#why must i like other men shit would be so much simpler if i was straight

[single-left-sack]

Im.going fucking insane

Im.goign fucking insane i wish I'd never been made aware people weren't joking about having crushes on fictional characters it cursed me to like anime men

[dontbipanicjonsa]

A confusing clusterfuck of thoughts re: Jonsa

Or: why the fuck are Jon and Sansa so compatible if they're not canon, huh?

He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. - Bran III AGOT

So....Jon is going to lose memory of all warmth? I'm going to separate the changes brought about in post-resurrection!Jon here as changes caused by death and changes caused by Ghost. This post is only speculating about the changes caused by death i.e. loss of memory of all warmth.

More foreshadowing for that-

Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. - Jon III AGOT

"It was. The fort is in a sorry state, admittedly. You will restore it as best you can..." ... You'll sleep on stone, too exhausted to complain or plot, and soon you'll forget what it was like to be warm, but you might remember what it was to be a man. - Jon II ADWD

So, I did a word search for warm and memory and I found some interesting stuff. Read under the cut.

1. Home

Jon- warmth and memory of home

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon II AGOT (thinking about Arya)

The weariness came on him suddenly... So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man's body. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black... - Jon III AGOT

...Iron Emmett was still urging on his charges in the yard. The song of steel on steel woke a hunger in Jon. It reminded him of warmer, simpler days, when he had been a boy at Winterfell matching blades with Robb under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Ser Rodrik too had fallen, slain by Theon Turncloak... All my memories are poisoned. - Jon VI ADWD

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it.-Jon XII ASOS

So, these are the memories of warmth he'll lose? This warmth, that he associates with Winterfell (and the Starks), is the first memory of warmth Jon has.

Dany- memory of home

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind... and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.

"… the dragon …" - Daenerys IX AGOT

Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? - Daenerys VI AGOT

..."What shall we talk of?"

"Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world."

Missandei did her best. She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire. - Daenerys VIII ADWD

Dany's idea of 'home' changes over the course of the books. In the beginning she uses home for Illyrio's house, or the house with the red door. She very clearly doesn't think of Westeros as her home. After Viserys's death however, there's a sudden shift. Now, Westeros is her long lost home that she must return to someday. It's jarring. Interestingly enough, she pretty clearly rejects the idea of Dothraki khalasars as home, and the only time she calls Meereen home is in her last chapter of ADWD where she's trying to convince herself to return there. But we know that she ultimately rejects that too, in the same chapter.

Sansa- memory of home

Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? Already the snowfall lay thick... The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the long summer of her childhood. - Sansa VII ASOS

Last of all came the Royces, Lord Nestor and Bronze Yohn... Though his hair was grey and his face lined, Lord Yohn still looked as though he could break most younger men like twigs in those huge gnarled hands. His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. - Alayne I AFFC

She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend... She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell... - Sansa II ACOK

Arya coz why not

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you …" - Arya II AGOT

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

Again, all this (and much more) is stuff that reminds Sansa (and Arya) of home. This is, presumably, shit that Jon is gonna forget. Or maybe he'll retain the memories and only lose the emotions (warmth) associated with it?

2. Suitors or romantic/sexual partners (+Ben Plumm)

Jon

Many a night he lay with Ygritte warm beside him,... - Jon V ASOS

So, Ygritte becomes his second memory of warmth.

When he turned he saw Ygritte.

...cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said.

"Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's.

Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. - Jon VI ADWD

AT NIGHT ALL ROBES ARE GREY...yea I know, this is a well established connection between the Girl in Grey and Ygritte. Since Jon associates Ygritte with warmth so strongly, I think it's safe to assume that the Girl in Grey might play a role in warming him too (hehe).

… one hears queer talk of dragons."

"Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit."

"My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons." - Jon IX ADWD

Yikes.

Dany

"If my queen commands," he (Jorah) said, curt and cold.

Dany was warm enough for both of them. "She does," she said. "She commands...

When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon. - Daenerys IV ASOS

So, here the warmth is because of anger (woken the dragon).

Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. He was warm in Qarth as well, she recalled, until the day he had no more use for me. She rose to her feet. "Come," she said, and Xaro followed her through the pillars... - Daenerys III ADWD

She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted... Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust?- Daenerys VI ADWD

This is twice that Dany associates warmth with people who use/betray her.

"You're hurt," she gasped.

"This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. - Daenerys VI ADWD

Dawn always came too soon.

...If only she had the power, she would have made their nights go on forever, but the best that she could do was stay awake to try and savor every last sweet moment before daybreak turned them into no more than fading memories....

Dany wrapped her arms around her captain and pressed herself against his back. She drank in the scent of him, savoring the warmth of his flesh, the feel of his skin against her own. Remember, she told herself. Remember how he felt. - Daenerys VII ADWD

Ok, I forgot how smitten Dany was with Daario. It would be cute if Daario wasn't so horrifying. Girl has some seriously questionable taste.

Interestingly, the phrase 'fading memory' is used four times in the text (as far as I can find) and three of those times are in Daenerys's POV. One is in the above quote, where she's commanding herself to remember her time with Daario before her marriage to Hizdahr, and the other time is while thinking about the red door. Both these are memories that are important to her, that connect her to the hopeful/little/not-dark girl she once was.

Sansa

Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. - Tyrion VIII ASOS

"I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her." - Sansa VII ASOS

"Alayne." Her aunt's singer stood over her. "Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you." - Sansa VI ASOS

You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands." - Sansa VII ASOS

Yea no. Sansa has not had a good experience with people offering to warm her (unfreeze her? melt her?)

Looks like in TWOW there's going to be two people in desperate need of some warming.

It's pretty neat actually. Jon associates memories of warmth with two things primarily: Winterfell/the Starks, and Ygritte. Sansa is both a Stark, and a much (much) improved Ygritte.

Sansa's iciness-wall-armour is a form of protection that she employs against predatory men. The only person who can melt her frozen heart...is someone who is not predatory. Someone who cares for her. Jon.

It fits perfectly. They fit perfectly.

[quirklessidiot]

Title: first meetings [ii. the small pink-haired boy] Genre: just angst, drama, romance, historical fiction Pairing: Sorcerer!Sukuna x gn!sorcerer!reader (heian era; pre-curse sukuna)

Synopsis: in which you befriend the slave boy you’re supposed to spy on.

Warnings: not canon stuff, future dark themes,, smoll manga spoilers, slavery, whipping, mentions of rape, language and violence Notes: im kinda back i guess skksks also these are pretty much random au’s of my own take of sukuna’s back story uwu, theyre arranged in no particular order and you can read them in any order. This started out as a random one shot and i couldnt get it out of my head lol ksksksks, def not canon btw but it is canon that sukuna used to be an all powerful sorcerer before he turned to the dark side or smthng.

lil dictionary: non-person-  usually what they called slaves during the heian era.

masterlist [for other parts] ;; taglist 

“That’s beautiful.”

Contrasting to your rather clean and prestigious appearance, the young boy was dressed in rags and had dirt painted on his face. You could tell by his uncommon red eyes that he didn’t want you here nor did he even want to be associated with you.

“...the boy is rather prideful.” your otosan recounted a few nights before, you’d usually have conversations like this since you were quite close with him and he did like to confide you with these things,“but he has spirit, he’d be good for a ward.”

“What are you doing here?” He spat, being a part of and the sole heir of your family meant you were also treated with dignity and respect, it seemed like this boy wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, this made you grin wildly much to his disdain, “Oi, stop grinning like that. You’re creeping me the fuck out.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“And I don’t care.” 

“Has anyone told you that you’ve got quite the temper?”

“Well, has anyone told you that you’re being an annoying bitch?” he bit back, five minutes into your first meeting, this strange boy seemed to want to get furthest away from you. He seemed to be rather ignorant to his overflowing cursed energy, your father was right, this boy was definitely no joke. 

“That’s sad.” You pouted, “All I wanted to say was how beautiful that Kimono is.”

“I was at a store, looking for some clothes that best suited you when I saw a young boy of your age…” your otosan narrated, “Who had a rather high cursed energy, he seemed unaware with it. He works as an errand boy, I believe, he carries heavy clothes and silk… His looks are hard to miss Y/N, so I’m sure you won’t miss him...try to talk to him…”

The boy looks up to you, completely annoyed, “Well, you said it. Now fuck off, yeah?”

You chose to ignore him and just bend down to his level, you had no training for today so you might as well join the boy for a moment since you had time to kill, “You know, if you keep keeping that attitude up, you might scare the customers away.” you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah?” he clicked his tongue, “Looks to me that you aren’t even here to buy anything.”

“He seemed rather…” Your otosan described, “perplexed...so you might as well go in my stead…”

“Ah.” your grin doesn’t seem to fade despite his rather rough way of speaking, “You just seemed around my age so I got interested.”

“No shit, now buzz off. I got no time for kids like you.”

He talks as if he was older than you, it’s no surprise. Boys like him tend to think they know quite a lot.

“Do you wish to tell me your name now?”

He was silent for a moment.

That’s when realization dawned upon you, why he seemed perplexed around your otosan, why he thinks you were an annoying buzz, and why he couldn’t reply when you asked for his name. You feel yourself inwardly cringe at your mistake, it seems like the boy your father took interest in is a slave with no name, “Twenty.” he mumbles, shrugging nonchalantly.

“What?”

“They call me twenty.” he recounts, his voice is still rough around the edges, remaining uncensored by his identity.

“Right…” you tilt your head, “Twenty…”

“You’ve got silks to bring to the next town, boy!” a loud voice calls out, cutting you short, making the pink-haired boy put the pretty kimono down and back for display. Without even sparing you a glance or a word, he retreats to the back and you’re left squatting there alone. You watch him from behind, specifically at the bandages that peeked through his wrists.

The boy had piqued your interest to the point that you made it your weekly agenda to visit him and a-some-nights agenda to watch over him. He still ignores you and seems to be annoyed by you every time but he doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it so you just sit there. 

You were also still in awe by how much raw energy he possessed, you’d ask your otosan if he knew any sorcerers with lost children because it surely seemed as if this boy wasn’t ordinary.

“Just keep an eye on him,” was all your father said as you watch the boy close up shop late at night from on top of a roof, “He might make a great sorcerer and shift the tides.”

Your otosan was not one for gambling on people but it seemed like he made a large bet on this boy. 

As usual, you’re watching over him close up. It’s late and the owner of the place walks out, a pipe on his lips. Right then and there, he slaps the pink-haired teenager right at the face, “You should’ve joined the customer awhile ago in the dressing room, boy.” he growls, “It would’ve been quick…”

You feel the negative energy emit stronger than ever and your grip on your knife is tight, “Don’t get involved, Y/N.” your otosan’s warning echoes in your head, yes your otosan may have been interested in him but he was never one to dwell in human affairs, saying they were annoying and a mess to clean up.

“...It seems like the lesson a few nights ago wasn’t enough.” you snap back to reality and watch his boss stretch out a whip with its pointy ends and you feel your blood run cold. 

‘Don’t get involved-’

You ignore your otosan’s words in your head and throw a stone right at a nearby sign, resulting in a booming clang, making the cat nearby yelp outloud. The pink-haired boy jumps on the spot and so does the older man at the sound.

“Ah fucking-” the older man curses, tucking the whip back in, “No food for you for three days. Know your fucking worth, non-person.”

Your grip on your nodachi lessens as you let out a sigh of relief, whatever legal terms your father must be talking about needs to be done quickly.

On the next day, you’re on your way to visit him again. Carrying the bento box that you know he’ll refuse again because of his ‘pride’ yet you stop dead on your tracks when you find his owner and an older man talking, Sukuna seems to be standing behind them, looking quite uncomfortable.

It didn’t take two and two to guess what was going on, the amount of cursed energy leaking on him was strong so you could only guess this was the man who wanted to get his way on him yesterday. Your nose crinkles in absolute disgust, “Don’t get involved-”

Once again, you ignore your otosan’s words.

“Hey!” You call out, you see his red eyes widen, “What are you doing?”

The older man frowns at your sudden appearance, “None of your business brat. Now go home-”

“I said,” You repeated, your voice dangerously low, “What are you doing to him?”

“He’s a non-person, kid.” his ‘owner’ growls, you notice his hands dangerously close to his whip, “A fucking slave in simpler terms, now get the fuck out before I beat him and you.”

“You don’t scare me.” Your eyes are narrowed, truthfully, no one ever scares you. You were the heir of your clan. It was to be expected and drilled since your curse energy manifested when you were five that fear would come last, “Now unhand the boy.”

“This bitch-”

“Now, now.” The other man smiles, cutting the pink-haired boy’s ‘owner’ off,  “Maybe I can take that young child with me too. After all, they seem to be good friends. Two is better than one…”

You watch the other older man snake an arm on the young boy’s shoulder and you could feel the fear leaking out, it was harder to mask and hide now. 

“Is it alright to put a little scar on’em? So that they’d know-” He gets ready to take out the whip while your fists are clenched, this would be easy. You could get away with this later, at least you’d take the boy away from this place and help him control his energy after. 

Yet before you’re able to land a blow, the pink-haired boy yells at you to move as his ‘owner’ takes out a whip to whip you.

For someone who didn’t seem to like your presence, he was rather quick to defend you, having his face get hit in the process by the sharp whip. Your eyes widen in surprise, “Ah, shit… Y/N, run!” he yells but you’re staring at his very bloody face.

It would obviously leave marks like the wrists and who knows which parts since he was always covered by that very loose raggedy kimono.

You clench your fists tightly and look up from his blood features, the ‘owner’ stops on his tracks when he meets your very cold gaze, “Do you know who you just messed with?” you asked, “You really think I won’t tell my otosan that you planned to make me your prostitute?”

“Y-Y/N, jesus christ just fucking run-” he tried to stutter out, any evidence of the prideful and strong boy who tried to shoo you away was now gone.

Yet like the stubborn child you are, you ignore him and instead take out your family seal and drop it in front of them, ignoring the pink-haired boy’s plea’s and watching the two men in front of you turn white as a ghost as they see the nameplate, “My name is Ryomen Y/N.” You stated, voice loud and clear, “And you better hope that I’ll let you out here dead or me and my otosan will hunt you down for the rest of your life.”

taglist [if your name is crossed out, i cant tag you!] @shinhiromi ;; @hcn421 ;; @airybnb ;; @coldbookworm ;; @kristineyoshaii ;; @frankenstein852​

@iguessimastannnow

[wyn-n-tonic]

I Don't Count

Word Count: 1,479 Warnings: Drinking. Mentions of a car accident (briefly). Soft caretaker baby Will Miller. It's just fluffy. Author's Note: Fully formed this out of my need for a hug and comfort and decided I wanted to write it for the only blonde haired, blue eyed man I'd ever let get in these guts.

MASTERLIST

The Millers still had a landline. Of course they did. Benny’s big brother was very staunch about his boundaries. If he wasn’t going out after work, his cellphone went off as soon as he walked across the threshold. If you needed to reach him for any reason after that, you could call the house phone.

“But it better be a goddamn emergency,” he’d always say.

She bit her thumbnail as it rang, leg bouncing to a nonsensical rhythm. A drumming only she could hear. Once, twice. It was her last ditch effort to reach her best friend, to hear his voice telling her everything is okay. Three times and,

“Hello?”

Not Benny.

She contemplates hanging up, her voice stuck somewhere in her chest. This was most certainly not an emergency no matter what the bottle she’d been nursing had to say about it. But she can’t. Can’t speak. Not to Will, not about this.

Can’t let the phone fall from her ears. Can’t even breathe.

“Shane,” he sounds concerned, “are you okay?”

“I uh—“ the breath releases, “I was looking for Benny.”

A small laugh on the other end, “it’s Tuesday, Sunshine, he’s at the gym.”

Sunshine, his nickname for her. It started out as Sunshane but he got pissed at the autocorrect of his own brain, stopped fighting it after a while.

A sharp sound rings through, a whistle to get her attention.

“You didn’t answer my question,” it’s warm, “are you okay?”

She sniffs, “yeah, Billy—“

Another laugh, both disbelieving and amused, “you can’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

“Just…” another swig, “have Benny call me when he gets home, okay?”

“Are you drinking?” Not amused.

“I’m an adult, Miller, I drink.” It’s harsh.

“Yeah,” another disbelieving laugh, this time at your boldness, “but you sound like shit. Why are you drinking?”

Because I’m forcing my feelings for you onto others and I have the gall to be shocked when it blows up in my face.

“Look,” she’s pacing the kitchen, “just have Benny give me a call when he gets home. I’m really sorry t—“

“Did that fucking boyfriend do something?”

There it is, the sob she’d been swallowing.

“Give me half an hour,” he whispers down the line, “I’ll have my cell if you need anything, okay?” —————

The bottle’s gone when there’s a knock at the door.

She jumps but settles back against the couch, believing it must be coming from somewhere deep within the wine soaked sponge of her brain.

But there it is again, “it’s me, Sunshine,” coming from the other side.

She stands too quickly, blood rushing to her head as her right foot struggles to come back to life. He knocks again, nothing if not persistent.

“Don’t make me bust down this door, you know I can do it.”

She fumbles with the chain lock with wildly inebriated fingers, scratching desperately with her nails to get it through that little fucking hole. It springs free and she’s working at the deadbolt, much simpler, before throwing the door wide to the man on the other side.

“Would you really have busted down my door, Miller?” She slurs out, ever the lightweight.

He shrugs, “yeah but… I would’ve built you a new one so…”

“What's that?” She notices the bags for the first time, swinging idly at his side.

“I figured you were about halfway through the bottle earlier when you called, based on how the swish of liquid sounded on the pho—“

She rolls her eyes, “it's fucking creepy how you do that.”

“—so I brought cheeseburgers.”

She launches unsteadily toward him, wrapping her arms around his midsection.

“May I come in?”

His scent fills her senses, fresh laundry and a hint of Tom Ford as she nods against his broad chest.

Letting go, she stumbles back into the tiny apartment, the couch taking over the entire wall of the living room, and plops back down with her feet tucked under her as she makes grabby hands for the bag in Will’s hand.

He catches her out of his peripheral while he refastens the lock on the door, “can you be patient?”

“Absolutely not,” she whines out, “I'm starving.”

He toes his shoes off at the door and pads to the front of the couch, in front of her, and kneels down. He reaches into the bag and hands her a burger, “I got you two singles because I know you feel self conscious when you try to eat a double. Even when you’re alone.”

“But I’m not alone,” she mumbles through a bite, wrapper torn in half as soon as it touched her hands.

“I don’t count, I’m just Will.”

She almost chokes at that, because he does count.

“I'm really not trying to deep throat a fucking Big Mac in front of my best friend’s older brother.”

“Oh,” he stands and kisses the top of her head, “Is that all I am?”

Absolutely not.

She watches him walk into the kitchen, the clinking of glass and the sound of the tap rushing back out to meet her.

Thoughts swim in her drunk mind, the events of the day—the phone call, the fight, the follow up text messages. Colin’s raised voice still ringing through her ears as he accused her, “I don’t know if it’s Will or Ben but you’re fucking one of them and I’m done!”

“You wanna tell me what happened?” He’s soft, pulling the wrapper from her hands and pushing a glass of water in place of it.

“Um, ya know,” she swallows hard around the lump building in her throat again, “just what typically happens with men in my life.”

He looks defeated, apologetic. Colin’s not the first to accuse her of being with a Miller. It’s been a theme of the last three—Ryan, John, Adam—and this makes four. Four men that William Miller wishes he could add to his confirmed kills list.

That’s not what she wants to hear right now though, no matter how safe his words of protection always make her feel. Because it doesn’t matter.

“I'm sorry,” his heavy hand falls on the bare skin of her calf, sending a bolt of electricity through her body.

She was relieved.

Colin wasn’t right but he wasn’t far off from the truth she’s been hiding.

She’s in love with William Miller.

“Hey, Sunshine” his rough thumb across the smooth skin guides her back, “where are you?”

The alcohol has her still, a looseness in the hurt of her heart that makes up her mind before she fully realizes the words are already coming out of her mouth.

“He’s not wrong, Billy. None of them have really been wrong.”

He laughs, fingers stilled on her leg and she is aching for the movement to return as his stare seeps through her pores.

“You and Benny got something you need to tell me?”

Her breath is shaky.

She trails her fingers along his wrist before placing her palm on the back of his. Now or never.

“I think it’s more like you and I have something to tell Benny.”

He pulls away, blue eyes piercing through her, “you're drunk, Shane.”

“Just enough to not give a shit anymore,” she whispers, lifting herself up to her knees and pressing closer to him, “I know how we look at each other, Will.”

“Benny will kill us.”

She giggles, “I’ve been to his fights, my money’s on you.”

His heart swells as his laughter jumps up to meet hers. This is the first time they’ve been alone together, properly alone, since he realized his love ran deeper than that of just a friend.

When he realized on the last mission that he just really missed the smell of her hair when she gives him a hug. Or the way she laughs the hardest out of everybody whenever he tells a dumb joke.

He came home and, to stop himself from being reckless, made sure that he was only ever around when Benny was. He didn’t want to fuck up Benny’s friendship, that was something his little brother could excel at on his own.

But now, with her full lips inches from his, he decides.

It’s a decision he made less than an hour ago when her name popped up on the caller ID—she’d only called the house phone one other time, a car accident, and that same worry seeped beneath his skin again.

Her fingers run through the soft hair on the side of his head, his lips heavy against hers as he pulls her in and pushes her down.

He breaks away, “Are you sure?”

A question that dies with a crash as she tugs him back to her and he melts against her warmth when—

Her phone vibrates.

Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll…

Benny.

