#please do not ask me to elaborate more on the lawyer stuff it was already a clusterfuck to begin with and i don't have the spoons to comb

[savage-rhi]

*inhales deeply*

LET'S GET DANGEROUS....

I know I don't owe anyone anything, but I want to be transparent about why I've not been as active lately.

My recent job loss and the discrimination that contributed to said loss had me severely depressed. After coming down a little from survivor/PTSD mode, I needed to take space from everyone and everything. I am starting to feel better, thankfully.

I have been performing odd jobs in my neighborhood so that I am good on cash for bills and housing this month and part of next month. Beyond that, I don't know what to expect.

I am still working on my Ko-Fi shop. This is one of those things I jumped right into thanks to survivor mode, and I didn't account for everything as thoroughly so I'm taking my time with it.

I did speak to a few legal advocates and a couple of lawyers during these past few weeks. Here's the good, bad, and ugly:

Good: Yes, there was illegal discrimination at play. My place of employment didn't handle things the way they should've regarding my excused absences related to disability, and they contributed to emotional duress and screwed over my education prospects.

Bad: I didn't have a paper trail for everything, but I had enough to prove that I did what I was supposed to do on my end when it came to adhering to my place of employments processes. There is sadly nothing that can be done about the third party health insurance company that played a role in screwing me over.

Ugly: Even with the pro-bono stuff that was offered, I'm looking between 20,000-35,000k out of pocket if I wanted to take this to the highest.

Folks...I do not have 20-35k lying around nor the emotional bandwidth to go through a trial/suit. Yes, GoFundMe is an option if I was dead serious on dragging these fuckers dicks through the dirt, but guys, honest to god, I'd rather that 20k-35k go to the following:

Keeping a roof over my head and food on the table until I have stable employment

Ensuring I can afford medical care for my disability, and afford new tests that I'm going to need for long-covid issues

Help me stay in my graduate courses/obtain my therapy licensure

Use it to help out other disabled folks in similar situations

I have closure that I was indeed wronged, that I did everything on my end to the best of my ability, and these dehumanizing assholes aren't going to rob anymore of my energy or time than they already have.

I have appointments to see if covid has fucked up or contributed to anything more serious that hasn't been addressed. I have a secondary PCP now cause of health concerns that have gotten worse. My fibromyalgia flares have been more chaotic since catching covid in January and I'm still figuring out what my new baseline is with that.

Spring Term of my graduate studies started last week, and I'm getting as much as I can done so I have more free time.

I am trying to find motivation to work my fanfics, drabbles, interacting, etc. It's been hard with everything.

My former employer is trying to get out of unemployment benefits and I've been battling that on top of the other stuff.

I need time to rest (like hibernate) and I haven't had the opportunity to do that.

Thank you again to everyone who has checked in on me, asked me how I've been, sent something positive, or donated. I'm sorry I haven't had the hit points to get to everyone individually, but I am trying and I am grateful for the compassion and appreciation.

If you still want to donate before my Ko-Fi shop is up, you can donate at these places:

PayPal: JayRex1463@yahoo.com

Kofi: KitchenRaptorJ

CashApp: $JayRex1463

If you don't have the means, that's a okay. Take care of yourself first.

If you want to send me comfort things (Ardyn Izunia, Higgs Monaghan, Karl Heisenberg, dinosaurs, dragons, etc.) like art, fanfic, etc. my way, that would be wonderful and I am open to that. I'm still open to a friendly hello or check in, just know I won't respond right away.

Now that all is said and done...

[definitelyseven]

hurts so good | twelve (final)

summary: growing up with Park Jinyoung was never easy and things are about to get worse when you’ve been asked to marry him

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve - final |

You sat down quietly across from him and next to your attorney. It had been three weeks since you last saw Jinyoung, three weeks since he agreed to the divorce. You only heard from him when he asked to meet to sign the papers.

“Thank you Mrs. Park for coming to meet us. My client said the both of you mutually agreed to sign today’s papers. Is that correct?” 

“Yes that’s correct,” you responded as Jinyoung’s lawyer slid over some papers. Your lawyer intercepts the papers and begins scanning the document. 

“My client is generously offering $20,000 a month for the next 40 years or a one time check of $10 million,” he revealed. You stared at Jinyoung in shock.

“No,” you denied. “No, I don’t want your money.”

“Mrs. Park, I urge you to reconsider this. It’s his responsibility to take care of you,” your lawyer reminded you.

“It’s Y/N and I can take care of myself,” you argued.

“How?” Jinyoung finally said. “You have no job, no house. Your father still gambles,” he exposed. 

“That is none of your concern. I will figure it out. I will find a job. I don’t want your money. I don’t want to owe you anything,” you continued to explain.

“Just take the fucking money, Y/N! Don’t be so stubborn,” he exclaimed. You glared at him. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, knowing he’s going to lose this battle against you.

“Moving on to the next thing-,” his lawyer began to speak before you interrupted him.

“I don’t want a single thing from him. I’m not interested in what else is on that list.” 

His lawyer looked over a Jinyoung, who had his arms crossed against his chest. He sighed again, nodding in agreement. He leans over to the table, “I want to talk to you alone.”

“No. My client will not be speaking with anyone without me present,” your lawyer declined.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be negotiating anything. My lawyer will leave to fix these papers, won’t you?” he instructed.

“Yes, that’s right. Mr. Lee, please follow me.”

“It’s alright. I’ll be okay,” you assured your lawyer. He nods leaving you alone with Jinyoung as he helps prepare the divorce papers. He stares at you in silence as you avoid his gaze. 

“You wanted to talk?” you asked him.

He sighed lightly before leaning forwards once again. “This may be the last time we ever speak to each other like this - face to face.”

You gave him a subtle smile, nodding in agreement. “I will always be thankful for you and your family. You saved us and that will never change, no matter what happens between us.”

“I appreciate that,” he said. “Father loved you, no matter how harsh he was.”

You smiled weakly, “He loved you too.”

There was another long silence between the both of you. Now that you think of it, you and Jinyoung never had a peaceful conversation before. If he wasn’t being mean to you, he was yelling at you. 

“I know Jisoo came to see you. I know she told you some stuff,” he said softly. “I should’ve been the one who told you and I’m sorry I never did. I’m sorry I never showed you.”

You held your breath. Never in a million years did you expect him to apologize.

“I hope the next person you love, you’ll be better to her than you were to me.”

His eyes began to swell, slightly turning pinkish. “She told me you thought I always loved her.” You looked down at your lap because you knew it was true even if they denied it. “Do you still believe that?”

“Look at where we’re at, Jinyoung. It doesn’t matter what I believe.” 

“It does! It does matter. I may have never showed or told you that I loved you but I never loved anyone else. Not once,” he confessed. 

“Every time we fought, you always ran to her. You always picked her, sided with her and I was the one in the way. What else was I supposed to think?” you questioned. 

Jinyoung sighed. “February 14, 2013.”

“W-what?,” you stuttered with tears in your eyes.

“It was our senior year of high school.” 

You remembered now. You had finally mustered enough courage to confess to Jinyoung. You hand-made heart shaped chocolates for him but he rejected you brutally even front of all your classmates.

“The night before - Jaebum stayed up all night making you chocolates. I overheard him confessing to the housekeeper that he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. What gave him the right?” he asked, rhetorically.

“He never told me about this. I never received his chocolates,” you said, confused. 

“I was so angry at him. He took my father away from me and now he wanted you! He wanted to take everything...everyone away from me!” he shouted. “I knew I couldn’t let him have you so I had to beat him to it. I had to tell you I liked you before he did.”

“Then why did you reject me?” you asked. 

“I had this elaborate plan - to make you fall in love with me, to be together until Jaebum couldn’t handle it anymore and leave. But the moment I looked into your eyes that day, I didn’t have the guts to do it. I couldn’t confess to liking you out of spite,” he revealed. “But what I didn’t expect was for you to confess first.”

“You broke my heart then too.”

“I didn’t know if I liked you because I actually liked you or if I liked you to get back at Jaebum. You would’ve never forgiven me if you found out I confessed out of spite,” he said almost in tears. “I tried so hard to differentiate the two but I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t know what to do and it drove me nuts. A couple of days later, it finally came to me. I thought if I was meaner to you, maybe...just maybe I would stop having those feelings for you. Maybe I could finally stop thinking about you.”

You stared at him quietly, taking in every word he said. Tears rolled down your face as the droplets of tears landed on the table. 

“It worked,” he chuckled, bitterly. “The meaner I was to you, the easier it was to forget you. And every time I did something nice for you, I had to do something ten times worse the next time. Seeing how much pain you were in...it broke me but it always reminded me that my intentions were never pure to begin with. That’s why I always went to Jisoo. I confided in her.”

“Why did you ask me to marry you then?”

“He had already beat me at marriage - marrying the girl Father chose. Nothing would hurt him more than knowing I had you and he could never. I admit I ended up using you,” he revealed as tears fall from the corner of his eyes. You lifted your head up, staring at the ceiling as tears continued to fall down the side of your cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized. 

“H-how can you say you love me when you used me?!” you sobbed. 

“I knew it was wrong! I regretted it instantly but it was too late. You needed the money...” he whimpered. “If I could go back and change it I would. I would’ve loved you properly, cherished you..” he begged. 

“God!” you whimpered to yourself. “Why did you do this to me?! I was happy! I had a boyfriend!” you cried, angrily.

“I know. I know. I’m so sorry,” he continued to apologize.

“I’m not some fucking reward you can claim when you feel like it! I loved you! I thought if I worked harder, tried harder, that you would start to love me! I was praying you’d change for me!” you continued to shout. “Are you that damaged that you had to break someone else to make yourself feel better?”

“I was 16! I never felt the way I felt for you with anyone in my life! How was I supposed to react? Tell me! What was I supposed to do?!” he shouted back.

You sobbed into your hand.

“I know this doesn’t justify all the shitty things I’ve done to you. You endured things no one should have to experience,” he explained.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Y/N, I’m telling you not because I want you to forgive me! I’m going to sign the papers regardless. All I wanted was to be honest about my feelings for once in my goddamn life,” he said. 

You blinked slowly, letting the remaining tears in your eyes fall. You took a deep breath in. “When were you able to tell?”

“Our wedding night,” he answered. “Watching you walk down the aisle in that white dress. You took my breath away and in that moment I knew. I knew I loved you this whole time. It was never about competing with Jaebum. I was just afraid to let myself fall in love.”

“If you loved me so much, why did you sleep with other women? Why did you cheat?”

“Because with them, I never had to worry about falling in love. They mean nothing to me,” he explained.

“But they don’t know that! They think you like them that’s why they sleep with you, Jinyoung.”

“They know I’m married.”

“To someone you don’t love. They think they can Mrs. Park one day,” you sighed. “Stop playing with people’s feelings. Don’t hurt anyone else,” you asked, nicely. You paused, “If there’s one last thing you can do for me is learn to let go. What your Father did to your Mother was unfair and cruel but you don’t have to repeat the pattern. Learn to love the people you’re supposed to love. You’ll find that you have more people on your side than you know.”

“Will you be?”

“Oh Jinyoung…” you called out as you reached for his hand. You gripped it tightly. “I will always be on your side even if I’m not physically there with you.”

There was a light knock on the door. You let go of Jinyoung’s hand and wiped the leftover tears on your cheeks away.

“Come in,” he called.

“The papers are finalized. All that’s left is your signature.” The lawyers handed you each a pen. You scanned through the document until you reached the bottom of the page.

“I know you don’t want money but it will always be here if you need it. You just call me, okay?” Jinyoung asked, softly. You nodded but you knew you would never be calling him.

You uncapped the pen and began signing with Jinyoung following suite until you reached the final page. 

This was it. No more Jinyoung.

“If we can do this over again, would you?” Jinyoung asked, spontaneously. “If you knew what you know now, would you still have said yes to me?”

You looked up from the papers and stared at him - taking in all his features one the last time. “Yes.” You scribbled your signature on the last page before standing up. “Goodbye Jinyoung. Take care.”

Four months. Four months of no pain, no tears, no Jinyoung. You moved away from the city to get away from the fast pace lifestyle, the busy streets and the people. You were content here. You spent your days helping an old couple sell fruit and pies in a small shop by a rest stop. The pay wasn’t nearly as much as a corporation but it didn’t matter to you. You could finally be yourself. You didn’t have to worry about being the perfect wife or worry if your husband loved you enough to come home that night. All that seemed trivial here. 

“How much are the apple pies?” you hear someone asked. You scurried out to the front to greet the customer. 

“They’re $5-” you began to respond before coming to a stop as you laid eyes on the man in front of you. “I- how did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t,” he responded. “I was taking your advice and finally letting go. I gave up my position at the company and decided to move here to live a more simple life.”

“Why here?”

“I-I don’t know...this was the first place I thought of,” he mumbled. “I guess I remembered you saying how much you wanted to move here when it was time to retire.”

“You remembered that?”

“Of course I do. I remember everything you told me even if it seemed like I wasn’t listening,” he explained. “So how much are the pies?”

“$5 each,” you said hesitantly as you handed him a pie.

“I honestly didn’t come here to purposely look for you. I know the last thing you wanted was to see me. I can leave if it bothers you,” he offered.

“No...who am I to not allow you to be here.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you around then,” he smiled before waving goodbye.

You returned the smile and watched him drive away. You thought you would be angry seeing him; maybe even feel hurt. But nothing. You didn’t feel any of those things. In fact, your heart raced at the sight of him. 

Maybe this was fate. Maybe it was God’s way of telling you this is your second chance. 

Whatever it was, no matter how it ends this time, you knew it wasn’t going to hurt as much as the first. 

[kakiwrites]

lending their coats

Genre: fluff

A vyn richter and Artem wing x reader

Part 2 here!!

Synopsis: you were out on a date, not knowing that the venue was going to be freezing in your outfit. so they did what any gentleman would do, offer their coat to you.

a/n: more tot content yes!! I really love these boys. Kinda venting all this vyn stuff because I got his featured sr 2 times last night- without any more chit-chat let's get started!

Vyn Richter

Vyn invited you out to a violin recital.

he was paying, you liked listening to all the different pieces, you were free that weekend.

You had no reason to say no.

you got on your most semi-formal outfit and headed out to the venue which was this magnificent theater.

"you look astonishing~" vyn complimented, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips.

Your face felt a little bit hotter as vyn escorted you into the theater.

What you didn't expect was the theater to be freezing.

You haven't even sat into your assigned seats yet and you were already shivering.

"you okay, love?" Vyn immediately asked, seeing the slight discomfort in your face.

"I'm fine. It's just a bit colder than I expected but I can manage," you reassured, rubbing your hands over your arms before the spotlights on the stage caught your attention, thoroughly distracting you from the biting cold.

Throughout the performance, vyn's gaze glanced back at you every few minutes, seeing your figure begin to visibly shake in the darkness.

By the middle of the performance, the cold was too strong to ignore.

But just before you could stand up and excuse yourself outside for a moment, something heavy dropped on your shoulders.

You looked to see Vyn's comfy cardigan resting on your frame.

You looked back at the white-haired man in question. He only smiled innocently at you before he went back to watching the recital.

You slipped your hands into it and brought It a little closer to your body.

You didn't know if it was the choice of fabric or because vyn was wearing the cardigan a few moments earlier but the warmth radiating from it just engulfed and comforted you.

Maybe you should forget your jacket next time.

Artem wing

Your law firm was invited to a formal ball that was sponsored and prepared by Pax.

You knew you wouldn't hear the end of it from Marius if you declined the invitation.

Besides, Artem seems to be more ecstatic, knowing he was going to this event with you.

so you got on your most formal dress and waited for Artem to pick you up.

Artem looked like he had his breath taken away when he picked you up from your residence.

"could you stop staring?"

"Sorry, you just look so beautiful." he coughed in embarrassment.

his eyes finally moved back to the road and you were on your way to the ball.

Pax did not disappoint you with the venue. The ball was being held at this elaborate ballroom with a huge gold chandelier and mid-century windows that reached the ceiling.

Though there was one flaw to the ballroom.

It was freezing.

You were sure that even a shawl wouldn't be able to shield you from the cold.

The moment you stepped into the room, you began to shiver.

"are you alright?" Artem almost immediately asked, noticing your hand began to quiver in his.

"I'm fine… this dress doesn't really keep me from the cold." you half-joked.

Before Artem could fuss over you, you pulled him to your table and began to converse with some colleagues from other law firms.

Artem's eyes never strayed away from your figure, watching closely as you began to visibly shiver after a few minutes.

before you knew it, you felt a suit coat drop onto your shoulders, a familiar scent wafting from it.

You turned back to see artem, now coat-less, conversing with some older lawyers that sat at your table.

You pulled the coat closer to yourself, a small smile appearing on your lips.

Maybe you won't tease Artem about this one. You still want him to lend you his coat after all.

And that is all! Hope you guys enjoy this! Requests are open so please don't be shy to leave anything in my inbox! Love you guys 💕💖❤️

General taglist (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below): @tokyoghoose @macaronnv @reogou @midnightangelfox @wumboho @seiijixcia @tessabrown101

[tinyboxxtink]

"....So I Married A Monster" *Chapter 3*

So I gave you a LITTLE lovin' at the end, give me a break. I'm loving all the angsty comments I'm getting. Really gives me a rush relishing in your pain. MWAHAAHAHAHAHA. I'm kidding I love you all please don't leave me.

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

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@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

@word-scribbless

@storiesofsvu @believinghurts

-------

The next morning

As soon as you dropped Kylie at daycare and Maggie at school, you headed to work. You worked as an executive at an advertising company, so it gave you a lot of freedom to work from home. Really helped the whole "single mom" thing.

But today you had to go into the office for a meeting, and you were dreading it. The one day you could really use to yourself, you had to go and be around people, pretending to be okay. This was going to be hell.

During your meeting, you felt your phone buzzing in your pocket. You immediately went for it, thinking maybe by some miracle Rafael had figured out a solution super fast. But to your horror, it was a text from Billy.

LUNCH?

Oh god. He knew didn't he? He knew everything. There was no way in hell he was getting you alone in your house right now. You quickly texted him back discreetly.

I'M AT THE OFFICE TODAY.

*BUZZ*

THAT'S HALFWAY TO THE CITY. COME ON, I PROMISE I'LL HAVE YOU BACK IN TIME TO PICK UP THE GIRLS.

Was he serious? He wanted you to meet him in the City? Closer to Rafael? What kind of game was he playing? Well, at least you'd be in a public place. He couldn't murder you in front of an audience. And he promised you could pick up the girls, surely he was just going to let you leave after lunch. Right? While you were thinking it over, your phone went off again.

MY TREAT

His treat? Well, that would be a first. Sure he took care of them when they were married, but since their divorce he hadn't offered up a penny more than his legally obligated alimony and child support.

"Miss Y/N, do you have somewhere better to be?" Your boss interrupted your thoughts, you noticed that the whole boardroom was staring at you.

"No sir, sorry sir," You shook your head as you typed a quick OK back to Billy before shoving your phone back into your pocket.

-------

After your meeting you headed to the restaurant address Billy texted you. You sat in your Uber running your fingers nervously through your hair and checking your makeup. Though you really weren’t sure why-- Billy wasn’t the cute harmless man you fell in love with anymore, you had to remember that. No matter how much his smile made your knees weak.

You walked into the restaurant to see Billy already at a table. He smiled and waved at you, you walked towards him and joined him.

“Hey, sweetie,” He went for a hug, but you went for the handshake.

“Hey, Billy,” You nodded as you sat down across from him. “So, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” He kept that hundred watt smile focused on you, you felt yourself blush.

“Okay?” You tried to act nonchalant as you picked up a menu and browsed it.

“Yeah, you know after I found out you were with that animal, Barba,” He picked up his own menu and began to peruse it. You were glad he wasn’t looking at you in that moment because as soon as he called Barba the animal as opposed to himself, your fists clenched.

“Oh? Yeah it was no big deal…” You tried to keep your voice calm.

“So what did he say about me?”

“N-Nothing, I kicked him out as soon as I hung up on you, Billy,” You glanced up at him. You weren’t lying, you did kick him out right after you hung up. And it was the biggest mistake in the world.

“Really?” He looked genuinely surprised, but elated. “You just believed me over him, just like that?”

“Well, of course Billy,” You nodded as you put the menu down. “You’re the father of my children, I’ve known you for almost a decade. I...loved you,” You gulped as you sipped the courtesy water. You didn’t know if it was a great idea to toss that in, but you figured you needed to throw him as far off the scent as you could.

“...Loved?” Billy asked curiously.

Shit. Abort Abort.

“I mean, I’ll always care about you Billy,” You put a hand over his, giving him the sweetest smile you could manage.

“And Barba?” He gripped your hand a little tighter. “Do you love him?”

Shit. Alright, stay calm.

“I thought I might,” You nodded sadly. “Before you told me what a...monster, he is,” You hated even saying the words, but he needed to buy what you were selling.

“Oh, honey,” Billy gave you a sympathetic smile. “You know that’s what I’ve always loved about you. Always so trusting, and loyal...those are really great qualities in a woman,”

“...Thank you?” You sounded offended.

“Gosh,” He chuckled. “You know I am starting to forget why we even broke up,”

Oh God.

“B-Because you were always working, and you thought it would be unfair to keep going like we were going on the kids, and me,” You reminded him.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” He half laughed. “Gosh, you know I think I...I really messed that up,”

“...What?” You nearly choked on your drink.

“I think I made a huge mistake, choosing my...work, over you and the girls,” He gave you a genuinely apologetic smile.

“Oh, Billy you--” You tried to dissuade him, but he wasn't having it.

“No, you know what Y/N having the girls this past summer, it reminded me how much they mean to me. How much you, mean to me,” He took your other hand in his so he was holding them both now.

“But you know what? No more. Screw my job, I’m choosing my family this time,” He gave you the most loving smile and look you’d ever seen on him. You were starting to be even more confused than ever.

“...R-Really?” You blinked in disbelief. “You’d just...give up, your...job, for us?”

“Yes, I would babe,” He nodded, rubbing the back of your palms with his thumbs.

Suddenly, you remembered what kind of “job” he actually had. How could you get out of this? What would make sense? Wait, a thought occurred to you.

“...No,” You removed your hands from his.

“....No?” He repeated, his tone shifting. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, I’m not going to let you back into our lives, back into the girl’s lives. Get their hopes up that we can be a happy family again, and then you just take off again when you start itching to get back to work!”

“....Itching?” His nostrils flared. “Is there a reason you used that...specific phrase, Y/N?”

“No, it’s a term, Billy. Look it up,” You were getting more brazen, knowing you had a crowd of eyes around you. He wouldn’t try anything.

“You sure that’s not a certain lawyer talking, sweetheart?” He didn’t let up.

“....How do you know him, anyway Billy?” You suddenly changed the subject.

“Excuse me?” Now it was his turn to blink in disbelief.

“You knew him, when you called me,” You reminded him.

“Well yeah babe, I know he’s a--”

“A monster,” You finished.

“Yeah, I told you--”

“But, how would you know that?” You asked again.

“What?”

“He’s a prosecutor, Billy. You’re a...whatever it is you are,” You crossed your arms. “So how, do you know him?”

“Because….” You saw the wheels turning in Billy’s head. “Because he and the NYPD set me up!”

“They set you up?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah,” He sniffed and rubbed his nose as the waitress came and took your orders. He eyed her nervously as she wrote down your requests and left the table once more.

“You gonna elaborate?”

“Look right before I met you, I was living in the city,” He sighed, starting his story. “And I was on a harmless jog in Central Park, and these tourist girls got spooked and this bitch detective brought me in, started getting her whole squad zoned in on me for some reason, including your man Barba,”

“Just for no reason?” You gave him a look.

“Yes!” He pounded the table, causing some stares. He took a deep breath, and repeated himself. “Yes, babe,”

“Uh huh,” You nodded as the waitress brought your drinks. It was only lunch but you had ordered a martini, you needed it to get through this.

“Look I thought you said you believed me,” Billy’s eyes narrowed. “...Or was that a bunch of bullshit?”

“N-No,” You suddenly sat straight up, remembering you needed to keep up your act.

“I’m just trying to understand the whole situation, baby boy,” You threw your old nickname at him to diffuse the situation.

“Right…” He licked his lips with a smile as the waitress came and sat the food down in front of each of you.

“Anyway, babe they set up this whole thing. They went on a vendetta against me, I swear to God. They-- they started pulling all these records of me from places I lived, trying to pin me to something, anything. And then their Captain…” He stopped and chuckled, but not his normal chuckle. This was more...sinister, darker.

“She just had this...thing, for me,” He smiled as he remembered her, the “Good times” they had. “She begged me to spend this bender weekend with me and when things didn’t go her way, she tried to say I ‘kidnapped’ her, raped her, did all this nasty stuff to her,”

“....Why would she make that up?” You took a bite of your food. He was just spilling all of this information without you even prying, this seemed too easy.

“Because she’s a BITCH, that’s why!” He suddenly yelled again and pounded the table, more people turned to stare this time before he quickly got himself together once more.

“Billy, I’ve never seen you like this,” Your voice shook as you spoke.

“I’m--I’m sorry, Y/N,” He blinked back tears. “They just...they put me through hell,” He began to show you scars on his face and pointed to his ear. “She...when we went on our little bender, she got so hopped on pills and booze that she beat me within an inch of my life,”

Your hand went over your mouth as you saw his injuries for the first time. You put your other hand and traced the scar, tears in your eyes. He couldn’t have just faked those scars, there was no way for him to know you’d start questioning him like you had.

Maybe...maybe he was telling the truth. You had just taken Rafael at his word, and those articles at theirs. Stories could always be spun, and if it made the NYPD look good, that would make the best story, right?

“Billy…” You wiped his cheek with your thumb, tears were spilling down them. “I am so, so sorry…”

“It’s fine,” He sniffed, wiping snot from his nose as he pulled himself together. “I just...I just want to move on,”

“Yeah…” You nodded, patting his cheek gently with a small smile.

“So, will you let me come home?” He asked you with a sad smile.

“I…” You looked down at the table, mulling everything over. You really, really didn’t want to believe Rafael had been the liar here, just covering up for his best friend.

But...Billy seemed genuine, you had known him so much longer than any of them, maybe you knew him better than they did. You knew he was the wrong guy they should have tried to send away, maybe he was just the victim of their dirty captain. But the whole…”job” aspect, you weren’t sure of. You still didn’t know what he did, and why he had been gone all the time. Rafael’s explanation seemed logical.

“...I’ll think about it,” You looked at him with a small smile.

“You’ll think about it?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Billy, you really hurt me,” You felt tears come to your throat. “You have to know that,”

“I know, babe…” He gave you a sad smile back, taking your hands again. “I get it, I have to earn your trust again,”

“Yes,” You nodded, glad he wasn’t going to press it. He nodded and looked at the table for a moment, then looked up at you with that smile of his.

“...You know, if you want the afternoon off honey, I can pick up the girls,” He offered.

“E-Exucse me?”

“You want to go see Barba, don’t you?” He was now smirking. “You want to verify what I’m saying, right?”

“I...um…”

“Go for it darling, that’s how confident I am you’ll make the right decision,” He encouraged you.

“...Right,” You nodded, downing the rest of your martini. “And if I don’t, you’ll have the girls as leverage,”

“Aww now Y/N…” He kept his smirk, it seemed more evil now when you looked at it. “I won’t need leverage, will I?”

“....No,” You gulped. You didn’t entirely trust him now, but you weren’t about to turn down a chance to see Rafael. Besides, if what he said was true, Billy would never harm the girls.

“Good then, so we’ll see you at home?”

“Sounds good,” You nodded as Billy laid down his card on the check. You got up and headed to the door, dialing Rafael’s number. You remembered that he had said not to contact him first, so you thought you’d do him one better.

-------------

Rafael was in his office putting together his opening argument when you knocked on his office door.

“Come in,” He said nonchalantly, thinking it would be his assistant with a memo.

He glanced up from his desk as the door opened and dropped his pen when he saw you. He blinked a few times, making sure he wasn’t hallucinating as he stood up from his chair and approached you slowly.

“....Y/N? What are you--?”

“Shut up,” You cut him off with your words before catching his lips in yours in a hungry, aggressive kiss.

