs "...what a normal love with a kind and gentle man is, what it's like to be with someone who would do anything to prevent me from being hurt instead of..." She swallowed, her eyes looking deep into his which were now freely spilling tears down his handsome face. "I can't even begin to explain how much I love you." Frank took a huge, shuddering breath, conscious his son was still clutched to his chest as he leaned forward, pressing his head to Fliss', running his nose against hers before atching her lips softly with his. "You gave me everything I didn't know I needed." He sniffed, and she smiled, glancing down at their baby. "You fixed me too, when I didn't even know I was broken." Fliss reached up to cup his cheek, but their moment was interrupted as Alex began to fuss. "Think he might be hungry." Frank glanced down at him. Fliss sat up as Frank handed him over and with a little help from the midwife and a few missed attempts soon he was latched on to her breast and suckling happily, his little hand curling into a fist, resting by his cheek. Frank sat still on the bed, watching Fliss nurse him for a while before he leaned over and kissed her head. "Suppose I best go tell them all he is here." Flias grinned before her face stilled a little. "I err...I don't really want them in just yet. I’m tired and I wanna get cleaned up and changed and..." She trailed off. "But Mary could come I suppose if she starts to get upset." The fact she was still putting Mary's feelings before her own made Frank's chest warm and he shook his head, cutting her off. "She'll be fine" Frank assured her. "Leave her to me."

With a last glance down he kissed Fliss’ head, then Alex’s before he jumped off the bed and headed down the corridor. In the elevator down to the waiting room he caught a glimpse of his reflection. His eyes were red from all the tears and his hair was stuck up on end as well from the amount of times his hands had run through it. Hastily flattening it down, he turned back as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor and he strode out, heading down the corridor before he pushed open the door into the waiting room.

He instantly spotted Bill, Verity and Mary sat on the chairs, but not his mother. He’d text them an hour and a half ago to say that Fliss was getting towards the end of her labour and as such they’d obviously headed straight over. As he walked towards them, Bill spotted him, his face breaking into a huge smile and the man gently nudged Mary. She glanced up from her book and Bill nodded towards Frank. Mary’s head turned in his direction and she gave a yell, running across the floor to him, grinning ear to ear. He picked her up, hugging her tight as she kissed his cheek before he moved her onto his hip, grinning around as Bill and Verity reached him.

“Mom and baby doing fine. He arrived about Thirty minutes ago.” Frank beamed “7lb 4 and, shit guys, he's perfect!”

He dropped Mary down to the floor and pulled his phone out, scanning through to a photo. He handed it to Mary whilst Verity pulled him in for a hug and then Bill shook his hand furiously before yanking him towards him, slapping his back.

“Congratulations, lad. How's my little girl?”

“Fine, just tired.” Frank assured him. “He arrived a little too fast for an epidural but, man, she did so well. I’m so fahkin proud of her.” “You gone all Sweary-Boston again!” Mary teased, as Verity took the phone to have a look at her grandson, her hand flying to her mouth before she showed it to Bill whose own eyes started to water.

“Where's my mother?” Frank asked.

“She’s at home.” Verity looked at him. “She says she didn't want to crowd you.” Reading between the lines, Frank knew that to mean she wasn't sure she was wanted or welcome. She hadn't been at Mary's birth, in fact she hadn't laid eyes on Mary until she was seven, and he knew that would be playing on her mind, wondering if she had a right to be here after everything. But they were past that now, or so he had thought anyway. In his mind this certainly wasn’t the time for bad blood or raking over old ground. It was time for her to step up and make the amends like she claimed to be so keen to.

“I’ll drop her a message.” Frank nodded after a moment’s pause and Verity smiled. “When can we see him?” Mary demanded. “In a little while, Stack” Frank’s hand dropped to her head “Fliss is feeding him now and then she needs to clean up properly and get settled, maybe take a nap because she's exhausted.” “Why don’t we go for some lunch?” Bill suggested and Frank could have kissed him. “Then Frank can call when they’re ready for us to come back?”

Mary looked around for a moment, pondering the idea before she nodded “Okay, can we go to the Shack?” “We can go wherever you want.” Bill beamed.

"If Evelyn decides to come up once I’ve spoken to her, could you swing by and pick her up, if it’s not too much trouble?" Frank asked. "Course." Bill assured him with a wink and Frank nodded mouthing thank you. “Can I tell them his name yet?”  Mary demanded Frank hesitated. He hadn't asked Fliss that, but as he thought about it, he knew she would want to be there when they found out so he shook his head. "Not yet. We can do that together later, okay?"

“Okay.” Mary nodded.

He gave her another hug and then promised to call them as soon as Fliss was feeling up to it before he turned and headed back to his girl and his son.

His son.

Fuck.

When he reached the room, Alex had finished feeding and Fliss had him held up over her shoulder, gently rubbing at his back. She looked over to him, smiling as he crossed the room.

“How’s he doing?”

“Fine.” She smiled “He’s fed…seems a little sleepy now.”

“You should take advantage.” One of the midwives spoke. “Put him down for a nap, eat that sandwich and rest yourself.” “Sounds like a good idea.” Frank said, then he cheekily added “I’m whacked.”

“You’re whacked?” Fliss glared at him as she sifted Alex back so he was once more lay in her arms.

“Well you woke me up early!”

“God you’re a dickhead.” She shook her head, snorting as he laughed.

“Love you.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he looked down at Alex whose eyes were definitely growing heavy.

“Can we dress him now?” Fliss asked and the midwife smiled.

“You can do whatever you want now. I’m officially heading out of your hair, unless there’s anything you need?”

Frank looked at Fliss who shook her head “No, we can manage, thank you.”

“Well then, if you do need anything someone will be in the office. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you and see if you want anything more to eat”

“Can I take a shower or…”

The midwife nodded “Absolutely, as long as Mr Adler is here.” “Yeah, I will be.” “In that case then I suggest a nice bath, change into your pyjamas and relax.” She smiled “Honestly, when I had both my kids, there was no better feeling.”

With that she gave them another small smile before she left the room.

“Can you pop him in the basinet?” Fliss looked up at Frank.

“Course.” He smiled, reaching out and gently picking his son up. He gave his head a soft kiss before he gently placed him down and then moved to help Fliss stand up. She was a little shaky at first but after a few steps she seemed to be fairly steady. With a grin Fliss selected the baby grow they had bought the day of their first scan and Frank chuckled as she gently popped the studs down the front. Frank watched as she tenderly dressed him, smiling to himself as she picked him up again, holding him to her front.

“I don’t want to put him down.” She whispered, her face concentrating on her now very sleepy baby.

“Then you don’t hafta.” Frank chuckled

“But what if I make him clingy…” “Lissy, he’s like an hour old.” Frank smiled “And I hate to break it to you, but babies are kinda fucking clingy. Why don’t you sit down and hold him for a bit whilst I draw you a bath?”

“Okay.” She nodded. Frank dropped a kiss to her head before he turned and walked into the bathroom.

Once her bath was ready he asked if she needed a hand getting in. She shook her head and with an almost wistful look handed Alex over to his dad and disappeared into the bathroom. Frank held his son close, looking down at him as he slept contentedly in his arms. He wandered over to the window, looking out over the bay, smiling to himself.

“I’ll take you out there as soon as I can.” He said, looking down at his baby “You’ll love it. Wind in your hair, spot a few dolphins…”

After a moment or two of gently rocking Alex as he stood watching the day outside, he turned and placed him down again, making sure he was covered by his blanket before he grabbed the bag and pulled out the pale blue lounge set Fliss had packed. It had been a gift from Roberta, pattered with tiny little stars and was a button down for ease. Mary had a matching pair as well, not one to miss out.

Checking Alex once more he pulled out his phone, snapped another quick photo before he fired it off to the Circle of Truth WhatsApp group along with the photos he had taken before. As the messages of congratulations began to flood in, he suddenly remembered that he had someone else he needed to speak to.

His mother answered after two rings “Frank?”

“Hey, so…er…he’s here!” He grinned as he spoke. “Safe and sound. Fliss is okay, she’s in the bath so…” “Oh, that’s…” His mother took a breath “That’s great, I’m really pleased.” “You weren’t in the waiting room before.” “I know, I didn’t want to crowd you.” “Well, Bill, Verity and Mary are coming back later to meet him. You should too.”

Evelyn paused before she spoke again, her voice cracking slightly “Are you sure?” “Mom, you’re his grandmother.” He sighed gently. “Look, I know what you’ll be thinking, all sorts of shit about Diane and Mary but, none of us can change the past.” He took a breath “This is your chance. Step up. Enjoy the moments you missed last time.” He heard her sniff a little, and he was surprised to feel himself becoming a little emotional. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I err…just…” She took a deep breath “I’d love to come meet him. Let me know when and I’ll organise a car…” “No need. Just give Bill a call. He said he’d bring you.”

“Thanks.” She replied gently. “Did you take any photos yet?”

“Yeah…I’ll send you one.” “Please do. I’d like that.” She paused again. “And I’ll see you later I guess.” “Sure.”

“Give my love to Fliss, please.” “Will do.” With that Frank cut the call and, once he’d sent the photo to her, he put his phone back in his pocket and smoothed down the blanket to take a look at Alex again, his conversation with his mother rattling through his brain.

He’d been right, she was feeling guilty. Guilty at how she was here for Alex but hadn’t been there for Mary or Diane for that matter. But he had meant what he said, none of them could change the past, it was how they moved forward that counted, how she took the second chance she had been given.

Frank knew his relationship with his mother was as good as it was probably going to ever get. But he could live with what it was, dare he say, he actually kind of liked it if he was honest. She was still far enough away not to piss him off on a daily basis, or try and interfere, but she visited regularly enough and when she did it was easier than he had ever anticipated. She’d certainly upheld her side of the bargain with Mary and if she did the same thing with Alex, he’d be happy. She was his grandmother after all, just like he’d told her.

“Mom, you’re his grandmother.”

As he recalled his words he felt his breath catch and his eyes mist over once more when he realised he’d called her mom, and for the first time that he could remember, she hadn’t corrected him.

***** After her bath, Fliss had emerged to see find Frank still quite emotional. He explained to her about his conversation with his mother and she’d listened as they lay on the bed, her head on his chest. Eventually the pair of them had drifted off and managed a few hours sleep before Alex had woken them both crying. He fed again and then Fliss smiled at Frank and told him she wanted to see everyone. With a nod he headed off to find a midwife to see if everyone was allowed into the room at once, and she had suggested that instead of doing it that way they used it in the family room within the birthing centre.

“We can do that?” Frank questioned and she nodded. “Of course.” The woman smiled at him. “In fact we encourage everyone to use the room as soon as they feel up to it. It's designed to give new moms and dads a space away from the recovery suites, somewhere to walk to and just chill out in, a bit like you would do if you were at home.”

“And Fliss is okay to walk down there?”

“Sure, in fact her being a little active and walking around is the best thing. All helps with her recovery and psychologically she'll feel like she has done something other than sit or lay down if that makes sense?”

Frank smiled and headed back to the room telling Fliss what the nurse had said.

“You up to that?” he asked and Fiss nodded eagerly.

“God, yes.” She grinned “I know it’s only been a few hours but I’m getting twitchy just laying here.”

Frank smiled, he should have known. She wasn’t the best at sitting still and had been active right up until going into labour.

“Okay, well I’ll call everyone, get them in.”