TAGLIST: @justanotherblonde23 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @icanbeyourjedi | @princess76179 | @bbuckysbeardd | @notcookiebelle | @knivesareout | @phoenixpascal | @lexi-b-writes | @empress-palpat1ne​ | @starlightmornings​ | @soyelfuegoquearde​

[khaleesiofalicante]

Ok imma be honest, this chapter moved me to tears and not the sad sobbing but the more inspiring kind. This chapter means the world.

She had told them her dreams were about ducks – since there were the only equally horrible thing she could think of.

Uncle Magnus had given her an odd look then, as if he knew she was bullshitting them. But he hadn’t said anything.

DUCKS AREN'T THAT BAD! HAVE Y'ALL EVER BEEN CHASED BY A GOAT?? I WAS CONVINCED I WAS GONNA DIE

Lexi would be royally pissed if this turned out to be some stupid pointless dream.

YUP

Even though she was only 7 minutes older than Lexi, Selena always acted like she was 7 years older.

That's so cute though

People looked at her pastel-coloured aesthetic immediately assumed she was the soft and sweet Fairchild twin. People saw Selena in her red leather jacket and thigh high boots and assumed she was in the infamous troublesome Herondale twin.

SMH THE DAMN STEREOTYPES

Why Selena hadn’t killed her in her sleep yet, Lexi doesn’t know.

BYE THAT'S EVERY SIBLING RELATIONSHIP EVER

The meals at the Academy were to die for – quite literally. Last week two students from the warlock fraction had almost killed each other over a blueberry muffin.

Oh how times change...they will never know the dreaded soup

NO ANJALI HAS BEEN GONE FOR OVER A YEAR???

IS JAIME OK?? PLEASE BE OK! HE CAN LIVE WITH TREATMENT SO I REALLY HOPE HE'S OK

Selena’s was Idris of course. She was kind of obsessed with it.

Max loved the shadow markets. Lexi thought they were very cool too.

Rafael loved his father’s office – which was weird. There was nothing to do in that room other than ponder about shadow world problems. Besides, the place still weirdly smelled like the tangerine perfume Anjali wore, even though the girl had left New York almost a year ago.

David loved the New York Institute – especially the library.

Gigi of course loved the dining halls.

Dining halls, kitchens, food trucks, vending machines - if a place had food with it, Gigi loved it.

It's so amazing how they all have their favorite places...(same David same)

“You’re supposed to pour the syrup on the pancakes not into your mouth,” Lexi chuckled as she sat down next to her.

“It ends up in my mouth anyway,” Gigi shrugged.

True enough.

AWW ROMAN MAKING GIGI PLAYLISTS!!

Someone make me a playlist.

“His parents fell in love in Rome when they were in Rome,” Gigi pointed out even though Lexi already knew. “I think it’s actually romantic.”

I had forgotten that-

Roman was nice. But not nice enough for Georgia. Lexi didn’t think there was anyone good enough for her parabatai – who was the most perfect person in the world.

Me @ anyone who tries to make a move at my best friend.

AWW GEORGIA LIKES HIM TOO!!

When's the wedding?

(you're telling me you didn't believe you were gonna marry your childhood crush? Liar)

“I like being his friend,” Georgia said. “I like spending time with him and all of that. But I don’t know if I like him…in that way. I feel like I need more time.”

Demiromantic??? YES GIVE US THE REP

Lexi sometimes thought life would be so much simpler if the world was full of women and everyone was a lesbian.

Ikr?? Life would be so much easier.

Lexi says Roman is too-nice-sus

Well well well

The kind of love that cheated death.

The kind of love that sustained memory spells put by princes of hell.

The kind of love that changed the world.

Trust me all of our standards are very high

Lexi successfully survived the class without falling asleep.

Me during English.

Ok who's the blond?

Lexi I thought we weren't gonna fall this soon-

Oh the girl's straight...sigh we've all been there.

which meant they had to hold hands. Kinda.

Lexi was a little scared of that.

Me.

Goddamnit, Alexandra. Get your gay together!

THAT'S SO RELATABLE LIKE?? YES

OH MY GOD IT'S EMMA AND JULIAN'S DAUGHTER GEIDIDHDOHDJSKSJSKGXJDHSODHKDGDDGDJHDJDGDJDGJDHD

Lexi knew Olivia liked boys. She hadn’t dated anyone officially of course. All the boys were kind of terrified of her father.

She could be bi or pan or omni. WE GOTTA HAVE HOPE

vegetable loaf... David I'm so sorry you had to go through this.

Lexi then decided not to do any of her homework over the weekend because she was not coming back to the academy. She was not going to survive the sleepover and whatever else Olivia had in mind.

Bestie...why is this me when I make eye contact with my crush.

“Good stuff?” Max snorted. “Rafe literally ran away from home cause shit got too intense.”

“I didn’t run away!” Rafael rolled his eyes. “Stop telling people that!”

“But you have rumours and shadowhunters getting thrown into silent city and cohort drama and all that exciting stuff!” Liv pointed out.

I-

Liv-

True though.

“Wasn’t there a serial killer when your parents were young?” David asked.

“And didn’t your uncle do necromancy?” Max said biting into a chicken wing.

True and true

“Sorry, Chouchou!” Lexi winced. “I, uh, sensed a mosquitoe on your leg.”

“Girl, your angel powers are weird as fuck,” Max laughed.

MAX LANGUAGE

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged and threw her a wink. “I wouldn’t put anything past Lexi.”

Lexi looked at Gigi. She was one more compliment away from screaming.

But Gigi of course knew her struggle and therefore quickly stuffed a bread roll into Lexi’s mouth.

I need someone to stuff bread into my mouth when things get like this

There were rumours about David – and how Daddy had an affair. Lexi was yet to find those asshats and shove a witch light down their throats.

When you find them lemme know too.

“Or maybe it’s because you don’t need rumours be interesting,” David pointed out.

Max turned around, looking surprised at that. His cheeks turned purple. Lexi didn’t know why he was surprised. David only ever spoke fondly of Max.

JUST GET TOGETHER ALREADY OH MY GOD

“Oh. Oh! I did hear something a long time ago!” Gigi said suddenly. “Olly, is it true you were conceived at the beach?”

“Georgia, you can’t just ask people where they were conceived!” David sounded horrified.

That is very much possible.

“I heard you were conceived in hell?”

“Oh my god,” Selena looked horrified. “That’s not true! It must have been about Max!”

“Y’all I am adopted!” Max was shaking with laughter and then stopped. “Although our dads could have definitely had sex in hell. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Oh yes. Both clace and malec.

Then they had of course continued to discuss that cursed topic until Rafael had threatened to tell the Consul about it.

LMAO

Lexi turned around and saw Liv waiting for her. Nope. She wasn’t going to talk a walk – a fucking stroll! – with Olivia all on her own.

“You are coming back to the institute with me or I will un-parabatai you.”

You know there being an un-parabatai ceremony would solve a lot of shit

What if their hands accidentally grazed or something? That shit was lethal.

RIGHT????

She is just trying to be nice. That’s what friends do. They are nice. And they give each other pretty dresses and say they would like to see them in it.

Honey that's gay.

EVERYONE ASKING HER OUT IM DEAD

Selena: Ugh boys

Selena: When I win back Idris, we are leaving all the men behind.

Lexi: Except Magnus? Lol.

Selena: Obviously.

Is that even a question Lexi? Duh.

ALEC LIGHTWOOD THOUGHT SHE WAS STRAIGHT? THE SHAME!

OH MY GOD IM CACKLING

Not everyone can kiss their partner in the Accords Hall. Some people didn’t have access to the Accords Hall.

And most important, some people didn’t have partners!

We're getting a lexi and Alec talk someone hold me

“I’m going to tell you something,” Uncle Alec said. “It might sound simple. It might sound ridiculous. But it’s the truth. So, you must believe me. Can you do that?”

Lexi gave him a small nod.

“It doesn’t matter what other people think,” Uncle Alec said. “Not when it comes to your future. Not when it comes to your identity. They don’t get to have a say in who you are and why you are the way you are.”

Lexi bit her lip.

“Alexandra, people will always tell what to do. But you shouldn’t let them. Never let anyone tell you what to do with your heart or your body. Neither belongs them. It only belongs to you.”

THIS RIGHT HERE MADE ME START CRYING BECAUSE DAMN YES!

“Yep,” she groaned and then hesitated for a moment. “Uncle Alec…Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Can I say no?”

“No.”

“Then go ahead.”

I love her so much

“I feel…I feel it’s something we have to bear, Alexandra. The fear of rejection. It’s something we have to accept as an inevitable part of our lives. Because no matter how much love we have around us, we will always be afraid of people not loving us – simply because of who we are.”

Yeah...

“Besides, they named you after me,” he pointed out. “I don’t know what else they expected.”

EXACTLY! Did they really expect a straight child after naming them after Alec?

“I do like shouting,” Lexi wondered out loud. “That’s good advice.”

“I didn’t mean it literally!” Uncle Alec looked alarmed.

“No, it makes total sense!” Lexi grinned. “Some of these people can be tone deaf. Gotta shout it out. Loud and clear. Awesome advice! Thanks, Uncle Alec!”

DO IT

“Hey, Lexi. I was wonderin-”

“MOVE, I’M GAY!” she yelled as she shoved him aside and kept on running.

ABSOLUTELY ICONIC

“I prefer she/her,” Lexi answered. "But sometimes I prefer she/they. But you can use she/her because some of y'all already shit at grammar."

That's exactly what I tell people when they ask for my pronouns. Istg people are shit at grammar.

alright girl im here to give you a lecture on how someone's dressing doesn't describe their sexuality

OH MY MY GOD THERE WAS A GENDER AND SEXUALITY CLASS IN THE ACADEMY ARE THEY RECRUITING???

One of the boys who had complimented cleared his throat. “So, uh, you don’t like boys?”

“That’s literally what I said,” Lexi rolled her eyes. “I’m gay. I’m very gay. I’m gayer than the Consul. Okay fine, that’s not true. No one gayer than the Consul. But I’m still pretty gay.”

Does the boy have hearing problems?

ALSO YES NO ONE'S GAYER THAN THE CONSUL

“Sexual orientation and gender expression are two different things,” she explained now, remember what Uncle Magnus had taught them. “Sexual orientation refers to who I am sexually and romantically attracted to. Gender expression is how I want to express my gender identity. Those two are not connected. Just because a woman wears feminine clothes it doesn’t mean she is straight. Just because a man embraces femininity, it doesn’t make him gay either. Does that make sense?”

“Ohhh,” the girl nodded. “Yes, it does. Thank you!”

“What I wear does not reflect who I like. It reflects who I am and what I like to wear,” Lexi explained. “And regardless of my sexuality, I like pretty things.”

Exactly.

“This doesn’t change anything. I hope you know that,” he told her. “I mean I have to change the pronouns in my shovel talk. But that’s not a big deal.”

Awwww

Also – my good friend Raziel told me that homophobia is a sin.”

“You mean homosexuality is a sin?” an older man asked.

“No, homophobia is a sin,” Lexi repeated. “That’s what Raziel said.”

“But that’s not-”

Someone cleared their throat. When he spoke, it was in the Consul Voice.

“Are you saying know better than Raziel?” the Consul asked.

Listen to Raziel you dumb shit

“Sure. Let me just call the Lesbian Alliance,” Lexi rolled her eyes.

Ugh I wish

OH NO NO NO NOT THE FAKE DATING. JUST CONFESS AND DATE FOR REAL

“Alexandra, I have a fucking undercut and I have pink highlights and I cuff my jeans and I literally walk around with a sword and I can quote Lady Gaga to perfection! Why would you ever think I was straight??”

Lexi your gaydar is broken bestie.

Don't do this omg this is gonna be a mess

Gigi: THIS IS A BAD IDEA. ABORT! ABORT!

Lexi: Relaaaax. It’s going to be fine!

Gigi: I’ve read enough fanfiction to know the fake dating trope never ends well!

Lexi: I’ve told you to include the ‘angst with happy ending’ tag!

LMAO

Also Gigi which fanfiction do you read?

Jace omg...

That's so him though.

“How about my peeps? It sounds very hip.”

“It does not,” Lexi replied. “Please don’t refer to us as your peeps under any circumstance."

IM SCREAMING ASHSKHSIDBSHSHDH

Her father chuckled at that. “Sweetheart, you’re a Herondale. Being problematic is what we do.”

EXACTLY

Daddy opened the notebook again. “I need names.”

Grabs flamethrower names

“Besides, the Lightwoods and Blackthorns have been hogging the gay genes for too long. Now it’s our turn. I say you gay it up.”

“Gay it up?” Lexi laughed.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Go for the highest possible level of gay.”

DO IT

He blinked for a second and then it hit him. “OH MY GOD YES! DOES EMMA KNOW??”

Lexi laughed. Yeah, he can never find out it was a fake dating situation.

Hopefully he won't have to because it won't be fake :D

“To love is a privilege and to be loved is a blessing.”

THE GROWTH OH MY GOD

This chapter literally means so much to me. I don't even know what to say. I hope I too can one day have the courage to shout it in front of everyone and not be scared. See ya on Tuesday!

It means so much to me that this chapter meant a lot to you. I hope you find all the courage, strength and support you need. You are amazing.

And here. I made you a playlist.

You can find it here on YouTube. I hope you like it :)

[gildedmuse]

Law is still Shichibukai (for some reason) and meets with the others including Mihawk for government business or something. He learns he had a relationship with Zoro during the 2 years. Even though Law is in a relationship with him now Mihawk & Zoro never really ended theirs officially so Law gets jealous and competative

Right, I have to pass out. But here is part one of three of this magical tale.

Oh thank God someone else has thought of this because I think about this SO MUCH. Like, "what are you even doing with your life?" / "Oh, you know, mostly trying to set up a Mihawk/Zoro/Law love triangle." / "..... Just WHY?"

Because it'd be super hot that's why.

One dude whose super possessive, one who hates losing and one who's totally obvious to all that shit. are you kidding me? That was made for fanfic glory.

I don't know if I can do such a delicious thing justice in a "let's see if I remember how words work" post, but damn right I'll try it.

It's 2020. The world needs this you guys. And hopefully it inspires others to look deep within themselves and realize the Mihawk/Zoro/Law triangle was inside them all along.

To War Over You

"Why do I have to be here again? No offense, Torao, this whole thing sounds boring as hell."

Law closes his eyes and draws a deep breath; the best way to deal with any of the Strawhat crew if you didn't want it to end in bloodshed and a broken alliance. "Did you not understand the first three times I went over the situation, Zoro-ya? I don't know if I can explain it in any simpler terms without resorting to coloring books and grade school lessons."

It may have been a little snippy, but for as confidently as he struts down the hallways of the naval base just those side of Marie Joice, Law could never get use to having marines on either side, standing at every doorway, eyeing him suspiciously as they walk past him in the halls. He'd seen what these men would do given the orders or the chance, so despite how well he could hide behind a haughty mask and arrogant demeanor, Law can't help feeling once more like a frightened child on the run from these very same men.

He had fully expected to have to lead Zoro through the whole parade, tell him not to jump at the sight of every uniform (as is still, deep down, Law's immediately response) but the other swordsman comes off as almost entirely unaffected. He makes eye contact with passing marines as if daring them to question his presence or better yet try something. He doesn't even have a hand on his sword, a sure sign of the boy's nervousness. He walks next to Law, appearing utterly calm and unafraid and, well, bored.

It's giving Law a headache to be honest. Could one if the Strawhats even pretend to behave like normal pirates?

When Zoro's shoulder bumps against Law's he wonders, fleetingly, if this this is the part where Zoro finally admits how paranoid this whole scene leaves him.

They walk past a pair of marines like that, Zoro leaning into his shoulder practically hanging off Law, and neither men blinks an eye. In fact, they make a point of not even glancing up at the passing pirates, their conversation going quiet and their eyes locked to the floor until they've past. That's been the case more and more this visit; a complete change from the first time Law had been invited where even privates and ensigns felt confident enough to give him bad looks, expressions that clearly asked what one of his kind was doing there.

Zoro also waits until the heavy steps of the two marines are mostly out of earshot before he leans, somehow, even closer. Until Law can feel the boy's hot mouth up against his skin, heating the metal hoops in his ear. "I'm so sorry oh powerful warlord," Zoro teases because, since it really occured to him that Law is a Shichibukai - and apparently one the government is desperate to keep on their side - he couldn't seem to stop himself from mocking the title. If it were any other pirate, Law could have chopped them into parts and been done with it, but for whatever reason he allows the vice captain of the straw hats to get away with such insults. "I must have been distracted at the time."

Ah, yes. That's why.

Law ducks his head, as if attempting to hide a smirk as they go by another three marines - ensigns based on their uniforms and the way their eyes go wide before they scurry past. Ah, well, at worst they'll think he's planning something big, something illegal (which he is, though not for a while) though more than likely they'll just think that's how pirates are. Cocky and unafraid.

Law doesn't mind the reputation.

Of course, if they knew the real reason Trafalgar Law, pirate captain, worst generation, and Shichibukai looked so damn smug they probably would have hurried by all the faster.

Is it his fault that there is something so pleasing about taking a man with the reputation of Roronoa Zoro and having him on his knees and begging? Law can't help the spark of pride knowing that while most others couldn't even halt Zoro's steps were he determined to get by, Law could leave him sprawled out, exhausted, panting on the bed after being made to come a fourth time and yet in two hours he'd crawl into Law's lap, needy and impatient and wanting anything the older pirate would give him.

It's enough to make any man a little conceited. After all, how many can say they've reduced the pirate hunter to such a desperate state?

Law has every right to feel proud.

Still nearly climbing on top of Law even as they walked, Zoro takes the other man's ear in his mouth, tongue first warming the metal and then teeth pulling at the earrings. Law really should make him stop; they must have all sorts of surveillance inside the base. But he just can't find it in him to do more than find the most obvious of the recording snails stuck to the walls, offering it and whoever is lucky enough to be watching a cocky smile.

And because Zoro, like the most crew, doesn't seem to understand the idea of subtle, he follows the bite up with, "I guess having you fuck my mouth interests me more than some political bullshit. Hard paying attention to all this useless junk when your buried that deep in my throat."

It's not romantic. It's hardly even sexy. And yet even as Zoro slides back into his own space, Law can feel something in his gut start to tighten, to want. It had been such a mistake to bring the swordsman along, he should have known better.

Only he'd received a hint from a certain high ranking, unnamed inspector general that the navy knew he was harbouring at least some of the Straw hats on his ship (However did they find that out, Zoro-ya? Maybe if you didn't insist on fighting every battle ship you saw). He would still be expected to attend the meeting, of course, but if he did show up they would certainly search his ship for the pirates and, failing that, likely charge him all the same. Especially after they couldn't use the Doflamigo incident against him, in part thanks to Issho's very live, very unscripted broadcast.

It seemed obviously to Law that their best option is to claim these straw hats had made the decision to work under him (some more literally than others) which only left the matter of which one to bring, to show Law isn't afraid of their suspicious.

Robin could lie very well and would have easily been the best choice, except she was just as likely to stand in front of some of the top ranked marines and inform them that, in fact, she is still and will always be a Strawhat. And she'd say it with a smile. Franky... Well, no. Franky wouldn't last two minutes into an interrogation. Usopp could lie, but there's a chance he'd over do it, or simple break down at the sight of so many marines.

No, Zoro had been his best choice, which is a condemnation of his chooses really. He's just hoping the vice captain will be able to clentch his teeth and get through it.

As added incentive, Law made plenty of promises.... And threats. Depending, of course, on Zoro's ability to behave.

"What's the point of even calling you out here?" Zoro asks in an entirely casual tone, as if he hadn't just described sucking Law off. "Not like the government acts wants your opinion on anything."

Law has to admit Zoro's right, but after the near catastrophe at Dressrosa, Law is trying to play ball. If they haven't expelled him yet it's because they need something from him, and Law is determined to find out what. "Just do as I tell you and don't make a scene," Law says, knowing those two instructions are impossible for any strawhat to follow, perhaps especially this one. "So long as you don't-"

Suddenly, Law is no longer looking at Zoro but at the plain walls of the military base. Confused, he looks back to see Zoro has come to a stop in the middle of the hall. There is a dangerous grin pulling at his lips, one that Law would definitely be afraid of of he hadn't seen it so many times right before Zoro swallowed him whole. Now it just makes him lose his breath a little too fast, the heat in his gut pours through the rest of him, becoming something he can't control.

Expect Zoro isn't looking his way at all.

"Hawkeye," Zoro says simply, and while his voice is harsh his expression certainly isn't. "I forgot they still recognize you as a Shichibukai. When I defeat you then, do I get that title as well?"

Law jerks to look back so abruptly he feels a little sick, but sure enough there he is; fellow Shichibukai and world's greatest swordsman. A title that Law knows Zoro coverts, perhaps explaining the gleam in his eyes as he stares down the other swordsman. Though Law would have expected it to hold more.... Hostility. Instead, despite the seriousness of his tone and the challenge in his eyes, Zoro's lips keep twitching, unable to completely hide the a smile.

He's probably just happy to get this chance at a rematch. Not that Law is about to let that happen in the middle of a marine base. Zoro may be less than cautious and driven by his heart rather than solid reason, but he isn't that crazy.

.... Is he?

"Roronoa," Mihawk greets him formally and, again, his voice even and devoid of humour, and yet the older Shichibukai does nothing to hide his smile. "How strange to see the rabbit has wandered so far from its burrow."

Zoro wrinkles his nose before deciding to go for something slight more intimidating. "I told you not to call me that." He might try and pass it off as a growl, but honestly he sounds like a pouting child. It's cute, in a way.