You didn’t care what Billy had said, or what events led up to right now. You just knew at that moment you needed Rafael. And you took him, no regrets. You two spent several seconds just kissing and drinking each other up, hands roaming all over each other’s bodies.

You’d think you two had been separated for months, not barely 24 hours. But you both had been sure it would be ages, maybe ever before you saw each other again, and like you had said before you’d never been out of each other’s lives for more than a day since the day you met. Fine, maybe you were a little overdramatic.

“What are you doing here, tonta?!” He suddenly broke apart from you and chastised you. “I told you, it’s too--”

“Billy sent me,” You simply said, breathless from the kissing.

“...’Billy’, sent you?” His eyes narrowed. “And why exactly did Billy send you?”

“...We need to talk,” You bit your lip nervously. “But...but I just...I just want us to be us, for a little bit longer,”

“...A little bit longer?” Rafael’s eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

“Just...please, Rafa?” You begged him, your doe eyes wet with tears. You knew what you were about to have to do, and you just wanted to be happy for a few more minutes.

“...Bueno,” Rafael sighed, before he grabbed you by your waist and carried you over to his couch, before resuming making out with you like two teenagers.

He didn’t like the sound of where this was going, but he knew he wanted to put it off as long as possible. And he had missed you like crazy, even if it had just been 12 hours. He loved you so much, and so fast, it scared him.

You didn't know what you were going to say to Rafael once his tongue was out of your mouth, but right now you didn't care. You just wanted this to go on forever---

And then there was a knock at the door.

[browniefox]

Just Sit and Talk to Me

@wrightfamilyweek day 5 - Love Language. I'm not sure if I really captured this prompt, but I definitely gave it a try! You can read this chapter on AO3 here if that's more your style.

Trucy struggles with being a very young professional while also being a student.

oOo

“No, no, no! It’s not supposed to go like that!”

Trucy shouts up to the ceiling. The nice thing about living out of an office is that it actually seems to be better to be loud after-hours, because everybody has already left. Trucy’s now old enough it’s started to seem a bit more weird that they’re even allowed to live in the office. She asked Daddy about it once, and he said that he has some kind of agreement with the landlord, and doesn’t elaborate. Trucy imagines this must be like the Delites, or Gummy and Maggey, or anybody else that Daddy knows from his Lawyer days, where he helped them out over something, and now they’re trying to do the best they can to help him, even if he doesn’t like getting help. It makes as much sense as anything else does.

Anyway, that’s all to say that Trucy doesn’t feel bad about shouting at late'o clock and stomping her feet around. The nice thing about being raised as a magician is that she knows a lot of neat tricks. The not so nice thing about your magical family falling apart is that you have to figure out more tricks on your own. And the only performance you were a part of when you were in the troupe was helping your Daddy run away from the cops and giving your new Daddy the piece of evidence that got him disbarred.

See, Trucy isn’t a kid anymore. She’s a Teenager, and she can’t rely on her cuteness to keep her going for ever, nor the fact that she’s the only Gramarye still performing; nobody, including her, has heard from Uncle Valant in five years. She may have that Gramarye magic, that special spark, but the problem is that a spark doesn’t make performance. Practice, preparation, and creativity makes a performance.

And right now, Trucy doesn’t have much of a performance.

All she has is broken little pieces that aren’t working together, and she’s getting tired of trying to stick them together with glue.

“I hate it! I hate performing! I hate magic! I hate this!” Trucy shouts and stomps around her room because she can.

She feels drained, and tired, and maybe if she hasn’t been spending soooo much time studying for the end-of-year tests, she’d be a bit more focused, but she also doesn’t want to let her daddy down so she has to get good grades but then if she’s focusing on getting good grades how is she supposed to put together her summer show and-and-and-

“I HATE THIS!” Trucy screams, pulling at her hair.

“Truce?”

Trucy freezes where she stands and looks at the clock. It’s already midnight? When did it get that late? There’s a knocking on her door, one she hadn’t heard before but has the cadence of something that had already been done a few times before now, having a bit of urgency behind it.

“Truce, you okay in there?”

“Y-yeah Daddy! I’m fine! Just, um, just part of the-the uh, the show!” She calls back. She doubts even the worst competitors Daddy has played poker against would fall for her lie right now, and her daddy definitely doesn’t.

“Can I come in?”

“Just, um, just give me a minute!”

Trucy runs around her room, shoving the ripped props that hadn’t survived her most recent mess-up of the runthrough into her closet and the background details under bed. She checks her mirror, trying to see if she looks well put together. She has some dark circles under eyes, and there’s no time to put some make-up on to conceal it, but she can hide her frazzled hair with her hat. Her cape is all wrinkled, but she can fix that in the morning. She puts on her most dazzling smile, already knowing that this is a losing fight, that this isn’t going to work, but what other choice does she have but to try?

“Okay Daddy, you can come in!” She chirps and Daddy comes in. He has dark circles under his own eyes too, and Trucy knows that normally, if she hadn’t been screaming and drawn his attention, he would’ve gone into the office room and started working on his Secret Project for a couple more hours before going to bed.

“Is everything okay?” He asks in that voice where he clearly already knows the answer but is giving her the chance to just Tell Him.

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine, Daddy.”

Daddy frowns, and he fiddles with the little green charm he likes to wear around his wrist or neck, one she’s seen the Feys wear before. He comes into her room and sits down on her bed, looking at her patiently.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He presses.

“Not really.” She tries to sound defiant but she just sounds sad.

“Please, sweetie? You can talk to Daddy about anything, you know?”

“... I don’t think I can do this.” She says, small and quiet, barely more than a whisper. She almost expects her First Daddy to burst through the door right then and there, appalled and affronted.

“Do what?”

“Be… me .” She scrambles and fails to find a way to explain it. Because being a magician isn’t just something she can stop doing. Trucy Wright is a Magician, it’s written in her blood, but just thinking about trying to put together her show makes her want to scream again. Considering taking a ‘break’ and doing homework instead gets the same internal response.

How is she supposed to make either of her Daddy’s happy?

“Oh, Trucy.” Daddy says and pulls her into his lap. She doesn’t fit as perfectly there as she used to, and she finds herself hesitating before clinging to him. He’s so tired all the time, she doesn’t want to put this on him. It’s dumb, because it’s not a ‘want to’, these things are a ‘have to’. She has to do them. But she doesn’t want to, it feels like she’s getting crushed by it.

“I don’t want to take dumb tests! I don’t want to revamp my show! I don’t want to do anything!” She shouts into his shoulder. Daddy rubs her back.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s so bad about those things?”

“Everything!” She wails.

“C’mon, it can’t be everything.”

She curls up further into a ball, making another frustrated noise, but her daddy’s presence, like it always does, is already doing wonders to clear her cluttered-up head. He has this way, where it’s like sometimes he can just take a hold of the cluttered-up mess in her head and lay it out plain and simple. But only if she lets him. There’s been times, where he’s stared at her, and asked her quiet little questions, and she’s made it plain to him that she doesn’t want to be doing this right now, and he’s sighed and left her to it.

“... there’s not enough time,” She explains. Daddy doesn’t say anything waiting for her to continue on, “Not enough time to-to-to do everything! I… Daddy, I need to get my summer show ready, and I need to study for tests, and keep up on homework, and then I need to perform twice a week, and… Daddy, where did all the time go?”

“If I knew, I wish I could tell ya.” Daddy sighes with his entire being, like he’s wilting into her. Trucy tries to curl up even tighter, like it’s just a matter of a little trick in order to turn into being an eight-year-old again, and able to be carried around by her Daddy if she needed to be.

“Daddy, I… I don’t wanna…” Trucy isn't sure what she’s trying to say, and the words get all tangled and caught up in her throat.

“Well… let’s start with what we have power over, yeah? You can’t stop going to school, so after tomorrow night’s show, we’ll go talk to Mr. Wunderbar and tell him you need to take a break from performing.” Daddy decides. Trucy gasps, tugging on his hoodie.

“No! But, Daddy, I’m finally doing two shows a week-”

“Truce, it’s okay,” Daddy pulls back and cups Trucy’s face in his hands. It’s only been recently, since she finally became a teenager, she’d been allowed to do more shows, “You’re still a little girl, you need time to be a little girl. So, how about until the end of the school year, no more shows. In the summer, maybe we’ll think about doing more? Once a month at first?”

“B-but-” Trucy starts to complain. Daddy taps her nose.

“Sorry pumpkin, but I might have to put my foot down on this one. No more shows until Summer. I can help you try and put your next one together, if you’d like, but right now we get through one thing, and then we tackle the next, okay?

“But I’m a teenager now! And-and-and I finally get to do two shows a week! And the mo-” Trucy’s teeth clack shut. There’s that joke about Trucy being the money-maker, the bread-winner, of their small family, but she was sure Daddy didn’t know that she was aware of just how true that was. Daddy does, indeed, blink in surprise, and then something akin to sadness falls over his face. Shame, perhaps? If it is, it’s a different color than what used to come over him those first couple years when people asked him about his old lawyer profession.

“... we’ll get through without, Trucy. I’m not letting anything happen to us. You need to come first, in front of that, okay?”

Trucy opens her mouth to argue again, but she’s so tired, and Daddy’s so tired, and a break? A break from five straight years of performances…? It sounds kind of nice.

She sits in her Daddy’s lap, marinating in his idea, coming to terms with it. Daddy doesn’t say anything more.

And it feels like a night of honestly, and truth, and reality, and so, tripping across Trucy’s tongue and off her lips is a truth she never tries to say, because her daddy is just so so busy.

“I wish you were home more.”

“...”

“I like talking to you, and being with you, and you’re always at work, or working on your secret project, and there’s nobody else to talk to about these kinds of stuff. I… I miss you, Daddy, even when you’re here.” She admits. She looks at her Daddy’s face, and his eyes do that thing where they fix on a spot below her face, and a shiver runs through him.

“... there we go.” He says, but he doesn’t sound happy about it.

“If we’re going to, to change things about my routine and everything, can we… can we change things… so that you’re home more?”

Daddy isn’t looking her in the eyes, looking down at her bed comforter.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning? Huh?”

Trucy holds onto her Daddy for a bit longer.

She’s heard comments from parents at school, picking their kids up, about watching their kids grow up and grow away from them. Trucy feels a little like she’s seeing the exact opposite happening slowly through these past five years.

She lost her first Daddy all at once, and her new Daddy is slipping through her fingers like sand.

[wannawritefast]

Whiplash: Ch. 2- The Proposition

A/N: Thanks for the lovely words of encouragement, you guys! I’m so glad you like it! This is a REALLY long fic that I am nowhere near finished with yet. But I finish classes this week so I should be able to bang the rest of it out.

Pt. 1

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Reader

Warnings: None... mild language, mentions of Stupid Men

You were running out of time. To be fair, you were far too busy to even pay any mind to the challenge you made with your brother, despite him reminding you every time you called home. Maybe you figured that if you didn’t think about it, it would just go away.

Even though Brian didn’t primarily practice astrophysics, you still took time to stay close friends and support him at his gigs when you could. The two of you got lunch on a regular basis. He was easily one of the people that knew you best in the whole world. Not to mention, Brian had pulled you away from projects more than a few times when you were dangerously close to a mental and emotional breakdown; all these years later, he was still your best friend.

“Brian,” you said, blowing on a spoonful of your soup. What James had said got to you more than you cared to admit. You shouldn’t have let it bug you so much but it did. And you had to know, “do you think I’m a pathetic stick in the mud?”

Brian coughed on his food and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Of course not! Why would you say something like that?” His hazel eyes twinkled.

You shrugged brushing it aside, trying to dismiss how much your brother’s criticisms had bothered you during that fateful dinner. “I don’t know…” You couldn't seem to look up at him. “It was just something James said-”

Brian put his hand up and rolled his eyes at the mention of your sibling. “I’m going to stop you right there.” It wasn’t the first time you had brought up an insecurity planted by your brother with him. “Why do you still listen to that prick?” Brian questioned. “He’s still living with your parents, yeah?”

“Just moved from his bedroom to the basement actually last week.” You explained.

“Ah… moving on up. Or rather down.” Brian joked. You laughed. “I’m serious though. James has no right to criticize you. And I don’t understand why he would. You’re successful! He should be proud. I know I am.”

Your heart swelled and you flushed a little at his words. You tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I suppose he just isn’t very fond of me most times,” you laughed humorlessly.

“Well, I suppose he’s also fairly daft too.” You laughed for real this time. Brian joined in on the laughter. He pointed his fork angrily. “Seriously, his abuse has gone on long enough. Don’t listen to him.” You gave him a small grateful smile. “If it eases your mind, think of it this way: if I thought you were a stick in the mud, do you think I’d be friends with you?”

“Well… no,” you answered. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Would my dashing good looks not win you over enough, May?”

“You’ve got me there. Those eyes are trouble.” You suppressed the blush forming on your face and continued eating your lunch.

There was a comfortable silence that settled between the two of you for a few moments. “I cut you off there. Was there anything else he said?” Brian asked out of the blue.

“Well… not exactly,” You replied.

“How do you mean?” He lowered his utensil in suspicion. You swore he had a sixth sense for this kind of stuff.

“I may or may not have gotten myself into a stupid wager with him.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly like he knew it was going to bad. God, he was scary. Brian took a quick bite of his salad, before setting it down again, “What kind of wager?”

You were going to be sick. The more you thought about it the stupider it sounded. You took a deep breath and twisted the spoon in your fingers. You had literally been losing sleep over the stupid bet you made with James. He would never let you live it down if you didn’t follow through with your end and you were too bloody tired of him and his digs.

“It’s… uh. It’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s stupid.”

“It doesn’t seem very stupid to you,” Brian defended. “You actually look like you’re going to pass out.” He sat up a little straighter. “Are you okay?”

“I…” The frustration that plagued you earlier reappeared and was joined by serious fatigue from work and stress from the challenge. “It’s kind of embarrassing actually.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you get basic math incorrect and you’ve been utterly mental after drinks on multiple occasions. It can’t be worse than anything I have seen already.”

You took a deep breath. “Basically my dad, brother, and grandfather were having a go at me for not being in a relationship and then Donna chimed in saying I’m in a relationship when I’m not because James took a comment too far and now my family thinks I have a boyfriend and I have to bring a fake one home for Christmas to prove James wrong and not be an utter disappointment to them for once and I can’t find anyone to date me for real so how could I possibly find one person who would pretend to?

“That sounded even more insane coming out of my mouth.” Brian looked at you with a blank expression for a moment, attempting to process what you had just word vomited. You awkwardly ate another spoonful and laughed through it. You had no idea what in the bloody hell you were going to do.

“So you have to find someone to fake date you for the holidays while you visit your family so they’ll be off your arse?” Brian asked. His fork sat limply in his hand.

“Precisely, yeah,” you answered.

And then it clicked. There it was. Your opportunity. By what divine intervention it was opened was beyond you. You quite literally stared it down in its hazel eyes. You couldn't ask that of Brian… could you?

“On a semi-related note-” you set down your spoon and steepled your fingers contemplatively “-what are your plans for the holidays?”

Brian visibly gulped. “I know what you’re going to ask me.”

“And?” You raised your eyebrows hopefully. Please say yes… 

“Really? Why on earth would you choose me?” Brian countered. “I’m, and I’ve said this before, a bloody idiot.”

“Because I know you and you know me and it would be so easy,” you answered. Why you hadn’t thought of Brian before was beyond you…

“I’m telling you, Y/n. You could do so much better than this buffoon.” Brian took a drink of water but sustained eye contact. “You need someone proper. Like a lawyer or something.”

“Bri, I want you!” you defended. Brian’s expression changed to startled. It was true… to an extent. Oh, goodness. You cleared your throat. “Besides… who’s to say you’re not proper. You’ve studied astrophysics. AND if you’re so worried about being proper, I don’t need someone proper. I just need someone who can pass as a significant other for two weeks and you’re perfect.”

“But I’m in a bloody rock band. I’ll disappoint them. I’m not really the type to bring home to mum and dad,” his voice was oddly brittle.

“Brian, of course you are,” you scolded. “You’re charming. They’ll love you.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Yes, they will.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you!” You set down your utensils. “And why aren’t you taking your own advice?”

He furrowed his brows. “What advice?”

“Remember when I had that mental breakdown at university when working on one of my first deadlines for my thesis?” You looked down at your lap sheepishly.

Brian shook his head and let out an amused quick chuckle before meeting your eyes. “Yes, yes I do.”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

Brian hummed to himself attempting to recollect his interaction. “‘It’s late. You’re gonna go bonkers doing all that work.’”

“No… Yes, but not that.”

“‘Brian May looks like an anthropomorphic poodle.’”

“True but no. Do you usually talk in the third person?”

“Brian does not wish to comment.”

“Bri,” you resisted the urge to laugh, “do you remember?”

He let out a huff. “‘Fuck them.’”

“And?”

“And… ‘don’t worry about what you think they’ll think.’”

“And if you’re worried about what they’ll think truthfully,” you reasoned, “why aren’t you taking your own advice?”

“Because!... Because it’s different this time!”

You crossed your arms and sat back. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re right, dammit,” he laughed and you joined in. “I hate when you’re right.”

“I don’t,” you quipped.

“Yeah, I know.”

You suddenly felt guilty. Like you were forcing Brian’s hand. Like you were pressuring him to help you. You took a deep breath and picked up your spoon once more. “Look, Brian. I don’t mean to push you. If you don't want to do it, you don’t have to. I understand. I’ll just get my ego in check and-”

“I’ll do it,” Brian answered.

“You’ll do it?” Your jaw dropped and your grip on your utensil faltered a little as well.

He nodded with a soft smile. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“My god, Brian, you’re brilliant! Why the sudden change of heart?” You stopped yourself as Brian opened his mouth to respond. “Wait! Don’t answer that. Thank you! Thank you!”

You stood up abruptly, not caring how crazy you looked. You were simply overcome with relief. You all but knocked Brian out of his chair with the hug you gave him. He warned you gently to be careful as you walked back to your seat.

“We’ll do Christmas at yours and I suppose New Year’s at mine, that is if you want to come,” Brian elaborated. “I’m sure my parents won’t mind me bringing a girl home.” He chuckled nervously.

“I have no words to thank you enough,” you urged. “Seriously. Thank you.” Your brother was going to eat his words and your dad was going to not scold you anymore and your grandfather was going to get off of your arse about great-grandchildren.

Brian shook his head. “Don’t thank me,” he brushed aside. “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.”

[deafeningnightcollection-things]

Hidden Lives ~ Winn Schott

Chapter 3 - Supergirl

"This is the D.E.O., the Department of Extranormal Operations," Hank spoke, turning Kara's attention to him. "We specialize in monitoring and neutralizing otherworldly threats. That means you."

Alex visibly flinched at his choice of words, her masks crumbling by the second. Hank motioned to the door, and Alex tried to help Kara sit up but again Kara shrugged her sister off. The three of them followed Hank to the door and down a long hall to the central room where Kara's pod was kept.

"Your ship." Hank gestured to the object, like a bored tour guide. "And others." He pointed to various ships visible through glass walls and on monitors. Kara's pod was still the only one they had positively identified.

Kara's gaze halted on one of the pods, sleek and slender with a coat of arms on the side. "That's a Daxamite ship." Disgust dripped from her voice.

Lily looked at Alex questioningly, hoping for an explanation. Alex just shrugged, clearly as confused as she was. Kara clearly refused to elaborate, untrusting of the three agents. Alex most of all...

Hank looked nonplussed, seeming unsurprised by her outburst. When it became clear that Kara wouldn't say anything else, he continued.

"We keep your ship here as a reminder of the day you crashed. It was actually you're arrival that showed us the need for this organization."

Kara blinked, speechless. Lily couldn't blame her, it was a lot to take in. Eventually regaining her wits, Kara said, "I don't understand. My cousin was here two dozen years before me."

Hank nodded. "He may have been the first, but you proved that there were more coming. A lot more in your case." Hank pressed a button on the vast array of computers and a photo of a familiar Kryptonian prison popped up. "When your ship escaped the phantom zone, you pulled Fort Rozz with you. Unleashing the worst convicts in the galaxy on Earth." He pressed another button and the mugshots they'd been able to retrieve from the prison's computer popped. "For over a decade they've stayed hidden. But in the last year, many have been emerging, making themselves known. They're planning something. We're just not sure what it is yet."

Kara gasped, the gears grinding in her head before she whirled on Alex. "Your plane! Your plane wasn't an accident. They must've been trying to kill you."

No one spoke. It was an avenue they'd considered. But there wasn't enough evidence, and at the end of the day, it didn't matter. The Fort Rozz escapees would be hunted down, either way, they were too dangerous to be loose on Earth.

"I can help you stop them," Kara was grasping at straws. Pleading for a chance to prove herself. Lily winced, painfully reminded of herself when she'd started at the DEO.

"Maybe—" Lily started, glancing at Hank, but he shut her down instantly.

"How?" He openly scoffed at Kara, "you couldn't even stop us from capturing you."

"I'm...still learning," Kara replied, her voice small.

"Look, Ms. Danvers. Our job is to keep people in the dark about alien life on Earth, and nothing says 'covert operation' like a flying woman in a red skirt."

Kara's temper had clearly been ignited, her next words were much stronger. "They know about my cousin, and they don't fear him." Kara was painfully naive. As Lily and Alex knew there would always be people who hated and feared things that were different.

Hank voiced what neither of them had the heart to say, "Plenty of people do, just not popular to admit it. You wanna help? Go back to getting someone's coffee."

Hank walked away leaving no room for discussion.

Alex immediately began to plead with her sister, "I know you're mad and you're hurt. I wanted to tell you every single day." She held out her hands placatingly trying to stem the coming flood of anger.

Lily moved off in the same direction Hank had, giving them the space they needed. She waited by the transport, just wanting this day to be over already.

Her phone buzzed.

Incoming call from Lena Luthor.

Lily picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Kiera."

Her sister laughed. "I missed that. You know you're the only one who calls me that."

"What can I say? I'm special."

They bantered back and forth lightly for a few minutes before her sister finally said why she was calling.

"I want to rebrand the family company."

Lily's breath hitched, memories of herself and her sister tied up in chairs while Lex wreaked havoc on their city flashed before her eyes.

"Lily?" Lena asked uncertainly.

She didn't answer at first, taking shuddering breaths as she reigned in her emotions.

"Why do you have to ask me? It's your company."

"Lily." Lena sighed. "I know that you don't want anything to do with the company and I don't blame you. But you still own half of it."

After Lex's arrest, with their father dead and their mother in the wind, the company had been divided between the two of them. Lily had promptly fled Metropolis and never come back. Choosing to ignore her newfound responsibility.

"I don't want it." She breathed to her sister, her voice small.

"I knew you'd say that. I had my lawyer draw up the papers to transfer ownership. You can look them over tonight."

Lily nodded. "Yeah. Ok."

"It really was nice talking to you." They'd talked only a few times since Lily had left. Never for very long and never about anything of much substance. This was the first deep conversation they'd had in years. Even if it had gone straight for the kill shot and brought up Lex and the company he'd dragged through the mud.

"You too, Kiera. If you ever take a break from your empire, come visit me." This single conversation had been enough to remind her how much she missed the only family she had left.

"Love you, Kóri." It was automatic, once upon a time, Kiera had said it to her every day. But this was the first time she'd said it since Lionel's funeral.

There was silence on both ends of the line.

"I love you too, Kiera." Lily hung up quickly.

She wiped a tear from her eyes choosing to focus on the happy memories that name generated.

Lily had been only five, but she remembered it clear as day. Lionel had just gotten back from work at his company. He'd pick her up as he came through the front door, swinging her around like a superhero as she giggled madly.

"How is my Kóri today?"

She'd made a face at the unfamiliar word. "Silly, my name is Lily." She had explained with all the seriousness a five-year-old could muster.

Lionel laughed, a great booming laugh that filled the room. "I know. Kóri is an old word, it means daughter. And every time I say it, I'm proud that you're my daughter."

She'd beamed up at him, as he spun her around once more before setting her on the ground.

But a five-year-old's emotions were fickle.

She shook her head petulantly as he set her down. "I don't like old stuff." She'd stuck her tongue out, hating the idea of anything remotely old.

"Is that right?" Lionel crouched down until he was eye level with her. "I guess you don't want your present then. It's really old."

She was scandalized at the thought of being cheated out of a present. "No." She shook her so fiercely that she almost fell over. "Gimme."

He pulled a small gold necklace out of his pocket. It glittered in the light, not looking nearly as old as he'd claimed. She reached out both hands, stretching on her tiptoes trying to grab it.

Lionel held it just out of reach. "What's the magic word?"

Lily pouted and Lionel almost caved. Finally, she said, slightly annoyed, "please."

He set the chain into her hands. It weighed more than she expected and she nearly dropped it. She looked at it with wonder, proud of the shiny object that was now hers.

"Promise me you'll always wear this." She'd been taken aback by his serious tone, even at five she'd sensed something was wrong.

So, she nodded seriously. "I promise."

Lionel smiled. "I love you so much." He kissed her forehead before moving on to his study.

She rubbed the pendant. The familiar grooves of the engraved lettering brought her comfort. "I promise, dad." She murmured, her words echoing across the years.

Alex arrived a few minutes later. Slightly out of breath, as though she'd been shouting. Lily opened her mouth to ask how things went with Kara, but something in Alex's expression made her old off. Besides, it wasn't hard to infer that Kara had been angry.

The ride back to the base in the city was even quieter than the ride coming here. An awkward silence stretched between the three of them.

Lily practically jumped out of the van when it finally parked in the garage. She headed straight for the locker room, not having the energy to change but also not willing to be in the DEO another second.

She stuffed her uniform into her locker, not bothering to fold it like she normally did. She slammed her locker shut. Her forehead rested against it for a moment, and she closed her eyes. Trying not to think of all the things that seemed to be crashing down around her today.

She was bone tired as she walked back home. And it was midnight and she had no patience to revel in the city's sights tonight. She knew the walk from the DEO to her building by heart, so she paid little attention to the sidewalk in front of her until she crashed into something and warm.

A cardigan.

And in that cardigan, Winn.

"Hey." It was all she could think of, the last thing she wanted right now was a conversation. Even with a nice guy, but she couldn't just say nothing after she'd crashed into him headfirst.

"Hi." He replied. He seemed just as distracted as she was. Glancing up and down the street as he spoke. "Great night for a walk isn't it." He rubbed the back of his neck, though it seemed more out of frustration than awkwardness.

She shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I got off work like five minutes ago."

He half-nodded. His gaze wandering again.

"What are you looking for?"

"Just a friend of mine. We were talking and now I can't get ahold of her. She's probably just at her apartment, but I thought I'd check." He waved casually, trying and failing to make it seem like no big deal.

Her stomach knotted, Kara. He's out here looking for her. Her worry was alleviated by the fact that Kara would most likely be home when Winn got there. She tried to keep her face lightly concerned. As though she wasn't one of the people responsible for kidnapping his friend.

"It's nice of you to check on her." She offered, trying to ease a bit of the tension on his face.

He nodded, trying to smile, but it came out forced.

They both moved to walk down the sidewalk in the direction they'd been going before.

"Uh, Winn." She called, making him turn. "Text me when you get home, so I can make sure you weren't killed or anything."

He nodded, a real smile ghosting his lips this time.

A couple of the city sights finally appealed to her as she continued walking. A bit of the crumbling weight she'd been carrying had eased.

She tried to keep awake for Winn's text, just to be sure nothing bad happened, but exhaustion eventually one out and she fell asleep.

———

She rolled out of bed late the next day. The alarm clock on her nightstand sleepily blinking, 10:37. She yawned widely, she happened slept that long in a while. Memories of Lex kept coming to the forefront, turning her nights restless and terror-filled.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, pleased to find a message from Winn waiting for her.

Winn: I'm fine, but my ghost would have been happy to join you for coff

Lily smiled at the half-finished last word, sleep had clearly caught up with him as he wrote. It warmed her heart that he'd still written even though he'd been dead tired. She shot a quick response.

Lily: Glad to hear it :)

She moved through the kitchen, taking her time, no need to rush on a Saturday. After turning the coffee maker on, she moved to counter. She sat down and booted up her laptop, prepared to look over the papers Kiera had sent the night before.