“I think we should let Mary in here to see him first.” Fliss looked at him and Frank beamed at her, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Half an hour later Bill called to say they had arrived and Frank gave him the directions up to the room having already booked them in. Fliss stood up and he held out her robe so she could shrug it on over her lounge set, before she shoved her feet into her flip flops.

“Ready?” Frank asked and she nodded. With a quick kiss he headed off to the lounge, opening the door. He smiled round at his family before he held his hand out. “Come on Stack.”

Mary jumped up and slipped her hand into his and, after promising everyone else he’d be back shortly, he led her down the corridor.

“Now you need to be quiet.” He instructed as he paused outside the room. Mary nodded and Frank smiled at her as he pushed open the door.

“Hi!” Fliss grinned from where she sat on the edge of her bed, Alex in her arms. Mary stopped dead, simply staring at the baby. You ok?”

“Yeah…” Mary breathed, her eyes focussed on Alex as she walked towards him. She peered down at his face and then grinned up at Frank.

“He has your nose.” “So I’m told.” Frank smiled “You wanna hold him?” “Can I?” “Course you can.” Fliss nodded.

Mary hopped up onto the bed, Frank settling besides her and he showed her how to position her arms as Fliss placed Alex down into them. Frank moved so his left arm was curled round Mary, his hand gently supporting her left elbow as she peered down at Alex. He heard her give a soft sniff and he looked at Fliss before he turned to Mary.

“You okay, Mary?”

“Yeah, I’m just so happy.” She said, her voice wobbling slightly and Frank felt his own eyes watering for what felt like the thousandth time that day. No one said anything else, just let Mary have her little moment before Fliss softly suggested it was time they went to introduce him properly to everyone.

“You helped do the gender reveal.” She looked at Mary “You wanna tell everyone his name?”

She thought about it for a moment before she shook her head “I think that should be yours and Frank’s job.”

Fliss leaned down to give Mary’s head a kiss before she gently stood up and took Alex from her, Frank also standing as Mary jumped down from the bed and slipped her hand into his. He curled his other arm around Fliss waist and the three of them made their way down the corridor. Mary opened the door to the large lounge area and they were met with everyone turning to face them.

“Hey guys!” Fliss smiled as her mum hurried towards her.

“Oh my baby girl!” Verity cupped her face “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay mum.”  She smiled, before she glanced down at Alex in her arms and then back up at her mother. “Say hello to your newest grandson.”

Verity gently reached out to trail a finger down his cheek.

“Oh Bill…look at him.” She breathed out as Bill moved towards them, placing an arm round Verity’s shoulders as she gave a loud sniff.

“He looks like you Frank.” Bill said, his eyes not moving from the baby as he smiled down at him, Alex peering up with bright blue eyes.

“Here nanna.” Fliss smiled, passing Alex over to Verity who took him, letting out another soft gasp before she began to coo over him.

“Steve said he’ll pop to see you tomorrow with the gang.” Bill looked at Fliss “He thought this would be enough to cope with today. Says if its okay he’ll come here or to yours, wherever you are, on his way to the airport before he drops Sian and the kids off.”

Fliss nodded and then watched as Verity offered Alex to Evelyn who took him gently, peering down at his face.

“He does look like you.” Evelyn smiled gently, looking up at Frank. “And I’ve got the photos to prove it.”

“Sure you do.” Franks looked at her as she glanced back down at the baby and he didn’t miss the tears that were pooling in her eyes.

“I’m glad you came.” Frank looked at her and Evelyn raised her face to meet his eyes, swallowed and nodded.

“Me too.”

“Did you call Roberta?” Mary asked.

“No, but I sent her a photo.” Frank assured her. “She sent me back a load of heart eye emojis and a photo of a mojito, said she was toasting the new arrival over at her sister’s place.”

“Now THAT sounds like a great idea.” Verity mused, looking at Evelyn “What do you say we all go back to ours later?” “That’s so not fair!” Fliss folded her arms.

“We can have another party when you’re home.” Verity waved her away as Evelyn chuckled slightly.

“Sounds great.” She agreed, before she turned to Bill. “I believe it’s your turn to hold the baby so to speak…” “Yeah, come on.” Bill nodded, gently taking Alex from Evelyn, a huge smile crossing his face. “So what’s his name? We can’t keep calling him Bean.” Fliss looked at Frank who smiled at her and she turned to her dad. “It’s Alexander Francis William. Alex for short.” "What?" Bill breathed out softly, glancing down at the baby in his arms. "You named him after..." "Your dad, my dad, and his." Fliss looked at Bill, as his eyes filled with tears. “The best men I’ve ever known”

As the room began to chatter about what a nice name it was, along with a few more tears being shed at the pure love and emotion shared across the family, Frank looked down as Mary pulled on the bottom of his shirt.

He picked her up, perching her on his hip.

"You added Francis?" she asked and he looked at her, smiling. "Fliss did." Mary blinked before she shook her head, snorting. "Poor kid."

**** Chapter 11

[missjanjie]

Better Than Revenge | (2/?)

Title: Better Than Revenge Summary: Karma Inc.’s business structure is simple - clients hire them when they’ve been grievously wronged and they send one of their revenge mercenaries to right them. As painstaking as their efforts to remain ethical may be, that may be tested when former detective, Rosé, enlists the squad to pick up where she couldn’t on a much higher scale, with potentially greater consequences. Word Count: ~2.6k (this chapter) | ~5.3k (total) Relationship(s): Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx), Jankie (Jackie Cox/Jan Sport), Halldoll (Nicky Doll/Jaida Essence Hall), Gimone (Gigi Goode/Symone), Gottlux (Gottmik/Olivia Lux) Rating: T

TW for this chapter: implied domestic abuse, attempted sexual coercion of a minor, deadnaming/transphobia

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Rosé learns Nicky, Jan, and Mik's revenge origin stories

-

Milwaukee, WI - 2007

“I think my parents are starting to get suspicious,” Jaida quietly confessed, her gaze downcast to the floor while Nicky sat behind her, braiding her hair.

Nicky frowned, her brows furrowed as she tied off the braid she’d put Jaida’s hair in with a hair elastic. “What is making you say that?” she asked, moving so she was facing the other girl and taking her hands into her own.

She shrugged, fumbling with the hem of her shirt until Nicky’s grasp stilled them. “Just feels like they’re snooping around more, suddenly real interested in my life. And you know they’re always acting weird whenever we’re at my house together. Last time they made us keep the door open, remember?”

“I had assumed that was an American thing,” she confessed. She had only moved to the states a couple of months ago, at the start of her and Jaida’s junior year of high school, and she was still learning how to differentiate cultural differences from people behaving unusually to her specifically.

“You think everything you don’t understand is an American thing,” Jaida rolled her eyes with a fond smile, “though I guess you’re right most of the time,” she conceded.

Nicky shrugged it off, redirecting back to the topic at hand. “But you’re worried they’re going to find out about us and poop will hit the ceiling.”

“Shit will hit the fan,” she corrected, then sighed. “I mean, think about it — my mom’s a Sunday school teacher and my dad’s the son of a preacher, they take ‘traditional family values’ very seriously. And I don’t know how things are in France but there’s nothing traditional about this,” she explained, gesturing between the two of them.

She frowned, her brows knitting together. “But we are happy together, surely once we graduate, we can—”

“It’s not that simple, Nicky!” Jaida tossed her head back and groaned. “I love you, but in a place like this, sometimes love just ain’t enough.”

And maybe it was denial, or maybe it was blind optimism, but Nicky had refused to take that answer lying down. She fought for Jaida and fought even harder to keep the relationship away from her disapproving parents. For a while, it seemed to be working, they had their beautiful, fleeting moments that let them believe that everything would be okay.

It was the first day back after spring break and Nicky immediately noticed a change in her girlfriend. It was like the life and light had been drained from her like she was only present physically. And despite the warm weather, she was dressed for late fall. She rushed towards her, taking her hand. “Ma chérie, what’s wrong? You look so unwell.”

Jaida hesitated before pulling her hand away. “I can’t hang around you anymore,” she replied. “Though I’m not gonna see anyone around here for a while starting real soon,” she mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“My parents found out, Nicky,” she choked out, forcing back a sob, “and they were mad, I ain’t never seen them so mad. They’re sending me to military school… well, they gave me a choice between that and conversion therapy… seemed like the better option.”

Nicky bit down on her quivering lip. “But you can find me when you are done, right?” She reached out to her again, but Jaida backed away to step out of her grasp.

“I can’t. Besides, you won’t want me anyway, I won’t be the same person.”

She tried to grab for her once more, desperate to keep her, looking at her with watery, pleading eyes. “Jaida, I can’t—”

“Please,” she sniffled, “don’t make this harder than it’s already gonna be.”

And perhaps Nicky should have let it go, accepted losing her first love, and moving on with her life. Sure, she would eventually. She would move around for school, for work, meeting many beautiful women along the way, but none of that happened until she made sure Jaida’s parents experienced at least a fraction of the hurt they had caused the both of them.

Her plan had been elaborate and convoluted and would require a heavy amount of stealth work and computer literacy to pull off. But as it turned out, her plan of convincing the two parents that the other was cheating on them was quite easy when her snooping unearthed the fact that both of them already were. All she needed to do was bring it to light.

Present Day

“When you think about it,” Nicky mused, “I did them a favor. There are worse ways they could’ve found out than having an envelope full of proof dropped off at your workplace. At least no one made a scene… as far as I know, at least.”

“Does Jaida know?” Rosé asked. “Now that you guys have reconnected, have you caught her up to speed? Because it seems like something you should tell her.”

Nicky winced and looked away. “It… has not come up yet,” she murmured. “There is no easy way to inform someone that you were the catalyst in their parent’s divorce. Unless you have a way, in which case, feel free to share with the class.”

She shrugged, putting her hands up in surrender. “I got nothing, but my point remains. It’s gonna bite you in the ass badly if you wait too long to say anything.” When Nicky shrugged it off, she decided to move on. “What about you, Bubbles?” she asked, looking towards Jan, “what sort of scathing revenge does someone as bouncy as you come up with?”

Jan pressed her lips into a fine line, holding back what was either a smile or a grimace. “Well, this also happened in high school, an all-girl Catholic school, of course…”

Old Bridge, NJ - 2009

Jan was nothing if not brave. Coming out in tenth grade, especially considering the environment she was in, was a choice that couldn’t be taken lightly. While she had the support of her family and closest friends, the school environment had been a different story.

“Janice, could you stay back for a moment?” her math teacher, a conventionally attractive man in his early thirties, prompted as the final bell rang.

With math being her weakest subject, Jan was instantly concerned and nodded. “Of course, sir. Is something wrong?” she asked as she walked over to his desk.

“I think something is very wrong,” he replied as he got up. “Janice, I am highly concerned with your mental wellbeing.” He stopped in front of her, cupping her face with both hands. “You’re such a bright, beautiful girl. It would be such a shame for you to throw that away because you’ve chosen to shun God and live in sin.”

Jan felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach and her throat tighten. This was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. She started shaking her head. “N-No, I’m… I’m not, I—”

“Shh…” he pressed his thumb to her lips to quiet her, then swiped it across her bottom lip. “Part of being a good Christian is overcoming temptation. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? Isn’t it what your parents want for you?” His hands move to her shoulders, squeezing them gently. “God gave you this body to lay with a man, you just need to be put in the right direction before it’s too late. I could help you, I could save you.”

