I need to think out loud - feel free to ignore

That last post really makes me appreciate fans like you and other series positive spaces. There is a fandom I am in (for a manga) where for a while it very much became anti-led when a new generation of fans joined, trying police fans and say who we older fans should hold empathy for or who to hate. They completely missed the point of its story saying of not everyone is going to agree on how forgiveness is given. Very much feels like 2po is trying to pull that with those of us trusting the show.

That's exactly what he's doing. Like we've been saying, he's literally trying to manipulate a universe where the people who enjoy the show, the people the show was written for, are bad fans; and that the hate watchers, the people who discredit all the work crew members are actively posting about and asking us to acknowledge, people who bad faith the creatives, are somehow "good fans."

I've seen it happen before, as you described. Hell, it happened in SPN, which is WHY this truth is so buried. If fandom is interested, and really cares, it can go back and unpack YEARS of manipulations people like 2po have done against the creatives.

For example, inspiring people to bad faith bobo's efforts by insisting he had no intent. 2po was all over that, and denying the confession was already written until the production scripts dropped. At this point, Bobo's intent was actually very well known to anyone that like. Spoke. To him. Or like. Paid marginal amounts of attention. Or weren't so untrustworthy they just got his smug gay elf grin.

Season 12, market testing. Pushing back against the corporate blockade 2po also, at the time, claimed didn't exist. Now, of course, per convenience, he's pretending that hurdle exists, and thinks he can spin people's anxieties that way, when the new corporate structure actually liberates the content, not the other way around. But NOW, NOW!!! there's corporate interference. Nevermind his 5K failboat of denial, and us finding out the finale didn't even square its music licensing till the final week it was falling apart so bad.

What about Robbie calling Destiel canon in season 10? Carver passing a note on Bobo's first ep to play it romantic? These things were all screeched over for years to help inspire bad faith against the authors. They had footing in the previous institutions.

It's why, though, jared stans are so mad he isn't involved. Some even invested millions in his company to try to influence things and it's like, well, hope you enjoy the pennies back because on a fandom investment, what a waste.

In early years, efforts from authors were independent. Carver's writing room was very competitive. Robbie used to be one of the lone gay warriors with Edlund occasionally dropping a nice bomb. It wasn't until Dabb era the room became collaborative (barring singerbuckleming) and everyone worked towards a goal. But Robbie's been pulling that line the whole time, and Bobo when he tapped in (and played baton pass with Robbie S9-11), and yeah, Bobo trained the new kids and they worked as a pack.

And for *years* this fandom was monkey trained by antis to scream at them and tear them apart and call it queerbait while they were fighting their asses off and jousting with market testing issues, genre issues, and other property label issues (not to mention effects of the Chad Kennedy S9 incident.)

So now, people are kind of having to face that they abused the fuck out of authors for years that were on their side, and some people really don't want to face that. These are the kind of people and hatedom antis like 2po nestle in with and try to toxify fandoms with.

And neither I, nor Jensen, nor Robbie are letting it happen. On a fandom front, I'm not. On a property front, Jensen's not, hence banning certain content types from markets and distancing the J2 affiliation (check CE listing shifts over the last half year and the open access to autos). And on the fine footnotes of the canon's text pinning them down like a bug being studied, Robbie's not either. Cuz again, they only got a few episodes left to stunt.

But do. Not. Let. Them. Poison. This. Fandom. This is a new show, it's not even for them, and they don't get to fuck it up on entitlement to persist like angry spirits. The plot is literally Unpack Your Shit And Face The Truth Or Fuck Off To The Void.

No clue what to call this one...

It’s PunkRock!Michael and Emo!Alex AU that pretty much no one asked for. That being said, it’s for @litwitlady per our previous conversation about the subtle difference with punk and emo kids.  As a warning, it fluff n smut.

              The ground vibrated under Alex Manes bright red converse and he wondered if he’d be able to hear anything once this night was over. He’d found the furthest wall and decided to hold it up for the evening as he waited for Maria to get done with her one-woman-mission to fuck SOMEONE in this derelict house that operated as a “music venue”. All the rooms were lit with harsh yellow lighting, bereft of all but the most untrustworthy looking furniture, and there were dents and holes in walls all over the place. Alex was a little afraid the second floor would cave in at some point and he’d have to find out that people actually lived here.

Looking back up towards the corner of what was once considered the dining room of the house, he was happy to see that he couldn’t see Maria anymore. Maybe she’d gotten lucky faster than he’d figured she would and soon they’d be able to get out of here. But that might still take a while, so Alex slid down the wall and took out the book he’d been reading about the perks of being a wallflower. He noted someone coming to stand next to him in this periphery but didn’t look up. He didn’t want to engage anyone here and the bouncing of their leg by his shoulder made him sure they weren’t looking to engage him either since they seemed to be enjoying the band.

               When the band finally wound down, the figure that had been standing next to him practically fell onto the floor in a heap of legs and elbows. He turned to look and saw it was Michael Guerin, probably the most serious, mysterious, hard core punk kid at his school. His blonde curly hair had been streaked with green and slicked back from his face. He didn’t wear any make-up like some of the punk kids did or Alex himself for that matter. He had on a D.A.R.E. shirt with the sides and sleeves ripped off which showed off his lithe, strong body when he slumped forward. The shirt was tucked into tight black jeans with safety pinned holes up and down the legs. He wore the rattiest shit-kicker boots Alex had ever seen which were covered with patches, pins, and spikes. He’d left his spiked bracelets and collar that he’d worn at school at home for the evening and Alex felt like he was almost seeing him naked. Which wasn’t unwelcome because for all Michael Guerin’s faults, being unattractive was not among them.

              “Having fun?” Michael asked, looking over at him in between nodding and slapping hands with various people milling around in the crowd. The band was breaking down their gear and everyone was moving to other parts of the house or out into the yard between acts. Alex pursed his lips at him and went back to his book. He was sure he was just fucking with him. Michael Guerin didn’t make small talk. He mostly just stalked the halls and kept his head down in classes. Alex couldn’t look at him without rolling his eyes sometimes, he was such a cliché.

              “I, uh, don’t think I’ve seen you at many of these. Thought you liked fuckin’ Panic! At the Disco and shit…” he continued, sneaking looks over at Alex. Alex sighed through his nose loudly. Apparently, they were going to do this tonight.

              “I’m here with Maria,” Alex finally responded, still not looking up from the book he was frankly only pretending to read at this point.

              “Oh? I saw her leave with one of the guitarists from the first band. Was she your ride?” Michael asked, sounding nervous. Alex did look at him then, trying to see if he was just fucking with him or if he was being sincere. When he decided he couldn’t tell, he dug his phone out of his back pocket and saw a missed call and a text from Maria.

>Found something strange and hopefully wonderful. Won’t be back tonight.

              “God fucking damnit, Maria,” Alex exclaimed, almost throwing his phone in frustration.

              “So I guess that’s a yes?” Michael asked a little sheepishly.

              “This is why you never see me at these things. I don’t have a fucking car and my ride likes to fuck strangers and ends up deserting me. I fucking know better. Ugh, fucking Maria,” he raged. Michael watched him at it for a while. Meanwhile the other band had finished setting up and people were starting to filter back into the room. Alex looked around at the people and groaned, just wanting to leave and get out of here.

              “Hey, come on. Let’s go outside. It’s about to get loud,” Michael suggested, standing up and offering Alex his hand. Alex absently noted that his fingernails were painted, though the polish was cheap and had already chipped off in several places. At the first screech of feedback from the amps, Alex grabbed his hand and let Michael pull him up. He shoved the paperback into his back pocket and looked Guerin in the eyes, feeling a fluttery feeling in his chest when their eyes met. He was a bit surprised when Michael didn’t immediately drop his hand, but instead held it while leading him through the dingy kitchen and out to the backyard area. A group of smokers hung around the door chatting and they called ‘Hey-o!’ in excitement when they saw Michael. He waved and grinned at them but kept tugging Alex with him until they were past the property line. Apparently, someone had found a couch on the side of the road and had moved it out into the undeveloped desert behind the house to stare out at the dark nothing beyond. When they reached the front of the couch Michael finally let go of his hand and flopped down on the cushions at one end with a sigh.

              “Uh, what are we doing?” Alex asked, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed them. He shuffled a little and stared down at the orange and white plaid couch dubiously.

              “We’re hanging out. Chill, sit down, enjoy the night with me. We’ll still be able to hear the band from here,” he added, patting the spot next to him.

              “Oh, goody,” Alex remarked sarcastically before sitting himself down on the cushion farthest from Michael’s. He still didn’t quite trust his intentions, but he was glad to be out of the house. They could, in fact, here the band still, but the lyrics were muffled and it almost sounded like the songs had a melody this far out.

              “So, what’s up with the finger bruises on your arm?” Michael asked, pointing towards where Alex’s shirt sleeves had ridden up when he’d finally sat down. “Girlfriend like to get a little rough?”

              “Uhh…. That would be pretty remarkable since I’m totally gay and you know it. Like, everyone knows it,” Alex accused, deflecting his question about the bruises. He didn’t want to talk about his problems with strangers. As hot as this guy was, he was still a stranger. Michael smiled widely at him.

              “I didn’t know if that was a rumor or what, man,” he replied easily, seeming to take Alex’s correction in stride. For some reason that threw Alex off. He’d been waiting for an attack.

              “Oh,” Alex said, feeling a little deflated, “Well, it’s not. I’m gay. Does that make you want to run back to the party? Afraid someone will see you out here with the emo faggot?”

              Michael’s smile fell and he looked a little insulted. Alex almost apologized, but he didn’t owe this punk anything and he kind of wanted to see how he reacted to some pushing. His tone was less congenial when he finally answered.

              “I don’t give a fuck who you’re into. Love is love. What I do want to know is who the fuck keeps bruising you up all the time? Those aren’t love taps I saw on your ribs the other day in the locker room and you don’t skate or play sports. Who’s fucking you up?”

              He sounded mad, indignant on behalf of a stranger. On behalf of Alex, who was not used anyone giving a shit about him. It was a new feeling for Alex to have someone pay that much attention to him and care that he was being hurt. But he couldn’t just say ‘My dad knocks me around because I crave cock and hate the military’ so he kept his mouth shut and Michael watched him stay silent, watched him tense up with his shoulders closer to his ears and wrap his arms around his body. He obviously wasn’t going to say anything so Michael tried a different tactic.

              “The foster family I’m with right now… they’re alright. But the family I was with before them? Fucking meth heads. And meth heads get mean when they’re coming down,” Michael said, turning and pulling his shirt over his head to show Alex his back. There were long thin grooves over the middle of his back and little round scars like burns. “Not all that is the meth heads. The long scars were from the religious zealots I got put with a couple years ago. Being exorcised isn’t fun, but the lead up was worse.”

              Alex stared at the skin in horrified fascination, moving closer to see them better in the faint light of the moon. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out to trace along one of the scars with his fingers, but at the last minute came to his senses and brought his hand back.

              “That’s awful, Michael,” Alex whispered. Michael pulled his shirt back down and turned to him, a bittersweet smile on his face.

              “Well, it’s all healed over now. Right now, no ones hurting me. So, who’s hurting you? Are you getting bullied? I know that Valenti kid is a fucking homophobic piece of shit jock bully, but if he’s literally beating you up I will get my boys and we’ll tear his ass in two,” Michael threatened with passion. Alex looked at him, feeling his face soften at how serious Michael was.

              “You can’t defend me like that. Kyle’s a fucking jerk, but he’s not doing this. It’s..uh… It’s my dad. He’s the one hitting me,” Alex admitted quietly. Somewhere in the middle of his confession, he had started to find his own hands fascinating. So fascinating he couldn’t look up to see Michael’s expression over his confession, but instead just kept watching the way his skin pulled taut when he interlaced them and twisted one way or the other. One of Michael’s hands came into his view then and covered his own, stopping their anxious twisting. Alex froze and waited.  He didn’t know what reaction he was hoping for but he felt himself bracing for it.

              “Do you have somewhere to go to get away from him?” Michael asked, his voice now quiet next to Alex’s ear. The hand not on Alex’s came to rest between his shoulder blades, thumb rubbing soothing circles through the cotton of his shirt. Alex felt his body relax a fraction, slumping a little as he realized he wasn’t about to be attacked.

              “Yeah, yeah. I have friends who will let me stay with them,” Alex managed to get out through the thickness in his throat.

              “Add me to that list,” Michael said. Alex’s head jerked up to look at him and he realized he was only a couple breaths away from him. “I’m serious. Add me to the list of people you can call if you need an out. I’ve got a truck, I’ll come get you. No questions asked, nothing owed.”

              “You don’t know me, Guerin,” Alex said in the stillness between them. He couldn’t stop his gaze from moving from his perfect hazel eyes down to his lips. He suddenly knew he wanted to kiss this guy. Whatever happened after was fine, but he wanted to do something reckless. Michael was pushing a long piece of hair back behind Alex’s ear and looking at him fondly and it made Alex’s gut clench with want.

              “Sometimes people do nice things without an expectations. It’s been known to happen,” he replied. Alex nodded and swallowed, suddenly filled with nerves again, though for a very different reason than before.

He saw Michael watching him, watching the way his eyes kept darting down to look at his lips, watching the way he mirrored licking them with his own. Slowly Michael leaned forward, closing the distance between them and pressed his lips against Alex’s. Alex was cupping his jaw and keeping him close before Michael could back away and end the kiss. Alex opened his lips, his tongue lickeding over Michael’s in a request and a question. This wasn’t Alex’s first kiss, but it was the first one he was adamant about pursuing further. Michael hummed deep in his throat and opened to Alex’s advances, letting him explore his mouth with his tongue before doing the same with his own. Alex felt breathless and elated. He didn’t care that the music in the background was hardcore punk being played so badly Syd Vicious would be rolling over in his grave. He didn’t care that he was kissing Michael on a dirty, half rotten couch out in the desert where anyone could see them and tell his father what he’d been doing with another boy. He didn’t care that Maria had left him to fend for himself so she could chase boys. This half-crazed make out session with Michael Guerin was making it the best night of his life so far.

              Maybe it was the lack of oxygen or the adrenaline of being seen by someone he’d never admitted to himself that he’d always been hyperaware of, but Alex couldn’t stop his hands from falling from Michael’s jaw and starting to grope at the skin exposed by the open sides of Michael’s shirt. In response, Michael turned his body and started to pull Alex until he was sitting straddled across his lap. Then it was Michael’s turn to slip his hands under the hem of Alex’s shirt and let his hands slide over the muscles of his back and waist. When it became too much, Alex finally broke their never-ending kiss to gasp air into his lungs. Michael didn’t miss a beat, his mouth attaching itself to Alex’s neck with sucking, stinging kisses that made Alex want to go crazy.

              “Fuck,” Alex groaned when he felt Michael’s fingers start to slip past the waist band of his jeans. It was so hot to feel him against his skin. It was too much, though, just too much with someone he’d really just been introduced to. “Wait, wait, wait! We gotta slow down…”

              Michael groaned and buried his head against Alex’s shoulder, hands immediately coming out from under his shirt and wrapping him up in a hug. Alex slowly withdrew his own hands, resting them on Michael’s shoulders while they both calmed down and regained their breath.

              “Sorry,” Michael murmured against his shirt before lifting his head and giving him a quick, close-mouthed kiss. “Sorry.”

              Alex smiled and laughed a little, rubbing his hands up and down Michael’s upper arms while he gathered himself. He was nervous about having stopped them, but he was still so fucking happy about what had happened.

              “It’s okay. All of that was okay, I just… Where did this come from? You don’t even know me, you’ve never talked to me at school or even, like, acknowledged my presence…” Alex said, eyes flickering over Michael’s face. He saw the way his expression went soft and slightly incredulous.

              “I may not know your favorite color, but I’ve wanted to kiss your emo eyeliner wearing ass since my first day at Roswell High. You’re always being so snarky and bratty to everyone and then when you’re with your friends? Your smile lights up the place and it’s so rare to see, but so fucking beautiful. It’s just… man, fuck school. Fuck those people. Fuck the kids, fuck the adults, fuck the institution. They’re answering just enough of the questions to keep us from asking more. It’s a fucking joke. I’m not in the right headspace at school. You’re about the only good thing about showing up every day. Just seeing you makes me hate humanity a little less.”

              Alex felt the heat of a blush infusing his face, but he also couldn’t stop smiling. This guy. This fucking guy.

              “Your,uh… your smile is pretty great too. I think tonight’s the first time I’ve even ever seen you smile,” Alex commented, his arms wrapping comfortably around Michael’s neck. Michael’s lips widened into a cheesy approximation of a smile that really just showed all his teeth with his lips pulled back while he crossed his eyes.

              “Oh my God, staaahhhp,” Alex said laughing at the stupid face. When Michael let his features relax back to normal, Alex darted in and kissed him. He meant for it to be one kiss, but it quickly turned into more as the heat which had been banked earlier, now came back to life with more energy.

              “Can we lay down? My legs are going to sleep,” Michael mumbled between kisses against Alex’s lips. Alex jumped and was about to scramble back and off his legs when he felt Michael’s hands under his butt and then he was being tilted backwards until his back rested against the cushions.

              “I shudder to think what’s on these pillows,” Alex grumbled even as he widened his legs and let Michael sink between them to rest his body against Alex’s. The weight and friction felt amazing. He suddenly didn’t care about the scratchy upholstery where his shirt at ridden up his back. He just wanted Michael’s mouth back on his and to keep feeling his body writhing on top of him.

              “You want to add to the mess?” Michael asked after breaking their kiss, raising an eyebrow and smiling mischievously. Alex looked at him confused for a moment and then his eyes followed Michael’s hand as it slid down to his own jeans, flicking the button open and leaving his hand on the zipper tongue. Alex’s eyes widened and he shot up to meet Michael in a kiss before glancing back down between them. It was so hot. He could tell Michael wasn’t wearing any underwear and his pants were almost painfully tight against his own body. “Alex?”

              “Fuck, yes. So much yes. All the yes. Enthusiastic conset given,” Alex babbled between kisses, his hands sliding down to start undoing his own jeans. Michael’s hand followed his, pushing his away so he could cup Alex through the black cotton of his boxer briefs. Alex felt like he could come just from that. His body was vibrating, breath caught in his throat as he gasped at the feeling of someone else’s hand so close to his own dick. He wanted to reciprocate. He wanted to touch Michael back so with shaky hands, he slowly pulled down Michael’s zipper and pushed aside the fabric of his pants. He felt the velvety skin against the back of his hand and then he pulled it out. Michael was uncircumcised. Alex felt like he knew this somewhere in his hind brain from talk or the locker room showers or something, but it was different when it was something you glanced while trying to hide as much of your own body as possible. Now it was thick and heavy in his hand. The foreskin moved in such a hypnotic way as Alex pulled and then pushed gently until he could see the wet, spongey head of Michael’s cock. It was giving him all sorts of scary, wonderful ideas of things he wanted to do and try that was definitely way too fast for a random hook up on a murder couch.

              “Does it freak you out?” Michael asked, voice a little breathy as he held still and let Alex play with him. Alex shook his head slowly, still watching his own hand as he jacked Michael’s cock, thumb swiping and spreading the precome over the head. Finally, Alex’s brain came back online and he looked up into Michael face. His eyes had closed and his mouth hung slightly slack. He looked like he was in pain, but he was enjoying every second of it. Alex didn’t stop his hand movements as he raised himself up enough to capture Michael’s bottom lip between his own. Immediately Michael responded, returning the kiss hungrily. His hand had stayed over Alex’s underwear, but now he pulled and tugged at the offending garment until he could get it far enough down to sit under Alex’s balls.

              “OOhhhhh my God,” Alex cried out as Michael’s hand finally grasped flesh and he was overwhelmed by the heat of his hand and the roughness of his skin.

              “You alright?” Michael asked, keeping his hand still to make sure Alex was still game. Alex nodded and sank back down against the sofa cushions. Michael was giving him a curious look from where he was holding himself up on one arm. Alex laughed a little and moved his hand to grip the back of Michael’s neck fondly.

              “That feels so much better when someone else is doing it,” Alex admitted a little shyly. Alex was afraid this was going to become a Conversation, but thankfully Michael just smiled softly at him and moved back down onto his forearm so he could kiss Alex while still having enough room between their bodies for their hands. Michael’s hand was a little dry on him, but he didn’t care. It still felt amazing and everytime their knuckles bumped against each other a zing of pleasure rocketed up his spine. He was doing this to someone else. Someone else was touching him. It was a-fucking-mazing. He started to feel a familiar tightness beginning in his core, his body winding itself tighter before it let go. He broke away from Michael’s mouth, panting and making pained little “Ah” sounds against his cheek.

              “Fuck, Michael, I’m about to—I’m going to—” he was trying to get out, even as his vision narrowed and his body became a singular being of exquisite pleasure. He felt Michael’s mouth cover his and then his own hand was wet as well. When it was over they laid there, panting against each other and then Michael tipped sideways to wall onto his side between Alex and the back of the couch.

              “Shit,” Michael said succinctly, cheek against Alex’s shoulder and breath still short. Alex just nodded and looked down at himself. There was come all over his shirt. His come, Michael’s come, marring the black in white, viscous stripes.

              “Shit,” he repeated after Michael, his voice less in awe now that it was time for clean up. Michael looked down at his shirt and honest to god giggled a little. He brought his come covered hand up and wiped it over a clean expanse of Alex’s tee.

              “Hey! I gotta wear this home!” Alex exclaimed, battling Michael’s hand away.

              “No you don’t. Follow me to my truck, I’ll let you borrow a shirt. This one is fucking toast,” Michael snickered. Alex looked down again and had to agree. Soon after, they tucked themselves back up into their jeans and got off the couch. Alex found himself a little wobbly after the high of an orgasm. Michael caught him with a hand on waist and kissed his cheek.

              “You get a little come drunk. Noted for next time.”

              “So there will be a next time?” Alex asked, suddenly finding he was nervous to hear the answer.