An unfamiliar logo greeted her as she pulled up the documents. She smiled at the name her sister had chosen, L-Corp. Getting as far away from the Luthor name as it could, was the best move the company could make.

She scanned the documents, trusting her sister not to throw in any confusing loopholes and crazy legal jargon. Satisfied, she signed the papers electronically, before sending them back. She fired a quick text to Kiera to let her know what she'd done.

Lily: Congrats on being the solo queen of L-Corp. I just sent the papers. I like the name :)

She'd just opened the fridge, her hand inches from the egg carton when there was a knock on the door.

"Coming." She shouted, setting the eggs on the counter. She grabbed sweatpants off the stool and shrugged them on.

"Hi," Alex said awkwardly.

"Hey." Lily had absolutely no idea what to say. Words were generally easy with Alex, but she was on rocky ground at the moment. She let Alex have the first word.

"I won't apologize for being mad, but I shouldn't have hit you, and I'm sorry for that. I...get it now. When I talked to Kara last night. We keep all these secrets in the name of our job, and sometimes people get hurt. You did it to me and I did it to Kara. I know you didn't do it to hurt me." Alex shifted uncertainly as she finished. Not sure what to do now that she'd finished.

"I was about to make pancakes." Lily opened the door wider, unspokenly inviting her friend inside.

"And cinnamon rolls?" Alex asked, her face lighting up.

Lily nodded and they both smiled. The awkwardness quickly dissipating as Alex stepped inside.

"I'll even let you use my blender to make your nasty vitamin drink." Alex laughed at her words. Now that Alex had tossed Lily a line, the words came much easier. Soon they were wrapped in conversation like nothing had changed.

"So tell me more about this cute guy you met the other day," Alex said. Reaching around Lily to steal a strawberry that she had chopped for the pancakes.

Lily smacked her hand away, no one got between her and strawberry pancakes. "There's not much to tell really. I ran into him again last night, we talked again. It was nice." Lily shrugged. About to skate around the how of her meeting with Winn, but she stopped. No more secrets.

"There's something I should tell you." Alex nodded, miraculously holding another strawberry. Lily rolled her eyes. "His name is Winn, and I met him because I was doing a threat assessment on Supergirl's allies." The name felt odd rolling off her tongue, Supergirl. Catco had coined the name that morning, other news stations jumping on the bandwagon. It suited her though, Alex clearly agreed, as she smiled at the word.

"So on your first meeting with prince charming, you lied your socks off?"

"Shut up." Lily brandished the chopping knife threateningly, but Alex only laughed. "How was I supposed to know he'd be so cute?"

"Stop it," Lily reprimanded, Alex had sneakily reached for another strawberry. "Keep that up and I won't make you cinnamon rolls."

Alex gasped, "you wouldn't dare."

"Then keep your hands off my strawberries." Lily moved the bowl to the far side of the corner before turning away to grab a skillet for the pancakes. "Go make your smoothie." Alex's hand paused inches away from the strawberry bowl and she pouted before sliding off the barstool.

"Fine, fine." Alex raised her hands in defeat. "Do you even have vegetables in this apartment?"

"I do." Lily looked offended. Alex rolled her eyes.

Alex opened the fridge, reaching for the plastic container with her name on it. Lily kept it there for Alex's smoothies like Alex kept a jar of coffee for Lily in her fridge.

Lily flicked on the radio and soon they were both jamming out as the small kitchen filled with the smells of breakfast.

[blankdblank]

Next Caller Pt 34

“Let’s see, everything’s in here,” after checking the bathroom you said, “Got the swimsuits and my wrap,” looking through your satchel you said, “All there,” You looked around, “What am I missing?”

Thorin looked you over asking after noticing you were barefoot, “Shoes?”

Looking down you groggily said, “Shoes...” shifting on your feet you circled your bed asking, “Where are my shoes?” Crouching down lifting the bed skirt seeing only the platform base to the bed making you huff and crawl around the bed, “There is no under to hide...” lifting the sheets all the way around only for the door to open and Kili to come in holding your shoes.

A smirk ghosting across his lips when he walked around the bed finding you plop down cross legged with a huff when you ran out of bed to search. “Auntie your shoes, left them outside near Mal’s.”

“Shoes! Thank you.” You said popping up to sit in the bed and pull them on over the socks you added.

Grabbing your case he said, “I’ll take this down for you.” Walking to the door smirking at his uncle whose bag he had wheeling behind him.

When you were done Thorin led you out for the last time and smirked up at Roac when he landed on his shoulder ready to be eased back in the carrier waiting with your van.

.

“So, we fly back, drive to drop you off, I grab the trunks and then the painters will be over in the morning after your show but before I come since I’ll be packing. Then I should be there by the time the washer arrives.”

“What about Roac?” You asked once you were seated in the plane between the brothers once again.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you wanted to leave him when you get the trunks so you won’t have to move him and the stuff tomorrow you can.”

Frerin tilted his head in Thorin’s quick glance at him, “Would simplify things.”

Looking at Roac he asked, “Would you be alright with that? Or would you want to help pack your things?”

Roac grinned with cheeks puffing up at you for the offer you made, “I shall allow you to pack my things.” Then proceeded to go into detail on how he wanted them pack making you smirk and write them out for the stunned Dwarf holding his carrier while Frerin tried not to laugh at the absurdly long list lasting more then half the flight.

.

In his try to think of what to say while Roac began to chat with Dwalin’s Raven Thorin’s eyes dropped and he smirked seeing your head resting against his arm. Carefully he shifted his arm closer to your side so you wouldn’t be laying against the armrest and he settled in that slightly out of place position aiming for your comfort over his. The position captured on camera by Frerin when he noticed the landing was coming up. And in the aftermath of the flash he reached over to tap your arm causing you to shift mumbling, “I’m up, tube socks, we were on tube socks.”

Frerin chuckled, “Yes we were.” Smirking as you sat up smoothing your fingertips on one hand around your eyes in a try to wipe the urge to sleep away before your furrowed gaze at the window. “Almost to landing.”

You nodded and struggling to stay awake he had to bite his lip as you lowered your legs and wrapped your arms around Thorin’s arm. Each breath deepening and your head kept nodding into and away from his arm until you were on your feet and led out to the van under Thorin’s arm to ensure you didn’t fall asleep while walking or waiting to climb into the van.

The teens with you were first to be let off and somewhere between the door closing and your house you had dropped into another nap.

A sharp inhale when the door slid open again had you blinking the stop into focus and you unbuckled climbing off of his chest to be your pillow. Carefully you got out of the van and behind you Frerin grabbed your bags and Thorin brought Roac up to your door in front of his brother. Finding your keys took you a moment and you were inside your home that beckoned you to come back to your bed. Roac free from his carrier sat on Thorin’s shoulder being patient not to fly through the house to wake the others until you informed them of the news. Frerin took your bag to your room and left Thorin’s and the carrier in his new room and followed you to the larger storage room to gather up some trunks that would help aid his packing greatly.

“Keys,” turning in a circle you pursed your lips and the pair smirked following you, “Where do you live now...” Into your closet you went after checking your study and from your sock drawer you pulled out a pair of orange socks rolled up you un-tucked revealing the spare house keys and the small mithril spoon charm Gloin’s firm hands out with each new house. Offering the keys to Thorin you flashed him a sleepy grin, “Keys, Mug Dealer.”

“I’ll make copies so you can put a pair back in your socks.”

Frerin pointed to the socks and you said, “It’s a Maiar thing, you keep your spares by orange. I would hang them in my tree but Belly might take them to add to his chimes.”

Roac in a downward glance shifted on his feet and hopped down to your shoulder in the guys’ path back to the van. At the door Thorin stated, “I will call tomorrow when I’m on my way.”

“You do have a key you know.”

Smirking at you he replied, “All the same. I’ll call first.” Your finger rose and he paused only to see you hurry to the coat rack pulling off your spare garage key fob he added to the ring already in his palm. “Get some sleep.”

You nodded and they stepped out allowing you to close and lock the door. Turning around however with your head hanging back in a grumble your eyes opened hearing wings shifting only to see Belly hanging from the arch there. “Hello Belly.”

Roac shifted his feathers anxiously and the upside down raven replied, “Welcome home! I see you have brought Roac, Dot is sleeping however.”

Roac replied, “There is no need to trouble her.”

Belly looked to you as you said, “I should tell you and Kuu together.”

Belly smiled and let go leading the way, “He is watching a film.”

Following him you reached up to stroke Roac’s nervously tapping toes in a try to calm him then sat on the edge of the lounge when Kuu fluffed up excitedly seeing you. “You are home!”

“Yes, I wanted to let you both know that Thorin and Roac are moving in with us.”

Belly fluffed up his feathers excitedly, “At last. Dot will be pleased, Darling as well missed your jokes.” He looked to you, “Where is Thorin?”

“Packing, loaned them some of the empty trunks he will be here tomorrow. His family will paint his room and he will set it all up and he has a home for Roac until Dot would be alright with sharing a dwelling with him.”

Roac nodded, “It is a lovely dwelling, Dot would be pleased to see my pictures as well I will hang around it.”

Kuu looked you over stating, “You are tired, you should sleep. We will aid in welcoming Thorin tomorrow.”

Belly nodded, “At sunrise I will pick the freshest berries to offer him,”

Kuu, “I shall find him a shiny smooth pebble.”

The offer making you smirk and say, “Thank you. I missed all of you. Tomorrow after work I’ll show you the pictures I took as well.” Making them grin and wish you a good night. Kuu turned his film back on when you left and Belly hurried back to his dwelling to nestle up next to Darling after having stayed up to welcome you home.

Down the hall you went and climbed onto your bed turning to untie your shoes you dropped beside it, laying your bag on the nightstand where you set your phone on it’s charger. Across your arm Roac walked to the table and settled next to your bag in his belly wishing you good night as you laid back in his fluffing up to sleep himself. His content sigh muffled as your head hit the pillow and were lost to the world.

.

Pictures can say a thousand words, a text message with four however had Ecthellion up half the night wondering what it could mean, “We need to talk.”

Those words he repeated when you had parked. Turning around you said, “Right, sorry, I was falling asleep when I texted that. Meant to elaborate a bit.”

He nodded and said lifting a Manila envelope, “I received this not ten minutes ago from a lawyer representing a Thorin Durin.”

“Yes, it’s about that.” You said pointing to the folder in his hand.

“Have you read this?”

“No. But I have a fairly good idea what it says.” He gestured for you to walk inside the building so you wouldn’t be late and you pocketed your keys.

“Because it reads a lot like a prenup.”

You nodded as he opened the door for you, “Ya, I kinda got that vibe when we were discussing it.”

“Jaqi,”

With a sigh when you were in the lift you turned to him saying, “Ok, I told you I was going to the Durin home?” He nodded, “Well we get there and there’s a dinner then Thorin is asked to show me to my room, only we’ve been assigned the same room,”

“If you tell me there was only one bed I’m going to scream like a schoolgirl.”

“There wasn’t,” And he huffed, “but there was no fireplace,” and his grin crept out, “I ended up on his back and apparently holding his beard,”

“Ooh,”

“Which apparently means we had to get married,” he gasped excitedly. “Or move in together or he’d lose all his hair and all of his babies would be bald for their lives.”

“Oh that’s bad.”

“I don’t get how Dwarves survive with all these rules, donkey days, now this, and Mal never told me why not to touch his hair she just said not to,”

“Bad idea for you, like a big red,” you finished the sentence together, “Button!”

“Yes! You get it! So I’m at breakfast and they drop the bomb on me and Thorin is packing and apparently moving in requires a prenup contract, so, ya.” You said gesturing at the contract.

“Well this seems like a fair contract but after your shift I would like to go over it with you at your house all the same.”

“We’ll have company though, his cousin’s kids are coming to paint his room and then more to move in and he bought a washer and dryer.”

“Yes that was in the contract.”

“Oh and Gorgo is coming too. I let the cat out.”

“She did leave me a message as well she had set an appointment with you.”

“She’s just so nice,”

He chuckled and said, “It is good that you are having friends in your new clan.” Deeply you sighed and he said, “I am going to talk to Glori and I will follow you home after the show. Just relax. This will be a painless as a salamander.”

 *

Trunk open with shelves on display steadily being filled Thorin’s room steadily was being emptied and his grin deepened the less there was to move. Sheets pulled from his bed he pulled his mattress off the frame him and Frerin got to taking apart. Large yawns broke the efforts for the night and on a pile under his sheets they collapsed to get some sleep with an alarm set to finish the work and get over to his new home by the time things picked up.

.

With radio playing he finished gathering his things and into the truck waiting downstairs him and his relatives. Every single thing was cleared from the room eventually with his tidbits around the living room and office next, bitter sweetly Frerin helped to ensure all was gathered up knowing he was next to pack up and move out with the boys eventually leaving this place clear when his house was modified a bit. Touring through the kitchen he eyed his blender and sighed remembering his challenge of finding one that the birds wouldn’t be able to go crazy with. It was one challenge in his path of settling into the home you had made. Just like having coupled with a single mother there were children of sorts to be nestled together including one of his own, and children could be a blessing and a disaster depending on what you leave them around unattended. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited for it just to get closer to you.

A confirming message that the painters were on their way had him inching a bit towards rushing just to be there with you having hoped that he had been there before his eager family showed up to start his moving process already. Fully loaded up the tuck door was closed and inside his car he turned off his phone display seeing the confirmation email on his change of address form including the copy of his new license to print out until the one with his new address on it. Another notice however popped up that the appliances were on their way and soon to arrive.

 *

 “Excited?” Mal squeaked out and you shrugged, “Oh come on, having your practical boyfriend moving in with you.”

After a sigh from you she smirked as you said, “This is not a boyfriend situation. I wouldn’t even know what to do with a boyfriend, clearly you feed it but past that-,” she giggled and you said, “Day one, just saving the poor Grump’s hair so his babies-,”

“Your-,” She cut you off making you arch a brow at her, “Your babies, be honest, you can say his babies but you are crushing on him at the very least and ‘his’ babies in your mind are yours too.” You rolled your eyes, “Hey, I’m planning on jumping into the clan too, I can say he’s stunning from a long line of stunning.”

Turning your head you spotted Echtellion with another bag of mail for the show and the envelope in hand stating, “Sorry, took a bit to finish something.”

Shaking your head you said, “Not a problem.” Joining him to the lift telling Mal, “I can feel you still looking at me with those boyfriend eyes.”

Ecthellion smirked as she fired back, “He’s your boyfriend, in the least.”

“Roommate.” She looked at you readying to say something only for you to add, “Whose family is expecting a wedding in the future.” You sighed and looked up at Ecthellion, “Does that make him my boyfriend? You had a boyfriend, now husband, what do you do with a boyfriend?”

He chuckled and replied, “Same thing you do with your friends, not counting the kissing part, and dates obviously. Or the talks about planning your wedding.” He smirked in a glance down at you seeing your helpless gaze up at him, “You like him, give it a few days, if he doesn’t bring up the conversation you bring it up.”

“I don’t want to force it,” Mal groaned making you look at her, “Guh?”

Looking you over she said, “From someone who loves you, just plant one on him. Put us all out of our misery.”

You looked to him again for him to say, “Few days.” Making you smirk in his flinch of a wink and glance forward in the doors opening.

A brief pause on your scooter, while he loaded up the bag in his trunk and climbed in his car to follow you home, and you were off. Shortly after and you were home again with the garage open and he parked on the street keeping the driveway open for Thorin and the moving truck then strolled his way through the front gate while you went to check your mail. Eyeing the box with your runes on it you turned back to the door wondering if he would want to have his name added today. The front door was unlocked and you showed him through to your study that he left the bag in, pausing to admire your desk and chair while you closed the hidden doors closing it off and taking him back to your dining room.

Next to you he brought out the contract stating turning over the first couple pages after describing what each section was, “It all seems fairly simple, beginning this is a listing of his assets and I have supplied what I am aware of yours, with an estimation on future liquidated assets to be left open. This whole paragraph is stating that up until the date of cohabitation all these assets are yours, separately not jointly and will remain so unless chosen upon at a later date which would involve an amendment on the contract.

For this next section it states that upon arrival Thorin has agreed to pay half of the rent and the trash fees, both of which are listed here, from steadfast funds, meaning funds that would not be subject to sway from the market or otherwise. Then this is the detailed part. It is a full financial grid on his tea shop earnings that he co owns with a ‘Balin and Dwalin Durin’ all funds of which are strictly barred from being used to pay bills or for funding the furnishing of this house. That those funds as agreed upon by Thorin will remain strictly for preservation of the company.”

“I was very adamant on that clause.”

His brow arched up, “You added that clause?” You nodded and he said, “Hmm, impressive.” Shaking his head he got back into the contract, “This next part goes into the clauses for his move here. Thorin agrees to take up residence in the back room as to not disturb the designs for the guest rooms already in the process of being decorated to your original designs. A washer and dryer set has been agreed upon to be supplied by him, as well as furnishings for the parlor, an agreed upon communal space to be designated as a possible game room for future guests or yourselves.

There is a clause here, further discussions of additions to communal areas have been welcomed for discussion on each item suggested to ensure the comfort and taste of both residents.” You nodded and he wet his lips to continue, “For outright refusals the use of an open faced blender has been barred with an agreed upon trial basis of a single cup contained blender that will be kept in the possession of Thorin on an as needed basis and stored to ensure the preservation of the harvest grown for your joint consumption. Negligence upon this clause resulting in damage to the harvest levels due to its undesignated use by the winged population inside the dwelling shall find complete removal of said appliance and reimbursement of lost goods by him.”

He looked you over again and you said, “It sounds a bit over the top on paper but he insisted.”

Flipping the page he said, “It’s a good thing. Moving on to the greenhouse, a designated plot has been assigned for his sprouts. Not much flourish on that one, just stating another agreed upon point. Above the statement that jointly a chosen mate has been presented to his bonded Raven, and upon the regrettable dissolution of cohabitation said raven would remain here should it be his and his mate’s wish. Any and all hatchlings would be subject to the wishes of their parents over either of you, then there is a listing of your flock that have all been listed as above his request to take custody of should a split occur.” Your eyes met his and he said, “Best to have that down now rather than later.”

He turned the page again showing the final page of the contract. “Thorin has accepted custody of a ring of spare keys, one garage key fob in accordance with his moving in. The latter to grant access to the communal garage agreed upon by yourself to share in protection for your vehicles. He has agreed to purchase mattresses for the sea foam guest room as well as the orange and blue guest room in anticipation of his kin and yours possibly visiting in the future to ensure comfort of guests and protection of private sleeping quarters between the pair of you from the guests. And the final clause is that he agreed not to take the itemized lists of furniture you have already purchased or chosen for communal or non communal areas based solely on the matter of who purchased them should the cohabitation dissolve. Each item inside those spaces, should he wish to take them with him, would be discussed concerning custody of it.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes. It is quite the agreement hard to imagine how much time all of this took to be hammered out.”

“Again, ambushed in a breakfast.” His eyes flinched to you and you asked, “Why does everybody look at me like that?”

“You managed this in a breakfast?” He asked removing the lid from his pen he had been trailing along on the contract that he read out to you. “How long was breakfast?”

“30-45 minutes?”

“Jaqi I’ve worked with Dwarves before, how hard did you press these issues to get them in the contract in 45 minutes? Sometimes it can take weeks for these to be finalized.”

“Well it’s just common sense most of it. Basic rules it wasn’t that hard we talked civilly, I told him up front I wouldn’t accept embezzled funds to pay the rent in the expense of his shop.”

“You said embezzled?” He asked with a smirk.

“Well I couldn’t think of the term in any language but Troll and none of them speak that,” you said taking hold of the pen he offered you to sign beside the signatures already there. Passing the pen back you asked, “How is it all so astonishing?”

He signed and dated the contract blowing the ink dry before closing the contract he slid back into the envelope to smirk at you, “Because writing out contracts is possibly one of the most intimate forms of courting duels between couples. This, my dear, is possibly one of the most romantic battle of wits you could have mustered up. And you managed it in 45 minutes, you are an assassin at that rate. Protecting the home and his future in his business. Granting him a communal space to his own taste to shape and guaranteeing him input on others. Allowing him to shower you with objects of your desire while still holding the reigns on how far you will allow him to splurge granting you your own show of wealth security and grounds to aid in provision for the future of your coupling. All that aside of the custody of those birds you have given him keys, half the garage and a patch of your earth before he even stepped foot in the door with a box.” Tapping his finger on the contract he continued, “If he managed the discussion without blushing it is a marvel because terms like these issued verbally could have very well ended in an elopement had you mentioned it.”

You let out a sigh, “I’m never going to be able to keep up with all of this.”

He chuckled again and patted your shoulder, “For now, I am off to deliver these, enjoy your day, try to relax.”

Rolling your head you stood to show him out only to grin at the paint crew all smiling, allowing him past before following you through to his bedroom to allow them to get to painting.

..

Across your kitchen counters bubbles spread as you scrubbed them down and wiped them dry after with wash rags added to your laundry. Bowls sat with supplies around them in your usual conveyer belt fashion for your bread making. To the end of your supplies you mixed a bowl of dough that you kneaded then left to rise while you started on the next, adding the first into the heated oven while the second rose. On top of a heat resistant set of wood blocks you laid over your counters you left the hot trays of bread to cool while you started to mix the next bowls worth. Knuckle deep in dough was how Gorgo found you. Passing one of the paint crew heading out for the detailing brushes she was pointed your way and in the doorway of the kitchen she stopped and gave the frame a knock after noting just how much bread you were making.

“Hey Gorgo, nearly done.”

“Take your time. Do you always make this much bread?”

“Usually, ya. I tend to have a lot of soup jars I set up for easy meals.”

“Soup jars?” She asked and you glanced at her.

“Pre diced and mixed soup ingredients you just have to throw into a pot to boil up.” A final push, turn and plop of the dough back into the bowl you covered with cling wrap later you moved to scrub your hands and dry them. Using the rag by the stove to pull out the loaf of bread filling the room with its tempting scent making Gorgo inhale deeply watching you set it aside and replace it with the next in line. Keeping hold of the rag you said, “I bet you’d like to get started on the reading.”

“If you don’t mind.”

You nodded and said, “If you like you could read in my sisters’ room so you can relax on the bed and stretch out. Door should block out the music from the crew or any noise the guys make when they come to unpack Thorin’s things.”

“That would be nice, ya.” She looked over everything on her path seeing how lovely you had made the house so far even half furnished. “Have you considered the format for the etching reels for your books yet? We could give you a few drafts of you like?”

“I’ve already etched it,”

That had her look at you when you pushed on the door to your closet, inside which you had set the quartet of leather bound books parting her lips at its foot and a half stance. Once you had reached them you lifted the first from the wooden case you had made to hold them in place as a set coated in etchings from the tale. “Best you pace it a movement at a time.”

“You bound them?”

You nodded, “One of my friends’ father runs a binding shop and they might have conveniently left the shop unattended all night so I could get my draft together.” Flipping through you said when you landed on a certain page, “There are three edits written in, actually written in, but I changed them on the etchings. Everything else is ready, illustrations and all. It’s still single sided so I could bond in my illustrations so the final books won’t be so intimidating.” Her eyes scanned over your face and she asked, “You did all this thinking that no one would ever publish your books?”

You nodded patting your hand on the closed book, “Every story deserves to be respected. And this one’s very old. So it deserves to be pampered.”

She smiled awkwardly trying not to tear up and nodded turning after cradling the book you passed to her she pressed against her chest for the walk from your room to the peach guest room. “I would have you in mine but the birds sometimes like to hide there with company. Bath is through there and there’s plenty of pillows and the blankets-,” all of which was stacked near the steps between the beds making you nod then step out of the room, “Leave you to it then.” Behind the closed door her lips quivered and she inhaled sharply tilting her head back fighting her tears then turned to build up he perfect reading fort to get started already feeling her skin tingling in anticipation.

.

Again with their paint cans emptied and the now navy and silver accented room sat ready to be filled barely an hour after their arriving. Simply leaving the windows open for some spare time to air it out some more. They had it down to a science and confirmed Thorin had already paid and hurried out to let you relax waiting for Thorin to finally arrive.

All your bread had cooled and been put away and halfway through the second book Gorgo accepted your offer of lunch to pause her eyes and just internally buzzed about what was coming up next and just how much more phenomenal the book had been compared to the three chapter draft that got her through the past five years. While you ran your dish washer you stood alone uncertain of what to do, only making your way back to the couch to stare blankly at the show playing as your birds decided to remain in the greenhouse until Thorin was the only other person here with you.

Pt 35

[thewestmeetingroom]

The West Meeting Room - Thinking Forward: A Hip Hop History Lesson with Dr. Francesca D’Amico-Cuthbert Transcript

SPEAKERS: Francesca, Jessica, Zoe, Braeden

Jessica:  Hello and welcome to The West Meeting Room. We are broadcasting from Hart House and you're listening to CiUT 89.5 FM and we're grateful to be taking up space on Dish With One Spoon Territory. I'm Jessica Rayne, Program Associate at Hart House and I'll be your host for today's show along with my colleague Zoe Dille. Today we'll be discussing all things Hip-hop and social justice with Hip-hop Historian Dr. Francesca D’Amico-Cuthbert. Dr. D'Amico-Cuthbert is currently doing a Postdoctoral Fellowship at Jackman Humanities Institute at U of T. Expanding on her previous research which focused on Hip-hop culture, identity and Anti-Black practices and systems of power. Her current project will explore the history of the music industry, and how it shaped the collective agency of people who are part of the Hip-hop community in Toronto. We are so delighted to engage with Dr. D'Amico-Cuthbert again as part of the Hart House Hip-hop Education program. So please check out harthouse.ca to learn more about the many Hip-hop Education programs and events that we have for this year. You can also follow us on social media @harthouseuoft.

Zoe:  Alright, so I want to thank Dr. Francesca D'Amico Cuthbert and I wanted to start out with a few introductory questions and get us all up to speed. So my first question for you is tell us a little bit about what does it mean to be a Jackman Humanities Fellow? And what's your sort of area of research and a little bit about the work that you'll be doing as a Fellow this year at U of T?

Francesca:  Sure. So the Jackman Humanities Institute, I was invited for the 2020-2021 cohort to look at their general theme which focuses on collectives. And so a lot of people are thinking about collectives in a variety of ways. But in terms of my work, I was invited as part of a role where we're engaged with the community. And so the community of my choice was the Toronto Hip-hop community. And so I guess a little bit about the research that I'm doing there - At the end, close to the end, of my doctoral project, I started thinking about, you know, how I would like to kind of shift the focus of my research, and where my new interests lied. And I found that I was increasingly interested in the nature of systems of power, and how systemic inequalities have taken shape across various historical periods, particularly in relation to Anti-Black practices in various systems of power. And so my current Postdoctoral project at the institute expands on research that I had already been doing about the Toronto Hip-hop community, which to date had really been focused on the role of Canadian rappers in articulating a very specific set of ways of thinking through Black Canadian-ness, and particularly how rappers engaged complex dialogues about the politics of nationhood, citizenship, and what it meant to belong to Canada and what it meant to be Canadian. And so when I started thinking about how to shift my research interests, I decided that I wanted to explore, in greater depth, the history of the racial economy of Toronto’s music industry, and in particular, how it's shaped the collective agency of people who are part of the Hip-hop community in Toronto. And in particular, what it meant to be a practitioner and to have access to resources and revenue streams and also exposure in the marketplace, which historically, for people who are Hip-hop practitioners in Toronto, it has been a very uneven infrastructural support system for the homegrown set of artists here. And so I'm really interested in thinking through why it is the market looks the way it does and why, in some ways, you know, when we look south of the border, there's a really deep and elaborate and profitable American music industry in relation to Hip-hop. And so you know, some of my major questions are Why does the Canadian market not look the same way when we have great talent, and we've had a long history in Toronto Hip-hop culture dating back to the 70s and 80s.  

Zoe:  Wow. So that is a whole lot to unpack.

[laughter]

Francesca:  Sure, yes.