Jan felt sick to her stomach. She hated every moment of the interaction; she hated the feeling of his hands on her, the way he was leering at her body, undressing her with his eyes. But at the same time, it was hard to lean into that hate, because he did pick on every insecurity she had in regards to her faith. But her sense of self won out and she was able to free herself of his grasp and run out of the room as fast as her legs would take her.

Any shame or guilt she might have felt was quickly replaced by anger and a desire to stop the man that tried to rob her of her innocence from harming anyone else. But she was still cautious, she knew there was a risk of retaliation if she spoke out alone, that was when her plan formed.

She created a fake Facebook account of a fifteen-year-old girl who was ‘planning on transferring to her school’. That was why she messaged the teacher, and after a few days of exchanging messages, ‘Samantha’ had agreed to meet up with him, the conversation in no uncertain terms making his intent clear.

Now, the obvious path from there would have been to go to the police, but that wasn’t good enough for Jan. Instead, she went to her godfather, who had promised he’d always help her ‘by any means necessary’. So, it was neither the police nor ‘Samantha’ that met the teacher at the park. Instead, it was two burly men who drove home a rough lesson that he was to turn himself in the next day, lest he face even worse consequences. He’d been given a flash drive with a copy of the whole exchange and was told he had exactly twenty-four hours and that the police would be expecting him.

Of course, those details weren’t in the subsequent news story of the teacher’s arrest. The conviction, however, was disappointing to Jan, as it was only two years and a thousand dollar fine, as well as losing his teaching license and having to register as an offender.

Present Day

“But rest assured, people are keeping an eye on him these days. You know, should he ever try and act up,” Jan explained with a shrug.

Rosé’s mouth was hanging open by the time Jan had finished her story. “So, you put a hit out on a pedo. I mean, shit, color me impressed,” she chuckled softly, then quickly followed up with, “I’m so sorry any of that happened to you, though. I’ve had people in my life try to weaponize religion against me after I came out. It’s never an easy pill to swallow.” She then looked at the group curiously. “Are you all…”

“Mik’s pan but yeah, the rest of us are gay,” Gigi confirmed with a nod. “At first, I thought that’d be the only thing we all have in common, but here we are now.”

“Chosen family is super important,” Mik agreed, “you never know who you can’t trust in your bloodline.”

Rosé quirked her brow. “That what happened to you?”

Scottsdale, AZ - 2015

Mik had been sitting across from his parents in dead silence for the past five minutes. There was no easy way to break it, let alone a correct one. On the coffee table in front of them were printed pictures of screenshots from his private Twitter account, where he presented himself as his true identity, but the precautions he took weren’t enough.

“Kady, sweetheart, I’m sure Uncle Joe brought this to our attention with your best interest at heart,” his mother said in as sweet of a voice as she could muster, which only served to sound fake to her son.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh please, don’t give me that. If it was ‘concern’ he would’ve told you privately. He sent it to the family group chat then told you that, and I quote, ‘your daughter thinks she’s a tranny’,” he struggled to keep his tone even, but he knew he needed to coddle his parents’ feelings if he wanted a chance of being taken seriously.

“I’m sure it just caught him by surprise,” his father offered.

Mik groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if he did, he wasn’t treating it like a fun piece of gossip, he hunted down my private account and outed me to humiliate me, and it would mean a lot if you guys had my back on this.”

This brought another wave of silence upon his parents. He couldn’t get a clear read on them, but they seemed stressed, confused, and most painfully, they seemed sad. His mother slowly picked her head back up. “Kady, I—”

“My name is Mik.”

“Listen, honey, you’re going to have to give us some time to adjust,” his dad tried to ease the tension, “you’re still our child, but this isn’t an easy thing to process, your mother especially is mourning the loss of her daughter.”

Mik felt his chest tighten in anger and hurt. “But I’m not—” he got up, shaking his head. “Right, fine,” he mumbled and escaped to the sanctuary of his bedroom. Left alone with his thoughts, the anger he had towards his parents dissipated and the rage shifted solely onto his uncle. After all, this was his fault. He was the one that robbed him of the opportunity to come out on his terms, and with the active intent to cause harm.

The anger didn’t go away over the following weeks. Instead, it built up, it festered inside of him as the summer after high school began. He had downloaded Grindr out of casual curiosity, and it was only a matter of minutes before a profile caught his eye. “No fucking way,” he grinned.

Of course, it was Joe, Mik realized how much of a cliche it was, but that didn’t change the fact that his bigoted uncle that tried to ruin his familial relationships was soliciting male escorts on a gay dating app. The opportunity for revenge essentially fell into his lap. He made a fake account and exchanged messages with him, just enough to get the evidence he needed.

The last step was simple, he dropped the screenshots into the same group text without any comment and removed himself from the group chat right after. He didn’t need to see the chaos unfold, Uncle Joe’s absence from the next family gathering was all he needed.

Present Day

“Just to be clear,” Mik added as he finished the story, “I’m against outing people, for the most part, obviously it should be something done on your terms. But shit, sometimes it’s gotta be an eye for an eye, you know?”

“Wait, I have a question,” Jan chimed in, “is he out now? Do y’all even talk to him anymore?”

He shook his head. “He moved to Alabama, I guess he wanted to go somewhere to double-down on the bigotry. No idea what happened after that. But, you know, good fucking riddance.”

“Amen to that,” Rosé agreed. “I don’t know how you guys have figured out that line of deciding what’s morally sound and what’s ethical enough. It seems to work, but it seems hard.”

“Jackie helped a lot with that,” Jan told her, her face lighting up and her smile broadening as she continued, “she has this pragmatic take on these things while still understanding that there’s so much ambiguity and morally gray areas. She’s honestly the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Rosé nodded as she listened. “I’m glad you guys have someone like that on your team. How long have you two been dating?”

Jan turned bright red, worsened by the way the rest of the group laughed. “Oh, um, we’re not dating. She and I are… very close friends,” she explained.

“Ah,” the corners of her lips tugged into a smirk, “you’re just fucking, got it,” she observed, causing another eruption of laughter from the others, much to Jan’s chagrin. Once it died down, she redirected her attention to the half of the group that had yet to recall their stories. “Alright, who’s next?”

[frenemies-to-lovers]

The Glint of Your Blade | Jurdan Fluff (Jude POV)

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Just some Jude/Cardan fluff inspired by the Folktober 2020 prompt (I am phenomenally late to the party). Set after QON. There’s some sparring, some magic, and some making out.  

((One-shot. 3820 words. Just fluff.  Heat level: somewhere between mild and medium))

[Read on AO3]

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“I thought I might find you here,” Cardan’s familiar voice says from behind me, startling me and breaking my concentration. I lower Nightfell and turn to face him.

“You could have tried to make a little noise when you entered the room. It isn’t wise to startle someone with a sword in their hand,” I say, pushing my sweat-dampened hair out of my face.

“Perhaps. But you didn’t so much as point it at me, so perhaps I needn’t worry whether you’re armed or not,” he grins.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t stab you,” I retort. He merely hums in response, and I wonder what the truth is. Whether he believes I would or I wouldn’t, he’s unwilling to say.

He takes a step closer and I notice that his face is bare of it's usual golden shimmer and he’s wearing a plain black cloak. He must have had some time to wash and change before heading down to the Court of Shadows, where I’ve been practicing my swordsmanship since I left the brugh after dinner.  Leaving Cardan to the revelry on his own.

“Are you planning on sneaking out this evening?” I ask, sweeping the tip of my sword up to point out his attire.

“Only if you wish to. I came to see if I could lure you away. You’ve been down here for quite some time,” he says.

That makes me smile. That he missed me.

“I didn’t realize,” I say honestly. “I’m having a hard time unwinding.” Despite having no immediate threats, court politics are always stressful.  There are always dangers lurking throughout Elfhame, and I worry that I cannot anticipate them all.

“Why aren’t you sparring with The Ghost?” he asks.

“I sent him home. I knew he’d rather be spending time with Taryn. And every time we spar lately, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’s probably old enough to be our father but he’s also my sister’s... boyfriend? It’s distracting. And kind of gross,” I say, making a face. He laughs.

“Then why not just drink some wine to ease your tension like the rest of us do?” I know he is teasing. I still haven’t developed a taste for alcohol, and do not drink beyond making toasts at feasts and revels.

“I needed to burn off some nervous energy. Wine doesn’t really help with that,” I answer.

“I know something that can help burn off that nervous energy,” Cardan murmurs, voice all honey and silk. He raises a black eyebrow and gives me his most mischievous grin. A sudden spike of heat rushes through me, and I know my face is flushed.

It has been months since I returned to Elfhame, since Cardan was cursed and then restored, since we began ruling together. Since we began sleeping together, and sharing the royal chambers. Since it became public knowledge that we are married -- something that is definitely still weird if I think about it too hard. The better part of a year has passed, and I still get a little flustered whenever he’s particularly forward. It probably encourages him, actually.

Not that I mind it. Not really.

“How about… I’ll try your way if you can disarm me.” I nod at the rack of weapons on a wall of the training room. My training room.

The Roach told me that it was something Cardan had insisted on for the new Court of Shadows. For me. Cardan and I had never actually talked about my training habits, but he must have made some assumptions about them based on what he had seen, what he had known. Those assumptions had made me feel truly and completely seen.

“My way?” That mischievous grin seems to grow wider. “Very well, Jude.”

Cardan goes to the rack, removing and hanging up his cloak before retrieving his sword -- his own sword, made for him by the newest resident smith at the palace. I was a little surprised when he had  recruited my help in having it commissioned for him, as I knew he wasn’t partial to swordplay.

He had responded by telling me that perhaps he would find it more interesting with an instructor he was fond of looking at.

He turns back toward me and slices his sword through the air in large, sweeping strokes and then smaller ones. I catch myself looking him up and down as he moves. He is wearing plain black clothing, but it is still perfectly tailored to his frame. He catches my eye and I know he caught me staring, that he knows I wasn’t even thinking about critiquing his form. He grins at me again, and I glare back at him.

“Are you ready, then?” I ask, trying to sound detached.

He takes another few passes with his sword, these ones more purposeful.  His skills with a blade are improving, but he still has a long way to go.  He seems to sense the same thing in those few movements.

“I may have been a little overconfident in agreeing to your terms.  How about we spar until I get under your guard, rather than disarming you?” he asks.

You’re always under my guard. The thought comes to me unbidden, comforting and startling in equal measure. Rather than say that, I try to appear as though I am considering his proposal.

“Alright,” I finally respond. “As a reward for your humility in acknowledging my superior swordsmanship, I will accept your terms.”

“Very generous, my queen,” he says, giving me a small bow and taking up a ready position.  

I step toward him and raise Nightfell.  His gaze sweeps over me slowly, his face full of determination and desire. I feel the force of his attention like a caress, intimate and possessive.  I find my cheeks heating, unsure if his reaction is sincere or if it is an attempt to throw me off balance before we even begin.

I clear my throat.

“Are you quite done ogling me?” I raise an eyebrow as his eyes meet mine.

“I wasn’t ogling. I was. . . admiring your form.” He grins and lets his eyes wander again.  I’m pretty sure there’s a blush all the way to my toes, but I refuse to be distracted by it.  I hate that he knows how to use his charm on me, and that I’m responsible for the fact that he views it as a weapon to be wielded.

“Let’s begin, then,” I say.