              “If you want there to be a next time, then yeah,” Michael said, holding out his hand to take Alex’s. Alex looked at it for a second and then up at Michael’s guileless face. He smiled then and reached his hand out to hold onto Michael’s. They slowly made their way around the outside of the house where the music was still rattling the glass panes left in the windows and out to the street where Michael had parked his truck. Alex stripped off his shirt and handed it off to Michael as Michael pawed through a backpack of clothes he kept under the passenger’s seat. Finally, he passed over a black Misfits shirt. When Alex put it on he noticed it smelled like rain, dust, and sage brush. It wasn’t a bad smell and in fact made him want to bury his nose in the collar to train it to memory. It was how Michael smelled and that wasn’t a bad thing.

              “Want a ride home?” Michael asked a little shyly as he tugged the bottom of his shirt on Alex’s body in some attempt to ‘straighten it’.

              “Sure,” Alex agreed, climbing in the passenger’s seat and buckling in. Michael closed his door for him and ran over to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting up the car. As soon as they were on the road, Alex slid his hand over the seat between them in a silent request for Michael to hold his hand. With a quick smile, Michael did.

It’s ridiculously late where I’m at and I need to sleep, but I feel like if I sleep and not ask this I’ll forget. 😱 But I have an idea a short story if you’d be willing to write it where Leon is giving brat energy to one of the guys (Chris, Dante or Vergil your choice I’m gain for any of them) and it end with smut or almost smut. The brat energy could even be at the wrong time right place etc. This has just been on my mind for a while.

It’s kind of short but it’s Halloweeny and has Leon in a Catwoman costume! I have this headcanon that will forever be one of my go-to’s where Leon is just a dummy when it comes to comics and other nerdy things, so when it comes to Halloween, Chris mentions wanting to do a superhero costume team-up with someone. Chris mentions Captain America or something like that.

Leon, who has a massive crush on Chris and was invited to the party, is like “Catwoman is a thing...and she’s got a nice costume and she’s with one of those hero guys so...I’ll surprise him with that! Maybe that’ll grab his attention!”He’s not very bright in that department, but he’s got the spirit...a shame the costume is riding up his ass and Chris teases him about it. 

Rated T-M for Language and Implied Sexy Times and Mild Nudity. _______________________________________________________ Why Leon decided this would have been a good idea, he didn’t know, but he hoped Redfield liked this...because he probably was never doing this again nor would this costume ever see the light of day after tonight. He had sent Chris ahead to the party, the older man offering to meet Leon at his apartment and drive there together, but Leon had declined the offer. He wanted to surprise the man, but he was having a bit of an issue squeezing into the skintight catsuit. Did he buy the wrong size or was it just the tight leather outfit messing with him? Should he forego the underwear and wear nothing underneath? ‘Cause his boxers felt like they were in the way...but was that really appropriate for the BSAA Halloween Party? Would anyone really care? 

Leon slipped his legs out of the tight material of the pant legs in frustration, throwing the costume back down on the bed before removing his boxers. He did glance at himself in the mirror, noticing that his belly was looking a bit soft due to the drinking and constantly buying take-out. Maybe his New Year’s Resolution would be to cut all that out? 

He scoffed at that and shook his head, “That’s assuming the DSO leaves me alone and the assholes knock it off with the bioterrorism…” 

He really did want to get better...but each year it was getting harder and harder and he was just...so tired. He was getting older and the world didn’t seem like it was getting better any time soon. And he really couldn’t deal with another bright-faced therapist patronizing him about looking at the brighter side of things. Or going to a doctor or psychologist that would prescribe him some bullshit medication from pharmaceutical companies that probably did dealings with the same people who created the viruses. 

But that was most likely his paranoia talking...and maybe he should just swallow his pride and seek help. Not everyone was untrustworthy…

“Jesus Christ, Kennedy…” Leon scolded himself, snatching the costume off of the bed, “Just shut up and put the fucking costume on so we can get drunk at a Halloween Party.” 

Although that was what he told himself, that wasn’t the reason he was going. Chris was there, and Leon may or may not have liked the man as more than just a friend. He had heard from Claire and Sherry that Chris wanted to do a “Superhero Themed” Costume, dressing as Captain America or something. So, Leon got it in his own head that if he dressed up as a superhero himself, maybe a love-interest to the character Chris was dressed as, Chris would notice him and maybe admire him. 

The only problem was; Leon knew jack shit about superheroes.

He didn’t read comic books or any of that, outside of the Batman or Superman Movie that came out once every five years...and had fallen asleep during that one movie with the pilot guy and the warrior princess...maybe Batman was in it? They were fighting some monster. Captain America wasn’t in it...or was he? Wasn’t it all the same? He had Googled it, but none of it made very much sense, so Leon honestly didn’t have a clue. He just went to the Halloween store, saw a costume that looked appealing and like a superhero, it had to have been because the Batman symbol was on it, and bought it. 

Leon gave a breath of relief as the costume fit now that he wasn’t wearing his boxers, the catsuit sliding on with ease. He managed to zip it up to under his collar bone, deciding against zipping it up all the way. He looked over his appearance in the mirror. 

He just hoped he didn’t look too ridiculous.  ______________________________________________________________

The party was pretty loud and Chris was having an okay time. He wasn’t too crazy about the party itself, but he supposed it was better than being out on an assignment and worrying about BOWs. It was a helluva lot better than working on paperwork or watching monitors all night, that was for damned sure. Though, he hated constantly shaking hands with people from the DSO and TerraSave.

He especially hated the selfies and shit, people acting as though he was some damn celebrity. He also hated the girls and even some guys as they shamelessly flirted with him and swooned over him “How Handsome” or “How Fitting” he was in his costume. It made him uncomfortable and had him looking out for Jill or Claire. Hell, even Parker or Sherry would have been better company. 

He wasn’t one for costumes and Halloween, but Claire had told him to stop being a brat and just pick something simple. Or something that he loved. Zombie costumes were banned, so he couldn’t just splatter paint on his uniform and call it a day, so he picked the Captain America costume instead. Captain America was one of his favorite superheroes growing up and the outfit was sort of like wearing his own uniform. 

That and the big ass shield that came with it came in handy when it came to grabby people.

He sighed as he listened to one of the agents from the DSO drone on and on about Wesker and other things Chris really didn’t feel like talking about, looking around at the party goers. To his surprise, or maybe not surprise, he hadn’t seen the Golden Boy of the DSO yet. It wasn’t officially Halloween, so Leon wouldn’t have been at the Presidential Trick or Treat thing they did in DC every year. And he knew Leon was coming because the agent texted him to decline the offer to ride together, saying that he would meet him here instead.

The tapping on his shoulder made him nearly hit the person with his shield in fright, but the person blocked the hit before it could land. He saw black gloves tipped with silver claws on the edges of the shield, leading up to black sleeves and a black cowl tipped with cat ears, goggles covering the person’s eyes. 

“Whoa, Big Guy!” The person chuckled, pulling up the goggles so they could sit on his head, “Easy there. Almost took my head off.” 

Chris’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the sound of the person’s voice, “Leon?!”

Leon S. Kennedy stood before him in a skintight black catsuit with a whip wrapped around his shoulder, a utility belt with a silver cat head as a buckle, black knee high boots, and even had the cowl with the cat ears AND a cat choker..and was he wearing eyeliner? The suit was unzipped slightly, his collarbones exposed. The gloves had silver claws on the fingertips, which were now drumming on the plastic shield.

Leon chuckled, “The one and only. I heard you needed a partner for your superhero costume, so...here I am.” 

Chris gave the agent a once over before giving a little chuckle, “So...you’re Catwoman?”

Leon frowned at that, “Yeah...do I look weird? Too much?” He looked down at himself, looking over his costume.

“No, no, it’s not that!” Chris insisted, “You look great! It’s just, uh, Catwoman isn’t Marvel.”

Leon raised a brow, “...huh? What the hell is Marvel?”

Chris chuckled, “It’s a comic book company that makes characters like Cap, Iron Man, Spider-Man, all of those. But Catwoman is actually Batman’s girl over at DC Comics.”

Leon wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brows, “What’s the difference?” 

Chris offered him an arm, which Leon accepted, “Well...there’s a lot of differences…” 

Chris continued on, the agent he had previously been stuck talking to not even noticing that Chris had left. Leon listened to the best of his ability, not really understanding what the hell Chris was talking about, but it was Chris, so he listened regardless. He did pick at the wedgie he was getting from the ridiculously tight outfit every time it rode up his ass.

“So, Batman isn’t an Avenger?” Leon asked as they picked up punch at the punch bowl, Chris grabbing a plate of snacks while Leon held their drinks, “That’s stupid.”

“How?” Chris asked, “He’s a member of the Justice League so he doesn’t need to be an Avenger.” 

“Now, what the fuck is the Justice League?” Leon asked, making Chris laugh, “What the hell is with all these teams? Why?” 

“Ask the guys and gals who made them, I don’t know.” Chris laughed, trading Leon a plate of food for his drink. 

“So, I wore this tight ass outfit that gives me a wedgie every five minutes for nothing?” Leon asked in mock annoyance, “Fucking nerds.” 

Chris shrugged, “If it’s any consolation, you pull it off really well.” 

“Thanks.” Leon said before sipping his punch, smacking his lips together and then making a face, looking down at the green liquid, “This is spiked.” 

Chris tasted his own drink, swishing it around in his mouth, “...I can barely taste that. How did you?” 

Leon merely raised a brow with a smile, sipping it some more as he and Chris went over to the recreational area where party furniture was set up. Leon received several compliments along the way, Leon thanking or nodding his head toward them in acknowledgement. What he didn’t appreciate was the drunk who slapped him on the ass on the way by, Leon spin-kicking him in the chest. 

The man was sent flying backward, the people there moving out of the way, looking between Leon and the guy in shock. Several party-goers murmured amongst themselves or were stunned silent. Leon blushed in partial embarrassment, but kept his angered glare, muttering curses under his breath as he apologized but then went back to Chris, who looked just as shocked as everyone else. 

“What?” Leon asked, “He slapped me on the ass!” 

Chris shook his head and thus shook himself out of his trance, “Uh...well, he did deserve it...but that…” 

“What?” Leon asked, brow raised. 

“That was kind of hot.” Chris admitted. 

Now it was Leon who was stunned silent, the blush of pink deepening to a shade of red, “...really?” 

Chris nodded, giving a bashful smile, “I’m not gonna lie...I’m both frightened...and aroused. I want to kiss you...but I don’t want you to…!” 

Chris was cut-off by Leon tossing his snacks and drink before moving forward into Chris’s space, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck and kissing him. Chris’s eyes widened in surprise, giving a momentary muffled protest, but then relaxed. He dropped his own snacks and drinks in favor of wrapping his arms around Leon’s waist, pulling him into a tight embrace as he reciprocated the kiss. 

They stayed like that for a moment before parting for air, Leon wearing a grin, “What about now?” 

Chris blinked as he breathed a deep breath, blushing himself, “...definitely aroused. Wanna...get out of here?” 

“I thought Catwoman was Batman’s girl?” 

“Fuck Batman. He can have Catwoman.” Chris chuckled, holding Leon’s hand and leading him out, “I got Catman.” 

Leon laughed as he followed Chris out, “Gonna give me a treat, Big Guy?” 

“Definitely ain’t giving you a trick.” 

“Can you do any tricks in the bedroom?” 

“It’s Trick OR Treat,” Chris chuckled as they went to his truck out in the parking lot, “Not Trick AND Treat.” 

“...Can I both?” Leon asked in a teasing tone. 

“Keep it up and you’re gonna get a spanking.” 

“That’s an extra treat.”  ______________________________________________________________

The next morning, Leon woke up with a sore ass and wearing only bits and pieces of his costume, still wearing the cat cowl and claw tipped gloves. He felt a heavy body on top of his own, Chris resting on his chest still wearing his costume minus his boots and gloves. Big, muscular arms were wrapped around Leon’s waist, hugging him tightly even in sleep. The man’s shield was on the floor next to his whip, next to the tattered remains of Leon’s costume. 

Leon looked around and groaned as the sunlight bled through the sheer curtains, but he actually didn’t feel annoyed. He was actually satisfied and felt...happy...and apparently in Chris’s apartment. Movement on top of him and the sound of Chris yawning indicated that the man was stirring from sleep, drawing Leon’s attention downward. 

“Morning, Cap.” Leon greeted softly as tired brown orbs looked up at him. 

Chris wore a sleepy smile, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “Morning, Cat. Last night was…” 

“...last night was fun.” Leon chuckled in agreement, “Best tricks and treats I’ve ever gotten.” 

Chris nodded and chuckled in agreement as well as he carefully climbed off of Leon. He looked down at the floor, apologizing for ripping Leon’s costume. Leon shrugged as he sat up, stretching his aching limbs with a yawn of his own. He smiled, saying that the costume was probably gonna rip at some point during the party if they had stayed. Better Chris’s bedroom than in front of everyone at the BSAA. 

“But you can make up for it by making me breakfast.” Leon teased with a wink. 

Chris smiled and nodded once more, stripping out of his costume and into some lounge clothes, “Only if you’ll stay.” 

“Deal.” 

Tempting -

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry I didn’t post earlier! I got caught up at work, and I meant to prepare this post last night and just schedule it, but I got busy and forgot. But without further ado, my fic! 

Work Summary: Working as a Temp for Tony Stark you only expected your life to revolve around sending emails and important papers for Tony Stark. However, all that changed when Loki came to live with the Avengers. Two years later, they still don’t trust Loki and need someone to constantly watch over him and keep him from causing Mischief. Given the magical ability to control Loki with your words, your journey begins as you try to carefully tread the line between keeping Loki safe and keeping others from harm. But trying to control Loki has more problems than you’re ready for, and soon you discover why he’s the God of Mischief, and how much he’s willing to sacrifice for his freedom.

Warnings: None for this chapter. (I think? I’m not sure what needs tagging and what doesn’t. RIP). 

3001 words (Pain in the ass my dudes.)

Chapter 2

It had been a long exhausting day in the Avengers tower. Everyone was busy preparing for another mission, for another unknown species to attack, just something to go wrong in general. Fortunately enough, you were just a temp so you didn’t have to get all sweaty like everyone else was. You just spent your time writing up documents, emails and anything Stark needed you for. 

You were pretty much an errand girl for the Avengers, constantly leaving and entering the tower when they needed something. 

The only person however you were not required to follow was Loki. In fact, according to Stark, Loki had to follow your orders. Which was odd, considering the thousand-year-plus age difference between you, but you didn’t complain. It was weird at first having to order Loki around, but then you actually met him and realized you were perfectly fine with it. 

The first time you met him he called you a ‘simpering mortal fool’ and you immediately hated his guts. You had tried to be nice, in fact, you tried very hard. Then he insulted the way you spoke, and you’d had enough. 

Luckily for you, Odin, with much convincing from Thor, cast a spell on Loki, he would have to obey your every order. It so happened that your first order was for him to shut up and get over himself. Apparently, get over yourself in magic terms meant for him to do a very entertaining flip. You snorted, very loudly, and he growled. Although his mouth was closed and he couldn’t open it even if he had wanted to. 

You tried very hard to watch your words around him after that. There was no need to make the situation worse than it already was. Hard as that may be. 

You didn’t need him to hate you or the situation any more than he already did. But you couldn’t help the absolute relish you felt over the fact that a simpering mortal had control over a Norse God, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was not at all the way you thought your time at the Avengers tower was going to go, but who were you to complain about it? 

Unfortunately for you, your lack of complaining granted you more opportunities to hang around the emotional God. In the form of you now being Loki’s babysitter while the Avengers all went out on any mission that came up. Apparently even after two years of living with him, they still had a difficult time believing he wouldn’t try to kill them once the opportunity was presented. So of course, the Avengers usually opted to leave him home, something about him being untrustworthy. 

Loki, untrustworthy? I don’t see it. You rolled your eyes.

He didn’t exactly make it easy on himself, did he? All the stunts he pulled on the daily to prank anyone and everyone didn’t exactly help his case. This morning he had decided that locking Banner in his room until he went Hulk and smashed the door down was a good use of his time. While you did see the humor in it (Stark’s face when he saw the destruction was absolutely priceless), you also understood where the Avengers were coming from. 

You immediately commanded Loki to clean up his mess, and he glared daggers at you the entire time he did so. It wasn’t your fault that he kept causing useless destruction. It also wasn’t your fault that because of said incident, the Avengers had once again elected to leave Loki in the tower, with you as a not-so-willing babysitter. 

The sound of Loki’s coughing reminded you of your babysitting duties. Something you were not looking forward to. Loki made it very clear that he hated it as well. You imagined Loki as a baby drinking a sippy cup and you giggled. You’d rather babysit baby Loki than baby Loki. At least baby Loki would whine less. 

“Think you’re on babysitting duty one more time…” Loki’s voice trailed off as he read his book. You laughed softly. Luckily it was a pretty easy babysitting job. Even if the child in question was a bit too sarcastic and mischevious for his own good. He turned his head back towards you with a look that clearly said, ‘What did I just say?” You rolled your eyes. “Sorry,” and kept working on the computer. 

A few minutes later and the sound of Loki rising from his couch reminded you of your duties. “Where are you going?” You asked as you continued typing away. You hadn’t even looked up, the email was too important for you to stop working on. 

“Asgard.” His voice was full of boredom. 

You sighed in annoyance. “Where are you going?”

He finally answered, “I’m going to my hovel, my prison, my hell,” he sighed dramatically, brushing a hand over his face. “I’m going to my room, mother.” 

“I’m not your mother, just your babysitter-” You picked up your computer and followed him to his room, “-which means I have the absolute pleasure of going where you go, my child.” 

“I am not a child,” he growled at you as you entered his room. “And you are not invited in!” He turned to shove you out of the room, but you ducked just in time. He growled angrily, light surrounding his hands. 

Your heart thumped in fear, then it rapidly turned to anger. You didn’t want to be here any more than he did. It wasn’t your fault he hadn’t learned to control himself and his emotions. You had things you’d rather be doing as well, and watching him was not on your list. Why he felt the need to blame you for the Avengers idea was beyond you. What were you supposed to do? Not do what the Avengers asked of you? You not only needed this job, but you loved this job. You weren’t crazy enough to lose it. And it was the Avengers. They could kick your ass if they really wanted to. 

“Loki.” No response. Why he felt like dragging this out was beyond you. 

“Loki.” Still nothing. You were seething at this point.  

“Loki!” You growled at him loudly, causing him to look at you in surprise. 

“What?” He asked softly, his voice barely hiding his anger. He had forgotten about that commanding spell you had, and it didn’t make him any happier. 

You tossed the laptop onto the bed before putting your hands up in annoyance. “Loki, calm down and listen to me.” You walked backward until you were sitting on his bed, facing him. “I don’t want to do this as much as you don't want me to do it,” you growled lightly. “But unfortunately we’re both expected to follow the rules, and one of the rules is I can’t leave you alone!” 

“I am a King! I do not need a babysitter!” He hissed. He plopped down next to you on the bed, both of you seething. 

It took a few minutes before the both of you calmed down enough to think straight. This situation was annoying, and it was unfair for the Avengers to do this to the both of you, but what could you do? 

At least you both felt the same way about this. That helped make things easier, or at least you hoped so. You doubted you’d both come to some kind of agreement, but it made doing this less difficult. “I’m sorry Loki,” Loki arched his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m kind of a control freak, which doesn’t make any of this easier, for either of us.” You sent a small smile his way. 

“And I am the God of Mischief-” he turned to you, smirking, “-so I think that makes us even.” 

Picking up your laptop, you began leaving the room. “Well, I’ll just be working in the kitchen if you get bored.” Loki nodded, and you set up your things back on the dining room table. 

Less than an hour later, Loki strolled into the room carrying one of his many books. He nodded towards you in acknowledgment, and then promptly sat down on the sofa in the connecting living room. 

You continued working on your assignments from Stark, the keys clacking as you tapped them quickly. Satisfied that Loki wasn’t in as bad of a mood, you finished typing out your long paper about the properties of some of the Chitauri weapons that had been found recently. Stark was worried about the chance of the slime-like powers getting to humans and negatively affecting them, but so far no reports of people going crazy had been made. But ever diligent, Stark and Banner set out to make different experiments on the slime, that way we were prepared if any difficulties did arise. 

You could feel your back beginning to ache from sitting too long, and got up to make you some tea.  You smoothed out your skirt while looking for the teas, something you did without really thinking about it. Finally finding them, you selected a particular favorite herbal tea of yours. You found herbal teas to be your favorite and whipped out your favorite apple cinnamon. While you waited for your tea to steep, you glanced over at Loki. He hadn’t moved from his position since he sat down. 

“Loki?” You hesitantly called out as you walked over. He made a noise of acknowledgment but did no more. “Would you like me to make you some tea? I’m already making me some, so I figured while I was here-” 

“No, thank you.” He went back to his reading. If you hadn’t seen his mouth move, you would have assumed he hadn’t spoken at all. 

You shrugged but went to go grab your tea and set it down beside your computer at the table. At least I can say that I tried you grumbled to yourself. 

------

Night had fallen when you finally stood, finished with all your work. The Avengers still hadn’t returned, so you were still on Loki duty. You looked over at Loki and found him still reading, not an ounce of weariness lined his face. 

Your stomach grumbled a good reminder that you had neglected yourself all day. You had gotten a lot done today, considering the babysitting you got to do. You stretched, your back popping, and you sighed in contentment.  

Much better. You had sat far longer than you meant to.  

You rummaged through the fridge, finding something you could possibly make for dinner. You thought about asking Loki if he was hungry, but he would probably lie only to come back to make food when you fell asleep. 

Your mind came across one recipe in particular that you could make, and upon seeing all the ingredients you needed, rounded everything up to make it. You weren’t sure it would be up to Loki’s taste, but you figured he wasn’t going to actually eat whatever you made anyway. So why struggle to make something to his standards, when you could eat something you actually enjoy? 

So you went to work. You cooked the pasta, you make the delicious sauce, and you cooked the chicken. The kitchen was starting to get a bit hot with all the different burners, so you took off the suit jacket you wore all day, and put your hair up into a loose pony. The light pink shirt you wore underneath the jacket had short sleeves, and you were thankful for the decision earlier in the day. 