Zoe:  And actually, luckily enough for us, we do have, throughout the course of this interview, we do have a few questions that kind of circle back to some of the themes you brought up, particularly around this kind of dynamics of power, Canadian national identity. And, and just kind of unpacking a little bit this kind of critical, social and racial justice moment that we're at. But to bring it back to the beginning, let's say, you touched on your PhD research... I want to just flip it over to Jessica to kind of sort of ask you to get into a bit of your early years, like maybe pre or during your PhD years,

Jessica:  Yeah, Francesca - So I think, you know, we're really so interested in the work that you're doing. Especially as we look at Hip-hop Education, as you know, a way to engage students at Hart House and at U of T. But I wanted to ask you really about that journey, because I think it's very unique and very interesting. So I want to bring it to the beginning and kind of ask you about what was that first introduction to Hip-hop? What was that connection that kind of led you to now pursuing an entire career, an academic career at that? So going through your PhD, getting that PhD, and then also making that career of research around Hip-hop. So you can take it back just to share your journey. What was it that connected you to Hip-hop to make it, you know, kind of like your career calling?  

Francesca:  Sure. I think there's a couple of things. So interestingly enough, though I consider myself a scholar of Hip-hop, my interest in Black music, and Black music that’s oriented towards social justice, actually began with Janet Jackson. For those of us, you know, not to date myself, but it's my most favorite album,

[laughter]

Zoe:  I'm laughing.

Jessica:  Yes! My sister’s obsessed with Janet Jackson.  

Francesca:  I'm obsessed. I think the first time I really got into social justice music by Black artists was with Janet Jackson's 1989 album Rhythm Nation 1814. And at the time I was - so I have an artist background, I think is the first thing that really drew me towards culture. Period. So at the time, I was taking dance lessons. And I remember our dance teacher for the year decided that we were, our end, you know, our final piece for the year would be choreographed to Rhythm Nation. And I remember seeing Janet, you know, on television, on Much Music. And I was enthralled, you know, by her talent, but especially by the lyrics in that album. And I know, I wouldn't learn until much later that Janet was inspired by a lot of the news cycle on CNN, you know, when she was writing that album. Things like school shootings across the country that were happening, but also like a lot of R&B Artists at the time, they were looking at the power of Hip-hop culture. You know, ‘89 is also the same year that Public Enemy released Fight the Power. So there was a lot of social consciousness stirring in Black music in the United States as a whole. But Hip-hop was really a source of interest for artists outside of the genre. And so I think my love of Janet and the social consciousness that was a huge part of that album was also paired with the fact that I remember, you know, watching much music as a child and seeing Maestro Fresh Wes on television. And it, you know, at first I didn't realize he was Canadian. And I think, you know, part of what made him so interesting is that within the Hip-hop aesthetic, he really set himself apart in the way that he was dressed. You know, he was dressed as an orchestra conductor, which I think, again, you know, as a young person, you don't always think about how powerful these images are until you begin to deconstruct them in your older years. But even seeing Maestro in that aesthetic was really powerful because it challenged the aesthetics, the Eurocentric aesthetics I should say, of what we imagined an orchestra director to look like - Or sorry, conductor. And so beyond those early years of being a dancer, I also eventually would become a musician and I would go to art school as a high school student. And so I was really immersed in music and dance and theater. And so once I went to university, I also paired that with a love for history, because I'm a trained historian. And so, once, I had dreams of also being a lawyer. I mean, like every young person, you know, what you hope to be shifts and transforms over time. So I was always interested in social justice and culture. And when I decided to apply for my graduate degree, I really wanted to find a way to marry those passions together. And of course, loving Hip-hop as being a part of the Hip-hop generation. I initially did my master's degree, with a focus on the music that came out of the Civil Rights and Black Power movement. So soul and funk in particular. And once I decided to pursue a PhD, I decided that I wanted my years to be focused on Hip-hop, both in the United States, and I've done some work, obviously, on Canada. And then I increasingly became an interested in Hip-hop Education. So I mean, I think that over time, my interests have shifted ever so slightly, but I've always been consistently interested in thinking about the role of culture in social justice movements.

Zoe:  So I have to say, you've made me rethink Janet Jackson in all new ways. And I'll have to go back to Rhythm Nation. I mean, it was great. I remember that video was just killing it back when, you know, Much Music was the thing and MTV and all of that. And, you know, from a choreographical standpoint, like she's amazing and stuff. But I have never really looked at her as a continuum of a kind of social justice movement, you know. So that's interesting. But the other piece I, and this is kind of what you've just said, kind of leads into the next few questions that we have... So you mentioned you're a trained historian and I feel, and I just kind of wrote this, I wrote down that phrase “trained historian” because I feel, in some ways, that is kind of the role and purpose of Hip-hop as well. Like it's a repository of histories and voices and narratives. And so I just thought that was an interesting, parallel. But to go back to a bit about what you just said about Maestro and seeing him and what he challenged for you visually and not even knowing or kind of immediately assuming, or not assuming that he was Canadian. It kind of leads into this question that I have for you, which is how do you feel that Canadian Hip-hop is both part of the overall Hip-hop narrative? And more specifically, how does it inform the Canadian identity? Specifically, if you feel that it does -  well, I think you do - but in what ways do you see, you know, those relationships?

Francesca:  I think being part of a larger Hip-hop canon - of course, the early pioneers in Toronto were looking south of the border to places like New York City, and thinking about how they were going to contribute to the culture and construct also a unique narrative. If we look at the early generation, the you know, the architects of Toronto Hip-hop, I think that they were trying in their own way to contribute to the culture. So as to be accepted inside of that Hip-hop narrative. And it's not really until we get to, in some ways, the what was called the second generation, you know, of Hip-hop practitioners in Toronto, where we start to see musicians in particular carving out a very unique narrative. So we think about artists like Kardinal Offishall, who on his song Bacardi slang really tries to set apart Toronto, and into some degrees, Canada more broadly - but Toronto specifically from their American counterparts. So as to just suggest that there's something unique happening in Toronto and Hip-hop being very much a trans local art form, meaning that it's connected, you know, these very various local spaces, you know, Toronto, New York City, Los Angeles, Atlanta - all of these places are connected through Hip-hop culture and the pillars of Hip-hop. But they also have very unique stories to tell based on the places that these artists come from. And so, I think that in a lot of ways, while Toronto artists were trying to be a part of that culture by practicing the forms within Hip-hop, whether it be breakdancing or emceeing, or graffiti writing, or DJing, I think they were also trying to find ways where they could represent themselves and their city. You know, claim their city, first off. First, we know Toronto, of course as the Tdot or the T dot O, and later, you know, become “the six” through Hip-hop culture. And so trying to claim that local space, but also trying to articulate their own identity. So within a larger framework of multiculturalism, I think Hip-hop, which in its early days in Toronto had an incredible amount of Caribbean inflections, whether it be the use of instrumentals, or the vocabulary, you know, used in Hip-hop, a Toronto Hip-hop, or the vernacular even.

Zoe:  Which is common, sorry to interject but you're just - On that point, I mean, that is really going strong today, because those cultures, Hip-hop and Dancehall have blended. So, almost you know, seamlessly in a lot of ways, right? And you hear, as you say, those particular inflections, or you hear specific words, or you see a lot in here, a lot of patois. You see in here, a lot of Dancehall kind of beats, and it's really interesting to have seen how that has just strengthened, you know, from the early stages that you just referenced up to now where it's completely normalized to have somebody who is not of any kind of Caribbean descent or anything, have some kind of word, some kind of rhythm or be participating or partnering with someone who is from the Dancehall world. It’s completely acceptable now.

Francesca:  Right. And I think, of course, you know, it's interesting how so many people who, let's say are the younger generation, or who are not familiar with Toronto, imagine that to be the way Toronto speaks. And I think that's an interesting phenomenon. I think, too, for those of us who teach the history of Hip-hop, or engage in Hip-hop education, there's also a potential danger in that because it tends to erase the contributions of Caribbean Canadian artists and to identify the fact that the inflections are in fact, from, you know, routed through the Caribbean. And it's not - it has come to be known as the way Toronto identifies or, you know, speaks, for example. But I think that if we don't do the work to continually remind people that this is a Caribbean contribution to Canadian Hip-hop identity, I think there's a danger of erasing that unique element of, you know, what really sets us apart from other places in the Hip-hop, you know, globally to say, right? Even though places like New York City have comparable, you know, demographics in terms of having large communities from the Caribbean who have migrated to New York City, there's something unique that's happened here in Toronto, where it becomes the forefront of our Hip-hop culture in a way that I think has not necessarily come to be in the same way in New York City. Even though certainly, you know, we could think about a number of Caribbean American artists. You know, whether they be Phife Dawg, you know, from A Tribe Called Quest or Busta Rhymes. They certainly are, they're, you know, they're in that Hip-hop community, but it hasn't been as much as in the forefront as the collective Toronto community.  

Zoe:  Interesting. So Jessica, hope you're taking note of that with Drake because...

Francesca:  He’s certainly, you know, a controversial character for some folks.

Zoe:  Well, yeah, he definitely does exactly what you just said. I mean, he goes to Jamaica a lot, as many artists do and he's collaborated with various artists. And he also has that inflection, he uses that vernacular, etc, etc. Right? And so for the biggest selling artists, not just Canadian, but like worldwide like that, What is that? What does that say? Just to your point, Francesca. So when you meet up with him, Jess, you need to have that conversation.

[laughter]

Jessica:  Definitely. I have a lot of questions myself for him.

Zoe:  Yeah, I know. But just so so much there again. And you know, just trying to make sure we do justice to all these points that you've brought up - you were you were speaking about Michie Mee earlier and about Maestro and I know you have a lot of love for Eternia as it were. And I wondered if you wanted to just kind of say a few words about who she is? And how, why do you think she's important? How she kind of fits in with the narrative of those, those other artists that you've referenced?

Francesca:  I think, you know, one of the reasons, one of the things I find so incredible about Toronto, is the way that female talent has been not just at the onset of Hip-hop culture - you know, we think about artists like Michie Mee, right? You know, she in a lot of ways represents that, you know, the famous Hip-hop recording, Ladies First. You know, the first of our talent is female. Which I think is a unique attribute of our Hip-hop story in Toronto. The fact that the first artists to really gain traction, it was a woman. And that sets us apart from many other Hip-hop spaces. And I think, you know, whether we think about, you know, artists like Michie Mee or Eternia, or you know, more recently, the ladies of The Sorority - Toronto has always been a city where female rappers in particular have been incredibly strong in terms of their contributions, lyrical or otherwise. And they've always been supported. You know, one of the things that I've loved watching as I've interviewed a lot of architects of the Toronto sound has been the way that male rappers really support female rappers in this city. And just watching that camaraderie is a beautiful thing. And, you know, very specifically when I think about an artist like Eternia, I - one of the things that I really appreciate about her and I certainly tried to model in my work as an academic who's a guest, you know, in Black studies and Hip-hop Studies. In particular, is the way she shows a deeper appreciation for the culture. You know, she always gives artists who set the template, Black artists in particular who set the template, she always gives them their respect and their due and I think she's a great representation of what it means to be a guest in the house of Hip-hop. And it's certainly one of the, she's one of the people that I certainly look to in the culture and try to replicate that way of being.

Zoe:  Definitely. And, you know, we have to respect people like her and many others and, you know, recognize that we have this incredible talent pool and these incredible voices right in our own backyard, so to speak. And so, given, you know, what you just said there, and all the work that you've done, both your kind of personal journey and now being a fellow at Jackman, why is it you feel that it's important to bring Hip-hop and to bring the areas of research that you're currently involved in into the academic environment? And how do you think that reframes Hip-hop as a culture? Or does it reframe Hip-hop as a culture within the academy?

Francesca:  I think, yeah, I absolutely do think that it reframes Hip-hop, both in the academy, but in in the broader cultural conversation. I think, for me, studying Hip-hop is important for a variety of reasons. I think, you know, first and foremost, it's important to think through the way that artists experience systems of power. You know, because oftentimes, when we think about musicians or you know, celebrities more broadly, we see them as people of privilege. In particular, the way that we imagine celebrities. And I think it's important to remember that they too are experiencing systems of power, particularly when they're so visible in the public eye. And so for me, it's been really important to look at Hip-hop culture and think through the ways in which they, the practitioners I should say, have engaged with the culture industry, and how the structures and mechanisms of power within culture industries, whether we're talking about the US or Canada, have supported the art that these practitioners have put forward or fail to support, and have even challenged these artists in terms of their politics and their identities and what that looks like. Because that's often being done in the public eye for us to see. I think in particular, in the Canadian context - and one of the reasons you know, that I've been driven to focus on my upcoming work on the music industry, in particular I think historically, when we think about the academic work about the Black music tradition in Canada, so much of the attention in the literature, whether we're thinking about a discipline like history or other fields, such as you know, communications, or music studies even, there has tended to be a focus on rock music in particular. And I think one of the reasons for that is because it tends to be considered a trope of Canadian-ness in a way that other forms of culture have not. And so, you know, one of the things that I'm interested in, is thinking about Hip-hop culture. And how studying this community and their contributions to Canadian culture more broadly, can tell us a lot more about the history of broadcasting in this country and the protection strategies that have been used to protect a you know, “Canadian culture”, you know, what exactly does that look like? Especially in the strategies that have been implemented by institutions like the Canadian Radio Television and Telecommunications Commission, which is also known to us as the CRTC. And in particular, strategies, like CanCon, you know. So I'm really trying to think through what CanCon means to the nation. And I think when we look at Black music, in particular in Hip-hop, and Hip-hop especially, what we see is that these protectionist strategies have have failed really to incorporate that important contribution to the country. And they have, those strategies have uniquely affected the work of Black artists and their ability to generate a thriving platform that showcases their artistic contributions.

Zoe:  I, I feel like what you said, it just struck a nerve there so much, because we do look at - we are kind of told in many different ways through you know, dominant culture that classical and rock n’ roll are the things that, you know, define what Canadian culture is. And yet, you're so right about Black voices. I would also add Indigenous voices, obviously, to that, and a really interesting and informative, you know, Hip-hop cultural scene within the Indigenous communities. But that both of those communities, what they're talking about is actually, you know, the alternate or the underlying kind of history of all of Canada, right?  

Francesca:  Absolutely.  

Zoe:  And the one that you don't get in the textbook. And the one that now at this particular moment in time, there's a lot of push back on like, whose stories are being told? What truths  and you know? And just yeah, it's just really interesting to look at it through the prism of like, Ken Coleman, and through the prism of like CanCon and what culture is promoted and what isn't and what's excluded.  

Francesca:  And I think too, you know, what we also need to remember, that’s not specific necessarily to any type of geography, but it's that Hip-hop culture as a whole - and, you know, I look primarily at Rap music - but Hip-hop as a whole is a way to create and project forward a counter narrative. And so, you know, in my early dissertation work, when I was completing my doctorate, I was very interested in thinking through what is the story that Hip-hop tells us about the United States, because my early work was on the US. And when we look at Hip-hop, we start to see the nation in very different ways. We start to see systems of power in different ways because Hip-hop is a story of people who are disempowered at very many intersections, whether we're talking about race, class, gender, sexuality, you know, different geographical spaces. And so I think if we incorporate the stories of Hip-hop into larger narratives about broadcasting history, or the Canadian culture industry, what we are going to see are these stories that are exacerbated by different forms of oppression. You know, it's one of the reasons why, you know, in the last month or so we've seen the introduction of groups such as Advance, which is a Black music collective that is trying to address a number of Anti-Black, systemic issues that are in the music industry. And so when we archive the stories of Hip-hop in the broader Canadian culture industry, we will be able to see that this isn't just part of the present or the contemporary moment. This has a historical trajectory dating back, you know, in the Canadian culture industry for many decades. And so I think it's important to do that work because so often when we're talking about systems of power in particular relation to Anti-Blackness, there seems to be this continuing narrative that circulates that these are new instances. When in fact those of us who have been studying and for people who have experienced systemic oppression, they will tell you that this is not new at all. And so doing that archival work is really important, too. Educating the public about the long history of Anti-Black racism in Canada. And the way of course it appears with anti-Indigenous racism in the settler colonial context.

Jessica:  I'm just here listening to both you and Zoe go at it.  

[laughter]  

And I think it's a great conversation. Sorry, but I have all these questions to ask. It all sounds just so amazing. And like, the way you're articulating this. It's just bringing it all to, like home. So, Francesca, the question that I have, in particular is around when you mentioned Eternia and you know, we really respect Eternia as well and love working with her. But you talked about how she, you know, recognizes that she's a guest in the space. And I wanted to talk about the kind of the research that you do and entering a space that you necessarily, you know, are not affiliated with, in a sense of being a musician, or you are a musician, but I mean, Hip-hop artists, or being a part of that kind of experience. So I wanted to ask around, like, how that is for you and your position, and the powers that you hold as an academic and being, you know, visibly white, highly educated? How is it for you to navigate these spaces, build trust, and negotiate these relationships to tell the stories of the people that you are interacting with?

Francesca:  That's a great question. I think - so when I began doing my doctoral research, which was primarily focused on the ways in which rappers articulated their identities. So not just being musicians, of course, but also, you know, my full focus of my research was really on Black rappers in particular, and those who identified with urban spaces and working class identities in particular, and working poor identities. And so one of the ways in which I try to address, you know, the fact of course that I am not American, you know, first and foremost - I, as a visibly white person, I do not share the Black experience, you know, certainly not the Black American experience. And so, I think one of the most important things to do as a researcher who may be an insider, in some ways - you know, the fact that I'm a musician - but you know, I am an outsider in a lot of other ways. And so one of the important ways to rectify or address this head on for me was to always center the voices of the artist. And so their voices, whether it was in interviews, whether it was in the music, whether it was in various other archival sources, was to put their voices front and center and to recognize that as an academic, you are also always collaborating. You, as a historian, I should say, you're always collaborating with those in your study. And so I wanted to center their voices. But I also wanted to do a lot of listening. And I think in general, that's how we can move beyond, you know, outside of the Academy. I think that's one of the important elements of being part of any social movement. You know you have to know when to speak, and you have to know when to sit down and listen. And so a lot of my work, of course, centers around recordings, and I had to do a lot of listening. I spent a year and a half just doing archival work, listening to records between you know, the mid 1970s through to the mid 1990s. And just listening to what the artists were saying, what were their central concerns? How are they articulating themselves? What exactly were they articulating? You know, what were the social and political ideologies that emerged from that work? And what I found was that through their voices, rappers were using culture and Hip-hop culture, in particular, as a politically useful battleground to unmask persistent forms of coloniality in the afterlife of American slavery. And so I wanted to think about Hip-hop culture, not just in the moment of the late 20th century, but I wanted to think about how these artists were part of a long Black music tradition that connected back to the period of enslavement because I saw that there were patterns that were beginning to emerge, in terms of what they were saying, and how their commentary was connected to the commentary of their musical predecessors. And what I found was that as rappers began to embolden their consciousness in a variety of formats, whether it was about class and capitalism, or gender representation, or the life that they were experiencing as a racialized person in the United States - I found that Rap became a place where they were able as artists to transform dispositions of power by narrating to the American public through Rap music, in particular, that Blackness in the United States had been continuously framed in discourse as terrifying. Even while at the same time, Black people and Black communities broadly, were continuously subjected to not just racism, I, you know, in my work, I call it Anti-Black terrorism in the form of things such as police brutality, or vigilante violence that is enacted, you know, in communities, for example, between neighbors, as you know, as an example. And so in my work, I looked at how Rap music became a form of expression where Black artists who, you know, were not politicians, and you know, capital P politics, but where they can vocalize their demands about any number of issues, but also rupture dehumanizing discourses that had existed of Blackness prior to the late 20th century. And not just in that contemporary moment. And also, in doing so, reveal abuse of systems of power, and ultimately undermine prevalent myths that existed in the late 20th century about America being a nation that is colorblind - which, of course, you know, being that we're in the 21st century we know has continued, in terms of a practice. And so in my work, I begin by looking at how Hip-hop culture was initially constituted in terms of race, gender, and class identities. And then I proceed to think about how Hip-hop fared once local, state and federal governments responded to the various critiques that were coming out of Hip-hop culture, whether it was their reflections on mass incarceration and the war on drugs, or other issues, such as Anti-Black policing practices, strategies used in electoral politics, the way that the education system is shaped and how it impacts young Black people. And of course, capitalism and what impact it has in terms of the way that urban spaces are constituted, and the experiences of being poor in particular.

Jessica:  Wow. So what what I'm hearing is like, yeah, it's really a collaborative and reflective process with researching and working with the artists that are included in this research, and what comes out of it. I wanted to also just ask, and, you know, when you're doing this, what is the hope out of the research? Is that like established at the beginning with those that you collaborate with, or those who are part of doing this research what the hope of whatever is being created, what it's for, or what will come out of it?

Francesca:  I think that changes over the course of your research. You certainly have ideas about what you're hoping to achieve. But I think you know, primarily as a historian, we use the archive, you know, the power of the archive. And for me, part of my work also challenges the notion of the archives. Because in a lot of ways, the archive is shaped by colonial thinking and practices. And I wanted to think beyond the archive, beyond these institutional spaces that I think a lot of times, don't properly capture the voices of everyone in any given society. And so for me, I was using items that have yet to be archived, in part, because I'm doing a living history. So whether it was interviewing the actual artists, listening to their music, watching recorded performances, you know, reading their liner notes. I watched a lot of congressional hearings, you know, because I was thinking about the way that Rap was taken up at different levels of government. I think that over the course of my research, my hopes for the project changed in important ways. But I think once I reached the end point of the doctoral process, for me, there were really three things that I hoped people would take away from the research, I think. First, it was really important for me to highlight, through my work, the role of culture in the lives of young people because I think oftentimes, we forget that Hip-hop, the architects of Hip-hop, were teenagers. They were kids. And so one of the takeaway points is that Hip-hop became a powerful tool for young people who often in society, we tend not to listen to young people. We tend to discount their thinking, their observations, the way that they're taking the world in. And so for me, I wanted to really respect the knowledge of young people and the ways in which they use Hip-hop to critically analyze and in effect respond to systems of power that were really crushing them in the late 20th century. I think the second thing for me was that I really wanted to create a piece of work that presented nuanced readings of Hip-hop beyond what tends to happen in public discourse - which is that Hip-hop is often characterized as an art form that promotes violence and substance abuse and narrow representations of gender and sexuality. And I really wanted to create a piece that helps readers understand the nuances of Hip-hop. And not just the nuances but to treat the form with respect because I think Hip-hop culture has contributed a tremendous amount, not just to the United States, or to North America, but globally as well. And I think the third and perhaps for me, the most important point that I wanted to come across in my work was that I wanted people who are reading to understand is that rappers are knowledge producers. They are public intellectuals and they are entrepreneurs. And I think throughout the history of Hip-hop culture, whether we're talking about in the United States or elsewhere, these young people have time and time again demonstrated to the public their acute ability to think critically about the world that they inhabit. They have the ability to contextualize their experiences within much longer histories of race and power in particular. And I think in a lot of ways, Hip-hop offers us, not of course in all forms of Hip-hop, but certainly in a number of forms of Hip-hop or sub genres, it offers us a way to think forward about the societies that we live in and strategies that we can use to unravel, and when Hip-hop is at its very best, strategies to decolonize our current conditions. And I think that certainly applies to the U.S. as well as in other places across the globe.

Zoe:  I think um, that is such a, as we pretty much near the top of the hour here, that is such a kind of beautiful and hopeful message because that was kind of going to be my closing comments, last question to you about what is kind of like the - where is the hope in Hip-hop? And how, what do you think it can aspire to, particularly in this really challenging, you know, moment and when there's a lot of community trauma that is coming up and death and injustice and all kinds of stuff. So I think looking and positioning Canadian Hip-hop, Hip-hop writ large, and the people that are producing it as kind of knowledge keepers and cultural producers, as you just said, is really - it's not something that we often think about. We think about what those kind of, you know, high artistic practices that are from a European perspective that we've been told, like, these are the only things that are of value, right. And so as you said, sort of time and time again, I think Hip-hop has shown that it can produce a more informed and a more true reflection of what is going on and a true a count of history. So there's that kind of counter narrative, but it's also the best teacher about how to continue this decolonizing work.

Francesca:  Absolutely. I think especially in the contemporary moment, in terms of a number of our social justice concerns, I think Hip-hop is as much, you know, political commentator, as it is historian and that's why I find it such an interesting form. I think, in the current moment, with all that we're facing, Hip-hop, at least as I've seen, you know, when I've been looking at some of the musical contributions across 20, you know, the year 2020 – I've really been thinking about, you know, what are the benefits that we can draw from Hip-hop? You know, what does it teach us? What can we draw from it, whether we're in the academy or not? Because I think it teaches everyone in unique ways. But for me, you know, some of the things I've been thinking about is that I think one of the things that Hip-hop does is it continuously throughout its history has always connected the contemporary to the historical. You know, this is the way it is, a historian. So if I think about, you know, and I'm going to use some examples in hopes that also it will draw people to listen to these great recordings. But if I think about songs like 8:46 by Mr. Lif, who's associated with Eternia, but Mr. Lif and Stu Bangas - I think about how, you know, obviously, when you look at the title of the song, it's gesturing to the murder of George Floyd at the hands of police. But I think what the song also does for listeners is that it historicizes for listeners the ongoing dehumanization, incarceration, and brutalization of Black people in the United States at the hands of police and people in power, and contextualize it within a much longer history of enslavement and segregation. I think also in its function, as a historian, Hip-hop also helps young people who are on the ground, you know, as activists or  wherever they find themselves being socially engaged. It also teaches young people and society more broadly, about its connection to a much longer Black liberation struggle. So if we think about a song like Black Thought’s recent release, Thought vs Everybody - he helps listeners think about the different ideologies in Hip-hop and how they're connected to a much longer Black freedom movement, and more broadly, the Black radical tradition. So you know, the song has interspersed speech recordings from people like Marcus Garvey, who led the Pan Africanist movement, Black Panther Huey Newton, other folks like Amiri Baraka of the Black Arts Movement, Khalid Muhammad of the Nation of Islam, or, you know, literary giant, James Baldwin, and even prison abolitionist, Angela Davis, who, of course, has been in the news talking about abolishing the police or certainly cutting back their funding. But also, I think one of the things that Hip-hop has done in this particular moment is contextualize the uniqueness of 2020. So I think about, you know, because there have been many historical moments where we have seen similar instances of police brutality, but society has not always reacted in the way that they have reacted in 2020. So I think about songs like Lockdown by Anderson .Paak. And in that recording he talks a lot about the response of people, you know, protesters who are reacting, of course, to instances of police brutality. But what it means to do that in this unique moment of COVID-19. And I think, you know, one of the things that comes across in the song is that he's saying this is a moment of pause. And it's made people reflect on the brutality of policing in a way probably that they have not done for a long period of time, in terms of different cross sections of people. And they've done so in a way that thinks about Anti-Black policing alongside existing issues such as poverty, unemployment, and health disparities. You know, all of which have been exacerbated by the pandemic. But I think perhaps one of the most hopeful and yet still, you know, classic Hip-hop styles, critical ways of thinking that Hip-hop has continued to introduce to us in 2020 is to think critically about electoral politics and the role that that can play in transforming society, especially as the U.S. moves towards their upcoming federal elections. So I think about, you know, one of my favorite artists at the moment is Locksmith, who some people may not know, but he comes out of California. And so I think about a song like his recent release called Black Holocaust, or even, you know, one of my favorite groups, Public Enemy, who recently released a song called State of the Union. And when I think about these two songs in conversation, I think about how Hip-hop can also help us bring about a call to action to take electoral politics seriously and to consider the role that citizens can play in overturning structures of power. I think so often people think that their voices are not heard, and that there are avenues where their voices can be heard. And so songs like these help us think about the power of the vote, in particular, in the United States to cast out the current occupier, who, you know, who I will not name of the White House. You know, who I think Public Enemy, rightly, you know, frames him as a dictator and a fascist who should be feared in terms of what he has done in the US during the course of his presidency, but also the potentials of what he could do if re-elected to a second term. But what I think about the Locksmith song in particular, I also find it fascinating, you know, that while they're talking about electoral politics and what voting can do, Locksmith also articulates a very real and long standing distrust that racialized communities, not just the United States, but in other places as well, have had in terms of the relationship to the political system. Which he argues have continually failed to respond to the needs and demands of Black people. And so while he's certainly talking about electoral politics, he's also asking the public to consider the complexities of voting. And to be critical of both sides, you know, if especially in the United States where you know, so much of the conversation is about Republicans and Democrats, or Liberals and Conservatives. And he's certainly asking people to be critical, even of the Liberals, and especially Neo-liberals, who in a political campaign all tend to mobilize race in the conversation, in part to generate or recruit voters to the fold. And so he asks people to even think critically about whether those intentions are genuine or disingenuous. And to use that knowledge to press the candidates to speak to them in a genuine way. And ask them about what they need, and then to mobilize in that way to do that work for the communities that are putting them in office. So I think in 2020, Hip-hop is doing a lot of things for us. It's not just helping us learn about the contemporary. But it's also reminding us that this is a cyclical and continuous pattern, you know. The things that we're seeing before us, and that we need to always be critical, we need to question the society we're living in. And a lot of that involves taking pause and being reflective, which I think happens so often in the context of Hip-hop culture. And one of the reasons that as someone who loves Hip-hop and Rap music in particular, I'm so grateful for the artists that do that work.