Because his sword is at the ready, I don’t give him any other warning before I advance. I take a cautious swing to test his reflexes, neither as fast nor as strong as I know he is capable of deflecting.  He blocks it effortlessly and I am pleased that he was still paying enough attention to be ready for my attack.

He does not return to a defensive position as I expect, but immediately presses into the offense.  He swings quickly, but I parry. I see him ready to strike again and step out of his reach, allowing him to waste the effort.  There are two ways I usually win with Cardan: I either let him tire himself out with repeated attempts to land a blow, or I tire him out by putting him on the defensive until he makes a mistake.  

Since we have been practicing regularly, he has the skill to hold his own in a sparring match, but not the stamina. He has gotten strong, but he still moves a half a beat too slowly, still having to think about what he will do before he moves.  My own body reacts more automatically, a lifetime of training and practice informing my steps without conscious thought.

He swings and jabs and strikes, over and over again.  I deflect and parry and avoid his attacks, watching as the effort begins to take its toll on him.  His breath is coming more rapidly, and his face is beginning to slip just a little.  While he never wears the haughty expression I am used to seeing him deploy in public, he tries to keep his face cool and neutral when we spar.  Now he looks intently focused on our battle, his eyebrows furrowed just a little in frustration.

“You seem to be tiring, my king,” I say, twisting away from him as he tries to press me backward toward the wall. “Are you ready to concede?”

His movements have become slower, his strike not as powerful as it was when we began.  To his credit, I am also moving more slowly and my hair is damp with sweat. Each of his movements seems to be taking more and more concentration.

“Perhaps, my queen.” He strikes, and I block his blow but he continues pressing, our blades locked together.  He presses forward and brings his face in as close as possible while avoiding the path of our crossed swords.  He gives me a coy smile.  “But I will save enough strength to ensure you’re properly spent before we’re finished.”

He withdraws his sword and readies to strike again. I automatically move to avoid the blow, but I am surprised to find myself falling backward. I bring my sword arm up in defense as I hit the hard packed earth of the floor. My free arm and hip are going to be bruised from the impact. I look down and see a vine coiled around the toe of my boot.

A cheap move, but effective.

Much like some of my own best moves.

He is turning out to be a much more apt pupil than I anticipated. He may have a lot to learn about swordplay, but he is an excellent strategist.

I look up, trying to school my expression away from wide-eyed shock to something more menacing. He is advancing on me slowly, his sword still raised, but he isn’t moving quickly enough to press his advantage. If he thinks he can best me by tripping me, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

I point my toe and begin to pull my foot out of my boot, but as I go to move my body, I realize too late that there are more vines sprouting up from the floor. I try to scramble backward, but there are too many and I am caught around my legs, my hips, and the arm I landed on when I fell.

Cardan wasn’t being cocky with his slow advancement, he was using my moment of confusion to continue focusing on using his magic.  I’ve never seen him do that before, invoke his connection to the land without his full attention.

I move to cut myself free from the encroaching vines with my sword, but the creeping plants have finally reached up my side and are beginning to pull even my sword arm down. I am well and truly trapped. Cardan tosses his sword to the side and stands above me for a moment, one side of his mouth lifting in a rakish grin that is taunting and beautiful. I am propped up on my elbows, vines covering my body, holding me in place. My hand still grips Nightfell uselessly.

“Clever,” I admit. “The initial maneuver was a distraction to buy you enough time for the finishing move. You’ve been paying attention.”

His grin widens, bright and mischievous.

“You haven’t seen my finishing move yet,” he says, kneeling over me, one of his legs between mine. He pulls Nightfell from my hand. To his credit, he doesn’t toss it aside the way he did with his own, but gently places it behind him, far out of my reach.

He turns back to me and my heart speeds at his proximity.

“I seem to have won,” he says, eyes dragging down my pinned form and then back up. Then, movements slow, he leans over me and the moment stretches until his soft mouth brushes mine. A ghost of a kiss.  

“This hardly feels like losing,” I breathe against his lips. He lets out a laugh as he kisses me again.

I feel the vines around my arms loosen, although the ones around my torso begin to tug at me. Cardan slips his hand beneath my head and he lays me down gently, using his magic as an extension of himself.  His mouth continues to move against mine as I yield, my back against the floor. His kisses are still soft. A question. A plea. He pulls back momentarily and searches my flushed face.

My arms fully freed, I trace a line from his hand to his shoulder then sink my fingers into his curls.  I look into his black eyes, his pupils blown wide with desire.  

“Is this okay?” he asks in a whisper. He knows how much I dislike being out of control, and his asking makes me feel safe.

I nod, and tighten my fingers in his hair, pulling him back to me, kissing him hard. I bite his lower lip and I feel his arm move underneath me, clutching me tighter, pressing my body closer into his. The vines are still coiled around me from the waist down, rendering me unable to shift my hips against him the way my body wants to.  

As he trails kisses down the column of my throat, I glance down and see flowers budding and blooming everywhere.  Tiny, fragrant blooms in every shade of red, from crimson so dark it is almost black, to the faintest pink. I can feel them now.  Not just the physical touch against my body, but the sensation of them brushing up against my own connection to the land.

Cardan can sense that something has changed, and he begins to pull away and rise to his knees.  His breathing is ragged and his hair is a mess.

“Don’t stop,” I say, fisting a hand in the front of his shirt and yanking him back toward me.  He looks briefly surprised but allows me to tug him down, bracing his hands on either side of my head.  “I was just. . . distracted by the flowers.  I’m okay.”

His eyes scan the floor around me, the vines still holding me around the waist, pinning down my legs. He looks surprised to see them covered in blooms.

“I didn’t even mean to do that,” he admits.  That makes me give a short laugh.

“You do that on accident kind of a lot,” I say.  

My hand is still clenched in the fabric of his shirt and I pull him down further, our mouths sliding together again.  

“You seem rather unperturbed by being rendered defenseless,” he whispers between kisses. His mouth moves back to my neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses down to my collarbone “You must like being at my mercy.”

I hum noncommittally and angle my chin to give him better access. I focus again on feeling him, feeling his magic through the connection we both share with the land.  I peek down at him briefly, and see that he is totally lost in the moment, eyes closed and cheeks flushed.

“You know what I like even better?” I ask, unclenching my hand from the front of his shirt and slowly raking it down his chest, brushing my fingertips down the flat plane of his stomach. After a perilously long descent, I finally hook a finger inside the waist of his pants.  His eyes flash up to mine and I feel the heat, the intensity like a physical blow.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice rough.

“Winning,” I say with a grin.  

With my other hand, I swiftly pull the dagger from my boot and hold the flat of the blade against his throat.  He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe as the vines fall away from my body.

“Your distraction was better than mine,” he says, grinning. “Although a different opponent would not be able to escape so easily.”

“I’m glad you thought that was easy.  I still have difficulty calling on the land. And it doesn’t like to work against you,” I say.  

“It doesn’t like to work against you, either. But I, unlike you, always have the purest of intentions.”

I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

“I merely sought to disarm you.  You’re the one holding a knife to my throat,” he points out.

“This is just a reminder that you didn’t disarm me. I’m not even touching you with any of the sharp parts,” I protest.  

I begin to pull the knife away, but his hand shoots to my wrist and holds it there.

“Don’t,” he says, his head dipping down again, his forehead coming to rest against mine. He turns my hand and brings the razor-shape edge into just the barest contact with his skin.

“This,” he whispers, letting go of my wrist but not pulling away at all as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, “the glint of your blade, the edge of your dagger against my throat . . . it brings back a very fond memory.”

“You really do have depraved tastes.” I kiss him then, remembering that first kiss as our mouths collide and I hold my blade still against his neck. It is different now, of course.  It doesn’t feel as dangerous, but the desire is still just as potent as it was the first time. Maybe more potent now that he knows exactly how to kiss me, exactly where to touch to elicit the fastest and most powerful responses from me.  I expect him to make one of those moves now, but his kiss remains gentle.

A little frustrated at being one-handed, I stab my knife into the dirt floor. Cardan chuckles at the sound and pulls back. He looks at me with a kind of reverence, bringing a hand to cup my face and brushing his thumb back and forth across my cheekbone.

“Are you ready to go tire yourself out my way?” he asks softly. I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod and plant another kiss on his soft mouth before he rises.  

He offers me his hand, and I allow him to help pull me to my feet. I pluck my dagger from the earth, and put it back in my boot, then retrieve Nightfell and return it to the scabbard at my hip.  Cardan has returned his sword to its rightful place and pulled on his cloak.  He holds up another cloak, as though to help me into it.

“That seems like overkill when we have direct access to our chambers,” I say.

“We aren’t going to our chambers,” he responds, mischief lighting his face again. I know he wants me to ask, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I let him envelop me in the dark fabric.

We pull up our hoods and I follow him out of the Court of Shadows and through the secret passageways beneath the palace. I know these tunnels just as well as he does, but I am surprised to find him leading me to a secret entrance to the Great Hall. Cardan cracks the door and peers out. I can hear music and chatter, the revel still carrying on in the hours since we left.

He grabs me by the hand and pulls me out, but we stick to the shadows as we make our way around the back of the dais.  I try to move as silently as Cardan as I follow him to what I now think of as our secret room, the doorway covered in ivy.  He barely brushes it aside and opens the door only far enough for both of us to slip inside.

Before I can even react to what I assume he’s brought me here for, he grabs me around the waist and pulls my body close to his. But instead of pulling me in for a kiss, I realize he's pulled me in for a dance. His other hand is grasping my own and his feet are already beginning to move to the sound of the music from outside.

I lift my eyes to his and find him grinning down at me.

“My way,” he says as he leads me gracefully around the little room.  

For as long as I have been teaching him the sword, he has been teaching me skills I thought would be useful to me as the queen.  Dancing is one of them.

I have found that knowing the steps to a dance makes it easier to stay a little more in control, even when I get swept up by the compulsion of faerie music.  Although I still cannot pull myself out of a dance once it has begun, I can choose my own steps rather than feeling as though the music is making them for me. When I do so, I am able to feel more of the exhilaration of the dance, and less of the dread.

At revels now, Cardan always looks for my signal at the end of any dance for which he is not my partner.  If I touch my ruby ring, he will make his way toward me, cut in to dance with me, and pull me out of the crowd.  Knowing that he is watching, knowing that he will always get me out if I am overset, is yet another way Cardan has helped me overcome some of the powerlessness I have felt all my life.

The music that I hear coming through the wall now is faint enough that it has hardly any pull on me.  I could stop if I wished, but instead I try to feel the dance the way I felt the steps when we were sparring.  Our skills are reversed here, Cardan gliding through the steps without any thought at all, while my movements are just slightly delayed -- the product of my having to consciously think about what comes next.

For a while, we continue dancing without much conversation.  He says nothing when I make a misstep, simply leads me through it with the poise of someone who has done this his whole life.  

The music outside grows quieter and slower, even the revelry beginning to die down. Cardan pulls me in close enough for me to lean my head against his shoulder.

“Jude?” his voice is soft, and I feel him running the tip of his finger along the rounded top of my ear.  I open my eyes and look up at him.  I hadn’t realized they’d drifted closed.

I realize suddenly that I love this room.  It feels as though no matter what is going on outside these walls, only we exist within.

“Shall we go back to our chambers?” he asks.

“No,” I answer. I pull him with me to the low couch where we lie down together, his arms wrapped around me, my head on his chest.

“Let’s stay here a while.”