Finally, when all the ingredients were cooked, you found pan to mix the pasta, sauce, and chicken in, then promptly covered the mixture with delicious white cheese and threw the entire thing in the oven to cook even more. While the oven worked its magic, you washed the pans and counters, leaving no evidence as to your work other than the smell that filled the room. 

When you had finished your cleaning you took the food out of the oven; the smell of the Chicken Alfredo made you smile happily. Mama would be proud of my work. You were even happier at the thought. 

You fixed a plate for Loki and brought it over to him, setting it on the coffee table next to him. “I made some chicken alfredo if you’re hungry.” You gestured towards the plate. “I only gave you a little bit, I wasn’t sure how hungry you’d be.” You stood up and headed towards the kitchen to make yourself a plate.

You took a bite and moaned softly. Damn, I’m good! You tried your hardest to not eat too fast, but you were absolutely starving and it was one of your favorites. When you finished what was on your plate and decided to get more, you looked to Loki and noticed his plate completely empty. 

“There’s more in the kitchen if you want some.” 

Loki looked up from his book lazily. “No, thank you. I try not to poison myself willingly.” He gestured towards his plate, “This thing you call a meal wasn’t even tempting enough to consider poisoning me.” And just like that, he was back in his book. 

Ouch. At least he’s honest? You tried to look at the bright side, but that stung a little bit. Yes, you weren’t exactly the royal Asgardian chef he was used to, but you thought you did alright. You followed your mom’s recipe, and even though it didn’t exactly taste like hers, it was close. 

You did do a good job, but that didn’t make you feel better. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat. Cooking was the one thing you were proud of and hearing someone say so nonchalantly that they hated your cooking hurt. You felt tears prick and the corners of your eyes and shook your head. You were not about to cry about it. Loki was a jerk, and you were well aware of that fact. 

So you walked away, grabbed your empty plate and headed towards the food for more. But as you stared at the pan, you were no longer hungry. You put the food away, washed the remaining dishes, including Loki’s, and started towards a spare bedroom in the tower. Since the Avengers had yet to return, you were stuck babysitting Loki overnight. 

Before you walked out of the room to start your search, you stood in front of Loki and cleared your throat. When he finally decided you were worth looking at, you spoke. “I’m going to bed. I’ve had a long day, and I have an even longer day ahead of me.” 

“If you’re after a good night, you’ve come to the wrong place.” Loki started to read his book again. 

“I’m not-” You were trying very hard not to be offended. “-I’m not after a good night. At least not from someone like you.” Loki looked up at you, annoyed over the fact that you hadn’t left him alone yet. “You’re to go to your room immediately, stay there all night, and not perform any kind of bullshit until I come to get you in the morning.” You reached your limit. You were annoyed. “Understood?” 

“Understood.” Loki snapped?. He quickly stood up, gathered his things and made his way towards his room. Slamming his door behind him was his way of defying your magical orders. 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding and made your way to a spare room. When you had finally found one, you plopped down on the bed, just taking in the scenery. You realized you had no pajamas to wear and no clothes to change into tomorrow and cursed softly. You’d have to make a trip for new clothes. You debated going tonight, and just getting it over with, but you were exhausted. Not so much physically as you were mentally and emotionally. 

Watching Loki really put a lot out of you, and you really hadn’t even done that much. 

Deciding that you didn’t care, you opted to sleep in your bra and panties. Then when you had to go get clothes in the morning, at least you wouldn’t look completely ragged. You set your clothes on a chair, flattening them out in the hopes of avoiding wrinkles. Your hands rubbed over your clothes absentmindedly. Your thoughts lingered on the events on the day and having to deal with Loki and his many moods. 

You thought about using your commands on him and felt bad, but then remembered his penchant for trouble and the way he mocked your cooking and you lost your sympathy for him. He didn’t have to be a jerk about everything, and it wasn’t your fault if he chose to be so. Nodding your head in agreement with yourself, you laid down on the bed. 

You tried your absolute hardest to sleep, but it evaded you. You were uncomfortable. New bed, just you and Loki, sleeping at the place you work. There were many reasons for your discomfort. 

It’s just for a couple more nights. You thought to yourself. When the Avengers get back, I’ll get a nice paycheck from Tony, and I can go home and relax. You thought to yourself all the different things you’d do with that extra money but nothing came to you. You huffed at yourself in annoyance. Surely there was something you’d want? 

Clothes. I’ll buy more work clothes. Perfect! You really only had two dress suits to choose from at the moment, it would be nice to have more options. 

Besides, I’m around so many attractive men, it’d be nice to look a little more put together. You smiled softly. It was true, you did work with quite a few sexy hunks, why not dress to impress, right? 

You were starting to doze off thinking of all the men you worked with. When you finally did fall asleep, it was to the image of Loki blissfully reading while you worked. 

ashes of angels 6/6

Alec Lightwood vs Jia Penhallow. Neither knows how to take ‘no’ for an answer.

for @shadowhunterbingo​ square: training room shenanigans. [AO3]

Alec exhales, slowly, steadily.

He's ready for this. He woke up to a hug from Madzie, followed by Izzy and Jace and Cat and then finally Magnus. They told him what they did, what they found. They've filed all the evidence properly, they've got magical signatures, documented memories, his siblings' statements. They've even got fingerprints, and everyone is already in custody.

He crossed every damn t, and then some.

It's time.

He relaxes his shoulders and slides open the door to the training room that he knows the Consul uses in the afternoons, when the night shift isn't yet up and the day shift is usually still busy. He nods at the Consul's bodyguard, and slides the door shut again behind him.

He waits.

Jia doesn't make him wait for very long.

"Mr. Lightwood." She's leaning on a staff in the middle of the room, dressed in a sleeveless tank and plain black leggings. She looks at him, and doesn't say anything else.

He nods back in greeting. "I was wondering if I might join you, ma'am?"

Her eyebrows lift.

He waits.

She steps back, gestures gracefully at the now open space in front of her.

He takes two blades from the display wall, turns them over in his hands to get a feel for their balance before stepping into the middle of the room.

"Not many people are terribly comfortable swinging a blade at the Consul's head," Jia shifts her weight back, her gaze steady as she assesses him. "Especially not with witnesses."

Alec rolls his shoulders. "You should have had a parabatai then, ma'am. Mine's always delighted to swing a blade at my head."

Jia's lips twitch. "I'm not sure that's a selling point for most people?"

"Can't imagine why it wouldn't be." Alec allowed himself a slow swing toward Jia's side, lets his blade tap lightly against her staff after she moves it to block. He follows the motion to side-step around her, and she echoes, following to keep them facing each other. "And I'm certain you don't think so, either."

He steps back to avoid the counter move by her staff, though it isn't any more serious a swing than his had been. "Sure of me, are you?"

Alec allows himself a shrug. "Rarely."

She hums, and they exchange a few more easy hits and blocks. Neither of them are even breathing hard. She's shorter than him, as most people are, but she doesn't let his height push her into rushing or overreaching. He would have been disappointed if it had.

He's a little disappointed in her already, of course, but he's glad this isn't another thing to add to the list.

"You left the reception early last night."

Alec concedes that with a nod.

She waits through another half a circle, manages to make him parry three times in a row without pulling off a decent counter.

She doesn't seem particularly pleased by her success, her movements too sharp in comparison to the blank expression on her face. "None of the staff saw you leave."

Alec holds in his smile. He's made her come to him... he hoped he would. He doesn't say anything, just steps back far enough to entice her into attempting a sweep of his feet.

She doesn't fall for that, quite, but it's enough to make her frown. "Well?"

"Well, what, ma'am?" He offers his smoothest, least sincere smile. "There wasn't a question in there."

She jabs, sudden enough he barely manages to divert it from the center of his chest into a glancing blow along his arm. He grins at her. That's more like it.

"Is there a security concern I should be aware of?" She bites the words out, follows them with a flurry of swings that don't accomplish anything beyond a nice rhythm as her staff hit his blades. He wonders what she thinks he came here for, because that is petty annoyance at Magnus' ability to get in and out of Alicante, not anything serious.

"A Circle cell drugged me last night."

She misjudges a swing and almost trips over her own feet. She plants her staff and stares at him. "What."

"The entire group's in the holding cells of the New York Institute." He pauses, exhales slowly. He keeps his blades up, his guard steady. "Well, almost the entire group. One of them's in the infirmary."

"You will turn them over to the Inquisit—"

"I will not." Alec states.

She lifts her chin, her nostrils flare. "Are you refusing to follow protocol, and defying a direct order?"

Alec sighs, letting his disappointment show. "It's not protocol when they're members of the Inquisitor's Office."

Jia's lips tighten. He has a feeling she knows exactly who's been caught, even though he doesn't think she'd known about last night's plan. She's bad at faking surprise; she hates being caught flat-footed too much to even attempt it.

"You will turn them over to my—"

"No." Alec shakes his head. "I will hold them until the Silent Brothers determine the best location for a public Trial by Soul Sword."

Jia's voice is frosted as she somehow glares down her nose at him. "Are you implying you suspect impropriety from my staff, as well?"

"No, of course not." Alec pretends to relax and slowly lowers his blades. He waits until her spine loosens just a little in response before continuing. "I'm stating that out-right."

The bodyguard along the back wall tries and mostly fails to strangle a cough.

He doesn't lower his gaze, keeping all his focus on Jia.

She appears entirely impassive as she looks back, though he's reasonably sure she's considering ordering him taken into custody.

He wonders if her guards would let him finish talking, first.

He can tell by the way her glance flicks sideways that she's wondering the same thing.

She'll never risk an order she's not sure they'll follow.

He lets a hint of his smile free this time.

"Why." It's more a demand than a question. She knows he wants to tell her.

"Ma'am." Alec makes his voice as condescending as possible. Which is very, he's rather proud of himself. "No one hires a disgraced and demoted Institute Head to head up a project in R&D unless he's supposed to be a scapegoat."

"I had no awareness of Aldert—"

He scoffs, the noise derisive enough it works to cut her off. "We both know you're not that stupid, ma'am."

She shakes her head, clear sadness and regret. "While I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Lightwood, everyone can make mistakes."

"I'm sure your daughter appreciates that performance, Jia."

Alec stops speaking as the base of Jia's staff brushes against the front of his throat. Both bodyguards are stiff, their hands on their weapons, but neither of them move closer.

Alec waits.

Her eyes narrow. She knows him well enough to know he doesn't bluff, that if he's brought up Aline it's because he has something, no matter how small, that he thinks Aline would believe.

And that he has, for some reason, not used it before now.

All he has is this, that he's known her since he was a child, and he knows she's ruthless, and he knows she's smart, and he'd seen the briefest hint of fear in her eyes when she looked at Aline after Aldertree was deposed for a second time.

He knows she'll flinch.

She pulls her staff back an inch.

"What do you want."

He keeps his posture relaxed, his voice even. "Clean up your mess."

"My?" She lifts her eyebrows at him.

He shrugs. "Yours, my parents, your husband's. You're still protecting them, the old-guard, the Circle, still making plans as if the Downworld is the enemy, even now, when the Nephilim population's been decimated to the point that they're the only chance we have of surviving the next decade without the mundanes finding out about demons because we've lost."

She steps back, honest shock widening her eyes. "It's not that bad."

"It is, you just don't want to admit it."

She opens her mouth.

He stares at her, and she closes it again.

"Alright." Her shoulders sagged. "You win."

He sighs. That was too easy. Too well choreographed. "Prove it."

Her jaw firms.

He's offended her. Good.

"My word," she starts.

He finishes it for her. "Is bullshit."

The same bodyguard who'd almost reacted before choked, and Jia glares at her. The bodyguard lifts her hands in apology, and Jia turns her attention back to Alec, stepping closer and closer until there's barely a hand-breadth of space between them. "How dare you."

"They drugged me with pixie dust." Alec didn't move back, didn't flinch. He raised his voice just enough to be sure neither bodyguard would miss a single word. "In the middle of a formal reception, in the heart of Alicante, because they knew damn well they'd get away with, because they knew you'd let them."

Her eyes widen, and he knows she's run through every possibility of that. She can figure out exactly what could have happened, exactly what that would have done to him, to the Downworld, if he'd succumbed in public. Either Magnus would have been right there with him, demonstrating to the Nephilim that warlocks were depraved and untrustworthy, or he would have accidentally touched someone else and he would have proven to the entire Downworld that no Nephilim could ever be trusted, that they would always break any promise given to someone they considered lesser.

The fact that the first option would have broken something in Magnus, that the second would have destroyed Alec down to his soul, is something he's not sure he'll ever completely recover from. His own people had thought that sort of cruelty acceptable...

And if he'd died, Magnus would have acted, would have done something ruthless and justified and, in the Clave's eyes, entirely unforgivable.

In any possible scenario, the tentative peace of the Shadow World would have been over.

And despite everything, despite her tendency to plan for the worst case scenario, despite her distrust of Downworlders, despite her firm belief that they would always be potential enemies, her need to find a way to overpower them, just in case, Alec knew that Jia didn't want that.

But after it had happened? She would absolutely have closed ranks, would have refused to let a single Nephilim face consequences, because she would claim them as hers, because she would need them on her side.

She'll never apologize for it, but he knows, at last, that she's realized that she'd been played. This time when she steps back, he knows he'd gotten through to her. He knows that she'll listen.

For the first time in his entire life, she looks her age. "What do you want?"

"A proper tribunal for the trial, with representatives from everyone. Downworlders allowed as spectators all the way through, even during deliberations. No one trusts us to judge our own."

Jia shakes her head. "I cannot have Shadowhunters judged by Downworlders, we'll have a riot."

"Half and half, then." He'd expected that. "Warlock, seelie, werewolf, vampire, and four Nephilim to balance them out."

"And when they vote along racial lines and we have a tie?"

"You don't think you could find four Nephilim who would vote on the merits of the case?" Alec keeps his voice painfully smooth. "We have an overabundance of evidence."

He'd gone to the Infirmary at the Gard after he'd gotten the whole story out of his family, had a physical and a blood draw to make sure no one would have any ammunition if they tried to dispute Catarina's testimony.

Jia doesn't bother to answer him. They both know that they can't get anyone who would vote on the merits of the case onto the Tribunal, not this first one, not yet.

"The Inquisitor's always been the tie-breaker for Clave votes." Alec steps back, turns his back to her in order to put his blades back on the wall. "You just have to appoint a proper Inquisitor."

"Are you suggesting yourself?" Jia's voice is dry. She clearly thinks that's been half the point of this, that suggestion.

Alec shakes his head and turns back around. He settles into parade rest, his hands relaxed behind his back. "I'm the victim, ma'am. I can't preside over my own trial."

Jia looks at him with an expression he can't quite interpret, something softer than he's ever seen from her, especially softer than anything he's seen since Aline was a child. "You really aren't angling for the job, are you."

Alec snorts. "I have enough to do already, thank you very much."

"But who else would do it properly, Mr. Lightwood?" Jia leans forward, a light in her eyes that's frankly terrifying. "Who else would listen to the merits of every case, however much it pained him? Who else would the Downworld believe in when he passed judgement, who else would the Nephilim respect? You survived Valentine and his fanaticism, you went to Edom, you kept New York City from descending into chaos."

Alec blinks. She means it. "You want me to be Inquisitor?"

Something dark flickers across her face, and it takes a visible effort for her to speak. "Who else is left, Alec?"

He swallows. She has a point. They'd lost... a lot, the past few years. And they'd never really recovered from the Uprising twenty years ago, even before that.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

This time, she's going to out-wait him, he can tell.

He doesn't know, he can't... "I can't move to Alicante."

"You mean your husband can't move to Alicante." Jia raises her hand, and he doesn't interrupt. "We're going to have to let them in for the trial, aren't we? We're going to have to let everyone in. Anyone in who wants to see it, who wants to see us, everyone who knows we can't be trusted."

Alec nods, unable to find his voice.

"I'll ask Patrick to be Acting-Inquisitor." Jia smiles, sharp and somehow almost wistful. "He's former Circle, they'll all think it's nepotism to save them. They'll think you lost."

And then they will.

Alec considers it. He has to trust her at some point, doesn't he? Has to accept that she's agreed, that she doesn't want them to lose the war, not on her watch, not even if it means conceding this particular battle. "You'll need to start getting Idris ready to be opened."

"We'll send a formal invitation to the Spiral Labyrinth, to some of the most prominent Alphas and Clan Leaders, to the Seelie Court. Find out what they need, let them choose who to send."

"You should invite the Unseelie, too." Alec forces the words out, feeling them heavy in his throat. "Or we're just going to be right back here with them in a hundred years."

"Five and five then, instead of four and four?" Jia pauses. "I suppose you're right."

Alec shrugs. Thank you? He hadn't been sure he'd get any of what he'd come here to ask, much less...

"Are you sure, ma'am?" His voice is quiet this time, gentle enough to make her stop and look at him properly, no longer planning, but waiting. "If you do this, if you make this a real trial, if you give me the job afterwards... there's no going back."

I'll clean up your house, no matter what it takes.

She gives him the courtesy of really thinking about it, he can tell, in the way her gaze turned inwards, in the way she held herself still.

"Yes." She nods. "I'm sure."

He holds out his hand and she grips it in her own, firm and steady.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She shakes his hand, and he feels the finality of it, the sureness. "No, thank you."

She lets go and tilts her head toward the door. "Go on then. You have some things to discuss with your husband, I think."

"I do." Alec nods back. "Until later, Consul."

"Until later, Inquisitor."

I Found (chapter 14)

Warnings: fluffy but angsty Tyler

Tagging: @alievans007 (even though she asked where her chapter was and knew this was coming ;) ) @c-a-v-a-l-r-y  @hemmyworthy

He watches her as she sits on a bench  in the hotel courtyard,  the hood of the sweater pulled over her head, eyes riveted on the cellphone in her hand as her fingers composed a text message.  Tyler has his work cut out for him; recognizing his own faults and his own mistakes has always been a struggle, never mind actually apologizing for them. He had learned a lot over the past year. Specifically the last eight months; having to get used to domestic bliss and worrying about someone other than himself. It had been a long time since he'd had to take someone else's feelings into consideration, and even now he struggled with. Easily reverting back to old adults and an old life where he only had himself, a dog, and a chicken to take care of.

In his mind, he had made the right decision for his family. The most feasible and logical option. The safest. Lure the bad guys away from Ovi and effectively Esme and the baby. He hadn't stopped to take into consideration that she needed him. That he was the only who who has ever made her feel safe. Secure. Protected.

He moves towards the door, only to have Jason step through it and effectively block his way. There's something he doesn't like about the kid. Something he just can't quite put a finger on. Normally he could read others feel; able to easily see through their bullshit, identify their weakness, exploit them if he had to. But this kid remains an enigma. A puzzle to crack. Something more sinister and untrustworthy hiding under those boy next door looks and his polite, almost naive down south persona.

“Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?” Tyler asks. He isn't a man that plays games. And this kid was well on his way to playing a very dangerous one.

“She said she needed some fresh air. A chance to be alone. Think.”

“Are you honestly trying to stop me from going to see my own wife?  You need to take about two steps back. Before I drop you on your ass.”

The younger man moves to block his way once again. Using those wide shoulders to effectively bar Tyler's entrance into the courtyard.

“I just think it's best if you leave her alone,” he suggests. “Let her catch her breath. Clear her head a little.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Tyler's mouth and his eyes narrow and his voice drops.  The way it always did when the bad guys tried to play their mind games and pull their bullshit.  When they didn't know just exactly who he was, what he did, and how dangerous he could be. Like that day back in Dhaka, when he gone into that squalid apartment, surrounded by hostiles, and laid eyes on Ovi Mahajan Junior for the first time.

“You've been here for what? Two days? Forty eight hours and suddenly you're an expert on what is best for her? For my wife?”

“Well someone has to think what's best for her,” he bravely retorts.

Tyler gives a derisive snort. Fists clenching. Jaw tightening. “I think you better take those steps back, mate. I've dealt with bigger and better than you. I won't hesitate when it comes to putting a foot up your ass.”

“I just think that everyone needs to calm down. Look at this all rationally. Take a breath and...”

Before he can finish, Tyler has his forearm in a vice like grip; twisting it painfully behind his back and then propelling him forward, slamming him face first into the plate glass window.

“I don't know exactly who you are or who the hell you think you are or what games you're playing. But if you ever get in my way again. I will fuck you up so badly your own mother won't be able to recognize you. If you so as much look at me the wrong way, if you so as much even think of trying to get between me and my wife, if you so as much as even go near my daughter, I promise you that I will make what guys like Asif to do people look tame. You understand me?”

A brisk tap on the glass next to them captures Tyler's attention. Nik stands behind it, watching the altercation through the window.  And when she and Tyler make eye contact, her gaze hardens and her brow furrows and she shakes her head with the utmost disdain.

He relents. Giving the kid one last shove before stepping backwards, hands held up in surrender.

The kid shows no emotion. Not a hint of fear playing on his face or glittering in his eyes.  Whether it was an act or he truly was cold as ice, Tyler didn't know, but it was unsettling. Troubling. Like the moments before an ally turns out to be an enemy and they strike.  The only outward sign of uneasiness is the sweat that beads across his forehead and the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows noisily. His eyes never leaving Tyler's as he simply straightens his suit jacket and his tie.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe it's you that needs to worry?” he speaks, no shakiness or trepidation in his voice. “That maybe you're the one that needs to step back and watch yourself?”

It's a threat. Tyler knows it is.  And now he is the one that's feeling uneasy.  Uncharacteristically frazzled by the tone in the younger man's voice and that icy cool demeanour.  “I don't want to see you around her again,” he warns. “Unless I'm the one that tells you to be. You hear me? Now walk away.”

Jason takes a step forward, then hesitates when he notices the fiery in Tyler's eyes and the way his arms are tense as they hang by his side, hands clenched tightly into fists.  He'd heard the stories. He'd seen the numbers. The aftermath of what one single man...this man...could do.  Tyler Rake was fearless. Savage. Merciless.