Zoe:  I know in our last, one of our last conversations, you and I and Jessica had, we were talking a bit about basketball and the Vince Carter effect and Hip-hop and what the kind of convergence of like his rise and basketball and many of the Canadian Hip-hop artists as well as some U.S. artists that all of a sudden started to kind of take note of Toronto at that time. And I'm reminded of that, again, with the work that the NBA is doing around electoral reform, and how vocal they're being about that, the players, not the NBA as an association. But really important that that's one thing that bubbled up and then just another quick thing was just I love how this is obviously a moment for reflection and a moment for pause for all of us. And you're right in that the racial injustices and the murders and police brutality and all of that that has come to light is also being now looked at through the lens of all these other disparities, as you pointed out. You know, class and race and and ethnicity and everything else is being looked at. So it's a, I think, quite a unique moment. And my last comment to what you said was just kind of recognizing that for whatever reason, you know, at this moment, I feel like there is, a lot of people are drawing for a lot of the elder statesman voices of the Black Power movement. And you went through a few like Marcus Garvey. Recently, Angela Davis. Amiri Baraka, et cetera, and James Baldwin, and I think it's great that there is this both in education and a renaissance of those voices for new and like up and coming generations of people that are just kind of trying to understand this space that we’re in. That throw in a Langston Hughes and all kinds of other people that, you know, we could spend all day on those. So but I think it's great that they, they are getting kind of a second look. And it's hard. It's hard. You know, I feel hopeful when I see that, but I also feel very frustrated, because a lot of them are talking about things that were happening in their time, and we're talking about the same things, but on that note, I'll just ask Jess if you have any closing comments, before we wrap up?

Jessica:  Francesca, it's always great speaking with you. I think, you know, especially when you were talking about the power of Hip-hop in education, I think there's still a lot more that needs to be done in that regard as legitimising Hip-hop as a, you know, as something in the classroom, as a tool for engagement and self expression. And I think we see that in the work that we're trying to do here, but across the board I know even as a Hip-hop scholar, for yourself, I could assume that there, there's also barriers within that. Just the study of Hip-hop at the academic level in the PhD program, and some of the resistance and barriers there. So I think overall, like just Hip-hop in education is still something to continue to kind of - it's almost like you have to prove it and legitimize it because there's a lot of pushback against it. Thank you for sharing all of these songs that some of them I've never heard of. Yeah, so great conversation. So -

Braeden:  Could I ask a question? Is there time? Um, I think when a lot of us think of a historian, we just think of someone who exclusively deals in the past, but who better to look forward than someone who's well versed in the past. And so I'm curious, what are some things that you're seeing or noticing about, or like shifts or trends that are emerging in Hip-hop specifically in Canada?

Francesca:  Well, I think one of the songs actually that I was recently listening to is a song by an artist named TOBi, who I believe comes out of Brampton, if I'm correct. And it is a song called 24 Toronto Remix. And it features a number of Canadian artists - Shad, Jazz Cartier, and Haviah Mighty, who I think is one of the most powerful Toronto artists that we have right now. And I think one of the things that this song for me highlights is the shift, not just in Hip-hop, but in the general cultural conversation that we're having in Canada, is that these artists, and of course, you know, Hip-hop has been talking about structural oppression in relation to policing for a very long time, even when we're thinking about our Canadian artists, right? But this song in particular, I think what it does is it reminds the Canadian public, that Anti-Black policing is not merely an American issue. And I think this is a really important shift, especially as we're hearing you know, calls to defund the Toronto Police Services. Because I think so often when we tend to talk about race and oppression, and, you know, various disparities that are impacted, or are an outcome of racial disparities, I think so often we tend to think of that as an American problem, you know, and that we're the good neighbors to the north. That tends to be the prevalent master narrative or discourse. And through recordings like this, I think, Rap artists in particular, challenge the public again to think very critically about the way that Canada constitutes itself, both inside of its borders and projects itself internationally as a country that apparently does not have racial problems. Which, you know, is not true whether we study the history of Canada, or not. So we know this has certainly not been been the case, historically. The fact of the matter is, is that race continues to trouble Canada into the present day. And so these artists, I think, really put that conversation back on the table and force the Canadian public to treat this conversation seriously. And I think, in the Canadian context, this is a really important shift in the cultural conversation, because so often, you know, whether we're talking about in Canadian classrooms or in political discourse, there is a failure to really think critically about the ways that Canada treats racialized populations, whether we're talking about Black communities across the country, or in Indigenous communities as well. And to really think about Canada as a settler colonial nation. And this is the work I think that Canadian Hip-hop artists continue to do so powerfully. And in the larger context of Hip-hop, I think, really presses us to think about how all of these moments are connected to historical practices that continue to cycle moving forward. That said, I think that one of the things that has been so interesting to watch is to see the cross section of people who are coming into the fold. Who are deciding for themselves that they are committed to learning and understanding the issues and to doing something about that. And I think, you know, as an educator, one of the things that I often say to my students is that I don't like to punish people for not being in the conversation. But I do, once they are part of the conversation, I think it's important to honor the stage where every, you know, the stage in which everybody is at. Whether it's taking a class, reading a book, walking in the streets, you know, being part of an organization. However you find yourself involved and committed to the various social justice issues that are of concern to you. I think that as a society, we all have to work in our different lanes. And our contributions as a result will be different. But the more pressure that we collectively put on these systems that have power, the closer we'll get. And of course, it's incremental. That's one of the things that history teaches us - that change is always happening. Sometimes it's at a slower pace than we would like. But these incremental changes are going to move us closer to the world that we want to inhabit, if we're lucky to see that world. And, you know, some days, I'm a little, I'm a little less sure if that will happen in my lifetime. But I certainly know that with continuous work, I hope to leave this world in a better condition than which I arrived in it. And I think that's a goal that we should all be collectively striving towards. Thank you for the question. It was - thank you for all these questions. I'm so happy to spend time with you all. Really. I think that Hart House is doing a lot of great work around Hip-hop in particular and Hip-hop education. And, you know, kind of off of some of the comments, the closing comments that you all made, even though it has for so many people who do Hip-hop studies, it's been a struggle for us to legitimize our work in the academy, I think that we stand on the shoulders of a lot of academics before us. I think about people like Tricia Rose, Mark Anthony Neal, for example, all of whom have done, you know - and even here in Canada, Mark Campbell, Rinaldo Walcott - all of whom have done really important work, to create a space for those of us in these current generations of scholars who are committed to Hip-hop and legitimizing it as the source of knowledge. And you know, and we continue to do the same for people who will follow after us. So I think the path for hip, the path for Hip-hop cities is great. We just have to keep going. And I think the work that you all are doing it at Hart House is really important to legitimizing the study of Hip-hop and the role that it plays in the lives of the students that were committed to the role that it plays in their lives. And what it can teach us in the academy, because I think we can glean so much from Hip-hop, you know, whether it's talking about Rap music, or breakdancing, whatever the form is, there's so much that it gives us and so there's so much more to do. So thank you all for speaking with me today. I appreciate you.

Jessica:  Thank you to our guests, Dr. Francesca D'Amico-Cuthbert. Thank you to my co-host Zoe Dille. Thank you Braeden and Day for helping produce the show. And most of all, thanks to you, our listeners. We'd love to hear from you. You can find us on Instagram @harthousestories. You can also find more information around the Hip-hop Education events for the academic year at harthouse.ca or on social media @harthouseuoft. We're here every Saturday at 7am on CiUT 89.5 FM and we post all of our episodes under Hart House Stories on SoundCloud. Our intro outro music was composed by Dan Driscoll. I’m Jessica Rayne signing off as your host for today. Thanks for listening and we'll see you next week.

[svubloods]

Imagine finding out the truth about your parents, Rafael and Erika (TPELB Part Eleven)

Imagine finding out the truth about your parents, Rafael and Erika (TPELB Part Eleven)

*Masterlist with all the parts HERE *

Imagine finding out the truth about your parents, Rafael and Erika (TPELB Part Eleven)

“I have a proposition for you if you are willing to entertain me for a bit, or for dinner at least,”

You looked up momentarily. Meeting his eyes, the same eyes you had, before glancing back down at your plate without a word or a second glance. You continued to push your dinner around your plate with your fork, not eating it just toying with it. If you did it long enough he would usually let you go without finishing. He got tired of trying…until the next day.

You’d been living with your ‘Father’ Rafael Barba, unwillingly and involuntarily, for over two months now which meant it had been exactly 64 days since you’d seen your family in person. You knew you would see them eventually but it was his decision to decide when. He’d persuaded the Judge to allow a ‘settling in period’ which meant you couldn't see your family even though they shared custody in order to let you get settled in without any undue influence. He used you outburst as evidence that you needed it and as a result the last time you talked to any of them in person or seen them. You texted, e-mailed, wrote letters but it wasn’t the same.

And even though it had been two months, nothing had changed. You felt nothing but contempt for the man who essentially took and obliterated anything that had once made you happy. Take today, it was Friday and if things were the same you’d be sipping milkshakes with Will at your favourite cafe right now. But instead, your favourite day had transformed into your least. Friday was the day he made an effort to spend time with you. Every other day of the week, Sarah, Mr Barba’s housekeeper and now you nanny would watch you and make you dinner. But on Fridays, he dismissed her and made dinner for the both of you himself. He made you eat together on Fridays and Sundays and took you to his mother’s on Saturday. You didn’t speak on Fridays or anytime when it was just the two of you or when visiting his Mom. You wanted them to know how angry you were. You had eased up overtime with Sarah. She was nice, understanding but ultimately still his employee.

“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually,”

You ran your tongue over your teeth and kept your head down. You were starving but you were determined not to eat anything he made, which included this dinner. You would eat Sarah’s dinner and you’d even relented with his Mothers, your Grandmother. Just not his, you shunned everything that was associated with him. He’d had to get Sarah to unpack your things because you refused too. You didn't pick out a colour for your walls or any furniture so his assistant and Sarah had done it themselves under his instruction. It turned out quite nice and the room was larger than your old one but it wasn’t yours. It was still his apartment, everything he had bought you was still his. His attempt to get you onside. Nope, you responded to yourself. You only spoke to him when you absolutely had too and used things he bought when you had to out of necessity and you wanted to keep it that way. You didn’t want to allow yourself to soften your stance.

“Y/N please,” He suddenly pleaded, startling you.

You looked up out of shock, your eyes widen as his bores into yours from across the table. His tone was desperate, broken. A little like you. He’d been so trying hard this whole time to no avail and perhaps that failure had finally gotten to him.

You didn’t look away this time. You kept looking at each other. He’d made no progress, you look at him with the same anger as you did in that courtroom. If not more as it was after you’d had all of your stuff moved to his he told you he was blocking access to your family until he thought you were ready. You think he thought it would encourage you to engage with him, the prospect of seeing your family. But you refused to play his game, you wouldn't engage until you could see them.

You didn’t talk enough to argue but if you did, you’d probably argue you over that. Or why he was so against them. He badly hid his negative feeling towards your family which utterly confused you. They hadn't done anything to him. But his tone filled with venom even when mentioning them in passing.

It made you angry. But you also felt a wave of intense confusion, curiosity.

Silence fell, he took the opportunity to elaborate. 

“How about this,” He began, bargaining, putting down his essentials and crossing his arms, “I’ll answer any question you want if you answer one of mine in return,” 


You titled your head at him. Evaluating his serious expression and as soon as you were sure he being truthful, once you were satisfied you set down your fork and pushed your plate away.

You nodded, briskly.

You never could resist your curiosity.

You watched as a wave of relief washed over him. He looked confident. He thought he was making headway. If only he knew how wrong he was.

“What happened to your hand” Mr Barba, asked you from across the table, casually, before eating a forkful of dinner.

You glossed over your bandaged knuckles, offering no explanation. But you had your thoughts.

“What the hell?” His voice cried, the door swinging open, beside you, it was strong, commanding, intense, “Y/N, what are you…?”

His voice softened at the sight of you. His eyes burning into your side. But you didn’t move, you didn’t even turn to look at him even though he was only a few feet away. Against the blurring world and the debris around you, you raised your shaking hand, and at that moment it was the only thing you could focus on, your shaking hand and the blood leaking out your freshly bruised knuckles.

“Y/N…”

“Y/N!”

You staggered backwards messily, his panicked voice the only thing you could hear over the deafening sound of your heart pounding in your veins. Your hand was stinging with fierce pain. But it was better. Way better, even if it was only a distraction, stinging was better than dull and relentless.

“Y/N, please talk to me”

“Oh my God, Y/N, your hand!”

You backed up until you felt the cool brick wall against your back, digging harshly into your skin as you tried to stabilise yourself against it.

You cradled your head in your injured hands as you heard his footsteps approach you, highlighted by the broken glass he had to walk on.

“Y/N?” A familiar but unwanted voice asked.

It was almost a whisper, a plea.

Your head shot up, your features already composed into a steely glare as you caught him look between you and the opposite end of the hallway.

“Oh Y/N,” He breathed, “ We need to get you to the nurse,”

He reached out for you after and you instinctively slammed your back, back against the wall, harshly.

“Okay, okay,” He reasoned, throwing his hands up apologetically, seeing you were unwilling to go with him, “Do you want me to get someone else to take you?”

You shook your head.

“Do you just not want to go?” 


You nodded, sliding to the floor against the wall. Shards of glass grazing your skin. You weren't going to speak to him. Arguing would involve speaking to him which you were vehemently opposed to doing. You sat heavily. You could feel your detachment from everything that was happening around you. He was probing at you, checking your hand, trying to get you to talk him. But you were dazed, your mind an unsettling state of blankness.

There was nothing, there was no one.

Just you.

But your anger towards him was enough to bring you back to reality when he spoke.

“Why did you do it, Y/N?” Mr Morgan, his face was concerned if not highlighted with guilt, his eyes were pleading, begging you to speak.

He knelt down beside you, leaving a gap just in case.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Your tone was cold, stark and in tone that you couldn't even recognise your own voice. But they were your words.

“Please, talk to me,”

“Was I not clear?” You questioned, the fog in your brain evaporating as you were suddenly fuelled by rage after snapping your head in his direction.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” He began to excuse.

“That you were doing the right thing,” You’ve waved off, already knowing where this conversation was going, “You’ve said that and more grovel over a hundred times by now. Which is why I stopped you. I don’t want to hear it again. I want what I’ve always wanted when we have this conversation. For you to leave me alone,”

“I’m your teacher,” 


“I’m well aware. Which is why I say nothing when I have to be around you. And in case you haven't noticed I don’t have a Physics lesson right now so please leave,” You stated, holding your voice strong.

“I care about you, Y/N.” He sighed, adjusting his glasses as he always did when he was uncomfortable, “And I can’t just leave you in the hallway! I truly am sorry for what happened. I didn’t think you’d be…”

“So upset?” You offered, interrupting him yet again, “Wouldn’t you be upset if someone violated your privacy?”

“I thought we did the right thing by giving her your letter,” He whispered, bowing his head, “If I had known that…”

“What? If you had known what? If you would have known that you giving my Father’s lawyer a letter I wrote in therapy behind my back would mean I would no longer trust you, you wouldn't have done it? Here’s an idea next time you run the idea by someone because anyone with a half functioning brain would know that would be a bad idea,” You snapped, turning away from him, “How many times do I have to say I don’t want to talk to you?”

Your voice was breaking, your eyes were blurring.

“I’m not going to stop trying,”

“Why not?” You demanded, practically hissing between your teeth.

“You need someone to talk to,” He insisted, his tone sympathetic and lost, almost in mourning though you had no idea as to what,  “And that’s what I’m most sorry about, that my actions mean that you can no longer trust me because I know that right now you need people you can trust more than ever. I wish you could trust me again,”

“How can I ever talk to you without worrying that you’ll go tell someone what I’ve said?” You countered, “Or even worse tell him, what I said?”

“What can I do to make you trust me again?”

You shook your head, “I don’t know,” You paused before despite your better judgment giving him a faint small sad smile, “But you know what I do know?” Meeting his gaze for the first time, “Everybody I want to talk to, I’m not allowed to.”

“I know it’s been hard,”

“You’re not making it any easier,” You pleaded, “Can you please just go? Shouldn't you have to fill in a report or something?”

“I can’t leave you here,” He sighed, glancing around the empty hallway, the shattered glass and the destroyed display, “Why’d you do it?”

You finally looked up at what you had done. It was the school display for last years science fair. Littered with design to showcase all the wonderful inventions that had been presented including the winning entry. Yours, though the place where'd your winning photo had been was evidently blank, the display was ruined and the glass case over was shattered. Due to you putting your fist through it. Glass was all over the floor as were the torn up pieces of your winning picture.

“I couldn't look at it anymore,” You confessed, your voice finally breaking and tears giving way down your cheeks. You went to rub your eyes only to wince at the flexing of your hand, you lowered it before sighing, “For two months I’ve had to walk past it and I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't look at it anymore.”

“I punched a glass case,” You looked away as you spoke, to avoid his reaction.

“It’s your turn to ask…”

“Why can’t I go home?”  You stated, cutting him off,

“You are home,” He insisted, before questioning and gesturing in your direction, “Why did you do it?”

The picture, you just couldn't look at that picture. You thought back to that day as if you were trying to make yourself feel even worse.

“Now what is that?” Your Great-Grandfather Henry exclaimed, pointing to one of your classmate's projects as he walked by, much to your annoyance and your Uncle Joe’s amusement.

“Shh,” You hissed, swatting him, “They’re about to announce the winner,”

“Y/N/N, why are so worried?” He asked, jovially, before leaning in and whispering, “You know we’ve already got this in the bag,”

“We?” Joe questioned from the other side of you, “Grandpa, this is Y/N’s project,”

“I helped,” He insisted, pointing to the decoration part of your project, “That was all me,”

“I gave him the choice between red or blue ribbon,” You clarified, before shooting him a sly wink. 

“It was my glue gun,”  He reminded, “And besides the only real competition is that volcano,”

“The volcano?” You questioned, taken aback, “You think that’s impressive?”

“How did he get it to erupt?” He countered. 


“Someone is lighting a lightbulb with a potato,” You stated.

“But is the potato erupting?” He pointed out with a distracted nod before glancing over the stage and grabbing your hand, “They're about to announce the winner, pipe down,”

“I already said…” Joe went to say.

“Hush, Joseph,” He warned off, dismissively.

Uncle Joe rolled his eyes before flashing you wink and grabbing your shoulder supportively. You’d appraised the competition and you knew you were a shoo-in to win but you always got nervous in situations like this. Nobody said you had to win but you felt like you had too. You were genius, everyone said so, the smartest person in the room. You had to win. And you always did. You shut your eyes tightly, ignoring everything around you in an effort to tame your racing heart. Only opening your eyes to joyful hollers and celebratory jostles.

“We won!!!”

“Y/N won,” Uncle Joe corrected.

“I won?”

“You won,” They confirmed in unison.

“How…I…did…” You stuttered.

“Just go,” Joe ushered.

“Come with me?” You asked, hopefully, looking at them both in turn.

“It’s our time to shine,” Your Great-Grandpa agreed, offering you his elbow as you began walking up to the stage, with your Uncle Joe following behind, slightly embarrassed.

You were congratulated again and met with another applause when they presented with you a trophy. It had been donated by one of the other parents and subsequently much bigger than last year. It was over half your size and when they handed it to you, you struggled straight away. Your Uncle Joe quickly grabbed at one side and Henry the other to help stabilise you. The celebratory picture was taken at that moment and you all had massive smiles on your faces as you tried to keep the trophy upright.

You all were so happy.

But you weren’t anymore.

And looking at that picture every day, just reminded you of that fact.

You just couldn't take it anymore, seeing how you all were every damn day when you walked out of class. You said the same thing to Mr Morgan before bursting into tears and sobbing on the floor of the hall for what seemed like hours. He had stayed with you that day, wrapping a hesitant arm over you as you buried your broken and sobbing face into your knees. Hugging your legs in an attempt to stop yourself shaking, hugging yourself as no one else could.

You were alone.

“This isn’t my home. It’s yours, I’m just forced to be here,”

“That wasn’t answer to my question,” He pointed out.

“I couldn't take it anymore,” You offered, purposely aloof with your words.

He swallowed hard, the tension between you palpable.

“Why can’t I see my family?”

“I want you to settle in fully before you see them again, so they can’t…” He trailed off purposely, looking in the other direction and breaking away from your intense gaze.

“What?” You probed spitefully, “Turn me against you?” You rolled your eyes and leant against a balled fist, “Too late,”

“One day you will understand,” He breathed, pulling the napkin off his lap and wiping the corners of his mouth.

“Do you think I’m incapable of understanding your reasoning right now?” You countered, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair, “I’m the smartest person in most rooms I walk into…including this one,”

“Academic intelligence is different from emotional intelligence,” He sighed.

“Of course,” Your muttered, rolling your eyes, “I don’t think…”

“It’s for your own good,” He suddenly offered.

“Bullshit,” You breathed.

“Y/N!” He warned.

“I’m not a child,” You shot back, “Don’t try to mess me around. You didn’t do this for me,” You took a sharp intake of breath, “You did this for you. To alleviate guilt. Make yourself feel better. Whatever your reason don’t kid yourself and pretend you’re doing this for me. Because if you were we wouldn't be sitting here. I would be at home, my real home, and you would be making an effort to get to know me before separating me and taking me away from the only family I’ve ever known. You’re doing this for you. And I don’t know why,”

“You’re right,” He admitting, “Part of this is for me but it is mostly for you no matter what you think. I’m doing this for the both of us,”

“That’s not an answer,��� You argued, “I want to know why,”

“I want to be your Dad. I’ve already missed thirteen years…”

“But that was your choice,” You reminded, insistently.

“That is not true,” He stated fiercely and adamantly, it was clearly something he was sensitive about and yet you didn't believe a word.

“I listened to it, you know,” You announced, a beat of silence before you spoke as the tension fizzled.

His face flashed an expression of confusion, looking back at you blankly as he registered your words.

“The recording,” You clarified, blinking away the tears that were blurring your vision and clenching your fist in an effort to stop it shaking, “Of what I believe to be the last conversation you guys ever had?”

“How did you…?”

“You really think they wouldn't find a way to give me it?” You countered, raising an eyebrow at him and tilting your head as you observed him closely, “If you didn't think you would, you are very much underestimating them,”

He chuckled dryly, shaking his head, “Of course they did,” He looked away, placing his hands on the edge of the table, gripping tightly as he collected his thoughts, before swinging a glance back in your direction, mirroring your natural head tilt, “What did you think…?”

“Are you asking for my opinion?” You questioned, taken aback.

He gave a heavy look but purposefully made no effort to verbally encourage you to continue.

“You were cruel…cold,” You stated, harshly, pointedly, as you stared him down, “Angry, even”

“You don’t understand,” He interrupted, repeating himself.

“Maybe,” You shrugged, “Maybe I don’t understand. But I do know one thing. Your reaction to it doesn’t make sense,”

“What do you mean?” He finally gave in and prompted, his gaze meeting yours as your observations reeled him in, curiosity getting the better of him.

“There was no shock, no surprise, not even fear just anger. Like you knew it was coming,” You offered, blinking innocently at him before shaking your head with false light-heartedness “But that isn't possible…right?”

He didn’t miss a beat and you had a feeling both of you knew the last conversation they had ever had word for word.

“Hello?”

“Rafael?” Erika questioned, almost nervous.

“Oh hi,” Rafael responded, his surprise evident, “It’s nice to hear from you? How are you?”

“Okay,” She replied shakily, “You?”

“Good,” He said, “Listen, you know I was planning on calling…”

“Rafael, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Erika began all of sudden, she couldn’t keep it in.

“Okay…” He dragged out, confused, slowing done his packing, “What’s up?”

“I’m pregnant,”

The words hit Rafael’s ears. For the first five seconds, he was silent. Then he opened his desk drawer and searched. Once he found it, he pulled it out and held it in his hands. Opening it up slowly, the memory of the first time he received it washed over. He knew what he had to do and he didn’t like it.

“Rafael?” Erika asked, thinking the connection had been lost or he had been stunned into silence.

“Are you joking?” He countered.

“No, of course not,” Erika refuted, “I wouldn’t lie about something like this,”

“Come on,” He insisted, “Enough is enough. I’m not falling for it!”

“I’m not joking!” Erika insisted, “It’s the truth! I can prove it!”

“Yeah okay, I’m sure you can,” He played off, “Listen I don’t have time for this, okay? You can't-fool me so your little trick failed. So can we just drop this and never speak to each other again?”

“Rafael, I don’t understand,” Erika sighed, her voice softening.

“I do though. This is just your attempt at a money grab, right?” He accused, “It’s pretty obvious,”

“I don’t want your money and how fucking dare you accuse me…” Erika stated.

“How many people have you tried this on?” He countered.

“I don’t know why you are thinking this way but the truth is I’m pregnant and it’s yours so,” Erika stated once again, getting angry at this point.

“Whatever you say,” He entertained, mockingly.

“Why are you acting like this?” Erika demanded.

“Why are you?” Rafael countered, “You could do much more with your life than reducing yourself to this.”

“What the hell is going on?” She demanded.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” He countered.

“I can’t deal with you. How dare you? You don’t even know me,” She began to rant.

“You’re right,” Erika agreed, “And I clearly don’t know you either. I thought you were a decent person,”

“Yeah, let’s debate my decency,” He chuckled, condescendingly.

“You know what I can’t deal with you anymore. So I’m going to hang up but before I do. Just know when you realise that you’re wrong because you will. You will never ever see this kid unless it’s over my dead body. Are we understood? Because I wouldn’t want them to have such an insensitive moronic bastard as a Dad.” She shouted down the line before hanging up angrily.

“I can’t honestly sit here and say that I wasn’t expecting a call from your mother that day,” He confessed.

“But how?” You pleaded.

“I’m trying to protect you by not getting you involved,”

“I’m already involved,” You stated, slamming your palms into the table, jostling the dishes before you retracted your hand, hissing in pain.

“Are you okay?” He questioned, concerned, jumping out of his seat.

“Don’t,” You warned, making sure he kept his distance, holding your throbbing hand to your chest, “Don’t come near me unless you're ready to tell me the truth. That’s all I want,”

“I don’t want to hurt you,”

“You already have,”

“After your mother and I split ways. I was sent a package,” He began, “In it was a letter explaining that your mother or at least Rosie MacDonald which was the name she gave me was a scam artist who pulled cons on young professional men. Including ones that pertained to faking a pregnancy in an effort to extort money,”

“Who would do that?” You asked, softly, taking in the information.

“I don’t know,” He said, solemnly, “All I know is at the time it was enough. They gave evidence and even provided a police badge number. I didn't think twice. I was just happy that I avoided getting scammed. But now I think there’s more to it,”

“Well, obviously,” You sighed, “For one I’m real, she was actually pregnant and secondly my Mother wasn’t a scam artist. She was a cop,”

“Who was undercover when we met,” He added, “And I don’t know why. After I found out she was not who I thought she was. I looked and I couldn't find anything,”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn't find anything on the operation she was working on or even who she was investigating. I even finally looked up the badge number from the original letter only to find out that it had been reallocated,” He continued.

“That doesn’t make sense,”

“It didn’t until,” He began before stopping.

“Until what?” You encouraged.

“Y/N please,”

“Just tell me the truth,” You pleaded angrily before softening your voice as you slouched back in your chair.