[omgkatsudonplease]

[ficlet, bagginshield] call me thorin (bridgerton au)

The next morning, Bilbo wakes to the sound of an insistent knocking at his front door. Rushing through the halls, he makes it into the foyer just as his valet Holman answers the door for him. 

“Delivery for Mr Baggins,” chirps Hamson Gamgee of Gaffer’s Flowers from the other side. Still only half awake, Bilbo toddles over to his valet’s side and peers out, and then promptly does a double-take at the veritable parade of flowers on his front step. 

“What,” says Bilbo intelligently.

“It’s from the Dwarf-king,” says Hamson cheerily. “He bought out Papa’s entire stock.”

Shocked, both Bilbo and Holman stand aside to let the flower parade through. Hamson and his siblings array the flowers all over the foyer and the parlours, and when they’re done, Bilbo can hardly move without running into flowers. 

It rather feels like he’s trapped in a hothouse, or the botanical gardens at Rivendell. His stomach is swooping with all sorts of strange and contradictory feelings.

“That Dwarf-king must really be serious,” remarks Holman when the Gamgees finally leave. Bilbo doesn’t have the heart to tell him that all of these flowers are a lie.

Bilbo has only ever run into one or two Dwarves before in his past, and he’s certainly never courted (or fake-courted) one before, so he has no idea if this incredible fastidiousness to the terms of the agreement is a Dwarvish thing or a Thorin thing. Either way, it works like a charm. News of the Dwarf-king buying out the entire stock of Gaffer’s Flowers for Mr Baggins quickly gets out, and all of his usual dissembling callers seem to vanish in an instant.

Well, almost all. 

“Mr Gladden is here to see you,” says Holman halfway through second breakfast. Bilbo puts down the seed-cake he had been eating in the kitchen with a sigh, shrugs off his dressing-gown for his morning coat instead, and heads into the parlour. An array of cakes and finger sandwiches have been laid out for potential visitors this morning, as well as a pitcher of lemonade, but no one has shown up until now. Bilbo swipes one of the cakes as he sits down in his favourite armchair, and waves for Holman to escort his caller in.

Mr Gladden slinks in with a hunched-over little bow. Bilbo knows he ought to be charitable, but he can’t help but think that there’s something rather unsettling in Mr Gladden’s leer, not to mention his phlegmy coughing.

“Precious has so many flowers today,” remarks Mr Gladden as he takes a seat on the settee opposite Bilbo. 

Bilbo bites down the frankly quite rude urge to tell the fellow that he’s not his precious. “How are you doing this morning, Mr Gladden?”

“Very well, very well.” Mr Gladden barely manages to say those words before he starts coughing again. “I came for our riddles, as always. Precious has such nice riddles.”

Bilbo doesn’t feel the smile on his face. It’s been five seasons of riddles, and he still hasn’t summoned the courage to be rude to Mr Gladden’s face. As far as the rest of the Shire is concerned, he’s practically Nienna herself for indulging this fellow in his love for riddles.

He’s about to start on one when Holman shows up at the parlour threshold again. “His Majesty King Thorin of Erebor for Mr Baggins,” he announces.

Mr Gladden’s brows furrow. “I thought I was the only one with Precious,” he says.

“I’ve been in high demand for seven seasons, Mr Gladden,” replies Bilbo neutrally.

“But Precious always has time for me.” Mr Gladden pouts. “Besides, it’s my birthday. I ought to have a riddle for my birthday.”

Bilbo sends a despairing look at Holman, who quickly leaves and returns with Thorin. Bilbo’s breath hitches at the sight of the Dwarf-king in his navy morning coat, whose long dark hair is, as ever, pulled back in a neat low ponytail and braids. 

“Good morning, Thorin,” Bilbo manages, a little more breathless than he’d like. Or perhaps the right amount, given the company they’re in. 

“I see that my flowers have not sent a strong enough message,” remarks Thorin with a withering glare at Mr Gladden.

“Mr Gladden visits me out of force of habit,” demurs Bilbo, sending Thorin a ‘save me’ look. The Dwarf-king nods, brisk but understanding, and walks over to loom over Mr Gladden. The other Hobbit seems to wilt at that, before slinking out from under Thorin’s glare and heading for the door.

“Nasty Dwarveses,” he mutters, before breaking down in a bout of coughing as Holman escorts him out of Bag End. 

Bilbo exhales as soon as the door to Bag End closes. “He’s been like that for five seasons,” he explains as Thorin now takes Mr Gladden’s vacated seat, helping himself to a little cup of flummery. “When we met I was still fairly inexperienced with the season’s social expectations, so I thought I had to give him the time of day. Now he’s like a limpet.”

“I find it astounding that you have not put your foot down and chased him out yourself,” replies Thorin, stabbing idly at the flummery. 

“I pity the fellow,” replies Bilbo. “His country manners have not made him many friends. But, over the years, he has grown more and more possessive.”

“Country manners?” echoes Thorin.

“His family is not from the Shire,” replies Bilbo. “They are staying in Buckland for the season, but they originally hail from the edge of Greenwood. But... since most of Shire society does not hold Mr Gladden in high regard, I do rather pity him.”

“Ah.” Thorin nods, leaning back. “So he’s not your true love.”

“Mandos, no.” Bilbo shakes his head vehemently. 

“But if he unsettles you, you should let him know of it,” replies Thorin.

“And run the risk of being strangled?” wonders Bilbo. At Thorin’s raised eyebrow, he explains, “there is a rumour in Buckland that one of his ancestors in Greenwood murdered his cousin in a jealous rage because his cousin was leaving to get married. I suspect the very same spirit lurks in Mr Gladden’s eyes. I don’t have the lack of self-preservation to test that theory, though.”

Thorin hums. “Any other persistent callers I should be aware of?”

“Besides Mr Gladden? Miss Bracegirdle, probably,” replies Bilbo. “Neither of them will take no for an answer, it seems, but at least Miss Bracegirdle knows the concept of respectability.” Perhaps a bit too much, but that’s neither here nor there.

For a moment, they sit together, Bilbo idly pouring them both tea while Thorin spoons bite-sized scoops of flummery into his mouth. Bilbo very determinedly does not stare at the way the Dwarf-king’s tongue licks his mother’s delicate silverware. 

“We should discuss the exact number of events to attend together, and what to do at them,” he says. Thorin hums in agreement, so Bilbo continues. “Tomorrow is the Brandywine River Promenade, which I hope you’ll attend.”

“I may bring my valet and advisor,” warns Thorin.

“That’s fine,” says Bilbo. “I also recommend packing a picnic basket.”

Thorin nods. “Are there other balls to attend?” he asks. 

“Several,” replies Bilbo. “Eight, perhaps.”

“Eight!” The word comes out of Thorin like a winded surprise. “Surely that is overdoing things.”

“And this isn’t?” wonders Bilbo, with a pointed nod towards the flower avalanche surrounding them. Thorin’s cheeks flush pink.

“I did not know which flowers you liked,” he protests.

“Violets,” says Bilbo quickly. “Or daisies. But I wouldn’t say no to roses.”

“See, that sort of indecision leads to results like this.” Thorin’s eyes twinkle in amusement, damn him. Bilbo laughs off his nerves in reply.

“If you can buy out a flower shop, you can attend eight balls,” he declares.

“Three,” insists Thorin. “After all, I am to call on you or promenade with you at other times. But do you not think all of this will be taken too seriously? It rather closes off your schedule to other potential suitors.”

Bilbo chuckles. “In this war we wage against the rest of Shire society, our best weapon is our appearance,” he replies. “Thus, it must be made apparent to everyone what your intentions for me are.”

“The very precipice of marriage,” muses Thorin. Bilbo nods. If the next Stormcrow does not remark on the sudden whirlwind romance they’ve been concocting, he’ll eat his hat. 

Thorin sighs. “Six balls,” he offers as a compromise. “After all, I am still king and have duties, even on tour.”

Bilbo concedes. “Six balls, and you bring the drinks to our luncheon tomorrow at the Brandywine,” he replies.

“Deal,” says Thorin. “Would you like it in writing?”

Bilbo chuckles. “That would find its way to Stormcrow eventually,” he points out. “Let’s just make it a promise. Six balls, and drinks to tomorrow’s promenade.”

“Agreed.” Thorin sighs, before looking around him at the state of Bag End’s front rooms. He grins. “Do you need any more flowers?”

Bilbo resists the urge to throw a rose at him.

[solarianvoidthearoace]

Excerpt#2 of my Gerry Keay/OC Magical/Mythical CollegeAU

Part 1

CN/TW: Relationship negotiations (narrative), mushy confessions, narrative mention of abusive past relationships, narrative mention of (aversion to) sex - two sentences after "Aside from being asexual"

Characters entering a long-distance relationship, anxiety, discussion of mental illness, reference to past trauma, character experiencing an affective breakdown, character being in a dissociative/shutdown state, self-depreciation and trying to shut people out, it/its pronouns for Michael Shelley, he/they pronouns for Gerry, they/them pronouns for OC

“These last weeks… I…”, he looked away. Gerry finally looked away. He closed their eyes with a pained little smile. His next words barely above a whisper. A quiet confession,

“I thought about kissing you.” When he could look at Yanis again, they returned his little smile. Both seeing that the other didn’t dare hope, still. Yanis pressed against Gerry’s hand on their face,

“None of that sounds romantic, to me.” Which made Gerry chuckle,

“I do hope so. I’m not in love with you.” Yanis nodded, turning to press a kiss to Gerry’s palm. They lay there in quiet, processing the moment and letting their feelings calm back down. That emotional turmoil subsiding.

When Gerry’s hand slid away, he raised a brow at Yanis. A bit helpless and his tone insecure,

“Where does that leave us?”

Yanis shrugged,

“Wherever we both want, I’d say.” Gerry nodded, looking away again, half hiding in the pillow,

“I just needed to let you know.” Yanis moved closer, their shoulders touching and them pressing together from the waist down. They raised a hand to Gerry’s hair, loosely carding their fingers through.

“Do you want a relationship? Give that a try even though it will be long-distance?”, their tone gentle, as quiet as they were talking. Gerry whined,

“I don’t know.” He turned back towards them,

“I just know you’re important to me and I want to be close to you.” Yanis nodded,

“I can’t stand the thought of our goodbye being forever either. I want to be close to you like this, I want to listen to your rambling and when you infodump about something I have little clue about. And I love how we can turn so many things into hourlong debates for the fun of it just to agree after all. I’m really happy with how much we can cuddle, can touch each other. And even with one or two of your stims straining my misophonia, being around you is grounding.” Gerry nodded, another pained smile twisting their face. Yanis cooed, then shushed him,

“Don’t you start crying now. I still need to know whether you want us to try getting committed.” Gerry chuckled at that, though it was rather watery and the first tear slipped. Yanis took a deep breath, letting their hand trail from Gerry’s hair to their cheek,

“Long-distance queerplatonic relationship, what do you say?” Gerry closed his eyes for a moment, humming and finally smiling.

“Can I please kiss you already?”