“Walk...away...” Tyler's voice is low, menacing. Nostrils flaring as he fights to control his temper.  He had promised he wouldn't be that man again. The one that could smile at someone one minute and rip them apart the next.   But old habits do truly die hard.

Jason finally cracks.  With nothing more than a simple nod as he turns on his heel. His gait slow. Unhurried.  Purposeful. The message he is sending loud and clear.

****

Esme looks up briefly as he approaches.  She's been crying; eyes rimmed with red, swollen and puffy. That sad, heartbreaking glitter  that he hates seeing. And hates himself for causing.

“Very smooth, Tyler,” she looks back down at her phone  “Beating up the help.”

“Nothing's more hurt than his pride. You know, there's something about that kid I don't like. He's too eager. Too willing. Especially when it comes to you.”

“That's called jealousy, Tyler. I know you're usually incapable of feeling other emotions outside of intense anger and astonishing self loathing, but I'm actually quite flattered that you feel that strongly about something. About someone. All over little old me.”

“I deserved that,” he says in response, and she gives a little snort, refusing to make eye contact with him.

For what seems like an eternity, neither of them speak. The kind of silence that hangs so thick in the air, you can hear the rushing of the blood through your body or a pin drop in a room on the other side of the house, on an entirely different level.  One that is so deafening that you would do anything to quell the agony.

He stands in front of her, hands on his hips, watching her.  The gun seeming impossibly heavy as it sits in its holster, clipped to the waist band of his pants.  It's a weight that he had hoped to never bear again.  A life that he had hoped was well and truly behind him. Naive, he supposed. As once you were in the game, you never were truly out of it.

Unless you were dead.  

He's the first to break.   “What are you doing?”

“Texting.”

The one word answer aggravates him.  “Who?”

“My other husband,” she huffs, and heaves a sigh of exasperation. “My mother. I've been trying to get a hold of her since last night. I don't know if my texts aren't going through or if there might be something wrong or if she's just given up on me and is just completely ignoring me...”

“I'm sure she's just busy. I doubt she's given up on you. She's your mom. Moms don't give up on their kids.”  He'd only had a short time with his own mother. But in the time that they had had together, he discovered that it was true.  No matter the distance or the issues between them, a mothers love for their child never stops.  Nor does their desire to nurture them. Or protect them at all costs.

“I just wanted to let her know that we had to go away for a while.  Not to bother calling the apartment because we wouldn't be there. And not to panic or worry if she can't get a hold for me for a little bit. I just wanted to...I don't know...”  another sigh. This one shaky and sad. “...I just wanted her to know that I love her. That I miss her. She needs to hear that.”

He nods. “I think she deserves to hear that.”

“Just in case,” Esme says, and flips the phone case closed. “Just in case.”

He drops to his knees in front of her, grimacing at the pain that shoots through his right leg. Gently pushing the hood off of her head.  His hands rest on her thighs. The weight of them heavy. Familiar. The familiarity that comes with the things that you love the most.  The smell that lingers on the belongings of the person you love,  the sound of their voice over the phone when it's the dead of the night and they can't sleep and need to call you,  the feeling of their body alongside of you.  The little things that you take for granted but would miss if one day you woke up and they were no longer there.

“Everything's going to be okay,” he assures her. “We're going to be okay.”

She shakes her head. Wanting to believe him. Needing to believe him. But not knowing where to start.  “What if all goes wrong? What if shit just hits the fan and things end up worse than before. What if...”

“Stop,” he implores. “Just stop.  This isn't like before. This is nothing like that. What happened in Dhaka was almost a year ago. Almost twelve whole months. You need to let it go. You need to put it behind you. Leave it in the past.”

The tears that escape are hot, unrelenting. Huge droplets that linger on the tips of her eyelashes before rolling down her cheeks.  He hates seeing her like this. Struggling with her own demons and the things she'd seen and heard. While his life had nearly ended on that bridge, her new one had just begun.  A life that only two short weeks before hadn't involved him.  Neither of them had even known that the other existed. Two people on the same planet, at the same time, oblivious to the wheels that were already turning. Completely unaware that fate would soon drop them in one anothers paths.  

And he wonders...not for the first time...just what would have happened if he had have just walked away. If he hadn't let her rile him up and get the best of them  that day in their motel room. If he'd just fought that unbridled lust and the overwhelming need and want to feel alive again. The desperate hunger of needing to feel as  if he mattered to someone and had something to live for.

“I can't,” she whispers. “I don't know why. I just can't.  I was the one that was there, Tyler. With you. Not just on that bridge. But in all those moments afterwards. In that hospital. In a country on the other side of the world, thousands of miles from my home. In a life that I never asked for. That I definitely wasn't prepared for. A person that I didn't even recognize any more. I gave up everything for you, only to have you completely betray me. To turn on me the very second you got a chance.”

He feels like an asshole. A complete and utter fucking asshole. And he thinks of how he should have just walked away. That he never should have given into that temptation. No matter how hard she tested him. And he can see her. Standing there in front of him in that dark, filthy motel room. Looking up at him with those huge dark eyes full of desperation.

The ghost of a lost little girl lingering under the shell of a grown woman.

She had needed to feel something. Anything. And she had  wanted him to be the one that helped her feel it.  Two people damaged beyond all repair. Finding a way to escape from their pasts. Needing to silence the tortured voices inside of their heads. Needing to feel something other than emptiness and the bitter sting of loss and bad decisions.

“That wasn't my intention. I didn't betray you. I didn't do it to hurt you. I did it because I thought it was for the best.  I did it to protect you. To protect our daughter. Not to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I told you that a year ago. When you said that you were scared. Not of me but what you were feeling towards me. And I asked you what you were scared of. Do you remember?”

She nods. And she finally touches him. Those small hands resting atop of his.

“You told me that you were afraid of being hurt. That I'd hurt you. And do you remember what I told you? Do you?”

Another nod.

“I said I would never hurt you. And I meant that. I meant that right to my very soul.  Even then.”

“But you did.  Hurt me. Whether you meant to or not. Why would you do that? Why would you make all those promises to me about never leaving unless you had to? Unless you had no other choice? You have  a choice, Tyler. And you decide to just leave me there.  Why? Why would you do that? We're stronger together than we are apart. We always have been. I've put everything I have into you. Right from day one. All my love and all my trust and you turn around and make a decision like that.”

“I didn't do it to hurt you. Or betray you. I did it to keep you safe. To protect you.”

“The only time I've ever felt safe and protected is when I'm with you. I didn't even know that was something I wanted. Or a hole that needed to be filled. Until you came along and did it.”

He reaches up to take her face in his hands. Thumbs gentle as they brush away her tears.

“Don't leave me,” she begs. A far cry from the girl she was a year ago. The one that took no shit, who never let her guard down, who refused to let anyone past the walls that she'd built around her heart. Years of being let down by the men that she had let into her life. Trusting them and giving them her all, only to be left broken and battered when it all fell apart.  She's a shell of that former woman. And he blames himself.

  “Please. Don't leave me there. Don't run off on some goddamn suicide mission. Promise me. Promise me you won't do that.”

“Esme...”

“Promise me, Tyler. Promise me that I won't wake up one morning and find you gone. You don't have to fight this battle alone. This isn't just yours to fight.”

“But it should be.”

“But it doesn't have to be. Please don't do this.  Don't drop me there and then just disappear. Don't walk away from me. From our daughter. From us.”

“I'm not walking away from anything. Not from you Not from us. Not from our baby.  I made the decision that I thought was best for both of you. To protect my family.”

“I'm scared,” she admits. “I'm scared that you're going to just disappear on us in the middle of the night. That you'll just take off and that I'll never see you again. Promise me you'll stay.  Promise me you won't do that.”

She cradles his face in her hands. Thumbs brushing against his beard, the pads grazing over his lips.  Those tortured and desperate eyes never leaving his.

“I promise,” he says. “No running off in the middle of the night. No walking away.”

“Tell me we're in this together. That you're all in.”

“We're in this together,  I'm all in. I've been all in from the start. Wasn't that obvious? When I let you seduce me in that hotel room?”

She manages a laugh, sniffling through the remnants of her break down. “You and I remember that day very differently.”

“I remember what you what you were wearing.  A black tank top and jean shorts. The ones with the hole in the left leg and a tear in the ass. I remember that your hair was damp  and you had it had it up in a ponytail. And I remember that I could taste strawberries when I kissed you.”

There was more. So much more. The little things from that day. From that moment.  The sound of the traffic on the street outside; the clamouring of cars and the blaring of horns and the chattering and shouting of pedestrians. Loud music coming from the room upstairs. The sickly heat and humidity that hung in that little room and coated their bodies in a thin a sheen of sweat. The way his blood rushed through his veins and his heart hammered in his chest and his throat tightened.  The way she stood there looking up at him, challenging him to do something. Anything.  Looking impossibly small; desperation, want, need, all visible in those eyes. There was no fear in them. Even with his hand wrapped tightly around her throat.

And when she'd touched him, the brief brush of her chest against him, every nerve felt as if it were on fire.

Things that he'd hadn't felt in a long time. Things he'd never felt that intensely.

And he could remember...clear as day...how they lay in that in that mess of rumpled sheets and sweaty, tangled limbs, utterly spent from the intensity of the sex. How his hand was in her hair as she rested with her face against his chest, her breath warm and soft against his chest.  And that he'd thought how he didn't want it to end. That he didn't want her to walk away when the job ended. That he'd hoped she saw him  as more than just some conquest and a way of filling an empty bed and an empty heart.  And how he'd worried he wouldn't be the man that she needed.

That she deserved.

No. He wasn't brave. Regardless of what she thought. Or what Ovi said. He wasn't immortal. He was just a man that tried very hard not to show the world that he was human.

“I remember being scared,” she confesses.

“Of me?”

“No. Not of you.  I was scared of what was happening. How quick it was happening.  The things I was feeling. How screwed up it seemed that it was happening where it was happening. I mean, it wasn't exactly the ideal place. Or the time.”

He agreed with that.  But even when his brain had been telling him how just how wrong it was, his heart had been telling him the exact opposite. And for once he'd followed the latter.

“But no. I wasn't scared of you. Never of you.”

He smiles, turning his face into her hand as it rests on his cheek, pressing his lips to her palm.

“I can't lose you, Tyler. I already came close. Way too close. I don't want it crossing that line this time.”

“It won't,” he promises, and places a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I have something for you,” he says, and digs a hand into the pocket of his hoodie. “I found it. In that little box you keep in the table by your side of the bed.”

By traditional standards, it isn't much. A simple leather bracelet. Intricately braided, with one small lapis stone in the middle. She'd spied it at the market that fateful day in Dhaka; when they allowed themselves to cross over that line. And it had been what driven him to loose his temper in the the first place: the fact that she had wandered off alone when he had distinctly told her to stay by his side at all times.  And when suddenly she wasn't beside him any longer and he couldn't spy here in the sea of people, he'd become frantic. The first time in his life that he'd felt genuine panic. Nik had entrusted him with the job of keeping Esme safe. And he'd failed.

He'd lost it on her. Practically dragging her back to the hotel and then just unloading on her once the door closed behind them. The next day...while she was still sleeping and recovering from a late night of numerous rounds of incredible sex...he'd went back to the market. Searching for that same vendor so he could find out just what had captured her attention.  It was the first thing he'd ever given. Aside from a baby in her belly.  And she'd looked at that inexpensive and simple bracelet as it if were the most priceless piece of jewellery in the entire world.

It had broken on that bridge. Where he'd nearly lost his life. And she'd still hung on to it; cleaning it the best she could and tucking it away into that little box that held various other mementos of her life that she'd squirrelled away.  He didn't have much to give her. And that had never mattered to her.  But that bracelet held more value than anything else in the world.

She smiles as she sees it. Resting there in the palm of his hand.

“I fixed it for you.  And I cleaned it. The best I could.”  There are still remnants of blood.  His blood. Clinging to leather, discolouring it in places. But she still doing it.  Sidelong glances he'd give when she was feeding or cuddling their daughter. Or when she'd be sitting on the couch with her legs tucked under her, top teeth resting on her bottom lip as she immersed herself in a novel.  Or when she'd laugh at one of his stupid jokes or she played along with his teasing, the way her eyes sparkled and the corners crinkled.

His fingers are gentle against the inside of her inside of her wrist as he secures the newly repaired clasp, and she places that hand on the side of his face and leans into him. Covering his mouth with hers in a kiss that ,while soft and so sweet, still manages to take his breath away.

10th of Tuesday, 6th Umbral Moon  7th Astral Era

My name is Corvus Starling.

I am thirty-four years old, male, seven foot three inches in height. My hair is long and black (as I will not romanticize it with terms such as ‘ravens wing’ or ‘obsidian’ in color) and my eyes are green. 

I am an Elf from the Kingdom of Voeburt, I died and was turned into a greenman by the Fae that inhabit the land now known as Il Mheg. Voeburt fell from overwhelming numbers of sin eaters and has not existed as a kingdom for the past one hundred or more years. 

The enchantment that kept me so transformed was lifted and gave me back my true, albeit very weak form ere being sent where I now live on the star Hydaelan on the continent known as Eorzea within the Black Shroud of Gridania. The fact fae magick can reach beyond worlds and stars and stretch into other existences is, in fact, -terrifying- and if they don’t feel the need to come get me the same way they sent me here I shall not complain.

I am well, however. The Doctor who has seen me, a one Arae’sae Elvo of the Mystal  race, has given me a clean bill of physical and emotional health as well as encouraged me to write down my thoughts, feelings, and observances as a method of coping with the new and altogether unfamiliar reality I am faced with.  Writing it all down it sounds rather ludicrous even if it is all fact, but it may help me be able to connect points I otherwise might miss without seeing them on paper.

So...

Where to start? 

several ink blotches can be seen on the parchment paper, as if though the tip of the quill was rested against it and ink was allowed to bleed out

I am a guest resident in the manor of one Varaelian Nilhandril who has graciously allowed me to remain here while I get a foothold in this world. He is cynical and sarcastic at times, but this eyes and his posture speak of a man who carries the weight of the world upon his shoulders and knows not how to shrug it off. Perhaps he does not even want to. Nevertheless he has volunteered to keep me housed, clothed, and fed for the time being and I am grateful.

My ‘cousin’ Silene is here more ink spots were tapped onto the surface 

Complicated.

I know he is named for the Moon and it fits his cold, distant, and unengaged demeanor that belies his real self. I fear he feels so strongly he has trained himself not to feel at all save for those few who have scaled over the battlements and castle walls he has built up inside. He is through looks and memories alone the closest thing I have to family, and though we are nearly physically identical we are opposite in all other aspects. 

There is a part of me that almost wishes I could break through his barriers, to try and find some way to make the man happy and cease his woes. Another part of me knows that I could try to climb those walls until it kills me the moment I slip up and fall.

No. I shall stay well away from that.

His partner, a Viis named Suna, is a suspicious man who likes and trusts me not.

Well, the feeling is mutual, Ser.

There are other names that come to the fore of my mind at times and I am trying to recall their faces, to understand the emotions that I feel when they arise:

-A golden Lady -A dark haired, pale skinned Drahn -A stern faced, gray haired man with amber eyes -An elf youth with an untrustworthy smile

Love. Hate. Yearning. Anger. Disgust. Shame. Above it all, sadness. When all I can recall are memories and feelings not my own it’s overwhelming. I am sure any recollections of my previous life in Voeburt may slowly come back to me as the days pass- who I was, what I did, who I lost.  

I wish I could remember 

I have started work at the Carpenters Guild in Gridania. A simple job shaving and sanding wood planks for the guild crafters and carpentry specialists but it keeps my mind and my body busy as I learn more about this new Star. 

Tomorrow evening I shall be visiting my ‘cousin’ again now that some days have passed since my first arrival. I have questions and he has the answers. However unwilling or hesitant he may be to give them is no deterrent- I deserve to know.

Buck up, man. At least you’re no longer a magical shrub anymore.

Yourself,

Corvus    

                                                       ~

Chapter 1: Tiger Mama

Please read the Preface before reading this chapter.

It was the first summer we were together; James had just introduced me to his parents over dinner. It was an informal dinner at an Asian fusion restaurant named Tiger Mama in Boston. I was overdressed for the occasion; this is something I do when I’m nervous. I had paired a navy linen, mandarin collared shirt with a navy blazer and slim cut khaki chinos; the outfit would have been fine if I were a person who never ran warm or if Boston were cooler in the summer instead of the humid mess that it usually is in June… but I was running hot, the humidity wasn’t doing me any favors and I was nervous.

 I looked around the restaurant to see people dressed in t-shirts and flip flops and hated them for it. Why did I have to be so exotic tonight!? As a gay, brown, South Asian man I never let myself assimilate into America as a matter of pride and wore my foreignness as a badge of honor; on this occasion however I wished I were a polo wearing, Patriots loving, white as Canadian White bread, white boy, dating my white boyfriend who had asked his white parents to join us for dinner!

I spent the first half of the dinner anxiously answering the questions James’ parents had for me. I thought to myself… this is good… I don’t need to improvise or be the best version of myself I just have to answer the questions they had for me and soon it will be time for dessert, I could then wrap up dinner, run back to James’ apartment which was down the street, strip down, curl into a fetal position in his shower and cry for a good 30 mins… but dessert kept getting postponed because there were more questions and more small plates being ordered… I was dying…

James and I agreed on a signal… if we felt the night wasn’t going well, we would give the other 2 taps on their thigh under the table and we’d both go to the restroom and figure out an escape plan. I gave James’ thigh two taps which caused him to jerk his head toward me awkwardly while he stuttered the remainder of a response to something his mother asked him. He calmly folded the napkin he’d drawn to the corner of his lip and excused himself to the bathroom at which point I, with as much energy I could muster to hide the sheer urge to scream, demurely said “I’ll join you… those cocktails went right through me.” 

We made our way through a sea of animated diners to the restroom… to my relief no one was in….

“You ok?!” James asked as I battled a tissue dispenser and slapped a wad of tissue paper to my wet forehead… “OH MY GOD I need this dinner to end…” “WHY!? You’re doing GREAT!” “WHAT… your parents clearly think I’m like this crazy untrustworthy, FOREIGN… brown person who is trying to make his way into their family and inheritance!” “WHAT!?........ no… you’re actually doing great… I don’t think I’ve seen my parents this interested in any of the guys I’ve had them meet” “…... you mean… this is going well!?” “ya!” “oh...

He came closer… gently took the wad of tissue I had clenched into a ball in my fist, threw it away and began to undo the buttons of my now sweat drenched shirt… “what are you doing!?” I whispered… almost childlike and exhausted… He swiftly grabbed some fresh paper towels from the dispenser and pressed them flat against my chest and moved upwards toward my neck with soft dabs while he blew jets of cooling air that brushed my now glistening neck and chest…

He closed up my buttons once I was dry and spun me around to face the restroom mirror… he, now behind me, stooped towards me and rested his beautiful head on my shoulder and said “there…”

“There” indeed… There we were… a 6’ 2’’ lean, darling of a man, with soft tousled brown curls and puppy dog eyes staring at my coffee hued gleaming face, dewy with perspiration but otherwise glad… glad because James’s puppy dog eyes were staring back into mine and everything was fine. 

The Master’s Apprentice - ch 7

Having seen the crown for himself gave him a clear understanding of why Kestrel's offer to him had been so black and white, and he found that any remaining anger or misgivings he had about her had been swept away by an underlying fear of what was buried under his feet. And now he understood too that until they figured out how to deal with the crown that it WAS in fact too dangerous to leave - they were dealing with a Daedric Prince...if someone wanted that information it wasn't going to matter if Onmund wanted to tell anyone or not because there were an alarming number of ways it could be forced out of him.

He couldn't help but notice that in the following days Kestrel seemed worried...somewhat distracted as she took him through his lessons; it could only be because of the crown, but was she worried about him trying to do as her last apprentice had?  Surely not...she'd seen how it had effected him and he had zero desire to even go near the damned thing. ((continued below cut))

But did she suddenly suspect him?  Had that lessened her trust in him?

That morning when he placed his tally mark (eleven months, twelve days - had it really been so long?) and waited for Kestrel to knock he couldn't stop dwelling on it...worrying that she'd now see him as untrustworthy, or a liability.  When the knock came and he opened his door he just barely caught the worried look disappear under a mask of pleasant politeness; he sighed heavily and she raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"What is it, apprentice?"

"You've not been acting like yourself ever since you showed me that crown.  Why?"

She blinked at him, looking surprised.  "Oh?"

"You've been distracted, I see how you look when you think I'm not looking at you.  I saw it just now.  Something's wrong, isn't it?  Or do you not trust me anymore?"

Kestrel rubbed her hands together idly, scratching her own knuckles; it was a fidgety movement and seemed out of place on her - she'd always seemed so confident and prim.  For a time she didn't reply and chewed on her lower lip, then huffed a small sigh through her nose.  "You are not as attuned to the magical flows of this place as I am - not yet.  You cannot sense the defenses, or notice if something is awry."

A pit of ice formed in his stomach.  "What do you mean?  Has someone found us?"

"Yes, and no.  Do you remember me saying there should have been no way for you to fall down here?"

"Well, yes."

"To me that meant that I had been found, without my knowing.  Someone or something was trying to get down here and had opened the way...a way I'd thought sealed and obscured, and that I thought I would notice if it suddenly wasn't."

"So...someone knows we, and the crown, are down here?"

She nodded, looking grim.  "That's what I suspect.  I've felt someone testing my wards - not the ones around the crown," she added quickly.   "The protective measures laid around this little compound.  No one should know I'm here.  There were NO natural caverns below Saarthal - what ones that existed in this particular part of the mountain were dug out and that is what Saarthal was built within...and yet so slowly that I never detected it someone managed to open enough of a way here for you to slip down."

The pit of ice turned into a sharp spike of fear as he looked at her.  "Master, I promise - I wasn't sent down here by anyone, I-"

"No, no, I believe you," she interrupted.  "Your coming here was by accident.  It is a benefit to us both that I do not need sleep as I've been awake and aware each time something taps against my defenses...but I haven't been quick enough to catch the damned skeever that's poking around."