“When I found out your mother was dead, I was devastated and I wanted to know what happened,” He admitted, “I guess a part of me still did care as soon as I found out she was genuine. And I felt incredibly guilty that I could never to apologise to her for how I treated her. And I know you told me how she died but I wanted to know. So looked for the file and that’s when I knew something was wrong,”

“Why?”

“How did your mother die, Y/N?”

“A car crash during a police chase,” You answered matter of factly.

“Who told you that?”

“My family, obviously,”

His head was bowed, he couldn't meet your eyes. His breathing laboured as he considered his words carefully.

“Mr Barba?”

“She didn’t die in car crash Y/N,” He finally said.

“What?” You spluttered, almost laughing, “You’re kidding,”

“That is the official story, the one the media reported, the one everyone believes but it’s not what happened,” He elaborated.

“So what’s the truth?” You demanded, not being able to comprehend the information.

“You’re shaking,” He whispered, bending down beside your seat, he reached for your uninjured hand, hesitantly, as if he expected that you'd snatched it away.

But you didn’t. You let him grab your hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Just tell me the truth,” You insisted, keeping your head down as you adjusted once again.

“She was shot dead in her car,” He revealed, slowly, breaking the news as gently as he could.

“I…I don’t understand,” You let out, “She was murdered?”

He nodded.

“Why would someone…? Why would they lie to me?” You spluttered, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know. All I know is someone when to great lengths to keep everything about your mother under wraps. Almost changed, distorted, sealed away. I had to go find original copies of the case files to get the truth about what happened. Someone when to great lengths to cover up everything your mother was doing and how she died,” He explained, “And that’s why I did all this. I needed to protect you because I’d already failed for so long. I needed you to get you away from them,”

“From who?”

He gave you a guilty look, “There are only a few people powerful enough to orchestrate a cover-up like this. And your Grandfather’s one of them,”

[chaniters]

He’s on TV!!

Well here’s the ending for this angst trip!

One of the Rangers finally catches up with a desperate Cyrus at his worst moment -as does the entire West Coast-.

WARNING : Trigger, attempted suicide. Also. Spoilers.

_______________________________________

Ortega sat down and rubbing his temples with his left hand. It had been a terrible weekend and showed no sign of improving.

His right searched for the remote, digging dip below the sofa cushions until he finally grasped it.

Prize in hand, he laid back, sighed and turned the TV on.

He switched channels a few times...

___________________

N5 Los Diablos Night news show with Jhon Stevens!

"...lcome to our show!” The audience clapped “Phew... We've got quite a hectic week don't you think? You know... for a comedian... this is a hell of a time to be alive!"

Laughter, more clapping...

"So let me get you the facts people... First, we had our very own SUPERBOWL here in Los Diablos! First time since the big one? Isn't that great?!"

Audience cheered. More laughter.

"Yeah, I was there rooting for my team too... and then, because we're the best city in the face of this nation, we hired us a villain for the midshow! I bet NO ONE saw that coming! Suck it Miami! Suck it New Orleans!!"

Softer laughter.

"Now before the Superbowl folks, it's the tradition to have the president get a short interview right?" the audience nodded. The music band yelled in agreement.

"So let's hear what president Hardwell had to say JUST before the Superbowl"

A cut to the archive video... reporters from the stadium in live link with the president.

"... And you know me... I'm not going to take sides, let the best team win... But I'm really waiting to see the mid-term show! I'm told it's going to be the most thrilling performance in recent years... and Los Diablos had this long coming. This is a testament to its reconstruction efforts... I'm going to be watching live from the White House! A great party for all of America!"

The image froze leaving the president in a weird expression

"And a great party it was folks!"

more laughter.

Ortega switched channels.

________________________

N7 LDGT News

A few men in suits sat down together next to a world map, as they discussed.

"... the Superbowl revelations speak of a wider government conspiracy. Those pictures, they showed systematic unethical testing, forbidden tests, and enslavement of decidedly human beings..."

"Wait, John, you're not saying they're humans right?"

"I am… just hear me out to me Rick"

"Oh I'm hearing you, I'm just saying, even if you're going to believe that crazy Retribution Anarchist communist,  those things were grown in a lab. They can't be human"

Laughs.

"Look Rick, all I'm saying is, firstly, I don't think he can be a communist if he was  grown in an American lab"

"THat's right he's 100% American goods, he should be proud" an older guy added

"Hah... I know. But hear this... even the Spaniards, when they were abusing the natives in America, they came under scrutiny because the Spanish king thought it was too much. So he sent an investigation with priests and people of renown, to tell if the natives had souls too. And you know what they said?"

"It's not the same thing!"

"It's totally the same thing! Those things as you call them, they're human DNA. Two legs, two arms, one head, one torso, one brain, one heart. If the Spaniards, who committed some of the worst genocides could tell the natives were human, do you think any judge today is going to say they are not?"

Silence.

The man continued

"All I'm saying is these experiments are illegal on the east coast. They're legal here on the west coast, but we still have laws. And our laws are very clear on what a human Is, which I think the egg-head professors running the horror-show forgot. So we know what humans are, and I'm pretty sure they" he pointed at a picture of some regenes over the table taken a few years back "I'm sure they qualify. So if west coast laws apply, then they're human, not robots like they claimed they were. And worse of all for the bureocrats, they're humans born here on the West Coast so they're West Coast Citizens, whether they like it or not"

"Alright alright.. maybe you have a point... " the other man conceded. "So, let's say they're human... what happens next?"

"Oh, political chaos! We have fewer regulations, but If they're humans there's still so many crimes here committed against them that I can't even begin to summarize"

"So as a lawyer John... what would you suggest President Hardwell should do?"

"Well... he didn't start this, I mean the special directive has been going on for years... but with this latest scandal, I think they're done. They're done, and the writing's on the wall for all to see and he should just lay back"

"What, do nothing?"

"Yeah. Let the authorities handle it! That's what they're there for. Sit back and let heads roll all around him. If he's innocent, why should he get his hands deep into the bullshit?"

Laughter "How graphical John. Thanks"

"Always! Now, what about this Sideste..."

Ortega switched again.

__________________________

N9 West Coast News Room with Mia Ochoa

"...so the Superbowl scandal hasn't even fully crystallized into the public's mind, and the government's already facing a new potential tsunami."

"Agreed Jerry" Mia nodded holding a tablet. "It's hard to imagine a worse way time for the administration in recent time." she turned to the camera

"So let's go through the events one more time, just to summarize. Retribution, the villain anarchist has been a thorn in the administration for almost a year and a half now, and left scorched earth in his wake, exposing dozens of scandals and turning the political gameboard upside down"

"A die-hard fan base soon formed around this cult figure" a smaller image shows a protesting mob wearing fake Retribution helmets "and they've made sure to let their voices be heard. But it was all nothing compared to his stunt at the Superbowl when he exposed the special directive and revealed he was himself a regene"

"The administration has been facing protests, riots, and resignations for five days in a row now, and there's even a been a revival of the old movement calling for the West Coast to secede from the union altogether"

"I'm told the Westbran church is calling it "End of days" Mia" the male reporter said with a smile "They're retreating into their underground bunker to survive the coming apocalypse triggered but why they call "Men usurping the place of god"

"So if the impending apocalypse wasn't enough" Mia spoke again "Retribution appeared again on Saturday. Let's see it on video"

A cut to a zoomed image of a skyscraper. A young man was standing over the ledge, while an older security guard tried to talk him out of it

"This man" the man's face zoomed in to the max "Is called Cyrus Basri, and he's confirmed to be Retribution's civilian identity, the regene who took over the Superbowl."

"But that's not the shocking part" her counterpart continued. "To anyone hoping the scandal would die out, here's a hint. It won't."

"Indeed not. So this man, Cyrus Basri, he goes up to the New Aon Center tower, sabotages the anti-suicide netting device and walks over the ledge before a security guard tries to stop him"

"Now to our viewers who didn’t watch the news yesterday, this will be shocking, but the two knew each other. Here's the story"

A cut to the black security guard being interviewed by Mia herself.

"So It happens from time to time. People get fed up with their lives and come to the tower. New Aon Center, is the tallest building in the city, I guess that's why they choose this spot. So most times I just activate the safety system, but I realized it wasn't working. So I ran up to this guy, and he turns, and he's in shock and scared, and I realize I know him"

"Who was this man?" Mia asked.

"He's Cyrus... Cyrus Basri. Also known as Sidestep"

"What? Say again?"

"Yes, I know. Sidestep is supposed to be dead, but I saw him. This is Cyrus, the same Cyrus that wore Sidestep's mask back in the day, and he's alive"

"You knew Sidestep?"

The older man sighed.

"Yes.. yes I did... Very well in fact... I mean, I didn't know about him being one of them regenes but... you know... the other stuff"

"Could you please elaborate?

"Yeah... I knew him... but hadn't seen him in years. I guess he forgot I worked there because he panicked when he saw me, and... well he just jumped"

"He jumped?" Mia seemed confused.

"Yes .. but... I stopped it?"

"How?" Now she was lost.

"Ok... I guess I'm already on TV so it's no use hiding it... " he sighed "I  Always liked keeping my identity private... I'm retired now, But I was the ranger Sentinel for several years"

"... you were Sentinel?" she said looking for the camera, asking the production for confirmation.

"Yes, yes, you can confirm it, just call the ranger's HQ... I don't like publicity. But yes, I did the job all those years. I just had a cozy day job too so I could keep my own life separate."

A small cut in the video before the interview continues

"So it's confirmed.. sorry about that" Mia Apologised

"No problem. I know how it is. I don't look much like a hero I guess" he smiled "So, he jumped, and I panicked too, but It's not my first rodeo, I mean, I work there. And I still have my powers, so I stuck him back onto the safe side of the railing with a wind gust"

"wow... ehrm.. I mean.. Incredible. What happened next?"

"Well, we talked. A lot. He was very confused, not making sense at all. I was confused too, I mean, I watched the news, but I never expected him to be retribution. But you know, I did what I always do when people want to jump... talk to them like I know shit"

"I see... Did he say why was he going to jump?"

"Well, he pretty much told me his life was ruined. He felt like he was just a government project gone wrong, and after his stunt, he was just convinced he was going to get killed or captured, or experimented upon, and he thought he had not a single friend in the world after his battles with the rangers... He thought no one would like him because he was a regene. I'm thinking he's been in depression for some time"

"How did you convince him to stop?"

"I just told him... "Cyrus, you know me, I'm not going to let you jump. And we both know you don't want to do this. So will you let me call our friends to come to pick you up?" And he just cracked and started crying, and I asked again a few times, and in the end, he ended up agreeing with me that he didn't want to do it."

"I guess you're still a hero, even if you're retired," Mia said with a smile.

"Don't go telling people" he chuckled "So I called the rangers, and we got him a coat because he was shivering all over, I think he had been sleeping on the streets. So Herald showed up carrying Charge, and he kept saying he didn't want to see him, and I just shook him, and told him "Look, whether you like it or not Charge's your best friend so you're going to talk to him see if he can get some reason into your skull!"

"We actually got footage of that thanks to a tourist who tapped you in her phone"

A side image from someone's cellphone showed Charge and Cyrus talking. Charge was yelling while Cyrus just looked down. Ultimately Charge kneeled down and squeezed his shoulders, holding his forehead against Cyrus' own while speaking a few words in a lower tone. Cyrus kept nodding each time. They kept at it for a long time before Cyrus stood up wiping the tears and Charge hugged him, ruffling his hair and patting his back.

"So how do you know Sidestep?"

"Well he used to sketch a lot back in the day.. the kid and I had a lot in common, I mean we liked our identities private. But I told him about my day job one day, don't know why. He asked if he could come sketch, out of costume. He wanted to learn how to do landscapes. Heh, he did... I got like a dozen landscapes he drew. All signed "Sidestep" I should show someone one day..."

"What do you know about him taking the role of retribution?"

"Wow... that's a rough one... I don't know. I guess he was desperate? Wanted to tell people what happened to him and saw no other choice? Not many people can cope with things like being told you're not human... I've faced bigots, you guys know that, but not like this... He was a total mess, kept saying he didn't want to live anymore... I guess I'll have to ask him again when he's feeling better. I mean I hope he gets better, he's a good friend, regene or not!"

"What about the government officials that showed up?"

"Oh. Those creeps." he smiled "They tried to arrest Cyrus on behalf of the federal government. We didn't let them, but they got us at gunpoint and handcuffed him... I almost did something but Charge told me not to"

"Did you know what..."

"What Steel was planning?" he smiles "Not really, but I knew something was up."

The interview cuts.

"And he was really planning something... Let's show what happened at the base of the building"

The video jumped to the entrance of the Aon Building. Men in black dragged Cyrus, handcuffed to a black van... only to be stopped by Steel

"Move Marshall. We're taking him in"

"I don't think so. This is an illegal arrest, and won't happen under my watch"

"He's government property" he smiled. "There's nothing you can do"

"My authority comes directly from the president. I outrank any security force in the site right now. And I say you're not taking him"

They looked at each other.

"We're here under orders from the Special directive"

"I know who you work for. And Unless you have a written order by the president himself, you better let him go. Now."

Herald and Sentinel came down, carrying Ortega. Lady Argent walked up behind the government men, startling the two.

"He's a government project!" one of them hissed "Say's it so right here!" he said pulling Cyrus' shirt up, revealing his bar code. Cyrus just stood there, motionless.

"Oh, I see that." Steel said pulling his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of an eagle "I've got one too. All my unit got one like this back in the war, for serving our country, just like he did. Are you going to say I'm less human?"

"It's not the same!"

"It's exactly the same. Release him, Argent"

Argent simple took Cyrus from them and cut down the handcuffs with little effort.

"You're going to hear from us" one of them pointed at Steel.

"Of course I am because you're coming with me. You're both under arrest"

"What? On what grounds?!"

"Oh, I don't know. Kidnapping... torture... partaking in slavery... General villany... I haven't picked yet. MAybe all of them?"

_______________________________

Ortega switched off the TV, standing up.

He walked over to the room nearby.

Cyrus was still asleep.

They had given him a heavy dose of anti-depressants and his arm was attached to an IV drip with saline solution since the doctors thought he was very dehydrated.

Asides from attempting to kill himself there was nothing else wrong with him, at least physically.

There was some noise coming from the streets. He approached... a large crowd, separated by police.

Retribution and Sidestep fans and protesters in one side... religious zealots and haters on the other.

He shut the curtains and took a seat next to him, taking his hand, rubbing his fingers.

Waiting for him to come awake.

_______________________

Cyrus opened his eyes slowly.

"Hey." he Ortega said.

"... Hey" he spoke looking around in confusion. It took him a few minutes to focus.

His eyes looked at the window and the resounding clamor outside and then turned, fixing on Ortega.

"It's really bad, isn't it?"

Ortega nodded slowly. Cyrus squeezed his hand taking a deep breath.

"It's bad. But... we're all going to fight for you"

"W..What?" he asked.

"You just have to let us. Just this once... Let me fight for you"

He smiled weakly. "You don't give up, right?"

"Never"

"They're going to come for me again"

"We'll be ready."

"I'm still a regene"

"I don't care. And I was just stupid earlier... I wasn't thinking."

"You sure?"

"These are growing on me," he said looking at his tattoos. Cyrus blushed heavily and shifted a bit.

"That doesn't make me human"

"What? You've got more fans than Argent. You're more human than anyone in the eyes of the public right now."

"It's not a popularity contest"

"You really never understood how this country works, right?"

Cyrus rolled his eyes.

"Hey. Cheer up. It's like our TV-show"

"The one that got canceled you mean?"

"Shut up. Remember the catchphrase... The Rangers always get their man?"

"Yeah...?"

"Well, I'm a ranger."

"Oh please..."

"And..."

"Not this again"

... I..."

"Don't"

"...got"

"You can't be so corny..."

... you"

He leaned over and shared a soft kiss, leaning over the medical bed.

"I've got you" he winked

Cyrus groaned, but he moved a bit, letting Ortega got on the bed as well

"You're like a Matryoshka doll, you know?"

"With many layers?"

"Full of yourself"

He laughed.

"This bed's too small" Cyrus complained.

"Then get better already!"

Cyrus groaned some more, eventually resting over his shoulder.

"Don't care. So tired... sleep now, yes?"

"Go ahead" Ortega smiled, staring at the ceiling.

They didn't talk about what would have happened if Sentinel hadn't been there when he tried to jump. There would be time for that later.  

"I'm going to fight for you," Ortega said, a few minutes after Cyrus had fallen asleep again.

_________________________________

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[choicesatnight]

Cheesecake from Greece

Title: Cheesecake from Greece

Pairing: James Ashton x Vivian (MC)

Rating: Stuff

Word count:  2,106 words

My disclaimer:  This character is owned by PB, I just enjoy some elaboration. I really love James Ashton and I love Choices fanfics, especially nasty ass stuff but there isn’t much featuring my original bae, James Ashton from The Freshman series

So, I decided to put my amateur ass talent to work and write with James being the *star of the story*

A/N:  James’ thoughts are in italics

.. James and Vivian stand facing one another, holding each other’s hands tightly and staring into one another’s eyes. 

“Am I missing something? Are we having a moment?” Michael (the lawyer) speaks up.

“Yes" Vivian never looks away from James

“Okay… well I’m going to my judges’ chambers. We have a meeting. I’ll see you two tomorrow “and Michael leaves.

Still looking into his eyes Vivian repeats, “Yes, babe. Yes.” With a hand rested on his cheek, she feels it rise as his mouth curls to smile and they share a deep kiss before James pulls away, “I can’t stop smiling.”

She kisses his smiling lips and when she backs away,

“What’s our next step? We need to be married by morning.”

He pulls her close, kissing her while placing the car keys in her hand “Leave it to me. Go to the car, I’ll handle this.” She smiles walking to the car and he takes out his phone first calling his dad.

“Dad, its James.”

“Hello, son.”

“Dad, I need your help. Do you have any connections with city hall?”

“Depends, son. What do you need? Does this have to do with the girl you’re courting?”

James’ dad has no idea he and Vivian ever broke up, but he stays up to date on the news and with his grandson

“Yes. But hear me out. It’s not necessarily to do with the Black Mamba case.”

“Okay. Then what kind of help do you need in the court?”

“We need a marriage license and to be married. Today.”

“Wow. That is short notice but yes, I can make that happen. Call me back in two hours.”

“Thanks. How’s Logan treating you two?”

“He’s a good boy. That’s to be expected of an Ashton, no matter the age.”

“Alright Dad, I gotta go. I’ll call you back" he hangs up with his dad taking a big sigh as he begins walking to the car.

Time to call her…

He clicks his phone to dial Comfort, laughing to himself when he sees Vivian’s name change. “Temporary bitch.” Comfort answers the phone with a pleasing tone, excited to hear from him.

“Hey, hun. I’m happy to hear from you. I thought you might still be mad"

“Can I come by?”

“What!? Yes! Please do!”

Comfort is full of cheer. Her boyfriend never visits her at home, and it feels like an honor having him come over. She rushes to tidy up her house while James drives to see her with Vivian beside him. Once they arrive at Comforts house,

“Baby wait here. I’m just going to break this off so we can live our life together. “

“Okay babe" Vivian leans to kiss James and he heads into Comforts place.

He knocks on the door and Comfort answers wearing a sports bra and leggings, but it does not entice James.  “Hey hun!” she holds out a cup and hands it to James. “It’s the bourbon you liked so much when we went on our first date.”

“Thanks.” James response lacks any emotion, but Comfort is so happy to see him she doesn’t notice.

“I’m so glad you’re here hun. Do you need another bourbon?”

James is already feeling a bit tipsy.

 Is this bourbon 100 proof? Damn!

“No, Comfort. We need to talk. Listen a minute.”

“Okay. Let’s talk.” She looks at him with a smile and seductive eyes. She’s happy to see him and ready to have him even when he says

“I’m getting married.”

She’s confused but happy “Hun, we haven’t been together that long but if you’re ready to take that step, we can get engaged.”

How dense can she be?

James can’t fathom how she could think they’re getting married, but he makes it clear

“No, Comfort. We are not getting married. I am getting married. You aren’t even invited to the wedding. “

Finally understanding, Comfort gets upset

“What!? TO WH..” she stops herself from asking a question she feels like she can already answer

“That murderer. I can’t believe you, James. You’re breaking up with me and getting married!? Was this relationship even real at all? You know what, don’t answer that. Enjoy your married murder ass life. I hope you don’t corrupt your innocent son and I hope I never see your stupid ass again!” She pulls James arm, forcing him up and out of the house when she looks up and notices his passenger seat does not look empty. “SHE’S HERE!? You brought the bitch here!??????? “

 “Um, is that rhetorical because you can see, right?”

Ignoring James,

“Yeah, uh-huh, bitch I see you.” She signals pointing to her eyes and Vivian. Vivian only laughs and puts her middle finger up. “See, look at this bitch!” Comfort frantically snaps multiple pictures with her phone, “Got her evil ass. Are you still here James? Leave.” But James is on the phone with Abbie making wedding plans. The phone call doesn’t last long, and he hangs up with Abbie, looking to Comfort “Bye Comfort…” he lingers, as if the non-Vivian entranced version of himself may speak up, but only turns to walk to the car where Vivian has news to share.

“I’ve got bad news.”

“Oh no. What’s wrong?”

“The lawyer called. He said the prosecution has more evidence to enter. And someone to testify against me.”

“You’re innocent. None of what they have matters.” He picks up her hand, gently pressing his lips up against the skin. “And we still have your image. My beautiful wife, mother of our infant child. No need to worry.” She smiles.

“Okay, babe. I won’t worry as long as you’re with me.“

“Then you’ll never worry…I almost forgot to ask can you drive? Comfort gave a really strong drink. I feel fine but better safe than sorry.”

“Did it taste funny??”

“No, she said it was from the first restaurant I ever took her to. I think she was trying to make up for screaming at me.”

“Of course, I’ll drive.  She has a crazy temper; she better not had poisoned my husband.”

They get out to switch sides and James grabs Vivian to kiss her

“Your husband is fine.” He kisses her once more before letting her go and they get in the car in their new positions.

James phone rings as he’s buckling his seatbelt and luckily, it’s his dad so he doesn’t hang up after three rings

“Your marriage license is ready. I tried to get them to allow you to wed here at our estate. They won’t but be at the court in an hour and a half and they will marry you and give you a marriage certificate. “

“Perfect. Thank you, Dad. Get dressed, get Logan in something warm. You, mom and Logan get to the court.”

“Logan really shouldn’t be out yet.”

“It won’t be long. Dress him warm. See you all soon.” He hangs up the phone “Vivian, can we go home quickly? I gotta grab some things before we head to the courthouse. “

“Which home?”

“The one you never should’ve left.” She smiles

“Okay, okay. To your apartment.”

“We need to start looking at houses…again. We’re a complete family. Mom, dad, child. This apartment is beneath us.”

“You’re right.”  By the time he picks up his phone to start a house search, she has already parked in front of his apartment building. He looks up from his phone, “You drive too fast” they kiss, and she follows behind him. James walks into the apartment though Vivian is stopped by a whistle.

“We aren’t supposed to be talking. What do you want?”

“Did it work? Are you back with moneybags?”

“Hey, hey, hey. Shut up. James and I are getting married and that’s all I know.”

“Keeping your hands clean, I get it. I risked losing the veterinarian as a client to help you.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Bye Shaun.” She walks into the apartment to see James wearing an all-white Calvin Klein suit

“Babe!! You’re wearing the white! You said you’d never wear it.”

“I never thought our wedding would be so rushed. You used to try so hard to convince me to wear this. I’ll do anything for you.”  The lingering gazes have to suffice while they’re on this time restriction. Vivian walks into the bedroom to freshen up when she eyes a dress in his closet. “I’d been looking for that dress!” she says out loud.  James hears her and calls out, “What’s up love?”

“Sorry babe just thinking out loud" she laughs to herself and grabs it to change into. Walking back into the living room

“Let’s go babe" but James looks at her and lowers himself to one knee.

“Vivian, this marriage is being so rushed. I have to at least propose to you the way you deserve. I love you. All you have to do is look my way and I feel a warmth that I want to feel forever. Loving you; being your love creates an everlasting bliss that I often have to remind myself that this is real. You are my fantasy come true. With you, I don’t have to dream anymore. Will you marry me?” she places her hands on his face pulling him up to kiss him “You didn’t even have to say anything. The answer is yes.”

He takes her hand to place the ring on her finger.

“I only have the engagement ring. We can pick out wedding bands together. “ She kisses him again.

“Now we can go" he laughs and holds the door for him while he texts Abbie the time and location.  

After he locks the door behind himself and they make it back to the car, Vivian sighs of relief having had dodged seeing Shaun again and James decides to drive to the courthouse.

Once there, they walk to the unusually empty window to state their appointment and they are escorted into a separate room. Walking in the room, Vivian sees her parents, James parents, Little Logan, and Abbie.

“Wow, uh, Hey everyone. I wasn’t expecting this, babe" she smiles at James but walks toward James mother who’s holding Logan.

The judge speaks up. “This is truly a favor for George. I have to get outta here soon.”

“Okay. Baby?” James holds his hand out to Vivian. She sets her hand in his and they walk to the podium where they are wed with simple “I do’s" and a deep, but publicly appropriate kiss.

James has a big ol’ grin plastered on his face when Abbie comes up “Picture time!” They pose, wearing the same smile in each shot. “Now with the baby. I’ll be right back.”

“Babe. Did you do this? Get everyone here?”

“I asked Abbie and my dad for help.”

“This is wonderful. I love you.”

“I wanted our quickie wedding to be as personal as possible. I love you too.”

“Where’s Zack and Grant, Chris, Kaitlyn, Becca, and Zig?”

“You’ll have to ask Abbie. “

“Honestly, would you want Zig here anyway?”

“I don’t care. He’d see who your husband is. Maybe he would recognize our relationship now that we’re married. But again, that was up to Abbie. “

Vivian shrugs “doesn’t matter that much.” Abbie walks up holding Logan “Who wants to hold him?”

Vivian holds her arms out, ready to cradle her son. She poses, smiling beside James and holding Logan. “This is such a happy unit! I’m so glad you were able to get back together. And then married!”

“Vivian really has a hold on me.” He kisses her cheek and notices that the judge has already left.

James dad raises his arm to get James attention. “I have your marriage certificate. Here. “

Each individual congratulates them on their new chapter, the grandparents on both sides stay behind after everyone else leave.

“Looks like we’ve got a new grandson and son in law” Vivian’s mom smiles, teasing James

“Two positive gains, right?” James jokes back

“Oh, of course!” when James dad interrupts the conversation

“Let’s talk strategy. We want to make sure Vivian wins her case.”

“That’s what lawyers are for” Vivian’s mom isn’t concerned

“Exactly. We’ve hired the best for my wife, Not to mention she’s innocent. What more strategy could we need?” James speaks against his father.

 “Did you hire Michael Board?” James father doesn’t believe James has any business savvy at all

“Yes"

“Consider me impressed. Okay.” He walks over to his wife; they congratulate Vivian and leave.

Vivian, who is still holding Logan, walks over to James who is still with her parents

“Babe, let’s get Logan home"

Teeny Tiny Tag List:

@zigortega4life

@littlecrookedheart

[melodiouswhite]

Oh No, Emotions! Ch. 02

2. A strange new member to a strange community

Edwina was completely stunned, when they arrived at the house she would live in from now on.

When Mr. Utterson had driven into the West End of London, she had already suspected, that it was located in a rich neighbourhood. But this was without a doubt the fanciest house she had ever seen.

It was a lordly villa with a dark blue and white façade and elaborate stucco work on the outside. It was in a well-kept state and beautiful flowers grew in the flowerbeds in front of it and in the windows.

Whoever owned this house had to be immensely rich.

“Damn”, she whispered and hurriedly followed the lawyer to the door, before someone assumed that she was just another lowlife begging around here.

“Do you really live here?”, she asked incredulously, when he unlocked the door.

He nodded. “Yes. This house belongs to a friend of mine and she lets us live here as lodgers.”

“You and who?”

“My husband and my best friend. And her own half-siblings.”

Edwina gaped at him.

“Wait … you're married? To another man? I mean, not that I mind, it's just unexpected-”

Mr. Utterson chuckled drily: “Trust me, I get that a lot. Just like my husband is often asked, what he sees in a boring man like me.”

