#i have literally been told i deserve to go to a concentration camp

[flickering-chandelier]

Second Chance

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Summary: Reader and Cassian have been friends for centuries, but nobody knows that she’s in love with him. Eventually she meets her mate in the market, but when he breaks her heart, Cassian is there to pick up the pieces, and offer her a second chance at love.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

Cassian snickered as he landed on top of you, effectively pinning you beneath him. 

You grunted, “Okay, you win. Get off.”

He cocked his head, grinning. “I don’t know, this is pretty comfy.”

“You’ve proven your point,” you groaned, your head throbbing from hitting it on the ground of the training ring on top of the House. You tried to wiggle out from under him, but it was no use. He was massive, and your body was rendered utterly immobile. 

After another torturous moment, Cassian stood up, offering you his hand. He hoisted you up to your feet and you groaned again. 

“What were you saying about being able to beat me one-on-one?” he smirked. 

You just scowled at him and his smile spread further. He clapped you on the back. You winced at the impact. “Go get some water.”

Normally you would say something snarky about following orders, but your head was still spinning a bit, so you did as you were told without argument. 

You must have looked pretty awful because after a few minutes, Cassian knelt in front of where you sat on the bench, his eyes searching yours. “You okay?”

Nodding as you gulped down more water, you mumbled, “Mmhmm.”

His brow furrowed as he gently felt the back of your head, feeling the growing bump there. “Shit,” he said. “I didn't mean to pin you down that hard. Sorry.”

You shrugged, smiling faintly at your friend. “I knew I couldn’t beat you. It’s my own fault.”

He lightly brushed the hair that had come out of your braid off your face. You pushed down the swell in your chest, as you always did. “I think it’s time for the cool down,” he said, his eyes raking your sweaty, tired body. 

Your eyes widened. “You, the legendary commander of the Illyrian armies, are going to cut training short because you knocked me on my ass?” 

“Only for you,” he winked, offering you his hand again. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You took it, and followed Cassian as he guided you through the stretches. 

This had been your routine for a while. You had been in Rhysand’s inner circle for the last few centuries, and had found your home and family with them. Pretty quickly, you knew you wanted to be useful for more than just your mind, so you had asked Cassian to train you. You had started out at the Illyrian camps, but the way the males there treated you was…unsettling, to say the least. And it made Cassian angrier than you had ever seen him. So now you trained on the top of the House, sometimes accompanied by others, but often it was just the two of you. 

Training with him nearly every day for centuries had brought the two of you very close together. He was definitely the best friend you had ever had. He was your favorite person in the world. The two of you talked about everything.

Well, almost everything.

Even after all this time, butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you watched him, how his muscles stretched and bulged, his brow furrowed in concentration, his tanned skin gleaming with sweat in the morning sun. 

You had been in love with him for a very, very long time.

Frankly, it sucked being in love with your best friend. Your best friend, who flirted shamelessly with nearly everybody, who had a body even the gods were surely jealous of. Who was so kind and good and brave that nobody could ever compare. 

Especially not you.

That was the main problem, really. Why you had never said anything. You knew you could never deserve him, no matter how long you lived. He was legendary. Literally. He was strong, fearless, and so, so kind. And not to harp on this too much but, that body. Compared to him, you were entirely insignificant and you always would be.

So, you suffered in silence. Loved him from afar. And waited for the Mother or the Cauldron or whoever it was that was in charge of your fate and your mate to get their act together.

“What’s running through that pretty head of yours?” Cassian said, glancing over at you.

You reigned in your scowl. Centuries of friendship made it extremely easy for him to read you like a book. “I’m debating whether I hate you for pinning me to the ground like it was nothing, or if I love you for cutting training short,” you said, breathless as you continued to follow him through the stretches. 

He smirked. “Oh, please. You know you love me.”

Rolling your eyes goodnaturedly you grumbled, “Yeah, I know.”

If only he knew. 

---

Inner circle meetings these days were about twenty percent important business, and eighty percent goofing off. 

You loved it.

Seated between Azriel and Amren, with Cassian across from you, you grinned as the warrior picked a fight with Amren.

Azriel and you exchanged amused glances, both knowing that Cassian had never won against Amren, and he certainly wouldn’t start today. 

After they had been squabbling for quite some time about something that you honestly weren’t paying super close attention to, Amren turned to you, snarling, “Can you please tell him he’s a fool?”

Cassian sat back in his chair, clutching his chest, making a great show of being offended.

“Why me?” you asked. 

“He actually listens to you,” Amren said, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

You snorted. “He does not.”

Azriel cut in, smiling faintly. “He does. More than the rest of us, anyway.”

You glanced at Cassian, who just smirked back at you. “What can I say? She’s obviously the smartest one here.”

This, of course, started a whole new round of insults from Amren that left Cassian chuckling to himself, his eyes sparkling as he gazed at you through the entire barrage of Amren’s insults.

Later, you and Cassian were lounging in the sitting room at the House of Wind, after everyone else had wandered off home or gone to bed. 

You were laying down on the couch, reading a book. Cassian was sitting at the far end of said couch, your feet in his lap while he read up on war strategies. 

It was only a matter of time before the romance novel that you were reading got… steamy. 

Cassian immediately noticed the shift in your scent and threw his head back laughing. “Why do you read smut in front of people?”

You kicked his chest lightly, which only made him laugh more. “It’s not like I know when the smutty scenes are going to happen!”

“This one really got to you, huh?” he said, noticing the blush that had risen to your cheeks.

Before you could stop him, he lunged for you, grabbing your book and wrenching it from your hands.

“Noo!” you shrieked, and covered your face in embarrassment as he read aloud.

“His weight on top of me was nearly enough for me to come undone,” he said in a deep, sultry voice. “I couldn’t focus on anything but the power and command in his movements as he grasped both my wrists in one hand and pinned them to the bed above my head.”

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You grabbed for the book, but he was faster and caught you as you moved toward him. His arm wrapped around your waist and he spun you, pinning you to the couch, his weight holding you down for the second time that day.

But, this time was… different. Your bodies were completely flush together, every inch of you touching him. His hair tickled your neck as he looked down at you, your faces a fraction away from each other. 

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, breathing hard. You could smell it on him too now, the lust. In this moment, he wanted you. You knew he did. Heat went through you in a wave.

And he knew it. 

“This is what you’re into, huh?” he said huskily.

You glared at him, but you knew the lust was still shining in your eyes. 

He smirked. “Is that why you baited me during training today? You wanted to feel me on top of you?”

Yes. “No!” You scowled, pushing his shoulders, but he didn’t move. “I baited you because I wanted to see how long I would last.”

Cassian’s smirk turned positively wolfish, his eyes gleaming in a way you’d never seen before.

You groaned, realizing what you just said. “Not like that.” You pushed against him again. “Get off of me, Cassian!”

He dipped his head lower, his lips just a breath away from yours. “Are you sure you want me to?” he said, his voice low, sultry. You could hardly breathe.

No, of course I don’t want you to. I want to stay here forever and ever.

“Yes,” you ground out. 

His lips darted to your lips for the briefest moment before he pushed off of you, sitting on his knees. After a moment, he handed the book to you. 

“I hate you,” you mumbled.

He smirked. “No, you don’t.”

You couldn’t stop your small smile. “No, I don’t.”

---

For days, you felt rattled by what happened that night. Cassian, of course, seemed relaxed as ever, but you felt yourself blush every time you were around him.

You were in the market, your thoughts lost in Cassian as usual, when someone across the street caught your eye.

He was beautiful. The very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. You felt drawn to him in a way you had never felt before, not even with Cassian.

You stopped in your tracks, unable to take your eyes off him.

After a few moments, he looked up and your eyes met.

And you felt it.

The mating bond that snapped into place. That tethered you permanently to this stranger.

And judging from the look in his eyes, he felt it too.

The stranger made his way over to you, his eyes not wavering from yours.

“Hi,” he said when he was in front of you, like he was in a daze.

“Hi,” you said. “You… felt that too, right?”

He nodded. “I never knew what they meant… what it was supposed to feel like…” he trailed off, just staring at you. “I'm Adonis.”

You introduced yourself and didn't know what to do next. For centuries, you had dreamed of the day that you'd meet your mate. But secretly, you had been waiting for the bond to snap into place with Cassian. You hadn't thought about what you would do if it turned out to be a random stranger.

“Do you… want to go for a walk?” Adonis said, clearly equally unsure of what one was supposed to do upon meeting their mate.

You agreed. And just like that, you were getting to know your mate.

---

You found Rhys, Feyre, and Cassian all in Rhysand's study at the river house. They looked at you questioningly as you walked in.

“Are you okay?” Cassian asked, his voice soft, the way it always was when he was worried about you. “You look… weird.”

“I met my mate today,” you said quietly.

Feyre and Rhysand looked ecstatic. Cassian, though, went perfectly still, his skin turning slightly pale.

“What happened? Who is he?” Feyre asked, her eyes wide in excitement.

You shrugged, briefly explaining how you and Adonis met.

“What's he like?” Rhys asked. “Do you like him?”

“I think so?” You said, noticing how Cassian was still as a statue. “I don't know, it's weird. I feel this tug towards him but I don't know anything about him! I mean, he seems… nice.”

Cassian finally unfroze, to look incredulously at you. “Nice?” He repeated. “That's it? Your mate is nice?”

“We went on a walk and yes, he seems nice,” you blanched, feeling like you should defend your mate but not sure how.

Your friends just stared at you, clearly underwhelmed by your declaration.

“What do I do now?” You asked nobody in particular.

“You keep getting to know him,” Rhys said, lovingly wrapping an arm around Feyre. 

You glanced at Cassian, who suddenly seemed very interested in the carpet.

“Okay,” you said. 

Really, what else could you do?

---

Your relationship with Cassian had felt off ever since you and Adonis had started to get to know each other better.

He still trained you every day, but where he used to be bantering and joking around with you, he was now all business, keeping his physical distance from you. 

It was confusing, having to grapple with your ancient feelings for him and these new blooming ones for your mate. 

After a few weeks of weirdness, you finally snapped. “Did I do something to upset you?” You asked as both of you stretched after a particularly grueling workout.

“No,” he grunted. “Why?”

“You've been acting weird for weeks.”

He glanced at you, his eyes guarded. “No, I haven't.”

“Yes you have, Cass. You've barely talked to me,” you tried to hide the pain in your voice. You didn't want him to know how deeply this ran.

Cassian sighed, pausing his stretching to face you, look you in the eye. “You’re right, I'm sorry. I just… I'm sad, I guess. I've been your number one for centuries and now…” he pushed his hair out of his face. “Things are different now.”

You took a step toward him, your heart cracking. “Is that what you think? Cassian, no matter who my mate is, you'll always be my best friend. And… I could really use my best friend right now.”

Guilt clouded his expression. “I'm sorry. I've been a shitty friend,” he said quietly, moving forward and wrapping you in a tight bear hug. “Are you okay?”

Sighing with relief, leaning into his touch, you said, “I don't know. I'm really excited, obviously, that I finally found him. And I do like him. But I'm also… scared.”

He pulled back to look you in the eye. “Scared? Why?”

“What if he doesn't like me?” You asked quietly. You hadn't been able to voice your fears to anybody else. 

Cassian’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would you even think that? Who wouldn't like you?”

I can think of at least one person, you thought, but shoved it down.

You shrugged, not sure what to say.

He murmured your name, moving to gently hold your face in his hands. “He'd be insane to not like you. I mean it.”

Warmth spread through you at his touch, the softness in his voice. “Thanks, Cassian,” you murmured.

Cassian kissed your forehead, then pulled you back into a crushing hug. “Anytime.”

---

Your gut was a bundle of nerves as you met with Adonis again. The two of you had been getting to know each other for the last few weeks, and while you didn't yet feel an electric shock, you were thrilled to have found your mate.

When Adonis showed up though, your nerves only got worse. The look on his face could only mean that he was about to deliver bad news.

The two of you made your way through awkward small talk until he braced his forearms on the table in front of him, and you knew he was about to get down to business.

“So, look. I know we're mates, and I do feel that bond between us, but I can't help but think that maybe the Cauldron was wrong,” he said casually, as if he were telling you it was going to rain later.

Your heart completely plummeted. You tried to maintain your breathing, keep your voice even. “Why do you think that?”

“The attraction’s just not there,” he said matter of factly.

Mind spinning, you repeated, “the… attraction?”

He nodded, like it was obvious.

“You're saying, you think the Cauldron was wrong… because you're not attracted to me.”

“Yes! I'm so glad you get it,” he smiled.

You just looked at him incredulously. “You're serious?”

“Yes?” He raised his eyebrow in question.

“So, you're… you're rejecting the bond?”

“I think that would be best. Don't you?”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep your rising fury locked down. “With the way you're acting right now? Actually, yes, I do think it would be best. You're a terrible person,” you stated, determined to keep your tears from falling until you could make it home.

His eyes narrowed, glaring at you.

And right then, you felt it. Despite your anger, it was still painful to have the bond rejected. It felt like you were being torn apart from the inside out, ripping your very being to shreds.

You gripped the table, centuries of training your body and your mind was the only thing that kept you from crying out as the bond broke.

Adonis felt it too, you knew, because he had gone pale as a ghost, his body trembling slightly. 

When the pain had subsided enough, you pushed away from the table, walking home without a backwards glance.

---

You were supposed to meet Cassian for dinner at the House, but you couldn't bear it. You went to your own apartment instead, laying in your bed in the fetal position for what was probably hours, tears streaming down your cheeks until your head was pounding and your eyes were burning.

It was awful, this feeling. How could he be your mate? How could someone like that be who the Mother wanted you with?

Would you never be good enough for anyone? 

And now your hopes of finding a mate were gone forever. Everyone knew that you only got one chance, one mate.

Why did yours have to be so awful?

A knock on your door roused you from your spiraling thoughts.

You just groaned, knowing that Cassian could hear it.

The door opened and you heard his heavy footsteps as he found you in your bed.

He grimaced as soon as he saw the state of you, his eyes flooding with concern. Instantly he was by your side, kneeling in front of you, holding your hand. “What is it?” He asked, his voice soft despite the tautness of his body.

Your voice came out as barely more than a croak. “He rejected the bond.”

Cassian's rage was palpable, filling the room. “What?”

Ashamed, you hid your face in your pillows. You couldn't tell him why. Didn't have the words in you, and you didn't want him to know how much it hurt.

He swore under his breath, then crawled into bed with you, gingerly wrapping his arms around you, holding you close. You buried your face in his chest, breathed in the scent of him. It almost broke your heart even more, knowing he would never feel for you what you felt for him.

His fingers drew small, soothing circles on your back for a long moment until he broke the silence again. “What happened?” He said quietly.

It was a long time before you could answer. But you knew that if you could tell anyone in the world, it would be him. “He's not attracted to me,” you whispered.

Cassian's entire body tensed, his grip on you tightening. “He said that?” He said with lethal calm.

“He did,” you croaked as another tear slid down your cheek.

“I'm going to slaughter him,” he growled, his body trembling as he sat up, taking you with him. “I'm going to rip his skin off his bones--”

He had moved you so you were straddling him, your hands on his shoulders. “No, you won't,” you said gently.

“Why shouldn't I?” He spat, his eyes dark, his hands gripping your waist so hard, it would surely leave a bruise.

“It wouldn't solve anything,” you said sadly. 

Cassian buried his hand in the hair at the back of your head, forcing you to hold his gaze. “You listen to me. He is wrong. He is awful. You are so beautiful. You are so strong and kind and incredible. Do not let him get to you, okay? This is his loss, not yours,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, alight with so much emotion, your eyes welled with tears again.

He pursed his lips, his eyes softening as he pulled you into him again. You cried into his chest. “Why would the Mother do this to me? Why would she choose him?”

“I don't know,” he said sadly, running his hands through your hair gently. “I don't know. Maybe she made a mistake.”

You sniffed. “I don’t know what to do.” 

He kissed your head softly. “You lean on the people who love you. And then you try to move on.”

You cried even harder, and he held you and held you until your sobs diminished and you drifted off to sleep.

---

Cassian barely left your side in the following weeks, his hands always on you, comforting you. Even when he had to go to the Illyrian mountains, he brought you with him. 

It always did something to you, seeing him in command of all those soldiers. His face stern, his body rigid, barking orders at everyone. Despite all the awful things that had happened recently, it still made your toes curl in your boots. 

But even you could only brave the cold for so long to watch Cassian be in command, so you eventually wandered into Rhysand’s mother’s house, a roaring fire already ablaze when you arrived. 

You sat in front of it, warming your hands, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. 

Weeks after the disastrous meeting with your mate, you were finally starting to feel like yourself again, like other things in life mattered more than the jerk who hurt you.

It was mostly Cassian’s steady, comforting presence that had helped you return to yourself, his relentless insistence that you keep up with your training, that you don’t break your routine no matter how much your heart hurt. 

Cassian had been what was keeping you together for a long time, you realized. 

It was this thought that he interrupted, swinging the door open loudly, the snow billowing in behind him. After he had closed the door behind him, you heard his heavy footfalls stop dead in their tracks behind you.

You turned to look at him in confusion, and then you felt it. 

A bond snapped into place. 

A bond that somehow, after all this time, linked you to Cassian.

Your heart began pounding in your chest, your head spinning. “What--”

Before you could finish the thought, he was on top of you, pinning you to the ground, his lips on yours. You always forgot how quickly he could move, how he could be across the room in the blink of an eye with ease.

A moan sounded from you involuntarily as he cupped your cheek gently with his rough hand, his other on the floor next to your head, keeping some of his body weight off you so you wouldn’t be crushed. This seemed to spur him on even more, his tongue delving into your mouth immediately after you had opened your mouth to him. 

“I knew it,” he groaned, kissing your cheeks, your neck, “I knew it should’ve been me.” 

“Cassian,” you gasped, unable to process what was happening, what he just said--

He growled, kissing you again deeply, rocking his hips against yours.

You hated yourself for doing it, especially since you had been dreaming of this very moment for centuries, but you also needed a moment to think, to process. 

“Cassian, wait,” you said breathlessly, putting your hand on his chest. 

He halted immediately, pulling back to hover over you. “I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s okay,” you said, smiling to reassure him. He was breathing hard, his eyes locked on yours, trying to decipher if he had done something wrong, you knew. “I mean -- we should definitely continue that later, I just… I don’t understand.”

Cassian rose from on top of you, sitting up. You followed, sitting up to face him. “We’re mates,” he said with a soft smile, his eyes shining. “You and me,” he shook his head in disbelief. 

“I thought you could only have one mate? I thought that was it…” you trailed off, unable to form the words.

He shrugged, grinning. “I guess the Mother decided to give you another chance.”

All you could do was stare at him in disbelief. 

Cassian was actually your mate. Cassian.

His brow furrowed, his expression flooding with fear. “Are you upset?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. You gazed at him, at your beautiful, incredible mate. “Cassian, I’ve been in love with you for centuries. I’ve never been happier in my life.”

He made a choking sound. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

You bit your lip, pondering how much to tell him. He took your hand in his, scooching closer, hanging on your answer. Finally you leveled your gaze with his. “I don’t deserve you.”

His face contorted in anger then, a look that had never been directed at you before. “Why would you ever think that?”

Incredulously, you gestured to him. “Are you kidding? Look at you! You’re the commander of the Illyrian armies, they’ve literally written about your war tactics in the history books, you’re one of six people in centuries to actually reach Ramiel, you’re so kind and good and--”

Cassian’s lips were on yours before you could continue. “I love you,” he murmured against your lips. “I love you so much.” 

Your heart melted at his words and at his touch. After a few moments, he pulled back to look at you again. “Never say that you’re not good enough ever again. You’ve been in Rhysand's inner circle for centuries for a reason. How do you not see how incredible you are?” 

All you could get out was, “You love me?”

He laughed, the deep sound practically bouncing off the walls, before his expression softened, gazing at you lovingly. “Of course I love you. I was acting so weird after you met Adonis because I had never been so fucking jealous in my life,” he said quietly, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve wished that you were mine for a long, long time.” 

You launched yourself at him and he was ready for you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you kissed him. He laughed against your mouth, holding your body against his. 

Soon, you were completely tangled together, losing yourselves in each other.

Hours later, you were laying on the floor in front of the fire, your legs entwined together, your head on Cassian's chest, his arms around you. 

“After all this time,” you murmured, lost in the memories of all your lonely nights, now knowing that Cassian had felt the same way you did.

He kissed the top of your head. “I'm just glad the Mother finally helped us get together,” he chuckled.

“Me too,” you agreed. “We owe her a lot.”

“We owe her everything,” he said quietly, leaning in to kiss you again. 

You snuggled closer into him, relishing the thought that you would never again be alone.

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 23, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Nature Abhors a (Power) Vacuum

Jin Guangshan, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Xichen have gathered to decide what to do about the remaining Wen people and also what to do about the Yin metal. They have not invited Jiang Cheng to this discussion, or blowhard Clan Leader Yao, despite those clans having been hit particularly hard by the Wens in the course of the war. 

The three of them have a conversation about what to do with the Wen captives, showing their different attitudes towards killing.

Jin Guangshan: Killing is awesome, particularly in project management. It's just so efficient. Nie Mingjue: Killing is necessary, and a little bit fun, too. Lan Xichen: Killing is necessary, sadly, but we can randomly spare some women or old people, as a token sign that we’re not monsters. Kind of like when you have a fancy dinner and include a tofu dish for the vegetarians. Nie Mingjue: Nobody likes tofu, Xichen.

Jin Guangshan says he's looking for the Yin Iron and that they can't let any Wens or "ambitious people" get a hold of it. By ambitious people he means Wei Wuxian, not himself and his murder kid. Lan Xichen realizes this right away but doesn't, you know, do anything to contradict him.  Jin Guangshan says he's asked "A-Yao" to look into it. Which is smart, because A-Yao is already in cahoots with Xue Yang, who actually has the piece of Yin Iron they're looking for.

Getting Jiggy With It

Then Jin Guangshan introduces Meng Yao, now renamed Jin Guangyao, in a weird twist on generation names. He has given him the name of a sibling or cousin of his own generation (starting with Guang), rather than a name of the next generation (starting with Zi). JGS says that JGY just recently learned about about being related to him, although we know perfectly well that's not true. 

And they both talk like he appreciates JGY's efficiency and helpfulness, but that's not why JGS has him at his side. He has taken him in because he is a steel-eyed murder bot, not in spite of it. 

(OP does not believe that Jin Guangyao could have been a good person if only his dad had let him hold Jin Ling that one time, as some have argued. Dude killed his own child because there was a chance he might be disabled in a way that could lead to gossip. Dude is a stone cold killer.)

(more after the cut)

In the language of CDrama costume (which is not, precisely, the language of actual historical clothing), Jin Guangyao has chosen to dress as a minister instead of as a chevalier. This is partly an artifact of his mother's ideas about a gentleman. It also suggests that he’s content with the sort of career that's available to a bastard of a noble house--not inheriting the noble title, but having enough favor to rise in power. 

It may also be a ruse to make him seem like he's not a strong cultivator and not a strong fighter, when in fact he is both, at least by the time he’s throwing death chords at Jiang Cheng, much later in the show. 

Mingjue makes all kinds of grumpy faces and snarky remarks to let everyone know that he fucking hates Jin Guangyao.  Xichen agrees to his “nice refugee camp with only a little death” plan, with no qualifications.

Now we get to see Jin Guangyao's manipulation of Lan Xichen. Lan Xichen says that Nie Mingjue wants a plan that’s more killy, because he believes in punishing evil. JGY deliberately misunderstands this, pretending that Lan Xichen said he, JGY, is evil, kind of forcing LXC to reassure him and take his side in an argument that isn’t actually happening. 

They have a little handholding while bowing, and then after Lan Xichen leaves, Jin Guangyao puts on his evil face and has all the prisoners killed behind the big closed door.  

This is done in such a violent fashion that the blood apparently flows up several stairs to the door, and over the tall raised threshold, before flowing downward toward the camera. Some evil is so extreme that even traditional Chinese doorway architecture can’t stop it.

Run To the Rock

Then we go outside to where Wei Wuxian is standing on a rocky outcropping, thinking it would be a good strategic spot to choose if he's ever in a battle where he wants to commit suicide right quick.

Lan Wangji comes to join him and admire the view, not knowing yet that this view, or one a whole lot like it, is going to be seared into his memory for most of his life.

Lan Wangji is becoming more and more committed to Wei Wuxian, more and more inexorably joined to him, but he still doesn't agree with him. So they each have this comfort in each others' presence at the same time as being massively in conflict.

Wei Wuxian asks him what he thinks of all the politicking and murdering. Who is good and who is evil? LWJ doesn't answer because WWX is leaking black smoke, so he grabs him and tells him to concentrate.  Lan Wangji is, incidentally, wearing Princess-Leia quantities of lip gloss.

Lan Wangji asks if Wei Wuxian would like to learn a new tune, "Absterge" according to Netflix. The fuck? [op looks it up in the dictionary]. "To cleanse, especially by wiping." Also known as aftercare. Netflix. Honey. This word is MIDDLE FRENCH. Will you knock it the fuck off?

So anyway, instead of answering his question about who is good and who is evil, LWJ asks if he wants to learn a song called "Cleansing." Wei Wuxian says “hey babe, are you fucking kidding me?” 

His actual words are "you doubt me too?" meaning "you think I also took the missing 4th chunk of Yin iron to make my ugly tiger amulet, rather than obviously having used that giant sword I pulled out of the turtle?"  

Lan Wangji mentally replays Wen Ruohan's questions in his head--the questions he barked at Wei Wuxian right before choking him unconscious--which Lan Wangji also feels entitled to know the answers to. Fuck you, Lan Wangji. He answers WWX with "when did you forge your amulet?" Which is his way of saying "yes, I doubt you."

Wei Wuxian kindly refrains from saying "while we were on a break, bitch" and instead tells him the exact truth--I found a yin iron sword in the turtle--but says it in his patented "make it sound like a lie" way. 

LWJ keeps grilling him, eventually coming out and saying dude, you knew the sword was Yin iron, why did you need to use it?

This is the crucial question--why WWX broke his first promise, to Lan Yi, which was to try to get rid of the Yin Iron. He won’t tell anyone the answer, which is that he needs to use it because he can't cultivate normally, because he lost his golden core. He made a lot of promises before that happened, and he probably expected to keep them. But without his core, everything changed; without his core, he’s a different person, so it’s maybe not fair to expect him to honor his previous promises. 

I’m reminded of my grandfather, who was the oldest son of an old southern US family, with lots of expectations as the firstborn. He went off to WWI as a soldier, expecting to die. He didn’t die, and so from that point on, he regarded his life as a gift. He felt could do whatever he wanted with it, and let go of expectations from before the war. He moved to Paris and took up with a glamorous divorcee 7 years older than him (my Grandma, eventually). 

The actual point of that story, other than OP having cool grandparents, is that when you think you’re going to die, and then you don’t die, your ideas about what you owe to people can change quite a bit. Wei Wuxian expected to die in the Burial Mounds; he expected to die at Nightless City; he expects it, over and over, and each time he doesn’t die, he gets further and further from being what everyone else wants him to be. And--a lot like soldiers returning from a war-- NOBODY in his life knows how to talk to him about it. 

Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji to back off, Lan Wangji says why aren't you letting me help you, and they are once again on the edge of the same fight they keep having. Lan Wangji does some impassioned arm holding while Wei Wuxian says he's not like Wen Ruohan. 

Romantic Duet #1

The argument is interrupted by screams and killing, so they go to check it out, and find the Jins hunting down some prisoners for sport. They arrive in time to save two people. Yay?

Jin ZIxun acts like a jerk, as always. The new element is that per Jin Guangshan, anyone concerned with Yin Iron shouldn't be alive.  He says that the Lan and Nie clans agreed, and challenges Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji stops him from responding, grabbing his wrist.

The Jins leave and Wei Wuxian refers back to their earlier conversation, saying there will be more resentful spirits now and that "Rest" is the music to play, not "Cleansing."

He gives Lan Wangji a long look and then pointedly removes Lan Wangji’s hand from his wrist, by holding his hand, which is some next-level mixed signaling. Lan Wangji totally deserves it at this point, though. He keeps pushing and pushing WWX about his cultivation method, but he refuses to discuss the underlying morality of it, or the morality of the killing going on right in front of them. 

WWX walks off, leaving LWJ to stew in his own juices surrounded by a bunch of fresh corpses. 

Lan Wangji fails his saving throw against the guilt trip, and sits his ass down to play Rest, just like Wei Ying told him to. So switchy!  Wei Wuxian, out of sight but not out of earshot, hears him and accompanies him on Chenqing.

This scene is slightly ridiculous and a whole lot sublime. Ridiculous because it's their first time playing music together, so it's a super slow, romantic, extended scene, but they're surrounded by corpses. And not the helpful, friendly, third-wheel-on-a-date type of corpses.

It's sublime because the occasion of their first beautiful, literally magical duet is an argument. And they are joining together to play beautiful romantic music - as a service for the dead. And they are doing it while they are on literally opposite sides of a literal killing field. And Lan Wangji is sitting literally in the middle of a wide open road; the sort of road that they will both reject, metaphorically, later in the show. There is so much about their conflict and their journey that is encapsulated in this one musical moment.

Lan Wangji, by playing the song Wei Wuxian said was needed, is telling WWX that he took his words to heart, that he is listening, even though they're at odds.

WWX, by stopping and playing with him, is acknowledging this. And by settling the dead souls together, they are both reinforcing their dedication to doing what's right even as they both struggle with knowing what that is.

When Other Friendships Have Been Forgot, Ours Will Still Be Hot

Now we have the sworn brothers thing. I understand, plot wise, why this has to happen, but why would Nie Mingjue ever agree to this? Lan Xichen's puppy eyes are just that persuasive?

If they ever crack your spine, drop a line If they ever cut your throat, write a note If you’re ever in a mill and get sawed in half, I won’t laugh (HA HA HA HA)

Tedious Party Time

Now there's a cultivation party, which is about as excruciating to watch as it would be to attend.

Everyone is lining up to praise Jin Guangshan. To be fair, he did provide shelter for most of the smaller clans while the war was going on. So being grateful is appropriate, but Clan Leader Yao practically breaks his own neck kissing Jin ass. Yao says JGY’s contribution was the greatest of the war, adding, "fuck Wei Wuxian; everything is his fault."

The Jiangs show up wearing mourning belts that show off their itty bitty waists, and Jin Guangshan makes shifty eyes like a cartoon landlord when he sees them arrive.

JGS praises Jiang Cheng, and asks when his fancy clan-leader ceremony is going to happen. Jiang Cheng says he's still in mourning so it's not appropriate. JGS is like “Oh...yeah," as if he totally forgot about all the Yunmeng slaughter, and talks up his friendship with Jiang Fengmian. He acts comforting while WWX manages not to barf.

Then the Lan clan shows up and there is nice encouraging chit chat between LXC and JC...

...and just, SO MUCH mournful staring between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.

Then the Nies arrive.  Jin Guangshan tells Nie Mingjue he's late, and that everyone's waiting for him. That might be true in the script but it’s clearly bullshit on the screen, where the Lans and the Jiangs are still milling around looking for the coat room.

Nie Mingjue--who, let's remember, JUST swore to be brothers with Jin Guangyao--looks at him like he's something that fell off a garbage truck.  Lan Xichen jumps in to maximize the discomfort by pointing out that Jin Guangyao should address Nie Mingjue as Big Daddy Da-ge from now on.

Then the Jins offer Nie Mingjue the giant fire throne because...he's the leader of the Sunshot campaign, I guess? Of course it's all a manipulation tactic, designed to make him say he won't sit there, so that JGS can elevate himself to head cultivator, or something? And sit in front of the throne but not on it? Cultivator succession seems kinda arbitrary. 

I swear to god, it wasn't until I was clipping this episode that I realized Wen Ruohan had two thrones and they're in different rooms from each other.

Finally everyone goes to sit down, but because there hasn't been enough fucking awkwardness, JGY stops WWX to ask him what's on his mind. WWX asks him why he's not carrying his sword, which made me laugh and laugh. Wei Wuxian must have been just waiting for a chance to ask someone else that question for a change. 

Jin Guangyao says he threw it away, because it was just a random sword, but he really means he had it made into a sneaky murder belt, that he will be using again in 13 to 16 years. They both fake-laugh and trade Mean Girls insults pretend to like each other. 

Everyone wanders around toasting each other. Lan Wangji goes to find Wei Wuxian, after first making sure that his hair looks good.  

Wei Wuxian is lying around on the steps, sprawling and drinking wine, and not, incidentally, looking for Lan Wangji. He continues to not seek him out and Lan Wangji continues to chase after him.

Wei Wuxian says "how about playing Cleansing?" but Lan Wangji says he's learning a new score. It looks like it's going to be another argument, but then Wei Wuxian smiles and kind of praises Lan Wangji for being stubborn. 

Awkward Marriage Proposal

Just then everyone inside starts cheering for Jin Guangshan to give a speech. Jin Guangshan is making a move to marry Jiang Yanli to his son, which is a big time power grab, given that the Jiang Clan is 1. vulnerable and depleted 2. has control of the Yin tiger amulet.

We get a very rare glimpse into Jiang Cheng’s inner mind, where he thinks that saying yes isn’t a great idea, but isn’t sure what to do. This marriage would make his sister happy, but could destroy the Jiang Clan's independence.

Fortunately, Wei Wuxian joins the party just in time to fuck up Jin Guanshan’s plans. Will this teach Jin Guangshan not to invite Wei Wuxian to parties? It will not.  