In the way that it would have been cute, if it had been for Law.

Mihawk's smirk grows more amused, more cocky at Zoro's reply. "I seem to recall you didn't mind at times." Mihawk's long strides eat up the room between him and Zoro in a matter of seconds, and before Law even thought to be on guard the older man is leaning down, whispering something for only Zoro to hear.

Law may not know what exactly is said, but he recognizes the flush in the other boy's cheeks, the way his eyes go wide before falling half closed as he rocks, almost consciously, up onto his toes and closer to the one teasing him.

It's a state he's enjoyed putting the swordsman in in the past, one he's never had to witness as a third party.

When Mihawk has finished, Zoro is just a touch too pink and too breathless for Law's comfort. But it's the smirk on the older swordsman's lips when he pulls away that makes Law clench his fist and bite doesn't hard. If they weren't at this base, he's fairly certain nothing, not even his intelligence or will to survive, could stop him from casting a room and cutting Mihawk's heart out. At the least.

It's only after Mihawk has had his fun with Zoro that he looks up, his sharp golden eyes falling on Law. Law can only remember one other time the master swordsman has graced him with so much as a vague consideration; when he'd first arrived here, a newly appointed warlord. Mihawk had merely regarded him with nothing more than a passing glance before declaring he had more important things to attend to and making a swift, unapologetic exit.

Now, though, his eyes seem to study Law like he's preforming a dissection, seeing parts of him that Law would have thought impossible to see.

"Trafalgar," Mihawk uses the same even tone as he had with Zoro, only lacking in any signs of warmth as he had with Zoro. "I see you decided to join us after all." Before Law can point out that he could hardly deny the summon he had been sent, Mihawk's eyes are back on Zoro. "Am I to believe the rumours of you abandoning your captain are true then, Roronoa?"

Before Zoro can ruin their cover (Law can see it in his face and feel the aura around him, this refusal to deny his captain) Law is quick to leap in. "Zoro-ya is under me now, if that is what you're asking," Law snaps, perhaps with more bite than is necessary. And if his words can be taken more than one way, well, that's really up to the listener to decide. "Otherwise, why would I entrust him to accompany me to this summit?"

[msjr0119]

Cordonian Wags

Part 27

In a world full of Professional footballers and their demanding wives- can their football team nicknamed the ‘Cordonian Apples’ succeed? An American female physiotherapist joins the club. Will this cause issues with the footballers wives?

*This series is based on The Royal Romance characters who belong to Pixelberry - AU Plot switch. Other characters belong to me.*

Please do not read if you are under the age of 18. If you do you are consenting that you are over this age. If any of the below warnings affect you, please don’t continue to read.

Warnings: Mention of; sex scandal, drug scandal, prostitution, adultery, death, adultery, murder (past tense). Swearing 🤬

A/N: The first part of this chapter follows on from the previous chapter. Then there is a flash forward (six months). The chapters following on from this one will show certain characters POV’s from the last six months.

Previously: The team all try to piece together the events in Paphos from all those years ago. Drake believes that he has fathered a child after a one night stand after viewing the DNA results- but it’s not as everything seems. Catch up here.

Tags- if you want to be removed/added please let me know 😊: @drakexwillow @plumeriavibes @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @texaskitten30 @nikkis1983 @kimmiedoo5 @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @axwalker @yukinagato2012 @indiacater @rafasgirl23415 @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @choices97 @shanzay44 @lovablegranny @gkittylove99

The morning after, everybody arrived at the stadium to prepare for the days match. All feeling the need to cover up the slight hangovers that they had occurred was proving to a difficult task. Adding to their headaches, was the scandal that Drake Walker had caused. A situation that as a group- they was determined to fix. Quickly.

Drake arrived onto the pitch first, needing any excuse to escape his own house. Having another woman stay there made him feel like he was cheating on Riley. Even if she had made it pretty clear that they couldn’t be together. There was an internal battle going off in his mind. How was he was going to inform her about the news that he had received the previous night? Of course he didn’t want the press to find out prior to her, she didn’t deserve that. But then he was wondering how she would react once she knew. Would she completely ghost him? Who knows.

****

The previous night once she had arrived back at Bastien’s, Riley stayed up the majority of the night researching the Paphos break on google. As a previous WAG herself she knew that events such as these would have been published by the paparazzi. There was no escaping or hiding from them. Her research showed photos of the men arriving at the clubs, hiding their identities as best as they could. But the last article that she stumbled across was based back in Cordonia- or so she believed. The majority of it involved what the Wags were up to whilst their men were away on the ‘lads holiday’ celebrating. Olivia had been for brunch with; Hana, Penelope and Savannah one of the day’s. However, what really caught Riley’s attention was a mystery woman in a nightclub with Madeleine- in Paphos. The two woman were snapped for the majority of the night and seemed pretty close- who was this woman, Riley wondered? If she was a close friend, why wasn’t Madeleine with her the majority of the time now? Zooming into the photo her eyes widened. Amy Amaranth. The name rang a bell for some reason but she couldn’t pin point as to why. It had rattled through her mind all night. Upon her arrival - she noticed Olivier and suddenly a lightbulb struck. Memories flooding back in an instant.

“Hey....” Sounding panic stricken, Olivier looked at her concerned.

“Bonjour belle. Que se passe-t-il?” Hello beautiful. What is the matter? Luckily Riley knew French, not fluently but enough to hold a basic conversation out.

“Amy Amaranth....” Riley didn’t need to elaborate, the look of horror was now painted across the Frenchman’s face.

“That’s a blast from the past...” Olivier hated the woman with a passion - as did most of the footballers. Those that had the sense to not become bewitched by her beauty.

“Sneak away with me for a bit? I need you to help refresh my memory, Olivier.” Nodding, he dropped the ball immediately before making their way off of the pitch. Swiftly.

****

It was half time. The Apples were beating their opponents- currently they were on a winning streak. Which made Bertrand especially proud. Riley made a beeline for Drake knowing that they only had a short amount of time before the second half kicked off.

“Congratulations, Walker.” Riley had noticed after the two goals that he had scored, he would look in her direction- smile. Then have the need to continue playing with a limited celebration.

“Thanks, Brooks..” Unable to make eye contact with her, he concentrated on wiping his boots.

“How are you?”

“As good as I can be. What about you?”

“Listen, Drake.... there’s something I need to tell you...” Ignoring his prior question, she felt the need to just get to the point.

“Don’t bother, I have an inkling about what it is...” Drake put his boots back on, avoiding looking at his ex girlfriend- he stood up and made his way towards the door. Not really wanting this conversation to continue.

“You do?” Riley questioned, hoping that they were both on the same wavelength. If Drake already knew what she needed to inform him about, it would make the whole situation a lot simpler.

“You’ve begun to see, Berger. Hence why you didn’t want to fight for us.”

“I’m not a slut, Drake!”

“Really? You slept with me when I had a girlfriend. You snuck off with him before. What was it? A quick fuck in the changing rooms? Wishing him good luck?”

“No! About us.... How dare you! It takes two to tango!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Ri. I wanted to marry you. Then you ditch me at the first sign of trouble..”

“Myself and Olivier are friends. We have been for many years. Nothing more, nothing less. You know what? It’s a good job that you never got down on one knee because if I’m so much of a ‘slut’ you’d have regretted it. Don’t bother even talking to me until you can say sorry. I can apologise for apparently ditching you- I wanted for you to have the opportunity to get to know your potential child. You wanted kids. I couldn’t give you that. Why am I even arguing with you? I needed to tell you something important, but you know what- fuck you. When it all ends in tears don’t come crawling back to me.” Barging past him, she decided to not look back. If Drake Walker didn’t want to acknowledge anything that she needed to tell him- there would be no way back for the two of them.

“Ri, wait!”

“Leave her. Drake, what the fuck is up with you?” Liam snapped towards his teammate after overhearing the raised voices. As Riley left, she shook her head and provided a deflated expression. Olivier had explained to Liam about Amy just before the match had officially begun. He was determined to help his friends out- but now was unsure as to how to do that.

“Would you leave Liv if you was in my situation? No, I didn’t think so. The blonde bimbo arrived yesterday with her bags packed. I’m stuck with her. I’ve lost Riley for good even without that outburst.”

“Drake, nobody knows about my true relationship with Olivia. We seem like the ‘Posh and Becks’ of Cordonia. But we have an open relationship. You and Riley are different -that is true love, fate. People are fucking with you both for revenge. Next time she tries to explain something to you, listen to her. Trust me. Trust her.”

****

Later on that evening, it was like mission impossible avoiding the paparazzi for Liam and Riley. Meeting in secret, Olivier then joined them in a secluded location. Out of the way of prying eyes. Using a rental car, there would be no reason for anybody to follow them. They had one aim- to warn Drake about Amy. The objective, go to the cabin to do this. Debating whether or not to just blurt the information out? Talk in a civil manner? Would Amy still be there too? Whatever was to happen, it needed to be done.

“So you two, did you both prefer it in the UK or here?” Liam asked breaking the silence surrounding the car journey.

“Neither, by the sounds of it Cordonia is as bad as Manchester for the drama. I’m glad I wasn’t here when Xavier was, I’d have killed him for all of what he put you through, Ri. But enough about us, Liam what about you? Would you ever move clubs?”

“Never say never. But at the moment I’m content where I am.”

Shortly after the brief drive, they arrived at Drake’s cabin- but remained in the car for a bit. Rehearsing what exactly they was going to say, creating different scenarios. After a while, they agreed to just be spontaneous. Riley and Olivier walked to the front door, or rather dragged themselves there. Both feeling slightly nervous about seeing the devil again after all of these years. Knocking quietly, they waited.

Drake, please can we talk?... I’m sorry about before, but there’s something you need to know....Drake, I know her. We know her. She’s not what she seems.....Amy can be sweet but she’s a psycho.

Shit. I’ve forgotten what to say.

Hearing the door creak open, Riley’s thoughts were cut short. Initial shock to begin with made her body stiffen and her brain turn to mush- not having the ability to function. That was until she witnessed the woman’s cocky smirk.

“Oh it seems we have the wrong address, Olivier. I must have amnesia- I believed that this home belonged to Drake Walker...”

“Have we been transported back to Manchester in the tardis, Riley? Bonjour, Amy - long time no see. How is your bit on the side, Aleksandr Chernyshevsky? Last I heard from him, he was playing for Arsenal. So why are you here? How is little Jenson?”

“Aleksandr must be missing his son. His son who you accused so many of the premier league players for fathering, Jenson. Including Xavier. My Xavier.”

“How nice to see you both. Again. If I was you, I’d leave now. You think that the last few months or in your case Riley- years, have been a nightmare. If you both carry on interfering it will go from bad to worse...” There was a slight distance between Riley and Olivier- but as Amy threatened this he could sense that his friend was about to do something that she could regret.

“You bit-“ Preventing Riley from continuing

“Leave her. Don’t be silly. You know how her mind works. She’s poison.”

“Oh, Olivier - you do make me laugh. Anyone would think with your words that I’m a snake.” Standing infront of Riley- the footballer had wished that it was Drake who had answered the door.

“Riley, it’s not nice to swear or shout. So...Shhh, Drake is putting his son to bed remember. Goodnight to you both.” Slamming the door behind her, she hoped that Drake hadn’t been earwigging. Sitting comfortable on the sofa, Drake finally came downstairs- pouring himself a drink before joining her.

“He’s fast asleep. This is the last night though, Amy. If that’s your real name.”

“Of course it is. I mean, people call me Amz for short. Why would you even suggest that? You saw the paperwork with both of our details on it.” Drake thought long and hard about the paperwork- to begin with the only information he was interested in was viewing the fathers details. After the initial shock, he had studied it as if it was part of some crime evidence. Something just wasn’t ‘adding up’ - especially with what the young boy had mentioned to him during the bedtime story whilst in a daze.

Mommy is lying about the name. I want to go home.

“I did indeed see the paperwork. Some things just don’t add up- that’s all. Maybe I’m just paranoid?”

“Well, don’t be. I know that you are still heartbroken over, Rachel....” Purposely mentioning the wrong name, she had hoped that this little ‘mistake’ would help with her plan succeeding.

“It’s, Riley! And I don’t want to talk about her with you when you don’t know her...” That’s what you think.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you....” Providing him with an ‘over the top’ hug, she hoped that being affectionate could be the key to his heart. “But I’m always here if you need to talk. We have a son together. Nothing more. Unless you wanted more that is. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Amy... wait!” Pausing for a moment, he knew to trust his own mind. “Do you want a drink with me?” A drunk mind always speaks the truth.

****

After leaving Drakes, Riley felt like a failure - the men could sense that in the morbidly silent car ride home. Both trying to begin any conversation to get her to respond, with no luck. Olivier had even brought up a story that had always made her laugh. It included how she had tortured him when wasn’t completing his physio correctly. Listening to Spice Girls on a loop.

“Ri, just leave it. Drake isn’t that stupid. He will soon find out the truth. We will bring this bitch down.” Liam said in a determined tone of voice, Olivier agreeing as they arrived at the Rys’s mansion.

“How long will it take us to do that though, Liam?” In all honesty he didn’t know the answer- but felt the need to remain positive for everyone that was involved.

“We’ve all managed between us all to cover up two murders. I promise you, once the truth is out regarding this child - the club will not have anymore scandals. We will remain the best team in Cordonia- and redeem any past mistakes. We’re all in this together.”

“As much as I like Leo...you’d make the better captain, Liam. Thank you for all your help.” Gently kissing him on the cheek, Liam held her tight for a while.

****

Six months later...

Prison time for Apples player? Can his year become any worse than it’s already been? I’m surprised he is still being chosen to play.

Sex scandal- one of the brunette beauties is apparently pregnant? Who is she pregnant with? She seems to be making her way through the team.

Divorce rumours for one of the Apples ‘golden couples’!

Drug scandal and prostitutes!

Match fixing?

Secret relationship uncovered!

Apples player disappears! Where is he? Why has he gone? What are the Apples going to do now?

Ex WAG dies mysteriously. The third person linked to the team. Who’s next on the ‘hit list’?

What does all of this mean for the Apples? They’ve had a rough six months between them all ever since the love child scandal with Walker. A few of the players are playing in the World Cup friendly between Cordonia and France tonight- I wouldn’t place any money on Cordonia winning which has the majority of the Apples players. It would go down the gutter like the club is.

Bertrand slammed the laptop screen down. Almost smashing it. It was bad enough having the commentators criticism during matches. But now every social media platform was joining in at any opportunity. His team wasn’t the only team to have scandals. In his mind he described it all as ‘tragic’ and ‘unlucky’. For some reason the paparazzi were just attracted to them. Like a bad smell. Focusing his gaze onto his young son, he hoped that Bartie would avoid the footballer lifestyle in the future.

No more scandals. No more shit. Think positive, Bertrand! We’ve had enough of that. No wonder I’m prematurely turning grey. Tonight is going to be a good night.

“Bertrand, are you okay?”

“I’m dandy, Sav. Is the babysitter here?”

“Yes.” Studying her husbands tense body, she really wished that he would and could retire early. The stress that he had was causing issues not only with the team but with his marriage. “You need to calm down, my love. Riley is the same. You’re both panicking but neither of you are involved with the national team. It’s a day off for the two of you.”

“No, but my reputation is. My players who have all caused scandals are playing- minus one because he’s gone awol. Your brother should have done a disappearing act instead! All of this shit happened after his love child scandal. He’s a lia-“ Hearing the familiar voice call for his wife- Bertrand prevented his vicious tongue from continuing. Taking a deep breath- he lead his wife downstairs, where they were greeted by a smiley face. An expression that was cleverly hiding/masking a fusion of mixed feelings.

“Hello, Riley. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“I was just going to wait in the car, but I’m desperate for the toilet. May I use it, please?”

“Well I’m not going to allow you to ruin my floor am I? I can order a taxi so you don’t have to drive.”

“Bertrand, I’m fine driving. I’m not drinking and you both know why. So I may as well do it. I’ll be two minutes.” Bertrand began pacing the room, Riley’s ‘two minutes’ seemed to last a lifetime. Eventually she joined the Beaumont’s before making their way towards her car. Riley completely oblivious to the tension between the married couple during the drive spoke positively about the upcoming match. All Bertrand could think about was which person would cause the next possible scandal.

****

Euphoria echoed around the stadium in central Cordonia. Even with all of the scandals, there was still that slight support from ‘die hard fans’.

In the tunnel, players from both sides were psyching themselves up- it was only a friendly but the French side apart from Olivier were providing snide remarks to their opponents.

“Bonne Chance! Just ignore my brothers. Ce sont des trous.” Olivier said to Drake - hoping that the match would end a draw and finish in a civil manner. Tonight he was playing piggy in the middle- wanting to stay loyal to his national team as well as his current team.

“Whatever, Berger!”

“What he means, is good luck to you too - Olivier. Isn’t that right, Drake?”

“Merci, Captain! I’ll catch up with you after the match...” Watching the French team make their way towards the pitch, Drake turned to his friend as soon as Olivier was out of view.

“Rys! I can speak for myself. I can say what I want. I’d have thought that out of everybody I could trust you to defend me. Not belittle me. These last few months you’ve been practically non existent to me.”

“I’m sorry about that. I’ve been busy dealing with my own shit. Your issues have been self inflicted. Now grow some balls and don’t fuck this match up. Be civil with everyone- including Olivier. He’s done nothing wrong to you. I’m relying on you tonight and so is Bradshaw. You need to redeem yourself. You’ve been given this opportunity to play tonight by our manager- unlike Bertrand who’s kept you benched all of these months.”

“Don’t you think that I feel shit about myself as it is without that wanker punishing me? He may be my brother in law but I hate him. I’ve lost everything. Everyone. I needed you L-“ Before Drake could continue, Maxwell came bounding over. Hyper as always.

“Guys... quick question before we go on to the pitch... Why is Olivier wearing blue and out there with the French team? He’s one of us.”

“Because he’s fucking French you absolute dipstick!” Drake snapped towards a confused Maxwell. Eventually he laughed at himself. At his own stupidity. As Drake was still scowling, and rolling his eyes - Maxwell decided to defend himself. Which was something that he rarely did. “Hey! Don’t take your shit out on me. I forgot. Jesus, Drake. You know I’m not the brightest person. It’s not my fault that you’ve messed your life up. No wonder, Riley doesn’t talk to you anymore. I’m beginning to think about doing the same if you continue to talk to me like I’m a piece of shit!”

“For your information, Beaumont.... Ri has spoken to me. A lot more than any of you have!”

“Oh, really?” Drake gulped as Maxwell asked this in a sarcastic manner. Knowing full well that he was lying with his previous statement regarding Riley- he wished that it was true. That she would talk to him more often. At this moment in time, receiving the odd text from her was better than nothing. Baby steps, he kept reminding himself.

“Yes, she came to visit me in the cell. I didn’t ask her to- but she did. She still loves me, I know deep down that she does.” The two men looked at each other not knowing what to say. Not needing a reason to cause Drake to possibly ‘rage’ again. Maxwell knew that he was already a target for Drake’s mouth to sprout abuse towards- so decided to inform his friend about some home truths.

“When you was arrested... well... she may have come to visit you. To talk to you. But that’s all it was, Drake. Since then, Riley has dealt with a lot. She’s having a good life now- actually dating again. We only know because Savannah let it slip when she was drunk.” Remaining silent, not knowing how to respond- many questions were now floating throughout Drake’s mind. Forcing himself onto the pitch, he looked up into the crowd and immediately spotted Savannah and Riley whispering in each other’s ears. Laughing. Smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had witnessed Riley looking so cheerful. Thinking back to the last words that she had physically spoken to him - he now knew that he needed to get his act together. If not only for his sake, but for everybody.

Forget about the past. Bertrand has tried to sort your shit out. I don’t know if he has succeeded or not. But for now, you need to publicly apologise to the fans as well as the man that you could have potentially killed.

[unsettledink]

Kinktober Day 18

Sustain

Prompt: Subspace/Aftercare

Word Count: 4220

Summary: Phil is willing to do a lot to keep Tony Stark on premises; this wasn’t something he was expecting, but he can handle it. 

(flogging, subspace, aftercare, IM2 era, cuddling, overly vulnerable Tony, excessive talking)

*

He'd known from the start that Stark was going to be a handful. It's not a surprise— anyone could have known that.

He just hadn't expected it to go to pieces so quickly. Stark disappeared for a few hours, still in the house, of course, and reappears looking even worse, strung out and jittery. Exhausted. "Have to go do a thing," he says. "Have fun; I'd say don't burn down the house but it's a little late, isn't it."

"You don't have to go do anything," Phil tells him. "I’m not going to fetch you coffee, but I can provide whatever you actually need to get this done."

"Nope," Stark says, obnoxiously popping the p. "Not a chance, Agent."

"At least I can say I warned you when you're twitching on the floor," Phil says, and he probably shouldn't be looking forward to tasing Stark so much.

Stark rolls his eyes; Phil should have remembered threats just aren’t effective on him. "Listen," he says. "Sure, you can hit me with whatever little toy you're carrying around, but we both know it's not going to keep me down for more than five minutes. So let's stop playing games; you go on your way, I go on mine. Message has already been delivered."

"What do you need, Stark? You're not going anywhere, and yes, it can keep you down for more than five minutes. You're not exactly in top form."

Goading is a bad idea, he knows it's a bad idea. Stark narrows his eyes and Phil can see the instant he decides to be an ass about this, to see if he can ruffle Phil. Good luck. Better men have tried.

"I need a good fuck," Stark says, smirking. "Helps me think and you need me thinking, right?"

"Alright," Phil says. "What exactly are we talking about here? If I'm not your type, I'm sure we can find one of my team that is."