That too is a darn good question! Who the hell would want to bang that?!

Before she could ponder further, the door opened and the lawyer ushered her in.

When they were inside, she was immediately overwhelmed by the ornate and splendid interior.

The entrance hall was all marble, crystal and gold and a dark blue carpet on the floor. Everything was polished to a mirror shine, the furniture was fancy and obviously expensive as hell. Whoever the landlady was, she was obviously flaunting her immense wealth.

“Wow”, Edwina marvelled and stared with huge eyes at everything. “Who the hell does this house belong to?! A billionaire? A princess?”

“Not quite”, a female voice chuckled, “I'm just a very rich countess.”

She jumped out of her skin. Looking up, she saw a small figure coming down the stairs to greet them. It was a small woman with yellow hair – not just blond, really yellow! – wearing a blue dress and fitting blue high heels.

“So you're my new lodger, Miss Hyde?”, she asked with a congenial smile. She had a meek, sweet voice and a faint lisp.

Edwina nodded weakly.

“I'm Lady Summers, Countess of Devon, but you may call me Luise”, the other introduced herself and extended a hand. Now, that she stood in front of them, Edwina could see, that the other woman had piercing ice blue eyes, fitting her yellow hair. She was of delicate frame and lily white skin and the brunette felt a lump in her throat. The Lady was so much prettier than she was.

“Hey now”, the woman said gently, as if she had read her mind, “Don't put yourself down like that. I have my flaws and you're not ugly either.”

Despite her eyes being of cold colour, they had a warm look and their owner had a warm smile.

And something else attracted the brunette's attraction.

“Have we met somewhere? You seem familiar”, Edwina inquired.

The Lady smirked: “You're the girl who tried to steal my wallet.”

Oh. Now she remembered. She had attempted to pick-pocket the Lady's wallet, but the blonde had caught up to her and forced her to return it. But instead of going to the police, she had just given her some of the money and let her go.

And now that woman volunteered to be her landlady? Oh crap, that was awkward.

“Oh yeah. And you're the woman who didn't rat me out. Thanks for that, by the way”, she mumbled awkwardly. “You still want to let me live here?”

The Lady smiled and nodded. “I know what I'm dealing with, dear”, she explained. “But I also believe, that you deserve a second chance.”

Before Edwina could answer, there was an 'Ahem' and someone tapped her on the shoulder. She winced and whirled around, to be faced with a tanned man in a suit.

The Lady said: “That is Sameer Singh, my butler. He's from India.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss”, he said and bowed politely, “But before you step further into the house, would you be so kind as to remove your shoes? The floor has just been swept.”

She blinked. “Huh? Oh, uh, sure. Sorry”, she stammered and took her shoes off.

When the butler held his hand out, she frowned.

“You sure you wanna touch these?”, she asked doubtfully, pointing at her dirty, worn-out trainers.

He chuckled and took the shoes. “Thank you, but I've touched worse stuff before.” Then he left.

The Lady beamed. “Now come along. Your and Mr. Utterson's fellow lodgers haven't gone to work yet, so I will introduce you to them, before showing you around. Come with me!”

Edwina and Mr. Utterson followed her upstairs into the right wing, passed a few doors, before stopping in front of a big one right above the entrance hall.

A sudden timidity overtook her and she didn't follow the other two inside.

From inside, she heard the older woman talk to someone: “Hey, boys! Our new lodger has arrived!”

The blonde stuck her head outside again. “Don't be so shy! Come in!”

The brunette obeyed hesitantly, allowing the other to shove her lightly.

Once inside she found herself face to face with two other men, one relatively small with white hair and a blue-grey and an amber eye and glasses, the other was handsome, tall and blond, with chocolate brown eyes. Both of them were neatly dressed and smiling amiably.

It was Mr. Utterson, who spoke next: “Fellows, this is the young lady who's going to live with us from now on-”

What's with everyone's obsession with calling me “young lady”?!

“-Miss Edwina Aloise Hyde.”

She was a mess, the poor child.

Way too small and thin for a twenty-year-old, dressed in baggy, ragged clothes. Her wild, café noir brown mane framed a too pale face. Her acid green eyes and had a somewhat feral, distrustful look. She was wary. Maybe even a little scared.

Henry had no idea what she had gone through, but according to what Gabriel had told him, it must have been a lot of shit.

With an angry glare this young woman fixed the lawyer.

“Did you have to give my full name?!”, she hissed aggressively. Her voice was raspy, as if she hadn't used it in a while.

Lanyon chuckled: “Calm down, it's still better than mine. Dr. Hastie Lanyon, surgon. Nice to-”

She interrupted him: “Don't give me that 'Nice to meet you'-crap. If I have to hear that one more time, I'll fucking snap!”

Henry and Lanyon frowned at each other. Not very polite that one, was she?

Luise cleared her throat. “Let's not talk about this, it's irrelevant.”

The small blonde glanced at Henry. “Don't you want to introduce yourself too? It's not very polite to just stand there without contributing anything to the conversation.”

The taller blond blinked. “Huh? O-oh yes, sorry.”

He extended his hand to the tiny brunette.

“I'm Dr. Henry Jekyll, gynaecologist and radiologist. Pleased to- n-never mind”, he stammered, when she glowered at him.

Gabriel relieved the tense situation. “Henry is my husband”, he told the girl and looked at Henry lovingly. “We have been married for nine years.”

Henry smiled and blushed a little.

Miss Hyde was unimpressed. “That's nice. Congrats? I guess?”

Is she homophobic?, Henry wondered and his heart clenched.

But Luise assured him mentally: No, no. She just doesn't know how to deal with the entire situation.

Oh. So the young woman was overwhelmed. Well, maybe she would be a little nicer if she relaxed a some more. And maybe she would, if they made her feel accepted and at home.

“How are you feeling, Miss Hyde?”, he asked friendly.

“Out of place. And pretty damn confused”, she replied bluntly.

Henry felt intensely uncomfortable with the situation and looked at his wristwatch.

And according to the watch, he was late.

“Oh my god! It's almost eleven o'clock, I have to hurry! See you all later!”, he cried, gathered his things and ran off.

Edwina blinked. What the heck had just happened?

The other three seemed equally startled, which made her feel slightly less stupid.

Finally, the white-haired doctor facepalmed and groaned in annoyance: “That idiot forgot that he's on a holiday!”

Edwina laughed. Who the hell forgot their holiday?!

The blonde Lady shrugged: “We all know how absent-minded he is.”

Dr. Lanyon sighed: “Well, I'm not on a holiday and I definitely have to leave. See you in the evening.”

Then he too took his bag and left.

Mr. Utterson too left for his office, leaving the two women alone.

The Lady turned to the brunette. “Well, now that you have met them, I will show you around the house. Come with me, dear!”

“Why are you calling me that?”, Edwina queried irritatedly, “You sound like an old woman!”

“I am an old woman”, the other retorted, “I'm fifty years old.”

“… No way.”

“Yes.”

“No freaking way!”

“Yes.”

“You look as old as I am!”

“Thank you, but be assured, I'm more than old enough to be your mother or aunt. Now come with me, I don't want to stand here all day.”

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty: The Routine; Step by Step ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Sachiko ] [ Verse: The World’s a Stage ] [ Previous || Next ]

Six weeks. Six weeks he had to stay in that hospital, waiting for the singed and melted flesh to heal. The only things that made it bearable were the visits he got. Primarily from his grandmother, but also from Ryū...and eventually, to his honest surprise, Kakashi.

Their reunion had been rather...awkward, at first. And Kakashi admitted that he’d been at least partially prompted by Ryū to show up. But it had been a long time coming, the pair sitting and talking about all that had happened for hours. Rin, the accident, their falling out...and then the fire.

Ryū had waited down in the hospital’s cafe, giving the boys their privacy. Only once texted that it was over did she come back up, smiling wearily as they both gave looks of tired accomplishment.

...but his wounds weren’t his only punishment.

Arson in the first degree. Depending on factors the prosecutor wants to bring forward, he could - in theory - face up to life in prison, and a fifty-thousand dollar fine. Stack that on top of his hospital bills and a lawyer...and things aren't looking good.

His grandmother insists the bills don’t matter - she’s just glad he made it out alive, even if it was his fault to begin with. Ryū sets up a fundraiser, and they manage to bring in a few thousand dollars, but...that’s really just a few drops in the pail.

Court is a terrifying thing. As legal jargon is tossed around and his fate decided by someone else, Obito can do little more than be truthful. Admit to his anger, explain its roots, plead that he’s more than learned his lesson.

The building he burned was condemned, but still legally considered a residence. In the end...he’s given seven years jail time, tried and prosecuted as an adult, being eighteen.

“We’ll visit whenever we can,” they tell him - his grandmother, Kakashi, Ryū. And still they try to find funding for his remaining bills, legal and medical alike.

For the most part, his stint in the joint is...unremarkable. The first year is filled with visits from all three, and even a few other students who feel sympathy. But then Kakashi and Ryū start college, and their arrivals dwindle. Depression on the rise, Obito just...slogs through it, day by day, unsure what he’s going to do when he gets out. Hell...he wasn’t sure what he was going to do before he started that fire. He had no direction, no goal...just anger and sadness and a tight grip on his past...without any thought to his future.

He tries to reflect. Tries to look forward. But there isn’t much for him to glean.

For good behavior, they shave off his last six months. At age twenty-five, Obito is released from prison.

...and he has no idea where to go from here.

By some miracle, his grandmother is still alive, but getting frailer by the day. Mostly he’s just glad he’s out before she’s gone. Their full reunion is a teary one, Obito enveloping her in a hug that almost makes her disappear.

“Oh, my boy...it’s been so cold and lonely without you here…”

“I’m sorry, grandma. I’m here, now.”

He starts looking for a job. But no one wants to hire a convicted felon. Even menial labor jobs think twice, seeing his past penchant for setting fires as a liability they don’t want to touch. Months pass with nothing. His grandmother has been barely squeaking by, managing his bills on top of her own expenses. With him home and only making things all the more expensive, the need for some kind of income drives him to extremes.

Kakashi, already graduated and working, tries to help him find something. He himself got a teaching degree, landing a literature gig at their old high school. By some grace, he convinces them to let Obito come on as a janitor. It’s...not much, but it’s something.

And by now, Obito’s learned to swallow his pride.

Three months of that first job pass before Life decides to throw him a curveball.

Home on a Saturday, Obito’s quietly peeling vegetables for dinner when a cab pulls up out front. Brow furrowing, he watches as someone gets out of the rear seat, packing a single bag. A sweatshirt’s hood is drawn, watching the car pull away before turning to the house and peeling the material back.

...it’s Ryū…!

Abandoning his task, Obito heads out the front door just as she passes the gate. There’s a small pause, and then they meet in the middle. Obito practically swallows her up in a hug, earning a laugh.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, doing her best to embrace him back. “I’ve been so busy, and only just heard you were out early…!”

“Kakashi didn’t…?”

“Look, it’s...a long story. Mind if we go inside, first? I have something I need to ask you.”

“Yeah, yeah...here, let me get that.”

“It’s just one bag! I can’t stay long. I, uh...technically snuck off.”

He gives her a questioning look, but she doesn’t elaborate, just heading inside. His grandmother wastes no time in giving her a hug of her own.

“Oh, it’s been so long, dear…!”

“I’m sorry...I’ve been so swamped the last few years. But it’s good to see you, Mrs. Uchiha.”

“Please, Sachiko is fine.”

“Here, I actually have something for you…” Ryū pulls an envelope out of her pocket, insisting, “Don’t open it until I leave, okay? It’s a surprise.”

Obito watches as they interact, noticing the rather glitzy outfit his friend is wearing. It feels like he’s...missing something.

But then she turns to him with a windblown smile. “Sorry, I’m all over the place...I’m a little lagged from the flight.”

“Flight?”

“Yeah, I...well, let me start at the beginning…”

“I’ll go make some tea and some snacks,” Sachiko then offers, toddling toward the kitchen. “You two talk.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Uchiha!” Taking a seat in the living room, Ryū seems to take a long moment to think.

“So, um...I dropped out of college.”

“What?”

“I was trying to major in nursing. And it, uh...wasn’t going well. But I was also taking some music classes, you know...since I loved theater and choir so much. I was posting some of my stuff to the net, covers of songs and stuff...and um...I ended up auditioning for that singing competition show.”

Obito just gapes.

“I got...pretty far. Semi-finals. And when I was voted off, I got picked up by a small label. Things just sort of...spiraled from there. I got a song on the radio, and views online skyrocketed, and now I’m…” She shrugs, looking sheepish with a blush. “I’m...a singer, now! I’ve done a few concerts, some music videos...and things don’t look like they’re going to slow down any time soon.”

“I...that’s amazing…! That must be why I haven’t...heard from you?”

Her face then falls. “...I’m so sorry...I had to move to the coast, and I’ve just been so busy...I kept meaning to write, but my agent didn’t want word getting out I was talking to a felon,” she mutters, looking frustrated. “Which...is why I had to sneak away to come see you. I’m tired of her strongarming me all the time.”

“...I guess I just...dunno what to say. I’ll admit I didn’t see that change coming.”

“I mean…” Ryū tucks some hair behind an ear, musing for a moment. “...part of me always wanted to try it. I’ve loved music and theater for a while. But I thought nursing would be more...practical. And follow my mom’s path. And I do sort of wish I’d stuck with it. I’d love to be helping people. But at the same time, as tough as this career can be...I’m pretty happy with it. And um...that leads me to my question.” She leans forward, arms braced on her knees. “...I heard from Kakashi you were having trouble with a job…?”

“I’ve got one for now, janitor at the school.”

“...do you like it?”

“It’s...a job.”

“...well...I wanted to offer you a new one.”

“Wh…? Me? But...for what?”

“My agent’s been a bit...worried lately. She’s convinced that I’m reaching a point where I should probably have some kind of security. Just in case someone tries to hurt me. Frenzied fans, or a stalker, or just...someone who gets it in their head. Y’know? So...I wanted to ask if you’d consider being my bodyguard.”

Obito stares at her.

“...I know it’s really random, and I don’t expect an answer now. But...well, I figured if I’m going to trust my life to someone, I want it to be someone I know. That I...trust.” Sorrow suddenly colors her features. “...I realize I haven’t been much of a friend. Life swept me away, and we haven’t talked in a few years. But...I do still care about you. And I thought it would be a good opportunity for you. It would pay really well, you’d get all sorts of benefits, and really it would probably be pretty easy most of the time. Just...think about it.” Dragging her eyes back to his face, she manages a small smile. “...it’d be great to be able to see you again.”

Rather overwhelmed, Obito reflexively jokes, “I think you’d get sick of me.”

“Oh, I doubt that. But...I just wanted to throw that out there for you. See what you think. And I don’t expect an answer now. I think I’ll be able to hide out in town a few days before my agent drags me back kicking and screaming,” she adds, grinning.

“...you really want me to...do that? You’d trust me with that?”

Her eyes flicker over his face for a moment. “...I would. More than anyone else. I got a really good look at your character when you were hurt, and...all the time after that. Court, and everything. It’s true, you had some issues...but they were born out of grief. I got a pretty good idea of who you really are. Besides that, you’re obviously strong, and attentive. I think you’d make a perfect bodyguard. But again, it’s only if you want it. No pressure, no expectations.”

Before he can reply, Sachiko returns at last with tea and some crackers. “I’m sorry, dear...I don’t have much in the cupboards.”

Something flashes across Ryū’s face. “No, no - that’s great! I skipped breakfast so I’m starved -”

“Oh! Then let me -!”

“No no, I’ve got it. This is good - my stomach’s a little wobbly after that flight. Tea and crackers is perfect, thank you.”

The old woman doesn’t look convinced, but takes a seat and a cup anyway. “So what’s this I hear about a job…?”

Obito explains it all again for her, and her eyes alight. “Oh, that sounds perfect…! You’re such a strong boy, and you’d be sure to keep her safe!”

That gets Ryū to smile warmly. “He was the first person I thought of for the job.”

“Surely you’ll do it, won’t you Obito?”

“I’ll...give it a little thought, first,” he replies evasively.

“Oh I’m sure he’ll do it. Just give him a minute to mull it over,” Sachiko insists, making Ryū laugh and Obito go pink.

“Well...I better find a hotel to crash in,” Ryū eventually offers, getting to her feet.

“Oh, won’t you stay, dear?”

“I don’t want to interrupt -”

“Nonsense! We’re happy to have you!”

“Well...Obito needs to do some thinking, and you need to open that envelope I gave you,” Ryū gently counters. “I’ll come back by tomorrow, how about that? Take you guys out to lunch or something. And we can talk some more. I sorta just...showed up, that was rude.”

“You’re welcome any time,” Sachiko insists, tottering after her as she moves to the door. “But it would be lovely to see you again tomorrow. Just give us a call!”

“I will.” Giving the elder a hug, Ryū then offers one to Obito, who accepts. “Think that over, huh?”

“Yeah...see you tomorrow.”

As she takes her leave, the remaining pair turn to one another, and then Sachiko brightens. “Oh, the envelope!” Fetching it from her pocket, she unfurls it and opens the flap, reading a small note before pulling out another slip of paper. Eyes widening, her face pales, and she almost collapses if not for Obito’s quick reflexes. “Oh...oh my goodness…”

“Grandma?!” Helping her to a chair, Obito takes the papers from her, first reading the note.

Just paying some good fortune forward.

I know how you can use this, so please

do. And no, I won’t take it back. Whatever’s

leftover after the two main expenses, you

keep to live on. Consider this me making

up for my absence, and all the time I owe

you both. And please...don’t show this to

Obito. I don’t want it swaying his decision.

I don’t want either of you to feel obligated

in any way. This is what I want to do.

Love,

Ryū

Looking to the second slip, Obito sees the set of zeros on the check and freezes. Two main expenses...she must mean the rest of his medical and legal bills…? But this...this is…

Looking close to tears, Sachiko manages a shaking sigh. “...first she helps save your life...and now this? Surely she’s an angel from Heaven...what a kind soul…”

Obito reads the note again, flipping it over but finding nothing on the back. Don’t show it to him, huh? Well...he’d surely find out one way or another. Sway his decision...about taking the job? Which way? Obligation to work for her to repay the debt, or to turn it down and refuse her further kindness? Either way...he’s shellshocked.

“...I’ll take the job,” he murmurs.

“I’d certainly hope so!” Sachiko replies, her own surprise managing to fade a bit as she sits up. “Now you listen to me! You keep that girl safe, Obito. No one can hurt her...such a sweet girl. I’ll...I’ll have to call the bank in the morning. Good gracious…” Mumbling to herself, she snatches back the papers, suddenly full of vigor as she leaves Obito behind.

After a long pause, he gives a single huff of a laugh. “...well, then.”

When Ryū calls the next morning, Sachiko gives her an earful, but the singer refuses to hear any complaints or refusals. Instead, she takes them out to lunch as promised, and Obito tells her his answer.

“And you’re doing this because you want the job, right? No other reason?”

He just nods. He does want the job. But maybe partially for a reason she wouldn’t like.

“...all right then. You can fly back to the coast with me, and we’ll get you all settled in. Mrs. Uchiha...I know you depend on him, and if you’d like, I could have you moved -?”

“Oh, nonsense. I raised my son in that house, lost my husband in that house...and took care of Obito there. There’s only one way I’m leaving it,” she insists. “I’ll be fine.”

“Would you like me to hire a careta-?”

“I can manage that well enough with what you gave me. I’m not a prideful woman...but there’s only so much I’ll allow.”

“Well...we’ll come visit as often as we can. And I’ll get you set up so we can facetime with you!”

“Face what, now?”

“...I’ll explain later.”

Obito packs up a few belongings, giving a rather teary goodbye to his grandmother as Ryū calls her agent. The exchange is clearly argumentative, but in the end it all seems settled.

“Not in trouble, are you?” he asks, perking a brow.

“I didn’t break anything in my contract,” Ryū replies with a wink. “So no. She’s mad I snuck out, but I didn’t have any other pressing obligations. And technically I did what she wanted: I hired a bodyguard!”

Obito just snorts.

One flight later, he finds himself in the big city, the next several days a blur of Ryū finding him an apartment, introducing him to the rest of her team, and getting all of the paperwork taken care of.

“So you don’t have to be with me all the time,” she eventually explains. “There will be plenty of times I’ll be in safe environments where others can keep an eye on me. Biggest things will be public venues, you know?”

“Okay…”

Ryū gives a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, it’ll all sink in. I know what it is to be overwhelmed...I felt the same way when things started picking up for me.” Her expression then warms. “...I’m just...very glad you’re here. I feel safer already. Now...I have to go to practice for some choreography for an upcoming show...want to go with me?”

“Uh...sure.”

They head to a dance studio, where Ryū meets with her trainer, choreographer, and backup dancers. For several hours they run through the routine, step by step. Obito, with little else to do, lingers and watches. He has to admit...it’s impressive. And Ryū looks focused and driven, mouthing along with her track as they go.

By early evening they break for the day, everyone heading home save for Ryū, who hangs back to work on a section she’s struggling with. Sweat lines her brow, breath rushing as she rests between attempts.

“Ready to call it a night?”

“No...not yet…” Taking a swig of water, she sighs. “...few more tries.”

“I dunno how you keep that all straight.”

Glancing over, Ryū grins. “Practice. Lots and lots and lots of practice.” Setting her water aside, she asks, “...want to try?”

“What, me?”

“Yeah! Just a few steps, huh?” She gives him a grin, holding out hands.

“I’m a bodyguard, not a backup dancer,” he replies, nonetheless stepping up.

“Well maybe I’ll promote you if you dance well,” she teases. “Here...stand like this. The sequence is...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.” With each number, she executes a move, doing so slowly at first.

“...uh…”

“We’ll go slow.” Holding a pose, she waits for him to mimic before moving to the next. Over and over, going a bit faster every time. “There, you’re getting it!”

“I’m a little stiff,” he laughs. “Scars and all that.”

“No, you’re doing really well! You’ve got good rhythm! Here, we’ll try with the music…” Playing the mp3, she helps him count out before they go through the little section. As Obito stops, she keeps on for a few more, including the part she’d been struggling with. “...okay, I think I got it! Finally, oh my gosh…”

As she stops and catches her breath, music still going, Obito listens. It’s pretty much your typical pop song, but...he likes it. If only because it’s her song. “...this is actually pretty good.”

“Heh, thanks...I’d like to do more ballad-style pieces. Fast, poppy stuff is okay. And it sells well. But I’d like to have something a bit more...theater-like.”

Obito shrugs. “Neither are really my genre…”

She laughs, insisting, “No, that’s fine! I’ll get you some earplugs, because otherwise you’re going to hear it a lot.”

“I don’t mind it if it’s yours.”

Ryū pauses at that. “...not biased, are you?”

“N...no.”

Her lips curl a bit in a grin, shutting it off. “...well...I’m gonna shower, and then indulge in some takeout. Wanna come with, or head home?”

“I’ll stay.”

They slip into a fast food joint, getting it to go and heading back to Obito’s place. It’s a hell of a lot nicer than he’d ever afford working that janitor job. Yet another thing he needs to thank her for…

They sit on the balcony, legs dangling through the railing as they munch fries. “...you know...this is the first time since I graduated high school I’ve really just...hung out with a friend.”

Obito glances to her. “...really?”

“Yeah. I was a loner in college, and then...well, good luck finding real friends in his business,” she sighs, indulging in another fry. “...that’s a big reason why I wanted you to take the job. I’ve been...really lonely. Maybe that was selfish of me.”

“You’ve been anything but selfish.”

“...maybe.”

“Hey. You literally saved my life. Twice, really. You flipped it upside down. I’d be scrubbing high school bathrooms right now if not for you.”

“I don’t want you to feel that way, though,” Ryū insists, turning to him with a wilted brow. “I didn’t do this out of...of pity, or wanting you to feel like you owe me. You’re my friend. And I’ve been really lucky. I just...want to share that luck with someone. Help them. And you were the one I wanted to help the most. And not just because of all the troubles you’ve faced. But because you’re a really sweet guy, Obito. I -” She cuts off, apparently catching herself before blurting something. “...I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t kidding - I feel safer with you around. For...a lot of reasons.”

“...yeah?”

“...yeah.” Looking into her empty fry cup, she then just...collapses against his side with a sigh. “...I know I’ve been a bad friend up until now. But I hope I can make it up to you.”

“...you already did. And then some.” Tentatively, he lets an arm encircle her shoulders. “...thanks for letting me be here.”

“...thanks for letting me drag you into this.”

“Any time.” Glancing down to her, Obito feels his stomach shift as she nestles a bit more comfortably against him, a weird warmth in his...chest…

...oh no.

Swallowing thickly, he then looks back up, watching the sky slowly darken, the city still bright with lights.

“You’re a really sweet guy, Obito. I feel safer with you around.”

He can’t help a small sigh. Oh, Obito...what are you getting yourself into…?

     (This is a follow-up to day four!)      I'm not...100% sure it was a good idea to have this verse continued from day four - it mighta worked better as a standalone with them as strangers, but...meh, oh well - maybe I'll do this sort of concept again sometime lol      I am.......a really big sucker for protector / protected dynamics in ships, okay. I've wanted to try it for a long while now. And the title just gave me the idea of a dance routine, WHICH fits the whole pop star AU pretty well! And I think Obito would make a really good bodyguard, honestly. He's both strong, AND - depending on the verse - also knows how 'bad guys' think...hence me tying it into day four, like he had some experience in jail to sort of know what to look for to help keep Ryū safe.      Anyway, III'm rambling lol - hope ya enjoyed! Thanks for reading!~

[sirkkasnow]

12 Finer Points Of Damage Control

Ao3 link

07/20/13-07/25/13 Saturday - Thursday

Stan didn’t say anything when he got home, because the slumber party crew had arrived and there were people underfoot everywhere. Clary coordinated dishwashing duties in the kitchen, passing silverware off to Candy and lifting plates out of Grenda’s towel as soon as they were dry. “Did you get dinner?” she asked as he stuck his head warily through the door. “We have leftovers.”

“Uh - I’ll wait until you guys’re done, thanks.” Mabel teetered atop a stepstool to put away glasses. She managed a shameless wink over Clary’s head. Pacifica sat at the kitchen table looking bored and vaguely hostile, fingertips busy flicking across her phone’s screen. “If you got a minute later, Clary, could we have a word?”

“You bet, Stan, I’ll come looking for you.”

There was really no time at all to talk. Clary chased after the four girls like a harried mother goose, hopping over Waddles when necessary. Stan could not believe the amount of chatter they generated - commentary on the guest list, the likely menu, Ford’s relative hotness - he winced at that one.

They spent a good hour in the living room huddled around Mabel’s phone, watching videos and arguing over the party soundtrack. Clary was pushing for classic tunes, forties and fifties stuff. “Lowest common denominator. Everyone can dance to that.”

“My grunkle’s got pretty light feet,” Mabel shot back. “Seventies or bust! Let’s give the old man a chance to strut his stuff!”

“Every time Stan struts his stuff, something gets broken.” Pacifica was leaning in, still looking a little bored but at least engaged. “Which might be fun to watch.”

Stan hovered within earshot for a little while, hoping Clary would pull herself free, but he gave up after one too many intense debates over boy bands. He’d have to wait them out. The cash was burning a hole in his pocket anyway. He stomped off to the old office, flicked on a lamp, cleared a space on the desk and buckled down to work.

He couldn’t really enjoy the whole process with the sense of impending doom winding tight in his chest. The old answering machine’s red light blinked angrily from across the room; he threw stuff at it - Gold Chains For Old Men from last April, a Lil’ Gideon promo t-shirt, a ratty coonskin cap he’d never repurposed - until something stuck and covered it up.

By the time he had the guest list and the cash bundled up and packed away in the safe it was well past midnight. Stan crept through the darkened house, reflexively avoiding all the creakiest spots in the floor. Dipper, he knew, was crashing on the study couch downstairs.

Indistinct girlish voices and the steady thump thump thump of muffled bass were still trickling under the kids’ door. The narrow line of light painted onto the floorboards was dim, at least, so things must be winding down by now. Stan paused and raised his hand to knock, then thought better of it and slunk off towards his own room.