Soundtrack: Friendship, by Cole Porter (from “Anything Goes”)

Bonus:

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Murphy’s best friend and dating Raven

Raven Reyes x reader

warnings:

a/n: ah, yes, im in love with this woman but mostly bc i just relate her sm ahhhh, also FUCK canon i do what i want and this is only until like beginning of s5

prompt: anonymous: “Hiii i hope you havent closed the requests yet ! Could you write some headcanons for the 100 for being murphys best friend and dating raven ?”

murphy was a bit of a dick in the beginning, but you tolerated him

you actually had the best luck getting through to him during your time on the ground

“y/n, can you get murphy to shut the hell up and do some work, for god’s sake?”

“on it”

and when you met raven, he could see right through you

nothing but endless teasing from him

“you like her” *poking your side*

“cut it out, murphy!”

she was stuck in two love triangles, you, her and finn, then clark, finn and her

and there were plenty of obstacles between you and her

especially when you were taken to mount weather and she was left alone with murphy, who she ended up hating

and he nearly ruined your chances with her bc she hated him so much

murphy had to calm her down and explain something to her

“hey, y/n would kill me if they knew i told you this, but listen. they like you a lot, im serious. y/n is so jealous of finn, they think you deserve so much more than that. i hope to god that they’re okay right now because i want to see them be happy. and you dont have to like me, alright? just...if you can, give y/n a chance”

raven was thinking about that all the way until you escaped mt weather

when she was captured there, you flipped out trying to get her away from the doctors trying to hurt her

the second you both were free, she ran up to you and kissed you

it was unreal to you

“murphy told me everything”

“that son of a bitch! but, sweet! it all worked out...let’s get out of here”

the relationship was a bit tense at first since there was a bit of resentment towards murphy, but you understood why

and she didn’t hold anything towards you

soon, murphy left with jaha and placed a goodbye note in your room

raven had to console you after he was gone, you were hurt that he decided to leave you behind, but he wanted you and raven to be happy

and you were, you really were

“babe, gimme a kiss” *kiss raven on the cheek* “one more?” *kiss* “another?”

she was upset she hadn’t been with you sooner

helping her while she worked around camp jaha

“can you hold that part while i fix this, please?”

“god, you’re so hot when you’re covered in grease”

*chuckling* “just get over here, babe”

everyone making fun of your “honeymoon phase”

staying up late together and being all sweet and cuddly and shit

crawling on top of her and holding her hands while the two of you talked, it was a bit of a normalcy for you two

she’d go on and on for hours over her work and ideas she had

you enjoy her passion for her work

she got very angry sometimes though, but you always calmed her down with a long, passionate kiss and some gentle words

she loves having her back rubbed!

raven is no doubt The Big Spoon no i will not be taking constructive criticism

going on drives with her (to keep her company on missions) (and protect her bc u worry)

raven lies about how her leg feels, so you have to be real with her and make sure she doesn’t push herself too much

she gets aggravated but she understands you’re just looking out for her

when ALIE took ahold of her you lost it, you were so worried and everyone could see it

they had to hold you back from her bc they were scared she’d hurt you

when she was strapped to the bed at niylah’s, they made you stay in the other room because she was saying some...hurtful things

“bring y/n in here, i’ve got something to tell them. Y/N! I’LL NEVER LOVE YOU AS MUCH AS I LOVED FINN”

eek

crazy ass time trying to get her to snap out of it

but they did and she cried and apologized again and again

you obviously forgave her, you love her

yadda yadda ALIE got switched off and you found out that there was another apocalypse coming your way

murphy came back too!

“hey, hey, im so sorry i left you behind”

raven was mad at him for leaving (and shooting her)

“you really trust him again? just like that?”

“he’s my best friend, raven...”

her putting up w him for you

and having to brainstorm some contingencies

you and her worked best together

when you weren’t busy flirting

“raven, stop getting distracted, we gotta figure out how to survive!”

“sorry, i just cant concentrate when my significant other is right there and not kissing me”

u guys are so cute

blahhh blahhh blahhh while she was working in becca’s lab, you were setting the bunker up with murphy

“at least now you cant run away from me when this thing gets locked”

“oh, real funny”

*repaired friendship hug*

clarke pulling you aside and telling you raven hasn’t left the lab yet

the squad rushing there to save her, and ultimately deciding the only way you guys were surviving was if you went up

“think we can pull this off, babe?”

“are you kidding me? do you know who you’re talking to?”

that’s ur cocky gf u love so much

bam you did it and you had to start your new life on the ring

lots of relationship counseling with emori and murphy

she asked you about him a lot

“what was john like before he left skaikru?”

“the same as now, just a little meaner and less loyal”

raven and you had a pretty awesome time up there, you grew so much more closer and she even proposed!!!

“i dont have a ring but were living on one so does that count?”

murphy was gonna be your best man it was decided

and at least he was getting along with your girlfriend fiancée much better

fr tho you’d literally die for each other and thats the end of it mwah

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @cullens-stuff //

[solangelover]

3 Days + 1: Day 1

Solangelo Spring Ball 2020 - Collab w/ @nicostolemybones

Read on AO3 or FF.Net

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

A/N: For @solangeloweek ’s Spring Ball event, I worked with @nicostolemybones​ to write a 3 days infirmary fic (plus an extra bonus day). I’ve wanted to write a 3 days fic since the beginning, so it was great to finally get it done in my first collab! The days will be linked above, including linking over to my friend’s posts. Happy reading!

As Nico jogged up to Will, who was waiting on the steps of the Big House, Will blurted out, “What was that about?” He glanced over Nico’s shoulder at the power couple of camp. Percy and Annabeth seemed wrapped up in their world, as per usual. Though, no one could really fault them anymore. They’d literally been through hell together. Probably no one was happier that the war was over than those two.

“Just saying bye,” Nico rushed out, now standing directly in front of the healer with a light blush covering his cheeks. “He and Annabeth may be leaving soon.”

“Leaving camp?” Will tapped his chin in thought. “I guess that makes sense. Gods know they deserve a freaking break.”

Nico nearly scoffed, “Yeah, if another war happens in our lifetime…” He trailed off, shaking his head. Like he really needed another reminder that, as a child of the Big Three, he would forever be a prime candidate for major prophecies. After all the burial rites he performed recently, he was getting tired of the death that followed him around like a led ball chained to his ankle. He was feeling exhausted just thinking about another war.

“Nico,” Will’s fingers snapped right in front of Nico’s eyes, jerking him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” he responded, straightening up his stance. Once aware of his body, he realized that he was practically sinking to the floor. Will had a hand wrapped around his forearm to steady him. The hand felt warm on Nico’s cold skin.

Will’s blue eyes bore into Nico’s brown ones, concern evident as he scanned demigod’s face. “You zoned out on me,” he frowned. “Come on, I told you you should’ve come here sooner. Let’s get inside.”

With that, Will shifted his grip down to Nico’s wrist and tugged him along into the infirmary. Nico could do nothing but follow, heat flooding into his cheeks both at the contact and the fact that Will seemed so concerned about Nico. After all, they didn’t know each other that well. Up until that day on the hill, he and Will hadn’t really had a conversation before. Of course, that was Nico’s fault for never being around. Or friendly. Or really giving anyone a reason to be his friend. But still, he was confused as to why Will seemed to care just as much as his close friends did.

As they marched through the infirmary, Nico glanced at the few campers still recovering from the battle. Other than some nasty scrapes or broken bones, no one seemed on the verge of death, which Nico was happy about. He shook his head as his thoughts wandered toward the way it felt during battle, with death surrounding him on all sides. That’s not what he should think about in a place of healing.

Nico was also concerned that his dark thoughts were making his aura of death stronger than normal, or maybe it seemed that way when juxtaposed with the sense of life and light that emanated from the Apollo healers. Some of the conscious campers eyed Nico with suspicion or fear, like he was the grim reaper coming to take them away. Even a few of the healers seemed wary, though they all looked away quickly. When Nico looked back toward Will, he noticed the blonde had the trace of a glare in his expression. He wondered what that was about.

The boys ventured deeper into the infirmary than Nico had ever gone, not that he visited often anyway. He cleared his throat to get Will’s attention. “Uhm, I don’t know if I should be here.”

Will huffed, “Nico di Angelo, I already told you, three days. You need to be checked out—I mean, medically speaking,” Nico had no idea why Will needed to clarify that, “—and you are not getting out of it.”

“No, I meant, like, I shouldn’t be here. Like, physically in this specific place.”

They stopped in front of a curtain at the back of the infirmary, far from everyone else. Nico wasn’t sure if this made him more comfortable or nervous.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well,” Nico said sheepishly. Wasn’t it obvious? “People come here to get healed. And I don’t do that.”

Will rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, neither do the Ares kids, yet we still let them come in, even when the injuries are their own doing.” His eyes softened when he gazed at Nico. “You’re not the harbinger of death, we both know that. Your father is god of the underworld, and riches or whatever. If anything, you and your father care for the dead like we healers care for our patients.”

Nico snorted at that, which made Will smile brightly. “Not quite, Solace, but sure, I guess.” His countenance became nervous once again as he glanced back toward where the other campers were. “I don’t want to make people uncomfortable, though.”

Will was still smiling when he pushed the curtains aside, bringing Nico’s attention back to him. “Well, they’ll have to get used to it. You’re my patient now and no one is stopping me from doing my job.”

Right, caring was Will’s job. He doesn’t care specifically about me, Nico reminded himself. He couldn’t get ahead of himself, couldn’t risk hoping for something that wasn’t really there. Nico sat on the white bed at Will’s ushering, his shoulders sinking in exhaustion he hadn’t even realized was there. The son of Apollo left momentarily, saying something about medical supplies that Nico barely understood.

While he sat there, Nico could feel his eyelids growing heavy. He leaned his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes. He was so tired. Nico was always tired, especially given what he went through over the past couple months, but it was like, now that the war was over, his body didn’t have any adrenaline to keep him upright. Part of him was nervous about falling asleep in a semi-public place, but the other part knew he could sleep on the cold, hard floor if he had to.

As he rubbed at his eyes, trying to push the exhaustion away, he started to feel an ache in his neck and shoulders. It’s not like he was surprised, but he realized that the familiar pain had faded into the background as everything else had called his attention. Instead of trying to stretch it out, he just continued to sit, hunching up his shoulders a little.

Will cleared his throat when he re-entered the room, causing Nico to rub his eyes one last time before straightening up. When he looked at Will, he noticed he had a cart full of supplies in tow. His mind became more alert when he realized that all of those medical things were to be used on him.

“That’s,” he croaked, like he hadn’t spoken in a while. He coughed and restarted, “That’s a lot of stuff there.”

Will blushed a little as he sat on the chair near Nico’s bed. “Well, I’m not really sure what kind of injuries you have or treatments you’ll need, so I kind of just… brought everything.”

Nico chuckled, leaning back on his hands as Will grabbed his clipboard.

“Okay, let’s get started.” Will clicked his pen. “How do you feel?”

Nico rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Solace? That’s how you start?”

“It’s a standard question! If you know what needs healing, then we might as well start there.”

“Whatever,” Nico rolled his eyes again. “I’m fine.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re fine? A second ago, you looked like you were ready to pass out right there.”

Nico flushed a little at the observation. “I’m just tired.”

Will hummed as he looked Nico over, making him fidget under the scrutiny. “So it’s gonna be like that, huh?” He placed his clipboard to the side, then said, “I’ll give you my assessment, then you tell me if I’m right.”

Before Nico could ask how he’d do that, Will’s hand darted out and snatched up Nico’s own. Nico instinctively leaned away and tried to pull his hand back, but Will held fast as he closed his eyes in concentration. Nico gulped as he watched the healer’s expression become pinched with concern. Will mumbled under his breath for the next ten seconds before his eyes flew open with a gasp. Nico took the opportunity to yank his hand back, cradling it to his chest like he’d been burned.

“What—”

“Nico di Angelo,” Will cut him off in his stern doctor voice, and Nico’s jaw snapped shut. “So, you’re going to sit here and tell me that irritated and badly healed wounds, torn muscles, extreme exhaustion, and power drain make you a perfectly fine demigod?”

Nico blinked at the slew of information. He wasn’t sure exactly what Will was talking about, but he had a few ideas. Unsure of how to respond, Nico just shrugged at the irate healer before him.

Will pinched his nose before dropping back into his seat and picking up his clipboard once more. He scribbled furiously while Nico looked on. “How did you do that?” Nico asked.

Will glanced up through his bangs before going back to his notes. “Son of Apollo thing. I can get a general health assessment through touch. It varies between demigods, but I’ve gotten pretty good at quick checks because of the wars.”

Nico frowned as Will kept writing. He hated that they all had to say “wars” now, like one wasn’t enough.

“Okay,” Will sat up straight and glared at Nico. “I’ll ask again, di Angelo, and you better not lie. How are you feeling?”

Nico frowned. “I really am tired, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Hm,” Will thought, leaning back in his chair. “More specific questions then. Does your body hurt at all? Strained muscles? Headache? Fresh wounds? Bruises? Anything causing you pain?”

The son of Hades tilted his head in thought. He knew things vaguely ached, but what exactly, he wasn’t sure—too used to the feeling, probably. “Um, I guess my shoulders kind of hurt. And my head, probably from being tired.”

Will jotted a few things down before setting the clipboard aside. “Okay, let’s deal with some of that first, though I know there’s a lot more going on.” He shot Nico a glare over his shoulder as he stood up and moved toward the supply cart. He handed Nico a square of ambrosia, who gratefully accepted and began taking small bites of it.

“Just for some of the general pain. You’ll need actual rest for the fatigue once we’re done.” He moved to crouch down next to Nico. “Can I take a look at your shoulders? I’m going to just roll up your sleeve for now to assess the damage.”

Nico nodded, only flinching slightly when Will’s fingers brushed his bicep. Will smiled at him as he pushed up the right-side sleeve. Once it was up, however, his eyes widened and he gasped. Nico tried to get a glimpse of what Will was looking at, but it was a little too close for him to see. But, knowing what the injury was from, he’s not surprised that it’s still bad. “Monster attack,” was all he said.

“Oh gods, Nico, I can’t believe you said you were fine. Doesn’t this hurt?” He touched his fingers lightly to the angry red skin on Nico’s shoulder, all puffed up around what was clearly a nasty gash. Nico shivered at the touch and stared straight ahead.

“It hurts a little, but it’s been a while, so I’m probably just used to it.” He heard Will let out a disbelieving huff, staring a little longer before quickly going back to the cart.

He pulled out an ice pack, saying, “We’ll use this to keep the swelling down for now. The ambrosia should be enough for you to rest easily and we can treat it tomorrow. I’ll check your other shoulder too, just in case.” Nico nodded as Will moved to his other side, taking the ice pack and holding it in place. This time, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when the sleeved was rolled up and no wounds were present.

Will stood and wrote down a few more things on his clipboard. “Okay, Death Boy, we’ll do more treatment things tomorrow, I think today, we can focus on rest. You look like you’re ready to pass out.”

Nico narrowed his eyes at the son of Apollo, swallowing the rest of his ambrosia before saying, “Really? Death Boy?”

Will smirked, and it was a look Nico hadn’t seen yet on Will and okay that’s something. “I have a few other names in mind. We’ll test them out and see what sticks.” He turned toward the cart and began packing it up. “Be right back,” he threw over his shoulder while pushing the cart out of the curtained-off area.

Alone again, Nico continued to hold the ice pack in place, feeling marginally better as the ambrosia began to kick in. He didn’t exactly forget about the injury from Lycaon, but he will admit that it didn’t cross his mind to get it looked at at the infirmary. Reyna and Coach Hedge had done enough for him to be in fighting condition, so he figured it would heal on its own.

Nico pulled his legs up onto the bed and leaned back, suddenly realizing how tense he had been this whole time. As he rolled out his neck, he felt exhaustion tug at his mind. But he couldn’t sleep yet, he didn’t know if Will was done! His body, however, had other plans as he felt himself sink into the cot and his eyes slipped shut.

He heard the curtain rustle, followed by a soft chuckle. Will slid the ice pack from Nico’s loose grip and shifted his arm down to his side. The touch was light, but still present. Nico made some kind of sound in an attempt to say… well, something, he didn’t know what. But Will shushed him, smoothing a hand over his hair.

“It’s alright. You can sleep now. Get some rest, Nico.” Then, Will began to lightly run his fingers through Nico’s hair, probably a natural comforting gesture. To Nico, it felt like warmth was radiating out from where Will’s fingertips brushed against his scalp. He felt his whole body relax, down to the tips of his toes. The ever-present ache in his bones subsided a little, and Nico felt a peace he hadn’t felt in a while.

He fell asleep to soft hums and small comforts.

[maandags]

counting stars (Finn Shelby x reader)

heh . ye

-- -- --

Summary: In which Finn can’t help but be attracted to you--like a moth to flame.

Word count: 9.4K 

Genre: angst

Notes: CW: graphic depiction of injury/violence; unhealthy coping mechanisms; destructive behaviour - masterlist - makin myself sad here we go!

-- -- --

"Tommy's asked me to come to the races."

You barely look up from your work, pen still scritching incessantly at the paper. "That's great." You know you probably sound distracted, maybe even uninterested, but you can't bring yourself to care all that much. You have work to do, and it's already late, and you don't really want to get home any later than absolutely necessary.

Finn puts his hands in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, loitering next to your desk. Then his fingers are tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, then he's running them through his hair, then they're running along the edge of your chair and it's getting so distracting that you can't concentrate on your work anymore.

You firmly set your pen down, straightening your back and cracking your jaw. "What is it?"

He looks down at you, eyes a little wider than usual; his hands drop to his sides and still. "Nothing."

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pen again. "You're a shit liar. It's almost eight, what are you still doing here?"

It sounds a little pathetic, you think. The very reason why you're still busting your ass at eight in the evening is the very same as the one which dictates that Finn Shelby–your boss Tommy Shelby's little brother–can get up and leave whenever he wants.

You decided yourself that you wanted to stay later today. So that maybe, just maybe, you would get a day off soon. Sure, working for Shelby Company Ltd. certainly isn't the worst, and the pay is decent; but you're slaving over your desk from seven A.M. to six P.M. and even then you often work overtime. Because you're practically the youngest. Because you aren't intimidating. Because you keep quiet and do what you're told, your teeth gritted and jaw clenched.

And here is Finn Shelby, staring at the sole lamp illuminating your work and informing you that his brother has finally invited him to a race. Good for him. You didn't know what he expected you to say–so you just didn't say anything.

Then, suddenly, "Why are you still here?"

You snort out a laugh. "Some of us need to actually work to get by, Finn-boy." The nickname sounds weird when you say it, but that might just be your bitter tone.

"I work."

"You sit on your ass in your office on your nice and comfortable leather chair and get whores delivered to you at lunch. You don't work." Around the body of your pen, your knuckles turn white. The tip feels fragile all of a sudden, like it could snap any moment. Carefully, you set it down on its holder. Breathe. "I'm going home."

Finn blinks, lets you pass him, then seems to realise that he wanted to say something. "Wait. Wait, Y/N, hang on.” He takes your wrist, and before your brain can properly process it and gauge an appropriate reaction you’ve ripped it from his grip. Finn’s breath hitches and he purses his lips and you feel a little bad–but only a little.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come too.”

You snort. “To the races?” He nods. “With you?” He nods again. You shake your head. “Finn, I don’t think I can afford a day off work.” It’s not a lie–not really–but it’s not the whole truth, either. It wouldn’t work, you remind yourself. It would never work.

You’ve noticed the way Finn looks at you when he thinks you can’t see him. You’re not blind; and he isn’t subtle about it. But you know it would be a bad idea. It would do nothing good–it would end in tears and sorrow. Inevitably.

And here he is practically asking you out on a date, and you’re trying to let him down as gently as you can.

“Fuck work,” he says, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from growling in frustration. “I can make sure you’ll get paid anyway. It is a certain branch of work, after all.”

You scoff. “A branch of work in which you and your brothers strut around like proud fucking peacocks, intimidating anyone who even thinks about approaching you, wearing your gun holsters like jewellery. In which my job is to look dainty and pretty by your side and make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Finn’s cheeks have coloured and you shake your head again. A pang of pity bursts in your chest, and you force yourself to lay a hand on his arm–though your fingers tremble with the effort. “I’m sorry, Finn,” you say, tone gentler now. “But it just isn’t for me.”

You aren’t for me.

With that, you tug your scarf around your neck and step out the door, casting your gaze down to protect your eyes from the shrieking wind.

And it’s not that you don’t want to. Because you know that Finn is a good man, beneath all the cockiness and arrogance he seems to build his personality off of. You know that under it all, Finn is just a kid trying to live up to the legends his older brothers have written out.

It’s not that you don’t want to–because you know you do, oh god you do–but it’s that Finn doesn’t deserve what you would do to him.

He’s still just a kid, and despite being almost the same age, you’re not.

He’s been protected all his life, and you lost all protection you once had from anyone years ago.

He’s always had it all, you have had to fight tooth and nail to get where you are now, and it’s made you into something else. Something rough and calloused and bitter and angry, oh so angry.

And Finn doesn’t deserve that.

You share your flat with two men. They’ve never tried anything with you, and you appreciate it, as long as you don’t have to see their faces for any longer than you strictly have to. The little living room is always too crowded, even when it’s empty save for you; the walls are so thin you can hear everything that goes on in either of their bedrooms. The flat feels stuffy and too small and it’s not unusual for you to spend a night out–whether it be on the streets, on a roof, on the docks. Somewhere outside where you have air to breathe, as polluted and grey as it might be.

Tonight, though, you decide to stop by your flat to grab a change of clothes and quickly wash your face. A freshly made sandwich lies on your pillow and you snatch it up and rip out a bite. When you zip out into the hallway again, you stop by your flatmate’s door and give it a sharp knock–your way of saying thanks without having to say anything.

The only time you ever really feel something resembling peace is when you look up at the vast night sky and can make out stars.

It’s hard in the city, and it gets harder every night, but this time it seems the universe has granted you one night where the sky is so clear that pinpricks of stars are visible against its blackness; and you lie down, munching on the last of your sandwich, feeling grateful for the fact that even if shit’s hard right now–even if you have to bust your ass for 12 hours a day only to get barely enough money for you to live off of–the sky and its stars will always be there for you on particularly hard nights.

You would like to live somewhere in the countryside when all of this is over, you muse. Somewhere you can see the stars every night. You’ve heard that the sky is even more beautiful in the countryside because of the lack of light pollution. It sounds peaceful, and fuck knows that peace is something you desperately need.

The roof you chose this night isn’t that far from your flat, and it’s not particularly high up. There’s nothing special about it, nothing that would justify your choice to camp out in this particular spot. It just felt right. You try to empty your head, focus on nothing but the twinkling above.

You don’t know when exactly you fall asleep, but you wake up early enough to see the sun rise over the rooftops and as you watch, squinting against the brightness of the sunlight after a dark night, your arms curled around your knees and your cheek pressed against the still-warm bricks of a chimney, you repeat the promise you’ve been making to yourself every day for as long as you can remember; Today will be better.

There has yet to be a day where you can say with confidence that you kept it.

– – –

Nobody looks up strange when you walk into work early–again. The office has only just opened, and here you come barreling through the door, plopping down at your desk and immediately bending over the new pile of papers left there overnight. After a while, you frown. The stack is smaller than it usually is–and while that would be a source of good news to anyone else, all it makes you do is worry about not having enough work to pass the time. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you tap your pen on the side of your desk, internally debating. Then you give a little growl and scrape your chair back, ignoring the glares you’re getting from your co-workers, and stomp towards your boss’ office.

“You could’ve at least knocked,” says Tommy as you march through the doorway. He’s wearing his glasses, and he patiently plucks them off his nose and places the palms of his hands perfectly against one another. “What’s on your mind?”

You don’t know why Tommy has taken such a liking to you. You don’t know why Tommy lets you get away with as much as he does; you don’t know why he only frowns at you over something that would get literally anyone else fired on the spot (along with a nicely formulated threat to stay away from his company or else); you don’t know why he keeps you around at all. You’ve had your fair share of outbursts, both in his office and outside of it. You’ve broken your fair share of fancy teacups, had your fair share of breakdowns in front of him, even told him to his face you quit only to come back into work the next morning like nothing happened.

He’s just always been so patient with you. Like a parent would be patient with their child, or a brother with his younger sibling.

And you don’t know how to feel about it.

“I just want to know why you cut my workload in half?” It comes out snappier than you intended (as most of your words do), and you clamp your mouth shut, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. “I mean–if you don’t think I can handle it or something, that’s not something you should be worried about, because I know I can–”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” he says, waving a hand about and in front of his face. “I just want to make sure you’re done early so you can get ready for tonight.”

You scowl. “What’s tonight?”

Tommy’s eyes twinkle. “Well, Finn might have mentioned I invited him to the races–”

“And he asked me to go with him and I told him no,” you growl. “I told him no. So can I get my normal workload back?”

“No,” says Tommy, voice level as ever, eyes kind and patient as ever. “Because you won’t be going as Finn’s date. You’ll be going as my assistant.”

Ah. Now that’s a little more interesting. You cross your arms, dip your chin onto your chest, but your interest is grudgingly piqued and you know Tommy knows. “And what will that entail?”

He shrugs, sitting back in his chair, able to relax now that he’s got your attention. “Mostly observing, taking notes. I want you to know everything that’s going on at all times, because I might be busy doing… other stuff, and I still want to be able to tell which bastards are where at what moment.”

You nod, slowly. “And will I be involved in this other stuff?”

“If I can help it, you will absolutely not be involved in the other stuff.”

Biting your lip, you consider his words. It doesn’t sound like that much trouble. It certainly sounds less boring than a normal day at work.

Then Tommy says, “You’ll get extra pay, of course,” and you know you’ve practically already accepted.

But there is still a question nagging at the back of your mind. “Why’d you ask me?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean–why me? There are so many other people who would do a fine job, who you know a lot better than you know me, who aren’t as–” –you wave your hands about, trying to find the right word– “–explosive as I can be. I’m a liability, especially in situations as delicate as this.”

You’re not trying to convince him to take back his proposal; you only want to make sure he knows what he’s getting himself into.

But he smiles calmly, in that calculated way of his, and you almost roll your eyes because of course he’s calm and collected and calculated–he’s Tommy fucking Shelby. “Y/N, I’m more than familiar with explosive.”

It’s true, but you’re still hesitant, and you can’t really figure out why. Because there doesn’t really seem to be any reason for you to deny this offer; granted, it’s a little different from your usual work, but you are observant and relaying information to your boss is what you do on a daily basis anyway.

And besides, it’s the races. Everybody likes the races.

“So which tables are ours?”

Tommy already led you around the track, pointing out which horse was his, whispering under his breath what you needed to write down, taking you for what looked like a jolly stroll around the track but what in reality felt more like an intelligence gathering mission. You liked it, though, you had to admit; there was a certain thrill to it all. Knowing that the race is fixed; that the result is inevitable, that you know exactly which horse is set up to win and which to lose.

Tommy discreetly points to a couple of booths. “That one, that one… and also there.” You jot their numbers down, eyeing the surroundings, scanning the crowd at their perimeter for anyone suspicious. A few men immediately stand out to you: the ones that seem stiff, constantly looking around them like predators hunting for prey, stalking around in loose circles around a certain betting table and watching the progress.

"Coppers," Tommy says when you inquire about the men. He frowns. "At least, I think they're coppers. Plain clothed men, by the looks of it; they're just making sure everything runs smoothly. Don't think we don't need to worry much about them." But something about the men rubs you the wrong way, and every time your gaze passes across one the uneasy feeling grows stronger.

But you have a job to do, and so you shake the weird policemen from your thoughts and focus completely on the job–the delicate, sensitive job.

"All right, Y/N," says Tommy when your introductory round draws to a close. "You stay close to the tables, peek over their shoulders, take notes, make them uncomfortable. Make sure you know everything that's going on at all times, yeah? If anything looks suspicious to you, come to me immediately. Hear me? To me. Not John, not Arthur, not fucking Finn. Me."

You cock your head, shifting your weight from one hip to the other. "How do you know I won't tamper with the bets and make off with a nice bit of money for myself?"

"I don't, but I also don't think you're stupid enough to do that."

"You're going to have to trust me, then. That's a bad idea."

"Don't get comfortable. I absolutely do not trust you."

"But you picked me for this job," you press again, because it's still so intriguing to you.

"Indeed I did. Don't make me regret it." He lights a cigarette and marches off, calling his boys to him as he does. You cross your arms again and watch as his brothers sidle up to him. John and Arthur are there, and so is Finn. You knew he was going to be here, of course; he was the one who invited you in the first place, but seeing him walk next to his brothers, able to pinpoint exactly the guns and knives strapped to their chests and hips, you can’t help but compare the four men. It’s easy to tell that Finn doesn’t do this often: there’s a weirdly excited spring in his step.

You have to fight the urge to scoff, and you turn away, shaking your head. Oh, yay, let’s go to the races and shoot everyone who stands in the way of our illegal betting tables. We’ll have a blast!

For the first few hours, you do exactly as Tommy told you. You take notes, hover around the Blinders’ betting tables, keeping an eye on any skimming of money that might be going on; but the Peaky Blinders look like they’ve made their impression on the table boys because they’re doing their jobs perfectly, arranging the money and taking names in a way that’s more organised that you’ve ever seen anything run by the Peaky Blinders being executed.

You get a few questioning (if not outright hostile) looks from bystanders, pick up a few whispers from betters irritated at how you’re cutting in line and no one seems to care, but you ignore them, brandishing your clipboard like a shield and critically examining every single transaction that’s being made. The other tables progress the exact same way, and when the first races start, the crowds only thicken.

But after a moment, you grow bored. You get to watch the races for a while, from a distance, making sure Tommy won’t be able to see you if he were to look around the track, and listening to the commentary that blasts from high-up speakers and makes the air sizzle with tension. The crowds are mostly watching the races now, women speaking closely behind their hats and gloves and pretty dresses; the men more interested in the various betting pools that are scattered around the tracks. Every once in a while, you look back to your own tables, determine everything is going all right, and turn back to the far more interesting horse races unfolding in front of you.

When Tommy’s horse is brought out–its name is Elizabeth, and you roll your eyes–you perk up. Now is the time to keep an eye on the tables. Dragging a chair next to the boy at the first one, you rip the lid off your pen and mumble, “Talk to me.” He gives you the information you need to know: clear, concise, not beating around the bush. You wonder if Tommy warned them about your complete lack of patience and inability to take bullshit.

You’re almost starting to run out of paper, but as you’re making your way to the last table, you notice the coppers again.

Before, you’d thought they were circling Tommy’s betting tables. Now, you realise that they’re not interested in his tables–they’re interested in the man himself.

You can see Tommy standing in his booth, cigarette smoke curling up and around the rim of his cap as he keeps a keen eye on his Elizabeth down on the tracks; around him are stationed a few plain-clothed Peaky boys. You can see the barrels of their pistols glinting in the sunlight. Your gaze shifts upward, to the watchtowers set up around the perimeter, to the roofs; and sure enough, a couple of boys with long-range rifles are scanning the crowd like hawks. Their tell-tale caps hide their faces, but it’s clear enough that they’re some of Tommy’s men. You imagine Finn is probably up there, too: Tommy always gives him a sniper position if he thinks the situation’s about to get messy, to make sure he stays mostly out of the carnage.

And all around them–almost everywhere, you realise with a start, mingling with the audience–there are men watching them. They don’t look any different from the members of the audience they’re trying so hard to imitate, but whereas the real public looks excited and cheers the horses on and look like they’re having the time of their lives, these men are stoic, and again they remind you of predators stalking round their unsuspecting prey in the most discrete way.

It should set you on edge. It should make you uncomfortable, knowing that because you’re here as Tommy’s associate, it’s safe to assume you’ll be in the line of fire if things get messy. But it doesn’t.

It gives you an adrenaline rush. You suddenly feel like you’re on the run again; except this time your life isn’t the only one on the line.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flash of movement.

It’s barely a flicker, but as you whip your head around and strain your neck you can just make out a tussle: one boy–if it’s one of Tommy’s men, he’s lost his cap, and after a quick search of the ground below him you can make out a small, crumpled grey heap on the stone, and your suspicions are confirmed–wrestling against three men, all bigger, all beefier, all stronger. He doesn’t stand a chance, of course, and after one particularly vicious punch in the gut he crumbles. The two other men hold him up by his arms. The one who punched him spits in his face, then shakes his head and gestures for the others to follow him.

When the battered Peaky boy looks up, chest heaving, your eyebrows shoot up. It’s that familiar mop of brown hair (usually well-kept, like everything else about him–now it’s messy and tousled, as if he’d been dragged head first across a grass field). It’s the freckled face, the thin lips twisted into a pained snarl; the eyes so full of life you’d grown partial to–enough to recognise him from a hundred yards away. Finn.

With a frown, your gaze snaps back up to the sniper posts you spotted just before; and sure enough, a watchtower is empty. Back to Finn, and you give a short, irritated sigh. Of course the men relieved him of his rifle. You don’t know if Finn carries a knife on him, but if he does, it’s safe to assume the men got hold of that too. Which leaves him with nothing to defend himself.

And you know you shouldn’t leave your post. It’s a stupid thing to do, and Tommy told you not to stray from the tables–but maybe that’s part of why you do it anyway. There’s something about being told what to do that just doesn’t sit right with you, even if it is your own boss giving the orders. Call it reckless, call it insane; but you have a space of two seconds to decide what to do before the small group of men is completely out of sight.

So you follow them.

Of course you do.

It’s not easy to admit, especially when you’ve been trying to tell yourself the exact opposite for months, but you like him. More than you want; more than you should. But you’ve learned long ago that feelings don’t like to be told what to be either.

So the most you can do–all you know to do–is ignore them. Try to bury them. Lock them up in a treasure chest that you lob into the depths of the ocean and of which you melt the key.

Because sometimes you have to choose, and sometimes you can’t afford to let those choices be affected by feelings.