Oh, that gets him. "I— what?" Stark says. "Seriously? Just to keep me from getting out of here?"

"I did say that I could provide anything you needed." Stark’s an ass, but from what Phil’s heard, it's not like it would a chore to have sex with him. Probably.

Stark stares at him a moment, but he doesn't back down. He never does. "And if I needed something else?" he says. "What if I, say, wanted to hurt someone?"

"You'd have fewer options to choose from," Phil says. "You seem to be having trouble with the definition of anything."

"Ha ha," Stark says, "you're not having trouble with any of this. What if I wanted it the other way around? Is that really something you'd even have the skill to 'provide'?"

That's... unexpected. "Actually, the answer is still yes," Phil tells him. "I'll need a little more information from you beforehand though."

"Are you fucking—" Stark shakes his head. "Incredible. The lengths you'll go to just to get me to— you know what? Fine. Fine! Come on," and he turns, nearly stomping off like a child. Phil follows.

The house isn't a complete disaster once they're on the lower levels; Stark leads him to a bedroom, through it to a smaller room. "Here," he says, gesturing at a cabinet. "Pick something out, I'm sure you'll get the idea." He grabs a chair and hauls it over to the center of the room while Phil uncovers a nice collection of floggers, crops, paddles. Stark's serious.

"You don't have a preference?" Phil asks.

"I don't own anything I don't like," Stark says. "As long as you know how to use it, any of them will get the job done." That's... interesting phrasing. Definitely not any sort of aroused, not like Phil had expected.

"And what is the job, then?"

Stark glares at him for a minute, his jaw clenching. "The pain helps," he says, finally. "It clears my mind of the distractions. Lets me think things through without having to think about them sometimes," which must make sense in Stark's head.

Phil runs his hands over a thick, dark red flogger, of incredibly soft leather. "I'm surprised," he says, and ignores Stark's little 'ha!'. "I would have thought you'd had more than enough pain, not that you'd want more."

"It's not—" Stark sighs. "Fuck," he mutters. "Why did I think this might work? I don't trust you a bit, this is pointless."

"If you didn't trust me at all," Phil says, "I wouldn't have made it this far." Stark just stares at him, frozen, indecisive. "If it helps," Phil tries, "you could always threaten me with something dire if I hurt you."

Stark laughs, a sharp, harsh bark. "I don't give a shit if you wind up hurting me," he says. "At this rate I'm going to be dead by the end of the month; what am I supposed to do to you then?"

He won't be. Phil doesn't know what Nick has up his sleeve, but he's certain there's something; he's not going to just let Tony Stark die. But Stark sure seems to believe what he's saying. "If you don't care about that," he says, "then what is it?"

"This isn't— goddamnit. You know what this is," he says, tapping the reactor. Phil nods. "And you know it's killing me. So maybe you can figure out from those facts that I am already hurting, all the time. Drugs barely touch it anymore, and they screw with my head anyway. This…” Stark sighs. “Sometimes, this helps. It's like— an overload of my system. It can trip a breaker, and then when I reset, the pain isn't gone but my threshold for it is higher. It's easier to deal with for a while. When it works, that is, and that's what I'm worried about. Because if it doesn't work, all I'm left with is more pain."

"I understand," Phil says, and he does, actually. Stark's looking for that rush, looking to sink into subspace, a little break from the world. He really wonders who's done this to him before, who made him think it had to be as hard as that. "I can get you there," he tells Stark. "The fact that it's a physical need makes it simpler; as long as you trust that I don't want to damage you, that's all you should need. If you needed to submit, it'd be a problem, but this? This is doable."

Stark's giving him an odd look. "Huh," he says after a moment. "I guess you really have done this before." Phil refrains from rolling his eyes, but it takes an actual effort. "Alright," Tony says. "Fuck it. Let's do this." He yanks his shirt up, over his head, and— 

And it's a shock. It's slightly awful, honestly. The scarring around the reactor is extensive and the dark lines spreading out from it are disturbing. Stark looks awful entirely aside from that; he has any number of bruises, no doubt from any of the fights over the past few days, and while it hadn't been as obvious under clothes, Stark's lost weight, his spine sharper than it should be when he turns and sits down on the chair. Backward, his arms folded on top of the back, head ducked down. It's unusual.

"Is there a reason for that?" Phil says, taking the dark red flogger and a shorter, fuller one from the cabinet. He pulls off his suit jacket and sets it aside, loosening his tie.

"Can't lie on my chest for too long without it getting really painful," Stark says. "If I get where I want to be, I'd have trouble staying on my feet, and I— I can't handle being bound to keep me up." His shoulders are tense, his whole body stiff.

"Understandable," Phil says, quietly. "Colors work for you?"

"Yeah, fine," Stark says. "I seriously doubt you'll get me anywhere close to a yellow, much less red, but whatever." He shivers, faintly, when Phil sets his hand at the top of his spine; Phil leaves it there until Stark's skin is warm under his hand, until Stark shifts, his head dipping a little more. Maybe there is a little hint of submission in there after all.

"Uh," Stark says, a softer tone than Phil's ever heard from him. "I— I like the blue one a lot."

It might be a test, it might not, but in the end it doesn't really matter. Right now, he's offering Stark a service; he goes and gets the blue one too. It's thicker, coarser, not something he’d start off with.

Stark's a quiet one. He jerks at each strike, and he's not silent; Phil still hears gasps and soft little wordless noises, constantly, but he's far from loud. He's not showy about it, the way he is about everything else. Phil wonders, a little, if it's an act, if Stark is holding back. If he'll lose that control when Phil pushes him further, beyond where he can keep that sort of lie going.

Maybe it's not the one that's an act.

Stark does like it, though, his head dropping down onto his folded arms and the tension fading from his body. Replaced by a different kind, sure, but not that anxious, unhappy strain from before. Phil waits until he's relaxed enough to slide down further in the chair, until Stark is shuddering at the lightest of blows. Drags one soft, low moan out of him before Phil switches things up.

The first strike of the blue flogger has Stark's head jerking up, his whole body tense in response. "Oh, fuck," Stark says, shakily. It looks like a good response, but Phil gives him a moment anyway. Waits, while Stark hunches in, stealing himself against the next blow; when it doesn't come, he turns his head, just enough to glance at Phil over his shoulder. "Like that," he says. "Just like that."

Good enough for Phil.

Stark's a little louder with it, startled with every hit at first, his noises sharper, more guttural. A little bit, for a little while, and then they start to die out. All Stark's noises disappear after a while, nothing more than soft panting, and that's not really what Phil had expected. "Stark," he says, and when he doesn't get a response, he steps up to Stark's side. "Stark," he tries again, "look at me."

There's not even a tremor of movement; Phil gets a grip in Stark's hair and pulls his head up, tilting his face towards Phil’s.

Stark blinks at him, slow, his mouth lax. Just hangs from Phil's grip and doesn't react at all for a moment, and damn, Phil hadn't thought Stark would fall into this so easily. "Sorry, what?" Stark says, his consonants soft, almost slurred. He shakes his head slightly, blinking faster, dragging himself up out of that liminal state.

"Nothing," Phil says quickly. "Nothing at all. You can stay just like that, it's good." He lowers Stark's head back down, resting on his arms, and loosens his hand, turning his touch into more of a pet. "You're doing beautifully." Stark stares up at him, not as distant as he had been but not quite focused either. He hesitates, caught in place, and then shivers, turning his face into his arms, hiding. "Don't worry," Phil says. "I'll put you back there."

He's got a handle on what Stark needs, now, what to watch for. That little interaction had pulled Stark up enough that he's startling at each blow again, even if he's still quiet; Phil keeps at him. Switches over to the softer, thuddier one for a bit, the first hit with that drawing a whine out of Stark. He melts when Phil keeps using it, though, sinking further down, burrowed in his arms and barely moving, just absorbing it all.

That's good, and Phil's sure that has Stark at least drifting but it's not what he'd asked for.

Stark cries out when Phil brings back the blue one, loud, real pain, his whole body tensing and his head coming up. Phil gives him a moment, waits until Stark puts his head back down, his shoulders tensing as he holds his position. It's only going to make it hurt more, and the harsh noises Stark is making prove it. Stark stiffens up, tenser and tenser as it goes on, and then— 

Gives in.

His shoulders drop, and he rocks with the next blow instead of flinching. Gets quieter and quieter again, calmer and calmer. Phil waits, keeping at him, watching for that last bit, that last edge of resistance to disappear. Phil's arm is actually starting to ache a little when it comes, when Stark sags, lax like he'd been with the softer flogger. Stays like that through the next few strikes, and that's where Stark needed to be. That's where he should stay for a while, if Phil's careful with him.

He sets the floggers aside and goes to Stark, crouching down beside him. Puts his hand on Stark's shoulder, the heat of it incredible, and Stark doesn't even shiver. "Okay?" Phil says, softly. He gets a small affirmative noise, a little more than he'd expected, actually.

Stark sighs when Phil runs his hand over his shoulders, very lightly across all that reddened skin. Stays just as calm and pliant as Phil keeps touching him, slowly stroking his back.

He doesn't really want them to stay here, though. Eventually—if it hasn't already—that chair is going to be uncomfortable, and Phil doesn't exactly want to crouch like this for long. "Can I get you to the bed?" he asks.

There's another little noise, with an equally little nod this time, and then Stark is pushing himself up. Phil rises, startled, ready to catch him if he's as unsteady as he looks, but it's unnecessary; Stark's unfocused, wobbly, but perfectly able to stand and walk to the bed in the other room. Phil keeps a hand on his arm regardless.

Stark sits on the bed, and then seems to get lost, or distracted, not moving again until Phil pushes him gently towards the middle of the bed. He gets Stark curled up on his side, just a sliver of his back touching the sheets.

There's a chair against the wall that doesn't look too modern, so hopefully more comfortable than most of the monstrosities around here; Phil has a feeling he's going to be here a while, watching Stark come back up. He stands, about to walk away when there's a soft touch on his hand. He looks down.

Stark's arm is stretched out, his fingers just barely resting on the back of Phil's hand. He's looking up at Phil out of the corner of his eyes, head just barely turned towards him. It's a clear a request as anything spoken; stay.

"I'm not leaving," Phil tells him. "I'm not even leaving the room. I was just going to get a chair.'

There's a breath, a hesitation, Stark's hand not leaving his, and then it's gone, Stark dragging it back in, turning his face into the pillow. That was the wrong response, something about it was just... wrong.

"Stark," Phil says, leaning onto the bed. "Do you want me to stay here? On the bed? I wasn't sure you'd be comfortable with that." After all, this doesn't seem to be at all sexual for him.

Stark doesn't say anything—Phil's not entirely sure if he's nonverbal or not—but he turns his face back towards Phil a little. Doesn't quite look at him, and doesn't make a move; he's not going to ask again, not after what he obviously took as a rejection. His reactions are odd, not much like Phil had expected. Maybe it's just the subspace, but— Phil's found even that sort of personality shift has roots in something underlying.

"Alright," Phil says, and lies down next to Stark, facing him. Not quite touching, but close. He's not entirely sure what sort of thing Stark needs from him right now, and Stark's not giving him a lot to work with. Stark reaches forward, catching the end of Phil's tie; he'd unknotted it earlier but left it tucked in the collar of his shirt. Rubs it between his thumb and fingers, slowly. Tactile, Phil thinks, and he'd thought, with the way Stark fends people off, subtly and not so, that he wouldn't want that.

"You're not bad at that," Stark says, a little soft around the edges but perfectly understandable, much more coherent than Phil had expected. "Get lots of practice?"

"Thank you," Phil says. "Not really, not for a while. I don't have the time to go out."

"Yeah," Stark says, "Fury seems to be trying to run you ragged. Bouncing you here and there. What short straw did you pull that you keep getting me?"

"I don't think of it as a short straw," Phil tells him. "More a challenge, and I enjoy getting to stretch myself." That gets him a huff of laughter. He reaches out and catches Stark's chin, raising it enough Stark has to look at him.

He's still as unfocused and dazed looking as before, the same slow sweep of his eyelashes, the same easy movement as Phil touches him. "Are you normally this... active?"

"Mmm," Stark says. "I've never been the sort to shut up for long, I guess."

"That wasn't what I asked," Phil says, going quieter as he lets his tone firm up.

Stark's fingers still on Phil's tie, his eyes closing briefly. "Yes," he says. "I get chatty when I'm under, a little too chatty. I'll get quiet again in a while, stay like that until the wind up hits me."

There's definitely a submissive streak in there, even if Stark isn't willing to acknowledge it. "Wind up?"

"Everything coming back online," Stark says softly. "Reboot complete, and I'll be bursting with energy for... hours, maybe a day or two before I crash."

Crash, or drop, Phil wonders. "Is it inevitable?"

"Don't know," Stark says. "Not enough data." He goes quiet, but he's playing with Phil's tie again. Has shifted a little closer as well, his knees bumping into Phil's.

Tactile, he thinks again.

Stark moves, his head coming up until he's almost looking at Phil— is, but it's more looking through him, Stark's expression starting to go sharper, his forehead creasing. He looks at Phil for real then, meeting his eyes. Stares, for a moment, almost focused; that quietness is sliding away, leaving him looking exhausted, bruised around the eyes. And then he just— goes soft again, his gaze sliding away for a few seconds before he looks back, hard, a tic in his jaw.

He's trying to pull himself out of it, Phil realizes. It's obvious that he wants to stay there, but he's not allowing himself. Even though that was the whole point. "You don't have to do that," Phil says. "There's no rush, no schedule to keep to."

"Sure there is," Stark mutters.

"No," Phil says, and if he needs to he'll make it true. "Nothing that can't be rearranged. Don't fight it so hard, Stark."

Starks making twitchy, restless little movements, and fuck, it might be the wrong move, might yank Stark straight out of it, but it feels like Phil has to try. He puts his hand on Stark's arm, gets a good grip and rolls onto his back, pulling Stark with him.

There's a tense moment once Stark is snugged close against him, leg draped over Phil's, arm over his chest, Phil still holding onto it. Stark's head is up, staring at him. "You have nowhere else you need to be," Phil says. "Nothing else you should be doing, right this moment. I know; I'm the one making your schedule for now. Take it, Tony. I won't let it be interrupted."

For another few seconds, Phil thinks he might have made the wrong choice, that the way Stark ducks away from uninitiated contact is a truth, not a cover up. That Stark won't be able to fall back down, or trust Phil beyond the scene.

Stark shivers, and between one breath and the next, goes limp. Melts against Phil easily, leaning into that contact he obviously needs. Phil turns his head until he can see Stark's face, resting on Phil's arm and turned up. His eyes are closed, but all those little lines of tension have disappeared again. "There you go," Phil says softly. "Just like that; that's perfect." Stark shivers again, his eyes opening, and he's right back where he should be.

Phil's going to keep him there as long as he can.

He thinks, while Stark settles, watching Phil through half closed eyes. Thinks, Stark's fingers absently tapping against Phil's chest, erratic little touches. He doesn't know quite what to do with this new information, not yet. It's not something he'd expected, at all, and it runs completely counter to a few things he'd thought were solid facts. Phil considers himself an excellent judge of people, considers Natasha to be even better, and they've both misread this. They've both completely missed huge pieces of Stark's personality, and it's a little embarrassing to think they were taken in by Stark, fooled by the face he puts on for the world.

Stark's quiet, still aside from his fingers. His eyes are almost closed, lashes dark against his cheeks, ridiculously long. He shivers ever so faintly when Phil runs his hand over his back, still hot to the touch, and lets out a shaky little exhale. Phil never would have called it, but he's willing to bet Stark would be the sweetest sort of submissive, if he went down for something other than pain. "Tired?" he asks.

"Always," Stark says with a small smile, a soft thing Phil's never seen before. "Not sleepy though."

"How do you feel?"

"Better," Stark says. "Good. Really good. You did really... made it easy? Not hard? Not falling, sliding."

Definitely out of it again, Phil thinks, a little amused. Stark stumbles around what he's trying to say constantly, but not like this, not like he can't quite figure out words. "Just wanted to make sure we did get you where you needed to be," he says.

"Oh god, yes," Stark says. "I didn’t think it was going to work with you at all, but it was fast." He laughs, and it’s an actual laugh this time, low and satisfied. "It’s so quiet," he says, which Phil is going to take as a good thing even if he isn’t sure what Stark means by it.

He's quiet a while longer, and really, Phil could do with this downtime as well. Nick has been trying to have him everywhere, keeping tabs on everything. "You think Fury knows?" Stark says, distantly.

"Knows what?"

"What the answer is. Whatever the solution to this is," he says, flicking his fingers at the reactor. "Is he missing a piece he needs me to find, or is he just getting off watching me like a rat in a maze."

"I think I can say I'm sure he's not enjoying it," Phil says. Personally, he thinks Nick has a solution and just isn't happy with it, wants to see if Stark can come up with something better. And give himself some leverage if he gets to swoop in and save Stark at the end of the day.

Then again, Nick's not normally as hands on anymore for individuals. He's hard to read, but Phil's pretty sure his lack of surprise about Iron Man wasn't entirely a front; he'd already been keeping a closer eye on Stark.

"Don't know if I believe you," Stark mutters. "Sure looked like he was enjoying watching Natasha stab me."

"He might have enjoyed that," Phil admits.

"Knew it," Stark says. He seems to run down after that, going quiet again, still, not even his fingers tapping.

"I take it the box wasn't terribly helpful?" Phil asks after a bit. Something about it set Stark off, at least.

Stark sighs. "Just— junk. Not even half finished bits of things, home movies, bragging about the expo." He huffs. "Leaving messages for me, like hearing that stuff now is going to help. It would have meant something back then. He didn't build the stupid thing for me, he built it—"

Stark stiffens, his eyes going wide, snapping out of that quiet space in an instant. "Son of a bitch," he says. Scrambles up, yanking open a drawer. "I need—" he says, his words lost for a second as he pulls a shirt on. "Send someone to go find the original expo model and get it here."

"What?"

"The— the model, the thingy, you know," Stark says, keyed up. He waves his hands around. "The one from the video, there's something in it, something— he hid it, whatever it is. I need the actual thing, now."

"Alright," Phil says. "I'll get it here.

Stark pauses, glancing over at him. "Yeah," he says. "You get things done."

"So do you," Phil says, "just flashier." Stark smiles, that softer one from before that's new, and whatever it is he thinks he's found, whether or not it is the answer— he's going to figure this out.

Phil just has to keep him together until he does.

[thedeviltohisangel]

Whiskey In A Teacup/1

When Santi first got out of the military, he hadn’t known what to think of his options. There was always the option of giving up and going back in. The option to join a shadowy private military company. Go into private security. Go on the recruiting circuit. Maybe even become a cop. But none of them seemed like the best path. They all seemed like giving up. He had been trained by his country to be an elite, lethal machine. Being anything but the best felt like a cop out. So when an old friend of his reached out with an offer from the Secret Service, he accepted it on the spot.

masterlist is my url/writing or on ao3

send me any one shot requests for these two

When Santi first got out of the military, he hadn’t known what to think of his options. There was always the option of giving up and going back in. The option to join a shadowy private military company. Go into private security. Go on the recruiting circuit. Maybe even become a cop. But none of them seemed like the best path. They all seemed like giving up. He had been trained by his country to be an elite, lethal machine. Being anything but the best felt like a cop out. So when an old friend of his reached out with an offer from the Secret Service, he accepted it on the spot.

----

The election had recently ended with a brand new administration being ushered into the White House. Pope thought he looked cookie cutter. Like he was aging perfectly, his wife wasn’t aging at all and his family had all done Cotillion. He was in an empty conference room flipping through the personnel files that had been left for him before he waited for his friend to pick him up for whatever orientation he had to go through. 

“Santi! Glad you were able to make it in.” He stood and shook his friend’s hand, happy to have someone to talk to.

“Yeah and was cleared to read the briefing materials,” he answered as he dropped the folder back down onto the table. 

“Good. So the basics are out of the way. Now, I vouched for you hard with leadership and they want you on the detail. Close circle, last line of defense type of shit.

“Perfect. Exactly the stakes you know I’m cut out for.” 

“I know that. But the future First Lady doesn’t.” Santi furrowed his brow.

“Why does that matter?” His friend cleared his throat.

“She has requested she look every agent in the inner circle in the eye before they are officially assigned. Protective wife and mama bear.” 

“You’re not saying the debutante daughters are included in my assignment are you?” Santiago hoped he wasn’t. They looked like stuck up brats and he would rather join Will on the speech circuit than put up with attitudes like that.

“I’m saying the other agents have been tripping over themselves to try and get conversations with the older one.” His friend pointed at her picture on the table.

“That’s disgusting,” Pope whined. “How do I get her approval? I got to wait a week for an appointment?”

“Her and the daughters are at a photoshoot right now for the cover of Vogue. Said she would talk to you there.”

“Great.” It would be one of his more unconventional interviews but Santi was eager. Chomping at the bit to get back in the game. Feel useful again. Devote his life to something other than thinking about the past. 

----

The people allowed on the set were few. His friend introduced him to a few other agents and pointed to where the incoming First Lady was smiling for the camera.

“Let’s find somewhere we can wait for her to be done.” Santi kept his head down, smiling politely and shaking hands where appropriate, as they made their way towards the rooms in the back of the studio. There were two agents standing outside a door, nodding once as they let Santi and his friend into the room.

“Marnie, can you help me zip?” The female voice was coming from behind the dressing screen in the corner. Both men looked at each other, not sure what the appropriate thing to say was.