They did decide to label their being together as a committed relationship. There were still some negotiations and discussions to be had, around what they both wanted, their needs and boundaries. They did have the first of those discussions the very same day. Gerry elaborating on what they liked about Yanis dragging him around. Yanis reassuring him they will always make sure Gerry stays comfortable with that. On another matter, Gerry had known about Yanis not being interested in sex. That coming up wasn’t a surprise. Aside from being asexual, Yanis knew that they personally found penetrative sex rather underwhelming. They weren’t disinclined towards the general idea. But having had one too many ex-partner get upset with them for not meeting expectations… Yanis was ultimately rather averse to sex. Which, to Gerry, didn’t matter. And Yanis had to concede that, both of their mythical nature gearing them towards seduction and sexual indulgence, they both had a solid grip on how to deal with that on their own. Making out, mutual groping and feeling each other up was very much appreciated, though. And they both knew the other would stop if they asked to. They felt no need to bring sex into their relationship if they weren’t both enthusiastic to do so.

It worked well. They talked on the phone and through video calls every week, in addition to texting every day. And when Yanis’ semester abroad came around, Gerry was all too happy to welcome them into his London home. An apartment he shared with Michael. While it was a bit sceptic, parading the brother shtick of having to approve Gerry’s partner, Yanis grew friendly with him pretty quickly.

They shared Gerry’s bedroom for the entirety of Yanis’ semester in London. Leading to some late-night shenanigans, fumbling and groping implicit, between them. Aside from getting a taste for what it could be like to move in together when they both had graduated. And being together like that was generally nice. Solidifying their relationship as the right choice for them both.

After Yanis’ semester abroad, they were left with either of their semester breaks. And since that didn’t always line up, it was bound to happen that one of them still had lectures and courses wrapping up while the other was in their non-term already.

Because of that, they had decided Gerry would come visit Yanis. And that Yanis sending them the spare key to their flat was just most convenient. Having lived together, they had seen a few of the more ugly sides of each other. Both carrying trauma with them and sometimes buckling under the load of their respective mental illnesses. Especially Yanis hadn’t been able to hide their, sometimes attack-like, affective breakdowns even while Gerry and them had simply hung out. And while it obviously wasn’t pretty and did put their evening activities on hold, Gerry never once felt burdened by Yanis.

And during their stay in London, he had been unable to hide their own affective breakdowns, their own flashbacks and shutdowns. But Yanis had taken care of Gerry all the same, not even needing prompting to help Michael in calming Gerry down. Simply waiting for instructions how to go about that in the best way.

They simply had had to acknowledge that either their mental illnesses, with attacks and meltdowns, were just part of their relationship. That accommodating not only their own but their partner’s mental health and neurodiversity was part of the necessary groundwork for them.

And they never once had had a problem with that. With needing to reassure each other, with taking care of each other as well as giving one another space when needed.

Still, Gerry’s anxiety didn’t like that his train connection to Yanis’ university city was delayed. They had been looking forward to cooking together, having a stressless evening. But the European railway network being what it was, one delay piled up to two, to three. Until, when Gerry finally made it to Germany at all, they were a solid three hours late. On his train route that would have taken 8 hours in the first place.

And he couldn’t get a hold of Yanis.

Gerry knew they had had lectures that day but even then, Yanis should have been at home around 4 in the afternoon. It wasn’t that he needed to know what they were up to instead. But Yanis not answering to texts ever since Gerry arrived in Brussels… what had been almost 8 hours now… it worried Gerry.

Of course he was worried. And in turn suddenly glad to have a key to Yanis’ flat. He knew they both had expected him to arrive some time around 6 in the evening. When he finally did let themself into Yanis’ flat, it was almost 10 at night.

The flat was dark. The curtains being left open wasn’t unusual but Yanis, needing glasses, would usually put on lights when it got past 9 in the evening. Frowning, Gerry set down his bags by the door.

Shooting them another worried text message. With how quiet it was in the empty-appearing flat, he could hear the faint buzzing of Yanis’ phone.

As Gerry went looking for it, he found the device abandoned on Yanis’ bed. And being closer to the bathroom now, they heard laboured breathing.

When he poked their head into the bathroom, Gerry felt a cold shiver running through him. Yanis sat on the floor, curled up around themself. They were pressing themself into the corner between bathtub and tiled wall. And even in the dark Gerry could easily see them shaking and shivering. A sudden sob startled them both.

“Yanis?”, he pushed the door open, slowly coming closer. Getting onto their knees a good distance from Yanis still.

“<i>Kleines</i>, what’s the matter?” Yanis tensed, taking a shuddering breath before they slowly looked up. Seeing Gerry there with them, they whimpered. Struggling before they could speak,

“I’m sorry. I…” Before mortification cleared their face,

“How late is it?” Gerry shook his head, slowly coming closer,

“Doesn’t matter. Are you okay?” Yanis blinked, turning away. Sighing, Gerry reached out for their shoulder. When Yanis didn’t pull away from their touch, he moved close enough to wrap an arm around them. Neither spoke a word while Gerry slowly stroked their back. When he felt Yanis loosen up a little, he tried again,

“Do you need anything? Are you okay?” Yanis closed their eyes,

“I’m fine. And if you want to leave, I wouldn’t fault you.” Gerry almost sat back in surprise.

“I mean it”, Yanis’ voice gaining strength again,

“I would never hold it against you if you decide I’m not worth the trouble. Or you just can’t handle seeing me like this. I’m glad you care but I understand if I’m too much. You can leave me, I’ll manage.”

Gerry didn’t know what to say. The words bringing back that cold chill and feeling like a gut punch at the same time. Searching Yanis’ face, they retracted his hand.

Very slowly, he moved away. Only getting back to their feet when there was a good distance between them and Yanis.

Leaving the bathroom, he felt a stab of guilt. But Yanis remained quiet. Assuming the worst case, Yanis had had whatever breakdown or affective attack had left them shut-down like this a good 8 hours earlier. Gerry felt nauseous even considering that. And with how Yanis had left their phone in another room, they must have had a bad mental health day in the first place. Otherwise they would have messaged him, asking they help them through the breakdown via text.

Grabbing a bottle of water and a blanket off the couch, he went back to the bathroom. Yanis had shifted. No longer curled up where they sat. Instead their legs were stretched and their body turned towards the tub, head resting on the brink.

Like this, Gerry could take a proper look at them. Well, as good as the lack of lighting allowed for.

[ragingbookdragon]

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 7

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 1,600 Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: Fluff! Come get your fluff! Next chapter is the whammer my friends, ready yourselves...angst is coming. -Thorne

She stood beside him as they sailed across the North Atlantic. The waves crashed against the hull of the ship, and the smell of salt surrounded them. Her breath came in and out in puffs of white and she couldn’t help but pull the leather jacket tighter around her to preserve heat. She’d almost taken him up on that offer of using one of his fur lined coats. An amused chuckle sounded beside her.

           “If it’s too cold for you, lass, you’re more than welcome to go below deck.”

           She scowled and leaned on the railing. “I don’t like being under the deck.”

           “Why not?” his question held genuine curiosity.

           “I feel cramped and it gets too hot” Her lip turned up in disgust. “I don’t even like being on the wa—”

           A hand clamped over mouth and she froze, eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare as she looked at him; he frowned, condemning, “(Y/N). Don’t insult the ocean.”

           “I will bite the shit out of you.” She mumbled from behind his gloved hand and he pulled away.

           “I’m just trying to save you from angering the Lady of The Seas.”

           (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “The ocean is inanimate, Shay. It’s not alive.”

           “Says who?” he retorted with his hands propped on his hips like a child who’d been told off by their parent.

           “Says science and basic fucking weather patterns.” She countered, grabbing the wheel; she narrowly avoided an iceberg. “For the love of God, steer the ship. I don’t want to die now.”

           Shay snorted but took the wheel back. “Relax, (Y/N). We’re not gonna die.”

           “You say that,” she said, “But drowning isn’t the way I wanna go. I’ve heard it sucks.”

           “Only for a little bit.”

           (Y/N) looked over at him. “Holy shit, that was morbid, even by my standards.”

           “I wasn’t aware you had standards, lass.”

           Her eyes narrowed. “Alright, now you’re just being an asshole.”

           Shay snorted, but conceded, asking, “So if you hate being on the water, why are you out here?” She mumbled something and his brows furrowed. “What?”

           (Y/N) heaved a sigh and repeated a bit louder, “Haytham asked me.” A big smirk crossed his lips and she pointed at him. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up, I don’t wanna hear it.”

           Evidently, he wasn’t afraid of her because he leaned over and with a singsong tone, he said, “You’re in love~”

           She elbowed him in the ribs as hard as she could, smiling with satisfaction as he hacked and bent over.

           “That…wasn’t nice.” He gasped, halfway leaning on the wheel.

           “I have no sympathy to spare you.” (Y/N) remarked.

           Shay glared at her. “You’re not capable of sympathy, you witch.”

           She cackled. “Witch? That’s a new one.”

           “It suits you.”

           (Y/N) looked at him, elbow propped on the railing. “Gonna call a religious inquisition on me?”

           “Don’t tempt me,” he threatened, though it was heatless.

           “If I’m going down for blasphemy, Cormac, you are too.”

           They glowered at each other but after an upturned corner on their lips, they burst into howling laughter, leaning on one another as tears fell down their cheeks.

           When their laughter had finally subsided, Shay let out a loud sigh. “Aye, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”

           She nodded. “Neither have I.” Her lips graced an easy smile. “I think I needed it.”

           “Same here.” He gazed at her. “You’ve been unhappy for some time now, (Y/N).”

           She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Uh huh. And how do you figure that one?”

           He shrugged. “You looked like he was cracking your heart in two when he asked you to go while he stayed in New York to take care of business.”

           “There’s no fucking way I’m that easy to read. Even I know I keep my emotions hidden better than that.” (Y/N) griped.

           “Oh, you do,” he agreed. “But since the dinner, you’ve been rather open with us—him the most.” He met her eyes. “Like you’re finally okay with wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

           “Can I vomit yet? I feel like vomiting.”

           “Lass, that’s love.”

           “No, I really wanna vomit. Like right now.”

           “I dreamed my love came in my sleep~” (Y/N) pulled a face at the song. “Lowlands, lowlands awa—Urk!” he grunted as she elbowed him again.

           “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” She hissed. “I’m not in love with him.”

           “You…are…God, what have you got in your sleeve?” He caught his breath, then demanded, “Fine, if that’s how you wanna be, tell me what you think about him.”

           “I—” she started then murmured, “I think he’s responsible…and brave…and a good boss who is way too nosey for my taste.”

           “Okay, now that you’ve got the basics out of the way, tell me what you really think about him.”

           Her eyes were narrowed into a glower, but with a heavy sigh, she admitted, “I think he’s handsome…and kind and—” unbeknownst to her, a smile had come across her face, “And he’s always there when I need him.” (Y/N) looked at Shay who wore a grin.

           “That’s love, lass.”

           Her face dropped. “Oh…” her eyes went wide. “Oh!” (Y/N) gaped at him. “Oh my god! I’m in love with Haytham.”

           Shay leaned on the wheel and gestured to her, murmuring, “I wish I had a portrait done of your face just now because nothing will ever bring me such sick enjoyment as that moment.”

           She shifted, walking away on numb legs. “Oh my god, I’m in love with him.”

           “Lass? You okay?” he worried.

           She waved a hand, continuing to mutter to herself and Gist passed her on the way to the quarterdeck. He stood beside Shay. “Is Miss (Y/N) alright?”

           Shay snorted. “Oh, she’s fine. She’s just coming to terms with reality.” Gist cocked an eyebrow, and he shook his head. “You’ll see when we get back to New York.”