Onmund swallowed hard as a terrible thought came to him.  "...this didn't start until you showed me the crown, did it?"

"Correct.  Or, well...the testing of the wards began then - I obviously never noticed someone burrowing in my direction.  The poking is... It's very subtle but I am always especially wary after showing someone the crown."

"So, it's possible someone sensed it in the instant you dropped your defenses to show me?"

"Yes and no.  I WAS hiding beneath the Eye's magical presence and that's now gone...ordinarily I'd say the odds are nigh impossible that someone would be looking this way at the perfect time but we're dealing with a Daedric Prince and I've no doubt he wants his artifact found and put to use, whatever its actual use IS.  My own power is leaps and bounds ahead of any mortal but I'm a single speck of sand on a shoreline against Molag Bal's tidal wave."

"...what do we do, then?" he asked carefully.  The thought that Molag Bal was scheming to open the way down here for someone to take that crown...it was deeply terrifying, especially considering that the way was already open ENOUGH if he was able to fall down here.

Still rubbing fingers across her knuckles Kestrel began to pace.  "-I am hopeful that the fact he hasn't directly intervened to retrieve the crown means that he is somehow unable to, as we'd both be easily crushed under his power...but his agents are certainly looking for a way in.   It seems a shift in your education is now required -- what do you know of battle?"

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

Thirteen months, five days.  Day after day of combat instruction and practice, ward strengthening, mental exercises, and tense evenings where Onmund's imagination liked to picture horrible, nightmarish things crawling about on his ceiling just out of his view.  There were some days that the fear made him angry more than anything - no sane person welcomed fear even if it was a handy survival instinct, and Onmund found he hated this...this formless, unknown fear more than anything else.   It would be different, he felt, if he knew exactly what was coming for him (for THEM) but not knowing left a gnawing anxiety at the edges of his focus.

Kestrel didn't speak much about further attempts to find gaps in her defenses; he knew it was still happening as she was still on edge, no matter how much she tried to hide it from him.  She tried to keep them on as normal a schedule as possible but there were scattered mornings where she was late coming to get him and he would meet her hurrying down the hall.

This was another one of those mornings; Onmund was already at the door to the Hall of Mirrors when she emerged from her room, and she followed him inside without a word.

These combat lessons - old battlemage techniques, she'd called them - had him utterly sick of this room; there were scorch marks, shattered places, melted places, uneven spots in the floor...so many signs of the rigorous training she was putting him through, day after day.  In their earliest lessons if he'd damaged anything in the room she'd fixed it without hesitation...she hadn't bothered with that in nearly two weeks.

"Good morning," was all he said as he walked out into the middle of the room, ducking between two monoliths.

He heard a mumbled greeting in return as he took his place and turned to her, ready to start the day with a spar as usual; Kestrel's image across the room was blurred - sort of like looking through a fogged glass.  At first he wondered if this was some new defensive technique that would be the center of today's lesson but...no - the whole room was sort of blurry.  

Glancing down to his hands he found he was blurry even to himself -- his outline was a swirling fog, a thin smoke rising from his skin and, as he watched, it was spreading out to coat his entire body.

"-what is this?" he asked - his voice echoed in his own head and an instant later he staggered at the sensation of something impaling through his chest...nothing was there that he could see but there was a distinct feeling of something lodged there.

And it was pulling.

His body was turning transparent as the hook-like sensation around his sternum intensified, and Onmund felt more than saw his feet leave the floor before his vision went dark; there was a rushing, roaring noise in his ears and the pressure in his chest became unbearable as he was ripped upward in total darkness.

It was over quickly; a blinding light filled his eyes as he struck stone hard enough that he bounced and rolled, all of the air blasted out of him and struggling to breathe.  Through the roaring in his ears he heard a faint "Onmund?  He- he's alive?!" and then there was nothing as the light went away, and so did he.

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

Beneath him was a straw mattress - it was poking him in several places - and over him was a light coverlet, and somewhere beyond the darkness of his closed eyelids he could hear voices talking.

"Are you certain?"  That voice was definitely Tolfdir's.

A woman's voice - soft and sympathetic, and unfamiliar - answered him. "Unfortunately I am, Master Mage.  He bears a mark - it's a common type of spell among those who keep slaves.  Given time I could free him of it."

"To think he's been someone's prisoner all this time...poor boy."

"Let's give him time to rest and come around, and see what he has to say for himself.  It might help determine just how ensnared he is."

How ensnared...?  His mind was very groggily processing what he'd heard but from what he understood...whoever that woman was who was speaking could tell he had a spell on him.  Kestrel's spell?  It could only be that.  How had she sensed it though?  Onmund had yet to reach a point where he could sense it and it was ON him - maybe that was purposeful...obviously Kestrel wouldn't want him figuring out how to remove it on his own.

But whoever that woman was COULD sense it, and she meant to remove it.

No, no no no... He couldn't let her do that - it was highly likely Kestrel could kill him with the spell at any distance and if she felt someone tampering with it...well, it would only make sense for her to kill him to keep the crown's secret safe.  He certainly wouldn't blame her but he definitely would rather remain alive.

Though at the moment he had to admit that death seemed rather attractive -- his head both spun and throbbed at every little movement, he swore he could feel his own pulse in his eyeballs, there was a very deep ache in his chest where the pulling sensation had been, and all over his skin felt...tight, or burnt; he didn't think it was possible to feel worse than he had after Kestrel had tried to kill him, but well...here he was.  However they'd managed to rip him out of Kestrel's care had really done a number on him and if he stopped existing for a little while he didn't think that would be such a bad thing.

He eventually drifted asleep and woke up later feeling only slightly better; the burning, tight feeling across his body had faded and the pain in his chest lessened, though the throbbing in his head was still just as terrible as it'd been earlier.  Very carefully he opened his eyes and, without moving his head, looked around as much as he could at a room he hadn't seen in over a year.

Everything he could see seemed to be exactly where he'd left it; very slowly, very carefully, he rolled to his side and leveraged himself up on an elbow, making a few feeble attempts to free his feet from the covers.  They'd only removed his boots but the sleeves to his shirt were rolled up - he definitely didn't remember doing that himself, and knowing that the runes of Kestrel's spell were visible across his chest and down his arms he had a feeling he knew why his sleeves were rolled.

The more he (carefully) moved the easier it became and finally he sat up on the edge of the bed with his bare toes just barely brushing against the cold stone floor; it was so strange to be back in this room again - bittersweet and a touch ironic, he thought.  He could still remember a time where he'd wanted, more than anything, to come back here...and now that he was, all he wanted now was to return to where he'd been.

How was he going to explain himself?  What could he safely tell them?  Would they leave him alone if he asked, or believe his explanation that it would kill him if they tried to take Kestrel's spell off him?

Movement at the door caught his attention; looking up Onmund found Tolfdir, Faralda, and another Altmer woman he'd never seen before peering in at him.

The woman was tall - much taller than Faralda next to her - and had shining black hair that hung freely to her shoulders; she wore a forest green, knee-length leather vest over cream colored robes, tied with a brown sash hemmed with gold thread.  Her face was softer, rounder - not as angular as Faralda's and definitely not like Kestrel's - and bright amber eyes were looking at him in a mixture of curiosity and something like pity.

Toldfir wore a similar expression though his was tinged with excitement and relief - in a way it was sort of...heartwarming, Onmund supposed, that the elder looked genuinely pleased to see him.  "Onmund, my boy...words cannot express how glad we all are to find you alive, after so much time."

"How are you feeling?" the Altmer (that wasn't Faralda) asked, wringing her hands.  "I'm relieved I didn't accidentally kill you...that spell isn't meant for living creatures," she added under her breath.

"I've felt better," Onmund replied, gaze moving between the three.  "How did you bring me back here?  Why?"

"Well," Tolfdir started, sighing.  "Your parents were adamant we return your remains, and - with the assistance of our guest here - we aimed to do just that."  

Tolfdir nodded to the tall Altmer who then politely bowed toward Onmund.  "Indeed... I wasn't expecting to be seeking a living man, only calling a lifeless object to myself.  If I'd even suspected you were alive there were many different precautions I would have taken, and you wouldn't be feeling as poorly as you do now."

He shrugged and stood, swaying a bit but finding his balance fairly quickly; his head pounded at the change in posture but he grit his teeth and carefully padded barefoot over toward the door, only to walk into something both solid and invisible right before he reached the doorway. "-ow, what-"

The tall Altmer woman rubbed a hand against her neck, looking guilty as she hurried to step back behind Tolfdir.  Onmund reached out a hand and again hit something solid but unseen - he knocked his knuckles against it experimentally and could just barely see a tiny ripple spreading from where he struck...whatever it was in front of him.  "What is this?  Why have you trapped me in my room?"

"That's, ah..." Tolfdir started, blowing out a long, slow sigh. "That's a precaution, is all."

"For what?  You can't honestly think I'd hurt anyone."  Onmund honestly wasn't certain if it was more worrying or insulting.

Tolfdir glanced to Faralda and then the nameless Altmer before looking back to him.  "It would seem you have some kind of magical mark upon you - a sign that you have been claimed by something or another.   We're not entirely sure about its true function just yet, but in the name of caution we would rather you remain contained for now."

Onmund frowned, fighting to keep his expression and voice even.  "I won't hurt anyone and I'm not under anyone's control.  I know what spell you mean, and uh-" he looked up at the black-haired Altmer woman -- he was fairly certain it had been her voice he'd heard before, talking about wanting to remove the spell on him.  "-trust me, the spell is the only reason I'm alive.  I will absolutely die if you take it off me."

The woman pressed her lips into a thin line, giving Tolfdir a knowing look; Toldfir nodded to her and looked back to Onmund.  "I'm afraid we aren't inclined to take your word for it."

He felt a little chill go down his spine.  "Wait, you mean you'd actually risk killing me outright?"

"I've seen these sorts of spells before, young man-"

"No, you haven't," Onmund interrupted the Altmer woman before he could stop himself.  It was the bare truth - she couldn't have possibly seen a spell Kestrel created in isolation - but he knew he couldn't explain it further than that...not without telling them far more than he knew he or Kestrel would want them to know.  "And I know you haven't because this spell is unique."

Again the woman gave him a pitying look before resting a hand on Tolfdir's shoulder.  "I think this only confirms my suspicions, Master Mage.  When he is recovered we can start our attempts."

"No, please - you have to believe me," Onmund insisted.  He pressed his hands against the invisible wall that kept him barricaded in his room.  "Please, if you remove it I'm going to die.  How do you think I survived the fall?"

"You tell us," Faralda replied flatly.  "You didn't have such a spell on you prior to your fall, and you would have needed to survive in the first place for anyone ELSE to have placed it on you.  Speaking of, WHO placed it on you?"

Onmund paused, gnawing on his lower lip.  "...there's another mage trapped down there," he said slowly.  It wasn't technically a lie, and it didn't give them more than they needed to know.  "She found me, and placed the spell on me to save my life.  I am going to die if you remove it."

Again the Altmer woman gave Tolfdir a knowing look, then sighed and walked away muttering under her breath.  Tolfdir echoed the sigh and gave Onmund a strained smile.

"We will do what we can, Onmund.  I just hope you can understand our need for caution.  Get yourself back into bed and rest up - we'll have a meal sent up soon, and then we can all talk when you're feeling better."

With a quiet growl Onmund banged the heel of his palm against the invisible barrier.  "Tolfdir, please - you have to believe me.  I really, really do not want to die.  You can set me free, I'm not under anyone's control and I'm not going to hurt anyone, but please, just leave the spell alone."

Tolfdir nodded idly and turned to leave without another word; Faralda's look was one of mistrust and unease, but there was an underlying concern there as well.

"Do you feel injured?" she asked.

"I... I feel like someone tried ripping my ribcage out in one piece, then threw me into a too-hot bath."

Faralda frowned, rubbing at her chin.  "I'm sorry... I'll fetch a few things to help with the pain.  I can't cast through the barrier on your room so we'll have to make do with potions and teas for now."

"Please tell me YOU believe me?  Or at least don't want to kill me?   Hey - wait!  Faralda!" He smashed his face up against the barrier, struggling to keep Faralda in view as she walked away, ignoring his shouted questions.

"Oh so happy to see me one moment, eager to murder me the next," he muttered into the silence that followed.

The longer he stood the more his head throbbed, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded and dizzy.  He padded back over to his bed and climbed into it; it was like sleeping on stone compared to his bed back-

...back home.  That's really what that place had become: home.  He lived there, studied and learned there, and had a purpose there too...moreso than he'd had when he'd been here at the College, and now he was endangering all of that.

He didn't for a moment think Tolfdir or the others would stoop to...to torture, or anything like that, to drag the truth out of him about where he'd been the past year -- but who was the black-haired Altmer woman?  She seemed like someone important; with a sinking feeling he suddenly wondered if she was the new Arch-Mage...no, that was stupid.  She hadn't been here before he'd fallen down to Kestrel, and there's no way a stranger would have climbed the ranks in such a short period of time.  And yet...with how she and Tolfdir had interacted she was clearly more than another apprentice or initiate, and she didn't dress like a Thalmor either.

Who was she?  What was her purpose?

And...how strong was she?  Would he have a chance to escape while she was trying to pry Kestrel's spell off him?

A Run Down of the Faction Dynamics in Mayview

Paranatural has a complex political landscape despite the humor and cartoony style. Let’s see if we can organize it all out. I will update this and reblog it as new information comes out. This is really fuckin long so let’s put a lil Keep Reading there. Also, this also covers some interpersonal relationships. I hope this is lucid enough- let me know if the Activity Club paragraphs are too difficult to read, I’ll figure something out, hopefully.

The Activity Consortium

Named Members: Boss Leader (Leader), Agent Walker, Richard Spender, Agent Day, Mina Zarei(?), The Doctors Burger

Unnamed: Manlizard, Gangster Lady, Day’s Mentor, the two spectral guarding the ghost train

Affiliations: Maxwell Puckett, Zarei’s Faction

Alliances: Cousinhood of Man (Temporary), Activity Club, Zarei’s Faction, Guerra’s Dojo 

Enemies: Cousinhood of Man (At least disliked), Angel’s Faction (Currently Unknown)

Overview: A large organization of spectral run by the enigmatic Boss Leader, true identity unknown, who united them all with her spirit’s dream powers. It works to keep spirits under control and from causing damage on a worldwide scale. Suspicious of Mayview and of Spender- possibly of Zarei as well. Thinks the Cousinhood of Man is “like, really super icky” and “dangerous”, but is investigating Mayview to satisfy them. Keeps Isaac in the dark, describes this as “unfortunate”. Attempted to recruit Max as a spy against Spender. Spender says that the person who created the barrier is an old colleague of his, but it’s unknown whether that colleague was part of the Consortium. They have sent Agent Day, pupil of Agent Walker (not her first mentor), to investigate all of Mayview’s mysteries. 

The Activity Club

Named Members: Richard Spender (Leader), Isabel Guerra, Edward Burger, Isaac O’Connor, Maxwell Puckett

Alliances: Varies from member to member. Activity Consortium is official. Dmitri Danger (Previous Member)

Overview: Honestly, I barely count the Club as a faction. Each member has their own set of complex relations with each other and the others around them, and they don’t seem to function as a cohesive unit at all. They have a couch in their club room, though it’s not allowed, and have tapped school security. Each member seems to count as their own faction, and this will be represented by a bulleted list. Spender created it- and if you believe Lucifer, it was out of loneliness.

Max- Max seems to have no faith in, trust for, or respect for Spender, and will not act loyally towards him. -- While Max is technically a member of the Activity Consortium, he does not follow their orders and doesn’t seem to consider himself a part, despite having his own room, but also has complied with BL’s request to keep their meeting and his membership a secret from Spender and Isaac- though he has not trusted any of the other members with it either. Affliliation. -- Max seems to have the closest positive relationship with Isabel after the events of chapter four, but all relationships are still new with him. Alliance. -- Max’s most complex relationship among the club is with Isaac- despite having interacted the most frequently, Isaac seemed to make Max uncomfortable at the beginning, frequently snarking. (This has been recognized as a defense mechanism by Isaac- “Max scared. Max lash out. Max words.”) However, Max seemed to grow more comfortable with Isaac over time- they’re currently in the middle of a spat, though Max has shown a want to be friends with Isaac and has reached out to him. Max joined the Club on Isaac’s behest. Also seems protective of Isaac and very in-tune with his emotions. Alliance. -- Max doesn’t seem to have any relationship with Ed, as they’ve barely interacted. Affiliation. -- While Max’s relationship with Johnny got out to a rocky start, he seems to have befriended the bully and earned his respect, and seems to be very fond of Johnny- this will be considered an Alliance. -- Maxwell is being hunted by Suzy for not joining the Journalism Club, and is still possibly being sought as a member. He has been blackmailed by her and doesn’t seem to like her whatsoever- this dislike also seems to extend to Collin, making the J Club overall an Enemy. -- Max seems to get along with Dmitri well enough, due to his more chilled out personality compared to a lot of the other Mayview students. However, Max also doesn’t seem to have much of an opinion on him. Max will work closely with Dmitri, and seems offended to think that Max would reveal Dmitri’s identity as a spectral, making this best categorized as an Affiliation with Dmitri. Max is being blackmailed and controlled by Lisa- he seems freaked out by her and dislikes her charging practices, though he also seems to have a healthy relationship for her and her power. Lisa is an Enemy. -- He’s friendly with Alex, and though he doesn’t trust her, he has apparently extended a hand of friendship, making her a tenuous Ally. -- Max and the Student Council consider themselves Enemies, though the SC seeks his membership. -- Max doesn’t know of the extent of Cody’s membership in the SC, though seems to consider him decent enough while not trusting him whatsoever, making this a likely Affiliation. -- Sam and Damien (”Doghouse”) are Max’s old friends from the “big city” of Baxborough, and though he hasn't informed him of his new status, he wants to see them again and still holds them close to his heart- this is an affiliation, but also a potential alliance if they come into prominence in the story. -- Max seems to know Day fairly well, and it’s theorized that she is the babysitter in his flashback- if so, this is an affiliation. -- Max doesn’t know BERG is possessing him. BERG’s intentions are unknown, so this is an affiliation. -- PJ and Lefty live with Max, and Max has situated himself as one of PJ’s defenders and seems to think of him as a little brother. They are an alliance, though PJ will likely feel incredibly betrayed if Max chooses not to give PJ access to a tool or can’t provide one after building up his hopes. This could possibly cause a break of alliance, despite PJ’s eagerness to help Max out and his assistance through chapter 5.

Isabel- Isabel seems to have grown up with Spender and holds him in high respect, referring to him as an “action hero”. She trusts him implicitly and has his back- this is an alliance. -- Isabel’s best friend within the club is Ed. Though they’re going through a tough time as of chapter five, it seems that Isabel is in the process of forgiving Ed and their friendship is restored- this is an alliance, though one which has been untrustworthy in the past, it seems to be more reliable than ever. -- Max is Isabel’s second best friend within the club, and she seems to be fiercely protective over him now that Eightfold has sacrificed herself for Isabel to save him- alliance. -- Isaac is Isabel’s rockiest friendship, and they seem to argue in their conversations more than anything, especially now that Max is in the picture. While they seem to get along well in calmer moments- “you look like a brooding anti-hero”- this mostly seems to be due to Isabel’s attempts to reach out, and it’s shown that she’s getting fed up with his attitude, and justifiably so. While they can get along and work together, it’s more precarious and they don’t seem to want to be around each other. Isabel is shown to pay a decent amount of attention to Isaac’s interests in an attempt to reach out as well. However, Isabel also seems traumatized by whatever happened to do with isaac in the club and has repressed those feelings- and it seems she feels her emotions on that regard have been neglected as well, by Isaac especially. However, she still considers Isaac a friend. Affiliation. -- Isabel’s relationship with her grandfather has been shown to be very negative, with Francisco holding her to impossibly high standards compared with the rest of his students, especially Ed, and he tends to devalue the things that she likes, including the people that she likes. His cruel view towards spirits has subconsciously rubbed off on her, as pointed out by Eightfold, though it’s more subtle. Guerra’s relationship with her is a very negative, possibly abusive alliance. -- Isabel lives alongside her Grandfather’s students. Though not much is known on that end overall, they’ve never stuck up for her, whether out of fear of her grandfather or not, use her greatest fears against her with no protest, and have been shown to mock her. This is a negative affiliation. -- Eightfold was Isabel’s original spirit partner, and was lost beneath the Earth in chapter four. However, she is not classed as deceased, just lost. Despite Isabel’s upbringing, she and Eightfold had a very positive relationship, considering each other ‘best friends’ and being willing to risk their lives for each other. Though Isabel is only just realizing and overcoming the prejudices she was raised with, she and Eightfold have a very positive alliance. -- Flipflop is Isabel;’s newest spirit, and the ‘replacement’ for Eightfold. While Isabel doesn’t seem too impressed by Flipflop, this is likely due mostly due to her grief for Eightfold. Isabel has been shown to be somewhat encouraging towards Flipflop and their relationship is starting out positive. Alliance. -- Isabel thinks Zarei is creepy, but was helped by her. While Isabel’s opinion started to turn while Hijack was still disguised as Spender, it’s likely reverted now that Hijack’s deception has been revealed. No relation currently, though Zarei wants to build an alliance. *Additional note: we haven’t seen any of Isabel’s social life outside of the AC. It’s possibly being implied that she doesn’t really have friends, merely acquaintances. Though, she is referred to as one of the cool kids by Alex. Also, it’s implied that at least Isabel’s father is still alive and familiar, but her mother is unknown Isabel’s dad and her grandfather do not get along- they “hate” each other, or at least Francisco hates him. 