He was on the verge of tucking himself in when he heard the soft creak of hinges down the hall. Cracking his door open a sliver revealed a bare glimpse of Clary tiptoeing out and downstairs in pajamas and kerchief. Eventually she returned with the plastic pitcher and a few old tumblers.

Stan just watched. She glanced over as she made to slip back in, spotting his silhouette against the faint light of his room, and with a tiny conspiratorial smile held a finger to her lips.

He closed the door, flopped flat on his back in bed, and stared at the ceiling that was too far away to actually see until he tumbled unwilling into restless sleep.

Come morning the yammering traffic of teenage girls throwing together a full-on Mabel-style breakfast was too much to bear. There wasn’t a chance in hell of extricating Clary from the chaos, so he headed straight for the museum.

Soos had rigged construction curtains across the space they’d blocked out. The ‘Coming Attraction!’ sign sported a cheerful, toothy, horned-and-winged weasel with wide cartoon eyes, probably Melody’s work.

Stan had argued for scaling the whole production down a little, but Soos had been adamant in his laid-back way. By hook or by crook it was going to be a walkthrough with hidden lighting, surround sound and special effects, whatever that meant.

He spent most of his time slathering black paint over the framework that had already gone in. The blackout shell that would eventually enclose it all would at least cover up any number of construction sins. Positioning marks for lights, showpieces and electronics got chalked in according to the elaborate plans he’d been handed.

Morning tours swung past his sheltered corner and Stan listened in pleased bemusement. There was already a snappy line of patter for the new exhibit. Soos had a gift for this - the style had changed but the appreciative giggling and gasps from his audience were familiar.

After all, Stan had fallen into the role. Soos had aspired to it.

It was easy to lose himself in the work for a couple of hours, but eventually his stomach’s vague grumble and the angle of sunlight through the windows warned him that he had other things to worry about. Soos stuck his head in between curtains and tapped at the framework. “Time for lunch, Mr. Pines! The girls have all gone home and I think Miss Clary’s got sandwiches made up.”

“Yeah, yeah, comin’.” Stan rubbed at a few flecks of black paint on his fingers and emerged squinting into the main room. “Sounds like a nice busy mornin’. Everythin’ all right with plans for the dance thing?”

Soos tugged a notepad out of his jacket. “Oh, yeah, we’re selling a ton of tickets! I guess they all saw your posters. Lots of messages came in last night. Took a while to get through them all before we opened up. And we had a bunch of people asking about dinner tickets?” He flipped a couple of pages while Stan cringed internally. “Yup, about fifteen of those. Couple more calls today, too, and a few people asking at the gift shop.”

“Uh. Yeah. About those. Didja get phone numbers an’ names?”

“Oh, sure. Looked like you settled on eighty-five bucks apiece for those, so that’s what we charged.”

“What you - Soos, did you actually sell them tickets?!”

Soos blinked. “Well, sure! I saw the envelope in the safe and that ticket book, so I figured you and Miss Clary worked something out. It’ll be one big party!”

“Sweet Moses.” Stan squeezed his eyes shut, slapped a hand to his brow, and started to pace. Surely there was still a way to contain the damage. “Okay. Okay, you got contact info, all we gotta do is call people - “

He swung around to look out across the exhibit space, spinning possibilities in his mind - reschedule, shift the venue, anything but issuing refunds. His focus flicked blankly from point to point, then settled on the woman standing with arms folded right behind the Sascrotch.

Ah, fuck.

“Stan,” Clary said gently. “May I have a moment of your time, please.” It wasn’t a question.

Stan held out a hand. Soos laid the notebook in his palm and backed away until he was out of her line of sight.

Clary turned and walked with measured strides through the museum and then the house until she’d arrived at the porch. Stan followed with feet dragging as though they were already encased in concrete.

She set hands to her hips and looked out into the distance - he wasn’t sure if she even saw the trees. As the silence drew out he thumbed through Soos’ notebook and mentally counted up tickets, arriving at a number large enough to make his stomach flip in delight and dread.

“The girls and I came up with a guest list of eighteen people,” Clary said at length. “Am I to understand that we are expecting more, now.”

Stan cleared his throat and launched in. “So, funny thing, I stopped off for a coffee down at Greasy’s an’ Susan’s the one who brought it up, since you’ve been lookin’ to get this whole thing organized for the last couple days, said you asked about cherry pie, good choice by the way - “

Not a word. Her fingers were drumming out a restless rhythm against the khaki of her shorts.

“So yeah. Yeah, people were startin’ to get the wrong idea ‘bout dance party tickets so I thought maybe we’d, y’know, sell some dinner tickets since they’re so hot on it, we’ll make enough - more than enough! - t’offset all the expenses an’ then at least we know who’s comin’, we don’t get a buncha people bustin’ in uninvited - “

“How many?”

He had a good head of steam up and had to fumble around for a second. “Uh - what?”

“How many tickets?” She hadn’t raised her voice but there was an edge in it like the wind of a January blizzard and he nearly shivered.

“Looks like about fifty - “

“Fifty!” Clary barked it out and turned to glare at him full on. Her face was pale, a hard spot of angry pink high in each cheek. “Stan, that’s seventy people. I can’t cook for seventy people out of the house, there is no damn way and the minute money’s involved you need a certified commercial kitchen! How in the hell - “

Stan knew he’d gone red in the face and hell if a direct challenge wasn’t making his temper start to flare a little, too. “Well - well, fine, we have Greasy’s make it all! We shuttle it up an’ make sure we have plenty of paper plates, no problem!”

Clary scoffed. “There is no way you didn’t sell this as a home-cooked meal from your very own resident lawyer.”

Okay, so she wasn’t entirely wrong. “No one’s gonna care about the food. They just wanna meet you - “

“So you’re telling me I make a decent roadside attraction?”

The last syllable rose and broke. She clapped a palm over her mouth. Stan looked at her, his jaw gone slack, a sharp little sting lodged in his chest. Tears of fury or frustration had welled up at the corners of her eyes and one made a break for it as she pulled a shaking breath.

“I need a minute,” she said, rough-edged.

“Clary. C’mon.” He reached out, hoping to lay a hand on her shoulder. She twitched away, then slipped past him with fluid ease, making no contact. In three long strides she’d thrown a leg over her bicycle. One foot found a pedal and she took off at speed down the path that’d eventually get her to town. “Oh, come on!”

Both of the kids clattered out onto the porch, standing to either side of him.

“Grunkle Stan?” Mabel looked up to him in wide-eyed concern. “What’s going on? Is she okay?”

“She forgot her helmet.” Dipper folded his hands, thumbs twirling awkward loops. “Uh, so the dinner thing got - bigger?”

Stan set a hand to his chin for a long moment, breathing through his fingers to steady himself.

“Yep,” he said. “She’s headin’ out to work on logistics an’ supplies an’ so on. We’ve only got a couple days to pull it all together, yeah?” Stan scraped up a smile and lightly patted Mabel’s hair. “You know how this town is, things get outta hand pretty quick. We’re all gonna have to pitch in, got it?”

Mabel looked on the verge of tears for a moment, then her back straightened and her jaw set in determination. “I don’t know what the heck just happened but we are gonna fix it. Right, Dipper?”

“Right, Mabel! Come on, we’ll go track her down!”

“Kids. No.” He shook his head when they looked up at him in surprise. “She wants peace an’ quiet, she gets peace an’ quiet.” Mabel looked briefly mulish, Dipper troubled, but he put on the stern look and eventually they nodded.

She didn’t reappear that afternoon. Stan did his best to stay busy with piecing the exhibit together, focused more sharply than usual in service of not thinking about anything else. He was genuinely starting to worry along towards dinnertime when his phone chimed with an incoming one-line message, then more in rapidfire sequence.

Rented out Greasy’s kitchen. Add’l food lined up. Updated menu. Pls send guest list when complete. Still need: tables & chairs, linens, serveware. Suggest asking McGucket. Manor might have garden party supplies.

Hesitant, Stan tapped in: You okay?

The reply was near instant. I’m fine. Will see you at dinner.

He’d about finished off the wiring, packing away tools and electrical tape, when Mabel came dashing in out of breath and yanked aside the construction curtain. “She’s back! C’mon, c’mon, you’ve gotta clean up!”

Ford had been on dinner duty that evening, which meant it was heavy on vegetables and light on anything interesting. Dipper and Mabel were buzzing around Clary. She looked freshly scrubbed, maybe a little drawn, tossing together a salad at the counter. Her head came up as Stan entered; she set down the dressing, marched right over and offered her right hand. “I apologize.”

Stan accepted her clasp immediately and squeezed in what he hoped was reassurance. “Hey. Ah, glad you’re all right, real sorry about the inconvenience an’ all.” Grateful though he was to see her, the smile she wore was surface-slight, her eyes cool.

“I’ve run fundraisers before. It’ll all be under control in a day or two.” Clary’s fingers slipped from his and she pivoted to collect the salad bowl. “All right, you lot! War council time! As you know we’re running the biggest party of the summer here at the Shack and I am going to need help from all of you.”

Ford dished up brown rice and poached salmon. Clary laid out the menu, jotted in several additions and got quite serious with Mabel about desserts, settling on ‘Fireworks Krispy Treats: They’ll Light Up Your Mouth!’ in addition to the cherry pies and lemon bars she’d apparently negotiated with Susan.

“You,” Clary said, pointing her pen at Stan. “Logistics. The exhibit and the seating are yours to manage. Remember that at this rate we may have to set up an outdoor dance floor. You,” indicating Ford, “please keep working on my car. I’m going to need both of you early on the morning of this thing to knock out the chicken.”

Stan watched the whole process with trepidation - she was a monster of efficiency and it was a far cry from the laid-back approach she’d been taking for the last couple days. “Yes ma’am.”

“We’ve got less than a week to knock this out of the park.” Clary took up her fork and saluted the table at large. “Let’s make this legendary.” She tucked briskly into her dinner and finished well before everyone else, dropping off her plate at the sink and ducking out of the kitchen before Stan could catch her.

It went like that for the entire following day. Clary disappeared before anyone was awake, communicating only in an endless series of texts. Most of those hit a broadcast group including Stan, Soos, Ford and the kids, friendly if brisk updates on the state of the picnic.

A few of them came only to Stan, and those were ...terse.

Status on tables etc?

Updates to guest count?

Pls keep any receipts for supplies. Will collect them later.

An argument about who was going to pay for what would be coming down the pike soon, he was sure of that.

Got time in the morning? he tapped in.

Working to clean Greasy’s kitchen up to code. Will probably finish tomorrow. A pause, then: Wouldn’t want to poison half the town.

Clary didn’t even make it back for dinner that night. When he went looking for her the next morning she was already gone, and her phone went unanswered. Stan lasted until just before lunchtime before pure frustration drove him to start working his way through local contacts to track her down.

“Greasy's diner - we have food!” That was Susan for sure, sounding slightly manic.

“Heeey, Susan. listen, is Miz Merrick down there? She headed out early this mornin' and I was wonderin' where she landed.”

“Oh, gosh yes!” Susan giggled against the background racket of customers. “You should've seen her. She's been hauling stuff out of that old walk-in fridge that I didn't even know existed! We've got some pretty weird specials for lunch, let me tell ya. She’s helping with the rush while she's stocking up all this stuff for the big picnic - ooooh, it's all going to be delicious! I can't wait!”

Stan squinted. “Wait, what, you're comin'?”

“Oh, sure! She traded me a ticket and got me the ingredients for all those pies!” Her cheerful tone dropped a little into rusty affection. “I can't wait to take a spin around the dance floor with you.” He thought that over, then shuddered faintly to himself.

“So, ah, she free to come to the phone? Guess she's set hers on silent or somethin'.”

“Gimme a minute, sweetie, i'll go check.” The rattle of industrial-grade china and indistinct conversation went on as she left the receiver on the counter, calling out towards the back of the place.

Eventually she wandered back. “Sorry, Stan, she's in the middle of juggling like eight trays of biscuits. Says she'll see you back at the Shack tonight.”

Stan propped himself against the wall and managed not to sigh. “All right, Susan, thanks. Glad she's gettin' out ahead of it all.”

“You bet, sugar. See ya in a couple days!”

He'd been too engrossed to notice company in the hallway, and when he glanced up glumly it was right at Mabel perched on the bottom step with Waddles leaning into her side. Stan jerked upright but she was already shaking a finger at him.

"Don't you give me that look, Grunkle Stan. She's too ‘busy’ - “ Biiiiiig air quotes around that one. “- to talk to you, right?"

“Ah - um - “ He juggled a couple of possible deflections, then shoved the phone in his pocket and looked at her in naked desperation. “I swear this is not what I meant to happen!”

Mabel heaved a theatrical sigh. “All right. This is something I can fix. Clary and I have an appointment with Soos' Abuelita tomorrow morning.” She waggled her eyebrows. “A secret appointment. When we get back at around lunchtime you better be ready to shake your moneymaker, got it?"

“Shake my what now?”

“You two are gonna host this thing, so you better dance. And since the spotlight's gonna be on you, you'd better be good! Everyone will be watching!”

Oh boy. He was probably a dead man walking as it was and this wasn’t gonna help.

“And that means,” Mabel said, cheerfully oblivious, “That you two need to practice. Don't worry. Mabel's on the case and I'll make it happen.” She zapped him with the finger-guns and shoved Waddles aside enough to get to her feet. “I'll let you know where you need to be and when. Make sure you’re tidy, okay?”

‘Where’ turned out to be the old storage room he’d converted to a ramshackle boxing ring, the ropes downed and folded up in a corner. ‘When’ was late morning the following day, and ‘what’ - well. That was answered when Mabel came in, dragging the karaoke machine in her wake. Clary stepped in right after, a bandana at her neck and another binding back her hair, bleach spatters dotting her old t-shirt.

Stan stuffed hands in his pockets and rolled his shoulders back, doing his level best to meet her eyes without a twinge of guilt - because, come on, they were going to make a ton of money on this picnic thing - and found himself mostly failing. He was really starting to hate the polished, faint, impenetrable smile she had for him.

Mabel’s voice was a vague buzz through the tangle of his self-justification but he caught the gist of it - dazzle the rubes, make it look easy, inspire swooning jealousy in the audience. “All right,” she wrapped up, as rah-rah as he’d ever heard her. “Let’s you and him dance!”

Clary pinched her lips, unfolded her arms, and stalked out across the floor to join him.

“So,” Stan said.

“Mmhm.”

“Carved some time out of the schedule?”

“Barely. Your young lady over there makes a good argument.”

This was worse than her trying to punch him. Clary settled into the arch of his arm with professional precision, a frosty six inches of space between them, the six inches his mother had lectured him about a billion years ago and that he’d promptly ignored at the first opportunity to get up close and personal.

Stan maintained that six inches like his life depended on it because maybe it did.

“My waltz is all right. My samba’s shaky. Meet in the middle with foxtrot?” Clary looked up to him with clear, fearless eyes, the faintest of curves drawn along her lips. Her fingers were chapped and rough in his.

“Might as well start off easy. Mabel, whatcha got, pumpkin?”

“Got it!” There must have been some consultation beforehand because what came out of Mabel’s hot-pink speakers was honest-to-god big band music. Stan nearly protested and stifled it when Clary looked at him askance.

“Come on now,” she said sweetly. “We should really start with the lowest common denominator, shouldn’t we? If you would.”

He inhaled, flexed his hand at her waist and rocked back for the first step.

Their first pass around the room was dismal. She obviously had some formal training and he could barely remember what the hell went into a foxtrot, it’d been so long since he had done anything more than improvise on a foxtrot theme. There were a few near misses with her feet before she clicked her tongue and murmured. “Slow, slow, quick quick. I can tell you know this.”

One brassy number blended into the next as they paced and whirled, Mabel razzing them or calling encouragement by turns. “Clary, stop looking at him like you want to stab him! Dance is the language of love! You gotta sell it better than that!”

“Maybe I want to stab him.” Clary glared somewhere off over his left shoulder.

“No you don’t. You want to knock the socks off everyone at this party, right? I know you two can do it.”

Stan gritted his teeth and fought to earn back her trust with the respectful press of his palm, honoring whatever distance between them she wanted. By the third pass the six-inch block of ice had softened a little. “Spin?” he suggested, and at her faint nod he tried some fancier footwork.

They were uncoordinated, discordant, his feet clipping the edges of her sandals, frustration building between them as they lurched and wobbled. Mabel’s face was a worried glint in a corner of his eye. When Clary went off balance she caught herself with the awkward combination of a foot jabbed down out of sequence and his hand tightening at her waist in support.

He couldn’t quite look at her, but he hissed out, low as he could, “This is not gonna work if you can’t trust me a little.”

“Should I trust you?” she breathed back at him in a near-subsonic murmur. Her fingernails pricked at his shoulder.

Stan snorted softly. “Hell, no, you shouldn’t.”

There was a little pfft, pure disbelief, and a direct sidelong look of complete exasperation. The music spun to a stop as they stood interlocked and distant, then finally, mercifully, launched into the next tune. Something in her ramrod spine trembled, then snapped; he felt her make herself relax and sway into his grip.

“Fine,” Clary said dryly. “Honesty I can work with.”

This one was easy, a big swinging number with a nice solid four-square beat, nothing but a framework to whirl around the room to. Stan took it slow at first. She’d stopped fighting him so much, still hesitant but at least responsive to the little nudges that offered guidance, and as they moved he felt the tension in the room dissipating. The next time he signaled a spin she took the cue, pivoting neatly through and landing back in the crook of his arm with a quirked brow.

After a couple minutes he chuckled in surprise. “You’re not terrible at this.”

Her heel came down square on his toe, deliberate, he thought. “I suppose you’re not terrible either.”

Mabel relaxed too, flashing him a hasty thumbs up when Clary was looking elsewhere. The next track she cued up was overtly sappy, loaded with layered strings and lyrics dripping with longing. “Mabel,” snapped Clary. “Next please.”

“Sorry, wrong song!” Mabel wasn’t the least bit repentant but she did skip this one.

Time pressure was sort of a foreign thing for Stan - he had no problem putting his head down and plugging away, but was used to more open-ended projects. Possessed by grim determination, assisted by Soos through a couple of late nights, he got the Dreaming Denizens exhibit up and running in the nick of time.

They’d moved the cannibal pixie village over to hang in the rafters above the disguised darkroom. Melody had rigged a couple ragged little bits of LED-centered tulle mounted on wires to flutter around in the shadows. The effect was surprisingly creepy and convincing once they’d tweaked the lighting in that corner.

The ticketed picnic crowd had swelled to nearly seventy before Stan managed to shut it all down. Fortunately the Northwests had abandoned enough folding tables, chairs and lawn tents to handle twice that, easy, in the cavernous manor basement. At Clary’s direction they’d also hauled out enough stainless steel chafing dishes to serve a small army. Of course, they were serving an army.

“You could do weddings,” Stan mused to Soos as they stacked folding chairs in the lee of the Shack. “Bar mitzvahs, birthday parties, hell, just rent this stuff out. Be a shame to just let it molder in storage.”

“Set up a chapel?” Soos wiped his brow and grinned. “Might be fun, Mr. Pines. There’s still plenty to do around here.”

“I’m retired, y’know that. I’m only willin’ to crank out brilliant new merchandisin’ concepts for free because I like ya, kid.” Stan plucked off Soos’ cap and ruffled his hair before pivoting to haul down the next stack of chairs.

Dance practice with Mabel became an urgent matter for the last couple days before the event. Clary and Stan carved out half an hour at a time between projects. Mabel played all kinds of music at them - big band, BABBA, a smattering of 80s stuff, one or two classical waltzes - and they worked to adapt.

All of it was still professional. Polite. The impulse to pull Clary close for the slower bits was ever-present, but like hell was he going to screw things up any further. At least she was starting to pick up a familiar glow of satisfaction as they got the measure of one another. As partners they were really beginning to click. He regretted on some mercenary level that there wasn’t a contest or something around to game.

Thursday of that week was a whirlwind of setup and anticipation. Tents popped up like mushrooms across the summer-bleached lawn, the entire Shack crew bustling to get it laid out with time to spare. Clary was either helping move tables into place or tapping into her phone with a frown of focus, tracking the thousand things that needed to get done.

By late afternoon they were as close as they were going to get - the audio equipment would go up in the morning. Mabel and Dipper had been hovering around the edges of the fracas in anticipation, and as things slowed, they pounced.

“Clary, c’mon, we need to let the others finish up out here. I’ve got a couple of drink concepts in the kitchen I really need you to check out..” Mabel caught Clary’s hand and tugged, heading for the house. Clary was still thumbing through some checklist as she allowed herself to be hauled along.

Dipper waved frantically from the porch. Stan took the hint and headed off at a trot down the Shack’s long drive. By the time Clary was back outside, sipping warily from a tall glass of some sparkling pink concoction, he was rounding the corner in the purring Fairlane wagon.

Clary shrieked. She managed to fumble her glass down to the ground and dashed over to the car, running hands along the freshly rechromed grill, then flopping over to stretch her arms out along the polished hood. “I can’t believe it! Look at this thing, it’s like brand new!”

Stan killed the engine, hip-checked the door closed and held out the key, the finest of the Mystery Shack’s souvenir keychains dangling from its ring. “Ford an’ McGucket finished up late yesterday. I still want t’go over the insides one last time, but she’s runnin’ like a champ now.”

The first unrestrained smile he’d seen on her all week lit up her features. With great delicacy Clary hooked a finger into the keyring and plucked the key from his grip. “Thank you. All of you.”

“Nothin’ left to do but get through this party and then you’re finally on the road, huh?” Stan hooked thumbs through his belt loops and gave her the best of his showman’s grins, papering over the regret twisting hard in his gut with practiced ease. Her eyes flicked to his.

“We’ve still got a ton of work to do.” Clary reached out with a fist and cautiously nudged him in the shoulder with her knuckles. “I’ve got to go finish up a last round of prep at Greasy’s. You and Ford be ready to go at quarter to six, got it?”

“Got it.”

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“Should I trust you?” You’ve seen midwinter storms friendlier than the icy glint of those eyes.

Of course you can trust me!

We said we’d get the car fixed, we’re getting it fixed!

Honestly? Nope.

[mistyyygoode]

I’m A Fool to Want You (2: First Day)

Debbie grabbed her backpack, her jacket, and keys to the car. As she was about to walk out the front door her father yelled, "Are you driving alone?"

"Yes, who else would I be driving with?" she yelled back.

"I don't know. Just checking. Have a good day, babygirl!"

"Thanks, Dad!" Debbie said before walking out of the house, locking the door behind her before making her way to the car.

It was only fifteen minutes before Debbie arrived at the school. She parked up front and noticed a group of older girls staring at her as she got out of the car. She noticed one, in particular, a tall, blonde that looked like she was at least sixteen if not seventeen. She was wearing sunglasses, a leather jacket, skinny jeans, boots, and had a cigarette in between her fingers. She stared at the other teen as she walked to the front of the school, but broke eye contact when she entered the front door.

She made her way to the wing of the high school where her first class was going to be, finding the hallway empty except for one girl, slightly shorter than her, and blonde. She was wearing a long-sleeved dress with tights and ankle boots.

When their eyes met, Debbie could see how the other girl's brown hues sparkled under the horrible fluorescent lighting of the hallway.

"Are you in Miss Birkin's class too?" the other girl asked.

"Yes," Debbie said before walking closer to the other teen. "I'm Debbie." She said as she held out her hand.

"Tammy." The blonde said with a small smile as she shook the other's hand. "I was going to ask you if you knew where it was at. I think I'm in the right hall, but I'm not sure."

"Yes, you are. Did you not come to orientation?"

"No," Tammy shook her head. "I moved here last week. I didn't get enrolled in time. Some of the classes I was put in were at random... I didn't even get a chance to select my electives." She explained.

"What did you end up with?"

Tammy pulled the paper from the pocket of her dress to look at. "Intro to business and marketing... do I look like the type of girl who would be into that?"

Debbie couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry... no, you're not, but don't worry, it's not that hard. I have those too."

"You do?" Tammy asked. "What other classes do you have?" she asked.

Debbie pulled her schedule from her pocket and handed it over. She saw a smile grow on the other teen's lips.

"We have all the same classes." Tammy chuckled softly. "That's cool." She said as she handed the paper back over.

"Cool. So, where did you move from?" Debbie asked as she took the paper, folded it back up, and placed it back into her pocket.

"Maine, but I'm originally from Florida." The blonde explained as she put her own schedule away.

Debbie nodded softly as she listened. "Why did you move?" she asked.

"My dad... he's a lawyer. We move a lot because of it. He's always moving for better deals, better partners or something like that." Tammy explained. "My mom's a lawyer too, but not the same kind." She added.

"Lawyers, huh?" Debbie mused, hoping to sound interested. "What kind are they?"

"My dad is a prosecutor, and my mom is a lawyer in child cases, like, when a kid is abused and stuff."

"That must be tough."

"Yeah... they're always working..." Tammy said as she looked down at her hands. "It's kind of annoying."

"I know what you mean. My dad's always working too." Debbie said, seeing the sad expression on the other teen's face. It wasn't a complete lie, but it didn't bother her when he was gone.

"What does he do?"

"He's a banker." It was a lie that Debbie was taught from a young age. Whenever she or Danny was asked about her father's work, they were always told to say he was a banker.

"That's cool. He gets to work with money and stuff, right?"

"Yeah, he takes care of the vaults in banks," Debbie said.

"It must be cool to see all the stuff they have in there."

The brunette nodded softly. "Yeah, he used to tell me stories when I was little of the jewels they kept in this one place he used to work at." She said, again, it wasn't a complete lie.

Tammy nodded softly. "That's pretty cool."

Before Debbie could elaborate more on her white lies, the bell rang, and students started to flood the halls. "Let me lead you to class." She said before walking to their English class.

"Okay, thank you." Tammy smiled softly as she followed after the other teen.

As they entered the classroom, they saw that names were placed on the desks in alphabetical order. Debbie found her seat near the back and noticed that Tammy sat down next to her.

"What's your last name?" she asked.

"Parker. Yours?"

"Ocean."

"That's pretty." Tammy smiled softly.

"Thanks."

The room started to fill with other students, and a few students glared at Debbie before taking their seats. Soon enough, the second bell rang, and Miss Brink stood in front of the class. She introduced herself and gave some insight into what the school year was going to hold for them. She then started roll call, telling them that if they would like to be called something other than the name she called out to tell her.

"Deborah Ocean." She called out.

"Debbie, please." The brunette said softly.

"Ocean... is Danny your older brother?"

"Yes." She answered softly, sighing after.

Miss Brink just nodded as she wrote on her piece of paper. "Hope you don't give me any trouble as he did."

"No, ma'am."

"Too bad. Heard your brother was a killer to hang with." Some boy said.

Debbie rolled her eyes as she ignored it.

"That's enough Mr. Caldwell." The teacher said before continuing on with the roll call.

Once roll call was done, the semester's syllabus was passed out, and Debbie watched as Tammy pulled out a binder from her bag, placing it into a section for English. She could already tell that Tammy was a smarty and that she was going to be able to help her keep up with her grades. She watched the other teen and noticed she was writing her a note.

What's up with the thing about your brother?

Debbie took the paper and started to write out her answer before handing it back.

He's a bad kid, I guess you could say. People think I'm like him

What did he do?

For starters, he's had some of the best parties anyone's been too, at least that's what the jocks say. He's not the nicest person to teachers, and he's been to juvey a few times

Oh... shit

Yeah, but he's in college now. I think people expected me to be the same. With the parties and drugs

But, you're not, right?

No. I don't like drugs, and I don't like parties... not really anyways

Okay. I don't either. I'm not into that stuff

"Girls." Miss Brink said as she looked at the two.

Debbie quickly passed the note back to Tammy before she was about to write anything else.

Once the first bell for the next period rang, Tammy stood up and put her binder back into her bag. Debbie grabbed her bag and walked out of the room with the blonde.

"Sorry if I caused trouble with the note..." Tammy said softly.

"You didn't, don't worry."

The other teen nodded softly as she pulled out her schedule to see where they were headed next. "Oh... the business class."

"It won't be hard. I promise. Just stick with me, and I'll get you through it, okay?" Debbie said.

"Okay," Tammy smiled softly as she followed after Debbie to their next class.