***One Week Later, Back In New York***

           As soon as her boots hit the pier, she was tempted to kiss the ground and Shay could tell because he chuckled as he stood beside her. “Glad to be back?”

           (Y/N) didn’t have the energy to make a smart remark. “God, yes. I’m getting a hot meal when we get to the tavern and then I’m going to bed for forty-eight hours straight.”

           “You gonna give Haytham a goodnight kiss before you do?” he quipped.

           Evidently, she wasn’t that tired, immediately looping her arm around his neck to dig her knuckles into his scalp. He laughed but it quickly dissolved into a grunt of pain.

           “Ow! Ow lass that hurts! Quit!” Shay plead with her.

           “Nope! I suffered a week of your stupid jabs and now it’s payback time!”

           He yanked against her and they tumbled to the ground, but she was on him, trying to shove his face in the dirt. “Eat it! Eat the fucking dirt!”

           The crew leaned over the side of the ship, watching the two of them wrestle around, shouting out bets on both of them—(Y/N) was winning so far. Just as they were about to start throwing actual punches, someone cleared their throat above them, and they instantly froze, heads tilting to see Lee glowering down at them.

           “If you two are quite finished?”

           (Y/N) let Shay out of the headlock and rolled off him, clambering to her feet before helping him up. They brushed themselves off, feeling warmth on their cheeks and Lee sighed.

           “You’re both so childish. I can’t believe Master Kenway has such faith in you.”

           She glared at him and spat, “Say it to my face, you stupid motherfuck—”

           Shay cleared his throat rather loudly. “To speak for my colleague, what are you doing here?” (Y/N) knew Shay wasn’t that fond of Lee either.

           Lee continued to glare at them, but his tone turned snotty. “Master Kenway has asked me to come and collect the two of you.”

           “What for?” (Y/N) inquired, arms crossing over her chest.

           “To introduce you to a new associate who’s been providing quite a great deal of money to our cause.”

           “I wasn’t aware we needed monetary gains.” Shay muttered. “I thought we were all swimming in money.”

           (Y/N) elbowed him the ribs. “We are, you’re not.” She grinned. “You know, ‘cause you’re poor and—”

           He glared at her. “I got it.”

           She snorted, looking back to Lee. “So, who is it?”

           Lee raised his chin rather haughtily. “He’s an Italian businessman by the name of Ausilio Viviani.”

           Her arms went slack, falling by her sides and her breathing became uneven. Shay seemed to notice her immediate shift in demeanor.

           “Lass?” his voice was full of concern, but she couldn’t hear him.

           (Y/N) jerked forward and gripped the lapels of Lee’s jacket, ignoring his cry of shock. She yanked him to her until they were nose to nose. “What did you just say?”

           He shook his head and sputtered, “W-what are you talking about?”

           “His name!” she screeched. “Tell me his name again!”

           “It—it’s Ausilio Viviani.” He stammered and she shoved him away, not caring that he fell to the ground. Her blood went cold, and she broke into a dead sprint across the docks.

           “(Y/N)! Wait!” Shay called, but it was no use, she wasn’t stopping. He yanked Lee off the ground. “Come on!”

           They started after her, trying to keep her in their sights, but with the way she weaved in and out of people, they were losing her.

           “What’s wrong with her?!” Lee yelled.

           Shay watched her back, feeling panic surge in his veins. “I don’t know.”

[drwcn]

Yes anon! You’re completely right. I wrote a (somewhat long) passage from btsf, a conversation between Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli explaining the details of the engagement, featuring our oblivious boys wangxian. 

-

The contract laid in front of him in black and white, the ink drying as he allowed the finality of the transaction to sink in. Lan Xichen carefully eased the excessive pine resin from his brush tip so no blotches would dribble and ruin the paper. Only then did he fill in his signature adjacent that of Jiang Yanli.

Picking up the cloud emblem seal of Gusu Lan, Lan Xichen considered the hefty weight of the white jade in his hand and the decision he was making on behalf of his little brother. His eyes flicked up, looking to his Yunmeng counterpart across the room and seeing she was about to do the same. Wangji liked Wei Wuxian immeasurably, of that he was sure, or else he would not have fought the Elders and his uncle tooth and nail for this engagement. But did Wei Wuxian feel equally for Wangji? Lan Xichen could only guess on the younger man's reaction to all this, and wondered that as his elder sister, if Jiang Yanli felt the same hesitation he did in this moment as she pressed her signet seal, a lotus carved from amethyst, slowly and firmly into fine white parchment.

If she felt it, she didn't show it. Yunmeng's youngest sect master, their first ever female head of family, was not what anyone had expected.  

When the legalities were complete, both he and Jiang Yanli stood from their dais.

"I hear our brothers are running drills with the disciples. Shall we go see?" she suggested.  

Truth be told, neither Lan Xichen nor his uncle paid much attention to her when the Jiangs came to study at Cloud Recesses. Jiang Cheng was - had been - young and inexperienced, prone to outbursts and became abrasive when challenged. Wei Wuxian, living up to his name sake, was in a whole category by himself, with none to compare. Their sister, however, became something of a surprise. She was, in Xichen's opinion, perhaps the most pleasant and well-mannered young lady of their generation. Not bold nor withdrawn, not somber nor frivolous, amicable yet always knew how to keep others at an appropriate distance.

Lan Xichen extended a hand courteously, "After you, Jiang-zongzhu." [zongzhu = sect master, a gender neutral term]

"Binghu, Shuangxue, you're both dismissed."

"Zongzhu…" Her guards, ever diligent, were hesitant to leave. Since their arrival at Unclean Realm, Lan Xichen had yet to see her without them, which was understandable considering Jiang Yanli herself was not a cultivator and rumoured to be of poor health.  

"This is Qinghe Nie's territory, and I am in the company of Zewu-jun. I am in no danger. You've both been so busy. Take the afternoon off." Jiang Yanli gave them a meaningful nod, to which they bowed their heads and conceded.

"Understood."

Qinghe Nie's Unclean Realm was built like a fortress, a citadel intended for protection and intimidation. It lacked Cloud Recesses' air of tranquility and had none of Lotus Pier's blithe. The oak and stone  surrounding Lan Xichen and Jiang Yanli were nothing like the homes they knew, but within these walls, they were allowed a moment's reprieve to breathe.

Even though the formal robes on their backs felt too big for their persons, even if the guan and headdress upon their heads weighed like the combined lives of every loved one they had lost...

Lan Xichen wondered if like him, Jiang Yanli's neck ached under the pressure of the sterling and pearls in her hair.

For now, they were done away with the formalities. He felt it was an appropriate time to discuss this marriage matter, not as sect masters, but as elder siblings who both cared for their brothers very much.

"I must confess," He began. "Nie-xiong was none too happy to hear you've accepted my clan."

"Really? Why is that?" Jiang Yanli blinked innocently, but the corner of her lips twitched, belying her amusement.

"Oh come now, Jiang-zongzhu, don't be coy. Surely you've heard of Mingjue's intention of aligning Qinghe with Yunmeng through Huaisang. He and Wei-gongzi have always gotten along, so it was only natural that Mingjue-xiong thought them well matched."

"I'm sure Nie-zongzhu meant well, and I'm sure when it came down to it, Nie-gongzi and A-Xian may not even have minded, but as you and I both agree, our brothers make for a much more…serendipitous pair."

They strolled across the stone overpass connecting two buildings, pausing mid way to observe by the railing. In the courtyard below, a group of Yunmeng Jiang's disciples in their violet and navy robes were paired with their Gusu Lan counterparts, both struggling through what seemed to be a particularly difficult sparring drill.

At one end of the courtyard stood Wei Wuxian with his arms crossed, his spine straight, calling out instructions over his disciples' huffs, groans, and whines of pain. Straining under the aggressive nature of the exercise, some Lans looked to Lan Wangji posted at the opposite end, hoping he would speak up on their behalf. To their dismay, their Hanguang-jun had no intention of helping them.

Lan Wangji's eyes were solely fixed on Wei Wuxian, on his tall lean figure framed by the dark cape of his uniform, fluttering in the autumn wind. A strong gust swept his hair back from his shoulders, giving attention to the arch of his neck and his comely face. Wei Wuxian, that oblivious boy, didn't seem to notice at all, his attention completely focused on his students. Then from the corner of his eyes, he sneaked a subtle glance towards the Second Jade (who appeared as handsome as ever in his opinion) but it was too late. Lan Wangji had already looked away.  

Lan Xichen chuckled and shook his head. "They needed the push. Who knows how long it would've taken them if we left them to it. A decade at least, I'm willing to bet."

"Yes, but we couldn't have waited that long, could we? You're right, for Yunmeng, I would have agreed to Nie Huaisang, but in my heart, I had hoped I could find someone who would truly love my brother, as he deserved to be loved. I would hate to be parted from him for anyone less worthy."

Jiang Yanli's eyes were downcast, distant.

My brother.

Once, she might've had to clarify which younger sibling she meant, but that was no longer necessary. Lan Xichen couldn't even begin to imagine her anguish. To lose Wangji at all, never mind in the horrifying way she had lost Jiang Cheng, was unthinkable.

"Does Lan-er-gongzi know? The conditions of the marriage?" asked Jiang Yanli, turning to him. The grief Xichen detected just moments ago had completely submerged once again beneath her poise. "Gusu Lan agreed to everything Yunmeng Jiang asked; I can't see that being a very easy sell for the Grandmaster and your Elders. I had thought even your brother himself would've objected."

Not easy was an understatement. Uncle had been apocalyptic, and the Elders not much better. It was no secret amongst Gusu's inner circle that there had been plans to choose a bride for Lan Wangji for some times. While Lan Xichen as Sect Master was positioned to marry advantageously for the purposes of alliance, the Elders and especially Uncle had wanted someone from within Gusu for Wangji, a female distant cousin perhaps, or an outer disciple of grace and good cultivation. At worst, if Wangji were to marry from another clan, it would be them marrying into Cloud Recesses, not the other way around.

But Jiang Yanli had been adamant that whoever Wei Wuxian deigned to marry would be joining him in their sect, and that her brother would not be forced to leave his home and his family under any circumstances. What she didn't say, which all parties perfectly understood regardless, was that Wei Wuxian could not  leave Yunmeng. His position as her brother, her closest advisor, and Yunmeng's strongest fighter made marrying out an impossibility.  

Which was why Nie Mingjue didn't hesitate much to suggest Nie Huaisang, because the younger Nie brother's temperament would have been better suited to a life in Lotus Pier anyway. Lan Wangji on the other hand…

"Wangji knows." Lan Xichen replied. "Once the war is over and they are married, he will be moving to Lotus Pier with Wei-gongzi. He will no longer be privy to the inner workings of Gusu, no longer eligible for the tenure of an elder, and no longer permitted to vote on our internal affairs. All this, he accepts."

By now, the disciples down below have noticed their presence, but the two clan leaders motioned for them to carry on.

Lan Wangji returned his attention to the training, but Wei Wuxian still bowed respectfully to his shijie and Lan Xichen. He seemed so different from the loud, audacious boy wrecking havoc up and down Cloud Recesses. Without Jiang Wanyin, Wei Wuxian was exposed, pushed to the forefront of everyone's scrutiny, the only defense between his sister and heaven, hell, and man.

He knew it, and so did everyone else.  

His sister waved fondly at him. As you were, her gesture seemed to say.