“Sorry, ma’am, we can go-”

“No that’s fine. I think I can do it myself.” Pope stayed silent as the woman, he thinks it was Penelope, stepped out in a beautiful blush pink dress that hugged her like it was made for her. He hates that his mouth ran dry and his tongue felt thick. But he pushed it aside as quickly as it came. “You’re new. And not in a suit. A friend of yours, Sam?”

“Yes ma’am. This is Santiago Garcia. Old Army buddy. He is here for a job interview.” 

“A pleasure to meet you ma’am.” Santiago extended his hand and Penelope shook it even though her eyes were rolling.

“So stupid she makes all of you talk to her first. But I guess that’s why I am not in charge,” Penelope shrugged. “I’m sure it will go well and I’ll see you around, Santiago.”

“Santi,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Just...Santi.”

“Santi,” she whispered like she was just testing it out. “The pleasure was all mine.” She smiled as she spun, the skirt flying around her like a Disney movie, and then she was out the door and gone.

“Isn’t she something?” Sam mused as he still stared at the door she had just disappeared through.

“Beautiful. And probably a troublemaker,” Pope replied. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” his friend teased with a slap on his back. The sad thing was, he thinks he did.

----

Penelope hated that no such privacy existed in her life anymore. It hadn’t for awhile but it had only gotten worse in the past month since her father won the election. Even now, lying in bed flipping through fashion magazines, there were people bustling in and out to pack her stuff for the move. People asking which fabric and color she thought looked best for her inauguration dress. If she liked this or that singer for the National Anthem and if she thought her peers would find this or that choice relatable. She answered with a smile and took it all in stride but couldn’t wait to shut the door and go to bed. But even there she dreamt of flags and men in suits and waving until her arm felt like it was going to fall off. There was no such thing as privacy and there was no such thing as peace. Penelope felt she was no longer her own person but everyone’s. They told her that’s what being in the first family meant. But she didn’t like it and she didn’t want it. 

“Ma’am?” It sounded like her new assistant on the other side of the door.

“Yes?” Penny had just started winding down for the night. Her face was soft from copious amounts of moisturizer. Her hair was fluffy after she took her time drying it. Her silk nightgown was kissing her legs with every step. She was tired. She wanted to curl up in a ball under a pile of blankets and dream of simpler times.

“Your new agent is here. I just wanted to introduce you before he started his first shift.” Penelope sighed and moved back towards her closet to find a knit robe that would help protect at least some of her humility.

“You can come in.” She recognized him instantly as the handsome man from the Vogue set. He looked even better now. Well groomed and in a suit that must have been tailored by an old school professional.

“Ma’am this is-”

“Santiago,” Penelope said before the introduction could be finished. “I’m glad to see the interview went well.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“We’re practically the same age. Any other title other than ma’am would work better.” He made her blush just by looking at her. It was tragic and sad. That she had to meet him like this. That he had to be someone that worked for her father. That he had to be stoic and professional all the time. That they hadn’t just met in a bar on a Saturday night or bumped into each other at a mutual friend’s backyard picnic. 

“Of course. I’ll think on it and get back to you,” he offered with a smile.

“Agent Garcia is on interior duty tonight but I am sure you’ll get used to his presence quickly, ma’am.” She didn’t bother correcting her assistant. She didn’t care what she called her.

“I look forward to it.”

----

“Alright let’s go over Polar’s schedule for the day.” It had been a couple of days since Santi had started and so far he was enjoying it. His fellow agents were nice enough and had a similar sense of humor to him. Many of them had even served and it was nice to swap stories with people other than the men in his unit. He was posted close to the action and was never really bored. Penelope was his principle. Her safety was his only priority most days and he was by her side at morning show appearances, fancy dinners with campaign donors and visits to DC elementary schools. Things were moving faster and tighter the closer they got to the inauguration. 

They hadn’t spoken much since his first night. Just nods and smiles as they made elusive eye contact throughout the day. She was beautiful. That was the simplest way for Santi to describe her. The most professional way. It was wrong but he wanted to know more about her. Learn what made her life. Made her cry. What she liked to eat and what she would order at McDonalds. Santi was someone full of life and warmth and love for those around him. Sometimes it was hard to be so cold. He hadn’t had to be so since he retired from the military. It was dredging up old feelings from the past. But he was more concerned how he felt more comfortable than he had before. How being alert and hearing radio static and a gun at his hip made him feel more at ease than the creature comforts of home ever could.

“We’ve got a pilates class, Skype call with a dress designer and then a private dinner.”

“Private dinner?” Santi hadn’t heard that on the schedule before and it made his ears perk up.

“She’s been seeing this guy-”

“Kind of a douche,” one of the other agents chimed in.

“-and it's very underwraps, very lowkey.”

“We normally draw straws or play rock, paper, scissors to see who has to take it.” Santi furrowed his brow as all the comments flooded his system.

“What’s so awful about a dinner date?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“It’s the company she keeps,” one chimed in.

“He’s dull and chews weird.”

“Hurts to listen to and hurts to watch.” They all groaned in unison.

“I’ll take it then. The watching and listening part.” He was a low man on the totem pole anyways but he was also curious. He wanted to see this train wreck with his own two eyes. He took the file when it was offered, leaving the room when they were dismissed.

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” Sam muttered as he fell into step next to him.

“I know. This will satiate me,” Santi replied.

----

He stood dutifully by the car, waiting to open the door for Penelope whenever she was ready to go. The twisted part of him was excited to see how this night played out. Maybe it would at least be worth the good story. How the beautiful first daughter dated a slob and he was paid to be a third wheel.

“Santiago? I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” Her fingers tightened around her clutch as she squared her shoulders to face him. 

“Yes…” he froze when he remembered he had agreed to not refer to her as ma’am.

“Still thinking of something else to call me?” she asked with a smirk. Penelope didn’t wait for him to respond and instead slipped under his arm and into the backseat of her car. 

The drive was dead silent. Santi felt awkward but knew this was a part of the job he would have to get used to. She wasn’t his friend. Wasn’t a girl he had picked up at a bar. She was his top priority in the least romantic way possible. He would take a bullet for her. When they arrived at the restaurant he moved swiftly to open her door and escort her into the dining room. They moved towards the back where a man was sitting alone. He looked like a college lacrosse player to Santi. In the most stereotypical of ways. His hands itched to pull Penelope’s seat out for her when her date didn’t, his eyes going to the menu instead of complementing the black dress she was wearing. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe this was going to be torture.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

The Rise Of Glory. || 3

Chapter One. Chapter Two.

One Way or Another.

Thursday, November 5th. 

I’m distracted by the flashbacks of a time I desire to forget, I wish Tara hadn’t brought up my leave of absence. I don't need the constant reminder or the guilt of everything. After Harry took me home that morning, everything went downhill and he never made it back to work for the meetings. Now I understand how Harry feels when he says the more he attempts to forget things of the past, the more they follow and strike him down every minute they can. I wish I could go back to simpler times, but unfortunately, there have never been simple times with Harry and I. There has always been something, and I’m starting to think there will always be something to set fire to our lives. 

“Elle, board meeting in ten,” Harry informs me as he steps into my office. 

I look up at him and raise a brow, unsure of why a sudden board meeting is taking place. I just got out of the meeting regarding the mobbing downstairs and the media, what else could go wrong on this day?

“Is this about your media shit?” I immediately question, exasperated with everything. 

“Darling, I don’t know at this point, I got the text, it is mandatory for all members in NYC.” 

“It bothers me that the board knows our locations, can we not buy them out and not have a board to deal with? Why do we even have them? It is your company. They called a mandatory one a few months ago.” I respond, standing up from my desk and closing the file on my desk.

“When I started, I still had to have aboard, I was a small company, I made my way up and needed independent directors who could offer financial, technical, and/or strategic advice to me,” Harry explains, taking my hand and mildly drawing me back to him. 

He smiles down at me and swiftly kisses me, “I love you. I know this is getting rough, hang in there, okay?” Harry sweetly wishes, attempting to give me some sort of reassurance. He is right to reassure me, I do need it. I can feel that things are falling apart— not that they ever managed to fall back together wholly. The moment I begin to think that things are working out or that things are getting better, something always knocks on the door and generates some sort of turmoil. I’m starting to wonder if life with Harry and I will continuously be a constant battle of demons and predicaments. 

The last few years have been a rollercoaster, to say the least, and I never imagined my life would turn out to be the way it is. I imagined things would be simple and less dramatic, but I was proven wrong. I am not sure when things first started to go wrong; I would love to blame it all on Harry, and blame our meeting, but to be honest, we were perfect together, things didn’t start turning to shit until shortly after we got engaged. That was when his life began taking a turn for the worst with skeletons in the closet wandering out on us. 

I take a breath and nod, “I am trying,” I respond. 

I am, I am trying; I am doing my best to hang in there and not snap, I am trying not to break down and let everything get to me. I am doing my best to get through everything and to hold myself together with grace. 

Harry and I walk out of my office, our fingers intertwined as we march down the hallway towards where the meeting will be held. 

Harry opens the door and permits me to enter first, being a gentleman but in all honesty, it feels like he’s feeding me to the sharks first. I glance around and notice the women on the board are missing, there are just five men. For an emergency board meeting, it’s unusual that the entire board isn’t here. 

I side-eye Harry, requiring answers as to where everyone is, he’s on the executive committee, he has a high rank and should know things. I don’t like the feeling this meeting is giving me, something isn’t right. The room feels stiff and rigid, the men stare at me like I am their weak prey that they are ready to pounce on. For a moment, my breath hitches in my throat as I feel intimidated by the men in the room. After all this time, I still despise when men’s eyes stare at me with their expressionless faces. I know it is just a tactic to show dominance, but sometimes it makes me want to run out of the room and never turn back. 

“With everyone here, take a seat and we can get started,” one man begins with his chest out and his ego flared to the max— this feels like it’s about to be a pissing contest. 

I sit down beside Harry and take note of the fact Niall also isn’t here, another high member of the board. The other women aren’t here, and they are at ALL board meetings,  no matter where they are. I have never been the only woman to sit at a meeting. 

I desire to protest starting without everyone else here, but there is no point, I don’t have enough time as one of the men commences to speak.

At first, they gradually work their way into the financial aspects of the business, discussing how Harry has picked the business up and boosted it dramatically in the last year. After his downfall, he has succeeded in raising the business in all aspects. 

Without much warning, I become the matter of a subject, a great reach from the finances. I raise a brow as we are told about the few things that I have allegedly done wrong.

I stare blankly at the men in front of me, unsure of where they get off expressing their disappointment and dissatisfaction of myself. For the most part, I believed Harry was the one I required to impress and respond to, apparently it’s the board too. Up until now, there has been no issue with my performance or my ethics. Harry has never said a word and he’d be the first one to call me out for any wrongdoing. 

“So you’re wanting to vote me off the board because of some company policy I broke… you do realise we own the company, right? I didn’t break policy.” I pause for a moment, observing the men intently, and as one goes to speak, I shake my head and begin again, “You need to have proof of this ridiculous allegation.” 

I am not sure what they are basing their information off of, and I am not sure who the fuck they think they are telling me I need to step down from a business that is owned by Harry.

“We suggest you resign without us taking things further.” 

I’m quick to rebuttal and defend myself, “I have done nothing wrong, you can’t kick me off the board.” 

“You can be removed by a two-thirds vote of the board at the next board meeting.”

I glance over at Harry and he’s shaking his head with his arms crossed over his chest. “No, you’re not kicking her off the board.” 

“You don’t have a vote in this, Harry. We understand she’s your wife—“ 

Harry swiftly cuts the man off, “No, this isn’t about her being my wife, it’s about the fact you have no grounds for this bullshit, and that is what it is—, bullshit.” Harry leans forward and presses his elbows on the table, “I won’t stand for this.” 

“Well, there is nothing you can do, you have no say in this. It is the board's decision.” 

Harry shakes his head, “I am the owner, I am the CEO, my wife stays.” 

“We will see what the board has to say.” 

“I am the bloody bored,” Harry responds with a heavy sigh, “Why, why must you insist on fucking things up for me?” Harry mutters unhappily. 

“Harry—” 

The man begins to speak, but Harry cuts him off swiftly, “I don’t want to hear it, Elise, let’s go, this meeting is over,” Harry pushes away from the desk and stands to his feet, his hands moving to his suit jacket and adjusting it. 

I stand to my feet and push the seat under the large desk, glaring at the men before I walk out of the room. Heavy on my heels, I march my way towards Harry’s office, wasting no time with stepping inside it and closing the blinds while Harry closes the door behind us. 

Harry works his fingers through his hair and sighs, “Elle—” 

“No,” I shake my head, “I’ve about had it with your business dictating every-fucking-thing. Harry, fix this.”

“Elise, I can’t. My hands are tied, I can’t fix this.” 

“You need to find a way.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Elise. I literally have no say in this.” 

I grow quiet and compose myself, deciding there is no need to lose my mind over his business and the board that controls us, instead, I shift my hair behind my ear and step closer to Harry, “I have a meeting, I love you, but this business might be the death of me,” I half-smile, leaning up and kissing his cheek. 

I proceed to step towards the door but Harry gently wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling me back to him, “We don’t do half-assed kisses in my office,” Harry grins, kissing me pleasantly, “I love you, too,” Harry whispers, “I will think of something, I have a conference call,” Harry kisses me again before putting distance between us. 

I nod my head and softly smile before we step out of each other’s way, he moves to his desk and I exit his office. 

The moment I step out of Harry’s office, I make contact with Anastasia waving me down. 

Damnit. 

I love her, do not get me wrong, but I know that wave and it is never satisfying. It is one of those waves where she wants to discreetly get my attention but doesn’t want to cause anyone to panic even though part of her is panicking. 

“Elise, there’s a client here who is demanding to speak to Mr Styles but I was specifically instructed not to bother him this afternoon,” Anastasia informs me, “And he seems pissed, Niall is in a meeting so you’re the only one I can bother, what do I do?” she challenges, appearing frazzled and under stress. 

I have to admit, Anastasia handles more shit than she signed up for and far more than her job description says. 

I give her a weak smile, “I’ll handle it in a minute. By any chance can I convince you to stay and work here with me?” 

Anastasia shakes her head with a small chuckle, “I fly back with Niall tomorrow once he and Charles are done. I don't like it here, I'm sorry.” She responds, and I can’t blame her for wanting to be in London. I also don't blame her for disliking it here, the company doesn't operate the way it does in London, everything is still out of order and will take some time to get in line. It is a whole other ball game here in New York, the people are different and so is their work ethic.  

Today feels as though it has been a shit show from hell and it isn't even eleven yet. I wander into the conference room where Anastasia politely held a client for me, and as I peer into the glass window, I frown for a moment, unsure of why my client is sitting in a conference room, pissed off and demanding Harry. 

I push open the door and smile towards Mr Cohan, “Mr Cohan,” I extend a hand but he sneers and crosses his arms over his chest like a prick. 

This isn’t the man I first met months ago. Cohan was polite and very pleasant when I first met him, and the few meetings afterwards he was just as content, but today, today I am observing a whole other side to him.

“Where’s Mr Styles?” He is rude and straight to the point with his question.   

“He’s busy right now, what is the issue I can help you with?” I ask with the kindest tone of voice I can possibly use right now. I  am unsure of what could have possibly pissed him off. Niall has handled his file while I’ve been gone and I know Niall is damn good at his job. 

Mr Cohan shakes his head, “Why have you not been in charge of my file? I specifically asked for you.” This feels like an interrogation and one that is breaching my privacy. I owe him no explanation for my absence. 

“I have been on leave and Mr Horan took over for me,” I respond. 

It isn't rare for files to sometimes be passed around and handled by multiple people, most clients prefer to have various sets of eyes and to have a team with their portfolio. 

Apparently, this man solely wanted my set of eyes, for what reason, I do not know. I am not the most beneficial asset at this company. To be quite honest, Harry and Niall are the top performers and the ones I would want in charge of my portfolio, not me. 

Niall and Harry are known to catch things before I do, they have been in the game a lot longer than I. I was more so launched into it and forced to learn things promptly. I was fortunate, some would say, I didn't necessarily have to work my way up the ladder in the company, I was given a position that Harry saw fit and here I am, standing in front of a prick who has his knickers in a twist because I wasn't the only one in charge. 

“That isn’t good enough, this was your job to handle. It wasn’t for you to pass off to whom you deemed fit. It is like you did bugger all but you reap the benefits.” 

I take a moment to process what he is saying, doing my best to attempt to see things from his point of view, even if his view is one that is up his ass. “I’m sorry you feel that way, I can assure you I reap no benefits from this,” I assure the man, frustrated that he has shifted from a decent guy to a self-absorbed man and a prick.

“You being on leave is no excuse, personal leave is not acceptable to pass off your job to someone else. I’m disappointed and I want to be compensated.” He is demanding and doing his best to intimidate me to get what he wants. 

I am not sure what he wants to be compensated for, he has had no loss to his assets, if anything, he owes us for keeping his funds on track. 

“Mr Cohan—“ I begin but he cuts me off and continues to go off on a tangent, ranting and raving about my in capabilities to adequately do my job. 

“Get me Mr Styles, I’ll be sure to take this further and make sure you’re fired, this is unacceptable.” He insists, still being a raging jerk for no reason. 

There is no reasoning with this man, he is set in his ways. 

I take a breath and smile at the man who’s making a fool of himself, me being fired would be the highlight of my day at this point, I have had enough of everything. “I’ll get him for you,” I respond, doing my best to keep my cool as I march out of the conference room. 

I march into Harry’s office, having no care that he is on a call. He glances up at me and he gives me the sort of scowl he gives his employers when they need to get out of his office. 

He’s seemingly in a god awful mood, but right now, I don't give a damn. 

He leans forward and places his elbow on his desk, beginning to rub his temples in frustration as he listens to the person on the other end of the call. 

Harry scribbles down a few things on a notepad, "I will get back to you with figures and email you the documentation before we negotiate and sign." Harry notifies whoever is on the other end of the phone. The two say their prompt goodbyes and Harry hangs up the phone.

Harry gazes towards me, seemingly annoyed that I am still standing here needing his presence. “What do you need? I have an international call in twenty,” Harry questions tiredly and without any enthusiasm. His voice is laced with nothing but aggravation. I don’t blame him, I don’t think he has had much sleep in the last few days and today has been a shit show of a day from the moment we woke up to a fussy Alex.

I throw Mr Cohan's file onto his desk, “Your client is a fucking asshole, you’re now in charge of his portfolio,” I bitterly comment.

Harry leans forward and pushes the file back towards me, “I don’t have the time for another portfolio to manage, you need to take care of it.”

“No,” I respond, “I’m not going back into that conference to bend over backwards for the prick. Either you take him or we lose the client.”

Harry drives his fingers through his hair and heavily groans, “What did he do?” 

I shake my head, not wanting to explain things to him. There is a throbbing ache in my throat that is quite the indication that I am ready to break down and cry. “Jus’ please take him.”

“Elise, if you don’t fucking tell me—,” Harry begins, but I cut him off.

“What? You’ll fire me? Don’t worry, your client has made it known he is going to do his best to get me fired, and at this point, if you want to fire me, please do, I’m fucking tired of this anyway.” I mutter. 

“My only fifteen-minute break and I am dealing with bullshit… what else was said?” 

“Just that after months of me not being in the meetings that I am no longer in charge, and ‘personal reasons’ isn’t enough justification for not overseeing everything.” … “Oh, and he will be speaking to the CEO about my lack of showing up to work because, in his words, he signed up for me to oversee everything, not for Niall. The asshole wants compensation." I inform Harry, noticing how he is far from amused by things. 

Harry stands up from his chair and clasps the file in his hand tightly, shaking his head disapprovingly, “Come with me,” he mutters, not giving me a chance to refuse as he marches past me swiftly. I follow after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides and fast pace. 

Harry opens the door to the conference room and gestures for me to enter before he steps in and closes the door. The client turns around from staring at the appearance of the city and he instantly puts his hand out to shake Harry’s. 

“I see there is a problem,” Harry states, not bothering to introduce himself or to be polite with a hello. I can only assume he is showing his position and dominance. 

The man nods, “I have heard highly of your business and her uncle’s, I expected a lot more out of a Cartier.” 

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “I don’t understand what the problem is, your portfolio is managed and balanced, your meetings have been on schedule. The only problem I see here is that the withdrawal you wish to make is large, so you might want to split it up over multiple years to bump you into a higher tax bracket, which I’m sure Elise planned to discuss in today’s meeting.” Harry informs the client, reading the first page of the file in his hand. “I see here Niall has everything in order and up to date.” 

Cohan nods, “I gave the file for Ms Cartier to handle, not to pass around to whomever she deemed fit. She has not been to one meeting in the last few months.” 

“She was on leave.” Harry bluntly informs Cohan. 

It is nobody’s business why I was on leave and it is nobody’s business to even know that I was on personal leave. My personal life is just that— my personal life. 

“That’s not suitable,” Mr Cohan shakes his head, “She hasn’t been in charge like requested and she should not be working on the portfolio now. This is not how it works, she should be fired.” 

Harry closes the file and places it on the table, “You are aware you’re talking about my wife, correct? Mrs Styles, not Ms Cartier. I suggest you take your file and walk out of this building. She was on leave and doesn’t owe you an explanation.” Harry stays firm with his tone of voice. 

“Is this how you treat all clients?” 

“Just ones that disrespect my employees and my wife. You’re no longer welcome here.” 

“You’re making a big mistake, this is a lot of money you’re losing out on.” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders, “Don’t need the money. If you’re not apologising to my wife, respectfully, get out,” Harry gestures towards the door.

Cohan shakes his head, "I demand compensation for this," Cohan demands, causing tension to rise further within the room. 