It’s a mistake you’ve made before, and a mistake you told yourself you would never make again.

But when the person you experience those feelings towards is kidnapped right in front of you, you can’t just not do anything.

You follow them from as far as physically possible without losing sight of them, but to your surprise they aren’t moving away from the main building–they're moving towards it. Your confusion only grows when one of them pulls a key ring from his pocket and opens a back door. The corridor is too dark to be able to tell where it leads, and you exhale sharply, growing more impatient by the second.

As soon as the door is open, the two men flanking Finn pull him roughly over the threshold. He stumbles, and in response, the man on the left punches him in the gut again; he doubles over, coughing. Your jaw twitches.

You force yourself to wait a full minute before following them. A full minute. You count the seconds–one pink elephant, two pink elephant–and as soon as you get to sixty, you tear across the square. Please be unlocked, please be unlocked, you pray as you try the handle: it doesn’t budge, and you give a frustrated growl.

All right. All right. Think. Lowering your head into your hands, you close your eyes. Your vision turns black, and soon you can hear nothing but your own breathing.

You could try to pick the lock. It looked rusty–it shouldn’t be that hard to get open.

But that would take time, and Finn is in danger now. What if you just blasted the lock through the door? Your gun sits against your hip, grows hot. But that’s loud, and the risk of someone hearing you is too great.

Someone else must have the key, though, right? You perk up immediately, eyes scanning across the tribunes. People are now scrambling for a seat, their legs having grown tired of holding them up in the summer sun that’s still beating down on them. But there are dozens of men here, you remind yourself immediately after. The chance you manage to run into one who just happens to have the key on him is too slim.

Nothing. Nothing else comes to mind. Empty. You slap your forehead, willing for another idea to spark. Of course, it doesn’t work, and in a rage you ball a fist and slam it into the wall behind you. Pain jolts through your entire arm, down your shoulder to your chest. You barely feel it, unable to concentrate in anything past the burning of white-hot fury.

You take a deep, ragged breath. Right. Right. Yanking your gun from its holster, you weigh it in your hand, gaze fixed on the lock–the stupid fucking lock, the only barrier between you and Finn. Slowly, you point the gun to the lock. The distance between the two objects only counts about three inches. Your hands are perfectly still. Again, you take a breath. Steady. One, two–

And then you hear it, and your head snaps up. Your vision clears, immediately focused again.

Footsteps.

Not the slightly disoriented footsteps that would belong to some random person who took a wrong turn; no, these footsteps are deliberate and stealthy–and directed right towards you.

So you press yourself flat against the wall, scooting up to the corner, waiting for him to round it. Closer, closer… and then a foot crosses the line, and your elbow immediately shoots out and connects. The stranger grunts, his hands immediately coming up to cover his nose. Blood trickles out from between his fingers and he stumbles, but you don't give him the chance to recover.

He's on the ground in a matter of seconds, with your knees firmly caging in his arms, despite being almost a full head taller than you–you found out that in a fair fight, size doesn't matter much as long as you have balls and a strong, strong motivation to beat your opponent to a pulp.

And that, you do.

You throw punch after punch–his jaw cracks beneath your knuckles but you can't bring yourself to care–and it's with effort that you finally sit back and take a breath. When you wipe a hand across the back of your mouth, you can taste the blood staining your fingers. The man beneath you whimpers. What is still visible of his purple and swollen eyes is rolled into the back of his head. He takes short, ragged breaths through bloody lips, his nose too swollen and broken to be of any use–cuts and bruises litter his cheeks and forehead. You're pretty sure you gave him a concussion.

"KEYS." You make sure there is no debate possible as to what it is you want. A single word, hissed from between cracked lips; a voice hoarse, rougher and harder than the roughest and hardest raw diamond.

The man gives a weak cough and your fingers, slick with blood–both yours and his–grasp his collar, pulling his face up and close to yours. You snarl, animal-like; baring your teeth and growling, "Give me your fucking keys."

A hand, close to your knee, tries to move, and you immediately let his head drop onto the hard pavement–his pained groan sounds like music to your ears–he's responsible for Finn's kidnapping he was in on it he knew about it he is just as responsible as the kidnappers themselves they will pay they will pay they will pay I will make them pay–and, with (to your surprise) trembling fingers, you almost immediately find the ring of keys that you're looking for.

All your churning rage leaves you in one fell swoop when your hand closes around the keys, the cold hard metal somehow snapping you out of your blind fury. It's still there, of course, but it doesn't have the upper hand any more. You're collected, calm even as you haul yourself up and cast the writhing man below you a disgusted look.

You could kill him. It would make no difference.

It would be so easy–you figure one well-placed kick would do the trick.

You state at him for what feels like eons, what are in reality not much more than a couple of seconds, but then you step back and make your way to the door, already thinking about which key to try first. Maybe you're lucky and, if you change your mind, he'll still be there when you get back. Maybe he'll die alone there, bloodied and beat up; you don't know exactly how badly you fucked him up. It would be a death worthy of a dog, and it wouldn't keep you up at night.

A bloody corpse, after all, is a bitch to clean up.

Behind the metal door is a short, dark corridor that leads to a stairway. On the dirty floor, you can just make out the sheen of fresh drops of blood where the outside light reflects in them. Your knuckles turn white around the door handle before you uncurl your fingers from it and let the door fall closed behind you.

It's surprisingly easy to navigate the stairway when your eyes adjust to the darkness. Quickly, quietly, you slip down, one hand resting against the wall for guidance, the other one hovering near your hip, ready to pull out your gun at any sign of trouble.

After a few minutes, the stairs stop and transform into another corridor, this one illuminated by a single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Stains litter the plastered walls, and everywhere you look are cracks. At the end of the corridor is a door, and it looks eerily similar to the first one, at the top of the staircase, though you have a feeling that this one isn't locked.

As you tiptoe closer to the door, you start to make out voices. You press your ear against the door, try to form the echoing sounds into words, phrases, but the noise is jumbled and impossible to make sense of.

All right. So you need a game plan. You need to know what you're going to say. There are three armed men in there. Guns, perhaps knives–and you're good, sure, but even you can't win a three-against-one if you don't have a significant advantage.

Something starts to form in your mind, and you set your jaw, rolling your shoulders and preparing for a fight–should it come to that. You hoped not, or at least not until you'd made sure of Finn's safety. Because really, that's all you want from this entire ordeal: you just want Finn to be safe.

You try the handle, slowly, carefully and sure enough it clicks.

With a last deep breath, you push open the door with a flourish and stroll into the room like you own it.

"Fellas, how're you doing? Oh, hi Finn," you add nonchalantly, casting him a cold look. It's harder than you thought, and the sight of him very nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

He's bound–strung up by his wrists like an animal–and looks worse than what you'd imagined the men would inflict upon him in the minutes you lost looking for a way in. His torn shirt hangs off his frame in ragged strips of fabric. Cuts and bruises litter his chest and face, and his trousers hang halfway off his hips, showing the sharp line of his hip bones. He's resting on his knees, but the ropes binding his wrists to the walls seem to do a better job of holding him up than his legs; Finn looks like he's only seconds away from collapsing.

All of this, you take note of in the split second you allow yourself to look at him. You can't see his expression in the dimly lit room; can't see his eyes; but that may be for the best. It's crucial for you to stay in character right now.

One of the men around him looks you up and down, mouth twisted in a snarl. He doesn't look very intimidated–as is your point, it's very important that none of them feel threatened by your presence. Instead, all three men's faces bear an expression that's a mix of confusion and apprehension.

"And who the fuck might you be?" The man who asked the question stands on Finn's right side, and you shift your bored gaze onto him, refusing to even look at Finn, who you're starting to suspect is actually unconscious–calm. Keep calm. Stay focused, keep your head clear.

You open your mouth, but it's that moment that Finn decides to open his eyes–he must have heard the man's incredulous inquiry, and got curious; maybe even hopeful. When his gaze locks onto you, his swollen eyes widen and he gasps, which throws him into a coughing fit. His hands ball to fists, and his arms tremble, and he's not getting any air–

Every heave of his lungs feels like a punch in the gut, and it takes every ounce of strength in your body to keep from running to him. Helping him. Saving him. But you stay planted in your spot, one eyebrow raised disdainfully, and you let him die.

"Y/N," he chokes out between coughs. "Y/N–"

The man who spoke before growls. His fist shoots out, connects with the side of Finn's head with a sickening crack.

And this time, you can't stop yourself from flinching.

"I'm asking you again."

Half a beat passes, and the next split second happens so quickly you barely register your own movements.

As he spoke, the man's hand slipped towards his hip. On reflex, your own did too, and both of you pull your weapons at the same time, pointing them at each other, which prompts surprised yelps from the other two men who yank their own guns out of their holsters and take aim for your head–and you find yourself the target of three separate pistols.

But your gaze is firmly fixated on the first man, as is the muzzle of your gun. He seems to be calling the shots, and you don't think his henchmen will do anything without his explicit permission. He opens his mouth again, and articulates the next words slowly and perfectly.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"The informant," you say innocently, steadily, cocking your head. Your gun hand, you're pleased to see, is steady as ever. "Big Boss didn't tell you about me?"

And your guess was right. You fight a triumphant smirk as the man hesitates, eyes flicking from your face to his cronies.

Of course they aren't operating alone. You knew that immediately–the kidnapping was messy, sloppily done, in the public's plain sight. You don't know how they got Finn to leave his post, but knowing him it couldn't have been all that difficult. They probably sent a boy with a note from "Tommy" up and got him to meet them at the place where the abduction took place.

Your guess was that they weren't professionals. Weren't trained. Acted on the orders of someone else–someone higher up.

And judging from this guy's reaction, you were right.

Now it was just a question of keeping the game up for as long as possible.

"What?" you laughed, "you thought it possible to take down Tommy fucking Shelby without a man on the inside? Do you even know who he is?"

The art of bluffing is not to say too much. Don't give away what you don't know. Watch your mouth, say enough to keep them on edge, not a fucking word more.

"We ain't know about no informant," said one of the other men.

"Shut up," you said sharply. "I'm not fucking talking to you." Talk like you own them.

The man scrutinises your face, still looking suspicious. He didn't lower his gun. "Roman sent you?"

And that was his second big mistake; because now you had a name.

"Of course Roman sent me."

He nods, slowly. Gestures for the other two men to put away their guns, but still doesn't lower his own. "How'd you get in?"

You grin, slowly pulling the key ring from your pocket and jiggling it.

The man keeps his gun trained on you for a few more moments–agonising, agonisingly long moments–then finally lowers it, and gestures you forward. "Well, then, informant. Enlighten us."

You pull from your inside pocket a small bundle of paper–your notes. All of them. As you hand them over, you find that you don't feel any guilt.

You had warned Tommy not to trust you, after all.

The man takes them from you, and quickly flips through the sheets of paper, one hand still holding his gun. He casts a quick look at the man farthest away from you, gives a stiff nod. As he studies your notes, you slowly walk to where Finn hangs, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and unbelieving and rimmed with tears.

And the longer you keep your bored expression on, the easier it becomes to maintain. So much so that when you reach him, and he looks up at you from where he sits on his knees–it takes almost no effort for you to mockingly wipe away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and flick the droplet back in his face with a cruel grin. Finn screws his eyes shut, presses his lips into a tight line, grits his teeth.

"You really did not hold back, eh?" You turn back to the man, who looks up from your notes and grins a crooked, gnarled grin. "He looks like shit."

"Fucker wouldn't talk," he shrugged. "Tougher little shit than he looks."

You chuckle. It feels like you're coughing up acid. "Roman figured he wouldn't talk. That's why he hired me."

"Yeah?" He calmly folds the paper back up and stretches his arms, sighing in contentment when his shoulder gives a satisfying crack. "Well, you did a fine job."

"Thanks. I'll leave my business card."

"I don't think that will be necessary." And he grins again–the grin of a coyote, the grin of a shark–and that small gesture immediately makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A sense of dread washes over you, tickles your spine, makes your entire body crackle with nervous tension from the tip of your toes to the very top of your cranium.

"You know, Roman has a… procedure. To make sure informants don't go blabbing to the other side."

"You threaten them by pointing your guns at them and yelling 'Keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll kill everyone you love'?" you guess hesitantly.

The shark's grin widens. "Nah. Too much work." His hand crawls to the back of his belt.

But this isn't the first sticky situation you've found yourself in, and you have lightning-fast reflexes to show for it.

Before he can fully cock his gun and take aim, you've pulled your own weapon, ducked beneath the ropes holding Finn up, planted a foot between his knees, grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand–he whimpers, and it almost breaks you–and pressed the barrel of your gun to his throat.

There is a puddle of water on the floor in front of you, and in it you can see your reflection. Your face is contorted into a terrifying imitation of a snarl, jaw clenched, teeth grinding, eyes spitting fire.

Nobody moves.

The man tuts, finger curling around his trigger. "So messy. So fucking messy, and we haven't even properly introduced ourselves. I believe our dear Shelby welp here called you Y/N?"

"That would make you Roman," you grit out.

He bows. "It would indeed." He laughs. "I have to say, kid, I admire the balls on you. Strolling in here, acting like you own the fucking place! These lads could learn from you." He jiggles his gun towards his two men. Then he taps his breast pocket with his free hand. “Thanks for this, though. A nice little bonus.”

Despite everything, your grip on Finn's hair tightens, and you pull his head back a little, showing off his exposed throat that much more. His breathing turns ragged, air whistling between clenched teeth.

The man's eyes glint, and his gaze flicks down, casting Finn a semi-sympathetic look. "Poor pup. Stings to be betrayed, don't it?"

Then he sighs, and is all business again. "Listen. There are three guns pointed at your head. Just step away from the welp, and your death will be quick and painless."

You bark a laugh. "Yeah, fuck that. Make me a better offer."

"No bargaining here, I'm afraid. Fuck off and away from the welp, Y/N."

In your head, your thoughts are racing at a thousand miles an hour. "You said he didn't talk. My notes apparently aren't what you were looking for. What do you want to know?"

Interest sparks in Roman's eyes. "How much do you know about Tommy Shelby?"

You shrug, albeit a little awkwardly. "I've worked for him for about eight months. I know enough."

"Even where he stashes his goddamn opium load?"

So that's what he wanted all along.

"Oh, easy. You know of Little Tempton? There's a huge storage facility right next to the scrapyard."

From Finn's throat rises a strangled gurgle–you give his head a little shake. "Shut the fuck up," you hiss.

Roman's eyebrows shoot up. "Little Tempton."

"That's right."

"Well, thank you so much for your fucking cooperation!" he says, in a high-pitched, mocking voice. Then his face grows serious again and he pouts semi-apologetically. "Still gonna kill you, though."

You press the barrel of your gun harder into Finn's throat, fingers tightening around the trigger. He inhales sharply. "Shoot me. I don't care. But I'm taking him with me."

Roman scoffs. "You think I give a fuck? You gave me the information I wanted. The fuckin' welp's not of use anymore."

"Maybe not." You shift, preparing yourself. If it comes down to it, you will do it. You will do it. "But Tommy won't know I did it. All he will find is two bodies, and I fucking swear to you that neither Tommy Shelby, nor Arthur Shelby, nor John Shelby, nor Polly Gray will rest until you and everything you stand for is absolutely burned to the ground."

Your words reverberate in the air and beneath your grip holding him up, Finn's eyes slip closed. He would want this, you tell yourself. If he could talk right now he would tell me to do it.

There is a beat of silence in which nobody moves–then all hell breaks loose.

The door is blasted off its hinges and hits one of the two henchmen, who gets the corner planted right in his throat. He goes down. The other screams bloody murder and launches himself right at the intruders–and John Shelby shoots him straight in the head.

Tommy and Arthur follow, along with Isaiah, and behind them, Johnny Dogs. You’re still standing behind Finn, your gun at his throat, and you process the flurry of incidents just that little fraction of a second too slowly.

You let him go, Finn slumps forward; you drop your gun, you stumble back–but the damage has been done, and Arthur turns to you, spittle flying from his twisted mouth as he screams. You can’t make out every word–the fight between John, Tommy, and Roman is noisy, and gunshots echo through the air, but you can make out a flurry of words–WE FUCKING TRUSTED YOU YOU FUCKING BASTARD WHAT WERE YOU THINKING I TOLD TOMMY YOU WERE NOTHING BUT A WORTHLESS  FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT–and you, for the first time, don’t know what to do.

So you take the punches. You deserve them, after all; Arthur and Tommy caught you with a gun at Finn’s bloodied and bruised throat, even though what you did was all for Finn. To buy him time. To save him. I hope he realises that–I never wanted him to get hurt.

Between punches and kicks, you can just make out Johnny Dogs cutting Finn loose, Isaiah tapping his cheeks, trying to bring him back to consciousness. You close your eyes after a particularly vicious kick to the stomach, and you think you feel a rib crack.

But then, for just a second, the beating stops. You crack open one eye; blink away the blood; have to concentrate for a couple of seconds before your brain, foggy with pain, processes that Finn is tugging at Arthur’s sleeve. “Stop, Arthur–stop–” You can barely make out the words. Your ears are buzzing; your head is pounding. “It’s not their fault. It’s not their fault. They saved my life–”

“They had a FUCKING GUN at your THROAT–”

“They were never going to–they would never–Arthur–ARTHUR–”

One more foot to your stomach. A breath, kicked from your lungs–and your vision goes black.

– – –

When you wake up, the first thing that surprises you is that you wake up at all.

The second thing that surprises you is that you’re lying in a bed–on a mattress, with a pillow and a blanket and everything–and that you’re hooked up on an infuse, a needle sticking from your left inner elbow. When you try to move your head, a scratchy feeling indicates the presence of a bandage, and when you shift on the mattress you realise your chest is bandaged as well.

Your cuts have been cleaned, you have probably been given medicine–judging from the look of some superficial scrapes and bruises, you would guess you’ve been out for two, maybe three days. Huh.

The third thing that surprises you–and this is when your stomach drops–is Finn’s presence, in the corner of your small bland room, sitting in a comfortable chair. He’s dozing, head lolling forward, chin resting against his chest. He looks, apart from the bruises and cleaned cuts still littering his face and arms, peaceful.

For a moment, you allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him. The man you almost died for. The man you almost killed.

And the coward in you wants nothing more than to run away.

It’s what you would have done a week ago. It’s what you would have done now, were it not for the crushing feeling in your chest the second you laid eyes on him. You owe him an explanation. An apology. Something, anything–

You will wait until he wakes up, you compromise, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your breathing back to normal. You will wait until he wakes up, and you will tell him… you will tell him what he needs to hear.

Even though you don’t quite know what that is yet.

So you wait. You wait for him, counting the seconds as they pass, synchronising your breathing–the strain against your bandages and the flash of pain you feel with every exhale only fuels your suspicions of broken ribs–with his own. And after what feels like hours, days, months, he finally wakes up.

“Y/N.” You hate that the first word out of his mouth is your name, said so softly, so gently, so lovingly–you have to turn away.

“You’re awake.”

And you look at him. His expression is hopeful, relieved even, and you cannot fathom that after everything–after everything–he still thinks of you well enough to be happy about your waking up.

“Yes, I am.” You try to sit up, wince at the white-hot pain flashing through your chest and abdomen, stifling a sob. Finn rushes over–limps over–to help, and you’re too weak to refuse.

“I’m–”

“No. Finn, just–don’t.” There’s a silence as you catch your breath, and Finn’s eyes–you’ve never been so close to him before. You’ve never been able to see his face from so close before. You can see every speck of colour in his eyes (they're brought out by the dark bruising around them), can follow every microscopic movement they make. You could almost count every freckle placed on his cheeks; arranged there so carefully they could be stars.

You open your mouth again, but he cuts you off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

At your incredulous tone, he laughs, and the sound is so startling and beautiful that you replay it over and over in your mind for weeks afterwards. “I mean, I don’t want to hear you tell me whatever it is you’re going to tell me. I don’t–I don’t want anything from you. You don’t need to apologise, you don’t need to explain. You saved my life.”

“No, Finn. I almost ended it. I would have ended it if it had gotten to that point. Finn, I would have killed you. I would have shot you. I would not have hesitated.” You look him in the eye, grab his hand and squeeze it. You want him to understand. You need him to understand. “I am not the hero you think I am.”

But he rolls his eyes, and it’s so frustrating you almost scream. “Don’t give me that shit. I know you would have killed me. You would have killed me so Tommy would go after Roman and kill him. It’s just a game, Y/N. I’ve been playing it all my life.”

“I gave him the location of Tommy’s opium. You literally would have died before telling him, and I did it without hesitation.”

“That was your choice. Tommy knows, he’s preparing an ambush as we speak. Roman was bound to find out anyway; he's been on Tommy’s ass for ages.”

You grit your teeth, look away. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to convince me I’m a better person than I am.”

“You are a better fucking person than you think you are.”

You laugh; a bitter sound, melancholy, opposite in every way to the sound of Finn’s laugh only a minute ago. “Finn–forgive me for being brash–but you don’t know the first thing about me.”

His face falls, and your heart–you blame it on the medicine they hooked you up on–skips a beat. “Hey. Listen. I don’t blame you.” You blow a strand of hair out of your face, reach over (ignoring the painful strain of your ribs), take both of his hands in yours, ever so gently. “But you’ve only known me for less than a year, and even then… you don’t really know me. As in, I don’t let anyone really know me. And I’ve had to live with me my whole fucking life.”

You take a breath, slowly working up the courage to say what you really want to say, knowing that if you do, there’s no turning back. “You talked to them.”

“Who?”

“Tommy. John. Arthur,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze. “Arthur would have killed me if it weren’t for you.”

Finn nods, face reddening. “They took a bit of–uh–convincing.”

“Arthur offered to slice my throat.”

“Shut up.”

“John’s always liked me. He would just shoot me, I think. Quick and painless and all that.”

“Stop.”

“Tommy…” You pause to think, purse your lips. “Would probably beat me to death with his bare fucking hands.”

“Y/N. Can we please not talk about you dying? When I’ve literally just done everything in my power to stop that from happening?” He sighs, shakes his head. “Tommy was actually the easiest to convince out of all of them. Polly wanted to throw you out into the woods and let you rot.”

You smile wryly. “You should have listened to her.”

“Y/N–”

“No, no. You listen.” You pull him close to you, force him to look into your eyes. “Finn. Oi, are you fucking listening to me?”

“Yeah–”

“I am no fucking good for you.” There it is. Out in the open. Immediately, his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t deny it.

His eyes flick down, then back up, still defiant. “I’ll decide that for myself.”

“No. Not on this. Finn–” before you can stop yourself, your hand comes up and cups his jaw, and he stiffens– “I am a fire. And I would burn you from the inside out.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he whispers.

“I fucking do,” you hiss back.

You’re impossibly close now. So close. His breath fans your cheek, and you look into each other’s eyes; two polar opposites, in everything bar your stubbornness. Like a moth to flame; or like a fly to honey.

And when he leans in, your eyes slip closed and you know there is nothing you can do.

Your lips touch. Brush, only slightly, and his fingers come up to stroke your cheek, gentler than you could have dreamed. His touch leaves fire in its wake, and you’re tingling, and you break apart after only a second.

Your eyes lock, and you purse your lips, scowling. “Fine. Fine. Fuck you.” And you wrap your arms around his neck and crash your mouth back on his. The fly is attracted to the honey; but once contact is made, the honey drowns the fly.

“I have to leave,” you mumble against his lips.

Finn hums. “Not yet.”

“No, I mean–” You pull away fully. “This is a warning.”

He frowns.

“Tommy’s doing this for you. He spared me for you. I can’t–I have to go. I can’t stay in Small Heath, I would get killed, you realise that, right?”

“You have to get better first–”

“He won’t give me that long. This is an ultimatum.” You start to grow a little agitated now, shaking your head, running a hand through your hair and fiddling with the IV. “Hey, give me a hand.” Your fingers tremble.

“Wait–calm down, calm down.” He stops your hand, swats it away before gently undoing the straps. You rub the sore spot absent-mindedly. “Do you know where you’ll go?”

Your gaze snaps up. “Sorry?”

Finn smiles, a little wryly, a little fondly. “One of the reasons I love you is that you won’t let anyone tell you what to do. If you really want to go, I’ll help you.”

And slowly, you feel a smile forming too, pulling at the corners of your mouth as you look at this man. This man, who despite everything–despite every fucking thing–just told you he loves you. This man, who slowly wriggled himself a spot into your cold dead heart (it finally feels like it's starting to beat again), and you can feel he’s there to stay.

One day, maybe. If you can bring yourself to come back. If Tommy Shelby will have you in his city.

If Finn Shelby waits for you.

[trikruheart]

Bellamy Is The Abusive One, Not Octavia: A Rant/Meta

There’s two main “reasons” that people give when they claim that Octavia is abusive. That she beats up Bellamy after Lincoln’s murder, and that she has him put in The Fighting Pits.

Let’s start with the old discourse; Bellamy did get Lincoln killed, not Octavia. Bellamy is the person who got Pike into power, the person who stood by him even after seeing + being told multiple times by people he supposedly cares about that Pike was instituting facism and going to get everyone killed. Bellamy knowingly decided to be a Nazi even though he had other options and was aware of them. And, no, Nazi is not an exaggeration, Bellamy was 100% willing to wipe out an entire race just for being that race including putting them in concentration camp-like conditions to die.

Octavia is not at fault just because she didn’t accept Bellamy’s last minute “help”, he had given her absolutely no reason to trust him so it’s not her fault she didn’t. If my brother was fhe right-hand man of a fascist leader then I wouldn’t have trusted him that after he belittled my concerns several times and stopped me from escaping, he’ll get my boyfriend out of the camp he put him in to begin with. Octavia had no obligation to trust Bellamy after he did everything in his power to destroy her trust.

So, yes, Octavia beats up Bellamy. If I had just saw and heard the love of my life be murdered at the hands of the man that my own brother knowingly put in power then I probably would beat him up to. Especially if my brother had already been abusing me my whole life.

Side note: Let me also just point out that Bellamy was never adequately redeemed for that whole being a Nazi thing, everyone just pretended it never happened. Octavia herself even calls him out “You didn’t turn on Pike because you thought what he was doing to the grounders was wrong.” and he AGREES. Bellamy 👏 never 👏 earned 👏 redemption, because men in this show don’t need to be held accountable for their actions while women (mainly Octavia and Clarke) have to supplicate themselves to men and be dragged through the dirt mercilessly for every wrong breath they take.

The Fighting Pit issue is an even weaker example because Octavia didn’t put Bellamy in there because she was angry or wanted to (although she had every right to be) she did it because Bellamy publicly broke several laws and she would have completely undermined her own authority (and given special treatment, making her a poor leader) if she let him get away with treason, child endangerment, murder, and attempted assassination. Bellamy getting put in the fighting pit was a consequence of his own actions, one that he was well aware of. Octavia wasn’t being abusive, she was being a fair leader.

Now that that BS is out of the way, here’s a list of why Bellamy is abusive to Octavia:

1.) Bellamy has had all of the power in their relationship from day one. Octavia was literally trapped in a room and only able to interact with two people for sixteen years, Bellamy came and went as he pleased. Octavia was essentially a captive, she couldn’t have possibly been more powerless during the entire time their relationship was developing. Then when they get on the ground, Bellamy is almost instantly put in a position of power which he uses to isolate and control Octavia. There’s also the age difference, I think a lot of people forget that Bellamy is way older than all the other Skaikru. Bellamy is 23 at the start of the show and everyone else is under 18 (except Raven is 18). So, we’re talking about a barely 17-year-old girl, one who grew up extremely isolated so is even more immature than most kids her age, and a 23-year-old man who lived most of his life relatively normally.

The power difference entirely favors Bellamy. Octavia has no power over him at all pre-Blodreina (which we’ll get to that) so the idea that she could possibly abuse Bellamy is pretty absurd. Abuse is a habitual pattern of controlling and belittling behavior by someone with more (actual or perceived) power over another, Octavia had no power over Bellamy at all; Bellamy had an insane amount of power over her that he constantly abuses to isolate and control her.

2.) Bellamy supposedly goes to the ground to “protect” Octavia but his means of doing so are abusive and controlling. In season 1 alone; Bellamy uses physical intimidation and manhandling against Octavia several times, he terrorizes a harmless teenager (remember how he’s a grown ass adult? Yikes...) to keep him away from Octavia who was enjoying his company, then he tortures a man in front of her while she begs him to stop because he doesn’t care about her opinions (more in 4) and he’s the leader of The 100 so he can.

3.) The whole “my sister, my responsibility” thing that everyone thinks is so cute? Yeah, that’s emotional abuse. A figure of authority repeating to a child that they are a burden for existing is disgusting and so, so harmful. That phrase is a reinforcement of the more vicious things Bellamy has said “Mom was floated for having you, she’s dead because you’re alive!” and “My life ended the day you were born!”

4.) Bellamy is constantly belittling, dismissing, and patronizing all of Octavia’s opinions and identity.

“You turned this place into a story from your childhood. I mean, the red queen? It’s a joke.”

I’m not saying that Blodreina was a positive identity for Octavia, but it was something she was forced (remember, she didn’t seek power like Bellamy and Clarke did) to become to survive. Octavia was a mentally ill teenage girl with very limited exposure to the world who has never had any power in her entire life, and suddenly she was responsible for saving the human race. How fucking dare Bellamy mock her for basing her leadership off of stories WHAT THE HELL ELSE WOULD SHE BASE IT OF OFF???

Bellamy had a job and a life on The Arc, Octavia never left her room and had no way of seeing the outside world except through stories. She has literally no reference for ruling, or anything else, except those stories and her brief time with the Grounders. Fuck you and your privilege, Bellamy.

On top of that, Octavia actually did save the human race. That “joke” kept humanity alive.

“It is time to stop playing Grounder before you get yourself hurt.”

Yes, how dare she identify with the only people who have ever accepted her and treated her like a human being. How about you stop “playing” Nazi before you get us everyone killed. Seriously, Octavia is not allowed to disagree with Bellamy without him grabbing her arm and talking down to her like she’s a toddler throwing a tantrum.

5.) As soon as Octavia is in a position of power, one she didn’t even ask for, Bellamy’s abuse gets progressively crueler because he’s trying to regain control. He starts actively using Octavia’s mental illness against her and literally suicide baits her several times.

There is NO excuse. None at all. To tell someone who is severely mentally ill, traumatized, and an active suicide risk that “I wish you were dead” and “you’re already dead”. Trying to push someone to suicide and using someone’s mental illness to hurt them, let alone your own sister, is one of the most evil things you can do. The fact that so much of the fandom ignores this genuinely makes me sick.

Bellamy chooses those words because he knows that is what will hurt Octavia the most and he wants to hurt her. Bellamy has heard Octavia say that she’s already dead when she’s at her lowest points, he knows that those are the words that haunt her and drive her to want to kill herself, and that’s why he uses them as a weapon. Notice that he says them multiple times and at very purposeful times, this is not something he yelled once when he was angry; we see him calmly make the choice to say these things to her several times when he is losing control and wants to break her back down to the helpless little girl who was always happy to see him because of her Stockholm Syndrome.

6.) I think trying to MURDER Octavia THREE FUCKING TIMES deserves its own point. Bellamy poisons Octavia, he suicide baits her and let’s her go through with it (someone else stops her, Bellamy makes no move to), and then he leaves her to die with a lovely extra “My sister is dead” for the road.

7.) Octavia spends most of season 6 groveling and trying to “earn” back Bellamy’s love and we see clearly that “earning” Bellamy’s love means being utterly powerless and subservient. Bellamy loved Octavia when she was a captive little girl but suddenly he can’t produce an ounce of human decency towards her? And don’t give me some “but she’s Blodreina” like Mr. Nazi has any room to judge Octavia for becoming a dictator out of desperation when she didn’t know what else to do and she was forced in a very, very difficult leadership position that she never wanted and all of humanity relied on.

My point is basically that Bellamy’s love is conditional, he holds it over Octavia’s head like a fucking dog treat. He wants “his sister” back but what does that mean? He wants back the scared little girl who couldn’t leave one room and was entirely dependent on him. It’s Octavia having autonomy that Bellamy hates, not her being “evil” because Bellamy is 500x as evil as Octavia and I will die on that hill. You’re telling me that Bellamy of all people is soooo upset that his sister was forced to kill some people in the context of war and keeping humanity alive? As if Bellamy isn’t a mass murderer who has killed way more people for way less. Give me a fucking break. “Octavia is dead” because Bellamy’s victim is dead and he can’t handle that.

But, please, do tell me again how two isolated incidents over six years apart from each other that are both the direct consequences of Bellamy’s autonomous choices make Octavia “eMoTiOnAllY AbUsIvE tO pOoR WitTlE BeLl”.

[ins0mnia-an0nym0us-au]

re: getting told i have borderline nazi-ideology

I very recently had an interesting experience that I wanted to share.

I use Discord, a communication program that’s main purpose is an instant messaging feature, you can create a server, which can have multiple “rooms” in it for different topics of conversation. It also has various other features, like voice chatting, video-calling, screen-sharing, etc. 

There are lots of uses for it but mainly I use it just to hang out with people. Recently, I started branching out and joining different ‘fandom’ discord servers. I first joined an Arrowverse server, then just a server for people who ship a certain couple on one of the tv shows. 

But then I binged all of Agents of Shield and I wanted to find somewhere to talk about it, make some friends. So I joined a server and it started off pretty great. Everyone was very kind. We all love Marvel and Agents of Shield. 

Here’s where it turns into an experience (SPOILERS FOR AGENTS OF SHIELD) -

In Agents of Shield and the Marvel Universe in general, there is an organization called Hydra, which was founded by Nazis. Agents of Shield deals with Hydra a lot and one of the main cast members turns out to be a member of Hydra hidden within Shield. The actor Brett Dalton seems like an absolute sweetheart, I’ve actually seen him in person at Dragon-Con a few times and he’s one of those actors that refuses to sit behind his table, he stands in front of it to talk to his fans, give hugs, handshakes, etc.