"When you put it like that, it sounds less like a marriage and more like exile. I know my brother; he would not mistreat Lan-er-gongzi, but nevertheless," Jiang Yanli looked up to face him. "Thank you, Zewu-jun. I'm sure the decision was not easy."

Lan Xichen closed his eyes momently and shook his head. "Mn. Not easy for those us he leaves behind perhaps, but my brother has always wanted simple things: family, unity, understanding. He will not have that in a marriage my Uncle arranges for him. Uncle means well, and maybe in time Wangji can learn to cope, to accept, but I cannot. I share your desire to see our own brothers happy, Jiang-zongzu, and marrying another will not bring Wangji happiness. This way, he may have lost some things, but he will still be permitted to teach at Gusu during the lecture season and to tutor our younglings. For him, that should be enough."

Jiang Yanli met Lan Xichen's eyes steadily, in between them hung words unspoken, heavy and binding.

They do not mention that by marrying Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji will yield his position as his brother's heir presumptive and his right to inherit.

They do not mention that any children Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji may adopt or father with subsidiary spouses would belong to Wei Wuxian and be granted no Lan privileges.

In particular, they do not mention the two special clauses that Jiang Yanli had added as a peace offering to demonstrate her goodwill. In the clause, it detailed that in the event of an arms conflict between Gusu and Yunmeng, Lan Wangji may choose to unilaterally divorce Wei Wuxian and return to Gusu and his previous status, to take up arms and defend the clan of his blood. It also detailed that any children fathered by Lan Wangji may forfeit their Jiang status and reclaim Lan privileges in the event of a divorce.

Neither of their brothers knew of the special clause, and they would never know, until they need to.

For the Elders of Gusu Lan, to part with their Hanguang-jun must be akin to an amputation of the limb. Yunmeng Jiang's demands may have been blunt, but these were desperate times, and it saved no one's face to pretend otherwise. Marriage alliance between male heirs were not usually arranged for this exact reason. Issues of inheritance and loyalty too often became messy - or worse - bloody if not laid out straight from the start. Jiang Yanli had hoped that the inclusion of the special clauses would convey her understanding of Lan family's worries and the sincerity of her alliance. She had no intention of making enemies of people from whom she sought support.

"It's cold up here, isn't it, where we stand." Jiang Yanli lamented after a long stretch of silence. The wind of Qinghe in October was indeed biting, but somehow that didn't seem to be what she meant.

Lan Xichen sighed. "I've seen my share of unhappy unions, as I’m sure you have too. Our brothers' will be a happy one."

"I do hope so, Zewu-jun. I do hope so."

[momentofmemory]

FICTOBER 2020 - day four

Prompt #4: “That didn’t stop you before.”

Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Characters: May Parker, Tony Stark, Peter Parker (mentioned)

Words: 1809

Author’s Note: May and Tony will get along one day, but it’s going to be a rough ride, and neither of them are going to like the journey. Set immediately post HOCO, May POV. Possibly the first in a series. 

>> eight feet and we started on the wrong one

It takes May two-and-a-half hours to drive from her apartment in Queens to the new Avengers facility in Upstate.

Spider-Man’s suit—Peter’s suit—sits hidden in a brown paper bag in the passenger’s seat, looking for all the world like one of the packed lunches Ben would make for Peter in elementary school. Peter’s old enough that he can make his own lunches now, though, so he hasn’t had one since—since.

Ben would be disappointed in her if he knew.

Peter’s still at home, both because he’s very, very grounded, and because she’s about to have a conversation she doesn’t want him anywhere near. Super hearing is apparently among her nephew’s multitude of powers, and considering he’d claimed to hear a heartbeat from across the room, she’s pretty sure there’s not building in all of New York large enough to give her the privacy she needs.

She’s going to be much, much louder than a heartbeat.

The Compound looms in the distance, and she does her best to feel as unflappable as she looks as she approaches the security entrance.

Two-and-a-half hours had felt like a lot of time when she’d pulled the address up on Maps, but all she’s conjured in terms of an attack plan is a losing battle between righteous anger and overwhelming guilt.

She pulls to a stop in front of the tall metal gates, hyper aware of all the doubtlessly lethal security that’s surrounding her. There’s a moment of silence, then a bored voice broadcasts over one of the speakers.

“This facility is for Avengers or cleared personnel only. Please present a valid ID or contact our PR representative to state your business—”

May pulls the suit out of the bag and lets it unfurl out the window, making sure the red and blue spandex is in plain view of the cameras.

She waits.

The intercom crackles back to life, and a new, much more cautious voice addresses her. “…Thank you for coming, Ms. Parker. Your security clearance has been added to the system. Please proceed to the front entrance where Mr. Hogan can assist you—”

“Stark,” May says. The knuckles on her right hand turn white against the steering wheel. “Mr. Stark will be meeting with me.”

Another long, drawn out pause. Then a third voice enters the mix, and this time, she’s able to identify the perpetually-confident speaker on the other side.

“Thanks for stopping by, May. I’d be happy to meet with you.”

May squashes down the thrill of anxiety and rage that fills her at the sound of him as the first voice takes back over. 

“Please proceed through the gate down the center lane. At the first fork in the road, turn left. This will lead you directly to the Avengers parking deck, where you will park on row E and take the south elevator to floor 7. An employee will meet you in the landing area to take you to Mr. Stark’s office.”

“Thank you,” May says, cheerfully, as if she’s given entry instructions to highly secured bases every day.

She can’t afford to appear nervous, so she aims for unconcerned—even if it makes her look a little ditzy.

Being underestimated is always an advantage.

The red lasers crossing the path blink twice before disappearing altogether, and then the heavy steel gates swing open at a belabored pace.

She pulls the suit back into the car and drives forward. In the privacy of her own thoughts, she tries not to dwell on how she’s just earned herself a one-on-one with arguably the most powerful man in the world.

(The most powerful man in the world who’s had near total access to her kid for the last two months, who offered to have him live somewhere else, who was going to tell the whole world his secret before he told her—)

Her stomach twists angrily.

(At least, she tells herself it’s anger.)

She drives into the deck and parks the car.

The suit is still lying in the passenger’s seat. May considers it, then carefully folds it back up and slips it into the bag. Then she steps out of the car and locks the door, leaving it inside.

It may have been Stark technology, but it was Parker property now.

The woman that meets her inside the building doesn’t say much, spending most of their shared time scanning her past enough security to let May know there was no way of getting in or out without their approval. She’s not sure if it’s an intimidation tactic or just the way things work here.

She adds it to the list of the many things she doesn’t know, and sits down in a chair outside of Tony Stark’s office to wait.

The conversation between her and Peter had been a very, very long one, and a very, very emotional one. She hasn’t processed any of it yet, because every time she tries, her brain stalls out on the fact that Peter’s story has enough holes in it to masquerade as one of Ben’s old socks. In fact, the only thing consistently more disturbing than all the danger he’d been in was all the times he couldn’t tell her why he was in danger to begin with.

The man at the desk hangs up the phone and waves in her direction. “Mr. Stark will see you now, Ms. Parker.”

“Mrs. Parker,” May says, because it hasn’t even been a year yet.

The secretary doesn’t seem to care either way, but the finer points of naming etiquette aren’t why May’s here anyway.

It’s time to get some answers.

Stark practically leaps out of his chair when she walks in, radiating enough charm to power a small light show, but with a clear undercurrent of nerves that belies his confidence.

“Well, if it isn’t May Parker,” he says, entirely smiles, “looking as fine as ever.”

Just like that, the anxiety she’s been masking as anger all day morphs into nothing but pure anger.

“What the hell, Stark.”

It’s not the careful or naive approach she’d originally envisioned, and his jovial expression vanishes as quickly as her goodwill had. “Now wait, I know you’re a little upset, but—”

“A little upset?”

“Okay, a lot upset,” he concedes. “That’s just ‘cause it’s a lot to take in, but if we just take a minute—”

“Stark,” May interrupts, her fists curling tight enough to dig crescent moons into her skin, “it’s not a lot to take in because I don’t have anything yet.”

Stark blinks. “You don’t—you talked to the kid, right? That’s how you got the suit?”

It’s the genuine confusion that riles May—that Stark hasn’t even considered how little he’s told Peter, and therefore, how little Peter could’ve told her.

“I talked to Peter,” she says, and Stark’s eyes narrow further, “and he said he fought Captain America. Couldn’t say why.”

It’s a low blow—most of the chatter on the Avengers’ split agrees that the falling out was mostly between its two heads—but May’s already at a disadvantage, and she can’t afford to play fair on a field that’s not level.

Stark stares at her, but May doesn’t make a move. Then he walks back behind his desk, and sits in the chair, propping his feet up. “What happened between me and Cap was personal, May.”

“I don’t care about your bro fight, Tony.” If he’s going to call her by her first name, then she should return in kind. “It’s none of my business, because I’m not involved. And Peter wasn’t, either, until you dragged him into it.”

Stark has the decency to grimace. “We hadn’t escalated anything at that point, I swear. Peter was never in danger—”

“It’d escalated to the point where you were so scared you thought recruiting a fourteen-year-old boy you’d never met was a good option.”

Stark looks away at that. “Look, maybe I rushed it a little. But Pete’s a good kid, and he was gonna get involved in bigger stuff one way or another. Did you not see that little onesie he was running around in? Before I got to him? I’m protecting him.”

(Like you didn’t.)

“Yeah?” May snaps. “So what else have you done? Did you have him sign the Accords? Is there some pencil pushing government official that knows more about my kid than I do?”

“No, he’s just a minor—”

“Oh, you care about him being a minor now,” May says. “‘Cause that didn’t stop you before.”

Tony’s eyes flash. "Listen, honey—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—it’s real rich of you to play the concerned aunt when you didn’t bat an eye at my asking him to come along in the first place. You’re the one that let your kid fly to Germany for a scholarship you never looked twice at—”

“How dare you assume what I looked at—”

“—and you’re the one that consented to let me talk to him in the first place—”

“So you agree that asking to talk to a minor, alone, about highly confidential information was way out of line?”

“—and you’re the super involved aunt that’s decided for some reason to just ignore all your kid’s weird behavior for the past six months, including but not limited to sneaking out of the house at all hours, dropping almost all of his extracurriculars, consistently lying about his location, and—”

“His uncle died!”

Her outburst stops his tirade in its tracks, but it’s not the silver bullet she wanted, because it’s too vulnerable; too close. And she knows she’s treading dangerous ground, knows she shouldn’t continue when the balance of power is so strongly weighted against her, but now that she’s started, she can’t stop.

“His uncle died, and he thinks it was his fault,” she says. “And hell, what do I know. Maybe it really was. But that is not the kind of mindset that prepares anyone, let alone a fourteen-year-old boy, to make informed decisions about who he trusts. Maybe we got really lucky this time, and you really are that great for him. ‘Cause as you’ve so eloquently proven, I clearly wasn’t.”

May pauses, taking in a breath, while Tony shifts uncomfortably. But he doesn’t try to interrupt.

"So what happens,” she finally says, “the next time some guy comes along with a nice smile and a cool costume, and tells him it’s totally okay to lie to the people responsible for him.”

Tony watches her for a moment, and she watches him right back. He reaches over and flicks the Newton’s Cradle on his desk into motion, then sighs.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Fair enough.”

He gestures towards the chair opposite him, and this time, May accepts it.

He clears his throat. “So what do you want from me.”

“The truth,” May says, unflinchingly. “All of it.”

“Okay.”