Harry doesn't say a word, instead, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his chequebook, he scribbles along the lines, signs the check and gives it to Cohan, "Don't step foot again into my building," Harry narrows his eyes on the man, standing his ground until Cohan takes the check and places it in his pocket. Harry stares Cohan down until he steps out of the conference room and can no longer be seen. 

Harry heavily sighs and closes the door as my ex-client leaves. 

"Did you pay him off?" I ask Harry, stunned that he did such a thing, I have never seen him pay off clients, I don't even think it is ethical, surely he can get himself in some shit for it.

Harry shrugs, "What you don't know won't hurt you."

"Harry, do you just pay off everyone?" 

"Elle, if I had to pay off everyone who got pissed at us, I would be fucking broke, leave it alone, he won't be asking questions about your leave." 

“Harry,” I begin, but I pause for a moment. 

I want to open up and express my frustration, my anger and everything else that I am feeling, but I don’t know... how. “I quit,” I adamantly inform him, crossing my arms over my chest. 

Harry raises a brow and wearily sighs, “Oh, really?” 

“Yes, I am done,” I respond.  

I’m done. I’m done with the board, I’m done with the business, and I’m done with asshole clients. I’m done with everything. 

“Okay, when you hand in your resignation, we can discuss this further.” 

I shake my head, “This is my resignation.” 

Harry shakes his head with a small chuckle, not entirely taking me seriously. “No, company policy, resignations must be written and signed, placed on my desk and formally spoken about.” 

“Are you seriously going to be an asshole and make me write it out?” 

“Yes, darling, everyone else has to.”

“Everyone else also has to put in their leave and request sick days.” I point out the fact that he’s currently picking and choosing which rules he wants to abide by. 

“Well, next time you want time off, put in a request and I will get back to you within two to three business days.” 

“I am serious, Harry, I quit.” 

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “We can discuss this at a more convenient time, right now, we have other issues.” 

“When do we not have other issues, our life is full of issues. We have more fucking issues than vogue, and yes, I got that off of social media.”

“Elise,” Harry sighs, “Can we stop being emotional and dramatic for a minute and discuss the bigger matter at hand?” 

“Which is?” I question.

“The media are setting up camp, he’s going to go straight to the media… there’s a red-eye to London, I need you away from the media,” Harry informs me, his fingers spreading through his hair. 

“Are you telling me to go back by myself?” 

“No.” Harry shakes his head, “I’m coming with you, it’s best if we are home instead.” 

“What about the work here?” I question, unaware of how everything’s going to work if we suddenly drop everything and go back to London. 

“I’ll fly out every two weeks if I have to, I’ll do what it takes, right now it’s best we stay low key and away from New York where the news of everything is breaking.” 

“Harry, running won’t solve it.” 

This is what Harry does best, he runs, it is a constant recurrence. 

At any given chance he has, he takes the easy way out and tries to run. By now, you’d think he would know that running has NEVER solved his or our problems, it has always made things worse. 

“Elise, please,” Harry groans, “Look, I’m doing my best here, you want to be in London anyway, it’s the safest thing right now. The media will be everywhere but at least I know our house is gated off and you and Alex will be safe. Don’t fight me on this, we need to get on the red-eye.” 

“Okay.” 

“Another article was released,” Harry sighs, “I’m going to find out who is doing this.” 

“Harry, stay out of it and let Tara do her job.” 

Harry shakes his head, “I want an investigation to happen.” 

“Okay… when did you become the biggest CEO?” I question, forgetting to have asked earlier when Tara brought it up at the small meeting. 

“When you were burying yourself in paperwork,” Harry responds with a slight bitterness to his tone of voice. “If you’d stop distracting yourself from life, you’d know things.” 

I stare over at him, not amused by his comments, “I’m not feeding into this argument,” I begin, “But can you make sure the media isn’t at our house when we land? I’d appreciate some privacy.” 

Harry rolls his eyes at me, “Just be ready to fly home… Without the sass, please.” … “Come here,” Harry gestures as he leans on his desk, “Come, love,” he opens his arms towards me and I step closer to him, allowing his fingers to intertwine with mine. 

Harry tenderly lures me in between his legs, his loam grey eyes peering up at me, “I know this is hard, I know you signed up for none of this, fuck, I didn’t even sign up for this, but I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to run a business and keep everyone happy, I’m trying to keep it all afloat. As successful as this business is, I feel like I’m failing because I know you’re not happy… Darling, whatever you want, I’ll do. We can close the business for a bit, I can have someone else fill in my position, baby, you tell me what to do.” 

I stare at Harry, unsure of what to say. 

I don’t expect him to take a step back from his business when it’s at the best place it has been in years, he’s one of the best CEO’s out there, he can’t just leave the spotlight now. Not to mention, this is not the first time he has offered to step away from the business, part of me feels as though it is an empty promise. 

I take a breath and shake my head, “You can’t leave the business or take time off.” 

“I can,” Harry nods, “I’ll do what needs to be done for you, for us. I promised to put our family before the business.” 

“I’d like to take a step back from it all…. Maybe be in the office just a few days a week? Work remotely from home or go back to working only at Meyer Enterprise, focusing on that? It runs mostly by itself with my staff, but I don’t know… it would be nice to be at home with Alex more again…” I trail off, unsure of what it is I want. “Is it selfish of me to want to be at home?” 

Harry smiles at me and shakes his head, “No, sweetheart, it isn’t selfish. If that’s what you want, we can make it happen. A few hours a week in the office and the rest at home with Alex. Or you can go back to Meyer Enterprise.” 

“A few hours a week would be nice.” 

“Done,” Harry nods, “Whatever you decide. I will support you. You can decide, you have a few hours on the flight to think about it.”

“Are you sure that I can step away a little bit?” 

“Absolutely, I will make it work. I am committed to making you happy and keeping our family happy and safe.” 

I look at him and raise a brow, unsure of where all of this has come from. 

He has definitely tried a lot more with the family ever since Alex was born and has progressively gotten better up until we had to move here, he slipped back to some of his old ways. Hearing him give me the option of stepping down or him stepping away takes my by surprise. 

Harry’s business is flourishing, he is highly successful and I don’t want to take that away from him. I do not want him to make the decision between me and the business. I have given him that ultimatum before while furious with him for not knowing when enough is enough and when it is time to put family first. Right before Alex was born I gave him the ultimatum; I remember that night as clear as day, I will never forget it— neither will Harry. Harry kept to his word after that night, he did do his best to not take on too much with the business, but right now, he has taken on a lot and although the business is prospering, I am not. I don’t aspire to be selfish, I don’t want to take him away from what he has worked his entire life for, but I cannot be apart of it all as much as I am. 

Sometimes I wonder how life would have been if I had of sojourned at my job before I moved to Logan’s assistant, or how my life would have been if Logan never died and I was still his assistant. 

Would things be easier? 

Would they be harder? 

Either way, that ‘What If’s’ don’t change anything. Life is what it is, I cannot change the past, I cannot bring Logan back from the dead, and I can’t change the fact that sometimes life is a roller coaster that I don’t want to ride. Unfortunately, we have to do things in life that we don’t want to, sometimes we have to take a breath and move forward with life, one way or another. 

One way or another, Harry and I will be okay— I will be okay— but for now, all I can do is attempt to take Harry’s support and love through these hard times. I should count myself lucky to have a man who is trying to be understanding and supportive. There was once a time where his business was his priority and I wasn’t— I would suffer the consequences. 

[iamknicole]

Lines

Bloodline Family Series

Everybody that knew Rich knew what he did, they also knew that he kept a legit job too. He liked cutting hair and Slim's uncle needed a barber so when the two started college they both started working in his shop. After two years of working there, the guys that worked there knew not to play with either friend and they knew Slim was the nicest of the two.

"Aye man, how many heads you cut today?"

Rich at in his chair twisting back and forth, thinking before he answered the barber next to him, Jamal. Rich didn't really care for him but he put up with him because Jamal hadn't crossed him. Yet. He would cross the line eventually and Rich would be there waiting.

"Like 10 or 12," he shrugged.

"Damn, you must be good." Jamal laughed cutting the guy's head in his chair

"Mmhm, something like that."

Slim laughed to himself. Jamal was trying to be friendly with Rich, he wanted to be friends but Slim knew his best friend didn't like him.

"Say man, you comin' out tonight or you got something planned with ya lady?" Slim asked from across the shop.

Before Rich could answer, Jamal butted in. "You got a girl?"

"Yeah, I do. Why?" Rich asked glancing at him.

"No reason," Jamal shrugged finishing the haircut, "I just didn't think you did. With all these bitches after you, if I was you I'd have wifey and a few hoes. Shit, you prolly do."

The other barbers and a few of the patrons laughed at the suggestion.

"That's a faithful young man right there, son. Just him and his lady," an older gentleman interjected.

Jamal snorted as he slapped hands with his customer. "Shiiiit, like I said if I was him, I'd have a plethora."

Rich smirked and glanced at him, "But you ain't me so just worry about yaself."

A few hours later, Rich was cutting hair and the door to shop opened jingling the bell at the top of the door. Queenie walked in with Apryl and Kandice. A few spoke to them but they didn't put too much of their attention on them.

"What's goin on, Queenpin?" Slim asked going to hug her, her sister and cousin.

"Hey, Slim," Queenie smiled. She went over to kiss Rich, who wrapped his free arm around her and grabbed her butt. "Hey, baby. The girls came to see me and wanted to see you."

Rich smiled at them, "What's up, ladies? How long yall in town for?'

"Till Monday. Our parents went on a trip and shipped us off here," Apryl shrugged going to hug him.

Kandice scoffed playfully, "No, you got shipped off and i got guilt tripped."

Rich hugged then both and laughed.

"Either way, it's good to see yall. What yall about to do?' He asked going back to the haircut.

Queenie smiled, "Well, we were about to go eat and probably go to the mall."

"And you came to the ATM," he joked, "What if I told you it was closed?"

"Then is just rob it," she laughed.

"Uhuh," he mumbled playfully, "Go on back there and look in my bag. Yall go with her, yall know she don't share shit."

As the three of them headed for the backroom of the barbershop, Jamal came out checking each of them out as he passed them. Slim noticed and a laugh escaped him, he sat down in his chair ready to watch the fireworks. Going back to his own chair, Jamal to a seat with a wide smile on his face.

"Who was that?"

"Who was who? I ain't see nobody," Tony, another barber said quickly.

Jamal laughed, "Come on now, yall seen them fine ass women just walk through here."

Rich finished the haircut and slapped hands with his customer. He turned to his station to clean his things ignoring his co-worker.

"So yall just gon ignore me? I'm saying though, they was fine."

"16 will get you 20, my man." Tony told him quickly.

Jamal nodded, "I mean shit I won't tell if they won't. Wait ... which one of them is 16? Not that it matters."

"It should matter though," Rich added.

"Why? They ain't tellin."

Strike one, Rich thought to himself

The girls came from the back and over to Rich. Kandice and Apryl hugged him before going to wait by the door. While Queenie was telling Rich bye, Jamal approached them.

"I'm tellin you, man. Don't do that," Slim laughed tossing a few sunflower seeds in his mouth.

Jamal waved him off and grabbed Kandice's hand. "What's up, beautiful? I'm Jamal. What's your name?"

Kandice snatched her hand back from him with a frown on her face. "16," she said backing up.

"I'm not worried, it's all good. You should let me take you out."

Strike two, Rich thought to himself

By this time, Slim was in his chair dying of laughter. It was always fun to him when people tried Rich and even funnier when they had no idea.

"We're 16, we don't want you," Apryl told him, "Now move. Queenie, we goin to the car."

The two girls walked out going to her car. Queenie rolled her eyes, telling her boyfriend she'd see him at his apartment. The two of them embrace and kissed one more time. She hugged Slim one more time before leaving the barbershop. As she left though, Jamal's eyes were on her and Rich's were on him.

"Aye, you got a eye problem or somethin?"

"My bad, I was just looking, Rich." Jamal laughed as he sat in his chair.

"I asked you a question," Rich said setting his tools down, "You got a eye problem?"

"You serious man? I was lookin, no law against that. Ain't like I said she had a fat ass or something, I kept that to myself. But shit we all know its there."

Strike three, Rich thought to himself.

"I been lettin you slide since you got here a few months ago, a few times I should've said something to you but it wasn't my business," Rich told him calmly.

Jamal looked at his co-worker and laughed. He figured since Slim was laughing then it must've been a joke.

"Its just a few bitches, you can really be mad about that."

"A few bitches," Rich repeated with a sarcastic laugh, "Its clear you don't like your life."

Jamal opened his mouth to say something but Rich punched him out his chair. He didn't got a chance to fight back, Rich was on him pouncing him then jacked him up off the floor, forcing him to a wall holding him there with his firearm in his throat.

"Slim," Rich called out, "Bring me them shears."

"Gladly."

Slim hopped up with a smile on his face to get the sharpest shears he had taking them to his best friend. The other men in the shop put their focus everywhere but on what was currently happening. Rich took the shears and held them at Jamal's eyes as he tried to get away.

"Be ya scary ass still," Rich huffed, "You approached my lil sister and lil cousin after Tony and them told you not to, you touched them after they told you no and then you thought to say some disrespectful shit about my lady. Gimmie one reason why I shouldn't pluck both eyes out."

Jamal was sweating and panicking.

"Look, I'm sorry! I ain't know!"

"Bullshit," Slim called out laughing. "Ya ass just don't listen. That's ya problem!"

Rich opened the shears and moved it under his eyes pressing it into his skin as he shook and struggled.

"Be ya ass still, I told you that shit already," Rich growled in a low tone. 'It'll only hurt for a second."

Pushing the shears into his skin, Rich sliced into his skin making a long cut under Jamal's left eye. Jamal screamed out in pain which went ignored by every other person in the shop except Slim. When he was done, Rich handed Slim the shears and stepped back.

"Did we learn a lesson?" He asked.

Jamal held his hand to his face, tears pooling in his eyes from the pain. A few moments later, Rich looked down at his feet and stepped back in disgust.

"Ah shit, you pissed yaself, man? Talk all that shit about bitches but here you are actin like one." Rich taunted. "Go get a mop and clean this shit up then you should take the rest of day off and get that checked out. We got ya cuts till tomorrow."

Jamal looked up at him horrified.

"Did I say something you ain't understand? Lemme say it simpler for you," Rich shrugged, "Clean this up, go to the hospital, go home and bring ya ass back tomorrow. Don't come back tomorrow and see what happens. And stop crying be grateful i let you keep ya eyes."

Rich turned away from him and went back to his station to finish cleaning his tools. Slim continued to taunt Jamal a little while longer until he got the mop like Rich told him to and the barbershop went back to normal just like that.

[mrneighbourlove]

Wake Up Leere

A Sequel to Evil’s Bane. Happy Halloween!

“Wake up Leere. Please wake up. We need you.”

~

“NOOOOO!!!”

Leere Dragmire rose from her bed awake in startled manner, gasping for air after screaming furiously. There was so much rage in her heart, and she had no idea why. Taking a few moments to breath and lower her heart rate down, Leere finished off with a little chant to herself. “No worse shadows than the ones that come from closing your eyes. You’ve had enough sleep for the day.”

Throwing her feet off the bed, she leapt off to get changed. Sunny must have already awoken for work around the ranch. Getting dressed, Leere walked to her office door, only to find it locked. “Oh, come on.”

Fiddling with the lock, Leere started to get frustrated. She told her daughter in the past to never lock her out of her office. “Alright now Joy, open up. If I have to come in after you, I’m going to be very upset.”

She knocked on the door a few times. When no answer came, Leere decided to peer through the lock hole. Maybe her daughter wasn’t in there after all and the door just happened to be malfunctioning. Bending down to look through the lock, Leere was met with the ghostly image of herself looking right back at her. This startled the woman to jump back. “What the hell?!”

To make matters worse, the ghostly version of herself walked through the door to smile down at her. “Finally awake? Good morning Leere.”

Leere’s first instinct was to try and bind the ghost with her magic, but it wasn’t working. “Stay back spirit!”

“Leere. You can stop that. Your magic isn’t going to work here.”

The Sage was reluctant to listen, but the results were speaking for themselves. “What do you want with me? Who are you and why do you look like me?”

The ghost Leere rubbed her chin, nodding along. “All good questions. As for why and who, that’s simpler to answer. I am the angel of purgatory, Katha. The form I take is one that mortals can easily process. Themselves.”

“Purgatory?” Leere started to feel sick. “Wait. That’d mean I’m…”

Katha looked at the door and opened it open. What as on the other side was not Leere’s office, but instead a block of town covered in a deep, deep foreboding fog. “Come with me Leere Dragmire.”

Once again, the Sage was reluctant, but didn’t see other alternatives. Stepping out of her room, Leere breathed in the fog. It tasted oddly like her sister in law’s cotton cherry candy. “Why-?”

“Does it taste like something slightly tasty when you breath in the fog? The fog wants you to grow comfortable here. I rather you not.”

The town blocks Leere and Katha walked through had small businesses on the sides, or three-story rooming. Everything was tight together, but even so Leere could only make out a building when it was 15ft in front of her. Clearing her throat, she asked the question anyone with mortality feared. She’d seen it enough from spirits she communicated with in the past. “Am I dead?”

Katha turned to her with a straight face. Were they mad? It was frightening to see her own blood-soaked face look at her like that. “No. Not yet.”

Arriving at a bench, Katha took a seat, urging Leere to join them. When both of them sat down, Katha let out a sigh. “You are a very special case Leere Dragmire. It seems every spirit wants you. Ba’puu wants you back alive and going back to protecting Hyrule. Zarazu and some of the other gods think you’ve put in enough time in protecting the world, should stop cheating death, and let your soul be reincarnated so that the next shadow sage can be selected amongst the mortals.”

“My sister in law wants me dead?”

“No, no, no. The actual goddess of death Zarazu.” Katha waved their hand to dismiss the silly thought. “Heaven and Hell both want you dead and in their possession. Yet you’ve hung on thanks to your own stubbornness and those of your friends.”

“If I’m not dead, then why am I here?”

“Sorry, I have to tip toe around this, because if you remember too quickly, we’ll kickstart events far too quickly.” As Leere raised an eyebrow at them, Katha continued without breaking pace. “In this realm, most of the time, I look after souls who are so damaged, so broken by the circumstances of their deaths they are too weak to linger on the living world as spirits, but not ready to go to a Heaven or Hell yet. Sometimes, there are souls who are split down the middle with all the good and bad deeds they’ve done. Those souls take special trials to decide where they’ll end up.”

Leere felt a hot tingle run up her spine when Katha grinned at her with the image of her own skin growing leathery by every passing second. “Then there’s those like you. People with a strong connection to magic or the spiritual who suffered a horrific near-death experience to both the body and soul. Your soul becomes separated from your body until both are healed.”

The Sage felt angry at herself, but why? She couldn’t recall, but she felt like the facts were just under the surface ready to be uncovered. “Why? What happened to me?”

“If you want to return to your body, all you have to do is have the will to find the door. Your soul was recovering its need to use magic and hold its strong connection to the spiritual. Afterall, you nearly sacrificed yourself for the greater good. Isn’t that Leere Dragmire?”

‘Why are you so foolish?! So unbelievably stupid?! You never listened to him… why couldn’t you just listen?’

A familiar voice echoed in Leere’s head, and a spike of pain hit her backside, traveling up her spine up to her head. A horrifying memory of fighting a demon filled her mind. It was going to devastate the world if she hadn’t put a stop to it. Her quest to stop evil meant sacrifice itself. “Oh, sweet goddess.”

Around them, a wailing siren of souls echoed out in the town, hidden by the thick layer of fog. “Well, you’ve remembered how you got here. Now they’ll want to keep you here.”

Leere got off the bench, looking around. “Who does?”

“You’re an interesting soul Leere. Despite the good you’ve done; you’ve done vile acts as well. Such as the souls you turned into energy for your blood magic. Except you didn’t even use all of their soul matter. Now those men cling to your soul as vile ghosts. Not to mention the little demonic residue that lingers on you. They will want you to leave too. Only the exit they want to take you too is far more gruesome than the living world.”

Leere looked around for a weapon to use, or a way to escape to. “How do I know what to look for?”

Katha got up, picking off the flesh on their check. “Trust your instincts Leere Dragmire. You’ll know when you see it.”

As Katha walked away into the deep fog, Leere decided just standing around wasn’t going to cut it out for her. With a fast start, the Sage took off sprinting down the streets. “Instincts. Trust my instincts. Do I really sound so fucking droll when I’m preachy?”

Coming from an alley way, something ran at her. It was a man’s body twisted into the shape of a dog. Only their head was screwed 180 degrees backwards. It was an odd sensation, but as Leere kept running past the shambling creature, she knew exactly who it was. Larry the Dog Butcher. A sickening piece of shit who killed puppies in Danjur as a way to make money. She knew he did it primarily for fun. The human mutt groaned aloud, running at her with an awkward sprint. Even when it caught up at her, all it could do was manage to punch her in the back.

With a furious determination, Leere spun around on the monster, reeling a kick to its head when it lunged at her. The hound squealed and whined, turning tail. Leere hated that it mocked the cries of innocents to make her pity it. Turning her around, she realized the fog had a funny way of sneaking things up on her. There was just enough visibility to reveal a courtyard leading to a large factory. What looked like a smoke stake revealed a large tower up ahead.

Just as she was about to start walking towards it, a loud snapping sound was heard behind her. In the fog, the wail of the hound was heard, being replaced by a trumpeting vibration. Leere decided to book it to factory doors before whatever that thing was saw her. Let her demons tear each other apart for once.