People were talking about how apparently because of him being a Hydra member in the show and saying things like ‘Hail Hydra’ with fans or maybe even randomly (I’m not sure the context of that - if someone asked him to say it with them or whatever), that people cancelled him and that’s why he only does Hallmark movies now. Which is something I find ridiculous for a few reasons. 

Brett Dalton is an actor. He is given a role and he plays it. If that is a good guy or bad guy, it doesn’t matter, he reads the lines and acts the part. The fact that people ask him to repeat lines or certain lines get more famous than others is not his fault. 

This brought into question why certain people would even have ‘Hail Hydra’ as a favorite line. Which was incredibly stupid of a question in my opinion. 

Hydra is an iconic enemy organization within the Marvel Universe

‘Hail Hydra’ is a quick and easy line to say vs longer quotes

It comes from many iconic scenes in the franchise itself - both within comics & the cinematic universe

Then they questioned why anyone would be a fan of Hydra at all when it’s a Nazi run organization - a fictional, Nazi run organization. I pointed that out and they scoffed at that and said it doesn’t matter. So instead I tried the following reasons -

Some people just love to root for the bad guy - no matter how bad

Favorite actors/actresses play the villains

It’s ‘edgey’ to root for the bad guys

In the end they didn’t buy any of that as good enough reasoning and said that deep down every person who was a fan of Hydra must secretly be a Nazi or Nazi sympathizer and that even if Brett Dalton was a nice guy, he shouldn’t go around saying ‘Hail Hydra’ because some Jewish people have stated it makes them uncomfortable. 

Listen, if something makes you uncomfortable, you have the right to say that it does and if it is a good enough reason then maybe that person will change what they are doing, hell, maybe everyone else will agree with you. But I find this entire thing incredibly stupid. If you watch anything from Marvel and expect not to run into something referencing Hydra then you are either naive or incredibly foolish. If Hydra triggers you, if Nazism triggers you, just stay away from Marvel.

“But we should make Marvel available for everyone!”

No, we can’t make everything available for everyone. That is literally impossible. Should some Marvel content have less Nazi references in it for those triggered by it? Sure, I’m sure there is something out there for them. 

But this isn’t even the end of this experience I had on this server. I thought we ended this conversation on good terms. But I’ll never know if they were secretly reporting me to the server owner or not. The next bit is when I was given a ‘warning’ not to open my mouth again on my beliefs or I would be kicked from the server. 

It started when I saw people just saying things like “America is such shit” and “Yeah, America is such garbage” - even the Americans were saying this. Now I’m a proud American but I understand that the media is very influential, so I tried to be diplomatic in my approach. I entered by saying something like - “America definitely has its problems, that’s for sure, but so does every country - still, look how far we’ve come!”

Responses were not kind to that. They were insistent on just pointing out all the flaws in America. From apparently rampant racism, a fascist regime, terrible public education.

I once again tried to approach diplomatically. I simply said that there is racism everywhere, I don’t think I touched the fascist regime comment, and I agreed on the terrible public education comment. Which spiraled into a talk about our public education system. We all pretty much agreed that our public education system is shit… which I still don’t understand how someone can want more government when the government fucks everything they already run up. 

I’m not sure how it went from that to talking about being able to choose who to serve at your business. It’s hard to remember exactly. I just remember the whole Christian Baker thing being brought up but it turns out we were talking about two separate cases. 

They were talking about a case where a baker was contacted by a lesbian couple and that baker released their information to a hate website, later they sued the baker and won. Which - yeah, that baker deserved to be milked for every last dime. 

But I was talking about a baker that was contacted by a gay couple to make a ‘gay cake’ - this baker said no because it was against his religion, and even told them that he doesn’t make Halloween or Anti-American cakes but he’d happily make them other desserts. But they still sued him and originally the gay couple won but it was taken to the Supreme Court and the baker won the suit. I think it’s a good thing the baker won that case. 

No one should be able to tell you who you should or should not serve. If a gay baker is contacted by a homophobic person and is asked to make an anti-LGBTQ+ cake, they should have every right to say “no, I will not.” in the same way a Christian baker should have every right not to make a ‘gay cake’ or a cake covered in penises or an anti-Christ cake. 

Do I think it’s dumb not to make a cake for someone just because it’s gay? Yes. Take the business. In the same way I think if a gay person turns down someone just for being straight it’s dumb. But that is their right. 

But apparently because this is how I believe, I have borderline Nazi ideology and was told that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut when they spout off about politics, I would be kicked from the server. The message I received was laughable at best. All about making a ‘safe-space’ for members of the fandom from all ages, genders and orientations. 

How impressionable young people are around (a few sentences ago it was children - which, there are no children in this server, teenagers, they are teenagers) and that it may influence their minds and opinions in the future - as if their spouting off about how much they hate America and all of their political opinions won’t? The hypocrites. 

Then came the point in the message where I was basically called a Nazi. Which… really? I’m autistic, non-binary, lesbian, with several disabilities. The Nazis would have put me in the front of the line to be executed. The gall these people have to think that I could ever agree with Nazis or Nazism. I’ve been to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC. I’ve watched unfiltered footage from WWII of the Concentration Camps and what they did to people like me. It’s disturbing to me how ignorant these people are of what Nazism actually is but mostly it’s sad because of how intolerant they are of anything but their own point of view.

The final bit of the message was about how I had treated people flippantly despite how they expressed their discomfort. Again - the gall of these fucking people. Not one person ever fucking said they were uncomfortable when we were talking. I would have stopped talking about politics immediately if one person spoke up. They just kept talking, kept responding to my messages, but instead they went and tattled on me to the server owner. 

So, instead of staying in a server where I was told to just sit down and shut up, I messaged the owner back and told them exactly what I just told all of you. I also told them that they are exactly what is wrong with everyone today, why everyone is so divided and why no one talks to each other anymore. That going through life being unable to hear opposing opinions when they don’t do you any harm is a sad way to live. That it did make me sad that they had just assumed the worst in me because I did enjoy my time there, I even spent a solid month editing a photo as a Christmas gift to the server.

I apologized for making anyone uncomfortable but also told them that no one ever said anything. Then told them I won’t apologize for anything else and that I wouldn’t bother sticking around. Why would I? Everyone had been secretly talking about me it seems. No one had the same opinions as me and no one wanted to hear them. What was the point? So I just left the server. 

Being autistic makes it so hard to understand social queues in real life, doing so online is pretty much impossible unless you use emojis that have certain connotations linked to them. I generally have to take people at face value of what they are saying. If no one says that they are uncomfortable - I assume they aren’t. If no one tells me that I’m breaking a rule or doing something wrong, why would I assume differently? Mostly though it hurt me that they all just sat there and decided that I was pretty much a Nazi when I’d been nothing but nice to them. I thought we were becoming friends, some of us anyway. 

It just proves that once more, the crowd of ‘tolerance’ is the least tolerable. Now I have no Agents of Shield server and I miss my almost friends. 

[srhlsx]

Rewritten & reposted march 23, 2021. Please read author’s note at the end!

MASTER | CHAPTER 1 | Ch. 2

“Thank the Gods we are who we are, otherwise we’d never get invited to these things.”

Looking up from the smudged scribbles on the pages of the notebook in front of you, you tilted your head towards the girl at the end of the table with a furrowed brow. She was holding a small, plastic ball in her fingers - one eye squinting as she took aim. As she released her shot, you swatted a hand out quickly and slapped the ball right out of the air.

“Some people bring ice, some people bring drugs,” The girl stood up straight, her eyes narrowing and glaring at you although you knew she wasn’t actually mad. “What do I bring? The nerd who studies on the beer pong table.”

You chuckled lightly, throwing one of your pens in her direction as your eyes returned to the pages open in front of you. She wasn’t lying. Before you was an open science textbook, scattered notecards, and a notebook so worn with use the pages were curling slightly. On either side of your makeshift study area were red cups scattered about, clearly you were interrupting the middle of a drinking game.

“Entrance exams are right around the corner-”

“Literally, months away.”

“-and I want to get in what I can before our schedule picks back up.”

“But (Y/n),” She said, leaning forward on her hands to get in your face. You blatantly ignored the proximity, the feeling of her warm breath blowing across your skin as she was practically pressing her face into yours, and flipped forward a few pages in your textbook. “It’s summer break.”

“Even more reason, Rumin.” You replied, while you were looking back and forth between the textbook page and your notes, scratching out a few mistakes, then giving her forehead a small flick with the end of the new pen in your hand when she hadn’t backed away. 

“Come on-” She whined out, going so far as to stomp a foot in protest. You had to chuckle a little bit at how much of a child she was currently being. “We have to celebrate. We deserve it - you deserve it!”

“We celebrated plenty already.” You mumbled, shaking your head again. “I didn’t get much done during Interhigh so I need to catch up. Plus we have summer camp and we both know I won’t study then.”

When you noticed that she didn’t say anything back, you looked up once more to see your friend deep in thought while raising a cup to her lips. She paused, eyes snapping down to you when she saw you looking up at her. “I’m going to burn those notebooks when we graduate.”

“No! I might need them!” You laughed at her aggressive comment and dramatically spread your arms across your supplies, though you knew she’d never dare. 

Your friend, Rumi, knew that school and preparing for entrance exams was important to you and given the choice you wouldn’t have even come out at all had you not been allowed to bring your work with you - as much as it embarrassed her to be seen with someone carrying around a backpack at a party. It wasn’t like you didn’t know how to have fun, you certainly did, you loved a good party as evidence of the shenanigans you got into after Interhigh. So, to appease your friend’s mood, you grabbed the half-full cup still next to your pile of work unsure if it was even yours at this point and took a long swig of the bitter, flat drink that was nearly forgotten in it. 

Rumi’s expression didn’t change, her normally wide eyes still peered down at you with an air of expectation, she was not amused by you in the least. You sighed, trying to contain a small smile as you grabbed the cup once again and downed the rest of its contents. You flipped it over to show her the empty bottom. She nodded approvingly, a smug smirk forming on her lips even as you threw the plastic cup at her.

Feeling content with the amount of work you were surprisingly able to get done since you arrived at the house party an hour ago, you packed your books and notes into your bag. The action lit a spark in your friend’s eyes and she began clapping happily, barely able to contain her excitement at you finally turning your attention away from studying. You lugged the backpack onto your shoulders, tightening the straps and snapping the clasp across your chest to make the bag rest more comfortably. 

You looked up expectantly at your friend, as if to say lead the way. 

You followed her into the attached kitchen a room over, squeezing between the mass of bodies that were pushed together, moving back and forth to the music blaring through the speakers located in another room. You recognized the song, some popular bop you’d heard on repeat since it debuted a few weeks prior. Nodding your head along while mumbling the words, you ruffled a hand through your hair to relieve a little bit of the tension your poor studying posture had created.

As you made your way through the crowd, a couple people glanced at you and made a point to get out of the way. Most waved hello, nodded their heads, threw you congratulations - the usual greetings you had gotten the last few weeks since Interhigh concluded. A familiar face waved at you over the crowd, hand sweeping across her forehead to brush her light brown fringe out of her eyes and smiling sweetly, although not entirely soberly. Rumi looked back at you, tugging your bag straps slightly to pull you in the direction of the girl and out of the way of most of the partygoers.

“(Y/n)!” The girl giggled, drawling out your name and giving you a bigger hug than you expected or were prepared for. She fumbled with the phone and cup in her hands, squeezing her arms tightly around your neck to the point where it was almost painful and she nearly knocked you over. “Done studying at last!”

“Hi, Mako.” You wheezed out, pulling her from around your neck and holding her at an arm's length. “I see you’ve been studying something - or should I say someone -  as well?”

A blush began to spread up the girl’s neck as you pointedly looked at the dark mark on her neck she was clearly trying to hide with her hair. She shushed you by clasping a hand over your mouth, shaking her head and losing her balance a little bit in the process. As she righted herself, she looked like she wanted to say something, opening and closing her mouth a few times to make a comment, but never getting the words across. 

“I’m just teasing you!” You laughed, squeezing the girl’s cheeks together. You were familiar enough to the girl that you could tease her about things like this, especially when she was a few drinks in. “Speaking of - where is the devoted captain?”

“Hmm…” Mako swayed a little bit as she thought through her answer, face scrunching up in concentration. “I think he was getting a few guys from outside? Some-” She waved her hand around again, lost in her own train of thought. “Some guys from the camp this week? I don’t know. He invited them... Oh! Duh! He texted me, lemme check-”

The girl’s eyes lit up slightly as she tried to focus on the screen in her hand, blinking slowly as her thumbs fumbled across the letters on the screen. Rumi gave you an exasperated look, motioning to her empty cup and the bar you knew was in another room. You reached out to grab her before she could disappear, pleading with your eyes and hoping she’d stay. She did, albeit with scowl. 

Mako made a surprised gasping sound, mixed with a hiccup, and shoved the lit up screen on her phone right into your face. Blinking a few times, you tried to decipher the messages shared between the two contacts.

Wer arwe u i hv (y/n) and ruMi

Daiki <3: OMG. Are you kidding Mako? I’m outside XD

“Lessgo!” Mako wobbled a little bit as she grabbed at Rumi’s wrist and began pulling in the direction of the sliding set of doors that led to the backyard of the house.

Somehow, there seemed to be just as many people crowding the space outside as there were inside - at least half of your school’s population must be at this party. Mako called out to the crowd blindly as she opened the sliding glass door with a flourish, her drunk voice a much higher pitch than usual, “Daikiii! Look who I found!”

Across the yard near a low hanging retention wall, Daiki Ogano - captain of the boy’s volleyball team at your school - waved over the heads of all the people separating you. Mako waved for you and Rumi to follow, as if that wasn’t the reason you came outside in the first place, and began to push her way through the crowd of people scattered around the yard.

Just like inside, when people saw it was you and Rumi trying to move your way through they split apart and let you by without much thought. You laughed at an off-handed comment Rumi made feeling more than a few sets of eyes on you as you walked up to the group of guys waiting for you.

 Walking up to Daiki, who greeted Mako with a not-so-subtle brush of his hand to her lower back, you realized that your earlier thought was very much incorrect. This was not just a group of guys you were walking up to - no, these were men. The two strangers may have been your age but their sheer size and presence gave you the feeling that calling them “guys” was neither sufficient nor appropriate. 

“They certainly don’t make ‘em like that in our parts of Tokyo,” Rumi mumbled into her drink, nudging you with her elbow. You looked up at her with wide eyes, giggling like the teenage girls you were at her comment about the handsome boys in front of you.

“(Y/n)!” Daiki greeted you with a flush on his cheeks, probably from the drink he was holding. “Rumi managed to drag you away from -hic- the thrilling pages of your science books?”

“Not easily.” Your friend deadpanned, looking at the two strangers when they both managed to chuckle. Rumi reached up and ruffled your hair affectionately. “But she’s graced us with her attention now, and we are ever thankful for it.”

You looked up with a slight pout at your taller friend, reaching up to fix your hair. “Hey, I told you ahead of time what to expect from me-” 

“One solid hour of studying.”  Rumi sighed, rolling her eyes as she imitated your voice but giving it a much nerdier edge to it with an exaggerated expression. You nodded with a closed-eye smile, satisfied with her remembering your demands. She turned to the newcomers with an apologetic look on her face, “I promise her poor behavior is not indicative of the student body at our school. Many of us actually enjoy fun and parties.”

“Studying can be fun.” You mumbled into your cup, readjusting your backpack again as you looked away from the group. 

“This is exactly what I was talking about earlier.” Rumi reached out and grabbed you by the strap that was clasped across your chest, giving it a few tugs to shake you up a bit. ”Such a nerd with your backpack and notecards.”

“These notecards helped you pass economics last term so be careful what you say.”

“If the nerds at our school looked anything like you, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be doing so poorly in my classes.” One of the strangers laughed, nudging his buddy with a grin.

“Oh?” You quirked an eyebrow at the forwardness of this stranger. “And who exactly are you?”

The two looked at each other with a little surprise - as if you were supposed to already know who he was. You knew who he was, seeing as he was a star athlete in your area - but you weren’t about to play into that. You waited patiently for them to answer, a small grin on your face as you looked expectantly at the two.

The second of the two spoke first, holding one hand to his chest and the other out to shake your hand and then Rumi’s. You didn’t miss the way his sleepy eyes lingered on her behind a mop of bedhead hair, his smile was either sleezy or suave and you hadn’t made your mind up yet on which. “Kuroo Tetsurō.”

Middle blocker, third year, Nekoma.

The other one spoke up, a goofy sound to his voice as he proudly jabbed a thumb at his chest and burst into one of the brightest smiles you’d ever seen. “Bokuto Kōtarō, nice to meet ya.”

Wing spiker, ace. Third year at Fukurodani.

As you looked up into his sparkling eyes, you bit your lower lip to keep from grinning like an absolute fool. Shit. Shit, shit - he was much cuter than you originally thought.

*

A/N: REWRITTEN BITCHES. Ya’ll are too nice to tell me that the first time around was terrible and i vibe with that. Reminder that in this story Shinzen is going to be located IN Tokyo - i am AWARE it is not actually. Please enjoy!

[thisiswhatwereupagainst]

TL;DR Went into Captain Britain and Excalibur just to read Meggan, expected to hate Brian, found out they both were bad to each other and are both very injured, traumatized characters grappling with gender norms in their own way, and I have a lot of sympathy and love for them BOTH now even if they definitely are not a good couple at this point. So, I am keenly interested in Meggan Puceanu as a character and a concept. Just learning some very basic things about her prompted THIS META POST three years ago. And that was before I really plunked down and decided to read all her stuff in order. And while I have yet to read ALL of it by a longshot. But I’ve gotten through about 20 issues now, from her first appearances in “The Mighty World of Marvel” in 1984, to meeting and joining up with Brian Braddock/Captain Britain in the second series of Captain Britain in 1985, to the first five issues of Excalibur in 1985. So yeah, keep in mind reading this, I am only up to Excalibur #5. And I know I probably should wait before writing all this stuff, read more, see if my interpretations hold true. But I have so many thoughts and I just can’t wait that long! So please read on with the understanding I may be proven completely wrong in these perceptions later. That said.... I had some basic knowledge of Brian and Meggan’s dynamic. I knew that she was completely emotionally dependent on him, that her every emotion hinged on his approval and attention, that a lot of her very identity was based around pleasing him as his girlfriend. I also knew he’d been a real dick to her, and that his descent into alcoholism had made him an even bigger dick. So, I was really prepared to dislike him. And while I do still dislike the power imbalance that their relationship was founded on, I ended up having very different feelings about Brian himself than I expected---I thought I was going to encounter a shitty macho man himbo asshole who treated Meggan like shit just because. Seriously, look at THIS and THIS and THIS! What a JERK! I was all prepped to despise this guy and yell about toxic masculinity and how Meggan deserved better. Instead, what I found was someone who was as broken and in pain as Meggan herself, but who got far less sympathy for it than she did, both from other characters and from fans. The first big shock that I got was that Brian had been raped twice by female villains in the second Captain Britain series, before Excalibur began. I had actually read about this a couple years ago on TV Tropes, but seeing it was something else. I wrote a longer post about it HERE As noted in the post, Brian never told anyone about either of these incidences as far as I know, nor getting any kind of therapy or treatment. He also started drinking after this happened. And as of Excalibur beginning, Betsy is dead (or so he believes) and he’s grappling a lot with that too. I think it was unethical of him not to rebuff Meggan when she first came on to him, for reasons I’ll discuss later in this post, but also makes sense for his character, not because he’s an unethical person but because he’s actually very passive and seems to just accept whatever is demanded by him of others; he talks about this with Courtney, how he has no choice in being Captain Britain, how it was imposed on him, asking if he’s a coward for just wanting a little of his own life and she unsympathetically says it’s “obscene” how he “can’t be bothered” to “take charge” of his own life (Excalibur #3). It’s a very unusual flaw for a male character. In his own way, he’s at the mercy of what others demand him to be as much as Meggan is with her powers, and I find that really interesting. I already knew that Meggan is very much a reflection of the demands placed on women by society, literally twisting her own emotions and physical forms to coincide with what is considered beautiful and what others desire, whereas Brian, it turns out, is himself a reflection of the demands placed on men---he has to be a warrior, whether he likes it or not (and he doesn’t, it’s part of his backstory that he doesn’t see himself that way at all), he has to be the hero and take care of the girl and he feels he has to just go with it when Meggan decides he’s her man and she needs him. And Meggan is more flawed than I expected. She’s oftentimes shockingly selfish in her obsession with Brian. For instance, when his ex Courtney is kidnapped by the sadistic murderous Arcade, Brian is understandably upset, and this troubles Meggan because she thinks that his being upset means he still cares for Courtney. The selfishness there is staggering; a woman’s life is in danger and Meggan’s first concern is her own love life, and she assumes that the only reason Brian could care about said woman’s life being in danger is if he’s in love with her. Or when Brian’s drinking is first brought up by the rest of the team, Meggan says it hurts her that he turns to those bottles instead of to her (Excalibur #3). So, her problem isn’t that Brian is obviously becoming addicted to alcohol, it’s that SHE isn’t the one that he turns to. She’s got a lot of moments like this. That said, I LIKE this about Meggan. It makes me like her MORE. It makes her WAY more realistic and flawed and human than the archetypical frail damsel who is just an accessory to her man that I was expecting. She’s clingy, she’s possessive, she’s downright nasty and hostile over him a lot! She may not think of herself as a real person, but the writers treat her as one, complete with flaws. Her dependency isn’t treated as a good or romantic thing either, it’s not held up as a female virtue like I was expecting; Brian is actually bothered by it, he confides in Kurt that he doesn’t think he can handle how she relies on him for everything, how he actually PREFERS Courtney because unlike Meggan, Courtney is her own woman-- “She doesn’t seem to NEED me as completely and desperately as Meggan seems to. Sometimes I feel I’m the total and absolute focus of Meggan’s life. It’s a responsibility I don’t think I’m capable of handling.” And Brian is right, this ISN’T a good thing to do in a relationship, Meggan is putting a lot of unfair emotional weight on his shoulders, and he’s already got a lot to bear from his own trauma and loss. In fact, one could even argue that her behavior would be seen as toxic if the genders were reversed. She’s still very sympathetic, of course, because this is coming from a place of real insecurity and need and probably her powers too, but it’s more three-dimensional and complicated than what I originally expected. But I like that. Because again, it’s more realistic, both in terms of Meggan’s behavior and in Brian’s reaction to it---he doesn’t WANT a woman being totally dependent on him and thinking the sun shines out his ass and needing him for everything, he wants another human being. That’s not what I expected a Bad Macho Man Stereotype to be saying! But in fact, Brian says another thing he prefers about Courtney is “she’s her own woman” and  “I can talk to her, Kurt.” (Excalibur #5) Brian is a man who wants to be able to have someone he can be VULNERABLE with, to talk with as an equal about his fears and anxieties---which he does with Courtney, as mentioned---and he can’t do that with Meggan because of the pedestal she puts him on and her needing so much care herself. He says as much himself to Kurt. He also recognizes that he himself probably isn’t equipped to deal with Meggan’s issues, she needs much more help than he can give. This isn’t an idealized thing at all, this is a realistic depiction of two very emotionally injured people in a very messed up dynamic that is bad for BOTH of them, hurting them BOTH. Up til actually reading it, I was expecting it to be one-sided, with Meggan being the only one suffering, but it’s not! And Meggan being like this, of being obsessed with Captain Britain and behaving in a very “cliche” way over him, makes a TON of sense for her, she’s not just obsessed with him for no reason like a typical “just the hero’s girlfriend” character. Meggan grew up being kept secret in her family’s camper-trailer for her then-monstrous appearance, til during the Jasper’s Warp when reality shifted into a world that was putting superhumans, including herself, into concentration camps. While she was in the camps, Captain Britain was a legend as a liberator and freedom fighter who was fighting back against the regime for the sake of people like her. And when reality returned to normal, Meggan was one of the few people who remembered that it had ever changed; she remembered the camps, and she remembered Captain Britain. Even though she’d never even seen him at that point, she clung to him as her one hope. Then the real Captain Britain found her when she was homeless and living in an abandoned warehouse, and he lets her live with him in his mansion because she has nowhere else, which is probably more kindness than she’s ever been shown in her life, and from someone she idolized. Which, as I said way earlier in this essay, does make their relationship an inherently unethical one because of their power imbalance, as he’s got a lot of power over her in terms of being the one providing her with a home, food, clothing, etc., not to mention her emotional dependency that’s obvious well before she makes a move on him. So we’re already starting on really problematic territory. But it makes SENSE for her. Add to that Meggan was raised on television in a VERY literal sense. Again, she was locked up in her camper trailer all day every day her whole life, and so she spent most of her time just watching TV. It’s shown that this has given her SOME UNREALISTIC IDEAS ABOUT HOW TO BEHAVE so I think that absorbing the media’s depictions of how women are “supposed” to behave towards their men is actually pretty realistic. She’s not doing this because the writers think this is just how women are----NONE of the other female characters act at all like she does!---but because SHE thinks it’s what’s normal and expected, and she’s probably very much imprinted on the media’s fantasy fairytale depiction of relationships. Given how she grew up as an ugly monster and seeing herself as such, I can very much see her as latching on the idea of “beautiful sweet woman who is valued for her beauty and being with the lead man and has no identity apart from that” that’s prevalent in media, which she would take for a reflection of reality, a reality that she thought her whole life would be denied to her. So all her behavior has a good in-character reason; she could even be read as a criticism of trying to enact gendered media stereotypes in real life and how they can’t actually work in the complexity of the real world, and how damaging they are to those who absorb them. What’s also funny is that despite appearing to be the standard “strong man, pretty woman” couple, especially with Brian becoming emotionally distant and cruelly pushing her away whilst she’s very emotional and obsessed with pleasing him, is they actually subvert this paradigm as much as they play it straight. The Juggernaut WIPES THE FLOOR with Brian at one point, and then Meggan shows up, shapeshifts into a GIANT MUSCULAR VERSION OF HERSELF, and comes to his rescue with Rachel and Kitty! That’s right, a buff lady and two other ladies save the dude in distress! And then afterwards, she acts like SHE was the one in danger, resuming her default petite form and jumping into his big manly arms while he asks if she’s alright and she says “Always in your arms!” ---it’s hilarious! (Excalibur #3) And of course, speaking of subverting gender stereotypes, there’s Brian’s desire to have a partner he can be vulnerable with, which is really astounding to me----he’s very much grappling with the expectations of toxic masculinity in a way that’s harming him as much as Meggan. Not just in relation to Meggan, but also, as mentioned before, in relation to not having control of his own life as Captain Britain, and being responsible for others. In particular, he’s messed up over Betsy’s (seeming) death, and over not having protected her, as a man would be expected to protect his sister. In the panel right before the “changeling cow!” scene I linked earlier, THIS IS WHAT HE SAYS. He doesn’t see himself as any good if he doesn’t meet impossible standards. And while Meggan reacts to pain by getting teary, Brian consistently reacts to his pain (or trying to hide it) by getting ANGRY, which is consistent with how women vs men are socialized. Which is not to say it’s anything but VISCERALLY HORRIBLE when he lashes out at Meggan, especially given how dependent she is on him, and she absolutely SHOULD have dumped his ass then, but it’s also a lot more three-dimensional than the emotionally abusive drunken bad boyfriend stereotype I was expecting.  I know I’m a broken record on this, but I am just so shocked at how sympathetic I ended up being to a guy I was so prepared to hate and was so cruel to a character (Meggan) that I was already very sympathetic to and invested in. Instead, I’m invested in them BOTH now and want to see them BOTH heal from this, and from each other. So, basically, I was really ready to be mad about Meggan’s lack of agency and her dependence on Brian. And these are things that happen. But the writers are clearly AWARE of it, and treat them as issues to be addressed and overcome. Meggan and Brian come off not as the cliche male and female stereotypes they first appeared, and that I expected, but very critical examinations and sometimes subversions of them, and both are shown as being hurt by the expectations of their gender, and being hurt by each other as they enact those expectations. It’s not totally perfect, not by a long shot, but it’s very interesting and a lot more nuanced than I expected some straight white guys in the 80s to be writing, it’s definitely a far cry from the typical idealized relationship between a hero and a leading lady, and I’m pretty impressed with it. And I’m looking forward to reading more.

[theexistentiallyqueer]

"but he murdered people”

This is a post about Goro Akechi, murder, its aftermath, trauma, and two things that are in real short fucking supply around here: critical thinking and empathy.

Listen, I’m a veteran of the Dragon Age fandom. If you want to talk about toxic fandoms, they’re your Bible. As far as your Judas Iscariots and Nebuchadnezzars go, I was one of them. I’ve seen it, I’ve done it, and I’m done with it. It’s exhausting to carry that much rage inside of you, to live it actively every second of every day, and to inflict it on other people and laugh about it. So I’ve been disengaged, largely, for a few years. 

And now I’m in the Persona 5 fandom and find myself enthusiastically appreciating Goro Akechi, because who doesn’t love complex, morally flawed, ambiguously gay-coded characters? Shit, maybe you’re not on board, but I’ll sign right up. I’m a relative newcomer, despite being a longtime Persona fan and playing P5 around when it came out, because I didn’t engage with the fandom then. I jumped back in with the Royal announcement and absolutely saturated myself in this vibrant fan space. Invested in the idea of Akechi being explored as a fully fleshed-out character, I find myself following Goroboys. Which is great! Because so far, they’re all great! Nicest bunch of people you could ever hope to meet!

Except there’s Discourse. There’s always been Discourse, I find, but this is my first exposure to it in this fandom. This weekend was my first week of seeing Goro antis active, seeing people I follow, people I like and appreciate and some I considering genuine friends, actively attacked and harassed because they like a fictional teenage character who killed some other fictional people in a fictional world where you, playing as the main character, have the ability to perform a metaphysical lobotomy on people who literally can’t consent. Here I thought the only people who hated Akechi were white cishet men who saw his rage against a parent and said, “Nah, too bitchy for me,” because they’re too afraid to look in a mirror and see Masayoshi Shido’s fascist, misogynistic mug staring back. 

Are you awake yet? Have I woken you up to the fact that Persona 5′s premise is a wish-fulfillment fantasy of “what if I could make the person who took advantage of me when I was a teenager apologize in front of the entire world by using an alternate fantasy dimension to completely violate their brain”?

I see my friends saying, “Wow, it’s amazing how people who hate Akechi can’t leave people who like Akechi alone,” and within an hour they have replies saying MURDER IS MURDER as if they know what murder actually is.

We’re about to get real personal up in here because maybe, only then, will some of you people take the hint that your behavior borders on actively bullying other people on the internet over a fictional character.

Ready? Here goes.

Murder is your mom picking you up from summer camp three weeks after your ninth birthday, driving you to your grandparents’ house, and telling you that when daddy was at work today, someone tried to steal the money, and they had a gun. Daddy was brave and Daddy died.

Murder is blacking out when you’re nine years old and coming to to yourself two houses away on a neighbor’s swing set with crickets chirping in your ears and the crushing reality of never seeing your father again turning your brain into static.

Murder is asking your mother if she asked for the death penalty, and your mother telling you, in a pleading voice, that she didn’t because he was mentally ill and it didn’t feel right. Murder is feeling angry afterwards because you feel like something was taken away from you, and something should be exchanged for that. Because that’s how fairness works, right? If you steal candy from the store, you have to give up your allowance for the next five months.

Murder is realizing you’re an atheist at fourteen and driving past the cemetery where your father’s remains are interred, and having the gut-punching, soul-suffocating realization of what never ever ever actually means. Murder is building an internal cosmology where forever means my atoms and yours, creating new life in perpetuity as the comfort you drag out of the west’s cold, uncaring atheism that never found its own poetry.

Murder is your first two years in college, when you discover social justice and realize the world is bigger than your own life experiences, and that violence at the bottom is a reactionary symptom against violence at the top. Murder is understanding the fact that the man who killed your father was himself a victim of a racist, ableist, capitalist society with a morally bankrupt healthcare system, and that every single one of those things is in and of itself is more hateful than the act of your father bleeding out in the parking lot, in the ambulance, on the operating table.

Murder is your mother confessing to you in college that your father was physically abusive of her and that she had threatened him, only weeks before he was killed, that she would leave and take her daughters with her if he didn’t change. Murder is knowing that your father ran after an armed robber because he was raised by a Sicilian father in a household overflowing with toxic masculinity, and what killed your father wasn’t a man with a gun: what killed your father was the patriarchy whispering in his ear, This theft emasculates you. 

Murder is looking your own mother in the eye and telling her that one day you want to visit the man who killed your father and open your heart to him, because all you can think is, He didn’t plan this. He can’t have wanted this. What must it feel like to kill someone without intending to and then have to live with that for the rest of your life with no one to help you? Murder is the sound of betrayal in your mother’s voice when she responds, disbelieving.

Murder is spending years wanting to at least write to him, and then forgetting, and then going back, because you are a fluid, impermanent, imperfect person with your own flaws and failures and mental issues that hold you back from being the paragon you want to be. Murder is throwing yourself into the left and embracing prison abolition so hard it hurts, because you know that if the state can lock up someone who doesn’t “matter,” the state can lock up anyone. 

Murder is throwing away or selling every childhood thing you ever possessed because you are not by nature a sentimental person, but never giving up that doll you were gifted, the doll you coveted and wanted more than anything else, three weeks before your father was shot and killed. You have no pictures, no mementos, no nothing, but she sits at the top of your bookshelf to this day, a weighty child goddess, the symbol of your torn and labyrinthine childhood.