Ed- Ed is the student in the Activity Club we know the least about. He seems to be friends with Jeff, Cody, and Violet, though he’s not as close to them as he is the other members of the Activity Club. Ed is self-described as having “lots of friends”. This can be considered an affiliation. -- Ed seems to get along well with Max, but the most thoughts we’ve seen about Max seem to be of the jealous variety, with Ed not seeming to be considering Max much at all outside of the club. This is an affiliation. -- Ed doesn’t seem close to Isaac, and we haven’t seen much of their interactions. They seem friendly enough. Affiliation. -- Ed seems to trust Spender, though their relationship doesn’t seem to be to the extent of Spender and Isabel’s. Affiliation. -- Isabel is Ed’s closest friend, and they live together with Francisco. They’re shown to be a cohesive team and are very rarely shown apart unless they’re somehow separated, like in chapter four with the split teams, or in the training scenes where Ed isn’t involved. Ed seems to want to be by Isabel’s side whenever he can, even if it’s tactically disadvantageous. He broke Isabel’s trust before, but he has earned it back. Considers himself a Guerra. Strong Alliance. -- Muse is Ed’s spirit. Muse doesn’t seem fond of Ed, though Ed looks up to Muse and asks for advice. Muse is borderline disdainful, and Ed is either ignorant or ignoring that. Despite that, they work together and Muse seems to be invested in Ed’s growth. Alliance. -- Fransisco is raising Ed, likely as a favor to the Consortium after the disappearance of the Doctors Burger. Fransisco seems entirely uninvested in Ed and openly dislikes him, referring to him as the ‘freeloader’ and neglecting Ed’s training, and likely Ed’s wellbeing in general. This is a negative affiliation. -- Ed recently has formed a positive relationship with Johnny and RJ. Johnny confided his thoughts in Ed, and RJ allowed their backstory to be told to him. They worked together and parted on a positive note, despite Ed causing them to get detention. Currently classed as an alliance.

Isaac- While Isaac is resentful and angry towards Spender for his unexplained treatment of Isaac and poor field teaching methods, Isaac also is shown to crave Spender’s attention and praise. Isaac is also frequently dismissed and put down by Spender. Spender seems entirely ignorant towards this and the way Isaac’s emotions have been festering towards him and the team, though Isaac would not betray the team- he longs for their acceptance, and feels that he “broke up the team” and takes responsibility for the rift between them. He feels the entire team, including the responsible adult, mocks him. This is a negative alliance. *Note: this is classified as an alliance due to Isaac’s reliance on Spender for information. While it isn't a relationship of willing help, it’s more than just an affiliation. -- Isaac seems to think Isabel and Ed hate him, though he may have realized due to recent arguments that this is not the case. Regardless, he resents them for this perceived hatred and disdain, and for how they keep him in the dark with Spender. It seems that while he longs for their approval and friendship, he also wants to split off on his own ,a d has expressed that he could “easily destroy them both”, implying that his resentment has been at the place where he put thought into that outcome. His relationship with them is a tense negative affiliation. -- Isaac’s friendship with Max has been rather hot and cold. Isaac seems to see their friendship as one made of favors to be traded around, while also genuinely wanting him and Max to be true friends. He saw Max as his only ally within the Club before their argument, but they seem to be making up and forging a much healthier and more sustainable friendship. Has reached out to Max, and it’s likely a full make up is soon or implied. Due to many factors, I’m classing this as an alliance. -- Isaac’s relationship with King C is iffy. Isaac seems to have a lot of genuine dislike for King C, especially with King C’s encouragement of the qualities Isaac doesn’t like within himself- his overwhelming anger and penchant for violent outbursts- and how he puts down one of the only positive figured we’ve been shown for Isaac, Doorman. However, King C is likely the reason Isaac knows Doorman in the first place. I’m unsure of how to class this one, but my gut says affiliation. -- Doorman is one of the only two more positive figures in Isaac’s life that we’ve been shown, alongside Max. Doorman acts as a mentor figure towards Isaac, and Isaac holds no small amount of loyalty and love for Doorman. Doorman seems to want to “do good by” Isaac, and genuinely cares, though Doorman’s conversations with Isaac can be interpreted as manipulative, depending on the reader. This is a strong alliance, though Isaac is ignorant to Doorman’s faction activities. -- Isaac hasn’t interacted with Zarei much, but he seems to have inklings of respect and interest in her, as she subtly reached out to him in chapter 5. However, this relationship cannot be classed as of yet.

Spender’s Faction

Named Members: Richard Spender (Leader), Lucifer, Mr. Garcia (Possibly an affiliation)

Affiliations: Shadow Spirit, Guerra, Dr. Zarei (Potentially)

Alliances: Zarei’s Faction (Potentially)

Overview: The goals of Spender’s faction is unknown, though it seems to be involved with an incident that happened thirteen years ago when Spender was a child, and protecting the secrets of Mayview. It also has something to do with the shadowy, extremely powerful spirit that possesses Spender. Lucifer is a mentor and ally, and Garcia is Spender’s boyfriend, though it’s unknown how much Garcia is involved- Spender seems to want him staying out of Spectral business. While Spender is rejecting Zarei’s help, Lucifer is attempting to engineer an alliance using Hijack as an ambassador. Spender also confides in his former mentor and teacher, Francisco, though Francisco holds no loyalty towards Spender and Lucifer views the trust Spender’s put in the old man as extremely ill advised. Spender believes he is working for the greater good, but fears that he’ll accidentally stray to evil. However, he seems to wander a lot- Lucifer spells this out clearly. Lucifer apparently saved Spender from drowning thirteen years ago- or as he puts it, “pulled out of that lake”. Spender says that the person who created the barrier is an old colleague of his, but it’s unknown whether that colleague was part of the Consortium. Spender believes the barrier is very necessary, though it’s unknown if it’s keeping something out or in. Spender and his own know of something horrible that happened in Mayview thirteen years ago involving as of yet unexplained supernatural phenomena, and know it will happen again- Spender is working to either prevent it or to make sure Mayview survives it. To “save” Mayview. Seems to have some sort of petty grudge against Zarei, who used to be a close friend and ally. Lucifer seems hopeless about the situation and believes them all doomed, as if he knows or has realized something Spender doesn’t, hasn’t, or refuses to acknowledge.

Angel’s Faction

Named Members: Doorman, King C, Nin

Unnamed Members: The Ninja Bunnies, The Angel (Leader)

Affiliations: Forge, Isaac O’Connor

Enemies: BERG’s Faction, Activity Consortium/Spender’s Faction, The Cult

Overview: The Angel’s goals and motivations are unknown. She seems to be viewed as some great good by the spirits associated with her. She seems to want a good deal of power inside Mayview, and a way in and out, having brought in King C, Forge, and others besides them- King C is referred to as a “storm god”, and the bunnies make reference to a “sorcerer”. Forge was being brought in as a mercenary, hoping the Angel can give him what he wants. Doorman seems to view BERG as an enemy that should not be either in Mayview or in this world at all, and seems genuinely frightened of them. Though it’s implied that most of the imported spirits have been taken down by Spender, and this within Mayview view him as a renowned enemy, Spender doesn’t seem to know of their presence, and it’s unknown if the Consortium is their enemy, if Spender is a genuine enemy, or if they’re just troublesome obstacles. They seem at odds with the Cult, as they don’t want the vile spirits around them. It’s possible that the Angel doesn't feel fear, as suggested by BERG’s dialogue. They consider themselves the good guys. Angel is supposedly an angel of life and beauty. However, Angel’s faction also doesn’t seem too positive on humans. *Note: King C’s presence in Isaac seems to be the reason Isaac is being kept in the dark. As King C can see and hear whatever Isaac doesn't, the only way to keep important information about the Consortium from leaking is to keep Isaac in the dark. This is what BL means by saying that Isaac’s situation is “unfortunate”. This is also why I’ve placed Angel and the Consortium as enemies.

Davy’s Faction

Named Members: Davy Jones (Leader)

Affiliations: Cody Jones, Lisa (Possibly), Lefty (Possibly), PJ (possibly)

Alliances: Student Council (In a way)

Enemies: The Witch, Cousinhood of Man

Overview: Davy is a vampire, and a former spectral. He claims to keep some sort of peace in Mayview, though that doesn’t seem to involve spirits, implying that he keeps it peaceful in relation to something else. Cody Jones is his son, and their relationship seems somewhat tense in the scenes we’ve seen. It’s theorized that Davy and PJ are related in some way, and that Lefty is the ghost of Davy’s missing hand. PJ seems somewhat old fashioned, and he possibly died a while ago- time is unconfirmed. Lefty also has grey energy, like Davy. It’s also theorized that Lisa is related to Davy, possibly as Lisa’s sister. He references a witch that he wishes to keep power from, and as he and Cody are monsters, they want to avoid the attention of the Cousinhood of Man. Davy and Cody must follow vampire rules, though it is unknown which ones Cody has to follow. It is confirmed that Cody must follow any of Davy’s orders. Monsters, regardless of type, are known as “corrupted humans”. Davy apparently owns a local business and possibly provides the school with funding. Davy claims the entire town as “his”- though it’s unclear in exactly what fashion he views it as belonging to him- likely economically in some way due to dialogue, but it definitely has to do with how he “keeps the peace” for Cody. Davy also may have some psychic connection to Cody, as he claims he came to the school after feeling Cody’s heart beat quickly.

The Student Council 

Named Members: Cody Jones (Leader), the 12 Black Saint Councilor-Guardians (all currency unnamed), The Six Dozen Black Saint Sub-Councilor Lieutenant Generals, Serge

Unnamed Members: the two members with faces, unnamed unclear silhouettes on CH5P288

Affiliations: Principal, Vice Principal

Alliances: The Witch (Possibly), Journalism Club

Enemies: Lisa’s Rebellion, Journalism Club 

Overview: While it used to be a normal student council, after the “secret ballot” election and the rise of Cody Jones to Council President, it has become a militant organization that passes “COLLIN QUOTE” and exploits the council’s powers. While under the influence of the Principal, she has no real power. The Vice Principal, who seems to be the Witch, is aligned with the SC and works with them frequently to take down troublemakers and to fill detention with students. Cody’s motivations on this are unclear. It’s unclear whether the school counts as Cody’s territory or the Witch’s, though it seems to act as Cody’s territory when it comes to vampire rules. It’s notable that if the VP is indeed the Witch, then Cody seems to work with her while his father works against her to keep her from gaining any more power. Lisa’s Rebellion is in direct opposition to the SC’s iron grip on the school, and while the J Club seems to be attempting to find out the SC’s secrets, if Collin’s Comments are anything to go by, the SC also seems to use the J Club as a trusted source of information and allows them to exist. The student council seems to be gearing up for some kind of massive power struggle within the school, and it’s mentioned very ominously- very likely to come into serious play later. *Note: It’s possible Cody doesn’t have as much power as its theorized he does. While he may technically have control, quotes such as “You forfeit all your power when you don’t act the way they want you to” and “Point me in the right direction... that’s all I’m good for” suggest that, unless Cody’s acting and lying in those panels, he might be under the thumb of another being- possibly the Vice Principal/Witch. However, he does also say that he will “find a way to handle things myself if (the AC’s actions) proves insufficient” also seem to contradict those- unless Cody’s talking about risking it all for Jeff. This might also have something to do with Jeff getting out early from detention of good behavior- Cody pulling some strings.

Lisa’s Rebellion

Named Members: Lisa (Leader), Ollie Oop, Maxwell Puckett (reluctantly)

Unnamed Members: Bully silhouettes shown behind her in her rebellion intro

Affiliations: Violet

Alliances: Jang (possibly)

Enemies: Student Council, Journalism Club 

Overview: Lisa leads the rebellion against the SC, and most of her members are wrangled bullies. The hub is the saloon-like student store, where Lisa works as barkeep and employs Ollie as a guard to keep the SC out. Notably, Cody seems allowed in despite his SC membership. There seems to be a bit of bad blood between Lisa and the Journalism Club, due to Suzy making popular knowledge of the secrets Lisa gives her. Lisa, while making drinks and leading the rebellion, also works as an information broker and knows almost everything about the school. It is unknown if, and how much, Lisa knows about the supernatural goings-on of Mayview. She seems to know that there are powerful, scary people in the school. She does not seem to know that Cody is the SC president. She is currently blackmailing Max, and it is unknown what she will use her influence over him to do- she has mentioned using him for debt collection. Violet is a personal friend of Lisa’s and drinks for free.

The Cousinhood of Man

Named Members: None

Alliances: Activity Consortium (Temporary)

Enemies: Activity Consortium (At least disliked), Davey’s Faction

Overview: The Cousinhood of Man is an organization of monster hunters. Not much is known about them, other than this and the fact that the Consortium strongly dislikes them. They currently want in to Mayview, as they (correctly) suspect there is a monster (though they’re wrong on this count- there are multiple) inside. Referred to by Spender as “frenzied vigilantes”. Possibly wear uniform trenchcoats. Apparently, the monster population is dwindling. The barrier around Mayview is apparently supposed to keep monsters from crossing, as well as Cousinhood operatives. They also apparently used to be quite troublesome in Consortium affairs. 

The Evil Cult 

Named Members: None

Affiliations: Pixelhounds/Vile Spirits

Enemies: Angel’s Faction, Consortium

Overview: Almost nothing is known about these cultists. They follow someone who must be “the most evil being around”, as this being can command the vile spirits. The vile spirits are inside the barrier, though it seemed they were trying to escape Mayview in chapter four. Their motivation is unknown. Interestingly, they are shown in Dad Puckett’s imagination at the beginning of chapter 3- possibly implying a connection, as Mayview is dad puckett’s hometown. He calls them “death cultists”. They actively work against Doorman gaining any strong spirits at his side, and see fit to attempt to turn Doorman and Spender against each other.

BERG’s Faction

Named Members: None

Unnamed Members: BERG

Affiliations: Maxwell Puckett

Enemies: Angel’s Faction

Overview: The least is known about BERG’s faction, as BERG is the character we arguably have the least information about. BERG is referred to as a broken riddle god by Doorman, who fears them, and BERG seems to think this fear is justified- and that the Angel should fear them too. BERG is in a certain faction and seems to be associated with pyramids and the desert. BERG is humorless and currently possessing Max, though Max is unaware of this. BERG has some sort of title that begins with an ‘s’. 

Zarei’s Faction

Named Members: Mina Zarei (leader), Hijack (Deceased?), Hotwire, Thirteen (Deceased), Patchworm, the Ghost Train, Toolbox

Unnamed Members: King Doctopus, an emotion controlling big millipede spirit,

Affiliations: Richard Spender, Activity Consortium

Alliances: Spender’s Faction (Seeking)

Overview: The reason for Zarei’s disloyalty towards the Consortium is unknown. She is a spectral, spirit, and ghost doctor, and has the ability to create spirits. She currently lives with her parents while she’s trapped in Mayview. She seems to worry for Spender, and seeks to align herself with him, hinting that she may know more about Mayview than she lets on, or distrusts the Consortium for some reason. She may know something about the disappearance of the Doctors Burger. She appears to be well known within the Consortium. It has also been revealed that she has a bad past with the Witch, who seems to be the Vice Principal- bad enough that it makes her nervous to even be in the school, and terrified of the VP. She thought that she had previously defeated the VP/WItch, and was unaware of her presence. Something happened between her and Spender, and Spender’s petty grudge keeps them from reclaiming their friendship. Doctor Zarei is somewhat under investigation due to odd behavior such as never sharing the results of her paranatural research with her Consortium colleagues. This research is likely to be her ability to create spirits, which she wants to keep from Boss Leader for unknown reasons. She fears for the safety of her “assets”. Zarei also seems to be known by Ms. Baxter, and a friend fo Baxter’s named ‘Sophie’, and was notable enough to have an email sent out about her return. It’s also likely that the Ghost Train’s lantern was stolen from Zarei by the waitress Penny when they bumped into one another. Agent Day is attempting to use Zarei’s growing crush on her for information, though is possibly worried about developing or worsening current romantic feelings or ideations for Zarei. Zarei also seems to have lost a previous spirit companion in the form of, possessing, or represented by a sock puppet of sorts that was a close loved one and confidant when she was younger.

The Journalism Club

Named Members: Suzy (Leader), Dmitri Danger, Collin Sloinne

Unnamed Members: Faculty Advisor

Affiliations: Lisa’s Rebellion, Student Council

Enemies: Activity Club, Lisa’s Rebellion, Student Council 

Overview: Suzy leads the Journalism Club. They have a hands off Teacher patron. The newspaper is largely underfunded and unprofessional- referred to as a pamphlet, and they have no readers. Suzy has been shown to take drastic measures in order to get a story for the pamphlet. Despite the lack of, well, everything but passion, the news seems to be treated by the Council as a reliable source of information. Collin is Suzy’s self-described slave, who seems to be the most normal person in the Club, and the one who’s likely put up with Suzy the longest. Despite his general attitude, he does seem to actually take pride in his work as a reporter and enjoy the Journalism Club. Suzy seems to have a secret that she doesn’t want getting out that Lisa knows, which is implied to be her surname. The Journalism Club apparently also spies on all the other clubs. Suzy also doesn’t believe that the paper needs to tell the truth.

Subtopic: Dmitri Dmitri is the third and final member of the Journalism Club, and a spectral. Dmitri is a former member of the Activity Club, and references to him can be seen hidden through various panels up to his reveal. Dmitri, when he first became a spectral, didn’t have anyone to help him through and apparently “flipped his nuggets”. Dmitri is possessed by a ghost-like spirit called Peekaboo, who he seems to be scared of. It’s implied that something may have happened to make Dmitri very angry at Peekaboo- though the incident might be what led to Dmitri’s apparent fear of Peekaboo as well. It’s unknown whether it’s tied to the incident that’s mentioned to do with Isaac. He doesn't seem to think the AC is that bad, though.

Guerra’s Dojo 

Named Members: Francisco Guerra (Leader), Isabel Guerra, Edward Burger

Unnamed Members: Ghost Pupil, Various other pupils

Affiliations: Richard Spender (Previous Pupil), Activity Club, Spender’s Faction (shaky)

Alliances: Activity Consortium 

Overview: Fransisco Guerra runs a training dojo on the outskirts of Mayview by the forest, where he trains students for the Activity Consortium and raises his granddaughter and the possible orphan Ed.While he’s retired from the Consortium and no longer has any obligation to them , he still works for them. However, he seems reluctant to take any more students currently. He dislikes and distrusts spirits, and claims that using their powers is weak. He is specialized in the weaponization of spectral energy. He has previously mentored Spender and seems to greatly dislike him, despite keeping his secrets and possibly offering counsel. 

The Witch

Named Members: None

Unnamed Members: The Witch

Alliances: Student Council (Possibly)

Enemies: Davey’s Faction, Zarei’s Faction (Possibly), Lisa’s Rebellion (Possibly)

Overview: As of Ch5P---, The witch is implied to be the Vice Principal. She seems to inhabit the school and works closely with the SC to keep order within the school and is very offended by the idea of wearing normal clothes on pajama day. She is implied to be related to a spider, with references to her legs made, and with the school referred to as “the spider’s web”. She seems to have tormented Zarei when she was a young girl, and both Zarei and Davey seem very concerned with her.

The Jang

Named Members: Johnny Jhonny (Leader), Ollie Oop, Stephen, RJ

Affiliations: Forge

Alliances: Max, Ed

Overview: This troupe of bullies consists of the four members, led by Johnny. Johnny isn’t very smart but is known for being very strong and very resilient- Zack once made a reference to Johnny hanging himself up horizontal on a flagpole and acting like a flag. Stephen has a scar that was attained in an unknown way, and is referred to in his character bio as half hyena, though it’s unknown how literally to take that as of this moment. Stephen is known for being a huge conspiracy theorist, and has a tendency to deconstruct social norms. RJ is a silent metal rocker, and Ollie is the son of the gym coach, and the most openly intelligent of the bunch. They all are known as huge bullies, but are also remarkably friendly for bullies, with Johnny giving Max change for a dollar when collecting bullying money. They are very close emotionally and create “friendship fusions” which tend to be rather useless. They have all four seen the Activity Club, Spender, and Day riding the ghost train (aka floating), but they only recognize Max and Ed for sure- they know Isaac as “the orange haired kid”, and Spender as “the sunglasses teacher”. Johnny is possessed by Forge and is becoming a medium due to this, for which Forge feels apologetic- Forge’s intentions with Johnny are unknown, and is currently in the stage of seeing shades in pulses. Forge has been in Mayview before. Johnny has a longing to be Max’s friend, and he and RJ seem fond of Ed. The Jang seems to be the group the least politically connected and are rather ignorant of the goings-on, outside of Ollie being aligned with Lisa.

Save Me Only To Kill Me Ch. 2

Jason Todd x Reader

Series Summary: Reader was Jason’s girlfriend before he died (she knew he was Robin), how does she react to finding out that he’s back in Gotham (a dick) and very much alive?

Chapter Summary: You just found out that Jason’s not only alive, but just saved, and also could’ve almost killed you (if it hadn’t been for Tim). Bruce has forbidden your search on Jason… but really, how’s he gonna stop you?

Warnings: Yelling, Threats, Anger, Grief, Going Behind People’s Backs, Reader Getting Ignored.

A/N: Flashbacks are in italics. Due to such popularity (I don’t think anything from me has gotten so many notes) and demand I’m writing a second chapter to this. I honestly love Jason (he’s my husband) so if you read this and want more, just let me know and honestly I probably wouldn’t mind writing another chapter for it! So… I hope you enjoy <3

Catch Up: Chapter One | Series Masterlist

“Jason’s alive?” My voice came out more hoarse, and definitely louder than I’d intended to, but it didn’t stop the trained vigilantes from hearing it and turning to look at me in surprise.  “Y/N,” Bruce sighed, still donning his Batman suit, not having had time to take it off as everyone seemed to be in a rush when we’d gotten back from town… at least, it seemed as though everyone was in a rush, but then again maybe it was just because everything seemed to be moving in slow motion for me, which made everything that they did seem really frantic and rushed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?! Where is he? Is he okay? What’s he been doing?! You told me he died, Bruce! y-you lied t-”

“I did NOT lie to you Y/N.” Bruce runs a hand down his face in frustration, “I didn’t know he was alive until a few weeks ago. I was waiting to tell anyone because I wanted to make sure it was him first. Truly him.” 