Arriving at the doors, Leere had to smash her shoulder into them a couple times to get them open. She never looked back, but she heard the vibrations getting closer as she was breaking in. Pressing the door closed, she found an iron bar to bring down to lock the entrance. Catching her breath, she expected whatever was outside to try and force itself in. Instead, she was only greeted with silence.

Turning around, she saw that she was in a narrow hallway with barbed wire walls. It was so thin that she had to walk sideways to avoid being cut up by the walls. At the end there was a door way. It would be a slow hop over, but she could make it unscathed if she was careful. Halfway through, she was spooked out of her mind seeing Katha again. “Well done Leere Dragmire. You picked the right door.”

Leere nearly threw up when she saw Katha use her body to crawl through the barb wire, keeping up with her pace. “Why can’t I use my magic here? This is my soul. Magic is supposed to be connected to the soul.”

“Because you’re still too weak. Even if you return to the land of living and reunite with your body, it could take years for you to have mastery of your abilities again. Maybe it could be less than a month. Or maybe you’ll never have it again.”

Leere winced as the barb wire snagged Katha’s arm, only for them to keep pressing forward and having it ripped apart. “Besides the needless reason to show me having my own image tortured, you don’t seem like a cruel angel. Why not just lead me directly to the exit out of your realm?”

“Oh, I can’t do that. Otherwise you’ll never be able to leave. Only your will can do that.”

Deep within the sea of barbed wire, wails grew loud as a red and black aura filled the room. Staring into the Abyss, Leere saw bodies upon bodies of Mortuus tore apart by the wires. As she keeping moving down, her face of horror told Katha exactly what was on her mind. “Yes. Them. Terrible. An entire country of souls all damned. They started coming here, but very quickly, they leave, their souls forcibly taken.” As they spoke, a few of the wailing souls appeared to be torn down to the molecule, stripped down layer by layer from the skin to muscles to bone. “You stopped the Evil from destroying the world, but it cost Malus.”

‘No… no gods why. Why did it have to be like this?’

Was that Sunny? Leere gripped her head, those words echoing her very own thoughts. When some of the Mortuus in the wire reached out to her, she didn’t know if they wanted help or to drag her in. Guilt in her heart drove her to believing it was more the latter. “I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so hard to save you.”

It seemed like they were getting closer to Leere, one even grabbing her by the hair. She had to punch a poor woman in the face just to escape. “I’m truly sorry.”

Katha’s word could be heard behind Leere as she pried the next door open. “Be careful. There are those who you couldn’t save, who you murdered, and who you damned. Context on how you killed them matters.”

Entering the next room, the black and red hues were replaced by a dark blue. There was an instant shift of temperature as Leere felt her body plummet to a cold shiver. The area was so cold that a thick mist floated around her as she walked through it. Pushing through a plastic tarp, she was greeted to a disgusting smell. Rows and rows of meat were lifted up on hooks.

‘Mommy. I baked you a meat pie. Can’t you wake up and eat it with me?’

The voice of her daughter poking inside her mind gave Leere a boost of confidence to venture past the wretched setting. Some of the stacks of meat the Sage had to physically push to the side. Just as she was getting used to the touch, she pressed her palm against something that made her skin crawl. That was no cow. Looking up, her eyes became transfixed on a human body strung up on a hook.

Backing away from the body, her back hit another body. Scanning her surroundings, she realized that all of these meat hooks were holding up human bodies. Why were there so many dead bodies here? She couldn’t puzzle it together until she saw the body of a Hasai Warrior on one of the hooks. Looking at another body, she recognized the face of a bandit she had to kill on one of her journeys around the world. All the bodies lightly swung back and forth, almost appearing to look directly in her direction. Why wouldn’t they? Every body on a hook was someone she killed in her life.

Feeling a stomach knot twist inside her, Leere backed away from the bodies, hoping to find another door out, when a hand reached out and grabbed her on the arm. This body was built like a scarecrow with straw, yet was filled to the brim with knife wounds that still bleed blood. On their shoulders, two pinks crows were picking out his ear drums. It looked like an existence of pain and misery. That didn’t stop them from smiling with flies in their teeth. “Icky caught you. You stop his angel. Now Icky stops you.”

Leere couldn’t stop the man from screaming out an ear-piercing screech. “Now Revenge is ours!”

The Sage pulled away from him, getting her shoulder cut apart by the grip of his nails. Moving through the meat, she saw the figure of her childhood demons push its way past the bodies to reach her. Being over eight feet tall, they had the same height difference now as they did decades ago. Only this time it was exaggerated to horrific proportions. Any part of their body that wasn’t clothed by the yellow jumpsuit was a deep pitch black to silhouette their hands and head. Only two piercing white eyes broke up the void of darkness. And both of those eyes were wide and looking squarely at Leere.

The colour of the environment changed dramatically to a grey scale. The only colour came from the man in the yellow jumpsuit with his clothing, black shape, and white eyes. If Leere had to face past traumas and lingering victims of hers, this would be the most powerful left over.

Leere’s first instinct was the freeze, but she quickly fought against that thought as the giant’s hand reached out to her. Running away proved to be difficult, however. Her with her sense of colour gone, everything looked the same to her. All the swinging sacks of meat down to walls gave her zero idea of direction. Feeling the air shift behind her, she ducked low to avoid the giant’s hand from grabbing her.

Oddly enough, she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. She was angry. This speck of nothing held no more influence on her. And like hell it was going to be the death of her.

‘We miss you Leere. We know you can pull through.’

That voice in her head. Was that Rinku? Sunny? Both equally urged her on to keep holding on. Glancing about, she saw a gleam of colour through the sea of bodies. The colour purple. She knew that others could easily misinterpret that as an ominous hue, but, to Leere, it was her colour. Running towards it, she heard a static rumble behind her. The yellow bastard must have not liked what she saw. It let out a rattling croak that sounded like it was just behind her ear.

Long ago, this might have rattled or faltered her. Now, in all her experience, she’s seen worse. And the dead were the least of her problems. Breaking past all the bodies, she saw that the source of the purple light was a mirror. It held the reflection of herself, and just behind her, the yellow pursuer. Their eyes looked down on Leere with intense hatred.

Breaking out more into a sprint now, Leere followed her instincts and dived at the mirror with her arms covering her face. It was time to escape this tacky haunted ride of her mind.

Her body smashed through the glass, and she gained all of her colour back. Her body fell into free fall, now falling down a long tube of images. As she fell downwards, Leere saw a silver string. Grasping it, she stopped her fall. It seemed this string had the force and girth of a rope. Gasping to catch her breath, she glanced all around at the images. They were patchworks of her entire life playing back to her. Every good memory, terrible memory, and anything in between.

Looking down, she saw foggy town in the distance. As she peered down, the structure of the town shattered apart. Every building shifted around with the fog. With this bird’s eye view, Leere could see the town turn into the shape of a face. With a grin, the voice of Katha spoke out to her. “Looks like you are ready child. What a strong will you have.”

“Katha! The town. Is this another one of your tricks?”

“I can turn my realm of purgatory into whatever I desire. It is my maze. And you passed. Now, its up to you if you want to return to the land of the living, or cross to the land of the dead. Follow the string. Goodbye Leere Dragmire.”

The image of the face broke apart like dirt falling through a crack. All that was left was the foreboding fog. Leere gripped the string tightly. Looking up, she saw even more fog. Each end of the cylinder of memories was the same. At the top of the string, she felt a sense of light. Comforting even.

As Leere started to climb up the string, she looked downwards. Down below, against the walls of the cylinder, the literal demons of her soul started to climb upwards. They attempted to jump and grab the string, only to fail. Leere gasped, determined to climb higher now.

As the demons raced upwards to attempt their luck at grabbing her, Leere continued to climb the string upwards. Finally, she felt a sense of calm as she felt like she was getting close to the top. Almost their, she was about to push herself for the final stretch, when she saw a woman look down at her.

Her face was neutral, but her eyes were devoid of joy. It was a subtle gesture, but she shook her head at Leere. The woman gripped the string tightly, looking up and down. Below, on the sides, there were demons coming out of the walls, birthed from the bad memories in Leere that played on loop. Hell wanted to drag her down. Looking up, there was a peaceful sense of light and warmth, but the woman told her not to go up. Why?

In a moment of clarity, Leere understood. Rising to the top was simply a different afterlife. One of tranquility, but still the death of her. On all sides of her was hell. If only she could plant her feet in some earth instead of dangling in the air.

Leere’s red eyes suddenly shot up with adrenaline and understanding. Kicking a demon in the face away from her, she looked down. Exactly below her. The string went down into the fog, but no demons were coming up to climb the string itself. She needed to fall back to earth. With a couple deep breaths, Leere thought about the faces of Joy and Sunny one more time. “Hope I’m right. I’m coming home baby.”

With only one hand on the string, Leere let her feet and other hand go. Sliding down the string, all the demons dove after her. She didn’t give them the satisfaction of even a glance. Just as she hit the fog, Leere closed her eyes.

“I wonder what we’ll have for dinner.”

[the-innefable-idiot]

welcome home

Hello yall!!!

This is my 3k fic based on the fic "another part of me could be you" by @spaceskam. I honestly don't know how to classify this, but you can consider a homage (?) to her work.

This pretty much a fanfic of a fanfic... yeah. I know.

Every feedback is welcome, both for plot/characterization and grammar/ponctuation. English is not my first language, so I usually right phrases that only make perfect sense to me. I want your reading to be as enjoyable as possible! :D

Please, enjoy!

Also on AO3.

-

Oh, I hope someday I'll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near

Wanna feel alive, outside I can fight my fear

(Lovely, Billie Eilish feat. Khalid)

Michael almost looses Alex for the second time, and now je realises it's time for him to get his act together. He just wasn't expecting all the love and support he got.

- 

Home is a concept that Michael never quite understood. Sure, he lived in many houses, but the goodbyes were never emotional. He knows that home is not the structure, but the feelings attached to some place, something or someone. Whenever he thought of home, blurred memories from outer space came to mind. The feeling of belonging was strong, even if he couldn’t attach an image to it. 

Michael used to spend hours fantasizing on how to turn a house into a home. A collection of mugs nicely displayed in the dining room. Vinyls and cds on one shelf and books on another, with a nice record player nearby. Some musical instruments considered weird by western standards. The walls covered with pictures of people and places he loved alongside posters of movies and bands he enjoyed. Had he grown up in a nice home, he would probably have been those kids with a camera in hand at all times, capturing moments around him.

Once he knew he was so, but so close to understand the meaning of home. He was thinking about buying a camera literally moments before his hand was shattered by a psychopath. Since then he swore to never raise his hopes. The day drinking and the bar fighting were the ways he made sure to never expect anything from anyone. Alex symbolized everything he wanted to have, but couldn’t, so he was determined to go for a simpler route. 

With Maria things were nice. A little bit more complicated than he expected, but still nice. Sure, she wouldn't be moving to the airstream anytime soon, but the relationship was nice. Her place has a few of his things: a toothbrush, a few pieces of clothing neatly folded in one corner of a drawer, a few bottles of beer and whiskey, a handful of books and even some mechanical tools he forgot to take back to his place. Michael never enjoyed making Maria to spend the night at the airstream, first because the overall place was tiny and uncomfortable, and second because her house had the whole atmosphere he dreamt about.

It was clear the effort they were putting into the relationship. Maybe a bit too much of an effort, some might say. As the time passed, everyone close to them noticed how the smiles between them stopped reaching their eyes. Michael would never admit it, but Alex being kidnapped only sped up the inevitable.

Michael knew something bad happened before Forrest came to him in the middle of a panic attack. He had this prickling feeling on his neck that something was just not right since he opened his eyes that morning. Now he was gripping the steering wheel of his truck and focusing on not letting his powers break something. The adrenalin rush being the only thing keeping him from having a mental breakdown. Actually, filling in Forrest with the whole alien thing was a great distraction because of the many details and intricate history he had to cover. Maybe Forrest noticed it and kept asking questions to ground Michael to the task at hand. Maybe Michael will find a way to subtly thank him later for that. Just maybe.

After finding a path of bodies that lead to a bleeding Alex on the floor, Michael felt like breathing for the first time that day. The relief was short, however, and the moment he saw the deadly wound (gun? Knife? Oh God it was bad) he knew what he should do. Forrest was holding an unconscious Alex on his arms. Somehow he managed to tear apart the bloodied shirt to ease the access to the wound (thanks Forrest, again). Michael's healing powers were shit, and he knew he wouldn't be able to heal Alex completely, but damn him if he weren't going to die trying.

The last thing he clearly remembers is the glow on his hands. He has flashes of walking to the car and drinking acetone. He was 75% sure he didn't hallucinate Kyle being there to check up on Alex. Did Alex really ask to sleep by his side? Was Forrest still there? Who knew? Definitely not him.

The next day Michael woke up at noon, still not sure if he was indeed in bed with those two guys or if it was just his brain revenging him after almost melting it the night before. Alex was still too drugged up for Michael to feel anything concrete from the handprint, but only the fact everyone was breathing was enough to calm him down.

This moment of silence between the three of them only gave Michael the reassurance to set things right with Maria. He couldn't keep marinating her in a below-average relationship just so he could prove a point. Maria deserved more than he could give her.

-------

The break-up was... complex. He could see jealousy and suspicion in her body language, and nothing Michael said changed that. Deep down she always new the possibility of Michael going back to Alex, but she was willing to try anyway. She was making an effort not to be too angry, after all she knew her friend had a past with the cowboy but still wanted to try a relationship. She avoided Alex for a while, scared for his reaction, but when the confrontation happened, she was met with nothing but understanding. She’ll never know how Alex could be so calm back then, because right now this fucking hurt and she wanted to punch something.

Moments before he left, Maria stopped him, asking him the one thing he didn't want to answer.

"Why are you choosing him now, Michael?" She asked while putting too much force on drying a cup of glass. "The other day he was stabbed, and you stayed for me. So, what changed? Definitely not Alex almost dying"

"I don't... know." He hesitated. Who was he kidding, this was their break-up and she deserved the truth, even if it meant not crossing her path ever again. "I think that nothing changed, actually. I really believed we had a chance at being happy together, you and I, and I was willing to try. I was so focused on choosing you over him every time that in that morning it was more of an autopilot choice. I didn't follow my heart because I’ve programmed myself to choose you." He could feel his voice cracking. The words were too painful even to him, but once he started he couldn't stop.

"God, Michael" she put the glass down hard, the only reason for not breaking being its thickness. "I am angry, and sad, and I don't want to see you for a while, but..." she looked at him, her voice going a bit soft for her next words "what we had was exhausting. I've been trying to pinpoint the moment where we turned the relationship into an obligation. Now I see it’s been like this since the beginning, but we couldn’t keep the act for too long." 

"I'm sorry, Deluca."

"I'm sorry too." She turned her back on him to organize the bottles on the shelf. "Just... stay away for a while, yes? I need to clear my head."

Michael tipped his cowboy hat and left without saying a word. Mixed with the sadness was a sense of relief. Now Deluca was free from him, free to search for someone who will wholeheartedly love her the way she deserved. He didn’t regret being with her, they took a shot and failed, but that’s life. At least they know they tried. His regret was on his actions. Maybe if he’d been more honest since the beginning, the end would’ve been different. 

-------

Alex was still asleep when Michael came back to the cabin. The handprint feeling was still fuzzy, so good thing Alex didn't feel all the whirlwind of emotions from the conversation with Maria. Michael had to drive around for a few hours after leaving the Wild Pony just to clear his head. The first thing he noticed when entering the cabin was Forrest in the kitchen, probably cooking something for Alex.

"Alex said, and I quote, you like your coffee like you like your men and women: strong and sweet. Is that right?" Forrest asked without taking his eyes from the stove. "I’m cooking everyone’s favourite because... well... because I can, but also because we deserve it. Alex and I ate half an hour ago, but gimme five minutes and your food will be ready."

Michal was shocked. One thing was Alex telling Forrest what Michael liked to eat and drink, another thing was for Forrest to get out of his way to just cook it. Why would he do that, specially considering he was the ex in the equation? 

"Michael, I barely know you and I can almost feel you overthinking this. Before Alex went back to take a nap he told me you were getting near the cabin and that I should start cooking. Which reminded me, later you both must explain the whole handprint thing for me. I’m still digesting the whole alien superpower thing, but I want to know more" Michael could hear Forrest's smile in his voice. Forrest was relieved and comfortable so his entire body acted like it. 

"Michael. Sit."

And he sat on the table without thinking twice. Sure, the warmth he was feeling towards Forrest was 100% from Alex because of the handprint, but damn this pocket-size historian for making it way too easy to like him.

Forrest put the meal on the table and sat near him. Michael only realised he was starving the moment he took the first bite, and in less than 10 minutes all the food was gone. The coffee was in a nice mug with the Slipknot logo on it, probably Forrest’s, because he knew Alex inclined towards the more emo bands.

As he rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, Forrest sat on the couch. Michael knew he should leave and let Forrest take care of Alex, but he ended up sitting by the historian's side. He simply didn't want to go.

"Michael..." Forrest started, with his voice soft and his eyes even softer. "You are probably confused by your feelings because of the handprint. Right now you are feeling what Alex feels, so we can only have this full conversation once you are out of Alex's system."

Michael had to take a sip of his coffee just to do something with his hands. In his mind he was bracing himself for the final blow that would destroy him. Forrest was going to order him to leave them alone and never go back.

"Alex told me about your history, and I am so sorry for all the trauma you went through, and I am not saying only your hand.”

Oh, so Forrest knew about that.

“The three of us... we grew up thinking that love and pain are intertwined, you can only love something if you suffer for it." Forrest grabbed Michael's hands, forcing Michael to keep eye contact. "It took me and Alex years and a literal war to understand that love is not painful. It’s hard to believe, both at home or in a battlefield, and even to this day I wake up with doubts.” He paused, taking a deep breath. Michael could see Forrest tensing up, an indication that the next words were hard for him to say out loud. 

“Maybe my family is right and being gay is a punishment, and I deserve to be loveless and miserable for the rest of my life. When you hear you’re not worthy enough times, you start believing in it. Some days nothing, and I mean nothing, can change my mind."

Forrest noticed Michael was getting uncomfortable, and let go of his hands. Both took a sip of their drinks before Forrest sighed, and Michael could see the sadness behind his eyes. A sadness he knew all too well, one that everyone carries but few could hide well. It was a sadness that put doubt in people's heart and turned their self-worth into smoke. Michael wanted to hold Forrest and tell him that everything was going to be alright, but it was probably Alex' influence.

"Alex told me you grew up in the system, the next family worse than the last. I’ve worked with endangered youth, kids with similar stories, and I know how ugly it can get.”

Michael tensed up even more, a reflex that Forrest mistook for annoyance or anger. Michael tried his best to relax, to show Forrest it wasn’t him. It was an unconscious reaction from years of abuse. The historian hesitated for a moment, but then continued.

“What I’m saying is that... it was hard for me to learn that suffering for love ain't romantic or cute. Alex and I want to help you get out of this destructive path you are going through, but we need to start things right. No lies, no secrets, and specially no shame." Forrest grabbed Michael's hand again, but this time Michael was more comfortable. "I want you both to be happy, even if it means me getting out of the picture eventually." As a reflex, Michael tightened his hand, a silent 'no' for the possibility. Forrest smiled and let his thumb caressed the back of Michael's hand.

"I know you can't make any decision right now. First because you just broke up with a long-term friend, and second because of the handprint. Much of your feelings are from Alex, so you are biased. But..." He stopped to bring Michael hands to his lips, and Forrest kissed them lightly with a hint of a smile "once we settle down, we can try something different.”

Michael was taken by surprise. He ran many scenarios in his head, and none of them came close to <i>that.

“I mean, what's the point of being a gay historian if I keep my mind closed towards contemporary interpersonal relations? Monogamy is a recent construct to better control nuclear households and… and... I am going to stop because I am losing the focus here.”

Michael laughed. He understood more and more Forrest's appeal. After a few hours of almost losing Alex and breaking up with Maria, Forrest managed to make Michael laugh.

“Alex says I get a bit too passionate about this matters and..."

"Can I kiss you?" Michael blurted, surprising even himself. "I know, I know, the handprint and all, but Alex's feelings are still fuzzy from the drugs and I am pretty sure he doesn't control every single emotion I have." Now it was time for Forrest to be taken aback. He pondered for two heartbeats and nodded, still processing what just happened. 

Michael caressed Forrest face, mimicking what the historian did few moments ago on the back of his hand. Michael’s calloused fingers brushed the other man’s face, bringing him closer. It started as a brush of lips, and then escalated to a slow and tender kiss. It was one of those that meant comfort, not sex. It made Michael feel warm and safe. Forrest was saying "I accept you and you can stay", and Michael almost felt like crying.

The kiss was broken when they felt the weight shift in the sofa. Michael didn't know for how long they’ve been kissing. The only thing he processed was Forrest on his lap by the time Alex showed up. Michael was starting to panic when Forrest just let a little laugh, going back to the couch to give Alex a kiss on his forehead.

Michael's heart only came back to normal because he could feel how calm and peaceful Alex was. If not for the handprint, he’d definitely be running away right now. After the initial shock, Michael started to process how easy it felt to kiss Forrest while actively ignoring how he was the current boyfriend of his ex.

"You're overthinking again, Michael." Surprisingly (or maybe not), this phrase came out of Forrest, again. He didn't need a handprint to understand what was going on inside the alien's head, and that scared Michael. If only by knowing the stories he understood Michael better than his siblings, what would Forrest be able to do with a little more intimacy?