Murder is having to see a bunch of petty-ass people using actual trauma that real life people have experienced and continue to experience to directly and repeatedly harass your friends online (and yourself, indirectly, by tagging their hateful shit) because you and your friends like a fictional fucking character who, by nature of being fictional, did not actually murder any real existing people.

Murder is building your entire identity around how you sympathize, deeply, with the person who killed your own father, because that takes hard work and deep empathy and the ability to see past a lot of bullshit just to get to that point, and having some fuck-ass anons act like none of that matters because there is (apparently, I must assume) some omnipotent god of justice saying “Fuck you and everything you’ve been through” that apparently only these bullies can hear.

Murder is seeing fandom moralizers talk about murder like they understand it. Like they’ve read this, plus the last ten-plus paragraphs, and decided they know best anyway because mommy and daddy always told them Criminals Are Bad and walked wide-eyed and innocent into a social network overrun with TERFs, exclusionists, and a rotten segment of the political left that acts like some extras straight out of The Crucible.

I have never once been triggered by anything relating to my father’s murder. I cried at the Resurrection Stone scene in The Deathly Hallows, I cried when I completed when I completed the DA2 DLC Legacy after the end of act 2. When I see a parent die, I have an emotional reaction, because it’s familiar.

But the Akechi antis who all say “but he killed people!”, The Akechi antis who say “murder is still murder”?

The murder of my father is still murder. The man who killed him, his murderer, is still regardless a human being, the man who killed him deserves sympathy and compassion and understanding and respect and, above all, a chance.

I am a living example of what’s left behind when someone is murdered. You can walk into the mausoleum where my father is interred, face his headstone, and let the earth open up beneath you and drop you into hell.

So most sincerely, from someone who lost their father to gun violence, to armed robbery, to murder: Stop fucking using our lived experiences as your justification to harass and bully people online for committing the Grave Moral Sin of just liking a video game character.

Between the fact that the American government is keeping real people in concentration camps and a bunch of strangers on the internet liking a twiggy teenage anime boy who used a fantasy world to kill people who don’t exist, which one is actually important to deserve your moral outrage?

You’ll die eventually; fascism won’t kill itself.

[browneyedmissy]

PS I Love You (Chapter II: Alma)

Pairing: Thomas Mendez x Tara Day

Summary: After losing three years of memories from a car crash, Tara returns to a life she does not remember.

Catch up here .

Playlist: Wings by Birdy, Take Me Home by Us the Duo, Meet Me Halfway by Black Eyed Peas, Story of a Girl by Nine Days

-

-

Tara had never felt so detached to her surroundings before.

She felt like she was walking into someone else's life. The Tara of three years prior would not have imagined that her life would be the way it was with a beautiful house, handsome, successful lawyer husband and a loyal stepdaughter, a best friend from her daughter.

Walking around Thomas'- their house was like navigating a maze. It was a little overwhelming for her to open the door that she thought was a bathroom but was actually another room. The most frustrating part about it, however, was that she kept forgetting which were which.

The doctor had warned her that while her brain was healing, her memory might not be as sharp but the feeling of helplessness was frustrating.

The weekend passed with her following the routine of her family: they stopped at a local bakery for breakfast before taking Luz to soccer practice and Zoey to science camp. She followed Thomas around as they picked up supplies for the house. As a family, they cooked dinner together and had breakfast together the next morning before going to the farmer's market and going on a hike.

Every moment of it was beautiful but she felt like she was living someone else's life.

She fidgeted with her wedding ring often. It felt heavy on her finger: for her, not long ago she had been married to a man who made her feel like she was not good enough.

Thomas looked at her with the warmest of smiles and she couldn't help the heat rising in her cheeks. He was handsome and her heart skipped a beat when he glanced her way. She knew he was her husband but even though she had developed a crush, the idea of being a wife again was hard for her to grasp. It had been her and Zoey for so long and for her, all at once it had changed.

Thomas had subconsciously reached for her hand during their hike and she let him take it, wondering if it would let her feel closer to the Tara that fit in this life.

There were so many moments in the life that Tara and Thomas had built together. Zoey looked at her stepfather and stepsister with the brightest of smiles. It overwhelmed her heart with joy seeing her daughter like that, but not being able to remember how it all developed made her feel as if she were an outsider on a joke.

"Alright girls, do you have your backpacks and money for lunch? Sofia will be picking you up today." Thomas asked as they dropped their daughters off at school.

"We have everything Papa." Zoey replied.

"Alright, have a good day, then. Love you both very much." He said with a grin.

Zoey and Luz hopped out of the car and walked up the steps to the school. Tara followed them with her eyes until they disappeared behind the door.

"You know, the first time I met you was getting school supplies. I knew your daughter was going to go here and I hoped I'd see you again soon." He laughed at the memory. "Didn't think it would be in the principal's office."

Tara nodded, her eyes still glued on the entrance of the school. She could only remember being there when Zoey and her had interviewed with the principal and she remembered agonizing over moving them there, wondering how she would fit in with her classmates.

"She likes her school, right?" Tara turned to him. "And she's happy? I was worried she wouldn't fit in because I was a single mother and she was on scholarship."

"It was hard at the beginning." Thomas said truthfully. "But Zoey is kind and bright and the other kids took to her."

She nodded, looking back out the window. Thomas reached over, squeezing her hand.

They drove in silence the rest of the way and he dropped her off at the bakery, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek before heading to work. Waiting outside was a smartly dressed woman in a wheelchair.

"Hey Tara, I'm Alma." She smiled, sticking out her hand. "When you first moved here, me and Levi were your neighbors and I watch your daughters for you every over in a while."

"Nice to meet you, Alma. Or see you again? I never know what to say." Tara laughed nervously. She still hadn't figured out what to say in these situations, remeeting the people from her future? From the present but from the memories she didn't have anymore?

Alma gave Tara a sympathetic smile.

"I'm also your business partner. You and I worked together at a boutique for a while. I quit when the business started getting busy and you hired me to help you manage the day-to-day of the store."

Alma pushed the button that allowed the door to swing open on its own.

"One of the requirements when you were looking for a storefront." She grinned at Tara. "I told you it just had to meet ADA regulations but you were insistent."

"We did this?" Tara said in wonder as she stepped into the bakery. She turned to look at Alma. "You and me?"

"Yup. When you got your settlement, you started finishing up your bachelor's degree and baking in the meantime out of your house. People started taking orders but it really got successful when Faye became your social media manager."

Tara frowned at the name, trying to place it in her brain. "Who's Faye?"

"Your ex-husband's ex-girlfriend. Her testimony was good for your court case. She dumped him when he spoke down to her, it was amazing." Alma chuckled at the memory. "You were getting a lot of orders and you would sell at the farmer's market on the weekends. She promoted your baked goods on her Instagram and it gave you enough revenue to open this up."

"That's incredible." She murmured as she stepped into the kitchen, spotting her mother's recipe box on the counter. She felt her heart ache at the sight of her mother's handwriting on the cards. That was something else she had to adjust to too, she supposed. Her mother had been gone longer than she remembered.

"We talked about having cooking classes. We just started to host nights once a week on Thursdays. Sometimes it's trivia. Once a month, Levi makes sure to come play. He always brings in a crowd. Big shot musician now." Alma chuckled. "He almost gave up on that dream, if it wasn't for you."

"Whose is this?" She asked as she came across a recipe she didn't recognize. It was written in her own handwriting but knew all of her mother's recipes by heart. "It doesn't look like a recipe I know."

Alma took a glance at it and smiled.

"Rugelach. Speaking of Levi, that's his grandmother's recipe. I think he gave it to you after your first bake sale at Zoey's school. You, Zoey and Levi made them for the grand opening and they went fast."

After her tour of the bakery, Alma went to open up shop. She had gone in early to prep the baked goods- she had put the easiest recipes on rotation while Tara had been in the hospital. Alma joked that she was decent- she didn't burn down the bakery, but she was no Tara.

So Tara spent the morning in the kitchen, picking out recipes to make. She pulled out her mother's favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe, remembering standing on the stepstool helping her crack the eggs into the bowl. She pulled out the recipe for blueberry hand pie recipe, Zoey's favorite, associated with the days where they woke up before the crowds and went to pick them fresh.

Her eyes then stopped on the rugelach recipe. Her fingers twitched as she picked it up. She stared at it, concentrating hard, hoping it would bring back the memories.

She would have taken any memory, however small of her daughter.

When they didn't come, she sighed and placed the card back in the box.

Closing time came sooner than she expected as she finished prepping the hand pies for the next day. When they discussed logistics, Alma explained, Tara had wanted the option of being able to pick up her daughters from school so they closed at 2:30 with time for prep if necessary.

After everything had been wiped down for that day, Alma and Tara sat at a table together, pastries and coffee on the table.

"You know, I didn't think I would ever have something like this." Tara admitted as she looked around. "It still feels a little unreal to me. A successful business, a loving husband, two beautiful kids… I feel like I'm playing pretend."

"You deserve this." Alma rebutted quickly. "The whole damn world spit on you and you were still the most nonjudgmental and empathetic and kind person I have ever met. This business was built literally from an internet presence and you worked hard to learn the logistics so that we could succeed."

She nodded absently, staring down at her coffee mug.

"Tara." Alma reached over and reached for her hand, squeezing it tight. "Hey. Penny for your thoughts?"

"What if I don't remember any of it?" Tara asked quietly, feeling a lump in her throat. "I keep hearing about these amazing things I did but honestly, the last memories I really have is moving my daughter- who was nine, to Goldcliff. And this bakery! Alma, it's beautiful and I keep pinching myself to remember that it's real and mine. I barely had enough savings to move here in the first place and I feel so incompetent compared to the woman everyone seems to think I am."

"You're afraid this is all going to get taken away from you." She said softly in return. Tara nodded as she blinked back tears.

"I'm afraid I won't live up to the person you all remember me as and you'll resent me for it."

Alma pursed her lips. "I forgot how close your ex-husband troubles must be to you. And how hard it must be to feel like you missed out on so much of your daughter's life. When you first moved here, I remember you were so afraid of Guy coming back and claiming custody. I can't tell you whether or not you'll get your memories back. But I can tell you we will all be by your side to help you with whatever you need. You helped so many people with your support. Eiko got her heart monitor working which is doing wonders for the health community. Levi started legitimately booking venues and got a recording deal. Zoey and Luz are so adored and driven. And Thomas with you is the happiest I have ever seen him."

Tara let herself wipe at the tears that had begun streaming down her face as she chuckled. "Can I pay to have you follow me around?"

"You have done so many amazing things, Tara. It's a testament to your character. You deserve to be happy."

-

@heauxplesslydevoted @hatescapsicum @cora-nova @princess-geek @flyawayboo @sunnyxdazed @loveellamae @my-remedy-is-euphoria @narrytheworld @drakewalker04

[redrobin-detective]

Be Soft

So @captainkirkk had a birthday the other day and I promised a fic in her honor. I chose Fire Lord Zuko and one of my favorite quotes to guide me. I am so happy to know you friend, thank you for your writing and for being my mutual. May your day and all others be warm and blessed.

Be Soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place. ~ Iain Thomas

XxX

“Prince Zuko,” Father spoke in that slow, clipped tone he used when he was displeased. “Why did you leave your firebending lesson early?”

“I saw something,” Zuko muttered, overcome with shame and embarrassment.

“And what did you see that was so important that you felt the need to disrespect the teacher I pay good money to tutor you?” Father continued with a sneer.

“A-Azula left early too, even earlier than I did,” he defended, pointing at his sister who gave an indifferent shrug. Everyone knew who the favorite was, who would come out on top.

“Azula is a prodigy and does not need the lessons you so desperately need to even call yourself a bender much less my son,” Zuko squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head so his father couldn’t see the tars stinging in the corners of his eyes at the cruel words. It would only make his dad angrier.

“So tell me, Prince Zuko, what did you see?” Father asked again, this time almost managing to sound genuine but Zuko knew he was at the end of the man’s patience.

“I uh saw one of the recently hatched turtleducks being followed by the garden master’s cathawk and I was worried that it would get eaten. So I um,” He saw his father frown in disapproval. “I uh chased off the cathawk and carried the turtleduck back to the pond. It’s mother snapped at me but the baby was safe at least.” He all but murmured the last part. Beside him, Azula laughed quietly into her hand.

“So you abandoned your lesson to chase away an animal from doing what nature intended it to do,” Father huffed and smoke billowed out of his nose. He stood up abruptly and grabbed Zuko by the front of his tunic before he could move. “This is why you so inadequate as a prince. No one cares about tiny mewling creatures in a pond, all that matters is the power you hold and how you use it. You may have stopped that cathawk today but what about tomorrow? Either it will feed on your precious turtleducks or it will die. You need to learn to do the same or a similar fate may befall you.” He let go and walked past Zuko without another look and out of the room.

“I told ya Dad would be mad,” Azula gloated from next to him.

“Shut up,” Zuko mumbled from the ground.

“Both of you, stop that,” Mom said, bustling into the room with a pinched look on her face she stooped down to his level and it melted into concern. “Are you okay Zuko?” Azula rolled her eyes at the display and stalked out of the room with her head held high. But Zuko didn’t notice, didn’t care, with his mother’s arms now around him.

“Yeah,” he said into the sleeve of her robes, trying to wipe his tears away as discreetly as possible but Mom probably noticed anyway. “Am I, am I a bad prince because I didn’t want the baby turtleduck to get eaten?”

“Oh Zuko,” she said into his hair, “no, baby. You’re a good prince and you know why?” She pulled back and wiped her thumb across some wetness staining his cheeks. “It’s because you care about living things, even when it’s hard. You’re hardworking and brilliant and you use it all for the sake of others. I would want to live in a nation knowing my Fire Lord did everything he could to protect me and my family. That is the mark of a true leader, using your power for the betterment of the world.”

“Do you think I could be that kind of a person?” Zuko asked meekly.

“Oh my love,” she said with a kiss, “of course you will. You’ll be the kindest Fire Lord the world has ever known.”

XxX

“Oh Agni which one of these do I answer first,” Zuko asked himself picking one of the literal dozens of scrolls littered on his desk. He’d felt on top of the world a week ago when the Fire Sages had crowned him Fire Lord but now he wonders if he’ll really be able to fix his broken nation, this broken world. The scrolls contained everything from demands of reparations from the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes, generals at the front demanding orders, Fire Nation dignitaries disagreeing with his ideas for a new, brighter Fire Nation. Basically everyone wanted a piece of him and he just didn’t know if he was enough.

He stalked over to the wall on the other side of room and stared at a painting Sokka had given him before they’d left. It depicted Zuko with his swords doing some sort of firebending, or at least that was how Sokka described it. It pretty hard to tell but it had been made for him by his friend, a fact that still takes him off guard. Who would have thought he’d ever be nostalgic for the War? Simpler times now that he thinks on it, stop the Fire Lord and save the world but now he’s Fire Lord and he doesn’t know how to fix things. He doesn’t know if anyone could. He was tired from too many late nights, worn down by the physical and emotional stress of the last few weeks and aching from the inside out at the thought of being exactly what his father said he was: nothing.

He growled, pulling away from the wall and going back to his desk where the scrolls are still lying, just as accusing and disbelieving and unanswered as they were a moment ago. There’s a quiet little knock at the door and a hesitant little “My Lord?”

“What!” Zuko snapped, spilling some scrolls from the desk in his anger. As quickly as his frustrating bubbled it fizzled out and he chased after the frightened servant who had staggered back out into the hallway. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you startled me and I’m just so frustrated and I didn’t mean to scare you, really.” He was about ready to get down on his knees when the servant, an older woman he remembers seeing on the periphery of his childhood, kind of stopped and stared at him as if she didn’t know what to make of him.

“Are you alright, my Lord?” She said finally as he kind of awkwardly staggered to his feet deciding he probably looked ridiculous going for a bow with this woman. He swayed a little bit, pushing some of the hair out of his face.

“Yes, obviously, do I not look alright?” He asked and she pointedly took an extra telling few moments before nodding her head. “Yeah, I thought so.” He sighed leaning against the wall. “I’m sorry again for earlier, that was inappropriate of me. Can I make you some tea to make up for it?”

“I,” she said before shaking her head as if to clear it. “No I was coming to ask if you wanted tea.”

“I do but I’d like to make it, need to do something with my hands. Here, come inside, we can talk for a moment,” he said, leading the woman into the room and setting her on the plush royal stool. “What’s your name? Is green tea alright? It’s all I have in here.” He babbled as concentrated on measuring the tea out just so while he lit a flame for the ever present pot of water.

“I am Maki,” she said softly, “and yes, my Lord. Is this what plagues you?” She asked gesturing to the scrolls sill covered his desk and now the floor. He grunted, playing with the water’s flame.

“I don’t know how to answer them in a way that will make them listen to me, I need them to respect me, to take a chance with me on peace but I don’t know how,” he sighed watching the leaves steep in the water.

“If I may my Lord,” she began hesitantly. “I would be honest; you have done more than most to end the war. They cannot doubt your motives, explain yourself as you have to me and I believe they will listen. Mistakes are made freely but so few are willing to extend the hand out in repentance and understanding.”

“Huh,” He said mulling over the words before pouring the tea for the two of them. “That just might work.”

XxX

Zuko had faced many monsters in his life both in spiritual and human form but it never got any easier. The trails punishing the war crimes of those from all four nations during the war went on years after Ozai was taken down. As Fire Lord, he was responsible for those charged within the Fire Nation and it anguished him to see how many of his people were guilty of crimes against humanity.

He knelt down in front of a row of liberated prisoners from a camp, mostly deserters or war criminals or rebels who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. They were clearly underfed, overworked, their bodies strained and exhausted beyond measure. Their suffering was imbedded in every lines along their skin and their fear lighting in their eyes like candle flames. It made him want to turn away in disgust and anger but instead he held out a hand.

“Your cases will be reviewed, some of you may still face prison time but it won’t be like this,” he said, emphatically, trying to put as much honesty into his words as he could. If his voice broke a little at the end and his hand shook a bit then all the better to convince them. “The rest of you will be allowed to return to your lives and your families, all we ask in return is that you give our peace a chance. Are these terms acceptable?”

“You would really let a go?” A young woman, probably around Azula’s age asked with a sneer. His father’s years on the throne showed very little sympathy towards disagreement, no one was free from punishment. No wonder she didn’t believe him.

“Guard, release their manacles. While the records are reviewed they don’t need to be chained, once they’re off, get rid of them. They’ll never be put on anyone ever again,” Zuko ordered.

“B-but my Lord!” One guard stuttered, “the prisoners will riot, they need to be contained.”

“Unless they want to risk their chance of going home, I believe they deserve the chance to feel like humans again,” Zuko side-eyed the guard. “Unless things were happening in this camp that you fear retaliation for.” Several guards looked away and Zuko knew he’d be investigating their records, as well as speaking to the prisoners themselves, as well.

“Sir, I must protest. It’s not safe for you and, to be honest, it is beneath a man of your status to kneel before peasants and miscreants. Every one of them is here because of crimes they knowingly committed against the state. Everything that happened here, to them, was justified.” The head guard said with a face that looked as if he had never smiled before. A few of the prisoners bowed their heads or shrunk away from the man’s very presence. He’s sure he’ll find that every heinous act in this camp was committed or authorized by this man. It’s times like these he most understands his father, how easy and good it would feel to lash out this man with both his fire and his privilege. But he stays his hand, if only for the people behind him. He needs to show them that he means what he says, that he believes in pretty words like peace and justice. They were worth something, a long time ago, he hope to bring those words to life again.

“Justified,” he hisses, “or not, I want them set free. And we will decide what or what not is beneath me when I’m reviewing the records of everyone at this facility.” He stood tall, putting as much confidence as could into his posture. He would save these people and he would do it the right way. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

XxX

Forty Eight was still too young, he decides wearily. He’d been Fire Lord for three decades, fought and lost many battles, won a few in-between, and put his heart and soul into restoring the Fire Nation. And yet here he knelt, feeling as fragile and helpless as a child. Forty Eight was far too young to lose a father.

“Uncle,” he croaked, “can I get you some more tea?”

“Not now,” Uncle said with great effort. “Your tea making has much improved nephew but I fear my stomach cannot handle it.” Zuko looked down at his worn hands and wrestled with them anxiously. There were people outside waiting for him, his wife and daughter, his friends, his nation, all grieving the impending loss of one of its finest heroes. But in this moment, nothing existed but him and his uncle.

“What troubles you, my Lord?” Uncle whispered, almost a sigh.

“You know,” Zuko said back just as quietly.

“Death is another part of life,” that weathered, weary hand reached for his own and Zuko held on as tightly as he could allow. “I have lived a spectacular life, made mistakes, redeemed myself, raised a boy into a man,” Zuko suppressed a sob, “helped save the world, ran a shop. I have done what I was meant to do and now it is time for me to depart. My body is failing and my spirit longs for peace.”

“I know,” Zuko admitted, thinking of the slow progression the years had worn on the man who had always seemed larger than life. “And I thank you for staying with me for as long as you could, for being my family when I had none. I,” he bowed his head and brought Uncle hand up to his forehead. “As your Lord, I give you permission to have your rest. You have served your nation honorably General Iroh, you go with honor and-and with love.” He said with as much composition as he could muster, shoving the pain he felt letting his uncle go in favor of relieving the pain his uncle felt at being forced to stay for his sake.

“Zuko, my Zuko,” Uncle said warmly removing his hand from Zuko’s forehead to rest it along his cheek. He hand was cold and thin but Zuko cupped it anyway. “I know this is difficult but your words me so much to me. The blessing is nice, but the true blessing is watching you bloom like a cherry blossom, beautiful and kind, is the greatest gift of all.”

“I tried Uncle,” Zuko said, some of his grief abating in the face of Uncle’s proverbs. “I’ve done my best to be a be a good leader, to not be like my father. It’s been hard Uncle, it’s been so hard,” he nuzzled his Uncle’s hand. “Sometimes I get so frustrated and angry and it hurts but I tried to be what this nation needed.”

“My Prince, my Lord, my dear Nephew,” Uncle said, “you are. It is precisely because it has been so hard that makes your accomplishments shine even more brightly. Watching you grow, seeing your light, it has been the pleasure of my life, Zuko.” Zuko smiled into his uncle palm, still feeling small and afraid and so terribly sad. But his Uncle is ready and Zuko thinks he’s finally ready too.

“Go in peace,” He said, gently resting Uncle’s hand on his harshly rattling chest, “go with my love.”

“I must share it with every living creature,” Uncle said, “and I am all the more glad for it.” Uncle closed his eyes and Zuko knew that everything they had to say had passed. This time is for his Uncle and him alone. He leaned down and kissed his brow one last time before sweeping out of the room. He wanted to stay but the man had wanted his privacy and Zuko could not deny him. Still, he thought, standing outside with the others, leaning heavily on Aang’s shoulder as the inevitable comes and passes.  It was hard to be gentle, to let the softest part of him out for everyone to see. But he was raised with both cruelty and kindness and he knew which he wanted for his country, for his family. For his Uncle’s memory and for all the people he hoped to save, he could only go forward and hope it was enough.

[the-everlasting-dream]

No - Drake x MC

Summary: Elizabeth’s reaction to King Liam’s request from Chapter 2 of TRH

A/N: Oh look who’s alive and decided she remembers how to write. Thats right, I’m back with some subpar fiction and I hope you like Elizabeth’s honest reaction to the fiasco that was the beginning of this book. Some lines are obviously from the dialogue.

Word Count: 3408

Warnings: Swearing.

Tags: idk who even reads anymore so  @chantelle-x0x , @choicessa​, @mariamulroney , @drakewalkerwhipped​ , @quartzandarrow​ ,  @mfackenthal​ , @srawesleyghuewrites​ , @topsyturvy-dream​ , @enmchoices​ , @gardeningourmet​ @debramcg1106​ , @alesana45​ , @meladoridarcy, @blackcatkita​ , @tmarie82​ , @annekebbphotography​ , @lizk77​ , @jayjay879​ , @tornbetween2loves​ , @akrenich , @theroyalweisme , @likethetailofacomet​ , @sleepwalkingelite​ , @littleblossom-18 , @ooo-barff-ooo​ , @drakewalker04​ , @mkatschoicesblog​ , TRR only: @speedyoperarascalparty , @carabeth​ , Drake: @fairydustandsarcasm , @drakewalkerisreal​

‘To ask us if our future baby would be the ruler of Cordonia?’

The words rang in Elizabeth’s ears, the sound of her own voice alien to her as what Liam was alluding sunk in.

‘Liam.’ Her mouth moved but it was Drake who spoke, tone laced with disbelief.

‘I... I don’t know what to say. My kid sitting on the throne...’

My kid. Our kid.

They’d talked extensively about kids in the past month, agreeing that while they still both wanted children, it would be nice to spend some time together first as a couple. Surely Drake would say no. The next words that came out of his mouth shook Elizabeth to her core.

‘I mean it would be an incredible honor.. I don’t know what to say..’

She turned to gape at the man she now called her husband, remembering vividly how he’d described how excited he was to take their little one on the same camping trips like his own father had done, teaching them the art of making the perfect smore, giving them the life he wished he could have had. That picture of a little boy or girl with Drake’s hair and her eyes, a perfect mix of the two of them firmly planted on his shoulders seemed to evaporate when she heard those words.

‘Elizabeth. What do you say?’ Liam’s blue eyes turned on her in expectancy.

‘No.’

The word was out of her mouth before she could control herself but she didn’t want to take it back. She watched both their faces fall and straightened her spine, swallowing hard. ‘No. No Liam. I wish I was sorry but I am not. I’m not giving my child up for anything.’

‘Walker,’ Drake started, reaching for her hand but she wrenched it out of his grasp.

‘No. I said no.’

Seeing his mouth open again presumably to reason with her, she turned on her heel and stormed off down the beach. Anger boiled in her veins like never before, searing hot; she could barely think straight. Liam to coming here  — on their honeymoon, no less — and asking them for their literal unborn child was insurmountably selfish.

Hadn’t she giving up enough already? Was getting kidnapped, shot at multiple times, having the man she loved almost bleed out in front of her not enough? Was she to sacrifice her future family just because the king of Cordonia couldn’t get a date?

These and a thousand other venomous thoughts were swirling on her mind as she stalked off, heading in no particular direction except away from the conversation.

‘Walker wait up.’

Elizabeth did nothing to slow her pace as she heard Drake jog up to her. ‘Walker would you just stop for a minute? Elizabeth!’

Jerking to a halt, she waited until he was in her line of vision before fixing him with a poisonous look.

‘Jesus what was that?’

‘I could ask you the same damn thing. What the actual fuck Drake?’ She spat, not caring if anyone heard her.

‘Liz c’mon. It’s not like the kid wouldn’t be ours still.’

‘Drake do you even hear yourself? I thought you of all people would be with me on this. You’ve spent your entire life hating the nobles for their stuffy ways, you’ve ranted to me on enough occasions about how pretentious and prim and stuck up and snobby they are. Now you’re turning around and saying you’d sign our child up for that without a second thought?’

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. ‘Walker, c’mon you know it’s not like that..’

‘Then tell me what it’s like!’ She screeched, her voice shrill as it no doubt carried down the beach to where the rest of their friends were waiting. ‘Because to me it seems like you’re willing to drop and show your belly every time Liam asks you for something. Have you forgotten you have a wife now or does my opinion weigh nothing?’

‘You know that’s not true Elizabeth,’ he snapped back angrily and some part of her was glad to see the reaction, any reaction. ‘He’s got a good reason. We married for love. Don’t you think Liam of all people deserves the same?’

‘I do. You know I do. But his happiness shouldn’t come at the price of ours.’

Drake ran a weary hand over his face. ‘Don’t you care about the future of Cordonia?’

She paused momentarily thrown by his question. ‘What I care about is the future of my family. Something that you obviously don’t share. I don’t get it Drake. I really don’t. You of all people know how dangerous the life of a monarch is. Assassinations, poisonings, coups. Did the situation with Anton teach you nothing? And the worst part is that you didn’t even think to talk to me about it? You’re happy to just agree with whatever ridiculous demands he dreams up!’

Drake glared at her. ‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’

Hot tears pricked the back of her eyes as Elizabeth met his gaze. ‘We promised each other that we would have each other’s back. All the time, one hundred percent. All we talked about after this whole wedding shebang was to have a normal life, the two of us and the family we would have together. At least that’s what I thought we both wanted.’

The look on his face told her that her words had been driven home. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment.

Say something. This is our first real fight. Say something. She begged him silently, watching as Drake opened and closed his mouth several times but no words came out.

‘I’ve got a beach ball here with both your names on it!’

Maxwells voice cut through the tension. ‘What better way to work through some newly wedded strife than to slap a ball at each other huh?’ He shot a grin at them before wrapping a hand around each of their arms, leading them toward where the others had all gathered.

‘Beaumont this is hardly the-‘

‘Splendid idea Maxwell,’ Elizabeth interrupted, snatching the ball angrily out of his hands. ‘You’re on my team.’

-

Tensions boiled hotter than the afternoon sun as the game took place on the sand opposite the villa.

Elizabeth barely made a sound the whole game, concentrating her entire effort on hitting either Drake or Liam in the face. It would have solved anything but it would have made her feel a whole lot better, she decided, spiking the ball towards her husband. She rolled her eyes as he flawlessly intercepted it, sending it sailing over the net to Hana. She didn’t forget how Liam was readily avoiding her eyes, tapping the ball sympathetically over the net towards her as some kind of convoluted apology. She hit the ball again, harder this time, treacherous thoughts of Rumplestiltskin and baby snatcher rolling through her head.

What kind of person asks another person for their baby? Go make your own goddamned baby. What do I look like? The baby making machine? He may be a king but I am a duchess and my body is mine and so is my child.

‘Elizabeth heads up!’

The warning was too late and she was midway through turning her head toward the sound when something slammed against the side of her face, the impact hard enough to knock her off balance onto her hands and knees on the sand.

‘Walker!’

‘Elizabeth! Oh my god! Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ she answered, brushing aside Hana’s hands, her ego wounded more than anything. Regaining her footing, she avoided all eye contact under the pretense of brushing the sand from her skin, keenly aware of Drake’s gaze on her.

‘I think I’ve had enough volleyball for one day.’

‘Elizabeth -‘ Maxwell began but she silenced him with a hand.

‘Max just... don’t. I want to be alone. Please.’

-

Steam rose off the bubbling waters of the outdoor jacuzzi as Elizabeth sunk deeper into the tub, trailing a hand through the churning foam, the other against her reddened cheek, her thoughts reflecting the same image.

This is my baby. Our baby — she corrected herself. Mine and Drake’s.

‘I want a little girl with your eyes and my hair.’

‘Not my hair?’

‘Hell Walker, you’re so perfect I’d take an exact copy of you.’

She laughed and they shared a cheesy smile as they both stared out at the waves crashing on the sand. She took another sip from her wine, feeling Drake’s eyes on her.

‘Something’s on your mind.’

‘What? N-no.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I may have only been married to you for a month but I know when something’s bothering you Walker. So what is it?’

Elizabeth heaved a big sigh. ‘Its just… We didn’t get a ton of time as a couple before the whole wedding debacle happened. We’re still learning about each other.. And I know we’ve got the rest of our lives to do that…'

‘But?’ Concern leaked into his big brown eyes and she could tell he was trying to hide it so she cleared her throat resolving to just say it once and for all.

‘A baby means a big change. For us. As a couple and as ourselves. And I…’ She faltered.

His hand slipped into hers, squeezing comfortingly.

‘This last year has been amazing, me coming to Cordonia, becoming a duchess, marrying the love of my life, so many things have changed. I could do with some normal before another big change happens and shakes it up again.’

Drake tugged on her hand and she took the opportunity to climb into his lap.

'I only just got you. Is it selfish to want you all to myself for just a little bit longer?’

Elizabeth felt his lips on her head, pressing a gentle kiss there.

’Not at all.’‘I know you’re excited for a baby — I am too but I… I’m just not there yet.’

She buried her face in his chest, worried about what he was going to say next. ‘Its okay Liz. Its okay. We don’t have to jump into this thing head first.’

He hooked a finger under her chin so she’d look at him. ‘When it happens, if it happens, it doesn’t matter. All I care about is us. As long as we’re in this together, I’m down for anything with you Elizabeth.’

As the memory replayed in her head, Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal. Did all that mean nothing? Or perhaps Drake simply put more stock in Liam’s opinion than her own?

Now THAT hurt to think of. She was very familiar with the bro code but surely that didn't still apply after freaking marriage?

Why us? That was another puzzle, she couldn’t solve. Why Drake and I specifically? Wouldn’t it make more sense if Liam absolutely HAD to appoint a heir to appoint one from one of the longer standing noble houses? What made her so special?  

For the briefest moment, another thought crossed her mind. Surely he can’t still be in love with me...?

Elizabeth shook her head, perishing the thing from her mind. That door was long closed. If a public wedding wasn’t a big enough sign of rejection, she didn’t know what was. Was there something she was missing here? Something everyone knew about except her? Why did it seem logical to everyone to take someone else’s child and make them heir when you are perfectly capable of making your own?

‘Got room for one more?’

Elizabeth picked her head up to see Hana standing in the doorway, a pair of brightly coloured cocktails in her hands. She shrugged in reply, gesturing to the space beside her, gladly accepting the beverage. The cool liquid soothed her dry throat and she sipped it appreciatively, feeling marginally better.

‘Thanks Hana. You always know what to do to make me feel better.’

The other woman smiled softly. ‘What are best friends for? We missed you’

‘I missed you guys too.’ Elizabeth could not help the corner of her mouth lifting for a moment before it dropped back down, her somber mood settling back in. ‘Are things back home as... turbulent as he says?’