My surroundings seemed to slow down, but my brain seemed to speed up as if someone had turned it up to work one hundred times faster than it normally did. Questions raced through my brains, as well as thoughts and emotions and I felt my chest tighten and my breathing get heavier as I started to feel overwhelmed- at least, I think I’m overwhelmed I can’t tell, maybe it’s not- maybe it’s-

“Y/N?” I focus back in on what’s actually happening as Dick’s hand on my shoulder brings me out of my head.

“Yeah?” My brows turn down with worry as I try to stay in the moment, trying desperately to not remember the night of Jason’s death. 

“Look, Jason… he-”

“He’s not in a good place, Y/N… He-” Dick’s voice was surprisingly calm and gentle as his hand told me he was acting as if I was a fragile piece of art.

“What do you mean he’s not in a good place? Dick, what the hell is that supposed to-”

“It means that he’s been killing people and from the facts I’ve gathered he’s a drug lord, Y/N! I’m not letting you near him, I’m sorry. This isn’t the way I wanted you to find out…. but seeing from the events of tonight, I could be wrong” Bruce walked to his chair in front of the Batcomputer and sat down to think.

“What do you mean based off the events from tonight?” I shake Dick’s hand off me as he tries to keep me put, I walk over to Bruce. “Wait- no… how do you even know it’s Jason, Bruce?!” I hope that he gives me the answers I’m looking for or so help me I can’t promise things will end well tonight.

Bruce lets out a huff of irritation as I know he’s getting frustrated with all the questions. We all knew how much Jason’s death affected Bruce and even though Bruce would never get over it, and hated talking about it… so did we. “This is all the information I’ve gathered on him.” I lean my elbows on the desk and start to read the file, when I get to the bottom I reach for the mouse, tearing it from Bruce’s grip as I scroll down.

“Y/N, I… you can’t get involved. You have to swear to me you won’t go looking for him. I won’t have you getting hurt or butting in the way. We’re trying to gather information and you’re feelings will only get in the way.” I can tell Bruce is going to do something drastic before he even moves.

Bruce takes the mouse back and hastily clicks the file closed, shutting off the computer and pushing his chair back harshly to stand up. “I won’t let you get in the way Y/N. You need to leave, now.”

I look at him exasperated… incredulous… how does he expect me to not have questions when he’s just shown me that Jason- my Jason- is still out there, alive and kicking. Over course they claim he’s not my Jason anymore but I call bullshit… Like hell if he isn’t, I’ll determine that for myself!

“You can stay in the manor while you heal and then you’ll go back to your parents… I’m banning you from the Batcave, now go!” Bruce points at the elevator and turns so he doesn’t have to look me in the eyes.

“Bruce?! Are you serious right now! You can’t expect me to not ask q-”

“You heard what I said Y/N!” He re-points his finger at the elevator to emphasize what he said. I don’t think I’ve ever been scolded by this cold, harsh side of Bruce- ever… and honestly it hurts, it aches, and not just because I now know that the love of my life is alive but because I know how much this is affecting Bruce too. “GO!” He yells, turning to crush my soul with his raging eyes, so close to threatening tears that he’d never shed since he’d probably learned of Jason’s reappearance.

“My feelings will get in the way, HUH? Yeah, well what about yours!” I yell back as I turn around and stomp off (as best as I could with the stitches in my thigh) to the elevator so I could finally go to my room and process everything that’d just happened.

Two days pass, that’s how long it takes me to heal. Sure, I’ll still need the stitches taken out in another week but I’m healed enough to go home and there’s no arguing with Bruce. There’s no arguing with anyone, really. The past two days have been silent… meals are together but no one really talks about anything that matters, when meals aren’t spent together I’m alone and searching the house and my brain for anything that can help me find answers. No one will talk to me, they’ve been given orders not to spill anything, even their missions which I know have only been small things lately. I’m ignored and alone until Damian and Tim and forced out of the cave and back upstairs due to it being a school night. 

I guess only the big boys get to handle the hard stuff… I know they’re talking about what to do with Jason and there’s nothing I can do about it. Will they kill him? Of course not! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought. There’s no way they’d kill Jason… but imprison him? That’s more likely.

My fingers tap my knee as I think. Would they just let him go? Mind their own ways? That’s not likely either considering what Bruce said.

I tried desperately to remember any sort of details Bruce or Dick had spilled that night in attempt to give me a lead. I have to find Jason… I have to see Jason.

“What’re you thinking about?” Damian lets out a huff of air as he closes his textbook, homework still inside marking his page. He twirls his mechanical pencil in his hand and his quirked eyebrow tells me he’s annoyed, but honestly when isn’t he? 

Damian and Tim didn’t know about Jason’s return and Bruce didn’t want them to, as they’d only ask questions and be more of a nuisance to his and Dick’s ‘information gathering’ just like I was. Of course I’d only gotten the message to not tell Damian or Tim about it the next day when I’d seen Dick making his way to breakfast. Of course I wouldn’t have told Damian or Tim anything anyways as it didn’t seem relevant for me to tell them about the return of someone who neither of them had met.

Tim of course knew about Jason, but had never actually met him, Damian didn’t even know of Jason… the most Damian could possibly know about Jason was simply having seen Jason’s Robin suit in the Batcave, but of course if Damian ever asked about it he’d only be met with anything but the answers he sought.

Mentioning Jason to Damian could either be a blessing or a curse… if I asked for his help to find not Jason, of course, but the RedHood then Damian would be all over me asking for details, eager to help me out. However, if I asked for Damian’s help to find the RedHood without Bruce’s knowledge and or asking that Damian go behind his father’s back- it’d end horribly. Bruce always finds out.

Though if things for once landed in my favor and didn’t turn south than that’d be a blessing and I’d be able to see Jason again.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone, not even Bruce…” I wait for his reply, reading his body language from my peripheral to seem more lost in thought. If I faced Damian head on then I could come on too strong and he’d back out and say that he knew he shouldn’t keep anything from his father.

“What do I look like, a liar? Please, Y/L/N, I’m not some dirty, untrustworthy lunatic…” This answer wasn’t a yes or no… Everyone knew that Dick could easily lie if need be or that really anyone who’d been under Bruce’s care could get away with lying- the only downside was everyone in the family knew when we lied.

“I won’t tell, I promise. Now, what’s wrong you so much you won’t stop with that incessant noise?” Damian gestures to my fingers which now lay on my leg, not tapping incessantly as prior, which Damian had been referring.

“Look, okay. I found out that one of my life-long best friends… he’s alive Damian…. but the problem is I think he’s getting into trouble. Like big trouble, and I need to help him get out of it. I need to talk with him but I don’t know how to find him, and I’m so worried.” Playing up the pity role didn’t work on Damian most of the time…. but when it came to the people he cared for, he would definitely fix any problem that stood in the way.

“What if he dies, Damian? I- I can’t let that happen!” And for being a girl- something which Damian and Tim being so young, didn’t help when all they knew was that girls could be dramatic some times, which meant that this was supposedly ‘normal’.

“Oh… well, I doubt it’s that much of trouble Y/N, I mean… people get into nasty situations all the time, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Damian spoke confidently and as if his response was automatic. He’ll be fine.

“No- Damian- I don’t think you understand. He’s… he’s being targeted by Black Mask.” Damian perked up immediately and dropped his mechanical pencil on his lap.

“Black Mask?!” Damian shoved his schoolwork off his lap and stood up, getting off the couch, “we need to inform father right away if it is that dire.” I quickly got up and wrapped my hand around Damian’s wrist.

“We can’t!” I panicked. This is exactly what I didn’t want and it was stupid of me to even mention one of Batman’s most notorious rivals. 

Damian turned around and looked not only incredulous, but super confused. “Why not?” he placed his free hand on his hip. I tried so hard not to laugh at how cute he was as he looked so sassy.

“Damian,” I dragged out, almost whining and scolding him at the same time, “Look. Bruce is focused on catching this RedHood guy, right? Bruce doesn’t need to be focused on Black Mask right now! Black Mask hasn’t really been doing anything lately, anyways… BUT- we could catch Black Mask on our own! I mean… unless you don’t think you can.” I mumbled the last part, knowing full well it was loud enough for Damian to hear, yet low enough he’d think I didn’t want him to hear it.

“Of course I can get him myself! What do you think I am? An amateur?” Damian stuck his tongue out and furrowed his brows in disgust.

“I didn’t say that,” I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m just saying, Bruce would probably let you go out more if you proved you could handle stuff on your own and not always with him. I mean, aren’t you a trained assassin or something? A Ninja? If a ninja can’t take out Black Mask-” 

“FINE!” Damian’s chest grew with air as he took a deep breath and let it out in a big huff, making him seem even more childish- which I found to be quite cute.

“Look… Damian I’m not asking for you to take out Black Mask. I just need your help to find my friend, okay? He’s changed his name and address and just, everything. So I have almost no idea where to start looking and I need your help. But we need to do this during the daytime.”

“Why in the daytime?”

“Because if we go at night then Bruce will get suspicious of our whereabouts and also, then my friend will be expecting us.” Damian seemed to approve as he nodded.

“Let me get my stuff and we’ll talk over plans for tomorrow!”  

So, I wasn’t able to watch ‘Is Another Mystery/Marco Jr.’ when it aired and couldn’t watch it until Sunday. I caught wind of spoilers for the end of ‘Is Another Mystery’, and before I watched the episode itself, I was less than impressed. The spoilers made it sound like the monsters had just up and left Mewni, with no indication that this represented a major upheaval for them. When someone suffers from oppression or is otherwise in a bad situation, “Why don’t you just move?” is a breathtakingly insensitive question, because it ignores the fact that, for most people, just up and moving is not a tenable solution. But when I saw the episode itself, I realized the situation wasn’t that at all.

One, it appears that not all of the monsters of Mewni left with Buff Frog this episode; just the residents of the town that nearly got flooded in ‘Starfari,’ along with some of Ludo’s former minions and at least a few of the alternative monsters. Two, the fact that the monsters are leaving in secret, and the fact that at least a few of them believe it necessary to kill any Mewmans who catch them leaving because they can’t risk the Butterflies finding out suggests that this exodus, is, well, the same kind of exodus as the most famous usage of that term. They are refugees fleeing the land of their oppression in the middle of the night, trying desperately to evade notice as they do so.

But let’s talk about the fact that some of the monsters think that killing any Mewman who finds out they’re leaving is not only a good but necessary component of covering up the fact that they’re leaving. So, to the monsters, there is a very real fear that the Mewman authorities would track them down and either imprison or kill them if they found out that monsters were trying to leave Mewni, despite the fact that Mewmans hate monsters and give every impression that they’d be happy to see them gone. Why?

Well, we’ve seen that monsters aren’t particularly welcome in Mewman society, but so far, we’ve only seen this dynamic play out in urban areas. Indeed, we’ve only seen Mewman towns and cities so far. The dynamic may be somewhat different in more rural areas, bigotry and unequal status playing out in different ways.

So, there is a reasonable fear among monsters that certain elements of Mewman society would be violently opposed to their departure. What does that imply? That it’s in the best interest of certain elements of Mewman society for monsters to be available on Mewni, even if monsters are feared and hated second-class citizens.

It’s potentially quite important that we have never seen what rural life on Mewni is like. That we’ve never seen what the role of monsters in rural Mewman society is. It’s possible that they carry out raids trying to get food or supplies, and that they’re just as ostracized and segregated into separate societies, but it’s possible that that isn’t the case.

Are there monsters working as menial laborers on Mewman plantations? Do Mewman plantation owners prefer to hire monsters or solely employ monsters as menial laborers because monsters’ status as second-class citizens means they can get away with paying them next to nothing for their labor, whereas Mewman laborers would demand a higher wage and walk away if they didn’t get it? Are monsters tapped for employment in gristmills or cotton/textile mills, them doing the most menial of work there while Mewmans supervise the “untrustworthy monsters?” It’s unclear how industrialized Mewni is, but there are some signs that suggest that Mewni may be industrialized to some degree. If there are factories, are monsters tapped for the most undesirable, dangerous jobs associated with the early factory system, the kind of jobs that are only fit for “savages?” Might Mewman plantation owners, Mewman foremen and mill owners and factory owners be more than a little displeased if they learn that their biggest pool for dangerous and/or menial labor has decided to seek their fortunes elsewhere?

And there’s something else.

In Star and Marco’s Guide to Mastering Every Dimension, the Svtfoe guidebook, we are introduced to “Date, Marry, or Make Disappear Forever,” a sanitized version of “Fuck, Marry, Kill.” Star reveals on Page 152 of the guide book that they have a version of this game on Mewni as well. It’s called “Court, Betroth, Sell.” The guide book is canon. The serious implication here is that, in one form or another, slavery is legal on Mewni.

Or, to be more precise, we don’t know either way if slavery is legal everywhere on Mewni, this is pretty decent evidence that it might be legal in the Butterfly kingdom and at least condoned, if not practiced, elsewhere.

So.

Are there monster slaves?

We know that most monsters live in varying states of poverty, many of them in abject poverty, the difference between survival and starvation being no more than a few days and a well-timed raid. Tom’s status as a wealthy noble led many monsters to disbelieve that he could be one of them, because being a monster is inextricably tied up with being a poor monster. Any monster who has financial dealings with a Mewman (who has a lot of incentives to exploit them, and likely considerably less to treat them fairly) is in danger of falling into debt to them. Is debt slavery (for reference, indentured servitude is often classified as a form of debt slavery) a thing on Mewni? Is it legally enforced. If a Mewman creditor calls in a monster’s debt and the monster defaults, does the creditor reply, “Well, the law says that you have to work for me for five years to pay off your debt. If you try to flee at any point while you’re working for me, you can go to prison. If you don’t like the sound of that, you can go to prison right now.”

Also, in real life, it’s hardly unheard of for “employers” of people bound to them through debt slavery to add their living expenses to the debt, essentially making the principal of the debt plus the interest all but impossible to ever pay off. Combine this with the chattel slavery implied by “Court, betroth, sell”, and you’ve got a nasty but unfortunately plausible picture of what financial dealings between Mewmans and monsters may be like.

We already know that monsters are a despised, looked-down-upon underclass. If they are also a group of people desired for menial and/or undesirable and/or dangerous and/or forced labor, it makes sense that there are some Mewmans who might not want them gone. And might respond violently if they learned that there were monsters trying to leave.

Stydia Secret Santa 🎅🏼

@childoftimeandmagic

Stiles had been working all night. It was almost Christmas, so not too busy at the FBI office but still 12 hours of hard work. Saying that, the only thing that had been on his mind was getting home and seeing his wife, Lydia Stilinski. He twirled a bit of red string around his finger and began to smile, he remembered Lydia on his bed doing the exact same thing as he was doing right now. Except what he was doing right now seemed so much more simpler than figuring out how William Barrow got into the school. He looked at his watch. 23:48. 12 minutes till he got to leave and see his beautiful wife. He looked again, and it said the exact same but he couldn’t wait. He looked at his boss and she just nodded her approval and he was off. He sprinted to his car and went the fastest he’s ever drove in his life in Roscoe, his slightly untrustworthy blue jeep.

Lydia looked anxiously out the window. She has big news for Stiles. She thought how perfect it was, their own little Christmas gift, even if it was slightly unplanned - but that was their own fault. She held the pregnancy test in her hands, her red, Christmas nails flicking over the double pink line. Positive. She knew Stiles would be excited, he had always wanted his own family, but with his FBI career just starting and Lydia reaching the end of her course - 1 year early, may I add- it wasn’t great timing. Still this was a good thing right? She tapped her shoe impatiently, where was he? She looked at the clock. 12:00. Christmas Eve. She smiled to herself and then heard a car pull up outside their house. 2 seconds later an excited Stiles ran through the door.

“Hey princess” he smiled “I’ve missed you today.” “I’ve missed you too” Lydia said slightly nervously “we need to talk.”

Stiles looked at her anxiously. What was wrong? He got closer to her and saw her tear stained cheeks and red eyes.

“Lydia , what’s wrong?” He asked an then it all came tumbling out. About how she and missed a period and then she stared to get really nauseous every morning and then she clocked what was going on and bought and pregnancy test. She placed it in his hand.

“It’s positive” she smiled.

Stiles had a look of absolute shock on his face.

“I’m going to be a dad ?” He sputtered out and then his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I’m going to be a dad!”

A small tear escaped Lydia’s eye as he grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug. He lifted his head and gave her a light kiss.

“I love you Lydia”

“I love you too.”

——————————————————— 9 weeks later

Stiles held onto Lydia’s hand tightly as the cold gel was put onto her stomach where a small bump was beginning to form. She grimaced slightly, she still felt slightly nauseous from this morning but she was also excited - once her first scan was over it meant they could begin to tell people the good news.

“Would you like to know the sex?” Asked the nurse.

Stiles looked up at Lydia with the biggest puppy eyes she’s ever seen.

“Pleaseeeeeeeeee?” He begged. Lydia nodded.

“It’s a girl!”

Lydia looked over at Stiles to see his reaction and saw tears begin to seep from his eyes. She squeezed his hand tightly as he rubbed at them. He lent over and kissed her sweetly.

“Is it bad all I’m thinking about is telling Scott and my dad?” Asked Stiles

“No” she replied, “all I’m thinking about is telling my mum and Kira.”

They had a small gathering that night at their house. Scott, Kira, Mama McCall, Sheriff Stilinksi and Natalie Martin all gathered around their kitchen table as Lydia and Stiles stood at the head of the table.

“So what’s this BIG NEWS you want to tell us all about?” Kira asked curiously.

“Well,” Lydia began but Stiles jumped in before she could continue.

“LYDIA IS PREGNANT!!”

Smiles and cheers were all around as Scott and Sheriff hugged Stiles and Kira and Natalie hugged Lydia.

“We got the 12 week scan today and… It’s a girl!!!!” They both exclaimed.

They smiled at each other sweetly and kissed each other quickly. Scott looked on and was so glad Lydia kissed him when he was having that panic attack a few years ago, they were perfect for each other.

—————————————————————— 9 months later

Lydia woke up with a start. What time was it? 12:58. It was September 23rd, 5 days past Lydia’s due date and she was about to burst. She looked down and saw her covers were wet. She looked at Stiles, he looked so peaceful and cute with a little smile on his face. Lydia felt a sudden sharp pain and realised what the wetness was. Her waters had broke.

“ Stiles,” Lydia whispered “ Stiles honey.”

“Hmmm , Whats up?” He mumbled sleepy.

“My waters broke.”

“WHAT!” Stiles awoke with purpose. “ OH GOD COME ON, WHERES THE BAG??!!”

Stiles had never jumped up quicker than she’d ever seen him move and ran around the room packing anything extra into Lydia’s bag she’d ever need. He then held her hand gently and helped lift her out of bed and then got her changed into some dry clothes.

Stiles started the engine quickly and got them to the hospital in record time - although it was Lydia’s first baby she was delivering quickly. Stiles rushed in the hospital with Lydia walking slowly behind him.

“Honey slow down , I’m the pregnant one remember?”

“Sorry , sorry , sorry.”

Stiles showed his badge and managed to get them a private room and then began to make phone calls to all the people they had decided that would accompany them to the hospital, but their little girl was to quick for anyone to come and Lydia had to start pushing almost as soon as they got in the room.

“Okay you’re 10cm’s” the doctor stated. “dad do you want to hold her hand and we can begin to push?”

Stiles hated hearing Lydia scream because it usually meant death ,but this time he had a reason to be happy and so did Lydia.

At 1:37 Lydia and Stiles little girl was born. She was a healthy 8 pounds and had dark brown curly locks like her father.

Stiles and Lydia looked down and immediately knew what to name their little angel.

“Ariel Claudia Stilinski” Lydia and Stiles announced to their families.

A massive smile erupted on everyone’s face and Lydia and Stiles were truly happy.

Asteri Tale Chapter 29 Revisiting Insecurity

I was gonna post this earlier but then I got distracted. LOL. 