"War taught us that we can't take tomorrow for granted." Alex said, with a hint of tiredness in his voice that only existed after a drug-induced sleep. "That doesn't mean I'll feel sorry for you and let you go away with all the shit you put me through, Guerin." Alright, back to the last name basis then. "But I will, actually we will, offer you a chance of redemption, but it will all depend on you."

"Own your mistakes and learn from them. Don't project your faults onto others." Forrest said while standing up from the couch. "That means no more bullshit, Guerin."

Michael felt oddly comforted by both men being so straightforward. Yeah, he could get used to this bluntness. Maybe this is the first change he has to make from now on.

"Once this handprint fades and we’re in fully control of our emotions, we’ll talk about possibilities. Right now I just need to focus on not dying from an infected wound which an alien helped to heal." Alex said, finishing Forrest's tea to the last drop.

“Now, let’s give ourselves some time to digest everything. God knows I still need to process that I made coffee for an alien”. Which, by the way, would you like some more tea, captain?” Forrest stood up and grabbing the mug from Alex' hands. He didn't have to look at Alex to know the answer. "More coffee for you, Michael?" He motioned to the mug on the table.

Michael nodded, still mesmerized by what was happening. They had a long path ahead of them, but he knew how easy could it be to fall into a routine with them. Maybe the Slpiknot mug would slowly turn into his mug, and this realisation terrified him.

Michael slowly gave the object to the historian. He felt like if he moved a bit too abrupt, everything would dissolve and he would wake up in the airstream. Instead, the only thing that happened was Forrest going back to the kitchen and Alex completely relaxed on the couch. 

“Did he give you the whole speech about monogamy and nuclear households? I mean, the whole speech?” Michael shook his head no, and Alex let out a soft laugh. “Then get ready for at least a two-hour lecture from him. I’m not exaggerating. He has a powerpoint presentation about it.” 

Michael could feel more of Alex as the seconds passed, and he has never been so sure that he wanted to change. Forrest and Alex started talking about nothing in particular and Michael closed his eyes, letting himself be surrounded by the tenderness and warmth radiating from that place.

the end

[whitehotharlots]

No one is gonna “gaslight” you about the pandemic. They don’t need to

I took a break from my daylong panic attack to read through a piece that I saw dozens of people sharing on social media. If you’re in the mood to take a glimpse into the abyss of hopelessness, give it a read. 

This is one of the dumbest things I have ever read, but it’s instructive in the sense that it shows us just how absolutely liberalism is not prepared to handle the current moment. If this is the intellectual vanguard of the #Resistance (and judging by those who have shared it, it seems to be), then we should begin mentally preparing ourselves not just for Trump’s reelection but for the very real possibility that he’s just going to be president forever. 

The piece is called “Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting,” so right away you know where it’s coming from. “Gaslighting,” has recently surpassed “mansplaining” as the liberal buzzterm that’s become the most meaningless due to overuse. It used to refer specifically to emotional manipulation. Now it basically means “anything that a liberal doesn’t like.” Liberals read a neurotic amount of importance into petty matters of taste and interpersonal relations. They begin, at times, to understand social problems in a structural sense, but they always--always--turn their analysis back to meaningless bullshit that takes place on an individual level. The liberal would never be so gauche as to indict an entire system, no matter how at fault it may obviously be. Instead, he will place blame upon the individuals within the system, those selfish and savage brutes who betrayed the magnanimous intentions of society’s elite engineers. 

This author’s analysis is unsurprisingly very muddy. He mentions, correctly, that there is an eerie serenity to scenes of American cityscapes already being reclaimed by nature. He cannot, however, decide whether or not this is a good thing. This is because of the liberal’s fundamental ambivalence toward malignant social structures. Their ethos is founded on pretending to sympathize with society’s misbegotten, but their status and jobs and personal standing demand that they also apologize profusely for the institutions that reap so much misery upon us. This neurosis is somewhat politically viable only because it usually goes unspoken--and that’s why this piece is worth digging into, since it’s so rare to see them attempt to actually articulate this shit.

The author realizes that our society is deeply poisoned. In a twist, he says that such a sad state is not due to any of the litany of usual, intersectional reasons, but because of the pace at which our social lives are conducted. I am dead serious:

The cat is out of the bag. We, as a nation, have deeply disturbing problems. You’re right. That’s not news. They are problems we ignore every day, not because we’re terrible people or because we don’t care about fixing them, but because we don’t have time. Sorry, we have other shit to do. The plain truth is that no matter our ethnicity, religion, gender, political party (the list goes on), nor even our socioeconomic status, as Americans we share this: We are busy. We’re out and about hustling to make our own lives work. We have goals to meet and meetings to attend and mortgages to pay — all while the phone is ringing and the laptop is pinging.

The problem is, see, that we’re thinking about stuff wrong. Not that the ruling elite are openly corrupt or anything. Oh no. I mean, they must be since they’re about to gaslight us, but also they’re not, they’re basically okay:

The greatest misconception among us, which causes deep and painful social and political tension every day in this country, is that we somehow don’t care about each other. White people don’t care about the problems of black America. Men don’t care about women’s rights. Cops don’t care about the communities they serve. Humans don’t care about the environment. These couldn’t be further from the truth. We do care. We just don’t have the time to do anything about it. Maybe that’s just me. But maybe it’s you, too.

Again, he’s coming to the precipice of a worthwhile realization--that we all know society is unsustainable but we can’t do anything about it--but he has to pull back so as to avoid implicating any of the people who actually wield power. That’s the main thrust of contemporary liberalism: sure, society may be fucked, but that’s your fault, not ours.

The ending is a tour de force of empty liberal platitudes that is breathtaking in its ability to place blame upon anyone and anything aside from the people and things that are actually to blame:

From one citizen to another, I beg of you: take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to get rid of the bullshit and to only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud. [ … ]

We can do that on a personal scale in our homes, in how we choose to spend our family time on nights and weekends, what we watch, what we listen to, what we eat, and what we choose to spend our dollars on and where. We can do it locally in our communities, in what organizations we support, what truths we tell, and what events we attend. And we can do it nationally in our government, in which leaders we vote in and to whom we give power. If we want cleaner air, we can make it happen. If we want to protect our doctors and nurses from the next virus — and protect all Americans — we can make it happen. If we want our neighbors and friends to earn a dignified income, we can make that happen. If we want millions of kids to be able to eat if suddenly their school is closed, we can make that happen. And, yes, if we just want to live a simpler life, we can make that happen, too. But only if we resist the massive gaslighting that is about to come. It’s on its way. Look out.

Just… dear god. Dear god. 

We are not facing a crisis of conscientiousness. We are not suffering through mass existential dread because we weren’t mindful enough or didn’t make the right consumer choices or didn’t, like, live in the moment, man. We are staring down the absolute end stage of global capitalism and the complete abandonment of all the pretenses associated with liberal democracy. We are at the start of a very different and much worse stage of existence.

This is why the piece’s central conceit, gaslighting, is so fucking annoying. Because if we’ve learned nothing else from the past 12 years (and apparently we haven’t), it’s that the ruling elite do not need to bother establishing pretense any longer. No one thought the recent Corona bailout was anything other than an upward transfer of wealth and a complete abandonment of the wretched--no one even bothered to argue otherwise, because they knew they didn’t need to. At least a half dozen US senators received advance notice of the pandemic’s severity, and instead of warning people or otherwise working to help their constituents, they sold off stock and kept mum. None of them have received any formal censure, as their behavior was absolutely within the realm of what is acceptable in 2020. Andrew Cuomo, the man presently being lauded as the firm and competent opposite of Trump, used the pandemic as a pretense to push through cuts to social services and renege on bail reform that was past just weeks ago--undoing the last vestiges of progressivism both old and new. Even bleaker: an EU member state is now being ruled by dictatorial fiat under the pretense of the virus, and everyone’s just kind of rolling with it. I mean, really, what’s gonna happen? Brussels gonna step in? NATO gonna invade? Pfft… Not for such a trifling matter as the abandonment of democracy. If they missed a debt payment, on the other hand…

The point is, you’re not going to get gaslit because there’s no need for that any longer. The people who are profiting off of the collapse and destruction of society don’t even have to bother to lie about it. And the only ones doing any gaslighting are the smug liberal twerps who are too scared of upsetting their boss to allow anyone to point out this fact.

[trekkie-in-space]

With my brilliant friend @firechildslytherin5​ we brainstormed what was the connection between Martin, Gil and Endicott. What do they all have that Jessica like and is attracted to. And I think we come up with satisfying answers that could interest some of you.

Simply put : What is the type of guy Jessica is attracted to ? (skip to the end to just have the conclusion if you’re tired of reading the explanation)

Jessica is rich, her family is rich, her family was/is royalty around, she has power and is from a high class.

Martin originally comes from a lower class, he didn’t have as much money as his wife, and despite being a famous, extremely competent surgeon he didn’t make more money than his wife. And you can think, how come they became something in the first place ?

I think before she was married, Jessica must have had a lot of men turning around her, wanting to make her their wife. And I think one of the reasons she chose Martin, that she loved him is that, despite coming from a lower class, he was not afraid of her, of her power, of her money, or to compete with men that had more money/power/fame (at the time)/or that came from the same social status. He treated her as an equal. He probably took risk to seduce her too. And he was a promising surgeon with a brilliant career ahead of him, he was confident and not afraid to impose himself, not to stay in her shadow and make a name for himself and their family.

Letting Jessica express a more passive part of her personality, which don’t take me wrong, she is a strong woman that knows what she wants, she is not afraid to take command, but I think she loves to have someone do that for her too. I think she likes being taken care of in a certain way (I will develop more on that later).

Gil is very similar to Martin in a certain way. He is from a lower class, but when you see him with the Whitly or Jessica, he never looks like he doesn’t belong, even at the start when he first met the surgeon and arrested him. If he was impressed by the house and the wealth the Whilty had, he never shows it, keeping his calm, reserved but confident temperament, which he keeps nearly all of the time.

He doesn’t have the amount of money/power she has, nor come from the same world, but he doesn’t show any sign of inferiority to that which resonate with Martin being confident too. He made, just like Martin, a name of himself in police force, getting in a position of force and power (outside of police being already a position of force and power by nature). And he, from the start, took the role of a protector or helper. He helped the Whitly, he helped Malcolm, he has been and is there for them.

And more importantly, he had been there when they were at their lowest. When near all of Jessica acquaintance turned their back on her, judging her for what Martin had done. Gil didn’t judge, didn’t blame, he listened, understood and mostly didn’t care about what people said (because people might have found weird he gets closer to the Whitly, at the time they were just ‘the family of a serial killer’).

He took that position of protector/helper allowing her to fall back on a more natural way of functioning for her, being cared of (to some degree). And same as Martin, he treated her as an equal, not lower because she married a serial killer and didn’t see anything til it was revealed, nor superior because she is wealthy. He is not shadowed by her in any way, and don’t hesitate to impose himself if need be.

Endicott on his side is way simpler, and a bit different from Martin and Gil. First he is a bourgeois too, he has money, he has power and no reason to be afraid/impressed by Jessica wealth. They have the same ground of code too. But the most important thing is that he doesn’t care about what other people think.

He didn’t turn his back on Jessica, he is one of the few to still invite her and to probably have still invited her despite the reputation she has now because of Martin’s serial killer career. In a world where the image and reputation is important, he decided to do what very few people did, not to judge Jessica on her ex-husband action.

But it’s not just inviting her, it’s rescuing her from a rude guest that enjoy having their little superior kick talking about Martin past. And he was rightfully rude to his other guest to help out Jessica. Serving everything Jessica loves and is definitely attracted to, dominance, confidence, no shit given for what other think, help/protection. He is still one of the few that care about her and is not afraid to invite her on more casual/intimate moments, giving her the attention she lack since her ex-husband got arrested.

But same as the other, he treats her as an equal, she is not a pretty girl you order to ‘shut up and be pretty’ and he doesn’t treat her like one, he is not afraid of leaving her room to express herself, he doesn’t feel shadowed by her and doesn’t put what she says in question, or belittle her in any way.

I know I’m missing some detail in those three profiles, but you get the picture overall.

In conclusion : Jessica is attracted by men who are confident, who doesn’t care about what other think, that have some power position (surgeon/police/director), who have a nature of helping other (being a doctor for Martin, being Policeman for Gil + Helping their family and mostly Malcolm, Raising money/helping cause for Endicott (and we all know how Jessica love to raise money for stuff to help), who have somewhat a dominant attitude, but a controlled one, they all act as equal around her and doesn’t let her power shadow them, nor belittle her in anyway (mostly for Gil and Endicott considering her ex-husband). They all allow her to express a more sensible and ‘fragile’ part of her personality and nature. They all care about her and are willing to help/understand/listen/help her (mostly for Gil and Endicott) in anyway she needs.

I guess that’s the profile I would dress on the type of men she is attracted to.

+ Bonus on why Gil/Jessica is still not done

In the last episode (S01E18) we all seen a jealous Gil and almost embarrassed Jessica, as if she had ‘cheats’ even though they don’t have any romantic relationship going on. We all, more or less, seen they’ve been turning around each other from some time now, but nothing is done, so technically she wasn’t ‘cheating’.

And Gil knows that and he is jealous because he realizes Jessica might find and start something with someone else/Endicott.

The key difference between Endicott and Gil, is that Gil is still too ‘passive’, he is too calm, not enterprising enough with his relationship with her, he doesn’t lead the dance enough for her and I think that’s why they are still not an item yet. And Gil knows that (after all, jealousy is a problem with your own insecurity) and I think he knows, or at least Endicott might make him realize that he might need to impose himself a bit more if he wants something with Jessica, Things is, it’s not really in his nature, not to this point at least. He will have to go out of his comfort zone a bit.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Abandon All Hope: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,767

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

Ever since you dealt with the last case and the Supernatural convention, you’ve hadn’t had a problem with Amara. No dreams, no vision, and no pounding headaches. Come to think of it, you haven’t really had a problem with her before that case either. It was like she wanted to give you a break until that case. But, why? Why wait until that case? Was it because you were in the presence of a prophet and he could tell you more about her? If so, why didn’t she act up when you met him before? All of this was very confusing, but since there wasn’t any guidebook on mental torture by a person who may or may not be real, all you could do was keep on living.

To do that, you made sure to put all of your focus on the piece of information that Sam gave after that last case. Apparently, Becky had told him that a demon named Crowley had the Colt when Bela stole it and said she gave it to Lilith. Now that you finally have a solid lead in what feels like years, you were able to use Castiel to find Crowley. Right now, the angel is tailing the demon while you and the brothers were chilling by a lake and taking a break from driving.

“The demon Crowley is making a deal; even as we speak, it's—going—down,” Castiel said over speakerphone.

“Going down? Right. Okay, Huggy Bear, just don't lose him,” Dean ordered.

“I won’t lose him,” the angel promised.

“Call us back when you have something,” you suggested, hanging up the phone.

“How are you doing?” Dean asked, bringing you into his arms.

Sam leaned on the trunk of the car, watching you and Dean converse.

“I’m okay, really. It’s like, ever since I got a good night’s sleep, I haven’t seen her. No visions, headaches, or anything. It’s like she disappeared.”

“That’s good, right?” Sam asked.

“I’m not so sure it is. I mean, why show up at all? Why that case? Why leave so suddenly? Is she trying to tell me something? Half of me wants to figure out where she is and release her so I can get some answers.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I mean, if she is real, she’s locked up for a reason, right?” Dean shrugged.

“Exactly. You two have Michael and Lucifer, and yeah, Lucifer was locked up, but no one really knows who Amara is. She must have been locked up for a very long time which means she must have done something really bad to get her there. I’m her vessel, which means I’m in trouble.”

“That’s unsettling,” Sam muttered just as Dean’s phone rang.

Dean picked it up, and judging by the caller ID, he put it on speakerphone before he could say anything.

“What do you got?”

“I followed him. It's not far, but—it's layered in Enochian warding magic. I can’t get in.”

“You did great, Castiel. We can take it from here,” you praised.

“We’re going to need some help,” Sam said, taking out his own phone and dialing.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you muttered to yourself as you walked up the paved driveway to Crowley’s mansion.

The short dress you were wearing was bunching up, and you pulled it down for the third time. Dresses were not part of your attire, but it needed to be done if you wanted to get inside the gate.

“We could have sent in Jo,” Dean spoke through the earpiece in your ear.

“No. I can handle myself more than she can. I trust her, but if Crowley is in here then his guard dogs will be tougher than anything she’s faced.”

“On the plus side, you look hot.”

“Keep it in your pants, Winchester,” you smirked, approaching the golden gate.

There was an intercom on the side, and you pressed it before speaking.

“Hello? Anyone there? My car broke down. I—I need some help.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” the person on the other end said.

Taking a deep breath, you adjusted your dress once more before seeing two men approach. Everything about them screamed ‘demon’ from the evil look in their eyes to the clothes they were wearing, and oh yeah, the black glow around their bodies. They opened the gate, and they both smiled once they noticed your attire.

“Evening, pretty lady. Get yourself on in here.”

“I just need to make a call,” you smiled.

“You don't need to call anyone, baby,” the first man said, glancing at his partner. “We're the only help you're ever gonna need.”

“You know what? I think I should wait by my car,” you chuckled, turning away to leave.

One of them places their hands on your shoulder just as his eyes go pitch black.

“We said, get your ass in here.”

“On second thoughts, I might,” you grinned, looking at them from over your shoulder.

Your eyes were bright blue as magic started to swirl around your hands. Placing your glowing hand on top of the demon’s, you twisted it behind his body, and shot a ball of magic at the other demon which brought him to his knees. Sam and Dean came rushing up to the demons from behind with Ruby’s knife and guns. The guns weren’t going to do much, but it would slow them down if needed. Sam stabbed the demon you were holding in the neck before killing the other one.

“I always found it attractive when a woman fights in a dress,” Dean smirked.

“Yeah? Well, we’re not done yet,” you commented, walking towards the house.

In order to make Crowley somewhat afraid of your presence, you had to cut the power to the house which was done by the wire cutters that Dean brought. Sneaking into the house was a piece of cake, and finding Crowley was child’s play.

“It's Crowley, right?” Sam asked.

All demons had a black glow around them, but Crowley’s was more red. It had a red tint which you didn’t understand why, but you ran with it.

“So, the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew finally found me. Took you long enough,” the demon scoffed.

Sam was holding the knife, Dean a shot gun, and your hands were blue in case you needed your magic. Crowley approaches slowly, but stopped when he saw the rug he was going to step on was rumpled. He knelt down and looked underneath it only to see a devil’s trap that Jo had put there before Crowley had a chance to get home.

“Do you have any idea how much this rug cost?” he sighed.

Strong men pounced on all three of you from behind, and your eyes turned blue as you tried fighting off the demon. Sam and Dean lost their weapons, but luckily for you, your weapon couldn’t be disarmed.

“Now, now, don’t be difficult, love,” Crowley pointed at you. He reached into his coat pocket and produced the Colt, the gun you had been looking for this entire time. “This is it, right? This is what it's all about.” Crowley smirked and aimed it at Dean, and your eyes widened in fear.

“Don’t you dare! I’ll kill you!” you threatened.

The only thing the demon did was smirk and adjusted his aim to the demons behind you three. He shot and killed all three demons before lowering the weapon.

“We need to talk. Privately,” he cleared his throat, taking the lead into another room that looked like a study.

“What the hell?” you asked, taking Dean’s hand as you walked into the other room.

“Do you know how deep I could have buried this thing?” Crowley asked, waving his hand to close the doors behind you. “There's no reason you or anyone should know this even exists, except that I told you.”

“You told us?” Sam asked.

“Rumors, innuendo, sent out on the grapevine.”

“Why? Why tell us anything?” you asked.

Crowley lifted the gun and pointed it at Dean once more, and your hand tightened on his.

“I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face.”

“Uh-huh, okay, and why exactly would you want the devil dead?” Dean asked.

“It's called,” Crowley puts the gun down, “survival. Well, I forgot you three at best are functioning morons.”

“You're functioning... morons...” Dean frowned.

“Lucifer isn't a demon, remember? He's an angel. An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you're just filthy bags of pus. If that's the way he feels about you, what can he think about us?”

“But he created you.”

“To him, we're just servants. Cannon fodder. If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind, we're next. So, help me, huh? Let's all go back to simpler, better times, back to when we could all follow our natures. I'm in sales, dammit! So, what do you say if I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?” Crowley asked, holding the Colt out handle first. The three of you exchanged glances, not sure if trusting him was a good idea. However, when Crowley wiggled the gun impatiently, Sam hesitantly took it.

“Great,” Sam nodded. “You wouldn't happen to know where the devil is, by chance, would you?”

“Thursday, birdies tell me, there's an appointment in Carthage, Missouri.”

“Great,” Sam whispered.

Dean nodded only once when he looked at his brother, and Sam pointed the gun between Crowley’s eyes and pulled the trigger. However, nothing happened.

“Oh, yeah, right, you'll probably need some more ammunition,” Crowley nodded, going into his desk and producing a box of bullets.

“Oh, uh, excuse me for asking, but aren't you kind of signing your own death warrant? I mean, what happens to you if we go up against the devil and lose?” Dean asked.

“Number one, he's going to wipe us all out anyway. Two, after you leave here, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere. And three, how about you don't miss, okay! Morons!” Crowley yelled, throwing the box of bullets at Dean who barely caught it.

The next time you looked up at the demon, he was out of sight.

“As much as I hate what’s going on, I kind of have to say that he’s the best demon we’ve ever faced. Seems like he doesn’t take shit from anyone,” you chuckled, looking at the gun that caused you a lot of trouble.

It seems like just yesterday you were going to go get it with John.

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