Needing no clarification, Hana’s pretty face crumpled in regret. ‘Truth be told Elizabeth, things are more tense than Liam let’s on. As soon as Anton’s trial was over and you guys left for your honeymoon, we received delegates from our neighbours Monterisso and Auvernal. I’m not sure if Bertrand taught you the history behind those countries.’

When Elizabeth shook her head, her friend continued.

‘Back then both countries were at odds with each other, always fighting, always trying to undermine each other. Cordonia was in the middle. The neutral ground so to speak. So it was only logical that each of them would try to win us over to their side so they’d finally gain the upper hand over each other. Constantine’s reign was the only thing stopping either of them from overwhelming us. And when Liam ascended the throne…'

‘Power newly transferred is the easiest to be taken,’ Elizabeth finished.

Hana nodded. ‘Since Liam doesn’t have an heir or any marriageable prospects really, he looks weak. And as a new king, in the middle of a political battlefield, he looks easy.’

‘But why me Hana?’ she burst out. ‘Why does it have to be us?’ She watched her friend’s pretty face crumple in through for a moment.

‘Because he trusts you and Drake the most. All the other houses, other nobles. Sure they might be happy to give up one of their own for the throne if Liam asked, who knows what agenda they have… I’m not telling you to do anything. Just keep all that in mind okay?’

Hana placed a comforting hand on her leg. ‘I’m going to get out before I turn into a prune,’ she joked, getting to her feet. ‘Bertrand would be horrified if we showed up to dinner in this state. You coming?’

Elizabeth nodded vaguely, turning over the new information in her mind. ‘I’ll be right there.’

-

Dinner was a tense affair. To make things worse, the conversation immediately ceased when Elizabeth took her place at the shared table, next to Bertrand. After a few moments of sporadic mumblings and pushing her food around her plate, she stood up abruptly, making her excuses and leaving, ignoring the gazes of her friends behind her.

The sea wind whipped at her hair, tousling it beyond taming as Elizabeth stared out into the dark horizon, kicking at the sand as she ambled down the beach. Her mind still turned over Hana’s words from that afternoon, now that she’d had time to process it, she was beginning to see the reasoning.  

‘Can I join you?’

She shrugged, not needing to look up to know that it was Drake. ‘There’s nuff beach for the both of us.’

‘How’s your cheek?’

‘Its fine.'

They continued like that for a little while longer, walking two feet apart, both of them silent as she ignored the way his eyes begged her to look at him. Rubbing her arms, Elizabeth shivered slightly as the cold sea air nipped her skin. She turned her head to see Drake already shrugging off his denim shirt, having noticed.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Just take it. You may be mad at me but I’m still not going to let your stubborn ass freeze.’

He stepped closer, his hands were warm when they touched her, settling the fabric over her shoulders protectively. Their faces were inches away and for the first time since that afternoon on the beach, she dared to look up into his dark eyes.

‘Thanks.’

He shook his head in a gesture of dismissal, pausing briefly to gather himself. ‘I’m sorry about earlier.’

‘Me too.’

The crashing of the waves on the beach was all that could be heard for a few moments. ‘Is that really something you wanna subject our kid to?’ She said finally, breaking the silence. ‘Liz…'

‘I’m not mad anymore. I just… I wanna understand where you’re coming from.’  

Drake let out a huge sigh, tipping his head back to the night sky above them. ‘I know its out of character for me.. that I’m the last person who would want this.’

‘No kidding. You’ve spent your entire life hating that place. Two days after we met you were warning me about the nobility and how toxic they were and now...'

‘You’re right,’ Drake admitted, lacing his hands behind his head and staring up into the sky, sighing in defeat. ‘You’re right.’

‘So what changed your mind?’ Elizabeth watched her husband think for a long moment.

‘To be honest,’ he said finally. ‘It was you. You were the one who showed me that a person could go through that place and still be the same honest, down to earth girl I fell in love with. What you’ve done to this country, in the last year, generations of nobles couldn’t achieve in decades. You showed me that there’s more to the nobility than gilded walls and politics.’

Drake’s eyes took on a faraway look now. ‘Yeah when you got that duchess title, I was a little scared that you’d finally be one of them but you’re not. You didn’t let it define you, you used it to make a difference like you did for me, the court… hell, the whole kingdom. So when I thought about how our home needs our help… how my best friend needs our help, I knew that with you by my side, if anyone could raise an heir with a good head on his or her shoulders, it’d be us.’

Elizabeth dropped her head to hide the small smile that broke through. ‘You’re doing it again.’

‘What?’

‘Making me fall in love with you.’ She looked up at him. ‘A little prince or princess raised by two former commoners could do a lot of good around there.'

Drake didn’t say anything as he wrapped his arms around her and she gratefully sunk into his embrace, finally feeling at peace for the first time all day.

'Promise me something.’ Elizabeth spoke up, her voice slightly muffled by his shirt.

‘Anything.'

'From now on,’ she pulled back to look him in the face. ‘We make big decisions like this together. We’re gonna be facing a lot of tough things as duke and duchess and we gotta have each other’s backs. Because if we don’t, who will?’

‘Promise.'

‘I guess we should go talk to Liam now huh?’

‘I guess we should,’ Drake replied, lacing his fingers through hers, preparing to lead them back to the villa before Elizabeth tugged him back to her.

‘Actually wait, I just thought of something.’

-

'Liam I am going to be frank with you,’ Elizabeth towered over where he was sitting on the couch, a menacing look on her face. 'What you asked of us today was a huge overstep of personal boundaries. You may be king but you have no right whatsoever to be so presumptuous especially with such a life changing decision.'

'I am sorry Elizabeth truly I-'

‘Do not interrupt me Your Highness.’ Elizabeth’s tone seared through the room as she fixed him with a fierce stare. ‘You had crossed the line and frankly it is only your best friend’s negotiation skills that saved your ass here.’

She paused, watching his blue eyes widen slightly at her use of the word before she made her demand.

‘Five years.’

Liam’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘I-'

'I’m giving you five years to find a wife and put a baby in her. Drake and I, we care for this country and we care for you but we have to prioritise our own family first. So in the interest of compromise, we’re giving you until our child is five years old to marry and produce an heir of your own. In that time, Drake and I are fine with our kid being the centre of all the media attention and political nonsense as long as you understand that this arrangement...’

Elizabeth paused to gesture between them. ‘Is temporary. When your wife is pregnant, we will withdraw our child as heir and yours may take its rightful place. Those are my terms.’

Liam rubbed his jaw, eyes flitting from Elizabeth’s determined eyes to the floor as he thought it over for a moment before turning back to her.

‘I accept your terms.’

[thanksjro]

Eugenesis Part Three, Scene Five: Rev-Tone Becomes My Favorite Character

Pull it together, Nightbeat. You can indulge in your fantasies of being crushed under the palms of an authority figure some other time.

So Optimus Prime somehow woke up in time to save the day, and now he’s performing life-saving surgery with nothing but his hands, as Nightbeat swoons in the background. I’m not even exaggerating, that’s literally what happens.

We’re approaching MTMTE Thunderclash levels of adoration here.

Even Nightbeat’s a little put off by how hard he’s crushing on Optimus, realizing that the Optimus he’d served under hadn’t been the “original”, but rather the Nebulan copy. Seeing original-flavor Optimus is akin to meeting Jesus Christ, apparently.

Nightbeat’s team looks like they’re all going to pull through, thanks to Optimus Prime being friggin’ perfect. He’s not even asking any questions as to why he’s in the future, or why there’s a wormhole, or why the sky is full of Trident ships, or why why why why why, like any other normal sentient creature would in this position, although Nightbeat is really wishing that he would.

That’s it, I’m kink-shaming Nightbeat. He’s going to jail for being way too horny for his boss’ attention.

After working his medical magic, Optimus finally, finally lets Nightbeat bust a nut asks just how he got where they currently are. Nightbeat explains what’s going on, more or less, and Optimus gets real amped up about getting everyone else to the future with him, before he has to be shut down, since that really isn’t the plan. Then Optimus has what can only be described as a very brief nervous breakdown, before Hoist wakes up and starts chumming it up. The others quickly follow, flocking around the Prime like anime schoolgirls around their senpai.

Meanwhile, back at the bombed-out remains of Autobase- I told you, they got fucked hard by the Quintessons- Prowl’s Autobots watch as their forcefields break down and the Quintesson ground forces begin to move in.

Rev-Tone’s not dead yet, somehow, and meets up with Kup. They open a hatch to the world above, the door raining severed limbs onto them momentarily before they climb up. Also, Quickswitch is dead. So that’s neat, I guess.

I’m getting flashbacks to MTMTE #15 here. Roberts, I’ve seen how you treat your OCs- don’t do these boys dirty, they don’t deserve it.

He sees Quark- thank fuck- and starts blasting, defending him from a swarm of Sharkticons. Quark yells at him for not being in the medibay, but notes that his twitch has disappeared. This is starting to feel like a quasi-Chromedome/Rewind dynamic here. I bet if it hadn’t been 2005, these two would be conjunxing it up. As it is, there’s this feeling of “thou doth protest too much” in how often Roberts refers to them as ‘friends'.

You sure fucking are.

But enough of the not-romance, it’s time to check in on our Quintessential Flying Fucks™! Jolup- who isn’t an OC, but an honest-to-god character with dialogue and everything in the comics- has been screaming the entire time they’ve been flying, because, really, who wouldn’t be shrieking with delight after going from feeling literally nothing and seeing nothing to being able to fly? He’s also been doing barrel rolls. Jolup is very relatable.

Jolup casually suggests that they kill the general and take control, but Sevax- another canon character- just kind of brushes him off. Surely this little conversation will never be revisited.

The three QFF land in a massive crater and decide to investigate.

These three are a delight! I can’t believe we haven’t spent more time with them before now.

They’ve found Mount Edeus, and decide that this will be where Phase Two will be set up.

…Yeah, I’m just gonna keep calling them the Flying Fucks, if it’s all the same to you.

They enter an abandoned building inside a hollow mountain, deciding to turn it into an Autobot/Decepticon concentration camp.

And Megatron wrote a book called My Struggle.

And there’s this whole thing about the Quintessons wanting to keep the “sparkline pure”.

I’m just not sure that a novel about giant cartoon space robots, who will allegedly get knocked up at some point, is the best place for all these Holocaust parallels.

Back with Team Prime, the boys are getting ready to hit the road, locking up on their way out of the temple. Optimus is busy taking in the scenery and having an existential crisis over the fact that this fucking war is still going on. He knows why they brought him back, and he’s already sick of it. He’s going to be so pissed with Prowl, I guarantee it.

Meanwhile, on the Conquest, Xenon’s still mad about Thunderclash’s little prank. The Matrix is essential to the next part of their plan, so they need to find Rodimus- fast. He tells Quantax to figure it out, then hangs up without saying goodbye. Rude.

This book is laying it on pretty thick now.

Drift ghostwrote this part.

The dawn has arrived, and everyone is still fighting, though at this point it’s more because they have to than any real sense of self-preservation. Sideswipe sidles up to Prowl, tells him what he’s going to do, doesn’t take no for an answer, and does what he pleases, because Sideswipe doesn’t respect Prowl, nor should he. He splits the forces in half, allowing for at least half of the troops to escape back underground while the others provide cover. Brutal. Sideswipe for Prime 2012.

Rev-Tone and Quark get a comm. One from Prowl, one from Sideswipe. Quark’s been chosen to stay behind.

Rev-Tone gives the doomed lovers trope a big double bird, scoops up Quark and bolts for the underground.

While Rev-Tone does for Quark what IDW Chromedome wishes he could have done for Rewind, Galvatron’s in a body harness in the Quintesson Fungeon. Hope he didn’t forget the safe word.

My mistake, it’s called the executive torture suite.

Haxian walks in, pops an Inhibitor Chip into Galvatron’s head, then reverses the polarity on the energy-drain machine Galvatron’s strapped into. Newly invigorated, he’s ready for some good old-fashioned torture.

Xenon shows him some of that aqua fortis that makes up the oceans of Aquaria. He pours a little onto Galvatron’s leg, as a demonstration of just what it can do to a Transformer’s body. He tells Galvatron that if he can transform in the one minute he’s given, Xenon won’t flood the room with the stuff.

Yeah, that doesn’t happen.

[karenhikari]

River. Solangelo fanfiction

Summary: 

It didn't matter. After all, Will knew that Nico was head-over-heels in love with the great, Greek hero impersonation, Percy Jackson. Not that Will could blame him. ―*―*― He would be gone in a few days, Nico decided. In fact, if it weren't because Will Solace had forbidden him to leave the infirmary, he wouldn't even be there at the time. He was glad that Will Solace had found someone as bright as him, someone as kind and as generous. He was genuinely glad that his not-quite-friend had someone like Monique to lean into. They deserved each other, Nico repeated to himself, despite the way that thought punched the air out of Nico's lungs. He couldn't hold it against them. He couldn't hate Monique for being perfect for Will Solace, just like he could not be bitter towards Annabeth for being perfect for Percy. ―*―*― Or the one in which they are both enamoured with each other but are both too dense  to realize it.

You can also find it in AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569433

―*―*―

So... this is a long overdue little thing, but here goes nothing. For the last five years I have gifted my sister, Laura, a story for her birthday. I usually write it in Spanish, save for one year when I decided to write her a Jaylos fanfic called "A Vouch Sealed With Blood". However, on that particular year, when I asked how she had found the story her answer was "It's good... but it isn't Solangelo." Therefore, I decided to come back to Solangelo and write a song-fic. The song I used for this story is called "River" by Emeli Sandé, please feel free to check it out, it's a lovely song.

Also, to make this possible I had the help of two beautiful people, who were nice enough to agree to beta-read this even though I asked them to do so like two days before my sister's birthday and they had to work against the clock for me to have it on time. So, please give it up for my two wonderful beta-readers, FrostedDragonHeart and Rosycat. Please feel free to check their accounts out and send them love.

Now, without further ado... I really hope you enjoy it!

―*―*―

River

―*―*―

If you're looking for a big adventure, And gold is all that's on your mind… If all you want's someone to take your picture… Then I won't waste your time.

―*―*―

Of the number of skills that Will Solace could sincerely claim he had, the one that was perhaps the most useless was how accurately he could point out when someone was in love. That was to say, he was a demigod that had been unfortunately cursed with being a zero to the left when it came to sword-fighting or archery, yet he could identify clear as a bell the most subtle of glances a restrained lover sent in the direction of their object of desire. He had never dared to say it aloud, but he internally suspected that maybe —and it was indeed an inquisitive 'maybe'— he was better at reading the inaudible language of silent love than the children of Aphrodite.

He supposed that this was an ability he had acquired through his years as the Head Doctor of the Infirmary of Camp Half-Blood. After all, despite his —admitted— worthlessness at fighting, he was a devoted physician. At the battlefield, he was out of place, too clumsy to hold a sword properly, too easily startled to maintain his concentration and aim an arrow through the screams of pain of comrades and enemies alike, too sympathetic with his peers to carry through his planned attack, even if it were only during a Capture the Flag game.

He was not a natural-born fighter and, in all honesty, he would rather not be. He was a healer, and he was immensely proud of that title. Even as a child, he'd always been inclined to help and to alleviate the pain of others.

He was the diligent boy who kindly offered to tutor his classmates if he noticed they were falling behind. He was the kind-hearted soul who would stop to pet a stray dog on the street, leaving nearly in tears to see such gentle animals be deprived of love. He was the empathetic person who captured both spiders and bees when he found them inside his home or cabin so that he could run outside to free them. He was not a fighter, and he valued honesty far too much to allow such a statement to bother him.

It was true, however, that healers did not often receive the glory and the notoriety that their warrior counterparts did. Everyone, for example, had heard the songs about the valiant deeds of Achilles, the way his rage had been far more disastrous for Troy than any other weapon wielded by men, how his wrath penetrated more than just Troy's walls, but the hearts of the Trojans as well. Everyone remembered Heracles, with his broad shoulders and irrepressible muscles, capable of smothering massive lions with his bare hands.

The same could not be said of Asclepius or of Podalirius, who were more than just powerful demigods. These were healing gods, long forgotten in order to make room in the memory of humanity for the courageous demigod warriors.

On the other hand, Will Solace had never yearned for fame of for glory, especially not if such qualities would come at the cost of his peace of mind and sleepless nights after stabbing a fellow camper during training. He would rather work from anonymity, silently bandaging wounds and stopping hemorrhages. If nothing else, it was an honorable job, and he performed it with the most honest of dispositions.

It couldn't be any other way, for healing a person was a very intimate thing to do. Often times, the physical ailments of a person were but a symptom of an emotional one, and neither of them could be treated whilst neglecting the other. Furthermore, Will considered himself honored. Undoubtedly, a strong camaraderie was born from training together and fighting side-by-side, but there was a different, more intimate type of trust born between a physician and their patient.

He was, after all, the recipient of his patient's pain, of the raw, agonizing truth that they were —for all of their golden, divine ichor, for all of their supernatural powers—, humans at the end of the day. He was the one the skilled descendants of Achilles and Heracles allowed themselves to be the most vulnerable with, the one in front of who the steadfast warriors dissolved into bleeding, terrified children. And, behind the closed doors of the infirmary and the hurriedly pulled over curtains that divided the small cubicles that served as rooms for the hospitalized patients, he was also the one who could ease their pained cries and restore the tranquility to their eyes.

He was thankful for that, honored that his peers trusted him enough to let their guards down and be honest with him.

That was how he supposed he had learned to read the souls of his patients. How he had learned the dozens of meanings hunched over shoulders held, how he had learned to identify the rage barely concealed under indifference, how he had learned that a gritted 'It doesn't hurt' meant his patient was, in fact, in excruciating anguish but wanted his distress to be treated with extreme discretion. Will supposed that, afterwards, once he had become a fluent speaker of the subtle art of body language, he had also taken an impromptu curse of the silent dialect of love.

It was all in the longing glances, in the affectionate smiles that the smitten person attempted —rather unsuccessfully, might Will add— to pass as nonchalant grins. It was all in the way they leaned closer to their beloved one or perked up when they heard a special name being mentioned, even if it was in a passing. That's how Will Solace knew. He had been trained to identify the slightest signs a person was in pain; it was much more satisfactory to be able to tell when they were in love.

And that was how Will Solace, son of Apollo, Head Doctor of the Camp Half-Blood Infirmary knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that Nico di Angelo was in love with Percy Jackson.

It was barely there at first, concealed under the nonchalant demeanor of the son of Hades. It was in the uninterested way Nico attempted to sport when he asked what Percy had been up to during the time he hadn't been at the camp. Which, granted, was the majority of the time. It was in how Nico would noticeably bite the insides of his cheeks when Will answered.

The son of Apollo supposed that Nico perceived him as harmless. After all, his professional honor forbade him of sharing whatever his patients told him. In all fairness, Nico hadn't admitted to anything, and while that did not make his feelings any less real, it could mean that Will was seeing too much in the simplicity of a friend asking about a comrade that he hadn't seen in a long time.

On the other hand, if that were the case and Nico was in fact only inquiring about Percy as a friend, then why didn't he walk up to the son of Poseidon himself and asked him personally? Will had seen Nico whenever Percy tried to approach him at dinner or before a Capture the Flag game. Percy, being his bubbly, easy-going self as he attempted to start a conversation while Nico's frame immediately tensed, eyes averted as he came up with an excuse to leave as soon as possible.

When he listed all the little things that had guided Will to his conclusion, like right now, it seemed rather obvious. However, with how seldom Nico even appeared at the Camp and with how he only ever spoke in monosyllables, Will considered it was, in fact, a big achievement.

He supposed it didn't matter. He was but the physician that looked after Nico whenever he stayed at the Camp. That wasn't anything special—he was the Head Doctor of the Infirmary, tending to wounded demigods was, quite literally, his job. Perhaps the only thing worth noting was that he was especially worried about Nico when compared to his other patients because Nico would often disappear from the Camp for literal months. Even on his rare visits, it took Will a great deal of coaxing to get Nico to agree to a quick check-up.

The only other thing that marked these situations as special in any way was the fact that Will was always the one in charge of said check-ups. Nico most likely hadn't given it a second thought, and he probably assumed that all the other members of the Apollo cabin were too disgusted by him to want to have him as their patient and that Will, being the captain of his cabin and the Head of the Infirmary, despite not wanting to be stuck with him either, had found himself unable to wash his hands of the unwanted son of Hades, unlike the rest of his siblings.

With a begrudging pang in his chest, Will could see why Nico would think something like that. It wasn't that the camp actively rejected Nico because of his parentage. Personally, Will was inclined to think that the real, underlying reason for Nico's repulse towards his divine parent was his own feelings regarding Hades and his godly heritage.

In truth, Nico was the first one who tried to negate and ignore who his father was, and so long as Nico himself did not accept who he was, it would be hard for the people around him to do so. It would be harder still for Nico to realize that the other demigods were not rejecting him and that, instead, he was the one projecting the aversion he felt towards his own heritage and embodying it in his peers.

So no, the reason Will was always the one checking in on Nico did not mean that all of the other demigods of Apollo's cabin disliked him and Will was unfortunate enough to be stuck with him. Far from that, even if such a thing had been the case —which, again, it wasn't—, Will knew for a fact that his brothers and sisters were true professionals, who would not, under any circumstances, allow their personal opinion of a patient to come in between their performance as physicians and a person who was in need of help.

However, at the core, the reason Will was always the one at the infirmary when Nico appeared at the camp was because Will had personally requested to be responsible for Nico's health records. That was it. No secret animosity or aversion, no convoluted schemes akin to Young Adult plots. Just Will allowing himself to be incredibly unprofessional and trying to use his position as Head of the Infirmary to give him the chance to get to know Nico better.

It didn't matter. Not really. After all, Will knew that Nico was head-over-heels in love with the great, Greek hero impersonation, Percy Jackson. Not that Will could blame him. Especially not since, to Nico, he was nothing other than an annoying nurse who would not stop bickering and chastising him because he did not eat enough.

―*―*―

See, maybe I'm too quiet for you, You've probably never noticed me, But if you're too big to follow rivers, How you ever gonna find the sea?

―*―*―

At some point after the defeat of the Giants, Will Solace had started dating a freckled red-haired girl from Hephaestus' cabin. Now, that was an extremely ridiculous and uncalled for statement for Nico di Angelo to make. After all, what was it to him if Will Solace dated a pretty daughter of Hephaestus or not? In fact, if things had gone his way, he wouldn't even have been at the camp enough for him to connect the dots and realize that Monique —sweet, curly-haired Monique— spent so much time in the infirmary that she might have as well been a daughter of Apollo herself.

Again, he should have probably ignored it all together. It was none of his business, after all. Monique was a bubbly, talkative girl, and she always had a cheerful smile curled at the corners of her lips. She was, by definition, the kind of girl someone like Will Solace —kind-hearted, soft-spoken, polite Will Solace— would fall for. It made sense, to the last one of Monique's freckles.

What did not make sense, not at all, was how uneasy this whole affair made Nico feel. Will Solace and him were not even friends, they barely knew each other enough to be called acquaintances. If Will hadn't been the Head of the Infirmary, Nico doubted that the son of Apollo would have even known what his name was. And, again, if Will Solace hadn't been the Head of the Infirmary, Nico doubted that he would have spoken to the son of Apollo enough to even consider him an acquaintance at all.

Thinking about it was simply ridiculous. If Will weren't such a massive pain in the ass and had forced Nico to stay bedridden at the infirmary, then he wouldn't even know that Will Solace was dating Monique in the first place. It was none of his business. None at all.

The fact that he had noticed Monique's singsong voice and radiant smile boiled down to how often the daughter of Hephaestus was at the infirmary. And that didn't make her special, either. The infirmary was packed with demigods that were not descendants of Apollo but who urged to help and to aide in this difficult time. There were still dozens of wounded demigods, both Greek and Roman, laying in the beds, stretchers and inflatable mattresses at the infirmary.

When even that had been insufficient, the children of Apollo had evacuated their own cabin and started to spend the nights at spare beds in their friends' cabins. They had even used Hera's and Artemis' cabins. After all, these were goddesses consecrated to family and protection. Surely, they would not become furious at the prospect of their empty cabins serving as shelter for the exhausted healers of the camp.

It didn't make much of a difference, either. Said healers had so many things to do, so much work slowly piling around them, that they barely slept at all. The older ones had to keep watch, both at the infirmary and at their own cabin, now that injured demigods were staying there too. Often times, they fell asleep on their chairs, if they did not do so standing. They also needed to be available for emergencies, and despite the well-meaning volunteers ready to cut bandages and make the inventory, there was only so much the children of Apollo could allow untrained volunteers to do when it came to taking care of their patients.

Monique was one of those volunteers, although it was obvious from her comfortable demeanor and calm stance that, despite not being a daughter of Apollo, she knew her way around the infirmary. She would come during the day and help as much as she could, changing bandages and handing out trays of food. And she tried, she tried so hard and so genuinely to make the injured demigods smile or at least forget for a moment the suffering that engulfed both camps with her funny stories and cheeky jokes.

When night rolled around, Nico saw Will Solace walk her to the porch of the infirmary, where she would insist that he needed to rest and that she could stay the night in his place. Without fail, Will Solace declined the offer, too responsible and too selfless to care or even acknowledge his strained smile and exhausted gaze. And Monique, sweet, loving Monique, knew him far too well to argue. She knew it would be useless. Instead, she smiled tiredly at her boyfriend and kissed his lips for just a moment before she pulled back and whispered a soft 'Try to get some rest, babe'. And, managing to look ashamed for making a promise that he knew he wouldn't even try to keep, Will answered with a murmured 'Sure, darlin''.

Personally, Nico thought it was stupid. Not Will Solace and Monique, with their tender gazes and soft-spoked promises. No, that was sweet, even he could see that. That was genuine, and it showed that they shared a level of trust that he could only ever dream he'd share with someone one day. No, Monique and Will Solace, despite the uneasy feeling that seeing them together gave Nico, were nothing if not sweetly and happily in love. They were perfect for each other, all aureus smiles and warm welcomes. He was happy for Will Solace, his not-quite-friend-just-barely-an-acquaintance, he was.

No, what was stupid was overworking their medical staff, pushing them to a point where even Will Solace's laugh was barely above a whisper. Forcing them to go without proper food or much-needed sleep for weeks. What was outrageous was putting the responsibility of the life and death of their comrades in the hands of literal children, the very children that had just watched their friends and siblings perish only days prior.

Nico knew that was simply the way their world worked. He had risked his own life to end the war, too. He had spent months searching for Percy, barely sleeping when exhaustion took over and eating just enough to keep himself going. He had no moral quality to question the sacrifices the other campers were making to get through the outcome of the war. He knew.

He wasn't questioning the Apollo cabin, or even Will's generosity, but he was willing to question the world they lived in. Heavens above, he was going to question the taunting gods that forced people like Will Solace and Monique to undergo weeks of sleepless, fretful nights and lives of gut-wrenching anxiety, waiting to hear the news, praying to those very gods that their loved ones returned home safely. He was going to question the divine laws that made them live like this —barely living at all, and instead simply surviving— until the day he died.

He was not special, Nico knew. He'd only held a sword fast in his hands and he'd teleported a big-ass statue across the world. That was all. He was no hero. He was but a pawn in the gods' immortal hands. The real heroes worked behind the scenes, bandaging wounds and summoning tired smiles from dried lips. The real heroes were selfless, kind, brave people like Will Solace and Monique.

And these heroes, these warriors that were worth so much more outside of the battlefield deserved happiness. They deserved each other. They deserved their cheesy songs at the campfire and their gentle touches at the infirmary porch. They deserved each other.

He would be gone in a few days, Nico decided. In fact, if it weren't because Will Solace had forbidden him to leave the infirmary, he wouldn't even be there at the time, using a bed that so many others needed —and deserved— more than he did. He was glad that Will Solace had found someone as bright as him, someone as kind and as generous. He was genuinely glad that his not-quite-friend had someone like Monique to lean into.

They deserved each other, Nico repeated to himself, despite the way that thought punched the air out of Nico's lungs. He couldn't hold it against them. He couldn't hate Monique for being perfect for Will Solace, just like he could not be bitter towards Annabeth for being perfect for Percy.

They deserved each other. They deserved to be happy, Nico told himself over and over again, until the words stopped being units and instead became an unrecognizable mush. They deserved each other and he would be gone as soon as Will Solace discharged him. If he had any luck, this time no war would arise and he would not come back to the camp in a very, very long time.

―*―*―

So follow me, I'll be your river, river, I'll do the running for you. Follow me, I'll be your river, river, I'll move the mountains for you. Follow me, I'll be your river, river, I'm here to keep you floating. Follow me, I'll be your river, river… River, river…

―*―*―

Of course, the gods had yet to leave a contact number for Nico to ask how he wanted his life to go. He had not left the camp to not come back in a very, very long time. In fact, he hadn't even left the camp in the first place until several months after the war, and it wasn't even Will Solace's fault. Oh no—it had been Jason's, and Piper's, and Annabeth's, and Percy's. War was over at last, they said, and he finally had a chance to feel at home at the camp.

It was… strange, if he did say so himself. It wasn't that he felt out of place at camp, not in the way that he had before, at least. It was… different. For instance, he didn't feel as if he had to constantly bite his tongue in order to not say something that would incriminate him in some way, he didn't feel the need to keep everyone at arm's length because otherwise they would find out who he really was and they would hate him for it.

To say that it was freeing was and understatement. Ever since Cupid had forced Nico make that loathed confession in front of Jason, things regarding his sexuality had become a little easier to accept. It might have been slightly masochistic on his part, but he was thankful to Cupid, even if just a silent, tiny, little bit.

It wasn't that before Cupid he'd clung on to the hope that one day he would wake up and be normal and not be gay. No, he knew there was no changing what he was at the core. He couldn't stop being gay the same way he couldn't stop being a demigod. If he hadn't become straight in the sixty years he'd spent in the Lotus Hotel, he wouldn't become one in the months since Percy and Annabeth had started dating.

What had changed, however, was the way people perceived his homosexuality as a whole. Sometimes, when nightmares plagued his sleep and when closing his eyes in the solitude of his cabin was more torture than relief, Nico remembered the way he'd heard people talk about homosexuality back when he was a child, back in Venice, when his mother and his own ignorance had still been there to shield him from the cruel comments. Granted, he had been too young to fully comprehend what the spiteful glances towards a not-masculine-enough young man meant, too young to understand what the shushed whispers about this or what fag meant. But he knew it was bad, and that was enough.

He hadn't made sense of any of that until much later, when Bianca wasn't there to hold his hand anymore, when he could feel the callous breath of Death tickling down his spine. And he'd been ashamed. He'd been terrified. He'd tortured himself, day and night and day again incessantly. He'd martyrized himself with Bianca's death, with his parentage, with guilt, with the knowledge —or the perceived knowledge, at least— that there was no one left in the world who cared about him. His sexuality had only been a bullet-point in a very, very long list of his disappointments and regrets.

Truthfully, the reason being gay had made him so unbearably anxious wasn't his sexuality per se—rather, it was the reaction he received to that statement from the people around him. What made him so utterly terrified of admitting, even to himself in the silence of his empty cabin, that he was not what society expected him to be was the possibility that he would be treated with the same scorn with which he'd heard the adults speak of men who only seemed gay and twisted and perverted.

What he feared was not the biting end of the truth, no. What he was, to this very day, absolutely petrified of was the dead threats he'd receive from simply being who he was, the hateful glares, the disgust in the eyes of people who claimed bullshit along the lines of I am not a homophobe, but…

Yes, Jason could insist that things had changed all he wanted. He could point the fact that homosexuality was not considered a crime anymore—at least in the United States and in Italy, Nico had quietly pointed out. Jason could scream at the top of his lungs that same-sex marriage had been legalized, that homoparental adoption was allowed. Yes, Nico knew that they were Greek and Roman, and that homosexuality had been perceived differently by the ancient cultures that served as the foundations of the demigod world. Yes, Jason could apologize —genuinely, from the bottom of his heart— of the unfairness of the fact that they had to celebrate these simple statements as won battles when these were things that straight people took for granted.

Yes, Nico knew Jason meant well, and he was thankful for having the son of Jupiter on his corner. However, Jason's unwavering support and positive outlook on life were not enough to cancel out the fact that there were still people who had the closed-up, downright hostile mentalities that Nico remembered from when he as a child. And it wasn't that the hateful words and cruel sneers had stopped burning, but at some point, Nico had decided that it was simply not worth it.

After all, he had been granted a second shot at life, he had survived World War II, he had fought and won alongside his fellow demigods during both the Titan and the Giant War. He was thankful he was even alive to start with, what did it matter what an ignorant, stuck-up bigot thought of who he had a relationship with? Not that he was even in a relationship at the moment, but still.

So he'd stopped hiding. At least that was how Jason had decided to word it. Personally, Nico wanted to say that he had never been hiding at all, but the lie tasted bitter on his lips. The truth was that he had decided to stop fear to rule his every move. He'd decided he wanted to live a full life, not just the scraps of breathing and having a pulse and only being alive. No, he wanted to live, to really live, down to the last intake of breath from his alveolus.

To an extent, he supposed Jason was right. Not that he would give the son of Jupiter the satisfaction of hearing that confession from his lips. Hell no. However, at one-forty-seven in the morning, alone in his cabin, who was there to hear his thoughts and tell Jason? No one, that was who, and therefore, Nico allowed himself to be honest.

That was why he'd decided to stay at the camp, after all. The camp, that was so full of life and so hectic and so rambunctious and so everything. The camp, that had ever-so slowly started to resemble a home, a safe haven for him to land.