   "What the hell even happened yesterday?" The bell rang, dismissing school for the day. Alex apprehensively grabbed his bag and headed for the meeting room. "Last thing I remember, I'm walking down the street after that fight, then suddenly I wake up in the computer lab and it's dark out." He let out a long sigh as the rest of the disciplinary committee filled in their seats. "This isn't like me."    "My, my Captain, that was quite impressive!" Akira jeered playfully.    "Oh, ha! Even I have my worries." Alex scoffed back unamused. "Things just keep getting stranger here." He thought over the school day as the council conducted the meeting. "Arata was clearly injured, yet he was nowhere to be seen during the encounter with Kinai." Alex leaned on his hand as he tried to piece together the gap in his memory. "And what the hell was with Saveli?" He suppressed the urge to laugh. Unlike his usual boisterous self, Aren had been very docile, skittish even, the entire day. He never made contact with Tori, rather he was obviously avoiding him. "It's only Monday and everything is going to hell!" Alex's eyes sluggishly scanned over the meeting in process, which he had tuned out while caught up in thought. BZZT BZZT    Everyone froze. "Huh?    "C-Captain?" Akira broke the silence. Alex snapped back to reality.    "Y-Yes, Yuen?" he lifted his head up in a daze.    "Was that your phone?" at the question a few others giggled around the room. Alex's eyes shot open as he fumbled around in his pockets. His heart sank as he skimmed the message on the screen. "It was only a matter of time."    "I have...'matters' to attend to, you all know how to handle things here." he responded in a harsh tone, stood and left the room briskly. Akira shut her eyes and exhaled deeply.    Once out of earshot, Alex let out a pained sigh.    "Haa, time to get reprimanded AGAIN!" his body heaved as he forced out an unenthusiastic laugh. He shuffled across the courtyard to a room lined with lockers. He opened one and pulled out a neatly folded stack of casual clothing and a burgundy hoodie. After changing out of his uniform, he peeked out the door to make sure he wasn't being watched. "Anytime I try to go anywhere lately I always run into one of 'them." he huffed and pulled the hood over his head before walking off. He didn't really need to think about where he was going. He'd made the trip so many times his legs remembered the route. The ominous dread caused each step to feel heavier than the last. As he entered the familiar abandoned building, a pair of menacing red eyes locked on to Alex. Swiftly, a sliver flicker flashed across the space between them. Still adjusting to the lack of light, Alex barely dodged in time, beside his neck, stuck in the wall, was a plain short sword with no distinguishable features.    "You better have a good reason for failing me once again!" the large figured leered down over him. Alex's body shuddered.    "I-it's no one’s fault but my own." he whimpered. The elusive man scoffed and drew his sword from the wall. "I- he was with me. I let him get away..." Alex struggled to distance himself from the imposing man. "I-I won't fail you next time!" at this the guy laughed.    "'Next time'? Who says there's going to be a 'next time'?" he taunted in a grim voice.    "I-I swear I won't f-" he stammered, his pleas were interrupted by the glint of a blade between his eyes. Alex froze.    "Heh with 'those two' the way they are, how'd you expect to accomplish anything?" the man laughed brutishly.    "T-Tiger and Ra-?" Alex started to question but stopped at the change in the man's expression.    "That 'Horse' of yours!" he growled. "And that 'Cancer' kid." He thrust the sword into the wall by Alex's face, the blade nicked his cheek as he flinched. After a second, Alex opened his eyes dubiously. "What about Syrus and Arlin?" "If he didn't have such...impressive results, I'd say he's more trouble than he's worth." he paused dramatically. "Get rid of 'that' obstacle." he ran his finger tips along the contour of Alex's neck. Reflexively, Alex jumped back, into the wall behind him. "With that pest gone we won't have any more mishaps, correct?" he gave a suggestive grin. Alex gasped, finding himself at a loss for words. "It's in your best interest too, no?" as he continued to speak, his voice developed a sickeningly elated tone. Alex swallowed hard, feeling as if the word about to come from his mouth would make him ill.    "Yes..." he uttered. "I hate the guy but even this is too extreme for me..."    "Good!" the shadowed face grinned wider revealing sharp sizable fangs. "I would hate to lose someone as...willing as you over some inconsequential nuisance." he pulled the sword from the wall once more and traced along Alex's clavicle lightly, scratching his skin. "My patients wears thing!" he declared as he gripped the handle tighter, pressing the tip up into Alex's neck. Alex held his breath, watching the figure in front of him tentatively. After a moment, he withdrew the blade theatrically, rolling it over his arm and into a concealed sheath. At this, Alex let out a deep breath in relief. "Now, BEGONE!" the man barked and turned away. Alex skittishly bowed then backed out the door. On his way out the Master's presence faded, nothing remained in the lightless building. He ran out to the main street from the series of alley ways. He winced as the bright light of the day, what had felt like hours had only been a few minutes. The heat of the sun made the cut on his face sting. He reached up to brush his hand against it. He looked at the blood coating his fingertips "I got off pretty easy this time." He reached over and massaged his shoulder remembering the last time 'he' had drawn his sword against him. A chill ran down his spine as he shook off the memory. "I REALLY don't want to go home..." he sighed then faded into the crowd as usual. "Now that Shea's on the team, I have more free time than I know what to do with." He sulked. "I really want to see Sempai, but I have no reason to go today." Alex tapped his phone, the screen illuminated to reveal no new messages.    "Hmm?" he frowned. "That's odd, normally he'd flood my inbox while I'm in class, but I haven't heard anything from him since yesterday..." He groaned. "What the hell happened yesterday!?" As he walked idly by, the scenery around him shifted. Gradually he came to his senses. His face flushed red. "What in god's name am I getting upset about?!" He stuffed his phone in his bag timidly. As he turned his face up, he spotted a recognizable house. He grimaced in shame. "You have got to be kidding me!" he grumbled aloud. "Well...I mean, I'm already here!" He tried to justify to himself as he dragged himself to the door. Alex looked up to the name plate by the door. 'Kaarlo'. Apprehensively, he knocked at the door. "What am I even doing?" he pulled back, straightened his posture and looked to his feet. Moments later, the door creaked as it opened.    "Murasa?!" Ceres's voice called out cheerfully.    "H-hey..." Alex fumbled with his hands awkwardly.    "Wait...what are you doing here?" Ceres questioned. "You know Shea has practice today, right?"    "I- uh, just wanted to hang out." Alex uttered under his breath. A huge smile came to Ceres's face.    "Come in! I'll get you a drink." he invited Alex in. Alex took hesitant steps in.    "Sorry for intruding." he recited solemnly. He lifted his head to observe Ceres as he skipped into the kitchen. "I was-uh...wondering if something came up since I hadn't heard from you all day." from the kitchen there was a loud crash as something fell to the floor. "Sempai?!" Alex jumped up.    "Ah, s-sorry..." Ceres huffed. There was an uneasiness to his voice. "Shea and I...sort of got into a small arguem...ent." Ceres stepped out of the kitchen. The color drained from his face once he spotted the cut on Alex's face. "When did that happen?..." he asked in an uncharacteristically stern tone. Alex gasped, having forgotten about the small injury he received earlier. "Who did that to you?!" in an instant, Ceres was overcome with an indescribable rage.    "I-it was an accident." Alex averted his eyes as he instinctively lied. Ceres growled in disapproval. "He didn't have that last I checked." Alex retreated back as Ceres stepped toward him. "It couldn't have been..." Ceres sighed and took a seat at the dining room table.    "You...you know, I'm here for you if you ever have troubles." Ceres stifled his anger. There was no point in taking it out on Alex.    "Ah!...it's not that simple." Alex confessed.    "Am I really that untrustworthy?" Ceres exhaled through gritted teeth.    "What? No!" Alex jumped up then pulled back.    "First my sister and now you..." Ceres leaned back in the chair and scoffed.    "N-no! I do trust you, I just...don't want you to hate me..." Alex's voice trailed off as the fear in his eyes shifted to woe.    "PFFT!" Ceres nearly chocked as he began laughing. Alex stared back bewildered. "HA! I could never hate you!" he chuckled as he spoke. Alex felt his face grow hot as he watched Ceres laugh.    "B-but you-" he stumbled to put his thoughts into words.    "I could never hate you, Murasa." Ceres announced again as his laughter calmed down. "I was only concerned about your well-being." he covered his face with his hands.    "Wh-what about..." Alex murmured in rebuttal.    "I was in a bad mood over something my sister said, I didn't want to drag you down with our petty sibling drama." Ceres snickered. Alex pouted at him.    "Wh-what's so funny about all this?" he griped, feeling mortified.    "I never would have imagined you'd concoct such absurd ideas after going without hearing from me for a single day!" Ceres squealed excitedly. Alex lurched back in awe.    "I-what! No, that's not it!" he protested. Ceres hummed to himself as he gathered a handful of first aid supplies. Alex continued to whine as Ceres carefully tended to the wound on his face.    "Don't you think that's a bit much?"    "Hush, what if it gets infected?" Ceres barked back.    "It's barely a scratch, talk about overreacting!" Alex elbowed Ceres playfully. Ceres glowered back, beginning to blush.    "Please don't hesitate to call for me if anything else happens."    "Eh? Don't get all sappy on me!" Alex jeered.    "I don't know what I would do if anything were to happen to you." Ceres whispered earnestly. Alex turned to the side, unsure of a response. Ceres finished applying the bandage to Alex's face and places the used dressings aside.    "You're way too nice for your own good." Alex hissed insincerely. "I will never understand why your sister treats you the way she does." Ceres gasped.    "Ah...well..." he stammered.    "She doesn't give you enough credit, none of them do..." Alex expressed in a severe tone. Ceres's lips trembled as he tried to hold back his smile. The both looked up to the other. As soon as their eyes met, Ceres lunged forward, pulling Alex into a firm embrace. Alex froze as Ceres buried his face into Alex's shoulder.    "Thank you." he huffed under his breath fighting the urge to cry. A pleasant warmth seethed inside of him. Without speaking another word, Alex returned the hug, gently caressing Ceres's back with his hands.

What have I ‘got’?

Brain damage, or ‘Acquired Brain Injuries’, depending who I’m speaking to, my ability so say, and spell ‘subarachnoid haemorrhage’ appears to be working against me, in the UK’s labyrinthine and convoluted disability benefit system, though.

I have a task on my desk, it’s a self-set task, and I don’t want to do it, but my Welfare Rights Advocate is proving himself unreliable. He’s supposed to be ‘supporting’ me with my PIP tribunal, but he’s evasive, untrustworthy, and a little bit patronising. I have a note of all the times he’s said he was going to do something, and then not done it, frustrating for me, because I’m out of my depth with the tribunal evidence. (I’m not, I’m fully conversant with the majority of the 300+ pages on my desk, most of it being the evidence I submitted in the first place. I’ve typed-up the notes I took contesting the speculation, omissions, and, shall we say ‘mis-recorded results’ from ATOS/DWP, so the Advocate can read them. I’ve also tidied up the bits I’d put in ranty capital letters, and toned down the swearing.) 

The task. When I was referred to Workplace Well-being, about a year ago, my Union Representative asked me to ‘write a list of all my difficulties’ to take with me. ‘Other’ people love a good list, don’t they? (’Othering’, there, watch yourself.) I didn’t want to ‘write a list’, mainly because I hate reflecting on all of the things ‘wrong’ with me, but also because loads of paper with just ‘things’ noted on them in a random order serve no functional purpose. The rep will have seen it as a memory aid, in case I forgot something, my functional/working memory does let me down on a regular basis, there are work-around strategies for that. I wrote the list, because I was very mindful of the need to follow instructions, but the original nurse who assessed me (before transferring my case to a doctor, who told me “This case should never have been assessed by a nurse, it’s far too complex.”) didn’t look at it. No reflection on her procedural-practice, there, she asked me questions, and I was able to answer most of them. The Union Rep was frustrated with me when she saw the nurse’s report, and asked me if I’d ‘really’ explained my difficulties. Well, Union Rep, yes, I did, that’s why the nurse is recommending that I’m ‘unfit’ for a minimum of 12 weeks, and need a full functional/cognitive assessment via Neurology. (Honestly, am I the only one who can read? Still haven’t had the functional assessment, either.) That was the start of the task, and I need to re-do it.

I was going to go list-style again, but break it into Physical/Intellectual/Emotional/Social categories. (Yes, I did support GCSE Health and Social Care lessons, about a million years ago.) Breaking my ‘list’ into categories gives me an element of control, I only have to focus on one ‘bit at a time, it reduces the risk of me becoming overwhelmed at having to think of all of it, all at once. Again. I’ve spent almost three years trying not to reflect too much on which bits of me no longer function properly, and the adaptations I’ve absorbed/normalised to keep myself, and others safe, now the PIP-system is making me do precisely that. A ‘list’ of all-that-ails-me still serves no purpose, it would be like the world’s worst shopping list, “Constant headaches, light aversion, sporadic tics and tremors, mood swings, sleep disturbance, have we any milk left, inattention.” It would just be a load of words, on some paper, the Advocate boldly stated that he’d write my ‘witness statement’ for me, I think he meant ‘impact statement’, but I’m not having a man who uses multiple consecutive punctuation marks in text-messages writing anything ‘for’ me. He doesn’t live in this state, I do. 

Right, it’s not going to be a list, it’s going to be a table, ‘Issue’, ‘Impact’ and ‘Adaptations/Strategies’, broken down into the ‘PIES’ categories, for ease of reading by other people. Yes, I ‘could’ potentially be shooting myself in the foot, here, because the adaptations/strategies I’m using mean that I ‘can’ complete the majority of the ‘descriptor activities’. Eventually. That’s what’s REALLY wrong with the PIP-system, apart from it being operated by shady individuals only interested in finding a way to refuse claims, in my experience. I didn’t tick the ‘unable to’ box for any of the descriptors, and I’m smirking now, about my ‘traits consistent with Autism’, I won’t lie, and it doesn’t matter how many times DWP/ATOS ask me the same question (not even bothering to change the phrasing, amateurs.) they will get the same answer, because this is my life. DWP/ATOS are using a one-size-fits-all template for EVERY disability claim, it’s the same form for every applicant/disability/condition, and it’s heavily skewed towards physical capabilities. ATOS/DWP are effectively banging a hamster through the star-shaped hole on a Fisher Price shape-sorter, certain tabloids and media sources are shouting at the hamster to stop being lazy, and run, and then the ‘assessor’ gives the shape-sorter a good kick, and ticks the ‘able to move 20m’ box. If you’re not paraplegic, or in a coma, you’re not disabled-enough for this system, ‘making work pay’, and all that, ‘we’ must be capable of something. (Side-smirk, because the ‘work related activity’ scheme in my area is run by Serco, do we think I’d suit a security-guard uniform?)

I spent 6 hours last weekend line-by-line picking through the ‘evidence’ DWP/ATOS might-intend to submit to the tribunal. I say ‘might’, because they’re asking the panel to dismiss my case unheard, SUPERB scare-tactic there. Some people would give up at that point, unfortunately for DWP, I’m not one of them. I say ‘evidence’ because most of the ATOS-end of it is speculation and opinion, there is literally no reference made to the medical evidence I submitted until now, when I’m effectively taking them to court. Process that, they’ve had a huge pile of medical evidence from me twice now, and they make no reference at all to it, focusing instead on my ability to ‘bend forward at the waist and reach mid-shin with both hands.’ The last nurse-practitioner that ‘assessed’ me has recorded results for a ‘test’ she didn’t do, and very-much ‘mis-recorded’ some of her other ‘informal observations.’ My functional memory fluctuates, but my stress/crisis recall is phenomenal, my A-level ‘General Studies’ exam paper had an article from a Spanish newspaper about foxes, the only question I couldn’t answer on my GCSE Maths paper was the spider-diagram one, when I was 11, my primary school teacher made the whole class copy from a reading book as a punishment. “A Dog So Small, by Phillipa Pearce. The tapping on the window woke him, fast asleep, and then wide awake, because of the tapping. Perhaps the pigeon always woke this early, he was usually tapping when the boys awoke. That was usually much later, with the smell of breakfast...” Put me under ‘test conditions’, or in a stressful/crisis situation, and my recall will be utterly flawless, I’m buggered if I can remember what I went into Tesco for, though.

My ridiculous memory aside, I have nearly 5000 words of annotation/points of contention with the ATOS/DWP evidence/reports, it’s possible that I’ve typed more words than the ‘assessors’ and ‘decision makers’, AND all of mine are spelled properly, even the really big ones. (Irritability, classic symptom of frontal lobe brain injuries, I get the “Can’t people READ/WRITE?” anger very frequently.) A couple of pages in, the boss decision-maker has recorded “has mental health issues” before even mentioning the brain injuries. I’ll leave out the side-rage at the lower-level decision-maker recording “she is not depression.” on another page, no, dear I’m not depression, but I am about to make your life less pleasant. 

“Has mental health issues.” is what triggered this pile of waffle, that, and REALLY not wanting to start the PIES-table thing. ‘Has mental health issues’ is what ATOS/DWP will likely use as their ‘get out of jail’ card, because when someone has mental health issues, the go-to option is medication, whack enough Prozac in us, and we eventually stop complaining about stuff, don’t we? Do I have ‘mental health issues’? Probably. Do I have any active diagnosis of a mental health condition requiring medication? No. I don’t know if they’re referring to my PTSD, or speculating based on my presentation at assessment. If they try to suggest that I am suffering from depression, I have medical evidence from two different doctors that I’m not, and the idiot who typed ‘is not depression’ onto the forms has undermined that ‘argument’ before it starts.

I was relatively functional within the parameters of my PTSD, actually, no, I was hyper-functional in many areas, which is why I was so very good at some parts of a career I no longer have. That hyper-functionality is hard-wired, but my brain is now re-wired, there are tangles of wires sealing up two aneurysms, and a third one just sitting there lurking in a ‘risky’ position on my Choroidal artery, if that one blows, it’s ‘Goodnight, Vienna.’ I’m still incredibly high-functioning, but only for part of the day, my brain effectively does a whole day’s work by lunch-time, because I over-process everything, I can’t ‘not’ do that. The over-processing causes my evidenced-damaged brain to tire more easily than a fully functioning one, by late afternoon, I can feel the fogginess starting to creep in, and I’m next-to-useless in the evening. My long-suffering son has observed his highly intelligent, incredibly articulate mother descend into cognitive fatigue, and sit in this armchair dribbling like an imbecile, and falling asleep. That’s our ‘normal’ now, when he’s back from university, and it shouldn’t have to be, I can’t imagine how traumatic it must be for him watching me ‘slip’ every evening, after being in the ambulance with me while the haemorrhage and hydrocephalus were crushing my brain. 

In a weird way, the PTSD over-processing has probably kept me alive. I’m constantly assessing for threats and risks. Constantly. It’s not as linear-simple as applying the cause-trauma to everyday situations, ‘that’ is never going to happen again, for reasons I’m not going to explain here. Constantly, and everything, it was exhausting enough before the additional layer of trauma added by the near miss with the chap with the scythe. CBT won’t unpick it, because if I don’t-assess everything I potentially place myself or others at risk of harm. EMDR can’t do anything to ‘desensitise’ my threat-perception that I haven’t already done myself. The doctors have never found a combination of drugs that balanced me properly, the hyper-vigilance is just a ‘thing’, background noise that was bearable before my brain injuries, it’s exhausting ‘now’, but threat-checking keeps me safe. (I will EXPLODE if DWP/ATOS try to label it ‘generalised anxiety.’)

If they’re not going with the PTSD (funnily enough, I don’t actually have a formal diagnosis, I slipped the term to my GP once, and he agreed, it just sort of ‘stuck’ after that.) it might be the ‘Depression?’ recorded on my initial discharge-notes from hospital after the haemorrhage. (Very irritable face, it’s the same as all of my other faces, you learn how to poker-face quite quickly when you realise that your first impulse on just about anything could land you with a criminal record.) When I was admitted to hospital, the medics asked the ex about my previous medical history, I imagine the kid might have replied “Have you looked in your sock drawer?” if his mother hadn’t been dying in front of him. The ex was useless on anything that wasn’t motorbikes, 1980s synthesiser music, or asking for more toast, the sock-drawer was a running joke between the kid and I, due to the number of times the ex would stand on the upstairs landing, and shout downstairs “Have I got any clean socks?” instead of looking in the bastard sock-drawer. Sock-rage, I haven’t had to deal with that for a very long time, there was some sort of force-field around the laundry basket, meaning he couldn’t put ANYTHING in it. All of his clothes, whether they were the clean ones I’d folded and put on his side of the bed, to encourage him to put them away himself, and stop asking me “Have you seen my Kraftwerk T-shirt?”, or the absolutely minging-filthy work clothes he’d wear for weeks on end, ended up on the floor at his side of the bed. The socks were even worse, he’d come home from work, take his socks off, and leave them in the living room. I stopped collecting them after a while, because I had enough ‘else’ to do without picking up after a grown man. Sock-rant over, the ex told the medic “I think she’s got depression, but I don’t know if she’s on anything for it.” If they’d asked him about motorbikes, or what order to put fillings in sandwiches, he’d have known that. 

So, ‘Depression?’ is recorded on my discharge-notes. I REALLY upset the nurse who’d recorded it, in a twist of fate, she was my assigned nurse after the second round of surgery. I was mad at the ex, I wasn’t angry with her, but, at the shift-handover she described me as ‘strange, controlling and manipulative.’ I’m not manipulative, am I?  

I probably ‘should’ be depressed, but my medical notes state I’m not, so, what have I ‘got’? (I’m putting that in quotation marks because it was the ex’s retarded terminology, a person may ‘have’, or ‘suffer from’ depression, they haven’t ‘got’ it.) What I have is a combination of brain injuries, and some maladaptive coping mechanisms. I have ‘had’ historical mental health issues, and I’m awaiting a neuro-psych assessment to see which diagnostic criteria I fit this time. I have multiple traits consistent with Autism, but I’d always assumed they were due to the traumatic/developmental/attachment issues, rather than an organic cause. Thinking back of myself as a child, yes, I would have ticked most of the boxes for an AS diagnosis. I have traits consistent with Oppositional Defiant  Disorder, which is a relatively new addition to the DSM-5, but sits neatly around my tendencies to generally be a Terrible Bastard. My sick-notes were all generic ‘stress related disorder’, because we don’t say ‘nervous breakdown’ any more. Elements of my disability fit the profiles for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia, two of my nieces have disability-awards for fatigue, and they don’t have chunks of metal in their brains. I’m not neurotic, or a hypochondriac, which is a good thing, because the veritable telephone-directory of side-effects from brain trauma would have a ‘worrier’ setting up camp in A&E, there hasn’t been a single day since February 2015 where I haven’t been dealing with one side-issue or another. I probably ‘should’ be more anxious about my health than I am, but that way lies ruin, I assess myself every day, and ‘work with the tools I have’. 

Enough of this now, or I’ll use up all of my functional eye-time, and end up having an argument with myself about doing the impact statement ‘tomorrow.’ The PIP system is very flawed, it’s not in the least bit fit-for-purpose, and I need to ensure that my evidence is reasoned, accountable, and coherent. I am a very complex case, but my ability to articulate that is working against me, because the system ‘sees’ me when I’m lucid, not when I’m trying to put both of my socks on the same foot, or finding a meal from several days ago in the microwave. Throw into the equation that Universal Credit is also fundamentally flawed, and it’s fairly obvious why I’m having more wobbly/off days recently. My work-coach has cut me down to 10 hours per week of actively seeking employment, because she’s seen my health deteriorate during this PIP process. That’s all well and good, but I’m on a knife-edge financially, if, despite her doing what she can to reduce my ‘claimant commitment’, the computer system decides to invite me to apply for an unsuitable job, I’m at risk of sanctions. Poverty-porn, I have no heating, I’m sitting here in four jumpers, shopping once a fortnight, and eating once a day. I’m not asking for champagne and caviar, I’m asking for a disability benefit that would allow me to work part-time, because I’m not fully functional full-time.

What do I have? A pile of horrible paperwork, an unreliable advocate, and unemployment benefit that doesn’t cover my basic outgoings. What am I? I’m tenacious, resilient, determined, intelligent, articulate, reasoned, accountable, honest, and bloody exhausted from jumping through DWP’s various hoops.