It was slow at first, how he began to feel more at ease around the campers, how they welcomed him, not only as a fellow demigod, but as a hero. Nico knew that he was no such thing; however, who was he to take the much-needed sense of security that came from knowing you had someone watching over you from the other demigods? The gods knew —though they could never admit it— that the campers had suffered enough already. If the idea —deceiving, exaggerated, hardly true at all— that Nico was a hero, dutifully staying at the camp to protect them, gave the weary demigods any sense of comfort, Nico would not be the one to snatch it away from their hands.

It might have also helped that he smiled more. He laughed more. Hell, he was there more, out of his cabin, sitting at Percy's table with Annabeth and Jason during dinner. He was out in the volleyball courts, helping the children of Aphrodite defeat Hypnos' cabin during an amicable match.

He was there, teaching Italian and Latin, serving as a bridge that connected Camp Half-Blood with Camp Jupiter. He was there, training the younger demigods at sword-fighting and making it a point to tell them that no matter how out of place they felt, no matter how weird and utterly terrifying it was to find out that one of your parents was a god, it would eventually start making sense. Eventually, it would start feeling right again.

So, Nico di Angelo never got around to leave the camp for a very, very long time. Instead, Nico di Angelo stayed —wholeheartedly, contently, willingly— at the camp. And for the first time in literal years, Nico di Angelo felt alive—utterly, breathtakingly, impossibly alive.

―*―*―

If all you want are answers to your questions, and you can't seem to find no love for free… If you're looking for the right direction… Then, darling, look for me.

―*―*―

Against anything and everything that Will Solace would have anticipated, Nico di Angelo did not flee from the camp, not even after Will had officially discharged him. That was a first. In fact, there were a lot of 'firsts' going on after the war against the Giants. Will suspected it had something —everything— to do with Nico's newfound life purpose.

Will had always known that Nico was, at heart, a good person. Perhaps he had a dark sense of humor, perhaps he was sarcastic and blunt, but that did not —could not— negate the courage he had shown as he fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the very same people who he thought hated him. If Nico had been spiteful or vindictive, if he had been cruel and heartless, if he had been the monster Nico claimed the other demigods accused him of being due to his parentage, he would have spared himself the trouble and not lifted a finger to help them during the war. Will wasn't even talking about the Giant War anymore, but about the Titan one.

Will had seen Nico enter the battlefield then. He had doubted Nico had noticed him, or that he even cared enough to remember his name. After all, Will was just another blond, blue-eyed demigod, not unlike a couple dozen of Apollo or Hermes' children. On the other hand, there was only one demigod who had the ability to make the earth under their feet crack and disintegrate, only one demigod who could open the very soil they were standing on and summon the bony specters of the underground to crawl out of the depths of the Underworld, and Will remembered him fairy well.

Sometimes, Will still had nightmares of the Battle of Manhattan. Sometimes he could still hear the roaring clash of swords, the swift whistle of arrows as they flew across the sky—close, so close, that he feared he might get hit by one despite not having been the original target. Sometimes, he wished they would hit him, if only it would make the noise and the hurt and the guilt stop.

Sometimes he woke up still caught up in dreams that were not dreams as much as they were memories, praying to unhearing gods that they blessed him with some kind of fighting skill. Even if just for this one battle, even if just to fight alongside his brothers and sisters this one time instead of being so unbelievingly clumsy with a sword and so completely useless at the battlefield.

The one thing he knew how to do was healing, but he could not heal the injured campers fast enough. He could not stop the hemorrhages at the rate at which Kronos' army stabbed the young demigods. He could not keep the promise he inevitably made to each of his patients, that It's alright, it's alright, you're gonna be okay, that left his lips in a soothing hurry but that dissolved into nothing as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

On those nights, he clung to Nico, even if the son of Hades was certainly unaware of it. He clung to the memory of Nico, emerging from the depths of the earth, of his unwavering determination as he marched towards Kronos' army. He clung to the certainty with which Nico had faced battle, to the lifeline his zombie warriors had offered to the weary demigods. Kronos' monsters could try all they wanted to defeat the zombies, but they could not kill what was already dead.

There was no telling how many lives Nico had saved that day just by being there. Will was certain that Nico had saved his. Michael had disappeared a few hours prior, and although Will still held on to the withering hope that his brother was alive, chances were that he would, at the very least, be injured when they found him. The Apollo Cabin needed a leader then, then. They had no time to waste waiting for Michael to return. Will was next in line, and although he'd always known he would eventually become the leader of his cabin, he'd always thought that they'd have more time to prepare themselves. After all, Michael was only seventeen, it would still be a while before he had to leave for college.

Will had not expected to become the Head of the Apollo Cabin like this. Not with a war thundering around him, not with Michael missing, possibly dead, not with his hands covered in blood that he could not even tell anymore whether if it was his patients' or his own. Never, never had he thought, even for the fraction of a second, that he would become Head of the Apollo Cabin without the chance to say goodbye to his brother, without the possibility of calling him if he had a question. No one had prepared him for the dozens of lost, terrified eyes of his siblings that looked up at him with a glimpse of hope under their desperate expectancy, as if Will weren't just as lost and terrified himself.

That was when Nico had appeared in the battlefield. And he'd brought a wave of new-found faith to Will. He couldn't give up, he couldn't let his sorrow gnaw at this chest, not yet. The other demigods were still fighting, Nico di Angelo still thought they were worth saving, his brothers and sisters trusted him. Will simply couldn't curl into himself and let his own sobs drown the thundering crash of war around him, no matter how much he wanted to. The battle was not yet over, they hadn't lost yet.

Unbeknownst to Nico, he was the strongest, definite reason that made Will pull himself together, even if it was only for the sake of his siblings. Nico had lost his older sister fairly recently as well, Nico was only twelve-year-old, he was even younger than Will himself. Yet he was still fighting —desperately, wholeheartedly, fiercely— for a camp that he didn't even consider his home. As long as Nico was on his feet, fighting, Will would not give up, he refused to give up.

The thing with Nico was that he was stubborn. He never took a 'no' for an answer and he had decidedly been born to prove the people around him wrong when they said that he couldn't or that he shouldn't do something. And that meant that Will had to be stubborn too and ignore the exhaustion and the pain washing over him in order to keep going. So that's what Will Solace did through the Battle of Manhattan, and through many days and years after that—he kept going.

He took a deep breath and did his best to be the leader his brothers and sisters deserved, and he carried on. He clung to the memory of Nico di Angelo, to the determination glimmering in his eyes, and he drew inspiration from it. He kept going.

In all honesty, Will had always known Nico di Angelo was a good person, but it was still a wonderful surprise to see more people recognizing it. It was absolutely wonderful to see Nico accepting and growing more comfortable with the notion that he was a hero. It was utterly relieving to see Nico stay at the camp instead of fleeing right after Will's discharge, so breathtakingly relieving to see him happy and at ease during the campfire songs.

Everything that came afterwards —Nico signing up as a Latin and Italian teacher, him realizing that he was exceptionally good at training the young demigods at sword-fighting, him volunteering at the infirmary, him offering to help out in the rescue missions to bring new demigods to the camp— was simply a welcomed surprise. Will had heard a few demigods comment, in a passing, and without the faintest trace of ill-intentions, that they had never thought Nico would enjoy being a teacher or helping out with the younger campers.

In all honesty, Will could understand where they were coming from, and he had to admit that he hadn't exactly imagined Nico reassuring a young demigod who found a certain fighting technique hard to learn. Not until he'd seen the gentle way in which Nico squatted down and spoke to Will's younger siblings while training them. However, it seemed fitting. It was so perfect and so right that Will had to stop and ask himself how come he had never thought of it. Nico took to teaching and coaching the same way he took to fighting—it was instinctive, natural. It was in his very essence.

So no, Will was not at all surprised to see Nico fall into the missing pieces of the camp. He wasn't surprised to see Nico growing more comfortable at the volleyball courts and the dining pavilion. He wasn't puzzled to find Nico cutting bandages or folding the clean sheets of the infirmary's beds. No, this felt right. This felt like what Nico had been meant to be doing all along.

If anything, Will was proud that he got to see Nico unabashedly being himself. If anything, he was thankful that the gods allowed him to be there to see it happening.

―*―*―

See, I can make the load much lighter, I just need you to confide in me, But if you're too proud to follow rivers, How you ever gonna find the sea?

―*―*―

It was during one of the rescue missions Nico so eagerly volunteered to that it happened. It was a couple of months after the one year mark of Gaea's defeat, and though the festivities were officially over, the lingering feeling in the air was still surreal. It felt like an eternity had passed, yet Nico —and he was sure the same could be said for the rest of the demigods that had fought in the war— could remember the battle as if it were only a few days that separated him from the actual event and not a complete year. It was surreal and unbelievable and it had him feeling all sorts of mixed emotions, but, above it all, he was relieved.

Life had been good during that year. Life was good. He had his friends and the young demigods he trained, who genuinely looked up to him. He had his sisters, Hazel and Reyna, who he had adopted as such. Or she had adopted him as a younger brother, it was not very clear, but it wasn't as if it mattered, either. He had a job that he was passionate about, he had the camps and Hades and Persephone, who lovingly awaited for him and Hazel in the Underworld for when they managed to run away from their responsibilities and visit their parents.

Definitely, life was good. Better than he could have imagined it would ever be.

It was with that in mind that Nico volunteered to an impromptu rescue mission. Elijah, a satyr that was currently in Pennsylvania had called, saying he'd found a girl who he was certain was a demigod and that he requested help to bring her to the camp. This was a common occurrence, nothing out of the ordinary. It was autumn and the camp was emptier than usual, but that was normal too.

Usually, the contingency plan for these situations included the satyr contacting with either Chiron or one of the praetors of New Rome, whichever camp director was closer to where the newfound demigod was at the moment, to inform them of their findings. Afterwards, Chiron or the praetor would call for a meeting with the heads of the cabins or the centurions of the cohorts, whatever the case may be, and share the need for a rescue mission, explaining the particularities of each situation.

Then they ran a quick check to determine if there was already a demigod party in a mission near the area were the help was needed, available to aid the satyr and the new demigod. If that was the case, they discussed the possibilities of morphing both missions into one; if that wasn't possible or if there weren't any demigods already in the general direction, they opened the case for a completely new mission and called someone else in.

There was a pre-established list of demigods who genuinely enjoyed this kind of rescue missions and would happily leave the camp for a few days for the sake of bringing a new demigod home. This was because, although assisting in a rescue was part of the moral code and most demigods had participated in at least one of those missions, not everyone would willingly chose to do so.

Nico could understand why, to an extent. Not everyone wanted to deal with the pain and confusion of a child who was seeing their world shatter to tiny pieces in front of their eyes. Not everyone wanted to try to explain to a new member of their dysfunctional family how this whole demigod business worked, especially not when most of the older and supposedly more experienced demigods were still trying to make sense of it all.

Nico understood that, and he honestly could not blame the ones who openly admitted that rescue missions were not their thing. It was better to stay out of it rather than have someone be forced to participate in them and then screw a child's first impression of the demigod world. Nico could understand why someone would prefer to stay out of these situations; however, that was not what he did.

Rescue missions always hit too close home for him. They always made him remember Bianca and the attack of the manticore and the sinking feeling of utter loss. Perhaps it was the fact that he was masochistic in nature, perhaps it was his way of giving back to the camp, but he had long ago decided that he could handle rescue missions. Yes, they were painful, but they were also a way of dealing with that pain. It gave that heartache a purpose, it made the grief make sense, be worth something.

Nico could vividly remember what being lost and confused and seeing your world shatter right in front of your eyes felt like. And he didn't want that for the new demigods. He didn't want that for anyone. His pain was enough, therefore, if through it he could spare the new campers of the unbearable confusion and agony, he would. Time and time again.

That was how Nico had ended up in the emergency contact list for when a satyr called asking for back-up. It helped that shadowtraveling came incredibly in handy when the satyr and the new demigod were in a different state and needed quick assistance. It also helped that Nico was good with children. Not that he personally thought that, but the Heads of the Cabins had decided that he was, and so he had proudly taken the title and worked with it accordingly. Furthermore, Nico was a year-round camper and thus he was almost always available when the request for a surprise mission came in. That was an especially important detail to take into account then, when the camp was nearly empty due to the season.

This time, Chiron had contacted Nico immediately and he had soon accepted the mission. Now, although the lucky number of missions was three, there were not enough campers available for a mission at the moment. Chiron assured that it didn't matter because, once they caught up with Elijah in Pennsylvania, they would have a three-person party. Nico didn't particularly care. All that symbolism seemed stilted to him.

Besides, the fewer people he shadowtraveled, the better. It wasn't that he couldn't shadowtravel a group of three fighters, a satyr and a new, confused demigod a couple of states over, he could. In fact, he had done it, more than once. However, he was not beyond admitting that the more people he teleported, the bigger the toll it took on him. Also, considering that Will, his medical practitioner, still arched an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction whenever Nico wielded the shadows, he wasn't looking forward to it either.

On the other hand, they did not have many options, so Chiron immediately appointed Nico. And, again, due to their personnel shortage, he assigned Will as the second demigod for the mission. It was ironic, and so Nico told Will as they prepared to leave the camp, that they were put together in a mission that included shadowtraveling in the job description. Unfortunately, Will did not find it as comical or amusing as Nico did, which only made Nico laugh harder.

Either way, there was no time to waste, and the two demigods quickly collected their pre-packed emergency mission backpacks. It was a fairly easy premise—travel to Pennsylvania, meet up with Elijah and the girl, Leticia, in a rapid but comforting manner, explain to her what was going on, and then go straight back to camp. Easy peasy.

Of course, that was not what happened, because as soon as Nico and Will arrived at Pennsylvania, they both felt a dreary realization settle in their stomachs. Firstly, they couldn't contact Elijah, not via the monster-safe phones Leo had designed after miraculously coming back from the dead, not via Iris message, not even via asking the teachers of the high school Elijah had been assigned to keep an eye on. Nico was about to consider panicking as a viable course of action when he suddenly felt a strong concentration of Underworld-y powers pull at him.

"Fuck," he managed, mind racing as he started making sense of everything. "It's a hellhound."

He did not have to add anything else before Will also put two and two together and they exited the high school in a blur of demigod anxiety. Nico took the lead because, much like monsters could smell demigods, Nico could feel the presence of hellhounds. Well, not exactly. He could feel the way hellhounds manipulated the shadows, he could feel the way a mass of shadows stopped following his orders and slowly retreated to serve the will of a hellhound.

He had discovered he could do that a few months after Gaea's defeat, while he was playing fetch with Mrs. O'Leary, who accidentally shadowtraveled herself from the volleyball courts to the forest in an excited attempt to catch the ball faster. Nico suspected that hellhounds could also feel him wield the shadows, because ever since then Nico had started shadowtraveling the ball into another place of the camp and Mrs. O'Leary was always ecstatic to shadowtravel herself away to find it. However, this was not friendly, lovable Mrs. O'Leary, and that was clear as hell when Nico turned a street corner and found a dog the size of a school-bus growling furiously at a trembling satyr.

It took Nico exactly a second to take in the scene—the way Elijah was trying not to apply weight on his left leg, the way his hands shook as he held a small dagger —absolutely useless against a hellhound—, the way he was still screaming at the top of his lungs that everything would be okay and that he would get them out of there safely to the cowering girl behind him. It took Nico only a quarter of a second more to come up with a plan to get Elijah and the girl to camp.

Of course, it took Will only half a second to come up with his own plan, which absolutely screwed over Nico's. Before Nico could so much as inhale to tell Will how they would handle the situation, Will was racing straight forwards to the hellhound, screaming bloody murder and wielding no weapon. Freaking idiot.

"For fuck's sake," was all Nico managed to think before he, too, was following the dumbest battle strategy he had ever witnessed and began running towards the adversary. Fortunately for him, he had his Stygian Iron sword unsheathed before he stupidly entered battle.

The one thing Will's plan succeeded in was distracting the hellhound's attention from Elijah and Leticia. Which was hardly a success, because the beast then proceeded to focus his attention on the newly appeared demigods, who were making its job so much easier by idiotically approaching him. The monster growled, feral and guttural, flexing its legs in preparation to leap forward.

Will was a moron, and though they had already established that, the thought came back to Nico's head, useless, but true nonetheless. Hell, if they survived, Nico would personally embroider a gigantic banner, complete with sequins and glitter —he knew Will loathed them— and hang it at the infirmary's door—Beware, Will Solace is a moron.

The problem was that Will had not spent enough time around dogs to accurately read their body language. Specifically, he hadn't spent enough time around hellhounds to calculate the strength of their legs. Nico had, and he knew for a fact that a dog the size of their current enemy would only need one leap and a growl to catch up with Will. And then it would be game over.

In an unthinking panic, Nico did the one thing he could come up with—he teleported himself right in front of Will just as the hound jumped into the air. He appeared so suddenly in front of the son of Apollo that he almost tripped on him and, despite everything, Nico still had the audacity to feel smug about it. At least he did for the fraction of a second, before an intense pain shot from his left shoulder, where the hound had managed to bite him.

Truthfully, Nico had already been expecting the attack, and as soon as he felt the monster's fangs digging to his skin, he wielded the shadows to gather around the hellhound and teleported it all the way straight to China. As soon as he saw the beast disappear in a dark blur, he let go of the grasp he had around the handle of his sword. The weapon fell to the ground with a metallic creak.

Had this been any other monster, shadowtraveling it out of the battlefield wouldn't have worked, as Nico would have to teleport himself away along with the beast. However, hellhounds could shadowtravel on their own accord. Therefore, all Nico had had to do was mess up a bit with the shadows under the hellhound's command and instruct them to send the monster back to Tartarus.

It was also because of the beast's ability to shadowtravel that Nico was not dead—had he tried to teleport anything as big as that hound with nothing more than his own powers, Nico was positive that, at the very least, he would have passed out. As things were, he was only dizzy and he could feel a headache throbbing in the back of his head.

Will leaned down to pick Nico's sword and gently put it back in the sheath at the son of Hades' waist. Only then did Nico realize that Will was talking to him. With a groan, he made an effort to focus.

"… and you just appeared out of nowhere! What do you think you're doing, young man!" Will fussed, his words not a question as much as they were a reprimand.

"First of all, I am way older than you. Second of all, I was saving your fucking life!" Nico muttered through gritted teeth as he tried to raise his arms to massage his temples. It was when he tried to move his left arm that he remembered the hellhound's bite. Bloody perfect.

Truthfully, the wound in his shoulder wasn't all that terrible. He should be thankful he still had an arm to start with. It was, of course, no coincidence, because a hellhound could have swallowed him whole, but he had had the sense to make the shadows engulf both Will and him, making it hard for the beast to know where to aim his attack.

"By getting yourself killed?" Will inquired, although he was already kneeling on the floor, his first-aid kit out of his backpack as he sent nervous glances to Nico's bleeding injury.

"Well, did you have a better idea? Running towards a hellhound with no weapon?" Nico shot back, although he numbly let Will start tapping at his shoulder with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. Nico hissed in pain but did not pull away. Certainly, he did not trust the son of Apollo to work out a strategy or to follow a plan, but outside of the battlefield, he trusted him with his life. The son of Apollo had the decency to look ashamed.

"I panicked!" he muttered. "But even then, this was too dangerous!"

"Perks of the job!" Nico hissed, feeling the alcohol biting into the abused skin. "All we do is dangerous."

It was in that moment that Elijah caught up with them, firmly holding Leticia's hand in his.

"You made it just in time!" he breathed heavily, still not completely believing his luck. "Guys, this is Leticia. Letty, these are Nico and Will, they will get us to the camp I was telling you about."

Usually, at this point of the mission, Will would suggest that they took a bus back to New York rather than shadowtraveling back, arguing that Nico had already used his powers too much. Personally, the son of Hades suspected it had more to do with how much Will loathed shadowtraveling than with Will's medical concern. Using the shadows as a teletransportation method was probably harder on Will due to him being a son of the sun god.

However, on this particular occasion, Nico had to hand it to Will—he was exhausted and nearly out of Underworld powers. On the other hand, though, sitting in a bus station with a bleeding shoulder, a wounded satyr, a mouthy physician and a girl that looked about to start crying was even less appealing.

"A pleasure to meet you," Nico offered, gently offering his right hand to Leticia.

"Don't you dare!" Will threatened in a hiss when he saw realization and mischievousness climb into Nico's features. "Nico, I am warning you not to do this!" It was terribly unfortunate for him that Nico was terrible at following instructions—soon, he was gripping Will with his left hand, his right one still around Leticia's.

"Too late, sunshine," he announced tiredly. And then, it all went black. Literally. Both because of the shadows he had summoned and because the shot of pain that coursed from his left shoulder and through the rest of his body made him see dark spots that immediately consumed his vision.

―*―*―

The first thing Nico noticed when he came back to his senses was the numbing sensation that engulfed him. He groaned and tried to raise his hand to massage his temples. When a new pang of pain seared through his left side, Nico's eyes blinked open.

"Oh fuck," he muttered, taking in the bright infirmary light as his blurry mind tried to remember what had happened.

"Yeah, something like that," said a stern voice next to him. Slowly, Nico turned to his right side to find none other than Will Solace sitting in a white plastic chair next to the bed Nico was laying in. "What have I told you about burning yourself out like that?"

"What have I told you about not following a battle strategy?" Nico shot back, although there was no malice in his voice.

Slowly, the son of Hades felt his muscles relax at the knowledge that they had made it back to camp relatively safely, he squirmed in the mattress, trying to get himself into a comfortable sitting position. That was when he noticed the tight bandages on his left arm and the sling that immobilized his injured limb. He let out an annoyed huff and Will rose to his feet, gently pulling the pillow Nico had been laying in upright so that it was leaning on the bed's headboard and Nico could use it as support. Will also decided to take a seat on the mattress too in order to reprimand Nico from a closer distance.

"How long was I out?" the son of Hades asked.

"Little over twelve hours?" Will shrugged, pointing to the clock Kayla had insisted on hanging right next to the medicine cabinets. It proudly announced it was twelve-past-two in the morning. "I had to coax Leticia out of the infirmary a few hours ago because she wanted to be here when you woke up."

"Did she now?" Nico inquired, unable to fully hide the grin that started creeping to his face. It didn't matter, Will knew him well enough to see it regardless.

"She did," Will confirmed. "In fact, if I didn't know you better I would have thought that the whole letting-a-hellhound-bite-me business was just you playing hero to win over Leticia's admiration."

"Oh yeah? And how do you know that's not the case?" the son of Hades teased.

"Just a hunch," Will smiled gently before his expression clouded over. "Nico, you could have died today."

"Isn't that how every day in a demigod life goes like?" Nico sighed, attempting to shrug before a new flash of pain made him stay put. "Besides, it's not like you leave me with a lot of options here, sunshine."

"I was just—"

"Trying to help, I know," Nico cut him off. "But that thing could have swallowed you whole and you decided to run straight to it without so much as a dagger to defend yourself with!"

"I mean, yes, but…"

"Oh no, don't you dare! I'll do the scolding this time," he continued. "You got me all patched up and everything, thank you, but still no. You shouldn't be running into the battlefield with no weapons, Will!"

"I… I know," the son of Apollo sighed heavily, turning to look at his hands. Suddenly, the infirmary seemed considerably less bright and much less warm. "I shouldn't even be in the battlefield to start with, I know I'm useless with a—"

"Will Solace, if you know what is good for you, you will stop that bullshit right this second," Nico immediately interrupted, his right arm moving on its own accord to take the son of Apollo's fidgety hands into his.

"Nico, you know it's true, I—"

"Yes, you shouldn't be in the battlefield," Nico conceded, ignoring the hitch in Will's breath at his words. "You shouldn't be there because you are worth so much more outside of it. And you cannot save anyone's life if you get yourself eaten by a hellhound."

"I know," Will swallowed hard. "It's just that… sometimes I wish I could actually fight instead of being a burden to my teammates."

"First of all, you're not a burden," Nico said firmly. "And second, this is all bullshit. Anyone can learn how to wield a sword and land a few blows. Anyone, Will. But you cannot teach commitment to a person, you cannot teach selflessness or generosity. Only a few fools would have charged a hellhound while weaponless, yes. And even fewer would have done it because they knew that was the right thing to do."

"We were sent to a rescue mission, Nico, that was the whole point!" Will uttered softly. Slowly, ever-so slowly, he raised his eyes to meet the son of Hades' gaze.

"Yeah, it was. It's still not less worth noticing," Nico insisted. "I may have been playing hero, Will, but you weren't. You were being a hero," he smiled gently. "An idiotic, completely clueless one, but a brave, courageous hero nonetheless."

"Do you… do you really believe that?" Will managed in an undertone.

"When have I ever lied to you, sunshine?" Nico whispered, his eyes locked to Will's and close, oh-so close that he could feel the warmth Will's body radiated.

Nico was so lost in the coy smile Will offered him as an answer that he didn't even realize he had started leaning closer to the son of Apollo. Before he could fully comprehend what was going on his lips were on Will's, a butterfly-like caress in case Will decided that he didn't want to continue. Instead, Will tilted his head slightly, turning to give Nico better access before he gently returned the kiss.

For a wonderful, blissful amount of thirty seconds, it was perfect. Nico's right hand moved to caress Will's cheek, and the son of Apollo leaned into him, allowing his twitchy hands to come to rest on Nico's thighs. Then the magic spell broke and Nico hurriedly pulled back. He tried to ignore the way Will trailed after him, his eyes still closed in naïve felicity.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck," Nico managed hoarsely.

"Fuck? That's the one word you know how to say today?" Will inquired, breathing heavily. His cheeks were tainted a soft pink in a betraying blush, and he was nearly glowing. Not just beaming in the metaphorical sense of the word, no. He was positively, literally glowing.

"Oh, Will, I'm so sorry…" the son of Hades whispered. "This isn't… I shouldn't have… Oh, gods, I am so sorry…"

"Sorry? Nico, what…? Oh… I see…" Will managed, having had apparently connected the dots. His face fell and the brightness in his demeanor evaporated. "Oh… I see. This is about Percy, isn't it?"

"What does Percy have to do with any of this?" Nico gestured around wildly.

"Well, you tell me. What about Percy?" the son of Apollo insisted.

"He's madly in love with Annabeth and he's not here, so I don't see your point, sunshine!"

"Yes, that's the problem, isn't it, Nico? He's madly in love with Annabeth and you're in love with him and—"

"What are you even talking about?" Nico cut him off.

"You are in love with Percy," Will insisted, a firm, yet faltering accusation.

"Yes," Nico admitted, suddenly deciding that he was tired of beating around the bush. In a rush, he added. "I was in love with Percy over two years ago."

"Nico, what—"

"Two years, Will! Two years he's only been my friend, so, honestly, I don't see why you're bringing him up now!"

"Then why… why did you pull back?" Will inquired, scowling as he tried to make sense of the son of Hades' actions.

Nico groaned. "I pulled back because of you and Monique!" he nearly bellowed.

"Because of me and…? Nico, she broke up with me a little after the war."

"I know," Nico sighed, making a long emphasis on his second word. "But you are still trying to win her back!"

"What's that even supposed to mean?" Will accused.

"It means that she's always in the infirmary, volunteering to help—"

"She was a volunteer here long before we even started dating!" Will argued, although Nico continued speaking through the interruption.

"And you're always by her side, talking and smiling and you make such a lovely couple it's nauseating, some Young Adult novel couple you are and—"

"You're an idiot," Will said in an undertone, half annoyed and half surprised.

"Oh, I'm an idiot now?" Nico counterattacked. "Well, excuse me for falling in love with you while you are clearly enamored by Monique and the way she plays the flute and her bouncy curls. It's not like I chose who to fall in love with, you know? Next time I talk to Cupid, that bloody bastard, I will tell him—"

"I'm not in love with her!" Will finally hollered, successfully stopping Nico's rant.

"You… what?"

"You bloody idiot, I am in love with you!" Wil insisted impatiently.

"But… but she spends all of her free time in here!" Nico muttered out.

"As do you!" Will accused before deciding that one of them should better have an ounce of prudence and taking in a deep breath. "She comes here because she likes volunteering. She also comes because she's trying to get Austin to notice her. He's absolutely clueless and she's forbidden me to even give him a hint."

"So… does that… Does that mean that Monique and you…?" Nico managed, hating himself for how hopeful he sounded.

"No chance of us getting back together, no," Will replied softly, taking Nico's uninjured hand into his. "We are good friends, but when we were in a relationship, we were both kind of… looking for someone else."

"Oh gods…" Nico whispered in disbelief. He couldn't help it—he started laughing. At first it was only soft giggles that he could try to swallow down, but soon enough his tittering fit evolved into an unashamed laughter. Still trying to regain his composure, he leaned into Will's shoulder. "We are both idiots."

"Both?" the son of Apollo had the audacity to question. As all answer, Nico raised a questioning eyebrow, his head still supported on Will, although he tilted his face so the other demigod could appreciate his unamused gesture. "Alright then, alright." And just like that, Will was laughing too, unrestricted and ridiculous and perfect. Only when the laughter in their chests had finally died down did Nico sit uptight once again, his dark eyes nervously scanning Will's features.

"Then, does this mean… Does it mean that you and I can…?" he made a silly movement with his right hand, gesturing to him and to Will and to the whole infirmary. "Does it mean that we can?"

"Oh gods, yes. Yes, we can," Will let out a shaky breath, positively beaming again as he smiled back at Nico.

"Good. Oh, good, because I've been waiting for so long that I don't know if—"

And just like that Will's lips were on his again, soft and gentle and impatient. His hands came up to cup Nico's face, a soothing caress. They would worry about the semantics later, they would figure out what they were and where they were standing in the morning. Right then, it didn't matter. All that mattered were Nico's fingers slowly combing through Will's hair and the way Nico leaned into his touch and the way Will's heart was threatening to jump out of his chest.

―*―*―

Wherever you are standing, I will be by your side. Through the good, through the bad, I'll never be hard to find.

―*―*―

So, here we are. I really hope you enjoyed it. It is always lovely to write with these two dorks and I had really missed doing so. Also, it is very refreshing to have a Nico who is openly gay and sure of himself. And, on the other hand, I have the headcanon that Will is bisexual and that is something that I rarely get to see reflected in fanfiction.

Well, I think that would be all for now. Please, please, pelease, if you liked this be sure to let me know in the comments. Also, check the song out, it's a beautiful thing and drop by FrostedDragonHeart and Rosycat's accounts to thank them because they are honestly life-savers.

Thank you all and read you soon!

[wigwurq]

WIG REVIEW: STRANGER THINGS 3

Stranger Things season 3 is here!!!!! Bust out your 80s nostalgia and demogorgon attitude because I fully don’t remember where we left off but Netflix kind of reminded me in a very extended recap that was definitely too long? Whatever, let’s just discuss the wigs! (AND MUCH MORE).

As with last season (and any season of TV I review) I will be adding each episode to this post and then changing my wig verdict as the season progresses. 

CHAPTER ONE: SUZIE DO YOU COPY?

We begin with two tweens making out and YUCK I really don’t want to live through this! I share this opinion with Sheriff Hopper who has to live through these make out sessions that are scored by 80s soft rock music. Even more insulting: THESE HAIRCUTS. I don’t know at what point these kids are gonna outgrow their bowlcuts but the answer seems to be a resounding: NEVER. Also Elle’s hair has finally grown out! TO THIS?!?!?! What overprocessed curly nightmare is this?! I feel like they were going for a Jennifer Grey situation but if that’s the case, I’ll be needing like 110% more hairspray and like 200% more dancing ability, please.

Anyway, the real news in town is: THERE’S A MALL NOW! It’s called Starcourt which is the most 80s sounding name ever and it is home to SCOOPS AHOY ice cream shoppe where Steve and Uma Thurman/Ethan Hawke’s daughter works. This whole storyline is incredibly Fast Times at Ridgemont High themed but Steve’s hair is still very wonderful. Also he can get all the tweens into the movie theater which is showing Day of the Dead and I get it Stranger Things: YOU ARE MAKING ALL THE 80S MALL REFERENCES. 

Also: Dustin is back from camp! It was a science camp called Camp KNOW where and I am definitely gonna see some assholes in this shirt this summer. Anyway, this storyline was all about Dustin forcing his friends into helping him with a radio tower to talk to his possibly fake girlfriend named Suzie and truly: meh.

Meanwhile: WINONA’S SEASON 3 WIG! I’ve gotta say, this season is the best season of wig for Winona. Sure, it is still very much a mess (as is she after the untimely death of her boyfriend Rudy Reuttiger!) but it’s the best wig she’s had so far so MAZEL!

Elsewhere, the most boring teen couple in America (aka Nancy and Will’s brother whose name I won’t learn) are working at the local newspaper and Nancy’s whole job seems to be fetching hamburgers for an entire room of #MeToo examples. Her hair is business chick 80s which is to say: on brand but I could use about 90% more Working Girl, please. 

And now let’s get to the only storyline I truly cared about: Nancy’s mom Karen Wheeler (aka Carla Buono). Every season, her wig brings the drama and glamour I crave in an 80s-based TV show. The arc of her wig story is truly the story of America - from 70s disco queen to bored early 80s housewife to the wig we see today - 80s mall glamour queen. AND I AM HERE FOR IT. She and the other ladies of the Hawkins Town Pool are unfortunately here for the worst character on this show: BILLY.

UGH BILLY. I will give this show major props for having his entrance to the same music playing when Phoebe Cates gets out of the pool in Fast Times (second Fast Times reference in this episode tho) but it’s a gender reversal I can definitely get behind. HOWEVER BILLY IS THE WORST. Within 2 seconds of his entrance, he fat shames a tweenager and also HAS THE WORST WIG.

Nothing has changed much from last season on this wig front. It is still very much a curly dried out MESS which is very much trying to reference Rob Lowe in St. Elmo’s Fire yet this bish has yet to wail on a saxophone or talk about granny panties so truly: no redeeming qualities here. 

This does not dissuade Carla Buono from falling under the spell of Billy’s terrible wig. To be fair, her husband is a constantly napping Reagan supporter of indeterminate middle age. Anyway, the episode ends with her getting 80s GLAMOUROUS for a latenight rendezvous with Billy at a fleabag hotel. Billy, however, is run off the road by falling/exploding rats (?) and then dragged into a dirty warehouse full of said exploding rats which truly is the fate I wanted for him and his bad rattail so: COSIGN.

CHAPTER TWO: MALL RATS

We begin with Billy in the rat-infested warehouse being very much alive, so already: I’M ANGRY WITH THIS EPISODE. However, Billy and his awful wig have definitely been through the ringer and he’s about to high-tail it out of there when he comes face to face with: HIMSELF?!?! I don’t know what sort of US crossover this is supposed to be...can we get Jordan Peele on the horn about this? Anyway, he drives out of there in his now somehow completely fine car that didn’t work about 5 minutes ago and then stops at the most bizarrely situated telephone booth literally in the middle of nowhere. I thought this might be a Bill & Ted crossover but nope: he just tries to call 911 before all the electricity bails on that plan.

In other telephone news, Mike has been shook to his core by Sheriff Hopper and tells Elle that he can’t see her and makes up some lies about his grandma. Queen on the scene/his mom Karen and her GLAMOROUS PERFECTION WIG are somehow listening in (KAREN!!!!) and she’s concerned about grandma now too. Everyone back at the pool is concerned about Billy/”Billy” (not sure if he’s the real thing or a mole person version or a possessed alien version - probably the latter) and he is straight up RUDE to Karen so definitely: EFF YOU BILLY ALWAYS. There are also a bunch of shots of the back of his nightmare wig that gave me the shivers. Oh, and he fully kidnaps the other lifeguard as a human sacrifice to a demogorgon blob so definitely: EFF YOU BILLY x100000.

This episode also introduced MAYOR CARY ELWES! This is very good casting and this whole storyline seems like an homage to Jaws so: OK! Also Sheriff Hopper asked Winona’s season 3 wig (which is still good!) on a date/nondate which she definitely didn’t attend because she had far more important lessons to learn about magnets and that’s probably the best reason to stand up a dude ever.

Elsewhere, boring couple is investigating some weird rat/fertilizer situation at an old lady’s house and basically I didn’t pay attention to this part because it was boring and it involved exploding rats so: hard pass. Nancy’s hair looked fine. Jonathan’s hair is a mess. The end.

The rest of the episode was devoted to the only kind of rats I like: MALL RATS! Over at Scoops Ahoy, my favorite bromance between Steve and Dustin was rekindled and truly it is a beautiful thing. 

However, Maya Hawke and her language skills (which are romance based, not Russian but whatever!) come into play to translate the Soviet message Dustin intercepted. They somehow translate it (SURE?) and also Maya’s hair is about as 80s as John Travolta’s 70s costumes were in 50s-set Grease. This hair is pure 2019 and you do you Stranger Things. THE DEMOGORGON’S IN THE DETAILS ALWAYS. 

Meanwhile, Mike is BUMMED about having to lie to Elle so he brings Lucas and Will along with him to the mall to...buy something for Elle to erase the lie he told her? The whole time Will kept asking when they could leave and play D&D and the whole time I wanted these boys to not have bowl cuts anymore.

In the most important storyline, Elle teamed up with Max to have a LADIES DAY AT THE MALL AND I WAS HERE FOR IT! Max does not seem like the kind of chick who is into fashion or commercialism but her overriding guidance of finding yourself through consumerism and forsaking any sad feelings about boys is just good TV. Retail therapy is great!

And I’m sorry but there is absolutely no better cinema than an 80s makeover montage to effing MATERIAL GIRL. YES PLEASE.

Elle also used her powers to prank some asshole chicks at the Orange Julius and this whole part of the show felt very Girls Just Want To Have Fun (the movie but I guess also the song) so VERY YES PLEASE.

THEY EVEN TOOK EFFING GLAMOUR SHOTS. CAN YOU EVEN?! THIS IS EVERYTHING! I don’t know who funded this amazing afternoon at the mall since Max’s parents seem like pretty absentee wrong-side-of-the-tracks types and clearly this whole mall fiasco goes against everything Sheriff Hopper stands for but whatever logic: YAY MALL!

In the end, Elle calls out Mike on his lie and DUMPS HIS ASS! GIRL POWER! MALL POWER! ICE CREAM POWER 4EVER!

CHAPTER THREE: THE CASE OF THE MISSING LIFEGUARD

My favorite bromance, Dustin and Steve, are on the hunt for Russians in the mall! This whole plot is ridiculous and wonderful. They think they’re really onto something here (and maybe they are?) and just need to find some guy with blonde hair and a duffle bag (like all Russians!) When they find someone who fits that description, he turns out to be a FABULOUS aerobics instructor and I like what everyone has done here with the gay or European? trope.

Meanwhile, Hopper comes home from being stood up with bottle of Chianti and general sense of hopelessness when everything takes a turn for the GREAT because Elle isn’t making out with Mike - she’s found a great galpal and they’re having a sleepover. Halleluj all over the place! Elle deserves a great galpal and Max is pretty awesome and can ALMOST land an ollie so I say amen. Winona’s season 3 wig (still great!) shows up and explains about magnets and then they go back to the lab and find an actual Russian (not an aerobics instructor!) but then he hightails it out of there with no other explanation other than the fact that he might be the Terminator and/or just a motorcycle enthusiast.

Anyway, Elle and Max have the best sleepover EVER by using Elle’s sensory deprivation skills to spy on the boys and truly this is the What Men Want crossover no one wanted but sure! (PS the answer is Doritos belches and farts UGH BOYS). 

Beyond that, what Will wants is to just play D&D IN THIS GODDAMNED ELEGANT CAPE, OK?! Mike and Lucas go along with it for a bit, but they are just too girl crazy to concentrate on being a nerd for long. Mike yells at Will, “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls” which is interesting phraseology since the internet really wants Will to be gay and only time will tell but honey: the cape eleganza story you’re serving is pretty fabulous, just sayin! (THE DEMOGORGON’S IN THE DETAILS ALWAYS). 

Anyway, after some fun sensory deprivation visions of the guys doing stupid stuff, Elle and Max decide to invent a whole spin-the-bottle inspired game to see what other dudes in Hawkins are up to and dammit if the bottle didn’t land on my wig nemesis BILLY. Elle sees that he’s up to some pretty effed up nonsense involving kidnapping that other lifeguard so they decide to investigate IN THE RAIN.

The rest of the episode is mainly devoted to fabulous 80s raincoat fashion and I WAS HERE FOR IT. Beyond these great raincoat lewks, most of the rest of the cast also rocked some fab 80s raincoats (excepting Will who got soaked destroying his childhood fort and Steve who OF COURSE was wearing a members only jacket but jokes on him bc that rain totally dented his ‘do). 

Anyway, Elle and Max go over to the missing lifeguard’s house and OF COURSE her dad is the #1 asshole that boring couple works with (oh also they did more boring investigating which resulted in an old lady eating fertilizer. Meh). But shocker: BILLY AND HIS AWFUL WIG WERE THERE TOO.

LOOK AT THE SIDE OF THIS DAMN WIG. Truly, this wig IS the demogorgon of this season.

Anyway, double shocker: THE LIFEGUARD ALSO WAS THERE! Or I guess a possessed version of her since this plotline is getting less US and more Invasion of the Body Snatchers (no need to return my call anymore, Jordan Peele). Also possession or not, this chick’s side pony and wispy bangs are the true terrors (second only to Billy’s wig). 

Also can we talk about Billy’s mustache for a second? IT IS SO DISGUSTING. That’s all I have to say. I don’t want to look at it any further.  Also look at how dried out this wig is and this whole episode involves torrential rain. I DEMAND MORE WIG HUMIDITY DAMMIT.

Anyway, Max and Elle (smartly) hightail it out of there right before Billy and the lifeguard attack her parents for further demogorgon possessions and we get one last terrifying view of Billy’s wig. HORRIFYING.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE SAUNA TEST

So I’m really liking the whole Elle and Max vibe going along here. I also like that they weren’t dissuaded by the whole Billy being a possessed demogorgon thing to spoil their sleepover. IT CONTINUES! And not only that, Max is literally introducing  WONDER WOMAN TO ELLE. I could watch an entire episode of this also because both of their hair isn’t too offensive and they’ve both discovered scrunchies. Mazel! But of course, the guys call in a code red and they have to hightail it over there to fix everything. Ain’t it always the way, ladies?

I would like to take a moment to talk about bowl cuts. So far, I have just lumped both Will and Mike’s bowl cuts into “awful” territory as all bowl cuts are awful. However, this episode gets a lot of shots of the back of Will’s head (because the back of his neck is always sensing those goddamned demogorgons). Anyway, it became very clear in this episode just how terrible this wig is as opposed to Mike’s terrible bowl cut actual hair. I consulted the internet, and apparently the kid who plays Will CUT HIS HAIR (which he was contractually obligated NOT to do) days before shooting began and the wigmaster had to scramble and make a wig literally out of the childhood cut hair of one of her assistants. READ IT ALL HERE. Despite her hustle, this wig sucks in the way that all man wigs suck: the back taper is just all off!! And with all those closeups of Will’s neck it is VERY DISTRACTING!! Billy officially is not the only one with a terrible man wig this season. But his is still the worst!

It did hide a bit under this sweet NIAGARA FALLS hat this episode. And his oily bohunk body was hidden under this sweatshirt which was a dead giveaway to all the kids that SOMETHING WAS AMISS HERE since Billy can barely keep a shirt on at school let alone the pool. Since Will knows that demogorgons (specifically the mind flayer?) like it CHILL, everyone was all: THIS DUDE IS STRAIGHT UP POSSESSED. Great work, kids! Also honestly, this whole lewk was giving me Weekend At Bernies realness and I was here for it (since it implies that Billy is dead which I would like very much please). 

Meanwhile, Hopper’s anger management issues get PEAK BLOODY when he just beats the shit out of Cary Elwes (who is technically kind of his boss?) in demanding answers about that Terminator/motorcycle enthusiast who beat the shit out of HIM last episode. Oh, and just an FYI: Winona’s season 3 wig was along for the ride and was still looking great! I cannot say the same for Cary Elwes’s face!

Over at Scoops Ahoy, Steve and his superior wigless mane are doing some serious air duct work with the help of Lucas’s precocious sister. This whole plotline begs the question: do any of the parents of Hawkins ever know where their kids are?

Meanwhile, boring couple is on the rocks after having a really boring fight about whether it’s worse to be a woman or poor and they called it a draw I guess? Anyway, I haven’t spent much time talking about Nancy’s hair which is starting to look a little lumpy honestly and the article I read (link above) told me the bizarre fun fact that most of this hair is real and permed (duh) but that part of the undercarriage is remnants from Winona’s season 1 wig which is obviously why it looks so shitty. The more you know!

Anyway, after being fired by the #metoo boss (who is now also demogorgon possessed) for wanting to investigate why that old lady with the fertilizer eating rats is now also eating fertilizer, she turned to her mom - the one and only queen of Hawkins glamour - KAREN WHEELER. LOOK AT THIS GODDAMNED PERFECT LEWK. Mama Karen ended up giving her a very great motivational pep talk that legit made me cry (SERIOUSLY) about how she had to keep fighting and get the world out about this effed up fertilizer situation. She also delivered a sick burn about her constantly napping husband. I LOVE YOU KAREN.

Back at the town pool, all the kids concocted a Home Alone-style booby trap to get Billy into the sauna, crank up the heat, and prove that there is a heat-hating demogorgon inside him. It kind of worked except they also almost died during the battle royale between Billy’s inner demon (literal this time) and Elle. 

Also I know that I demanded wig humidity last time but this is NOT WHAT I MEANT OMG THIS WIG IS A GHOSTMARE. Anyway, Elle saved the day (duh) for now by throwing Billy through a brick wall like he was the Kool-Aid man but seems like he’s forming a demogorgon army of possessed mole people so seems like it’s gonna be one crazy summer, you guys!

CHAPTER FIVE: THE FLAYER

Straight off the bat: this was a weird episode because it included neither my least favorite wigwearer, Billy, nor (SOB) my favorite wig wearer, KAREN WHEELER. So we were left with a bunch of other randos, mainly Soviets. We begin with Winona’s season 3 wig (looking a little rough around the edges in this episode, I am sad to report) and Hopper, fresh off the info he beat out of Mayor Cary Elwes, high tailing it to some farm owned by The Terminator dude. Under his bed, they find a bunker with these two dudes in it. Good morning!

Terminator dude, obvs shows up fairly immediately and lots of yelling, guns, and machismo ensue. In the end, the Terminator is briefly subdued by a fallen bookshelf and Winona’s season 3 wig, Hopper, and one of the rando Soviets escape but not without car troubles because: of course?

After Hopper’s truck explodes, they are all forced to walk through the woods while Winona’s season 3 wig hilariously tries to ask the non-English-speaking Soviet dude about magnets. It’s all pretty silly stuff but I’m here for Winona’s season 3 wig to get some comedic scenes instead of long suffering Christmas light crying scenes.

Anyway, they find a 7-11 where a lot of product placement and caffeine takes place, as well as Hooper yelling a lot for no reason which is essentially his entire character this season. Get some anger management classes, dude! Also the rando Soviet gets a slushie so between that and Billy’s icee last episode: WHAT A TIME FOR FLAVORED ICE WATER!

My absolute favorite part of the episode came next when Hooper commandeered a sweet convertible from this yuppie asshole. I’m not sure how often police commandeer vehicles in real life but I love it when they do it in movies because it’s always taking a car from some pompous idiot who clearly doesn’t deserve to drive (see: Speed, So I Married An Axe Murderer, etc). You can’t get more pompous or idiotic than this yuppie (named Todd, of course?!) with both a popped Polo shirt AND a blazer with zhuzhed sleeves AND white pants. THE NERVE OF THIS GUY FOR EVEN EXISTING! PLEASE TAKE HIS CAR! OMG HIS LICENSE PLATE IS TDFTHR! EVERYTHING IS JUSTIFIED!

Then Hopper, Winona’s season 3 wig, and the rando Soviet drive directly to Murray’s compound in Illinois. I’m bummed we have to suffer through Murray and his existence again since I’ll never forgive him for the gross pull-out couch jokes he made about #boringcouple’s sex romp at his house but here we are. He DOES speak Russian so let’s just get through this translation. Oh and obviously the Terminator dude questioned the 7-11 clerk so he’s probably on his way to Murray’s house now, hopefully to kill him so I don’t have to suffer through any more of his gross sex jokes. 

Meanwhile, the Scoops Ahoy spy crew are still locked in that elevator they took way into the bedrock of earth/logic but somehow manage to escape when some (more!) rando Soviets come to unlock some deliveries. Then they discover the whole Soviet plan to reopen the Upside Down while also not being noticed by one single Soviet (great security, dudes!) except for this one Soviet who Steve beats up (GO STEVE!) I’d also like to say that Steve’s superior wigless mane is truly wonderful in this episode. The lights from the underground labs really bring out his summer highlights and it’s truly a thing of beauty. Uma Thurman’s daughter continues to have a 2019 beach wave blunt instagram cut not welcome in this 80s narrative please but otherwise she’s fine. 

Over with #boringcouple, they got back together I guess? Remember at the end of season 1 when we were all deeply offended that Nancy was still with Steve and NOT Will’s brother (I refuse to believe he has an actual name). How things have changed! If Steve ever took back Nancy, I would be personally DEEPLY OFFENDED so I guess it’s fine she’s just still a #boringcouple but it’s still boring you guys. Even more boring: the actors are a couple in real life and have been for years! I just found this out this week and found it DEEPLY BORING.

Anyway, #boringcouple teams up with the tween gang to solve this whole fertilizer eating mystery and Nancy totally mommed it up when she put her shitty perm back in a banana clip and told all the kids to buckle up so she could drive her parents’ wood-paneled station wagon and honestly this section felt very Adventures in Babysitting so I’ll allow it. Also Will’s bro’s hair always looks like it was cut by a weed wacker and I’m not sure if this is a comment on his socioeconomic plight but truly Winona’s season 3 wig should get her kids better haircuts please. If her wig can improve so can theirs. In any case, at the missing lifeguard’s house, they vaguely put together some blood-related clues and then decide to visit the fertilizer eating grandma in the hospital.

Only fertilizer eating grandma ain’t there, hunties! Also please return all those flowers to their vase, please. Instead, #boringcouple apologized to each other for their boring fight in an elevator and then had to fight two possessed #metoo bros from the newspaper (which was very satisfying) while Elle and Mike basically starred in an M&Ms commercial in the waiting room. I honestly was hoping that #boringcouple would get possessed too but they ended up being ok (SIGH) and the back of Will’s bowl cut wig sensed danger so I guess Elle is just gonna have to fix everything in the next episode or 3. 

CHAPTER SIX: E PLURIBUS UNUM

We begin, UGH, with #boringcouple who are still battling with (part of?) the mind flayer in the hospital and Nancy gets very Sigourney Weaver in Alien and I thought she was about to get flayed but sadly Elle saved her ass. Back at Hooper’s bunker, the whole gang is still basically relying Elle for both protection and sensory deprivation recon. Nancy gels her hair up for some reason (I hope she used DEP!) and Will keeps getting the tingles on the back of his terrible bowl cut wig. Max and Mike have a battle royale about who cares about Elle more and whether women can make their own decisions about their own telepathic powers which Nancy rightfully weighs in on (you go gurl?) But honestly, no one was protecting Elle from the real catastrophe here: WEARING CRISS CROSS SUSPENDERS THE WHOLE GODDAMNED EPISODE. Suspenders are fine and I’m glad Elle has found fashion, but maybe the kids can elect one of them as Elle’s suspenders advocate to avoid this in the future?

Meanwhile, Terminator dude still hasn’t caught up with Murray (sadly) and everyone in his bunker is still very much alive, at least until they die of lung cancer (ZING!) Anyway, Murray does a lot of Russian translation, rando Soviet dude throws a diva fit about slurpee flavors, Hopper continues his reign of anger management/alcoholism problems, and Winona’s season 3 wig is honestly not looking great. They do somehow figure out what the Russians are doing under Starcourt (they even make diagrams and use a lot of Burger King product placement to reenact nuclear scanarios!) And Hopper calls a secure line to demand backup back in Hawkins. Okay?

Back in Hawkins, Bloody Bloody Cary Elwes seems to have recovered from Hopper’s beating pretty nicely (as long as he keeps those shades on) and is very much invested in the 4th of July county fair he is PRODUCING (he even made signs crediting himself!) The Terminator dude demands answers about Hooper but no matter: JUST ENJOY THIS FAIR RIDE!

Speaking of people getting face beatings, Steve is getting absolutely SAVAGED by the Soviets. It was honestly very heartbreaking because he has somehow become the male MVP of this show, partially to do with his hair god status (EVEN WITH A BLOODY FACE HIS HAIR LOOKS SO GREAT!) but also because he’s become a really sweet guy and I just want him to catch a damn break! (Tho please continue to be broken up with Nancy - dear god!) 

We shouldn’t be too worried about him getting back together with Nancy, though, because if it wasn’t clear from the moment Uma Thurman’s daughter was introduced: THESE TWO ARE OBVS GETTING TOGETHER. Her hair is still a very 2019 distraction but she’s def an upgrade from Nancy. However, after taking some weird Soviet truth serum (probably just LSD, right?) she admits that she harbored a crush on him way back in the 10th grade and also totally undermines her cool outsider status by admitting that all losers want to be popular (I DON’T KNOW IF ALL LOSERS STAND BY THIS GURL I HOPE THIS IS JUST THE LSD TALKING!) This whole section gives a lot of Some Kind of Wonderful realness and honestly that is a lesser John Hughes work so I’m not sure I can give any of this a passing grade. However, Dustin and my new favorite sass machine, Erica save the day with a nuclear cow prod! GREAT WORK KIDS! ALSO YOUR PARENTS DEFINITELY DON’T CARE WHERE YOU ARE! Speaking of parents, yet again the glamour of KAREN WHEELER did not grace itself in this episode and we were all worse for it.

Back at Hopper’s cabin, Elle decides to go nuclear with her sensory deprivation recon and we all have to welcome BILLY (UGH BILLY) and his terrible wig back. Anyway, he pushes her further into the recesses of his memory/all logic on an astral plane that can only be described as the place where Michelle Pfeiffer was in the Ant-Man sequel (IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT HOW VERY DARE YOU). So we get a lot of terrible childhood flashbacks which try to show Billy’s abusive tendencies to be learned from his horrible upbringing and truly: DO NOT MAKE ME FEEL BAD ABOUT BILLY.

JUST LOOK AT THIS IDIOT. NO THANK YOU PLEASE. Despite the humidity of his entire body, his wig remains a dried out hellscape that I would love to never see again for the rest of my days. Also he almost traps Elle in the astral plane they’re on JUST LIKE MICHELLE PFEIFFER IN THAT ANT-MAN MOVIE) but she escapes into the arms of Mike (fine sure) and then Billy explains that he and and his army of mole people have been waiting for Elle this whole time and: REALLY? That seems very specific but you do you, mole people. Oh also all those mole people (grandma fertilizer included!) all file into the rat warehouse and shapeshift into a disgusting mind flayer/demogorgon/blob nightmare. YAY!

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE BITE

Welcome to the Fun Fair (a Mayor Cary Elwes production!) Somehow he recovered from his terrible face beating to show some FACE at this thing. The whole town is there and ready for some 4th of July FUN that will definitely not be ruined by Russians or demogorgons. 

Most importantly, this episode gave us the triumphant return of KAREN WHEELER! HER HAIR LOOKS AMAZING! She is bringing full out bouffant glamour to the Fun Fair and damn if she didn’t have this lewk done at Dolly Parton’s salon in Steel Magnolias. IT IS THAT GOOD.  Clearly employing the “higher the hair the closer to god” theory - and not just hair-wise actually because this bish bribed some carnie to stop the ferris wheel at its highest point so that she and her family (at least the part of her family whose whereabouts she knows about) can enjoy some FIREWORKS. KAREN YOU MINX I LOVE YOU! HOW ARE YOU STILL MARRIED TO THIS DUDE IN GOLF PANTS?!

The top of the ferris wheel is also a perfect place to see the incoming demogorgon!! The back of Will’s bowl cut is getting the tingles too. And before Elle can fully explain her trip into Billy’s beach memories, the mind flayer is THERE, y’all, busting through the roof of Hopper’s cabin like it’s straight out of a 50s b-movie. I would like to note that for ONCE Winona’s house isn’t about to get trashed so mazel! #Boringcouple armed themselves with guns and axes but obvs they prove completely useless and the flayer is about to steal Elle away when they make a human chain and are victorious...FOR NOW.

Meanwhile, Dustin and Erica are dealing with a very drugged up Steve and Uma Thurman’s daughter and decide to lay low in a showing of (WHAT ELSE?): Back to the Future! They actually show so much of this movie that I’m assuming the entire wig budget went straight to Robert Zemeckis. 

Over in the TDFTHER convertible, Winona’s season 3 wig is looking a damn MESS as is all the side projection of them getting back to Indiana. There’s a lot of bickering between Winona’s season 3 wig and Hopper and finally my beloathed Murray has to meet his gross sex talk quota for the season and tells both of them to just have sex already and then he and the Soviet dude laugh a lot and OMG GET ME OUT OF THIS CONVERTIBLE.

#Boringcouple and the kids smash into a supermarket to get Elle some medical help for the leg that the flayer effed up. I’m not sure why a hospital wasn’t an option but it’s probably so there could be more 80s product placement like Mr. T cereal and a whole actual conversation about New Coke. Nancy’s hair is still VERY depped up. Max seems to have the most medical training from skateboard injuries and fixes Elle up pretty well while the dudes prove completely useless other than finding a treasure trove of fireworks. I guess most importantly, Elle was reunited with her ain’ true love: EGGOS. They hightail it out of there with a ton of fireworks that they definitely won’t (lol jk) use later. Oh and Elle’s blood kind of comes alive and Billy and his shitty wig come back to sniff her out. Gross. 

Speaking of gross, Steve and Uma’s daughter left the very confusing (for them) screening of Back to the Future to go stare at the Starcourt ceiling to the point of barfing (which I honestly did not need to see TWICE or at all!) The barf did get the LSD out of their systems so now it’s time for truth talk and LURVE TALK! I really have to hand it to Steve for being completely face beaten and bloody and covered in barf and still having enough swagger to admit to Uma’s daughter that he has feelings for her (despite her 2019 hair) and just when I thought this show was so predictable, Uma’s daughter comes out as a LESBIAN!! What? Okay! To his credit, Steve pivots pretty easily to ally/friend and truly: HE IS THE BEST AND WE DO NOT DESERVE HIM. ALSO PLEASE GET HELP ON YOUR FACE WOUNDS AND YOUR HAIR STILL LOOKS GREAT. 

NOR DO WE DESERVE THIS MUCH GLAMOUR TWICE IN ONE EPISODE. Karen Wheeler may look great but damn if she knows where her (or Winona’s season 3 wig’s) kids are. But let’s just enjoy this space ship ride! Also a rando carnie calls Hopper “Magnum” and: sick burn. Also there is a woman dressed up as Uncle Sam at the fun fair and between this drag king realness, Uma’s daughter, that one Jazzercise instructor, and (maybe/probably) Will, I’m so ready to throw a Hawkins Pride Parade. Karen is already wearing rainbow stripes!

Elsewhere at the fun fair, Alexei is having the time of his damn life winning a Woody Woodpecker with the support of 10000 children. Sadly, his joy is cut short when the Terminator dude kills him in cold blood. HARSH. Also Murray chooses to blame himself for not guarding him like he was supposed to and instead buying a corn dog. I AGREE, MURRAY: THIS IS YOUR FAULT PLEASE LEAVE. Then Hopper has a whole sequence with the Terminator dude (and some other rando Soviet baddies) in the funhouse which is the second time this season which felt like a weird homage to US and I guess I need to get Jordan Peele on the horn again about this. Anyway, Hopper gets ANOTHER face beating and so does Cary Elwes from Winona’s (also beat) season 3 wig. 

Back at the mall, Steve and company are trying to just slip out with the rest of the movie crowd from Back to the Future but the Soviets are totally onto them and it looks like they’re about to be killed when (AGAIN) Elle saves the day by throwing a Chrysler LeBaron on them. GREAT WORK! Unfortunately, Elle is also receiving a threatening phonecall from a mini demogorgon and the call is coming from: INSIDE HER LEG. 

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE BATTLE OF STARCOURT

So this demogorgon situation with Elle’s leg is pretty severe so Will’s brother (again name NOT NECESSARY) prepares for mall surgery based on stuff found at the Panda Express and literally gave her a wooden spoon to bite on as if this was happening during the Revolutionary War. The demogorgon leg removal is not working so as always, Elle just DID IT HERSELF because she may be the only capable person in this mall/town. 

Hopper and Winona’s season 3 wig (not looking great) and (UGH) Murray show up and everyone compares notes on how to fix this whole mindflayer situation. Most importantly, Erica outsasses Murray and wins. Steve (rightly) gets the keys to the TDFTHER convertible to take him, Uma’s daughter, Dustin and Erica (now known as Scoops Troop) to Dustin’s radio tower. The rest of the tweens plus #boringcouple (now known as The Griswold Family because sure) are getting sent to Murray’s bunker and can’t they maybe stop and get Elle some medical attention on the way? No matter: they’re not going anywhere because Billy, possessed or not, still knows way too much about cars and stole their damn ignition cable. DAMMIT BILLY. 

Steve is driving the Scoops Troop up a damn hill to the radio tower while listening to Jackie Wilson’s Higher and Higher which I’m sure is a Ghostbusters 2 reference and also Uma’s daughter looks exactly like her in the convertible driving part of Kill Bill and honestly all of these pop cultural references are getting tiring. Anyway, from the top of the radio tower, they can see the demogorgon closing in on the mall and Steve and Uma’s daughter hightail it back there. 

At the mall, Elle is having some trouble moving that LeBaron to get the ignition cable - she can’t even move a damn coke can. WHAT GIVES? This does beg the question: since she has literally done all the heavy lifting this season, could she maybe call in a favor from her telepathic sister in Chicago? Why did this show even introduce that character - just to check off “punks” on their 80s pop culture list (note: DEFINITELY) But seriously, it’s like when Marvel makes a stand-alone superhero movie after an Avengers movie. SOMEONE GET THAT PUNK CHICK ON THE HORN!!! Anyway, Will gets some back of bowl cut tingles and the damn demogorgon smashes through the roof. Elle, Mike, and Max make a run for it through the gap, where the demogorgon confuses a mannequin wearing Elle’s same clothing and truly: the gap would NEVER sell this graphic eleganza! Did Esprit just not want to be involved in this whole mess because that is where she would have bought that. The rest of the tense gap scene plays out basically exactly like the kitchen scene in Jurassic Park. Meanwhile, #boringcouple is doing boring auto work while Billy just endlessly stalls in his evilmobile but is about to hit them when MVP hair god Steve saves the day and everyone piles into the station wagon. YAY!

Elsewhere, the Terminator dude has made it to the Soviet subbasement where Hooper, Winona’s season 3 wig and (UGH) Murray are now in Soviet apparel. Winona’s season 3 wig (looking great hidden under that hat) and Hopper have a nice talk and make plans for a legit date which definitely won’t be derailed by a demogorgon (lol jk jk). Murray manages to infiltrate the room where all the wires control the nuclear weapon the Soviets are using to open up the Upside Down and why wasn’t this room better guarded? Oh well. Much like sucking at guarding Soviets and not buying corndogs, Murray sucks at remembering important numbers which are the combination for the nuclear keys. 

Of course the code is some nerdy equation that requires Dustin to ask fellow nerd (and girlfriend Suzie who exists!) for help. But not before Suzie demands that Dustin sing....The Neverending Story theme song. This is peak 80s cultural reference and we can all go home now. Also it is mainly an excuse for Galen Matarazzo to sing and sure: he and this chick sound great! Now please get those damn keys! 

Elle,  Max and Mike are confronted with (unfortunately still alive) Billy who beats the shit out of all of them and takes Elle. She’s about to get flayed when Lucas and Will throw all those damn fireworks on the demogorgon. Sure!  Elle uses Billy’s memories to reason with him. This show definitely wants us to root for Billy all of a sudden because he turns on the demogorgon but I REFUSE TO LIKE BILLY WITH THAT DRIED OUT WIG IN THIS SWEATY MALL. 

   Back in the subbasement, Winona’s season 3 wig and Hopper are ready to end this but the Terminator dude shows up. They duke it out very close to a nuclear warhead while Winona’s season 3 wig turns into MacGuyver and uses a belt to try to disarm both keys and bless her. Hopper throws the Terminator into nuclear generator thingie. Byeeeeee. Then Hopper looks back at Winona’s season 3 wig for long enough to definitely make it back into the safe glass room where she is but instead just gives a really long nod, signalling her to disarm the nuclear whatever thing and he definitely (absolutely does not) die. 

However, all my hopes and dreams for Billy’s death finally came true! YAY FOR ME AND MY HATRED OF HIS TERRIBLE WIG AND HIS CHARACTER WHICH HAD NO REDEEMING QUALITIES NO MATTER HOW MANY BEACH FLASHBACKS TRIED TO PROVE OTHERWISE. I will say that his exit is VERY METAL so in some ways, this was the only appropriate death for his Metallica and Tank loving character. FINE. Two seconds after he and the demogorgon die, the feds show up with Paul Reiser! I am honestly very mad at this show for not blasting Pat Benatar’s Little Too Late during this entire sequence. OH WELL. Outside the mall Winona’s season 3 wig and Will’s terrible bowl cut wig are reunited in a bad wig hug. Then Winona’s season 3 wig catches sight of Elle and gives her a look that says: I am definitely adopting you.

Three months later, a fake Inside Edition show gets us up to date on the burning of the mall, government coverups, and comeuppance of terrible mayor Cary Elwes. Also Uma’s daughter (now with 80s appropriate updo!) and Steve are trying to get jobs at the video store! Uma’s daughter and her love of Billy Wilder movies make her a shoe-in for the job but Steve's taste in the Ewok Star Wars movie and the 5 minutes he saw of Back To the Future whilst on LSD don’t make him the best candidate. Also he trips over a Phoebe Cates cut-out and truly Phoebe Cates: thank you for your service in being name-checked constantly this season. In the end, Steve’s awesome hair gets him the job. Maybe? 

Meanwhile, Winona’s season 3 wig is moving just like she said she was going to this whole season and no one believed her. Also she put her wig back in a ponytail and: good move it looks ok! Elle still doesn’t have her powers back but eh? She does get a heart-tugging letter from beyond the grave (he’s totally still alive) and all the kids/tweens/#boringcouple sob that they are being separated. It isn’t clear where Winona’s season 3 wig is going or how she could have sold her shitty house in the town that fake Inside Edition show called haunted. And yes, separating her now 3 PTSD kids from their only support group is also shitty but what has this goddamned town ever done for Winona and any of her seasons’ wigs other than stealing her children and killing her love interests and trashing that shitty house at least twice?! I SAY GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE (they will fully be back next season). 

After collectively sobbing all their faces off, the tweens of Hawkins are left only with the ELEGANZA OF KAREN WHEELER and whatever healthy dinner she’s preparing with the help of some white wine. YOU KIDS ARE STILL LUCKY WHO NEEDS FRIENDS WHEN YOU HAVE KAREN WHEELER! Oh and back in Russia, Hopper is like 110% definitely still alive. See y’all next season!

FINAL VERDICT: DOESN’T WURQ (YOU KNOW IT WAS BILLY’S FAULT)